All Snug (2 page)

boring face—light brown eyes, big nose, lantern jaw—and it

surprised me when a trick told me it was my looks and not

my body that had gotten them interested.

Shawn reddened again.

“Did you have a Coach Brennermyer?” I asked.

Shawn smiled, then nodded slowly. “He was my art

teacher, though. Mr. Finsecker. He was also the track coach,

and I became his assistant for the chance….”

“To see him naked? Or was it the team?”

Shawn hid his face behind his hands. “I can’t believe I’m

talking to you about this.”

“Sweetie, you’re thirty-two, not fourteen,” I said. The

kid—no, the young man, I reminded myself—was charming,

no doubt about it. His man, whoever he was, was lucky.

Shawn peeked from between his fingers. “I guess I am

naïve,” he said. “The thing is, I didn’t know I was gay. I didn’t

know why I wanted to see guys naked. In retrospect, it

boggles my mind that I didn't know. How could I have not

known? I hung out as long as I could in locker rooms and…

Oh God!” Shawn closed his fingers over his face again. “I

can’t believe I just admitted that!”

“You’ve never told anybody that? What about the guys

you’ve had sex with? Or your boyfriends…?”

“You’re a stranger,” Shawn said and all but giggled.

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I smiled once more. I hadn’t stopped smiling around this

guy. He was just that charming. “You’re a sweetheart. Your

man is lucky to have you.”

Shawn dropped his hands and revealed a shy smile.

“Thanks.”

I took a big swallow of my coffee, and then gave Shawn

a level look. “You can’t really afford that bed, can you?”

Shawn looked down at the table, and then slowly back

into my eyes. “I’m going to, if you let me. I got some money

out of my savings to start. My boss said I can have all the

overtime I want. I figure if I work ten to twenty hours a week

extra, I can do it.”

I whistled. “That’s a lot of hours.”

Shawn shrugged.

“But then I’ve worked that many hours on many a week,

and I’m salary,” I admitted. Of course I also earned a

percentage and got some very nice bonuses. “You must really

love this guy.”

Shawn smiled, and it was a sweet smile. He was this

mix between man and boy, and that smile was all boy.

Happy joyous boy. “I do. He’s perfect. He’s everything I ever

dreamed of and more. He holds doors open for me, pulls out

my seat at a restaurant!” Shawn got a faraway look on his

face. “He calls me ‘Baby’,” he said, and then he sighed.

Shawn looked up at me. “He doesn’t have as much time for

me as I wish he did. But that’ll be easier when I’m working

more. I won’t notice as much.”

The guy didn’t have enough time for him? Shit, if Shawn

were mine, I’d never let him out of my sight, despite the fact

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Al Snug [12]

that he was probably as vanilla as hell in bed. Häagen-Dazs

vanilla bean maybe, but vanilla nevertheless.

But wasn’t I tired of vanilla? Isn’t that why Steve

appealed so much?

“And if he likes the bed as much as I think he does,”

Shawn continued, “it’s all he talks about—then maybe I’ll be

sleeping in it on a more permanent basis. If he asks me to

move in with him, I’ll be able to see him as much as I want.”

Whoa, I thought. Shawn had it bad. I remembered

feeling that way. How much I’d longed for love. Someone to

call my own, to come home to each night, to wake up with

each morning. But years of disastrous relationships had

made me stop believing it was even possible. I’d exchanged

dreams of love for a lustful reality of hot sex.

Shit. I’d come here to lay out to this kid that I was going

to buy the bed. Period. But now? It was confusing. I looked

into his face, shining with an innocence I’d lost years ago,

and heard Shawn’s passion, and I was tempted to just let

him have it. Yet for some reason, I was also feeling like I

should be responsible and talk the kid—man—out of it. Not

so that I could get it for Steve, but because I knew that

trying to pay for that ancient thing was going to put a

ridiculous financial strain on Shawn. He was a big boy; he

was a grown man and could make his own decisions.

However, I found a strange protectiveness rising in my chest.

What to do?

Maybe find out just how much Shawn really did want

the damned thing?

And that led me to an idea.

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“I’ve got a thought,” I said. “Let’s you and me go back to

Derringer’s and buy the bed together, fifty-fifty. Then we’ll

have a little contest.”

“What do you mean?” Shawn asked. “Fifty-fifty? What

kind of contest?”

“Well, we buy the bed, and that way it isn’t going

anywhere. We don’t have to worry about someone else going

in there for a Christmas present.”

Shawn nodded warily. “Ah, okay…. And the contest?”

“We figure out a series of little challenges and see which

of us wins them. In the end, whoever has the most wins, gets

the bed.”

“Like some kind of reality show or something?” Shawn

asked, eyebrows raised.

I laughed. “Yeah. Except we won’t be on TV.”

Shawn gave a half-shrug. “Weeeellll….”

“You can even figure out the first challenge,” I said.

“This is really weird,” Shawn said.

“Yeah, maybe. But it’s better than me telling you that I

am going to get that bed.”

“Why do you want it so damned bad?” Shawn asked,

exasperated.

“Because I do,” I told him. Like he was going to

understand I was doing it for the sex. He’d get all romantic

and tell me I could get sex anywhere. And I could. But Steve

was special. It might not be love; I’d given up on that before

I’d given up on the idea of finding a wild sex partner. And

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Steve was all that and more, plus he didn’t charge. Why

should Shawn’s romantic reasons outweigh my sexual

needs?

“And you usually get what you want?”

I nodded. “I do,” I confessed. “If you win our little

contest, I let you pay for the rest of the bed, and you take it

home. If I win, I pay you back what you put into it, and I get

the bed.”

Shawn didn’t say anything for a minute, just stared at

me. Finally, “Fine,” he said.

“What’s your sweetie’s name?” I asked.

Shawn shook his head. “You know, let’s leave their

names out of it. It makes it too personal. I don’t want to start

feeling guilty when I whip your ass at this.”

He was joking, but I could also see the sincerity in those

pretty eyes of his.

“Fair enough,” I replied. “So, what is the first

challenge?”

“The Male Box. Tonight. They’re having this charity

thing. You sell tickets for people to get their pictures taken

with Santa. Except he’s some leatherman. I volunteered to go

through the crowd and get people to buy tickets. So you be

there too. Whichever one of us sells the most, wins the first

round.”

Charity, I thought. Fair enough. I only hoped Shawn was

as good as he seemed to think he was, because this was

right up my alley. I’d raised enough money through the

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years. Shawn may have bitten off more than he could chew.

“You got it,” I said.

THE MALE BOX was packed, music boomed from hidden

speakers, and there were men everywhere. I had met Shawn

at the main bar and insisted on buying him a drink. I knew

he was going to buy himself the cheapest thing he could, and

if he was going to do that, I figured he might as well start the

evening with something good. Get a little buzz on, and he

wouldn’t care that the cheaper alcohol didn’t taste as good.

So I told the bartender to put Appleton Estate in his

coke, and I asked for Lagavulin. It surprised me that they

had it and impressed me as well. The Male Box was more

upscale than I would have imagined. Kansas City had come

a long way in the last decade, but it would never be New

York. It was nice to see a gay bar with good taste. Most

queens don’t know a ten-year-old, single malt from Black

Cat. I was usually lucky to get Laphroaig, which was another

favorite of mine.

Then Shawn took me to this bear of a man who was in

town from Maine and who was in charge of the event. We

were each given ten tickets and told that we could come back

and get more if we needed them. I planned on needing them.

“And there is no buying the tickets yourself, Mr.

Moneybags,” Shawn said.

“What makes you think I would do such a thing?” I

asked, giving Shawn my best innocent look and wondering

how he’d known exactly what I’d been thinking of doing.

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Shawn just laughed and vanished in the crowd.

I finished my whisky and went back to the bartender for

another. Looking around the room, I enjoyed my drink

leisurely, taking my time. A Lagavulin ten was not to be

rushed.

Neither was making money.

I watched the crowd, watched what people were buying,

and then made my move.

The gentleman I approached looked to be at least sixty-

five. There was a look to him that said old money, and there

was no ring on his finger. Two young men sat on either side

of him and were giggling up a storm. The gentleman had a

short glass with a small amount of a dark liquid. Scotch?

Whisky? I wondered. I walked up and introduced myself and

asked what he was drinking.

The gentleman looked up and smiled. “Whisky,” he said.

“You?”

“Lagavulin,” I replied, and the older man smiled even

wider.

“Excellent.”

“May I get you one?” I asked.

“Indeed you may!”

A few moments later, I had sold my tickets and the boys

were off getting their picture taken. Not only that, but the

gentleman and I had exchanged business cards as well. The

evening was bearing all kinds of possible results already.

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Just as I went to look for Shawn, he appeared at my

side. “I hope you’re selling tickets ’cause I’ve sold mine and

am going for more.”

“How fortuitous,” I said. “I’m ready as well.” And why

was it that the look that passed over Shawn’s face brought

me no pleasure? I’m not an asshole, like some people—

especially at the office—liked to think I am, but I did take

pleasure in beating the other man in business. Yet the

almost stricken look that had passed over Shawn’s face

didn’t give me the little charge I usually got in such a

situation.

That’s because this isn’t big business, some damned

inner voice told me, and I just gave it an inner shrug. Yes, it

is, I told myself, and I followed Shawn back for more tickets.

“Maybe we shouldn’t talk again until this Santa thing is

over?” I asked. If I got to feeling guilty, it might hinder my

ability to go in for the kill. The idea of Steve, tied to that

antique bed, was calling after all.

“Yeah,” Shawn nodded. “Sure.”

There was a brief moment of excitement when this

bearish-looking guy who was about to get his picture taken

got all pissed off when he didn’t get to sit in the leatherman’s

lap but instead had to pose with some big heavy guy who

actually looked like Santa. Besides that, the evening went

pretty uneventfully.

As it turned out, I won the first round by only six

tickets.

Again, for some reason it didn’t feel so good.

B.G. Thomas

Al Snug [18]

THE RADIANT CUP; the next day. It was Sunday and neither

of us had to work, not even with Shawn needing the

overtime.

“The place I work isn’t open on Sundays,” Shawn

explained over his coffee. “Whoa!” he said.

“What?” I asked.

“This coffee! It’s really good.”

I smiled. I couldn’t help it. Aldi’s indeed. “It’s Peruvian,”

I explained. “They roast it here themselves, probably within

the last couple of days. It was ground today, right before

they brewed it.”

“Shit,” he said. “Who would have thought there was

such a difference?”

“Vive la différence?” I asked.

Shawn smiled that smile of his and nodded. “Touché,”