“Jesus, Lucas, do I look anything like the Kid?”
Heat rushed to Lucas’s face. Damn it. He never seemed to say the right thing around Donovan.
“The only thing,” Donovan said between snorts of laughter, “that would be more ludicrous than me playing the Kid… would be you playing the Kid.”
Now, why was that so funny? Granted, he didn’t have any acting experience, but he’d spent plenty of time performing his music in front of an audience, so he was no stranger to being onstage. And he knew the character inside and out. Besides, this was just a skit at a party. Not exactly high stakes. Was the idea of him playing the Kid really so ridiculous?
Donovan was laughing so hard he was practically crying. Lucas glanced at the door, contemplating escape before he suffered any further humiliation.
Donovan must’ve noticed, because he quickly looped arms with Lucas and tugged him toward the back of the house. “Let me take you to my ice prison.”
“Ice prison?”
Donovan rolled his eyes. “Otherwise known as the backyard. Come on, Bear Cub.”
Trish owed him big-time for this.
The patio, in stark contrast to the pristine interior of the house, was in a state of major disarray. Half-opened boxes, fabrics, canvas, paints, and other supplies littered the ground. A makeshift stage was partially assembled off to the side of the pool.
Lucas looked around, wide-eyed. “Looks like you still have a lot of work to do before the party.”
“Correction. We have a lot of work to do,” Donovan said as he handed Lucas the script. “The rest of the cast will be here tomorrow morning for dress rehearsal, minus Alex, of course. I assume you’re filling in for him?”
His ego was still bruised from Donovan’s earlier comment about him playing the Kid. “Uh… I don’t know.”
“He only has one line: Squee squee squawky squiggly squee.” Donovan raised an eyebrow in challenge. “Think you can handle that?”
“Excuse me?” Lucas had the feeling he was on the wrong side of a joke again. “Which character says that?”
“Willy, of course. Haven’t you seen the movie? It’s one of the funniest lines.”
“There’s a movie?” Lucas asked, his voice now ridiculously high. “Who’s Willy?” He couldn’t recall anyone by the name of Willy in Bear, Otter, and the Kid, and he’d read the book three times.
“Yeah, it was released last Christmas. An animated musical based on the book. Hang on. It’s around here somewhere.” Donovan rummaged through some boxes while Lucas tried to wrap his head around the idea that Bear, Otter, and the Kid had been made into an animated musical.
“Aha! Found it.” Donovan held up a DVD case, then shoved it toward Lucas, tapping the cover. “There’s the Kid,” he said, pointing to a strapping young fellow in a scanty Santa suit. He flipped it over and pointed to a tall blue ice penis on the back. “And there’s Willy. Here, take this home tonight and watch it. You’ll need to learn the song of the Thousand Willy Army, so you can sing along.”
Lucas stood stunned as he stared at the movie case. How could he have been so mixed up? He wasn’t looking at Bear, Otter, and the Kid, but rather Kid Christmas Rides Again. And Willy… Willy was a… well, a willy. A big, blue willy.
Donovan gave Lucas a couple of slaps on the back. “So, you wanna run lines, or would you rather work on the set?”
The words barely registered in Lucas’s mind. He was still in shock over the gross misunderstanding. “You want me to dress up as a… giant p-p-penis?”
“Don’t say penis. There are so many other whimsical words you could wield. Snuggle snake, six shooter, rigid south pole… joy toy, steely love stick, frenzied phallus of frightening fury….” Donovan tapped his chin. “Let me see… man knob, cum cannon, merry man meat… and my favorite—the purple-headed pinnacle of manhood.”
Lucas’s heart pounded, and he heard a faint ringing in his ears. He took a couple of deep breaths to try and calm down. “I am not dressing up like a penis.”
“You’re such a prude.”
“You’re such a slut!”
They locked eyes and glared at one another. When they huffed in unison, Lucas couldn’t help but crack a smile.
With the tension broken, Donovan’s expression softened too. He leaned over and pulled out a small crocheted penis from a nearby box. “You’d actually be playing Li’l Willy,” he said, wiggling the little willy back and forth. “He’s a great character. Everyone loves him. And I can almost guarantee you’ll get the biggest laugh in the show.”
“I’m not dressing up like a penis.”
Donovan reached down and cupped his crotch. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ll be bearing giant jingle balls.”
As tempting as it was to ask for clarification, Lucas simply reiterated, “I’m not dressing up like a penis.”
With a final harumph, Donovan tossed Li’l Willy back into a box. “Wait here. I’ll get what we need to work on the set.”
Lucas pulled out his cell phone and sent Trish a text message.
Lucas: NOT. GOING. WELL.
Trish: I’m so sorry. I’d be there if I could.
Lucas: You didn’t tell me about the giant penis.
Trish: ???
Lucas: Alex’s part in the play.
Trish: Oh, that. You know how he is. He likes the attention.
That was true enough. Even though Alex was straight, somehow it wasn’t difficult to imagine him dressed as a giant penis, mingling with a group of gay guys.
Lucas: I’m not dressing up like a penis.
Trish: It’ll be good for you.
Lucas: What’s that supposed to mean?
Trish: You’re too uptight. It’s Pride. Loosen up and have some fun.
Lucas: I told you I don’t like all that flashy stuff.
Trish: The play won’t be the same without Li’l Willy!
Lucas: I wouldn’t know.
Trish: At least watch the movie first before you say no. You might like it.
Lucas: You owe me so big for this. How’s Alex?
Trish: He’s gonna be fine. His mom’s in with him now.
Lucas: Tell him I said his timing sucks.
Trish: xoxo
Lucas sighed and tucked his phone back into his pocket. He had a feeling that very soon he would be dressing up like a giant penis.
LUCAS AND Donovan exchanged few words as they worked on painting the backdrops for the skit. Donovan did the outlining, leaving Lucas to fill in the shapes with color. Donovan had actually been thoughtful enough to offer Lucas an old T-shirt to protect his clothes from paint splatters. They were currently working on the Santy Shanty, a quaint little shack at the North Pole, mostly decorated in red and white with green-and-gold accents.
A strange shape on the window ledge gave Lucas pause. “What’s this thing here?” he asked, wondering which paint color he’d need.
“Oh, that.” Donovan smirked. “That’s a peeking penis at the window. Make him light blue with white highlights.”
Lucas’s eyes bulged. “A peeking penis at the window? What is wrong with you?”
“Calm down, Wunderjock. They’re just dildos, for prostate’s sake.”
“Are you quoting the movie again? Can you just talk like a normal person?” He preferred no talking at all, but he knew that was too much to hope for. “Why is a penis peeking in the window? Where’s the rest of him?”
“It is what it is. Don’t try to make sense of it. It’s supposed to be funny.” Donovan grabbed the stir stick and swirled the light blue paint around. He dipped a small brush into the can, then offered it to Lucas. “What is it about penises that you find so offensive?”
“I’m not offended,” Lucas said through gritted teeth. He grabbed the brush and added a few tiny ice dildos off in the distance. “Happy?”
Donovan studied the additions, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “A throng of thong dwellers, good idea. Watch your composition, though, or it’ll look like the big o
ne is shooting a sperm slushy.”
“Why do you always have to be so crude? People already think we’re all perverts. Why perpetuate the stereotype?” There was a time not long ago when Lucas would blush excessively at the mention of sex. Now that he was a bit more experienced, he was more comfortable with it, but he still didn’t like talking about it openly. Especially not with Donovan.
“Don’t lay that shit on me, Lucas. Plenty of straight guys are obsessed with their dicks. Or with tits or whatever. How is that any different?”
How was it any different? Lucas shrugged. An image of bodiless boobies peeking at the window popped into his head, but he managed to turn away before Donovan could see his smile. “Fine,” he conceded. “But I still don’t see why Pride has to be so… in your face.”
“That’s kinda the whole point.” Donovan stopped what he was doing and gave Lucas his full attention. “The very first Pride march was held to commemorate the Stonewall riots. It was the first time gay people gathered openly and marched for their rights. It was their way of saying ‘We’re here. We’re queer—’”
“Get used to it.”
“Exactly. They were tired of hiding and being held down. And who do you think it was who looked fear in the face and risked it all back then? The drag queens and the flamers. They deserve far more respect than they get, even today. Damn well more than you’re giving them right now. If they’d all been quiet and subdued back then, where do you think we’d be today?”
“I guess I never thought of it that way.” He could see Donovan’s point, but it still didn’t make the idea of dressing up like a giant penis any easier.
Donovan turned and resumed painting, but after a few minutes he added, “You know you shouldn’t make your mind up about Pride before you’ve been to one. I think you’d be surprised by how many people are there in jeans and T-shirts. Even if you’re not into the glitz and glamour, you can still have a good time partying alongside us queens. It’s all in good fun.”
It was one of the few times Lucas felt he was seeing a softer side of Donovan. He’d dropped the Kid Christmas speak, in any case. It must have been a subject that meant a lot to him. Lucas supposed it wouldn’t be that big a deal playing Willy. Without Trish and Alex there, none of his friends would see him anyway. His boyfriend wasn’t due back in town for two more days, and his family would never have to know.
“No pictures,” Lucas blurted.
“What?”
“Promise you won’t take my picture in the Willy costume. Or mock me in any way.”
Donovan narrowed his eyes, then held out his hand to shake on it. “You drive a hard bargain, Bear Cub. Fine, no pictures. And I’ll do my best not to comment on your frigid rigidness.”
Lucas accepted the handshake, hoping he hadn’t just made a huge mistake.
WHEN LUCAS arrived home, he found a note from his mom saying she, his dad, and his brother had gone out for dinner and a movie. He was relieved to have the house to himself, so he could watch Kid Christmas Rides Again without worrying about anyone barging in his room. He made himself comfortable, then popped the movie into his laptop.
After several previews, including one for an evening soap opera called Jasper Lane and another for a new series titled Where the Rump Roasted (both available on the Logo channel), the main feature began with a catchy little tune about the death of Santa Claus. The Kid, Santa’s replacement, soon appeared in all his beefy beauty. Lucas couldn’t deny the guy was hot, and it finally dawned on him why Donovan had laughed so hard at the thought of Lucas playing the Kid. Lucas was a pipsqueak compared to this guy. Even the Kid’s bulges had bulges.
Lucas recognized the Santy Shanty (complete with lollipop fence posts), which made him smile, and he found that he was so enraptured with the tale that he actually gasped when the hero was hit with a poisonous peppermint dart. When the story’s antagonist appeared, Lucas instantly knew it was the character Donovan was born to play. Snow Globes, with his tall, slender physique, his wicked sense of humor, and his bizarre sexual hijinks, could only be properly portrayed by the dastardly D. What happened next caused him to blush furiously, despite being alone in the house. The brief appearance of Big Willy gave him cause for concern, but he had to admit that by the end of the story, Li’l Willy had won him over.
Once the movie finished, Lucas accessed the soundtrack and put the song of the Thousand Willy Army on repeat so he could learn it for the next day. Then he grabbed the bag Donovan had sent home with him and pulled out the costume. It seemed simple enough. It was long and cylindrical with a mushroom-shaped head. It didn’t appear to have any arm holes. He supposed it would look weird for a walking willy to have arms, though he wondered how easily he’d be able to maneuver obstacles with his arms pinned at his sides beneath the costume. He’d have to tread carefully. A hole for his face was cut into the head of the willy, with its tip designed to rest atop his head.
He stepped into the costume through the slit in the back but found that, once inside, he couldn’t close the Velcro. He removed the costume and secured the back, then attempted to shimmy into it head first as if it were a sock. The music still played in the background, and he hummed along as he squirmed and squiggled his way inside the willy. Once inside, he realized the costume was too long for him and would need to be hemmed so he wouldn’t—
The sound of the front door interrupted his thoughts.
“Lucas?” his mom yelled. “We’re home.”
In a panic, he flailed furiously, trying to get out of the costume. With his arms pinned at his sides, however, he was helpless. It would take him several minutes to make any substantial progress. His only hope was to get to his door and lock it before anyone tried to enter. He hopped like a Mexican jumping bean toward his door, but the excess length of material at his feet foiled him, and he fell just as his mom swung the door open.
She shrieked when he landed at her feet with a thud.
His dad and Mason poked their heads through the doorway moments later.
Stunned into silence, none of them made a sound as the Thousand Willy Army sang a gleeful chorus:
We bow to the man with one hell of a can
Squee squawky squee squawky squee
We wiggle and worship, a unified clan
Squee squawky squiggly squeeeeeeeee
His mom clapped her hand over her mouth and shook her head back and forth, while his dad simply stared at him with eyes as big as saucers. When Mason pulled out his cell phone, Lucas snapped out of his stupor.
“Don’t you dare take my picture!” Lucas shouted as he wiggled around on the floor. “I will kill you!”
His dad snatched the phone from Mason. “Lucas, what in God’s name is going on here?”
“Just help me get out of this!” he snapped back.
“I’m not touching your dick,” Mason said.
His mom turned to his dad. “Honey, why don’t you help him? I’m not sure I can… umm….”
His dad reached down and grabbed Lucas’s sides in an attempt to turn him over, but being that Lucas was extremely ticklish, that only made him shriek and squirm more.
Squee squawky squiggly squeeeeeeeee!
THE FOLLOWING morning, Lucas once again found himself on Donovan’s doorstep, but this time, he was greeted by Snow Globes, giant jingle balls and all.
“We meet again, my darling,” Donovan said in a slithering voice.
“I hate you,” Lucas replied curtly, though the sentiment was laced with a hint of humor.
Donovan arched a long, dark brow. “What dastardly deed have I done now?”
“My mom thinks I’m a sexual deviant. I’m pretty certain I’ve scarred her for life. My brother is going to tell my boyfriend I dressed up like a dancing penis for Pride the second he sees him, after which he will undoubtedly demand a demonstration, and my dad thinks I’m going to a sex party tonight. He gave me a handful of condoms on my way out the door. A handful.”
“You should be so lucky.”
&nb
sp; “I do have to admit, though, your party penises ain’t got nothin’ on the humiliation I survived last night. Bring it on.”
“Really, now?” Donovan smiled, a genuine smile. “Does this mean you’re coming with me to the Pride march this afternoon?”
For once, the idea didn’t terrify him. It was a big step, but one he was ready for. He looked at Donovan and smiled. “Is that an invitation?”
“I guess it is.”
“I guess I am.” Lucas handed the Kid Christmas DVD to Donovan. “You know, when you said ‘animated musical,’ this was not what I had in mind.”
“Not a fan of the pounding and the jumping and the boinging?”
Lucas rolled his eyes and headed toward the back patio. “Come on, Big Balls McGee. We’ve got a play to rehearse, and I’m gonna need some help getting into this ridiculous costume.”
“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.”
Tomorrow
JOHN GOODE
It’s easy to think this world sucks.
Lately there seems to be more darkness than light, more bad than good, and far more hate than love. In a world obsessed with selfies, it is easy to think that it just sucks. But that’s not true. When we see a person in danger, we run toward them to help. When we see someone trapped in a fire, our first impulse is to rush in to save them. These people are called heroes, these people are called courageous, and sometimes they seem to be mythical.
They are not.
Every author here jumped at the chance to write something for this. Not out of self-interest, not out of guilt, but because they wanted to help. They wanted to run into that fire and save someone. So that makes them heroes. And you bought the book; even if you never plan on reading all of it, you still helped. So that makes you a hero. And every person who donated is a hero and so on and so on.
So in a world that is supposed to suck, there seems to be an awful lot of very cool people here trying to do good. You’re one of them, so let me be the first and never the last to say… thank you.
Grand Adventures Page 40
