Heteroflexible

And he had a happy hand on his dick, jerking it so vigorously, he looked like he was trying to yank the poor fella right off.

The thing is, he didn’t hear me come in at all. He didn’t see me either, clearly—and for a good reason: his eyes were shut, his head was rocked back, and he looked like he was halfway to Heaven as he shamelessly churned his butter on our dorm room floor.

Now, I’d seen Bobby in his birthday suit before. Several times, in fact. I’d go into his locker room after one of his soccer games, jumping in on him while he’s showering or just half-dressed, to congratulate him on another win. He’d come backstage after one of my dance shows, walking in on me while I’m changing into my regular clothes, and shout about how amazing the show was. The girls didn’t care a bit; they all knew he was gay and practically welcomed his happy ass in, all of them in their bras or leotards at their make-up stations.

Bobby and I are downright shameless around each other. We are comfortable seeing one another in various states of undress.

But I never quite caught a good look at my buddy’s dick.

And phew, it was quite a dick.

I could have shed a whole bucket of tears right there, I was so proud. And a bit shocked, if I’m being completely honest. For a split second, I thought he was plunging a toilet. There was dick above and below his fist every time he went up and down with another fevered stroke. And that puppy was fat.

I had half a conniption wondering how the hell he stuffs it in those tiny soccer shorts so they don’t show it off to the world.

Then I spent another hot minute wondering how he hasn’t punctured the back of any of his ex-boyfriends’ throats and sent them straight to the ER.

Seriously. These were my first thoughts.

And I had them very quickly, in succession.

And like some weirdo creeper, I didn’t alert Bobby right away of my weirdo creeper presence. Why ruin the show when I had front row seats to the quidditch match with Harry freakin’ Potter riding his big-ass broom on my dorm room floor?

I guess I’d have to accept the fact that my best buddy had a Godzilla dong.

Then came the best part: Bobby let out the most pleasure-filled groan as he, ever so slowly, opened his eyes.

And caught sight of me.

“THE FUCK!” he shrieked as he leapt to his feet with ninja precision and flung himself toward his bed. He fought with his bed sheets until they became a toga, which fell right off his body the moment he stood up straight. Another fumbling of his limbs sent him careening into the bathroom where the door slapped shut with such a boom, the ceiling shook.

And now it was me on that carpet, laughing my ass off so hard and so loud, our hallmates were peeping their heads out of their rooms looking for the fuss.

That day was probably humiliating for poor Bobby Parker. After all, for all the times we’ve seen each other naked or partially undressed, it’s never been in a sexual circumstance.

I called it a moment of male bonding.

Bobby keeps denying it ever happened.

After pulling into the wide gravel driveway of the ranch, I barely have time to slam shut my door and sling a single bag out of the bed of my truck before mama’s coming down the steps of our big, recently-renovated wraparound porch. I call it our Porch 2.0.

“Honey, baby, Jimmy, sweetie!” she shouts out as the woman powerwalks over the gravel, stabbing it with her white spike heels every step.

“Goodness, Mama, how many names you gotta give me?”

She’s in a tight blue top with white polka-dots, white pants glued to her skinny legs, hoop earrings, and big, big hair that gets right in my face when she throws her arms around my neck. “I’ll call you any amount of names I want, baby boy!” She pulls away at once. “Now where’s Bobby?”

I knew that’d be the first thing she’d notice, even before my haircut. “He’s spending time with his parents tonight.”

“But I’m doin’ a whole big supper thing!” she protests, her eyes turning harsh at once. Then they narrow with suspicion. “It’s that Patricia, isn’t it? Patricia had a problem with him comin’ on over here, is that it?”

“Can I get a single bag inside at least before ya start evisceratin’ my best friend’s sweet and well-meanin’ mama, please?”

She lets out a big dramatic huff before grabbing my first bag right out of my hands and tugging it over her bony shoulder herself, marching up to the porch.

“Mama,” I throw tiredly at her, then follow in quickly behind. “Hey, hey, that’s heavy! Careful with your back!”