This time he raised his head and looked at me with incredulous eyes, his mouth half-open. God, he was beautiful—like his mother. "Do you really thin... so?" He asked.“Yes, of course, why do you ask?”“I still don’t have a boyfriend, and I’m not sure someone can find me attractive.”“That's BS. Look at you, you're good-looking, charming. You're only eighteen, you still have plenty of time to find someone.”Who would have thought that today I would give relationship advice to my eighteen-year-old gay. Would you like some coffee? I have some French Roast I've been saving for you," I remarked while smiling broadly, shaken from my daydream, remembering she enjoyed her coffee on the strong side. "Thanks. I'd like that. Love the music, babe," she said as she entered the door, and she put her arms around my neck and softly kissed me. I found myself fondly recalling our impassioned past, how we had kissed and caressed desirously whenever the opportunity presented itself. We had listened to a bit of. More

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