showing off just now. Especially after I had just peeled back every layer of my body and soul for Trevor.
Tap, tap, tap. Trevor shifted and then snored and I shooed my hand toward the window. “Turn away,” I said in a croaky half whisper, half loud voice, trying to keep from waking Trevor but succeeding only in sounding stupid.
Miraculously, the man figured out exactly what I wanted and turned around, the back of his closely cropped hair showing up in stark relief even if I hadn’t really caught a good look at him in the front. Wiggling into my jeans and my blouse, I figured what the hell , and skipped the underwear. I didn’t need a bra to tell some guy to go away.
I tiptoed over to the door and opened it. Creak it went. Damn! I didn’t oil the hinges, I didn’t do anything to the outside of this pile of wood. I didn’t want to tip anybody off to my little place. As I opened the door and light shone in I gasped, the sound abrupt and halting, even coming out of my own lungs.
There, before me, stood the most perfect man I’d ever seen in my entire life. I don’t mean perfect like Trevor, who was, objectively speaking, the most perfect man. I mean physically perfect, like God’s hand reached out of the sky and custom sculpted the face, the body, the look, every bit of it. It was as if whatever it had taken to make this ideal human being had involved sucking all of the good out of the men in this part of north-central Ohio, an uneven distribution of exceptional quality that had been poured into this specimen, making every other man look like a gremlin. Fat gremlins, around here.
“Uh…uh…I’’m – ” I stuttered. “Um…yes?” I said, my mouth going dry, my throat clicking as I swallowed. I had just found the most exceptional man last night, standing naked by the side of the road and he’d turned out to be one of my biggest music crushes. And yet, every part of my loins – once again – were on fire for this Greek god.
“Is Trevor here?” he asked.
I could have watched this man’s face move, the muscles twitching and turning, bending and dancing in perfect harmony with the words that came out of those luscious, perfect, symmetrical lips and been happy in that kind of stupor forever, as if his features were a kind of meth that didn’t cost anything but your dignity. Like a child who caught Santa, I gawked, dumbfounded and shocked by the implications of finding out what I’d thought had been imaginary was real.
“Excuse me,” the man said slowly, as if I were a bit slow. Which, right then, I was. “Excuse me, but I’m looking for Trevor Connor.”
He looked around me, craning his head, and then stepped back as if self correcting, too polite to barge in. No barger was he. This wasn’t some alpha male-wannabe who came in all cocky. Instead, it was like looking at a Calvin Klein model or one of those breathtaking men in Vogue you knew was gay – gayer than gay.
Oh, please don’t let this one be gay , I thought.
Oh, for God’s sake Darla , another voice popped in. You don’t need to be thinking about what this guy does with his dick when you’ve got your own dick in the bed behind you.
Down, girl.
“Uh…yeah. Yeah,” I stammered. “Trevor’s right here.”
I pulled the door open, the creak sound making Trevor groan and then shove a pillow over his head to block out the light. My wits came back and I sighed heavily, enjoying searching this man’s face as I said, “Joe! You must be Joe.”
His features broadened, stretching with relief. I wanted to lick him all over and make all his worries go away. Stop it, I slapped myself on the inside. Trevor, Trevor, Trevor, Trevor, Trevor.
“Oh, thank God he’s here,” Joe said. “Because I went to 26 Old Farm Road which is here,” he pointed two feet away at the trailer, “and once I got to the front door…” He looked down at his shoe as if dismayed. The bottom of his pants was torn and his shoe, which had been a nice white
Tap, tap, tap. Trevor shifted and then snored and I shooed my hand toward the window. “Turn away,” I said in a croaky half whisper, half loud voice, trying to keep from waking Trevor but succeeding only in sounding stupid.
Miraculously, the man figured out exactly what I wanted and turned around, the back of his closely cropped hair showing up in stark relief even if I hadn’t really caught a good look at him in the front. Wiggling into my jeans and my blouse, I figured what the hell , and skipped the underwear. I didn’t need a bra to tell some guy to go away.
I tiptoed over to the door and opened it. Creak it went. Damn! I didn’t oil the hinges, I didn’t do anything to the outside of this pile of wood. I didn’t want to tip anybody off to my little place. As I opened the door and light shone in I gasped, the sound abrupt and halting, even coming out of my own lungs.
There, before me, stood the most perfect man I’d ever seen in my entire life. I don’t mean perfect like Trevor, who was, objectively speaking, the most perfect man. I mean physically perfect, like God’s hand reached out of the sky and custom sculpted the face, the body, the look, every bit of it. It was as if whatever it had taken to make this ideal human being had involved sucking all of the good out of the men in this part of north-central Ohio, an uneven distribution of exceptional quality that had been poured into this specimen, making every other man look like a gremlin. Fat gremlins, around here.
“Uh…uh…I’’m – ” I stuttered. “Um…yes?” I said, my mouth going dry, my throat clicking as I swallowed. I had just found the most exceptional man last night, standing naked by the side of the road and he’d turned out to be one of my biggest music crushes. And yet, every part of my loins – once again – were on fire for this Greek god.
“Is Trevor here?” he asked.
I could have watched this man’s face move, the muscles twitching and turning, bending and dancing in perfect harmony with the words that came out of those luscious, perfect, symmetrical lips and been happy in that kind of stupor forever, as if his features were a kind of meth that didn’t cost anything but your dignity. Like a child who caught Santa, I gawked, dumbfounded and shocked by the implications of finding out what I’d thought had been imaginary was real.
“Excuse me,” the man said slowly, as if I were a bit slow. Which, right then, I was. “Excuse me, but I’m looking for Trevor Connor.”
He looked around me, craning his head, and then stepped back as if self correcting, too polite to barge in. No barger was he. This wasn’t some alpha male-wannabe who came in all cocky. Instead, it was like looking at a Calvin Klein model or one of those breathtaking men in Vogue you knew was gay – gayer than gay.
Oh, please don’t let this one be gay , I thought.
Oh, for God’s sake Darla , another voice popped in. You don’t need to be thinking about what this guy does with his dick when you’ve got your own dick in the bed behind you.
Down, girl.
“Uh…yeah. Yeah,” I stammered. “Trevor’s right here.”
I pulled the door open, the creak sound making Trevor groan and then shove a pillow over his head to block out the light. My wits came back and I sighed heavily, enjoying searching this man’s face as I said, “Joe! You must be Joe.”
His features broadened, stretching with relief. I wanted to lick him all over and make all his worries go away. Stop it, I slapped myself on the inside. Trevor, Trevor, Trevor, Trevor, Trevor.
“Oh, thank God he’s here,” Joe said. “Because I went to 26 Old Farm Road which is here,” he pointed two feet away at the trailer, “and once I got to the front door…” He looked down at his shoe as if dismayed. The bottom of his pants was torn and his shoe, which had been a nice white
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