Best Gay Romance 2015 by Felice Picano

Author:Felice Picano
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Best Gay Romance 2015
ISBN: 9781627781077
Publisher: Cleis Press Start
Published: 2015-01-09T05:00:00+00:00

FUNNY PAPER

Craig Cotter

Robert was taking a history class, and reading about Hitler. Soon after the class started he began texting me Hitler quotes.

I’d set my phone to play the first notes of “Midnight Rambler” for his texts. I decided to text KJ: Baby

He hit back immediately: Hey

Play?

Yeah OK u come here.

Text address

KJ lived in an apartment in Culver City adjoining Marina Del Rey not far from the ocean. Three 1950s aqua-green two-story buildings in a C shape, with a courtyard in the middle with grass, jade plants, palm trees—the usual L.A. fare. The top-floor apartments were bowed-out at an angle. All the apartments had floor-to-ceiling windows in their living rooms.

I walked up the stairs that were flat slabs of concrete and stones set into metal frames and knocked on 2A.

He answered the door in jeans, white ankle socks and a T. It was eighty-one degrees and I’d traded in my jeans for baggy cotton shorts. I saw a pile of shoes on a mat beside the door and kicked my flip-flops there and walked in.

“What you want to drink?” KJ asked, as I followed him into the kitchen. His hair never seemed to be combed or in any particular pattern. It looked both slept on and made up. It seemed to be cut at many different angles that provided for many different types of hairstyles. Some draped over his ears, some onto his shoulders, some stood up on end—all shiny black. I wondered if it was soft or held in place with mousse or gel.

“Evian looks good,” I said.

He handed me a plastic bottle. “You know it’s got a huge carbon footprint,” he said, smiling. “Shipped from France in a petroleum bottle.”

“Why you have it?” I was looking into his big brown eyes.

“Noticed you had a bottle the last time we got Thai,” he said.

I followed him into his bedroom, which contained a queen bed and nightstands on each side. Each had a silver bendable metal lamp on it. He set his drink (looked like vodka and cranberry again) on one of the nightstands; I put my water on the other. We sat cross-legged in front of each other.

“So…you’re a billionaire,” he said with a smile. I could smell marijuana coming through the window from the alley outside and hear teenagers laughing, then silent; then laughing, then silent.

“So…you heard.”

“Everyone heard, bro.” Now the talk from the alley was deep and serious but I still couldn’t make out a word—just a dull rumble. Birds chirped high, stoned teenagers mumbled low. Car noises in the background as just about everywhere in L.A. “You wanna fuck me?”

I like direct talk about sex. I like not playing around. I like to know what guys want, and for them to ask me what I like. But something felt funny with KJ. I felt embarrassed being sexually direct with him and wasn’t sure what this was about. Though earlier I’d texted him not to wear deodorant.

I tried to get into my usual flow of being honest but was having trouble with what to say.

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