John

We tried to fall asleep on his floor.
He lay on his stomach, propped up on his elbows, but had his face in his wrists. John began to get restless. 
I could barely open my eyes, but I turned to him, stretched out my dead arm, and fingered his beautiful locks. 
“What’s the matter?” I reached over with my other hand to stroke his arm, trying to comfort him. In a fluid motion, he rolled towards me, putting his back to my chest, threatening a cuddle. 
“Kev, your new boyfriend… why are you with him?” I told him that I don’t have a boyfriend, but he persisted. “Facebook says you’re with someone.” 
I laughed at him.“That’s my roommate- we’re not really together. He’s not even gay.” As soon as I finished the sentence, he rolled away from me for a foot and then back again. But that time he managed to push himself up on his arms. He hovered over me, one palm on each side of my shoulders. His legs surrounded mine. 
He kissed me the only way someone can kiss in a dream: defectless, skillfull, flawless. Nothing short of perfection.

KevSpatula

Greg couldn’t even stifle his laughter. His lips rumbled together, but eventually a guffaw burst through. “What? Why was that funny?” I asked, putting my phone down. It’s always funny to see what he’s thinking. “Well, I was thinking of pancakes…” and that’s all he needed to say for me to know where he was going with it. “…and, you know, I can almost hear the spatula scraping the pan to flip them,” he said, and with a smile his palm went from facing up to facing down. He began laughing again, and this time I joined him. 

My friend Bradford thought it was funny that I’m able to get so many “straight” guys to be intimate with me. To second guess themselves. To give themselves to me. 

So he thought I deserved a nickname based on how I flipped them. Like pancakes.

It was amusing, but I didn’t want it to be objective like that. The boy of subject was not a game.

Greg pointed at me when he said, “You have weird taste, Kevspatula.” I asked him when we ever agreed on guys, and we laughed again. And just like that, with the mention of shallowness, I began thinking about why I even considered the boys’ existence. What possible redeeming characteristics as a human being he could bring to my table. Why I would ever fool myself to think that I’d ever give him a seconds’ thought.