I'm going to write this story in installments, over several days. It's too long to do all at once, and Queerty is wearing me out anyway. But it's a good story. So play along.
There is this phone number I have saved under the name "Austin Guy." The guy it belongs to, I've known for several months; but I could never remember his name, and at this point it's been too long to ask him again. I tried calling his phone to hear voice mail, but all he says is "Hey, it's me, leave a message" or something inocuous of the sort. So his identity remains a mystery. It doesn't matter.
I do know he's a student, because sometimes he has to run off to class. And I know he drives a black truck, which he parks in my driveway.
Ring, ring goes the phone. "Austin Guy" on the ID.
"What are you doin?"
Nothing, just working.
"Are you at home?"
"Are you home alone?"
"Oh, okay, that's cool."
What's up with you?
What are you doing?
"Driving over to your house."
...keep going after the jump:
Once in a while I get these call, from this guy who likes to come over and "hang out" for a while. Every time he shows up, it's the same song and dance: take a few steps in, stand with hands in pockets; say "whassup?" and nod head up quickly in greeting. Slowly walk into living room, flop down on couch, take ratty baseball cap off and mess up hair a little, then put cap back on. I say, "You want something to drink?" He says, "You got a beer?" And I bring him one, from the stash that is exactly the same as it was the last time he was over; I don't drink it. The whole set-up runs just like a script.
We've been doing this for months. He says he likes to get out of the dorms, away from his roommate who doesn't know he's "into guys," so he likes to "just hang out" over here. But when you "just hang out" with buddies, you usually take more than one sip of your beer before you put it on the table and forget about it, I would think. But he's obviously not there to drink. They always get thrown away.