By Pickle
The dawning of the next day proved pleasantly mundane. I awoke in my own bed, back up in my farmhouse. The responsibility of owning livestock meant I’d reluctantly had to leave Steve’s bedroom in order to bring the cows back up from the pasture and get them into the barn in order to do the evening milking. Once again the milking process made me think of that night on the spaceship. That was only the night before last, but it felt like a year ago already.
I had no idea Steve was gay or even bi … or till that kiss, that he had ever looked at me in any way other than as his best buddy. I was happy but still a little surprised by what had transpired, and I wasn’t entirely sure at this early milking hour that it actually had occurred. I sucked back several strong black cups of coffee, and I was halfway through my third one before I could even begin to believe it hadn’t been some weird dream.
