This is the first story I’ve written in over a decade.
This is the first love story I’ve ever written.
Please be gentle. Thanks!
While inspired by real-life events, this story is a work of fiction.
While inspired by a real man and photos, the video features “vintage fauxtos.”
The first time I noticed him was in homeroom, early September of 1972.
The windows were still wide open to catch the last breath of summer, and I was trying not to sweat through my shirt. He walked in, late as usual, his letterman jacket slung over one shoulder, as if being on time was beneath him.
Josh Callahan, the star quarterback at Sanger High School. He had this natural charm about him, the kind that made the cheerleaders giggle and the guys nod their heads in approval.
But me? I was invisible—just a bookish kid with glasses and good grades.
That all changed the day our chemistry teacher Mr. Thompson asked me to help Josh. Great…another jock “study buddy” who was struggling to pass my favorite class. At least this one was cute.
After class, Josh approached me in the hallway with a big smile. Oh, that smile.
“Mr. Thompson said you agreed to help me. Thanks. Got plans after school?”
In class and after school, we started spending time together. A lot of time.
Before long, his grades climbed and our study sessions turned into something more.
MORE THAN CLASSMATES
By mid-October, Josh and me were in a rhythm. He’d show up at my house, freshly showered after football practice, textbooks in hand, though sometimes I wondered if he was really there just to do his chemistry homework.
We’d sit on the living room floor next to each other, the coffee table as our desk, and I’d try to explain the equations he claimed he didn’t understand. Honestly, I suspected Josh was smarter than he pretended to be. But who was I to say no to spending time with him? I couldn’t believe I was sitting so close to him, our arms and legs touching as we tried to finish our homework. Mostly we just talked. And smiled at each other.
Football season was in full swing, and Josh was the star of every game. It felt surreal, seeing him in the hallways surrounded by fans and cheerleaders, only to have him knock on my door after practice, a big smile on his face, ready to study chemistry.
He started inviting me to the games. And though I wasn’t much of a sports fan, I couldn’t help but go to watch him. There was something electrifying about seeing Josh on the field, commanding attention, his every move precise and powerful.
After the games, he’d leave his teammates and adoring fans behind, find me in the stands, and walk home with me. Just us.
We had our own little world outside of school. Josh came over whenever his parents were out of town, and once, when my family went on a weekend road trip, he brought over a bottle he’d swiped from his dad’s liquor cabinet.
We didn’t drink much, but we did sit in the dimly lit living room, music playing softly, and talked for hours about everything—about college, about how much pressure he felt to keep winning games, and how we both secretly wanted to leave Sanger and live somewhere bigger and different.
That was the first night we kissed, just sitting there, a little tipsy and warm from the alcohol. It wasn’t planned. It just happened—soft and slow, like we had all the time in the world.
RECKLESS + RISKY BUSINESS
By November, things between us had started to feel a little reckless, in the best way possible. We both knew we had to keep what was happening between us quiet—this was 1972, after all, and our small southern town wasn’t known for its hospitality to homosexuals. In or out of the closet.
One weekend, Josh’s family went out of town and he invited me over. His house felt huge with just the two of us there, the empty silence replaced with our laughter. We turned the stereo up loud—listening to hits like Don McLean’s “American Pie” and Al Green’s “Let’s Stay Together”—and danced together as only two white boys falling in love can. It was fun if not exactly pretty.
After our dance-a-thon, we sprawled out on the couch, catching our breath.
That’s when Josh looked over at me, his eyes bright with mischief, and said, “This is fun. We should do this every time our parents go out of town.”
And we did. There were plenty more weekends like that one—just the two of us, feeling like we were the only people in the world who mattered.
THE WINTER OF OUR MOST CONTENT
By the time December rolled around, the football season was wrapping up.
Josh had led the team to the state championship, and the whole town was buzzing with excitement. I went to every game, cheering him on from the stands. No one knew that after the game, the star quarterback would pull me under the bleachers for a kiss before he walked me home. Like a true gentleman.
The night of the final championship game was freezing, the kind of cold that cuts through your coat no matter how many layers you’re wearing.
I stood in the bleachers, shivering, but I didn’t care.
Josh was on fire that night, throwing perfect passes and making touchdown after touchdown like the champion he was. When the final whistle blew and the crowd erupted in cheers, I could barely hear myself think.
But I could see him, standing in the middle of the field, smiling from ear to ear. At me.
Later that night, we sat in his dad’s old truck, parked behind the stadium. While we waited for the engine to warm up and the windows to defrost, Josh confessed he didn’t know what he was going to do after graduation.
“Everyone thinks I’m going to play college ball,” he said, staring out the windshield. “But I don’t know if that’s really what I want to do.”
I reached across and squeezed his hand. He smiled as we held hands. His smile made me feel like—whatever happened—everything was going to be okay.
He squeezed my hand back before pulling away to shift the truck into drive.
GETTING MERRY LIKE CHRISTMAS
Josh drove like he played football—confident, reckless at times, but always in control. We hadn’t said much since we’d left the parking lot. Sometimes, we didn’t need to. There was an unspoken language between us now, something deeper than words, stronger than what either of us could understand at the time.
Josh glanced over at me, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. A twinkle in his eye.
"You cold?” he asked. I nodded. He grabbed my arm and slid me across the cold vinyl bench seat to be closer to him.
"Where are we going?" I asked, though it didn’t really matter.
With Josh, I’d go anywhere.
"Someplace private," he said, his voice low, like it was a secret only we were allowed to share. We eventually pulled into his driveway. All the lights were out.
“Family’s out of town. Wanna come in?”
Of course I did.
FINALLY…IT HAPPENED TO ME
Inside, he turned on the tv while I sat on the sofa. Josh smiled and pointed to the loveseat. “Let’s move over there.”
We’d never “moved over there” before.
While Johnny Carson flickered on tv, I watched him walk across the room, trying to memorize everything about this—about him. The curve of his jaw, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath. I’d never felt so alive and so terrified at the same time.
"Come here," he said softly as he sat down and pulled me even closer.
I could feel his heat through our clothes, and my heart raced. His arm slid around my waist, his fingers lightly brushing my bare back. We weren’t kids anymore, not really. We both knew what we wanted, and even though part of me was scared, the bigger part was ready. For him. For us. To be together.
He turned to face me, his eyes more serious and softer than I’d ever seen them.
"I feel like I’m gonna burst if I don’t kiss you right now."
I smiled, my chest tightening with the intensity of it all. "Then kiss me."
And he did. It was slow, deliberate, and more real than any other kiss we’d shared before. There was no rush this time, no frantic fumbling like we were still figuring things out. It was just us, here, together, as we always were.
We kissed like that for hours—hands wandering, but always careful, always tentative. His fingers traced my jawline, my collarbone, as though he was trying to commit every inch of me to memory. My hands found his waist, pulling him even closer until there was no space left between us. Every touch sent shivers down my spine, and when he finally pulled back, we were both breathless.
He rested his forehead against mine, his thumb gently stroking my cheek.
"I…" he started, then stopped, biting his lip like he wasn’t sure if he should say it.
I could feel it too, the weight of the unspoken words hanging between us.
"Josh…" I whispered, my voice shaking just a little.
He smiled, but it was softer now, almost shy.
"I don’t know what this is… but I don’t want it to stop."
"Me neither," I said, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it.
"I’ve never felt like this before. Not with anyone." His voice was a whisper.
I wanted to tell him I felt the same, that he was the only person who’d ever made me feel this way. But the words got stuck in my throat, too heavy, too big. Instead, I kissed him again, pouring everything I couldn’t say into that kiss.
We stayed like that for a long time, wrapped in each other’s arms on that loveseat.
We were teetering on the edge of something big. It wasn’t just about the chemistry class anymore—it was about our chemistry. No equations or proofs required.
Finally, as Johnny Carson went off the air, Josh pulled away, his hand still resting on my chest. "We’re gonna figure this out, right? You and me?"
"Yeah," I said, my voice steady now. "We are."
He smiled then, a real, genuine smile. It looked like the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders. "Good. Because I don’t think I could do this without you."
For the first time, we weren’t just the jock and the nerd. We weren’t the football star and the guy who helped him pass chemistry. We were two young men figuring out who we were, together, and finally starting to accept it.
We weren’t hiding anymore. Not from each other anyway.
Josh turned off the television and led me to his bedroom…
The rest is history. His and my story. For our eyes and ears only.
I might kiss and tell, but you’ll have to use your imagination if you’d like to know what else happened that night.
EPILOGUE
After that first night together, we found more ways to be alone. We exchanged Christmas gifts and snuck off to the park after school, finding quiet spots where no one would see us. We’d talk about what would happen after graduation, but neither of us really had any answers.
One night in late May, just before finals, we were lying on the grass in my backyard, staring up at the stars. Josh turned to me, his hand brushing mine, and said, “What if we just left? What if we didn’t wait for college or football or anything? Just you and me.”
I laughed, but there was something about the way he said it that made me think he was serious. “And go where?” I asked, turning to face him.
“Anywhere,” he said, his voice soft. “Somewhere we can just be ourselves.”
We both knew it wasn’t that simple. But in that moment, it felt like maybe—just maybe—it could be.
The rest of the school year flew by in a blur of exams, football parties, and stolen moments. We never told anyone about us, but we didn’t need to. It was enough to know that what we had was real.
We didn’t need labels, didn’t need anyone else’s approval. It was just Josh Callahan and me, two kids from Sanger High School, figuring it out one day at a time.
ALTERNATIVE AUDIO RECORDING
VINTAGE PHOTOS = INSPIRATION
Josh was inspired by Stu Locklin, an outfielder for the Cleveland Indians in 1955 and 1956. These photos are from his days at the University of Wisconsin.
FAUXTOS
MUSIC
Franz Gordon / Lovely Dinner
Rikard From / Slowly Growing
Arden Forest / Gold Foil
Arden Forest / Ciel
Courtesy Of Epidemic Sound
Josh Callahan + Me