New Year's Day - 2. Phil

Phil Martinez entered the kitchen without making any noise; the woman at the sink rinsing dishes did not notice when he crept up behind her. “Happy New Year, Maria,” he said, as he wrapped his arms around her and kissed the side of her face.

“¡Ay, Dios mio! Me vas a dar un ataque al corazón, Felipe. ¿Y por que estás desnudo?”

“Yeah, bro… Why are you trying to give Abuela a heart attack and why are you naked?”

Phil twirled around to face the speaker. His younger brother, Matt, sat at the kitchen table with The Miami Herald’s sports section and a mug. “Morning, bro. You’re up early. And for the record, I ain’t naked.” Phil pointed at the Duke Blue Devils boxer shorts he wore.

“Those don’t count. I can see your junk moving around.” Matt glanced at their grandmother to check her reaction, but she was already filling up the little Italian percolator to brew another batch of espresso. “Can’t believe you’re almost flashing her.”

“I’m not.” Realizing the underwear did not leave much to the imagination; Phil took a seat across his brother. “You didn’t answer me. How come you’re up before noon?” Phil ran a hand down his muscular torso, scratched at the sprinkling of hairs on his chest, and adjusted himself so his dick and balls were less noticeable.

“I came home early. The bitch pissed me off big time. After all the effort trying to get her in the mood, she didn’t want to put out, so I left her at the party we were at.”

“That’s cold, bro. Cooold. By the bitch you mean your girlfriend?”

“Ex-girlfriend, I dumped her ass when she told me to get my hands off her. She claimed she was saving herself for marriage again. Fuck that shit. I’m jealous of how easy it is for you gay guys to get laid.”

“You can always come over to the dark side.” Phil wiggled his eyebrows and laughed when his brother’s face registered something between annoyance and disgust.

“Thanks, but no thanks. I just need to stop dating stupid Catholic girls.” Matt folded the newspaper in half, turned it around, and slid it across the table towards his brother. “Nice article about the hometown hero in the paper this morning. The reporter claims she watched you play in high school and remembers you being a beast back then.”

“Oh, she’s so full of shit. If she ever watched a Cobras football game, I’ll eat my jock.” Phil attended South Miami High School but had an unremarkable football career. “Gracias, Maria.” He blew his grandmother a kiss when she handed him his own café con leche.

“Stop calling me by my first name. I hate it.” She softly slapped the back of her grandson’s head.

“Anyway, bro, if I was such a beast in high school, how come I didn’t get a scholarship offer to play football? Hell, I’ve grown five inches and gained over fifty pounds since I left Miami. I was a runt back then and not very good.”

Phil had chosen Duke because of the school’s academic reputation. His father insisted once he had a solid education, Phil could decide whether he wanted to be a beach bum or a working stiff; he would at least have a degree as a backup.

The first semester of his freshman year, he scored a position as an assistant for the school’s football program—he was a glorified towel boy. The following spring, he tried out for the team. To the surprise of everyone but himself, he became the backup to the starting tight end’s backup as a walk on.

He saw sporadic play his sophomore year until the final two games of the season. An injury to the starter gave Phil additional playing time and exposure. He entered his third year at Duke as the starting tight end with a full athletic scholarship. He spent summers in Miami working out and returned to campus each year an inch or so taller with pounds of muscle added to his frame. At graduation, he had a year of eligibility left and enrolled in a master degree program he planned to abandon after the first semester. He wanted to play in the National Football League; he could always return to school for a second degree.

“All my friends could talk about at the party last night was you, bro. They kept asking if you were gonna stop by.”

“Dude, by the time I got out of the locker room, I barely had time to get back to the team’s hotel and the party there. Fucking reporters hounded the shit out of me. Why didn’t you come by our bash? I left your name at the door.” Matt was a second baseman with his high school team. Duke wanted him, and during a campus visit the previous year, he had met and befriended a bunch of his older brother’s teammates. “A couple of the guys asked about you.”

“I was planning to, but the bitch ruined everything. I was sure I’d get laid, but nothing. She pissed me off, so I came home and Rosie took care of me.” Matt’s up and down movement with his left hand made his brother shake his head while grinning.

“TMI, bro. Anyway, not sure what your plans are for today, but I wanna go somewhere, drink beer, and watch football.”

“Beach with the homeboys.” Matt wiggled his eyebrows and grinned. “Frisbee, football, and volleyball. I’m single and ready to mingle.”

Phil cracked up. “You pig! I’m too sore to do anything that active. Can I borrow your Jeep?” Phil’s vehicle was back in North Carolina. He would return to campus in a week or so, pack his belongings, and drive home.

“Sure, I’ll get one of the guys to pick me up. Don’t leave used condoms on the back seat like last time you drove it.”

Phil had come out to his family the summer between his freshman and sophomore years. It was a non-event. Even his grandmother had shrugged and said something about the world changing. A few close friends in Durham knew about his sexual orientation, but he had decided not to make it public just yet.

“Can’t promise you anything.”

Dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, Phil drove north of the county line to Wilton Manors. The small Fort Lauderdale bedroom community had replaced South Beach as the epicenter of South Florida’s gay population. During school breaks, Phil occasionally patronized some of the dozen or so gay bars clustered within walking distance of each other. The city had a large concentration of GLBT residents and businesses, the mayor and most of the city council were gay, and the rainbow flag flew in front of City Hall and from countless other places.

Six-and-a-half feet tall and weighing over 260 pounds, Phil was an imposing figure. He was used to people staring. Walking the two blocks to GYM Bar, he noticed guys checking him out. Some were blatant, while others tried to be discrete. He could not deny it was an ego boost; he knew he could bed most of those admirers.

The sports bar was crowded. He flipped his sunglasses atop his head and scanned the room’s occupants. Being a head taller gave him an advantage, since he could see above most patrons. With a huge grin on his face, he approached the end of the bar nearest the kitchen. He crouched a bit and tried his best to hide behind those standing around. Once close to his destination he caught the tail end of a conversation.

“Damn! How big are you man?” Tim, the bartender he had met on a previous visit to the joint asked the man sitting on the last stool.

“Six four, two-twenty-five.” The response was spoken in a low voice, but Phil was close enough now to hear it.

“Fuck! Big, good-looking jock like you, you’re probably a hot top.” Tim leaned in closer and grinned. “I’m a bottom in case you’re interested. Daddy could give you the ride of your life.”

Phil decided it was time to step in and make his presence known. He ran a hand down the seated customer’s back, letting it rest atop the man’s ass. The subject of his attention jumped even before he heard the groper speak.

“Forget it, dude.” Phil’s voice was deep and the tone jocular when he spoke to the bartender. “I have a feeling Riley Knight’s a big ole bottom. After all, he is a wide receiver.”

“MARTINEZ!”