This is how it all began for me. I hope you will grant me your understanding with my use of artistic license, but the story presented is real. It is the story of my youth. It begins in a doorway, where I found myself huddled to avoid being drenched by the falling rain. I looked across the road to the neon lights of the bar that beckoned me. The repeated drum beat of some electro-pop song echoed across the nearly deserted street.

I looked left and right making sure that no one watched, pulled my coat a little tighter to avoid getting the cascading rainfall, and ran towards the warm glow. Grabbing the door, I pulled it open and ducked inside. It was darker than I expected, and a lot less crowded. I quickly scanned the room. “Good,” I thought, “no one from school here.” Eighteen and still in high school, I dreaded the thought of being caught. Afterall, I certainly wasn’t out—not even to myself. “It’s just a test,” I had repeated to myself, providing the reassurance to make this bold exploration, “just to see if I like it.”

Of course I would like it—my favorite part of the day was heading to the communal shower rooms after soccer practice every day. All those boys my age, naked, wrestling with each other. I could barely avoid an erection each day watching them rub soap across their bodies— “What are you havin’?” The barman’s question pulled me from my thoughts.

“Umm…” I paused and looked around. The man nearest to me was drinking a can of beer.

“I’ll have that one,” I said, pointing at it. The man beside me gave a slight laugh.

“Good choice,” he said. I watched the bartender shuffle off to fetch it.

When I turned away from the bar I found the man’s hand extended. “I’m Mark. What’s your name?” he asked.

“Oh, umm, I’m Jake. Nice to meet you.” It was then that I got a good look at him. Undoubtedly tall, though he sat on a stool, he sported dark blonde hair that framed rugged, manly good looks. Light stubble formed the shadow of a beard. He was older than me, perhaps in his early thirties, and sported the broad shoulders that come only from years of gym visits. The bartender returned with my drink and I gave him the proper cash with a tip. He gave me a once-over glance, smiled, and walked away.

“He thinks you’re cute,” Mark informed me. At five foot eight, with brown hair and brown eyes, I tended to blend in with the crowd in appearance. Yet years of gym visits and swimming had given me a very tight body, a defined six-pack, and smooth physique. Mark and I talked while we drank the beers. We continued to talk through the next beer, and the one after that. Soon enough, I felt the buzz of alcohol clouding my brain. That explains, perhaps, why I found myself in a taxi with Mark, and then inside his apartment shortly after. ——— “Would you like something more to drink?” he asked me.

Both of us stood in the living room of his small, one-bedroom apartment. I could see the bedroom through the open door. I gulped. “I…

Find out what happens next…