Tim was used to kneeling, but he was aching and getting irritable in the hot sun. Ari had sworn up and down that it would be a pleasant chore -- some weeding of the Mo and Sal Vittorio memory garden and then raking the gravel of the driveway of the Lavender Lodge.

"It is not the Lavender Lodge," Ari had said patiently as they drove over. "Or the Violet Villa."

"Or Pink Palisades," said Otis, from the backseat.

"Or Rainbow Retirement," added Cal, tucked next to Otis.

"Well, it needs a better name," insisted Tim. "And, until it gets one, I'm calling it the Lavender Lodge. The North Shore Gay Men's Senior Housing Cooperative Project is too much of a mouthful." He leered at Ari. "Even for me!"

Ari had just snorted and worked the gears of their chugging old diesel. Otis and Cal returned to kvetching about the membership meeting that afternoon. Two new members had applied for the single remaining spot, and the co-op was already getting anxious about who they would accept. Otis was saying he felt he should claim his own spot as he was going to be sixty-six next week, and Cal was, not unreasonably, panicking at moving into a senior housing project in his early thirties. Tim had tuned them out. He didn't really care so long as it was someone who needed their community.

Weeding was for losers, decided Tim. He had grit under his knees and his face itched. Only the presence of his cuddly master, Ari, kept him working. Aristotle Nikopolidis was seriously bearish and totally soft-hearted despite his Bluto-with-body-modifications appearance. Since Tim had quit hustling and agreed to be Ari's boy, life had been good. Not peaceful exactly, but busy and purposeful. Tim had taken a few classes, and the occasional temp position, but mostly served Ari. He only worried a bit about his finances, and resisted the urge to tinker with his portfolio. Ari had a strict "no day trading" policy, and Tim's nest egg was safely chugging along in conservative investments.

Unlike his poor balls -- they were not happy in these cute shorts and with this kneeling. Of course, Ari had said real work shorts, not flaunting ones, so it was Tim's own fault that his boys were now in a bind.

Ari jounced by on the lawn tractor, and waved amiably at his kneeling boy. It was a John Deere, but Neal, one of the co-op members, had painted on a pink stripe and rechristened it Jane Doe. Tim narrowed his eyes. That looked suspiciously like a beer in the cup holder. Tim wouldn't mind -- Ari only had a few beers now and then -- but he was thirsty, too! He stood, adjusted his balls, and stretched. He'd give himself permission for a lemonade break.