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    A.J.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

Prompts and Short Shorts - 4. Prompt 312 - Bacon - How I Knew

“When Matthew was young, we’d come here for the Sunday brunch buffet, and he’d fill his plate with only bacon and donuts. One time he emptied an entire chafing dish of bacon and pissed off a dozen or so people in line behind him.” Dad snickered and gestured towards the line of people at the buffet. “We all pitched in trying to empty his plate of bacon.”

“Stop embarrassing your son in front of his boyfriend. He was only eight years old,” Mom scolded my father.

“So, I asked you to brunch for a reason. We’ve always celebrated special occasions as a family here, and I’d like to make an announcement.” I paused for a moment summoning my courage. “I’ve asked David to marry me, and he’s said yes.”

Dad slammed his glass of orange juice down on the table.

“Oh Matthew, we’re so happy for you! Aren’t we, Andrew?” Mom glared at my father so he’d know the appropriate answer.

“Yes, of course. How long have you two been dating?” Dad glanced at David before turning his gaze on me.

“We’ve been seeing each other for over a year, Dad.” I stared at my father, hoping he’d get the message that I expected his full support.

“Oh, has it been that long already? You’ve dated so many boys I’ve lost count.” Dad smirked leaving little doubt he intended to continue humiliating me in front of David.

I looked away at the buffet. I needed to escape the situation, but I couldn’t abandon David. Picking up a piece of bacon, I nervously dipped it into the faux maple syrup left from my pancakes. I took several bites hoping my chewing might delay the need for conversation.

David cleared his throat. “I’m not sure it helps, but we’ve been living together for six months. I’ve never been happier than I am with your son.”

David squeezed my leg three times with his left hand. It was our silent way of transmitting ‘I. love. you.’ to each other.

“Matthew, when did you know that David was the one?” Mom’s reassuring smile let me know that at least she was on our side.

***

My iPod alarm clock startled me awake at seven a.m. as it does every morning. The random selection was What Makes You Beautiful by One Direction. I let the song play while I tossed and turned in the bed. I looked at the other side of the bed. David was missing. By the song’s second verse I’d dragged my ass out of bed, slipped on a pair of boxer briefs and headed out of my room.

The sizzle of the skillet and the smell in the air left little doubt what David was cooking. Rounding the corner into the kitchen I saw my boyfriend wearing nothing but an apron. His firm little bubble butt wiggled as he hummed a tune while cooking bacon.

“Good morning, beautiful!” I wrapped my arms around him and pressed my cotton-covered groin into his perfect ass.

“The eggs are done, and the bacon will be ready in just a minute.” David turned his head slightly and gave me a quick kiss on the lips.

I smacked his ass. He jumped, and I giggled as I walked to the table.

***

I grinned and looked around the table from David to Mom and Dad.

“I knew the first time he made breakfast.”

Copyright © 2014 A.J.; All Rights Reserved.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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