Little Squirrels Can Climb Tall Trees by Michael Murphy (namjoon book recommendations txt) 📕

leaving that wonderful message. I had a great time yesterday. You’re a lot of fun. Smart, witty—”

“Witty? Who? Me? No, you’re confusing me with someone who’s… well, witty. I’m the one who pees on his feet, remember?”

The sound of his laughter was music to my ears. I loved that laugh. I loved the sound of his voice—it was infectious, wrapping me in good feelings, and for once it wasn’t all because I was sporting major wood. Although I had no doubt that with enough time, I’d move into that zone.

“You are so much fun!” he said. “I can’t tell you how much I needed to laugh. Thank you!”

“Hey, what man doesn’t like to give other men something to laugh at… no, wait. That didn’t come out right. Never mind.”

That laugh.

“Would you maybe have time to grab some dinner tonight?” he asked, catching me completely off-guard. I really shouldn’t have been surprised, because that was, after all, why I had called him in the first place. But I was still astonished that this smart, witty, attractive man—the owner of one gorgeous penis and two sensational nipples—was interested in spending time with me. But he seemed to be. And who was I to complain?

“That would be great. What time do you get off work?” I asked.

“Seven.”

“Wait, didn’t you tell me last night that you started work at seven this morning?”

“You heard me right. I work seven to seven.”

“Jesus! Isn’t that illegal?”

He laughed some more. “The glamorous life of a young doctor. I’m being paged—gotta run. Dinner?”

“Yes!” I practically yelled so he’d hear before he left to answer his page. “When and where?”

“How about seven thirty at Luigi’s? You know it?”

“Same block where we had dinner last night?”

“That’s it!”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Great. Sorry. Gotta run.” And he was gone, but I still heard that incredible laughter. And now it was hormone enhanced.

Chapter 4

IF I had been unable to work before the call, after the call I was a total basket case. There was no way I was going to accomplish a blessed thing. In my mind I had already written off the day. Unfortunately my coworkers didn’t subscribe to that listserv, so they didn’t see the message about the day being declared a lost cause for work.

At five o’clock I headed out and went home to shower and masturbate. (Only to take the edge off, of course—could I help it that it was a very sharp edge that kept poking me?) And then I faced my biggest dilemma of the last five minutes: what to wear to dinner when dining with a deity.

Okay, so I might be gay and love dick and all that, but when it came to the fashion part of being gay, I didn’t get the complete copy of the gene—it must have been the same gene that allowed you to pee and talk on the phone at the same time. I could dress myself and not look too ridiculous, as long as I didn’t try anything too different, but in terms of being able to assemble an ensemble that would take your breath away—wasn’t gonna happen. So I did the best I could, opting for a form-fitting pair of black jeans and a nice long-sleeve button-up blue shirt. Not bad. The only problem was that it was still an hour before I was supposed to meet my date.

Was he my date? I really, really hoped so. Maybe I should masturbate again. Can one masturbate too much? Nah. Crazy idea. Still, maybe I should save a little for later on the off chance that I might get lucky. Nah. Another crazy idea. What if I were to be hit by a bus on the way to dinner? Or struck by a falling asteroid as it plummeted to Earth? I would regret not having masturbated again if such a calamity were to strike. Actually, it’s not that far off base to think that masturbation would be on my mind during my dying moments. What can I say? I like sex, solo or in collaboration with others. I have always played well with others. Just how long had it been since I’d gotten laid? Clearly too long. Either that or my big friend had perfected a way to send pheromones through the telephone.

I still had fifty-nine minutes to go before I was due at the restaurant. I wished I’d gone to the gym to work off some excess… energy. I could have lifted weights or run a few miles on the treadmill. It was too late for that now, though. Also, I wouldn’t want to risk hurting myself just before my big… date? Oh, please! Oh, please! Oh, please!

Too anxious to read, too chafed to masturbate a third time—did I forget to mention that I masturbated again? Oh, yeah, I masturbated again. Note to self: need to find a smoother lube for multiple-masturbation marathons. After flipping through every channel on the cable system—How long have channels gone up into the 800s?—I peed for the 400th time, checked myself in the mirror for the 450th time, and then left to walk over to the restaurant.

Not surprisingly, I got there before Kyle, so I waited for him in the bar, sipping a sparkling water with lime—no way was I touching alcohol when I was already so tightly wrapped.

At exactly seven thirty, Kyle walked in the door. I had no trouble spotting him—he stood above the crowd, regardless of the crowd. Unlike yesterday, when he had been dressed in jeans, today he was dressed in hospital scrubs. When I caught his eye, I saw that million-watt smile that had captivated me so the previous day. Yep, still had it. Still worked. And it was all mine again for some reason.

“Hey! Joe!” he said, shaking my hand and showing me all of his beautiful, perfect white teeth. “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting. I got delayed a little getting out of the hospital.”

“No. You’re right on time.”

“Oh, good! I didn’t even change. I