HEY LOOK A BUNNY! (I’m gay) NO REALLY, DID YOU SEE IT? IT WAS A REALLY BIG BUNNY. LIKE, LOTS OF FUR AND EVERYTHING. COULD HAVE BEEN A BIG SQUIRREL EVEN, NOT REALLY SURE. OH WELL, IT’S GONE. YOU MISSED IT.

Phew, now that the squirrel-bunny’s gone . . . Yeah, I like dudes. I’ve always known it—you kinda just know these things. I’ve known long before I met all of you. But I never told anybody—not my family or friends or anybody—because I was afraid of what everybody would think. I guess I was most afraid that it would suddenly be the only thing people would see about me. I was afraid I would suddenly become the gay kid in the group. And, even if you all had absolutely no problem with me, you would still joke about dicks and assholes and rainbows all the time and I would never hear the end of it. So please don’t do that.

And for the record, in case anybody wants to know, I don’t have a thing for Kellan, haha, and I never have! Even though I always poke and grab his tiny white butt, I don’t want to hit that. (It’s a nice butt, don’t worry, Kell, nothing to be ashamed of, just not my thing.) It’s truly always been meaningless joking. He’s my bestie and nothing more. I don’t care if I hug him or sleepover in his room or give him a big wet kiss on the cheek. I still don’t want his dick. So don’t give us shit, got it?

Anyway, that’s what I’ve been up to. Now, if anybody is interested, once we’re all together, we can throw a fabulous coming out party, full of foofoo drinks and Beyoncé. Presents are always welcome. And so help me God, if anybody gets me anything phallus shaped, I will not be happy. (Well, maybe a little happy).

Lovelovelove,

Matty B

Phew, there’s a lot to unpack here. First of all, the most surprising thing in this entire message is that I was so anxious about being seen as gay that I went so far as to deny myself the pleasure of getting phallus-shaped gifts. See, the thing about coming out is that there is an After Gay, things do change, but you start to love it. You start to realize that those pleasures you’d been denying yourself were what would’ve made you happy all along. Now, several years after this entire mess, the only gifts I will accept are dildos, and I’m profoundly offended if anybody dares to associate me with anything but dicks, assholes, and rainbows. They are deeply entwined in my identity, and I cannot imagine life without them.