Ulysses turns the pickup truck into the driveway and comes to a stop. He smiles with pride as he looks at his house, something that is characteristic of men and their possessions. It’s like compensation from that big bad world out there. Something that isn’t fought for isn’t worth having.

"What do you think?" He asks me.

"Very nice. It looks fairly expensive, how much did it cost?" Price being the yardstick many men measure themselves by, I did not hesitate to ask.

"0h, I don’t know. When I purchased it, it was in great need of repair. I cleaned and fixed him up with my own two bare hands, I did. Took a lot of work. Still needs a lot of work though," he says looking directly at me.

Ulysses looks like a man that takes a great deal of pride in transforming something that is raw and rough and molding it into his idea of perfection. Men seem to love that which is laborious. I believe in working smart, not hard.

"Perhaps someday, I’ll be around to help you with that," I say hastily. Now I am committed to the help part of that statement. This, to him, must be like smell is to me. He gets that dreamy, glossy eyed look.

"Shall we go in?" He asks.

"I would love to," I reply.

"Great. Let me get out and open the door for you. The inside handle doesn’t work," he says while getting out.

I wonder if the truck’s door handle is designed to fail after so many pulls? Could the truck companies really have some rather devious plot in mind when they designed it? After too many rejections, the passenger can’t get away? I can just see the slogan now, ‘built to help the sexually frustrated.’ I stick out my tongue and scrunch up my face at the thought of it.

After Ulysses opens the door for me, he gives me a strange look. "Did you just stick out your tongue at me and frown?"

"No, I mean yes, I guess I mean yes and no. I did stick out my tongue and frown, but it was not meant for you. I did it at one of my thoughts which was humorous, but ridiculous," I say.

"What was it?"

"I was just wandering if the door was broken by accident or if it was purposely disabled," I say jokingly.

I have what I like to call selective memory, sort of like a certain ‘Teflon President’ that we all know and love. Love in the sense of loving to make fun of him. Sometimes I can be a mean little bastard; it's all in the breeding I suppose.

"By accident of course, it just wore out. What do you think I am anyway?" Such an open-ended question around me is dangerous indeed.

"That many passengers hmmm. ..? You have been a busy little beaver indeed. And what I think you are at this moment should not be uttered in polite company," I say viciously.

Our first fight and we barely know each other. Anger is as true as the wind. Some say that love and hate are opposite sides of the same coin. Who am I to argue? I say that if they are not worth fighting with, they are not worth fighting for.

"And what is that? I don't know where you come off being so sanctimonious. Who died and elected you God? I certainly as hell didn’t!" He shouts in a harsh and guttural tone.

Clever with his insults, I respect that. But that means that I have to come back with something even better. Nothing like the spirit of competition eh’ boys?

"Whore, tramp, slut, temptress if you like. You’ve slept with so many men that your asshole is big enough to drive a semi through!"

"You bastard! I’m sorry I ever brought you to my home. I am going to take you right back to that gutter you crawled out of. I am sorry I ever met you..." he says bitterly.

"No! I’m the one who should be sorry, sorry that I ever opened my big fat lip." At this, I walk up to him and lay my head on his shoulder. I hug him for what seems like eternity.

"There, there," he says as he runs his fingers through my hair. "Sometimes I can be such an idiot. Let's go inside before my balls freeze off!" He says with purpose.

Ulysses leads me by the hand up to the door. I stand there looking around while he digs for his house key. The house is a two story with a cedar deck around the front and to one side. The paneling is wood and is stained a dark red. Surprisingly there is no garage. Ulysses opens up the door and turns on the dining room light. After my eyes adjust to the light, I notice that the house is well decorated in the Spartan style. The way a man’s house should be.

"Won’t you come in? please excuse the mess," he says politely.

As to be expected, the sink is overflowing with dishes even though there is a dishwasher nearby. No doubt, this is overflowing as well. There is dirty laundry strewn about the rooms and Ulysses is busy picking it up. I notice a dirty pair of white briefs under the dining room table and go to pick them up.

"How did these get here?" I ask mischievously.

A nice aroma is emanating from them. It's your usual "wear em’ until they fall apart" pair of briefs. I always say, "Just when I got ‘em broken in, someone goes and throws ‘em out!" Ulysses grabs on to them, but I do not let go.

"Hey, they’re mine. Finders, keepers. The Lost Treasure of Atlantis, I’ll be rich!" I say deviously.

By this time, we had maneuvered into the living room playing this tug o’ war with his briefs. The elastic band stretching to size fifty plus. Something catches my eye and I let go of the briefs. Ulysses goes hurtling across the room into the recliner and goes over with a thud.

"Hey, that was a dirty way for you to let me win," he says with a big ass grin on his face.

"What’s this?" I ask him while staring at a large display cabinet that is lined with glass.

Inside are medals for service in the Persian Gulf, a Purple Heart, a Less Than Honorable Discharge with HOMOSEXUAL typed across the bottom, various football and baseball trophies, and an achievement award.

"Oh that, nothing important..." He replies.

"Got the boot just because you were gay?" I ask

"Not because I was, but because I am. The damn bastards, I even took a bullet for them, doesn’t mean a damn thing. I nearly died in the hospital after the surgery. The irony is that I’m sure everyone would have been happier all around if I had died then and there. My father can be proud of a son killed in action, but not one that is queer..." he says with a rough and cracked voice.

"Well, I for one prefer that you are alive, never been into necrophilia," I say with a grin.

"Would you like to see the scar?", He asks with a certain degree of pride.

"Sure," I say with less enthusiasm. He pulls up his shirt and I see a small jagged scar on his chest.

I walk over to the couch and sit down. Oh, did I mention that Ulysses has nice thick thighs that look as if they will bust out of his jeans any second now? I drool at the thought.

"Why don’t you come over and sit on the couch with me?" I ask while patting the other cushion. Ulysses walks over and sits down next to me on the worn blue love seat. I grab the remote and start flipping through the channels.

"Isn’t cable wonderful? Forty channels and nothing to watch," I say without hope. Flick, flick, flick, flick, flick. Ulysses grows impatient with me and grabs the remote out of my hand.

"Can’t you make up your mind about anything?"

"Nah, only important things like you, for example," I say teasingly.

Ulysses snorts at this and settles on The Discovery Channel. On the tube are Polynesian men performing a dance about their origin myth (creation theory) in banana leaves and a g-string. Around and around they go and I feel hypnotized by their movements.

"Sometimes I am jealous of them, they look so free, as free as a bird in flight. Their cultural traditions filled with mystique and reverence, ours so hollow and empty in comparison. What are your thoughts on that?" I ask.

"I haven’t thought about it. I just like the way their butts jiggle like Jell-O. And every once and awhile, you can get a glimpse of their ‘equipment’ if you know what I mean?" He asks like a boy looking at a National Geographic for the first time. I must admit that this is an added attraction for me.

"I have just read about the civilization of MU recently. Some researchers think that an advanced civilization thrived in the Pacific for over fifty-six thousand years and that the ocean floor used to be a massive continent. There is an intricate road system that seems to connect islands that are thousands of miles apart and ruins of an ancient city that some scientists claim could have supported a city of one million. Don’t you find that fascinating?"

"Not really, I don’t see why people go digging around in other people’s trash anyway. I’d just as soon see them bulldoze it under and build a nice resort hotel on top of it. At least then those primitives would have a good job and wouldn’t have to beg for a handout from Uncle Sam; what does a bunch of ruins do for them?" He asks sincerely if naively.

"Oh, you wound me. Let’s just finish watching the show before I get mad again. I don’t think that I’ve told you that I have an Anthropology minor have I?"

"No, is that something like the guy from ‘Indiana Jones and the Found Ark’?" He asks with a big grin.

"You watch too much tube. I've also majored in Economics and minored in Political Science," I state.

"You don’t look like one of those beady eyed business tycoons that I have met."

"Well... I once joked with my money and banking professor that I would show up in class with a cape and a crystal ball," I say.

"I can just see his face when you said that. You^’re just a rebel aren’t you? If I had said

something like that to one of my commanding officers, I would have been thrown in the brig with only bread and water. Lucky you didn’t join the Corp," he says with concern.

"Or for the Corp to choose me. I would probably have made the brig a specialization. There aren’t many people who impress me enough to deserve my obedience. I don’t know how the average Joe can take it," I say while looking at him.

"Are you implying that I am an average Joe?" He asks defensively.

"No, you are an exceptional Joe," I say with a wink.

"Oh, in that case I will take it as a compliment."

"Besides, if you were my General I would fight to the death for honor, glory, and duty any day," I say while giving him a stiff salute.

Ulysses glances at his watch and says, "It’s midnight already, and I have to get up at six o’clock tomorrow morning. Your welcome to stay the night."

"Gulp..." I stammer.

"Don’t worry, I have a guest bedroom upstairs," he says while grinning.

"Oh, damn. I forgot my parent’s car parked in front of my apartment. There is probably a ticket on it already. My mom and step-dad are going to be pissed."

"Don’t worry about it, I’ll take care of it. You just get some rest," he says.

"How is that? Know one of those doughnut guzzling drunks at the Police Department?" I ask and Ulysses starts to frown.

"You’ll see." This is all he said as he led me upstairs to the guest bedroom. There is a couple of other rooms up here but the doors are all closed. There is plush white carpeting up here and a single painting of some farmers working in the fields. Surprisingly, it’s clean up here.

"God I am tired, but it was good to have someone to talk to. I hope you find your room comfortable." He yawns and I notice that he has a nice bulge in his jeans. He says, "Goodnight."

"Goodnight" I reply as he is walking back down the corridor and I get a nice full view of his plump, but firm behind. I enter the room and turn on the light. There is a king size waterbed (with heat I hope), a night stand with a copy of "Conduct Unbecoming" on it, an oak dresser that looks like an antique, a wall closet, and a wood stained floor. I look out the window and see what looks like pine forest as far as the eye can see, interspersed with rolling hills and a full moon. I sink into the waterbed and close my eyes, but it is two hours before I manage to fall asleep.