tumbling a good couple of feet away. This was all the distance I needed, and I rushed over, grabbed his arm, and dragged him away.
“Sparkle, fun’s fun, but let’s get away from this, okay? I mean, please, game, set, and match, good buddy.”
“Oh, Secret, such the spoiled sport you are. I was just having a little verbal sparring fun with a few old and dear friends.”
“That’s what you call fun? And how old and dear, pray tell?” I sensed that a little dish might get Sparkle’s mind (and body) away from the festivities. (And yes, you guessed it: I wanted the four-one-one on Chuck. I wasn’t exactly having any luck finding out for myself, was I?)
“Now, Bruce, you know I’m not one to gossip.” Of course, I didn’t know. If you recall, I only knew Sparkle for, like, less than a day by that point. (And just look at all the fun I was having.)
“Spill it, Sparkle. And, by the way, you just called me Bruce.” Score one for me.
“Bruce. Secret. Whatever. Do you want the scoop or do you want to quibble?” Of course, I wanted the info on my little, blond stud, but I was learning that flustering Sparkle would probably be a rare occurrence, and I had to take it when I could get it.
“Well, I need to keep my mind off the hunger pains in my stomach, my apparent lack of employment, and this fucking hill of death we’re climbing up, so spill it.”
“Ooh, okay, take a pill already,” he said and literally handed me a pill.
“How did you do that?” I was with Harriett Houdini all of a sudden. It just came out of nowhere. Poof .
“Honey, Gay Rule #3,” he said, clearly in sync with Kiki’s gay rule book, as we trudged up higher and higher with no end in sight.
“Which is?” I asked, huffing and puffing, sweat stinging my eyes.
“Always come prepared,” he replied.
“Isn’t that the Boy Scout’s rule or something?”
“Where do you think they got it from?” Sounded good to me. Anyway, I swallowed the pill. I mean, what the hell, there was no booze in sight and my nerves were shot to hell by that point.
“Okay, so now tell me about those three back there.”
“Oh, yes, right, the three little piglets: Chuckles, James, and our high-strung friend, Jeff where’s-my-bottle-of-poppers? Jessups. I take it from your more than obvious flirtations that really you just want the dirt on Chuckles, though. Hmm, where to begin?”
Luckily, we reached the summit before he started, because I didn’t want to miss a thing. “Just the highlights please,” I asked, knowing that given an inch, he would take a mile. And speaking of inches…
“Well, let’s just say, little Chuckles isn’t so little,” Sparkle said as he got into the now-burning-up car.
“How not so little?” I asked, also getting into the car. Though, thanks to whatever it was I had taken, I barely noticed the searing heat.
“Um, hmm,” Sparkle muttered, rummaging around the car. “See this can of Diet Coke?”
I gulped. Certainly it couldn’t be that big. “Not that big?” I asked, just a bit frightened.
“Oh, hell no. I just wanted a Diet Coke. Damn, I’m thirsty.”
I smacked him hard on his arm. “Fucker, play fair,” I yelled and slapped him again.
“Ow, Girlfriend, trim the nails, please,” he said, rubbing his arm. “Okay, now, where were we? Oh, yes, we were talking prick size. Um, you know I’m not one to tell such things.”
“Tell.” I threatened him with another slap.
“Jeez, take it easy. Remember what mine looked like? (Like I could forget that.) Well, add an inch up and half an inch around and I’d say you were about there. You’ll find, Secret, that it’s the little ones that pack the biggest pouches. And thank the Lord for that.”
“And you know this how ?” I didn’t think I really wanted the answer, but I made it that far, so I pressed on. In for a penny, in for a pound, as the Brits say.
“Two years ago I was at a party,” he started to explain. “Several beers and a couple
“Sparkle, fun’s fun, but let’s get away from this, okay? I mean, please, game, set, and match, good buddy.”
“Oh, Secret, such the spoiled sport you are. I was just having a little verbal sparring fun with a few old and dear friends.”
“That’s what you call fun? And how old and dear, pray tell?” I sensed that a little dish might get Sparkle’s mind (and body) away from the festivities. (And yes, you guessed it: I wanted the four-one-one on Chuck. I wasn’t exactly having any luck finding out for myself, was I?)
“Now, Bruce, you know I’m not one to gossip.” Of course, I didn’t know. If you recall, I only knew Sparkle for, like, less than a day by that point. (And just look at all the fun I was having.)
“Spill it, Sparkle. And, by the way, you just called me Bruce.” Score one for me.
“Bruce. Secret. Whatever. Do you want the scoop or do you want to quibble?” Of course, I wanted the info on my little, blond stud, but I was learning that flustering Sparkle would probably be a rare occurrence, and I had to take it when I could get it.
“Well, I need to keep my mind off the hunger pains in my stomach, my apparent lack of employment, and this fucking hill of death we’re climbing up, so spill it.”
“Ooh, okay, take a pill already,” he said and literally handed me a pill.
“How did you do that?” I was with Harriett Houdini all of a sudden. It just came out of nowhere. Poof .
“Honey, Gay Rule #3,” he said, clearly in sync with Kiki’s gay rule book, as we trudged up higher and higher with no end in sight.
“Which is?” I asked, huffing and puffing, sweat stinging my eyes.
“Always come prepared,” he replied.
“Isn’t that the Boy Scout’s rule or something?”
“Where do you think they got it from?” Sounded good to me. Anyway, I swallowed the pill. I mean, what the hell, there was no booze in sight and my nerves were shot to hell by that point.
“Okay, so now tell me about those three back there.”
“Oh, yes, right, the three little piglets: Chuckles, James, and our high-strung friend, Jeff where’s-my-bottle-of-poppers? Jessups. I take it from your more than obvious flirtations that really you just want the dirt on Chuckles, though. Hmm, where to begin?”
Luckily, we reached the summit before he started, because I didn’t want to miss a thing. “Just the highlights please,” I asked, knowing that given an inch, he would take a mile. And speaking of inches…
“Well, let’s just say, little Chuckles isn’t so little,” Sparkle said as he got into the now-burning-up car.
“How not so little?” I asked, also getting into the car. Though, thanks to whatever it was I had taken, I barely noticed the searing heat.
“Um, hmm,” Sparkle muttered, rummaging around the car. “See this can of Diet Coke?”
I gulped. Certainly it couldn’t be that big. “Not that big?” I asked, just a bit frightened.
“Oh, hell no. I just wanted a Diet Coke. Damn, I’m thirsty.”
I smacked him hard on his arm. “Fucker, play fair,” I yelled and slapped him again.
“Ow, Girlfriend, trim the nails, please,” he said, rubbing his arm. “Okay, now, where were we? Oh, yes, we were talking prick size. Um, you know I’m not one to tell such things.”
“Tell.” I threatened him with another slap.
“Jeez, take it easy. Remember what mine looked like? (Like I could forget that.) Well, add an inch up and half an inch around and I’d say you were about there. You’ll find, Secret, that it’s the little ones that pack the biggest pouches. And thank the Lord for that.”
“And you know this how ?” I didn’t think I really wanted the answer, but I made it that far, so I pressed on. In for a penny, in for a pound, as the Brits say.
“Two years ago I was at a party,” he started to explain. “Several beers and a couple
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