That fateful day when Vince finally got up the nerve to tell Eric how he felt, he almost couldn’t go through with it. His heart pounded in his chest, his temples, his d**k, and each step he took down the alley between their houses drummed fear and doubt and dread into him until his hands were slick with sweat that he couldn’t seem to wipe away. His eyes hurt with every blink. His arms were covered in pimply bumps, his ribs trembled, his mouth was dry, his tongue thick, his lips sore and chapped. The sounds of his feet in the graveled alley were loud to his own ears, grating his nerves. He felt like a spring, wound tighter and tighter, and he wanted to scream to release the tension building within him. He wanted to die.
That was sometime in the middle of August three years ago and even now
