Femme (15 page)

Chapter Twenty-Four

We were drunk as shit.

Dog had the messed up idea that we weren’t very drunk. Which was extremely messed up since he was actually way drunker than I was. I was drunk but he was, well, blotto, wasted, smashed, and very, very sloppy. I had a sort of flashback to the night we hooked up, which gave me the distinct feeling this was something he did every time he got really, really drunk. Decide he wasn’t drunk. Which was kind of funny. And cute. And completely delusional.

I looked down and noticed he was still barefoot. “Where are your shoes?”

“Oh gosh, I left my pumps in the bar.”

“Sandals.”

“Wha?”

“You wore sandals, not pumps. They’re different.”

“Do they both hurt like hell?”

“They can.”

“Then they’re not that different.”

That made him laugh. And laugh. Oh my Gawd! He was drunk! The joke wasn’t that funny, after all. I decided not to worry about his sandals; Lance knew who they belonged to. He’d hang on to them. “Where are your boy shoes?”

“In my truck.”

“Where’s you truck?”

“That way.” He pointed in three different directions, almost hitting me in the face. “About two blocks.”

Since he wasn’t too clear on where the truck actually was, it didn’t make any sense to walk him around barefoot looking for it. I decided I’d come out and get his shoes in the morning. I pointed him toward my apartment and hoped for the best.

“I’m really, really glad I met you,” he said. He was a sweet drunk. Always preferable to the “I’m going to knock your head off” kind of drunk many people turn out to be.

“I’m really, really glad I met you, too.”

“Are you? Really?”

“Really.”

And then we were making out on the street. A big, sloppy, drunk make-out session on the street about a half block from my apartment. There was nothing tentative about the way he was kissing me, as there had been before. He was bold, demanding and cocksure. He also kept grabbing my cock.

I pulled away. “Okay, let’s not get arrested.”

“I just copped a little feel.”

“Yes, sweetheart, you did,” I said, pulling him toward my apartment.

When we got to my front door, I opened it and eased him inside. Settling him on my sofa, I stood back and suggested, “Maybe we should have some coffee or tea.”

“Why do we need to do that?”

He reached for me and I took a step back. “Because we’re kind of drunk, and I’d like to remember this.”

“Oh, I think we’ll remember this just fine.”

“That’s what you said the first time.”

“And I remember that. Very well. Let’s do that again. Exactly that.”

“Coffee or tea?”

“Coffee.”

“It’s instant.”

“Oh. Tea.”

“Tea it is.”

I went into the kitchen to put the kettle on the stove, and got out a mug and a tea bag. When I turned to go back into the living room, I found Dog there, licking his lips. He grabbed me and pulled me in close. Smashing his lips to mine, his tongue slipped into my mouth, exploring, teasing. I slid my fingers into his hair and kissed him back good and hard. We kissed until the teakettle whistled behind me. I pushed away. “You’re going to be a good boy and drink your tea.”

“Aww, you’re taking care of me. That’s what a man does. A man takes care of the people he love—likes.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “I think you’re pretty clear on the fact that I’m a man.”

He caught my meaning and let out a dirty giggle.

“Yeah, I remember.”

Then he was grabbing me again, and I hadn’t had time to do much more than turn the burner off. The water was still in the kettle and the mug empty. And then Dog was on his knees, unzipping my skinny jeans, running his fingers across my belly, just under the edge of my sweater. My dick flopped out and—

Oh my Gawd!

Wrapping his big hands around my hips, he pinned me up against my kitchen wall. He had me in his mouth all the way down to the base. I put my hands around the back of his head trying to slow him down a bit, but he was strong and had every intention of doing exactly what he wanted. And what he wanted was to bring me close to orgasm and leave me hanging.

Oh my Gawd.

I was moaning, begging, telling him to keep going, and then he stopped. Looking up at me from the floor he said, “I want you to fuck me.”

I smiled and said, “I remember what you like.”

How could I forget?

###

When I woke up in the morning my mouth was dry, my head throbbing, my ass sore and well-used. Lionel and I were wrapped up in each other like pretzels. I thought about untangling myself and getting a glass of water and some aspirin, but that seemed too complicated. I lay there remembering what I could of the night before. That made me blush.

I’d been very aggressive. Pulling Lionel on top of me and insisting that he fuck me. I cringed when I thought about the things I said. But, come to think of it, there weren’t a lot of ways to ask to be fucked that were subtle. No matter how you said it, it came out sounding like something out of a porno. Which had been okay three weeks before when we were just hooking up, but now I wished there was a way to say that, which didn’t sound like a porno but also didn’t sound like a marriage proposal. Anyway, he got the point.

I curled into him remembering how good his dick had felt inside me. We started with me on my back and I loved that, loved looking into his eyes while he fucked me, watching the pleasure from each stroke on his face. And then, after a bit, I wanted to turn over. His dick had a small kink in it and curled away from his body just slightly, just enough that I knew if he had me from behind, it would hit in just the right way. I eased him off me and rolled over onto all fours.

“You lied to me, didn’t you?” he said. “They don’t call you Dog because of your name, this is why they call you Dog.”

I was going to answer, to disagree, but I didn’t have time since he put his dick back into me. I closed my eyes, let my face fall onto the pillow and just felt, just felt as he pumped and shockwaves floated through me. Just felt him filling me up, over and over. Just felt. And then, legs shaking, toes curling, I came. I must have jizzed everywhere. I also must have made a huge noise because Lionel shushed me.

"Sweetheart, I have neighbors," he said, easing out of me and then laying down next to me.

"Oh, sorry. Did you get off?"

"Ages ago."

"Wow," I said. My dick was pretty sensitive. When I was done, I was done. Well, for at least twenty minutes. "I’m impressed,” I said.

"The condom helps," Lionel said, modestly.

"I made a wet spot. I made of lot of wet spots."

"I guess you’ll have to sleep over here then."

I wrapped myself around him and stayed like that all night. Until thirst finally forced me out of his bed. I padded into his kitchen, searched through the cupboards for a glass, found an empty peanut butter jar instead, and filled it with water. Running the faucet was maybe not such a good idea. Instantly, I realized I had to pee like crazy.

Hurrying back through Lionel’s bedroom I popped into the bathroom and started to pee. I was halfway through when I heard Lionel giggling behind me. "Oh my Gawd, what are you doing?"

"Peeing."

"And drinking a glass of water at the same time? What goes in must come out? Is that the theory?"

"I’m thirsty."

Finally, I was done peeing, so the next most important thing was dealing with the throbbing in my head. "Do you have aspirin?"

"In the medicine cabinet."

I opened it and found the aspirin, shook out two into my hand, and then washed them down with the last of my water. I turned back and watched Lionel standing naked in the doorway.

"This is nice," I said.

"Taking aspirin?"

"No. Us, naked."

He smiled. "You’re gong to have to get dressed soon though. You have to work today, don’t you?"

"Yeah, I do."

"And we have to find your truck. You’re going to need to wear clothes for that."

"Darn."

"What are we doing tonight?"

"What we did last night. Minus the alcohol."

"We’re not going to fuck all night."

"Spoil sport. We can have dinner. Watch a movie."

"You fall asleep when I put movies in."

"I need my rest." I shrugged. "We can do anything you want."

I closed the short gap between us and pulled him into my arms. Enjoying the feel of his naked skin against mine, I kissed him. He grabbed me by my growing cock.

"How much time do you have? I wouldn’t want you to start something you can’t finish."

"Oh, we’ll finish."

Chapter Twenty-Five

Oh my fucking Gawd!
That was my first thought in the morning. Seriously, it was. I rolled over in bed, looked straight into Dog’s face, and thought,
Oh my fucking Gawd! I get to wake up to this! All the time!
Well, not all the time. It had only been a month, I shouldn’t be thinking like that. But he’d been in my bed almost every night for the last two weeks. Was it too fast? We were going too fast.

But then, everything about dating Dog had been too something. Mostly that we were too different. I didn’t think that anymore, though. I mean we were definitely different, but underneath it all we were kind of the same. Dog tries hard to be a good guy, and I, for some reason I don’t quite grasp, try to be a good guy, too. And that, I think, is a lot more than most people have in common.

That Sunday I was going to attend my first softball game ever. And, I was going to officially meet Dog’s family. This required almost an entire day of preparation. I’d already decided what to wear. I would be wearing my pink shorts with my new black and pink flamingo T-shirt and my pink Chuck Taylors. It was an outfit that was very me, but not too much me, since I wouldn’t be wearing high heels, a boa and/or a tiara.

No, the big thing that was going to take up time was a craft project I’d found on YouTube…pom-poms. I’d spent all of seven minutes and thirty-four seconds learning how to make pom-poms from garbage bags, and I was all set to make them myself. At the Dollar Store I’d bought a box of white ones, a box of black ones and box of dark green ones. A pair of scissors and a box of rubber bands, and I was ready to make the props necessary for an afternoon of rah-rah-sis-boom-bah.

“There are no cheerleaders in softball,” Dog said when he caught wind of what my project was about.

“Is there a rule against cheerleaders?”

“I don’t think so.”

“So there
can
be cheerleaders in softball.”

“I guess.”

“Good. Today there will be cheerleaders.” And then I began cutting up trash bags with vigor. My living room quickly turned into a disaster with tiny bits of plastic everywhere, but I’d finished my first set of pom-poms. I was very pleased with myself when Dog came back from a run.

He was sweating and red in the face. “Are you sure that was a good idea? You have a game later, you don’t want to use up all your energy.”

“It’s a warm up.”

I didn’t really know what he meant by that. As I understood it, the gay softball league was the sort of league where you only needed to show up with a six-pack of beer and a clean uniform. And the clean uniform was optional.

“I’m going to take a shower, then we should probably get ready to go.”

“No! I only have two pom-poms. You need to take a really long shower,” I insisted. Then I got down to making eight more pom-poms in an hour. After that, I managed to miraculously get ready in a mere fifteen minutes.

It was good thing, too, since Dog was standing at the front door looking kind of growly. “I’m sorry,” I said as soon as I caught a glimpse of his face. “I know we’re running late. You may need to start lying to me about time. But don’t let me know that you’re doing it because then I’ll just adjust."

“I don’t think we should lie to each other.”

“Oh darling, every good relationship is built on a foundation of lies. We just have to agree on which lies we tell each other. I would like you to lie to me about time. What should I lie to you about?”

“Come on, we need to get going,” he said, ignoring my question. I grabbed my bag of pom-poms and we were out the door.

It wasn’t until we were in the truck and on our way to Tustin that he said, “You weren’t really serious, were you? About lying to each other?”

Honestly, I wasn’t all that sure if I was serious. Maybe I was; maybe I wasn’t. It did seem that a certain amount of lying, or lying within bounds, might be good for a relationship. Absolute honesty could be a disastrous problem, after all.

“I’m not sure if I was serious,” I said, honestly.

“Oh.” Dog thought for a moment and then said, “I think we should always be honest with each other."

“Do you like my outfit?” I asked.

“What? Wait, don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not changing the subject. Do you like my outfit?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. I’m wearing pink shorts and pink sneakers to meet your family.”

“It’s not important, Lionel.”

“Exactly. That’s why you said my outfit is fine when you really think it’s not. That’s why you told a lie.”

“Oh,” he said. I watched as he thought it through. The very real consequences of telling people the truth all the time. “This is hard.”

“It is,” I agreed. I thought again about the things that Larry Lamour said about being yourself. It was hard to be yourself. It was hard for me and it was hard for Dog. And it was going to be hard for us to be ourselves, together.

“It’s all hard, Doug.”

He slipped his hand over mine on the seat. “It is. But it’s going to be worth it.”

“It is already.”

We arrived at the field. It had actually rained just days before, so we could see the mountains in the distance. I don’t know which range. We don’t see it often, so it seems kind of pointless to learn its name. The mountains are pretty, though, all jagged and blue in the distance.

I was as nervous as a two-dollar hooker in church. I didn’t know what to expect. I mean, Dog’s family sounded nice. And he said things were getting a lot better than they’d been. But my whole experience of family was my mom dying and my dad not really giving a shit about me, so, even if they were really nice, I wasn’t sure how to act around that. I mean, yes, I should be nice back. But what one person thought was nice wasn’t necessarily what another person thought was nice.

Dog and I walked across the parking lot toward a minivan disgorging a bunch of people. I’d barely gotten to look at Dog’s family when we were at the movie theater, so it was kind of the first time I’d ever really looked at them. His mom and dad were in their late fifties to early sixties, I wasn’t sure which. They both had a fair amount of gray hair and slightly spreading middles. His sister, Maddy, looked a lot like Dog. She had his same coloring, dark hair and brown eyes, and his same broad shoulders, which she probably hated but kind of worked. Her husband, Arthur, trailed behind carrying a small cooler.

As they got closer, I could see that Dog’s mom had a really sweet look on her face, Maddy appeared to be amused by the whole thing, while his dad looked determined and, perhaps, a little bit angry. Suddenly, I felt like the whole pom-pom idea was incredibly stupid. I wanted to run back to the car and shove the bag I was carrying into the trunk, and pretend I’d never brought them.

But then it was too late. Dog’s dad was barreling down at me in the most uncomfortable way. I wondered what he was going to do when he got to me.
Hit me? Yell at me?
Oh Gawd, this was going to be a disaster.

###

Before we left the house, I called Maddy and told her that Lionel was coming to the game. And then I asked her to do something that I wouldn’t normally do. “Could you gossip about me?”

“I don’t gossip.”

“Seriously, you don’t gossip? Look, just make sure that Mom and Dad know about Lionel and that they have some idea what Lionel is like.”

“Okay…” she said, doubtfully.

“What?”

“Don’t expect it to go too well. I mean, Mom will be okay, but Dad’s really been through a lot this… has it only been a month? Oh my God.”

“I’m dating Lionel, though. I can’t hide him.”

“Can’t keep hiding him, you mean.”

“Shut up.”

“Don’t worry. It’ll be fine. Or it won’t.”

“Thanks.”

And then I was walking across the parking lot with Lionel. Lionel and his pink shorts and his bag of pom-poms. I just knew my dad was going to hate him, and that was going to suck. Worse than that, I was leaving Lionel alone with my dad for the entire game. Crap. Why didn’t I think this through? I should have introduced them in small doses. Brought Lionel to the house for a few minutes and then worked our way up to an afternoon like this.

When we got close, my mom stepped forward toward Lionel like she was going to introduce herself. But my dad blocked her and got to Lionel first. He threw his arms around Lionel and gave him a huge hug. Lionel looked shocked. He hadn’t been expecting it. I definitely hadn’t been expecting it. I probably looked shocked, too. The gesture put my heart in my throat and tears in my eyes.

Of course, it was way too much, given that Lionel and I hadn’t been dating long. “Um, Dad, we’re dating. Save a little something in case things go really well.”

Crap. I realized I’d just put the “m” word into everyone’s mind without actually saying it. Although I’m sure my mom was already drifting in the direction of marriage, because that’s what moms do. Oh, gosh. Then I looked at Lionel who’d managed to escape my dad’s grip and he seemed fine. He wasn’t running for the hills. He was standing there smiling uncomfortably at my family.

“Um, I brought these for during the game,” Lionel said, holding out the bag of pom-poms. “They’re pom-poms. So we can cheer.”

“Softball isn’t really a cheerleader kind of sport,” my dad said. Then he caught the look my mom was giving him. “Okay, it is now.”

“That’s so thoughtful of you, Lionel,” she said.

“Do you know any cheers?” I asked him.

He got a panicked look on his face and said, “We’re here, we’re queer, get used to it?”

“Maddy, do you know any cheers?”

“I was never a cheerleader. I hated cheerleaders.”

It was almost time for the game to start and there was one thing I wanted to do beforehand. What they cheered or if they cheered was something they were going to have to work out on their own.

I stepped over to my dad and said, “Could we talk for a minute, Dad?”

“Okay,” he said, with a suspicious look.

We stepped a few feet away. “Listen, there’s something I want to say. When I came out to you, you said I wasn’t a man anymore—”

He frowned. “Oh, don’t pay any attention to that. I just never thought...”

“It’s an important question, though. What makes a man, Dad?”

He looked at me funny. “You know what makes a man. A man does the right thing by the people he cares about. A man takes care his family, his friends. A man stands up for people who need to be stood up for.”

“See, I do all those things. And I know how to be a man because you taught me how to be a man. And that hasn’t changed. That’s never going to change.”

“So I’m not in trouble?”

“No, Dad, you’re not in trouble.”

“I promised your mother I’d do better.”

“You’re doing great. Just relax, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I know this has been hard and I appreciate you stepping up to the plate.”

We both smiled at my timely metaphor.

“Speaking of which, you need to go play ball.”

I waved a good-bye at Lionel and my family, and ran over to join the team. We turned in our roster and our lineup, and then took the field. The Limey Boys from The Pub were first at bat. Tim was our starting pitcher. Linda Sue was our new short stop, wearing a nice, short skirt that matched our jerseys. His wife had made it for him. In addition to my family, there were quite a few spectators, including Linda Sue’s wife out there somewhere.

It was in the third inning that things started to turn around for us. The score was two to one in favor of The Limey Boys. Fetch had been walked, Tim had struck out, so had Simon. Linda Sue had hit a double, so there were runners on second and third, with one out left. So there was a little pressure on me when I stepped up to home plate. And not a little embarrassment, since I could hear Lionel cheering in the bleachers.

“We’re here, we’re queer, get used to it…” I couldn’t believe he was going with that. Then I heard Maddy joining him. I glanced over and saw my mother standing up shaking a set of pom-poms. She poked my dad and he reluctantly stood up. They started the cheer again. All of them. Including Arthur, who was definitely not the sort to shout. That earned him a kiss on the side of his face from my sister, surprising both him and me.

“We’re here, we’re queer…”

It was distracting and energizing at the same time. I tried to focus. Raised my bat. The pitcher wound up and tossed the ball at me. The ball looked like it was coming toward me in just the right spot, so I decided to take a chance and swing.

And then, I hit a home run.

###

I appreciate your taking the time to read
Femme
, I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please spend another moment or two posting a short review on Amazon or Goodreads. Word of mouth can be an author’s best friend.

Thank you, Marshall Thornton