12 Drummers Thumbing

AC: One star. Not bad looking, as long as he keeps his mouth shut.

It was just after sunset on December 21. Stopped at the longest red light ever on highway Route 64 in Kentucky, even as he sang to the tune of “Jingle Bells,” AC was happy to leave winter and Christmas back in Vermont.

“Going to Mex-i-co. Mexi-co-ho-ho!”

Bundled up for the frigid air of the Northeast at the start of his journey, he had removed one article of clothing in each of the next several states as the weather had gotten warmer. Once his feet hit sand in Guadalajara, off would come the tank top and shorts he was already down to, leaving him to happily stroll around under warm sunny skies in nothing at all.

“Oh, what fun it is to go with my cat to Mexi-co. Oh!”

AC’s orange tabby, Spud, was at his hip in the old delivery van’s huge bench seat. No carrier, no leash, Spud loved to settle on the corner of his favorite blanket for a short trip to the grocery store or all the way to another country.

They’d been to Mexico before. AC had Spud’s veterinary documentation at the ready. Nearly two thousand miles in two days, they would make only two overnight stops on the way, at the rest area they were pulling into now, just as darkness fell, and another in Texas the next day, to hook up with some random, Southern dudes.

“Dashing from the snow, in my big truck feeling gay. Over the hills we go, laughing all the way! Gay! Gay! Gay!” AC knew the tune wouldn’t sound any good if he sang out. That was why he kept it all in his head.

A winter wonderland yuletide held very little appeal for AC. No wreath, no stockings, no tree, no lights, no rum-pum-pum-pum, a glance up to the North Star to wish peace on Earth and good will to all at midnight on Christmas would be the only tradition he observed. It was something he’d done for the past few years.

“Two whole weeks south of the border, Spudsy.” AC did speak those words aloud, though still not as they’d come in his brain. Spud didn’t seem to mind. He offered blinky eyes as he stood for a stretch, and then went at the kitty cat ornament that hung from the rearview mirror, batting it like a boxer’s speedbag.

“Looks just like you, huh?” AC had sculpted and painted it himself, that one and hundreds more. He’d been up to his elbows in Christmas since just after Valentine’s Day, hand carving Santas, reindeer, snowmen, and angels in the solitude of his basement workroom. AC was an artist and sold more Christmas figurines than all other categories combined, though his cats were quickly gaining in popularity. Not yet on the level of Jim Shore, his pieces had been sold exclusively in small but swanky boutiques on the east coast, until a big deal with a huge online retailer was put into place just before Halloween. The best part of the job? AC never had to interact with one single human being face to face. All communication with vendors and buyers was done using a keyboard, not his voice.

“You’re one of Daddy’s best sellers, because you’re so handsome.”

Only about half of that thought came out verbally before AC gave up on his words and on “Jingle Bells.” The Beach Boys seemed more appropriate, considering, so he pulled them up on his phone and plugged it into the dash while still stopped at the light. A master mechanic, not only had AC kept his old van running well past 100,000 miles, he’d also upgraded its outdated audio system with Bluetooth.

When a chirp interrupted the rock and roll harmonies almost immediately, he checked the screen, then smiled.

John: Hot pic, bro. DTF. HMU wen u get 2 KY.

AC changed a few lyrics while typing his response. “And I’ll get fucked, fucked, fucked, in Kentucky on the side of the ro-o-oad.” Once again, the internal singing and the actual sound differed greatly.

Atticus: Hey, John. Just arrived.

He’d set the stage for a couple of hookups days earlier by placing a few online ads. Dozens of guys had responded already. The possibility of a sexual fiesta awaited him in Mexico as well, with hombres who lived there and some that were visiting.

Finding men to fuck wasn’t usually a problem for AC. If he included a face pic, the offers rolled in. If he included a photo of his cock, he nearly broke the internet. To procure enough dick for his trek down south plus the entire stay in Guadalajara, he’d skipped the face for full-on body shots, front and back.