A Man's Man

August 23, 2011

Truth or dare.

And don't you dare pick truth.

Dare, you say? Good choice.

I dare you to read this snippet from "Dirty Mind Over Matter." Because the truth is, I think you might get a kick out of it.

…And that's how Gabe, who at present is sifting through a drawer in the His and His closet that is not his, swept me off my feet.

"You knock my socks off," I tell him.

"Your socks aren't the problem," Gabe returns, strolling toward a rack of cardboard cartons. "It's your shoes." He surveys the bevy of boxes. "Are you a centipede?" he ribs, inspecting the rows of rectangles. "You don't really need all of these, do you?" He reaches for one of the shoeboxes, snatches it off the rack.

My heart clobbers my ribs. I shove my palm against my chest, wrinkling my shirt. He flips the lid. Tennis shoes. He frowns, peeved.

I smile, relieved, and pluck the box out of his hands. "Look, why don't you go back and finish up in the living room? I think you've spent more than enough time in the closet, don’t you?" Gabe's brow scrunches like an accordion. "I just don't want your grubby little hands futzing with my footwear," I insist, grinning like a chimp. With an agitated sigh, I steer Gabe toward the door and propel him through the frame. "Now, shoo, spy, don't bother me."

He goes—for another box, a bigger box. I reach for his wrist but miss and now it's out of my hands. The top falls off and Gabe's mouth falls opens, stays slack, like a napkin dispenser, and he's processing, pondering, wondering what to make of his discovery.

"What have we here?" Gabe murmurs, fingering the contents. "Skeletons in the closet? Skeletons with sufficient meat on their bones, I see."

My head starts spinning like a pinwheel and I don't know what else to do except pray for my immoral soles. I've always stored my smut in shoeboxes, kept it hidden in plain sight. Each box contains magazines, rolled up like diplomas, and pictures, tucked like bookmarks between the pages of erotica anthologies. I figured, it's safe there, he'll never look there.

But he is looking there, right there, right here, right now. And I am experiencing the most mortifying moment of my entire life.

That was pretty painless, right? Well, for you it was. For our protagonist, not so much. He just has to remember that the fear of the dare is always much scarier than the dare itself. It's (dirty) mind over matter.

Curiouser and curiouser,
Allison Wonderland

P.S. For real shoe wheel by Rakku.

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