A gay story: Soft-mouthed Sandy
Balancing my laptop case atop the pile of clothes in the laundry basket, I stepped through the propped-open front door of my girl’s apartment. It was a large bundle. I’d have to set it down outside and go back for my cell phone and keys. No sooner had I placed the basket on the outdoor patio than I heard the slam and pop of the door shutting and locking. I turned, moaning and closing my eyes in abject self-loathing.
“Great.”
A full load of laundry, my computer, no cell, no keys so I couldn’t get into my car, and it was getting late. My girl had let me stay to do my laundry in her place, she leaving to spend the weekend with her girlfriend at some lake. I searched my pockets for change. I had none. Even if I had, I doubt I would have found a payphone anywhere.
I heard the sound of a door opening and closing on the next level up. I rushed through the outer door, calling up as I went.
“Hello? Hey, I’m locked out.”
He was a thin guy, a bit smaller, and–I’m sorry to sound a bit prejudiced– by the tightness of his jeans and the way he wore his hair my immediate impression was “gay.”
Now, I am not a homophobe, in fact, I and my girl, Nancy were quite eclectic in our group of friends. Nancy herself is bisexual and I have never had a problem with it. In fact, more than a few times I have been lucky enough to watch her and one or two of her women friends.
The guy, whom I’d never met, but whom I’d seen more than a few times coming and going smiled and nodded understanding. “You don’t have a key, do you?”
“No,” I shrugged bashfully, “And Nan’s gone out of town for the weekend…”
He held up a hand. “I get the idea. Come on up, you can use my phone and we can get the super out to let you in, huh?”
I nodded. “Okay, let me just get my stuff.”
I didn’t feel to crazy about leaving my laptop and clothes out on the patio where just anybody could come along and take them. I hefted the large bulk of the laundry basket and walked to the stairs taking them slowly.
The guy stepped aside for me, pulling his aviator’s down on his nose. “Heavy load,” he smirked.
“Yeah, it’s a bitch, ain’t it?” I chuckled.
“I’m Sandy,” he said. Walking up quickly to get the outer door for me.
“Sean,” I said.
He produced an electronic key card and fed it into the lock on his own apartment door, opening it and holding it for me. The place was just like Nancy’s only the posters and furnishings were kind of different. I set the laundry basket down on the tile by the door and wiped my forehead. “Thanks, man,” I said.
“Don’t mention it.” He went to where the cordless phone sat on it’s jack on the kitchen bar. He picked it up and tossed it across the room. “Beer?”
I started dialing. “Uh, sure.” I finished dialing the number for the management and listened to the phone ring three times before a machine picked up. “Shit,” I turned around and the guy, Sandy handed me a beer.
“What’s wrong?”
“Office is closed ’til 8 tomorrow morning.”
Sandy popped the top of his beer and sucked on his bottom lip. “Well, if you need a ride someplace. I was on my way out to the club anyway.”
“I… Uh,” I nodded. “Sure, I mean, I don’t want to impose.”
“What are neighbors for?”
“Technically, I’m not your neighbor, though…”
He smirked. “Well, Nan’s a neighbor, at least. And it would be mighty un-neighborly of me to let her boyfriend twist in the wind, now wouldn’t it.”
“True. Thanks.” He was about my age, though I’m sure he passed for younger. With his build and movements it was hard to put him much past 21. He was not quite my height, but tall and lithe with a tan that he probably spent hours on so that his very dark black hair. I took all this in at a glance before he pointed at the beer he’d handed me.
“You going to drink it or just hold it and let it sweat?”
I smirked and popped the tab. “Sorry, thanks.” I took a few quick chugs of the ice-cold beer before asking a question. “What club you going to?”
“Oh, none you would have been to.” He wiggled his right eyebrow and I let out a little laughing breath.
“Oh, one of those clubs?”
He nodded. “Guy’s got to get love someplace, right?”
I shrugged. “Fair enough.” I sipped the beer and looked around the apartment. There was a poster of Bob Dylan on one wall. I pointed to it. “I have that same picture on my wall at home..”
“I’ve always liked Dylan.”
“Me too.”
“Where do you live, by the way?”
“About eight blocks west. Not far, but…” I indicated the basket of laundry. “well, that would have made it one hell of a hike.”
“I wouldn’t have made it up the stairs,” He chuckled. “You want to sit down? I’m in no hurry.”
“I…” I couldn’t think of any place I needed to be. “Sure.”
“It’s kind of nice to officially meet you, I have to admit,” he said, plopping down on the sofa. “From what Nan says about you and what I hear through the floor, you’ve become a bit mythic.”
“Oh, Nancy talks about me, huh?”
“Incessantly, to the point of being depressing.”
I took a seat in the easy-chair. “Depressing?”
Sandy smirked. “Well, the rules of girl talk… I shouldn’t say.”
“Suit yourself,” Sipped the beer and looked out the open front door. It was becoming a nice night and the wind had died down. I sipped my beer. “So what’s your favorite album?”
“Dylan? Oh, I don’t know. Highway 61 Revisited, maybe? Are we really forcing small talk?”
“Hey, I tried to make thing interesting, you balked and now we’re talking music.”
He chuckled. “You make it sound like a set of procedures.” He set his beer on the coffee table. “But then again, you are supposed to be something of an operator, right? Nan moved in she was kind of a shy girl, a loner, six months dating you and I hear she’s quite liberated.”
“Yeah.”
“She’s grateful. Says you showed her how to have fun and open up to new ideas.”
“And how…” I smirked.
“You don’t approve of the new lifestyle.”
That was a nice direct question. I pondered. “I’m not adverse.”
“You mean, you like to watch two women fucking?”
“Well, sure, people making love, having sex, fucking… It can be beautiful. I’m just having to learn how to share.”
He nodded. “Ah, so she left to go fuck her girlfriend by a lake and you’re left doing laundry and pulling your pud, eh?”
“Some thing like that.” I swilled the last of my beer. “Like this morning. She was off like a shot before it was even light out. Left a note on the pillow. And boy I had a beauty when I woke up.”
“A boner?”
“Yep, big vengeful sonofabitch. Who-ee, I cranked it three times today, and the fucker’s still on a hair-trigger.”
Sandy laughed and stood, taking my empty beer can and taking it into the kitchen. “Man, the way you talk…”
“What about the way I talk?”
He came back with a second beer already opened for me. I took it and he sat down and popped the tab off a second for himself. “I don’t know, just ultra-masculine. I mean, not uneducated or Neolithic, but…”
“Corse,” I nodded. “Yeah, I know. But hey, I say what’s on my mind and that’s what’s on my mind. My girlfriends munching rug and I’m filling my palm with knuckle-juice.”
“You see, the way you talk, it reminds me of the guys in the locker-room after gym in high school.” He rolled his eyes. “And that’s a memory that makes me empathize.”