Edgar looked up into the mischievous face of his partner and couldn't help but feel a stirring in his slacks. For a brief second he thought of declining, thought that he was in no mood for sex, but he knew there was no escaping Jack's seduction. The growing erection in his pants seemed to punctuate this point and he sat back on the sofa and tugged at Jack's jeans.
“What did you have in mind?” he asked.
Without reply, Jack knelt down in front of his partner and unzipped the fly on Edgar's khakis. Edgar smiled and watched as Jack freed his now stiff cock from the confines of his boxer briefs.
“Have I ever told you that you have an enormous cock?”
“About a million times,” replied Edgar, “but I don't mind.”
Jack smiled at Edgar and then took his swollen cock, swallowing it in one quick motion. Edgar exhaled softly at the warm sensation of Jack's throat on his meat. He could feel his nipples becoming erect despite the heat emanating from the fireplace.
“Oh, yeah,” he whispered, pushing Jack's head further down on his shaft, “suck that dick.”
Jack's head bobbed up and down on Edgar's shaft, occasionally stopping to work on the pulsing head, paying attention to the piss slit, which he licked with abandon, causing Edgar to moan loudly.
“Shit, baby,” moaned Edgar, “that feels so good.”
Jack licked down the side of Edgar's shaft and began licking his balls, which were pulled out of the fly, too. Edgar, now desperate to be free of his clothing, pulled the jersey he was wearing off, exposing a surprisingly fit torso for a man in his mid-forties. Following his partner's suggestion, Jack stood and stripped off his sweat pants and tee-shirt and was suddenly naked, his uncut cock already oozing pre-come. Edgar kicked his pants and underwear to one side and took Jack's stiff fatty into his mouth, lapping up the clear liquid that dripped from the end.
“Oh, Eddy,” he said through heavy breaths.
Edgar sucked on Jack's cock, deep throating the fleshy tool, relishing the smell and taste of his lover. Then, without warning, he spun Jack around and began licking his asshole, inhaling the scent of his partner's flesh.
“Aw, yeah,” groaned Jack, “eat me.”
Edgar's tongue worked hungrily at the tight hole, licking and nibbling at the soft flesh and Jack bent over, bracing himself against the coffee table in front of him. His cock throbbing with each heartbeat, Edgar stood up and pushed his meat into the pliant hole, causing Jack to gasp with the effort.
“What about the neighbors?” he asked suddenly. “The door's not locked.”
“Nobody's out in this weather,” replied Edgar, shoving his dick in deeper. “Besides, it's nothing they haven't seen, nothing they haven't been doing all summer long.”
“You said long,” Jack said.
Urged on, Edgar's cock filled Jack to the point that he thought he would burst, but he backed onto Edgar just to be sure that he had it all, every inch, every thrust. Edgar reached around his lover and stroked Jack's erect nipples.
“Pull them,” he instructed, “pull them hard.”
Edgar complied, yanking at Jack's nipples with each thrust of his stiff cock a sensation, Edgar imagined, as being no different from riding a wild horse. Jack's body was covered in goose bumps and Edgar could feel from the contractions of Jack's hole that he was about to come.
“Fuck!” Jack said, shooting a white stream across the surface of the coffee table.
“Here I come,” replied Edgar.
His head grew light as he unloaded in Jack's ass, his cock erupting like a bottle rocket.
Still coupled, the two men fell back onto the sofa, sweating and panting heavily.
After showering, Jack and Edgar dressed again.
“I'm going to make us some lunch,” announced Jack.
Edgar caught his arm and spun him around, kissing him passionately on the lips.
“What was that for?” asked Jack.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too,” replied Jack.
He started to make his way down the stairs and then stopped, turning to face Edgar where he had left him.
“You know I'll go anywhere you want,” he said. “But promise me you won't give up on Wonderland too quickly. We've all come too far to let Converse win by default.”
Edgar hesitated a moment and then slowly nodded his head. If the house on Eldon Court was so important to Jack then certainly he could do whatever was necessary to make sure they didn't lose it. A united front indeed, just like the sex they had shared, they would come together, stay together, tight together.
“Let me make a call,” he said.
* * * *
With Jack downstairs in the kitchen preparing lunch, Edgar retreated to the solitude of his study. Despite the fact that Edgar was a borderline neat-freak, his office was a bit of a shambles. Sticky notes covered a corkboard on one wall and books were stacked on the surface of his oak desk. Piles of his manuscript, in varying degrees of completion and edit, were stacked on the desk, too, along with an ancient fax machine and his new laptop, recently supplied by his insurance company to replace the one that had been stolen during the break in.
Edgar picked up the latest printout of his manuscript, Fool's Gold: Political Corruption in San Francisco, 1848-1990, an expose of dirty politics in the region, and suddenly felt chilled to the bone. How much corruption had his research uncovered, and how were the current problems in Wonderland tied to some of that history? Edgar wasn't certain but had a good idea that dirty politics were somehow involved with the threatened land grab.
Edgar had been working with a shadowy figure who he only knew as “Stokes” and who he only dealt with by phone. Stokes, who was no doubt involved in the criminal underground, had been able to pass on numerous documents for Edgar's book and had even supplied a few contacts. But Edgar knew that it was time to bring out the big guns if they were to have any real chance at beating Danvers Converse. He remembered a man from his days with the Chronicle, a man he only knew as Miller. Miller was a criminal, yes, but an informant, too, for the right price. If anyone could get him on the right track it would be Miller, considering he was still alive and not in prison and Edgar was sure that he still had his number, safely locked away in his file cabinet.
The file cabinet, like the rest of the office, was a mess, although Edgar told himself that this was acceptable, since the mess couldn't be seen with the drawers closed. He took a warn dictionary from a nearby shelf and, from inside the pages, retrieved the key to the file cabinet. The act of hiding the key had at first seemed almost a silly afterthought but, after the break in and theft of his laptop, Edgar had been grateful for the precaution. He unlocked the cabinet and opened the top drawer, carefully perusing its contents. When he didn't find what he was looking for he closed it and moved to the second drawer. To his relief, he quickly found what he was looking for in a file marked “contacts.”
Edgar pulled out the folder and sat at his desk, switching on the lamp for light. The paper was simply marked “Miller,” with a San Francisco number. Edgar picked up the phone on his desk and dialed the number and, to his surprise, heard a familiar voice after only two rings.
“Miller.”
Edgar had always liked Miller, despite his knowledge that the man could have killed him if he felt like it.
“Miller,” said Edgar, “it's Edgar Newcastle. I hope I'm not interrupting anything.”
“Edgar,” replied Miller, “how the hell have you been? It's been a long time since we last spoke.”
“I need your help,” replied Edgar. “Can we meet?”
“You know I don't do these things on the phone,” was the humorless reply. “Where are you?”
“I live down the coast in Wonderland,” replied Edgar. “But I can come into the city tomorrow.”
“Fine,” replied Miller. “Meet me at the Condor Club at eleven, your treat.”
Edgar winced. Of course Miller would want to meet at a strip club.
“Fine,” repli
ed Edgar. “I'll see you then.”
He hung up the phone and shook his head. So he would be subjected to naked women pole dancers for an hour or so. If Miller could help them it would be worth it. Edgar replaced the file in its drawer, locked it, and put the key back in its hiding spot in the dictionary.
Now all he had to do was come up with a good story to keep Jack from worrying and everything would be fine.
* * * *
“What do you mean you're meeting with your editor?” asked Jack, his eyes narrowed.
“I'm meeting with my editor,” repeated Edgar, holding up his attache case as proof.
“Since when don't you work by e-mail?”
Edgar sighed. He had been so sure that his excuse would placate his partner that he had waited until the next morning to spring the news on him. He could see by the look on Jack's face that it had been an unwise decision.
“Jack, sometimes it's nice to get out of the house,” he pleaded. “Don't worry. . . I'll be back this evening.”
“Eddy,” said Jack, his voice serious, “what are you really doing in San Francisco?”
“Jack. . .”
“You're going to look at apartments, aren't you?”
Shit, thought Edgar. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!
How the fuck was he going to talk his way out of that one? Edgar hung his head knowing that his only hope at that point was to be honest.
“Jack,” he said, his voice tired, “I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to worry. . .”
“So, you are going to be looking at apartments?” asked Jack, his voice rising, “after our conversation yesterday? I don't understand you sometimes. . .”
“Jack!” interrupted Edgar.
Jack stopped in mid-sentence and looked at his partner.
“I'm not going to look at apartments,” Edgar continued, “I'm going to meet an old work contact about this whole Converse thing. This is about protecting us, and our home. I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to worry.”
Jack was silent for a moment as he digested this new information. When he finally did speak his voice was nearly a whisper.
“Worry?” he asked. “Eddy. . . are you in danger?”
Edgar laughed.
“This guy I'm going to meet is a criminal, but I trust him,” he said. “So, no, not really.”
“Then let me come with you,” replied Jack.
“You're going to stay here and keep an eye on Eldon Court,” said Edgar. “And don't let anyone in if you don't recognize them.”
Jack momentarily looked like a scolded child but quickly regained his composure. Of course Edgar would tell him no. He had kicked into “take charge mode” and wasn't that what Jack had asked him to do in the first place? Jack kissed Edgar's cheek.
“Be careful,” he said.
“I will,” replied Edgar. “And don't worry. . . everything will be fine.”
Edgar once again reminded Jack to lock the door behind him and the two men kissed goodbye.
“See you this evening.”
* * * *
The drive up the coast from Wonderland to San Francisco was pleasant, despite the reason for it. For the first time in days the sky was unhindered by clouds and the sun glinted on the cresting waves of the ocean far below the highway. The fresh sea air kissed Edgar's cheeks and filled his nose with its heady, pungent scent and Edgar sang along with a song on the radio. Oh, how he looked forward to being back in San Francisco! Of course he would do everything in his power to thwart Converse's attempted land grab, if only for Jack, but he secretly just wanted it to all be over with. Then, maybe just then, he and Jack could move back to the city where they belonged and far from the amateur hour of gay relationships that Eldon Court had devolved into.
Edgar followed the Pacific Coast Highway up through Pacifica, Broadmoor and Lake Merced. He knew that, in order to get to North Beach on the far side of the city, it would have been more advantageous to take highway 280. But, since he had plenty of time before he was to meet Miller, Edgar decided to drive along the Great Highway, with Ocean Beach and the Pacific to his left and Golden Gate Park and the zoo to his right. Although it was still early in the day, swimmers, runners, simple pedestrians and people walking their dogs thronged the shoreline, relishing in the first sunny day in weeks. Edgar smiled at them as he passed, wishing that he could be down there with them on the beach. Nevertheless, he pressed on, determined to keep his word to Jack. As the Great Highway continued north it rose, and Edgar could see Seal Rock looming in the distance to his left, and the Cliff House just past that. As he passed the Cliff House, the road curved and was no longer the Great Highway, turning instead into Geary Boulevard and sending Edgar east, in the direction of downtown San Francisco. After a few blocks on Geary the traffic became heavier and pedestrians more numerous, a welcome sign that he was, indeed, back in the city. Edgar passed Japantown and, at Franklin, took a left in the direction of North Beach. Passing the grand apartment buildings along the way, their brass railings polished to a shiny luminescence, the car climbed the hilly terrain and he turned again, this time taking a right onto Broadway. Here the city was fully alive, the streets packed with city buses, tour buses and myriad forms of transportation. Delivery trucks blocked the outer lanes, their hazard lights flashing to announce that they were stopped to unload their deliveries. Bike messengers darted in and out of traffic like suicidal maniacs as Edgar passed Van Ness and Polk Street before entering the Broadway tunnel. On the other side of the tunnel, at the intersection of Chinatown and North Beach, Edgar turned left, at Powell Street, deciding that it would be better to park in the garage on Vallejo Street than to attempt street parking. Edgar punched the automated ticket dispenser and drove all the way to the roof of the garage, passing numerous empty spots along the way. It was silly, he knew, but the view from the roof was amazing. He pulled the car into an empty spot and locked it, looking up at the sounds of seagulls screaming overhead in search of food scraps.
Funny, he thought, how few gulls he saw in Wonderland, despite the fact that their homes were situated on a bluff overlooking the ocean. Who knew? Maybe they knew that there was a better opportunity to find food in the city or maybe, he thought bitterly, they knew something about the place that the humans had yet to figure out. He shook off this feeling and walked over to the edge of the roof, resting his hands on the chest-high wall. He peered out across the rooftops of countless homes, apartments and businesses and down at the busy streets below. Directly in front of him, on nearby Green Street, was Club Fugazi, home of the venerable Beach Blanket Babylon and, to his right, high atop Telegraph Hill, was Coit Tower. The Art Deco edifice, built in 1933, stood like a giant phallus overlooking North Beach and shone white in the dazzling sunlight. Edgar suddenly wished that he had brought Jack along, just to enjoy a day together in the city where they had first met nearly twenty years earlier. He quickly squashed this feeling, however, reminding himself of the true nature of his visit. He turned and briskly walked toward the elevator.
* * * *
As soon as he was on the street Edgar was quickly swept up with the throngs of tourists and locals headed in a million directions. As he walked in the direction of Columbus Avenue, he passed shops and bakeries and smiled at the scents that filled the air. . . rich coffees, baking pastries and, somewhere nearby, the unmistakable smell of Chinese food. As he continued up the street, though, he was reminded of the city's not-so-charming side. Garbage from an overturned refuse container lay in a heap on the corner and, for the first time that morning, he saw a homeless person begging change from tourists, two things that would never happen in Wonderland. Sure, he thought, the city has a dark side. . . muggings happen, cars get broken into. . . but isn't that part of living in a city? And is that really any worse than what was happening in Wonderland? At least a thief might steal your wallet, bad yes, but was that worse than having your home stolen out from under you?
At Columbus, Edgar crossed the street and continued south, in th
e direction of Broadway. The Condor Club, his destination, was just ahead. Originally Carol Doda's Condor Club, thusly named for its star performer, the Condor Club was famous for being the first topless and bottomless strip club in the United States, with a plaque on the front of the building commemorating this fact. Opened in 1964, the club had gone through numerous changes over the previous decades, beginning with a California law banning bottomless dancing in clubs that served liquor and culminating with the removal of its famous sign, which featured a forty-foot-tall Carol Doda, complete with red, blinking nipples. Although Edgar had never been one to frequent strip clubs, he had viewed the removal of the sign with sadness. In his opinion the sign was a city landmark and, with its removal, a bit of old San Francisco died. But this part of San Francisco was the seedy side of the city, home to strip clubs and the closest thing there was to a red light district. Things had always been fluid here. The old things that went away would eventually be replaced by something both different and yet still the same, just in a new wrapper.
As he neared the corner, where Broadway and Columbus intersected, Edgar spied other familiar landmarks, City Lights Books, Vesuvio Cafe and, further down, the Sentinel building. Lost in thought, he almost didn't hear the voice behind him.
“Edgar!”
Edgar turned to see the familiar face of the man he only knew as Miller. He was a little older, sure, but it was definitely him. Edgar guessed that Miller was probably somewhere in his mid-to-late-fifties, based on his gray goatee and hair that he kept cropped extremely short, but he seemed to keep himself in relatively good shape, with a chest and biceps that a twenty-year old would be envious of. Miller had a boxer's nose and striking blue eyes and constantly wore an expression akin to one of mild amusement. This had always been unnerving to Edgar, who wasn't sure if Miller was laughing at him or not or even what the joke was. One thing was certain, however: Edgar never wanted to see Miller angry, so mild amusement was fine.
“Miller,” he said, extending a hand, which Miller accepted, squeezing it just once.
“You look well,” he said. “What the hell are you doing in Wonderland?”
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