the professor and his student

"You're gay, aren't you?"

It wasn't a question; it was a matter-of-fact statement.

I wasn't sure what to say, so I answered with a question: "Are you?"

"I asked you first," Art replied.

He grinned at me, as if he knew. For as long as I have known him, he was incredibly perceptive. I sat on the couch opposite him admiring his beauty. He was fairly tall with delicate features and a slight build. If he were a girl, he would be called pretty, even beautiful.

When Art was in high school, he used to come over for help with his writing assignments or just to chat. He and his family lived a few houses down from me, but they had never really maintained what one would call a friendship with me. They were a family, and I was single. It seems as if we didn't have much in common; I was an outspoken atheist, and Art's father was a Baptist minister.

Art came over often for help on his college essays because he believed his writing still needed work. His writing didn't need any of my help of course, but I enjoyed his company, and I know he enjoyed mine.

He was a freshman at the local college where I teach classical Greek and Roman history and mythology. His older sister was a student in one of my classes.

I replied, "I don't think of myself as 'gay' or anything else; I enjoy any kind of sex. If it feels good, I'll do it."