Tietam Brown Read Online Free

hundreds of repetitions of both exercises. I tried it on my own one day and barely made it through half a deck before my legs betrayed me, turning to jelly during the twenty-five Hindus the joker required of me.
    My dad’s legs never betrayed him, however, seeming instead to get stronger with each turn of the card, and with each drink of the Genny. With only one huge exception, doing the deck was the only time I saw my dad drink.
    Looking at him in action, my dad seemed not so much human as machinelike in function, his sinewy muscles popping through his lean frame like steel cords. The kind of guy who looked almost wimpy in a baggy sweatshirt and jeans, but whose muscles stood out like a relief map of the human anatomy when in the nude. And I should know, for whenever he was “in the deck” Tietam Brown was in the nude. Yeah, maybe I should have mentioned that earlier, because it does tend to alter the perception of his exercise regimen just a bit.
    You see, for Tietam Brown, doing the deck wasn’t just about exercise. It was about a whole lot more. Exercise, sure. Beer drinking, yeah. But for my father doing the deck was primarily about sex.
    Doing the deck was a sure sign that intermission was under way. That the second act of a long passion play was about to commence. “The first one’s for them, Andy,” he’d told me once, “but the second one is all about ol’ Tietam, even though by the sound of things they seem to have a pretty good time too.”
    I’ll say they did. As the inhabitant of the room next door to his, I would say that was an understatement.
    Usually the commencement of his ritual would send my dad bounding up the stairs to begin act two immediately, a very sweaty, very drunk, very physically fit, and very horny man. But this night was special. His son had just had his first date and he wanted to spend some quality time right there in the Brown living room, surrounded by the odd potpourri of sweat, beer, and sex.
    â€œSo Andy,” he said as he dried the sweat off his balding head with a dish towel, “tell me about the big night.”
    His smile was big and happy, and I had to smile back, not just in reflection of the momentous night I’d just had but also at the walking, talking, drinking, Hindu-squatting contradiction that stood before me.
    â€œDad, it was probably the best night of my life, I mean we had the—”
    He cut me off. “Which means you used the Trojans, didn’t you, kid?”
    The guy was actually beaming, he was so happy. I considered humoring him, but couldn’t bear to stain Terri’s reputation with even a phantom sexual encounter. “Actually, Dad, I didn’t use any of them.” With that the huge smile became a mask of concern.
    â€œDon’t tell me you rode bareback, Andy, not in this day and age. You know they’ve got that AIDS thing floating around.”
    â€œNo, Dad, I didn’t ride bareback, I just—”
    He cut me off again. “Oh, did you opt for a little—”
    I interrupted him as he was making the universal hand-and-tongue signal for oral sex. “No, Dad, we didn’t do anything, we didn’t even kiss, but I had a great time, I really like her . . . and she . . . she held my hand.”
    â€œWhoa! Ho ho! Whew! Sheeeew!” my dad laughed. “We’ve got a wild man on our hands. Watch him, officer, he’s a hand holder!” Then, in an instant, I saw his expression change. I can’t call it compassion, but it seemed almost to border on understanding. “Andy,” he said softly.
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œDo you like this girl?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œAnd did it feel nice when you held her hand?”
    â€œYeah it did, Dad, it felt nice.”
    â€œWell that’s what counts, kid. You’ll have plenty of time to do that other stuff later.” Then he stepped forward, and for the first time he hugged me. I