Snapshots

Cow Pie Bingo-2

The slight breeze cooled Evan’s warm skin. It was a beautiful day—cloudless, mild, bright, and sunny. If it wasn’t for the dread knotting his stomach, he’d be happy to spend the day outdoors. Kramden Park was full of people. A huge banner hung between two trees proclaiming “Missy Bannister Cancer Treatment Fundraiser.” It really was a worthy cause.

He could do this. That was the mantra he kept repeating to himself. Maybe if he recited it enough, it would become true. After all, it was for only one hour.

The empty kissing booths loomed off to one side of the open meadow. He checked his watch. One-thirty. He had half an hour to kill, so he wandered around to see what else was going on.

Children sat atop ponies being led in circles, and both children and adults played dozens of carnival games. There was a table set up for face painting, which explained the number of children running around with faces decorated like cats, dogs, tigers, and bunnies. Multiple tables were loaded with pies, cakes, and cookies for sale, and additional tables were full of donated items up for silent auction.

Evan approached a large area with chalked-in gridlines, creating hundreds of squares inside. “Cow Pie Bingo” the sign proclaimed. He covered his mouth with a hand to muffle his reflexive snort. They were going to let a cow loose and pay off a percentage of the take to whoever had bought the square the cow first “fertilized.”

Everything required tickets, and the long table where they sold them was busy. The community had really come through for Missy.

Evan smiled as he wandered toward the dunking tank. The unfortunate man sitting on the platform was already soaking wet. Evan stopped short, and the mild breeze did nothing to cool his heated skin. He took a deep breath and walked closer to get a better look at the well-defined muscles outlined so beautifully in the drenched thin cotton T-shirt. No contest—the man would have Evan’s vote in a wet T-shirt competition.

Forgetting his earlier doubts about whether or not to do anything about his attraction to men, Evan made a bee-line for the ticket table and bought a dozen tickets. No harm in discretely enjoying the scenery, was there?

Two tickets bought three shots at the dunk tank target, and when Evan made it to the front of the line, he handed over four tickets and was given six baseballs. The man in the tank had dishwater blond hair, and thanks to the “poor shots” who had been ahead of Evan in line, both his hair and T-shirt were starting to air-dry. That would not do, Evan decided, setting his jaw.

The man smiled and swung his bare, hairy legs as he sat perched above the water. He had his arms crossed over his chest, and he regarded Evan with a cheeky smirk as if daring Evan to knock him in.

Evan returned the grin, then hurled a ball at the target. He missed.

The man smirked wider.

Evan reared back with his second ball, chucked it at the target—and missed again.

This time, the man winked and smiled broadly. Winked?

Evan swallowed, then took a deep breath and threw his third shot.

Bingo! The ball hit the target with a loud clang, and the platform fell out from underneath the man, dropping him into the water. Waves surged through the tank, and the man stood up, laughing as he shook his head, tossing off water like a dog.

“Nice shot!” he yelled to Evan. He reset the seat and climbed up, the T-shirt once again nicely plastered to his well-formed pecs.

“I’ve got three more for you,” Evan shouted back.

The man laughed again. “You can try.” He taunted Evan as he crossed his arms over his chest and resumed swinging his legs.

Oh, he’d try. Evan shook out his throwing hand as the man’s muscles flexed. Evan hoped his jeans proved thick enough to camoflage his hard-on.

He pitched and missed two more times, and the man’s smile grew even wider. He tilted his head to one side and winked again. Was he actually flirting?

The idea sent a chill up Evan’s spine. Was he imagining things? Was the shiver from fear or hope? He had no idea, but he reflexively returned the grin.

Evan threw the last ball and—score!

The man dropped with a resounding splash. He came up with a laughing roar and once again shook the water from his hair like a big wet dog.

“Are you out of balls yet?” he yelled.

Evan laughed and waved as he walked away, but couldn’t resist a backward glance at the soaking wet man climbing up to his perch.

Evan checked his watch again. Only ten more minutes before his kissing booth duty began. He strolled to the bake-sale tables and used three more tickets snagging an apple pie, then bought a square for the cow pie bingo with his last five tickets.

“Evan!” Karen, event organizer extraordinaire, approached, waving her clipboard enthusiastically. “It’s time, Evan. I really can’t thank you enough for doing this.”

“You’re welcome. You owe me big, though.” Evan smiled. It was even a sincere smile.

“Oh, come on now. Maybe by the time it’s over, you’ll consider that it’s you who owes me!” She laughed as she led him to the line of kissing booths.

Each booth was a lightweight half-wall with a large window frame, propped up by two-by-four framing on the sides. A big gaudy sign over the top read “Kissing Booth,” framed by scads of red and pink lipstick kisses. A pack of giggling females loitered in the vicinity, waiting for the booths to open. The knot in Evan’s stomach returned full force.

“Hey,” Evan said. “Is there a minimum age limit for this? Some of these girls look a bit young.”

“They have to be eighteen to get in line. If you think anyone who comes to your booth is too young, you can ask her to show ID.”

Karen introduced him to Andy and Adam, who’d been assigned to the other booths. Andy was a good-looking blond who appeared to be barely eighteen himself. Hopefully the younger girls would flock to his line. Adam was probably about twenty-five and also rather attractive in a rugged outdoorsy kind of way.

Evan knew he wasn’t bad-looking either. His brown hair and brown eyes were average enough, but his face was well proportioned, and he’d never had any trouble getting a date. He was in good shape, too. He worked out at one of the local fitness centers three times each week and went jogging in the park on the other four days.

Still, Evan didn’t care about his ego; he hoped the other two booths would be more popular than his.

“Okay, boys, it’s time,” Karen said. “Collect two tickets per kiss and put them in those canvas bags tacked to the inside wall of your booth. Have fun!”

Evan straightened his shoulders and tried not to look like a condemned man as he stood behind his window. To his dismay, his line appeared every bit as long as Andy’s and Adam’s. He swallowed the lump in his throat, plastered a big smile on his face, and turned to face the first woman waiting. She was probably about thirty-five and grinned ear-to-ear. He could do this. He thanked her as he took her two tickets, then leaned down and gave her a quick little kiss on the lips. He smiled and thanked her again, then turned to the next woman in line.