FBoy Island
Adam felt as disoriented as a Neapolitan ice cream shake. He enjoyed his date, Ben, sitting arm in arm with him, but Ben had also been hawking a mix of puke and spittle straight on the comedy club floor for the last few minutes. He had feelings for Ben, but felt somehow wrong for that on a moral level, despite considerable time away from organized religion. "I have three kids and they all suck," said the sweaty comedian, trying his best to re-engage a bored audience. Ben hiccupped, looked at Adam and asked, "Are we good?" He'd asked this question eleven times at this point. "Yeah, we're good. Are we good?" Ben just hiccupped again, taking a sip of vodka-water. Adam sipped ice water from his own clear plastic cup, remembering a time his pastor had given the gay people are disordered speech. He imagined what receiving the Blood of Christ from a red solo cup would've been like. Ben rubbed Adam's back, and Adam liked that. Minus the frighte...