Playing with Matches

I

Around the living room, Cole raked his irises of honey-brown. Never had he seen so many matched items and polished surfaces. No wonder Rick wanted his other property painted pronto—to pay for the goodies of this house with the rent income of that apartment.

"Would you look at that screen?" Rick said. He sat up on his black loveseat of leather. "Our first baseman is switch-hitting."

Tod's soft-spoken voice sounded abruptly curt. "Don't start with that."

"What," Rick uttered.

"Don't play dumb with me."

"You're right," Rick pattered like an automaton. "So I'll come out and say it. Number 22 is horny as the pigs; he has obviously failed to find a chick on the diamond; and he is thus searching for a dude to fuck."

"Would you show some respect for our guest?" Tod said.

"I'm sure Cole can take a lewd joke," Rick said. He turned left his squarish face of light cream and gave Cole a coquettish eye.

Cole spoke with a Tennessee drawl, one that was three times thicker than Tod's Piedmont drawl and Rick's brogue. Offhandedly, Cole said, "I can take a joke."

"That's my buddy," Rick said and slapped Cole's swarthy thigh.

Who would have known? Cole thought. Tod, the blond fresh out of high school, was acting mature relative to Rick, the dark-haired manager of a workout center. Tod even refrained from lolling back on his cream recliner of waxy leather. Rick, by contrast, had his legs on the glass coffee table, black hiking boots and all. If anyone was showing consideration for Cole, it was Tod.

Cole swigged some beer out of his glass bottle.

"See?" Rick said. "My talk is inciting Cole. If I didn't know better, I'd say he wants to suck dick."

"Watch it!" Cole said.

"Don't take it personally," Rick protested. "We're all loaded as that player." Rick wrapped his lips around the head of his glass bottle.

Petulantly, Tod sucked his incisors of porcelain white.

Rick slipped his lips off the neck of his bottle. This made the sound of air escaping the unfastening lid of a jug of water. "There," Rick said. "We're even now."

What, Cole wondered, would his wife say if she knew whom Cole was hanging out with? If only Sheena's mother weren't so ill. Sheena would then have returned from Kentucky; she would have brought back Sheena and Cole's little boy; and the three would no longer be separated. As for Cole's side of the family, Cole could only guess: what if his parents and older brother hadn't pressured him to conform to their way of doing things? Then, Cole wouldn't have to stay away from them—especially, on weekends—and he wouldn't be hobnobbing with Tod and Rick. Only Cole's younger brother and younger sister accepted him despite the mistakes Cole had made through his teens and most of his twenties. Cole's younger siblings, however, lived under the same roof as his crucifiers.

Rick croaked, "I can lend you my wife, you know."

"You're bluffin'," Cole said.

"I'm serious," Rick replied in a rapidly rising tone.

"Jeepers creepers," Jennifer said.

Cole nearly flinched, but he managed to smoothly turn left his oval face.

Jennifer clacked onto the white mega-tiles of the family room. Her scent of jasmine prickled Cole's narrow nostrils.

Cole's tight chest pulsed as if a bass drum were beating in the bedroom behind him.

Jennifer lipped, "You duds just won't let up on Cole."

"Hey!" Rick said, his voice verging on drunk. "We're only taking a hard break from a hard week."

"Cole is married, for the love of God," Jennifer said. "In a closed marriage."

"Cole's wife doesn't have to know a thing," Rick said, "and you, my wife, can have plenty of fun with him."

"Do you really think I would betray one of my sisters?" Jennifer said.

"Don't come to us with your feminist crap," Rick said. "You're the gal who coaxed me into swinging. Now, you want to see Cole remain monogamous?"

"Don't get smart with me," Jennifer said. "I

introduced

you to nonmonogamy with girls and guys who were

all

single—not married with a 2-year-old son."

Silence washed over the sunlit room like the sound wake of a passing jeep. Tod, however, fidgeted in his cream recliner.

The quiet rippled away like butterflies to a breeze.

Tod mumbled as if he had marbles in his mouth. "You can't tell Cole's wife we had this conversation."

"I'm no tattletale," Jennifer said. "What you do is your business. But I won't be party to it."

"To each his own," Rick said. He raised his beer bottle as if to a toast.

Every part of Jennifer's froze in annoyance—her dark orbs, her round nose, the freckles on her pale cheeks; the oval contour of her girlish face; and her gloved arms of black velvet and stockinged legs of black nylon.

Jennifer unfroze. "If I catch or hear of you luring Cole into something immoral, you'll have to make do without my vagina."

"For how long?" Rick said in jest.

"For as long as you guys are doing … whatever it is you're thinking about doing. I'll be with my girlfriends."

With that, Jennifer spun toward the white screens of the shoji. Her shoulder-long curls of black flipped toward the paper panels of the room divider. Jennifer disappeared behind the checkered multifold. The front door of oakwood whiffled open. And her black low-heels of padded leather crackled on the walkway like the clicks of an electric range switched on cold.

Had it not been for the door spring, the front door would have slammed shut.

"I won't have a girl tell me what I can and can't do," Rick said. He turned his attached earlobes right. "Are you with me?"

Tod's hazel irises moved as if following a Ping-Pong ball. In a muse, they bounced from Rick's baby blues to the glinting floor, from the white mega-tiles to the bamboos perpendicular to the big screen TV, and from the greenery back to Rick's eyes.

Rick's voice rumbled. "I said, 'are you with me?'"

Tod jiggered his toned shoulders. "I guess."

Tod's words pounded Cole's stomach like a boxing glove a punching bag.

Rick turned his shaved face left, and he jolted up his dimpled chin at Cole.

Dick sucking? Wife sharing? Cole had no choice but to feign ignorance—at least, until he had the chance to think things over on his own. "What are you talkin' about?"

"I'm talking about doing some serious rock 'n roll," Rick said. Toward the end of his sentence, he jerked off the neck of his bottle.

How Cole hated being backed to the corner like this. "If you're talkin' about sowin' our oats, I'll have to pass."

"Have?" Rick said.

"I'm a married man," Cole answered.

"Is your wife giving you pussy?"

Cole puffed a laugh. "You don't wanna know."

"Tell me," Rick pressed.

Once more, Cole was going down in life. "After the baby was born, ma wife lost her … sexual appetite."

"I knew it," Rick said, snapping two fingers. "When was the last time you fucked her?"

The cool room doubled in temperature, and the scent of perfumed apples intensified—compliment of Jennifer's candles burning in the foyer. Cole's mutter was a tad louder than the chatter of the spectators on the television. "Ain't you gonna watch the game?"

"Was it a week ago?" Rick said, twirling his hands around each other as if they were a couple of pinwheels. "A month ago?"

"I haven't been intimate with ma wife in … three months."

"Holy Moly!" Rick said, marching to his black hiking boots. "A stud like you?" Rick turned his sharp nose back. "Tod, we have to do something about this dude."

Cole rose from the black loveseat of leather. The jute fibers of Cole's sandy-brown hair riffled on his strong shoulders. "I can take care of ma self."

Rick turned his sharp nose back front. "You're not leaving, are you?"

Cole glanced from Rick's black pants of cotton to Tod's pale blue jeans. Only Cole was showing the skin of his legs. This accentuated Cole's discomfort. Cole drawled, "Just make sure you pay me on Thursday."

"As soon as I get those tenants to sign that lease," Rick said. "Incidentally, you did a great paint job on the inside of that apartment."

Cole looked at Tod so as to say:

This guy needs to screw some nuts upstairs.

Tod bid Cole a dopey nod. Then, Tod grasped the lapels of the brown jacket of suede he was wearing.

Cole noticed the red lining of Tod's car coat. The red satin of the inside and the brown suede of the outside combined well with Tod's hazel irises and with his short and tidy hair of dishwater blond.

Cole brushed his eyes over the fuzzy parting at the front of Tod's hair. Cole brought the leading edge of his hand to his forehead and offed the thing to Tod in salute. "Enjoy the game."

II

Walking up the driveway, Cole felt uneasy. On the one hand, he needed to get paid. On the other hand, being around Rick was something no straight man would do—particularly, one who was married. Cole would leave as soon as he got Rick's check. So Cole assured himself. Moreover, the young man concluded, he would never return to the approaching house.

Cole snatched off his black sunglasses.

The white cobblestones of Rick's bungalow gleamed in the morning sun.

Cole squinted and turned his stubbled face left.

The grass of the front lawn sheened with viridescence.

Again, Cole squinnied. He straightened his head and entered Rick's garage.

The rear of Rick's silver pickup faced Cole, its glossy metal the stuff of car ads. Even the tailpipe glinted with the hue of mountain water.

Cole stomped one of his brown brogans as if shaking snow off it.

Rick stuck his head out from under his hood. "Hey, bud!"

Cole stepped further into the garage.

Rick neared Cole and extended a blackened hand.

Cole shook it. "Looks lak your truck needs some fixin'."

"The battery came loose," Rick said.

Cole chuckled. "Not on the interstate, I hope."

"Nah," Rick said. "It happened as I bumped onto the driveway."

"You're lucky," Cole said. "The wires in ma van would never withstand a drav over terrain lak that." Cole glimpsed back to emphasize the curb that preceded Rick's driveway. "Even without bumpin' over that, I may have to replace ma spark plugs."

"I can get you some, if you want," Rick said.

"I'd rather not replace ma spark plugs, yet," Cole replied.

"Why not?"

"My engine hasn't turned off on the road, although it's showin' signs," Cole said. "Besides, the moment you start pullin' out things under the hood, more things get out of whack. Before you know it, you gotta retrofit the ignition coil, the distributor, oxygen sensors—"

"I disagree," Rick interrupted. "Working people need dependable transportation—especially, a handyman like you. What if your van goes dead, at night, in the middle of nowhere? Are you ready to make your tools vulnerable like that?"

"I'm really strapped," Cole said. "I got ma wife this spic-and-span sedan. Between car payments, the house mortgage, food, cable, telephone, utility bills, and who knows what, I can't afford to make unnecessary repairs."

"Letting a spark plug wire deteriorate until things go south will only create major problems down the line," Rick said. "Guys have to keep top-notch wires under their hoods."

"I didn't say spark plug wires," Cole answered. "I said spark

plugs

, where the wires go. Those I'm hesitant to replace."

"If the spark plugs aren't working for your spark plug wire, you may have no choice but to retrofit the spark plugs altogether," Rick said. "

Capiche?"

Cole saw the connotation all too well. He had to care for his wire. That, however, would have required replacing all three sockets, two of which Cole's wife never offered him in bed. Clearly, Sheena's spark plugs were not servicing Cole's spark plug wire in the manner he wanted. Cole's dick twitched in frustration.

Rick said, "Give me that wrench."

Cole reached toward the wooden workbench and tossed Rick the silver tool.

Rick caught it with one hand. He leaned slightly forward as if about to step toward Cole, shifted his weight back, and tootled back to the silver hood. "Sounds like you have a lot on your shoulders," Rick said.

The subterranean vulgarity in Cole's voice emerged louder than usual. "I'm managin'."

"I know about managing," Rick said argumentatively. From the left side of his hood, he stooped toward its underside. "I'm an assistant manager, for God's sake." Rick twisted his soiled arms to his wrench. "Sometimes, however, things can only be handled in certain ways."

"Excuse me?" Cole said.

Rick peeked out from under his silver hood. "Do I have to get graphic with you? I'm talking about your cock!"

Rick might as well have slugged Cole. For the first time, Cole wanted to put Rick in his place—and this meant doing something that most fellows didn't do.

Rick finished tightening his battery clamps. "There." He un-stooped, sashayed to the workbench, and chucked the wrench. "Let me see if I understand," Rick said, standing in front of Cole. "You work like an ox and provide for your family. You give your wife a son and the freedom to be away from you whenever she wants. Then, Sheena refuses to give you some cooch? For three

months?"

"Lots of women go sour downstairs after havin' a baby," Cole retorted.

"If you come home tired, are hungry for a sandwich, and politely ask your wife to make you one, would she say no because she wasn't hungry?"

"Of course, not!" Cole said.

"Then, why can't women apply that principle to sex?"

"Beats the hell out of me," Cole said.

"I am offering you the chance to unload your balls—big time," Rick said. "What sexually deprived man would decline such an offer?"

"I can't cheat on ma wife," Cole said.

"In the ideal world, cheating wouldn't be necessary," Rick said. "Open marriages would be acceptable. The absurdity of one man falling for one woman, marrying her exclusively, and never again lusting after—much less, having sex with—other people would be recognized as such. Absurdity. Human beings aren't built for that."

Cole whined, "I can't have sex with a second woman."

Rick ambled past Cole, stopped under the yellow rectangles of the aluminum garage door, and turned to Cole. "Straight women," Rick said, half to himself. "They are so suburban."

"How d'you mean?" Cole said.

"Bikini briefs, for example. Lots of men enjoy wearing them. But more often than not, their ladies freak out. How the

hell

are men supposed to explore their less macho side with taboos against things like that?"

Cole spoke like an adolescent boy afraid to ask a girl out on a date. "D'you enjoy wearin' … bikinis?"

"I prefer cotton briefs," Rick said. "Tod, however, loves to wear bikinis. His girlfriend fucking dumped him for that."

"Tod wears … bikinis?" Cole said incredulously.

"Yeah!" Rick said.

"… and he fucks chicks?"

"Sometimes," Rick said.

"I don't get it," Cole replied.

Rick spoke matter-of-factly. "Tod loves the feel of nylon on him, just like many guys."

"This is gettin' too kinky for me," Cole drawled.

"Brace yourself, then," Rick said, "because the 2020s will be for men what the 1960s was for women."

"Come again?" Cole said.

"The coming decade will be about straight guys embracing their bisexuality."

A guitar string of steel snapped inside Cole.

"Living in the late teens, we can already see the beginnings of that," Rick proceeded. "Sociologists predict that by 2030, 24% of the population will identify as bisexual."

"How could that be?" Cole said. "Men are

straight."

"As in heteroromantic," Rick countered. "But for men in particular, that doesn't mean they can't be bi

sexual

. After all, males can have sex with or without romantic feelings. They can wank off with anyone. It is women who need a romantic relationship to get them going sexually. Therefore, sociologists predict that male bisexuality will be more widespread than female bisexuality. Monogamy, I remind you, is a gal thing."

Cole's brain cells could barely keep up. Still, he managed to speak. "If men are so bi, wha do they act so straight?"

"Social programming," Rick said casually. "Also, men know that most ladies don't dig the sight of men shagging. So men keep their mouths shut and repress the gay side of their bisexuality. The good news is that more women are getting turned on by gay sex—just like most men are turned on by lesbian sex."

"Sounds lak a load of hooey," Cole said.

"Experience will teach you otherwise," Rick said.

What was Rick trying to do? Cole griped. Impress him with his Ivy League bullshit?

Stillness fell onto the garage like a giant wedding veil.

Cole's mouth broke the quiet much as a stack of books spilling out of a backpack. "If ma wife discovers me in a compromisin' position, ma marriage is over. Her folks will disown me, and ma family will take me to the guillotine."

"Thus, we have no choice," Rick said.

"What d'you mean?"

"Either your gonads burst, or we get discreet," Rick said. "I know the perfect place where we can be discreet."

Cole parted his lips and drew air to utter something. Something, however, corked his mouth.

Never had Cole been unable to speak. His heart sank like a pancake hitting a skillet, and his cock grew like a dry bean swelling under water in fast motion. On the one hand, Cole's heart nudged him to be a gentleman. On the other hand, Cole's dick tugged him in Rick's direction. Would Rick really find him a woman? Cole wondered.

III

The wooden boards creaked to the skirring of the three. Never had Cole skedaddled—much less, over a woman. If Cole's wife caught Tod, Rick, and Cole, not only would she have become suspicious. Sheena would have ended Cole's marriage to her. Hopefully, Cole thought, Rick told the hussy to hide until the yacht was safe at sea.

Tod hopped onto the white floating iron.

The whump of rubber sneakers on metal resounded in Cole's ears like a cannon firing at dawn.

The lightbulb to Cole's left went out.

Now, Cole thought, any onlookers had even more reason to be leery of Tod, Rick, and Cole's behavior. Surrounded by the night, Cole skimmed the quayside.

Rick and Cole entered the limelight of the quay light that followed. Never had a purple-white light shined so brightly.

Quickly, Rick untied the rope of yarn.

Cole flitted onto the white yacht.

Rick jumped in after him.

* * * *

The full moon resembled a golf ball on a black blanket. The many stars, in turn, glittered as if the salt grains of the sea had been dispersed into outer space.

Cole shuddered at the thought of being watched from the darkness of the encircling ocean. Whatever was about to transpire, it would have to occur inside the boat, Cole swore to himself.

On the second deck, Rick turned off the motor.

On the ground deck, Cole's chaise longue stopped vrooming. Still, Cole felt the leftover itch of the seat slats on his calves, hamstrings, and duff.

Cole turned his straight nose right.

Like Cole, Tod was lounging on a white deck chair. The yellowish lightbulbs of the boat lit Tod's jade-green polo shirt and blue jeans. Tod's jeans were frayed here and there and looked as if washed routinely in hot water.

Was Tod wearing bikinis? Cole wondered. Impossible. Not an all-American dude like Tod. Rick must have been pulling the wool over Cole's eyes—or at least, trying to—when he told Cole otherwise, Cole concluded.

The white vessel pitched and rolled.

Cole fidgeted on his white chaise longue. "What does Rick have in mind, anyway?"

"I wish I knew," Tod said in his soft-spoken voice.

Cole's eyes took in the yacht's varnish of whitewashed metal. "I can't believe anyone owns a boat lak this."