The Gift of the Gay Guy-2
846 Words
Derrick winked at his naked, grinning reflection in the bathroom mirror. Darn right you got lucky, he told himself. For the s*x had been nothing short of fantastic. Lee turned out to be the kind of skinny-boy lover that Derrick had always hoped, but never actually expected, to find. The kind that saw the extra forty pounds of middle as a bonus and not an embarrassment. The kind that actually used his love handles as love handles. The kind that nibbled on the cushion of his belly fat and called him Meat Ball. Best of all, the kind that went insane over a nice big ass because he had a nice big c**k and leapt at the opportunity to unfurl it and use it to its full potential. While new and potent aphrodisiac properties of ice cream had been discovered, the pizzas had gone cold atop the flimsy chest of drawers; although ESPN droned on in the background, not even the Play of the Week rivaled the level of athleticism that Lee brought to bear on the unexpectedly resilient hotel bed. Derrick surprised himself and delighted his top with the number and variety of positions he’d worked himself into, but his hockey-jock days were farther behind him than he sometimes cared to admit, and when, after ninety minutes of uninterrupted union, Lee collapsed in celebratory spasms across his back, Derrick excused himself as much to catch his breath as to make use of the porcelain facilities.
Shortly, refreshed and newly available for further exploration, he gave the curvy Scandinavian playground in the mirror a final wink of approval, sucked his gut in reflexively, and walked out of the bathroom. Right in on Lee looting his wallet.
Lee stammered and stuttered and clearly racked his brain for something un-guilty-sounding to say, but hunching furtively over the pile of Derrick’s clothes on the chair in the corner of the room with Derrick’s wallet in one hand and a wad of cash—albeit a small one—in the other, he had few innocent explanations available to him.
Not that that stopped Derrick from asking, “What are you doing?”
“Um…” A long pause ensued, that Lee eventually opted not to fill.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought you were doing.”
“It’s just…”
“God, please don’t try and justify it,” Derrick counseled. “So what, you’re some kind of hustler? I hope there’s enough there to cover it,” he spat. “Is eating ice cream out of your ass extra? You need me to write you a check for the difference?”
“Dude, please. It’s not like that,” Lee said. “I mean, I know this looks bad…”
“It doesn’t look great,” Derrick confirmed. “'Cuz it kind of looks like you’re robbing me.”
“More like ‘borrowing’ from you.”
“Ah, I see. Because you’re planning on paying me back when exactly?”
“It’s just…look, I wasn’t planning on getting stuck here, right? I was just gonna go to my brother’s house, see if he could help me out. I’m not trying to rob anybody, but I got nothing.”
“You got a lot of nerve,” Derrick pointed out.
“I’m desperate, is all,” Lee whined.
“Obviously,” Derrick sneered. “Well, I’m not,” he went on. “You think you need that money bad enough to take it, you must need it a lot more than I do. So why don’t you take it and get the f**k out of here?”
“Wait,” Lee said, first looking down at the length of his own nakedness, and then across the room at the width of Derrick’s. “Get out? You don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
“'Cuz I was sort of looking forward to going again,” Lee said with a tongue-wagging leer.
“Yeah, I sort of was, too,” Derrick admitted. “But unless you’re looking forward to me calling the cops, you want to go.”
Lee set down Derrick’s wallet—without setting down Derrick’s money—and bent to gather up his clothes. He’d barely stepped into his jeans when Derrick opened the door. “Get out.”
“My boots…”
“I’ll throw 'em out into the hall if I find them,” Derrick said.
“It’s just…”
“Maybe you can get a new pair with some of my money,” Derrick suggested. “I’m about to slam this door really hard, and you are probably gonna want to be all the way through it before that happens.”
“If I said I was sorry…?”
“I’d probably slug you.”
Message received, Lee scampered for the door, barefoot and shirtless with an armload of clothes. Derrick swung it closed behind him, but shut it with a quiet click. By the time he set Lee’s huge boots out in the hall—where did a guy even find shoes that big?—he was almost disappointed to see that he had gone.
Well, this sucks, he thought, plopping onto the corner of the bed nearest the cold, cardboard pizzas. Not because he needed to fall in love with some freakishly proportioned twink he picked up in the lobby of a roadside motel, obviously—although Lee had seemed funny and sweet, and he’d certainly known how to rock that goofball body. But this was the first time, finally, he’d had any kind of fun with another guy since Peter died, and that was coming up on three years ago. And how had it even turned out? Had he been hustled? Was Lee a prostitute? A thief? Or just a broke-ass opportunist, which Lee, at least, seemed to think was better? Derrick resented having to second-guess such a spectacular s****l escapade, and resented being reduced to eating room temperature Mama Celeste; frankly, if the memory of his night with Lee was going to be thus sullied, he would have rather just eaten the damn pizza while it was hot and jacked himself off.
- Writer
