I first noticed him in the cafeteria of my high school.  He was a tall thin but huskily dark fellow wearing blue jeans and a light blue button up shirt with white vertical lines running through it hanging outside of his jeans.  His hair was ink black and his eyes a gentle shade of brown.  What primarily caught my attention were his shirt sleeve cuffs which were hanging lose; unbuttoned about his wrists.  I also noticed his good looks and how he carried himself.  There was something within me that called to be his true friend.

From that day on I made it a point to keep a discreet eye on this individual because he was different from all the rest and I was attracted to him in a way I still can not describe.  I thought that he was one of the American Indians that attended Mountain View High School in Mesa, Arizona because he always hung out with others that I knew to be Indian but I never knew his exact tribe or even his name.

I did know that every time I saw him he was wearing the same shirt and pants (or ones very identical).  One of my first thoughts was to offer him some of my older shirts but I did not know how I would be able to get away with that at the foster group home where I lived.

I also mostly saw him during lunch time in the school cafeteria and always he was with the same group of guys.  Once I got up my courage and went over to their corner of the cafeteria to introduce myself to him but before I could get too near their table two (2) of the big guys got up, blocked my path and asked me to split without me even getting a chance to say anything.  Even though I was shaken up by the behavior of his pals I was aware enough to notice that he looked up, briefly looked at me and then returned to his meal.  Another time I saw him in the school corridor alone and I once again tried to make contact by walking beside him and offering my greetings but even though he slightly turned his head to look at me, he immediately turned away and kept on walking.  I was hurt but gave him the benefit of a doubt.  Perhaps, he was shy, or did not speak the language, or was deaf or mute (I never did actually ever get to hear his voice) or something.

Looking back on it now I realize he probably just didn't like white guys or white guys he thought were fairies.  I'll never know for sure but I will say that his physical looks were something to behold not to mention his shirt and the way he wore his shirt sleeves everyday.  To this day I wonder why he never would button his cuffs or roll up his sleeves.  Whatever the case, he still makes a appearance in my fantasies and dreams where we meet, playfully arm wrestle, hold hands, hug, and just exist as good friends who respect each other and enjoy each other's company.  Sometimes we're playing in a swimming pool fully clothed and I am watching with excitment as his shirt sleeves flow up and down his nice arms in the water's current as he moves about.  In other scenarios we're cuddling on the couch and I'm having a grand time playing with his shirt sleeves and massaging his arms.

But NEVER EVER have I had thoughts of him (or anyone else for that matter) naked or in sexual intercourse type situations.  All of my clothing fantasies and thoughts revolve either around cuddling, holding hands, arm wrestling, embracing, or perhaps wading into the water in our shirts and slacks.  This truly excites me to no end but show me a nude body of either gender and naught happens.  The most explicit I sometimes get are fantasies of rubbing against another fully clothed guy or watching each other while massaging our private parts through our front pant pocket lining.

I will always remember this man because he was the first one that opened my eyes to how great clothing can look on a guy and the pleasures I derive just from the shirt sleeves and arms.  If I could, I would shake his hand and sincerely thank him for this even if he does not dain to give me the time of day.  Maybe someday soon he, himself, will change for the better as I hope we all do in this life and beyond.  I wish him only the best from the bottom of my heart.