Sugaring Ben

Chapter 2: Meeting Ben Cutter-1

Chapter 2: Meeting Ben Cutter

I couldn’t understand why I was nervous concerning the brunch date with Ben Cutter. Part of me wanted to back out of the event, fearing the celebrity because of his sugary greatness. I mean, come on, he had cookbooks with his name on their tasty-looking covers, a chain of bakeware simply called Cutter, and other money-making endeavors that reeked of power and fame: aprons, dish towels, dishes, and candles. Honestly, I was no one compared to him, a weatherman who everyone in the community hated because I sometimes called the weather wrong. Go figure.

Unfortunately, I had to represent Kat Shaw and attend the brunch. Leaving Ben at a table by himself at Estuary and wondering if he were being stood up by his fellow guests seemed rude. I couldn’t do that to him or to Kat. Therefore, I finished dressing, listened to my nervous stomach rock and roll, and left the saltbox.

To be frank, meeting Ben Cutter wasn’t such a bad thing to happen in my life. Many gay guys would have been jealous of me, and women would have clawed at the opportunity to have brunch with the famous millionaire. According to local newspaper articles about the man, and brief television interviews with him, he was easy to get along with, an exceptional conversationalist, and polite. Most women described him as adorable with his red hair and melting green eyes, and those men who were attracted to him, both gay and straight, thought him Herculean and on the cute side.

While driving east to Estuary, sitting behind the wheel of my Fusion—yes, I could have afforded a vehicle that was grander and flashy, but I felt responsible to save the planet and its wasted gas—I recalled the previous year and the Men of Radar Calendar, a collection of beefy and sexy semi-naked Radar men that raised money for the AIR Foundation, Autism in Radar. At thirty-four, Ben Cutter just happened to be Mr. July and lounged on a lime green inflatable raft in his pool. He sported sunglasses and a fruity-colored drink with too much fruit. His square-cut trunks clung to his middle and thighs, and shined a bright yellow. The man’s grin spread across his handsome face, showcasing his pearly whites. Sunbeams reflected off his freckled cheeks and sloped nose. Now he was thirty-five, even more appealing and quite handsome. A legend in our small but wealthy community along the lake.

What interested me the most about Mr. July just happened to be his chest: ripples of muscles, ginger-colored hair, and pink n*****s. His V-shaped massive chest shined in the summer sun, dappled with just a teaspoon of sweat, and left me uncomfortable and hard every time I looked at its perfection.