kip.

God, do I hate those sappy love tales about people who find each other despite life getting in the way. They're annoying and the people who find each other are annoying. Do I sound jaded? Sure, I know I do, but I don't really give a shit. My own love story isn't really romantic, it was actually just a huge mistake.

It started in May of 2000, we had survived the new millennium despite Preacher Jim's prophecies and summer was flashing its gnarly, gnashing teeth in an attempt to scare the entire state of Kentucky indoors to the comfort of iced sweet tea and whirling ceiling fans. Temperatures were already reaching the high 90s and after a full day of caring for the livestock my body was as limp as the wilted blue grass. We were used to sweat-drenched humid summers but we liked to ease into it. It's like my mamaw says, "You can't just throw a saddle on a unbroke filly 'less you wanna get yer neck broke". Our heat tolerance was being pushed to its limits.

Time moves slowly in the sticks and, while it was the pace I was used to, it was also the pace I was beginning to outpace. I had just turned 22 and the prospect of getting married to Janelle, my incredibly naive girlfriend, and working in a factory until death do us part, was not a particularly tempting one. Sure there were the random hookups with guys I met online, one was even older than my dad. After sex, he held me for hours and didn't want me to move, I ain't gonna lie, it creeped me out a little. But beggars can't be choosers. And I could occasionally drive up the highway a few hours to Louisville, get a room at the Super 8 on Interstate 150, get blasted on Jim Beam at some big city gay bar and take a guy back to my room so he could jerk me off before passing out. There was little pleasure to be found in that the one time I actually had the nerve to go through with it.

No, the decision was made the day I got his last letter in the mail. My pen pal's name was Tommy. Tommy lived in Baltimore with three roommates. He was 29 and worked in a hair salon. All of the guys in his house were gay and the way he fussed over me in his letters made me feel real special. I had received one picture of him. There was a lady in the picture with a gigantic pile of shiny blond hair that dwarfed a chiseled face plastered with gobs of make up. Compared to her Tommy looked downright butch. But compared to Jim down at the feed store he was a fading purple Lily, you could almost smell his perfume when you looked at the snapshot. God, I would have done anything for Jim to look at me with the slightest inclination, but it had never happened and, it never would, the way he was dedicated to the Pentecost and all. Jim's body was so strong it put oak trees to shame and when he talked to you it was enough to make you swoon if anybody did that kind of thing anymore.

NO, my best odds were to go for the sure thing. The sure thing with streaked hair, bright orange glow and pencil thin eyebrows frozen next to a towering Nancy Sinatra female impersonator. When I looked at that picture of Tommy, and I did so often, I would swell in my pants just for the mere fact that I knew he wanted me. It was a different kind of feeling from the one I got when I picked up the feed and Jim's strong fingers would wrap around my hand. I had to rush into my truck to hide my excitement and each night I stained the sheets thinking about the cherry tobacco on his breath.

I met Tommy through a magazine. I had managed to snag one from the bookstore the last time I was in Louisville. There was a section in the back where men advertised for pen pals. Tommy's ad read -Young professional in Baltimore seeks a pal from the country. I look like a refined David Hasselhoff you should look like a young Burt Reynolds. LTR desired but not required for fun! - According to the top of the page, LTR meant Long Term Relationship. I could do that and I had seen David Hasselhoff on the TV plenty of times and he was pretty alright. I don't really look like Burt Reynolds but I sent him a short letter and a picture. I told him that I too wanted a LTR and that I was 6' tall. Whatever else he wanted to know he could just ask. The picture was nothing fancy, it was from the summer before. My Jersey heifer had won her class at the open show down at the fairgrounds so I had our celebratory picture taken with a stupid grin, my faded green John Deere hat and a blue rosette the size of a dinner plate.

His reply was received only two weeks later. My mamaw had a puzzled look on her face when she pulled the letter from the box.

"This'n here's for you Kip... postmarked Baltimore"
I grabbed it with moist fingers and rushed out through the rusted screen door. As it swung shut, I heard mamaw, "Imagine that, someone in Baltimore sendin' YOU a letter."

I tore up the ladder to the hay loft and carefully opened the envelope. There in flowery script my ticket out of here unfolded before me. He loved my picture, said I was the spitting image of a young Paul Newman. Sweet, I thought, I had no idea who Paul Newman was. Then, to my surprise, as I unfolded the last portion, a photo slid out and tumbled gracefully to the floor. I let it be for a minute or two, staring back at me, before I had the balls to pick it up. Upon closer examination, he did not in fact look very similar to the David Hasselhoff I had imagined. Maybe he knew of a different one, a more fey one. Either way there was a sudden surge in my groin and with a fistful of spit I splattered sin across my crusty muck boots.

Ten months and 23 letters later came the invitation. On the front of the card a hunky genie held a small gold lamp over his crotch, inside "Rub my lamp and at least one of your wishes cums true this Valentine's Day!" I blushed and chuckled to myself. There was also a cashier's check for $300. Tommy had written that Baltimore was just dying to have a real live cowboy and that I should come out for a visit. I could stay with him as long as I wanted.

That night I barely slept a wink. Papaw woke me up at 5 and as we sat around the table eating breakfast, I broke the news to them. I was leaving for Baltimore and I probably wouldn't come back. As I stormed out they hollered that only wicked people lived in cities like Baltimore - faggots, druggies, whores and all sorts of other deviants who had never been baptized. I was bound to get murdered, or get AIDS and everyone in town would find out. How would they be able to face them at church? Who would do my chores? They demanded.

I cried the entire hour it took to walk to town. There the bus would pick me up and everything would change, once I climbed the Greyhound's steps, I would no longer be Kip the redneck from Pointwell, Kentucky. I would call Janelle once I was in Baltimore. She would hate me but she had the biggest tits in our entire high school class so she would find someone real easy. Maybe Jim, no, I'd be too jealous.

It took three days to get to Baltimore. At a truckstop in West Virginia I found a Culture Club cassette tape for $3. My walkman sopped up the power of ten AA batteries playing it on repeat.

As the bus pulled up to the terminal I began to feel sick. I was going to hurl. Tommy's address was written on a small piece of paper crammed in the back pocket of my Wranglers.

I managed to find a pay phone. It smelled like whiskey and vomit. My quarter dropped in and I punched in the digits. My heart was in my throat as the phone rang. After six rings, an answer. The sugar sweet lisp and that strange Baltimore accent that sounded so foreign to me, seeped from the stinky phone.

- Hello?
- Um, hi. Is Tommy there?
- This is.
- Um, it’s Kip.
- No way! Where are you?
- I’m down at the bus station, in Baltimore.
- No way! Ok, I can’t believe you’re here! I’ll be there in ten minutes cutie.
- Ok, and Tommy...Tommy?

He had hung up. I don’t know what I was going to ask him. Suddenly I was fixin’ to vomit myself. Then I caught a whiff of that damn phone and I did. Lord, I know people saw me throw up, I just know it, I didn’t look around. I just beelined it for the bathroom. My head hung low over the sink. I splashed a handful of warm water into my mouth, sloshed it around and spit. When I saw my reflection I hardly recognized myself.