by John Inman
Holy shit. He was Paul Bunyan.
My testosterone-driven admiration for Beth’s brother was quickly knocked off the rails when the bigass pit bull that had strolled through the door with him turned her attention to me. I have to admit, she wasn’t slavering. She didn’t have a human femur poking out of her jaws. She wasn’t snarling and crouching down ready to spring for my throat. She simply stared at me. Mindlessly. Sort of like I stare into the fridge, hoping to find a pot roast—but never do. Then she cocked her head and stared at me some more.
For a pit bull, she wasn’t that terrifying. Her coat was a dark, gleaming gray, accented with white socks, white ears, and a white muzzle. She wore one of those studded S&M collars, like maybe she’d be pulling a leather whip out soon and begin smacking fannies.
In doggy terms, Rosemary was as hunky as her master. If it hadn’t been for her big boxy head, a set of jaws that looked strong enough to crush bowling balls, and her bowed legs, she might have been pretty.
The pit bull strolled forward and plopped her ass down on my left foot, still gazing up at my face and licking her chops, not in a menacing way, just sort of contemplative, as if she were trying to decide which condiment would best complement me as an entree.
Mentally saying good-bye to my fingers, I astounded myself by bending down and patting her on the noggin. She closed her eyes and accepted my attentions like the Queen of England accepting praise from a peon, all the while knowing she had the option of chopping off the peon’s frigging head if things suddenly went awry. After I applied two pats to the top of her head, she apparently decided I wasn’t dangerous and fell over on her side at my feet, legs splayed wide, tongue lolling out of her mouth all goofy and friendly-like.
Beth and Cory had stopped twirling and were suddenly rapt, watching Rosemary and me connect.
Still wondering if I’d lose a few fingers or have my throat ripped out like a chunk of cantaloupe, I lowered myself to the floor and slid my hand across Rosemary’s bald belly. She closed her eyes, gave a delighted quiver, and spread her legs all the wider.
Funny. I’d known men who did the exact same thing when I rubbed their bellies.
“She likes you,” Cory said, beaming down at us.
From this angle, sitting on the floor, gazing up at Beth’s brother was akin to peering up the trunk of a giant sequoia. From where I sat, the man was so tall that even the bulge in the crotch of his blue jeans was a couple of feet above my head. And speaking of that bulge, well, let me just say it wasn’t unimpressive. Unless he had a couple of balloon animals stuffed in there, the man was obviously not lacking in the happy department, as my mother always said about well-endowed men.
Sometimes my mother is a real load to have around.
So is Beth, and it was at this juncture that she proceeded to prove it by ratting me out to her brother.
“Five minutes ago, Malcolm was peeing his pants thinking he’d have to share living quarters with a dog, and now look, the two are bonding.”
I felt the blood rush to my ears. I hate being embarrassed in front of handsome men. I growled at Beth in response, and to my utter surprise, so did Rosemary. Apparently she didn’t like the comment either.
Beth’s brother bent at the waist and stuck a hand out in my direction. The hand was as big as a baseball mitt.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Malcolm. Beth has told me a lot about you.”
I poked my hand out in return and let Cory scoop it into his massive paw. While we shook in greeting, I was astonished to see his ears glow red just like mine. I was also astonished at the heat of his hand as he held mine gently in his grasp. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the slathering of dark hair that sprung from every knuckle, then swept across the back of his hand and right on up the sinewy forearm until the arm hair and that lovely expanse of manly flesh disappeared beneath the rolled-up sleeve of his lumberjack shirt.
“The p-pleasure is mine,” I stuttered, rendered almost speechless by a sudden infusion of hormones that invaded my system from my toes all the way up to my cowlicks (I have two).
While Cory and I were wrapped up in introducing ourselves to each other, Rosemary seemed to have decided she was being ignored. She gently but forcefully clamped my forearm in her massive jaws and lowered my hand back to her belly, where I immediately took the hint and started rubbing her tummy again.
“I like forceful women,” Beth said. When her brother turned from me to give her a surprised look, she flapped her hands around and said, “Not to have sex with, mind you. I’m as straight as you are, Cory.”
At that her brother’s ears grew even redder. “Oh,” he muttered, appearing both confused and relieved. “Well, good.”
Something about his response made me wonder if he was a homophobe. After all, he was a twelve-foot-tall Missouri construction worker with a pit bull. He probably owned a truck and drank Pabst Blue Ribbon out of one of those hats that hold two cans of beer, one over each ear, and lets you siphon it down your throat through a hose while a little propeller spins around on top to keep you cool while you’re slopping the hogs. Looking the way he did, the odds that he sang tenor in a Kansas City gay men’s chorus were pretty remote. Had Beth told him about me? Was he worried I would put the moves on him while he slept some night? Did he know we would be sharing a room at all? Would he care? And would I put the moves on him while he slept some night? Jesus God, I hoped not. After all, my ability to show restraint wasn’t exactly on my top-ten list of overriding traits, but making a pass at this behemoth hunk of testosterone might just be the last thing a little queen like me would ever do.
Beth laughed. She was still staring at her brother while her brother continued to stand there with my hand in his, although by this time the shaking had stopped. He was merely holding on. Or maybe I was the one holding on. I couldn’t be sure.
“Cory,” Beth said around a grin, “please tell me you didn’t think I was gay. Malcolm is, of course. He’s as gay as a box of glitter, but I’m certainly not. I like men as much as Malcolm does. Well, maybe not quite as much.”
By this time, if Cory’s ears got any redder they would probably ignite like road flares.
Just like mine.
“Thank you for clearing that up,” I snarled, which tore Cory’s attention away from his sister and back to me.
He smiled a lovely, handsome smile, which also created a bottomless dimple in each of his cheeks to accent the cleft in his chin, which, by the way, was showing a healthy five o’clock shadow after his long trek across country. And how sexy was that? Butch? You bet.
It was at this particular moment that I realized how green his eyes were. Holy cow, they were really green. Like sunlight filtering through a newborn leaf. And where the heck did that simile come from? What was I, a poet all of a sudden?
That thought was lost when Cory released me from his grip and gave my hair a friendly tousle with his massive hand.
Referring to the blond streaks in my hair, he said, “Boy, that California sun has really done a number on your hair, Malcolm. You might want to start wearing a hat.”
“I—I’ll do that,” I stammered.
Beth’s jaw fell open, but before she could rat me out again and comment on the jug of frosting bleach under the bathroom sink, I snarled her into silence. She got the hint right away, and for once in her life showed a little restraint by going through the motions of zipping her mouth shut and tossing the imaginary key over her shoulder, all for my benefit.
Cory missed our exchange. He was too busy still smiling down at me.
“Little sister, I think your roommate and I will get along just fine,” he said, his eyes burrowing into mine, which for some reason made my crotch itch. Then he turned to Beth. He took a moment to gauge Beth’s reaction to what he’d said before immediately turning his attention back to me.
“Right, Malcolm? Don’t you think we’ll get along?” he asked, giving me a glimpse of snowy teeth and the tip of a pink, pink tongue.
C
ory stood there leaning over me, waiting for a response, all smiles and handsome, eager innocence.
I resisted the urge to scratch my dick, since it was really itching now. “Umm, I think we’ll get along just jim-dandy.”
At that, Beth barked out a laugh, then immediately slapped her mouth shut again, innocently rolling her eyes at the ceiling and bouncing around on the balls of her feet as she whistled a silent tune.
While my sex drive seemed to be humming along nicely, my voice box had apparently shuffled off to the corner market for a bag of chips. Speechless, I sat there on the floor with one hand on Rosemary’s belly and the other hand still tingling from Cory’s touch.
“Good,” he said, and as if tousling my hair again wasn’t enough, he proceeded to give me a delicate chuck on the chin with a gigantic, gentle fist.
Someone cleared their throat at the door, and we turned to see a scowling cab driver standing there with Cory’s luggage—two suitcases, a carry-on, and a huge pet carrier, which must have been what Rosemary flew across country in. They all looked ratty as hell, like maybe Cory had bought them used at the Salvation Army store back in Missouri just before heading for the airport. The last item the cabbie produced was another pet carrier. This one was smaller than Rosemary’s, and I didn’t like the looks of it at all. Neither did the cabbie. He was holding it out like the thing was stuffed with Ebola samples.
“Uh,” I said, warily pointing at it. “What’s in there? And why are the holes covered in Plexiglas? And what’s that hissing sound?”
To my horror, Beth started shuffling her feet again. I hate it when she does that. For some reason, it never bodes well for me.
I narrowed my eyes and gave her a scathing stare. She pretended to ignore me by fiddling with a string hanging off the hem of her blouse. She didn’t fool me, though. I didn’t just fall off the Faggot Express. I know a duplicitous evasion when I see one as well as the next homosexual.
It was Cory who finally answered my question.
“That’s Leonard,” he chirped. “My snake. Don’t worry, Malcolm. You’ll love him!”
I had just enough time to say, “Your snake?” before the room went dark, and once again my life flashed before my eyes. I sucked in a great gout of oxygen, like a wino knocking back a jug of Thunderbird, and keeled over flat on my back on the floor.
The next thing I knew, Cory was leaning over me, patting my left cheek, while Rosemary, tail whapping back and forth in concern, crouched down beside me licking my ear. If only their roles had been reversed.
Through a haze of unconsciousness, I heard Cory desperately pleading in my ear. “He’s just a boa constrictor, Malcolm. He won’t hurt you. Wake up. Hey. Wake up, buddy.”
Beth was standing behind her brother with the snake carrier held up to her face, acting all innocent and introducing herself to Leonard, the fucking snake, with baby talk. “Coochie, coochie, coochie, Leonard. You’re a big one, aren’t you? Coochie, coochie coo.” Leonard, I suddenly remembered, was my third new roommate. Like a hunky lumberjack and a wimpy pit bull weren’t enough to cope with, right? Now I had to share my bedroom with a snake. A man-eating snake. I watch the Animal Channel. I know what goes on in those South American jungles with boa constrictors. I’m a little guy too. Narrow hips and shoulders. Teeny-tiny head. I’d probably slide down a snake’s gullet nice and easy.
Sometimes I really hate Beth.
I BLINKED myself awake and hauled myself off the floor, hoping to salvage a trace of dignity, which even I knew was a long shot. Beth and Cory, trying valiantly not to laugh at me, each took an arm and steered me toward my soon-to-be-shared bedroom. Once there, I shook them off and cast my first nervous glimpse at Leonard, the boa constrictor, who was curled up in his snake carrier looking supercilious as hell, like maybe he knew something none of the rest of us did. I quickly realized he wasn’t actually big enough to swallow me whole, although I still wasn’t convinced he wouldn’t take a chunk out of me if he got a chance. Or wrap himself around my neck and try to strangle me in my sleep just for shits and giggles.
Leonard was about four feet long and, being an albino, was a creepy shade of pale yellow. He was as big around as my ankle except for a lump about two feet down his length, which Cory said was the still-undigested rat Leonard had eaten just prior to the flight to keep him docile.
“Keep him docile? What do you mean keep him docile?”
Cory did a quick backtrack. “Not that he isn’t usually docile anyway.”
“Usually?”
My new roomie was looking more uncomfortable as the minutes flew by. It must be hard for a straight guy to deal with histrionics from what was probably the first gay man he’d ever been thrown into contact with. He slapped himself in the head. “I mean, always. Leonard’s always docile. Duh. Don’t know why I said usually. Jet lag, I guess.”
I wasn’t buying it, no matter how many times he backtracked or slapped himself in the head. And since my sympathy lay with the rat anyway, I said, “Next time you feed your snake, let me know. I’ll take a bus across town and lay low until you’re finished.”
Looking vaguely relieved, since I had at least tentatively accepted the fact that he owned a snake, Cory gave me a thumbs-up, and said, “Gotcha.”
He scooped the snake out of the carrier and let it wrap itself around his arm. Suddenly they were gazing into each other’s eyes like Nelson Eddy and Jeanette MacDonald about to break into song. (So sue me, I like old musicals, and since I always thought Nelson Eddy was kind of a hottie, I allocated the part of the snake to Jeanette, who, by all accounts, was a bitch anyway.) While all this was going on inside my head, Rosemary was sitting on my bed, licking her snatch. I felt like we were doing a halfass revival of Doctor Dolittle with a little doggie porn thrown in to give it oomph.
Much to my relief, Cory slipped Leonard back in his cage and set him out of the way atop the dresser in my room. Oops, sorry. Our room. Since I’m not a complete moron, I quickly dragged my bed next to the window while Beth was still rolling Cory’s foldaway bed through the door. Then I magnanimously kicked all my junk across the floor of our one and only closet to make room for Cory’s junk, and slid my clothes along the hanger rod to make room for Cory’s clothes. Having done all I could to give him enough space to get settled, not to mention laying claim to the best spot for my bed since I would have control of the evening breezes wafting through the bedroom window, and in the process provide myself with a handy escape route should the damn snake ever break out of his cage some night, I climbed onto my bed and sprawled out alongside Rosemary to watch the two siblings reminisce and get all Cory’s belongings properly stored away.
Eventually figuring I could help a little, I took it upon myself to grab some linens from the hall closet and make up Cory’s bed with fresh sheets. He didn’t have a pillow, so I donated one of mine. It was the pillow I usually cuddled with while I slept, pretending it was Ryan Reynolds, but I figured Cory didn’t need to know that. And it’s not like I shot jism all over it or anything. Well, not often anyway. After I finished making up the crummy foldaway bed, which wouldn’t be nearly as comfortable as mine, hee-hee-hee, I rejoined Rosemary on my bed and settled in to watch the proceedings.
Cory was just breaking into his second suitcase when Beth came up behind him and gave him a huge hug, telling him how glad she was he had come. While she did that, she shot me a pleading look, prompting me to give her some backup.
“That’s right,” I hastily announced. (Being an actor, I know a cue when I see one.) “Beth and I are always talking about how we wished we had another roommate. And a dog. And a snake.”
She shot me another look, this one a little less friendly, as if to say “Thank you. You’ve helped enough,” so I excused myself and hustled off to the kitchen to fetch us three beers, and if my two roomies didn’t feel like a brew, I would drink them all myself. I really hated the idea of that goddamn snake sitting on the dresser all night.
What I didn’t hate was watching Beth
’s brother move around, slipping his stuff into drawers, hanging his clothes in the closet, and kicking off his work boots to make himself more comfortable while he did it. He also slipped off his denim vest and pulled his shirttail out of his pants, but that’s as far as he went for the sake of comfort. He would clearly be more comfortable in nothing but socks and a wristwatch, but I hadn’t known him long enough to suggest it.
Ever notice how some days nothing seems to go right? And how some people simply won’t take subliminal suggestions no matter how hard you try to mindfuck them into taking their pants off for you? I assuaged my disappointment by staring at Cory’s bare feet. They were big and strong and had sprinkles of hair on the instep and the big toes. Just the kind of male feet I like. And since they were so large, it made me wonder what other body parts Cory might possess that were similarly proportioned.
After all, as Julia Roberts said in Notting Hill, “Big feet, uh, big… shoes.”
God, I’m a slut.
Cory had one suitcase left to empty, but instead of tackling it then, he tossed it in the closet with a horrendous crash. He and his sister had accepted the beers I offered, and now the three of us, make that four, including the dog, threw ourselves on the two beds and settled in to chat. I might have enjoyed the conversation more if Cory had been on my bed, but he wasn’t. He was on the foldaway with Beth. All I had was the dog, who was still licking her twat. I guess when you are limber enough to do that, a conversation with mere mortals runs a poor second.
Leonard was out of sight, thinking his sneaky snaky thoughts and quietly digesting his dead rat, which was fine with me. The more he stayed out of sight, the better I’d like it.
As greetings and introductions made way for more laid-back jabbering, I had time to study Beth’s brother all the more closely. It came as a bit of a surprise when I realized he was actually a little shy. Not around his sister, perhaps, but he did cast me uncertain glances now and then, when he thought maybe he might have said something stupid or suspected he was being a country rube while Beth and I were clearly city slickers through and through. That was my take on the guy anyway. Actually I had no idea at all what he was really thinking. But he did have one of those expressive faces I am fairly adept at reading, or at least I think I am. The one thing that stood out for me about Cory Williams was this: he was a nice, quiet, gorgeous, towering guy. And as every gay man in the world knows above all other truths, there is nothing sexier than a nice, quiet, gorgeous, towering guy.
