a/n: what you need to know: this is the night of the bluntman & chronic movie premiere from j&sb strike back, the long version of the scene actually where hooper gets rather descriptive about what they do at night and the tracer guy comes back. it's 1st person banky deep in denial, so you know what to expect.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. I sat on the edge of the bed, my face buried in my hands. What was I doing?! Was that a sniffle? Jesus, shut up, Banky, before he hears you. A flicker followed by a flash of orange light. Hooper was lighting a cigarette. I knew it was coming. I could feel it.

"Oh I see how it is, it's quite all right for me to pleasure you nightly... but the minute I ask for a little something in return you get all weirded out. That old wall comes up. 'I'm not a faggot, Hoop.' Well, I got news for you, honey... you're a sista, so you better get used to the idea if you want me to let your tired white ass back into this bed anytime soon."

I sighed. He didn't understand. Just because I let a guy go down on me... just because I was in love with a man didn't make me a faggot. Did it? No. Hell no. I didn't lisp or get all girlie. I still thought chicks were sexy... I still got off on the idea of fucking a Catholic schoolgirl or two, while they said 'aboot' no less. I still... who was I kidding? My sex life was a joke. The little Neon that I'd driven for quite a few years hadn't seen any action in a long time. Come to think of it, the only action that car's ever seen didn't even involve me. Most of my stories were made up on the spot when Holden would come home with some sleazy tale, and then ask what I had done that night... who I had done. What was I going to say? The truth? I don't think so. I wouldn't admit the truth to myself, let alone to him. While he was out hooking up with some random girl, I was doing my dirty deed back home and feeling guilty about it. It wasn't the old Catholic guilt either; I didn't really buy into all of that. It was the guilt of everything as a whole. Often times I'd be sitting around when I was alone on those nights he wouldn't let me go out with him. I didn't go on my own because I didn't want to go without him. Thoughts would creep into my head, so I'd start to drink a little in the vain hope it'd wash those thoughts away. Often times than not, it would make it worse. I would lose my common sense and go into his room. There would always be a dirty t-shirt lying on the floor as if it were waiting for me to go smell it, which I did quite happily. Then, I'd find myself lying on his bed, pants down around my knees, thinking about him... about us. Idly wishing he'd come home and ravish me. Though I knew that if he ever caught me jerking off on his bed even if by some slight chance he was into it, I'd be like a deer caught in the fucking headlights. I'd be just embarrassed and angry... my usual idiot self.

We hadn't seen each other in years, not since the comicon... that is until tonight. It was unavoidable, but I was with Hooper and couldn't talk to Holden. Hooper.. fuck, how long had I been sitting there letting my mind wander?

Hooper had let me move in with him after I left Holden. 'Left Holden', that makes it sound like we were a couple who broke up. Hooper was the one who took me in, let me cry on his shoulder... looked after me when I tried to do something really stupid. Holden fucking McNeil was many things, but I finally figured out that he wasn't worth killing myself over. Our so-called relationship, Hooper and mine, didn't turn sexual in any way, shape or form until shortly before I went to Hollywood. I'm not sure how exactly it got started, probably just some playful teasing one night... no doubt while he was once again unsuccessfully trying to convince me that Archie was fucking Mr. Weatherbee. I was lonely and horny, a dangerous combination, so I let him go down on me. Well, not let him like it was something that I granted permission for him to do. It just happened and I didn't care at that point whose mouth it was. That's all we've ever done though... several times, but that's it. It doesn't make me gay. I've never even kissed him. Well, he's kissed me a few times, but I've never kissed him. Despite what you may've heard, I don't kiss guys. I told him to stick his thumb in my ass last night, but that's not gay stuff... chicks have thumbs too.

Hooper has too much self-respect to be with me and I knew this was coming. Especially after tonight. I could see it in his eyes as soon as I hushed him; afraid someone would hear him and get the wrong idea. A half-second look that said he couldn't believe that I was so ashamed of our times together. He must've mistaken my loneliness for desire. I think he might have told me off right then and there had that fucking fanboy not interrupted us... that loser. I'm not a fucking tracer. I do so much more. Isn't it obvious by now? I am NOT A TRACER! Jesus! Some people are slow to pick up on shit like that. Maybe it's good that he interrupted us though, I don't think what Hooper was going to say would've been pleasant.

Then here we were, I was sitting on the edge of the bed wearing my Madman shirt and Superman boxers, my face still in my hands. He was lying behind me, no doubt staring a hole into my back... wearing nothing but a scowl so strong I could feel it. After the incident outside the theater, I guess he wanted to test me. I don't know... I honestly don't fucking know. I had climbed into bed, expecting our usual stuff but instead was greeted by him kissing and touching me. I got lost in the moment. It had been a long time since someone made me feel so good. The room was dark so it was easy to forget. It was exhilarating and I felt lightheaded. Some of it is a blur. I just know that sometime during the course of all that kissing, I ended up on my stomach. He was breathing into my ear, one of his arms was under me across my chest with his hand holding onto my shoulder... I didn't know where the other arm was. I was confused. He was laying on top of me, crushing me into the bed... which was more than a little uncomfortable considering how turned on I was. But, it was just a natural reaction to everything; it was definitely not because he was a guy. And, then, that's when it happened. I felt his dick brush up again my leg... that's it nothing more.. and before my freaked out brain could register what to do, the most girlish noise escaped from me and I came. Just from it touching my leg. My face felt hot, I was embarrassed and angry... angry with him for doing this to me, angry with myself. I wasn't sure if I wanted to hit him or cry or run away or just start yelling, I didn't know what to do. So many possibilities came at me at once that I did none of them.

I lay there with my face buried in the pillow; he was beside me. I was expecting him to make fun of me, but he didn't. He didn't say a word for what felt like forever.

"It's okay, Banky. It's natural to be nervous your first time."

"No..." I said muffled into the pillow.

"No what?"

He put his hand on my back and I rolled over. I looked up at him; my eyes were stinging a little bit.

"It's not natural. I'm not a faggot, Hoop."

He shook his head at me. As an afterthought, I added, "I'm sorry."

I wasn't sorry. I was sorry if I lead him on, but I wasn't sorry that I wasn't his boyfriend... or fuck buddy, whatever category I would have fallen under had I been gay. Which I'm not. He didn't say anything again until after I had moved over to sit on the edge of the bed with my face buried in my hands. He said something about my 'tired white ass'.

I had to get out of there. I didn't bother to change my shorts; I just had to leave. That always seems to be my solution to these things, run away. I pulled my pants on, then sat down on the edge of the bed to tie my shoes.

"Where are you going at this hour?"

"Someplace else."

That's all I could say. I wasn't exactly sure myself.