The ”I” in bi

One weekend day we ended up alone in the abandoned play yard of our old elementary school. We used to hang out there with a more diverse group of young people, boys and girls mixed, no longer just the crowd from the old neighborhood, but others from other schools and other circles as well. And we didn’t play games like hide and seek or tag like we used to. Now hanging out was exactly that –
hanging out
. Just loitering, talking about this and that, and most importantly, trying to impress and establish your rank in the social group. Dave’s rank was all the way up there, of course. And for old times’ sake, he didn’t mind tolerating me in his shadow. I was a clumsy and awkward teenager, and always trying too hard to be accepted by the
in-crowd
. Guess that would never change in my adult years.

Prior to what would happen that day, I had never entertained the thought that I might have been gay, or even bisexual. Like any boy my age, I had some phases to go through I guess. The ease with which I would become infatuated by girls alleviated any insecurities I might have had in that respect. I was madly in love with one or several girls all the time, but of course my yearnings never got me anywhere, I was too ill-adapted for that. Homo, or faggot, or cock sucker, were just meaningless swear words to us. We had as much an accurate idea of what a homo was than of what we had to do with girls. So it never crossed my mind or caused me any internal reflection – nothing worth mentioning anyway.
Dave and I stayed behind after all others had left. Talking about nothing in particular. I must have been trying to bring the topic of masturbation up, as I was fascinated by his earlier recounts of his latest wank job. So I just asked him to show me.