Wow. I’m stiff as a stick. What’s that all about? Sitting here in Walley-World’s parking lot, pre-blizzard, with a raging hard-on.
He pressed the callback button on his phone.
7
When Ralph came out of Hunan Manor, two large paper sacks of warm food in his hands, the flurries were steady. He went around to the passenger side of the Denali, opened the door, and set the sacks carefully in the seat, using the seatbelt to hold them in place.
Back in the driver’s seat, he started the engine and checked his phone. No calls.
Is he avoiding me?
He looked out his window into the darkening sky. The flecks were growing larger.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.
He steered the truck out of the restaurant parking lot and to the nearest traffic light. When the light changed from red to green, he went left. He could see where the snow was lightly dusting the meridian now.
He thought about Bo, his thick forearms, swelling at the biceps, and disappearing into that tight, thinning t-shirt.
Ralph rolled slowly up to another traffic light and also back to that moment preceding his and Bo’s kiss—his view from behind—the mounds of those strong shoulders curving into the slope of his thick neck and the dark, dusty hair there.
He felt himself stir below, sitting there at the traffic light. Again feeling that irresistible gravitational pull as he drifted closer to Bo who was unaware.
The truck moved forward similarly when the light changed, also on autopilot.
Ralph’s mind was multi-tasking, zoning to the road and the swirling flurries, but also adrift in the past, seeing that silhouette of Bo from behind—same memory, but different.
He reaches out and places his hand on that strong shoulder. Bo turns slowly, his eyes rolling up to meet Ralph’s, receptive to the advance with visible longing. His large hands taking Ralph by the scruffy jaw, pulling their faces, their mouths, their bodies together.
Ralph tries to speak, but Bo prevents it with his kiss, penetrating and deep, the muzzle of his beard engulfing Ralph’s mouth, warm, wet, and welcome. His hands falling low, fumbling with Ralph’s belt buckle, while Ralph snakes his own around, cupping that denim-clad ass, squeezing what his fingers could barely contain.
A car horn blared. Ralph looked up. He was at another light and it had changed from red to green.
Whoa,he thought. You need to pay attention.
Whatever this hybrid memory-fantasy thing was, it was not safe to drive this way.
It’s more than that.And you know it.
He did. He just didn’t want to admit it to himself. He wanted Bo, always had... because Bo was unattainable. Shirley had been onto something, but it wasn’t solely to do with youth. The reason Ralph was perpetually single was that he was drawn to men he couldn’t have. That was the attraction, and a miserable one at that—risking your happiness for the thrill of something forever unfulfilled.
“Shit,” Ralph said aloud. “Oh, man.”
And similar to his obsession with a newly available property, he couldn’t shake the epiphany. It was there now—out in the open for him to see, no avoiding it. He loved bohemian youths like Alton—free-spirited, sampling from the smorgasbord of life. And there had also been George Patras. He’d always longed for George, who had been married to his good friend, David. Again—unattainable.
And now, here he was full-circle... rushing to Bo, in a snowstorm, no less. Another man partnered and beyond his reach. The more he thought about it, the more it sickened him. This behavior, this dangerous desire would leave him empty in the long haul.
The Denali rolled up to the junction of Columbia Pike, Highway 29.
The smell of garlic and soy permeated the Denali’s cab.
“Shit,” Ralph said again.
He turned right, south, and began heading home.
* * *
He considered calling Bo, but since his last call had gone unanswered, he decided it could wait. He would just take this insane amount of Chinese food and booze and head home. He would celebrate the offer alone. To hell with it.
