The other guys were still laughing about who owed who a soda or something dumb, but I was standing there, stunned, trying not to collapse under the weight of what I had just felt… and what it meant. Dear God, please don’t let me be gay, I thought, repeating it like a mantra. The showers were the real kicker. My inferiority complex was on fire at the sight of it, like it had been designed to make me feel inadequate. Not just because of him—but because I realized I wasn’t sure what I was more nervous about: the exposure, or how much I didn’t want to look away. “What’s your name?” he asked, friendly enough to make me feel slightly less like an intruder. But his thumb pressed at an angle, right against my hole, that made my knees buckle slightly. “Hey,” I managed, my voice cracking like I was back in middle school. It all started at the beginning of the school year.
