Page 42 of Torn
“I don’t think you told me what you do for a living.” Wouldn’t it be a scream if he said he was a librarian?
“I drive a forklift at a printing company on the South Side.”
That wassohot. I didn’t think it possible, but my dick perked up, lifting its head and sniffing around, asking, “Is there any more of that?”
“Really?” I had fantasized about having my own blue-collar man, but it never seemed to work out that I’d find one. Most of the boys I met in the bars and, when I was really hard up, on the phone-sex lines all seemed to be white-collar types—copywriters like me, or editors or accountants or in sales.
“Yeah.” He met my gaze, and I read on his face that he was a little abashed, maybe even embarrassed. “What do you do? I bet it’s something great. You seem really smart.”
How he figured I was smart was beyond me, since most of our communication to this point had been nonverbal. “Ah, not much. I work for an office-products company downtown. I write copy for their catalogs.”
“Copy? What’s that?”
I paused. “Um, it’s the descriptions of stuff for sale in the catalog, like staplers, file cabinets, and fax machines.” I mock shivered. “Exciting stuff.” I didn’t mention that my gift for writing had been channeled into catalog copy. I couldn’t allow myself to admit that, when I graduated from college with my English degree, I’d dreamed of being the next Stephen King. Years of rejection letters can do a lot to crush a dream.
“More exciting than what I do. But it’s not a bad job. Good pay and decent benefits. They give us all a turkey at Thanksgiving and take us out for a big pizza party at Christmas—at Home Run Inn. I work with a bunch of nice folks too. I actually like it.”
I bet the people he worked with adored this sweet and simple man. Tom seemed clueless to the fact that I got off on the fact that he was a salt-of-the-earth kind of guy, one who worked with his hands.
“You wear a uniform?” I was secretly hoping. Does this mean I fetishize the working class? No contest, your honor.
“Yeah,” he said with a sigh. “And, in case you’re wondering, I have my name stitched on the chest of it.” He grinned a little devilishly, and I realized he probably wasn’t as clueless about his blue-collar charm as I’d previously thought. “I wear steel-toed boots too.”
I rolled over so that our entire bodies were locked together. “Hot. Would you wear it for me sometime?”
He seemed puzzled that I would ask this, but he said, “Yeah, sure.”
And just like that, I found myself ready for round four.
I rolled Tom over on his side, facing away. I wondered if my dick would have any skin left on it come morning.
I pushed into him. Skin regenerates, right?
Chapter 14
WHEN Igot home the next morning, the phone was ringing. It was super early. I’d left Tom as dawn was filling his apartment with grayish light, giving form and definition to his thrift-store furniture. He had to be at work much earlier than I did, and I was amazed at how close he cut it, given that he had to drive down to the South Side. But he hit snooze half a dozen times before he finally rolled out of bed with a groan. He rubbed his eyes and reached for his cigarettes.
I looked over at the alarm clock on the plastic cube by the bed. “I thought you had to be in by seven o’clock.”
“I do.” Tom was rapidly pulling on boxer briefs, socks, and his uniform. He patted down his pockets, repeating a little mantra, “Wallet, keys, comb, smokes,” several times before he was satisfied.
“But it’s twenty till.”
He smiled. “I know. I’ll make it.”
I shook my head, relaxing into the warm covers. “You be careful.” I cocked my head. “Do you do this every day?”
“Yeah, I like to get every bit of sleep I can.” He leaned over to give my crotch a little squeeze. “I really needed it this morning. You gave me quite the workout last night.”
“The feeling’s mutual, bud.” I glanced over to the hardwood floor and the half-dozen filled condoms scattered there. I thought, good thing he doesn’t have a dog.Ugh.
He paused a few steps away from the bed and turned around. “Ricky, so glad we met last night. Seriously, dude. You’re awesome. I can’t wait to see you again.”
“If you don’t kill me first,” I quipped.
“You’re strong. Really strong—a real man. Grrr. Anyway, sorry I have to rush out like this. There’s Frosted Flakes and Froot Loops in the cupboard above the sink, and I think there’s some milk in the fridge. Help yourself. Just make sure to lock the door on your way out, okay?”
I nodded. I still needed to get to my own place, change clothes, and get downtown to work by nine, so I knew I wouldn’t have time for the sweet treats he’d offered. And I wouldn’t be able to indulge my nosiness, either, alone in a strange new guy’s apartment. Hey, I’m not above it! Would you be?
