My new boyfriend's appetite was no joke. I couldn't believe I was seriously considering this, but maybe I would take a cooking class or, at the very least, ask Ted, Blake's most regular john, to teach me how to make some Italian dishes. He was a huge opera fan, so huge a fan, in fact, that he had learned how to make Italian food, not like spaghetti and meatballs, but 'haute cuisine,' well the Italian version. And, of course, he knew which Italian wines to serve with each. As I watched Justin plow through his sausage and biscuits with gravy, only pausing to sip his coffee or gulp down his juice, his eyes bright, I realized how true that old saying was, that is, the quickest way to a man's heart was through his stomach. This might not be true for all men, but it certainly seemed to be for mine.

We were at a diner near where I lived. I was a little nervous about bringing Justin so close to the 'red-light district,' which I called home, but Manny, the morning cook at "The Edge," which was short for the edge of the world, was known for his quick service and for doling out large helpings of surprisingly good food. When Justin let out a contented sigh and smiled at me warmly, I knew bringing him here had been worth the risk. Plus, it was still morning. No way would my mom roll out of bed before noon on a Saturday, not after a busy Friday night fucking and sucking hetero trolls. I shuddered at the thought.

Thankfully, Manny's approach got my mind off that train of thought. He punched me playfully in the arm and then looked Justin up and down. I realized then that that's why I had brought Justin. I'd told myself that I just wanted to take Justin somewhere with good food, but, deep down, I'd wanted to introduce him to Manny.

Manny inquired gruffly, "He yours?"

I nodded. I couldn't help but smile.

Manny grunted. "He looks a little old for you."

Justin hadn't said anything at this point. He was just watching the exchange curiously, a bemused smile on his face. Manny was family to me, kind of like a surrogate dad. I had never known mine. I'd heard that he was a dockworker. Course, not from my mom. My sister Claire, also a whore, had told me that one night after she'd had too much beer. She explained, a little bitterly, that my dad, our dad, hadn't wanted a second child. He had given my mom an ultimatum: an abortion or a divorce. Fortunately for me, but perhaps less fortunately for my mom and my sister, she had chosen a divorce. In addition to my mom and my sister, our happy little family included my two nephews, Claire's two brats. Don't get me wrong. I liked kids. I might even want some down the road, but hers were whiny, tantrum-throwing brats. I used to babysit them for a little extra money, but, now, I wouldn't do it for a million dollars. Claire spoiled them rotten. They could kill someone, and she'd ask what 'that mean man had done to her little boys' to deserve death.

So I had never even met my dad, and my family was hardly warm and loving. And Manny knew it. I think he felt bad. Ever since my mom brought me here for breakfast the morning we moved into this neighborhood, he'd taken on a paternal role. He had a son of his own, but he had plenty of fatherly love to go around. His son Ben was a few years older than me. He was a student at Carnegie-Mellon. Real smart. So smart that he'd gotten a full scholarship. Anyway, Manny had started inviting us over for Sunday dinners that week, and we'd gone every Sunday since. He would always play catch with me, well, until I outgrew it. He was the one who taught me how to throw and catch a football, and, every Sunday after that, he, Ben, and I would play, assuming that a game wasn't on. I never really liked football or sports of any kind, but I didn't mind playing with Manny and Ben or watching games with them.

I think my mom was hoping to hook up with Manny (which is why she always went with me. My sister was already out of the house when we met him, turning tricks like a big girl). For an old straight guy, Manny wasn't bad looking, so I couldn't blame my mom for hoping, but he was still hung up on his dead wife. Ben tried to get him to start dating a few years after she died (that was a year or two after we met him), but he refused. He said that his dead wife, Sheila, was still in his heart and that there was simply no room for anyone else. Course, he didn't mean me and Ben. We were definitely in his heart. I guess maybe I'd picked up some of his 'philosophy' on love. Glancing over at Justin, I knew he was in my heart and that he always would be.

When I turned my attention back to Justin (and Manny), I realized that they'd been talking.

"You're an artist, huh?"

Justin nodded.

Manny patted me on the back and grinned. "That's perfect. Perfect for a romantic like Brian." He sighed. "I had always kind of hoped that when Brian was old enough, he and Ben would start something. But I guess they're more like brothers. They kind of grew up together."

Justin quirked an eyebrow. My eyes widened. I'd had no idea that he'd hoped Ben and I would end up together.

Suddenly, the door to the diner swung open. Manny turned to look, and, seeing who it was, he gripped my shoulder.

I closed my eyes. No. No. No. Please, no.

But when I heard the new arrival's voice, I knew my worst nightmare had come true. My beloved, as Plato would have called Justin, was about to meet my mom.