When it came to bagging a straight guy, I likened the tricky process to a game of five card stud, since it had about the same high odds as drawing to fill an inside straight. Or since I preferred bottoming, I guess that should be for the “straight” to fill me. Pun aside, either case required a gamble, sometimes huge, with no guarantee of a successful outcome.
But what exactly were the odds when it came to something happening between Reed and myself?
At this point, I had no way of knowing for certain, other than the odds were likely not in my favor. The problem was, assuming for a moment his jest hadn’t been a jest at all, I could look at his words in two completely opposite ways. Was Reed, knowing my s****l orientation, only probing my desires when it came to sucking his c**k, or was he
