Thursday, January 18, 2024

Li’l Honey Bunny (Part 1 of 3 Parts), Post #257

Image Courtesy of Dreamstime:


Can you believe it? Here we are well into 2024, and I was just getting accustomed to writing 2023. Such is life.

 Hope you enjoyed the story of the Army brat and the white park bench. This week, we’ll start another story, maybe pluck some different heartstrings.

Let’s get right to it. Here’s Part 1.



* * * *


I remember the day Greg Parks was born in the house right beside ours on Mason Street. Or at least I recall stories about the event… my mom rushing over to help the doctor, excited whispers, a baby crying. They’re vivid in my mind, although I was only four at the time. But it seemed that my mother coming back home and loudly pronouncing that the new baby was a real “Little Honey Bunny” was my recollection, not someone else’s told so many times it gets mixed up with my own.

So that’s what I called him from the time I first laid eyes on the red-faced, squalling bundle of energy more formally named Gregory Robert Parks. The label worked okay until he reached Middle School, and then he began to rebel, taking it as a smack-down. Wasn’t intended that way, but his reaction tickled my fancy, so I kept it up. By that time, of course, it had simply been reduced to “Bunny,” but I’d use the full appellation on occasion to watch his face turn red. Needless to say, our childhood friendship was no longer so close.

I returned home after being away at college for four years and moved back into the Mason Street house. Didn’t see much of Bunny upon my return as the Parks had long ago moved to another part of town. Nonetheless the sight of the white house to the east of ours kicked off memories… including those of Li’l Honey Bunny.

In answer to my questions, Mom let me know Greg had graduated high school and was prepared to leave for college at State this fall. Hard to believe the gangly fourteen-year-old I’d last cast eyes on would soon be a college man. No doubt I’d see for myself, as I was about to start working in my dad’s drug store. The idea of working for a year at the drug store where I’d started shelving merchandise in short pants before starting pharmacy school was long ago implanted in my brain. Dad wanted me to learn the business end of the store more deeply than what I’d already absorbed by osmosis. He he planned for me to one day replace him as pharmacist… and ultimately as manager. That was okay with me. I’d found his puttering and muttering while mixing this and parsing that fascinating, and I probably already knew more about that end of the business than most pre-pharm students.

One day as I looked through a sheaf of credit card charges while searching for a specific one, an unfamiliar voice called my name.

“Clifton? Is that you, Cliff?”

I turned to regard an oddly familiar stranger. A handsome, hunky, totally desirable stranger. My mouth dropped as recognition dawned.


The beautiful young man laughed, his generous green eyes crinkling merrily. “It’s okay, I’m still Bunny.”

“You sure are,” I blurted and grasped the strong hand he thrust at me. “Damn, guy, you’ve grown.”

“Wee bit. But you look the same. Guess chasing sorority gals around campus has kept you lean and healthy.”

I gave him a return laugh. “It’s only when you catch them that it can become unhealthy.”

“I’ll take you word for it. How long you home for?”

I reclaimed my hand, although I was enjoying the contact. “Gonna work for a year before going back to Pharmacy School. So I’ll be around awhile.”

“Not me,” the dreamboat in front of me said. “Heading out to State this fall.”

“Try not to tear up campus too much.”

“Might need some guidance on that. Maybe you can give me some pointers.”

“Happy to… anytime.”

He started to move away, but hesitated. “I’m working at my dad’s lumberyard for the summer… like every other summer I can remember. Get off around six. If you’re not doing anything, maybe you can give me some of those pointers.”

A chill ran down my back. “Yeah, sure. What you wanna do?”

“You still bowl?”

“Some. Probably still beat your ass.”

“This isn’t a league night, so why don’t you meet me at the Fiesta Bowl at eight, and I’ll make you eat those words.”

“You’re on.”

I couldn’t help but watch as he moved down the aisle toward the prescription counter where my father was working. The kid had to be a jock. Way he moved, graceful, self-assured… sexy.

Thankfully, the cashier’s counter shielded me as Mrs. Mooseburn walked up, otherwise it would have been obscenely obvious how intrigued I was by that Li’l Honey Bunny.


Wonder if Cliff had explored his own sexuality before Bunny caught his fancy… unexpectedly, it seems. He has to be… what 22 or 23 to have graduated from college, so surely he has. But who knows.

 At any rate, now that he knows, what will he do about it? Assuming, of course, Bunny will permit him to experiment. What do you think?

 I now have the cover for the upcoming Huntinghawk, but JMS won’t let me give anyone a peek yet. I like it, and hopefully, so will you.

 My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:

Website and blog:



X: @markwildyr

Now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it! 

 See you later.



 New posts first and third Thursday of the month at 6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.

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