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Winning by the Numbers, Chapter 5 : Back to Work
When I entered the lab door and pulled on my white coat, the West Texas twang and the cowboy vocabulary that goes with it went back into the bottle. I became my college educated persona with the cosmopolitan non-descript accent that opened the door to get me this miserable job. People have expectations and as long as you meet them, in their eyes, everything is fine. Back at home with friends, I had better talk like a cowboy or they will feel insulted and think I'm talking down to them. Around the doctors and professors I'd better talk like an educated professional or they will feel the same way thinking I'm playing dumb. With a red flashing sign on your forehead, you have to give them enough of what they expect and project just enough self confidence to keep them from asking the critical question. I would never ask "you're straight aren't you?" and giggle behind someone's back or threaten to beat the shit out of them because of it. I just do my best to be me and survive whatever situation presents itself.
The snow of New Mexico had been awesome and the roads were all drivable, cleared by snow plows. The cans paid for two nights at a $25 a night motel. I had my poles and tackle box behind the seat of my pickup and we caught a few trout in Eagles Nest Reservoir even though the season didn't start until May. They will bite on lures and don't take fly fishing to catch. Each time, we cooked them and ate them very quickly to avoid any trouble with the law. We threw snowballs, made angels, and slid down hills in cardboard boxes, but didn't get lift tickets or rent skis. The nights were as much fun as the days. I dropped James off and then Charlie, on the way back to Dallas.
Wanda came in right after I arrived wearing a T-shirt and jeans. The shirt read "Keep Austin Weird" on the front and "Naturally, I swim at hippie hollow" on the back but was quickly cover by her lab coat. My shirt and tie had to be visible, but women had more leeway in the dress code. At eight thirty Reed called saying we were having a meeting at nine about the foundation, but not an official board meeting.
Reed was really quite an attractive guy, in his early thirties and easily meeting the requirements except possibly the measurement. I had no reason to wonder, really. He was so self absorbed and our conversations were never on the personal level. He began his little speech with no interruption from Wanda or I.
"The purpose of the foundation is to assist gays and lesbians in having children. There are no laws restricting private adoption or having children through surrogate mothers right now for single people. It may not always be that way. The religious right is strongly opposing abortion and at the same time opposing sex education and birth control, which is a contradiction. Genetics should reveal the genes for gay men and lesbians over the next few years and Smith and I felt that as soon as it became clear we would begin to see the religious right counseling for abortion of gay and lesbian fetuses. We are on the cutting edge of this science and hope to work against that possibility. As it is now, we will never reach a majority of the population and our goal is 'winning by the numbers'. About a third of men are gay and twelve to fifteen percent of women are lesbian."
He coughed , took a sip of his coffee and continued uninterrupted. "We have a number of marker genes identified for both groups. Gay men primarily inherit gayness from their mothers. Lesbians must inherit genes from both parents accounting for the difference in percentages in the population as a whole. There lesbian women and straight women who carry genes for gay sons. There are both groups of women and men carrying genes for lesbian daughters. Three other groups exist, the XXY, the XYY, and those individuals who are genetically one sex and the expressed sex is the opposite, that is, men who are genetically women and women who are genetically men. "
It was a long introduction. "The trisomatic groups tend to be more violent and represent a large part of prison populations for both sexes. They tend to be dropouts, depressed, schizophrenic, bipolar, or have a wide range of other problems. Expressed sex in opposition to genetics usually tends to be transgender. One fact to remember is that regardless of genetics, an individual may show no evidence of it at all. Twins who are genetically identical, may be one straight twin and one gay or lesbian twin, and likewise one right handed and one left handed. The diversity of the sexual expression genetically among humans is forever interwoven and can never exist separately. We live in a democracy and our goal is to increase the numbers enough to prevent malicious actions that do harm to society. I have felt, as others do, that genius and creativity find a higher expression among gays and lesbians and would feel humanity was loosing something critical if we lost these individuals from our society for any period of time."
He stood silent as if waiting for questions. First to come to mind was "Why are we selecting for large athletic guys."
"Straight men or gay men can produce gay sons. I would like to break the stereotype of small, weak, effeminate men most people think of when they envision a gay man." he answered.
"Will that result in large athletic daughters?" Wanda asked.
"No, a large percentage of men carry the characteristic of dimorphism which means a man tends to sire large athletic sns and small petite daughters. Regardless, all physical types will still be seen, but a slight increase among the births from our groups will be larger more athletic boys. We don't envision some Nazi like super race, just the preservation of the gay population and hopefully a large enough increase in that population to insure some equality will exist." He finished.
My total concept of winning by the numbers could have been said 'size matters' before this and I would need to give this a lot of thought. He moved on to other subjects.
"Smith left everything to the foundation. He had a high rise medical office building, a huge house on Swiss Avenue with a carriage house in back converted to labs and offices, and twenty million in cash and investments." Smith was a short bald effeminate man and just before Christmas when he died, he was sixty seven. He had the leading practice in reproductive medicine in Dallas and was consulted world wide.
"He never remodeled and only used the kitchen, dining room, living room, and his bedroom and bath. The balance of the house is in a deteriorated condition and empty. The carriage house is in a newly designed and remodeled state. Since we all live in less than desirable residences, I suggest the house be divided into apartments with a central core for the business of the foundation and we take the apartments for the board." Free rent and a salary, plus labs and offices out back made Reed's suggestion a life altering proposition. I gave him the name of a college friend who was an architect now.
"Next, I'd like your suggestions for two new board members, who I'll consider before any other candidates, one from each of you." I put forward James because he graduated in the fall and would enter law school even if he was drafted into the pros and played. I argued that by choosing an entering law student, we could direct his studies in our interests despite what his practice might center on. Wanda put forward a friend who was a psychologist working with single parents and the children of single parents. He accepted both nomination and agreed to interview both of them.
The last of what he had to say dealt with the assets of the foundation. He was frequently gone across the globe, both giving guest lectures and soliciting donations. Wanda and I had no idea what circles he moved in. His apartment gave no clue. He said the assets totaled nearly two hundred million so far, plus what Smith had bequeathed. So why did Wanda and I make such small salaries? Obviously the salaries were institutional, but not the board salaries. He could have given us each a very tidy income and not put a dent in the interest drawn on the trust fund. Maybe he lived so frugally he didn't see the significantcy of going hungry. I like a little meat in my diet, after all, I was raised on a ranch.
Wanda didn't make any comment but excused herself to the powder room. It was down the hall and the length of her stay said everything without words. He left and said we would continue the discussion at the first board meeting. I'm sure he never even considers that Wanda might be pissed or saw the steam rising from my ears. I'd talk with Wanda about the free apartments and see if she could calm down. We had a beer and a greasy burger across the street at a place we could walk to for Lunch, and then played three games of pool with a couple more beers. Something worked because she was happy and smiling after that.
All afternoon I was lost in other thoughts. I put bin samples in for DNA testing which would take a while to finish processing. I made calls to potential candidates and did some screening. I kept letting my mind drift to thoughts of small guys I had known. During the summer breaks from college, I'd worked framing houses but the last time was a two and a half years ago now. Growing up on a ranch, you learn some of everything and jobs for the summer doing carpentry were easy to find. Most importantly, they usually paid cash and didn't reduce my school grants. It would have been better to lay around back at home or help on the ranches for free than loose dollar for dollar what I earned working. Most of the crew was older with just a couple my age most summers, but in cut off shorts and work boots they all looked hot.
I could hear it like it was yesterday, "I'm not Bobbie, Bob, Rob, or Bert, I'm ROBERT!" he'd say. He was about five foot five and a hundred pounds if he hadn't sweated out a few pounds, but he could swing a hammer and tote lumber right along with the big guys, and get up there framing the peak without anyone worrying it would all come crashing down before it was nailed in securely. There was a need for small guys in this world and as far as Robert went, there were a lot more reasons.
The first day I worked with him was nearly five years before, He invited himself home with me after work for a few beers. We sat there drinking beer and every little bit, he'd adjust himself and glance at his watch until finally his cock head was peeking out the leg getting hard. Not being shy I said "that's a pretty big dick you've got for a guy your size."
He blushed a little and jerked down his cut offs and gave it a tug or two. "It needs to breathe a little, I guess. Do you like to fuck?"
"What?" I stammered.
"Yeah, do you like ass. Do you like to fuck a guy's ass?" He stood and turned with the shorts at his ankles and gripped his cheeks before me flexing those buns as he did it. I felt a sensation happening in the back of my throat where I couldn't inhale and I couldn't exhale and my heartbeat pounded in my ears, that is what I describe as 'breathless'. This was not anywhere in my image of Robert. He was the guy who let go with a wolf whistle or hooted and hollered, or reached over and honked your truck horn when ANY girl, pretty or not, passed by. The bulge straining at my zipper answered for me. My jaw just hung open and I was in shock. I'd never even thought of Robert in a sexual way.
He undid my zipper and opened the fly, eased my shorts past my hips to my ankles, and said "you've got hidden talent here Dave. I don't see them this big, much." He took a swig of his ice cold beer and plunged down on me to my pubes.
"Oh, god!" was all I could get out.
"Got any grease, man?" he asked and I fumbled into the coffee table drawer behind him pulling out a small jar of Vaseline. "I want this fucker in me right now!" he demanded. He kicked off his boots and shorts, pushing the table back he turned and placed his hands and knees to the floor in front of me. His muscle control was so extreme it felt like he had two hands inside his ass grabbing and massaging me as I stroked into him. When I came, he increased the intensity and brought me right back to full raging hard on. I begged to go piss and he said go ahead, but I couldn't if I wanted to and I didn't. When he let me go, I had to turn the faucet of the sink on to get the stream flowing. This went on all night. The next morning, I tried to pull out but he held on until I said it was time to leave for work, and then relented. I got shit all day long from the other guys for the carpet burns on my knees, but nobody said anything to Robert about his.
My little remembrance was interrupted by a blond lady entering the lab. "Sabes a donde puedo encontrar la officina de el medico Senor Fuentes y Balderama?" she asked.
"Seguro que si. Esta en el proximo piso, derecho arriba de aqui" I answered. The conversation continued several minutes, ending with her thanking me and me saying "Me encantada" and she left.
Wanda held her hand over her mouth a minute and then said "Damn, cowboy, I wouldn't have guessed you could do that." You've got to keep them wondering if there are any more tricks in the hat until the show is over.
When I got home, I made a few calls and eventually got Robert on the phone. I'd spent that time down south with John and gone to work at the lab when I returned. The last time I'd seen him he was using methamphetamine and I sure didn't need any trouble like that. He swore on the phone he'd quit that shit "a long time ago" in his words. I invited him over for Friday night and gave him directions and my number if he got lost. I wasn't looking forward to the weekend alone. It would be great to see him again.
Robert was parked in front of my building waiting when I got home Friday evening. I parked in back and he met me at my door with beer in a paper bag in his arms. We just got started on our stories of what we'd been doing the last couple of years when my door opened and James, followed by Charlie, came walking in.
"Charlie just had to see Dallas. He hasn't been here except once to go to the fair when he was twelve. We came for the weekend and I'll take him home Sunday night" James explained before I could ask or show my surprise. Robert was eyeing Charlie and smiling. "Careful with the young 'un, if we break him we have to buy him" James added.
"I'm eighteen" Charlie protested.
"Eighteen to eighty, blind, cripple, or crazy" Robert said mockingly. "You sure do look a lot like Dave!"
"Yeah, well when I put on a little more muscle and weight, I'll be just a little bigger than him all over, but I'll settle for what I've got now" Charlie came back.
"Oh, really, so when do we get started ?" Robert asked and I pointed to the bedroom.
"You two are a perfect match. If I brought food to the door, neither of you would see light for at least a year." I'd gotten worked up thinking about Robert, but now James had come back early.