Shy (6 page)

Frank looked over to study Pedro’s face instead of my own. Maybe SAD wasn’t totally at bay after all. “I thought I’d stay with Stanley until I get on my feet. He’s my brother, after all. Surely he wouldn’t begrudge me that much help. I don’t know how his partner will feel about it though.”

I did. Jerry would take one look at Frank and be all for the idea. Then one day Stanley would come home from work and find Jerry’s tongue in Frank’s ass and that would be the end of a beautiful relationship. Frank and Jerry would both be out on their ears and I would be jealous that Jerry’s tongue got to where I wanted mine to go first.

None of this needed to be said, however. Sometimes even I know when to shut up. I was curious though. “So what did you think of Jerry when you met him?”

Frank shrugged. “Haven’t met him. Haven’t seen Stanley yet either. I’ve been waiting for an invitation, but it must have got lost in the mail.” He rolled his beautiful green eyes. “Maybe I’m an idiot for expecting any help from Stanley at all. Or Jerry either, for that matter. If not, I guess I can always hike my way back home. Dad will be glad to see me, at any rate. It’s not like I’m unwanted
everywhere
in the world.”

Frank forced up a chuckle, as if to make light of that last statement, but I thought I detected a hint of sadness in it too. And maybe even a hint of truth.

Frank seemed to feel the need to explain himself further. “It’s not like I
want
to be a nuisance to Stanley and Jerry, but the way money is I don’t have much choice. Surely Stanley will understand that.”

I tried to swallow my anger at knowing Frank had been in town for three days and still not seen his brother. Lord, Stanley and Jerry really were dicks. Dicks of the lowest caliber. It seemed to me that Frank was beginning to suspect as much himself. Gads, the guy must be a nervous wreck having no money, no longer a place to stay, and suffering from a debilitating case of shyness on top of everything else. I couldn’t even
imagine
what I would do under those circumstances, although tossing a Molotov cocktail through Stanley and Jerry’s front window seemed like a reasonable first step.

I didn’t bother asking Frank why he had decided to leave the farm. It was pretty obvious. A gay man living in rural Indiana probably has very few options for socializing with anyone not wearing a John Deere hat and overalls. While those two articles of clothing can be sexy as hell if that’s
all
a man is wearing, in Indiana most farmers also seem to be wearing pig poop and days-old sweat and harbor a very high grudge against anyone who enjoys flirting with members of their own sex. Frank
had
to leave Indiana or sooner or later he would have been stomped into the mud behind someone’s barn after offending some yahoo’s sense of propriety. He knew it and I knew it.

Life isn’t easy for gay people. Never is. Never was.

“So you get along okay with Stanley then,” I said. “I mean, you don’t hate each other or anything?”

Frank looked down at his bare feet, gazed back through the hallway door toward the sound of the dryer thumping away in the distance, peered up at the ceiling, then over at Pedro. Everywhere but at me. “We’re not what you’d call close. But still I think he’ll help me out. I don’t see why he shouldn’t.” Frank didn’t sound convinced, and knowing Stanley as well as I did, I thought Frank had good reason to be unconvinced.

I mulled it over. “So I guess it all hinges on what happens at the party tonight. Whether he takes you in or throws you out or ignores you completely and lets you die miserable and alone on the cold, hard streets of San Diego.”

Frank did a vaudevillian eye roll while spitting up a community-theater-caliber groan. “Thanks, Tom. Now I can relax and enjoy the party. And here I was worried I might not be comfortable.”

I clucked my tongue in sympathy. “Another beer, Frank?”

“Hell, yes.”

It was getting dark out, so on the way to the kitchen I flipped on a lamp. I popped open two beers, and as an afterthought threw together a couple of ham sandwiches to go with them. For Frank, a lot truly did hinge on how things went at the party tonight, so I knew I would never forgive myself if I sent him in there drunk as a skunk and incoherently slobbering all over the place.

While my own trepidation about attending the party was still hammering away in the back of my mind and periodically causing me a heart palpitation or two, I was more than aware of the fact that having Frank there to worry about was a godsend for me. It took my mind off my own insecurities, and let me worry about someone else’s insecurities for a change. And let’s face it, the worst that could happen to me at Jerry’s little soiree was that I would make a complete fool of myself and be forever humiliated. In Frank’s case, the possible consequences were considerably more dire. The rest of his life might actually be affected. And I liked Frank. I didn’t want to see him hurt. Or embarrassed. Or humbled into hightailing it back home to Indiana like a chastised puppy.

Frank’s lovely bare feet were propped on my coffee table (they really were very attractive feet), so I plopped both sandwiches and his beer on the table beside them and perched myself on my new chair across the way while Pedro eyed the sandwiches like maybe they were meant for him.

“You’ve mentioned your dad, Frank. Is your mother still alive too?”

Frank studied my face for a brief moment, then his shyness got the better of him and he looked away to grab a sandwich. Between mouthfuls he said, “She died a long time ago. Dad never remarried.” A look of concern crossed Frank’s face. Almost a look of guilt. “Dad’s going to have a rough time running the farm without my help. There’s a lot of work involved even though it’s a pretty small operation. Livestock, mostly. A couple hundred acres of cropland too, but Dad leases that out.”

“He can’t be very old, your dad. Surely he’ll be okay.”

Frank was digging into his sandwich like it was the first thing he had eaten all day. I felt a stab of concern. Lord, maybe it really
was
the first thing he had eaten all day.

“Dad’s not well, actually. He won’t talk about it, but it’s pretty obvious. I probably shouldn’t have left. But even he told me I should. Get it out of your system, he told me. See a little bit of the world, go visit your brother in sunny California, then come back here and milk the cows.” Frank laughed at that. “Dad’s a nice guy. I hope he’s okay.”

Pedro leaped down from the back of the sofa and bumped Frank’s arm with his head. He wasn’t particularly subtle about it either. Frank merely gazed down at him, frowned, and said, “No. Go back to sleep. Good dogs don’t beg.”

Pedro thought about that for a second, heaved up a sigh and flew back to the top of the sofa where he curled back up into a discontented ball, still eyeing the sandwich, but no longer with any sense of hope of partaking in it. He didn’t even pee on Frank’s arm in retaliation. I was impressed.

I glanced at the clock. It was almost seven. My heart gave a nervous lurch inside my chest. Party time was drawing near. At that very moment the dryer buzzed, and Frank polished off the second sandwich.

“Do you want to clean up before the party?” I asked. “You can shower here if you want.”

Frank glanced at me as if wondering whether I had any ulterior motives buried in that offer, but apparently the determined look of angelic innocence I quickly plastered across my face put him at ease.

“Maybe I should,” he said, hauling himself to his feet. “I’ll get my clothes from the dryer too.”

As an afterthought, he added, “I hope I’m not being too much of a pest. If I am, just say so.”

I smiled my most charming smile. “You’re not a pest at all. Go get cleaned up.”

In the hallway, he turned and very sweetly said, “Thanks, Tom. I don’t think I could face this party on my own. I’m glad you’ll be there with me.”

“Ditto,” I said, and meant it. I could see by the relieved expression on Frank’s face that he knew I was being sincere. That shared moment of understanding seemed to bring us together in full. It put us on the same team. Us against them. I liked that feeling. Frank seemed to like it too. With one last bashful smile, he turned and headed down the hall in search of the bathroom. I let him find it on his own. I had other things to think about.

I
WAS
almost dressed when I heard Frank come out of the bathroom. I went to see if he had found everything all right and ran into him headfirst. Literally. Almost knocking him off his feet.

“Jesus, I’m sorry.”

Frank blushed all the way from the soles of his feet to the top of his head. “That’s okay, Tom. You almost knocked me naked, though.”

It was then that I noticed what he was wearing. Or what he
wasn’t
wearing. Which was pretty much everything. Or nothing. Depending on how you looked at it.

He was dripping wet and he had a towel tucked low around his waist. He was frantically scrambling to retuck it after our head-on collision jarred it loose. Just my luck, he succeeded in resecuring the towel before it slid to the floor. I’ve never been so disappointed in my life.

My eyes were immediately riveted to a tiny trail of dark hair that wandered south from Frank’s belly button and disappeared just above a promising bulge in that damn towel. The rest of Frank’s chest was hairless, well-defined but not pushy about it. His broad brown areolas looked out at the world with an air of superiority, as well they might, they were so tempting, with their tiny little nipples perfectly centered in each one. His legs were the kind of legs I dream about when I’m having
those
kinds of dreams. Strong and hairy. And just by looking at Frank’s legs, I could imagine how they would feel against my face, how his skin would taste against my tongue. That skin was the warm, delicate color of coffee with too much cream, the kind of brown that comes from the gene pool, not the sun. One day on a California beach and Frank would probably be as brown as a filbert, sporting a darker tan than I could acquire all year.

He blushed again at the way I was looking at him, and this time when he blushed, I blushed right back. It was an awkward moment.

“I’m sorry,” I stammered. “Didn’t mean to stare. Or knock you naked.”

“You didn’t?”

“Well, maybe I did.”

Frank laughed, and only then did I see the fresh beer in his hand. By the slight pinkish cast to his eyes, I suspected Frank had helped himself to a
couple
of brews since I went to get dressed. Maybe he was more freaked out about the party than he appeared. I know I was.

He gave me a hopeful look. God, he was cute. “We could skip the party and stay here,” he said.

Was he flirting? I didn’t think so. I think he just really, really didn’t want to go to the party. It was obviously going to be up to me to keep Frank’s eye on the big picture.

“You need a place to stay, remember? If you want to start a new life in San Diego, Stanley is going to have to help you get it started. You’re going to have to suck up to him a little. Stanley likes being sucked up to. Most dicks do. Slight pun intended.” It took every ounce of willpower I possessed not to take another gander at his crotch when I said it.

“O-oka-ay,” he moaned like a five-year-old being told to put the Snickers bag away until after dinner. “Can we have another beer before we go?”

“Heck, yes,” I said. “As many as you want.” And that went for me too. The closer it came to party time, the antsier I was becoming. I had already suffered three coronary infarctions while I was getting dressed. At least I think they were coronary infarctions. I suppose they might have been small gas explosions brought on by all the beer. Or maybe my hormones were popping like popcorn from having a damn-near-naked man in my apartment for the first time since God knew when.

Frank bent down and scooped an armful of hot clothes out of the dryer. When he turned his back to me, I saw another one of my all-time favorite male anatomy goodies—a little tuft of hair just above the crack of Frank’s ass.

God, when
was
the last time I had partaken of sex with someone other than myself? Couldn’t be as long as it felt, could it?

I stood there imagining how that little tuft of hair would tickle my nose while my tongue slid between Frank’s butt cheeks, and it was all I could do not to rip that towel off, drop to my knees, and make a complete fool of myself smack in front of the Kenmore stackable. Before I could decide whether I cared about making a fool of myself or not, Frank said, “Ta-ta,” and galloped back to the bathroom dribbling laundry along the way.

Just as he reached the bathroom door, the towel accidentally slid to the floor (finally), and I was blessed with the sight of the most beautiful heinie I had seen in many a long year. Fuzzy, round, and scrumptious.

This time it was definitely a coronary infarction I felt.

“Oops,” Frank said, and closed the door giggling, dragging the towel in behind him with his foot. Then he poked his head back out and said, “Were you going to bring me another beer, then?”

“You betcha,” I practically sang out. “Anything you want!”

I didn’t realize until later that the sight of Frank’s ass had all but obliterated any fear I had about the upcoming party. Jeez, could the severity of social anxiety disorder actually be mitigated by the sufferer getting a glimpse of a fine male posterior every once in a while? Seemed a bit farfetched. Still, the world of medical miracles had often hinged on odd coincidences. The discovery of penicillin sprang to mind. This might be just one more example.

I headed for the kitchen and the cold beer. One more for him and one more for me should just about do it. I didn’t know about Frank, but I was getting into dangerous territory with all this drinking. I had been known to sing entire Gilbert and Sullivan librettos after six glasses of Scotch. Unbidden. At dinner. In a crowded restaurant. With breadsticks in my ears. God knows what I would do after a dozen beers.

I liked Frank a lot. I didn’t even mind waiting on him hand and foot. And I was beginning to like him drunk even more than I liked him sober. If I didn’t drink myself into a
complete
blackout, this might prove to be a rather enjoyable evening after all.