Little Squirrels Can Climb Tall Trees

Published by

Dreamspinner Press

5032 Capital Circle SW
Ste 2, PMB# 279
Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886

USA

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Little Squirrels Can Climb Tall Trees
Copyright © 2012 by Michael Murphy

Cover Art by Anne Cain
[email protected]

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Ste 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA.
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

ISBN: 978-1-61372-617-4

Printed in the United States of America

First Edition

July 2012

eBook edition available

eBook ISBN: 978-1-61372-618-1

For Danny

Y
EARS
ago I sat in a theater in New York City and heard Betty Buckley sing about Norma Desmond’s ability to convey an entire story with a brief look:

“With one look, I can break your heart

With one look, I play every part

I can make your sad heart sing

With one look you’ll know all you need to know.”

I thought the music in Andrew Lloyd Webber’s
Sunset Boulevard
was nice, but tell an entire story with just one look? No way.

The genesis of this story can be traced to a very specific moment in time that disproved my doubts about telling a story with one look. One Sunday afternoon I happened to spot a guy standing by himself in a crowded room. With one ten-second glance at this guy, this story was born. With one look I had a story unfold in my head like a dried sponge that had been rehydrated, suddenly filling out and expanding one hundred fold.

The guy I spotted ever so briefly was tall—very tall. I’m guessing that he was easily six foot six inches tall. Later I managed to get close enough to him to be able to determine that my head came up to his armpit (and I’m pretty average in height). This was a social event—a party—so I spoke to the guy. To speak with him I had to lean my head back to look up at his face, that face way up there.

The tall guy was very nice, very smart, and not necessarily comfortable in the social setting. My mind was suddenly filling with thoughts about what it must have been like for him to grow up and live so far above everyone else. In that crowd of one hundred-plus people, he was a minority of one, even though he was a white heterosexual guy in a predominantly white, male, heterosexual crowd.

So I went home and started writing. This story was expanding in my mind so rapidly that I couldn’t seem to write fast enough to get it all on paper (sounds better than “on screen”). My spouse thought I was mad at him. I tried my best to explain that an idea had grabbed hold of me, that a scenario was grappling with me, and that characters were talking in my head and I needed to write it all down. He said he understood, but I secretly think he was sure I was nuts.

Nuts. Tall guy. Tall like a tree. Squirrels climb trees and like nuts. Okay.

—Michael Murphy

“O
W
!”

“Damn!”

I don’t know which of us was more surprised. From the look on his face, the other guy was just as unsure as I was.

It was a busy Sunday afternoon at the gym. Somehow—don’t ask me how—as I had started to get up from my weight bench, I hadn’t been paying attention and had banged my head into another guy’s just as he was doing the same thing from the bench right next to mine. Talk about timing!

We each rubbed our sore heads for a second, unsure who was at fault. And then the guy burst out laughing.

We’d never met before bumping into one another—literally—in the gym that afternoon. Some guys, when they get into the exercise zone, wouldn’t respond well in such a situation, but this guy laughed, and I guess it really
was
funny. His laugh was infectious and made me laugh as well, something I hadn’t done much of lately.

When he stood—this time without running into my head—and apologized, I noticed that the man was tall. Really tall. I mean
really
tall. Remarkably tall. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t Jolly Green Giant tall, but still he was so tall that to stand and look at his face, I had to lean my head back a little bit. And I’m not short. At five feet five inches tall, I’m basically average height. My guess is the guy was about six four or six five, maybe even six six. Still, that was a foot taller than I was, so I was looking up to talk to the guy, but it seemed to be worth the effort.

Our mutual apologies finished, we each continued on our way. I thought nothing more of it at the time since I was in my own version of the personal workout zone. I noticed the guy was very attractive but didn’t really give it much thought. I was no dog in terms of looks, but I was not in his league. Not even close.

So imagine my surprise when, after my workout, I was in the locker room changing, minding my own business (okay, okay, I know, but it really was true this time), and Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome walked in and opened the locker
right next to mine.
I don’t remember now who said what first, but we got into one of the most natural, comfortable discussions two strangers can have in the gym locker room. I think he said something about the odds of having lockers right next to each other and having bumped into one another on the floor of the gym. That topic could only go so far—in other words, not very—so he switched to another topic. TVs throughout the gym had all been tuned to CNN so everyone could watch the president address the nation on the latest economic crisis. Seemed like they happened every week or so lately. I had listened, as apparently had my tall locker-mate.

This tall guy standing next to me clearly knew his current events. He made some observations, asked me some questions, and dropped in some facts about the issue the president discussed that were
so far
beyond what any of the talking heads had said after the speech that it was obvious he really knew his stuff or was one damned good liar. I came down on the side of his being really smart and well informed.

And his smile. Oh, dear God! That smile. His face—way up there—was so animated. Some guys work hard to maintain a mask of utter neutrality, isolation, almost boredom when in public. There was something about men that just made us so scared about revealing anything to anyone we didn’t know—and even then, not so much.

But not this guy. No. Absolutely not this guy. This guy wore no mask, unless you called delight a mask. As he talked, his entire face was part of the conversation. And he just exuded energy. It was positively infectious. The guy was the master of facial expressions. And have I mentioned his smile? Oh, that smile!

I tried my very best to remain focused on the conversation even though I was distracted by his smile and his friendliness. He was just adorably cute—no, handsome. No, cute worked. Can you be cute and handsome at the same time? Clearly, since this guy was!

When he pulled his shirt off over his head, I took a quick second to admire his physique. Nice. Tall and lean, not willowy but also not just skin and bones—no, absolutely not. He seemed to carry the perfect amount of weight for his frame. I know, that sounds stupid, but it just seemed to fit him perfectly. He wasn’t overweight, nor was he underweight. He wasn’t pumped up beyond belief. He wasn’t a steroid-hyped muscle drone. He was just… well,
right
.

His torso was smooth, hairless, and absolutely glistening with a light layer of sweat.
Okay, focus. That’s right. Eyes off those nipples. Those perky, taut nipples. No! Focus! Look at his face! Pay attention! Oh, that face. Okay. Not working. He’s talking. Must pay attention to what the man is saying. Must pay attention!

Picture a car wreck on the freeway, dude
, I told myself—anything to keep from making an utter fool of myself in front of this friendly stranger. I succeeded in keeping focused on the proper parts as we conversed, and I actually managed to make a couple of points that made him laugh as we talked.

He used his T-shirt to wipe away some of the sweat on his torso and from under his arms before tossing it into his locker. I wanted to take that T-shirt, shove my nose into it, and bask in the scent of his heady masculine aroma. If I could, I would have shoved the shirt into my bag and taken it home to keep by my bedside for when I jerked off that night.

It got a bit easier when he sat on the bench and untied his shoes to remove them and his socks.
Wow, big feet
, I thought to myself. In retrospect, I should have seen it coming. I really should have. It was stupid that I didn’t, but I was a bit off my game. I’ll admit it.

Seemingly without a second thought, my new tall friend loosened the tie on his long, loose, baggy workout shorts. The shorts dropped from his body and crumpled to the floor at his feet. Without my consent, my eyes dropped to all of the new flesh that was revealed. His workout shorts had gone nearly to his knees, and since his legs were long…. Well, you can figure it out. There was suddenly a lot more flesh available for my viewing pleasure. His legs had a light coating of brown hair that added just the perfect note of masculinity. Oh, I was losing it, big time.

Focus!
I scolded myself, once again picturing mangled bodies lying on the freeway after a twelve-car pileup. Flames shooting into the sky. Tanker trucks exploding. Mayhem everywhere. Broken glass. Blood. Guts. Gore. Okay. It was working. I could do this.
Oh, no!
the voice in my head pleaded. The guy turned to grab something out of his locker, revealing one of the most luscious pieces of man ass I had ever laid eyes on in my entire life.

“Oh, mama!” I actually said softly. And the way his jock strap seemed to hold that butt just about had me panting like a dog in heat. I think I really did whimper a little at that point, but at least he didn’t seem to hear me.

Okay. I was gonna do this.
Deep breath. Chant something stupid. Breathe.
Oh, fuck!

Any hope I had of remaining upright and responsible—an adult—disintegrated before my very eyes when the guy casually reached down, gripped the two sides of his jock strap, and peeled the stretchy cloth from his body. And when he did, the dick that popped out caught my gaze and wouldn’t let go. It held me more tightly than someone could have grabbed me with their hands.