EasyRory
JUB Addict
Chapter Nineteenth
Bo stood alone at the sales counter, doodling on the back of a pad of order forms. Finn was at some family affair to hell and gone in Livermore and Gale was at a show of succulents in Milpitas. Even for a Wednesday walk-in business was slow. He had sold three potted African violets to a woman who was certain kill them all inside of two weeks. She was a receptionist in a doctor's office and didn't know a bromeliad from a broomstick. His doodling was interrupted by the tinkle of the shop bell. A young man entered and walked directly to the palms, where he began sticking his finger into the soil of each pot.
“Can I help you find something?” Bo asked.
The bent-over young man looked around and up. “Are you checking me out?” The odd question made Bo's eyes go the the young man's ass. “I knew it. I told a friend the best place to meet hot guys is in a florist's shop.”
“You think I'm a hot guy?” Bo asked.
“Now you're flirting with me.” the shopper responded. Before Bo could get angry at the accusation, he added, “Of course you're a hot guy. You don't need me to tell you that. I'm just slightly above average, but you are … a dream walking. That's what you are. How often do you water these arecas?”
“Arecas?” Bo asked.
“This palm, I believe, is called an areca.”
“Oh … water every other day, mist daily – but you can skip a day now and then. And in the winter … um, I'm not sure. Maybe weekly in the winter? I'll check our book.”
“That's ok. I know what the book says. I just wondered if you did anything different here.”
“We use Parker's Potting Soil. A special blend.”
The young man stood up. His trousers had ridden up around his thighs and what looked like a massive cock was outlined in cloth right where a massive cock should be. He tugged at the cloth and the outline disappeared. “A big dick makes up for other short-comings,” he explained to Bo.
Damn, Bo thought; he caught me looking again. “Would you like a sample of the soil to try yourself?”
“I'd like a sample of you ...” which made Bo blush furiously. “I'm sorry. I'm being too aggressive, huh?”
“It's just that ...” Bo stammered. “... that ...”
“If I took your hand ...” The young man took Bo's hand. “... and put it on my cock ...” He pulled Bo's hand against his crotch. “... how would you react?”
Bo reflexively squeezed the cock and felt a growing firmness. He blushed again. This guy owns me, he thought; I couldn't stop him if I wanted to. He gasped when the young man gave him a squeeze back and then felt oddly abandoned when the young man stepped away, breaking contact.
“Unfortunately, I have places to go and people to see. I'll give you my card … you can call some night after six if you want.” The bell tinkled again as he left.
Bo got a drink of water and waited behind the counter until his jitters passed. He had never met anybody like that guy. He wasn't nearly as cute as Finn; he was not athletic at all, in fact he was a little skinny; but there was something in his eyes that could hold people's attention, something fascinating that let him get away with outrageous conversations. Finn looked at the card and put it in his pocket. For something to do, he misted the palms and then returned to his doodling.
Gale returned from the show with ideas for selling more succulents. “They're easy care, almost impossible to kill, and the varieties are infinite. People like collections of them.” He looked at Bo's doodle. It read 'Finnbarr' in elaborate lettering surrounded by fanciful scroll work. Bo ripped the page off the pad and balled it up. He pantomimed a jump shot and hit the trash basket from about ten feet.
“Nice shot.”
“He thinks I'm awesome. That's what he said, awesome.” Bo shot a look at Gale.
“That's good, isn't it?”
“I guess … I'm going home.”
“Night, Bo.” Gale retrieved Bo's doodling from the trash and carefully smoothed it out. It was worth saving.
Wolf wondered about Rocky's kiss as he walked down Stockton Street toward the bar. It had seemed both passionate and detached at the same time, as if Rocky was testing himself, as if Rocky's uncertainties matched Wolf's own. Would I 'do it' with Rocky? Do what, exactly? He had seen Torrey earlier in the day; Torrey kissed him while Candy was out of the room; her warmth promised more to come. Friday, she promised specifically. Rocky hadn't promised anything.
Istanbulla saw Wolf come in and signaled him. “Wolf, some paperwork ...” Inside her office she gave him the W-4 tax form.
“What's an SSN?”
Istanbulla looked at Wolf to see if he was joking. “You're an illegal alien?”
“No, I'm here as a tourist. I have a visa. Nothing illegal. I'm German.”
“You said you were going back to Germany. I thought it was part of your story … like the accent.”
“I'm going to the University of Freiburg in about six weeks.”
“I'm so sorry, Wolf. You can't work here on a tourist visa.”
Frank entered the office rubbing the knuckles of one hand. “Helena sure had her bosquette full at the door. How do we attract drunks so early in the evening? Izzie, have you seen Rocky?”
“No. And Wolf can't work.”
“Then we got no show. What Wolf's problem?” The problem was explained. “Paperwork, screw that.” Frank dismissed the entire federal apparatus. “So we call it Amateur Night. He won't be an employee – just a volunteer from the audience.”
“Who's going to bus tables?”
“Light crowd tonight. You think you and I could handle it? Ace can run the bar while the show is on and Lonnie can dance with Wolf.” Frank gave Wolf a friendly grin. “No messing with Lonnie, Wolf.”
“Lonnie's gonna be unhappy,” Istanbulla commented.
“Not when he sees you bussing empty beer bottles. We're all in this together.” Frank, who never discussed his ownership of an interest in the business, felt the problem was solved.
On the way to the break room Wolf asked, “What about the comedians and the 'ladies'? Where are they?”
“They're only on Wednesday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. The other nights it's just you boys. Ok, here goes … Lonnie? Guess what? Have I got a job for you!”
A few minutes later Lonnie joined Wolf in the break room and put on a set of underwear. He stood next to Wolf and looked in a mirror. “Next to you, I look forty.” Lonnie pawed at his neck, trying to rub away some defect only he saw.
“They won't be looking at your face,” Wolf suggested.
“If you smile like that, they won't be looking at me at all. I haven't done anything like this in … a long time. The body's ok, I guess.” Lonnie was being overcritical of himself.
“Wow! Sorry to be late.” Rocky burst into the break room and began changing. “There must have been a jumper on the bridge. Traffic was backed up to Sacramento. Took forever to get here.”
“Thank God!” Lonnie shouted, put his clothes back on, and happily returned to bartending duties.
“You should take the BART. No traffic problems,” Wolf suggested.
“I did take the BART. I got involved with a couple of guys at school and lost track of the time.”
“Involved? Playing games?”
“You could call it that, I guess. Should we do the same stuff as last night?” Wolf nodded and Rocky winked. “Let's go, partner.”
The crowd in the bar was light enough that it was individuals, not a crowd at all. Wolf couldn't help making eye-contact with the customers, increasing the creep-factor by an order of magnitude. When they danced behind the screen to change their shorts, he said to Rocky, “Ugly tonight.”
“Play up the boyfriend act. Maybe that will cool 'em down.”
At the music's end, Wolf and Rocky stood close together and approached the edge of the stage for a final shot at cash. Rocky put his arm around Wolf's shoulders. That got applause but no money.
“You two lovers?” a patron called out.
“Just friends,” Rocky answered and jokingly kissed Wolf's cheek.
“Awwww ...” the crowd responded. One man tucked a couple of tens into their waistbands.
Frank met them in the break room. “Numbers?” he asked. “That sucks,” he reacted when they gave him numbers in the twenties. “Guys, um, Istanbulla wasn't crazy about the kiss. She didn't say no, exactly, but she doesn't want things getting too, you know, graphic.”
“It doubled our tips,” Rocky challenged.
“Yeah, ok, I'll tell her that.”
“Frank … if it's amateur night, what if we invite the customers onto the stage? For a price...”
“Wolf … you may have something … if we can handle it.”
Frank announced Amateur Night at the next break and challenged the crowd to dance on stage. “Remember our guys work for tips. Fifty bucks will get you a dance. So who's ready? Nobody? Nobody wants a chance to shake it with the best?”
After some encouragement from their friends two guys agreed to give it a shot. They were middle aged but in fairly decent shape and didn't disgrace themselves in their underwear. For the next set, two new guys from the audience were much lower down the food chain. Even their underwear was ugly, but they were willing and fifty was fifty. The third pair were a disaster. Rocky's partner was drunk and could barely walk, let alone dance. The first time he fell, Rocky helped him up. The second time he fell he couldn't get up and pulled Rocky's shorts down in the process, ripping one leg. Rocky repaired his attire as best he could and went behind the screen for a costume change, while Frank and Lonnie disposed of the drunk.
“Ok, so that wasn't too great,” Frank said in the break room.
“But we each got a hundred and fifty,” Rocky noted.
“Yeah, but it kinda lowered the tone, as Istanbulla put it.”
“We're strippers. How much lower can it get?” Rocky had a point.
“You don't strip. You cover up just as much as you would at a gym – minus the t-shirt. Izzie doesn't want to turn it into lap dancing. That gets you a whole different kind of attention from the cops.” Frank's argument sounded reasonable to Wolf, who just listened.
“Yeah, well, a hundred fifty a set is the most I've ever made,” Rocky pressed.
“Try escorting, if you're looking for cash. We're not going to change the rules here.” Frank was firm but friendly.
“Escorting ...” Rocky mulled the idea over.
“I was kidding, Rocky. That's a whole different … life. Not a good one; and I'm speaking from experience. Business has picked up. Since you're not bussing tonight, we're gonna do a third set, ok?” Frank left.
“Escorting?” Wolf questioned when they were alone.
“It's what they call prostitution,” Rocky answered.
“Do you need the money that much?”
“No. I don't need the money at all. But it's kinda cool, getting paid the way we do. I've never done anything like this before, and it's a turn-on, you know?”
“A turn on. Yeah, I guess. It's naughty.”
“Naughty? It's hot!”
Their third set was a repeat of the first set and not nearly as profitable as dancing with the customers. In the break room afterward, Rocky was pumped. “Don't you feel it? Man, I get so turned on by this.” He was dancing to some private fantasy. “The way those guys stare at me … Makes me want to ...” He grabbed Wolf and kissed him again, like the night before. Wolf tried to pull away but Rocky held him. And then his hand moved down Wolf's body and slid into his underwear.
Wolf reacted violently, shoving Rocky away. “Keep your hands off me!” he warned.
“Chill, dude. Just messing with you ...” Rocky said. He dressed quickly and left.
Wolf sat on a hard wooden chair, bent forward, trembling from the adrenaline rush, feeling angry and violated. He also had an erection so hard it hurt.
“Flip Fucked Again” was one of those videos that leave people with their mouths open. It was barely longer than a minute so Seth priced a viewing at ninety-nine cents. In it's first week it took in over three hundred thousand. The setting was a locker room. It showed Adan doing hand springs at normal speed and then in slow motion, approaching the bent over, naked Chris, dressing in front of his locker. The slo-mo editing made the penetration look like a seamless part of the final flip. The penetration was repeated in slow motion from various angles, showing Adan's look of delight and Chris's looks of astonishment, pain, and then ecstasy. The final shot was Chris spurting cum.
“You think Adan's grandmother has seen it yet?” Seth asked.
“I don't think so. Mexican revenues were fairly light, although they were building by the end of the week,” Andrew calculated. “I wish the long scene with Jeff and Kevin was doing as well. We'll be lucky to make twenty thousand on it.”
“Give it a chance. I bet it's a slow but steady seller. What did Adan think?”
Andrew smiled at the memory. “He spent the night for the first time.”
“Jody wants to try something on a trapeze. Can you see ME on a trapeze?” Seth laughed.
“Sweetie, you'd look great on a trapeze.” Andrew suppressed a laugh.
“His ex-wife is trying to sue him for defamation. She's horrified by his porn appearance.”
“She watches gay porn?”
“He sent her several CD's. One a day for almost a week. Told her one night with me was better than five years with her.”
“Sweetie, you know I love you, so tke my advice and don't get too involved. Neither one of them sounds stable. You just never know ...”
“He's counter-suing to get the kid circumcised.”
“When does he have time to work for us? You know, maybe that trapeze idea might work. Not the trapeze itself, but some kind of follow-on of an athletic nature. Do you think Andy Roddick's serve is powerful enough to drive a ball up somebody's ass?”
“Andrew, our workmen's comp rates would go through the roof if we tried that. Besides I don't think Roddick would do it.”
“He's not winning much on the court lately. What about a synchronized diving fuck? No? Naked relay racing?”
“Put the sports section down. We need to do a fashion shoot today. No sexcapades.”
Andrew gave Seth a lingering hug. “You are the best possible partner I could ever have.”
Z got home from his fashion shoot with Andrew and stopped in the front doorway. He could hear Monica talking to Eric. Lecturing Eric was a better description.
“You're not paying enough attention to Z, Eric. He's home here lots of nights by himself and when you do come home, you spend half the weekend sleeping.”
“Mom, you don't understand.”
“I DO understand. I'm the one with two marriages down the drain.”
“Dad died. You two didn't split up.”
“We didn't have a chance to. But it was headed that way. And I'm telling you, you need to be a lot nicer to Z or you're going to lose him. And you'll never find anyone like him.”
“He understands about school ...”
“Mark my words, Eric. Pay attention to him or ...”
Z slammed the front door and called out, “I'm back!”
Monica was red-faced and quick out the door. “Z, you look wonderful. Good shoot?” She was gone.
“She thinks I'm neglecting you,” Eric said, taking Z into his arms. “I don't mean to.”
“I know. Nobody ever breezes through medical school,” Z said.
“One more year. Can you stand it?”
“I can if you can.”
“Was the shoot tiring?”
“No. It was very professional. No tempers. No screw-ups. Just a lot of changing clothes. Andrew had us pretending to be a flash mob. Little dance steps. It was ok. I bet it will look good. He's actually pretty talented.”
“Have you seen Flip Fucked Again? All the nurses were watching it.”
“Flip Fucked ...what?”
“Let's go look. It's pretty funny.” It was more than funny. It was inspirational. They spent the rest of the afternoon trying moves of their own.
“Am I neglecting you, Z?” Eric asked.
“A little. I'll survive,” Z said with a kiss. “I miss you a lot during the week.”
“I forget how much I need you, until I get your cock in me. You are the best fuck …. I come better with you than ...” Eric fell asleep.
Since the disaster with Lorica, Jerry and Neil ate every night at Nick's in San Leandro. There were always either off-duty cops or programmers pigging out to hang out with. Neil could eat the contents of a garbage truck every night without gaining an ounce. Not so with Jerry. He carefully limited himself to one beer but the food was putting pounds on him. A side benefit was it gave them something trivial besides the Oakland A's to talk about.
“I gotta get back to running,” Jerry announced as they drove back from the sixth consecutive night of Nick's Mexican combination platters.
“What about the lacrosse game? Do they still play? I need something more goal-oriented, something more competitive,” Neil countered. “Plus it's cheap. That armor-plated bitch wants lifetime support from me. Thank God there was no kid involved.”
“Why do you call her that? She didn't seem ...”
“That's what her name means. Lorica means armor in Latin. Even her father called her that. Ok, not the 'bitch' part, but I don't think he liked her much either. I should have known ...”
“Don't be so hard on yourself. You couldn't have known how it would turn out.”
“I married her for the wrong reasons. I was getting close to thirty, feeling desperate ...”
“Wow! Is that a fire at the airport?” They were driving down Doolittle and Jerry was glad to change the subject.
“Just training, I think,” Neil answered. “Every couple of weeks that same plane catches fire. It better be training or something is seriously fucked up.” They got to the golf course and Neil changed the subject again. “I'm working nights next week. Leave me notes if you want me to do anything.”
“That's ok,” Jerry said.
“No, I'm serious. Stuff like cleaning or shopping … I feel like I'm a sponge just sleeping at your house. I'll start looking for a place this weekend.”
My house, Jerry thought; it used to be 'our' house. “No rush. Figure out what your finances are gonna be like after the settlement with Lorica.”
“That could take weeks ...”
“No rush,” Jerry echoed. “The company is giving away A's tickets. You wanna go on Sunday?”
“Sunday's a good day to look for an apartment,” Neil answered.
“Yeah, but the market's soft; there are lots of apartments around. Plus they'll be on the road for ten days after that. It's the last chance to go for a while.”
“So tempting … and your company does pass out great seats ...”
“I'll get two tickets, unless you want to ask some guys from work. I could get more ...”
“Two's fine,” Neil answered.
Bo stood alone at the sales counter, doodling on the back of a pad of order forms. Finn was at some family affair to hell and gone in Livermore and Gale was at a show of succulents in Milpitas. Even for a Wednesday walk-in business was slow. He had sold three potted African violets to a woman who was certain kill them all inside of two weeks. She was a receptionist in a doctor's office and didn't know a bromeliad from a broomstick. His doodling was interrupted by the tinkle of the shop bell. A young man entered and walked directly to the palms, where he began sticking his finger into the soil of each pot.
“Can I help you find something?” Bo asked.
The bent-over young man looked around and up. “Are you checking me out?” The odd question made Bo's eyes go the the young man's ass. “I knew it. I told a friend the best place to meet hot guys is in a florist's shop.”
“You think I'm a hot guy?” Bo asked.
“Now you're flirting with me.” the shopper responded. Before Bo could get angry at the accusation, he added, “Of course you're a hot guy. You don't need me to tell you that. I'm just slightly above average, but you are … a dream walking. That's what you are. How often do you water these arecas?”
“Arecas?” Bo asked.
“This palm, I believe, is called an areca.”
“Oh … water every other day, mist daily – but you can skip a day now and then. And in the winter … um, I'm not sure. Maybe weekly in the winter? I'll check our book.”
“That's ok. I know what the book says. I just wondered if you did anything different here.”
“We use Parker's Potting Soil. A special blend.”
The young man stood up. His trousers had ridden up around his thighs and what looked like a massive cock was outlined in cloth right where a massive cock should be. He tugged at the cloth and the outline disappeared. “A big dick makes up for other short-comings,” he explained to Bo.
Damn, Bo thought; he caught me looking again. “Would you like a sample of the soil to try yourself?”
“I'd like a sample of you ...” which made Bo blush furiously. “I'm sorry. I'm being too aggressive, huh?”
“It's just that ...” Bo stammered. “... that ...”
“If I took your hand ...” The young man took Bo's hand. “... and put it on my cock ...” He pulled Bo's hand against his crotch. “... how would you react?”
Bo reflexively squeezed the cock and felt a growing firmness. He blushed again. This guy owns me, he thought; I couldn't stop him if I wanted to. He gasped when the young man gave him a squeeze back and then felt oddly abandoned when the young man stepped away, breaking contact.
“Unfortunately, I have places to go and people to see. I'll give you my card … you can call some night after six if you want.” The bell tinkled again as he left.
Bo got a drink of water and waited behind the counter until his jitters passed. He had never met anybody like that guy. He wasn't nearly as cute as Finn; he was not athletic at all, in fact he was a little skinny; but there was something in his eyes that could hold people's attention, something fascinating that let him get away with outrageous conversations. Finn looked at the card and put it in his pocket. For something to do, he misted the palms and then returned to his doodling.
Gale returned from the show with ideas for selling more succulents. “They're easy care, almost impossible to kill, and the varieties are infinite. People like collections of them.” He looked at Bo's doodle. It read 'Finnbarr' in elaborate lettering surrounded by fanciful scroll work. Bo ripped the page off the pad and balled it up. He pantomimed a jump shot and hit the trash basket from about ten feet.
“Nice shot.”
“He thinks I'm awesome. That's what he said, awesome.” Bo shot a look at Gale.
“That's good, isn't it?”
“I guess … I'm going home.”
“Night, Bo.” Gale retrieved Bo's doodling from the trash and carefully smoothed it out. It was worth saving.
Wolf wondered about Rocky's kiss as he walked down Stockton Street toward the bar. It had seemed both passionate and detached at the same time, as if Rocky was testing himself, as if Rocky's uncertainties matched Wolf's own. Would I 'do it' with Rocky? Do what, exactly? He had seen Torrey earlier in the day; Torrey kissed him while Candy was out of the room; her warmth promised more to come. Friday, she promised specifically. Rocky hadn't promised anything.
Istanbulla saw Wolf come in and signaled him. “Wolf, some paperwork ...” Inside her office she gave him the W-4 tax form.
“What's an SSN?”
Istanbulla looked at Wolf to see if he was joking. “You're an illegal alien?”
“No, I'm here as a tourist. I have a visa. Nothing illegal. I'm German.”
“You said you were going back to Germany. I thought it was part of your story … like the accent.”
“I'm going to the University of Freiburg in about six weeks.”
“I'm so sorry, Wolf. You can't work here on a tourist visa.”
Frank entered the office rubbing the knuckles of one hand. “Helena sure had her bosquette full at the door. How do we attract drunks so early in the evening? Izzie, have you seen Rocky?”
“No. And Wolf can't work.”
“Then we got no show. What Wolf's problem?” The problem was explained. “Paperwork, screw that.” Frank dismissed the entire federal apparatus. “So we call it Amateur Night. He won't be an employee – just a volunteer from the audience.”
“Who's going to bus tables?”
“Light crowd tonight. You think you and I could handle it? Ace can run the bar while the show is on and Lonnie can dance with Wolf.” Frank gave Wolf a friendly grin. “No messing with Lonnie, Wolf.”
“Lonnie's gonna be unhappy,” Istanbulla commented.
“Not when he sees you bussing empty beer bottles. We're all in this together.” Frank, who never discussed his ownership of an interest in the business, felt the problem was solved.
On the way to the break room Wolf asked, “What about the comedians and the 'ladies'? Where are they?”
“They're only on Wednesday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. The other nights it's just you boys. Ok, here goes … Lonnie? Guess what? Have I got a job for you!”
A few minutes later Lonnie joined Wolf in the break room and put on a set of underwear. He stood next to Wolf and looked in a mirror. “Next to you, I look forty.” Lonnie pawed at his neck, trying to rub away some defect only he saw.
“They won't be looking at your face,” Wolf suggested.
“If you smile like that, they won't be looking at me at all. I haven't done anything like this in … a long time. The body's ok, I guess.” Lonnie was being overcritical of himself.
“Wow! Sorry to be late.” Rocky burst into the break room and began changing. “There must have been a jumper on the bridge. Traffic was backed up to Sacramento. Took forever to get here.”
“Thank God!” Lonnie shouted, put his clothes back on, and happily returned to bartending duties.
“You should take the BART. No traffic problems,” Wolf suggested.
“I did take the BART. I got involved with a couple of guys at school and lost track of the time.”
“Involved? Playing games?”
“You could call it that, I guess. Should we do the same stuff as last night?” Wolf nodded and Rocky winked. “Let's go, partner.”
The crowd in the bar was light enough that it was individuals, not a crowd at all. Wolf couldn't help making eye-contact with the customers, increasing the creep-factor by an order of magnitude. When they danced behind the screen to change their shorts, he said to Rocky, “Ugly tonight.”
“Play up the boyfriend act. Maybe that will cool 'em down.”
At the music's end, Wolf and Rocky stood close together and approached the edge of the stage for a final shot at cash. Rocky put his arm around Wolf's shoulders. That got applause but no money.
“You two lovers?” a patron called out.
“Just friends,” Rocky answered and jokingly kissed Wolf's cheek.
“Awwww ...” the crowd responded. One man tucked a couple of tens into their waistbands.
Frank met them in the break room. “Numbers?” he asked. “That sucks,” he reacted when they gave him numbers in the twenties. “Guys, um, Istanbulla wasn't crazy about the kiss. She didn't say no, exactly, but she doesn't want things getting too, you know, graphic.”
“It doubled our tips,” Rocky challenged.
“Yeah, ok, I'll tell her that.”
“Frank … if it's amateur night, what if we invite the customers onto the stage? For a price...”
“Wolf … you may have something … if we can handle it.”
Frank announced Amateur Night at the next break and challenged the crowd to dance on stage. “Remember our guys work for tips. Fifty bucks will get you a dance. So who's ready? Nobody? Nobody wants a chance to shake it with the best?”
After some encouragement from their friends two guys agreed to give it a shot. They were middle aged but in fairly decent shape and didn't disgrace themselves in their underwear. For the next set, two new guys from the audience were much lower down the food chain. Even their underwear was ugly, but they were willing and fifty was fifty. The third pair were a disaster. Rocky's partner was drunk and could barely walk, let alone dance. The first time he fell, Rocky helped him up. The second time he fell he couldn't get up and pulled Rocky's shorts down in the process, ripping one leg. Rocky repaired his attire as best he could and went behind the screen for a costume change, while Frank and Lonnie disposed of the drunk.
“Ok, so that wasn't too great,” Frank said in the break room.
“But we each got a hundred and fifty,” Rocky noted.
“Yeah, but it kinda lowered the tone, as Istanbulla put it.”
“We're strippers. How much lower can it get?” Rocky had a point.
“You don't strip. You cover up just as much as you would at a gym – minus the t-shirt. Izzie doesn't want to turn it into lap dancing. That gets you a whole different kind of attention from the cops.” Frank's argument sounded reasonable to Wolf, who just listened.
“Yeah, well, a hundred fifty a set is the most I've ever made,” Rocky pressed.
“Try escorting, if you're looking for cash. We're not going to change the rules here.” Frank was firm but friendly.
“Escorting ...” Rocky mulled the idea over.
“I was kidding, Rocky. That's a whole different … life. Not a good one; and I'm speaking from experience. Business has picked up. Since you're not bussing tonight, we're gonna do a third set, ok?” Frank left.
“Escorting?” Wolf questioned when they were alone.
“It's what they call prostitution,” Rocky answered.
“Do you need the money that much?”
“No. I don't need the money at all. But it's kinda cool, getting paid the way we do. I've never done anything like this before, and it's a turn-on, you know?”
“A turn on. Yeah, I guess. It's naughty.”
“Naughty? It's hot!”
Their third set was a repeat of the first set and not nearly as profitable as dancing with the customers. In the break room afterward, Rocky was pumped. “Don't you feel it? Man, I get so turned on by this.” He was dancing to some private fantasy. “The way those guys stare at me … Makes me want to ...” He grabbed Wolf and kissed him again, like the night before. Wolf tried to pull away but Rocky held him. And then his hand moved down Wolf's body and slid into his underwear.
Wolf reacted violently, shoving Rocky away. “Keep your hands off me!” he warned.
“Chill, dude. Just messing with you ...” Rocky said. He dressed quickly and left.
Wolf sat on a hard wooden chair, bent forward, trembling from the adrenaline rush, feeling angry and violated. He also had an erection so hard it hurt.
“Flip Fucked Again” was one of those videos that leave people with their mouths open. It was barely longer than a minute so Seth priced a viewing at ninety-nine cents. In it's first week it took in over three hundred thousand. The setting was a locker room. It showed Adan doing hand springs at normal speed and then in slow motion, approaching the bent over, naked Chris, dressing in front of his locker. The slo-mo editing made the penetration look like a seamless part of the final flip. The penetration was repeated in slow motion from various angles, showing Adan's look of delight and Chris's looks of astonishment, pain, and then ecstasy. The final shot was Chris spurting cum.
“You think Adan's grandmother has seen it yet?” Seth asked.
“I don't think so. Mexican revenues were fairly light, although they were building by the end of the week,” Andrew calculated. “I wish the long scene with Jeff and Kevin was doing as well. We'll be lucky to make twenty thousand on it.”
“Give it a chance. I bet it's a slow but steady seller. What did Adan think?”
Andrew smiled at the memory. “He spent the night for the first time.”
“Jody wants to try something on a trapeze. Can you see ME on a trapeze?” Seth laughed.
“Sweetie, you'd look great on a trapeze.” Andrew suppressed a laugh.
“His ex-wife is trying to sue him for defamation. She's horrified by his porn appearance.”
“She watches gay porn?”
“He sent her several CD's. One a day for almost a week. Told her one night with me was better than five years with her.”
“Sweetie, you know I love you, so tke my advice and don't get too involved. Neither one of them sounds stable. You just never know ...”
“He's counter-suing to get the kid circumcised.”
“When does he have time to work for us? You know, maybe that trapeze idea might work. Not the trapeze itself, but some kind of follow-on of an athletic nature. Do you think Andy Roddick's serve is powerful enough to drive a ball up somebody's ass?”
“Andrew, our workmen's comp rates would go through the roof if we tried that. Besides I don't think Roddick would do it.”
“He's not winning much on the court lately. What about a synchronized diving fuck? No? Naked relay racing?”
“Put the sports section down. We need to do a fashion shoot today. No sexcapades.”
Andrew gave Seth a lingering hug. “You are the best possible partner I could ever have.”
Z got home from his fashion shoot with Andrew and stopped in the front doorway. He could hear Monica talking to Eric. Lecturing Eric was a better description.
“You're not paying enough attention to Z, Eric. He's home here lots of nights by himself and when you do come home, you spend half the weekend sleeping.”
“Mom, you don't understand.”
“I DO understand. I'm the one with two marriages down the drain.”
“Dad died. You two didn't split up.”
“We didn't have a chance to. But it was headed that way. And I'm telling you, you need to be a lot nicer to Z or you're going to lose him. And you'll never find anyone like him.”
“He understands about school ...”
“Mark my words, Eric. Pay attention to him or ...”
Z slammed the front door and called out, “I'm back!”
Monica was red-faced and quick out the door. “Z, you look wonderful. Good shoot?” She was gone.
“She thinks I'm neglecting you,” Eric said, taking Z into his arms. “I don't mean to.”
“I know. Nobody ever breezes through medical school,” Z said.
“One more year. Can you stand it?”
“I can if you can.”
“Was the shoot tiring?”
“No. It was very professional. No tempers. No screw-ups. Just a lot of changing clothes. Andrew had us pretending to be a flash mob. Little dance steps. It was ok. I bet it will look good. He's actually pretty talented.”
“Have you seen Flip Fucked Again? All the nurses were watching it.”
“Flip Fucked ...what?”
“Let's go look. It's pretty funny.” It was more than funny. It was inspirational. They spent the rest of the afternoon trying moves of their own.
“Am I neglecting you, Z?” Eric asked.
“A little. I'll survive,” Z said with a kiss. “I miss you a lot during the week.”
“I forget how much I need you, until I get your cock in me. You are the best fuck …. I come better with you than ...” Eric fell asleep.
Since the disaster with Lorica, Jerry and Neil ate every night at Nick's in San Leandro. There were always either off-duty cops or programmers pigging out to hang out with. Neil could eat the contents of a garbage truck every night without gaining an ounce. Not so with Jerry. He carefully limited himself to one beer but the food was putting pounds on him. A side benefit was it gave them something trivial besides the Oakland A's to talk about.
“I gotta get back to running,” Jerry announced as they drove back from the sixth consecutive night of Nick's Mexican combination platters.
“What about the lacrosse game? Do they still play? I need something more goal-oriented, something more competitive,” Neil countered. “Plus it's cheap. That armor-plated bitch wants lifetime support from me. Thank God there was no kid involved.”
“Why do you call her that? She didn't seem ...”
“That's what her name means. Lorica means armor in Latin. Even her father called her that. Ok, not the 'bitch' part, but I don't think he liked her much either. I should have known ...”
“Don't be so hard on yourself. You couldn't have known how it would turn out.”
“I married her for the wrong reasons. I was getting close to thirty, feeling desperate ...”
“Wow! Is that a fire at the airport?” They were driving down Doolittle and Jerry was glad to change the subject.
“Just training, I think,” Neil answered. “Every couple of weeks that same plane catches fire. It better be training or something is seriously fucked up.” They got to the golf course and Neil changed the subject again. “I'm working nights next week. Leave me notes if you want me to do anything.”
“That's ok,” Jerry said.
“No, I'm serious. Stuff like cleaning or shopping … I feel like I'm a sponge just sleeping at your house. I'll start looking for a place this weekend.”
My house, Jerry thought; it used to be 'our' house. “No rush. Figure out what your finances are gonna be like after the settlement with Lorica.”
“That could take weeks ...”
“No rush,” Jerry echoed. “The company is giving away A's tickets. You wanna go on Sunday?”
“Sunday's a good day to look for an apartment,” Neil answered.
“Yeah, but the market's soft; there are lots of apartments around. Plus they'll be on the road for ten days after that. It's the last chance to go for a while.”
“So tempting … and your company does pass out great seats ...”
“I'll get two tickets, unless you want to ask some guys from work. I could get more ...”
“Two's fine,” Neil answered.
