Sex and the Scorpio

It was a nice night, delightful evening. I spent the latter part of the afternoon with Aries, discussing certain attributes of planets, meanings, and imbibing – perhaps – just a little too much coffee. Plus, on the way home, I stopped off at Jo’s for a Currant-Pecan sweet roll.

I got home, and there was a group of neighbors sitting out under the gentle, sweeping arbors of the fall sky, the view of the Austin skyline a little to the right, just up and over the river, making life a grand.

One of my neighbors is obviously gay. Don’t know how else to explain it. It’s not like I’m outing him or anything, if you can’t tell from the body language, or the language, or the way he catcalls after me on occasion, well, then you just ain’t very observant.

Like I said, it’s no big deal. I’m pretty firmly in the “hetero” crowd, and he like guys. Fact is, I wish he liked more guys, as I could use a decent repeat client so close to home.

So we were all sitting out there, and another neighbor wanders up with two of his cousins in tow. Or nieces. Or some familial relationship that I didn’t quite catch. One of the females stood right beside my obviously gay neighbor.

So there we were, out in the evening, me sipping a giant to-go cup of espresso from Jo’s [covered with foamed up milk>, shuffling through my mail from the mail box, not that I could read anything as it was dark. You know, typical trailer park small talk.

The young women were obviously getting a little bored as it wasn’t very interesting conversation for them. Me? I was trying not to make an complete fool of myself. “Yeah, well, I’ve got some web tweaking to get after,” and I sat there.

“You’re the astrologer, hey what’s your birthday?” My gay friend turned to the girl nearest him. She was wearing skintight jeans, revealing a curvaceous backside, an ample chest barely covered by a silk blouse, and long, brown hair, shimmering slightly in the glow from the lighting. Or maybe it was the Capricorn Moon. She was also sporting what is affectionately referred to as a “gang bang,” a single shock of bangs, artfully hanging in space over her forehead, almost reaching her long eyelashes.

“Oct. 29,” she replied, with a hint of her Hispanic accent, then she turned and sauntered off, fully secure in the knowledge that every male present was watching her.

First off, her cousin, or brother, or whatever he was, he lives here, too. No way \\any\\ of us would make an untoward comment. Not going to happen. Wouldn’t even think of it. Besides, she was otherwise engaged or something.

But my gay friend? He was funniest. “Scorpio, huh? Wow. I was a having heterosexual moment there.” He then sniffed at the space she was just occupying.

Don’t look at me, I spent the evening wrestling with software, trying to set up the new journal software, and importing the old entries.

About the author: Born and raised in a small town in East Texas, Kramer Wetzel spent years honing his craft in a trailer park in South Austin. He hates writing about himself in third person. More at KramerWetzel.com.

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