The sun had set by the time I got back to the apartment.  I was downstairs
in the lobby, at the mailboxes, getting my mail.  I frowned, wondering why
there were a couple of bright pink flyers in my box.  I pulled the pink
paper out and gasped.

~Calling all gay men of Sunnydale!~ it read.  ~This month's meeting of the
Gay Alliance has been rescheduled!  It will be on the 23rd at the Civic
Center at 7:00pm!  Please, join us on this day!  We will discuss a lot of
exciting things, and plan for the shopping excursion next month in LA!~

"What the. . ."  I pulled out another envelope and opened it, seeing it was
from the Gay Alliance of Sunnydale.  Enclosed were a letter and a few
leaflets about being gay, and the importance of getting tested for AIDS
regularly.  Reading quickly over the letter, I groaned.  My *mother* had
gotten in touch with the GAoS and gave them my name and address.  The letter
also stated that they would be thrilled to have me join their next meeting,
where they would discuss different hardships "we as Gay Americans" had to
endure.

I started banging my head against the metal mailboxes.  I didn't care that I
was causing myself a headache.  Was this nightmare *ever* going to end?  I
was beginning to think that maybe if I just proclaimed to the world that I
was gay, it would all go away.

"Uh. . .Alexander Harris?"

I spun around quickly, clutching my mail to my chest.  I frowned slightly at
the guy standing about five feet away from me.  He was handsome - tall, dark
hair, dark eyes. . .the kind you could get lost in.  Not Spike's, mind you,
but beautiful eyes nonetheless.

Well, they would have been if. . .

God, never mind.

"Yea?" I asked softly.  "I'm. . .Xander."

"Xander," he said, rolling the name around on his tongue.  "I like it."

I blinked in mild shock.  He *liked* it?  Why did he like my name?  And why
was he telling me?  He looked like he could be a football player, or a jock
of some sort - clean cut and extremely handsome.  Why would he be telling
another guy that he liked his name?

"Can I help you?" I asked, having the disadvantage of not having a clue who
the hell he was.

He blushed slightly, looking down.  "I'm sorry."  He stepped forward,
holding his hand out.  "I'm Mike.  Mike Tucker."

I shook his hand.  He had big hands, and a firm grip.  Too bad he wasn't
gay.

Not that I was, or anything, or that I found myself wondering what it would
be like to kiss those full lips of his.  Because I didn't.  I didn't want to
know what he looked like without his clothes on.  Not at all.

"I didn't mean to intrude, but. . ."  He glanced around, satisfied that the
lobby was empty.  "Your mom and my mom are friends. . ."

I pulled my hand away and stepped back against the mailboxes.  I slammed my
head against them.  "I am *so* sorry, Mike, that my mother is probably
hounding your mother about this.  I don't know why she's got it in her head
that I'm gay, because I'm not."

Great.  She'd gone from hounding Spike to hounding a perfectly good stranger
who was probably here to beat the shit out of me for thinking I was a pansy.

"You. . .aren't?" he asked, frowning slightly.

He actually almost looked crushed.

"You. . .are?" I asked, an eyebrow rising.

"Your mother didn't call you today?  Seems like our moms got on this roll at
the meeting for 'Parents Supporting the Gay Alliance' - it's a program the
Alliance has for the parents of us gay folk - anyway, they got on a roll
last night about how neither of their sons could find a decent man, and
finally decided to set us up.  She was supposed to call you today and tell
you I was coming over."

I blushed and looked down.  "I'm sorry, Mike, I haven't been home today.  I
must have missed the call."

"Oh," he said, glancing away.  "If you aren't gay, why is your mom in the
group?"

I opened my mouth to launch into the story, then stopped.  He was a handsome
guy, and Tara's words from that morning kept echoing through my mind, 'Maybe
you should go out with a guy to see what it's like.'

"I'm. . .undecided at this moment," I said, finally being honest with
someone - including myself.  "I'm just. . .not sure.  I mean, I like women -
a lot - but lately, I've noticed a guy. . .or two, and I'm just not sure.
My best friend seems to think I am, but. . ."

"Ahh," Mike said knowingly.  "Been there, experienced it when I was 16.  If.
. .if you decide you are, this is one of the hardest parts of getting to
that point.  Denial - strong denial - will make you believe anything."

I was starting to learn that.

"So anyway, I'll leave you alone. . .I really didn't mean to bother you or
anything. . ."

"Wait!" I said, stepping forward.  "My friend Tara said that I should go out
with someone, see what it's like.  I don't. . .I mean, I don't really feel
comfortable going out on a *date*, per se, but maybe we could just. . .I don't
know, go have dinner?  You can help me, maybe.  You know, since I really
don't know any. . .um. . ."

"Gay men?" he asked, smiling slightly.

"Yea.  Would that be ok?"

I couldn't believe I was actually hoping he'd say yes.

His smile lit up the lobby.  "I'd like that.  Even as friends, I think that
would be cool," he smiled.

My god, he was handsome.  He reminded me a bit of Angel, tall and dark and
mysterious.

"Cool," I said.  I glanced down.  "I should change though. . ."  My baggy
jeans and my Hawaiian shirt sort of clashed with the nice chinos and silk
shirt he was wearing.

"I can wait down here for you, if you'd like."

"Naw, you can come upstairs," I said.

"Ok," he grinned.

We got in the elevator and headed upstairs.  My mind started racing.  I was
going out on a date.  With a man.  With a real, honest-to-God man.  Even
though it wasn't a date, I knew in the back of my head that it was.  He was
far too handsome for it not to be one.  I would be stupid - if I decided
that I *was* gay - to pass up on him.

A brief pang of fear entered my body.  What if he were a vampire?  What if
this were a trick, that he was going to eat me?  I kneeled on the floor of
the elevator and started looking through my backpack, finally pulling out a
cross.  "Hold this," I said, absentmindedly, still looking through my sack.
I figured I could pull that one off, pretend I was looking for something
else and the huge religious symbol was in my way.

He took it out of my hands and looked it over.  I glanced up at him.  He was
fascinated with the item, and *definitely* not a vampire.  "Nice cross.  Why
do you carry it around?" he asked.

"Huh?  Oh, um. . .well. . ." I stammered.

He smiled at me.  "It's ok, Xander.  I know people don't like to discuss
religion too often.  I can understand that."

I smiled back.  "Thanks."  I finished digging through my backpack, realizing
my keys were at the bottom anyway, so I didn't look like a total fool in
front of him.  I took them out and took the cross from him.  "Thanks again,
Mike."

"Anytime," he said, clasping my shoulder.

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