Author's Note: My characters often skip safe sex practices (like using condoms..) because STDs don't exist in my imagination. But I always practice safe sex and I hope you do too.

This is how it all began for me. I hope you will grant me your understanding with my use of artistic license, but the story presented is real. It is the story of my youth. It begins in a doorway, where I found myself huddled to avoid being drenched by the falling rain. I looked across the road to the neon lights of the bar that beckoned me. The repeated drum beat of some electro-pop song echoed across the nearly deserted street.

I looked left and right making sure that no one watched, pulled my coat a little tighter to avoid getting the cascading rainfall, and ran towards the warm glow. Grabbing the door, I pulled it open and ducked inside. It was darker than I expected, and a lot less crowded. I quickly scanned the room. “Good,” I thought, “no one from school here.” Eighteen and still in high school, I dreaded the thought of being caught. Afterall, I certainly wasn’t out—not even to myself. “It’s just a test,” I had repeated to myself, providing the reassurance to make this bold exploration, “just to see if I like it.”

Of course I would like it—my favorite part of the day was heading to the communal shower rooms after soccer practice every day. All those boys my age, naked, wrestling with each other. I could barely avoid an erection each day watching them rub soap across their bodies— “What are you havin’?” The barman’s question pulled me from my thoughts.

“Umm…” I paused and looked around. The man nearest to me was drinking a can of beer.

“I’ll have that one,” I said, pointing at it. The man beside me gave a slight laugh.

“Good choice,” he said. I watched the bartender shuffle off to fetch it.

When I turned away from the bar I found the man’s hand extended. “I’m Mark. What’s your name?” he asked.

“Oh, umm, I’m Jake. Nice to meet you.” It was then that I got a good look at him. Undoubtedly tall, though he sat on a stool, he sported dark blonde hair that framed rugged, manly good looks. Light stubble formed the shadow of a beard. He was older than me, perhaps in his early thirties, and sported the broad shoulders that come only from years of gym visits. The bartender returned with my drink and I gave him the proper cash with a tip. He gave me a once-over glance, smiled, and walked away.

“He thinks you’re cute,” Mark informed me. At five foot eight, with brown hair and brown eyes, I tended to blend in with the crowd in appearance. Yet years of gym visits and swimming had given me a very tight body, a defined six-pack, and smooth physique. Mark and I talked while we drank the beers. We continued to talk through the next beer, and the one after that. Soon enough, I felt the buzz of alcohol clouding my brain. That explains, perhaps, why I found myself in a taxi with Mark, and then inside his apartment shortly after. --------- “Would you like something more to drink?” he asked me.

Both of us stood in the living room of his small, one-bedroom apartment. I could see the bedroom through the open door. I gulped. “I