All his life he’d had his pick of guys. Though he wasn’t the tallest or the strongest in the room, there was something about Eric. And he knew it. He couldn’t help but know it, as others had done their best to inform him over the years—he had a certain something. A sparkle, a dangerous twist, a silent siren’s call that lured not only gay men but straight women as well—until they got the message he was not available.
He’d actually capitalized on whatever this essence he seemed to possess was, putting himself through college and graduate school by modeling on the side for men’s fashion magazines. He’d always worked out and his body was lean and hard, the six-pack abs sexy beneath well-developed pecs and shoulders. He had strong, muscular legs and an ass that made men and women alike drool with desire.
As a psychologist, he derived great satisfaction from his practice, delighting in using his mind instead of his body to earn a living. His good looks had made life easy for him—sometimes too easy. He was used to getting whatever he wanted when it came to his sex life. He had gotten Ginger with barely a thought, and it had been fun for a while. Now he had the unpleasant but necessary task of letting him down gently, hopefully without histrionics or tears.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Ginger said softly, placing a hand on Eric’s denim-clad thigh.
Eric kept his eyes on the road as he drove. “Nothing much. Glad it’s the weekend. Looking forward to some of that vintage port Jason gave us the last time.”
Ginger nodded, saying nothing in reply. He pulled his hand away, turning his body so he faced away from Eric. Eric wondered if he got the hint—there was no sex play in the bar. BDSM and alcohol don’t mix well, as lowered inhibitions can be dangerous for either side of the D/s equation. From Ginger’s body language, it appeared he had.
Eric hoped to find the right moment tonight to let Ginger know it was over. Once he’d let someone go in his head, he couldn’t carry on the charade. It wouldn’t be fair to play with Ginger tonight, not when Eric’s heart and mind already lay elsewhere.
He smiled to himself. Heart and mind, indeed. I haven’t even met the guy. He could be a total idiot. He could be straight. No. Even as those thoughts passed through his mind, Eric had to admit he was reasonably sure the guy was gay, though he also recognized wishful thinking might be at work. If he wasn’t already taken, Eric was going to have him.
Of that, he was certain.
It wasn’t as hard as he’d expected with Ginger. Perhaps because they were at a public place Ginger behaved with more grace than he might have in private. When Eric had tried to delicately explain the thrill was gone, Ginger had cut him off.
“Eric, I’m not stupid. I’ve felt you withdrawing for the past week or so. I knew it wouldn’t last forever. Look, I’m not some love-struck teenage girl. Yes, you’re hot and yes, you’re the best Dom I’ve ever been with, bar none. But hey, you’re Eric Méndez, for fuck’s sake! I never would have believed you’d pay me ten seconds worth of attention, much less two months!
“And between you and me,” Ginger leaned forward, putting on his best between-us-girls voice, “the mileage I’m going to get, shit, that I’ve already gotten, out of being Eric Méndez’s sub—it’ll carry me through for the next decade.” He lifted his glass to his lips, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he drank. Setting the empty glass down, he continued, “Before you, darling, I was just this skinny redhead with a penchant for whips and chains. Now I’m in the scene and in the know. Just hanging with you has given me that stature. I’m ready to move on and make my own killings!” Ginger tilted back his head and laughed, the trilling cadence down a musical scale that was his trademark.
Eric winced a little. Despite all the attention and accolades he typically received, it still embarrassed him to have it so starkly stated. It felt strange to think of himself as this sort of commodity—this item whereby others’ esteem and power were raised merely by their association with him.
Still, he was relieved Ginger was behaving so graciously, and told him so. “Think nothing of it, dear boy,” Ginger said, patting him on the thigh. “But you owe me now.” He leaned forward so the few others in the cozy den that served as the bar wouldn’t hear him. “I want a favor from you, since you’re dumping me.”
“Oh, Ginger, I’m not dumping you, it’s just—”
“No, no! No protest. Let’s call it what it is. I completely understand, I told you. But my favor is a simple one. I just want to know who he is.”
“Who who is?”
“Who you’re dumping me for, Mr. Méndez. And don’t pretend otherwise, because I know you. I know your eye roves from man to man, never stopping till it alights on the latest delicacy. Who turned your loving gaze from me? Huh? I promise I’m not jealous. I just want to know. You know I know everybody. Maybe I could even introduce you.” He laughed again, the unspoken realization Eric Méndez needed no introduction hanging in the air between them.
“There’s no one. Really.”
Ginger gazed at Eric, and Eric stared back. Normally he would have stared Ginger down. But as the image of the handsome stranger flitted past his mind’s eye Eric was the first to turn away.
“Aha!” Ginger cried triumphantly. “I knew it! Tell me. Now you have to tell me. I’ll hound you till you do. I’ll pull it out of you. Come on, give! Who’s next to serve on his knees, your cock shoved down his lucky throat?”
“Oh shut up, you slut.” Eric laughed. What the hell. Why pretend, when Ginger would learn soon enough in their small, insulated community? “Okay, okay. You win. But I don’t even know the guy. I don’t know anything about him. He’s probably a dope, an asshole or a celibate priest, for all I know.”
“What’s his name?”
“No idea.”
“What? You don’t know his name?”
“I told you, I don’t know anything about him. I only saw him once.”
“Really! Where? Where’d you see him?”
“At DeSoto’s. The other weekend. You were with me. A tall blond guy. He was out in the courtyard, but just for a second. Something about him caught my eye. I don’t know. Something about him…”
He trailed off as Ginger’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open. “Him? You’ve spent the last week fantasizing about him?”
Eric felt his pulse quicken. “What do you mean? You know him? Who is he?” He tried to keep the excitement out of his voice but knew he failed.
“Well, let me see. Let me see what I can remember.” Ginger sat back against the chaise lounge in which he reclined. He swirled his port and took a delicate sip before looking at Eric. “Let me cast my mind back… It’s all rather vague…”
Eric took a breath and forced himself to appear nonchalant, knowing Ginger was now playing him, and having a grand time at it. “Oh yes. He was the newbie. The sniffer—sniffing around the faggots. He was a guest of your lesbian friend Marlon and her little punk sidekick.”
“His name?” Eric asked softly. He realized he was gripping the arms of his chair and forced his fingers to relax.
“Let me see.” Ginger tapped the side of his face, peering up at the ceiling. “Johnny something. Williams, no, that isn’t right. Something plain. Something mundane and obvious. What was it? Oh yes, Wilson. Johnny Wilson.”
As the name sank into Eric’s consciousness, Ginger continued. “Quite clearly out of his element. If he’s gay, he doesn’t know it. That’s what I’d wager, at any rate. You’ll have your work cut out for you, Méndez, with that one. Though I admit, he looks good enough to eat and forget the spoon!” He laughed and held out his glass. “I’ll have another. On you, of course.”
Eric obliged, relieved for a reason to get up and move away from Ginger. Johnny Wilson. Eric felt like an idiot but couldn’t stop the grin stealing across his face. He not only knew golden boy’s name, he knew exactly where to go to find him, or at least find out about him. “Two more of the same, Pete,” he said to the bartender, dropping a twenty-dollar bill on the counter.
~*~
It was Saturday night at Moe’s. Groups of twos and threes stood clustered around the bar and in front of the three dartboards set along one wall. The booths were filled with men and women, divided along gender lines, women with women, men with men. Most people seemed to know one another, calling out greetings as someone entered.
Amanda and Johnny came in at about ten o’clock, just as things were picking up. Maureen, nicknamed Moe by her friends, had just put on some dance music and a few of the couples were gyrating on the small dance floor on one side of the room. Marlon was pulling a draft beer for a customer as they entered.
She grinned and waved as Amanda and Johnny headed toward the bar. Amanda was dressed in a typical outfit—a flowing, wrinkled, batik dress cinched at the waist with a thick yellow leather belt, and heavy black work boots with silver reinforced toes. Johnny was also dressed in his usual fashion—faded denim jeans and a white shirt.
Though he knew Moe’s was a gay bar, it seemed more like the corner bars in Brooklyn where he was used to spending evenings with other guys, watching a game on TV and talking about women in the abstract and sports in detail. Several people called out greetings to Amanda as they passed.
When they reached the bar, Marlon leaned across it to kiss her girlfriend. She lifted her chin in Johnny’s direction. “Hey, Johnny cakes. You made it! Nice to see ya.” Johnny smiled and nodded back, hoping his nerves didn’t show. “So what’ll it be?” Marlon asked.
“I’ll have a beer, whatever you have on tap is fine,” Johnny said, pulling out his wallet.
“Put it away, sweetheart. First one’s on me,” Marlon said, as she got Johnny his drink. While she prepared Amanda’s favorite—a frozen peach margarita—Johnny looked around the room. There were various groups of guys, as well as a few who seemed to be alone. They all looked to be in their twenties and thirties. Several of them were good-looking. Were they noticing him?
Johnny’s palms were sweating and he wiped them on his jeans. This must be how straight teenage boys felt at their first dance with girls. He’d known back in high school the other guys were nervous, but he’d never related. Precisely because he hadn’t been attracted to girls, he hadn’t gone through the angst and fear his friends had. But he’d been so self-unaware he hadn’t realized the reason for his indifference.
Now that he’d finally admitted his real feelings, he was nothing but nerves. Someone was approaching them. Johnny turned abruptly back toward the bar, sloshing his beer on his pants as he did so.
“Sit down and relax,” Amanda said, gesturing for Johnny to sit on the stool next to hers.
“He’s coming this way,” Johnny said urgently through the side of his mouth to Amanda, who was taking her first sip of frozen tequila and peach slush.
“Who?” she answered, not turning, focused on her drink.
“I don’t know. But he’s coming!” Johnny’s voice approached panic and Amanda laughed, turning to see who had agitated her friend.
“Jesus, lighten up, J. It’s not like he’s gonna butt-fuck you on the bar. It’s only George St. Lawrence. Works for the post office. I know him. He won’t bite, I swear.”
George came up next to them. Amanda said, “Hey, George. This is my pal, Johnny. Johnny Wilson. George St. Lawrence.”
They shook hands and Johnny again silently marveled at the masculine shake. He realized he held all sorts of stupid stereotypes in his head about homosexuals that he’d better get over in a hurry.
“Hi,” he said, his voice coming out hoarse. He cleared his throat and reached for his beer mug with his free hand.
George was about his height of six feet, with sandy hair thinning at the top. He had a pleasant, if not especially memorable, face. He seemed to be checking Johnny over as well, tilting his head slightly as he gave him the once over. “Very pleased to meet you,” George said, holding Johnny’s hand in his grip just a second too long as he attempted to gaze meaningfully into Johnny’s eyes. “Mind if I join you?”
Without waiting for Johnny to respond, George sat down on the tall red stool beside him. He put his elbows on the bar so his arm grazed Johnny’s. Johnny’s impulse was to pull away, but he didn’t. He realized his heart was beating just a trifle too quickly. Was this going to be his first lover? Johnny knew gay men moved fast, not bothering with the niceties of courting.
Wait a minute, did he really know this, or was this more stereotyping? He didn’t know a thing, he realized. He was an innocent, and he would have to be careful. Thank goodness Amanda was right next to him. She wouldn’t let him do anything stupid. Would she?
George began to talk, asking Johnny about what he did for a living and telling him about his work at the post office. The talk was innocuous, if a little boring, and Johnny felt himself relax. Hell, this wasn’t much different from talking with a woman at a bar. In fact, it was easier in a way, because he didn’t have that underlying dread she’d want him to pick her up and he’d fail at it yet again.
At least he was being honest with himself for the first time in his life. That made him smile, and George mistook the smile as being aimed at himself. He smiled back, revealing large yellow teeth. “You have the greatest dimples, did anyone ever tell you that?” George shook his head in a self-deprecating gesture and amended, “Of course someone’s told you that! Who am I kidding?”
Johnny realized with dawning surprise the man might be as nervous as he was. Just because he was new to all this didn’t mean it got any easier, he supposed. Johnny relaxed further as he realized George was probably just another lonely guy. This time his smile was for George, who flushed and moved closer.
Amanda leaned over suddenly, her mouth at Johnny’s ear. “You’re doing great, J.,” she encouraged. “I’m going over to see Rose Marie and Barb, okay? I’ll be over there if you need me.” And she was off, leaving Johnny all alone with his new friend. Taking a breath, Johnny turned back toward George, who was now smiling broadly, his eyes shining.
~*~
Last night at the Cavern had been draining. Even though Ginger had handled things with reasonable grace, Eric always found such moments trying. Then had come the discovery of the name of his fantasy man—Johnny Wilson—and the realization all he had to do was go to Moe’s and ask Marlon where he could find him.
He didn’t know Marlon well, but he knew her well enough, and even if she wouldn’t tell him where to find her friend, she could at least let the guy know Eric was interested. Eric was used to getting what he wanted and, at first, it honestly hadn’t occurred to him this guy Johnny might reject him once they connected. Even if he considered himself straight, he had been at a gay club, and Eric had “corrupted” more than a few so-called straight guys in his time.
The D/s aspect of things was another story. Eric had no idea if Johnny had any interests along those lines, but there was time. Plenty of time.
Eric had planned to stay home Saturday night. He had a good book and an even better bottle of wine. He had planned to spend a quiet evening alone, savoring his newfound knowledge. He realized he purposefully held himself back, hesitating to take the next step to find the golden boy. He wasn’t sure if it was desire to cherish his discovery a little longer before making fantasy reality or if something more insidious was at work—fear.
Eric Méndez, supremely confident and always ready to take what he wanted, to his own surprise, found he was secretly afraid Johnny Wilson would have nothing to do with him. Why had he run away after they’d exchanged one heated glance? At least now, by not actively seeking him out, Eric could hold onto his fantasy a little longer. The golden boy could remain a sweet secret nestled in his heart, instead of a potential source of pain and rejection.
Stop it! Eric admonished himself. I sound like Ginger, for Christ’s sake. I’m raising histrionics to a fine art, even if I’m only doing it in my head. Fuck it, I’m going to get this over with.
Resolutely he showered. Critically he examined his body in the full-length mirror as he toweled himself dry. Turnin
g, he peered at the profile of his ass, nicely rounded above strong thighs. I’ll do, he thought.
He pulled on linen pants of pearl gray and a darker gray silk button-down shirt, which he rolled halfway up his forearms. Carefully he put a small diamond stud in his right ear lobe, his only jewelry except for a narrow silver watchband. He hailed a cab, not wanting to hassle with parking in the city on a Saturday night.
When he entered the club he turned toward the bar, seeking out the tall, large woman named Marlon who would hopefully start him on the path to discovering the golden boy.
There were moments when the world seemed to freeze, when the usual hubbub of daily life was suddenly stilled and all the senses became focused on one perfect moment.
How was it Johnny chose that precise moment to turn toward the door, spinning his stool slowly toward George but then for some reason going past him so his body faced outward toward the entrance?
How was it Eric chose that precise moment to enter, his face turned toward the bar where he knew Marlon Cohen would be working on a Saturday night?
In that moment the world tilted and froze, catching both Eric and Johnny in the silence that fell between them. After a split second, as time was resuming, each of them whispered to no one, “Oh my god, it’s him.”
Chapter 5
Poor George. He didn’t have a chance after that. To his credit, he seemed to know it, fading away as Eric approached the bar. Johnny felt his stomach tighten, adrenaline screaming through his veins.
Golden Boy Two-Volume Set Page 5
