Sugaring Ben

Chapter 1: Frazzled-3

Kat insisted I go to brunch. She drove to my abode in her shiny red Mercedes, forced me to dress, and caused me to roll my eyes.

I told her, “You’re ridiculous. There’s nothing normal about you.”

“People have called me pushy, but never ridiculous.” She passed me a cable knit sweater. “Put this on. Ben will like it.”

Kat was one of those women who liked her hair big and bottled blond, her nails long, and dressy. Robust in size and broad-shouldered, she could have been considered a man in drag. Far from beautiful, but not struck with an ugly stick, I adored her nonetheless, relishing her company and prolonged friendship for the last decade.

One could not have considered me a model by any means. My hair was an inky black, I stood at six-foot and weighed one hundred and seventy pounds, and my jaw was fairly cut. Playgirl was not calling me for a cyber centerfold. Nor were advertising agents because my pretty boy days were long over. Mediocre came to mind regarding my appearance.

I slipped the sweater on, over a pec-clenching T-shirt.

Kat’s phone chirped inside her purse, which sat on the edge of my queen-sized bed. She looked at me in the sweater and turned her view to her purse. “It’s the dentist. I should get this.”

I approved of her relationship with Dr. Brent and considered him lovely the way he treated Kat. Often, he had given her flowers, chocolates, afternoons at the Finest Spa for generous backrubs, and jewelry. He also took Kat on weekend trips to the Falls, New York City, and Chicago. Truth told, if Dr. Brent were gay, I would have dated him myself. Although a liberal and believing in gay rights, to put it rather bluntly, Dr. Brent didn’t do d**k. Too bad for me.

Kat lost color in her face as she spoke to the doctor. A tear surfaced at the bottom of her right eye and fell down and over a cheek. She shook her head and said, “I’ll be there as fast as I can. Not to worry. We will both get through this together.” She then told her goodbyes to her boyfriend of two years, ended the call, and said to me, “Binky fell out of the second floor window, pushed through the screen, and broke one of his legs.”

Binky just happened to be Dr. Brent’s oversized orange tabby with bright green eyes and a bad temper, his loving pet for the last seven years, and his longest relationship.

Somewhat in a panic, still shaking her head, holding her tears back, she said, “I have to meet him at the Rosdel Animal Clinic. Dr. Michaelson is waiting for us.”

“What about brunch with Ben Cutter?” Sometimes I only thought of myself; shame on me.

Making her brisk exit from the bedroom, she called over her right shoulder, “Do us proud and meet the pastry chef. Feel free to tell him of my emergency. Have a good time. I will be sure to call you later today.”

“But…” I craved a strong argument with her, believing her idea preposterous.

Before I realized it, she was gone, vanished from the saltbox, leaving me alone, unsure of what just had occurred between us, and frazzled.