• His dirt-brown eyes stared deep into my soul. I blinked as he rubbed his forearm against my thigh in a totally platonic way. We both whispered to each other, "No homo, no homo..." as if reciting an incantation to say the gay away. "Not there, no homo," I moaned as he pushed my down onto the floor, right next to a stain that looked like a cross between a crab and a monkey. I dunno, I liked how it looked so I didn't bother to clean it up. Anyways, "This is too uncomfortable for me, no homo," I said. "I haven't vacuumed this floor for a really really really long time and I can feel three years worth of dust, grime, and gross things against my coccyx and along my spinal cord, no homo". "I've got it bro, no homo," he rhymed. He likes to rhyme. He carried me all princess like to my desk, where I wrote all my totally heterosexual fan-fiction about two dudes going down on each other. I repeat, totally heterosexual. "This is better, no homo," I said. I could feel all of the powerful straight-ness I had put into my fan-fiction, and it really made me want to get a drink. I was thirsty, but not for anything gay. I was actually thirsty. "Be right back, no homo," I said. "Go loco, no homo," he rhymed like a fourteen year-old trying to create totally straight fan-fiction about two guys on the floor, but then moving to a desk, and then being interrupted because of one of the guys' thirst (What a nerd). I got some water out of the well we had because I live in the Middles Ages, or whenever the hell people actually used wells for getting drinks. When I returned, he was gone and the window was open. "Goodbye, no homo," I whispered as tears welled up in my eyes.