Sunday, April 7, 2013



It was a dangerous dare to take. Two good friends of mine at work, Lynn and Bob, had listened to me go on and on about Joe for weeks. Every time he walked by me at work and said "Hey," I just wanted to jump the dude somethin' awful. And I know they sensed that raw desire in my face. So one Monday afternoon they just came out and proposed it. Lynn nudged me, "Why don't you just go up to Joe and ask him over to your place this Friday night?" Then she motioned toward Bob and added, "We'll each give ya 50 bucks if you do it."

I was hit with two different emotions: excitement and pure fear. Just the idea of asking straight Joe to come over sent hormones surging throughout my body. But then I thought of the possible repercussions. As I thought about it some more, Lynn said, "Oh c'mon, I mean the guy likes you. You two are always talkin' during your smoke breaks." She was right. But could I be confusing that good rapport between us with something more?

And then I made up my mind. "OK, I'll do it. But only if you both dig a little deeper and come up with 100 bucks each."

Bob whined, "Oh, man, $50 each is plenty."

I laughed. "No fuckin' way. I can't get a broken nose fixed for a mere $100."

Well, they finally gave in. And so I was left to figure out how the hell I was going to phrase this offer to Joe. I mean, he doesn't even know that I'm gay for chrissake. This could kill him. Or kill me. So I went out to the loading dock to have a smoke.

I had just lit up when I felt a jab to my shoulder. It was Joe.

His boyish face appeared in front of me. "Hey, dude. Saw ya coming out here for a smoke and I figured I'd join ya."

My hands started sweating instantly. "Oh . . . hey, Joe."


By Fledermaus       
   He lounged in the scant shade of the canopy and looked out over the gently rolling, nearly barren hills. Soon the winter chill would fill the air and winds so cold they cut like a knife would blow in from the west, but today was hot. He shifted his weight and the chair, its two back legs forming a tripod with the canopy post, teetered precariously. He tugged at the sweat-soaked cloth in his armpits and unbuttoned his shirt letting it fall back to expose a broad chest and taut abdomen.
Lew wouldn't want him to sit around with his shirt unbuttoned but he could hear the sounds in the garage that told him that his boss was occupied. His crotch itched from the sweat and he dug his fingers into the tight material to scratch the irritation. His fingers caressed the long tube of flesh that lay trapped in a trouser leg and for a moment he considered opening his fly as well as his shirt so that his dripping crotch could also dry out. But he knew he couldn't be sitting there with his dong out if a customer drove up.