Debonair Dyke

by Roxy Harte

Backing away from the truck, I lift my hand in a halfhearted wave. He’s shocked I’m letting him go. I’m shocked I’m letting him go. This isn’t Dapper Dan behavior.

  I wait for him to throw the gearshift and floor it, but he doesn’t. He just stares through the windshield. I climb onto the metal step and talk to him through a half-opened window. “This is the moment I’ve been preparing for ever since I left. I’ve studied, I’ve theorized, I’ve lectured, I’ve educated. I’m seeing it now. Just now. That was all practice runs. This is the real deal. This is the part of the world that I need to be talking to, educating, changing.”

  “Why?”

  “Because this is where it all began—the hurt, the shame—and this is where it ends.”

  “This isn’t a war movie, Danni.”

  “Nope. It’s my life. It’s Jessica’s life. It’s the life of every teen who flees this town every graduation because they are different. It’s the life of every young child who lives in this town who isn’t even old enough to know they are gay or straight. And it’s time to stop the hate.”

  “I should be halfway to New York by now. You are going to get yourself killed here and I sure as hell don’t want to die here with you.”

  “No, you shouldn’t be, because I know you grew up in a town just like this one.”

  “No, I grew up with mountains and trees—”

  “And hate,” I finish for him. “Help me change things around here.”

  * * * * *

  Blood is a bitch to clean up but armed with rubber gloves, dust masks, a shop vacuum, bleach and a hundred cloth rags, I am determined to restore order before dawn.

  “Danni,” Shade whines my name for the tenth time in a quarter hour. “Come upstairs. Let’s go to bed.”

  He looks ridiculous with the little white circle of paper covering his nose and mouth.

  “You go upstairs. You go to bed.” I aim the wet-dry vac’s nozzle at the vinyl sofa and pray it works. “My mother is going to hear about this and I am not going to let her see this disaster. She’s already terrified that something horrible is going to happen to me because my hair’s too short. She wants me to go back to New York where my weirdness doesn’t make people want to kill me.”

  “Oh some people still want to kill you.”

  “Well, she doesn’t know that.”

  The vacuum is a miracle machine. I think I might actually save these damn sofas from the refuge heap.

  “That’s amazing.” Shade leans closer to watch the sucking action.

  “So, are you going to keep helping or sleep?”

  He grabs a rag and heads toward the vandalized wall. “I get that you want to make a stand here. Really. I do. But do you think you’re going to make a white picket fence fantasy come true here? With that woman? Damn it! Look around you.” He waves his arms at the destruction. “This didn’t happen because your queerness is being welcomed to town with open arms. And I’m going to tell you right now. That girl is trouble. She’s going to get your ass killed. Someone, somewhere, is going to be offended that little Miss Blondie with blue doey eyes and dew-kissed lips is giving you a second glance and BAM! Out comes the .45 and gone is your head.”

  “Her name is Jessica and this isn’t New York, they wouldn’t use a .45, they’d use a hunting rifle.”

  “Are you serious?”

  I shrug. “We’re not even dating yet.”

  “Not dating? I saw that hug.”

  I shake my head. “We just met. I won’t lie. We’ve talked about whether or not we can date in this town but we agreed, we can’t, for the very reason that it wouldn’t be safe. So absolutely nothing has happened.”

  “That kiss wasn’t anything.”

  “Second kiss ever.” Technically third if you count the peck on the cheek…

  Using a dry rag, he smears more blood than he wipes up.

  “It’s already congealed, you gotta use bleach water.”

  “Uh-uh, not buying your lies.” He dips the rag into an already prepared bucket of bleach water. “This is disgusting.”

  “I’m not lying about Jessica. I’ll admit there’s something about her. The minute I saw her—”

  “Hell, no! Love at first sight? Again? How many times is this for you, man?”

  “I know, I know.” I keep vacuuming. “But this girl’s different.”

  “Whatever.” He drops the rag into the bucket and water splashes everywhere. He rolls off the rubber gloves and pulls off his face mask. “I’m too tired and too disgusted for this bullshit. I’m going to bed.”

  And I have a shit-ton more cleaning to do.

  At dawn I call the nearest glass shop to arrange for the delivery of a new storefront window. This is not the part of the world where delivery of anything is expected in about an hour and I’m faced with buying plywood to cover the gaping hole and secure the property until it does arrive in three to four days before I try to open for the day’s business.

  * * * * *

  Unfortunately, Shade’s displeasure isn’t the only one I face. I’m just glad I got in a full night’s sleep before my mother showed up.

  She finds Shade and me, sitting on two spotless sofas, sharing the first pot of morning coffee.

  “Denise!” My eyes open to find my mother standing over me.

  I stand. “Mom!”

  She looks around the room and I know what she’s imagined, the worst, but the evidence of the previous night’s nightmare is gone—floors mopped, furniture clean, broken glass swept up and disposed of and a wall freshly painted leave no clues.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” I grab Shade’s arm as he readies to flee, stopping him in his tracks. “Mom, this is Shade, Shade, this is my mom.”

  “Mrs. O’Brian.” He stretches out his hand and I’m almost shocked my mother accepts it.

  “Shade?” she says. “Is that your first or last name?”

  “Clarence Oliver Reginald Brown the third, ma’am. They called me Shade on the high school basketball court back home in Richmond, that’s Virginia, and I’m afraid the name stuck like glue.”

  My jaw drops. I didn’t know any of that. Aside from knowing his mail comes addressed to C. Brown, I haven’t gotten that much information out of him in all the time we’ve been together. It’s weird the power a mother’s look wields.

  I certainly do not want her to cast her gaze on me this morning, because she is obviously full-power-on. I head for the counter and the coffeepot tucked into a slight recess.

  “Not so fast.”

  I keep moving. If I don’t look into her eyes…

  “Danni.”

  I stop. She has never called me Danni. I turn and make eye contact. Biggest mistake ever.

  * * * * *

  Two hours later I am still shaking but my mother has finally departed for the hospital.

  “She only has your best interests at heart.”

  “So do I.”

  Yep, that’s exactly what I meant. I am not going to cry.

  “She has a point. Several good points in fact.”

  “Shade,” I growl. “You aren’t helping. She’s calling a realtor. A goddamn fucking realtor.”

  “I heard.”

  “Selling the damn place right out from under Dad.”

  “Don’t you mean you?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Limp Dicks and Other Surprises

  Saying I forgot Jessica planned to stop by after work for our first romantic rendezvous ever should get me bitch-slapped, tarred and feathered, but that’s exactly what happened. But I have a good excuse.

  Seriously. I do. And it’s not even vandals, or pig’s blood, or how in the hell I’m going to change attitudes around here.

  Cars.

  Not just one or two, stopping by for an oil change, but thirteen cars—following my night of no sleep.

  Having business arrive on my doorstep completely energized me.

  Three were actually oil changes. Quick, easy, barely got my hands
dirty. And one was only a cracked hose. Again. No big deal, but will help pay the bills.

  The vehicle with a cracked radiator is still sitting in the parking lot, waiting for parts to be overnighted, and will be tomorrow’s first to-do on the list.

  Mr. Kramer made good on his promise and Ben Murphy and Jack Collier both dropped off their trucks for the whole show—tune-up, brakes, tires. And that’s when I decided the universe was finally rewarding my effort to stick it out.

  Then Tom Gentry showed up with a car hauler and all six of his muscle cars. “We heard what happened.”

  “I see.” My sudden good fortune starts to make sense.

  “I was going to bring the cars by anyway, probably not today, but I would have. Eventually. I decided it couldn’t wait another minute. I’m not going to let some hater run you out of town. Besides, Janice was livid.”

  “She made you bring the cars.”

  “It was me or her. And while I’ll admit there is no living with that woman when she’s mad about anything, I wanted to do what was right too. We don’t want you to go because of some lunatic.”

  “I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

  “Really? I mean, good. Awesome. That’s really good news.”

  I smile, feeling better about my decision since making it. Not everyone in this town wants me to leave. “Let me get started on these vehicles.”

  I start to feel as though there isn’t enough of me to go around as dozens of cars looking for a full-service fill-up pull through, interrupting my work, but I eventually figure out what is going on with each of Mr. Gentry’s cars, mostly timing issues. Perfect. My favorite. And just as we loaded the last car back on the rack, Jessica is standing before me, glowing like an angel, bright, shiny, clean…and I am none of those things.

  “Somebody’s been busy.”

  Panicking, I move her out of sight from the main road. “This is dangerous.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. I heard the whole story about what really happened here last night, Danni, and I know you’re afraid. You’d be crazy if you weren’t.”

  “Jess—” I start to interrupt her, but she talks right over me.

  “I’ve been afraid of someone discovering my truth since I was thirteen and realized it myself. That fear led to me making the biggest mistake of my life. But I can’t really regret that night. My boys are too perfect. And maybe being here with you is a mistake. Maybe I’ll regret it. I know I’ll never regret standing up to a bully and this town is full of them.”

  “Finished?”

  “Mostly.” She looks sheepish but manages to ask, “Too tired for a visitor?”

  “I actually worked today. It felt good.” I start dropping bay doors and locking up. “I just need to shower, clean up a little.”

  “Or a lot,” she says.

  “Or a lot,” I agree.

  I get upstairs, expecting I’m going to have to throw Shade out for the evening, but he isn’t there. The truck is out back so I know he’s still in town. For a second and a half the fear comes back, but then I remember he’s spent the last several evenings away. I never thought to ask what he’s been up to but knowing Shade he’s documented every second. The obligatory necktie gets tossed onto the door handle to make certain he stays away long enough.

  “I’ll just be a minute.” I open the door to the bathroom, seriously the size of a closet, barely big enough to hold the toilet, a wall-hanging porcelain sink and a corner shower. I push the shower curtain aside from outside the room and turn on the water. I said small. “Can I grab you a beer or a soda?”

  “A beer would be good.”

  I open a bottle and start to hand it to her but then decide I’m a total idiot and start rummaging for a glass.

  “I can drink from the bottle. I actually prefer it that way.”

  I hand her the bottle then stand in the light of the refrigerator, trying to decide what I want. I feel like I need both, beer to calm me down and soda to give me the sugar and caffeine boost to get me through the rest of the evening with Jessica.

  I’m not nervous. Nah. I grab a beer for in the shower.

  I really don’t expect Jessica to follow me. She pushes up my filthy white t-shirt, sliding her hands up my stomach as she goes.

  Okay, now I’m nervous. Girls do not get to see me all the way naked. “Are you sure about this?”

  “Yep.” She reaches the wrap covering my almost nonexistent breasts and doesn’t even stop. She just keeps pushing the shirt up and over my head, and then, once it’s free, drops it on the floor.

  “I just meant—” I lick my lips, not willing to meet her gaze yet, then take a long swallow of beer.

  I feel her fingers remove the metal clasps of the elastic bandage and I set the beer on the counter, intent on doing the job myself. When my fingers collide with hers, it’s my hands that are shaking.

  “Why so nervous, gigolo?”

  “Danger.” Fuck that, I’m not thinking about vandals and threats. “I’m just not used to being undressed I guess.” My voice sounds breathy. It’s kind of embarrassing that I’m so damn nervous. I sound like a fucking virgin.

  She smiles. “I’ve thought of nothing else but undressing you ever since the first time I laid eyes on you.”

  “Me too. I mean, me undressing you. That’s kind of how it usually works in my world. I undress the girl. I dominate.”

  She chuckles. “Glad we’re doing it different than that. I’d hate to be lumped in among the rest.”

  She does a fairly adequate job of unwrapping me. Even though it still makes me uncomfortable as hell that she did, I’m not about to say “stop” to anything that happens. I don’t want to mess up a thing now that she’s finally here. Finally. Like it’s been forever and a day since I first saw her face. It feels like eternity. Too long to wait.

  She lowers her mouth to my nipple and sucks. I gasp. So not expecting that. I tighten my resolve on not saying “stop” and close my eyes. I’ve rarely ever had a woman do this. Normally they don’t see my breasts, best in my mind not to encourage things like this, things that super up my discomfort scale.

  I moan. I did not expect it to feel like this. Good. Holy mother of god, good.

  She bites down and it is my undoing. I back away a step. “I need to get into the shower before all the hot water runs out.”

  She snickers and I start quickly undoing my pants. “Any chance I’ll get any privacy here?”

  She shakes her head. “Gotta see the dick, remember? Gotta make peace with your dick.”

  She says “your dick” with such a sultry, throaty voice, I’m pretty sure if it was flesh and blood it’d be as hard as a rock. I slide my pants down, revealing tighty whiteys. No turning back now. I step out of my filthy navy-blue work pants.

  Watching her face, I see her brow tighten into frown lines.

  I understand the confusion completely and withdraw my packing cock. It’s kind of limp-looking, not made for play, and has enough weight that I feel it’s there. She seems genuinely disappointed, if I’m reading the expression correctly. “This is my packing cock. I have several sizes and styles of strap-on cocks for play.”

  I was going for reassuring, because I’m pretty sure I have something in my drawer that will guarantee a super good time as soon as I’m clean, but she looks more distressed than ever.

  “Can I just hold it and look at it while you shower?”

  “Uhh, uhh, sure.” Brilliant. I sound like I just arrived on the short bus. I get in the shower before I completely ruin things and then when she disappears out of sight I’m worried I’m too late to be worrying about whether I’m going to blow it because the night is already going up in flames.

  I scrub faster and harder than I’ve ever scrubbed. I curse the fates for giving me oil changes today…after weeks of nothing. I use the nail brush on my nails. Once. Twice. Three times. Finally, finally, the black grease is just an awful memory.

  Hair washed, privates washed, a nice, fresh, non-floral scent. I’
m good to go and terrified of coming out from behind the curtain. And the water goes cold. Ice cold. I look at the ceiling. “Thank you.”

  Drying, shivering, totally unsure what to do at this point. Get dressed in clean clothes? Go out there butt-ass naked?

  I peek around the corner. She is not naked. But she is still here. That’s a very good sign. I pull my terry-cloth robe off the back of the door and wrap up tight.

  She looks up as I step out, and smiles. “Clean again?”

  “Squeaky.” I do a little two-step. I walk closer and see my packing cock resting on her thigh. “Make friends?”

  “We’re getting there.” She hands him back to me and I tuck him into my underwear drawer. Is this when I drag out the strap-on to show her? I decide to err on the side of caution until she is naked and in my arms.

  I sit down on the bed beside her.

  “I suddenly have no idea what to do,” she admits. “I rehearsed it in my head. I was going to push you down on the bed, straddle you, kiss you senseless.”

  “That last part sounds really good.”

  “I don’t want to scare you off by being too dominant,” she whispers.

  I caress her chin and lift her face so that she has to meet my gaze. “Just be yourself. I’ll just be myself. And hopefully everything will mesh.” I shrug. “Isn’t that why you’re here? To see if we’re compatible?”

  She nods. “But so much is riding on this. I really want us to be compatible. I don’t want to do anything wrong. I don’t want to offend you.”

  “You can’t do anything that will do that.”

  “Even if I put my fingers inside of you?”

  I clearly hadn’t thought my answer through. It’s not that I don’t like penetration; I just never reverse roles to make it an option. It’s always me and my cock taking care of business. And my cock is shut up inside a drawer.

  I’m sure she’s reading my every thought but I don’t pull my gaze from hers. “Neither one of us is going to know how we’re going to react to anything we do to each other until we experiment. Isn’t that the way it goes in every relationship? If it feels good, tell me, if you don’t like something, tell me. And I’ll do the same with you. Sound okay?”