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Author’s note: Many thanks to my primary partner Marie for her edits and hilarious suggestions on this scene.
“This is a bust, bro.”
My man Bruce sat back with a grumbling sigh. His beard and hair were thick and dark, and his mesh shirt was unbuttoned in the heat, showing his rich chest fur. Bruce was my bro; we’d run together since we were in high school. We were fraternity brothers, best men at each other’s weddings, and crashed on each other’s couches whenever our wives threw us out.
We’d sat in this god damned hunting blind since before dawn, the bear bait stinking in our noses in the Wisconsin woods. It was getting to be dusk, and there wasn’t a bear in sight. There wasn’t a single thing to shoot; this season had been rough on us gamesmen.
“Look on the bright side,” I said. “At least we got away from our wives for a bit, am I right?”
Bruce snorted out a deep, rumbling laugh. “True that. If it ain't Piper getting up my ass it's these damn feminists. You hear about this man vs bear bullshit? What they need's a real man.”
I sighed. “Yeah. Shit, last time Karen went down on me, a real man was in the White House.”
“Jesus, Tim,” Bruce said, shaking his head. “That’s a medical situation.” He cracked his thick, sweaty neck. “By the way, she getting any better at that?”
“Nah,” I said. “Last time she did it, it hurt. Fuck this, let’s clean our guns and get out of here.”
“Right,” Bruce said, rummaging in our bag. “I’ll just get the…oh for fuck’s sake, Tim!”
I looked up at the bottle in Bruce’s large, strong hands. “This isn’t gun oil, you jagoff,” he said. “It’s Gun Oil brand lube!”
I froze as I read the smaller print on the bottle. Then Bruce cracked a smile, and his deep, booming laugh said everything was okay. Man, talk about a fuck up.
“I guess I should have known from the bigger bottle,” I said, heat rushing to my face.
Bruce tilted it one way and another, peering at it with his deep, shining dark eyes. “Can’t say I fault them for the branding,” he said. “Gun oil to shoot your gun.”
“It’s kinda hot, when you think of it,” I said.
His meaty finger tapped on the logo. The setting sun threw shadows across his bulk, from his squinting face to his massive thighs. “You know…” he began, then paused. Our eyes met, and my face got even hotter.
“Fuck it,” Bruce said, unbuckling his 8-in-1 hunting belt.
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