My Best Man by Andy Schell Read Free Book Online Page A

bronzer. “We’re tired of girls being the ones who enter wet T-shirt contests, right?”
    The crowd livens a bit more and applauds and yells its “So let’s see ‘em, boys! Show us those pecs!” Nobody forward, and I can see he’s getting anxious. “Come on. There’s fifty-dollar prize I” The gorgeous carny barker with the biceps thighs is too close, and I’m trying hard to escape his range. As scouts, he makes eye contact with me. I push back into the behind me, but they respond by giving me a hard shove, and I
    in the arms of the ME god. “OK, here he is!” he shouts.
    The crowd goes wild.
    I want to die. I look behind me and see the guy who said should ask the Wizard for a friend. He and his friends are laughing hysterically at me. They pushed me. They fucking pushed me the contest.
    “What’s your name?” the god asks, putting his arm around shoulders the way a gym coach would.
    “I’m not in the contest,” I say, the microphone magnifying twidly voice a hundred times.
    “You are now!” the guy says, and as he backs off, some out of nowhere sprays me down with a hose. I want to scream. not even wearing a T-shirt. My favorite long-sleeved flannel is instantly soaked and stuck to my skin. The primping crowd
     
    ,
     
    boys goes wild as splashes of water ricochet off my little chest and splatter their faces. I’m practically in shock, the water so cold. I try to leave, push against the mean gaggle. They like a trio of sissy defensive linemen and hold me back. The asks the crowd, “What do you think?”
    The crowd, seeing my humiliation, goes wild. I’m so de
     
    and losery, they love it. I don’t know how they can applaud so forcefully when they’re laughing so hard.
    Again, I push hard past the gaggle, and this time I escape. As I press through the crowd, I hear catcalls and get slapped on the ass. Somehow I find the door and get out. The winter air is cold against my wet shirt. Thank God my car is close. I lock the doors, fall back against the seat.
    What a fucking nightmare. Most gay guys will tell you they hate those obnoxious straight guys—big, mean, steroid-pumped jerks who work construction or man the oil figs, who whistle and holler at women with big tits. But everyone in the place tonight was acting just like them they were screaming for big tits in a wet shirt and acting like pigs. “What a bunch of fucking assholes,” I say aloud, starting the car.
    The car chugs to life, and I slide the heater knob over. Aw, hell, who am I kidding? If I hadn’t been on stage, I’d have been ogling any guy with a decent chest and catcalling too. I’m just pissed off my chest is so small. Everybody tells me I have a cute butt so why couldn’t it have been a wet butt contest? I release the clutch, pull away, and drive to the nearest pay phone, where I dial information for the number of the neighborhood’s 24-Hour Nautilus. The guy at the gym sounds garbled, as if he’ sin the middle of swallowing a mouthful of supplements, but I understand his directions well enough to jump back into the VW and take a left, then the first right, onto Oak Lawn, and about a quarter of a mile later there it is: a 24-Hour Nautilus. I wheel in and turn the VW off. Before I can talk myself out of it, I haul out and march inside, all wet and dripping. The guy behind the counter thinks I’m nuts until I pull out my credit card and he sees that I really do want to buy a membership right here, right now. I haven’t allowed myself to charge on my new credit cards I’ve obtained since landing my job because I’m already so far in debt. But this is an emergency. As I’m filling out the forms, I feel someone staring at me. I look up
     
    to see a well-built guy with jet black hair and eyes the color green glacier ice. He’s leaving, his gym bag over his shoulder, he casts his glance on me long enough to make me think he’ interested. I can’t believe it. He’s way out of my league, but I how to read the signs. I