Going Nowhere

Chapter 20 - Erections

If anyone ever thinks about talking to their grandparents about erections, I have a piece of advice; Don't.

It actually started out as a date with Rafael, so the erection part was a surprise. Or, yeah, not really but I hadn't expected that part to be about Grandpa Hunter, who was our chaperone for the evening.

We went to Bubba's because it was the only place Gramps said he'd go to and since Dad was standing on the porch with us, and since he was scowling, Rafael sighed and nodded. A small bar in a small town full of werewolves was clearly not where he preferred to go on a date. I didn't mind because that bar would be full of people I knew, and I was petty enough to want to walk in there with Rafael.

Melissa Moose and her friends, sans the one she lost at the karaoke-event, sat at a table in the center of the room. The only way to stop myself from shouting out a satisfying but smallminded and highly inappropriate, "Whaddyasaynowbeyatch," was to bite my tongue until I felt the taste of blood. 

We moved forward, and one of Melissa's girlfriends squealed loudly when she got a closer look at Rafael. Since she'd been in the middle of gulping down a deep swig of beer, napkin-accompanied mayhem erupted, and Loosey Moosey had to retire to the restrooms to repair her makeup.

"I don't like you," Grandpa Hunter said to Rafael as we sat down in a corner. "But that was hilarious. Might not be a suck-a-duck-evening after all."

"Grandpa," I said warningly. "You promised to behave."

"No."

Since he actually hadn't made any such promise, I had nothing else to say and decided to go and get beer for us instead. Rafael went with me, and we had a minor discussion about paying for our beverages. I lost, and when Rafael had paid the openly laughing barman, who incidentally also was Jackson's second cousin, we had another discussion about who would carry the beers back to the table. This led to a small kerfuffle, and I yanked a beer out of Rafael's hand, somewhat forcefully.

"Ha!" I exclaimed rather loudly, and accidentally slammed the beer into something soft.

Then Loosey Moosey had to turn around and go back to the restrooms and repair her makeup once again, but she really should have known better than to stand that close to me.

"I'm warming to you, cherub," Grandpa muttered when we'd gotten another beer and were back at the table.

Rafael seemed unhappy with this epithet, so I decided to change the topic, and brought up the subject of clubs with offensive names.

"Of course, I know what white supremacy is," Gramps said calmly. "We're reclaiming the name."

"From whom?" I asked, dumbfounded.

"From the white supremacists."

Well, duh.

"Why?" Rafael asked, which I thought was a pretty danged relevant question.

"Why not?"

I couldn't come up with one single good reason, and we were busy staring at Grandpa when Grandma Hazel sat down at our table.

"What are we talking about?" she said happily and dipped her tongue in the froth at the top of her Margarita.

"My club," Grandpa said.

Things went downhill from there, and I can't explain exactly how the discussion moved on from a club with an offensive name to the topic of erections. But it did.

"Well, if you're going to procreate, you need one," Grandpa Hunter explained, and I whimpered.

I felt Rafael slowly move his hand under the table, and grab hold of mine. His thumb caressed the palm gently, and a shiver went down my spine.