by Tom Collins
I woke him by nibbling the back of his neck and waving a plate of pancakes in front of his face.
“You keep feeding me this way, and I’m going to have a couple of love-handles,” he muttered, even as he ate with enthusiasm.
I packed his lunch. It wasn’t until I was in the doorway kissing him good-bye that the domesticity of the morning hit me. I flushed with pleasure and gave him a little wave as I watched him waiting for the elevator. The apartment door nearest the elevator opened and a clean cut looking man in his late twenties came out and stood next to Oliver. Oliver turned and looked at him then looked at me, which drew the man’s attention. I grinned and gave them another little wave. The man looked from me to Oliver and then back as Oliver made a subtle shooing motion for me to get back inside. I complied, laughing as I did.
I goofed around the rest of the morning, drawing and wallowing in Oliver’s bed, burying my face in his pillow to breathe him in and caught a few more zees. I didn’t want to leave, but I had to work too. I dressed, made the bed, and headed home to get on some fresh work clothes at noon, but I wrote him a note before going, which I left on his pillow.
Ollie-Ollie-oxidant-free,
I thought I should leave your key since I didn’t know if you meant for me to keep it or not, and yes, Daddy, I cleaned up after myself.
Smooches,
L
I drew my signature Fairy dragon with particularly elaborate butterfly-like wings at the bottom. Instead of wearing a cheeky grin the way fairy dragons are usually depicted, he was looking over his shoulder, biting his lip in anticipation as he saucily presented his backside. As an after thought, I added the faintest suggestion of a pucker hiding it the shadow of his raised tail.
I was walking on clouds with my head full of Oliver as I came through my apartment door. Jill squealed and jumped on me. Bren was right behind her and both hugged me close and pelted me with a million questions. Erin was at work, so we had the place to ourselves. They grilled me like a steak and I showed them the pictures I’d drawn. They huddled together over the graphite sketch of him in bed.
“Oh, wow,” Brendan breathed, eyes wide. This was the first he was seeing of Oliver as far as I knew.
“I’m completely in love, Bren. He’s fantastic, like a total Mary Poppins, ‘practically perfect in every way.’ Ya know?”
“In what way is he not perfect?” Jill asked.
“Well, he’s better suited to being Uncle Gabe’s partner than you’d think. He’s prudish in public, like him, won’t let me touch him much.”
“I’m sure that doesn’t deter you,” Bren chuckled, still admiring the sketch.
“Not much, no,” I admitted, “and he wants me to meet his mom.” I waited a beat, then two. The clamor was outrageous and they were both on me, pounding my back and hugging me and cheering like crazy.
“You must’ve made one hell of an impression this weekend,” Bren said, sounding smugly proud.
“Well, she’s really his stepmother, but she raised him on her own after she married his father, so she’s way more his mom than the woman who abandoned him. I get the impression his dad didn’t even try to contest custody when she divorced him.”
“Whoa,” said Bren.
“That’s so sad,” Jill said. I nodded.
“I’m scared,” I admitted. “I’ve never been brought home to Mother before. What if she hates me?” I jumped up and paced around, letting the fear get to me. “What if she—”
“Hey, calm down,” Bren jumped in, stopping me by taking me by the shoulders. “Just be yourself and be polite the way Mom and Gran tried to pound into us. Give her the old, ‘yes, ma’am, no, ma’am, thank you, ma’am’ razzle-dazzle and she’ll love you, trust me.”
“And don’t wear tight pants,” Jill said. “You don’t wanna rub it in her face that you’re boning her little boy.” That broke the last of my tension by making me laugh.
I changed the subject to get my mind off the impending introduction. “He’s also anal about cleaning up after yourself, so I’ve got to work on that. I can’t be the slob I am around here.”
“I’d clean the floor under the stove with my tongue if this was my reward,” Brendan opined, indicating the picture.
“No shit, eh?” I laughed.
“Oh, really?” Jill asked as both brows rose.
“You know what I mean!” he cried, flustered. Both of us laughed. “I’d never mess around behind your back, baby,” he insisted, pulling her to him.
She snorted. “I know that, idiot. I was just giving you a hard time, but we could always share a hot bi guy.”
“No way are you messing around with anyone but me!” He chased her into their room. I got ready for work, wondering if Oliver and I made as much noise as Bren and Jill.
The rest of the day crawled, and I couldn’t sleep that night for missing Oliver’s warm, hard body pressed against mine. I was trying like hell not to smother him and it was killing me. I tossed and turned before giving it up as a lost cause around two in the morning. I got up and began converting the sketch of Ollie the Barbarian into an acrylic painting with him facing down a horned, black dragon.
The outfit I put him in was little more than a furred thong and boots with a sheath strapped across his back, displaying his glorious physique. In the background, an indistinct figure could be seen shackled to a boulder, obviously an unwilling sacrifice to the beast. In my mind, it was me in those chains, but I made the form so you would see the gender you were inclined to see, like the Mona Lisa or the figure sitting next to Jesus in Da Vinci’s The Last Supper. I figured most people would see a girl, but there would be those who would see a young man. I put it on a four-by-three-foot canvas I’d stretched and double-primed last week.
Working on the painting helped, but I knew I wouldn’t make it to Tuesday morning before bothering Oliver, so, Monday morning I packed clothes for a couple days I would be too lonely and tired from two days of work with no sleep between to face another night in my empty bed.
I listened to his cell ring as I punched out at the end of my shift.
“Liam, how are you?” he answered. He sounded a tad anxious. “How’s work?”
“Hey. Work was fine, but I’m tired. Can I come over?”
“Yeah!” he blurted almost before I could finish asking. “Yes, of course, but I thought you were working until one.”
“No, only on Thursdays and Fridays. Normally I work from two to eight, but the wait staff works one double shift a week so all the shifts can have two days off. I’ve been covering an extra double a week, but now…well, from now on, I’m only working my own double on Friday. Free time I can spend with you is more valuable than the extra money.”
I could hear him breathing, so I knew he was still there. Had I just screwed up? My heart lodged in my throat, it sat throbbing behind my voice box making it hard to breath.
“Unless you don’t want—”
“No,” he leapt in, “that sounds great. I’m sorry; I’m just surprised. I didn’t hear from you, so I thought you must have been painting. I mean, you can’t be spending all your free time…that is, your art is important, I understand that, which is why I didn’t call. I didn’t want to disturb you if you were in the midst of some new piece or…well it doesn’t even matter, just come over.” He sounded weird, kind of manic and a touch out of breath.
I took a seat on the train that would take me to my baby and we were able to talk for part of the trip, but I lost the signal as soon as we went under ground.
I walked the three blocks from the subway entrance in a flash, and I could see his building up ahead when I happened to notice the florist’s shop I was passing. I didn’t think, I did an about face and went for the door. My hand made contact with the handle just as someone inside flipped the open sign to closed.
“Fuck a duck!” I exclaimed in irritation.
I peered inside and knocked, hoping I might talk them into one last sale before closing. The guy on the other side jumped
out of his skin. He tapped the sign, pointing out the obvious.
“Please?!” I pleaded loudly. He sighed and rolled his eyes as he reached for the deadbolt to let me in. “Thanks, man. You’re doing me a solid and I appreciate it.”
“Just come in so I can lock the door, ok, sweetheart?” he said. “So, let me guess, you had a fight with your girlfriend, or forgot her birthday or something and—” The stream of words shut off like a turned tap.
“No, I don’t have a girlfriend,” I said, turning to see why he’d stopped talking mid-sentence. He was staring downward, eyes wide. I looked down and realized what it was right away. I’d forgotten about wearing our black kilt to work; it’d been a record-breaking day for heat thus far this year.
“Oh,” I laughed, “I just got off work.”
“Bobby! Freddie! Get out here,” he hollered as he went behind the counter. “You guys gotta see this.” He was gay, but you could only tell when he spoke or walked or moved. The peach scarf tied at his throat was a hint.
“What?” I heard from the back.
“Just get out here ‘cause you’ll never believe me.”
Two men, one a large and hairy bear, the other small and wiry, came up from the back. The small one took one look at the kilt and shrieked, “Oh my God! It’s a Strip-O-Gram!” and started chanting, “Take—it—off!” My blush was so violent I’m sure I looked like a lobster after a Jacuzzi.
“Jesus…muzzle him, would you, Bobby?” the one who’d opened the door for me asked.
“Sure t’ing, Peter,” he rumbled.
Bobby put his hand over Freddie’s mouth, covering everything below his eyes, and held his head trapped between his man-boobs. Freddie started reaching toward me, his hands opening and closing in a way that clearly said, “Mine gimme, mine gimme, mine gimme.” That, coupled with his huge, staring eyes peeking over the sausages Bobby used for fingers, reminded me of those seagulls in Finding Nemo. This place was like a gay Alice in Wonderland—if that wasn’t redundant.
“I’m—I’m not a stripper. I just got off work is all. I wait tables in an Irish pub.” I indicated the Irish Eyes Pub logo on my green, work polo.
“We’ll have to stop in some time and check the place out,” Peter said from behind the counter, drawing my attention away from Freddie the Seagull. “So, no girlfriend to have a fight with…What is it we can do for you then?”
Upon hearing I didn’t have a girlfriend, Freddie escaped his captor and came at me like a horny spider monkey. “No girlfriend? I bet there’re loads of things I could help you with,” he said into my ear as he wrapped himself around my neck. He couldn’t’ve been more than five-foot-two. The top of his head didn’t clear my shoulder when he stood flatfooted.
“I’m sure there is, but I have a boyfriend,” I told him, trying to figure out how to get him off without being rude. “That’s what you can help me with,” I finished saying to Peter.
Freddie reached for the hem of my kilt asking, “Can we at least see what’s under this thing?”
Before I had a chance to react, Peter—who’d come back around the counter—smacked him on the back of the head and shoved him toward the archway into the back room. He didn’t leave, but he did keep his distance after that.
“Sorry,” Peter said with a grin.
“It’s cool, man, but I’m not so sure this was a good idea after all. I mean, I thought it was when I saw the shop, but now I’m in here looking at the flowers it doesn’t feel right. I think I need to find something else for him.”
“We’ve got more than cut flowers for sale though. What about a plant; a fern or an ivy maybe?” he offered.
“No, a plant doesn’t seem right either,” I demurred.
I was looking around with more care and saw all the plants as more than atmosphere now, but none of them said, “Oliver,” to me. That is, until I saw the display of cacti in all sorts of different pots. I walked over and started looking through them.
“He likes cactuses, this nameless lover of yours?” Freddie asked.
“Oliver is his name, and I think he might,” I replied.
“But you’re not sure?” he sounded strangely hopeful.
“I’m not absolutely positive, no.”
“Then you haven’t been going out long, so you probably aren’t that serious yet….” He’d crept up to my side and he wrapped his arm around my waist. Looking up into my eyes, he asked, “Maybe we could go out for a drink?”
“Look,” I sighed, “You’re really cute, adorable even, but I’m thoroughly taken, Okay? When I’m with someone, I’m with him. I don’t screw around. It’s nothing but heartache, ulcers and sleepless nights and I’m not interested in going down that road. It’s just not worth it.”
He started to protest, but Peter smacked him again and said, “You’ve had your answer, Freddie, so if you don’t leave off I’m gonna have to tell the boss in the morning because customer complaints have to be reported.” The last Peter said directly to me with a question in his eyes.
I shook my head. I didn’t want to get Freddie in trouble; after all, I hadn’t been blowing smoke when I told him I thought he was cute. He was just a bit too determined was all. He went off into the back, crestfallen and grumbling about all the good ones being taken.
Peter sighed, watching him walk away. “He’s been single way too long,” he said softly, “I think he’s just about reached the breaking point.” He looked back at me, “You know, when you go so long without a lover you half-convince yourself there’s no one out there for you?”
“Hell, you don’t have to go a long time without someone to feel like that,” I said, identifying so strongly with Freddie I almost wished, for his sake, I was available.
“Yeah, I suppose so. Did you want one of these fine fellows for your fellow?” he asked returning to his professional demeanor.
“Yeah, this one,” I replied, hefting a small, fat bellied, earthenware pot with a geometric, southwestern motif in greens and blues glazed on the outside. The inside was unglazed and the color of red ochre clay. It’d been filled with smooth, river stones as the growing medium for the cacti, one tall, spiky column about as long as my middle finger flanked on either side by two small, round ones that looked for all the world as if they were covered in white fur. There were a couple smaller, furry-looking cacti as big around as my pinky, but they served only to enhance the phallic centerpiece. Like camouflage army fatigues in a shopping mall, they made it impossible to miss.
“Okay. Let’s get this rung up.” He headed behind the counter. “Do you want a card for it?” he held up one of those little note cards.
“Yeah, please.” I took it and wrote The Masked Man in the “To:” spot and Your Tonto in the “From:” spot and giggled. I looked up to see Peter looking at me questioningly. “Nothing. Private joke,” I clarified.
As an after thought, I grabbed a bouquet for Oliver’s mom, thinking they might help make a good first impression.
When I got to Oliver’s door, I leaned against the door jam, trying to look casual and hid his gift behind the wall before knocking with the hand that held the flowers.
The door opened almost before I dropped my hand and there he was, barefooted in his pajama bottoms, hair wet from a shower and looking luscious enough to eat; he wouldn’t even need salt. I gave him a crooked grin. His eyes bugged at the modest bouquet of daisies I held.
I stepped inside, wrapped my arms around him, and buried my face in his neck so I could breathe him in. He shivered and tried to put his arms around me, but my huge backpack made it difficult.
“You have no idea how much I missed you. I couldn’t sleep without you,” I said against his pulse point, then caught his mouth for a languid taste.
“You got something I can put water in for these?” I asked.
“Oh, yeah, sure,” he said in an uncertain tone, shutting and locking the door behind me. I waited for him to turn around, holding up the bright green cacti in their colorful pot. His reaction reminded m
e of John Travolta’s character, Danny, in Grease when Rizzo thrust Sandy under his nose—one second amazed and delighted, the next cool as a cucumber.
“For me?” he asked, as if he couldn’t’ve cared less.
“You didn’t think I’d buy my squeeze daisies, did you?” I demanded with a laugh. “What are we, twelve and on our way to our first school dance? I went into the florist on the corner to get that for you and saw these and thought your mom might like them. I hope she does, because I barely got out of there with the little virtue I have left in tact.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“Rule of thumb…don’t walk into a gay florist’s shop in a kilt. One of them thought I was a Strip-O-Gram and all three were eager for a show.” Oliver’s face clouded. “Don’t worry, I told them my boyfriend, ‘knew all their soft places and all the ER doctors in town,’ and they backed off,” I teased. He wasn’t amused so I let it lie, not knowing how to fix whatever I’d done wrong and not wanting to make it worse.
He took the cactus, cupping the little pot in his palm and glancing at the card. It suddenly seemed silly to me, childish and ridiculous, but then his face softened and his eyes glimmered.
“It’s just a cactus,” I murmured.
“It’s a desert plant,” he responded. “Out of the wild west.” His cognac eyes came up, meeting mine and I felt myself blushing. He was looking at me as if he wanted to kiss my hand in thanks.
It was just a cactus.
He set it aside and did take my hand, drawing me to the bed.
It was after midnight before we fell into a sex-induced coma, having made love for hours. I woke close to noon draped half across Oliver, who was already awake. I didn’t want to move, but my bladder threatened to burst, so I gave in. We lazed the day away, relaxing and spending time getting to know each other better.
We watched some TV, reruns of ER, and spent more time talking about what was wrong with what they were doing on the show than paying attention to the plot; this diversion lead into a discussion of anatomy in general and the problems with mythical anatomy in particular. I couldn’t believe it when the discussion turned towards the viability of the Centaur.