This little red school bus landed in the neighbor's driveway about six months ago. It's sat there parked, gathering moss ever since. It's hard to imagine a more red balloon-like vehicle. It is (of course) a Chevy.
I know very little about the neighbors, except that they're fundies, and that they're exceptionally dour. They don't talk to us (hell, they won't even allow eye contact!) - we suspect it's because they know we're fags, but we can't say for sure.
Personally, I think the red balloon has been parked in the church's garage for 2000 years, and they're afraid to take it out for a spin. But you know what they say: Use it or lose it.
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On the ever-present subject of gayness: I think I've subconsciously known my true orientation forever, thinking back at my childhood and adolescent years. At age 5, wanting to play "butterfly" with the other boys (a strange kindergarten game in which one boy lays down on the ground and pretends to be a butterfly with an injured wing, while one or more boys tend his needs, trying to bring him back to full health...), at age 21, when a co-worker at Burger King called me a f*g as a joke, I approached him and tried to kiss him, telling him that it takes one to know one, also as a "joke"...
Not very subtle. But women still turn me on, though. Maybe the immortal words of James Dean say it best, in reference to his own BI tendencies: "I'm not going to live my life with one hand tied behind my back."
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