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"So were talking bars, clubs, parties, and the likes?"

"The gay ones."

"Right. That's what I meant."

"Only if and when you feel that you're ready. It took me about a year before I was ready for all that, and you've only been out for about a week, so I don't expect you to be ready just yet. Besides, are you really ready to leave the straight popular world, only to go to the gay popular world?"

"What do you mean? I don't want to go back to anything as toxic as the popular group that I came from—we both came from. Are you saying that the gay world is going to be just like that, too?"

"No, not all of the gay world. That's not what I meant. I mean, sure, just like every school has its popular group—every place and every world, big or small, will have its own popular group. What I mean is that there are toxic, popular people and toxic, popular groups all throughout the world, in both the straight one and the gay one. And let's face it," he says, pausing as he looks me up and down and back into my eyes as he smiles, coquettishly—did he just check me out? He places a hand firmly on my shoulder as he continues, "you'll, definitely, be popular in the gay world."

"I don't like the sound of that. Wait—how do you know that I'll be popular there?" I ask rather coyly, pretending as if I've missed the point of his double entendre in hopes of bypassing it entirely, so we can discuss the point that still bothers me—can I avoid falling back into the toxic trap of popularity, or am I doomed to repeat my mistakes?

"You're joking, right? Or are you just fishing for compliments? I mean have you seen your own reflection at all? You're not just eye candy—you're dream-worthy candy—and the guys out there are gonna be having wet ones at the very thought of eating you right up." His hand still on my shoulder, his amber halos mere inches away. I place my palm firmly against his chest, gently pressing him slightly away to emphasize my sudden discomfort at our close distance, especially as he speaks such dirty jokes.

"That was a little much," I say, fighting a blush from creeping over my features.

"You practically asked for it. Oh! And look! Blush like that and the whole bar will buy you drinks—even the bartender will want to take you home."

"Enough, already." With one hand, I pat him on his chest, while, with the other, I gently slip his hand off of my shoulder.

"And let that cute, pink glow go away so easily?"

"Are you done?" I ask, rolling my eyes, trying to will the heat in my cheeks to go away.

"Not quite—or, perhaps, I am—seeing as I was going to offer to take you home with me, but you already happen to be here." He winks, smoothly and suggestively—clearly, a well-practised gesture for him.

"Are you finished messing with me yet?" I sigh.

"How can we be finished, when we haven't even started? How can I be messing with you, if you still happen to be clothed, and you've yet to finish?" He smirks.

"All right, cool it. You're being such an animal." I turn away from him, embarrassed at how far he's taking his jokes—but, then again, I don't really know if he's even joking at all. I scoot myself back and away from him a little. The very thought of him seriously flirting with me makes me nervous. I'm not sure why I feel so uncomfortable with the possibility of him doing so, because it's not as if I'm not already used to people flirting with me. Why is it that it's just with him that I suddenly feel so shy about receiving dirty innuendo, whether he's joking or not?

"Sorry, I smelled the blood rising to the surface of your cheeks and like any shark, I went for a taste, looking for a meal to suck up and swallow whole. Who can resist making those cheeks engorge so beautifully pink? One might wonder if any other part of you is so engorged. Does the beautiful, pink ceiling not complement the hardwood of your floor?" His smirk widens.

"You've had way too much practice with all of this, haven't you?" I rub my hand across the searing heat within my cheeks, attempting to hide them completely from his view as I continue to face away from him. I cough, clearing my throat into my cupped fist, hoping that he'll move on.

"I wouldn't mind a little more practice, if it's with you. What's to stop us from enjoying a very friendly and very intense practice session? We can practice together—all night long."

"Sleep," I say, plainly and simply answering his question. "Don't you have work tomorrow?"

"That won't stop me from the work at hand. I mean who can sleep when there's so much work to be handled? I'm to much of a handyman with too handy of hands that I won't let the need to sleep stop me from getting my hands dirty and wet with your job that will need both of my hands to finish," he says and my jaw parts open as if it commends him for his skillfulness of tongue, however dirty that tongue may be.

"Well, I'm going to get going. So, you can go handle your own work on your own accord. And whether you use one hand or two, you can work it—alone," I say, returning kind with kind.

"Ah, bravo—well done." He claps and I turn to face him again finally. His smirk steadily relaxes into a more serious demeanor, relaxing me into feeling as if he might finally be done with his jokes—or whatever they might have been. "Before you go, I think you can relax—I'll introduce you to the right people, most of the time, and I'm confident that you'll know how to handle yourself now anyways—you're certainly smart enough to know how to thread the needle."

~ ~ ~

As I drive home, the Corvette roaring into the darkness of the nearly empty highway, I can't remember the last time that I've gone home alone so early on a Saturday night—ever. The prospect of returning to an empty home and into an empty bed, makes me shrivel with the loneliness that I've never known prior to the whirlwind of these past few days. It hurts in the pit of my chest, but it's an odd pain—one that I can only continue to describe as a seemingly odd contradiction—how can pain feel so hollow?

Perhaps the monster has left—and I'm glad it has—but, now that it's gone, it's left so little of a person behind in it's wake, the shell of a broken existence, scared and alone, left to fend for itself without the evil monster to hide behind. But, does that make me even more evil still? The greater monster, for having used the monster as some sort of shield? No, that's nonsense—I didn't use the monster. Right? I'm the good person that the monster had locked away. Right?

The loneliness beckons. Now, I regret not flirting back with Jordan. Perhaps, I should have taken him up on his offer—joking or not, I'm sure that I could have turned it into a good night. But, I shake that thought away. He's a friend. He's just a friend. What's more, he's my only friend. And I can't risk complicating that. I can't risk screwing that up. Besides, I don't have any feelings for him. Right?

If anything, I'm weary that perhaps my brain is just searching for a quick, easy, and desperate rebound kind of thing, and one that's simply out of convenience with the first and only gay friend that I have. That wayward thought will disappear as soon as I meet new people—and Jordan is right, I need to meet new people. That makes his friendship even more invaluable because he will be my one and only guide, the gateway into the gay world that I've always been so afraid to join. I'm beyond grateful for his friendship, especially since I'm sure that I need him more than he's ever had need of me. I have to protect our friendship—I can never allow myself to throw it away for something so meaningless as a single night in bed. But, what if it wasn't just one night?

What would I do if he, himself, somehow, does have hidden feelings for me? Would I be so quick to turn him away? Surely, it's all doomed to failure if I can't even return his feelings. Would rejecting him in the attempt to save our friendship just serve to destroy that very same friendship that I so desperately wish to protect? Either way, am I doomed to lose the only friendship that I have left? Perhaps, I'm getting ahead of myself here—neither of us have feelings for each other. Still, the possibility, however remote, haunts me as I cruise down the highway into the haze of the creeping fog and into the darkness of night.