Flash Fiction Friday – FHONY (Fictional Humans of New York) #1

I met him in a bathroom under the West Escalator in Grand Central. That’s a shitty place to meet a guy (no pun intended) but he was cute. In a masculine way, which I like. I was never into guys who were consumed with their femininity. There’s women for that, after all, if that’s what you’re into. I don’t think we still need to play those stupid old games. Leave that to the straights (regardless of their sexuality). The most masculine women and feminine men I’ve ever met have been straight.

He didn’t seem hung up on all that shit anyway.

He was humming June is Bustin’ Out All Over, I admit that openly, but contrary to popular belief that’s not gay. Not necessarily. I’ve known straight guys who adore Rodgers & Hammerstein and Kander & Ebb and West Side Story. Why not? Just because you’re straight you can’t get that? That’s heterophobia, my friend, and decent people need to shun it.

He smelled like a brewery, which worked for me because I like the smell of a brewery. He had that lived-in aroma to him. There was definitely something alive in this one.
I noticed when he walked away from the urinal that he hadn’t washed his hands. That doesn’t bother me. Some people are really hung up on that but I think it’s like George Carlin said, “if you’re dick’s dirty wash your dick, not your hands.” Or something like that.

I don’t know how he could’ve washed his hands anyway, since the sleeves of his sweater went over his hands. That was a cute thing too. He was folding in on himself all over the place. I don’t know why I like that kind of thing, but I do. 

I followed him out onto 42nd Street and around the corner onto Lexington. He picked up pretty fast on the fact that I was following him, but I think he liked it. I have a cat like that at home: prefers to be the prey.
I caught up to him (or maybe he caught up to me) when he slid into a doorway and then back out into my face. He didn’t even say anything. He knew exactly what I was up to.
I like that masculine thing, the feeling of his stubble on my cheek.

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