by John Inman
While I showered, my mind gradually cleared itself of sex, and I began remembering some of the things my mother had told me during our goofyass divination session. The first thing I did, standing there in the shower slathered with soap, was check to see if I had indeed started to grow a tail. Happily, I had not. My ass was still pristinely my own.
The second thing I did was wonder if I would really be falling in love one of these days as she predicted. I have to admit I sort of liked the idea. It would be good for my acting chops to be able to draw on my experiences with real love for a change. So that during auditions, if I had to play a man in love, I wouldn’t have to make everything up as I went along.
I wondered who it would be. What type of man would I fall in love with? Would he be another actor? Please God, no. Have you ever had sex with an actor? They emote too much. Everything has to be on a grand scale. The best kiss imaginable. The best fuck ever. The biggest dick in the world. It’s intimidating. Really. And then there’s the billing question. Which of you has the leading role in your little love affair? Which of you has the best lines, and which of you drives the plot? Which of you is the top, and what exactly does being a fucker instead of a fuckee imply when it’s two actors banging away? Is the one on top the star and the one on the bottom relegated to a supporting role?
I stood under the shower and thought about that. Maybe if you were really in love, you wouldn’t think about things like how your names would read on a marquee. Maybe if you were really in love you would think about the other person first. Cater only to their wishes, not your own. Hope only for their happiness, not yours. Generously offer them top billing whether they wanted it or not.
Nah. That couldn’t be right. What self-respecting actor would ever do that? But then I’d never been in love. How could I possibly know what to expect. And was I really about to find out?
Lordy, my mother was a pain in the ass. It was bad enough simply getting through life as a starving actor. Now on top of that I had to worry about falling in love and growing a tail.
I twisted off the shower and gave myself a doggie shake before stepping from the tub. Toweling my hair dry with my eyes squeezed shut, I suddenly screamed and jumped three feet straight up into the air when something cold and wet poked its way into my ass.
I quickly realized it was Rosemary’s nose. She had come to say hello. I heard Cory chuckling in the other room.
“I have a feeling I know what that scream means,” he chortled. “Rosemary, get in here!”
“G-good morning!” I called back. “And your dog is a bigger lech than I ever was!”
After wrapping myself in the towel, I peered around the doorway. Cory had just slipped into a pair of running shorts. I’d missed the show, dammit. I sucked in a wad of oxygen at my very first glimpse of his lovely, hairy legs. My heart gave a lurch inside my chest, and my dick, as drained as it was after I had flogged it to death not ten minutes earlier, gave a lurch beneath the towel.
Cory looked up and smiled. “Sorry about the mutt. Come jog with me,” he said. “You wanna?”
His smile was so beautiful, his dimples so deep, his eyes so green, his legs so sexy, his basket so beguilingly pronounced in his red Nike running shorts that I gulped once and nodded. Hangover be damned. “Sure,” I said. “We can jog over to my mother’s house and collect my car. I left it there last night in a drunken stupor.”
That seemed to pique his interest. “Golly. Your mother must be a hoot.”
I groaned. “Don’t get me started. Hang on, I’ll just be a couple of minutes.”
He shot me a thumbs-up, sort of like Caesar at the Colosseum showing his approval of a gladiator who had just slaughtered a lion with his bare hands. Of course, how could Cory know that the only thing I had whipped into submission with my bare hands lately was my own pecker? Probably best he never know, especially considering the fact that while I did it, I had been giving the man an imaginary blow job. The same man, I might add, whom I had only yesterday promised I would be a perfect gentleman around.
God, what a liar I am.
I stopped in the kitchen long enough to gulp down half a gallon of milk and pop five or six aspirin to help battle my hangover, and when I figured I was as good as I was ever going to get, Cory and I set out with Rosemary at our heels.
Cory was kind enough to start out slow so my thumping head wouldn’t tumble off my shoulders and go rolling down the street in front of us. I kept trying to fall back so I could check out his ass in those darling shorts he had on, but every time I slowed, he slowed too, matching me pace for pace. About the time I started to feel a little better, he threw his arms wide and sucked in the morning air like he’d been deprived of it for too long.
“I love to run,” he said in that conversational pant that runners always use when they’re trying to talk and jog at the same time. “It’ll be great being able to jog all year long. In Missouri, the winters are out. Too cold. Too much snow. In the spring it’s constantly raining. This is one of the reasons I wanted to relocate to the West Coast. I’m glad you like to run too, Malcolm. Maybe we can make it a regular thing. Running’s like sex. It’s more fun with two.”
I couldn’t argue with him there. “I’d love it,” I said, lying through my teeth. Then I stopped lying and spoke the absolute truth. “I tend to be a slug about exercising if no one is nagging me into it. The nagging will be your job, I’m afraid.”
He laughed and patted me on the back. “Great! I’ll wear your ass off if that’s what you want.”
I couldn’t resist. “Ooh, I think I’d like that.”
This time when Cory laughed, it came all the way up from the soles of his feet. He stopped in the middle of the street, still laughing, and stared at me. “You may have misinterpreted my meaning.” Happily, he was beaming when he said it, so I knew I wasn’t in trouble.
I figured I was on a roll as far as our bonding went, so I pushed the envelope a little further. “I was afraid of that,” I said, blinking innocently.
He laughed again, and this time when he did, he slapped me on the ass. “Run, dammit, run.”
We set off down the street, Cory grinning and me enjoying the tingle from Cory’s big broad hand slapping me on the butt. Yes siree. I was already in love with jogging again.
We ran silently for a while. I was pleased to see that my incessant tap-dancing lessons, while not doing much for my sense of rhythm, had at least served to strengthen my legs. I had no problem keeping up with Cory’s long strides. However, I was able to cleverly fall a step or two behind now and then so I could enjoy the view of his strong legs flexing and unflexing as we pounded down the avenue. His ass was just about perfect, and from what I could see, underneath those running shorts there wasn’t much jiggle to it whatsoever. Nope. Just firm, solid heinie. And there ain’t nothing prettier.
Three miles in, we were both sweating, and when Cory stripped off his T-shirt and stuffed it in the back of his shorts, I cast another thank you to God above. While Cory had hidden his ass with the damn shirt, I now had an unobstructed view of his torso, and what a view it was!
Cory Williams was beautiful. His chest wasn’t as hairy as I thought it might be, with just a slathering of dark fuzz reaching from one bronze nipple to the other and a narrow path trailing down his stomach to his belly button, where the hair suddenly blossomed out before diving beneath the waistband of his shorts into unmarked territory.
It was that untapped territory that really had me salivating. When I felt my dick begin to lengthen in my jock strap as I visualized what might be lurking under those cute little shorts Cory wore, I knew it was time to stop ogling the man and start concentrating on my stride before I humiliated myself beyond all redemption.
I flailed around for something to say to take my mind off my imaginings.
“What was your girlfriend’s name?” I asked.
He was so surprised by the question that he stumbled to a stop again. He bent over for a moment with his hands on his thighs to catc
h his breath. Then he rose up and gazed at me. In the morning sunlight, his green eyes were breathtaking. He plucked the shirt from his waistband and wiped the sweat from his chest.
“Let’s walk for a while,” he said. “You mind?”
Thank God. My hangover combined with all this running was just about killing me. I suspected I had already suffered three strokes and a brain aneurysm for my effort, but not wanting to look like a sissy, I merely nodded. “Naw, give yourself a rest. I’ll try to slow up and match your pace.”
He gave me an incredulous glance but didn’t say anything. I think he was smiling, though.
We set off down the street at a lazy, meandering pace while I breathed a sigh of relief. As we strolled along, once in a while my arm would brush his, and every time it did, I would ease away. I had a sneaky suspicion I had overstepped my bounds anyway, mentioning his girlfriend the way I had. He didn’t need me rubbing up against him on top of it.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t know why I asked about her. We can talk about something else if you’d like. Or we can talk about nothing if you’d rather. I didn’t mean to pry.”
He stroked his hand across his bare stomach and stared down at the toes of his sneakers while we walked along. He seemed to be mulling over what I’d said.
“That’s okay, Malcolm,” he finally said. “I don’t mind you asking about her. I guess if we’re going to be friends, I should be up front about everything. Just like I hope you’ll be.”
“Well, sure,” I said, rather taken aback by his openness, although I couldn’t for the life of me think of anything he thought I might be holding back. Seemed to me I’d been letting it all hang out, which has always been one of my faults. “I just thought maybe you might like to talk about it. Sometimes it helps, you know. Broken hearts are, well…. Actually, I don’t know what broken hearts are. I’ve never had one.”
That got his attention. “What, never?”
I shrugged. “Just one of the many benefits of never falling in love.”
While the previous statement had gotten his attention, this one stopped him cold. He grabbed my arm and yanked me to a halt. “You mean to tell me you’ve never been in love?”
“Nope.”
“Jeez, I would have thought—”
“What? You would have thought what?”
“Nothing. And for your information, I don’t have a broken heart over Susan. That was her name, by the way: Susan.”
I studied his face. He looked so sincere. So… pensive.
“Well, then,” I said, “that’s good, isn’t it? From all I gather, nobody wants a broken heart.”
We started walking again while he resumed studying his shoe tops. Rosemary was strolling between us now, matching us step for step. “No, I don’t suppose they do. But I think maybe you’ve got it all wrong about Susan. I don’t have a broken heart because I was never in love with her.”
“Oh! I just assumed—”
He dragged the shirt out of his waistband again and dabbed his face, although he was no longer sweating. “I know, Malcolm. You assumed it because Beth assumed it. But, well, it just isn’t the case.”
I hate to admit it, but the more he talked, the more intrigued I became. I’m nosy that way.
“Then what is the case?”
His green eyes darkened. I wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t like the question or didn’t like the upcoming answer. He apparently decided to respond anyway. “She wanted more than I was willing to give.”
“You’re talking about love, right?”
A flush rose to his cheeks. “Among other things. I-I’m sorry, Malcolm. I thought I was ready to talk about this, but now I don’t think I am.”
“Oh, well, sure, Cory. Once again, I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to pry.”
He gave me a weak smile. “No, it’s not that. It’s just that—I need to process it all in my own mind before I try to explain it to somebody else.” He spat up a derisive chuckle. “It’s been a confusing year.”
“I understand,” I lied, patting him on the shoulder, wondering even as I did if I was overstepping my bounds again.
To my surprise, he reached up and patted my hand in return, holding it against his heated skin for a brief moment as if maybe he enjoyed the feel of it there. God knows I did. “Someday we’ll talk about it, Malcolm. I promise. Okay?”
I nodded, loving the way his hand felt over mine, loving the way his warm skin felt against my palm and fingertips. But his touch didn’t linger long. A heartbeat later, he pulled his hand away, and we were once again walking quietly up the street—not touching, not even speaking anymore. But the silence between us wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, it was so not uncomfortable, a smile crept across my face. We were truly bonding now. I hadn’t learned much about Cory Williams, not really, but I still felt like we were closer than we had been before. And for some reason, I believed him when he said that one day we would talk about what had happened between him and Susan. I felt honored by that promise of trust. I really did. Because obviously whatever had happened meant a lot to him. It might have even changed his life. Certainly it had uprooted him from Missouri and sent him scurrying off to California. A fact for which I was growing more appreciative by the minute.
We walked on another block or two in silence. A fire truck with lights flashing and siren wailing screamed past us while Rosemary howled at our feet, hating the sound. We both clapped our hands over our ears until the fire truck was gone and the dog had shut the hell up. When the gentle morning silence returned, I said quietly, “I’m glad you don’t have a broken heart.”
He smiled at that and gave me a nudge with his elbow. “Me too,” he said, dimples flashing.
Soon we were jogging again at an easy pace, and I suddenly realized how much I was enjoying our run. Even my hangover was on the mend. When Cory picked up the pace, I matched his speed without too much trouble. He could have run me into the ground no doubt, but he didn’t try.
And for that, I liked him even more.
WE FOUND my mother on her knees in the front garden of her house on Bancroft Street, plucking weeds from her cactus bed—a risky job. She was wearing overalls and leather gloves, not a marabou feather in sight, and looked almost normal.
Her glance passed over me with barely a glimmer of recognition, but those same eyes lit up like cherries on a slot machine when she spotted Cory at my side, bare-chested and sporting his red Nike running shorts. I smiled inwardly to see her rip off her gloves, brush the dirt from her knees, and hurriedly pat her hair into place.
Nobody enjoys the sight of a handsome man more than my mother. The fact that he was thirty-five years younger mattered not one whit to her.
As we approached, she begrudgingly dragged her attention back to me. She sort of had to. I was her son after all. That’s not to say she wanted to talk about me.
She flung her gloves to the ground. “Who’s your friend?” she sang out, once again patting her hair and smoothing her overalls down over her hips like she was sporting a Dior creation instead of a Clem Kadiddlehopper original. Pruning shears poked out of one pocket, and a garbage bag hung out of the other. She also had a smudge of dirt on her nose.
I took Cory’s hand and dragged him up the sidewalk. “This is my roommate Cory. Cory, this is my mother, Madame Bazonka. Madame Bazonka, Cory is Beth’s brother.”
Mom slapped my arm. “Oh stop it.” She looked up at Cory and blessed him with her most charming smile, and I hate to admit it, but my mother has a killer smile. Her glower was pretty potent too, but at the moment she wasn’t using one.
Cory took her hand and bent to plant a kiss on her cheek. The top of her head was about even with his nipples, which she seemed to be eyeballing with eager interest, not that I could blame her.
The two stood there staring at each other while I withered unattended alongside. As Cory smiled down at her, my mother reached up and poked a fingertip into one of his dimples. Then she slid her thumb down the cleft in
his chin. I jumped in before she decided to explore his belly button too.
I tapped her on the shoulder. “You’re not reading his fortune by exploring his dents, are you?”
My mother rolled her eyes, but never really took them away from Cory’s face. “My son doesn’t believe in fortune-telling. I’m not sure why since my latest prediction is standing here in front of him right now.”
I stared at her. What was she saying? Which prediction was she talking about? I reached around and groped my ass, hoping I wouldn’t find the nub of a brand-new tail.
Cory looked enchanted, albeit a little confused. (Sort of like me, only I wasn’t enchanted. Confused, yes. But then I usually am where my mother is concerned.) “Latest prediction?” Cory asked around a perplexed smile. “Am I missing something?”
My mother patted his chest. I knew she had been wanting to all along. “Never mind, hon. It’s just my son. He never sees what’s right in front of his eyes. Still, he’s a sweet boy, don’t you think, Cory? You two looked so cute running down the street together.”
If Cory’s face got any redder, he would explode like a roadside bomb. My face wasn’t much better.
Cory and I shared a glance while my mother just stood there staring proudly at each of us in turn. I still didn’t know what prediction she was talking about (yes, I can be mind-bogglingly dense at times), but she didn’t seem much interested in whether I knew or not. Maybe after twenty-six years of watching me flounder around in confusion, she had finally given up on me ever understanding her at all. I know I had.
She slid her hand away from Cory’s chest, dragging a couple of chest hairs through her fingertips while she did, and finally stared down at the dog standing at her feet. Rosemary seemed to be fascinated by the woman in front of her, not that I could blame her. My mother is, among other things, most exquisitely fascinating.
“That’s Rosemary,” I said.
