be done with my dozen eggs in no time. And to think I'd had such high hopes for a little pre-Easter celebration of our own. I'd even bought the bunny ears and a cute little fluffy tail.
"So back to your Great Uncle Sherman," I said.
Milton's hand trembled just a bit. The sharp line of green dye on the egg blurred. I wasn't sure what the quality control standard was for plaid Easter eggs, but Milton looked somewhat annoyed.
Did I mention my stud muffin wears a pocket protector? It's not just for show. You should see his underwear drawer. His brand of anal-retentiveness might not be for everyone, but I think he's adorable.
"I could always boil another one," I said.
Milton sighed. "We might have to boil another whole dozen. If you think my mother's a control freak, wait until you meet Great Uncle Sherman."
The woman with the plastic-covered white living room a control freak? Why would I ever think that?
I plopped an egg in the pot of blue dye. "Your great uncle's that bad, huh?"
"He raised my mother," Milton said. "That should give you a clue."
Yeah. A big one. "So, not a black sheep, then. But not exactly welcome around the family."
"He makes my mother nervous."
I didn't think anyone could make that woman nervous. Not even bathroom-seeking royalty. "How about you?" I asked.
Milton dropped his egg in the dye. "Shit," he said as he fished it out.
I guess that answered that question.
Milton might be anal-retentive to the max, and I know a lot of my friends think he's kind of an odd duck. I mean, really--what thirty year old man wore a bowtie voluntarily? But generally, people didn't make Milton nervous. He told me once that after he came out to his mother, which was the hardest thing he'd ever done, he discovered that other people's opinions didn't matter all that much. Except mine, he'd said. He had it pretty easy there. Given the family I came from, I'm about the easiest-going person I know outside of my own mother.
A new thought occurred to me. "Great Uncle Sherman does know you're gay, right?"
Milton squirmed.
"Right?" I said again.
"Well..." He drew the word out. "I never actually told him. Personally. The rest of the family knows, mother knows." He sighed. "I suppose I thought it would get back to him."
"Because he's the kind of guy everyone has long, friendly chats with on the phone at least once a week."
"Not exactly."
Milton looked at me sheepishly over his ruined egg. I picked up the egg and rubbed at it with a damp paper towel. The towel wiped off most of the dye, leaving behind a marbled effect people would pay a fortune for as a wall treatment.
"There," I said. "Not plaid, but does it qualify as a decorator egg?"
"That's pretty good," my impressed stud muffin said.
I put the egg back down and took Milton's latex-covered hand in mine.
"You're getting dye on your fingers," he said.
"I don't care."
"It won't come off by brunch tomorrow."
"If it makes you feel better, you can bleach my hands before we leave." I squeezed his fingers. "You're a single man who's lived with the same also single man for the past ten years, and you dye your Easter eggs a perfect plaid. I don't think we need to come dressed as The Village People for your great uncle to figure it out, but if you want, I'll give you a big, wet, sloppy kiss in front of him while the nieces and nephews are out hunting eggs. Trust me, you won't have to say anything at all."
At the words "big, wet, sloppy kiss" Milton gripped my hand a little tighter. "How about we just dye the rest of the eggs a solid color?"
"Really?"
"Really." He grinned at me, a decidedly sexy grin. "I found the bunny ears and tail. I think I've still got some of that chocolate-flavored lube around here somewhere."
Now that sounded more like what I had in mind for a pre-Easter Saturday night.
[?] [?] [?]
∗ ∗ ∗
There's a reason I called Milton stud muffin. As a friend of mine used to say, it's the quiet, unassuming ones who often have the most to offer
"So back to your Great Uncle Sherman," I said.
Milton's hand trembled just a bit. The sharp line of green dye on the egg blurred. I wasn't sure what the quality control standard was for plaid Easter eggs, but Milton looked somewhat annoyed.
Did I mention my stud muffin wears a pocket protector? It's not just for show. You should see his underwear drawer. His brand of anal-retentiveness might not be for everyone, but I think he's adorable.
"I could always boil another one," I said.
Milton sighed. "We might have to boil another whole dozen. If you think my mother's a control freak, wait until you meet Great Uncle Sherman."
The woman with the plastic-covered white living room a control freak? Why would I ever think that?
I plopped an egg in the pot of blue dye. "Your great uncle's that bad, huh?"
"He raised my mother," Milton said. "That should give you a clue."
Yeah. A big one. "So, not a black sheep, then. But not exactly welcome around the family."
"He makes my mother nervous."
I didn't think anyone could make that woman nervous. Not even bathroom-seeking royalty. "How about you?" I asked.
Milton dropped his egg in the dye. "Shit," he said as he fished it out.
I guess that answered that question.
Milton might be anal-retentive to the max, and I know a lot of my friends think he's kind of an odd duck. I mean, really--what thirty year old man wore a bowtie voluntarily? But generally, people didn't make Milton nervous. He told me once that after he came out to his mother, which was the hardest thing he'd ever done, he discovered that other people's opinions didn't matter all that much. Except mine, he'd said. He had it pretty easy there. Given the family I came from, I'm about the easiest-going person I know outside of my own mother.
A new thought occurred to me. "Great Uncle Sherman does know you're gay, right?"
Milton squirmed.
"Right?" I said again.
"Well..." He drew the word out. "I never actually told him. Personally. The rest of the family knows, mother knows." He sighed. "I suppose I thought it would get back to him."
"Because he's the kind of guy everyone has long, friendly chats with on the phone at least once a week."
"Not exactly."
Milton looked at me sheepishly over his ruined egg. I picked up the egg and rubbed at it with a damp paper towel. The towel wiped off most of the dye, leaving behind a marbled effect people would pay a fortune for as a wall treatment.
"There," I said. "Not plaid, but does it qualify as a decorator egg?"
"That's pretty good," my impressed stud muffin said.
I put the egg back down and took Milton's latex-covered hand in mine.
"You're getting dye on your fingers," he said.
"I don't care."
"It won't come off by brunch tomorrow."
"If it makes you feel better, you can bleach my hands before we leave." I squeezed his fingers. "You're a single man who's lived with the same also single man for the past ten years, and you dye your Easter eggs a perfect plaid. I don't think we need to come dressed as The Village People for your great uncle to figure it out, but if you want, I'll give you a big, wet, sloppy kiss in front of him while the nieces and nephews are out hunting eggs. Trust me, you won't have to say anything at all."
At the words "big, wet, sloppy kiss" Milton gripped my hand a little tighter. "How about we just dye the rest of the eggs a solid color?"
"Really?"
"Really." He grinned at me, a decidedly sexy grin. "I found the bunny ears and tail. I think I've still got some of that chocolate-flavored lube around here somewhere."
Now that sounded more like what I had in mind for a pre-Easter Saturday night.
[?] [?] [?]
∗ ∗ ∗
There's a reason I called Milton stud muffin. As a friend of mine used to say, it's the quiet, unassuming ones who often have the most to offer
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