Page 79 of Muscle Cub

“Kinda. There’s a contest. People vote.”

“Oh, yes, the man pageant. I guess you’ll be passing on your crown.”

“The hell I will! I’m gonna win again. And I want you to be there. I’ve arranged special accommodations for you.”

“Uh-oh. What does that mean?”

“It’s a surprise. All you gotta do is say yes.”

“Well, I guess I fucking have to,” I said as if I could’ve said no, “since you invited Charles.”

Austin laughed. “It’s sold out. The only way he’s getting in last minute is if he’s willing to tent camp. He doesn’t look like the type.”

I hummed skeptically. “He’s not.”

“Forget about him.”

“Trust me, I have.”

Sunday morning, I awoke from a dream that I was spooning Austin. I jacked off remembering holding him in my bed.

I caught myself mumble-singing “I Hope You Dance” in the shower. On impulse, I belted a few lines. Maybe I did have a good voice.

Sundays were usually my rest days, but since I’d taken off yesterday and was now planning to be away next weekend also—fuck. The last thing I needed was another vacation as an excuse to procrastinate. I had to get some writing done. Austin might continue visiting on Wednesdays, and I’d need to rearrange my schedule to accommodate that on a regular basis. I was probably getting ahead of myself. Maybe I could use it as motivation, a way to mark time until I could see him again.

By my second cup of coffee, researching the Bear Run online had overridden my good intentions.

Okay. I’ll start strong and go hard tomorrow. That’s what Mondays are for.

Like old-school circuit parties or big city Pride events, bear runs moved around to different locations at different times of the year. They were like conferences, opportunities for the greater community to gather beyond the usual bars, camps, and clubs.

A run typically featured tournaments—beer pong, billiards, darts, rugby, volleyball—and a euphemistically titled contest, where winners were awarded titles by category.

According to the Bear Mountain Lodge website, there would be an additional entrance fee and a bear market to help raise money for Edgewood Youth Alliance.

I called Eric, and he assured me they wouldn’t be auctioning off actual men at the bear market. They sold T-shirts, leather gear, and high-end underwear.

I asked if he and Ben wanted to come. I told him I’d miss having them there, but he said they were enjoying their alone time. I heard the air quotes. Before he could go into detail, I blurted out that I’d taken Austin to meet my family.

After I’d filled him in on the events of the past few days, he said, “Damn, dude. You’ve gone and got yourself a full-on boyfriend.”

“Please.” I scoffed at the term, but Eric couldn’t see my smile. “Calm down.”

“I don’t think you’ll miss us at all.” Eric sighed loudly. “I hope you dance.”

“Fuck off.”

When Austin called that night, he told me he couldn’t come to town on Wednesday. Due to the extra preparations required for the upcoming weekend, the staff wouldn’t be able to take their usual day off. “It’s a good thing I requested the half-day to go to Sadie’s party, or I would’ve ended up working three weeks in a row without a break.” He sighed. “I don’t think I could go that long without seeing you.”

“Me either,” I admitted. I was disappointed, but knowing he’d intended to come was some consolation.

“Five more days,” he said, his smile evident in his voice.

I started the week strong. I went for a three-mile walk, did fifty pushups, ate grapefruit for breakfast, then took a long shower, hoping to invite the muse.

Apparently, my muse was Austin. He was all I could think about.

I made a pot of tea, sat down at my desk, and thought, Fuck it. Maybe I am writing a book about him.