John Paul Bramer

But he was so cute, and I was so desperate for male attention of any kind that I was willing to engage in theological debates to get it.

So I compromised.

I wouldn't go to his weird church, but I would meet Corey for lunch.

And then we met for lunch again, and again, and again.

We spent many a lunch hour in his parked car, fighting over the existence of God, and debating the concept of sin, and exploring each other's bodies.

Third thing really threw me for a loop, but I wasn't gonna complain.

And other than that, it was practically a Bible study.

Within the span of six months, I was confirmed John Paul St.

Juan Diego Hernandez Bramer.

Corey left his weird youth group, and I had fallen deeply in love.

I got to know Corey like the back of my hand.

I knew that he was deaf in his left ear from a fist fight he got into as a kid, so I always had to speak into his right.

I knew that his dad was an out-of-work flooring guy who'd

been hit hard by the recession, and that his mom, a secretary at the smoked meats company in town, was the breadwinner of the family.

He got used to being at my place.

I got used to being at his.

We'd play Call of Duty, roam the aisles of Walmart, commit light theft, go on hikes in the Wichita Wildlife Refuge.

And when we were certain we were alone and that we wouldn't get caught, we would fool around.

And this was actually a perfect system for me, a person with no intention of ever coming out, but who still kind of wanted to do hand stuff.

But Corey, for his part, made it abundantly clear that he wanted to be normal.