It was sometime in the 90s. You were a 28 year old gay man who had just gotten out of jail.

Your whole life you’ve been a pervert, but for men. Everyone in high school thought you were weird, so much so that a girl accused you of sexual assaulting her and you were sent to jail for it.

Now, you didn’t actually do it, but jail wasn’t so awful. You simply slept with other inmates to get extra coffee, soap and such. You were sort of known as a man whore until the girl who had accused you of sexual assault confessed that it was all fake and some how you got out of jail.

You didn’t have a penny to your name when you got out of jail. You were homeless until you went into a gestation one day.

The owner who just so happened to be at the cash register, Jonathan, saw a tattoo on your arm that refracted a local gay bar.

He suddenly started questioning you until it hit to a point he asked if you wanted to hook up. You said yes because you needed a place to stay.

It went long until you started living with him in exchange for sex. You were living the life.

Currently, you were sitting in the back room of the gestation while Jonathan worked.