Grayson Renaldo didn’t remember the number when it appeared on the caller ID but answered anyway. It might be a new job, he thought. Instead, a chipper young man calling from New York City informed him of his nomination for Saboteur magazine’s Man of the Year. It wasn’t the ultimate title, just the Texas state title. The winner of this crown might take the national vote, given the state’s thriving gay population.

Grayson asked who had nominated him, but the man didn’t know. “You must have lots of fans!” he yelled into the mouthpiece. Grayson shrank back from his phone. He asked what happened next, and the cheery man described the tasks: a sampling of photographs must be submitted for editorial decision, and a Saboteur writer would conduct a brief interview over the phone. If Grayson indeed won the state title, he must repeat the tasks to compete nationally. Saboteur’s official website catalogued all votes.

Grayson read the magazine on occasion. An article about committed gay couples ashamed of having met on sex websites had piqued his interest and made him grateful he and his husband Jarvis shared no such shame. Their six-year union was a model of taste and mutual respect. Grayson knew he didn’t say he loved Jarvis as often as Jarvis told him the same, but he refused to start counting those exchanges, believed a paint-by-numbers approach to affection would embarrass the man he loved.

As for Saboteur, Grayson recalled little more than a chaotic series of fashion ads, bratty celebrity interviews, and full-color photos of oiled handsome men adrift on cruise ships. The cheery man nattered in his ear while Grayson fantasized about competing. Perhaps his friends, both in Dallas and around the country, would tease him. Maybe he’d be recognized on the street or at clubs. Grayson had never harbored a desire for nationwide fame, but the sudden possibility intrigued him.

Besides, Grayson was very accustomed to posing for the camera. During his twenties, he supported himself with small-time modeling work for local retailers while he built his interior design business. Photographers clamored to shoot him, praised the iridescent cerulean of his eyes, the pronounced cleft of his chin, the smoothly shaven contours of his chest and abdominals. Even after he stopped flexing for the lens to pay the rent, he kept in shape. Competition for sex and attention among Dallas’ gay men devoured many; Grayson refused to relinquish his chief weapon. Now that discipline had paid off: a chance to be hailed champion among all other attractive, successful gay men.

“Count me in,” he said.

When he told Jarvis the news, Jarvis nearly knocked him down rushing to embrace him. “Just think of all the photos we have! We can’t lose!” He smacked Grayson on the cheek, more ecstatic than Grayson himself.

Jarvis was an attractive man, a man you could take to a restaurant and not risk drawing dismissive glares and rude whispers from other men. His appearance, however, was not in the same league as Grayson’s. His hair had started to thin at the crown. The endless parade of pasta dinners he so enjoyed making for the two of them after Grayson’s chaotic days with clients had left their mark on his waistline. Also, he had a braying laugh that punctuated an event or statement no one else had found humorous. Grayson, however, stood by his man, as Tammy Wynette long ago instructed. This was not a beauty contest; this was real life.

Of all the portraits hung around their home, Grayson detested most the one looming over their living room, hung high over the fireplace. Grayson looked fine in the portrait. Better than fine, if the couple’s frequent guests could be believed. In the picture, Grayson posed shirtless at the shoreline. Resting on a low beam, his raised arms crossed above his lustrous crop of sandy blonde hair. His biceps bulged in pleasing humps above his shoulders. His toned chest and rippled abs caught the play of light and shadow spattering the image. His face wore a stern look, as if daring one to be unmoved by his physique. Grayson found this vista of flesh too tacky, too sordid, too much. He admired his body, but he drew the line at demanding his houseguests adore it as well. Still, he regretted the impossibility of using that portrait as his photo for the contest.

“Please,” he asked Jarvis, gesturing toward the portrait. “Just take it down for the summer. We can replace it with one of the Renoir prints.” It had been a few days since he learned of his nomination.

“Absolutely not,” Jarvis replied, hand cupped over his cell phone.

Grayson sighed and fell onto the red plush sofa before the fireplace. He couldn’t tear himself away from that wanton vision of himself. He remembered the morning chill the day of the shoot. The photographer had recommended they begin at Lake Lewisville. “I’m going to make you a sex god,” the Italian-accented artist vowed. Grayson worried the gooseflesh blossoming over his chest would ruin the shots. Here he sat, a year later: Grayson Renaldo, craven sex god. That photo had been meant as a birthday gift to Jarvis. For his husband’s next birthday, Grayson planned on buying a gift less like to bite him in the ass. Perhaps something from Pier 1 Imports? Jarvis snorted and clapped his cell phone closed.

“You won’t believe what those fuckers did now,” he said.

Grayson felt a migraine begin. He tipped his head into his hands. “What?”

“They’re going to use the photo I took at Gay Pride parade last year. They’re releasing everything on the official website at the end of the month. That’s just two weeks away.”

“I look fine, I’m sure.”

Jarvis knelt beside the sofa and leaned in close. “You always look good. But we sent them so many photos that were better.”

Grayson sighed, stretching his arms. “What can we do about it?”

Jarvis pounded his knees and twitched his head. Grayson knew this collection of tics: his husband was deep in thought. A plan certainly loomed, perhaps one Grayson might find unpleasant.

Jarvis snapped his fingers and grinned. “Of course! That’s what we’ll do.”

“What?”

“We’ll show voters all those better shots over the Internet.”

“I refuse to pose for a porn site.”

“No, nothing like that. We’ll build a brand new website, one devoted just to you.” He rose to his feet and paced behind the sofa while Grayson massaged his throbbing temples. “When do they conduct the nominee interviews—next week? You can mention the URL when you do your interview. I’m sure voters will check it out.”

“How are we going to get a website off the ground? We can’t hook up the DVR.”

Jarvis clasped his hand on Grayson’s shoulder. “I’ll handle it.”

“Why’s this so important to you, babe?” Grayson asked.

Jarvis abruptly halted, still behind the sofa. Had Grayson not been nursing his migraine, he would’ve seen the limpid, doe-like look in Jarvis’s eyes. He said, “I think every man should strive for his full potential.”

Grayson abandoned his fingers’ soothing pressure. “My potential?”

“Behind every great man is another great man,” Jarvis said and kissed Grayson on the cheek. Grayson knew what a kiss on that part of the face meant: the discussion was over.

The next day, Grayson discovered Jarvis hunkered down over his laptop in the dayroom. Upon looking closer, Grayson discovered Jarvis signed onto Grayson’s Facebook account, sifting through the profiles of Grayson’s friends: local friends, college friends, even childhood friends.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked.

“If we can find someone who knows you personally, it would beat hiring some random company to construct the site.”

Grayson had lived with Jarvis long enough to decode this excuse. Most likely, Jarvis wagered a personal friend would work for cheap. After all, he delayed their wedding so they could honeymoon in the Virgin Islands during the off-season.

“Just ask me before you harass anyone, okay?” Grayson said.

His sudden wave of anxiety surprised him. He hadn’t realized how badly he wanted victory until he learned it would require effort. He racked his brain, trying to conjure up a long-lost friend or old business associate who might help ignite his campaign. He couldn’t think of anyone, so he dashed out of the townhouse to run some errands for work. Perhaps Jarvis would discover someone Grayson had forgotten.

Grayson returned home at half past six. He’d allowed himself a quick dinner with a client in order to avoid any potential bad news at home. He deposited his satchel on the bar and searched for Jarvis. Once he entered the hall, the furious clicks of a keyboard drew Grayson into the dayroom.

“Have you been here all day?” he asked.

Jarvis pounded the keys. A half-empty stem glass of red wine stood beside the printer. Grayson was disconcerted to find an empty bottle behind the glass.

“Oh, baby, there you are.” Jarvis twisted in his seat. “I’ve been waiting all afternoon to tell you.”

“You could’ve called.”

“I wanted to tell you in person.”

“Tell me what?”

“I found a man for the job.”

The relief overtook Grayson too quickly for him to hide it. He broke out into a wide, relieved smile. But instead of naming their savior, Jarvis merely smiled in return.

“Well, who is it?”

“Do you remember a guy named Tanner McBride?”

Grayson blinked. Yes, that name—he knew it. The image of a short, skinny young man with a wild nest of black curls and thick-framed glasses flashed through his mind. In quick succession, he recalled brushing his teeth beside Tanner in their dorm’s community bathroom, then an image of Tanner striding across campus alone, lips moving as if speaking to someone else, and finally, Tanner vomiting into a barrel at a house party. Grayson had never expected to hear that name again.

“Find someone else,” Grayson said.

“Baby, it took me most of the day just to find him.”

“He was a drunk in college, and he was weird. And get this: he was totally in the closet.”

“He’s gay?” Jarvis asked.

“Now he is. Who the hell knows when that came to pass?”

“That’s great! Maybe he already knows about the contest.”

Grayson slapped his hand over his forehead. Yet another migraine lurked. “He’s trouble, babe.”

“Then how come you have him as a friend on Facebook?”

“I was being polite,” Grayson cried. He searched his husband’s face for some sign of retreat. True, Jarvis made most of the decisions in their lives, but Grayson clung to hope. Alas, Jarvis quietly stood and folded his arms. Grayson sank into a chair and shook his head, defeated.

“I’ve already gotten in touch,” Jarvis said. “He sent me the URLs to some of the sites he’s designed. You should see them.”

“My head is killing me.”

“He lives in Arlington. I invited him for lunch tomorrow.”

“You don’t understand. I once saw him drink half a bottle of vodka in one gulp.”

“You were a pretty big partier yourself back then, weren’t you?”

Grayson looked away. He regretted confiding his long-ago cocaine habit.

Jarvis came to Grayson and gripped his shoulders. “Baby, you might be Saboteur Man of the Year. Let me see a smile.”

Grayson, flustered a forgotten relic from his past had suddenly been unearthed, managed a quick grimace. Then he flipped Jarvis the bird.

Grayson lay awake in their silk-sheeted bed that night while Jarvis slept. Most days, he didn’t think about his years as an undergrad in Austin. That was the period of drugs, rampant sex, and dabbles into various forms of mysticism. He’d been sober for seven years and never considered returning to that old life. He’d transformed himself into the very image of success. After all, Saboteur magazine agreed.

He and Tanner had lived at opposite ends of the hall in the same dorm their first two years in school. Grayson often encountered his neighbor perched on a porch swing in front of the dorm, taking swigs from a Gatorade bottle spiked with vodka. Along with the rest of the theatre department, Grayson suspected Tanner was gay. As the months passed, he began to needle Tanner about his sexuality—casually at first, more brutally later. One morning, when they met in the community bathroom, Grayson announced that Tanner’s roommate found Tanner quite sexy. Tanner crouched closer over the sink and brushed his teeth with more vigor. Months later, Grayson confronted the painfully thin young man, asking if he was anorexic. Tanner glared at Grayson until the more handsome man turned his gaze away. Remembering all these charged encounters, Grayson truly regretted giving the hapless boy such a hard time. He now believed himself beyond such cruelty.

But why on earth had Tanner agreed to help him, given their past? Grayson couldn’t think of a single reason. And now Jarvis had entrusted him with Grayson’s bid for gay culture domination. Impossible! Grayson finally fell asleep well after three in the morning and dreamed his old dormitory had caught fire. He fled the building without his pants.

Grayson stayed seated at the kitchen bar when the doorbell rang. Jarvis left to answer the door. Knotting his hands below his chin, Grayson debated whether he should greet Tanner when he entered. From what he remembered, their visitor was no fine example of good manners. Grayson’s back faced the doorway. Both pairs of footsteps approached.

“So, you wanna win a beauty contest?” a familiar voice called. Slowly, Grayson spun on his barstool until he faced Tanner McBride. The visitor held a large black leather portfolio case under his arm, but nothing else marked him as a professional. He wore checkered lounge pants and a ratty red sweater two sizes too large. He hadn’t ditched his thick-frame glasses, and his hair raged in the same unkempt nest of curls. What he said next took Grayson aback.

“So good to see you, Grayson,” he said. “I’ve thought about you over the years.”

Jarvis stood off to the side, allowing Grayson to navigate the conversation. Grayson replied, “I’ve thought about you, too.”

“What bullshit,” Tanner said, laughing. “Fortunately for you, the interview portion is print only.”

Grayson managed an embarrassed smile, looked away. He’d forgotten Tanner’s caustic wit, greatly exacerbated whenever he drank. Grayson invited him to sit.

Tanner plopped onto the stool beside him. He hefted the portfolio onto the bar and opened it. Grayson’s eyes widened in surprise to see a series of shots taken from a computer screen, each with different layouts and design components.

“I went ahead and started constructing some dummy designs,” Tanner said. “Your husband said you were on a tight schedule. So with luck, you’ll see something you like.”

Grayson pored over the designs. It struck him as odd that Jarvis remained erect in the far corner of the kitchen. “Don’t you want to see these?” Grayson asked.

Jarvis raised his hand in refusal. “You should handle this. It’s your baby.” If he noticed Grayson’s shocked response, he gave no sign of it. “Tanner, I’m about to pick up some lunch,” Jarvis said. “What would you like?”

Waving his hand over his shoulder, Tanner replied, “I grabbed something on the way.”

After taking Grayson’s order, Jarvis slipped out of the kitchen. Grayson’s neck tingled to hear the front door shut. Tanner uncapped a felt pen and pushed his glasses up his nose with his thumb. “So, what photos did you want to include?” he asked. “I need to see them pretty quick so I can start scanning the images.”

Grayson blinked, then shook his head as if to dispel a bad dream. “Pictures? Oh, right, I put a file together last night.” He left the room and quickly returned with a manila folder of color glossies. Tanner opened the file and sorted through the images.

Not looking up from his work, Tanner said, “I have a confession to make.”

Grayson tensed up instantly, fearing the surprising ease of this reunion might abruptly end.

Tanner glanced up from the shots. “Calm down, gorgeous. It’s fine. I only wanted to say that it was my idea for your husband to leave. I told him we needed some time alone. You know, to catch up.” He smiled, but Grayson didn’t remember Tanner well enough to guess what that smile meant.

Grayson swallowed, then choked out, “Catch up on what?”

“I wanted to apologize,” he said. “For not being honest with myself sooner, or being honest with the rest of you.”

“What about?”

“Oh, you know.” He made air quotes with his fingers. “My sexuality.”

After a dumbstruck silence, Grayson finally forced a deep chuckle. “Yeah, what about it?”

“I don’t resent you for trying to push me. I’m sure you thought you were doing me a favor.”

Grayson’s face fell. He had expected Tanner’s visit to present him with obstacles, but none like this. When had he become so candid? Grayson said, “I guess none of us really understood why you were so determined to…”

Tanner laughed. “So determined to what?”

“I don’t know,” Grayson said. He snatched up a few of the glossies. “So, what do you think of all these?”

“If you have any preferences, now’s the time to tell me,” Tanner replied, tone sober again.

Grayson gazed blankly at the photos in his hand. Their conversation so stunned him, he could think of nothing else. “Can I ask you something?”

“You never asked permission before.”

“Do you have a boyfriend—or anything…?”

Tanner snapped back his head and cackled. After that, he again shoved his glasses up his nose. “Well, I have something, that’s for sure.” He flashed Grayson a devilish grin. “Sure you’re ready for this?”

“Ready for what?”

“I know how you fags get once you’re hitched. So judgmental.”

Grayson felt his face flush. It was true. With increasing regularity, he caught himself passing harsh verdicts on his friends who still drugged and slept around. “Just tell me,” he finally said.

“Well, I do have someone. We even linked our Facebook pages. But we live over two hundred miles apart, so it’s difficult.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Oh, wait,” Tanner said. “There’s more.” He moved some of the photos into a makeshift arrangement and continued. “I also spend time with a man from the apartment complex just down the road. We’ve never discussed becoming boyfriends, but we fuck at least three times a week. And you know what? I don’t intend to give up either of them.”

Grayson sat motionless, a pleasant smile slapped on his face. He wished Tanner would look away, stop staring at him in anticipation, but he lost that little game. “It sounds like everything’s under control.”

“Just between you and me, I blame my lack of scruples on the fact I didn’t start fucking till I was twenty-three goddamn years old. Even a decade later, I still think there’s a whole world of sex out there, eluding me.”

Their gazes locked for a bit until Tanner gathered the photos into a pile. Grayson realized his guest was preparing to leave. “Is that all there is?” he asked. “I thought there’d be more.”

“Patience, handsome. Photo layout comes first. Next week, once that’s done, we’ll discuss what sort of text you’d like to include.”

“Like what? You mean the interview?”

“No, that’s for the official site. I’m talking about the text we put on your personal site. And bear in mind, this whole competition is just a big bloated meat parade, so I’d cook up something salacious if I were you.” He whipped the portfolio back under his arm and climbed down from the stool. “I’ll call you by the end of the week. Sound good?”

“Thanks for doing this, Tanner.”

“It’s my job.” He offered his hand to Grayson, who shook it lightly.

“You got a pussy handshake, gorgeous. Better work on that.”

Watching television, Grayson tried to forget about Tanner. Jarvis puttered in the kitchen, finishing a pot roast. He’d been trying to engage Grayson in conversation with little success.

“So what was so important that I couldn’t be there?”

“It was nothing,” Grayson replied. “Just typical Tanner bullshit.”

“So, when will the site be ready?”

“Baby, it’s only his first day on the job.”

“Those votes are gonna go to someone.”

“Tanner promised he’d have the photo layout done by next week.”

“He seemed like a nice enough guy,” Jarvis offered.

Grayson decided the only way to end this conversation was to ignore it. He hoped his husband would take the hint.

“I’ve never seen a gay man dressed so badly, though,” Jarvis continued. “He needs an intervention. Did he pull that shit in college?”

Clicking the remote, Grayson focused on the television. He didn’t notice Jarvis swoop down behind him. Jarvis knocked on Grayson’s head like his skull was a door. “I don’t enjoy talking to myself, you know.”

“Sorry.”

“I hope you’re in a better mood by bedtime,” Jarvis huffed and returned to the kitchen. Grayson tried to become invested in the crime show playing, but all he could think about was the cache of photos, all of him, now in Tanner’s possession. Was he looking at them now? What did he think about the man they featured? Was Tanner attracted to him?

“Dinner’s done,” Jarvis called out. Grayson clicked off the television and joined his husband for a silent meal.

While he draped cool, sheer bolts of white cloth to complete a store display window, Grayson received a call. Without looking at the number, he answered, out of breath.

“Grayson, it’s me,” Tanner said.

“I thought you wouldn’t call till later in the week.”

“We don’t have that kind of time anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“Can you meet me for a drink after work?”

“You know I don’t drink anymore, Tanner.”

“Well, this isn’t about you, is it? I need a fucking drink.”

Grayson chose a Country and Western bar on Cedar Springs, hoping that none of his friends would be caught anywhere near it. Tanner McBride was late. Twenty minutes. Grayson gazed at all the drinkers scattered around the bar. If he focused hard enough, he could imagine the booze burning his throat. He breathed deeply, loosened his tie. He’d give Tanner another ten minutes then head home. He’d forgotten to call Jarvis and tell him about this meeting, and something urged him not to call now, either.

Finally, Tanner arrived. He carried his portfolio under his arm. He wore a soiled black overcoat far too warm for the fair weather outside. He looked grim, his mouth in a neat little frown. The relief Grayson had felt upon his arrival evaporated.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Tanner ignored him and called out for the bartender. Louder than was necessary, Grayson thought. After ordering a Jack and Coke, Tanner turned to him. “I think we need to reconfigure our battle plans.”

“Our what?”

“For the site, slowpoke. The guy from the magazine is calling soon for the interview, right? Less than a week?”

“I think so.”

“Well,” Tanner continued, “that’s your only chance to publicize your site’s address.”

The realization crept over Grayson like a slow death. “So… what can we do?”

“I had to launch the site today so it will actually exist when you tell the voters about it. I worked like a beast these last three days. You boys owe me massive overtime.”

Grayson’s mind raced with all this new and unpleasant information. “But wait, we were going to talk about the text for the site…”

Tanner took a gulp of air and relaxed his shoulders. Grayson knew he was trying to calm himself. “That’s why I needed to meet right away.” He slipped a few loose-leaf sheets from his portfolio. Grayson reached for them, but Tanner held them back. “Please know I did this for your benefit,” he said.

“Let me see them,” Grayson said sternly.

Tanner handed over the papers. Gorging himself on the text, it took Grayson a moment to fully register the meaning of what he read. He slammed the bar with his open hand.

“I have never had sex at Sea World!” he declared.

“Well, you have now. You and some hot Mexican tourist did the nasty underneath the bleachers while Shamu wowed the crowd.”

Grayson kept reading, jaw dropped and eyebrows arched in alarm. “None of this shit is true, Tanner. You made me sound like some faggot party-boy.”

Tanner took a long slug from his drink. “Listen to me, Grayson. When guys vote in this contest, they’re voting for the guy they want to fuck. I know you’re not naïve. You know it’s the truth.”

“What about Jarvis?”

Tanner looked away, pretending to watch the traffic through the window.

“What about Jarvis?” he repeated.

“Grayson, he just didn’t fit in. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? Dude, I’m a married man.”

“Consider this a divorce.”

Grayson leapt from his stool. He stepped in place for a moment, as if limbering up for a footrace. While clutching the papers in his hand, he closed his eyes and shook his head. Finally, he cut his gaze to Tanner. “I’ll pay you for the work, but if I win this thing, I’m finding another designer.”

Tanner nodded. “I understand.”

“Finish your drink,” Grayson spat and left.

He waited through dinner and through their two hours of television to tell Jarvis that Tanner McBride had erased him from Grayson’s life. When the two men retired to bed, Grayson finally screwed up the courage to speak.

“Tanner finished the website. He told me today.”

Jarvis turned from the sink, toothpaste dribbling down his chin. “Wow! Ahead of schedule. You see, I told you to trust me. Fire up the laptop. I wanna see it.”

Grayson scratched his abs and stared into a corner. He tried his best to smile, but his face wouldn’t cooperate. “There’s something you should know before you see it.”

“No, don’t tell me. I want to be surprised.” Jarvis quickly wiped his face and padded to the small desk at the far end of the bedroom. He powered on the machine and hopped from one foot to the next waiting for the screen to blink to life.

“Jarvis, I’m serious. There’s something I need to tell you.”

“Honey, you’ll ruin it.”

Grayson gave up and remained as far back from the screen as he could stand. He watched his husband launch the web browser. “What’s the address?”

Grayson told him. Jarvis keyed it in and waited. Even from far away, Grayson could see the pair of photos Tanner had selected for the site’s homepage. The site’s wallpaper was an alluring duet of shocking orange and navy blue. Jarvis clicked the mouse, navigating the site.

“There, you’ve seen it,” Grayson said. “Now let’s go to bed.”

“No, I wanna see it all. We paid for it, right?”

Exhausted, Grayson once again fell into silence. He lowered himself onto the bed and watched as Jarvis perused the site. A minute passed, then two. After all that agony, Grayson finally heard what he’d dreaded.

“Baby, none of this stuff—none of it—it’s not true.”

“I know, baby.”

“I’m not mentioned at all.”

“I know.”

Jarvis said nothing else, kept clicking around the site. Grayson waited for him to fly into a rage, perhaps blame Grayson for all the lies Tanner told. But instead, Jarvis calmly powered down the laptop and closed it. He remained at the desk a moment, then lightly slapped the tabletop, like he’d just finished a large, enjoyable meal.

“So, what should we do?” Jarvis asked slowly.

“It’s too late to change anything,” Grayson said, throwing his back against the headboard. “The fucker backed me into a corner.”

“What if you win the state title? Will he add something then?”

“We didn’t discuss that. I was too pissed.”

Jarvis finally joined Grayson in bed. The two men sat silently. Grayson didn’t know whether his husband expected comforting words, but he doubted he could provide them.

Finally, Jarvis reached over and clasped Grayson’s hand.

“Well,” Jarvis said, forcing a smile. “It wasn’t really about me anyway…”

A month later, Grayson received yet another call from the cheery young man in New York City. It was a close contest, the man confided, but the winner was Grayson Renaldo. The victor coolly thanked the man for the news and went to hang up the phone. He stopped upon hearing the young man shout for him to hang on! Did Grayson have any sort of quote they could include on the official website? “Just thank everyone who voted,” he said quietly, hanging up before the cheery man could stop him. Grayson stood still, thinking about the news. After a brief moment, he smiled. He couldn’t stop.

Tanner waited on one of the swings at a jungle gym as Grayson arrived at the park for their scheduled meeting.

“Congratulations, Grayson,” Tanner said with caution.

“Thanks, Tanner. I appreciate it.”

Tanner twirled himself around in the swing, wrapping his arms among the chains. Once he wound himself tightly enough, he stopped twisting and let himself revolve in the opposite direction.

“So why did you want to see me?” Tanner asked, looking up at Grayson. “I got your check. You don’t owe me anything else.”

“Actually, I do.”

“What’s that?”

“It was my face and body that got the votes, but the person you invented won the contest. You know exactly what other men want.”

“It pays to be promiscuous.”

“So, you ready to sell my ass one more time?”

“We could auction a pair of your boxers.”

“Absolutely not.”

Shaking his head like a flustered parent, Grayson began his trek out of the park. Tanner disentangled himself from the swing and raced to keep up. Grayson remained a prudent distance from him. Despite that last exchange, he still didn’t trust Tanner McBride. But the two men soon fell into eager conversation, scheming how Grayson Renaldo would take gay America by storm.

 

 

Thomas Kearnes is a 35-year-old author from East Texas, the son of a U.S. Marshal and secretary. He is an atheist and an Eagle Scout. Despite writing mainly about queer characters, his fiction has appeared in the mainstream venues PANK, Storyglossia, Night Train, SmokeLong Quarterly, The Pedestal, Word Riot, Eclectica, JMWW Journal, Prick of the Spindle, Pindeldyboz, wigleaf, 3 AM Magazine, Thieves Jargon, Underground Voices and elsewhere. His appearances in gay venues run the gamut from the late, great Blithe House Quarterly to the new Gay Flash Fiction. He is a two-time Pushcart Prize nominee and a regular columnist for Flash Fiction Chronicles. He hopes to continue proving that the indie-lit scene is for serious fiction about gay men.

Wilde Oats is published three times a year, in April, August and December. Click here to be automatically informed of new issues when they are published.

Photographers clamored to shoot him, praised the iridescent cerulean of his eyes, the pronounced cleft of his chin, the smoothly shaven contours of his chest and abdominals.