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When a person greets you at a door by almost hitting you in the head with a bat, it's a pretty good sign that the person you're visiting is crazy.

And this happened twice now with Danny, so I wasn't really sure what to think, honestly. I mean, "This guy's a total psychopath" was a pretty prominent thought. But "I'm absolutely mental for visiting this guy after almost getting my head knocked off my shoulders" was also pretty far up there.

"H-Hey Danny." I say.

"Mark." He says, looking at me contemplatively, as if he was actually weighing the pros and cons of just smashing my skull in. "What brings you over here so late?"

"W-Well, I just . . . um, I wanted to . . . t-to-"

"What, celebratory blowjob after a game well played?" he asks, smiling smugly, even licking his lips. "I have to say, you _were_pretty good out there."

"N-No, I wanted- wait, you watched the game?"

"What, too non-stereotypical?" he asks, gesturing me to come in with the bat.

"Well, it's just unexpected. I never thought you'd be into sports."

"It's a game where two hordes of fit men tackle each other for a ball. I think it'd be pretty strange for me to not want to watch." He says, closing the door and putting aside the bat, but not before locking all three different locks.

"Way to make it gay." I say. I bite my tongue immediately. If he got offended, the bat was still in his radius.

"Hey, not my fault the sport's so homoerotic." He says, flopping on the couch, scratching his belly.

Looking at him now, he was dressed very different than his usual attire. Rather than his fashionable high-end clothes, he was in a plain white T-shirt and boxers.

"Look. We . . . we need to talk," I say, sitting on what little space there was left on the couch.

"Bout' what?" he asks, stretching out his legs until they were in my lap. I flinch, and he notices. But he doesn't pull back at all.

"Danny, a-about last week . . . that was a mistake."

"Finishing the project early? I admit we probably didn't have to pull an all-nighter, but-"

"I'm not gay."

"Pfft, and I'm a fox." He says, scoffingly. "Got anymore insightful findings, captain obvious?"

"I'm serious!"

"Seriously a tight-ass." He says, kicking back as if there was absolutely nothing wrong. "Of course you're not gay, that should be obvious."

"Yeah. I'm not gay, s-so-"

"But it's easy to say what you're not." He says, sitting up, getting dangerously close to me.

"Wh-What do you mean?" I ask, trying to look away. Anywhere but his eyes.

"You know what I mean." He says, taking his legs back and leaning closer. Those damn eyes seemed like they could see right through me.

I say nothing. But he doesn't really wait.

"What are you?"

"Straight." I say, curtly.

"Liar." He says. And I look at him, ready to rebuke.

But I can't.

"I . . ."

"Trick question." He says, poking me on my nose, then turning around, his tail brushing over my neck, his scent deeply imbedded into it.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't go for a sniff.

"You're Mark. That's it. Simple as that." He says, going into his kitchen. I get up and quickly follow. "You really shouldn't overcomplicate things."

"B-But I'm not gay!"

"Jesus, yes, I know!" he says, giving me the most tired look. "We can say a lot of things you're not. An armadillo, a grade-A douchebag, straight, an idiot . . . maybe."

"S-So what am I?!"

"Does it really matter?" he asks, pouring himself and me a cup of water.

"To me!"

"Then you're bi."

"Didn't you hear me?! I'm not into dudes!" I say, basically screaming and this close to tearing out my fur.

"Liar again. You said you weren't gay." He says rather smugly. God I just wanted to kisssmack his face.

"Yeah, so, not into dudes."

"So what about all the people in the middle?" he asks, giving a kind of "duh" face. Is there a formal name for that? Questions for later.

"Okay, fine. I'll correct myself. I'm _not_into dudes." I say. Sternly this time. With some conviction. Yeah, I really mean it this time.

"Look, Mark, I really think you're just overcomplicating this. It's really simple."

"How is any of this simple? Not that it isn't. I am simply straight."

"Mark, sexuality is a complicated thing-"

"I thought you said it was simple."

"And I meant it." He says, handing me the glass of water.

"You're not making any sense." I say, taking a sip from my cup and following him back to the couch.

We sit down.

"Look, it's . . . it's weird to have to explain it, honestly."

"Why? Cause all this was just natural to you?" we both put our waters on the ground. No table nearby.

"No." he says, leaning back just looking at the ceiling now.

"You . . . you gonna continue? Or . . ."

"I guess I just never gave a fuck." He says. "I spent a total of maybe at most a minute of freaking out about my sexuality before I thought to myself 'why the fuck does this even matter?'. You know? I just, honest to goodness, never cared."

He sits up.

"But I care." I say, leaning forward, letting out a sigh.

"I know." He says, pulling out a candy bar from who-knows where. "Want some emergency stress chocolate?"

". . . Yeah, sure." I say, taking the wrapped up candy from him. I quickly unwrap it and take only a small bite off, popping it into my mouth. Who could possibly say no to wafer covered in chocolate?

"Okay . . . I'm gonna give you my view on things. Take what you want, I don't care." He says, clearing his throat. "Ahem . . . To begin, sexuality, in my opinion is fairly fluid."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm." He says, running his index finger across the edge of his paw-pads.

"How so?"

"Well . . . it's not as if you're born immediately knowing what you're into. As we grow, we find out what we like and don't like. Some of us sexually age faster than others. Others don't really know what they want, so they explore."

"So . . . you can change what you like, like orientation?"

"Oh, god no. Jesus, that is not what I was going for." He says, scratching his palm now. "It's more like . . . as a child, you're not worried about who you wanna get with, you know? You're worried about cooties and crushes. It's simpler, kind of."

"Okay . . . I think I'm getting it, kind of." That was a lie.

"Um . . . I'm going to try again."

"I think you should."

"Okay . . . whew, fresh start." He says, shaking his paws now. I take another chunk of chocolate. "So I'm totally gay, right?"

"Right."

"Wrong."

"What?"

"So there are degrees. Of straightness and gayness." He actually goes over one of the arms of the couches and starts rummaging through his haphazardly tossed backpack. But the view was not bad repulsive.

"Okay, here we go." He brought out a piece of graph paper, and starts to actually draw out a fucking chart. "So we can imagine it as a kind of line graph. Gay on one side-" the left "-straight on the other-" right "and the middle is bi."

"So where's asexual and pansexual?" "Shut up." "Noted."

He crumples up the piece of paper.

"So not the perfect representation." He says bitterly. "Okay . . . so let's start by determining sexuality."

"Sounds good."

"So at it's simplest, it's who you want to fuck with, gender wise." He says. I nod. "Most complicatedly, it's who you can love."

"Okay . . . so hypothetical." He nods, fingers now tracing the knuckles on the back of his hands. "I date a woman who feels they're a man trapped in a woman's body. Which am I?"

"Simply, straight on the surface. Complicatedly gay throughout."

. . . .

"GAH!" he says, taking back his chocolate and taking a piece off himself. "I hate this."

"I do too."

He puts the chocolate between us, and we both just eat away at it, piece by piece.

"Does it really matter that much to you?" he asks. We look at each other. "I mean . . . can't you just say you like what you like, and move on?"

"It's . . . it's not that simple with me. Not like for you."

"Oh, me?" he asks, looking almost offended.

"Yeah! You got it all figured out! You never even freaked out!" I say, laughing at that point.

"I'm pretty sure I had it harder than normal!" he says, chuckling as well. "My coming out in school? It was accidental, because I thought no one gave a flying shit." We both laugh. "And suddenly, I realize it's a big fucking deal to everyone else."

"Cuz' it is!"

"It shouldn't be." He says, taking another piece of chocolate. "Just fuck whoever you want to fuck. Like seriously. Why does anyone care? Like, there are people who won't take blood, just because they're gay. Like, gay people actually cannot donate."

"Right, the whole thing with gay people having a higher likelihood of contracting aids."

"Is that a thing?!"

"The rumor is."

"Unbe-fucking-lievable."

"Heh . . . look at us, talking as if we already know what the fuck you are." He says. The chocolate was starting to run out.

"Well . . . I'm not freaking out anymore."

"Wonder why that is." He says, tiredly.

"Probably because it's so damn funny seeing you all stressed."

"Ass." He says, weakly punching me in the shoulder. "I mean . . ."

"What is it?"

"Well . . . okay, so I'm totally gay, right?"

"Yeah." I say. He starts rubbing his hands now.

"But, well . . . don't tell anyone, but there was this girl I had a huge thing for."

"Shit, no kiddin'? Who?"

"You know that deer from choir?"

"Arya, why?"

"I really loved that girl. Like, no joke." He says, taking a big chunk of chocolate. "But she was the only one. She was special like that . . ."

"So . . . you sayin' you're like my Arya? Someone I'd go gay for?"

"I don't know."

"Out of chocolate." "Shit. Got any on you?" "Nope."

We sit there. Me looking at his paws, and him, looking at god knows what.

"I don't see why you'd go gay for me." "What do you mean?" "C'mon, look at me. Fat, lazy, living in this dump." "I don't know, you're pretty easy on the eyes."

He laughs, telling me to shut up while smacking me on my arm. I may have tensed up a bit for a little showboating.

"You really are." "Pfft." "I'm serious!" "Hahaha!" "I like . . . I like the you who isn't trying so hard." "And what's that supposed to mean?" "Well, it looks like you give a lot of fucking effort. Always being above everything, always clean and prepared-" "Is that a bad thing?" "No, but I like you better with less clothes on." "Ohhh, I see."

He chuckles.

"Parents are big on image." "So you living here is somehow okay?"

"They're saying I'm doing this to test my independence and how I don't want to rely on their money like a good son."

"Sounds like a hot load of bull." "If we're talking hot load of bull, then Henry-" "Oh, god please shut up." "I'm just having trouble wrapping my head around the fact you're surrounded by so many hot guys-" "-my friends and teammates-" "-Irrelevant- and the fact you don't have a perma-boner."

"Hmm . . . cause I'm only gay for you?" I look over to him, and he's giving me a weird, kind of giddy smile. Shit, he was probably waiting for me to say that.

"Hey . . . you want that blowjob?"

". . . Sure." I say, unzipping my pants as he crawls over to me.

I whip out my cock, already swelling fast in my sheath.

He wastes no time in pulling down the protective skin down and licking all over the inflating shaft.

I put my hand on his face, cupping his cheek and moving him to look towards me.

"Hey, what are we?"

". . . What do you want?"

"To . . . to get used to this. To know what this is."

"Then don't ask what it is until you've found out for yourself, jackass."

And he goes down on me again, drawing out a growl.

Fuckin' jackass.