Jason had been different, though. Maybe it was the English public-school thing, all those straight boys confined to single-sex dormitories. They ended up experimenting with each other and . . . . Holy fuck, what did he know? Only that Jason had been kind and gentle. And he had been – there was no doubt about that! – turned on. Luigi smiled a little. He was far from taking his attractiveness for granted. He knew that many men saw him as beautiful, but his own uncertainties and insecurities made him aware also that he wasn't a real man like the men he so lusted after, like the men he longed to love and to have love him. He might be beautiful outside but inside he felt disgusting: a failure, a traitor to the race of male-kind, a marginal nothing. He knew – of course he knew – that this was just his own internalised homophobia speaking, but it didn't help. Deep down he was convinced not only that he was ugly – and no mirror could persuade him otherwise – and, worse, unlovable.
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