She performs for Jesus now

Cherry was out from behind the bar lickety-split as the drunk scrambled to rise to his feet, but Cherry didn't give him the chance.  Before I knew what was going on, Cherry had grabbed him by his collar, manhandled him out the door and said, "I told you that I wasn't going to put up with your shit tonight." and had closed the buzzing door behind him.  I wondered how he'd gotten the door to open without the buzz................

Mother just stared at me..an even stare, and he didn't look away until Cherry returned to his position behind the bar.

"I thought he looked like him the first time I saw him, but I could have sworn I  heard his voice, just then," Mother said to Cherry.

"I thought the same thing," Cherry said quietly.

"I was afraid to mention it to you," Mother said tenderly.

"Everyone has mentioned it to me," Cherry replied and turned his back to us.

I had no idea what they were speaking about, but it all sounded eery and mysterious.  I was kind of wondering if anyone was going to clue me in, but no one did.  I resumed my seat and quickly swallowed the remainder of my drink. 

"Have you ever done drag?" Mother asked me.

"One time for Halloween some friends and I dressed up and went out to a bar in Oklahoma City, but I wouldn't call it real drag.  I'd just call it a Halloween costume," I replied and was instantly thrown back in time in my mind. 

For some reason, my friends Steve, Keith and I decided we were going to dress in drag for my last Halloween in Stillwater. It wasn't like this type of drag though.  We didn't want to be women.  We didn't want to do shows.  We never planned on being heavenly, ethereal creatures like I'd witnessed in this town.  It was just a Halloween costume, so my curiosity and semi-reverence for drag queens still remained.  Both Steve and Keith had dressed before, but I never had.  They had all the accoutrements, but I had none.  Steve had loaned me a long flowing dark green dress, and rather than buying a wig, I had opted to make a head-dress.  I worked on that head-dress in my free time for weeks, and it was grande with huge peacock feathers ( which were expensive ) reaching at least 3 feet into the sky.  With each step I took, the peacock feathers danced.  I thought I was the belle of the ball.  (( The head-dress was the deal; I was not.))

We'd rented a room at the Habana Inn, and had decided to visit the gay bars in the area in full drag regalia.  Steve painted me, and he used clown white as a base then had covered that with pancake make-up.  I'd discover later that he had no idea what he was doing as a make-up artist, but I felt beautiful -- even though I certainly didn't look it.  We got a good buzz while we were getting ready in the hotel room, and it seemed like it took hours to get ourselves together.  I think we wore our drag for thirty whole minutes in the bars before I got hot in  that mess and had decided that it was no fun partying in all that dress, and we'd decided to take it off and return to the bars as boys...................but it held a special place in my heart because Keith was dead, now................a victim of a drug over-dose after we'd gone our separate ways following graduation.  He'd never done drugs around me, and had been just as vehemently opposed to drug use as I had been when I knew him.  I always thought if we would have remained in each other's lives that he'd still be alive..........but that wasn't the road our lives had taken.

"Come here, I want to show you something," Mother said and brought me back from my memories. 

She led me to the far wall and pointed up to a picture of one of the drag queens that surrounded the upper edge.

"That's Marilyn," Mother said as she pointed to a photo of a lovely, young drag queen. "Did you look like her in drag?"

I looked at the picture for awhile, and I didn't see any resemblance at all.  This queen was gorgeous and looked like a real woman.  There was a slight resemblance to Sarina, you know, Samantha's sister on Bewitched, but more beautiful.

"Hell no," I said. "She's hot. Will she be in the show tomorrow?"

"No, honey,"Mother said quietly. "She performs for Jesus now."

Marilyn

As I limped to Mother's car, I began to wonder if I had misinterpreted Bart's closing in the note.  It simply said, "Love You, Bart.."....It didn't say, "I love you, Bart."  Just "Love you, Bart.".........hmmm...I wondered if he closed all notes to friends in that manner.  If he did, the "love you" meant nothing.  I had only one other piece of correspondence from him, and I hadn't even bothered to read it.  I didn't recall throwing it in the garbage, so it had to be somewhere in my room -- probably under the bed or somewhere nearby.  I realize nearly a week had gone by, but I certainly hadn't been in any condition to clean my room, but I certainly hadn't been able to dirty it up -- in any regard -- either.

On the other hand, he certainly acted like he loved me, but how could he? He'd only known me for a week.  But he was just 22.  He wouldn't know what love was, anyway, I thought in my mature 27 year old mind..............but did I? I was fully aware of the separation of infatuation and love, but I also knew that infatuation sure felt a lot more like love than love did when one was in the throws of it. 

Mother honked her horn, and awakened me from my pensiveness.

"Are you lost, girl? I'm over here!" she said as she flagged her arm out the window.

No, I wasn't lost -- or not in the sense that she was referring, but I'd certainly been lost in thought and had limped right past her Oldsmobile.  I needed to find that letter before I brushed my teeth, I thought, so I could compare the closings.  ((Lord, we think of the stupidest things when we are in the throws of passion, and none of it would matter a hill of beans in the grand scheme of things........or would it?)) I reversed my steps and got in Mother's car, and we drove to Our House.

We didn't talk too much.  I was afraid to ask any more questions about her past, my respect meter for her had kind of plummeted after that, and I felt a little uncomfortable after Bart had let me know Mother's true motives.  I was attracted to Mother like I was attracted to my other close friends......as a friend and as a friend only.  There was NO physical attraction whatsoever, and I realize that C.S. Lewis postulated that homosexuality was a perversion of friendship, but I knew he was WRONG.  I NEVER slept with my friends.  They were held in a sacred, untouchable category, and I'd never let sex sully a good friendship.  Friends were anathema as sex partners.  That would be like incest.  There was no way that I'd ever be intimate with Mother.  Many of my friendships endured for years; most of my boyfriends had endured for months with a couple exceptions.  In some ways, I held friendships in higher regard than sexual relationships.  I just would not cross that line and intertwine the two.  I felt kind of hurt that Mother was interested in me sexually.  I was more than the way I looked.  I'd prefer that she just liked me for me and left it at that.

When we were buzzed into Our House, I was fully expecting a meow, but there was no Kit behind the bar.  Cherry was bartending, and I was kind of surprised.  It was only about 8:00 in the evening, and there were only a few guys around the pollished walnut bar. I didn't recognize any of them, and some of them looked rather....eh...delapidated.  Mother's corner seat was open and so was the seat next to it, so we perched there.  Of course, she had her usual, and I had an Absolute Cape Cod ((except they call them Vodka Cranberries in Arkansas)).  We exchanged the usual niceties and Cherry encouraged us to visit the bar the following night because he was hosting his monthly talent night.  I paid for the drinks and left a 2.00 tip (( btw, you should always tip your bartender well..........someone could write a book on the multiple reasons why all bartenders should be tipped well, but in this small town, a bartender could make or break your reputation......and a couple dollars can make the difference.))

"Who's in it, gurl?" Mother asked suspiciously.

"A few of our regulars, and a few surprises," Cherry said mysteriously.

"I knew it, gurl.  Beyonka is trying to get her ass back in here, ain't she?" Mother said.

Cherry said, "I haven't seen Beyonka."

But, I noticed something Mother didn't notice.  Cherry had not answered Mother's question.  Instead, he had sidestepped it.  So, I knew the answer was yes, but Mother let it slip by her.

"That other bitch ain't gonna' show her face around here, is she?" Mother asked venomously.

"Fiona?" I asked.

"Nope, haven't seen or heard from her," Cherry confirmed.

"So, who are the surprises?" Mother demanded to know.

"Ancient Chinese Secret," Cherry laughed a bit. "If I told you, it would ruin the surprise.  You have to come out and see the show."

Surprise was always a good ploy to fill an audience, I thought to myself.  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see some old man leering at me.  He was seated two bar stools down , and he looked like a bum -- a drunk bum, to be more accurate -- with disheveled hair ,and he wore green cover-alls that were literally more black than green because of the grease and dirt that was imbedded into them.  The smell that surrounded him wasn't pleasant  ( to put it mildly), and I suddenly realized why Charles Schultz always drew a dusty haze around PigPen in his comic strip.  The haze of odor that lingered around this man was nearly visible.  I angled myself more toward Mother and Cherry, but I couldn't escape the odor.....no, it was more than odor...it was pure STINK.

"Are you going to perform or just emcee?" Mother asked.

"Ancient Chinese Secret," Cherry teased again. "Be here at 10:30 tomorrow night and find out."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw PigPen in coveralls emerge from his seat, and suddenly I felt an arm around my neck and a mouth against my ear.  The stink was stifling.  Before I thought, I'd pushed him off, ( he landed on the floor), and I was up and asking him quite irately.

"What makes you think you can touch this, Mother Fucker?"

In unison, Mother and Cherry said, "Marilyn!"

Tuesday Night at Our House

Mother had given me the same parking instructions as she had last week, so I complied.  ( If she told me anything in her instructions, it was that she was very controlling which could explain her single-hood. ) Everything was the same as the week before, basically, even the instructions on NOT to smoke in her car, but it didn't piss me off this time, I just noticed that she was very repetitive in her words and actions.  When we arrived at  Acapulco's, we even sat in the same window seat...and of course, Bart, was our server.  I made an effort to disguise my hurt ankle, but it still hurt every time I took a step.

"How are you two gentlemen, this evening?" he asked as he greeted our table.

"Oh honey, we're just fine,"Mother said with that effervescent smile. "What have you been up to this week?"

I gave him a YOU-BETTER-KEEP-YOUR-MOUTH-SHUT look, and he winked at me before he answered.  I was trying to think how I was going to get them both involved in a conversation about what happened at Mother's apartment last week, but I'd need to be patient.  I couldn't just let it pop out unnaturally in conversation.  I'd have to slide it in easily somehow.

"Oh same ol', same ol', just work and school.  You know how it is.  Will you be having your usual, gentlemen?" he played along perfectly.

"Yes, A Margarita on the Rox for him and a Virgin Pina Colada with a splash of Dr. Pepper for me." Mother said flippantly, "And don't forget my pink parasol."

"Do you want a Margarita on the Rox?" Bart asked me with a bit of concern in his voice.  Apparently, he hadn't realized that I hadn't been taking pain pills for 2 days.

"That's what I said, Mary, " Mother answered for me -- almost rudely, and I nodded my head. Bart walked off to retrieve our drinks.

"Mother, don't be so short with him.  He's a nice boy," I chastised her softly.  It really bothered me when anyone spoke down to a server -- especially this one.

"Oh, honey, he's nice all right....He's real nice," she smiled as she looked over at him at the bar where he waited for the bartender to prepare our drinks.  She gave him one of those four-finger waves and smiled in his direction.

"Oh?" I asked with an edge to my voice.  "Just how NICE is he?

"Very............." she said with a big grin on her face.

Hmph...so...this is how it was going to come out?  I wasn't going to have to ease into anything.  I had my perfect opening, and I was going for it.  I didn't know if I wanted to know the full truth, but it was necessary for anything else to proceed between Bart and me.  I was on the verge of infatuation with him, and I didn't want to hear anything bad about him to burst my bubble.

"So, what happened between the two of you last week after I left?" I gently asked.

"Wouldn't you like to know, honey?" Mother teased and giggled a little.  She even twisted her hair with her forefinger.

"Oh, gurl, you know I love to hear the dirt," I said and realized that Mother's slang had infected my vocabulary....and it would stay there, too...to this day.  Mother gave me "gurl".

Bart returned with our drinks and laid down beverage napkins in front of each of us before he removed the drinks from his tray.

"Oh...You are the same waiter we had last week,"I said. "You are the one who arrived at Mother's house just as I was leaving, aren't you?"

He placed my margarita on the rox in front of me, and looked at me with a surprised look on his face.

"Yeah, I thought I recognized you, so I told the bartender to make your drink a little weaker than last week's," he smiled.

"Oh, you didn't have to do that," I glared at him. "So, what did ya'll do after I left?" I asked Bart.

"Oh, we just talked for a little while, then I went home," Bart glared right back at me.  He'd figured out what I was doing.

"That's right, honey, " Mother laughed.  "You just stick to THAT story, and you'll keep us both out of trouble."

And she laughed some more.  You know, damn well, that I certainly did NOT like Mother's response, and I felt my face getting hot.  The pink parasol in Mother's drink fell out of the glass as Bart placed it on Mother's bev nap.

"That's all that happened, and you know it," Bart said to Mother, and his face was getting red.  I knew then, that he was telling the truth, and for some reason, Mother was trying to make me think otherwise.  I didn't understand WHY she was doing it, but she was intentionally trying to make me think that she and Bart had done a lot more than talk, but I didn't  understand her reasoning.  She never actually said that they'd been intimate, but she was leading me in that direction.

"Oh, I know you're straight," Mother said. "Do you want to order now, gurl?"

Mother had quickly changed the subject when she'd seen that she'd risen Bart's ire, so I was assured that Bart had done nothing wrong.  We both ordered hamburgers because Mother said they had the best burgers in town.  ( Hamburgers at a Mexican restaurant? Okay........... I'd try it.)  Bart walked off, and I could tell by his walk that he was pissed off.

"Those straight boys always want us to keep their secrets," Mother said as soon as Bart walked away.

"Yeah....." I said flatly and moved on to the next thing  that crossed my mind to desperately keep this conversation civil because I was feeling VERY protective of Bart and that was the tell-tale sign that I was having more than friend feelings for him.

"So, do you have a boyfriend, Mother?" I asked.

"Oh no, honey.  I'm always a bride's maid and never a bride," she said flippantly, again.

"You've never had a boyfriend?" I asked.

"Oh honey, I keep my bed hot, if that is what you are asking," she said.

Truthfully, I had a hard time believing that.  In Oklahoma, drag queens didn't really rank up there with being the most popular boys to bed in the gay community, but I was in Arkansas, and this culture was proving to be vastly different.  Drag seemed to be very accepted down here, so maybe she was telling the truth.

"Nah, I'm not really asking about your tricks.  I was wondering if you had a boyfriend.  You know, someone you love," I  explained.

"Oh honey, I've had too many husbands.  I can't be bothered with all that shit, anymore," she said...and there was a sadness in her eyes...a lonely darkness.

"How long has it been since you had a husband?" I asked as Bart placed chips in front of us rather roughly.  He spilled Mother's salsa a bit because he set it down so hard, but he placed mine down gently.  He didn't wipe up his spill either.  Mother pretended not to notice, but I know she did.

"I've dated Saul for 12 years and that Jew has the biggest Pilatra you ever saw, " she said flippantly again.  I could tell she was distancing herself from the hurt by using humor...(( Pilatra, by the way, was Mother's version of Piatra.))

"What happened?"

"His wife left the synagogue and started going to church, and then he got saved, he said.  But, if you want to know the truth, everyone in town found out that how he liked his bread buttered so they all started going to another hardware store, and he nearly went broke.  He figured it was his Jewishness that was scaring off customers at first, and it took him awhile to figure out it was because he was sucking dick behind the lawn mowers. He figured Jesus could fix both of those things.  Hell, he even took out a full page ad in the newspaper telling everyone how he'd been born again.  His business went back up, but he still comes to my back door.............just not as often." Mother explained.

"Did his wife know he was gay?" I asked.

"Lord yes, she came and pulled him out of my bed when his daughter was in a car wreck one time.  She knew I was the other woman because she'd hired a private investigator.  That bitch knew about us for a long time before she ever said anything,"

"How do you know?" I was scandalized and my voice showed it.

"Because she showed me the pictures of me and him together and told me that I'd better put an end to it if I didn't want to testify in court as the other woman in their divorce," Mother said as easily as she'd tell you what day it is.

"What did you do?" I was even more shocked.

"I told her to go ahead.  I'd testify he was the best fuck that I'd ever had, and the whole damn town would know that she couldn't do for her husband what I could." Mother said flatly.

"What did she do?" I asked knowing full well that my eyes were as wide as those salsa bowls.

"She shut up and found her a boyfriend...and he was hot, too.  Saul and I had a couple three-ways with him," Mother said.

"Lord have mercy!!!!!!!" I just couldn't contain my shock, and I delivered my exclamation in a very loud tone that disturbed at least four tables around us because they all turned and looked at me.  Mother just took it in stride and laughed and laughed.  Keep in mind that I am actually a very small town boy, and I do have rather conservative values even if I am gay.  All of this was surprising.  I'd never met anyone who was so flamboyant ...................and sexual....in my life, and I'd met a lot of gay people by then.  AND, it wasn't only that...it was the way Mother told me.......like it was no big deal....like this kind of stuff happened all the time............Hell, it was something right off of Jerry Springer,and he hadn't even been invented yet!

"Gurl, I'll let you catch your breath.  I need to run to the little girl's room," Mother said as she excused herself.

I was still lost in her story.  Now, you know I had had reservations about being friends with her because of her temper and unpredictability..........and now this?  She was positively scandalous!!!  BUT, it was interesting...intriguing even...Yeah, I'd be her friend.......She was the Golden Girls' Blanche friend that I'd never had.......Who else lived like this?  I'd only heard about this type of stuff in books.  They wouldn't even put this story-line on a soap opera.  It was X rated..and it was real life...or Mother's life, anyway.  Hmmmm...someone should produce X rated soap operas, I thought to myself.  They'd make millions.  Of course, no one would ever admit to watching them.  It would be a guilty pleasure, but you know that everyone would want to see it......

And, I also realized that Mother didn't know what love was.  It sounded to me that this Saul guy was just using her for sex and that Mother had developed feelings for him.  She wasn't his "other woman"; she was a way for him to get sex...and not only with JUST Mother, apparently.............. because Saul involved other guys in it, too...even his own wife's boyfriend!!!  In that moment, I felt sorry for Mother because I got the impression that she'd never experienced love.  She'd just found a cheap substitute and named it love because that was all she knew......................and I hoped that never happened to me.  I wanted the picket fence, and I'd get it.............. 

I happened to glance over toward the bathrooms and noticed that Mother and Bart seemed to be exiting the area at the same time............((Now, if you are gay, you know what crossed my mind...........but honestly, they hadn't had enough time for that.))  Bart took a turn into the kitchen as Mother sat down.

"He told me our food was on its way," Mother offered as an excuse which made me more suspicious.

"Are you sure you didn't have a rendezvous in the bathroom?" I giggled a bit, but I also wanted to know the truth.  After hearing all this about Saul, I knew Mother would tell me if there had been some sucky-wucky in the washroom.

"Oh lord, no, Girl.  I don't do that wham-bam-thank you, Sam, shit." Mother said.  "If I am going to do that, I'm going to go to the bookstore and spend all day...."

"Huh?" I asked.

"You know, gurl, the bookstore trade." She said like I was supposed to clue-in immediately.

"No, I don't know," I answered honestly.

"You mean to tell me that you've never gotten a blow job in a bookstore?" she asked incredulously.

"I didn't know they gave them there.  I just usually bought my books and left.  I really don't think that kind of stuff goes on in Oklahoma," I answered.

"Mary, don't they have bookstores in Oklahoma?" she said in that you're-stupid tone that she was so good at.

"Well, yes, I had to buy my textbooks at bookstores in Stillwater," I answered kind of preturbed because I hated that tone.

"No! No! No! Not that kind of bookstore," she said as she waved her arms around. "Adult bookstores."

"What is that?" I asked, and I was totally sincere.

"You know, the place where you buy dirty magazines and movies.  They usually have little cubicles where you can pay and watch movies and get blown or whatever in them." she explained.

"I never knew places like that existed, " I said. "They must be illegal in Oklahoma cuz I've never even heard of places like that, and that sounds pretty seedy.  I wouldn't step foot in a place like that."

"What kind of a queer are you?" she asked rather condescending.

"A normal one......." and after a pause I said  "And, I think you are a sexual deviant."

Well, she got a big kick out of that, and so did Bart because he sat my dinner down in front of me on the word "deviant" and both of them were enjoying a good hee-haw, but I was serious.

"I need another margarita, please.  And make it like last week.  I need it." I said seriously to Bart as he gently placed Mother's plate in front of her.

"A sexual deviant? What is that?" Mother asked laughing.

"It is a person with unusual sexual behavior.  I learned about it in a sex class I took at OSU," I informed her.

"You took a sex class at college?" she asked. "What's wrong? You didn't know how to have sex?"

"No," I laughed."It's not like that.  We learned about all types of sexual behavior.  Heck, we even had some nudists come to class and talk to us about that."

"Were they naked?" she asked -- a little too over-eager, I thought.

"Yeah, but you wouldn't want to see them naked. I guess they weren't completely naked; they were wearing jewelry ......." I said.

"On their cocks?" she asked even more interested.

"Lord no, " I laughed. "You always have to go below the belt.  Just regular jewelry..you know, necklaces, earrings....that kind of stuff..but you ARE a sexual deviant...... You have sex with married men; you have multiple partners at the same time ,and you have sex in public places....AND you are a drag queen."

"Is that bad?" she asked, and she was serious, too.

"I try not to judge," I said and left it at that....but I didn't think it was too good, and Mother was right.  The hamburgers were the best I'd tasted in Arkansas.

"Well, gurl, it's normal down here.  Most of us do it," she said.

"Then, I won't be staying here long," I said.

Our conversation continued in the same manner until we left.  Mother, again, found Bart and gave him a twenty, but she didn't write her number on it this time.  Bart thanked us profusely, and shook my hand again, but he deposited a note in my palm and winked at me this time.  I quickly put my hand in my back pocket and deposited the note there.  I got the impression that it contained information that he didn't want Mother to know.   As I limped behind Mother on the way to the car, she asked me if I wanted to go to the bar.  I agreed, and told her that I needed to hit the bathrooms here before we went to Our House.  My bathroom debacle at Our House would remain with me always, and I avoided those bathrooms at all costs.

As soon as I got to the bathroom, I pulled the note out of my back pocket and read it.  It said:

"Mother has a crush on YOU...Love you, Bart."

My heart did a little somersault, and I was so happy that he'd said it first -- even if he'd only written it down.  I was feeling the same way, too...but I told myself that I'd only known him a week, and that it had to be only infatuation and not love............BUT it was a damn good feeling, and I didn't want to lose it....and the part about Mother having a crush on me....ehh...I just couldn't see it.  I hoped it wasn't true.  I finished my bathroom duty, and left the bathroom to find Bart.  Mother was parked down the street waiting for me, so she couldn't see me inside the restaurant.  Bart was waiting for me at the front door.

"What makes you think she has a crush on me?" I asked.

"Because he told me that he was trying to make you jealous by making you think that something had gone on between him and me," he laughed.

"When did he tell you that?" I asked.

"When he went to the bathroom," Bart said, and I immediately remembered seeing them walking together and wondering what they were doing.

"Oh damn," I said. "He's just my friend Bart.  I don't feel that way toward him at all.  I really like him, but not like that.

"I know, honey," he said.

"And as for the rest of the note," I said clumsily and slowly as I looked into his eyes.

"Yes," he said kind of anxiously.

"I read it, too," I said because I was afraid to say what I was really feeling because it was just too soon, and I hoped my eyes told him what my mouth couldn't ....just yet....but I reached for him, and he reached for me...and we hugged right there in Acapulco's.  No one noticed anything unusual because these Southerners hug everybody -- they even hug people they don't like.

"I'll see you when I get home, but I won't be out too late...and I'll brush my teeth," I said.

He smiled broadly and said," So will I."

And then I walked out to meet Mother Superior, this drag queen, sexual deviant,  who supposedly had a crush on me, for another Tuesday Night at Our House.

Confirmation

Now, that was a stupid question.  The last dang time I'd seen a toothbrush was when he handed it to me through the shower curtain.  I lost track of it during the hullaballoo and hospital trip that followed........I guess he thought that I'd managed to hobble-hop into the bathroom and brushed my teeth during his 6.5 hour hiatus -- but I hadn't.  It had been sheer torture when I'd skipped into there and tried to maintain a one legged balance to achieve proper stream aim. (( I wasn't totally successful, btw)).  I didn't even know where my toothbrush was.....

I knew that this silver-tongued devil was trying to slip me the tongue, but I just wasn't going to have it.  He was going to stick to his word, and he could wait...if he would wait...and heck, I knew he would.  I could see it in his eyes...so...I answered his question.

 

"No," and I pulled away from him, and sunk deeper into my pillows.  "You're hurting my ankle every time you jostle the bed."

He kept that same smile on his lips as he carefully raised himself up and off  the bed and the candle light flickered off of his Pepsodents as he slipped through the bedroom door.  I knew what he was up to, and I'd play along.  What else did I have to do? But, I wasn't going to kiss him.  I knew where kisses led -- especially when two guys were the participants, and I had a freshly sprained ankle. I just wasn't in the mood.  ( Would you have been?)

Surprise! ( But, it wasn't a surprise to me ).  He returned ( semi-stumbling with a wine wobbly gait ) carrying two Eskimo Joe's plastic tumblers in each hand  (( I had a few of those tumblers since I'd lived in Stillwater, and I also had a degree from that Jumpin' Little Juke Joint. ))  He'd filled them both half full of water.  He also held a tube of Colgate and my navy toothbrush.

"One is to sip and one is to spit" he said as he handed me the cups.  I complied and brushed my teeth, spit and rinsed.  He exited the bedroom -- stilly wobbly......  I blew out the candles, and slumped down into the bed.  I  could hear his return and the rustle of the sheets and blankets.

"Thanks," I said.  "I always brush before I go to sleep."

He sighed, and I was off to dreamland.  He got the hint and did the same.....but we woke up snuggling the next morning....(( How could that have happened?))

The next few days were similar to this one sans his presence in the evenings.  He had to work at the restaurant, but stayed with me through the days unless he had class, and stayed with me at night after he got off  of work through the night.  He worked on his projects and papers -- which I proofread, and prepared my meals for me.  He was a good nurse....and he gave up on the "toothbrushing manipulation"....for awhile.  I, actually, liked having him there, and we got to know each other pretty well......and yeah, I liked him....a lot.....And, each morning, I'd wake to find him spooning me.....It all sounds rather boring, but isn't life usually boring?

 By Tuesday morning, my ankle still hurt, but it had greatly improved.  I called work and told them that I'd return the following day, but requested a single shift only because I wanted to break my ankle in slowly.  I'd been a saving fool, and was okay financially for the present time, but I still needed to make extra Christmas money so I didn't want to do anything stupid and return to a full work schedule immediately only to return to bed rest. I'd work like a maniac after all pain had left my ankle.

In the afternoon of that Tuesday, Mother Superior called to confirm our dinner plans.  I didn't bother to tell her about my ankle accident  (( How could I explain that mess?))  and happily agreed to share dinner that evening with her at Acapulco's.  I instructed Bart to treat me as he had the prior week at Acapulco's.  He shrugged and agreed to comply, but I got the impression that he didn't like the request too much.................I didn't want Mother to know that he'd been staying with me because I still had suspicions about Bart's rendevous with her.  The one sure way to get the truth was to get them both together....................(( Oh yeah, I'd done this before.))  While Bart's story was all sweet and nice, I knew men were notorious liars -- hell, sometimes, so was I....I just needed confirmation

Have you brushed your teeth?

Hmmmm...so  he was starting a new strategy in his Jericho March....I could go with this for awhile.  Heck, I didn't have much else to do besides lie around until my ankle got better.  He'd at least be some company. But, I needed to find out more about him.  I only had small pieces of the puzzle of Bart, and I needed a complete picture.....As we ate, I interrogated him (( and I was really glad he'd cut up the steak cuz it was as tough as shoe leather, but I was nice and chewed slowly.  Why do small town people always prepare their steaks well-done?))

Yes, he was the child of a Baptist minister, and apparently, he'd been a good preacher's kid contrary to their sketchy reputation.  He planned on graduating in May ,and he already had a job waiting for him in his uncle's advertising agency in Dallas.  He needed to complete two papers and two projects, and he'd be finished with the current semester. He lived in an on-campus apartment with three other room mates who he hardly knew...Yeah, I know, all that stuff is boring, but the answers I wanted needed a couple more glasses of wine to get the full truth, so I sipped slowly and determined to let him have most of the bottle.   (( I didn't want to mix too much wine with the pain pills anyway ,since I didn't really want to wake up to sleep no more.  Besides, it wasn't the good stuff anyway.  Although he had a Samaritan heart, Arkansas Baptists weren't exactly known for being able to choose a good wine, and he was true to his roots.....and yeah, I know I sound like a bitch, but truth is truth, but I'd never tell him that and hurt his feelings......The gesture is what mattered, and I would have been just as happy with Dr. Pepper or strawberry Kool-Aid.  People always assume that I'm some pretentious asshole, but I'm really a hamburger and apple pie guy.............Apparently, Bart had made the same assumption due to my bitchy demeanor)).

A bed is made for many things, but eating dinner and drinking wine ( at the same time ) is not one of them.  It was easier for me than it was for him.  I could easily set down my wine glass on the Naugahydes and take a bite from my plastic plate.  He, on the other hand, had to reach over me to retreive or deposit his wine glass on those lovely chairs..  Every time he did, I tried to not wince and kept my facial expressions even, but it hurt my ankle every time he moved.  Finally, we got through the meal, and he took our plates to the kitchen and returned with the bottle of wine which he sat between us on the bed when he, again, joined me there.  He tried to refill my glass, but I waved him away, and then he refilled his glass again....Hmmm..I thought to myself...he's only starting his second glass.  He'd need at least three before I asked the really important questions. 

So, I let him ask the questions.  The discovery period during a relationship is probably the most important.  Answering those questions is like walking through a mine field.  You don't want to lie, but sometimes you can't tell the FULL truth.  If you want someone to love you, they need to respect you..........and let's face it, there are some things we have done in our lives that wouldn't excactly garner respect.  Btw, this also goes back to my milk theory.  If you give the milk away too soon, they won't be able to respect you.  Thereby, they will never love you.  It is just a very tight rope we walk at that time.  Of course, it works in reverse too.  If you have decided that you want to get rid of someone because he hasn't scored very well on his discovery quiz, then tell him all the bad stuff and let him milk that cow (( if he's cute enough )), and before you know it, he'll be gone.....................(( Don't ask me how I know all this stuff because you won't respect me if I tell you the answer...))  Life is so much easier when you are married -- even if it isn't legal in your state. 

By the time he'd finished quizzing me -- and I know I scored very well because I'd done it a few times -- he'd finished his third glass of wine and was pouring the last glass from the bottle.  He rested his head on one pillow and was slightly leaning against the other side of the headboard.  Barbra had finished singing by now, and all was just quiet except for our voices.

"So, how many guys have you been with?" I asked point blank.  ( I had to make sure that I wasn't going to be just another pair of empty underwear:   I had a friend in college who stole the underwear of every guy he'd been with, and he had three dresser drawers full of boxers, briefs and jock straps. He'd been collecting since he'd been in the ninth grade.  Whether they'd been laundered or not, I was afraid to ask.  He always referred to his exes -- and there were a few -- as a pair of empty underwear.  It was a tad bit more original than a "notch on the belt", but it meant the same thing between us.)

"Three," he said just as point blank. ( Okay, he got a point for not being a slut)

"Did you love them?" I felt like the prosecuting attorney, but I needed to know this information.

He hesitated for a minute and looked at the ceiling, and scrunched his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger......then he replied softly, " I loved one." (Another point, at least he wasn't just in it for sex)

"What happened?" I asked.

"He didn't love me, I guess.  He got married." he said as he looked down at his wine glass which his legs grasped at crotch level and traced the rim with his forefinger.  Then he turned and propped himself up on his left elbow and faced me while he held the wine glass with his right hand and rested it on the mattress. He raised up his right leg and scissored it across his left.  He lay on one side of the bed.  I faced forward with my back against the headboard and my right ankle elevated on the couch cushions on the other. 

"How long were you with him?" I continued with this line of questioning.

"Oh...I guess we started in our senior year of high school, and he got married last year....maybe four years.  I was the best man in his wedding.  My girlfriend was the maid of honor for his wife.........I haven't seen him since he left for his honey moon" he trailed off. ( Another point for longevity of love  but it was subject to deduction because he'd mentioned the Girlfriend!!  AH HA!  A Girlfriend!! Now do you understand why I waited until the third glass of wine to start the important questions?  People always volunteer too much information when they are drunk.)

"Girlfriend?" I asked stone cold.

"Yes, I HAD a girlfriend...She was my fiance'.  We had planned on getting married in June after we both graduated. " and then he stopped abruptly, but I could tell there was more to the story.

"Go on," I prodded.

"But, I cut it off," he said shortly.

(Lord, the juicy parts were always like pulling teeth, but he got another point for being single.)

"When?" I asked gently.

"Halloween," he compliantly answered.

(Good Lord, he'd only been broken up with his fiance for about a month. Was he confused and on the rebound? Point deduction.)

"Why?" I know I sounded like a newspaper reporter, but I WAS on a fact-finding mission. 

"Because, I'm gay, and I was tired of lying to myself and to her about it." he said kind of frustrated. (And he received 5 points for that response.)

"Did you have sex with her?" I liked to get the juicy stuff, too.

"Not if I could help it," he said rather uncomfortably.  ( Another right answer )

"Did you have sex with the guy you loved?" I asked in a very nosey fashion

"As often as I could.  I wanted to be as close to him as I could possibly get as often as I could, but it wasn't nearly often enough for me...." he said sadly. ( This boy was scoring very well.)

"What do you want from me?" I sand-bagged him with this question.

"You," he replied softly and reached over and wiped the hair out of my eyes ( again ).  I think that was his signature move. ( And, of course, my heart became clarified butter).  The candles flickered a bit on this answer too.  Must have been a draft......( Another five points for the sheer perfect answer and because it was delivered without hesitation )

"Why?" I asked kind of dumbfounded.

"If I knew, I wouldn't want you.  There is just something about you.  You are like a combination of him and her," I let him go at that.  Who can really explain why he is attracted to someone? ( Well, he told me I was cute and and raved about my eyes and some other physical attributes, but it would be rude for me to tell you all that stuff.  I wouldn't want to sound like a conceited jerk...but honey...I'm not ugly.)

"When is the last time you were with a guy?" I asked and I asked this particular question because it was the perfect time to find out what had happened between him and Mother.

"A couple hours before he left on his honeymoon................, " He paused and looked at me. I tried to hide the SCANDALOUS expression that I knew crossed my face;  You KNOW that I wanted the juicy details of that escapade.  Choir room? Basement? Empty Church Baptistry....You know that all sorts of clandestined venues crossed my mind, BUT I bit my tongue and let him continue.  ( But I made a mental note to myself to come back to this at the first proper opportunity.)

"When we finished, he kissed me and told me that we'd never do it again or see each other again..............and he didn't lie," he said sadly with regret.  ( You know what a person sounds like who still mourns a lost beloved...and that was in his voice. )

If my ankle hadn't hurt so bad, I would have reached over and hugged him because he really looked like he needed it right about then.  I could tell that he still had feelings for his "friend", and that the hurt still hurt..............and I had worn those shoes before.  I knew exactly how he felt.  No one can replace a lost love because we love each person differently.  That hole they made in our heart always remains, but sometimes we can find someone to fill those holes.....but the holes are still there....they've just got a filling.

"What happened between you and Mother that night?" I asked.  I HAD to know besides, he was having a weak moment, and it would be more difficult for him to lie right then, and I was giving him a reprieve from talking about something that obviously pained him.

He looked up at me and kind of squinted.  Then he raised his head up and got very very close to my face and looked squarely in my eyes.  I assumed this was to emphasize that he was telling the truth, but it was a rather drunk move too....and he looked kind of silly...still beautiful, but silly.

"Do you really think that I'd sleep with him one night and then be over here the next?" he asked sincerely and emphatically and then leaned back against the headboard.

"Don't answer my question with a question.  Just answer me." I said firmly and quietly, but I held my ground. ( And if I had answered his question, I would have pissed him off.  I was very well-versed in the nature of Man, and hell yeah, he would have been. The refractory period of the normal penis is only about 15 minutes, and then it is raring to go again, so a whole day would have transpired....oh hell yeah, he would have been....)

He scooted over right next me, and we sat shoulder to shoulder propped up against the headboard.  He took the final swig of his wine and handed his glass to me.  I placed it on the Naughahyde chairs that we'd been using as a make-shift table.

"This is what happened," he started with his explanation but he was using his hands more than Mother did to explain her stories.  His facial expressions and body language became very gay when he drank, and that comforted me.  It gave me hope that he wasn't just confused. ( So he got another point on his quiz for facial expression and body language.)

"After you and that other guy left, Mother, or whatever his name is, and I talked for a little while.  I wanted to find out as much about you as I could, but she didn't know that much.  She told me where you worked, and that is why I showed up there the next day.  I was only at her place for thirty minutes or less, and then I drove back to Arkadelphia, got up the next day and went to class, and then I came to find you.  Are you happy now?" he said as he took my hand. ( Okay, I gave him half a point.  He stressed "me" too much and made it all about "me", and I'd been fooled by flattery before............Just so you know, he passed his quiz)) 

Then, out of nowhere he asked with a half smile on his face as he again faced me and got really really close to my face which I chalked up to another drunk move. (( Our lips almost touched, and I could tell by the way he separated his, as I looked down my nose at them, what he had in mind.))

"Have you brushed your teeth?"

Do this right.....

But there were still many stones stacked one on top of another...........I'm not an idiot.  However, I did start to trust him a little, and I thought it was time to stop the bitch game. Only time would erode the inner sanctum, the Holy of Holies, that surrounded my heart..............This boy wouldn't be able to do it in less than a week, but he had a good start..... Heck, look what had happened already.  I suspected that someone was trying to tell me something, and I needed to listen.  Who knows what would have happened next if I hadn't?  I already had a sprained ankle...What would God do next to make me slow down and take notice? I decided that I needed to pay attention.

Bart did all the necessary things that someone would expect in the situation:  elevated my ankle  (( with three of those ugly sofa cushions stacked on the edge of my full-sized bed )), iced it, called work for me and told them of my accident, then he put me in his Trans-Am and hauled me to the ER............and stayed with me.  BUT, those were the things that anyone would suppose a normal person would do; the gay world was much different.  Most gays might have helped me to the bed, and then they would have wished me well, and I never would have seen them again.  SO, I still doubted whether he was gay or not....

After looking at my X-rays, the doctor said it wasn't that bad, but he did give me a few pain pills and prescribed bed rest, ice followed by moist heat and no work for at least a week, and he wrapped it in an ace bandage (( which I could have borrowed from a lesbian and saved the 600.00...........))

I figured Bart would be gone after the hospital visit, but I had greatly underestimated him.  He had a Samaritan heart.   The pain pills -- which he'd filled at the pharmacy and purchased for me against my protests -- made me loopy and sleepy.  I don't recall exactly how long I slept, but it was awhile, cuz when I woke up, I could smell something cooking....Now, I knew damn well what was in my cabinets and Fridge, and it wasn't much...Heck, I worked all the time and mainly ate at work.  I only had bits and pieces of junk food along with some broccoli, yogurt, ketchup and Dr. Pepper in the refrigerator.........I also noticed several shirts  -- which weren't mine --  hanging in my open closet and a plethora of text books lying near the door.....So, this boy had had time to drive back to Arkadelphia, retrieve some clothes and his school books, stop by the grocery story, return here and start cooking dinner.............Well, the best I could say was that at least he wasn't lying about school, and the worst is that I wasn't a lesbian and I didn't take a Uhaul on the first date.......er...Was this a date?

"Bart?," I yelled from the bed.

He suddenly appeared at my bedroom door.  He'd changed his clothes, and he was looking pretty spiffy in his red Polo shirt and jeans.  I thought I even smelled cologne over the culinary breeze coming from the kitchen.  "Yeah?" he asked.

"Are you moving in?" I asked rather sarcastically as I motioned toward his shirts in the closet....I probably wouldn't have noticed if the closet door had been closed, but his multiple shirts really stuck out.  All of them were on wire hangers, and I only used thick, white, plastic hangers because wire hangers sometimes left creases in the top of my shirts.

"No," he said, and I could hear a tinge of hurt in his voice as he continued to explain. "I thought you'd need me for a few days, and your shirts wouldn't really fit me.  Do you mind?"

"No, I don't mind.  Thanks, " I said, and I got kind of choked up. 

I still couldn't understand why he was being so damn nice to me.  What could he possibly want from me?  He was the All-American preppy boy with a great face and body.  He could have done Calvin Klein underwear ads. I certainly was not a match for him physically. 

AND, I was a nearly broke waiter who literally lived from day to day.  Yeah, I made decent money, but I paid bills with it.  There wasn't much left over.  He knew that I couldn't be a sugar daddy for him  -- and I wasn't even old enough for that. 

Heck,  I wasn't even really nice to him.  I'd made him sleep on the couch the night before, and I'd even suggested the floor when he complained about his back problems.  I felt a little guilty because of my insensitivity.  Now, this boy who was way out of my league was cooking me dinner and waiting on me hand and foot.  Where did this angel come from? 

"I didn't wake you up did I? I tried to be quiet," he said.

"No, you didn't wake me up.  How long have I been asleep?" I asked as he moved  from the doorway and sat on the edge of the bed. 

"I don't know.  I left after you fell asleep.  I didn't want to wake you up, so I left you that note," he motioned to a piece of paper on the bed.

I looked at the note, but I didn't pick it up.

"How long ago was that?" I asked.

"About 6 and a half hours ago," he said as he glanced at his watch then added, "I rehung your shower curtain.  I hope it looks okay...Now, let me get this set up in here, so we can eat.  I hope you like steak." he said as he brushed my hair out of my eyes, then rose from the edge of the mattress.

He carried in two of the Naugahyde kitchen chairs and stood them side by side at the side of the bed near me.  Then he carried in two burgandy pillar candles on saucers and lit them with my cigarette lighter, and turned off the lights.  He walked back into the kitchen, and I suddenly heard Barbra Streisand coming from my boom box singing "All in Love is Fair" from her "The Way We Were" album. I thought to myself that he just must have chosen one of my tapes willy-nilly because there was no way that this former football player with the Calvin Klein model body would even know who Barbra Streisand was....but he was definitely setting a mood.  Suddenly, he was back in the door again....

"Do you need me to help you sit up?" he asked so gentlemanly.

"No, I can do it, but thanks," and truthfully, I was feeling a little self-conscious.  Heck, I'd been asleep all day because of the pain pills.  I knew I had to look like death-warmed-over, and he still looked like a Greek god.  He disappeared back into the kitchen while  I adjusted myself as best I could, and it hurt to move my leg..but not as bad as it had that morning.  I finally got myself propped up against the retro-plasti-wood headboard, and tried my best to finger-comb my hair into something resembling decency when  he returned with a glass of red wine.

"I hope you like Pinot Noir, " he said as I took the glass from him..........Okay, I thought to myself, this had to be a dream.  Pinot Noir was my favorite.......How could he know that?    Those pain pills were really making me have some sweet dreams was my first thought...but it wasn't a dream. It was really happening...........He returned to the kitchen again and re-appeared with a plastic plate in his hands.

"I noticed you didn't have any regular plates in your cupboards, so I bought some of these.  I hope it's okay....and I cut up your steak for you," he said as he handed my plate to me.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked him in disbelief.

"Aren't you worth it?" he asked as he disappeared into the kitchen for the last time.  I contemplated his question for the brief seconds that he was gone.  To tell the truth, I didn't know how to answer it, so I left it unanswered.....................He returned with his own glass of wine in one hand and his plate of food in another.  He perched himself next to me on the bed and looked me in the eye.

"I need to tell you that I'm sorry," he said and then continued. "I've never really dated a guy, so I didn't know how to do it.  I thought you were like the others, and I was wrong about you.  Will you let me start over and try to do this right?"

The walls came tumbling down

And, all the king's horses and all the king's men, couldn't make my ankle feel better again -- well, for several days anyway...................

I had my head peaked out from behind the shower curtain looking for Bart because he'd disappeared into thin air.  I was just beginning to contemplate Rapture, when I felt his lips, and then when I felt his strong arm, I freaked.  Somehow, he'd entered the shower. His daddy might have been a Baptist preacher, but I was thinking his Mama was Samantha Stephens because in a nose twinkle he was behind me in the shower.  (( He explained to me later that he'd entered from the toilet side; he must have timed it just right cuz I never ever expected him to be behind me as I looked for him. ))  I was startled.  Who wouldn't be? 

So, I let out a yelp and leaped out of the shower, but my foot didn't clear the edge of the tub.  To compound the problem,  I landed on it in a pirouette pose as I fell on the floor.  The  circus-tent-shower curtain came billowing with me like a parachute  until it came to rest on me and around me on the floor, and  shower rod came with it, and clobbered my head.  The ankle pain wasn't noticeable until I started to roll over.  (( I was afraid I'd fallen in a bad pose, and you know, he was behind me watching, so I had to readjust..............and regain my pride and composure.  Falls can be so humiliating. )) 

 I winced.....well, okay..I whined....mmm....okay, I'll admit it...I almost bawled it hurt so bad.  My head was all wrapped up in jewel-toned stripes, so I struggled to remove it because I thought I was going to suffocate in burgandy, navy and forrest green for a few brief seconds.  When I was finally able to see clearly, my eyes landed on him in the shower....................The water was still pulsing..and so was he...The goods had been unwrapped, and this boy didn't have anything to be ashamed of....I certainly had his full attention, and I could tell that just by looking at him....if you know what i mean.....The picture I beheld looked like one of those "Real Men" pics from out of the back of Playgirl, and I was so pissed off at myself and embarrassed.  Things could have been much different if I had just listened to my mini-mind-Andrew........

"Are you okay?" he asked concerned as he climbed over the edge of the tub and squatted next to me in the midst of the unbillowed circus shower curtain. He reached out and wiped my soapy hair out of my eyes.

"NO," I said and laid my head on the floor and tears streamed down my face......

"Don't cry, baby.  You'll be okay," he laughed a little and stroked my cheek.

"No, I won't....(sniffle)...  My ankle is hurt....(snort)...  I think I sprained it....(whine)...and I'm not crying...I have soap in my eyes... Help me up," I said between sobs as I tried to regain my composure. It was true, I did have shampoo in my eyes, but I finally just gave in and sobbed. He knew I was lying anyway................ I didn't cry because my ankle hurt.  I cried for a multitude of other reasons.  I cried because I was embarrassed.  I  cried because I was a fool.  I cried because I needed to work and make money; Christmas was right around the corner and only the Lord knew how long it would take for this injury to heal............ I cried because I didn't have insurance......I cried because I thought I'd blown it with Bart...... I cried to just cry  (( This hard-to-get stuff was stressful, and obviously, dangerous))....and I cried some more...but...... I think he liked it.

"Don't move," he said, as he crawled to get a better look at my ankle, and I won't comment on my view of him crawling all wet and dripping in the nude to my feet because it would just be tasteless...I'll just let you imagine, but  I forgot about my ankle for a second, at least.

"It looks pretty bad," he said with some concern.

"How do you know? You're not a doctor, " I whined and sobbed and snorted.

"Cuz, I've had a few football injuries.  We need to get ice on it as soon as possible, " and with that he stood up, bent over and picked me up....just like that...with no effort...and I didn't resist one little bit.  Now, I know I am skinny, and he was pretty built, but still.............I was surprised by his fortitude.

I rested my head on his shoulder, and cried silently as he carried me to my bed.  He just kept reassuring me tenderly in a voice I had never heard from him that everything was going to be okay and he'd take care of me....and that is the exact moment the walls came tumbling down.

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.

I managed to get my sister (( and my baby nephew )) in and out with no complications.  As I visited with  her,   (( you know southerners visit, the rest of the world converses ))I glanced over and saw the yellow bikini briefs in the kitchen chair, and I hoped she wouldn't notice.  (( She's like me -- an eagle eye and natural born snoop )).  I knew if she saw them she'd know something was up cuz I just wasn't a bikini brief wearing type of boy; I'm a tighty-whitey guy. Luckily, she hadn't noticed a thing.  (( And if she had, Of course, I knew it wasn't her business, but would you want to explain to your conservative Christian sister who held her baby in her arms that a naked man slept in your bed  AND that nothing had happened???  I didn't want my sister to think I was a slut, and she'd never believe the truth.  Who would? ))  Jackie told me what I'd missed at the Oklahoma Thanksgiving, (( and made me feel guilty,))  and invited me to her house for dinner the following week.  I sweated the entire time she was there in fear that bold and beautiful Bart would waltz out of my bedroom in nothing but a shirt and that Pepsodent smile doing his best Cruise impersonation............ but my paranoia was not rewarded.  I managed to scoot her out the door after a hug to her and a kiss to my nephew, Jakob, and a completed  stilted conversation that I blamed on grogginess.

After I closed the door on my sis, I determined to take a quick shower BEFORE I tried to raise the dead.  God knows that boy slept like Lazarus, and I wanted to be fully dressed before I called him forth.  I had plenty of time to shower and get dressed before work.  At one point, I thought about cooking breakfast for us, but considered otherwise telling myself that would seem over eager and would be akin to inviting him to stay the night again..................which wasn't an entirely horrible idea, but the circumstances would be much different in the future in that regard, I hoped. NO drunkeness, NO couch and NO wham-bam-thank you SAM.  We all seem to work out our little rules in our heads, and we don't realize til later in life that those scenarios never ever come to pass.  Life just happens, and we should let it.  But, I was ever so much younger then, and I thought I knew how life should be.................(( Puhlease, you've done the same thing.))  There is a reason why we aren't God.

So, I stepped into the shower quickly.  Even though the apartment was aptly heated, the winter air always seemed to seep through somewhere and  mornings  never felt like the warmth that the thermostat dictated.  The bathroom was a nice size, actually, which was surprising for this apartment on Highway 7 South.  Of course, it came with the normal bathroom accessories: sink/vanity combo, toilet and shower/bathtub, but it was strangely larger than most people would expect.  The bathroom was the only room in the house that hadn't come "predecorated", so I'd fagged it up a bit with a glorious striped jewel-tone ( burgandy, navy and forest green were the rage then ) shower curtain with a matching POOFY valance.  Truthfully, it was a bit over done and slightly resembled a circus tent because of the shower curtain, but at least, I was allowed to be gay in the bathroom.  The toilet was covered with a burgandy seat cover,  navy tank cover and forest green rug.  You know the type of fabric, it kind of looks like a poodle.  When I glanced at it, I thought to myself that the toilet looked warmer than I felt.  I've always wondered if people in other countries dressed their toilets up as much as we do.  Let's face it, it's a toilet.  Do we really need to put clothes on it? 

Of course, I had another Forest Green rug in front of the vanity and just outside the shower/bathtub.  The beside-the-toilet trash can matched the spit cup and toothbrush holder, too........ALL in jewel tones..and I even had a burgandy, a navy and a forrest green toothbrush..............  No, I didn't really need three toothbrushes, but everything HAD to match, for queer's sake.............  I'd even gone so far as to add shelf-paper to the inside of the medicine cabinet in matching colors, and had created my own art-on-canvas using those same jewel tones...very abstract and chic, I thought at the time.  ((The good thing about abstract art is that you can drizzle paint on a canvas and somebody somewhere will think you are talented............))   I'm telling you.  It was a glorious bathroom.  I felt kind of guilty  passing gas in there because it was so nice.............but it was a bathroom, after all.

As my body relaxed to the hot water pulsing from the shower head, I erased my mind of any thoughts and simply enjoyed the feeling of warmth that moved gently down my body.  I'd bought one of those fancy chrome shower heads with adjustable water-style settings, so I could alter my water experience at my whim.   Just as I Paul Mitchelle'd my hair,   I thought I felt a sudden change in room temperature, but I couldn't have.  It had to be my imagination.....The light that seeped through the suds over my eyes seemed to change a bit, too...nah, couldn't be.........Then, I heard a strong piss stream sound...THAT was not my imagination.  I tensed up.  Bart -- or someone, and I prayed it was Bart and NOT Mr. Deliverance  -- had just barged into the bathroom.  I didn't even consider locking the bathroom door since Bart slept like a dead man............Whoever it was, peed for a long time, and then FLUSHED..and suddenly, my comfortable shower turned into scalding torture. I yelped a bit and stepped out of the stream, and then I heard the unmistakable sound of teeth brushing...........I just really couldn't believe how unbelievably rude it was for him to be brushing his teeth with one of my toothbrushes...Granted, I had three, but he didn't know what color I used...( burgandy).

"Bart?" I asked kind of perturbed, but hoped it was his voice I heard over the rushing water of the shower.

"Yarrr?" he seemed to say with the brush in his mouth.  Yeah, it was him.  I relaxed a tiny bit.

"What color toothbrush are you using?" I asked in my bitch tone.

I heard him spit in the sink..

"Green," he said and then he continued, "Have you brushed your teeth yet?"

"No, not yet, why?" I thought to myself that he asked the strangest questions.

Suddenly, a hand appeared between the wall and the shower curtain holding my burgandy toothbrush and my tube of Colgate.  I reached up and grabbed it, just as he said quite bluntly and over-confidently,

"Cuz, I'm not going to kiss you with morning breath."

His presumptiousness pissed me off...........First, he'd barged in and peed while I was in the shower.  Then, he flushed and nearly scalded me to death.  Next, he'd used one of my toothbrushes without even asking me...............NOT TO MENTION, he'd just barged into the bathroom while I was taking a shower -- but honestly, I knew that the morning pee was the most urgent, so I could understand him having to come in and pee, and I was behind yards and yards of striped jewel toned fabric hidden behind a very poofified tent........BUT, he had the nerve to think that I was going to kiss him????????  (( yeah, I know...........I was kind of worried that he had mind reading capabilities.  )) I had to protest this out of principle if for no other reason, and to throw him off my tracks a bit, so I yanked that shower curtain back with a riled look on my face.  I was careful to only let my face show............

But, he wasn't there.  I stuck my head out a little more.  He still wasn't there.  Just as I was thinking that he had left the bathroom, I felt lips on the nape of my neck, and a hand on my chest pulling me.........and that's when this Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.

Risky Business

Morning came, and my first thought was whether Bart was still on the couch or if he had left during the night.  I'd heard nothing before I drifted off to a bewildered sleep -- well, except for the USUAL from next door, and I'd slept well considering a cute college boy snored on my couch.  Now, this was not normal behavior for me to let a semi-stranger in my apartment to sleep unattended.  But, what could he possibly do? I didn't think he was going to kill me.  His daddy was a preacher, for God's sake -- literally, for God's sake.  What could he steal? A laminated end table?  I would have probably helped him load it into his car. AND if he had snuck into my bedroom, I would have been able to handle it..............  ;-)  I'd slept in my jeans for that very reason...................  Besides, he offered me some protection against Mr. Deliverance.  But, none of those things had happened.  I had slept through the night without incident.................

I needed to get up and get showered and dressed for work, and curiosity was killing my cat.  I just had to know if he was still there.  I kind of hoped he was, but I'd never let him know that.  Even though I was resisting it, I liked him.  My feelings vacillated, and he scared me.  But, hell, I would have never let him sleep on my sofa if  I hadn't liked him, or maybe I just liked the way he looked...or maybe I just liked the attention....There were always lots of maybe's with me, but this romance just MAY  BE if i let it.

I knew I was a fickle bitch, but would he really still want me if I'd acted like I wanted him?................. No, this boy liked the chase game, and he liked to do the chasing.  I really didn't mind being the mouse for this cool cat to catch.........  By then, I'd learned that the farmer wouldn't buy the cow if he could get the milk for free.  I'd let him have the whole damn dairy, but he'd have to earn it before I'd open a gate. Besides, NO ONE wants what he can have.  We all want something elusive.  I'd be his elusive butterfly, but I still doubted whether he was actually gay. He certainly didn't have the stereotypical gay traits -- lisp, swoosh and perfect hair  (( neither did I for that matter...except for the perfect hair )). He may have just wanted a place to crash...........and he appeared out of nowhere. It was all a little bit odd, and I was suspicious.  Remember, you can't trust anyone.  It had been my motto far too long to simply shirk it for some cute boy from Arkadelphia who's Daddy preached "once saved, always saved."  I doubted he'd keep preaching that if he found out his son was gay.

Stealthily, I cracked my bedroom door and peaked out.  Everything appeared normal except for his black waiter slacks lying on the linoleum outside my bedroom door...?  Well, at least I knew he was still here ........................................and he wasn't wearing his pants.  I opened the door a little more and stepped onto the kitchen floor.  Linoleum is so damn cold in winter. It made me wince.  I had to resist the urge to jet across the kitchen floor to the warm shag carpet  (( It DID have a purpose )) of the living room, but I had to be quiet just in case he was asleep.  I didn't want him to wake up with me looking at him. He might think there was some reason why I was gawking at him, and even IF there was, I sure as hell didn't want him to know that.  It would ruin my milk plan.

 I tip-toed slowly and ever so quietly.  Yeah, there was his underwear  -- bright yellow bikini briefs  --  in one of my Naugahyde kitchen chairs.  This boy has no shame, I thought to myself.  He was naked somewhere in my apartment.  That was really kind of rude to go crash on someones couch in the nude.  Think about it.  It's just rude, but I didn't complain too awful much................. I got to the edge of the kitchen where the metal strip joins the linoleum and the carpet, and I kind of raised up on my toes to get a better view.  Oh damn................he looked like a bare butt blond cherub -- almost -- on my velveteen sofa.  That vintage couch with its colonial country scenes had never looked so good................. 

He still wore his shirt -- fully buttoned, and he was lying face down with one arm dangling from the couch.  He'd tried to cover himself with the afghan my Great Grandma Treece had crocheted but had failed miserably because it wasn't big enough to cover all of him. (( In that moment, I wanted to blow kisses to her in Glory.))  It was bunched up around his neck and extended topsy-turvy to about midway across his ass, and the only thing left showing was what God had so perfectly created.  Yeah, he was naked from the waist down, and he wasn't moving a muscle.....Well, I thought...maybe just a little milk...If I waited too long, he might give up, or our relationship would turn to simply friends.  I had to keep him interested and play matador and bull for awhile, but it was a risky game........that is IF he was truly interested and not just playing a game with me.  It would be so much easier if we could just say, "let's give this a shot"...but that wouldn't be nearly as much fun (( and I wouldn't have this story to tell either....)).

THUMP THUMP THUMP..........Good Lord, why do people have to come visit me in the morning? I bet it was Mr. Deliverance, and I was so thankful for the naked cherub on my couch................who didn't appear to notice the knocking.  His snores continued in a rhythmic cadence.

THUMP THUMP THUMP......Bart still didn't move...nothing...He just laid there like he had before I'd heard the knocking.  I paused a moment and stood really still....I saw his rib cage expand and contract...Yeah, he was still breathing....Why the hell didn't he wake up?

THUMP THUMP THUMP....I moved to Bart quickly, bent over and shook his shoulder...He released a slow moan something akin to a cow giving birth, but he didn't budge.  Apparently, he was one of those deep sleepers.....

"Rob, let us in!! It's cold out here, " my sister yelled through the door.

Oh my god, I thought.  My little sister had come to visit me -- at 8:00  in the morning  -- and I have a naked man asleep on my couch who won't move....I couldn't leave her out in the cold, and I couldn't let her see THIS....  I knew she held her baby in her arms.....I thought as fast as I could.

Slowly, I cracked the door a bit, and she started to walk right on in, but I stopped her with the door.  Since I wasn't wearing a shirt, I used that as an excuse. 

"Give me a second, I need to put some clothes on, " I peaked my head around the cracked door, and let her see that I was shirtless for authenticity, and quickly slammed it.

Thank God the cool breeze hit Bart's bare butt, and the bright light of morning peaked into the darkened living room, so he began to stir.

"Shut the door," he said as he squirmed on the couch.

"You've got to get up. My sister is outside." I begged in a loud whisper.  He squirmed a little more, but in slow motion.  Well, I'd have to take matters into my own hands.  I walked right over to him, looked at that Prime rump roast and slapped the part that was covered by my granny's afghan as hard as I could.  He sat up immediately.

"Why'd you spank me?" he whined like a little kid and rubbed his eyes.  I explained to him that my sister was standing on my stoop in the cold with her baby in her arms in very elementary terms, and he needed to go to my bedroom, shut the door, and get in my bed where it was warm and comfortable.

"See, you should have let me sleep there to begin with," he managed to say in that same Dennis the Menace voice before he stood up.  His long sleeved white waiter shirt must have been instructed to hide the goods, because no matter how he moved, it covered his THANG, and you know I was looking  (( wouldn't you?))....He raised himself up off of the couch and began to stumble to my bedroom.  From behind, the shirt fell to cover most of his butt, but not quite all of it.  This was "Risky Business" in my living room, and Tom Cruise had nothing on this boy.................. except underwear. 

I just had to gaze for a moment  (( you would have done the same thing...)).  The shirt was long enough for a good tease and mini-flash with every step...but not too much of a flash...It seemed to hang just where his little bubble butt joined the top of his leg.  It was enough to make you want to see more, but not enough to unwrap the entire package.

Bart said, "Quit looking at my ass, " as he slammed my bedroom door behind him.

Yep,............very Risky Business.