Five to One - 1. Story

FIVE TO ONE

A short story by Jack Scribe

All characters and events in this story — even those based on real people — are entirely fictional.

It contains language that, due to its content, should not be read by anyone.

This disclaimer is an homage to the gang at South Park

“Man, I’m running late for work,” Ollie said to himself, rushing to leave the house that he visited on a frequent basis. “But I can still get there on time if the cops aren’t out and about, eh?” With his rural Ottawa Valley upbringing, the telltale words were still softly pronounced, ‘oot’ and ‘aboot.’ And ‘eh?’ was the Canadian version of an American’s ‘right?’ tacked on in a casual conversation.

Although it was only a quarter to four in the morning, local police were often on the prowl looking for bad guys who habitually targeted ‘second home’ estates that dominated the bays and harbors of Naples, Florida. In this upscale community, silver, furnishings, electronic gear and the art adorning these unoccupied houses comprised a tempting smorgasbord for enterprising thieves during off-season. And mid-September was definitely off-season in this big-bucks town.

The last thing Ollie needed was to be caught speeding down Gulf Shore Boulevard by one of those patrols and coughing up dough for a speeding ticket.

His hair was still damp from the thirty-second shower necessary to wash off the sweaty grime from the previous evening’s activities. Oliver Benson had stayed over as one of the special guests at the monthly bear and cub weekend his boss and the boss’s lover, Jack and Charlie, hosted each month. ‘Special’ because he and a few other younger, male co-workers were the invited eye candy and party favors for regulars who’d traveled from the coastal cities for fun and hedonism. And Ollie never refused this invitation – he needed his daytime job too badly. Jack had made it clear that he expected the chosen cubs to be ‘team players’ in all aspects as members of the company family.

A long time ago Ollie had decided it wouldn’t do any good to complain because the HR guy was right in the thick of things. At this moment, ‘Mr. Personnel’ was fast asleep with a mass of bodies in the garage: the make-shift orgy room.

‘Now…if I can remember the code,’ he thought as he punched in five numbers. At the request of his boss, the last thing Ollie was to do when leaving was to make sure that the house security was turned off. Some of the guests would be departing soon, and the last thing anyone needed was a false alarm being triggered. The green light appeared on the security pad.

Ollie exited the house and trotted to his car.

Most of the slumbering locals worked for Jack Williams, the GM and program director of RealNews 530, a small AM radio station in Naples – a Gulf Coast resort and retirement oasis two hours away from Miami and Ft. Lauderdale. Jack was also one-half of the morning drive-time duo. The other half of that team, professionally and personally, was Charlie Mills. Gay nepotism in its finest form.

Together the provided a mix of news, sports, weather, traffic and fielded audience calls on their 6:00 to 9:00 a.m. weekday show: moderate to liberal programming designed to balance the right-wing rantings of Rush Limbaugh, whose show followed them. However repugnant Limbaugh was to Jack, the conservative listeners – referred to as dittoheads – were loyal, and provided the station with decent ratings…therefore, Rush was a part of the schedule. Ratings equal commercial revenue and this was Jack’s job security. The mostly white, older, well-heeled dittoheads spent money freely and made sure merchants knew how much they loved their daily fix of spoon-fed ‘Rush mush’.

“Dittoheads, my ass,” Ollie said to himself while starting his ’97 Civic, “They’re like sheep being led to slaughter. And that asshole just keeps carting mucho moo-la to the bank. I wonder if El Rushbo really believes all that crap he dishes out?” He shifted into Drive and pulled away from the curb. At this early hour of the morning, there wasn’t a hint of what had gone on between consenting adults in that home and around the pool area only hours earlier. The only subtle exception was a small sign still posted at the doorway that stated:

What happens in the garage, stays in the garage.

‘If the neighbors only knew what 20 guys can do on a two-car garage floor covered with wall-to-wall mattresses.’ And the house rule of wearing no clothing was the great equalizer – lawyers, construction workers, doctors, clerks and the occasional clergy all were the same in each other’s eyes. Head to toe. Guests for the friendly orgy stowed their clothing and personal effects in small lockers upon arrival. The one exception was the personalized jewelry – dangling and inserted piercings – that adorned some of the guests in order to make their bodies more enticing. To Ollie, however, something like a Prince Albert conjured up nothing but pain. The first time he’d seen a PA, his mouth hung open as he studied the insertion for a few moments.

With a shake of his head, Ollie chuckled at the way his radio career had begun three years earlier when he answered a job posting on Craig’s List for an Operations Assistant at RealNews 530. He was invited to stop by the station, fill out an application and take an interview. When the program director himself took over from the secretary who was handling the screening process, Ollie was flattered. And he was even more than a little surprised when bearded, heavy-set, forty-ish Jack Williams suggested they continue discussing the job over a beer at Bambusa, a gay bar and grill on Goodlette Road. “It’s more relaxing,” Williams said at the time, “with no office formality.” Ollie had to smile when Jack added, “My gaydar has been pinging, big time, since you arrived.”

The interview lasted two beers – accompanied with nachos, Mama Lina’s meatballs and a platter of Bam Bam shrimp.

There were several ‘touchy-feely’ moments by Jack’s wandering hands that lingered for a long count on Ollie’s leg before he was officially welcomed into the RealNews family. Ollie had told Jack about his early years in Canada, immigrating to the States as a kid, and having vague aspirations of what he wanted to do with his young adult life – then at age twenty-one. Jack breezed over his professional background for the past several years and touched on a few personal tidbits. One eyebrow raiser – for Ollie – was the open relationship Jack had with his life partner and employee, Charlie. “We both enjoy being with men…on the side or together. It’s something that works for us.”

Ollie’s questioning look brought out an additional comment by Jack. “Most of the guys at the station are gay and…well, some of us are pretty liberal after hours, if you get my drift.”

Drift. Ollie cocked his head and raised his eyebrow.

“You know…guys are guys. Some of us, and a group of old friends from Lauderdale, get together for a clothing optional party once in a while.” Jack grinned and rolled his eyes. “Things just…happen.”

Ollie nodded when Jack’s hand squeezed his thigh for emphasis. “Yeah, no problem…as long as we can agree on sumpin’.”

Jack listened to the one big concern – Ollie having his bum be a playground for the boys – and agreed it wouldn’t be a problem.

Thus began a journey in learning the nuts and bolts of the radio operations business, and how he fit into the bigger picture…at the station and after hours. The first weekend party he attended occurred only a couple of weeks after he’d started. Ollie held his ground on what he wouldn’t do –bottoming was not part of his vocabulary or repertoire – and Jack made sure that his bear buddies understood the rules.

After running a few changing traffic lights and speeding through the still-dark streets, Ollie pulled into the almost empty station parking lot at 3:56. One of the quirks of the job was having to come in early enough to get the job done…but not getting compensated for the time. His paid shift began at 5:00, and that was that. He also had to take an unpaid one-hour break after the show so Jack could save another hour’s payroll. ‘But he fucks over everyone, so I can’t say he’s picking on me.’ And the odd thing was, the ration of crap he’d get if he was late arriving to work, even though it was on Ollie’s own time. It had only happened once after Jack had found out about the tardiness from one of his spies.

Ollie also found out it was best to go with the flow after observing Jack’s bite when someone complained. He felt bad for an older gay guy – a real broadcasting pro and an old friend of Jack’s – who’d been terminated a few months earlier in a money-saving staff reduction. But everyone knew the actual reason for the firing. The over sixty-ish newscaster, with the crisp voice of a man half his age, had bitched one time too many about his paid hours being reduced without a lessened work load. By the time the man was shown the door, he was being paid for only half of the hours he worked. After the dismissal, Jack had casually mentioned to Ollie that, “the old geezer wasn’t cutting the mustard around here anyway.”

There was no doubt in Ollie’s mind, however, that if the ‘old geezer’ had been 40 years younger, liked to party and didn’t mind sucking up, the firing wouldn’t have happened. And while it smelled like a slam-dunk wrongful dismissal law suit, he supposed that the guy was too busy trying to find another job, and needed a good reference from Jack.

‘Whew, another on-time arrival.’ He smiled at the back door security camera, stuck out his tongue and punched in his code. He walked through the empty office cubicle area and approached the corridor that divided the broadcast studios. Through the window to his left, Ollie saw the massive form of Stan Gonzalez – massive because the six-foot, three hundred pound college dropout had never met a burrito, pizza or a supersized meal deal he didn’t like. Big Stan was his counterpart on the music-programmed FM side of the station – an ‘oldies but goodies’ format staffed by a tight group of hetero rockers. These guys were so immersed with emo, metal core, post-punk revival and new rave music, they didn’t have the time or interest to keep track of the happenings in the AM world.

The two men made eye contact and flipped off each other in a friendly fashion before Ollie turned right and walked into his work space. He turned on the lights, caught the reflection of himself in the studio windows and rubbed the three day stubble of hair on his face. ‘Jeez, I look like Justin Timberlake on a bad day.’ His eyes moved downward as he studied his slender 5’ 9” frame. ‘Not exactly a stud, but close enough to keep the older troops happy. At least that’s what the guys said last night.’ His mussed-up brown hair was shaggy enough to remind him that it was time for a haircut. Ollie shrugged at a final glimpse and hoped no one would comment that he was wearing the same tee and 501’s from the previous day. ‘At least I remembered to fold up everything last night before I jumped in the sack with Jack’s bear bottom buddy from Ft. Lauderdale.’

As producer of the Jack and Charlie Show – as well as phone answerer, studio engineer, chief gofer – Ollie needed to get the engineer’s booth and small studio organized for the broadcast. But he also had to make coffee, organize the pre-recorded computer feeds from the ABC News Network, print out relevant AP ‘rip and reads’ and highlight local stories from the Naples Daily News. This had to be roughly organized so Jack and Charlie could plan the show’s content when they arrived around 5:30. ‘And all for a magnanimous twelve bucks an hour,’ Ollie thought while wiping down the studio on-air talent console.

“What a friggin’ pigsty.” He picked up the remnants of a birthday party that The Fireplug had thrown during his show the previous evening for one of the semi-remembered movie stars who made this gulf community her home. Paper plates, crumbs, coffee cups, and a cardboard platter holding a dried out chunk of chocolate cake lay around the studio. Billie Bernstein, a.k.a. The Fireplug, was a chatty queen who produced acceptable ratings in the 7:00 to 10:00 p.m. time-slot – six evenings a week – by doing what he did best: dissing, dishing, gossiping, namedropping and fawning over has-been celebrities. Even in this tiny fleabag of a radio station, ‘star’ success had gone to his head: ratings equaled commercial revenue, equaled inflated egos, equaled a clean-up-my-crap attitude.

Blond-ish, small-ish, boy-ish Kent, the evening producer and a full-of-himself princess, was constantly on the program as a foil for the fifty-something Fireplug’s outrageous ramblings, and had become a minor personality at the station himself. This was a point that made Ollie feel envious and a little resentful: he’d been primarily pigeonholed as a behind-the-scenes guy, despite his pleadings to record feature stories for the morning newscast and to be identified as part of the show with his full name. At this point, he was strictly ‘Ollie’, the semi-anonymous weather and traffic guy.

‘Maybe Kent could give me some advice on how to convince Jack to give me some more time on air,’ Ollie pondered, ‘being he’s kinda an ally and a friend.’ He stepped inside the control booth, turned on the computer screen and sat down. The red AP appeared and he typed in the station’s password. Between scanning the headlines and local news bullet points and sorting through recorded broadcast clips, he’d have the framework for the show laid out by the time Jack and Charlie arrived.

Thinking about Kent’s modest success, Ollie considered further how he could advance his own career goals. They were both 24 and maneuvering up the first rungs of the station ladder. Each had latched onto the coattails of their respective on-air talent. But, so far, Ollie was coming up short. In playing office politics – being a ‘can do’ guy – Ollie was holding his own with Kent in most areas. Both were aware that the political aspect included the expected attendance at Jack and Charlie’s bear and cub ‘clothing optional’ weekends. And Kent, with enough wispy body hair to be considered a cub, was very popular at the parties: his uncut endowment erotically swung and swayed when he walked around. Ollie had last seen Kent with some ‘Grizzly’ from Ft. Myers – another of Jack’s friends – on the living room carpet.

Kent was a ‘shower’ while Ollie was a ‘grower’ – Ollie wondered if this was an intangible factor that gave his peer and competitor an edge. ‘I know his flopping around a little more equipment is interesting…judging from how the heads turn. Or maybe because he’s a willing bottom? A long time ago, Ollie had decided he would never find out about bottoming. A little finger playing was as far as it went in that department. ‘Naw,’ he concluded, ‘Kent just lucked out by working with a guy who needed an on-air companion…and I got Jack and Charlie.’

Physically, there was nothing Ollie could do about his flaccid smallness. ‘But it always rises to the occasion, and there’s never been a complaint.’

It was a little odd that many of the AM personnel were gay. But that was the way Jack wanted it. In fact, he bragged about it. ‘Probably some sort of control thing,’ Ollie thought while typing a tentative time sheet for the show, ‘that always makes him feel like the king of the mountain.’ He snickered, leaned in close to his ‘cold’ microphone and announced with his professional deep voice, “Or maybe the queen bee.”

The other part of this little homo family was the weekend news reader. Thirty-year old Tim, another of Jack’s friends, had been brought down from New York a year earlier. In addition to being a pretty decent guy and a competent broadcaster – probably the best of the present crew – Tim clearly understood his extra-curricular role of also being a ‘treat’ at Jack’s parties. He’d told Ollie over coffee one day that, “It’s just a case of combining having a little fun with keeping the job, so just go with the flow.”

Tim rented a bedroom at Jack and Charlie’s house…a bedroom that had been very popular the previous evening…and he seemed to know how to manipulate Jack’s thinking about station operations issues. ‘Maybe I need to get a little closer to him, too,’ Ollie considered as he highlighted more stories, ‘and get some advice on advancing here.’ He was thankful they were developing a casual friendship and decided he’d invite Tim for lunch very soon. ‘Couldn’t hurt.’

And so it went for the next thirty minutes. At 5:00 – standard operating procedure – he called Jack’s home on the landline telephone. The receiver was on Jack’s side of the bed and this was a wake-up call that was crucial. A must-do.

Ring one. Ring two.

“Uhhh, yeah…that you, Ollie?” Jack said with a voice trying to connect with the outside world.

“Morning, boss. It’s five-oh-one and time to heave-ho, eh?” Ollie replied with blatant cheeriness. “You guys are live in fifty-nine minutes.”

“Got it.”

‘No thank you, no fuck you, no…nothing. Just a disconnect.’

With deadline getting closer, Ollie’s movements and work became more precise. He organized news copy into four piles – national, Florida, local and sports – and made sure the most important stories were on top. On the computer, he was downloading the various audio bites when the red light started flashing on the direct-line phone in the engineer’s booth. Although not many people had this number, Ollie always answered the phone in a business fashion.

“RealNews 530, how may I help you?”

“We’ve got a little problem.”

Ollie frowned. He immediately recognized Jack’s now fully-awake voice. “Whazzup?”

“Charlie’s sick. I dunno…probably a case of a few too many beers and whooping it up last night. Any-who, he’s not coming in and I really need you to carry some extra weight today?”

‘Right, like when don’t I carry my load and more?’ Ollie thought. “Ah, of course. Whaduya want me to do? I’ve got the copy organized and the AP audio is being prepped as we speak.”

“Anything hot on the local scene?”

“Except for a few accidents and the usual break-ins…pretty quiet.” Ollie could hear rustling in the background. ‘He’s probably getting dressed while he’s listening.’

“Okay, here’s what’s going to happen. You, my boy, are going to work the board and be my sidekick for the day.”

‘Holy shit,’ Ollie thought, sitting up straight. His body was tingling like he’d stuck his finger in a 220v socket.

“I want you to take local and sports. I’m out the door, and we’ll organize the timeslots when I get there.”

“Ga…ga…got it, boss. I’ll see you in a few.” Ollie waited a moment for a reply but knew Jack had already turned off his cell phone. ‘Hmmm, the Jack and Ollie Show sounds pretty good…if only for a day.’ Excitement made way for a practical plan to get through one of the best days of his young adult life.

“But first, I better call home,” he said to himself as he dialed. He was pretty sure there would be no answer this early in the morning, but Ollie waited to leave a message. He knew his significant-other would check the answering machine in an hour or so.

Four rings and he heard his voice. “Hi, we’re not around right now. Just leave a message and the time you called.” Beep.

“Hey, babe. I know ya got the phone turned off. Just be sure and listen to Jack and Charlie this morning while you’re getting ready to go to work. Charlie’s sick and guess who’s filling in. Ta-tah. Later, hon.”

It was time to get organized for his step into the big time. ‘Well, big for me.’

He had completed the downloads and was shuffling the local news when Jack entered the control room. He turned around and said, “Morning, Jack. I’ve got all of your copy, timed out, in the studio. Everything else is ready for you to slot into order around the commercials and network newsbreaks.”

“Good going.” Jack walked up to Ollie and squeezed his shoulder. “You okay with this?”

There was an urge to scream, After three frickin’ years? Gimme a break! However, political correctness prevailed. “Whatever you want from me, I’m ready,” Ollie replied with a smile. “One favor. Would you call me Oliver Benson on the initial intro?” He decided to be just a tad bit diva-ish while he had the opportunity.

“Absolutely.” Jack nodded and added, “I better get into the studio and get organized. We’re live in twenty-five minutes. You know the way I work with Charlie…how we do it.”

“You lead and I jump in when you pose a question. Cool.”

“That’s it, Ollie. You’ll be just fine.”

He watched his boss, clad in a fresh polo shirt that was struggling to stay inside the expanded waistband of his khaki pants, leave the control room, enter the small studio and pour a first cup of coffee that Ollie had just freshly brewed.

The two men worked in tandem, although from different rooms, for the next several minutes. There was constant conversation on the intercom as the show format took shape. At 6:06:30, the ABC live news feed was over and Ollie hit the button to bring up the music cue.

It was 6:06:36 and Jack said into his live mike, “It’s a fantastic Monday in our beautiful Naples area and time for the latest news, sports, weather and traffic from RealNews 530. Filling in for Charlie Mills today is Oliver Benson. Morning, Ollie.”

“Good morning to you, Jack. At 6:07, it’s sunny and a balmy 73 degrees. I’ll have all the weather in a few minutes.” Ollie hoped the microphone wasn’t picking up the nervous growls coming from his stomach.

“But first, breaking news,” Jack replied, not missing a beat.

And so it went for the first hour – the two men played out the show and any of Ollie’s initial uneasiness disappeared after the first minutes. Jack carefully led Ollie through the organized chaos and fielded most of the calls from listeners. During the 7:00 top-of-the-hour ABC newscast, Jack returned to the control room and congratulated Ollie on the successful first hour. He even mentioned, “We’ll have to figure out a way to use you more on the air.”

‘What the hell is this royal we business? Jack’s a committee of one.’ Ollie decided sarcasm was the last thing that needed to be dribbled out into the open. “I’d like that, Jack. Very much.”

“You can do the local news during Rush’s show. But if you’re tuckered out from all the action, I could have Kent come in early and handle the local break during Hannity.”

The national show of popular Sean Hannity, another right-wing zealot, was on from noon to three.

Oliver Benson was proud, elated…and a little possessive of his new status, however temporary. “No reason to call Kent in, eh? I’ve got plenty of energy that’ll last me until I get off. Kent can come in at his normal time.”

“I’ll buy that,” Jack replied with a chuckle. “You’re saving me a little OT.”

“Hey, you know I’m a team player.” Even though this was slathering it on rather thickly, Ollie decided to state the obvious and score some extra points. And filling in for the rest of the morning meant four separate news updates…twelve minutes of mike time. ‘Gotta record this for posterity…and maybe an audition tape.’

“Seriously, you did almost as good a job as Charlie. And he’s been at it a long time.”

“I’ve been watching and learning a lot since I came here. Just happy it’s paid off for you.” Ollie wondered if a big brown ring was circling his nose. ‘To hell with it. At this point, blowing a little smoke’s okay.’ He pointed to the clock and said, “We’re back on in one minute.”

“Whoops, I guess I’ll have to wait for a pee break.” Jack laughed and returned to the studio.

Hours two and three went even smoother.

9:00:10. Jack gave Ollie a thumbs-up sign and pointed to the messy studio as he left. ‘Back to reality,’ Ollie thought as he flipped off Jack’s microphone on the engineer’s console and moved into the empty studio to tidy up. The next six hours of programming were live syndicated shows that required only the news breaks, local commercial insertions and someone to monitor the station in case of an oops. Normally, Charlie handled the news reading while Ollie baby-sat the board. Today, he’d do both.

After cleaning the studio, Ollie returned to the booth. He weeded out and trimmed the relevant local news down to two minutes, checked the AP for any breaking news and figured out where to wedge in the two thirty-second commercials.

The red flashing light on the phone interrupted Ollie’s thought process. He reached over, hit the speakerphone button and answered it in a shorter fashion. “Ollie, here.”

“Hey, buddy, you did a helluva job for me,” Charlie Mills croaked. “I miss anything? Jack’s in a sales meeting.”

“Nada. How you doing…other than your melodious voice being a little rusty?”

“Melodious? Right.” Charlie tried to laugh and started coughing. “And rusty is an understatement.”

‘That doesn’t sound good,’ Ollie thought. “You need some chicken soup or something?”

“Jewish penicillin? Right…and a sexy Jewish man to go along with it.”

“With a little fur?” Ollie laughed and knew Charlie must not be too sick if he was thinking about men.

“Uhhh, right now fur will hafta wait. I think I gotta 24 hour thing and I need to let Jack know not to plan on me coming in tomorrow.”

“So that means…”

“Don’t start measuring for new drapes, dear. Just plan on covering for me tomorrow morning. I should be ready to return on Wednesday.”

“I…sure, that’s fine.” Ollie was sure his lucky stars must be in alignment. Should I get Jack out of the meeting?’

“No, just mention that we talked if I don’t hook up with him. Anyway, I’ve got nurse Ben to look after me for the rest of the morning.”

“Ben is staying over?” Ollie asked. “I thought he had to get back for work.” Ben was the cute bear who he’d been with only six hours earlier…as well as a month ago. He was a trauma nurse at one of the big hospitals in Ft. Lauderdale.

“He’s gotta leave by noon to make his three p.m. shift.” Charlie snickered, without coughing, and added, “But Ben says ‘hi’ and looks forward to another repeat performance with you next month.”

‘Like I need any more complications in my life – Ben having the hots for me,’ Ollie thought. “Well, here’s a ‘hi’ back…and you get well. I gotta return to the grindstone and organize the copy. I’ll talk with Jack when I see him and help out where I can.”

“Sweet…you’re a real pal. Bye.”

And with the advance knowledge he’d be doing the morning show the next day, Ollie’s outlook on life and his job continued to improve. He had just finished the news break when his eyes met with Jack’s. A wave from the corridor and a point of the finger from Jack’s chest to the control room meant he wanted to talk to Ollie.

The door opened and Jack said, “I just got off the horn with Charlie, and I understand you’re aware of the deal?”

“Yup, pretty much…Charlie needs to stay home tomorrow. You want me to do a repeat of today?” Ollie mentally crossed his fingers and offered a silent prayer to God, Allah, or any other spiritual being who might be listening.

“Correct,” Jack replied. “You pass Go and collect $200…in Monopoly money, that is. Let’s plan on you and me doin’ it…the radio show, I mean.” He grinned and licked his lips. “The other doin’…can wait.”

“You’re going to have to fight Ben first. I understand he’s already looking forward to next month.” Ollie looked at his watch and said, “That’s twenty-nine days and twelve hours from now.” It was bad enough he had to deflect a come-on from the boss. Now he was becoming personal property of that cuddly nurse from Ft. Lauderdale.

“Oh, yeah. I heard about you being high on Ben’s hit parade. Whatever.” Jack looked at the clock and said, “I’m late for a meeting. I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you came through…at the station, I mean.’

With a wink, Jack was out the door and Ollie shook his head. It seemed like all the ass kissing, hard work and playing boy toy for Jack’s friends was finally paying off. ‘Wait ’til I get home and share the good news.’

~~~~~

Ollie was home – a small condo that was a fixer-upper with promise – working on his laptop when he heard the front door open. He stood up and opened his arms wide. “Come here, Punkin, and give me a hug. Did you catch the show this morning?”

“Ollie, I did…and I’m sooooo proud of you,” Sheila replied as she walked into Ollie’s arms and parked her petit body into that of her lover of four years.

They kissed and held each other for several quiet moments. Breathing. Knowing squeezes. A growing bulge in Ollie’s crotch.

“It looks like all your sacrifices…the extra work on weekends…the way Jack scams your hours…was worth it. Congratulations.”

“Thanks, Sheila…if it’s only for a couple of days. This is one more step toward making you an honest woman.” Ollie grinned and added, “Maybe we could take off to Las Vegas after the holidays and do what we shoulda done a few years ago.”

“You serious?” Sheila’s smile ratcheted up to its maximum and a few tears slowly slid down her cheeks.

“Completely.” Ollie took a deep breath and continued, “I love you, babe, with all my heart. And all those sacrifices? You have no idea how happy I am that they’ve paid off.”

_____________________________________

THE END

© 2009 Jack Scribe

This story first appeared in the Gay Authors 2009 Winter Anthology

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