“I’m shipping out to boot camp soon.”
He was on his way to Buffalo Wild Wings to link up with some friends for a sort of farewell shindig. A young good looking athletic type sporting a t-shirt and basketball shorts—it was cold and raining.
While chopping it up, I noticed what looked like a piece of garbage blowing across the dark street, but it wasn’t garbage. I hit the brakes, and out of reflex, my arm jerked out to secure my messenger bag that usually sits in the seat next to me. I brushed against the young recruit’s leg.
I yanked my hand back.
We gazed on stopped in the middle of the street. For a moment, I thought it was a cat or a small dog, but it wasn’t.
A fat possum waddled in the head lights as we sat there, stopped, as I tried not to think about what this guy thinking about me touching his leg.
I’m secure with my sexuality and I respect others, so I wasn’t worried about him thinking I was gay or whatever, I was uncomfortable because I was worried that I made him feel uncomfortable.
It was awkward for a few seconds, at least inside my head.
The pudgy little bastard stopped and hissed at us for a couple seconds before waddling back the way he came.
We both laughed and tripped out on the baby demon cursing us back into the darkness.
I felt compelled to speak up and I offered my explanation for groping his leg.
“It’s all good bro.”
I joked about him telling his friend, who ordered the ride for him, to give me a one star rating because of it. The Marine to be laughed, “Dude, he tried to molest me.”