Shy by John Inman Page B

long talk about training your dog.”
    “If you insist,” I said, this time with considerable doubt in my voice. I had tried to train Pedro before. It was a lot like teaching a goldfish to tap dance. In other words—good luck.
    Frank beetled his brows. “I do insist.”
    And we both gazed down at Pedro, who was looking guilty as hell for some reason.
    “Too late,” I said.
    “Crap,” Frank groaned.
    “Yep,” I said. “That’s what that look means. Crap. Help me find it, will you? Usually if we follow our noses—”
    Frank waggled an admonitory finger in Pedro’s face. “Bad dog! Bad dog!”
    Pedro yawned and dragged his ass around in a circle on the carpet. Either he was bored and his hemorrhoids were itching, or he was bored and making a statement. I figured it was the latter.
    Thus our first day as a family began.

Chapter 7

     
    I T ’ S FUNNY how quickly a person’s life can change.
    Frank and I slid without a hitch into the new dynamics of our exploding relationship. It was clear from the get-go that we profoundly liked each other. But there was love there too. A lot of it. And our love grew stronger with every passing day. But the liking was even more important. Frank and I both agreed on that. It was the liking that gave our relationship a solid base, for with liking came a host of secondary goodies. Respect for each other. An honest desire to please. The willingness to give up a bit of what one wants so that the other person can have a say in what he wants. To be able to equally share in the choices we made, choices that would affect us both, either individually or as a unit.
    The sexual draw we felt for each other was nothing short of cataclysmic. I mean cataclysmic in a good way. A simple look could pass between us, and we were both immediately aroused. The hunger I felt for Frank was astonishing. At the oddest times, I would find myself suddenly weak in the knees, longing for the feel of him. It could happen anywhere—while standing in line at the grocery store, or sitting behind my desk at work, or in the middle of pumping gas, or watching the evening news. A dozen times a day I would find myself aching to see the come explode from his body, to taste it, to smell it, to feel its liquid heat on my skin and on my lips. To watch it spurt from his body and see him gasp and shudder and writhe when it did. It’s a wonder we got anything done during those first few weeks together, for as often as I longed for Frank, he also longed for me. And when one of us longed, the other reciprocated. Gladly.
    I can honestly say the happiest moments of my twenty-seven years on this planet were spent in Frank’s fuzzy, naked arms during those first incredible weeks the two of us shared as a couple. Geez Louise, love is grand.
    Money, or Frank’s lack of it, quickly proved to be a non-issue. Frank found work on the second day of his job search at one of the nurseries in town. He loved tending the plants. Plant-tending is a perfect job for someone with social anxiety disorder. One never feels inferior around a plant. If he does, then he has a much more serious problem going on than SAD. Flat-out insanity springs to mind. While Frank might still feel uncomfortable around his fellow employees at the nursery, his shyness was alleviated by the fact he was doing something he enjoyed, and something he knew quite a bit about, having been raised on a farm and all.
    I ceded my car to Frank because the nursery was miles away from the apartment while my bank was only a short bus ride downtown. I was so happy to be able to do something for Frank to help ease him into his new life that the act of giving up my car did not even seem a sacrifice to me. It tickled me pink to think I could rescue him from a daily two-hour bus ride to and from work. And it was good for me too. On nice days I now walked to work. Since almost every day in San Diego is nice, I quickly shed three pounds. And as everyone knows, losing weight is almost