Page 15 of Uriah's Orbit
“I’m trying to salvage the old costumes, so I don’t have to make new ones. It will make it easier. Up, on the platform.”
I stepped up, holding the pants up. Grumbling, Uriah jerked the shirt up and motioned for me to hold it while he kicked my legs apart. He quickly pulled, tugged, and pinned the bottoms on both sides.
Then, I discovered why he had kicked my feet apart. His nimble fingers pinned and pulled and tucked the inner seams—and brushed against my balls more than once.
I wasn’t good at being gay. The only people who knew, for sure, were Angela, the guys, and my sister. I hadn’t even told my parents. I hadn’t even wanted to tell the guys—but when they caught me making out with one of the hot roadies on the first tour, I didn’t want to lie to them.
I didn’t hook up, I didn’t date. I would occasionally have a woman on my arm for something—most likely one of the guy’s cousins or one of my own. All I knew for sure was that I liked dick and I couldn’t tell anyone that I liked dick.
So when Uriah’s hand brushed over my balls, I bit my lip and tried not to make a sound. He brushed again, and I grimaced, trying to think of terrible things like smashed chords, mangled lyrics, toothless men who hit on me.
When he brushed them the third time, there was no stopping the groan or the growl.
“Are you serious?” Uriah asked.
“Dude, you’re tickling me.”
He looked up at me from where he was kneeling on the pedestal. “You get boners from being tickled?”
“When it’s my balls, yeah,” I snapped.
“You need some self-control.”
“I need a jock strap made of iron if you plan on touching the sac.”
He stood from where he was and climbed on to the platform with me. He was only two or three inches shorter than me, and steamed. “I am a consummate professional, Mister Lowell. If I accidently brushed against your scrotum, I do apologize. But I’m trying to save us both a week of fittings and refittings, and I don’t need your unit pointing in my face.”
“I didn’t accuse you of anything, Mister Orback. I simply stated that my testes were ticklish and you weren’t helping.”
I moved to bring my legs closer together, but his hand slammed on to my thigh. “No!”
“This is uncomfortable.”
“If you bring your legs together, you’re going to stab yourself in the balls and probably your penis if what I see is true. Keep them apart until I’m done, and you can slip them off.”
He ran a hand down his face. “Look, Austin. If you’re serious about a career in theater, you need to do two things. One, lose the body shame attitude. You are going to see all kinds of people in all kinds of states of undress. And two, lose the homophobia. I’m not intentionally touching your junk. I’m fitting you. And when I try to get something to fit in the crotch, the crotch is a casualty. Maybe no one told you, but the theater is full ofus gaysand you need to be comfortable around the LGBTQIA community to be here.”
He huffed. “Legs apart.”
I grabbed his arm before he could go back to pinning my nuts. “I’m not homophobic.”
He let out an exasperated sigh and shook his head sharply. “I’m fitting your pants! Why are you freaking out about a nut touch?”
I took a deep breath, and my brain and mouth jumped the clogged filter between them.
“Because it feels good.”
Uriah stopped dead, and stared at me hard. He studied my face, scrutinized my eyes, and seemed to be memorizing my lips. He was looking for the lie.
“You’re…gay?” The words were whispered.
“No. I mean yes. I mean…” I ran a hand through my hair. “I mean no one knows.”
“No shit.”
“You can’t tell anyone. I don’t even know why I said that.”
Uriah smirked. “Because you like it when I touch your balls.”
