“She’s pretty fine,” Taylor nudges me and I look up from my sandwich. Past us walks a girl in a skirt so short it shouldn’t be considered legal.

“I guess,” I return to the peanut butter and jelly concoction in my hands, focusing in on the grain of the bread.

“We need to get you laid- you haven’t even kissed a single girl this year.”

“Excuse me? How do you know?” He may be right, but nevertheless it’s a bit unnerving to realize your roommate has been keeping such close tabs on your personal life.

“Come on, man. I’ll help you out; I know you’re not into the whole drunk slut thing so I’ll work with you, what’s your type?” Taylor edges closer to me and gestures to the student body roaming the student center, “Take your pick.”

“Taylor… no, just leave me alone,” I try to brush him off and return to my sandwich, but he won’t hear of.

“Come on, you like the smart type? Look at the brunette over there reading. Or what about the social butterfly? There’s a blonde that looks pretty classy, but has a nice group of friends as well…” he continues to pester me until I turn and look him dead in the eye.

“Taylor, I’m not really… into girls,” the words leave my mouth and I can see it happening already- it’s high school all over again. Something flickers in his eye and in approximately .05 seconds he’ll be stuttering an excuse about needing to get to class or something equally as obvious.

“Serious? Ok, then how about…” The knot in my stomach releases and is replaced with a wave of confusion.

“Wait, wait… you’re not freaked out?”

“Why should I be? It’s your thing and I’m cool with that. My best buddy in high school came out junior year. I beat the shit out at least ten guys who were clearly too insecure with themselves to accept his lifestyle choice…” Well, I certainly didn’t see this coming.

“So, I didn’t have to pull this ambiguous crap? I could have been straight with you from the start?”

“Oh, definitely- I just thought you were shy around girls or something. Now, boys will be a little tougher to find- what with the whole metrosexual craze and all- but I know a guy in my Chem class that…”

“You’re seriously not going to let this go? I don’t need to get laid.”

“Oh, yes you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do,” the conversation carries on for another ten minutes as so until I break free, needing to move towards the Fine Arts building for my Life Drawing class. As I walk away Taylor shouts something about talking to the kid in his Chem class and I brush the comment off.

I suppose I should introduce myself: my name is Kennedy Marshall. I’m nineteen years old and am in my first year at a University in my home state of Minnesota. Taylor Buhr is my roommate in our campus’s largest residence hall: Zellmer Hall. We were randomly assigned, but found almost instantly that we get along just fine. In the three months that we’ve been at school we have become essentially the best of friends. He’s the closest friend I’ve had in quite a while actually- ever since the whole falling out I experienced during high school when my friends, clearly, weren’t as cool as he is with certain aspects of my life.

Never mind that bitterness though, I’m happy now. At least I was. The sight Taylor seems to have set on the issue of finding someone for me is highly concerning. As demonstrated earlier I’m not exactly comfortable yet when it comes to dealing with my orientation. This isn’t to say that I’m uncomfortable with who I am, but rather I don’t know how to deal with it… socially? I suppose it all stems back to the whole high school thing. Never mind all of this though, I need to get to class and can’t be bothered with it right now.