even gay. I doubted that this guy she was talking about was gay, just like all the others. So what if I hadn't had sex in a year? It was by choice; I wanted something real. Sex wasn't as important to me as most people thought. That's what I told people, at least. I did miss it though; it was human nature to want sex, and lets just say my right had was one of my best friends as of late.

I drove my old truck into town, needing to pick up a few things for Mac before heading to work. I stopped off at the gas station; we only had the one, and filled up before going inside to grab the paper.

"Camble, good to see you, how are things?" John asked. He'd worked at the gas station, like forever; the last owner had left it to him in his will, something that John was mighty proud of.

"Good, and yourself?" I asked, placing the paper on the counter.

"Fine. Hey, Rhonda called here a few minutes ago, asking me to remind you that the Timmy boy lived at the end of this street, whatever that means."

I had been reaching for my wallet, about to hand over some change, but what John said stopped me cold.

"Are you serious?" I asked, not being able to help the blush that came over my face.

"Yes, I'm guessing that you know what she meant?"

I nodded.

"Want to fill me in?" John was pretty much my only friend left in town, beside Rhonda and Mac. He'd been more true to me than I could have ever asked and, because of that fact alone, I was never able to lie to him, or ignore a direct question.

"She wants me to have sex or something, and she thinks he'd be more than happy to oblige," I said, and dropped the change on top of the paper.

"I see," he said, and smiled at me. "And you don't think so?"

I shook my head. “Come on John, you know just as well as I do there isn't a single gay man in this town, so what makes you think one would move in?"

John was one of the town’s biggest gossips; he knew everyone's business. I think I was the only one he didn't spread things about.

"Are you sure?" he asked, making me raise an eyebrow.

He knew something, but I wasn't going to ask. Asking would mean I was interested; and I hadn't even met the guy, yet. Plus, I kind of like asking people out myself; I'd heard enough blind date horror stories to last me a while.

"Oh, shut up, you dick," I said, slipped the paper off the counter, leaving the change, and went out to my truck.

I drove down Timberwork, toward the Timmy house. I don't know what was compelling me to do so, but I did it anyway with little thought. The house was at the very end of the cull-de-sac, a good three hundred feet from the other houses. I stopped in the middle of the street, a ways away, staring, asking myself why I was doing it.

"Don't be stupid, you don't have a thing to offer him," I said, and turned my truck around, driving back to the bar.