Tim is straight, but every so often he saw a handsome man who he wanted to fuck. So did that actually make him mostly straight or a little bit gay? He figured it made him an honest, rational animal. Beauty is beauty, no matter the package it arrives in. In any case, he never acted on the desire. He'd turn the thought around in his mind, testing the edges of it, like it was the map of a strange country and he was a pleasantly lost tourist.

Then, one afternoon on the Acela Express from New York to Boston, he stared at a Latin-looking man who stared back. Five minutes later, they were making out in a bathroom, slightly losing their balance as the train rolled through the suburbs.

The Latin man was a bad kisser. He was all tongue and push and lick the neck like a damn horse. And his stubble scraped Tim's skin. Tim wanted to stop but he didn't want to hurt the guy's feelings. What had started as hot and impulsive had turned into a sexual obligation. Jesus, thought Tim, I don't even know this dude's name and it already feels like a 20-year marriage.

Finally, Tim gently pushed the Latin man away and said, "I'm sorry, no, this doesn't feel right."

"You prick tease," the guy said and spat at Tim's feet.

Later, still on the train, Tim stared out the window and smiled. He'd sexually rejected a man and been insulted for it, but rather than feeling shame or regret, Tim had never felt stronger. He felt like he could entice any man or woman on the train to follow him into the bathroom. He was confident that he could fuck the world.