Love Is Proud

  “Anywhere you like, boys,” she said. As Miles made his way past Minnie Phelps, she reached a cold hand out to gently grab him by his forearm. “Thank you for doing this for her,” she said quietly. “You’re a good man.” Miles nodded and quickly turned his eyes from Miss Phelps before she could see the water that began to fill them.

  There were several tables set up for people to place their items for sale, but most were empty. Scott wanted to put their things at the table right underneath the banner reading, Stay Strong Emily! but Miles chose a space a few tables down the row.

  “That table’s bigger,” said Scott and they began unpacking.

  “I think that’s where Emily and Rhonda will be sitting,” said Miles. “Plus, I don’t want to ruffle any feathers.” He looked down at the poster board sign taped to the front of table they’d chosen. “Besides, I like this sign the best anyway.”

  “Kick cancer’s butt?” read Scott with a chuckle.

  “Heck yeah,” said Miles.

  The two men hurriedly arranged their merchandise, aware that people would be streaming in any minute. They were so busy that they didn’t hear the two people who had come up behind them until one of them spoke.

  “Mama! Look at that!”

  Miles stood and spun to regard the young girl and her mother. Emily, the guest of honor, hopped up and down in excitement, reaching up to steady her pink turban that slid around on her mostly bald head. Her eyes sparkled as she pointed on thin arm at Mile’s stuffed creations, her other arm pulling on her mother’s arm.

  “Wow!” said Emily’s mother Rhonda to her excited child. “Those are so cool, aren’t they?”

  “Yeah!” squealed Emily. “Can I have one?”

  “Baby, those are for people to buy.”

  Miles picked up the octopus he had placed front and center and squatted down to look Emily in the eyes. “You know where these came from?”

  Emily shook her head.

  “I made them,” said Miles.

  Emily mouthed a silent, “Wow!”

  “And you know what happens when you make something?”

  She once again shook her head.

  “It means,” said Miles, “that I can do whatever I want with them. And you know what I want to do with this one?”

  Emily’s eyes twinkled in anticipation before she whispered, “No, what?”

  “I want you to have him,” said Miles handing over the toy.

  Emily grabbed it up and spun around in excitement, “Thank you so much!”

  “You know what else?” asked Miles.

  “What else?” asked Emily.

  “That one is my favorite one of all. You see all those arms?”

  Emily lifted one of the arms and nodded.

  “Well, whenever you’re feeling nervous or afraid, that little octopus can give you not one or two hugs but four hugs! All at once!”

  Emily giggled and hugged the octopus to her. She closed the distance between them in a flash and gave Miles the biggest hug she was capable of. Miles eyes filled once again with tears as he held her frail body to his. Miles was not a religious man, but he prayed to any god or benevolent force that could hear that the treatments would continue to work and that Emily could have a chance to grow up. Emily planted a kiss on his cheek and broke loose from their hug. “Can I show Miss Minnie?” she asked her mother.

  “Of course, baby,” said Rhonda who watched her only child bound off across the room. Rhonda ran her hands over her neat skirt, smoothing wrinkles that didn’t exist. She sighed and quietly said, “You didn’t have to do all this. Not after…”

  “I know,” interrupted Miles as he placed a comforting hand on Rhonda’s shoulder. He remembered all the confrontations that had happened between the two of them. The years they had spent as neighbors had not gone well. There had been countless harsh words exchanged from both sides over the smallest of things, but it all stemmed from the fact that they came from two sides of an age-old argument. She had made no secret of the fact that she did not approve of Miles’s and Scott’s relationship and the fact that they were not hiding it from anyone. They had counter attacked, calling her out on how poorly she was representing her religion. But none of that mattered now. Now Miles and Scott and Rhonda and Miss Minnie Phelps were part of a community coming together to raise money to help a little innocent girl have a chance against an insidious disease. Petty disagreements had no place here.

  Rhonda pulled Miles into a hug so tight that it squeezed the air from his lungs. She clung to him as if she was trying to communicate with her heartfelt embrace a thousand apologies that she could never give voice. She pulled back just enough to extend one arm toward Scott who was standing to the side. Once Scott was pulled into the fold, she kissed each man on the cheek and whispered, “Thank you.”

  * * * *

  ABOUT MATTHEW ROBBINS

  Matthew Robbins lives in southern Indiana with his husband Josh and their canine children Corky, Faith, and Francis. He likes to write in the quiet early morning hours before spending the rest of his day working in a lively local hair salon.

  Finders Keepers by Rob Rosen

  Red-eyes, the very bane of my existence.

  Careerwise, I was frequently required on both coasts, but I chose to live on the west one rather than the east. The weather was nicer, the men were hotter, and I’d take earthquakes over sleet anytime.

  On that particular run, I was leaving on an almost-midnight flight, having to be in New York for an early morning meeting. Slogging through the airport, barely even aware of my surroundings, I’d come to the sad realization that the United terminal had become my veritable second home. Collapsing onto a too-hard seat, my briefcase toppling to the worn carpet, I stared downward and sighed.

  It was then I spotted it: a shiny penny, faceup, brimming with good luck.

  Superstition taking hold of me, I bent down to retrieve the auspicious object. Suddenly, my head, already foggy from lack of sleep, came crashing, whammo, into a surprisingly solid object. When the stars stopped their clockwise spin, and with my hand rubbing my aching skull, I peeked through my squinting lids.

  A man sat crouched on the ground in front of me, a smile on his face and the penny held firmly in his grasp. “Finders keepers,” he proclaimed while rubbing his temple, wincing as he did so. “Sorry,” he quickly added.

  I laughed, despite the dull throbbing in my noggin. “Guess we both need all the luck we can get, huh?” I asked, standing up to offer him a hand, helping him back to his feet.

  “Childhood habit,” he replied, his grip tightening in mine, until we stood face-to-face, his dazzling blue eyes inches from mine, as blue as his, his breath smelling of cool peppermint.

  “Same here,” I said, my own breath growing instantly shallow as my heart began a beat-laden samba. “And sorry, as well.”

  The handshake kept going, moving in auto-repeat. Flesh on glorious flesh. Our eyes stayed open, locked, not a blink, not a shift up or down or to the side, laser-locked, neither wanting, it seemed, to break contact.

  “Steve,” he finally said, by way of introduction, his hand at last letting go, his eyes blinking once.

  “Dan,” said I, after a blink of my own. “So, where are you headed?”

  He grinned again, revealing a bright, white smile that stretched across his impossibly handsome face. “Not headed. Arrived. From New York for a meeting in the morning. Yourself?”

  “The same, only in reverse.”

  He laughed and then mock-frowned. “Guess that penny wasn’t so lucky after all.”

  I gulped. He was flirting with me. My knees went weak, my breath turned ragged, and my arm suddenly ached to reach out and pull him in tight. I went for broke, upping the ante. “I don’t know about that,” I corrected. “Two ships, once passing in the night, now stem to stem. Seems lucky enough.”

  A red flush crept up his neck and bloomed on each stubbled cheek. “Do either one of these two ships have a bar on them? I could use a drink right
about now.”

  “The ships, no. The United club room, yes. And my plane doesn’t board for another thirty minutes. You up for it?” I offered, the double entendre gliding from my lips and hanging in mid-air.

  He leaned in, his mouth moist against my ear. “Wanna see how up for it I am?”

  We hurried to the club room, slamming both our membership cards smack on the table. “Um, shower room,” I requested, practically panting.

  “Two,” he added, stifling a giggle.

  The staff handed us towels and card keys, barely even noticing us. Midnight shifts are a bitch for everyone. In any case, we walked in double time to the rear of the club, entering one, not two, shower stalls.

  “Let’s put these ships into dry dock,” he said, locking the fingers of both my hands with his and pushing me upright against the cool tile, his mouth instantly finding my own, pressing hard, harder still, as if his body ached to become one with mine.

  When he let me up for air, I replied, “How about I dock my mouth on your ass?”

  He grinned. “Great minds think alike.”

  He kicked off his shoes, as did I. Letting go of my hands, he deftly unbuttoned his dress shirt, then yanked it out of his slacks and off his body, revealing a slim, ripped torso, densely hairy with two rigid, eraser-tipped nipples poking through the fuzz. My own shirt was off in a jiff, followed quickly by my pants and boxers, and then just as quickly by his, until both of us stood in nothing but our socks, with hefty cocks that began their gradual lifts up, Up, UP.

  “Nice,” I rasped, twirling my finger in the air to indicate that I now wanted to see the flipside. He obliged, getting on all fours, his alabaster ass upturned, his cheeks spread apart, and a pink, crinkled hole winking up at me. He was hairy fore to aft, and just as yummy. I crouched, taking a deep whiff. “Damn, you smell good,” I moaned.

  “And taste even better,” he amended.

  I eagerly tested that theory, which did indeed prove to be fact. My tongue darted out, licking around and around, zeroing in on the sweet beckoning center before it delved inside his satin-smooth interior. He moaned and bucked his ass into my face, while I reached between his thighs to pull and yank and stroke his swollen cock, already slick with sticky precome.

  “Best meal I’ve had all day,” I said, in between sucks and slurps on his pink, perfect hole.

  “What about me?” he asked. “I’m starving up here.”

  Only too happy to oblige, I slung my legs through his, serving up my cock to satiate his hunger. He downed it in one fell swoop, sending an eddy of adrenaline to my crotch that ricocheted through the length of my body. I, in turn, pulled his rod down and through, coaxing it inside my mouth and down my throat, while my spit-slick fingers worked their way deep within his ass.

  He moaned softly and jacked my cock in between sucks, causing my balls to bounce in anticipation. “Close,” I groaned, entrenching three digits inside his rump, up and back to the hilt. “Real close.”

  “Ditto,” he agreed, his cock swelling to mammoth proportions and his prostate hardening beneath my incessant prodding and pounding.

  And then I shot, ounce after creamy, hot ounce, which I could hear hitting the tile beneath me as it exploded from my quivering cock. Aiming his prick over my shoulder, and with a final tug and then push up his ass, he came as well, sending a come-bath out against the floor and the wall. Our moans and groans and sighs filled the small enclosure, reverberating against all that smooth tile and echoing joyously in my ears.

  Sadly, there was no postcoital aftermath, no warm glow to enjoy. The speakers outside the stall broke the spell, announcing the imminent departure of my plane.

  “Shit,” I said, hopping up, toweling off as best I could, and lickety-split getting redressed; while he sat there, naked and dripping, watching me with that glorious grin of his.

  “Lucky fucking penny,” he said with a wink as I bent down for one long, deep, wonderful kiss that ended all too soon.

  “Oh yeah,” I agreed, pressing my lips firmly against his, etching the moment into my brain to be forever remembered, just before I rushed from the shower, outside the club, and onto my plane, mere moments before they irrevocably shut the door behind me.

  My heart leapt into my throat and my stomach churned, realizing that I somehow already missed him, and knowing all too well that we hadn’t exchanged anything but first names and copious amounts of bodily fluids.

  Two ships that bumped and then did indeed pass in the night.

  * * * *

  I fell asleep dreaming of him, about those eyes of his that now twinkled behind my own, blue as sapphires, lighting up the darkness. When I awoke, I was in the Big Apple, with a pit the size of a big lemon in my belly.

  Fated to meet, fated to part, it felt like.

  “Fuck,” I groaned, and headed to my meeting, my lips buzzing at the fading memory of his lips, of his ass and cock on my mouth, of his hirsute body perched atop mine. “Fuck,” I glumly repeated, resigned to winning and then promptly losing him.

  * * * *

  The following weeks went by in a blur. Rather than my forgetting him, the memories only grew more intense. Each trip to the airport and to the United club room, and each search for him therein, proved fruitless.

  And then, just when I’d practically given up hope of ever seeing him again, there he was, miraculously exiting the plane I was soon to board. His eyes locked on to mine almost immediately, the familiar wide grin gleefully spreading across his adorable face. He walked up to me and gave me a hug, whispering in my ear as he did so, “Funny thing about ships, they tend to follow the same routes.”

  I laughed and held on tightly, taking in the heady aroma of him. “It’s good to see you again, Steve,” I whispered back. A gross understatement if ever there was one.

  He sighed. “Ditto, Dan.”

  Then he reached into his pocket and held up the familiar penny for me to see. “Looks like the luck is holding out.”

  I smiled and drew him in even closer. “Except we’re passing in the night again. No time to even dry-dock. The plane’s late. They’ll be boarding me too soon.”

  He looked me deep in the eyes, his shimmering like a perfect midday sky. The smile briefly faltered. “Is it, um, weird to say I missed you?”

  “Try me,” I replied.

  He kissed me, softly and lushly, the crowd vanishing from my periphery, until only he and I remained. When his lips lifted from mine, he said, “Okay then, I missed you.”

  I laughed. “You’re right. That was weird. Because I missed you, too.”

  And then it was his turn to laugh. “See, just like I told you before, great minds think alike.” He paused in thought, his mind obviously racing, and then he added a hasty, “Wait right here.”

  Before I could say anything, he was off like a shot, racing down the concourse and out of sight. I grinned and waited; and waited some more as the grin slowly vanished and the lemon-sized pit gradually returned.

  Soon enough, they started boarding the plane, and I could wait no longer. I looked up and down the concourse, but he was nowhere to be found. Gone again. Lost in the night. Unmoored and drifting, drifting away from me.

  In profound dismay, I boarded the plane, taking my seat and resting my weary head against the cold, thick-paned window. I closed my eyes and again saw his, sparkling blue, beckoning me in like the ocean on a hot summer’s day. It was all I could do to not sit there and cry.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” came the voice, rattling me out of my reverie.

  When I opened my eyes, there he was, handing me the shiny coin and taking the seat next to mine, ready to make the return trip, only this time by my side.

  I smiled and nodded. “What about finders keepers?” I asked, pocketing the penny and then placing my hand in his.

  He leaned in and brushed his lips against mine. “Fine then, I found you and now I’m keeping you. Okay?”

  I shrugged and kissed him long and deep. “Okay by me, but you live in N
ew York and I live in San Francisco.”

  And then he laughed, squeezing my hand as he did so. “No, Dan. Both of our ships dock at the same port. We just seem to depart at different times, is all.”

  And then I laughed, resting my head against his and again closing my eyes. “Thank goodness for red-eyes, Steve,” I said to him.

  “Amen to that, Dan. Amen to that.”

  * * * *

  ABOUT ROB ROSEN

  Rob Rosen is an editor of several gay erotica anthologies as well as an award-winning author. His short stories have been included in more than two hundred anthologies. For more information, visit therobrosen.com.

  In the Eyes of Gods and Men by Feral Sephrian

  “Groom’thulu.” That was Ryan’s nickname for me leading up to the wedding. “It’s like the male version of Bridezilla,” he explained. “Except you’re both grooms, so you’re Groom’thulu.”

  I would have taken offense at that, but the truth is he was right. I had been obsessing about this ever since Caleb and I had made it official. What my brother failed to realize that the difference between a “traditional” Christian wedding and a Pagan wedding was the latter would incorporate five different pantheons that all needed their own preparations. Due to Caleb’s and my involvement with Celtic deities, it would be a primarily Celtic affair, but we had friends attending who were Ásatrú, Hellenic, Kemetic, and Native American. That didn’t include the shrines we were setting up for assorted other religions, the ancestors, and a little generic Christian altar for our families.

  My family was causing the biggest headache. Not my parents or siblings, who were supportive albeit highly opinionated, but my bigoted aunts that my mom had insisted I invite. I only agreed in hopes they would come trying to start a ruckus then see for themselves how awesome Pagans were. That would shut them up, I thought. Otherwise, they wouldn’t show up at all and I wouldn’t have to deal with them.

  The particular “Groom’thulu” episode that earned me that nickname occurred after I got a positive R.S.V.P. from both Aunt Marie and Aunt Dorothy when Ryan jokingly said I should sit between them at the reception so I could get used to being nagged for the rest of my life.