Best Bi Short Stories by Sheela Lambert (ed)

Author:Sheela Lambert (ed) [Lambert, Sheela]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: adult, anthology, erotica, gay, m/m/f, explicit
ISBN: 9781613900895
Publisher: Circlet Press
Published: 2014-06-11T00:00:00+00:00

Glossary

Fundament: Rear end, butt

Mushroom (slang): Nouveau riche, upstart (analogy of someone who springs up overnight from the muck, like fungus)

Plant someone a facer (boxing slang): To punch someone in the face

Dry bob (slang): Dry hump; to have intercourse without ejaculation

Challenger Deep by Kathleen Bradean

Pop rode from Oakland to Guam in my lap. I put my vintage green and yellow A’s baseball cap over him so that people wouldn’t notice the plain cardboard box with the gold embossed stamp, “Williams and Sons Funeral Directors.” A dusty cobweb clung to the back corner of the box. It had taken me a while to make good on my promise to him.

The first two days on the island, I let Pop sit on the dresser in the hotel room. Afraid that a maid might think he was trash, I decided I had to carry out his final request. Until I closed the past, the rest of my life was suspended.

I removed my hat as I ambled into the hotel lobby. By the time I reached the granite and glass reception desk, the hotel staff beamed expectant smiles.

“Hi. I need to find out how I can hire a boat.”

They nodded, as if they understood everything. “Yes, Sir.”

I grinned at them. It helped that I was so athletic and lanky, barely any hips or breasts. My look was boy next door—suntanned, with a white-toothed California smile. The short blonde haircut, the way I moved, the unisex clothes, worked magic. I passed as a man!

Then, recognition set in. “Um, Ma’am. Miss Erica.” Fear that they’d offended me pulled at the corners of their eyes. They still smiled, but a little less certainly, less brightly.

My smile faded too. Funny how one little word had enough power to make me feel right with myself. But they snatched it away from me as quickly as they offered it. I wanted to be Sir. I wanted that magical word back.

“I need to hire a boat to take me out over the Challenger Deep.” I set my A’s cap on their polished counter.

The smiles drooped a bit more. The staff shrugged.

The hotel manager stepped forward to handle me. He wore a lei of waxy cream flowers over his dark green suit. The rest of the staff faded back, but their ears were tuned to the conversation and I saw their gazes slide away from their tasks to watch me. “No good fishing over the Marianas Trench,” he told me with a tight smile. He folded his hands at his waist as if that closed the matter.

“I’m not fishing. I’m—.” Who knew how many local laws I broke carrying around Pop’s ashes, much less dumping them into the ocean? “I’m paying my last respects.”

“It’s all the same ocean. Same water. Why not take an island tour and pay your respects during that?”

He tried to hand me a glossy three-fold brochure of feral blondes on a sailboat, each clutching a tropical drink. I didn’t accept it from him.

“I made a promise. My father was on the Trieste survey team that measured the Challenger Deep.

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