This is my entry for the third installment of the 150-word story competition. The required words are those in the bold. If you are interested in entering yourself, you have until January 19th to post something on the thread I linked to.
His eye is twitching, the right one, what's he thinking about? I hardly trust him, not after the party, not after I saw him grind his crotch against Kevin. Of course, he blames it on the booze, an easy excuse.
This is the compromise though, we're finally off to meet his mother, but I can tell he's fighting the urge to just turn the car around and go home. He's ashamed of me, it's all over his face. He says his mother is still old-fashioned, thinks the “gay business” her son is into is just a passing fancy.
I couldn't care less what she thinks. We're here and I'm watching him closely, his face and his hands. His mother invites us in with a smile, says she's already mixing us some drinks. Slight relief crosses his face as he nervously glances my way, it's going to be a long afternoon.