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Reece.

April 4th

My parents are sitting in front of me, in the family wagon. Right there, a few feet away. It would be so easy to just say it. Easy being a relative term, of course. But then, after the inevitable argument, Paul could pick me up and take me to his place, and everything would be okay, but I'm not childish or stupid enough to entertain that thought for long.

We pull up to a pair of closed gates across the slipway that leads to the racetrack, and I can already feel my heart pounding.

"Is this the guy?" mom asks, gesturing to the wolf standing at the gate waving at us.

"Yeah, that's... that's him," I say. In the darkness, Paul's features aren't immediately discernible to them, but I can recognize him anywhere, especially in the dark. As we drive past him, and onto the actual track, my dad's tail starts batting in the passenger footwell.

"You weren't joking," he says, smiling, looking out the window with wonderment. I catch a glimpse of his eyes in the passenger mirror. "We're on the actual track."

"Who was this guy to you again? Friend of yours?" Mom asks.

"Yeah, I pulled some strings. Figured dad might be interested to see the action a little more up close this time."

"This is amazing, Reece," dad says, and the genuine feelings in his voice starts to get to me. He's not changed much from the guy I knew, and yet, I can't remember seeing him very emotional like this.

"Yeah," I say, as Paul guides mom up to the team garages. "I hope you'll like it."

We're in the pit lane, and parking outside the actual pit garage. When my father steps out, he's standing on actual racing turf. His tail wags gently, betraying the effort he has to expend to keep it from batting quicker.

"Okay, darling," Mom shouts from the window. "Call me when you want me to pick you up. I'll check out that café we passed."

Dad waves as she pulls away, and Paul closes the gate behind her.

"Happy birthday dad," I say, and give him a quick hug

"Thank you, son," he says softly. "How?"

"I'll tell you later," I say, and hope that I'll be able to. "That's Paul Courage, he helped set this up." I wave to my boyfriend, and he comes over. "He's going to show you around."

I have to put on the extra enthusiasm in my voice to mask my nervous jitters. This is really happening. It will happen today, or not at all. In another minute, my boyfriend joins us, clearly in his natural habitat. He's confident, cool and collected. I wonder if he's worrying about this under all that confidence. But what does he have to worry about? Coming out to a stranger? Even if I manage to tell dad, it's not like it's going to change anything for him. I'll tell Dad that he can't tell anyone about it. Paul has probably already considered that. I'm so glad he could do this for me, and yet, curiosity nags at me. Why, when he was so repressed, did he consent to do this? Maybe he doesn't think it's a big deal? I laugh at my own suspicions. Of course, he knows how big a deal it is. Even if it's not a huge thing he's doing from his point of view, he probably knows that it means a lot to me, and that's a step in the right direction.

"Good evening, you must be Reece's father," Paul announces with a professional authority. I imagine him talking to a radio host with that voice. My dad grasps Paul's outstretched paw with enthusiasm

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Courage!" he says, "You can call me Charlie."

"You know of me?" Paul asks, and his tail starts up like my dad's. I can't help but smile at how predictable he can be sometimes. I can see the pride which Paul thinks he's hiding. But I can also see pride in my dad's eyes. Which makes me relax a little.

"I've seen you, you're really good!" Dad says, smiling and patting Paul's shoulder. "And now you're a friend of my son, that's wonderful."

"Sure is, Charlie," Paul says, smiling privately to me as he slaps my father's shoulder jovially. "Do step inside."

We spend half an hour or so walking around the garage. It's new to me, too, but I never really cared as much about the inner workings of a car as Paul and Dad does. I'm standing a little outside of the conversation, psyching myself up.

"You could have a go at the simulator," Paul says suddenly. I catch the words out of the air while stewing on my next move, and suddenly they are both heading away towards some corner of the garage, where there's a staircase that leads up. I hurry after them.

I catch up to them in a small corner office. There's an institutional blue carpet on the floor and a window pointing out towards the track. It looks kind of bleak.

The office has only one piece of furniture, apart from the team logos and banners on the walls. A large rack, sort of like a cage, with screens and a seat in it. The seat is low, and the steering wheel is high and close, and it all looks really uncomfortable. It's definitely not something my dad would like sitting in, from a comfort perspective, but when I look again, he has a puppy-like expression on his muzzle. Paul guides my dad into the chair and starts the computer which runs the whole thing. It looks strange, and a little bit silly when the steering wheel reaches up to his snout. It's adjustable, thankfully. Funnily, he doesn't even mention that he's got a bad back and an unreliable knee. And from where I'm standing, he doesn't look like those things bother him. No affliction could bother him now.

Dad drives like a dad, but Paul guides him with instructions on how to eek more speed out of the simulated car. After a few laps, Paul points out his position on the score board. I notice all the top lap times are labelled P. C. and are several seconds ahead of the next best lap times, labelled with the initials of his teammates.

"You're really not far off the pace, Charlie," Paul encourages, after a few laps. "A few more of these and they'll send the racing license to you in the mail, I'm sure."

Dad only laughs. "I think those days are past me, Paul."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Paul shakes his head and smiles. "There's plenty of guys your age in motorsport, like Mikolas and Sanchez over in Europe."

"No, no, I'll leave this to the young'uns," Dad laughs, and climbs out of the chair. "Hey, look at that, I'm on the leaderboard."

I glance over, to see dad's name, on the 39th position of the leaderboard. There's nobody underneath him, but his tail is wagging as he puts in the initials C.T. on the screen.

"You want a go Reece?" Paul asks suddenly. I don't really want, but I appreciate the distraction. I can see the pride in my dad's eyes. Paul Courage, the racing driver, addresses his son by his first name. Oh, dad, if you only knew what we call each other when you're not around.

"I'm good," I say, weakly, though I'd love to have a go one of these days, if only to prove to dad that I can go quicker than him. I'm sure some of Paul has rubbed off on me, but this next part is all me. I'm going to do this. I take a deep breath. "Paul? I think it's time to tell him."

"Tell me what, son?" Dad says and smiles at me. His tail is still wagging. I think this birthday present might have been a success so far. Here's to risking it all.

As if on cue, Paul walks up to me and puts his arm around me. Just that feels like a big deal to me. Although his sudden grip almost makes my knees buckle, it feels reassuring and confirms to me that, despite what he's said, there is hope for us. We can be boyfriends in that way I always dreamed about, one day. But it doesn't make me less nervous here and now. I can feel my father's eyes on us, but I don't want to look. My tail is hanging down, and it takes a big effort to not tuck it in between my legs or lower my muzzle. "Dad... we, I mean, I have something to tell you."

I force myself to meet his eyes. He's got this blank, questioning look. I can see his eyes trailing from Paul, to Paul's paw around my waist, to me, and then back to Paul again.

"You're joking," he says monotonously. His eyes are filled with surprise.

I shake my head.

"I'm dead serious dad. I'm eh... I'm gay."

There we go. I said it. The silence hangs heavy in the air. Dad's expression hardens. I cringe slightly. His tail isn't wagging anymore, he seems more intent on us. Paul tightens his grip instinctively. But I hold my dad's eyes with my own. There's something in them which I don't recognize. Which means, he surely can't be angry or disappointed with me. Yet.

"How long?" dad asks, slowly.

"I've known for some time... since I was thirteen, I think."

It's way before college. A time when I still lived at home with them. If he's going to blame anyone for it, he's going to have to start at his own doorstep.

"You and Mr. Courage are... what? dating?"

Paul nods, he's squeezing me close. God, he suddenly feels so much more confident and secure. It's an illusion, maybe even a fallacy, but I'm thankful that he can be a pillar which I can lean against. My stomach is full of butterflies, and my head is spinning, and if I stood by myself, I don't know if I could remain on my feet.

Dad approaches us, crossing the few feet in between us a bit quicker than I was prepared for. I try not to flinch, but my ears do an involuntary flick. Damn it, I don't want to seem like I'm afraid of him. He notices and hesitates slightly. Suddenly, he grabs me by my shoulder, and rips me out of Paul's grasp. I'm stunned at his sudden force; he's never been a very physical type. Before I can even react, or even so much as let out a whimper, he's holding me tight. I can no longer hold back my tears.

"I will never stop loving you, son," he whispers, almost growling, emphasizing the word 'never' so forcefully it sounds like a threat. I bury my muzzle in the wool of his sweater and hug him back. After a long while, I finally manage to pull away and wipe my eyes on my jacket sleeve.

I can't seem to come up with anything meaningful to say. I gathered my resolve a little, and ask him, "Can you please... not tell mom?"

I feel like a pup, having been caught doing something I wasn't allowed to. I'm sure mom wouldn't have allowed me to throw away her chance at being a grandmother. But I hope dad will be his old self, and go easy on me, even if I've kept a secret from him for ten years.

"I can have a talk with her if you want," dad says, and ruffles my head fur. My whole body feels lighter somehow, as if it's going to float away any second now.

"I just don't know how she'd take it." I try on a smile for a change. It feels good to smile again and really mean it.

"She's not been the same since you moved out," dad says. "She's been more worried about the family line lately. You can still have pups, right?"

"Dad... Not now... We're just dating," I protest, feeling my cheeks flush hotly.

"For now," Paul teases, and pulls me in for a quick kiss. I almost pull away on instinct, but I realise he actually wants to kiss me, and I let him. If I was proud of dad for accepting me, I'm even prouder of Paul for that gesture, and I'm not going to miss that chance. Dad looks away with an embarrassed smile.

"Your son is very important to me," Paul tells dad as he pulls away from the kiss. There's a strain of that press conference voice in his patois. "I'm glad to have your support in all this."

My dad just waves it away like you'd wave away the offer of a coffee on a short flight. "I hoped it wasn't difficult for you to tell me," he says, turning to me. "I know we never had that talk, or anything. Perhaps you wouldn't have waited so long if I had been more open about what I believed was important."

"M-maybe," I say, laughing a little strained between my shaky breathing. There's more than just that. I've never felt the need to deal with it, because being gay had never affected my life to the degree it is doing now. At first, it was limited to what kind of porn I watched, and then what kind of guys I dated and fucked and left or got fucked over by. It was never meant for parental consumption. But it's time to settle down, neither the single life, nor the one-night stand life is meant for me. I can't come up with something clever to say, but Paul takes over, as he sounds like he's got something prepared.

"There's probably a lot you're wondering about," he says, patting dad's shoulder. "We can move to the break room, it's a bit more comfortable than this one."

Paul takes us both from the corner office to another room, this one filled with sofas, trophy cabinets, a fridge and a little kitchenette. Admittedly larger than my own kitchen, but typically office-sized, with little else but tea and coffee. But the fridge has beer, and dad has never been able to refuse one.

Paul and I take turns to tell my dad about our short relationship so far. I tell him about how school is going, leaving out some parts to save him the worries. Paul tells him about his racing, and even touches on his private life, things he's only told me. I wonder if he just needed someone to talk to who he felt safe around. Maybe I should introduce him to Aiden and some of my other gay friends.

All of this is almost too much for me, and I have to wipe my eyes again. The way we've talked tonight feels like how I used to talk to him before I moved out. It feels like it's only been a few minutes, when dad looks at his phone, and reluctantly announces that we have to get going. I've already promised that I'd join them for dinner that evening, so we have to say goodbye, and Paul kisses me again, still confident enough to brave Dad's presence. I assume his confidence stems from the fact that he feels at home here at the track, and that we're completely alone, but to me, it feels like we're in public. It feels right. I know he can do it.

Less than two hours have elapsed since I last spoke to mom. It feels like dad and I have been transformed by some cataclysmic event and mom is unchanged. I hope my metamorphosis isn't noticeable. I watch the streetlamps and car headlights go by from the backseat, in my regular spot in the family car. After all this change, here I am, seated where I sat when I was sixteen, the car was new, and dad took us all on a long road trip to the rockies to celebrate. It wasn't even the car I grew up with. Dad used to own a sports car, which mom couldn't convince him to get rid of until I was twelve. Then mom's hatchback gave up the ghost four years later. After that, they got this executive wagon thing, kind of utilitarian, kind of luxurious. Badged and trimmed to go with dad's well-to-do job, but still disposable enough to have a teenager learn to drive in it. I can still remember the tight feel of the gearstick when it was new, and how it gradually changed to become looser and more comfortable. I didn't grow up with it, but I grew along with it. I remember all the claw marks, scratches in the upholstery and stains on the carpets. It remained the same, while I changed beyond all recognition. And now, safely in the back of the car, I wonder about that change. Because the claw marks are still here. My parents are sitting in front of me. The same CD plays in the stereo on repeat as mom always used to listen to, a collection of musical numbers from Broadway. It's so familiar I almost can't bring myself to believe anything is different.

In the restaurant that night, I can only summon enough strength to pick at my food. I'm not hungry. Too much stuff in my head already. I can't stuff it with chicken too. I thought I'd lightened up, but there's something I can't place my finger on, lingering still.

"Reece?" Mom's voice is just loud enough to cut through to me and wake me from my trance. "Sweetie, you haven't touched your food. Are you not well?"

I can only shake my head, really. I'm not well exactly, but I'm not sick. I'm not feeling bad at all actually, I'm relieved and happy, or at least, I'm sure I am, because I should be. But what has really changed? I'm out to one more person now, but I'm not that much closer to my dream. I'll need Paul to help with that. I know he's capable, and willing to help, but I need him to dare to take that step for himself, and I don't know if the radio is such a good idea after all.

"If you're very tired, I could drive you back to your apartment," dad offers. He's poking at his cauliflowers, not terribly enthusiastic about his food either, now that he's removed all the best bits of meat from his plate.

"I think that's a good idea," I tell him. I say goodbye to Mom, before she heads to their room, while dad takes me home.

"You don't have to worry about mom," he says again as we're pulling out of the car park. "I'll talk to her."

"Yeah. Thanks dad. I'm more worried about Paul though. He does things differently."

"Oh, how so?"

"He says he is going to announce it on the radio. His sexuality, I mean. I'm just not sure how things will turn out, with the publicity and all, I mean."

My dad clutches his steering wheel and exhales, his nose whistling a little and his ears flicking uneasily. "I wish I could tell you it would be alright, Reece. But you want the truth, I'm sure. That's going to be tough. I'm sure you can handle it. You always did know how to take care of yourself. How long have you guys been together now?"

I look down at my paws, embarrassment creeping up my neck. "We've been together for... just over a week, more or less... two if you count the-"

"A WEEK?!" Dad barks. "You're not even started, and you're already going this heavily into it?"

"It's different for us guys. We... We gotta stick together," I reply with a defensive tone. "And I don't need much time to tell a good thing from a bad."

I don't add "any longer" to the end of that statement, because the less he knows about my exes and my experiences, the better.

My dad puts his paws up placatingly, before grabbing the wheel again. "I'm not saying it's not going to work out, Reece. But take it easy, you got to relax a bit and let the relationship develop itself. Keep your paws off and let the record spin."

Relax. Yeah, easy for him to say. But he's right, I guess. I am quick to go along, and I know it's because this is more real than anything I've ever experienced. Paul is quick and spontaneous too, which makes everything move so much faster. He is perhaps a little starved for love and comfort, so I've been giving a lot of myself to make it work. I just hope I'm not ceding too much ground too quickly. I hug my dad a final time and send him on his way. I'm left standing in the light of the streetlamps outside my apartment, thinking about what he said. I consider turning in early, but I'm not really tired, and I feel like I could use a drink. I don't head for my apartment, because drinking alone when I'm in this state is not a good idea, considering I have to get up for a race tomorrow morning. I head down to the White Banner instead, where I can at least have the semblance of company.

For a moment after I step through the door, everything is as it was. I get that same comfortable familiarity that I found in the back of my parent's car. This bar never changed. It's as dank, and smoke filled as it's always been. The badger with his vest and bow tie is as grumpy looking as ever, still wiping a dirty beer mug with a rag as if he never stopped.

This time, the bar is Saturday-night-levels of filled with people. As I'm searching for a place to sit, I notice a familiar face by a table under one of the few lamps in the building. He sticks out clearly against the darkness, and for a moment, he shimmers like Paul sometimes does in the right light. It's Aiden. The puffy arctic fox has gotten the grease and oil out of his fur, and has put on a nice, plaid yellow and orange shirt, unbuttoned and with its sleeves rolled up, which suits his yellowy orange eyes well. What is odd is that he's sitting by a single table with only one other guy. Aiden would never stoop so low as to date only one person, surely. And not in a dark, textured and heavy atmosphere like the White Banner. I can't help but notice the guy he's sitting with. With his back to me, the stranger is eerily similar to my wolf. He's a canid with white fur and big pointy ears.. He looks like a slightly pudgier, slightly shorter Paul, though still taller than me. But that's no feat. He's wearing a red collared t-shirt with some sort of logo down his sleeve. Neither fashionable nor expensive. I remember Paul wearing his Armani tailored shirt the last time I saw him, earlier this night. There's no way he could've gotten back home, changed, put on 40 pounds, and then gone out again. This wolf looks old and jaded; tired, or drunk, judging from the angle of his ears. Despite this, I head over to them.

"Pip... Aiden!" I exclaim, walking over to him and fluffing up his carefully groomed head fur.

"Spot!" he barks, and his little tail starts wagging. He's so short that his feet barely touch the sticky floor, even when seated on one of the lower barstools. The stranger, some other white wolf, perks up at my presence.

"This is Pierce," Aiden indicates the wolf. "Pierce, this is my friend from Uni, Reece. He's a racing fan too."

The strange wolf grabs my paw, and I can read the name of the business on the front of his company t-shirt.

"Pierce Courage?" I tilt my head.

"My boss," Aiden shoots in helpfully as I'm shaking his paw.

"Pleasure to meet you, sir. I'm Reece," I say, only barely straining out the words as all the pieces drop into place. What can I say? that I hoped to meet him soon?

"Don't you 'sir' me. Have a drink, my shout, and take a seat," Pierce drawls in his broad Australian accent. He indicates Aiden to go and fetch a beer from the bar, smiling at me. "Mate of Aiden?"

"A mate? N-Not-" I stammer and laugh uncertainly before I recall Paul's colloquialisms. "Oh, you mean friend? yeah, Aiden and I are friends."

Pierce is broader, stockier, and not as muscular as his son. His eyes are grey, instead of blue. His white coat is speckled with grey hairs here and there, but you'd be hard pressed to tell, especially in this light. Apart from his scent, shape, a few lines under his eyes and his longer fur, he looks like an exact copy of my wolf.

"Aiden's told me he had a spotty mate who wanted to get in touch with the big cunt." Pierce says, taking a swig of his beer, "Guessin' that'd be yourself?"

"I guess. We didn't get along."

Pierce leans forwards on his elbows and drains his beer, holding up two fingers to Aiden.

"I think that's probably for the best. Don't chase that mean cunt's tail."

"I don't know what you're suspecting," I reply, somewhat defensively, "nor do I know what Aiden has told you. I don't intend to meet him again."

"It's all good mate. He's only good for one thing, and that is paying me."

Aiden makes his way back to our table, balancing three glasses of beer on a little tray above his head.

"I met your son, though, after that," I say in an offhanded tone because I'm too damn curious what Paul's father thinks of him. I notice Pierce's ears perk up and his smile widens into a large grin.

"You met Paulo?" Pierce grins, and his voice is steeped with pride. "Cracking bloke, real man's man, don't ya' think?"

"He sure is a great guy," I concede, smiling privately at how much of a man's man Paul truly is. "I followed some of his racing, he's good!"

"That's what I keep tellin' him," Pierce exclaims. He's already quite tipsy, and he's getting quite exuberant in his gesticulation, almost knocking Aiden's beer out of his paw. "He's still racing for that no-good, senile, old cunt and his big, dumb-fuck, cunt son, I don't know what he sees in those fucking clowns."

I shrug, although it's hard to keep back a small smile when he confirms my feelings about Walt. Aiden looks at me curiously.

"You know Paul Courage?" he asks, and glances at the senior Courage. "How did that happen?"

I can tell his glance is somewhat suspicious. Last thing I told him was that I was talking about maybe seeing the strange unnamed racing driver again for a coffee. Since then I guess things have gone a bit too quickly. I realise I probably should've told him sooner, because he's struggling to keep his expression still. He's extracting meaning from every word I say. I give him a look, which I hope conveys to him that I'll tell him the truth later and turn to Pierce.

"Yeah, we met a few days back, randomly." I put on a nonchalant tone, in the hopes that Pierce won't dig further. "I guess we struck it off together. He's a very interesting race personality."

I try for as much diplomacy and neutrality as I can muster, but my passion threatens to flare up. The sight of Pierce right in front of me means I can never quite put Paul out of my mind. And when Paul is on my mind, he is all over it.

Pierce grins, "Yeah, Paul could be one of the best, I'm sure of it." He grunts, and empties his beer at an alarming rate, then staggers from the table.

"Need a slash, right back," he mumbles and pushes his way through the crowd towards the bathroom. I follow his swishing tail for a moment, before turning to Aiden, who stares at me intently.

"Do tell," he says simply.

"Honestly, it was really random and spontaneous," I deflect. "I was going to tell you, but I wanted to make sure he wasn't just another one, and before I knew it," I gesture absently, leaving the rest unsaid.

His eyes widen considerably, and his jaw slackens. His little, white ears quivers slightly.

"You... didn't," he gasps.

I don't know how much I want to say here, so I just nod.

"Girl," he whispers reverently. "My boss' son is playing for our team, and you just went and grabbed him, just like that? That's just unfair, I'm telling ya'."

"It's like... really fucking secret," I hiss at him so intensely it feels like the entire bar can hear me. "I'm serious, this... this thing. It's like the movies, I'm not kidding." I lean in close. "Come back to my apartment, I'll tell you everything."

I can see his hungry eyes, shining like stars in the mass of white fur. Of course he nods, there's nothing he likes better than to hear about juicy, forbidden gossip. I'm sure somewhere in there, he's being a friend to me too, but that somehow feels secondary, and I can't blame him. I'm aiming a damn sight higher this time.

When Pierce returns from the bathroom, we quickly excuse ourselves. I feel bad for running off with the wolf's drinking companion, but before we're out of the door, he's initiated a conversation with the next table over. Sociable and forceful personality, so at least Paul has inherited some elements from him.

"So why are you out drinking with your boss anyways?" I ask as we're walking along the familiar little road which leads back home to the student dorms.

"You know, Reece, once you get a job, you'll realize that you have to sacrifice a great deal to move up in this world." He smiles and licks his lips teasingly. I start to protest, but he laughs and shakes his head. "No, I'm not, Reece. I've got standards."

"First time I'm hearing about this," I tease, but Aiden seems to be serious.

"He's really nice, in fact, and he seemed lonely. I mean, there's no harm in getting in good with your boss, regardless of whether or not he wants to take it to the bed. But I care, too. He's had to deal with some heavy shit through his life, lost his wife and all."

Paul told me about his mother, but he didn't say much about his dad or what they'd talked about. From the sounds of it, they hadn't talked much at all. I'm not sure who's to blame for that, but his father did confide something to Aiden which I had to squeeze out of Paul after I'd earned his trust. I'll ask Paul more about his father later, but for now, I focus on the issue at hand, namely, the most pertinent question I can think of to stall Aiden's own.

"But why at the White Banner?" I ask. "This is pretty far from where you live, isn't it?"

"That was Pierce's idea," Aiden explains, "He's much more comfortable in there, because he likes making fun of the old country, as he calls it." He giggles and puts on a face and gives a fairly decent imitation of an Australian accent. "Yeah, nah, At least they play cricket, and proper footy, and drive on the right side, and don't drink chilled piss."

"Oh, god, Paul also complained about that," I say, laughing along with Aiden, and try my own rendition of the Australian accent, "Don't give me any of that overhyped dishwater, mate. I'd swallow for a fourX gold."

"Oh, my god, Reece... is he a bottom?"

"Workin' on it," I say and cock my hips, before bursting into laughter. The thought is absurd to me. We practice Australian accents on our way to my place, and I find myself even more in love with Paul's way of talking. He's got a softer, rounder accent and a milder speech, not like Pierce's full Crocodile Dundee with added swears.

We settle in the sofa, and I open an old bottle of white wine that I've had around since last summer, don't want to wash red wine out of my fur when I'm going to the races in the morning. Aiden takes care to fill up my glass a little bit extra, so that I'll catch up to him, and I begin telling about Paul.

"You... fell?" Aiden asks, his left eyebrow threatening to raise in a look of disbelief, as I explain to him what really happened the night before I woke up in Paul's apartment.

"Trust me, I fell. I know it sounds dumb, and honestly, it was. If something had happened, I'd have told you. I was wearing those Manolos I showed you, and I hadn't practiced enough on them. I fell and hit my head, and then I woke up in Paul's apartment. He'd taken me home with him."

I can see the words shaping on Aiden's lips before he says them, but I'm not quick enough to stop him.

"Then you fucked?"

"No, Pip, Jesus," I protest, playfully slapping his shoulder. "He took care of me, then gave me a ride home. No, not like that. But I'd forgotten my shoes in his apartment. Can't just leave them behind, can I? And, well. I think I gave him my number, or he found it somewhere, but I can't remember. Whatever it was, we start texting, and he wanted to meet for coffee."

Aiden's smile broadens. "So, you go out for coffee, you get your shoes back, then what?"

"Well," I say slowly, drawing the word out while I'm looking for the next ones. "I went to coffee with him, and he instantly wanted to go to dinner. I mean, we set up the meeting the same day. Then I pretty much knew what I had, right?"

"Right," Aiden says, gesturing for me to get to the point. "So, you went to this dinner with him... Then you fucked?"

"No!" I chide, but I can't help but laugh. "We... fucked later that night. He was really sweet at first. I was his first, and I wanted it to be right. We walked around in the park and stuff, just talking and kissing. It was nice. Actually, it was more than nice. It was perfect."

Aiden sighs, in that way only a friend of a recently lovestruck person can. A hint of jealousy mixed with empathy.

"How was he?"

"Oh, you know," I flush hotly, my ears practically glowing. He's not asking about his scent or the warmth of his paw, or the sweet, honest and innocent way he selected his words. I glance at my bedroom. "He's like, really strong, you have no idea. My legs are usually jelly after the first round."

"The first... jesus Spot."

I can see the insides of his ears flush pinker. I don't think it's the wine.

"The last time we had sex, he went twice in a night. I'm still a little sore after that, to be honest."

"Oh, lucky bitch," Aiden laughs and makes self-satisfied noises.

"Yeah, and it's been really crazy intense too," I say. "Not just the sex, I mean. Everything. The emotions and the attraction and stuff. It's so raw and unfiltered."

"That's really nice to hear," Aiden says finally, all the teasing out of his system. "But man, you move way too fast."

"Do I?" I ask. "I mean, I feel really connected to him. I haven't... This is unlike anyone else I've ever told you about. I mean, I'm already in it pretty deep."

"Oh? How deep?" Aiden asks jokingly. I'm not going to tell him Paul's dick size, no matter how fun it'd be to see his jealous expression.

"It was because of him that I came out to my dad."

"You did what?" Aiden gasps and flicks his ears down. "When?"

"Just earlier today... he took it really well," I mumble, because if I spoke any louder, he might have heard my voice cracking. I tell him briefly about the little scene between me, Paul and my dad.

"Ah, damnit, I wanted to see that," Aiden sighs. He's smiling still but it's more wistful now. "Hey, at least it worked out better for you than for me. Cheers to that."

"Yeah. Sorry, Pip."

I give him a hug, because I feel bad about bringing the subject up to him.

"All water under the bridge," he says. "Anyways, I'm guessing, since I've not heard anything in the papers, that he's not out yet?"

"No, he's not," I say, but then I hesitate. "He says he's going to. I don't know if it's the best idea for him really, but I can't bring myself to stop him. He wants to do it on the radio, tomorrow."

Aiden's eyes bulges. "That's not a good idea... but holy shit, that's brave."

"Yeah, I worry," I say, "What if he gets cold feet?"

"What if?" Aiden says. "So what? It's his choice, not yours, Spot. Tell him that you're not comfortable with the fame, if that's what you're worried about. I'm sure the attention won't just be focused on him, if he does decide to come out. Heck, I'm sure he knows that, and probably doesn't want you to cop all of that shit. I don't think you should encourage him to do it."

"I know, I know," I say, "I'll try not to, but I really want him to come out, I think he needs to face some things in his life." I shake my head. "I'm just worried he'll not... I'm worried he'll grow complacent in the closet. What should I do then?"

"I say give it some time, Spot," Aiden says, "It's like sex. You have to let him adjust to the size of the relationship before you can start thrusting."

I appreciate the analogy, for its pointedness, and it makes me giggle involuntarily. But I don't want to thrust. I don't want to push or force or coerce. I just want him to see how happy it'd make him. I want him to discover it for himself.