I heard the words “wet dream” for the first time from my older friends when I was 12. Wanted to have a wet dream. In fact, I inspected my pajama pants every morning. Wondered if the little cotton lint balls in my pajamas were sperm.
Whenever I hung out with my high school or neighborhood male friends, someone always bragged about how much hair they had on their chin or under their arms or their pubic hair. I had none anyplace.
Tried out and made the freshman basketball team in high school. But I had a problem. In nine months, I would be a sophomore and I was 13. My teammates were 14, 15, and older. One year is a long time on the puberty clock.
Because I had no pubic hair and no underarm hair, I never wanted to take my t-shirt off around my friends. I had heard the guys make fun of the boys in the locker room who didn’t have pubic hair. When the hair subject came up during conversations, I made up stuff and even described my wet dreams. Easy to do after I’d noted their stories. I couldn’t fake the chin hair or a mustache, but I could lie about hair they never saw, like my armpits and crotch.
When the basketball team showered after practice, it was a communal shower and everyone had hair, pubic and otherwise. It wasn’t easy, but I avoided anyone seeing me by showering before anyone else showered, and, when I left the shower, strategically placing my towel to cover my hairless crotch. Or by not taking a shower, which meant it became mandatory, I stay a respectful distance from students and teachers.
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