Right so James Potter just sent me a picture of his dick.

His DICK.

Just... casually. In the middle of an AIM conversation. Like it was completely normal.

And it's... well, it's a good dick. Fuck. I cannot believe I just wrote that but it's true. It's definitely above average, nicely shaped, and the photo quality was surprisingly good for a spontaneous mobile phone picture. Good lighting, decent angle, clearly he put some thought into the composition which is somehow both reassuring and deeply concerning.

The fact that I'm analyzing the photographic merits of my best friend's penis probably says something about my mental state right now.

Seven point five. I told him seven point five overall attractiveness and honestly? Looking at that picture, I might have been conservative. James is... James is really attractive. I've always known that objectively - you can't live with someone for six years without noticing they're good looking - but I've never really LOOKED before. Not like that.

And now I can't stop thinking about it.

This is so fucked up.

He asked if I would "do things" if we weren't friends. Educational things. Teaching things. And I said I needed to think about it instead of immediately saying no like a sane person would.

Why didn't I say no?

Grant and I have our thing, and it's good. Really good. We understand each other, there's no pressure, no expectations beyond friendship and physical compatibility. It works. It's easy.

This thing with James... this wouldn't be easy. This would be complicated and messy and potentially friendship-ending. James doesn't do casual. He doesn't do anything halfway. If I said yes to "teaching" him things, he'd probably fall in love with me or decide he's completely straight after one kiss or have some kind of dramatic revelation that changes everything.

Also he's JAMES. My best friend James who asks me to help with his Transfiguration essays and complains about Quidditch practice and has been obsessing over Lily Evans for literal years. James who took multiple online gay quizzes and then decided the logical next step was to get his friends to rate his attractiveness.

James who apparently takes very good dick pics.

I should not be thinking about James's dick. I definitely should not be thinking about what I could teach him. I absolutely should not be wondering what he would sound like if I...

No. Nope. Not going there.

But hypothetically, if I were to consider it (which I'm not), it wouldn't necessarily be betraying Grant. We're not exclusive, we've never discussed exclusivity, and honestly Grant would probably find the whole situation hilarious. He's been telling me I'm too serious about everything and should be more adventurous.

Not that Grant's opinion matters because I'm not considering it.

Except I kind of am considering it.

James was so confident asking for that rating, so sure that this was all perfectly logical and scientific. But then when he sent the picture, there was something almost... vulnerable about it? Like he was genuinely seeking approval, not just fishing for compliments.

And when he asked if I would want to "do things" - his voice would have been quieter if we were talking in person. I know James well enough to know when he's actually nervous under all the bravado.

The thing is, James figuring out he might be bi isn't that surprising. I've wondered occasionally, especially with how intense his friendships are, how tactile he is with people he cares about. He's always been very... physical. Comfortable with touch in a way that made me think he might be more flexible than he realized.

What's surprising is him asking ME to help figure it out.

What's even more surprising is that I'm not immediately horrified by the idea.

I should be horrified. This is James. This could ruin everything. Our friendship, the group dynamic, my relationship with Grant, my own peace of mind.

But when I think about actually showing James what kissing a guy feels like, or what it's like when someone knows what they're doing with their hands, or how different it is from being with girls... I don't feel horrified.

I feel curious.

And that's the most terrifying part of all of this.

James Potter sent me a dick pic and asked me to teach him about being with guys, and instead of laughing him off or telling him he's lost his mind, I'm sitting here at 9:30 at night writing about it in my private diary like some kind of confused teenager.

Which, to be fair, I am a confused teenager. But I'm supposed to be the mature one. The responsible one. The one who thinks things through.

Thinking this through: Bad idea. Terrible idea. Recipe for disaster.

Also thinking this through: James looked really good in that picture. And he was clearly nervous despite the confidence. And I do have experience he doesn't. And it would just be... educational.

Fuck.

I need to talk to Grant.

No, I need to NOT talk to Grant because Grant will either tell me I'm overthinking it and should just go for it, or he'll want to hear every detail, and either way that conversation will make this whole thing feel more real.

I need to sleep on it. Give myself time to come to my senses. By tomorrow morning I'll remember why this is a terrible idea and I can tell James thanks but no thanks, maybe try asking someone who isn't one of his best friends.

Definitely sleeping on it.

Not thinking about James or his surprisingly good photography skills or the way he said "would you want to do things" like he was asking me to commit treason.

Not thinking about any of it.

Fuck, I'm so screwed.