Markwildyr.com,Post #257

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Can you believe it? Here we are wellinto 2024, and I was just getting accustomed to writing 2023. Such is life.

 

Hope you enjoyed the story of the Armybrat and the white park bench. This week, we’ll start another story, maybepluck some different heartstrings.

Let’s get right to it. Here’s Part 1.

 

 

* * * *

LI’LHONEY BUNNY

I remember the day Greg Parkswas born in the house right beside ours on Mason Street. Or at least I recallstories about the event… my mom rushing over to help the doctor, excitedwhispers, a baby crying. They’re vivid in my mind, although I was only four atthe time. But it seemed that my mother coming back home and loudly pronouncingthat the new baby was a real “Little Honey Bunny” was my recollection, notsomeone else’s told so many times it gets mixed up with my own.

So that’s what I called him fromthe time I first laid eyes on the red-faced, squalling bundle of energy moreformally named Gregory Robert Parks. The label worked okay until he reachedMiddle School, and then he began to rebel, taking it as a smack-down. Wasn’tintended that way, but his reaction tickled my fancy, so I kept it up. By thattime, of course, it had simply been reduced to “Bunny,” but I’d use the full appellationon occasion to watch his face turn red. Needless to say, our childhoodfriendship was no longer so close.

I returned home after beingaway at college for four years and moved back into the Mason Street house.Didn’t see much of Bunny upon my return as the Parks had long ago moved toanother part of town. Nonetheless the sight of the white house to the east ofours kicked off memories… including those of Li’l Honey Bunny.

In answer to my questions, Momlet me know Greg had graduated high school and was prepared to leave forcollege at State this fall. Hard to believe the gangly fourteen-year-old I’dlast cast eyes on would soon be a college man. No doubt I’d see for myself, asI was about to start working in my dad’s drug store. The idea of working for ayear at the drug store where I’d started shelving merchandise in short pants beforestarting pharmacy school was long ago implanted in my brain. Dad wanted me tolearn the business end of the store more deeply than what I’d already absorbedby osmosis. He he planned for me to one day replace him as pharmacist… andultimately as manager. That was okay with me. I’d found his puttering andmuttering while mixing this and parsing that fascinating, and I probablyalready knew more about that end of the business than most pre-pharm students.

One day as I looked through asheaf of credit card charges while searching for a specific one, an unfamiliarvoice called my name.

“Clifton? Is that you, Cliff?”

I turned to regard an oddly familiarstranger. A handsome, hunky, totally desirable stranger. My mouth dropped asrecognition dawned.

“Greg?”

The beautiful young manlaughed, his generous green eyes crinkling merrily. “It’s okay, I’m still Bunny.”

“You sure are,” I blurted andgrasped the strong hand he thrust at me. “Damn, guy, you’ve grown.”

“Wee bit. But you look thesame. Guess chasing sorority gals around campus has kept you lean and healthy.”

I gave him a return laugh. “It’sonly when you catch them that it can become unhealthy.”

“I’ll take you word for it.How long you home for?”

I reclaimed my hand, althoughI was enjoying the contact. “Gonna work for a year before going back toPharmacy School. So I’ll be around awhile.”

“Not me,” the dreamboat infront of me said. “Heading out to State this fall.”

“Try not to tear up campus toomuch.”

“Might need some guidance onthat. Maybe you can give me some pointers.”

“Happy to… anytime.”

He started to move away, buthesitated. “I’m working at my dad’s lumberyard for the summer… like every othersummer I can remember. Get off around six. If you’re not doing anything, maybeyou can give me some of those pointers.”

A chill ran down my back. “Yeah,sure. What you wanna do?”

“You still bowl?”

“Some. Probably still beatyour ass.”

“This isn’t a league night, sowhy don’t you meet me at the Fiesta Bowl at eight, and I’ll make you eat thosewords.”

“You’re on.”

I couldn’t help but watch ashe moved down the aisle toward the prescription counter where my father wasworking. The kid had to be a jock. Way he moved, graceful, self-assured… sexy.

Thankfully, the cashier’scounter shielded me as Mrs. Mooseburn walked up, otherwise it would have been obscenelyobvious how intrigued I was by that Li’l Honey Bunny.

*.*.*.*.

Wonder if Cliffhad explored his own sexuality before Bunny caught his fancy… unexpectedly, itseems. He has to be… what 22 or 23 to have graduated from college, so surely hehas. But who knows.

 

At any rate, nowthat he knows, what will he do about it? Assuming, of course, Bunny will permithim to experiment. What do you think?

 

I now have thecover for the upcoming Huntinghawk, but JMS won’t let me give anyone apeek yet. I like it, and hopefully, so will you.

 

My contactinformation is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:

Website and blog: markwildyr.com

Email:markwildyr@aol.com

Facebook:www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr

X: @markwildyr

Now mymantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing.You have something to say, so say it! 

 

See you later.

 

 

Mark

 

New posts first and third Thursday of the month at 6:00a.m., US Mountain time.