Fantasy or Reality Pt 1A by Just_Me

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This story is a continuation of my series "Great-Uncle Harvey" but it has a very different vibe from the original story. It’s much more romantic and sensual than what I typically write.

It’s definitely gay-themed, for those who are sensitive to that.

I’d love to hear what your thoughts are.
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George here. Curtis and I decided to tell you about a recent event in our lives.

We received an invitation to appear on the TV show "Fantasy or Reality". I wasn’t really keen on doing the show, and told Curtis no. Somehow my firm "no" turned into "I’ll think about it". Before I had thought it through, Curtis told me we were flying to New York on January third to film an episode.

We were sitting in the green room, and they were putting makeup on us. I looked at Curtis. "You needed one of these makeup artists the first day we met!" I laughed.

Curtis grimaced. "I know. I know. I had just gotten a haircut, and my ears and neck were so white they would’ve made milk look grey."

"Oh, I’ve told you that before?"

His eyes told me he didn’t mind me picking on him. "Only about twelve-million times. I expect you’ll still be harassing me about it when you’re so old you can’t remember your name."

"You’re right!"

Curtis held my hand while they finished getting us ready to go on stage. I guess he could sense my unease about appearing on national TV, and he tightened the hold he had on my hand.

I stayed pretty calm, even after we walked onto the stage, until I heard Caroline (the host) say, "Welcome to today’s edition of ‘Fantasy or Reality’, where we explore the age-old question of whether love at first sight is a fantasy or a reality. I’m very excited about the very special, very handsome couple we have in the studio today. They have been together for forty-one years. Please join me in welcoming "Old Man George" Wallace and his partner, Curtis Roberts."

My nervousness kicked into overdrive. I sat there grinning like a doofus, and couldn’t think of a word to say. As usual, Curtis came to my rescue. "It’s a pleasure to be here. Thanks for having us. We’re really excited to be here."

The host, whom I was already mentally referring to as ‘Miss Professional", said, "Ok, gentlemen, from your perspective, is love at first sight a myth or a reality?"

I completely forgot the "suggested answers" the film company had sent us, and embarrassed myself right out of the gate. "I’m not sure about love at first sight, but I can guaran-damn-tee you that lust at first sight is a reality."

The audience laughed and I blushed. Visions of being on national TV with a bright red face filled my head. I thought, "It’ll be OK. Just don’t say anything else stupid, you friggin idiot. Let Curtis do the talking."

"Miss Professional looked displeased with my answer, and cleared her throat in a meaningful way, but thankfully didn’t call me to task. She kept going. "Please tell us how you first met."

I wanted to punch Curtis when he said, "I’ll let George get us started."

I know I looked like a deer in the headlight. I sputtered for a second before I found my voice. I kept thinking, "You can do this. God knows Curtis has put you through the drill enough. You’ve rehearsed this until you’re sick of your own story!"

I found my voice. "It was May 23, 1984, about 2:00 in the afternoon."

Curtis interrupted me. I was used to his friendly banter, and somehow it helped me focus. "Close, but no cigar, Babe. It was closer to 2:15. I distinctly remember leaving the barber shop at 2:10, and your shop was just a few minutes away."

I smirked. "Whatever the time, I know it was a Wednesday, and I had been fairly busy. I was frustrated as hell because the phone had been ringing off the wall, and I hadn’t had time to get much work done. Hell, I hadn’t even had time to eat my sandwich. I hung up the phone for about the hundredth time that day, and the phone rang again. I snarled a cuss word and let it ring. I walked outside to get some fresh air. As I walked outside, my spirits lifted. One of my favorite customers was pulling in. To be honest, I don’t know if I liked Mr. Harvey or his car better. It was a 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air, and it was a thing of beauty. The paint was still pristine. If I close my eyes, I can envision the exact color of the car. It was India Ivory and Matador Red. There wasn’t a stain or rip on the upholstery. The only thing that kept it from looking like it had just rolled off the assembly line was the worn places in the floorboard where he put his feet. God, I loved that car, and I was flattered to be trusted to work on it."

"Mr. Harvey kept his car immaculate, as well as himself. Even though he only wore Dickey work uniforms, they were always impeccably starched and ironed, and his hair never looked out of place. Of course, he didn’t have a whole lot of hair. He kept it peeled tight on the sides and back. I suspected that Walt, the local barber, used a razor to get Mr. Harvey’s hair so short."

I paused, and mentally patted myself on the back, thinking, "That wasn’t so bad. You did a pretty good job, just keep it up."

"Curtis was with Mr. Harvey, and I think I fell in lust at first sight, but boy, did he look goofy."

Curtis gave me his best goofy look and spoke up. "I resent that remark, even if it’s true." He looked at "Miss Professional". "You see, I had had really long hair until that day: I mean really long hair, like almost to my waist. Walt had just given me my first short back and sides, just like you see it now. I was the sickly white of a fish’s belly around my neck and ears. In fact, Mr. Walt and Uncle Harvey accused me of looking like I got interrupted while I was putting on clown makeup."

I spoke up. "As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted." I gave Curtis a smile to let him know I was picking on him. "Curtis did look goofy because his neck was so white, but he was so damned cute I couldn’t help flirting with him."

I actually made a damned fool of myself. Mr. Harvey had been telling me about his nephew for years, and he was always bitching about how long Curtis’ hair was. Seeing him with a peeled head shocked me so badly that I babbled like an idiot.

Curtis spoke up. "No, he didn’t. George spoke intelligently, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off my head. I felt like a damned fool. Even though Uncle Harvey had warned me that George couldn’t keep his eyes off of short hair, I thought George was staring because he thought I was weird. I was standing there with short hair and a pipe in my mouth, which was not normal. It wasn’t until later that I realized he liked my haircut."

After a while, I began to suspect Curtis was flirting back, but I couldn’t be sure. Mind you, this was in 1984, and I lived in a tiny town in Arkansas. Men just didn’t flirt with men in public back then, at least not where I lived. If I wanted to find someone to flirt with, I’d drive six hours to Dallas.

Anyway, I thought he looked amazing. I could see his haircut on one side, but not the other because he had a fedora tilted over one eye. The one beautiful blue eye I could see instantly captured my attention, and I had a hard time not staring at it.

Long story short, I wound up giving Curtis my card, and telling him to give me a call if he wanted to go grab a beer. I was on pins and needles the rest of the day, and I’d almost faint every time the phone would ring, hoping it was him.

I hate to talk on the phone, and that afternoon was probably the only time in my life that I’ve ever prayed for the phone to ring.

I glared at Curtis and said, "The sorry bastard never called me."

I got home that night, and just couldn’t settle down. I was pacing around like a tiger in a cage. Finally I thought, ‘I’m gonna go by Mr. Harvey’s, and see if Curtis is interested in me, or if I’m imagining things’."

I hopped in the shower, and spent a long time getting my hair just right. I also spent a long time trying on all my clothes.

"Curtis had been dressed to the nines when I met him. He had on a fabulous vintage suit and that awesome fedora, and I wanted to look as good as he did. In hindsight, I guess I was a little vain. Back then, before Mother Nature aged me, I was a pretty good looking man." I pointed at Curtis and said, "‘This guy's outrageous handsomeness made me feel like I was playing second fiddle in the looks department. Hell, I thought I was playing tenth or twelfth fiddle."

Curtis spoke up. "That’s the biggest load of BS I’ve ever heard. He outshone me in the looks department like a flood light outshines a candle."

I shook my head, and shot back, "I’m telling this story. Don’t you be telling me I’m wrong!"

Curtis grinned at me. "If you want to tell a big fat fairy tale, go ahead. I won’t stop you."

I tried on half of the clothes in my closet, and still couldn’t find anything that seemed right. I remember thinking, "You dumbass, you don’t have nothing to wear that’s gonna look as fresh as his suit. Think idiot. What do you wear that gets you the most compliments?"

That helped me. I pulled out a bright red western shirt that I wore when I went boot scooting. I thought, "Well, it’s flashy enough." I put on a new pair of jeans and my best alligator boots.

I think my boots were the only thing I wore that night that I was happy with. They were classy and elegant.

I put on a silver and turquoise bolo that I’d bought from a Navajo man in New Mexico, looked at it and took it off, thinking, "It’s too costumey. He won’t like it."

I had a gold chain that I had never worn, but I put it on. The damned thing got caught in my chest hair, and I took it off.

As I was leaving, I grabbed my best black Stetson, and wondered if it was too much. Then I thought, "He obviously likes short hair, and he hinted that you would look good with short hair. This hat has a big brim and might help hide your long hair. Go for it."

I looked in the mirror, and at first I was happy with how I looked. but changed my mind when I thought, "He said he likes my eyes, and won’t like the fact that the Stetson hides them." I guess it was petty, but I changed my mind again, thinking, "Hiding my eyes will pay him back for the way he hid his eye from me this afternoon." I left the hat on.

I looked at myself again, and was dismayed, thinking, "You look like you belong on the set of ‘Urban Cowboy’." I thought some more, "Well, you ain’t got no more options. Either he’ll like you or he won’t. Get yourself over there and find out."

As soon as I pulled out of the driveway I thought, "Why the hell did you put your hat on, you moron? You just messed up your hair, after spending an hour fixing it. Furthermore, if you get to kiss Curtis, you’ll have to take the hat off. He’ll see you with hat hair, you idiot."

Curtis chimed in. "Aww…that’s sweet! I never knew that." Then he turned to Caroline. "He did get that kiss, and he did have awful hat hair."

I smirked. "Thanks for reminding me of the awful hat hair, Babe." Then I kissed him. "That’s to say thanks for reminding me of that first kiss. It was amazing."

I guess Miss Professional thought we were going to do something inappropriate. She had some iron in her voice when she said, "That’s sweet. Now tell me about what happened next."

Well, I was almost at Mr. Harvey’s when I remembered all the clothes I had left on the bed. I thought, "George, you might get lucky, and you don’t wanna bring Curtis home with you, and him see all those clothes all over the place." I turned around, and went back home to straighten up the house a bit.

Right before I left for Mr. Harvey’s the second time, I splashed on some Polo cologne, thinking, "George, you are gonna need all the help you can get to land this guy. Maybe he’ll like the cologne."

Curtis piped up, "He splashed more than a little cologne on. It smelled like he had taken a bath in Polo. The smell that permeated him, and everything he touched, would’ve choked a mule!"

"Miss Professional" decided to add her two cents worth. "Curtis, I’ve been there. I know what you went through. Polo is very pungent."

I ignored them, and kept talking. I pulled into the driveway at Mr. Harvey’s. He and Curtis were sitting on the porch, smoking their pipes. I thought, "Well, at least I know they’re home." I looked at Curtis, and noticed he had got some sun that day. I thought, "Hell, when that sunburn turns into a tan out he’s going to be even better looking than you thought."

Anyway, I got out of the truck, and the first thing Curtis said was, "The cobbler’s kids need shoes, and the mechanic’s truck needs a muffler."

I didn’t know what to make of his remark, but his tone definitely said he was being a smartass, but I wasn’t sure if it was a ‘smartass smartass’ or a ‘nervous smartass’. I thought about leaving, but instead I said, "Hi, Curtis. I thought I’d see if you were interested in that beer."

Mr. Harvey let out a big, obviously fake, yawn and said, "I reckon it’s about time for all the old farts in town to head to bed. You young folks go have some fun."

Then he looked at Curtis and said, "I ain’t your father, and you ain’t got no curfew here. Hell, I reckon you’re old enough to stay out all night if you want to."

He followed that with a huge wink.

Curtis and I both blushed. Neither one of us knew what to say or do. We looked at each other, and then looked at Mr. Harvey.

Finally Mr. Harvey said, ‘Don’t just stand there gawking at me all night. Curtis, go put your jacket and tie back on, and then the two of you get your asses out here."

I looked at Curtis, and he nodded. He went in the house, and came out looking just like he had earlier in the day. Certain parts of my anatomy sprang to life, and I was worried that my tight jeans would show it.

Curtis grinned. "Oh, it showed, and I gotta admit I was thrilled to see that I could have an effect on you."

"Babe, you still have the same effect on me. I still want you as much now as I did that first night."

"Miss Professional" seemed a little discombobulated. "What happened next?"

We walked to the truck, and got in. We just sat there for a long time before I asked, "How the hell do we follow that?"

Curtis said, "I don’t know, but let’s get the hell outta here before I go wring the old fart’s neck."

I wasn’t sure if he was joking or serious.

We pulled out, and Curtis spoke up. "I still can’t believe he said that. I really could wring his neck."

That made us laugh, and we relaxed a bit.

We drove a few blocks, and my mind was racing like crazy. I pulled into a parking lot, and killed the engine. "Let’s sit here and talk a minute."

Curtis just looked at me, and I said the first thing that popped into my head. ‘‘Well, at least we know we have Mr. Harvey’s blessing. That’s a first for me. I’ve only been in one semi-relationship, but we had to keep things on the QT for both of our families’ sake." Then I thought, "That was a stupid-assed move to make. You’re not supposed to bring up old flings when you’re meeting someone."

I looked at "Miss Professional". "I still can’t believe what I said next. I blurted out, ‘Am I reading things wrong? Are you gay, and if you are, are you interested in me?’"

I held my breath while waiting for his reply. I thought I was gonna pass out when I heard him say, "Yes, on both accounts."

Then he didn’t say anything. I kept waiting for him to say something, and he sat there like a stump.

Curtis interrupted me. "I have to explain things, Carolyn. I had never been on a date with a man, and had no idea what was acceptable and what wasn’t. Hell, that day was the first time I had ever admitted I was gay to anyone. I was so nervous I kept thinking I was going to pass out."

I looked at him. "I didn’t know that then, and I was just as scared as you were. I knew I liked you a lot, and was petrified that you wouldn’t like me."

I picked up my story.

I goofed and said the next thing that popped into my head. I said, "I’m fascinated by your haircut. Do you mind if I feel it?" I instantly regretted saying it.

Curtis sat there forever. Finally he said, "Go ahead."

I thought, ‘Well, that wasn’t encouraging. I don’t know if he wants me to or if he’s just being nice." I scooted closer to him, and touched his hat. "May I take it off?"

He nodded, and I almost gasped when I saw his hair. I tentatively reached out and ran my hand up the nape of his neck. It was warm from the slight sunburn he had. The bald skin of his neck contrasted sharply with the bristles of the short hair at the top of head. Then I felt the longer hair on the top, and it was so silky. Shivers ran up and down my whole body. I let out a deep sigh. ‘I wanna feel this with both hands’."

He nodded. I put a hand on either side of his head, and just rubbed his head a second. I was about to bend in for our first kiss when Curtis laughed. I thought, ‘Well, that’s a way to ruin a moment."

I was a little irked, but I was polite. "What’s so funny?"


"Walt would have a conniption fit if he saw you rubbing my head like that. He gave me hell for touching my hair while he was combing it, and then he warned me that I was going to have a rooster tail until my hair gets used to being short."

I looked, and sure enough, his rooster tail was standing straight up. "I like your rooster tail. It takes the edge off your perfection, but somehow, makes you more perfect."

Curtis looked at me like I was crazy. "Perfection? I’m far from perfect. I’m about as plain Jane as they come. You, on the other hand, are as perfect a man as I’ve ever seen." He looked at me, and his eyes made me want to melt.

I couldn’t let his statement go unchecked. "You’re wrong, good sir. You are perfection personified. Hell, the Greek gods would die of jealousy if they could see you."

I figured things were getting pretty personal at that point, so I tried to slow things down. "You said ‘until my hair gets used to being short’. Are you planning on keeping it short?"

I sent a silent prayer towards Heaven. "Please, God! Let him keep it short!"

Curtis looked at me intently. "‘I’m planning on it…unless I meet someone who hates my short hair. I might be willing to let my hair grow out…some…but that’s only a might."

"Well, I guess it’s a good thing you met me. I think your haircut makes you look so damned hot that I’m afraid I’ll melt if I get too close to you."

I’ll never forget what he said, "I think I’m already melting. You’re making me feel all gooey inside."

He blushed that adorable blush that he does when he says something sensual.

I was about to combust, so I thought I’d cool things off a bit. I asked, "Do you wanna go find someplace private, or do you wanna go get that beer?"

Curtis thought a second, "My body says to find someplace private, but I expect we oughta go get that beer." He looked at me for a second. "I think we need to get to know each other before we go someplace private."

My mind could see the sense in what he was saying, but parts of my body screamed, "NO!!!"

I moved back to my side of the truck and sat there breathing hard, waiting for the hormones to subside.

I looked at him. "I don’t even know if you like beer."

He grimaced. "It’s ok, I don’t mind a beer when it’s really hot outside, and the beer is really cold, but it’s not my favorite."

"Phew, I’m glad I asked. Beer is not my favorite either, but it seems like most folks enjoy it. What do you like to drink?"

"If we’re talking about alcohol, I like wine or a whiskey sour. If we’re talking about just something to drink, I’m a Coke drinker." Then he grinned. "My favorite thing in the whole wide world is a strawberry milkshake."

I laughed, "Well, have I got a treat for you. We have a great burger joint here called The Mom and Pop Shoppe, and they make the best milkshakes I’ve ever tasted."

"I’m down. Let’s go!"

Conversation flowed easily after that. We got to the hamburger joint and ordered shakes and onion rings. We almost got into our first fight, right there at the counter. Curtis wanted to pay, and I wasn’t having it. "Damn it! I invited you, and it’s only right I pay."

"I’m not going to take advantage of your kindness. I’m paying, and that’s final!"

"No! It’s not final. I come from a long line of folks that can out-stubborn a mule." I gave him "the look". "I will win this."

We both stopped, and laughed. I reached in my pocket, and pulled out a quarter. "Heads or tails?"

"Heads."

I flipped the coin, and it landed on tails. I laughed. "See, even Mother Nature thinks I’m supposed to pay"

He looked at me suspiciously. "Did you cheat somehow?"

I shook my head. "You’ll find out I’m a lot of things, but I ain’t a cheat."

We got our food, and sat down. Curtis took a drink of the milkshake and shuddered. "Oh my god! That’s good. I think I might have an orgasm!"

Then he blushed. "Forget I said that."

"I’ll forget it if you’ll forget that I almost said, ‘Save that orgasm for later’."

He blushed more, and somehow that blush made my heart almost burst. I thought, "Old Man George, you’d better watch out. This guy could get under your skin and into your heart if you’re not careful."

Curtis quickly changed the subject. "Why do they call you ‘Old Man George’?"

"I’ve had that nickname since third grade, and very few people probably even remember why I got it. You see, I learned to read before I even started school, and I love reading. The kids started calling me "Old Man" because I’d rather read than play."

He looked shocked. "With that brawny, muscular build of yours, I would’ve thought you were always playing sports, not reading."

I grinned. "I did play football, but it wasn’t because I wanted to. I have four brothers who were star football players, as well as a father and a grandfather who played. If you grew up in my house, you didn’t have a choice in the matter."

I kept going. "I still work out, but it’s not because I’m athletic. I like to eat, and the only way I keep from getting to three-hundred pounds is by working out."

Curtis looked me up and down. "Well, the effort is worth it. You have the body of Adonis. I’m jealous!’

"Well, I’m jealous of your lean swimmer’s physique. I have always wanted to look like you."

"People always seem to want what somebody else has. I’ve been like that all my life with short haircuts." He grinned. "Hell, I’ve wanted every short haircut I’ve ever seen." He rubbed his neck. "I’m glad I finally got one."

Everything within me wanted to reach out and rub his neck, but I knew better than to do that in my small, redneck town. I whispered, "I want to rub your neck again."

I swear, I have never seen a more sensual look than the one he gave me. "If you play your cards right, you just might get to."

I looked at him with desperation in my eyes. "Hell, I’ll give you my cards, and let you play them, so you can make sure they’re played right."

He joked, "That would be cheating, which you said you didn’t do." Then he looked serious. "I want you to earn the right to rub my neck the old-fashioned way. The honest way."

I laughed. "Damn it! I was afraid you’d say something like that."

He looked at me suggestively. "Would I be too forward if I said you’re doing an excellent job of playing your cards thus far?"

I changed the subject. "From your haircut and the way you're dressed, I’d say you’re fascinated by the Forties. Would that be correct?"

"I’m impressed that you know the styles from another era. How did you recognize it?"

"Well, there’s two ways. First, my grandfather kinda got stuck in the Forties. He dressed kinda like you, but not as nice." I looked around. "This is a deep dark secret, and I’ve never admitted it to anyone, but I’m fascinated by the Fifties. I love everything about it. I spend a lot of my time reading about it, and I have my father’s yearbooks from then. I look at them all of the time."

He studied me for a while, and his blue eyes seemed to get darker. "What’s your favorite part of the Fifties?"

"That’s a tough one. I think the women’s dresses were amazing, and I love how they wore hats and gloves. The cars were phenomenal." I stopped, "By the way, I’m obsessed with Mr. Harvey’s car. I hope some day I can get one like it."

I kept talking. "I love the men's hairstyles from back then. All of them: the pompadours, jelly rolls, tapers, flattops and crewcuts. I like the way their hair shone from the pomade they put it in. There’s just something about all of that that intrigues me."

Curtis stopped me. "Forgive me if this is rude. Do you have a haircut fetish?"

I looked down. "Do I have to answer that?"

He put his hand on mine, and then quickly moved it. "No, you don’t have to answer it. You just did." For some strange reason, he whistled to get my attention. "Look at me, George. It’s OK with me that you have a haircut fetish. I’d be the biggest hypocrite on the planet if I didn’t say that. I have one too. I find short hair to be very sensual. Hell, it’s sexual for me." He looked away. "Just seeing a man with short hair will give me a cockstand. It was hard for me not to blow in my pants while I was getting my haircut today."

He looked at me. "I had never admitted that to anyone until I talked to Uncle Harvey today."

I looked at him. "I wondered if you did, and thanks for telling me." I paused. "I feel the same way. How do you deal with it? Is it like a noose around your neck? A ball and chain? That’s how I feel."

"It used to be like that. I feel free after my trip to see Walt today."

Curtis guided us back to safer territory. "What else do you like about the Fifties?"

"Oh, the music is amazing." I blushed.

He caught my blush, and said, "What gives? What are you hiding?"

"Well, I normally have Fifties music blaring in my truck. I turned it off, because I didn’t want you to think I was too weird."

"You’ll have to turn it back on when we leave. I like the music from that era." We sat for a while, and then Curtis said, "What else do you like from ‘your’ era?"

I savored his comment for a second. "I like the way you called it ‘my era'. That’s kinda cool." Then I blushed. "I know you’re going to pull it out of me, so I’ll just say it. I also like the way the men looked with their pipes and cigars." I blushed. "It was a big turn-on when I saw you with your pipe today."

Curtis smirked. "Uncle Harvey told me that, but I didn’t believe him."

"He was right. A pipe is so fricking masculine and I’m attracted to it." He looked away. "When you add a short haircut to a pipe, it’s almost impossible to resist." He looked away. "I guess some folks would think that’s crazy, but it’s how I feel."

"I don’t think it’s crazy…" He paused. "I don’t smoke my pipe in public…at least not until today. The first time I’ve ever smoked a pipe in public was when I walked into your garage today."

I grinned. "That’s cool. I’m honored to be the first one to see you. How did it make you feel to be out in public with your new haircut and pipe?"

He blushed, but looked at me. "I’m honored that you accepted me in the persona I want to show the world…and to answer your question, I was nervous as hell, but it felt friggin great."

"I don’t mind if you smoke around me. I think you look super sexy with that pipe in your mouth, and I like the smell of it too." I ogled him. "Hell, you look super sexy without the pipe in your mouth." Then I asked, "Did you bring your pipe with you? Like they say in the army, ‘Smoke ‘em if you’ve got ‘em.’"

Curtis blushed, and looked down. He shook his head. "No, I didn’t bring it. I was worried about what you would think."

"I meant it. Don’t ever worry about smoking your pipe around me. I like it." I grinned, "However, if you ever take up cigarettes, I’m banishing you to the back yard, and you’re going to have to shower and change clothes after every smoke."

He shook his head. "You don’t ever have to worry about that." He sat silently for a moment. Finally he looked at me. "Do you have a nicotine habit?"

I shook my head. "When I was a kid, I tried dipping, but could never get the hang of it. Every once in a while I’ll play poker and smoke a cigar." I laughed. "I don’t play poker often, because I suck at it."

"That’s something we have in common. I finally gave up trying to play, because I couldn’t figure out the game."

We talked until they kicked us out of Mom and Pops, and then we sat on the tailgate of the truck, under a bright full moon, until after 2:00.

FInally, I said, "It’s getting late, and I have to work tomorrow. Would you like to go home with me?"

I could see him frantically thinking. I tried to make him more comfortable. "We wouldn’t have to do anything. I’d be happy just cuddling with you for the rest of the night."

He shook his head. "From our reactions to each other, I don’t think that would happen. We’d have each other’s clothes off before we got through the door."

I tried to make a joke of it. "I’d be OK with that."

He shook his head again. "I’m going to be blunt with you. I’m not a virgin, but I’m a gay virgin. I’ve had a few one-night stands with girls, and they left me feeling cheap. I don’t want to feel cheap after my first sexual experience with a man." He whispered, "Especially if that man is you."

Him saying that really touched my heart. "I understand, and I promise you that if we make love, it will be special to me, not a one-night stand." I paused. "Can I amend that? I don’t want to say ‘if we make love’. I want to say when we make love."

Emotions overwhelmed me. "I don’t know if I believe in love at first sight, but I know I feel something special with you, and I think it could turn into love. Take all the time you need, but know I do want to be with you, and I’m more than willing to wait until you’re ready."

Tears sparkled in his eyes as he whispered, "Thank you…and for your information, I already feel something very special for you, but there’s a lot of obstacles we’d have to overcome before we could think about becoming a couple."

I grabbed his hand. "That’s OK, my handsome prince. We’ll deal with the obstacles as they show up, but know this, I have faith in our ability to overcome them."

"I forgot about the big brim on my cowboy hat, and bent over to kiss Curtis. The brim caught him right on the bridge of the nose, and he sat there for what seemed like an hour, just cussing up a storm!" I paused. "I don’t think I’ve ever heard anybody use so many cuss words in such a short amount of time, not even my Pops, and he was a sailor."

I shrugged my shoulders, and said, "So much for my plans of being Romeo, and wooing him into something else."

Curtis spoke up. "He did get that kiss…but only after I quit cussing and took the hat off of him."

I picked the story back up. "I asked him to meet me at the shop for lunch the next day, and then we went out again that night."

Curtis spoke up. "I was really getting frustrated with him insisting on paying for everything we ate, so when he asked me to meet him again for lunch the third day, I said, ‘I’m a decent cook. Why don’t I throw something together, and bring it to you?’"

"George lit up like a Christmas tree. ‘You can cook? You just get better and better.’ He looked chagrined at saying that, and tried to make it better. ‘I can barely boil an egg, and I don’t get to eat home-cooked food often. I’d love that.’"

"Curtis told me later that he was at the grocery store at 6:00 the next morning, and that he cooked all morning. I believe him. He brought me a feast."

Curtis spoke up. "It wasn’t anything special."

I shook my head. "Nothing special, my ass. I almost dropped my teeth when I saw you hauling in tray after tray of food. You fried chicken in butter and bacon grease, which I had never heard of, but oh my god, it was delicious. To paraphrase what Curtis said about the milkshakes, I thought I was going to have an orgasm when I took that first bite of his special chicken."

I looked at "Miss Professional". "On top of that, he made a five-cheese macaroni dish with bacon in it, fresh green beans with bacon in it and brought me some fried bacon to make a sandwich with." I laughed. "I guess I had mentioned I like bacon."

Curtis cut me off. "Mentioned? You ‘mentioned’ bacon almost every other breath." He looked at Carolyn. "I guess I wanted to impress him with my listening skills. I might’ve overdone the bacon."

I cut him off. "Like hell you overdid the bacon! That was the best meal I’ve ever had. On top of what I already said, he made a corn casserole, a Caesar salad with homemade dressing, homemade bread and a chocolate cake with orange and raspberry in it that was the best thing I’ve ever tasted."

She looked impressed. "That sounds delicious. Now I’m hungry."

"Oh, I forgot. He also made a big pot of chicken noodle soup, with sour cream, cheese and bacon in it."

I sighed. "I have never been as full as I was after that meal."

Carolyn looked at Curtis. "Are you sure you’re gay? I’d marry you in a heartbeat, just to get to eat like that."

Curtis’ words thrilled me. "Sorry, Carolyn. You’re a gorgeous woman, but I think I’ll stick with my handsome man. He’s a keeper, as far as I’m concerned."

She looked at me. "I think you’re right, Curtis. I’d fight to keep a man like him at my side too."

I went on with my tale. "We went out again that evening, and it was a very bittersweet night. I knew he was leaving the next day, and I wouldn’t see him again for three months."

That night, I decided it was time to ask if he wanted me to get a short haircut.

His answer surprised me. "First of all, we’re not far enough into a relationship for me to have a say in how you wear your hair, although I thank you for asking. Secondly, I definitely do NOT want you to cut your hair for me. If I’m going to fall in love with you, I’m going to fall in love with whomever you want to be. If you want to be a Fifties reject, I’ll love the Fifties reject. If you want to stay in your "Urban Cowboy" persona, then I’ll ride a cowboy. Hell, if you want to be a caveman, I’ll help you tan your hides."

He changed moods so fast that at first I was confused. "Funny, but true, story. When I told Uncle Harvey I was fascinated by the Forties, he said, ‘Hell, if you want to be a caveman and put a bone in your nose and carry a big club while wearing hides, you can do it. You just have to be willing to be considered an odd duck, and be made fun of.’"

I had to laugh. "That sounds like Mr. Harvey. He does have a way with words."

Curtis smirked. "If you come home with a big club, you’d better not use it on me!"

Curtis looked like he was trying to find words to express himself. "To finish answering your question, and to be perfectly honest, I would enjoy the sensuality of rubbing your bristly head if you got a flattop or crewcut. I would love to get to ruffle your head and mess up a perfect pompadour. However, I’m not hinting for, asking for or demanding any changes in you, including a haircut. If YOU want to cut your hair, I’ll support you in it. Having said that, I love the softness of your hair just as it is. I love the way it feels when I run my fingers through it." He stopped. "Look at me, Old Man George. I want you, for who you are. I want you to be you, and then we’ll see how we mix." Then he laughed, "However, if you decide to get your hair cut shorter, I wanna watch you transform into a Fifties reject. I will hang you up by the balls if you don’t take me to the barbershop with you."

"I grimaced. ‘Ouch! That sounds painful.’ I was quiet for a second. ‘I’m glad you told me that tonight. I had thought that IF I decide to get it cut, I would surprise you.’"

"He glared at me. ‘Don’t you dare!’"

"I changed the subject. ‘How do you feel about playing a little backseat bingo?’"

"He looked at me. ‘I ain’t sure what backseat bingo means, but if it’s what I think it is, I’d enjoy that.’"

I said, "‘Backseat bingo’ means making out in the back of a car."

He looked around the truck, and played coy. "How are we supposed to play backseat bingo if you don’t have a backseat?"

"I do have a big bed in the back of the truck. Will that be an acceptable substitute?"

He snuggled up against me. "I don’t care if it's the front seat, back seat or the bed of the truck, just kiss me, you handsome devil."

Curtis took the conversation away from me. "Unfortunately, I had to leave the next day, and I felt like I had left half of myself in Arkansas. I got home, and all I could think about was George. We talked for hours every day…despite him saying he hates to talk on the phone."

I was going nuts, trying to not think about him, and decided to drive to Dallas on my next day off. I had heard about a thrift shop that had a bunch of old clothes, and thought I’d go check it out. I loved the clothes that Uncle Harvey had given me, but knew that if I was going to seriously present myself as a person from 1947, I’d have to have more clothes than what he gave me.

I walked into the store, and thought I’d hit the jackpot. The store was HUGE, and even though all the old clothes made it smelled like an attic, it was beautiful. Everything was divided according to eras, and hung according to size. I found it an easy store to shop in, not at all like the thrift store where I had bought my first vintage suit.

A jukebox caught my attention, and a thought appeared. I shook my head. "That’s a stupid idea, you asshole. You haven’t known him long enough to give him something that personal."

The idea wouldn’t go away. I tried to justify it by saying, "You don’t have to give him anything now. You can find something, and give it to him for his birthday or Christmas." Negative me showed up. "You idiot. You know you’ll never be able to keep his attention that long. Somebody else will come along, and he’ll dump you like a dirty diaper. He won’t even remember you the next day."

I soothed my worries, thinking, "It won’t hurt to look."

I looked under the jukebox, figuring the Fifties clothes would be there. I was right, and the first thing I looked at was perfect. It was a red and black bowling shirt. I instantly decided to buy it, figuring George would like those colors, since he wore red the first time we met. My mind supplied me with an image of him wearing the shirt with his hair greased up, and in a high pompadour. I could see the DA in the back, and he looked mighty tasty to me.

I didn’t look for pants to go with the shirt, figuring he could just wear it with some jeans. I thought, "Don’t forget to remind him to roll his jeans up." I laughed. "You’re such a geek. He knows more about the Fifties than you do. He’ll know how to wear it."

I was so happy with my first choice that I went digging for something else. A huge rush of emotions flooded me when I saw a great black leather biker’s jacket. I almost lost my composure, thinking about what he would look like in it. I quickly grabbed it, before I could lose my nerve.

A vintage western shirt, with matching trousers, grabbed my attention. Somehow, the pearl snaps kept calling my name, and I just couldn’t pass the outfit up. Wouldn’t you know it, a pair of pointy "roach killer" cowboy boots that were perfect for the era were on the rack above it (if you’re not familiar with the term "roach killer" it’s a boot that has a sharp, pointed toe, that’s said to be handy for killing roaches in a corner). They went into my pile when I saw they were the right size. My fertile imagination instantly supplied me with a vision of how he would look. His dark hair would be a perfect compliment, especially if he had a lot of Brylcreem in it. I giggled. "I’ll just have to remind him not to wear a cowboy hat with it. I don’t think my nose would stand another run in with his hat."

Somehow, a plaid, short-sleeved shirt and a pair of baggy pleated trousers found their way into my pile. My imagination supplied me with a picture of him wearing the outfit with a sharp-looking flattop, and I knew the green in the shirt was close to the color of his eyes.

I looked at a letterman’s jacket, but put it back, thinking, "He might be too old to wear this." A sweater vest and bow tie was added, thinking, "You might as well get it. He could wear this with the slacks you picked out earlier, and this would look good with his flattop, or a short taper."

I found a fantastic grey mohair suit. The lapels were narrow, and it fairly screamed 1950’s to me. I immediately envisioned him with a short taper.

I looked at hats, but wasn’t sure what size he wore. I gambled, and picked one that would fit me (with my short hair.) I thought, "If it’s too small now, he might get a haircut, just so the hat will fit." I congratulated myself. "You’re a sneaky bastard, but it might work." The hat went into my pile.

I told myself to stop, but a great overcoat caught my attention. I justified buying it by saying, "You don’t have to give it to him now. It would be a great Christmas present, and he could wear it at Christmas. It’s too hot to wear now anyway."

I told myself to stop (again), and managed to walk by the belts. The shoes stopped me. I couldn’t pass on a pair of brown penny loafers. I looked at dress shoes, and thought, "You’ve got to let him buy something for himself."

I was almost home before I realized I hadn’t even looked at anything for myself. I said, "Be careful, you idiot. You’re setting yourself up for a broken heart. You’ve only spent three evenings with him."

I was miserable the next day. Even smoking my pipe didn’t bring me any joy. I finally thought, "Get off your ass and go find a barbershop. Maybe getting a haircut will make you feel better." I went by three different barber shops, but none of them looked right. One had a young barber. I thought, "He probably doesn’t have enough experience with short hair. You need to find a barber with some grey hair." The next shop looked too modern, and I didn’t even pull in. I knew I wanted something old fashioned, like Walt’s. I almost went into the last one that I pulled into, but a customer walked out of the door, and his hair was a mess. I thought, "You’d be happier looking shaggy than looking butchered. That barber obviously doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing."

I wound up going home, and moping until it was time to talk to George.

The next week moved so slowly that I thought I was going to die of old age before I could see George. I didn’t know how I was going to make it a whole three months. The idea was untenable, and I was looking for an excuse to go see Uncle Harvey.

He saved me the trouble. He called me Monday night. "I really need your help. Is there any way you could come up here on your next day off?"

I jumped at it. I didn’t even ask what he needed. "Sure. I’ll leave work early tomorrow, and be there by your bedtime."

"Oh, by the way, I called your mother first, and asked her if she would ask for me. She said, ‘I’m not talking to the sorry faggot.’ I reckon she didn’t handle things well."

"You could say that, but I got through it without any broken bones or blood loss. I’ll take that as a win."

"I do too. I was really worried about you."

"I’m sorry, Uncle Harvey. I should’ve called and told you how it went. I guess my brain is somewhere else."

"I’m reckoning that there brain of yours is with a certain handsome mechanic we know. Am I right?"

I laughed. "You may be right, but I’m pleading the fifth."

"Do you want to talk about how things went with Marie?"

"No, sir. I can tell you about it tomorrow night."

"All right, son. Long-distance ain’t cheap, and this here call is costing me a pretty penny. I’ll see ya tomorrow night, and thanks for helping an old man out."

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