Page 10 of Julian Shared
“Yes, sir.” In lieu of a salute, Julian hops up on his tippy-toes to peck a quick kiss on my mouth.
And plucks my hat off my head.
Just like I knew he would.
It’s a familiar ritual by this point. Julian always puts my cap on for me before I leave for work in the morning and takes it off for me when I get home.
I follow him out, lingering at the bottom of the stairs to enjoy the sight of his pert little ass going up. When the show is over, I put Julian’s cleaning organizer away and double-check to make sure the grill is ready to fire up.
???
“Make sure to keep some of these vegan patties on stand-by.”
“Who the hell here is vegan?” I question under my breath, but I accept the package of patties that Julian hands over to me.
“Well, no one,” Julian clears his throat, “but I want it out as an option. Just in case.”
Of course he does. Party host extraordinaire.
Julian’s all refreshed and dolled up, dressed in a salmon colored polo shirt and blinding-white slim-fit capri pants with matching sneakers. Him and those goddamn polos. He’s done his hair with some product and I can faintly smell his fresh layer of sunscreen underneath the floral cologne he’s spritzed on.
Our anniversary barbecue is in full swing. Some popular pop music intermingles with chatter and laughter as people congregate into groups around dinner. The smell of meat, potato salad, and corn on the cob makes my mouth water.
I’m starving, but our guests have to eat first.
Even the non-existent vegan ones.
I throw the patties on the grill to get them started, sprinkling on some seasonings to try and make the lack of meat more appetizing. For good measure, I add some spice too. Red pepper flakes to give it a spicy kick. Shit, if I slathered the patties in hot sauce, I could make it into a game for the soldiers. See who can stand the heat.
In between my spice-based intervention, I notice Julian pausing in his drink-making to scan the crowd.
“Who’re you waiting for?” I ask.
I can’t imagine we’re missing anyone. Fuck, I don’t recognize half the people here. Julian likes to complain he doesn’t have anyfriends on post, but I understand what he really means is that he feels left out by the popular housewives.
Julian finishes stirring a Bloody Mary and hands it off to a very thirsty guest. The drinks are flowing as freely as the food is flying off the grill. “The commander,” he finally answers.
I shake my head. “I thought they weren’t coming?”
“Yes, she did, but I may have also sent an invitation directly to his office too.”
I cluck my tongue and wave my spatula in his direction, but say nothing. Ain’t the time or place to argue with him. But this right here is exactly why Julian gets himself slowly iced out by the housewives in every post we’ve ever ended up on. He does it to himself. Has done it on every move. Belligerent behavior undermining the chain of command among the army families.
I know he means well enough, but sometimes his efforts are a bit…much.
Not everyone knows how to handle Julian. I know how to handle him, but I’ll admit sometimes I do worry about being good enough for him when Julian’s so goddamn perfect at the house spouse shit.
He does the cleaning and the cooking (minus the grilling). Plans our social calendar. Makes our appointments. Fills his days with hobbies both interesting and practical.
All that while sucking cock too.
I flip the vegan patties and place them aside so they stay warm but don’t get burned. We’re running low on hot dogs, so I get some more started. While I grill, I make small talk and joke with everyone who wanders by and gratefully accept a beer someone gives me.
Gotta stay hydrated to keep things fired up, yeah?
Though I’m not the only one seeking hydration. People have finally entered the pool. There’s a series of splashes followed by a bunch of shrieks joy. And some of those people are very, very small.
“Julian?” I call him over with a crook of my finger. Julian takes his sweet, sweet time detaching from the group and returning to my side.
