I'm so weirdly, inappropriately happy, it's embarrassing.

Since Bill exited the picture, that is.

Okay, not something I'm especially proud of. He was good for Max. He was. He loved him – anyone could see that. Which I knew, and yet I grew to sort of hate him.

So not cool. I mean, what does that say about me ? That I'm becoming more like the old Tony, as Max keeps saying ? Or worse ?

As Max's friend I should've fucking well been happy for him, because Bill was somebody you could see he could get serious with, (which is what he says all the time he wants), being in possession not only of the qualities your mum looks for: polite, well raised, well spoken, smart, no bad habits, even tempered, top marks at school, but also the shit Max looks for: fit, built, funny, great fuck. Christ, the lad even had the romantic side down – he was constantly sending Maxxie flowers, for fuck's sake.

And so what could've been the problem ?

Over and over, I would see them together, I would think of them together, and it would ruin my whole fucking day.

It's the crush talking, obviously. Fucking thing has survived like a bad virus, despite my many attempts to kill it. For a while it was dormant, and therefore easily reasoned with, and ignored. I'd have the occasional flareup, but it would pass. Then Mr Knight in Shining Armour has to fucking come along and sweep Maxxie off his feet, right in front of my eyes, catapulting me back to square one.

I so don't frigging know what to do. What can I possibly do ? No amount of wishing it away has worked. No amount of pleading or yelling or pointing out just exactly how exceedingly straight I am.

Worst, most ironic thing of all is that the one person in the world I need desperately to spill my guts to about this ... can't frigging know.

I just wanna fucking scream.

They told me about personality change, that that was a possibility, but this isn't that, is it? Sexuality isn't personality. This is more a byproduct of desperation, I'm sure - starvation. The bubbling up and boiling over of too-long unmet needs getting channeled away from girls, who, for obvious reasons, I don't feel I can approach, to the one person who happens to be around all the time.

But then ... why does it feel so bloody real ?

I just wanna throw in the towel and fucking well tell him, or I'll go mental, I swear ... but ... I can't. Of course I can't. Not worth risking the whole goddamn friendship. That's what would happen. Maxxie's told me as much – last year there was a kid, a close friend, who suddenly in one impassioned speech confessed his feelings. From that point forward they were kaput. Too tense, too awkward, too uncomfortable and weird.

I can't allow it – not a chance. Not only am I in no position to be friendless, (the old Tony talking), but, to be perfectly blunt, and at the risk of sounding like a complete wanker and dildo, I've come to the conclusion that I sort of couldn't live my life without the little shit, (the new Tony?) or, maybe I could, but ... I'd be dead frigging miserable. We're that tight.

Not, of course, that he'd believe me if I told him, anyway.

"Sorta got a crush on ya, Max."

"Right. Too right. You and half of Bristol."

"I'm serious!"

"Of course you are! You, who can't shut up about TITS ! Lay off the spliff for fuck's sake, willya ?"

And even if he did believe me, what then ? It's not like we're gonna date. Maxxie and I ? Come on!

Besides, I shouldn't be presumptuous, like he says straight boys always are – I'm so not his type.

Phew. Off the hook.

Bill. There's the answer. Soon as we get back from Brighton I'll bloody get he and Bill back together, and then make an appointment with a shrink. And a sex therapist. And maybe a prostitute.

In the meantime, if I'm honest, it, these feelings, aren't so bad, are they ? I mean, in and of themselves, regardless of the target, they at least make you feel good, and alive, and shit. Happy. That notorious, ridiculous warm/fuzzy love-buzz crap.

Love ? ! ?

Christ, I said it.

Truth. Truth, he said. Well there's one truth I sure as hell won't be owning up to. 'I split up with Bill because of you, Tony. Apparently I'm in love.' Ya, right ! How quickly would he fly out the door, never to be seen again ? Too incredibly awkward. Humiliating. He'd never confide in me again. Never feel comfortable, really. It would completely demolish our friendship, and quickly. Not worth the risk.

Brighton. If the fates are at all on my side I will meet someone to make me forget all this. And maybe Tony will, too. That's it. Probably what he's needed all along – a real live girl, not porn, not a magazine or video, not Michelle with all her baggage, but some hot, anonymous babe who wants cock and isn't shy about it.

And if his dick fails him again, that'll pretty much be it.

Christ.

For the remainder of the week and on the train ride there, he's sort of giddy. Only a one million percent turn around to his mood.

Which makes me so happy, it's frightening.

"Yup. Doin' the Super Booster. Fuck, can't wait," he says, nodding his head, eating from a bag of crisps and getting little salty crumbs all down his front. "Zero to 60 in 3 seconds, Max, and like a hundred fucking metres in the air ! Then they fling you straight out over the water so you're dangling, and shit, and only pull you back at the last possible second, probably pleading for your life. If that doesn't stop the brain bleed, or maybe start it going again, nothing will."

"Sounds dreadful."

His head whips to the side.

I laugh.

"I'm kidding, tosser. Sounds great, particularly if you don't mind vomit flying back in your face."

"No, there will be no vomiting, Max. We're doing this."

"Not that vomit's a bad thing."

"Stop being such a pussy! Nobody's throwing up, Max. Y'know why ? Cuz right after, we're doing the log ride splash thing ! Like ten times in a row ! We'll be soaking fucking wet and screaming our stupidass heads off !"

"But my hair ! Loads of expensive product in it !"

He looks at me, then we both burst out laughing. I had him there for a sec.

"Okay," he blathers on. "And we're eating plenty of bad food. All bad food, in fact. Nothing healthy. And swimming, lots of frigging swimming," His face turns serious. "Will I know how, though? Did I swim, before ? What if I can't swim ?"

"Tony, you idiot, you had aquatherapy early on, remember ? You were in a pool half the day, for weeks. Besides," I grin, "bikinis."

He laughs, he nods.

"Right. Forgot. Bikinis."

"I wanna go to the aquarium." I offer. "And the midway – I want lots of cheezy prizes and stuffed animals, and shit. And we have to do karaoke."

"Fuck!" He bellows. "They have karaoke ? I had no idea !"

"Great. So you'll do it ? "

"Are you kidding ? No fucking way !"

"Yes you will, arsehole ! I'm getting you so pissed, you'll be singing like, Mariah Carey."

I stand, strike a pose, and sing ...

"I'll be there ! I'll be there ! Just call my name and-"

... before Tony bats me on the head.

"Don't be such a fucking poof ! That was the Jackson Five !"

"She covered it, though !"

"Who gives a rat's arse ! So did probably Whitney fucking Houston ! Total and complete bollocks !"

I sit. I grumble.

"I thought you didn't know anything about old music."

"Well, I definitely know more about glam rock than I ever wanted."

"So then you'll sing Bowie ! ?" I fly out of my seat and begin belting it. "Don't fake it baby ! Lay the real thing on me ! The church of man-love ! Is such a holy place to be !"

Tony looks round in embarrassment.

"Shut UP, Max !"

"So what happened with Bill ?"

He keeps frigging bringing up Bill.

"I don't wanna talk about it."

"Doesn't it feel a bit fucked up, though, that he was supposed to be sitting where I am right now ?"

"Maybe. Whatever. It's over."

"But why, Max? What the fuck happened ? He was a good guy. Maybe you made the wrong decision."

"Christ, thanks for the vote of confidence. I thought you didn't like him."

"Ya but ... what does it matter what I think ? You were nuts for him. And you made a nice couple. I sort of thought he was maybe even, like, the one."

Damn, it's uncomfortable.

I sit back and stare out the window, feeling sullen. Bill was lovely, it's true, and Tony could be right – I might very well kick myself at some point, but my gut, and more importantly, my heart, are telling me otherwise.

"No. I don't think he was, Tone."

He shrugs.

"You can still change your mind."

I look at him, annoyed.

"What the fuck ! You didn't even like him, Tone!"

"Nor he, me."

How does he ? ? I was meticulous about keeping it from him ! Or so I thought ...

"Well, he ... he ... he didn't mind you all that much. I think it was more a matter of-"

"-Jealousy. We were both jealous of each other."

I laugh.

"Fuck, you don't hold back, do you ? I think there was an element of jealousy in it for him, a bit, yes. I'm sure it was hard to come along and find a place in my life-"

"-When I take up every bloody second of it."

"No, that's not what I meant, Tone."

"Yes it is. You're just being polite. Screw polite. You and I are sorta like twins, Max. Siamese twins."

I laugh.

"Not that there's really anything wrong with that. It's rather quaint."

"Ya, but ... I just don't wanna be responsible for you ending up alone and like, desolate, or whatever."

I laugh again.

"Tony, I'm fucking 18 ! Got my whole frigging life to go! I have no intention of becoming an old maid, so don't worry yourself, arsehole."

"Alright, alright. So anyway, more interesting topics: Brighton. Two gay clubs. You're sure to score, Max. Loads of cock to be had."

Which was the initial intent, yes, but at the moment, is the last thing on my mind. Still, I play along.

"Yes, loads."

"Time for an orgy, maybe."

I laugh.

"Yes, high time. You'll have to surrender the room to me. Maybe get one of your own."

He laughs.

"Right, okay, across the hall, or something. But then your door'll keep opening all night, with all your manmeat filing in, one after another, so I won't get any sleep."

"We're hardly going to Brighton to sleep."

"What would you do though, Max, with a room full of hard cock ? Ever thought of it ? Like, a dozen guys, say."

I burst out laughing.

"No, that's not the question. The question is, what wouldn't I do."

"Ahh," he smiles. He laughs. "I guess I maybe don't wanna know."

"Right. You don't."

I turn to him.

"Town's full of straight clubs, too, Tone. I really do think therein lies the answer. Fresh, live pussy. Not on tape, not on paper. An orgy of your own, perhaps."

He grimaces.

"Chelle-"

"-Chelle doesn't count, Tone; how many times have I told you ? You guys had all that history, and then she sort of forced herself on you. Not exactly conducive to ..."

"Whatever. Not frigging holding my breath."

"It's a mental block, remember ? That's what the research said. Not physical. Some hot girl who doesn't know you, I mean, could definitely be the answer. I'm not kidding. And it'd be a fuck of a lot more fun than sex therapy, I'm betting."

"Sex therapy could be hot. I'm planning on it, in fact. 'Specially if the doc's up for it."

"Shut up, arsehole. Anyway, if you didn't bring condoms, I've got loads." I smile. "Even flavoured ones."

"Whatever. Other topics ? More we talk about the prospect of pussy, more tense I get."

My shoulders slump.

"Sorry."

It's all so weird, discussing The Topic, the thing that has consumed me for the last year, only to find that, suddenly, incredibly, it's lessened it's grip. Why ? Because. I'm preoccupied ... by ... this thing, this unmentionable undercurrent swimming teasingly back and forth, just beneath the surface.

But, once again, I'm not about to do, or rather, say anything stupid. Maxxie will find some hot Brighton bloke, or two, which is as it should be, and when we get home, he's going back to Bill, whether he knows that right now or not. And not just because I sort of sense I was at least part of the reason they split.

Look. Kid's spent a year of his life doting on me. I say 'spent', some might say 'wasted'. Either way, I don't know that I'd deserve it if I didn't at least try to repay the honor by trying to do the right thing. Not that I think I have any magical persuasive powers over either of 'em, but I have this idea if I can go to Bill behind Max's back, and then, and this is crucial, step the fuck away, for once, and finally allow the lad some breathing room ... he'll come to his senses.

And the hope, not to mention the plan, is that I will, in turn, too.