Free How's Your Romance?: Concluding the "Buddies" Cycle by Ethan Mordden

anything to get that from daddy. Daddy love runs the world, you know.”
    “Does anyone like the food?” Cosgrove asked, patiently.
    “Delicious,” said J.
    “Yeah, it’s so … Then you work them to the bed, always daddy and his girl, using how bigger you are to sweeten them along. No forcing, but always control. They love it so like that, give you anything you want.”
    My brother Jim has this quality: a talking blueprint for the seduction of females. To such men as Vince and Jim, a date is successful when a woman is cajoled, persuaded, lured into sex; a date who shows up wanting it takes all the fun out of it, robs them of their male magic. But then, given the byzantine etiquette of heterosexual courtship, what woman ever shows up wanting it? This is one reason why gay romance is easier to manage than straight. When a gay date shows up, he’s counting on having sex. It’s all over but the shouting.
    “Vince,” said J., “tell them about the flip.”
    Smiling, Vince set aside his empty plate and took a sip of beer. “Oh yeah,” he said. “The flip, huh?” More chuckling. “See, even prime gash don’t really want to give it up to you, not right up front. They got to be wiggled into it, somehow, kind of daddied-up. Hands all over ’em when you’re standing behind, nudging them with your little wonder. Steamy liplock, which if you do it right is a form of fucking. But all with the greatest respect. They could be the cheapest ho in Clancy’s, you treat ’em like a royal queen. Look ’em over with, like, you can’t believe this loveliness. It’s an honor, you know? Say, ‘Baby, let me flip you.’ Say, ‘You got the flops, I feel it in your skin. Let me give you a look-see.’”
    “Would anyone like more lemon squeeze on their fish?” asked Cosgrove.
    “The look-see, well, that’s your plain old eat-’em-out, which also gets you to the bed, where grease and condoms are displayed.” Another sip of beer. “That prepares the romantic mood, so you got to remember to lay them out in advance. You know what I mean?”
    He was looking at me, and I nodded. “In the theatre,” I said, “they call that a ‘pre-set.’”
    “They do that live in a theatre somewhere? Fuck shows?”
    “Vince,” J. put in, “tell them about Shona.”
    Cosgrove asked, “Vince, would you like seconds?” And Vince, without missing a measure, extended his plate to be taken off and refilled.
    “Shona lady?” Vince went on, nodding rhetorically. “ Loves the flip, but she also loves pretending she don’t got the flops. I say, ‘You got the flops, sweet love,’ and she’s like, ‘Not yet, taste a bit more.’” He grinned again. “You got to eat her out so total it’s like—”
    “Vince!” Cosgrove yelled from the kitchen.
    Vince paused.
    Cosgrove appeared at the kitchen doorway. “Do you like what I made or not?”
    “Sure, I like it. What for did you cry out at me?”
    Cosgrove said nothing and did not move.
    “It’s like when ol’ Red Backhaus gets perturbed all a sudden, and what’d I do? I apologize, just the same.”
    “Go on, Vince,” J. urged him. “Shona gets eaten.”
    “Well, yeah, she does. She can play you just as you play her, you know. She’s rising to it, getting set for daddy time, and she’s all flopsed up and so hungry she’s just swinging away on your dick. Oh, thank you, my man.” This to Cosgrove, for his food. “And I always start ’em eyes down, but the great moment is when you flip ’em for the ice-cream treat of eye contact big-time. If you fix their legs right, you can kiss ’em while fucking, which is so racy, you know? That is what I call the flip, a noble thing between man and woman, and if it wasn’t for marriage fucking up the chicks’ heads, we would all have a beautiful time.”
    I had noticed that Vince used certain adjectives—all positive ones, like “wonderful,” “lovely,” and “beautiful”—as if making love with them. They came out slow and