“Wait. Are you straight or gay?” I asked.
“I’m not gay. It’s just a British thing.” He licked my ear and moaned. “I went to boarding school. This is just how we say hello in Britain.” My penis told me to let him lick me; my brain told me Super Market was entering some dark turf. I pulled away from the redhead and sprinted out the club.
I bypassed the drunk white girls asking me if their accents sounded posh and found the redhead’s friend sitting against a burrito joint’s wall. He waved at me. “Did the redhead lick you?” he asked. I nodded. “He’s the biggest closet case in all of Oxford. He just went to a boarding school in the south. It’s not a British thing at all.”
Except it was.
