MY TABOO STEP DADDY
Smoke, fuel, sweat, alcohol.
A few feet away, Bunny wraps his arm around himself, observing two guys kiss. He watches them with something like longing, then gulps and glances at me.
I whistle at him. “You like what you see?”
He gasps, scowls at me, before kicking a stone.
“You don’t have to feel that way,” I stub my cigar, walk up to him, and seize his waist. He refuses to meet my eyes, refuses to breathe, as if the mere sight of me disgusts him. “We can do better.”