Coming Together With Pride

by Alessia Brio, J Buchanan, Lisabet Sarai

  Foxx knitted his brow. “No one's here."

  "Because you're in training.” Mikki rolled his eyes and hit the dimmer switch on the wall to turn on the lights.

  The booth, technically a private room, was little more than a round table surrounded by sectional seating. A small break between two seats granted access. “Is this what the typical booths look like?"

  "Yes.” Mikki tweaked the lights. “Dimmer switch—self-explanatory. If a tag just lists conversation, don't count on that being the only thing happening. Many times customers don't feel comfortable telling the lobby hosts what they want. You'll learn your regulars and their needs.” He pointed to a button panel beside the dimmer switch. “You hit the green button when you get in here. The green button starts an hour timer. If you're just talking, you leave when the hour is up and tend to your other guests. You'll rotate back in here. If you start doing something that shouldn't be interrupted, you hit the yellow button and that stops the timer. Don't worry about going yellow when you have other guests. Lobby hosts will pick up the slack. ‘Cs’ bring in the least amount of base money, but drunk ‘Cs’ give great tips.” He shrugged. “Some customers seem to think it's necessary to date the booth hosts before asking for anything sexual. ‘Cs’ always become something else on another day. Be good to them.” He pointed to a red button. “When the timer is up, you press this when you leave. When all activities are done and the customer is leaving, you press this twice. That sends a signal to the lobby hosts and lets us know we need to send in the busboys."

  Foxx pointed to a large blue button on the panel. “What's that for?"

  "Emergency.” Mikki looked at Foxx. “Sometimes customers get violent or try to drug you.” He shrugged. “I don't know why. They're paying for it, and we give it up. If a ‘C’ doesn't let you leave after the hour time, then you hit that and bouncers come in. If someone is attacking you—and you better know the difference between ‘attack’ and BDSM—then you hit that."

  Mikki hit the red button twice and stepped out of the booth. “One very important rule."

  Foxx closed the door. “That is?"

  "No drugs. You piss hot once, and you're out of here. You get caught using in a booth, you're fired and arrested. Hit blue if the customer brings out anything contraband.” Mikki smiled at Foxx. “A few years here, and you can be set for life. The money is damn good, and it's all clean. Got it?"

  Foxx nodded. “I don't use."

  "Keep it that way.” Mikki stopped by another door. “We'll start you off easy. Kind of. This guy tends to break most of the norms. He's been a ‘C’ for as long as I've been here, and I took him from another guy. Always been a ‘C’ and always will be. His order never changes—coffee, sweet and light. The guy probably could have bought a coffee company with the money he's dumped here.” He slowly shook his head. “All that money just to sit with someone. He must be damn lonely.” He softly chuckled. “You'll end up doing more sitting in silence than chatting. He tips damn well, so it's worth it. Better than some of the drunk ‘Cs.’”

  Foxx nodded and felt relieved. A ‘C’ for his first customer—this he could handle. His heart raced, and sweat rolled down his spine. This customer might be easy, but what about the next one? Could he do this job? He had the looks, but did he have the mettle? No one started his life wanting to be a man-whore.

  "Customers will often offer you something to drink, and he's no exception. It's up to you if you accept or not. Never get drunk, though. Act drunk if the customer wants it, but you better be able to handle yourself once you close that booth."

  Foxx pulled his tag out of his pocket and looked at Mikki.

  Mikki nodded.

  With a shaking hand, Foxx waved his tag in front of the panel. The device beeped, and the readout lit up: “Mr. Brice Camden” with the code “C."

  Mikki put his rehearsed smile on his face and opened the door. “Mr. Camden, how are you?"

  Foxx stepped through the door. Mr. Camden, a slender brunette, wore a steel blue button-up microfiber shirt. His pants were hidden by the round table. Wavy hair spilled around his face. Thin, dark-framed glasses circled his blue eyes.

  Once Foxx noticed his eyes, he realized they dominated the man's features. The color wasn't all that unique of a blue, but their shape stood out—sharp and crisp as if they'd been sculpted with a razor, with thick, rich lashes outlining them and making them pop. He was the kind of man who would have made Foxx's dick stand up and take notice if Foxx didn't have the Napkin of Erection Death twisted in his pants. Papers covered the table. A tan, soft-sided bag-briefcase hybrid sat on the seat next to Mr. Camden.

  Mr. Camden looked up. The light reflected off his lenses, briefly masking those captivating eyes. “Mikki, how many times have I told you to call me Brice?"

  Mikki sat down next to Brice and draped an arm over the customer's shoulders. “Yes, yes, Brice."

  Brice looked at Foxx. “Is this fine gentleman your replacement?"

  "He's Foxx,” Mikki nodded. “I hope he'll take good care of you.” He lightly chuckled. “He's not me, but I think he'll do fine."

  Brice slowly eyed Foxx, but addressed Mikki. “It will break my heart to lose you, but the promotion is good for you."

  Foxx bit his lips closed. That didn't sound fully sincere.

  Mikki lightly kissed Brice's cheek before sliding out of the booth. “Try not to miss me too much."

  After Mikki closed the door, Foxx sat down. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Camden."

  "Call me Brice, please.” Brice looked up at the door. “Aren't you supposed to hit a button?"

  Embarrassment colored Foxx's cheeks. With his first customer and already on the road to Mistakedom. “Thank you for reminding me.” After leaning over and pressing the green button, he noticed something missing on the table. “You don't have your coffee yet."

  "Just bring it with you when you return the next hour."

  Foxx nodded.

  Brice flashed a smile. “I see Mikki hasn't made you dye your hair yet."

  "Sorry about—"

  "I like redheads. Please, don't dye it."

  Foxx smiled. “For you, Brice, I'll keep it red.” Hot damn! Someone else who appreciated the beauty of redheads.

  Brice sighed. “And take out whatever Mikki put down your pants. That can't be comfortable."

  Foxx's stomach flipped. “All right.” Nervously chuckling, he fished the napkin from his jeans and put it on the seat beside him.

  "Is Foxx your real name, or did Mikki tamper with that, too?"

  "One X,” Foxx sighed in resignation. Did Mikki intentionally sabotage this first meeting, or was the guy just an idiot?

  "Is that your first name?"

  Foxx shook his head. “No, Matthew is my first name."

  "May I call you Matt?"

  Matt nodded. That would be his third or fourth name today. At least this one was a natural nickname for his real name.

  "Nice to meet you, Matt."

  "Nice to meet you, too, Brice."

  Silence settled in the booth when Brice turned his attention toward the paperwork. Every time Brice blinked, his eyelashes brushed his lenses. Matt fidgeted and wondered if he should be doing something. Brice paid for an hour of “C” and they spoke for maybe five minutes. Matt felt like he was cheating the man.

  Brice picked up a pen, flipped through several sheets of paper, and pulled out a line drawing of a pair of pants. Huge buckles ran down the sides of the pants and medium-sized keyhole cutouts spotted the legs. Brice set that picture to the side and fished out another picture—a drawing of a mesh T-shirt with a small decorative buckle near the left hip.

  Matt picked up the drawing of the pants.

  Brice hiked an eyebrow.

  The hair stood on the back of Matt's neck. Mikki didn't say anything about touching or not touching Brice's papers. With Brice's eyes on him, he put the paper down. “Sorry.” He tucked his hands under the table to hide his shaking fingers. Mistakedom—next exit on the Interstate of
life.

  "That's fine. Just surprising."

  Maybe it wasn't such an egregious mistake. Matt lifted one of his hands and tentatively tapped the picture of the pants. “I was wondering who would wear that.” Those pants tried way too hard to be trendy.

  Brice put his elbow on the table and cradled his chin in his palm. “What makes you ask?"

  "The buckles are so big they'd get caught on nearly everything, and they'd rattle.” What if this was Brice's work? He'd be insulting the customer. Great. The bypass to Fired Town was coming up on the left. He shrugged and attempted to backpedal. “I'd find that irritating, but someone else might find it appealing."

  Brice nodded. “What about the cutouts?"

  "Well...” Technically this was conversation, right? Maybe that's why Brice had these pictures: a conversation piece. Who would pay for an hour of conversation and not have anything to talk about? “For club wear, they're fine as is, but I don't see anyone wearing these to go to the mall or dinner."

  "You have a point.” Brice picked up the picture and a red wax pencil. He wrote a big “CW” on the picture before setting it aside. “What about this one?” He pointed at the mesh T-shirt.

  "How tight is the weave? Are we talking football jersey, or like a screen where you see more of a hint of color than skin?” He could do this. He could talk fashion. All right, Brice, you're getting your “C."

  "Black. Tight and light weave. Silk."

  Matt nodded. “For this, you'll want some stretch to it. This kind of thing is only sexy when it's tight. Silk doesn't allow for much movement."

  "What about the style?"

  "I like it.” He smiled and looked up at Brice. “I'd wear this to a club or even a private party. The buckle adds a little something to it, but isn't too big to be gaudy.” He chuckled softly. “I'd probably prefer to talk to the guy wearing it than be the one wearing it."

  Brice shifted in his seat and leaned a bit closer to Matt. “Why is that?"

  Good body language. Hell, yeah! He owned this job. “So I could look at his nipples,” Matt confessed. Feeling more flirtatious than informative, he leaned toward Brice.

  Brice twisted and rummaged around in his bag. “Take off your shirt."

  Matt's stomach flipped, and he started unbuttoning his shirt. “Yes, sir.” Should he hit the yellow button? How much time remained on his hour?

  Brice held up a large piece of cloth. “Don't call me ‘sir'. Call me Brice...” His voice trailed off, and Matt watched Brice's gaze explore him. This wasn't the visual measurement that Mikki did. Those blue eyes looked hungry. “On second thought, call me ‘sir’ for the day."

  Matt nodded and hit the yellow button. “Yes, sir.” Good-bye, Mistakedom! Farewell, Fired Town!

  * * * *

  The senior lobby host did a double take when he looked at the podium. “Mr. Camden just went yellow."

  Mikki shouldered the lobby host out of the way. “What?” Jealously put a bitter taste in his mouth. “Whatever. I don't care."

  The senior lobby host smirked. “He never went yellow for you."

  "Your implication is insulting.” Mikki shrugged and ripped his gaze from the podium. “Foxx probably hit a wrong button.” He stepped away from the podium, but a hand on his elbow stopped him. He turned and looked at the senior lobby host.

  "No one interrupts a yellow."

  * * * *

  Brice held the mesh fabric against Matt's chest. He narrowed his eyes, looking at Matt's nipples. “You can see them if it fits tight enough."

  Matt looked down his chest. “Yes, sir.” Maybe he should play up the fantasy scenario a bit. “I was also thinking that this party would be at night and in the fall."

  Brice fanned his fingers against Matt's chest and gently squeezed. His voice was soft and distant. “Your build is good for this material.” He blinked a few times and looked into Matt's eyes. “Why is the party in the fall?"

  "So that the crispness of the air would make my lover's nipples hard,” he rushed to add, “sir."

  Brice slowly nodded. “I see. It's sexier that way.” He used his index finger and thumb to hold the fabric taut over one of Matt's nipples and scratched his free index finger over the nipple, bringing the pink nub to a firm point.

  By the time Matt's other nipple was hard, he was squirming in his seat. “Yes, like that, sir.” His voice went breathy. Heat from his nipples traveled through his body and arousal pooled between his legs.

  Brice looked over his glasses at Matt. “You like that?"

  Matt whimpered and nodded his head. Many men didn't enjoy nipple play, but some did and Matt was one of them.

  "How much do you like this, Matt?” Brice started rolling and pinching Matt's nipples through the thin fabric.

  Matt melted into the seat and moaned. The harder Brice pinched, the more Matt mewed and squirmed.

  "Answer me, Matt.” Brice clamped his fingers down around Matt's cloth-covered nipples, slowly pulling until the pink points popped from his fingers.

  Two quick, sharp jolts of delicious pain shot into Matt's chest, forcing him to gasp. He'd be glad to answer if he could have control over his voice. Panting, he looked at his customer through half-lidded eyes. “I like it a lot, sir."

  "How hard?” Brice ran the pads of his thumbs over Matt's nipples.

  "As hard as you want to make it, sir.” That was the truth. Matt had yet to be pinched, bitten, or clamped too hard.

  "Well, then...” Brice released the fabric and curled his fingers around Matt's wrists. “Put your shoulders back and sit like you want me to play with them.” He put Matt's wrists on the top of the circular seating.

  "Yes, sir.” Matt straightened his back and puffed out his chest.

  Brice rubbed the fabric over Matt's chest. Matt looked down his body and watched Brice's hands explore him. His customer's fingers traced the muscular contours. The fabric, smooth and warmed by his body temperature, slipped over his skin. He heard Brice's breath quicken and looked up. A blush of arousal washed across Brice's cheeks. Talking about fashion had been a wise move.

  Brice tucked the fabric between Matt's arms and the seating. “Look at my eyes, Matt.” His fingertips traced Matt's nipples.

  Two types of pleasure—fluttering softness and penetrating sharpness—mingled in Matt as Brice teased his nipples. He rocked his hips, trying to relieve some of the pressure in his cock. It was all he could do to keep his chest presented and his eyes locked with his customer's blue ones.

  "Eye contact is very important.” Brice continued teasing Matt. “Those green eyes of yours will tell me what your mouth doesn't.” The pressure around Matt's nipples spiked, forcing him to whimper. “Ah yes, there's that look. The look that says you've had enough.” He released Matt's nipples, trailed his hands down Matt's stomach, and massaged Matt's thighs. “Thank me, Matt."

  "Thank you, sir.” Matt's cock twitched inside his jeans. If Brice didn't want to go all the way, Matt would need a moment alone before meeting his next customer.

  Brice lifted the bottom of the mesh, folded it at the middle, and held the fold against Matt's lips. “Hold this for me."

  Matt bit down on the fabric, keeping his bare chest exposed while Brice twisted around and dug through his bag again. With a piece of burlap folded in his hands, Brice turned and brushed his lips against Matt's dark pink nipples. “They must be real sensitive now."

  Brice's warm breath washed across his skin, and Matt mewed. He spoke around the mesh. “Yes, sir."

  Brice flicked the tip of his tongue over one of his nipples. Matt hissed a breath through his teeth and closed his eyes. Brice bounced between Matt's nipples, seemingly not wanting to leave either one feeling neglected. Kisses, licks, and soft swipes from Brice's tongue made Matt crave more. He rolled his hips, praying the seam of his jeans would offer some kind of relief. The damn jeans denied him. Stupid fabric.

  Brice brushed the tip of his nose against Matt's. “Open your eyes and look at me, Matt."

 
Matt tried, but he could only get his eyes to cooperate halfway. Brice removed his glasses, carefully folded them, and put them on the far end of the table. He shook his hair back over his shoulders and cut Matt with a gaze. Those eyes—beautiful behind glass and breathtaking naked. They called to Matt and devoured him. They were a deep rich blue—warm and inviting, yet teetering on intimidating.

  Brice draped the burlap over his hands and touched his cloth-covered middle fingers against Matt's nipples. He started rubbing in small, firm circles.

  Matt gripped the seat cushions. His shoulders jerked from the seating, trying to protect his sensitive skin from the bite of burlap. The texture grew rougher and warmer with each little rub. Friction and pleasure twisted inside Matt, making him whimper and vainly grind his hips. The seam in his jeans still betrayed him.

  Brice whispered, “Don't give me that look yet. Take it, Matt. Expand your boundaries."

  A bead of sweat rolled down Matt's temple and his skin flushed. Air rushed in and out of his lungs, making his head spin and his moans short. Prickles of heat punctuated Brice's touch. Each circle further fueled his need.

  "Just a little longer, Matt. You can take it."

  Matt's erection strained in his pants almost to the point of causing pain. The heat around his nipples made him wonder if he was getting a friction burn. “Please, sir,” he pleaded, but he wasn't sure what he was asking of his customer. Equally torn between wanting to stop and wanting more, he moaned. His eyes fluttered back.

  "Look at me, Matt.” Matt did his best to focus on the possessing eyes before him. Brice shook his head. “You just bought yourself five more minutes. Keep your eyes on me."

  Matt groaned in frustration and resignation. Heat throbbed between his legs, and he could barely keep his ass on the seat. An ache took residence in his cock, and sharp darts of pain punctuated the rough attention to his nipples. “I...” His voice hid under a moan. “I...” he cried.

  "You what, Matt?"

  "I...” His voice cracked, and his hips jerked from the seat. “I can't take five more minutes."