I don’t remember exactly when I first suspected I was gay, but I can pinpoint the exact moment I was one hundred percent absolutely sure. It was when Lance Dorset, a senior from my school and the star of our school’s basketball team, got blinding drunk at a party and performed a spontaneous strip tease.

I was a sophomore who had no business being at that party, except for the fact that the senior boys loved me for being a first-class pranker and clown and always invited me to their parties. Yup, I literally was the class clown and not just of my own class.

That party was particularly wild, involving cheap ass tequila and girls doing a wet t-shirt contest in the shallow end of the pool. The boys didn’t want to be outdone and announced a stripping contest. As Lance stripped down to a pair of tight, stretch Adidas sports boxer briefs, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was gay. I wanted to kiss every muscle on his perfect six pack, then lick and nibble my way down and feast on his cock. Because seriously, the dude was packing.

I’m reminded of that moment as I find myself in a giant convention center watching a scantily clad ripped dude give a demonstration in pole dancing. His perfectly proportioned body shows off every curve and muscle as he folds himself around that pole, spinning and dipping and turning effortlessly. He’s covered in some sort of glitter layer, and it’s mesmerizing to watch.

I’m not the only one who can’t take his eyes off. Around me are hundreds of gay men, all staring at this perfect man showing off his body and his skills. In that order. It’s moments like this that I’m reminded of just how gay I am.

“Five minutes more and half the guys will be coming in their pants,” Tank growls in my ear.

“True that,” I sigh, finally ripping my eyes off the man candy. We have to report at our booth in ten minutes, so we’d better get a move on.

“Let’s go,” Tank says, his meaty hand steering me in the right direction.

I’m feeling much better after that nap, though I was surprised to wake up next to Tank. I’d figured he would get up at some point or even walk around, but he patiently laid next to me for two hours while I slept. I’m not sure what to make of that, but I am grateful for the extra shut-eye. Fuck knows I needed it, as I was running on fumes again.

“We have a two-hour shift at the booth,” Tank informs me, his mouth close to my ear as we walk.

“Any specific instructions?” I ask.

West Coast Pride is the biggest gay event on the west coast, and the Ballsy Boys have a booth, of course. Bear is hoping to draw new viewers, but also scout some potential new Ballsy Boys. The series with Tank and me are bringing in a lot of new subscribers, and Rebel and Bear have let us know they need new boys.

“I was told to be friendly,” Tank grumbles, and I can’t help laughing.

I turn sideways and pinch his cheek. “I’ll help you smile, grumpy bear.”

“You keep touching me like that and I’ll show you grumpy,” Tank says, but there’s no heat behind his words. It’s teasing now, the old animosity replaced by something lighthearted.

“Oh my god, it’s Tank and Brewer!” someone yells as soon as we turn the corner and close in on the booth.

Tank and I both come to a complete stop as we register the scene in front of us. There’s a line in front of the Ballsy Boys booth, sneaking around the corner and way past ten other booths, and I swear it’s at least a hundred-people long. Most of those faces turn toward us now with excitement, and I spot Sharpies and t-shirts and fucking postcards with our faces on it. What the hell is happening?

“What the fuck?” Tank says, voicing my thoughts exactly.

Rebel hurries toward us. “Good, you’re here. Erm, we seem to have a bit more enthusiasm for your signing session than we counted on. Security is on its way, so maybe wait a few minutes before you guys start signing shit?”

My mouth drops open before I catch myself. “They’re all here to see us?” I say with equal parts fascination and horror.

Rebel sends Tank a look as if assessing how much trouble he’s in. “Yes. We advertised your shift, and they started showing up an hour ago… Pixie and Campy have been entertaining them, but it’s the two of you they want.”

Tank and I share a look. I know he hates shit like this anyway, so I can only imagine how very not happy he must be right now. So, I reach for his hand and lace my fingers through his. “Okay,” I say with far more confidence than I feel, because even for a fan-loving guy like me, this is a lot of people. “We got this.”

Tank shoots me a look of quiet despair, but he follows my lead as we take position in the booth in front of a Ballsy Boys backdrop that’s perfect for taking selfies. And boy, do we take selfies. We smile and we pose and we sign everything they put in front of us.

Two hours later, it looks like the line hasn’t even shrunk, and I’m starting to get worried. Tank is trying, he really is, but I can tell he’s about reached the end of his tolerance for this shit. How long exactly does Bear expect us to stay at this? Still, the smile on my face stays in place as I answer the same questions over and over again.

The next in line is a guy who makes Tank look like a twink, though he is a good few inches shorter. He is built like a... Honestly, I don’t even have words. The guy defies every description. Suffice it to say he looks like Arnold Schwarzenegger in his glory days had a baby with the Hulk. The result is scary as fuck, but I manage to stay friendly.

“Sure, we’d be happy to pose with you,” I tell him, and we once again take our spot against the backdrop.

“Dude, I want to fuck you so bad it’s not even funny,” the guy growls as he holds up his phone to take a selfie.

I turn my head in shock at that brazen statement, only to discover he’s not addressing me, but Tank. Oh shit, this is about to get nasty.

“I don’t bottom,” Tank says, stepping back so fast he almost trips over his own feet. His tone is barely civil, but I’m impressed he’s still using words.

“Bro, I would make it good for you, I swear. I love fucking guys that can take it, you know?”

And with that, his hand comes down on Tank’s ass with a slap that echoes through the booth. Behind me, Rebel gasps, and I see Tank’s jaw tighten, signaling he’s about to erupt.

I tap the Hulk on his shoulder to get his attention. “You wanna keep your hands off my man,” I say, fighting to keep my tone friendly.

He turns to face me and smiles, but it’s not a happy smile. “Or what?”

So much for keeping it friendly, then. “Or what? Are you fucking kidding me? That’s my boyfriend in case you missed it. I’m telling you, you need to leave before things get ugly.”

The guy takes a step toward me, and I’m confronted with a wall of muscle. “Maybe he wants to experience what it’s like to be fucked by a real man.”

I can’t help it, but I snicker. It’s not even meant to antagonize him ‘cause fuck knows I’m not that stupid, but that line is so horribly cliché that I just laugh.

“I’m pretty sure we stopped equating muscles with real masculinity back in the eighties… Also, Tank doesn’t bottom for anyone else but me, and I’m all the man he needs. And even if he did, he would have more taste than to get fucked by a man who calls him bro and dude. My advice to you is to lay off the steroids and maybe take a class or two in flirting, ‘cause you suck at it. Now fuck off before security throws you out.”

I’ve made sure my voice was loud enough to carry over to the front of the line, where people are now starting to get agitated. “Leave him the fuck alone,” someone calls out.

Strong hands pull me backward, and then I’m spun around and held against Tank’s chest. “That,” he grunts into my ear, “was hot as fuck. I like you when you’re throwing a little jealous fit.”

Before I can say anything, his mouth covers mine in a kiss so possessive, I barely register the cheers that erupt around us. When we finally come up for air, the Hulk is gone, and Tank looks like a cat who just managed to steal a whole fish from the kitchen counter.

“That hot, huh?” I manage, and I move my mouth to his ear to whisper, “Hot enough to let me have a go at your ass?”

I figure it’s the perfect opportunity to test the waters on this problem I still haven’t solved. Time is running out, considering we have that shoot in a few days. Tank freezes under my hands, which gives me the answer I suspected all along.

“I’ll show you what it’s like to be fucked by a real man,” I say, imitating that guy’s voice.

Tank looks back, and when he sees my laughing eyes and it sinks in I’m joking, he breaks open in a smile. I’ve got him, but now is not the time. It can wait for a little while longer, unlike the hundreds of fans that are still waiting for us.