Page 55 of Caged Hunger

“Ooh, aren’t you just a burly beast of a man!”

Cameron couldn’t help but chuckle.

“You’ll have to excuse my friend. He doesn’t people very well,” Cameron explained.

The man nodded as if he completely understood.

“Strong, silent type. I dig that. Makes guys like us feel safe, knowing that the big, strong cavemen are around to protect us and bring us food and sustenance when we need it. I’m Nelson, by the way,” the man said, extending his hand to Cameron.

“I’m Cameron, and this is Basher,” he introduced, taking the man’s hand and giving it a friendly shake.

“Basher? Wow, you’re going to kill me with all this rough-man toughness.”

Basher’s cheeks flushed.

“Umm, I’m the one who called about the lessons,” Basher finally said, his eyes darting around, looking everywhere but at the colorful man graciously greeting them.

“Yes, my husband told me you’d be stopping by. And I have to say, taking someone to a pottery class as a date is just so romantic!”

Nelson turned to look at Cameron. “This one’s a keeper.”

Cameron chuckled. “I sure hope so.”

“Okay, enough embarrassing the burly caveman. Right this way, gentlemen!”

They followed Nelson into the living room and sat behind one of the tables, where two pottery wheels were set up, one next to the other.

“Okay, so today I’ll walk you through the basics and then help you both as you design your pottery masterpiece.”

Cameron looked over at Basher, who was busy poking the piece of clay Nelson had plopped down in front of him. It was cute to see the childlike fascination with which Basher seemed to be playing.

Basher glanced up at him, his cheeks blushing when he realized he had been caught playing with his clay.

“Okay, so first you’re going to dip your fingers in the bowl of water beside you to get them nice and wet. This will help keep the clay lubricated while you manipulate it as it spins on the wheel. Don’t worry, if your clay fucks up, you can always start again.”

Cameron and Basher both wet their hands, then placed them on the small piece of clay.

“Okay. Now you are going to activate the wheel by pressing down on the pedal beneath the table.”

They both pressed down and jumped when the wheel began to move and the clay ball suddenly started turning.

Basher’s ball immediately squished together and poured out from the top of his hands.

The look on Basher’s face—you would have thought he had squeezed a puppy to death. Cameron couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Umm, I guess I squeezed it too hard,” Basher said, pulling the clay mush back together and trying to force it into a ball as the wheel beneath him continued to turn.

Cameron’s clay was starting to take shape, slowly rising toward the ceiling, like a storm funnel coming alive.

“Oh! I think I’ve got it!” Cameron cheered just as the firm cylinder decided to collapse, falling to the left and dying a horrible death.

Beside him, Basher gave a snort.

“Was that a chuckle?” Cameron asked, turning and glaring at him.

“Umm, not at all. More of a stifled laugh, contained by my desire not to be murdered on our first date.”

Cameron couldn’t help but laugh. The guy was a huge dork.