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Tropes

  • Found Family
  • Sexual Awakening
  • First Time
  • Second Chance Romance
  • Coming Out
  • Coming of Age

It was Saturday. I was bored. And then the phone rang ...

My Accidental First Date follows the hilarious, true tale of Michael, a preacher's kid who can't remember ever meeting any gay people...

Until the phone rang, and he ended up in a movie theater with Joseph, one of his model-roommate's friends.

What happens when raised-by-wolves Michael realizes, hours into the date, that he's even on a date?

What happens when clothes start falling to the floor?

Click now and find out!

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Chapter One

Boring Saturday

It’s a terrible idea to leave a twenty-two-year-old guy alone on a Saturday. There are entirely too many parts of a young male’s overactive yet still developing brain that can wander and find trouble. A girl might read a book, watch a movie, or find some other semi-productive way to use her free weekend, but not a boy.
At least, not this boy.
So, I was home, alone, and bored on a Saturday. There was bad football replays and bowling on TV. I tried the other channels, but Lifetime didn’t call to me. It rarely did. There were reruns of Star Trek, but I’d long ago exceeded my tribble tolerance, so I tossed the remote aside and wandered aimlessly around our poorly appointed apartment. I briefly considered attacking the pile of dirty laundry in the corner. Unfortunately, it was much larger than the sacred pile of laundry quarters on the counter. My roommate, Peter, would be frustrated that I’d violated the immutable law of laundry-quarter-hoarding, but I’d found a vintage Ms. Pacman machine at a Pizza Hut around the block from our place earlier in the week.
What can I say? Ms. Pacman and I had a thing.
Quarter issues aside, the thought of lugging a basket of laundry down the stairs to the complex’s common room, then babysitting my poor collection of hole-ridden undies, wasn’t appealing. I’d had a massive load of fairly new sweatshirts stolen from that laundry room, so babysitting was a requirement, but the currently offending pile of clothes had sat on the floor for a few days without stinking and I figured they’d be okay a little longer.
To confirm this decision, I did the only thing a self-respecting young man would do in this situation: I sniffed my T-shirt. It didn’t kill me, so I assumed I was stronger for the effort and moved on.
Frustrated at my fruitless apartment tour, I tossed myself back onto the couch, grabbed the remote off the cardboard box we used for an end table, and resumed Olympic-level channel flipping.
Some guy was babbling about the strategy behind championship bowling. Strategy? Hit the pins, right? I flipped on Mr. Strategy as fast as possible.
The phone rang.
What was this? No one ever called. This was exciting, and something to shake me out of my boredom.
Yes, kids, our phone was an old-fashioned landline. There was no caller ID, or any other fancy features taken for granted these days. The ring sounded like the rapid whirring of a teacher’s bell in school; kind of annoying, but something you couldn’t ignore. My roommate and I shared the number. Peter was a struggling model/trainer, and I hadn’t yet found my place in life. We shared pretty much everything that involved spending money on a monthly basis. He was a good roommate that way.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Peter?” The voice was friendly, masculine, and held a note of anticipation. That last part seemed a little odd, but whatever. He wasn’t calling for me anyway.
“No, this is Michael. Peter’s not here,” I said, disappointed this welcome interruption would likely end as quickly as it began.
“Oh, okay, thanks.”
“No problem.” I reached behind the couch to hang up while keeping my eyes on the awful Lifetime special the remote decided was worthy of my Saturday. The receiver slipped out of my hand and clunked against the linoleum, then rebounded by its Slinky-esque cord to bob and wiggle off the back of the couch. Annoyed, I made my way around the couch to hang up the dangling phone.
The voice crackled. “Michael? You still there?”
Butterfingers finally got the receiver to his ear. “Yeah, I’m here. Sorry, I dropped you. Did you want to leave a message for Peter? I should’ve asked before.”
“No. That’s okay. I’m Joseph, a friend of Peter’s.”
He paused.
I remember the sound of that pause. It was thunderous.
A few heartbeats later, he continued. “I was just bored and called to see if he wanted to catch a movie.”
“Oh, okay. Well, I don’t know when he’ll be back. He left early this morning.”
“So…” He paused again, the silence louder this time. “What are you doing?”
Well, that wasn’t what I thought he’d say next.
“Umm. Nothing really. Just flipping channels, staring at laundry, kinda bored.”
“Wanna go see a movie?” Joseph asked without hesitation.
Now it was my turn to falter. This was more than a little odd, right? I didn’t know this guy, and Peter hadn’t ever mentioned him—at least, I didn’t think he had. I didn’t always pay great attention to the list of people who followed Mr. Photogenic. As a model, he had a flock.
Sitting there staring at bowling or tribbles wasn’t making me less bored. At least a movie would get me out of the apartment, and if Joseph was a friend of Peter’s, he had to be okay.
That made sense, right?
“Umm. Yeah, I guess,” I said.
“Great. I live a couple blocks from the theater on Pine. You know it?”
The movie angels began singing. You know, that one note that accompanies the bright white light and announces something really cool?
I knew that theater. It was the newest, nicest, coolest theater in town, the one with the puffy leather stadium seats. I hadn’t actually been to a movie there yet, but everybody was talking about it—and when I say everybody, I mean all the cool kids I wanted to hang out with but never really had the chance to because of my stick-up-the-ass PK thing.
“Yeah, great place,” I said, trying to sound cooler than I was.
“Great. Why don’t you come here and park at my place? We can just walk to the theater and save the five bucks.”
Given the quarter situation, I was all about saving five bucks.
“On my way.”

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