Lying here with Chris Simon, legs interlocking amongst the starchy hotel bedsheets, Dion knew the game had changed. Things had always been breezy and innocent, whether it be a pat on the head, brotherly wrestling at the practice rink, or something as simple as knees touching while playing the Gamecube. For Dion, flirting had been easy; one could always walk away with a shrug of the shoulders, no harm done. Now, sprawled out on a Atlanta Airport Sheraton king-sized bed, Dion faced for the first time the consequences of his very real, and very homosexual, actions.
"Does this make me gay?" Dion asked meekly, trembling slightly in the bed sheets.
Chris Simon laughed and scooped young Dion tighter in his arms. The only reminder of the outside world was the white noise of cars along the highway. It was a million miles away from 5-4 loss earlier in the evening.
"Dion, the times change. This is the year 2005 and being gay simply isn't a big deal."
But Dion said nothing.
"You wanted it didn't you? It's okay to admit you like dink."
Dion laughed loudly.
"Well, when you put it so nicely..." he said smiling, looking over his shoulder back at Simon.
"Queer theory has come along way," Simon began, "from the Stonewall Riots, the founding of Queer Nation, and the rise of openly gay politicians, being gay has become more and more acceptable..." Simon thumbed and stroked underneath the elastic band of Dion's underwear as he went on, it was a weird German brand with those big 3-inch elastic bands and a dipping, basket-like crotch, and it was probably the first thing Chris Simon noticed about Dion.
"Well as long long as things don't change..." said Dion, "...and as long as the others don't know."
"I just hope you never get traded," Simon replied, smothering young Dion in his 20-inch biceps.