He asks me when I knew I was gay. I tell him it’s something I just felt deep down. There was no mystery for me. I was born knowing I was different. There was never any question. For Chris, it was a gradual process, culminating in an encounter with a student at Harvard he just couldn’t stop thinking about. One taste was all it took.
Throughout our meal of linguine alfredo for him and smoked salmon for me, our legs brush against each other. The more champagne we drink, the more I feel my inhibitions falling away; frankly, though, I don’t have that many. He keeps touching my hand, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles. I shiver, closing my eyes to sink into the feeling.
When he says, “Can I take you home?” I am more than ready.
* * * *
After generously tipping the valet, Chris drives us in h
