Stephen plopped down on the bed in his room, spent literally as his body only wanted to lay down and never have to raise itself off the warm, inviting mattress. It was sickening the way it played to his emotions and his need to sleep, almost evil in its taunting. He shook his head again and looked back at the thing sitting in the corner of the room.

It moved. It moved again, moving its arms slowly as if to taunt him with the way they were soft, delicate, almost fragile in their apparent state. Very dangerous, he muttered to himself mentally but his eyes betrayed him again, as they had done that night, as they lingered just long enough over the thing's body that, upon observation, it knew he was paying strict attention to its whims.

"Does this make me gay?" he whispered softly, knowing the answer lay somewhere in the middle of the truth and stupidity. No one, who saw what was currently giving food to his eyes, would ever make the same sex connection that he wondered. No one who didn't know what was going on, that is. Stephen wondered if he was thinking too much about things and not working the angle that he should have taken, that he would've taken had he not learned what was happening here. "This is fucked up..."

"Stephen...listen..."