I could tell that Johnny was completely annoyed with me, and I knew why he was upset, but there just wasn't anything I could do to change what had happened.
Earlier in the week, Johnny and I were at a local bar, straight, and streaming with full chested, round bootied gals dying to dance dance dance the cock stick fantastic. There was one girl, in particular, that sweet baby brother was totally hard for and was wanting a deal with the Devil to take this little party out from the bar and right into her panties. Deal breaker being his party pooping fag of a brother (that would be me, btw), couldn't raise himself to wing man status for hot friend of hot girl. Even if I could have risen, broken wing and all, I wouldn't have, but Johnny didn't see it that way.
Inside, the bar was stuffy and hot; a moist air of body heat and sexual arousal hung heavy about us. Exiting, we didn't really talk much, both enjoying the suddenly cool, fresh air against our skin, as we both enjoyed a peaceful quiet.
Finally, he says, "What happened? Everything was fine when I went to buy drinks. You didn't tell her you were gay, DID YOU?!?"
"Didn't have to, she guessed..."
"Come on, you're not THAT gay."
"Apparently, I AM that gay." I paused a second, to let my statement sink in a bit, "Look, I tried to keep it cool, but she was crazy. You saw her on the dance floor, she was like a half crazed octopus...her hands were EVERYWHERE! She even reached around to grab at me, but was none to happy with what she found. Turning me around, and with a quizzical stare, asked me point blank if I was gay. What could I do? I just shrugged and smiled."
"Seriously? You weren't turned on by that?"
Again, shrugging, "No, not really."
"That why they left in a huff?"
"Well, SHE, more than your little friend. SHE called me a 'fag', and high heeled it over to grab their stuff, whispered something to, what's her name, Sara(?), and pulled her out the door, giving me one final grimace before exiting."
It was a short walk from the bar, but once home, Johnny was quick to grab a beer from the fridge, downing half before even leaving the kitchen. Dejected, he lounged on the couch with his half drunk beer in his lap, and played up the part of sad drunken sap to perfection. He is the baby, through and through, sulky and mad if things don't go his way. I can't help but stare at him blankly, not sure what to say or do.
Staring back at me, "What?"
"Nothing...just sorry, that's all."
"FUCK YOU, Raf! You're always fucking sorry!" Mocking me he whines, "Oh, I'm so sorry...so sorry...don't be mad, I'm sorry." Then, back to angry voice, "You're not sorry, don't fuck'n lie to me, you don't care about any of us!"
"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?"
"Please, like you don't know.
"Enlighten me, John...please."
Suddenly, looking honestly defeated and sad, he says, "Nothing, never mind."
"Come on, Johnny, this is obviously bigger than losing out on a one night stand. Talk to me, what's going on?
Looking down, he asks me, "When did you know?"
I roll my eyes.
Inwardly, I couldn't help but think how much I hate this fucking question.
When did I know what...myself?
How can you not know yourself?
How can you not know something deep inside, at the very core of who you are?
How can you not know your own desires?
How can you NOT know...
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