a4f101:yeahstr82gay:It was the kind of happenstance that makes you wonder if maybe there really
a4f101: yeahstr82gay: It was the kind of happenstance that makes you wonder if maybe there really is a god, after all. I mean, Simonville is a complete nowhere town, right? Out of all the little nowheres in Indiana, we are the nowhere-est. We have maybe 900 people–just 900 people out of the millions in this country. So you got this small, nowhere town, with just 900 people, that can’t manage to keep a junior or senior high school going, but sends its older kids off to this rural cooperative for the county. So a small town with just this one elementary school, which has just one janitor (that’s me), and then one kitchen with just two workers: an old lady who dishes the stuff, and this young guy, Pete, who cooks it. He went to cooking school and this is his first job. Out of all the places he could land, he lands in Simonville in a job that he can’t possibly like, unless he went to school to learn how to cook chicken fingers and mashed potatoes. So I think he’s good-looking, but he’s got a girl, which I know because she comes and visits him every Thursday. She’s a social worker for the county and sees him as she passes through here. So I keep my distance, right? I’m a respectful guy. In fact, I keep my distance from everyone in this town, and drive down to Cincinnati or Indianapolis for my fun (and there’s more fun there than you’d think, seriously). So me and cute-guy Pete in Nowhere, Indiana, dumped in the same nowhere school, and me driving and hour or two to go have my adult fun somewhere 100 freaking miles away– –and that’s where I see him. In Indianapolis, at the bath house, butt-naked on his knees sucking a cock. Talk about a shocker, and I gotta admit, when I first saw him, I was sort of scared for myself, because I’m like, Whoa! Someone from back home’s gonna see me! But then I realize, Duh, I just saw him, and while I’m standing there like an idiot in a towel thinking this and watching him, the guy he’s sucking–big Latin guy, I’ve seen him there before–looks up at me and says, “Wanna join, buddy?” and that’s when Pete turns and sees me. “Shit,” he rasped. “Uh, I’m cool,” I said, and turned and walked out. I know, I should have stayed and been adult about it. I mean, like its a big deal any more, and especially if you’re both doing the same shit. It can’t be any easier for him than me. But it was just such a freaking surprise. So I pretty much left at that point, and I’m sure he didn’t stick around–although he’s a polite guy, so maybe he stuck around to finish the blowjob, who knows. But I get out of there and I’m thinking the whole time: how is that possible? How is it possible that me, the only gay guy in Simonville (I’ve always figured) end up in the same bath house in freaking Indianapolis with the only other gay guy in Simonville–and how did another gay guy even end up in Simonville, anyhow? Like I said, it just felt like more than a coinky-dink, it felt like something that was supposed to happen. So Monday I’m back at work, and there he is at the counter in the kitchen at the school, and I gotta go in and haul out some recycling he’s filled up which means we actually gotta be around each other for 10 seconds, which isn’t an easy 10 seconds anymore. I walk in the room, and immediately he gets that look on his face that you get when you know someone is watching you and knows something about you that’s sort of unpleasant, the whole tucked-lower-lip-in-your-mouth-I’m-gonna-just-keep-working look. So at first I thing I’m not going to say anything, but then, you know, it’s just decency, and seemed wrong to not say anything, because of all the people in crappy Simonville, we were two who probably should definitely talking to each other. So I finally say, as Im yanking up the recyclable liner, “Hey.” He sorta caved his head into his neck at first but finally glanced up and said, “Hey.” “How you doing, man?” I sorta lowered my voice without meaning to, but it just felt right, since we were like the underworld of Simonville at that point. “Good!” His answer was like, too normal. “You?” He brushed some carrot off his hand and sort of glanced at me again. “I’m good.” For a minute I don’t say anything more, and I feel all those sort of warm pricks all over your body you get when you feel weird about something, and he turned to get some water in a pot, and something inside me said, don’t stop. So I added, “Crazy weekend, huh?” At first he didn’t respond, just hunched his shoulders over the sink, and then finally he said, “Yeah.” He turned to look at me. “But the weekend’s the weekend. So.” I nodded, feeling those warm pricks again. “Right, right. Cool. I mean, I get it.” “Cool.” “Yeah.” I turned to go, but then stopped again. “But, I mean–” I lowered my voice more “–we could hang, dude. Any time. Serious.” He just looked at me then, with eyes I couldn’t read, sort of angry-amused, or annoyed-scared–I wasn’t sure what his eyes were saying. He Just looked at me, and sort of cleared his throat, and so I turned and got out of there. It was only later that afternoon, when I was getting ready to go, that I saw him sitting in the parking lot in his car. Usually, no one else is there by the time I leave. I stopped and looked at him, and he just looked back, and then he started his car but just sat there still looking at me. So I got in my car, thinking, fuck, is he going to kill me? but then I realized that he would have run me over or something if he was going to do that, and then I thought, that only happens in movies, and so I just decided to pull out of my space and drive home and see what happened. He followed me. All the way home. We don’t go to Indianapolis as much anymore. We don’t need to. And chefs, I’m telling you–they don’t just like to cook. They like to eat. Damn, this is good. -- source link