He looks up, grinning cockily. "You wish I was playing with myself. This isn't even approaching semi-chub territory." He shimmies his hips, sending his floppy cock flapping. "You should see this monster when he comes to life."
"I'll pass. But thanks for the offer."
"Anytime, Buzz. Anytime." He does a few helicopter spins with his dick and starts laughing.
I roll my eyes and turn off the water.
Ramzi Harring can be a clueless idiot, but he's a lovable clueless idiot. More than just my engine partner, he's become family. The whole crew here at Clovelly Fire Department have to an extent, but he and I have grown especially close.
A fact I have to downplay around Courtland, technically my only 'official' best friend. Because yes, grown men in their early thirties are more than capable of acting like high school sophomores.
I walk over to the long wooden bench that splits the shower room in two. On one side, communal showers; on the other side, our lockers and a general dumping ground for our shit.
"I mean, this setup." Ramzi keeps talking, thankfully moving on from washing his dick to soaping up his armpits. "Open showers and shit. Is this what gay porn is like?"
"Some of it," I reply casually, drying off. "Usually starts with a dumb straight jock wandering in, asking all sorts of annoying questions, and ends up with him getting gangbanged so hard his asshole resembles a meat patty."
Ramzi's mouth falls open, but he quickly cottons on. "Doesn't sound so bad actually," he says with a shrug.
"You're an idiot."
"True, true," he mutters, laughing to himself again.
I turn my back so he doesn't catch me smiling. As weird as it sounds, sayingall the wrong thingsand constantly giving each other grief feels good. Like it allows me to be who I am, just like it allows him to be his freest, truest self. No pretenses. No judgment. Nothing but unconditional love and support.
Even if he is a little clueless about gay stuff. But when the town selectman floated the idea of defunding Pride last year, no one protested louder than the dude currently humming to himself under the shower.
Ramzi was so incensed, he organized a charity car wash and made the rest of the crew join him in turning it into ashirtlesscharity car wash. Pretty sure the small-town record for most abs on display in one day was officially broken that day.
"What's with the nice threads, man?" he asks, padding over to me, naked and dripping wet.
I toss a towel at him. It's sad that apart from my own, his is the dick I've seen the most lately. "I'm going to Arnold Whitman's funeral, remember?"
"Right. Forgot it was today. I'm so fucking tired," he says, toweling off. "Does that mean Court will be back?"
"It does." I sit down, dry off the soles of my feet, and wrangle on my socks. "Spoke with him about an hour ago. He's on his way."
"How long’s it been since he was here?"
"Not that long," I shoot back defensively, yanking my dress shoes out of my duffel bag.
It may have been an innocent question, but there's something about Courtland Matthews that rubs some people the wrong way, and I always have this impulse to defend him.
The thing is, Courtcancome across as standoffish until you get to know him. Even maybe a little arrogant. But he's not. He just has a hard time getting what's in his head and his heart out past his lips.
And he has his reasons for not returning to Clovelly as often as I'd like.
If people could see the Courtland I see, they'd probably be hopelessly in love with him, too.
Actually, no, that's probably just a me thing.
"Is he staying a while?"
"Don't know. I assume he'll go back to Boston for Thanksgiving with his family."
"Doesn't his mother live here, though?"
My jaw clenches.
