Chocolate and Power Tools II
Page 5
"It's an excellent price, too. On sale, all this week. I can tell that a man like you would appreciate the high quality of this machine. Would you like to put that on your charge card?” Warren asked. I could almost see him salivating at the prospect of selling that high-priced hunk of junk.
"A man like me, huh? Oh, yeah, I get your meaning. I'm an ex-Marine, you know,” he said.
Warren grinned. “I thought so. You look like a military man."
"Yup. Got my name in the Corps. F.B. You know what it means?"
Warren shook his head, looking at F.B. expectantly.
"It stands for Fuck Buddy."
I bit back a laugh as I watched the blood drain from Warren's face.
"You know, my partner came in here yesterday to buy this for me. Funny thing is that he said someone who works here wouldn't help him. In fact, my boyfriend said that this guy practically threw him out of the store.” F.B. drew himself up to his full height, glaring down at the shiny bald spot on the top of Warren's head.
Oh, Lordy, Warren was going to piss his drawers, I just knew it. I bit my inner cheek to keep from grinning.
"Now, I told my boyfriend that he had to have been mistaken. No one in this store would treat a customer that way, now would they?” F.B. continued.
"Uh, no ... no, of course not!” Warren squeaked. It was obvious that he wanted to say something, to no doubt spew the same bullshit he had with me the day before, but the human wall of muscle in the navy button-down shirt and khaki pants intimidated the Hell out of him.
"That's real good to hear,” F.B. said, “because I'd hate to think that Home Warehouse was guilty of discriminating against anyone. That would make me angry. I'd have to go to the papers and the TV stations, make a big fuss about it. Organize a demonstration. Maybe contact the ACLU. I'm sure Home Warehouse Corporate wouldn't like that kind of publicity."
F.B. wasn't using his “frog” voice, the deep, gravelly bellow he'd perfected while in the Marines, but he wasn't exactly whispering either. People started picking up their heads, looking in his direction, wandering closer.
Warren looked as though he were ready to burst a blood vessel. I almost felt sorry for him.
Almost being the operative word.
F.B. turned and nodded toward me. “Hey, hon, come here for a minute."
I sauntered over to F.B., slipping my arm around his waist. “Why, hello, Frank! Nice to see you again,” I said to Warren, with the biggest, fakest smile I could manage. In my head, two factions warred. One wanted to get out of there while we had the upper hand, and the other wanted to see F.B. pound the little shit into a puddle.
"Is this the one you were thinking of buying for me?” F.B. asked me.
"I guess. You know me, F.B. I don't know a thing about tools,” I said, narrowing my eyes at Warren. “I'm just an effeminate gay guy who should be thumbing through fabric swatches, not looking to buy a power tool."
Warren glared at me and opened his mouth to speak, but one look at F.B.'s face made him change his mind in a hurry.
"Well, since you're being the girly guy today, I guess now's as good a time as any. I was going to give this to you tonight at dinner, but I think right here and now would be a lot more meaningful,” F.B. said, reaching into his pants pocket. He pulled out a small, blue box.
My heart started hammering in my chest and Warren looked as though he might hurl when F.B. dropped down to one knee, right there in the middle of the aisle.
"Some folks,” F.B. said, shooting Warren a nasty look, “think we shouldn't be together, but I really don't give a shit what they think. You make me happier than anyone I've ever known does. Because of some folks like him,” F.B. continued, nodding toward Warren, “the law says that we can't get married ... but we can be married in our hearts. Nobody can stop that. Honey, I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” he said, snapping open the blue box and holding it up toward me. “Matt, will you marry me?"
Inside the box, a pair of white gold wedding rings sat on a cushion of blue velvet, each set with a large, square-cut diamond.
That was the last thing I had ever expected from my big Marine, especially in public. My throat closed up, my chest went tight, and my vision got wavy and blurry. I could feel my eyes and nose leaking, and all I could do was nod mutely. My hand shook as I held it out and F.B. slipped one of the rings onto my finger.
The small crowd that had gathered as F.B. had dropped to his knee clapped, or at least most of them did. Some people frowned and wandered away, muttering to themselves, and Warren had turned so red that it looked as though his head might pop off his neck at any moment, but I didn't care. All I cared about was the love shining in F.B. eyes, and the ring on my finger.
God, I loved him.
F.B. grinned as I picked the other ring out of the box and slipped it onto his left hand. He stood up and gathered me into his arms, giving me a long, slow kiss. I could hear Warren hissing, spitting like a cobra as he finally wormed his way past F.B. and stormed away.
Good riddance to bad rubbish, I thought happily, lying my head on F.B. shoulder. The diamond in my new ring winked in the fluorescent lighting, looking as glorious as I felt.
"Ready to go?” he asked me, giving me a quick hug before setting me free.
"Yup. Home, please,” I replied. That was the only place I wanted to go—home, to our house, to our bed, where I could get F.B. naked and show him exactly how much I loved him. “Oh, wait ... what about your table saw?” I asked, pulling away from his arms. “I still owe you a Valentine's Day gift."
F.B. shook his head. “Forget the saw, Matt. You said ‘yes.’ That's the best gift you could have ever given me."
Grinning through my tears, I took his hand again and led him out of the store. I'm so incredibly lucky, I thought as we climbed into the Beast and headed off for home, to have a big, tough, romantic ex-Marine like F.B.
Hell, for him, I'd brave Home Warehouse anytime.
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Contributors
Kiernan Kelly
Kiernan Kelly lives in the wilds of the alligator-infested U.S. Southeast, slathered in SPF 45, drinking colorful tropical, hi-octane concoctions served by thong-clad cabana boys.
All right, the truth is that she spends her time locked in the dark recesses of her office, writing gay erotica while chained to a temperamental Macintosh, drinking coffee, and dreaming of thong-clad cabana boys.
Sigh.
Kiernan's webpage is: www.kiernan-kelly.com/
Willa Okati
Willa Okati lives by the quotation: “When I have a little money, I buy books. If there's any left over, I buy food and clothes". An avid reader since she was able to pick up a book, she spends just as much time writing stories about men, women, and the fun they get up to together. Physically, she lives in North Carolina, but mentally thrives in a world where each adventure is bigger and brighter than the next. She is also owned by far too many cats, but she insists that they serve as emissaries from the Muse and can't spare a one of them.
Please feel free to visit her web page at www.willsheornillshe.com/
Cassidy Ryan
I live and work in my beloved Glasgow in Scotland, and can think of no other place on the planet where I would rather be.
My hobbies include reading, the cinema, music and watching football (soccer to our friends across the pond). I also love British sit-coms from the 70s, and American cop shows—also from the 70s.
I am horrendously superstitious; I won't walk under ladders, put new shoes on the table or utter the words ‘What's the worst that could happen?’ and forget about the number 13!
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