Before last night, I never understood my friends' obsession with getting laid. When I had sex the first time, I left feeling deeply underwhelmed. I assumed my dissatisfaction was because I barely knew the girl. We met on vacation when I was fifteen. Her family was staying in the hotel suite next door. She was a year older than me. We kept bumping into each other in the hotel lobby, at breakfast, at the pool. I suspected she liked me because she was always watching me, smiling if she caught my eye. Alone in the elevator one day, she made her interest very clear when she kissed me (without consent). I kissed her back because it felt weird to be so unyielding. I suspected my friends would be delighted to be in this situation. So, I pretended. Doing what they would do. Then she grabbed my crotch, before breaking away to stare right into my eyes. All my friends were losing their virginity around that time, so I thought if the girl was up for it, I would try. I invited her back to my room, knowing Rachel had gone out shopping with Mom, and Dad was off doing whatever Dad did on vacations. Shuffleboard maybe? Sex was not the magical experience movies made it out to be. It was awkward and stressful and I barely finished. She seemed bored by the end. We didn't talk again afterwards.

I somehow managed to go almost two years without doing it again. Without even the desire to try. The two girls I dated during that time were both very into the idea of waiting. One of them—Ashley—was for religious, not-before-marriage reasons. She took me to a church picnic for our second date. We only dated for like a month because I found out she was an obsessive psycho with jealousy issues. The other girl—Dinah—just wasn't ready. We dated for over a year. Honestly, if Dinah hadn't moved to Ohio in January, I probably would've kept dating her until she got sick of me. I adored her. She was very sweet, and we liked a lot of the same older music.

Then came Summer. She had always been such a cool girl. Always sort of in my orbit. We weren't friends, but we hung out around the same places, at the same parties. We'd occasionally end up spending time together, pre-gaming before a party or some sporting event. We cracked jokes all the time, and she loved that I loved dancing. I never really wanted to date her. I just wanted to be her friend.

Then my friends started hounding me about being single for four months and I felt pressured into asking her out. Brandon said she was perfect for me. We started dating at the end of May. About a month in, a game of Never Have I Ever, which I didn't even want to play, revealed that I'd had sex before. A few days later, she suggested our first time. Letting me know she'd done it with her previous boyfriend, so it wasn't a big deal. Instead of being honest, telling her I didn't want to, I said, "Okay." I genuinely cared for her, so I hoped it would be better. While it was less disastrous than my previous attempt, I still didn't think it was anything remarkable. I wasn't sure if it was good for Summer, but she kept initiating it, so I complied.

But none of that compared to being with Emmett. That was on a whole other level from before. Every kiss, every touch, brought pleasure before we even got to the actual sex part. The whole time, I hoped Emmett didn't know how nervous I was. More so than my first time with whatever her name was—I thought it started with a B.

Even though it was painful at times—and I was still a bit sore—it felt incredibly special. It was how I imagined my first time would be. I loved Emmett. And I knew Emmett loved me. This was just another way to show that love.

I smiled, thinking back on it on my drive to Brandon's house. I parked in front of the massive brick house that always made me massively uncomfortable. Brandon's parents and all three of his brothers were staunchly conservative. Even before I knew I was gay, I knew I had much more liberal ideologies than the Pendletons cared for. Once, during a discussion about allowing teachers to lead a prayer before class, I was asked my opinion. I stupidly told them my actual thoughts, opposing the idea. Stating that not every student in our school was Christian. I said, "By your standard, we'd have to lead a prayer for every major religion, which would be time-consuming." They looked horrified, like I'd just stood up and plopped my dick on the dinner table. Brandon clamped a hand over his mouth, hardly able to contain his amusement.

Thankfully, I didn't have to go inside today. I walked around the side of the house, down to the pond. The others had already gathered on the lavish covered dock with fishing poles, availing themselves of cold beers from the fully stocked bar. The television suspended from the ceiling was playing a football game, but I didn't care to check the teams.

Duke was the only one missing. He'd barely spent any time with us since Emmett ended things with him. I suspected Duke didn't want to be around me. After all, I was the reason he didn't have Emmett. I could hardly blame him for being upset. Being Emmett-less was a sucky state to be in.

Laying eyes on me, Brandon froze, with a beer bottle hanging in midair in front of his lips. "What the fuck happened to you?"

Could he tell that I had sex—and that I actually enjoyed it for once? Was it written all over my face?

"What?" I asked, looking around at my friends, who all wore matching shocked expressions.

"Dude, your hair!" Jackson blurted.

"Oh." I touched it and chuckled. I'd completely forgotten about my hair change. But now that it was at the forefront of my mind, I worried about what they'd say. Would they say it looked stupid? Would they call it gay? "Um, yeah. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. I was with Rachel when she got hers done, so I just said 'fuck it' and did it, too."

That wasn't a total lie. I was with Rachel when I got it done, and it definitely was a "fuck it" moment for me, even if I didn't say the words aloud.

"I like it," Jackson said.

Brandon shook his head, setting his beer down on the whitewashed railing. "I mean, yeah, it's cool. But it's so unlike you. You never never do crazy shit like this. That's more my area of expertise."

I shrugged, crossing my arms loosely over my chest. "I'm trying to be more spontaneous. Not care so much about what other people think of me."

Brandon clapped me on the back, making me stumble forward a step. I always hated when he did that. "I've been saying that shit for years, bro. It's about fucking time you started listening to me."

Of all people, I should've known Brandon would be cool with it. He was very into appearances. He got regular manicures, and highlights to maintain his golden locks, which hadn't been naturally golden since about the fourth grade. He even had a tanning bed in his basement so he could keep a full tan year-round. He claimed the girls he hooked up with liked that he didn't have any tan lines.

I totally didn't get that. I loved Emmett's tan lines (his weren't nearly as prominent as mine, though). I liked the reminder that part of him was reserved for my eyes only.

I just laughed at Brandon's bravado and said, "I was a fool for ever ignoring you, Bran."

Brandon nudged my shoulder. "Damn straight."

"Jesus!" Mark shook his head, reeling in his lure. "Can we be done with all this Queer Eye shit already? I came here to fish, not gossip about Clay's hair."

My chest tightened. I suddenly couldn't breathe. It was the first time any of them had made a remark like that since I started my coming out journey. I'd thought that perhaps knowing a gay person—Emmett, obviously—had made them realize how harmful that kind of talk could be. They had an actual face to think about, not just some abstract idea of gay people.

Jackson's eyes met mine, probably to check that I was okay. I wasn't. What Mark said wasn't even the worst thing I'd ever heard. I didn't know why it was hitting me so hard.

In a moment that completely shocked me, Brandon whirled on Mark and yelled, "Did anyone ask for your worthless fucking opinion?" He looked around, raising his arms to the side, as if seeking someone to speak on Mark's behalf. "Didn't think so."

Mark looked terribly confused. "What the hell's your problem, bro?"

"I-I forgot... I forgot my phone... um, in my car." I backed away slowly, hoping they didn't notice the outline of my phone in my pocket. "I'll be right back."

As Brandon and Mark bickered, I flipped around and hiked back up the dock, doing my best not to flee too quickly. I needed to get away, but I didn't want them to get suspicious.

Once I was out of eyesight, I sprinted back to the driveway. My hands trembled as I fumbled with my keys to get my car unlocked. I nearly dropped them twice and accidentally hit the button to set my alarm. The horn beeped, making me jump. "Shit!"

I finally got it open and climbed in, doing the deep breathing trick to restrain the tears before they could start. It had worked so far.

I cranked the engine and turned the air on full blast. When Journey started berating me with "Don't Stop Believing," I hit the power button to silence Steve Perry. I needed quiet to work on steeling my nerves so I could get back out there. I definitely couldn't just leave. That would bring up too many unanswerable questions.

After a few minutes, my heart rate returned to a somewhat normal pace. It didn't feel like I was going into a panic attack anymore, so that was good.

I got out of the car and closed my eyes. I took a deep breath. The air around Brandon's house always had a musky, fishy smell because of their pond. I hated that smell. But the others loved fishing, so I did my best to ignore it usually. Right now, it was making me want to spew my guts on the gravel driveway.

"Hey!"

I opened my eyes to see Brandon walking toward me. The gravel of the driveway crunched beneath his electric blue Reeboks.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You look kinda pale." He pointed toward the pond. "Look, I told Mark to cut out that homophobic shit."

I shook my head, trying for a laugh, but it was mostly just a strangled breath. "W-Why?"

"Because of you." He said that so matter-of-factly, as if I should know that.

"Me?" My chest felt heavy again. He totally knew. "I don't... I don't care about that."

"Come on, dude." Brandon eyed me for a long moment. "I know how close you are with Emmett."

Did he? Had he really figured it out? I kind of hoped he had, because this attitude was not what I expected from Brandon. Mostly because of his family, not so much Brandon himself.

"I know you guys are super tight, maybe even as tight as you and Jackson."

That was an understatement.

I wanted to laugh. I wasn't sure if I was more disappointed or relieved that he still thought me and Emmett were just friends.

I guess I was relieved. I wasn't really ready to deal with coming out to my friends yet. If I told Brandon, I'd have to tell Tyler and Mark. I couldn't imagine doing that. Especially not after what just happened. I was about ready to crawl back into the closet, turn off the light, and hide behind all the clothes.

"I know it's gotta suck to hear people talk shit about something that's a fundamental part of someone you care about. It's like when I hear my family being racist about immigrants, talking about Mexican people crossing the border and shit. It makes my blood boil because of Lucia, who practically raised me. Or some redneck at school saying the N-word. I get so pissed off because I love Duke and Summer. And I just want to punch that person."

I nodded. I said pretty much the same thing to Emmett about hearing people being homophobic. Only now those people would apply those same thoughts to me if they knew. Brandon didn't have to worry about that.

Brandon walked over and hooked his arm around my neck, shaking me. "Come on. If Mark says something else, I'll hold his arms and you can punch him in the balls a couple times."

I couldn't help but laugh, even though my heart was still racing. "Fine."

"Thank fuck! I was already about to strangle one of those assholes before you showed. It doesn't help that Tyler's being extra stupid today. And Mark's been acting like a bitch since he got here."

"What about Jackson?"

Brandon scoffed. "Jax is so pussy-whipped he doesn't go more than five minutes without texting his girlfriend. I about grabbed his goddamn phone and tossed it in the pond."

As we walked across the lawn toward the dock, I asked, "Hey, whatever happened with you and Emmett's friend—that Makenzie girl?"

"Oh, God." Brandon wrinkled his face with disgust. "That shit fizzled real quick. She's even more conceited than I am, if you can believe it."

"I really can't."

"Fuck you, dude!" He released me in order to shove me.

I shook my head and smiled as Brandon started laughing. He might be spoiled and self-centered, but he had a way of making people feel better. It's why I liked him so much.

Hopefully, he would still like me once he knew my secret.