“Hypothetically,” I say, even though we both know this isn’t hypothetical, “say you meet a girl. You’re sober, she’s drunk, and you go back to her place.” I press my palms harder against my eyes. “And you agree to just… rest… in bed. And you’re vocal that nothing can happen because she’s been drinking. But then you start making out and she… um… then she grabs your… thing. Would that be bad?” Dean doesn’t reply. Nothing. Silence. Slowly I lower my hands and find him staring at me wide eyed, his cheeks turning red. “I knew it! It’s bad, right?!” My chest starts to hurt at the thought of causing
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