My co-worker and best friend Brock called yesterday and left a message on my voice mail saying that we needed to get together and do something since we hadn't seen each other in ages. Brock, (damn him!) decided to get himself transfered to a different Barnes & Noble in the Charlotte area, so now I never saw him anymore. I said I'd tag along with him tomorrow as he ran errands in Hickory.
I got into his car the next morning and became to fuss at him for being late to pick me up. “God damn, girl…just slap on a fresh maxi-pad and some Cover Girl and you can be out the door in twenty minutes instead of all this fancy ass primping and prissing, that’s what I do and I’m always early everywhere I go!” I pouted, “I got way hot out here in the sun waiting on you, why I nearly had a heat stroke and all the Dippidy Doo plum melted out of my hair !” Brock giggled, punched me in the arm and looked back down to his blackberry to finish downloading a dick shot from some guy off on Manhunt. It was a game we played when we were alone, turning into doppelgangers of the old southern women we ran into in our day-to-day life. I'm kind of known a butch gay guy and seldom get a chance to be a flaming fag. That’s what I like about Brock, I could be butch or queeny… he didn’t give a shit. He was usually too busy trying to hook up with some dude or dudes (Brock is a little on the wild side) from one of the many websites we both frequented. I lived vicariously through the constant stories of his latest sexcapades. I would pump him for all the gory details and he would gladly supply them.
And another thing, Brock is HIV Positive, my only poz friend here in town, so we really bonded over that. Our friendship is rather one-sided. My mom would call him a fair-weathered friend. If I were in the hospital and really sick, I sincerely doubt that Brock would come visit me on his own accord unless I put a major guilt trip on him. I know this about him and I accept it. It’s just the way things are and I know he does love me in his own way. You can’t have every fuckin’ thing, ya know?
I got into his car the next morning and became to fuss at him for being late to pick me up. “God damn, girl…just slap on a fresh maxi-pad and some Cover Girl and you can be out the door in twenty minutes instead of all this fancy ass primping and prissing, that’s what I do and I’m always early everywhere I go!” I pouted, “I got way hot out here in the sun waiting on you, why I nearly had a heat stroke and all the Dippidy Doo plum melted out of my hair !” Brock giggled, punched me in the arm and looked back down to his blackberry to finish downloading a dick shot from some guy off on Manhunt. It was a game we played when we were alone, turning into doppelgangers of the old southern women we ran into in our day-to-day life. I'm kind of known a butch gay guy and seldom get a chance to be a flaming fag. That’s what I like about Brock, I could be butch or queeny… he didn’t give a shit. He was usually too busy trying to hook up with some dude or dudes (Brock is a little on the wild side) from one of the many websites we both frequented. I lived vicariously through the constant stories of his latest sexcapades. I would pump him for all the gory details and he would gladly supply them.
And another thing, Brock is HIV Positive, my only poz friend here in town, so we really bonded over that. Our friendship is rather one-sided. My mom would call him a fair-weathered friend. If I were in the hospital and really sick, I sincerely doubt that Brock would come visit me on his own accord unless I put a major guilt trip on him. I know this about him and I accept it. It’s just the way things are and I know he does love me in his own way. You can’t have every fuckin’ thing, ya know?
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