I coughed and took a pull at the beer.
“I’ve made you uncomfortable?”
I shook my head. “No, now I’m just thinking back to high school and wondering if there were guys checking me out without my being aware of it.”
“Not something straights think about, I guess.” He sipped his beer. “But it happens, trust me.”
I cocked my head and he shot a little glance my way.
“More girl talk?”
He shrugged. “I’m just saying, you wear nice tight shirts, man.”
I swigged my beer, taking the statement into simple consideration. Here the guy was being nice, letting me drink a beer, taking up his time on a Saturday night. “Well, thanks, I guess.”
He studied me a moment. “You ever thought about it?”
I looked out the door. “Not really. I mean, I grew up with brothers, nothing to special about seeing a guy naked.”
“Ever had a guy suck you off?”
We chuckled, I a tad uncomfortably. “No,” I said at last. “Have you ever been with a girl?”
He smiled. “Virginia Peters, Sophomore year. It was in my, ‘well at least try for mom’s sake’ phase.”
“Was Virginia hot?”
“Oh, cute as a button and so much fun to talk to. But…” he shrugged. “I felt there was something missing.” He moved his hand down to the crotch of his jeans. I noticed a bit of a growing bulge there as he adjusted himself casually.
“And the something missing was another one of those?”
He chuckled. “Yes, sir.” I had to admit, I was aware that his hand was still resting on the apex of his tight jeans and the sight was oddly arousing. I glanced away and then back again. I looked up and he was studying me.
“You know, Nancy says you got a nice one.”
I shifted, leaning back a bit in the chair. “Much good it does me when she decides to take off like this.” I lay my head back and look at the ceiling. “I mean, it’s not like I can’t go out and find someone for a random thing, you know. No strings, no muss, just… fun, you know?”
He nodded. “It’s the best kind of relationship, if you ask me. Just something you do on a free night every week or so. Nobody knows or cares and when it ends it’s like when a good movie goes out of theaters.”
I shook my head. “You talk about how I talk…”
He looked hurt. “What?”
“You spout faggoty prose like that…”
He cracked a grin. “You know, that’s a derogatory term.”
“I didn’t call you a faggot. I said your prose were faggoty.”
“And now we’re arguing semantics…” He ran a hand up and mussed his hair. “Ah well, I suppose I don’t really feel like going anywhere tonight after all.”
“Huh?”
He looked over. “I’m a small guy. Two beers and I’m buzzed.”
I drained mine and stood. “Me, I take at least four or five.”
“In the fridge.” He held out his empty can. “Put that in the trash under the sink for me while you’re up.”
“Sure.” I took the can and when I did, my fingers brushed his a bit. It wasn’t anything big, but they touched and it wasn’t weird or anything. “You want a third?”
“Actually, there’s whiskey in there too.” He pointed. “Bring the bottle.”
“You got shot glasses?”
“In the cupboard over the fridge.”
I tossed the two empty cans and went to the fridge. I took out two beers and the fifth of Scotch.
“This is good stuff.” I said, reaching up and finding the shot glasses. I took down one and put it over the capped mouth of the bottle and I moved back into the living room. He’d stood up to get the remote and was standing with his hip cocked flipping through channels.
He took the bottle and the shot glass. “You shooting with me?”
I shrugged and went back for a second shot glass. When I came back he’d plugged in a D.V.D. and I joined him on the sofa. I poured two shots and popped the beers open while the opening credits rolled.
“What are we watching?”
“To Catch a Thief. You like Hitchcock movies?”
“Who doesn’t?”
He held up his shot and we did cheers and took the shots. I was surprised to see he didn’t chase his shot with the beer. Instead he just made a slight wince and then leaned forward to pour each of us another.
“So, you drink like this a lot?”
He shrugged. “I’m kind of antisocial. Not that I don’t like getting laid. I just don’t like going out and dressing up to do it.” He indicated his clothes. “It’s a costume, though. Got to give the boys what they want.”
I shrugged. “Can’t you just be yourself and pick up a guy?”
“I wish.” He held up his shot. “Of course, they all have to put on a show. The twinks have to be all irresponsible and girly. And the pretty boys have to act like Olympian gods. ‘Admire me but don’t touch.’ Then there are the man sluts and that’s a bit like spinning the S.T.D. wheel of fortune.”
“You make it sound so glamorous.”
“I’m not going to lie, I’m really that into the lifestyle so much as the feeling of having a stiff cock hammered lovingly up my ass while a firm hand jacks me. God, the fucking thrill of the sex!”
The movie had started, women were screaming as images of a cat prowling over the rooftops of Cannes.
Sandy shifted, putting one of his boots up on the coffee table. One hand was on his knee, the other held the remote in his lap. “Or just sucking cock. God, I remember back when I was a freshman in high school, me and this guy, we’d been friends since kindergarten, we’d sneak off after school and blow each other in the equipment locker by the soccer field. We did that through most of high school it was like a daily thing. It never got old, either. The bell would ring, I’d grab my bag, we’d meet in the hall by the lunchroom and pal around with some people and then we’d walk home together, you know? Stop in the shed, spend about twenty to thirty minutes blowing each other. I’d tell mom we’d stopped by the arcade on the way home.”
“The arcade?”
He layback, chuckling. “It was our little joke. Spending twenty-minutes playing with each other’s joysticks, it was better than PacMan at the pizza parlor any weekday afternoon.”
“So what happened to him? Your friend, I mean?”
He shrugged. “What happens to most high school friends? Got into different colleges, he met a dude… such is life” he stopped, looking over at me. “And since him, nothing to write home about. I’m 23, a prize young buck, and since I’m not into old guys and the posers aren’t into me, I end up coming home alone a lot and getting drunk.”
“Well, sorry to put a damper on your night.” I took a swig of beer. “You look nice, probably would have bagged someone.”
He smirked. “I even had it all worked out, you know? Walk up to some random guy and just…”
“Just what?”
He sat up straight and cocked his head. “Well, say we were in the quieter part of the bar, you know, perhaps a bit tired from all the dancing. Do you dance?”
“Not too much. Nan drags me out with her and her friends.”
“Well, you know, having a cool down drink at the bar, maybe I’d spot some nice looking guy and I’d just walk up to him and say, ‘excuse me,’ and then I’d reach out like this…” He placed his hand on my knee. “And then, depending on his reaction…” He shrugged.
“Reaction?”
“Well, sometimes they feel like busting a nut, and sometimes they don’t.”
“You’ve just reduced queer theory to a Mounds commercial.”
He kept his hand on my knee as I watched the Cary Grant as he walked up the beach to rest in the sand, Grace Kelly in the background watching him surreptitiously. I couldn’t tell you why I didn’t slap it away or tell him to stop as I felt his hand move slowly up my thigh. I was horny and when I felt his hand rub the length of my growing hard on through my cargo shorts I sighed a bit.