Sparkle: The Queerest Book You'll Ever Love (20 page)

“You’re on the team?” I asked as I scooted a chair in between his and Sparkle’s.

“Pitcher, three years and counting.”

“Well, Mister Horowitz, what a Renaissance man you are,” I gushed.

“Allen, call me Allen, please. And, no, not really; I force myself to play so I can get at least a little exercise and social time for myself. Otherwise, I’d be stuck in court or preparing for a case all day, and you know what they say?”

“Never mix beer and liquor?” guessed Sparkle.

“No, all work and no play, yada, yada, yada,” responded Allen.

“Oh, yeah. Those yadas can be a bitch.” I was trying to be cute. It worked, it seemed, and Allen shot me a coy grin and nudged my leg beneath the table. I had visions of a half-Jewish, half-Catholic wedding passing before my eyes. (My mother would be so proud. That is, once she found out that I’m gay, I mean.)

“Are you also going to be in the show, Allen?” Sharon asked, interrupting my reverie.

“Well, despite my better judgment, yes, yes I am. I figure you only go around once, so might as well do it all.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” I agreed, Sparkle and Sharon both throwing me a
get real
look. “As a matter of fact, I was just sitting here telling my friends how much I was looking forward to the performance.”

“You were?” Sparkle, as usual, wasn’t playing along.

“Come on, you know I’m just thrilled at the idea of helping out the team. Tell Allen how happy I am to do this little favor for them,” I said and grabbed his arm, tightly, and kicked him a bit under the table. (Violence always brings the idea home to Sparkle, you see.)

“Oh, yes, that’s right. Our Secret here is just a regular old Florence Nightingale, always eager to help out our men in uniform.”

“Yes, well, weren’t you just saying that you had an errand to run?” I told Sparkle more than asked him. See, I was pushing for some one-on-one time with my new lawyer friend.

“No, I don’t think…” I kicked him again and nodded with my head for him to scat. “Oh, yes, that’s right; I was just headed to Walgreen’s for some Preparation H. I’m simply busting out down there. Thanks for reminding me, old chap.” And he got up to go. Sharon also got the hint and went back to the register.

“Well, I hope your friend will be all right,” Allen said, with a concerned look.

“Oh, he’ll be fine. Something’s always falling out or popping back into Sparkle.”

“No, I mean, you kicked him awfully hard.”

I blushed. “Oh, you noticed, well…”

“No need to explain. I’m flattered. Look, I’ve cleared my caseload a bit for the next month in order to get some rehearsal time in before the big event. If you have a free night this week, would you like to do dinner or something?” he asked and rested his hand on mine. The
or something
sounded promising. Meaning, I nodded a hearty yes.

“Great, how about tomorrow night then?  I’ll come by before you close up shop and we can head on out from here. Sound good?”

“Sure,” I beamed, “that would be great.”

“Terrific. Then I’ll see you tomorrow night,” he said, getting up from the table. “Gotta go now, criminals to try, innocent men to defend, and all that. See you then.” And he was out the door with a wave and a smile. Maybe this whole show thing would be fun, after all, I was beginning to think. (Uh uh, I’m not going to tell you just yet. You’ll just have to wait and see.)

***

The next day, I let Sharon go home a half an hour early, so that when Allen came to get me, I’d have him all to myself. I was giddy as a schoolgirl as the hour approached. I mean, the novelty of going out with my first lawyer and my first Jew was driving me crazy with anticipation. I felt so, so…
cosmopolitan
.

It didn’t hurt that Allen was dreamy. Throw in a pair of horn-rimmed glasses and a big, bumpy nose to boot, and that would be Allen. I had butterflies in my stomach just thinking about him. Not to mention a boner the size of Cleveland. (Well, Detroit, at any rate. Okay, okay, Palm Springs, but still.)

The proverbial icing on the cake was when he strolled into the shop, right on time, with a beautiful bouquet of roses. Usually, when it comes to picking me up or meeting me somewhere, most of my gay friends are twenty or more minutes late, which is something I can never quite figure out, since all they have to do is throw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Must be the hair gel that holds them up. That and the necessary cruising they do along the way.

Allen walked over to the register, where I was closing out the day’s receipts, and handed me the flowers. I thanked him and told him how lovely they were and quickly shot him a glowing smile. Suffice it to say, inside, I was a nervous wreck. No one had ever given me flowers before, let alone an adorable man with a steady income, and I became speechless and awkward. In any case, I took the flowers, found a vase, filled the vase with water, and arranged the flowers just right (being gay has so many advantages), and barely looked up at Allen or said more than two words to him. Then I quickly walked over to the door, mumbled some passing comments to him, locked up, pulled the shades down, and started arranging the chairs for the morning. A couple of minutes into this, I felt a hand on my shoulder and I turned around slowly to face him. He, oh joy of joys, was looking straight into my eyes and was smiling.

“Stop,” he whispered.

“But I just…”

“Come here.” He grabbed my hips, pulled me near him, and gently kissed me on the lips. I was picturing the witch at the end of the Wizard of Oz. 
I’m melting, meeeelting…
“Can we go now?” he asked as he slightly pulled away. 

“Uh uh. Not yet,” I told him.

“How come?” he whispered into my ear, swirling his tongue around for good measure. Needless to say, I was getting some massive lumpage in my pants by that point. (Chattanooga!)

“Because.” And this time I grabbed him by
his
hips, wrapped my arms around him, and kissed him hard. He tasted just as good as he looked, and I felt some heavy lumpage in return from his side of things.

“Yum.” We both said, simultaneously, as we pulled away.

“Shall we,” I said, motioning to the door.

“Not yet. Is the door locked?” He had a truly wicked grin on his handsome face, which sent my heart to fluttering.

“Um, yes, what did you have in mind, Mister Lawyer Man?” I asked as seductively as I could muster, his piercing green eyes burning right on through me.

“Take your shirt off, Bruce.” He said it without any rise or fall in his voice.

It was more of a statement than a command, and I only hesitated for the briefest moment before I obeyed, slowly undoing the buttons on my shirt (I knew how to give a show when it was called for) before setting it down a nearby table. “Better?” I asked, returning his leer with one of my own.

“Much. Shoes next.” He grabbed a seat about fifteen feet away and sat down to watch me untie my shoelaces, kick of my sneakers, and roll off my socks. I looked up when I was done and raised my hands in a shrug to indicate that I was ready for the next request. “Take your belt of, Bruce.” And the belt was on the table with my shirt. He never took his eyes off of me nor mine off of him. “Bruce?”

“Yes, Allen?”

“Are you wearing any underwear beneath your pants?” This time his voice was just slightly off beat, more raspy and quick, and growing thicker by the second.

“No, Allen, I’m not.”

“My, my, going commando? Was that for my benefit, Bruce?” I nodded a yes, though I certainly wasn’t planning on this little scene. Sometimes Sparkle does give good advice, you see; this seemed to be one of those times. “Good. Walk over here,” he said, motioning with his finger at the same time. “Stop,” he added, when I was no more than a couple of feet away. “The pants, Bruce, take them off.” He was still looking me right in the eyes, and, without looking away, I removed my pants. And then there I was, in the middle of the store, naked and hard as a rock.

“Nice, Bruce. Did you have a good day today?” he asked and stood up. I nodded that I had, and he continued. “I had a good day as well. Mostly, I sat in my office picturing you just like this, naked and waiting for me to do this.” And then he walked up to me and put his hands on my chest and ran his fingers up and down my torso. As soon as he felt my goosebumps, he let out a barely audible moan.

I reached down to grab his right hand, pulled it lower, and wrapped it around my prick. Then it was my turn to moan. He liked that, and, within a heartbeat, we were kissing like crazy. His lips moved in perfect synchronization with mine, and when he let go of my dick to embrace me, I sank into his arms. I couldn’t remember a time when I felt so absolutely turned on by another man, and I had the feeling that it was reciprocal. That feeling, of course, being his turgid tool in my grip.

Several minutes later, we were both naked and rolling about on the floor. Not being the kind to kiss and tell (well, not more than I already have, sorry) let me just say that the next hour was, how shall I put it,
memorable
. Sometimes I wish we hadn’t done it right there and then, because for years I measured all my other sexual experiences against that evening. Very few of them even compare. Well, at least it’s one more thing to blame for my utter lack of any meaningful relationships. God forbid it should ever be solely my fault. To be fair, on my own behalf, I have managed to maintain a great deal of long lasting friendships. Allen, alas, was not to be one of them, as you shall soon see. But for now, let’s just bask in the glory of that evening…
aaah
… okay, enough of that.

When we were finished, we cleaned up, got dressed, and went out to dinner. I was ravenous by then, as was Allen, but we managed to learn a lot about each other in between wolfing down our dinners and gulping down our cocktails. He seemed, by all accounts, to be a remarkable man, putting himself through law school, graduating near the top of his class, and then giving free legal advice to several gay organizations, all while working fulltime for a law firm. I was completely smitten with him by the end of the evening and was thrilled when he invited me back to his place to spend the night.

When we got back to his apartment, we had a fabulous repeat performance of our earlier antics and drifted off to sleep in a comfortable embrace. In the morning, he drove me home, waited for me to change, and then drove me to the shop and dropped me off. I was smiling from ear to ear as I walked in. It had, spine-tingingly enough, been a perfect first date.

“You got yourself some last night, didn’t you?” That was how Sharon greeted me.

“Jeez, how in the world could you know that?” I asked and went to fix myself some coffee.

“Oh, just call it female intuition. Let’s see, exhibit A, you’re smiling way too much for this hour of the morning. Normally, you’re in your own little foggy world until that first cup of java kicks in, and, even then, you’re not usually perky until at least eleven. Exhibit B, I noticed that you were dropped off this morning in a nice, shiny Cadillac. Not your normal mode of transportation. And then there’s exhibit C.”

“Which is?” I was almost afraid to ask.

She walked over behind the counter, bent down, and came back up with one of the rags that we used to wipe the tables down with. “Exhibit C,” she proudly waved over her head. “These have that decidedly Clorox-like aroma that can only mean one thing.”

“Other than Clorox, you mean.” I played along. I mean, I’d been found out, so why bother denying it?

“Exactly. At first I thought it was probably just little old you releasing some steam. But then,” and she bent down again and came back up with a second rag, “I figured you alone wouldn’t need two towels. Sorry, but even Sparkle isn’t that virile. So let me guess, it was that cute lawyer guy, right?”

“Uh huh.” I nodded and grinned. “And it was fab-u-lous.”

“I can see that,” she said and waved the towels one last time before putting them back. “Good to know we can use this place for other things than reading. Maybe we should start selling lube and condoms.” I thought about that for a second, but I doubted that Slim would go for it. Instead, I decided to keep some spare
s
around after that, though. Just in case.

Sparkle jogged in a few minutes later, walked straight up to me, looked me deep in the eyes, turned me once around for good measure, and then proclaimed, “Miss Thing, you got yourself some man-pussy last night.”

“What? How in the world did you know that? I know it’s not an every day occurrence (or any day), but I seriously doubt they were broadcasting it on the news this morning.”

“No, Honey, get real. I called up this morning to see if you were in yet, and Sharon told me.” I looked over at Sharon, but she was making herself look busy in order to avoid my
what a big mouth you have
stare. “Anyway, spill it, Sis. Is it true what they say about Jewish men?”

“And what do they say about Jewish men?” I asked, without a clue as to what they said.

“You know, big noses, big…”

“Oh, who says that?”

From behind the register came, “People who aren’t Jewish, I would imagine.” I’d hoped we wouldn’t wear off on Sharon, but I was quickly learning that it should’ve been the other way around.

“Well,” I spoke up, “let me lay your immature inquisitiveness to rest.” They both stopped to listen to what I had to say on the subject. Pitiful, actually, how low people can sink. “None of your damn business.” (Okay, I’ll tell you, though. It was huge! That must be what they mean when they say
God’s chosen people
.)

“Fine,” Sparkle relented and went back to fixing himself some coffee, “be that way. Next Friday, I’ll just have to hang out in front of the temple and find out for myself. Anyway, I did come here with a purpose, other than to be read.”

“I love that your life has purpose all of a sudden, Sparkle. Mine is so much more vibrant now that I can start my day with a cup of coffee and some words of wisdom from yours truly,” I said, with a flourish, and bowed to her highness.

“Asshole. I’ll just leave if you insist on treating me this way.”