“A” stands for

Unsurprisingly, I didn’t have much of an appetite. Compared to Dave’s spunk still tingling in my mouth and throat, the food on my plate was like a tasteless glob of nutrient paste. I shoved it down heedlessly, told my parent’s I was going to Dave’s place for homework, and drove my bike over to his house.
I parked against the fence of his garden. Dave had a big shed in the back that was all his. His parents never minded what he did in there. It had always been kind of our clubhouse, many of the one-on-one sessions from when we were younger had taken place there. It had a stereo set, an old tv with a vcr, some board games, and Dave kept his treasure hidden away under a loose board in the floor, a rumpled old porn magazine, beaten and battered.

Made sense that he told me to come here. We hadn’t needed a clubhouse for a few years – we felt we had outgrown the need for one – but I guess the privacy it used to offer would still serve us well.
I thought about knocking, but just opened the door and went in. It was gloomy inside, but there was enough light for me to see Dave sitting on a makeshift bed that hadn’t been there last time I was here.
“So now what?” he said when I had closed the door behind me.
“I don’t know. You tell me.” I felt confident and in control of the situation.
“Are you a homo?” He hesitated a tenth of a second at the H-word.
“Are you?” I had no intention of giving up my lead.
He looked at his hands, and then at me.