The Queer as Folk Grocery Store Challenge

Meat Department
by Heather / Phluphee

"I had a dream about you," Justin said as he focused on a cucumber and idly stroked it with his fingers. He wondered when he had become so overly-sexed that even a vegetable took on a carnal connotation. That line of thinking disturbed him and he stared at the waxy green skin with consternation.

"Careful with that, you might hurt yourself," Michael quipped, as he plucked mushrooms from a cardboard box and stuffed the fungi in a plastic bag. He then placed them in the now abandoned cart that Brian was pushing before he honed in his latest conquest. "When did you have a dream about me?"

Justin looked up, still holding the phallic cucurbit in his hand. "Not you - Brian," he said, with a hint of exasperation and winced. Nobody’s subconscious, no matter how self-deprecating, could be that cruel.

“Oh,” Michael shrugged and stared questionably at the prickly skin of a de-thorned cactus leaf. He’d always wondered if anyone actually ate weird stuff like that. Maybe Ben would know. He was the expert on strange cuisine.

Justin glanced around the produce department with its heavy rows of brightly colored tubers, bulbs, leafy stalks and fruits. "Where did Brian go?" he asked, more out of habit, than actual curiosity.

"Meat Department," Michael mumbled, nervously, trying not to look at Justin as he snatched up a bag of carrot sticks and a stalk of celery. Despite his long tenure with Brian, he still couldn’t reconcile his blatant cheating - or whatever antiseptic label he and Justin gave it. To Michael, it was still a form of betrayal and if Ben did half the things that Brian did to Justin…Well, Ben would never do something like that, so there was no point in even entertaining that line of thinking.

Justin took a few steps toward Michael, ignoring his obvious skittishness, and haphazardly put down the cucumber to pick up a zucchini. He knew Michael disapproved of Brian’s shopping antics or the fact that Justin wasn’t fazed by it, but he had no desire to explain himself or the subtle nuances of his unconventional relationship. It seemed he spent most of the last two years justifying it to everyone, and apathy had quickly set-in. Let people think what they wanted. He knew the truth, which brought him back to where Brian had disappeared to – or rather, with. "Tall guy with spiky blonde hair and a 5 o’clock shadow? Totally hot?"

Michael looked up at Justin in amazement. "Yeah, how did you know?" He went to the cart dumping his various finds, and then pushed it toward the pasta aisle.

How did Justin know? He always knew. What people like Michael couldn’t understand was that acceptance was not synonymous with denial. He replaced the zucchini and dropped a few steps back from Michael, digging his hands deeper in his jacket pocket so not to reach out and strangle him. "He's a total bottom, but he sucks dick like a Hoover."

“Is that a good thing?” Michael asked, scrunching up his nose. “It’s sounds painful.”

“Believe me. It’s a good thing,” Justin said, now preoccupied with thoughts of condom’d squash. How did he get on that tangent? Oh yeah, boredom. Monotony. Trying to tune out Michael. Back to Zucchinni. Was Brian kinky enough to put a new spin on the phrase, tossing salad. Justin doubted it, but he figured Brian might warm up to the idea if he was really high. E had a way of turning Brian soft and adventurous in ways that he never was in sobriety. Justin made a mental note to pay a visit to that bitch, Anita.

Michael stopped the cart in front of the rows of boxed pasta. “When did you fuck him?” He scanned the shelf for Vermicelli in the brand that Ben liked, the one in the blue package with yellow writing.

Justin looked down at his shoes and scuffed the beige waxed floor. He knew too well that Michael asked these sorts of questions so that his faux-breeder relationship with Zen-Ben seemed pristine in comparison. "After Ethan, before Brian number two."

“Brian number two? You make him sound like that man-eating Venus Fly Trap thingie in that musical,” Michael said as he turned around and tossed a box of pasta in the cart. He walked past Justin and searched the other side of the aisle for his favorite macaroni and cheese, the one with Wonder Woman, Superman and The Hulk on the box. “What was it called?”

Justin pivoted to face Michael, and looked at him like he was the village idiot, “Little Shop of Horrors.”

“Right.” Michael muttered, only half-paying attention and went back to the cart. He had a mental shopping list going and he seemed to be forgetting something. What was it? Oh yeah, Hunter had mentioned that he wanted to make chicken wings. He pushed the wobbling cart in the direction of steak, sausages and other hacked up animal species. “Let’s go find your cuter half.”

Justin scowled at Michael’s failed attempt at searing wit. “Remind me why I’m punishing myself with this shopping excursion from hell?”

“Because Brian hates shopping alone,” Michael said, in an almost incredulous tone that fell flat. He couldn’t muster up the gumption to seriously defend Brian, since he seemed to be doing more fucking then actual shopping.

So far he’d hit on the produce guy, a lanky middle-aged man, with a wink and a “You wanna fuck?” The guy was flattered, but completely straight. Brian gave him his phone number anyway, and told him to call whenever he decided he was ready to “switch teams.”

Michael had cited that not everyone had a predilection towards homosexuality. But Brian stated firmly that his gaydar was never wrong. Justin was more in awe that Michael knew a big word, like predilection. They didn’t say things like that on Sesame Street. He mentally kicked himself for not having said that out loud. It was too good of an insult to keep to himself.

Brian’s next victim was the muscular red-head reading Playboy in the magazine section. He hit on him only to prove to Michael that his gaydar was keen and well-tuned. Michael was sure that Brian would fail miserably and welcomed his assuredness with gleeful spite. But to Michael’s horror, Brian had been right, and to top it all off, the guy really was reading the magazine for the articles. Brian grabbed the red-head by his wrist and made a bee-line for the bathroom while Justin barely noticed, sitting on the floor, Indian-style, reading the latest copy of The Advocate.

Michael was irked that Justin couldn’t be bothered to react to Brian’s antics, but Justin learned long ago that getting pissed off over something as trivial as Brian’s dick in someone else’s body cavity got him nowhere – and nowhere was a lot like hell. Three stories up in a shack disguised as an apartment, eating chocolate and top ramen, listening to the screeching caterwauling of violin strings. Acceptance was a much easier medicine to swallow. Of course, Michael, being the traditionalist he was, could never fathom such a novel approach to love. It was beyond the confines of the little box he’d cleverly put himself in.

“You know, you’re not exactly the best company either, Boy Wonder,” Michael said, derisively and sighed. He leaned his forearms against the rail of the cart, slowing their pace

“Yes, but I’m younger and smarter. And unlike you, I’ll be fucking Brian while you’re still having wet dreams about it.” Now that was searing wit, and obviously from Michael’s reaction, it had made its mark.

Michael winced and glared at Justin darkly like he was an evil hobbit and wished he was stuck in the branches of a talking tree. “Aren’t you the smug little twink?”

“Jealous much?” Justin grinned, wickedly.

“Instead of being such a little shit, maybe you should worry about your boyfriend’s incessant habit of ditching us for dick,” Michael whined, petulantly.

Justin rolled his eyes in frustration. “Hail Caesar!” Michael looked over with contempt, and furrowed his brow. Justin rubbed his tummy, highly amused. “Salad. Hail Caesar salad.”

He spotted Brian contemplating the fat grams on a bag of tortillas chips and jogged toward him. There was only so much of Michael he could take.

THE END