Like Warm Sun on Nekkid Bottoms by Chuck Austen Page A

collection lining the foyer walls.
    “He does,” Woodruff replied with disdain.
    “My little brother likes comics,” Ms. Nuckeby went on, sounding almost nostalgic. Happy even. “I have a lot of fond memories tied to comics around the house.”
    A woman who thought of comics fondly. I flushed and felt excitement swell inside me as something else swelled outside me.
    Then—dear, God —the doorbell rang.
    Ms. Nuckeby: “Who could that be?”
    Woodruff: “I’m sure I don’t know.”
    I sighed again, and horrified at my lack of self-restraint, quickly shoved my fist into my mouth. It nearly fit.
    “I’m not supposed to be here,” I heard Ms. Nuckeby say.
    “Why not?” Woodruff asked, trying to sound as if he cared.
    “It would take too long to explain. Is there somewhere I can hide?”
    It was at this instant that I finally saw life for the great, cosmic, professional wrestling match it so obviously was. I, literally looked skyward toward the great god ‘Fockyoo’ as he positioned his darkling game pieces with malevolent mirth and sadistic glee cursing his very name.
    Really, really quietly.
    “Fockyoo, you sunnuvabitch!”
    For just then, Ms. Nuckeby—looking for a place to hide, as I knew she must—turned the knob and opened the door to the very closet that I had, until that moment, been so safely ensconced within.
    And I was still naked.
    Oh, and you just know Grandfather is the one ringing the doorbell, don’t you?

“Mister Wopplesdown!”
    “Ms. Nuckeby!” I said, faux-smiling and covering as much of myself as two hands, arms, and legs can; which is surprisingly little under the circumstances. “How lovely to see you again.”
    “Mister Wopplesdown,” Woodruff offered, standing beside her, ever the helpful one. “Someone is at the front door, sir.”
    “Yes. I heard. Could you close this one, please?”
    “Should I answer it, sir?” Woodruff was always hoping I might say no on the off chance that he could continue sleep-standing. This time I considered it. But then I realized that my car was out front, and anyone who knew me understood that Woodruff never went anywhere.
    “Only after you’ve closed this one,” I said.
    Woodruff looked at me for a long moment. Then, exasperated, he moved off to greet whatever new person was certain to add tension and suffering to his life and mine.
    “And tell them I’m not here!” I whisper-yelled.
    Woodruff moaned something incoherently.
    “I have to hide,” Ms. Nuckeby whispered forcefully to me, sounding truly frightened.
    “There are many, many other closets in this house from which to choose,” I said and reached out for the door handle. But she grabbed it first and pulled it from me.
    “Ms. Nuckeby, please .”
    Chewing her lip nervously—and quite sensually I might add— she glanced back at Woodruff and saw, as I did, that he might actually reach the front entrance during our lifetimes. Seizing the opportunity, she leaped into the closet beside me and closed its door on us both.
    “MS. NUCKEBY!” I shout-whispered.
    “Sssh. They’ll hear you.”
    “Ms. Nuckeby ,” I whisper-shouted. “In case you haven’t noticed, I am naked .”
    “So? You’ve seen me naked.”
    “But I didn’t climb into a closet with you .”
    “No, but I bet you wanted to.”
    Her daring left me speechless. And, once again, hard. I had to turn away from her to avoid unintentional intimate contact and nearly severed my ever-ready appendage on the rough edge of a cardboard Santa Claus. I yelped, slightly, and she shushed me. Shushed me!
    With my masculinity wounded in more ways than one, I stood there, sulking and throbbing. We’d been through a lot, today, my penis and I. A comic convention would be just what we needed. Something distracting, uninteresting, and completely sexless.
    I turned to Ms. Nuckeby, barely seeing her silhouette in the darkness, and felt her warmth too close to me for comfort. It softened my tension a bit. Some of it.
    “Well. As