I know, not cool.

It’s just that I was looking for a towel because you told me I could grab a shower since we just returned from the gym, and you ran to grab a six pack. There wasn’t a clean one in the bathroom, so I checked your bedroom closet. 

I wasn’t entirely sure what to think upon first sight because it’s totally fine, and there’s no judgement for what you do in the privacy of your own crib, but I couldn’t help from feeling a little awkweird.

And no, I didn’t want to tell you about it. However, we’ve been friends so long, I feel that it might’ve been necessary.

It affected me. I think it’s because of that visual that hits you with a shock when you accidentally witness people you know getting it on. And I’ve been trying for the last ten minutes, but I’m realizing that this can’t be unseen. In fact, upon this unfortunate discovery, I wanted to get dressed immediately, sneak out, and tell you I had to handle a work thing.

This is entirely my fault. I mean, it’s not the same thing as finding your mother’s dildo in a drawer after she’s passed, thank God. That’s Aunt Cathy’s job. But it’s still an area in which I have no context from which to draw for coping and I just don’t want this uneasiness to linger.

We’ve known each other since middle school and I kind of think you like a cousin. Like, we’ve always been buddies—into shit like hot sauce, mountain biking, and the matching tuxedos in Dumb and Dumber. But this changed things. There’s a line you never want to cross with a bro, and I was uncertain if this might be permanent.

By the way, I also found a prostate massager.

But then I smoked some of your weed. And thank God, because now that I’m stoned the whole thing is fucking hilarious!