Nathan's breath mingles with mine. He tastes of cinnamon and sex. He suspends his body above me – allowing a flow of cool air to run between our bodies. I hear myself whimper in protest and he grins, shaking his red-brown hair out of his eyes. "The noises you make . . ."

He leans down and his tongue traces my mouth. He lays little kisses down my neck in a direct line to my left nipple. He worries it with his teeth until I groan. He laughs and continues downward to place butterfly kisses on my erect member.

"Nathan," I whine.

He laughs again and pokes his tongue out to taste my skin before he kneels between my thighs. He lifts me, angling himself like he's aiming a machine gun. When he enters me all I can do is clench my fists in the sheets and moan "Uhhmm . . . Nathan . . ."

I wake up drenched in sweat, spread-eagled and pretty sure, judging by the look of my bedspread, that my subconscious sure knows what turns me on.

I turn onto my side, reliving my dream. Yeah, Nathan is definitely my favorite. I've had a huge assortment of wet dream characters – ranging from my brothers to Superman – but Nathan is definitely my favorite.

I'm about to drift back to sleep, despite the state of my sheets – it is a Saturday after all so why not? – when my phone goes off. I really need to change the ring tone from the stupid AT&T jingle. See, I told you, not a typical gay guy.

I roll over and snatch it off my bedside table. "Dream of the devil and the devil shall appear," I mutter.

Sure enough, it's Nathan. What wonderful timing that man has.


"Hey, Pickle," I should mention that the nickname "pickle" has nothing whatsoever to do with my manhood. Really. "Wanna do something today?"

Hmm . . . "something", that always means "watch porn and jack off".

"Nathan, it's like -" I pull my phone away from my ear to check the time. "Ten o'clock in the morning."

"Are you seriously still in bed?" He actually sounds shocked, it's not like I don't sleep in until noon every Saturday or anything.

"Yes, I am."

"Guess I'll come to your house then."

"Nath -"

"Just make sure you have some clothes on by the time I get there."

"Nat -"

"See you in a minute!" Click.


I scramble from my bed and dump my sheets into the communal hamper in the hallway. I pass Garret, toweling his hair, and Austin heading to the shower – both stark naked. I have to make sure not to look too long at their swinging members. Hey, I know they're my brothers, but a penis is a penis, right?

I slip into Todd's room to dig through his porn stash, knowing I won't get caught since he left for college last week. I pick one I'm sure Nathan and I haven't watched before . . . well, reasonably certain.

When the doorbell rings, I don't have clothes on. Oh well, it's not like I was going to keep them all the way on for long, right?

My stomach twists in knots as I listen to Garrett – presumably dressed now – answer the door and make small talk with Nathan while they walk toward my room. I can't help but see Nathan's dick in my mind and remember the sensation of him pressing into me in my dream, but I push them out of my head - staring at your friend's crotch for no good reason while naked is not exactly unsuspicious.

He comes in without knocking. Nathan's like that – doesn't ask to come over or to come in, he just does.

"Nice clothes." He raises his eyebrows and I shrug.


He smirks. "Hardly. So, you got it?"

I wave the video case.

He snatches it and reads the title. "Busty Betty?" he questions.

I shrug again. I didn't look at the title because . . . I couldn't care less . . .

"Ok, whatever."

He push in the movie and plop down, our backs leaning up against the bed. He gazes at the TV screen . . . I watch his hands as they start their routine, my own hands just trying to keep up with the thrill running through my groin.

I can't move my eyes away. I hear the lusty moans of the porno and watch Nathan's magic hands. When he finally reveals his member I have to hold back a moan of my own. I watch intently, waiting for him to begin stroking himself, but he doesn't.

I look up at his face to see him watching me instead of the groaning woman on the screen.

Crud, crud, crud, crud, crud, crud, crud, cr-

"Have you always watched me when we do this?"

"Er . . ."

What exactly do you say to that kind of question?

I hate clichés. Why couldn't I have fallen in love with another guy like I'm supposed to? What did I do wrong, oh great gay God in the sky?