"Rocky Mountain High"
Part 2
Several days later Frankie was again talking to Irving and Stanley. They were coming out of the National Bank building on 17th and Stout Street. Frankie liked being around older people, they had a degree of common sense he enjoyed hearing. Irving and Stanley were yesterday kids in yesterday's baggy pants pulled high up around their waist. Frankie respected them.
"We meet again. This means we should go back to Angie's and talk to Barry," said Stanley Gross. – "Oh, I forgot, he is not your type.
"I was joking with you. Of course, Barry is my type, and that concerns me a little. He is everybody's type, which means I have to work my ass off to get him to like me," admitted Frankie.
"Nope, you couldn't be more wrong about that. I saw the way Barry looked at you and. Since I am a betting Jew, you should be at a florist shop right now, looking for a deal on flowers."
If Barry is the right person, believe me, you will know. But if you make a mistake, I'm available," continued Irving coughing at his own foolishness.
"I know what I am looking for." Frankie sternly stressed with confidence. That does kind of settle things, but if not, I'll find myself a farm boy and bed down with the horses," he concluded, grinning to keep the conversation on the pointless side.
"Don't listen to Irving over here, what does he know," said Stanley? "He is only teasing you. Getting a hot man, who is not a slut, is not so easy anymore. I know – I know, people say that all the time, so preaching, I'm not about to do."
"I want somebody to love, sex is like tears, it' all in the game." Frankie admitted. Sure I want sex, and I am good at it, don't get me wrong."
"What kind of crap is that? Don't get me wrong! You didn't talk like that, in the Bronx. All you crazy Italian's want is getting your cock squeezed in a warm wet hole, love is bullshit," said Stanley.
Stanley was right on target. However, the tables had turned for Frankie from the days in the Bronx, when he would say - "Madonn, (good god) what a bod, let's go someplace and fuck. This is no, "Cazzata" (bullshit. "C'mon, beautiful smile for Frankie."
That approach was behind him now. He had the moves to get most anything he wanted. It took no effort to attract men who wanted to strip him naked. His body was like solid pastry, smooth yet sweet and tasty. However, it was always the same; fuck or be fucked, with a few lousy kisses thrown in to spice it up a bit.
"Good grief," Stanley replied. "A nice cup of tea would be better. Would you like to have tea and bagels with us? Irving is paying. "We know this wonderful tea shop not far from here."
"I'll pass."
"He is going to pass. What do you say about that?" quizzed Stanley to his old friend.
"So let him pass, I would do the same thing. Would you want tea with two old Jews old enough to be your grandfather?" Irving asked.
"I see your point, but speak for yourself. I am not old, I am a senior."
"I'm telling you what you need to know," replied Irving, who always had an answer for everything. Stanley would let him talk, since he would do it anyway.
They continued babbling back and forth never noticing Frankie walking quietly away. There was no changing these two, and best left alone.
Frankie had a damaged car, waiting for parts from the dealer for repair. Temporarily, he was taking taxies or using the bus. It was - what it was.
The following Thursday, once again, he took the bus along 17th street for Pizza at Angie's café and bistro. The ride was annoying with stopping and starting. Frankie however, loved watching people from the clean spotless windows of the bus.
Thursday, the special was Pizza, and magnificent. He compared it with New York Pizza from John's Pizzeria on Bleecker Street, years ago when he went to college at NYU. Although very good, it is almost impossible to top New York Pizza.
Frankie walked a block, from the bus stop, to the restaurant and stopped. He asked himself, "Do I really want pizza?"
Then, through the window, he saw Barry walking around. Holy crap, a body moving like flowing wind, and a crotch that needed to lighten its load. It wasn't a whole new world for Frankie, but it sure made this one more interesting.
With his deep sexy Elvis voice, Barry was perfect, and although he didn't look like Elvis, he surly sounded like him, especially when he said, –"Thank you very much."
Frankie kept to himself, a crush he on Barry. His intention was knee deep in simplicity. His aim was to impress him, although they barely knew one another. However, Frankie could be "Bronx pushy" at times.
The street entrance was not open, so he went into the café looking for the way into the garden. There was a sign, "Bistro Patio," over an open door. Voila, nothing could be easier.
He walked outside and sat at a table, fitting for two people. It was 4:00 pm, so the lunch crowd was long gone. In its place were singles and couples (mostly gay) having slices of pizza.
"Ah, this is nice, no crowd and plenty of space." He silently mumbled.
Frankie felt a hand on his shoulder, when he turned around Barry was touching him and smiling. "Hello handsome, you look seriously comfortable in thought. Do you need a menu, or do you know what you would like to have?"
"Ide like the pizza special," he added. Whew, Barry was affecting him big time. "Get a grip Frankie – Get a grip!" he kept telling himself.
Barry was wearing black pants with a red shirt trimmed in white. The clothes clung firmly to his body. The two top shirt buttons were open showing a sprout of chest hair. It made Frankie wonder where the hair led.
His body was solid and although not muscular, he was a trim package that would be fun to cuddle with given the chance. There was no mistaking he had a sweet looking butt, and the front was even sweeter. There was curiosity enough to check behind the barn door. The more he looked at Barry, the warmer he became around his neck, plus other places.
Barry returned with the two slices of cheese pizza including a fountain drink.
"There you go, good looking," Barry remarked setting the pizza and drink on the table.
"Looks like you are going to have the dining room to yourself pretty soon," said Barry. The rest of the tables were void of people except for two elderly women still chewing and talking. They paid no attention to Frankie.
"Take your time, and if I can bring you anything else, let me know."
"Okay, thanks – WAIT!" said Frankie, stopping Barry from walking away.
"Ah, you thought of something you want," replied Barry.
"Can you sit down and talk for a few minutes. There is nobody here and the café is practically empty. I saw Angie leave when I came in, so she won't be giving you the third degree."
"Sure, just let me check the front first," Barry, answered.
A few minutes later, he returned caring a drink for himself and sucking on a straw. He sat across from Frankie, looked him in the eye, and, said "HELLO."
"How's the pizza?" He asked.
"Excellent."
"That's good."
"Do you live near here," Frankie asked trying to make conversation. If he asked what he really wanted to say, he would have ruined everything.
"I live downtown not far from the campus near Washington Park. I knew Angie before this place opened on 17th Street, so here I am." Barry replied.
"Beautiful spot, Washington Park. I'm out in Congress Park," replied Frankie.
"You must like pizza to drive out 17th street to this place," said Barry.
"Yeah, I do, but what I really like is looking at you. Now, don't be getting all pissed or anything crazy like that. I am a guy who says, what he's thinking. That's not so bad, is it?"
"Nope, not at all. I like you too," replied Barry, sipping on his drink.
"I'm what you call `crazy with confidence, my car is having work done on it so I took the bus, admitted Frankie. I hate the damn bus, but it's better than walking."
"You have been here twice this week," Barry remarked staring into Frankie's face.
"I was nearby." He was lying; he took an annoying bus ride to get here. However, he smiled being completely believable.
"It's like I said," continued Frankie, I'm crazy with confidence. Okay, I'll level with you. I saw you at the Colonial Tavern, and asked the bartender Joey, about you. He told me where you worked and your name was Barry. I had to meet you, or at least try.
"I think that's cool, kind of sweet, coming from a hunky good looking guy." Barry responded acting surprised, but probably not surprised at all.
"I have a question," said Frankie.
"Go ahead, ask!"
"How many times a day do you get hit on with all the faggots that come here for snacks and lunch?"
"Ha ha-ha, are you for real. What kind of question is that? I don't know, I never pay attention to them, they are always joking."
"Yew, you're right, dumb question – pretty dumb."
"Naw, it only conversation. I get off work in twenty minutes; do you want a ride home? I understand you're not liking the bus," said Barry.
"Yeah sure, - yeah, but you're not going that way - exactly that is," said Frankie.
"Sure I am, it all in the steering," he said winking with a sexy smile.
"Outside is a bench in front of the restaurant," he continued. I am parked in the parking lot, and will drive around to the front. It's a white Camry Toyota."
Frankie paid his bill, left Barry a generous tip, and went outside. He plunked himself down on the bench, stretched out his long legs looking at the traffic, and the people, as if to say, – "grazie, Denver."
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