Well, here's a new story. It's finished, so you'll be getting regular updates. It's slash and any reviews will be answered at the end of the following chapter. Oh yes. The point of view in this story gets very weird, so consider this fair warning. And this story isn't anything spectacular either, but I had fun writing it, so I'm going to post it anyway. ;)—Kiyoshi'sGirl64 and Kiyoshi

Who the hell are you? You know what? It doesn't matter. I'm bored, and you guys are here. I could tell you a story...? Yeah, let's do that.

Just... what story... hmmm... yeah, that's good.

First let me say that it's never a good sign when you wake up with a slight pain radiating from your tailbone all the way up your spine. Particularly when you're a gay male who is versatile in bed, if you catch my drift, and you can't remember anything beyond leaving your dorm room to go to a bar, not to mention the large human shaped lump sleeping next to you. Then it's generally an indication of some fairly rough, very drunken, anonymous sex.

But that's how I woke up one day towards the beginning of my junior year of college. I groaned and sat up in bed, flinching. I was cramped next to the wall, since the beds really aren't that big and the guy had in fact stayed the night.

I yawned and reached out to shake him awake. He groaned and rolled over to face me, blinking sleepily.

At that moment, I probably looked like I'd seen a ghost. He sure looked like he had. At the same moment, we both muttered, "Shit."

Now I know what you're thinking. You're going to tell me that at least I knew the guy, at least the sex wasn't completely anonymous. Well, you're wrong. Very, very little could have been worse than sleeping with this guy, or so I thought at the time.

But I suppose you'll need to know why. So maybe I should rewind and start at the beginning, or nothing that comes after this point will make much sense.

I'll start by introducing myself.

My name is Kristopher Clayton Morris, but you probably already knew that. You can call me Kris or Kristopher or Clayton or Morris or whatever. Just don't you dare call my Krissy.

I am currently twenty three years of age and I've been out of college for close to a year. This story starts—really starts—about a year before the incident I just told you about, about three and a half years ago now. For those of you who have trouble adding, that means I was twenty, although just barely, and beginning my sophomore year.

My birthday is September 9, 1988.

When I stand I am six foot one and lean, with a runner's build. If anyone cares, I did do track and cross-country in high school.

What else… dark blonde hair, cut relatively short. Not a buzz cut or anything, but nowhere close to being long either. Blue eyes. A rather square jaw. Sort of Roman nose. Whatever. But you're looking at me, so I'm not sure why I'm even telling you that.

I generally dress how I'm dressed now. T-shirt, jeans, tennis shoes. Very casual.

And I'm gay. In case you missed that bit the first time around. Especially since it's sort of vital to this story.

Oh there is that other bit about being firmly and unwaveringly in the closet until three and a half years ago. Are you seeing the theme here, with everything landing three and a half years ago? That's kind of important.

Anyways, beginning of sophomore year. That's when I began to be drawn slowly out of the closet. I wasn't really ready to come out, but somehow, my suitemate figured out that I swing that way. And he dragged me out of the closet in a way that made me think I was the one making the decision.

Now I know I sound like I'm whining, trying to pass the blame to someone else, for something negative. The thing is, it's actually the truth and, in the grand scheme of things, it was actually a good thing.

Not that I felt that way at the time.

At any rate, that's where this story really begins.

Man that sounded lame.