A COUPLE of hours later, Tristan had some mail to send out and stepped out the door. I watched him walk down the sidewalk from my seat at the table since it was next to the window, and found myself appreciating the sway in his gait much more than I ever remembered enjoying a guy's ass moving before. Tristan had a very fine posterior. I licked my lips and adjusted myself with a tiny tug to the front of my jeans. I'd been sitting at the table a long time; surely Tristan wouldn't mind a short break to let off tension.
He opened the mailbox and then yanked his hand back and held it to his chest, dropping the mail. He kept walking backward, into the road, while staring at the box. I got up and went to the door. "What's wrong?" I called to him. He was still staring at the mailbox and standing in the middle of the road. "Tristan? Stop standing in the road. You're going to get hit!"
He did as I suggested but gave the mailbox a wide berth. As soon as he was past it, he ran over to me, still clutching his hand. I could see he was bleeding.
"What happened?" I asked, reaching for him. There were little droplets of blood all over his hand.
"S-s-snake," he stuttered. "There's a s-snake in the mailbox." He pointed with his other hand.
"What?" I questioned. The notion was ridiculous. Snakes didn't slither up poles to hide in mailboxes. "Are you sure?"
He glared hard, angrier than I'd ever seen him, and hissed, "Yes! I know a snake when I see one, and this one bit me. I hate snakes. Look what the hell it did!" He thrust his hand at me. Yup, it looked like a snakebite to me. A bunch of tiny blood spots on the back of his hand and on the palm over the fleshy part by his pinky finger.
"I'll go see what kind it is. You got bit really good, and we shouldn't wait around if the thing is venomous. Most likely it isn't because of the bite pattern, but it's best to be sure." I took a step, and he grabbed my arm.
"What are you doing? You can't go look. It'll bite you too!"
"I'm not afraid of snakes. Spiders, yes-snakes, no." I patted his hand. "I'll be fine." I walked toward the mailbox and picked up a stick I found in the yard on the way as Tristan watched, wide-eyed.
The metal box was already open, and I could hear hissing coming from deep in the back of it. I extended my arm and used the stick as a gentle prod to get the snake to move. I didn't want to kill it; I only wanted it to reveal itself. A black head poked out. I used the stick like a rake and pulled the snake forward. It struck at the stick but also fell out of the box as it did so. It coiled up and struck again.
"It's a black rat snake," I called to Tristan. I mumbled to myself as I moved it with my stick. "In my experience, I've never seen one this angry before." My eye spied blood. "What the … ?" Thankful I was wearing shoes, I positioned my foot over its head and gently lowered my toes until I was pinning the snake down under the tip of my shoe.
"What the hell are you doing?" Tristan asked frantically, joining me by the mailbox but not close enough to get struck again.
"I think it's injured. I've never seen this type of snake act so aggressive before. I'm not saying they're docile, but this seems out of the ordinary." It thrashed its body around, whipping its tail, but I had the head pinned to the ground. I grabbed the tail and found the problem. "What the fuck?" I questioned out loud. "There's a nail through it."
"What?"
"A nail. Someone drove a nail through this snake's tail. That's probably why it's pissed." I pulled the head of the nail, and its body thrashed even more. "Tristan, you're going to have to help me."
He shook his head emphatically. "No fucking way!"
"Come on, you have to. It's suffering."
"You know how you nearly had a heart attack when that spider crawled up your leg? That's me with snakes. My older brother used to torment me with snakes when we were kids. I hate them. I would rather take a shovel to that thing than help it live." Tristan was not kidding. I could see it by his wide eyes and shaking hands.
"Then is there anyone at the shop? Jeff, maybe?" I asked, hoping all of them were workaholics like Tristan.
Right on cue, Wes walked up. "Hey, what's going on?"
Tristan glanced at him. "Hey. What are you doing here? I thought you had the day off."
"I do. I left my cell phone on the filing cabinet. I stopped by to get it and saw Grant poking a stick in the mailbox. Is that a snake?" He was curious and obviously not scared as he stepped closer.
"Yeah," I said. "Would you mind helping me with it?"
"Sure. I know Tristan won't." He grinned at Tristan as if amused by his phobia and then came down on one knee next to me. "What do you want me to do?"
"Grab its tail right there and the body over here. Someone put a nail through it, and I want to take it out."
"Eww. Why would someone do that?" he asked, disgusted.
"I don't know, but it's pissed and bit Tristan."
Wes grinned and glanced at Tristan standing just a few feet away. "I bet that made your day."
"Fuck you," Tristan grumbled.
I thought they were funny, but I had other things on my mind. As soon as Wes took a firm hold of the snake, I worked the nail out. I knew it would not feel very nice, but it was the only way I knew to help it. True, most people loathed snakes and many aimed for them when driving, but I thought snakes had as much right to live as any creature. No animal deserved to be tortured. Once the nail was out, I moved to grab its head as I lifted my foot.
"Whoa, Grant! You're a badass," Wes said, stepping back and watching me.
I had the snake by the back of its head and down by its mangled tail. I snorted. "Thanks. I don't think anyone else would call me that."
Tristan said, still standing back, "I would."
I smiled. "You just like my ass."
Wes chortled. I thought maybe he'd be uncomfortable, being a straight guy, but he wasn't. His reaction was refreshing and new for me. I liked the comfortable feeling that I could be myself around Wes and make sexual innuendos without snide remarks. Wes was a really nice guy.
"What are you going to do with that thing?" Tristan asked.
I considered the unhappy snake in my hands. "First I'm going to rinse the wound in the sink, and then I guess I'll let it go."
Tristan stepped back. "Not in my house!"
"Okay, fine. I'll rinse it with the hose. Then I'll walk it down the street and let it go in the woods over there." I motioned with my head in my intended direction.
"Okay," Tristan agreed. "I guess that isn't too close."
Tristan's reaction was kind of adorable, and when he related his phobia toward snakes to mine over spiders, that helped me to understand it. Everyone had something they were afraid of, and even a big tough guy like Tristan wasn't impervious to everything. Now I knew his weakness. After tending to the snake, I let it go and helped Tristan clean the blood off his hand. I smeared Neosporin on it and covered the worst bite holes with a bandage.
Of course he also insisted that another part of his body needed attention in order to soothe his frazzled nerves, and even though I laughed, I did make sure all of him was comfortably content before I resumed sorting his financial statements.
IN THE wee hours of Saturday night, after dinner, showers and making love, we lay quietly together, cuddling. Tristan ran his hand up and down my back while I drew lazy circles in his chest hair. The bathroom light was on so we could see, but it wasn't glaring like his bedside lamp normally did. I had told him I liked making love with the light on because the expression on his face, as he moved in and out of me, was orgasmic. He'd chuckled, and ever since, the light was on every time.
"Tristan, can I ask you a question?"
"Sure," he said, stroking my face and running his fingers through my hair.
"Who do you think put the snake in your mailbox?"
"I don't know. Punk kids? I did some pretty stupid things as a pubescent teenager. I remember my brother driving around with his punk friends, bashing mailboxes with a baseball bat. Kids do stupid things."
"I never did. I remember shoveling snow for my elderly neighbors and refusing to take payment in anything other than hot chocolate."
There was a grin to his voice. "That doesn't surprise me." His heartbeat was strong and steady under my hand.
"Aside from possible hoodlums, do you have any enemies? Or people who know you don't like snakes?"
He admitted, "Everyone knows I hate snakes."
"But is there someone who is sick enough to injure a snake in order to make it angrier?"