I'd feel more self-conscious copping to this habit of mine if I thought I were the only homosexual male in my set-educated, liberal, sexually exploratory-who indulged. I'm an out gay man, and I'm ferociously necking with a woman. And then we're kissing-no, we're making out. We shoot it to each other, almost simultaneously, knowing that the moment is coming. I throw back the rest of my beer and slide the glass toward the bartender. We're however many drinks in-that's inconsequential, really, but alcohol is always motivating-and leaning into each another with droopy lids and grinning mouths.
I'm in the early hours of the morning, ponied up to a bar with a few friends, among them a strikingly beautiful, model-tall female we'll call Shannon.
