Chapter 8
PowerPoint for the Baby Gay
Gavin
The study room smells like old coffee and desperation, basically every study room ever. Doc's already here when I arrive, sitting rod-straight at the table with his laptop open. He's wearing another one of those nerdy graphic tees, this one with a geek joke I don't get.
"You're late," he says without looking up.
"By two minutes."
"Still late."
Jesus, this guy. I drop into the chair across from him, and that's when I notice he's got an actual PowerPoint pulled up. The title slide reads "LGBTQIA+ Terminology: A Comprehensive Introduction" in the most boring font possible.
"Did you seriously make a PowerPoint?"
His jaw tightens. "You asked me to teach you. This is teaching."
"Okay, but—" I lean back, studying him. He's tapping his pen against the table in a rapid rhythm, not quite meeting my eyes. He's nervous. Interesting. " Have you ever actually taught anyone before?"
"I've tutored organic chemistry."
"That's not the same thing."
"The principles of effective information transfer remain consistent across subjects."
I bite back a laugh. "Dude, you can't PowerPoint someone into being gay."
"I'm not trying to—" He stops, color rising in his cheeks. "That's not what this is. I told you you can't make someone gay… I'm trying to teach you common terminology."
"I know." I keep my voice gentle. Psychology 101, when someone's defensive, you don't push harder. You give them space. "How about we just talk? Like normal people?"
"I don't—" He closes his laptop with a sharp click. "Fine. What do you want to know?"
I pull out a crumpled piece of paper from my back pocket that has a list of words I've been too afraid to Google. "Well, what's a twink?"
The question catches him off guard. He blinks at me. "You don't know what a twink is?"
"I mean, I've heard it. Sounds like a snack cake."
"A snack—" He stares at me like I've grown a second head. "How do you not know this?"
"Small town, Idaho, remember? We had exactly zero out gay people. I've tried googling, and my browsing history is terrifying. The internet is a scary place, man." I try an innocent expression to get a laugh outta him, but nothing. "So are you gonna tell me or not?"
He shifts in his seat, suddenly looking everywhere but at me. "It's a young, slender gay man. Usually hairless. Often considered conventionally attractive in a... delicate way."
"Delicate?"
"Smaller build. Lean. Think—" He gestures vaguely at himself, then seems to realize what he's doing and drops his hand. "—someone built like a runner versus a linebacker."
I look at him, really look. He's not wrong. Lean muscle, probably from all that running he mentioned. Definitely way smaller than me, but in a way that makes me want to—
Nope. Not going there. He's here to tutor me nothin else.
"So you're a twink?"
He scowls. "I'm twenty-four. I'm aging out of twink territory."
"There's an age limit?"
"It's more about the vibe than… why am I explaining this?" He pulls out his phone, types, then slides it across. "Here. Visual reference."
It's a Google image search that's definitely going to fuck up his browsing history. Unless that's what he likes... Lots of young, thin guys in various states of undress. I scroll for a second before sliding it back.
"Got it. So if that's a twink," I look down at my notes, "What's a bear?"
"Take a guess."
"Like... a big hairy guy?"
Doc actually looks impressed. "That's exactly right, actually."
"Wait, seriously? I was joking."
"No, that's the term. Large, hairy gay men. It's a whole subculture with its own events and everything."
I try to picture it. "So like, lumberjack types?"
"Sometimes. Bears can be anything from construction workers to CEOs. It's more about body type and presentation."
"Huh." I'm already storing this away in my brain. "So what about guys who aren't either? Like not small and smooth but not big and hairy?"
"There are dozens of categories. Otters are hairy but slender. Wolves are hairy with lean muscle. Cubs are younger bears. Then you've got—"
"Hold up." I grab my notebook because this is getting complex. "Otters and wolves? Are we doing a whole animal kingdom thing?"
"I didn't invent the terminology."
"I'm not complaining, just trying to follow." I start sketching out a quick chart. "So bears are big and hairy, twinks are small and smooth, otters are small and hairy...?"
Doc leans forward to look at my notes, and I catch a whiff of… coffee and laundry detergent and something else that I think might be just him.
Whoa, he smells good… Oh no.
"Your handwriting is surprisingly neat," he says.
"Thanks?"
"Most guys write like they're having a seizure."
"Rude but accurate." I add 'wolves' to my chart. "So what are you if you're not a twink anymore?"
He sits back. "I don't know. I don't really think about it."
"Bullshit."
"Excuse me?"
"You've got a whole PowerPoint about gay terminology, but you've never thought about where you fit?"
He's quiet for a moment, that defensive wall sliding back up. "Maybe I don't fit anywhere. Not everyone needs a label."
There's something there, some hurt or frustration I'm not equipped to handle. So I do what I always do, redirect.
"What about a daddy?"
Doc chokes on nothing. "What?"
"It's on your slide." I point to his closed laptop. "I saw it earlier. What's a daddy?"
"You know what a daddy is."
"In gay terms?"
He looks like he'd rather perform surgery on himself without anesthesia. "An older man. Usually masculine. Often in a position of authority or caregiving in a relationship dynamic."
"How old are we talking?"
"Varies. Could be thirties, could be fifties. It's more about energy than age."
"Energy?"
"Protective. Dominant. Experienced." He's staring at the table like it holds the secrets of the universe. "Can we move on?"
"Sure." I make another note. This is fascinating, watching him squirm. I like watching him… oh no…
"What's a queen?"
His shoulders relax slightly. "Feminine gay man. Often flamboyant. Historically, it was derogatory, but it's been reclaimed."
"Like the n-word?"
"Not... exactly like that, but similar concept."
"Got it. And femme?"
"Similar to queen but broader. Anyone who presents feminine, regardless of gender. You can have femme lesbians, femme gay men, femme non-binary people..."
I nod, adding to my notes. The terminology is complex, but the underlying pattern is pretty clear: it's all about giving people ways to describe themselves and find their tribe.
"It's classic human behavior, creating in-groups and categories." I look up in time to see his nose crinkle in the most adorable way. He really hates psychology.
To again redirect him from what looks like a tangent about my major, I ask one I've already figured out for myself.
"What about a baby gay?"
Doc blinks at my change-up and actually smiles at that one. "Someone who just came out. New to the community."
"So I'm a baby gay?"
"I—" He stops, seems to realize what I just admitted, and his eyes go wide. "Are you?"
Shit. I hadn't meant to say it like that. "I don't know. Yes… Maybe? Like I said, I'm figuring things out."
"Oh." His voice is softer now, less clinical. "That's... that's okay. Everyone figures things out at their own pace."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I mean, I knew when I was twelve, but my roommate Leo didn't come out until last year. There's no right timeline."
"You knew at twelve?"
"Davey Morrison," he says with a wry smile. "Seventh grade. He wore this cologne that made me dizzy. Took me a while to figure out why."
I file that away. Doc gets nostalgic when he's comfortable. "Who was yours?"
"My what?"
"Your Davey Morrison. First guy you noticed."
"I—" The words stick. Because admitting this makes it weird. "Tyler."
Doc's eyebrows shoot up. "Your friend Tyler? The one dating Ethan?"
"No, I mean… yes, but not like that." Fuck, this is hard to explain. "It wasn't an attraction exactly. But seeing him with Ethan, seeing how happy he was... It made me wonder why I never felt that way. With anyone."
"Oh." Doc tilts his head, studying me with those intense dark eyes. "Comp het can be a mindfuck."
"Comp het?"
"Compulsory heterosexuality. The assumption that everyone is straight until proven otherwise. Society's default setting."
"Huh." I turn that over in my mind. "So all those girlfriends in high school..."
"Maybe you were just doing what was expected."
"Maybe." I think about Sarah, Madison, and all the others. Nice girls who deserved better than a boyfriend who was playing a part. "This is fucked up."
"Which part?"
"All of it. I'm twenty-three and just now figuring out basic shit about myself."
"Twenty-three isn't old."
"Says the guy who knew at twelve."
"Knowing and accepting are different things." His voice goes quiet. "I knew at twelve. Didn't tell anyone until college."
"Why not?"
"Italian Catholic family. You do the math."
Right. I think about my own family, about Dad's comments over the years. "Yeah. I get that."
We sit in silence for a moment. It's not uncomfortable exactly, just... heavy.
"So," I say eventually. "What else is on your PowerPoint?"
He laughs, actually laughs, and opens his laptop again. "Way too much. I got carried away with the research. If we're doing this, I want to do it right for you." His grin takes on a mischievous tilt. "Especially since you are so old to start learning these things."
"Hey! I resemble that remark!"
We laugh together, and it feels really good. When he laughs, his eyes actually fucking twinkle… oh no…
As the laughter settles, I scratch at a mark on the table, not quite meeting his eyes and searching for words that don't sound too sappy. "But seriously, man. Thanks for... You know. Taking this seriously. Not making me feel like an idiot about it."
Doc's ears turn bright red, and a flush creeps up from his collar. That's so cute… I wonder how far down the flush goes?