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Mac Joad was a comer fresh out of the Indiana corn fields with fair hair and honest hands. He was a simple kid, but he could put a sentence together all right and he knew something of men's hearts, so he got into the advertising game. He was proud to be a real salaryman in the big city.
"How do you like Hartford?" Mac's new boss Dave asked. He sat on the edge of his desk with his legs splayed.
"A little scary at first, but I'm getting used to it," Mac figured Dave wanted to hear.
"Yeah. Listen, I'm going to get up and close the door."
Mac's boss shut the door and stood behind him.
"I don't want to sound all paranoid, but we have to stick together," Dave said. "All these business school jerks. We're the only English majors on the floor, the only creative types." He put his hands on Mac's shoulders and spoke close to his ear, his breath malty with PowerBars. "You know, a young kid like you, new to the city... there are a lot of opportunities that wouldn't necessarily come your way out in the sticks."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm just saying, lots of times when you're young, opportunities present themselves to you, and you don't take them. You figure they'll always be there for you. Well they won't. See what I mean?"
"Not really, Dave. What's your point?"
Dave went to the window and closed the blinds.
"Your, uh, resume says you almost made All American in wrestling."
"You bet I did."
Dave cleared the chairs away from the center of the room and got down on all fours, thrusting his boxy, late 30s ass into the air.
"Let's grapple," he said.
"Gee," said Mac, looking at the door.
"Aw, come on. It's not gay to have a little grapple, is it?"
"No, of course not."
Mac knelt, grabbed his boss' elbow and laid his ear between his shoulder blades.
"Suppose I grapevined my leg around yours in the starting position?" Dave said, doing so.
"It'd be an illegal move, Dave. What's your point?"
"Well, now... suppose I just reached back and put my hand on the inside of your thigh," said Dave, taking that liberty. "What's to stop a fellow from doing that?"
"The rules of the sport, Dave. What's your point?" Mac said, irritated now.
"Doesn't make a man gay, does it?"
"No, Dave, I suppose it doesn't in and of itself. What's your point?"
"And massaging those big farmer's balls through your slacks. There's no law against that, is there?"
"Can we please get to the point?"
"I mean, just because your penis is responding to my touch, growing hard as... as... hey, you're a country boy, Mac, what's a nice hard wood?"
"Northern red oak, Dave. What's your point?"
"Well, it's not gay is all I'm saying. You'll concede that, right?"
"Dave: what is your point?"
Half an hour later, pulling the tacky threads of his boss' semen from his lips, Mac had to allow that it wasn't necessarily gay, what had happened in there. For the life of him, though, he just couldn't figure Dave's point.
Date Written: January 21, 2005
Average Vote: 4.46154