Who Was That, Dad?

“Who was that, Dad?”

“Who are you talking about, son?”

“That guy who was looking at you in the store, Dad.”

“Someone was looking at me?”

“Like all the time. Didn’t you see him? He was about as tall as you, wore a blue shirt, had a beard.”

“Hmm, I don’t know, son.”

“You never saw him staring at you, Dad? I swear he followed us around the store. I figured he was someone from your work or maybe one of the guys you play football with every weekend.”

“Beats me, son. Damn, traffic is bad. I thought we’d avoid all this by shopping Monday morning. Did we get everything on the list Mom gave us?”

“Yeah, Dad. Everything she wanted. I don’t believe you didn’t notice that guy.”

“You really got a thing for that guy, huh, son? Maybe I just looked like someone he knew. Haven’t you ever done that? Seen someone and swear they were someone you knew, but when you got close you realized they weren’t?”


“Or he might have been a cocksucker. You know, son. A homo.”

“What makes you think that, Dad?”

“That’s usually the case when some guy is keen on you. Either they are a Mormon missionary wanting to convert you, or they want to get in your pants.”

“In your pants?”

“You know, one of those guys who wants to pull down your pants and shove his face into your crotch. I’m sure you’ve run into boys at school who check you out in the showers. Boys who sit too close to you in class. Boys who …”

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