Ben Ryder - Englishmen 3 - Released

by Ben Ryder

  After a whirlwind romance with her new husband, a very successful real estate mogul in the city named Martin Farmer, she settled in New York’s Upper East Side. She had no need to work at all and, with her posh London accent and her incredible sense of style, could instantly be accepted into the high society of Manhattan. Instead, she’d taken the job at the newspaper to avoid such trappings, though she still charmed people at the various events and functions her husband had to attend for business.

  I was early to work, so her seat was still empty. I crouched at my desk, looking far guiltier than I should have, and took the piece of paper from my pocket. I typed “The Ramble New York” into the web browser’s search engine. I expected it to be a hotel or even a bar, but the first things that came up were about nature walking and hiking groups. I couldn’t imagine how that could factor into what the silverhaired man wanted, especially at midnight. I tried the search again, but this time typed “The Ramble Manhattan.”

  I recognized it the second I saw the thumbnail images running along the top of the search results. The Ramble was a wooded area in Central Park. I’d cycled past signs for it a few times but had never given it a second thought. But why on earth would he want to meet me there?

  26A sudden commotion on the other side of my monitor

  startled me. “Good morning, young man!” Jackie said as she slipped the Louis Vuitton handbag off her shoulder and onto the desk. “How are you on this beautiful morning?”

  I couldn’t help but smile at her. “I’m good, thanks. How was your weekend, Jackie?” I glanced down at her bag. “Been shopping in Chinatown?”

  “I hope you’re not suggesting for a moment that this is a knockoff,” Jackie replied, stroking the bag lovingly. “This is a gift from my dear husband. If I told you what I had to do to get it, you would be shocked and alarmed!” She grimaced and shuffled in her chair as though her backside was sore.

  I laughed and rolled my eyes. “And how was your weekend? Have you finally settled into your new abode?”

  “It’s pretty much all done. It’s beginning to feel more like a home and less like a baker’s oven. Once I get some pictures on the wall, it’ll be perfect.”

  Jackie opened the larger of her two desk drawers and pulled out a Gucci bag. “Finally! Here, this is for you,” she said, handing the bag across to me. “I wanted to wait until you were all settled in.”

  “Gucci?” I gasped, astonished that she would give me a such an expensive gift.

  “Sorry to disappoint, sweetheart, that was the only bag I had laying around to put the items in.”

  I opened the bag and found an assortment of British biscuits, a box of PG Tips tea, real English mustard, and a jar of Branston Pickle. It was better than Gucci. “Jackie! Where on earth did you get these? It’s everything I said I’ve missed!”

  27“You have no idea of the lengths I had to go to obtain

  such things. I could tell you of the hardships, the debts, and the sexual favors I had to perform to procure such goodies, but I’m afraid you simply wouldn’t believe me. It would be wrong to disclose the name of my source. ‘Smuggling’ is such an ugly word.”

  She slipped her hand into her top drawer and slowly produced two bars of Cadbury’s chocolate. They were the floor-tile-sized bars that were usually only available at Christmas in England.

  “No way! Gimme!” I exclaimed, reaching over the desks with my fingers wriggling. She held them just out of my reach, teasing me and rubbing her flat belly.

  “No, this is only for good boys and girls.”

  “Please!”

  She tossed one of the bars over, and I immediately tore

  off the corner of the wrapper and snapped off a chunk. As I stretched across the desks to offer Jackie a piece, she saw my gaze wander beyond her shoulder.

  “Judging by the look in your eyes, one can only assume that the chocolate has now come second to your pleasure. Has the handsome Alex just walked through the door?”

  I forced the chocolate against the inside of my cheek and smiled, causing a small square shape to protrude behind my smile. Alex Everton, the deputy editor of the newspaper, strode across the floor in a shirt and tie, and took his seat at the head of the reporters’ nest of desks.

  In my first week of the job, Alex had been absent from the office, as he’d been working on a story in DC. When he returned and noticed the new face, he came over to introduce himself, the same way that all the staff had done

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  when I arrived. Like everyone else, he came across as genuine and happy to welcome me. Clive had told me that everyone who worked for the paper was considered family, and by the second day, this had proven to be true. No one acted as though they were special, more important, or carried more clout than anyone else. And despite his secondin-command title, Alex was no different.

  When he introduced himself, he’d made it quite clear that he was also gay, as if to put me at ease. While I thought this was nice of him, it didn’t put me at ease at all. He was just too damn attractive to relax around.

  Alex wasn’t handsome in the cliché sense of a square jaw and smoldering dark eyes. Instead, he was a dirty blond who’d somehow retained a cuteness about him, like a cornfed country boy, or a surfer who’d grown up but still kept the slight puppy fat in his face that kept him looking eternally young.

  From his clothes, I could see that he either worked out or had a naturally masculine shape. His short hair, broad shoulders, and lean waist only added to my fantasy that, at one time, he had stood atop a hay bale with a pitchfork while his mother called from the farmhouse for him to come enjoy some apple pie.

  “Earth to Dominic,” Jackie said, shifting her head to block my view of Alex, who had given a brief wave and smile in my direction. She gave a sly grin. “You two would make a cute couple.”

  “I doubt he’d be interested in the likes of me. Besides, the last thing I want right now is another relationship, Jackie. Anyway, I don’t really know anything about him. He’s barely been here since I arrived.”

  29“Well, he’s noticed you. He seemed very interested in

  how you’re getting on and asked if you’re happy here. I told him you are, even though you are terribly desperate to get laid, as it’s been a while.”

  “Oh Jesus, Jackie, you didn’t!”

  “No, of course not. But he really did ask after you. We rode the elevator together the other day. I know he’s out of the office a lot at the moment. He’s busy working on a story about a corrupt senator who is apparently taking bribes, or some such nonsense. It’s all very hush-hush, cloak-anddagger. I have to give it to him, though. From what I’ve seen, he’s a remarkable journalist. Once he gets his teeth into something, he’s like a rabid dog that doesn’t let go. He was the one who exposed Jacob Sullivan last year for his insider trading.”

  I looked over again and watched him devour the information on his screen like he’d tuned everyone else out. As I looked, I noticed for the first time that he was wearing a ring on the third finger of his left hand.

  “Is he married?” I asked Jackie, who was waiting for her computer to fire up.

  “He’s single, as far as I know. I’m certain he’s not married, as he mentioned going on a date a couple of months ago with a guy from the East Village. From what he said, it didn’t go too well,” Jackie said before diving into her handbag and pulling out a black notebook. “That reminds me, I have a function that I have to attend in the Village on Thursday. It’s a fund-raiser for one of the museums. Hubby can’t attend, as he’s working. Any chance I could persuade you to come with me?”

  30“I don’t know, Jackie,” I said, drawing in a breath and

  shaking my head slowly. “My rates as an escort are pretty high. I don’t know if you could afford me.” “Well, I already know you would sink to your knees for a bar of chocolate, my love.”

  “True. Sure, I’ll come along.”

  Jackie grinned. She knew I would cave. She picked up her phone to confirm her
party of two.

  I turned back to my computer, closed the window that held the information on The Ramble, and started the day’s piece. I was working on an article about a group of new artists in Alphabet City who’d banded together to put on a show at a gallery in Greenwich Village, which was due to open to the public in two days. I had to get the background of the story done before I headed down to meet them that evening for an interview and some photographs.

  But before I began, I looked up again, hoping to catch another smile from Alex.

  AT 11:00 p.m., I was pacing around my apartment,

  wondering if my plan was a good idea. I’d had an excruciatingly difficult evening with the four young hipster artists, all of whom told me what I should and shouldn’t say about them in my article.

  They told me how to describe their art and in what category I should place them. They told me what other artists I should compare them to and what artists they didn’t want to be associated with. I understood they were new and wanted positive exposure, and to be honest, they deserved it. Their show was incredible, and they were damned talented. But practically dictating what I should write and how I

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  should interpret their work wasn’t the right way to go about it. On top of that, they insisted on seeing a copy of the article before it went to print. I politely informed them that was against the paper’s policy, which only made them even more aggressive, each talking louder than the last for their opinions to be heard. It was like having four Richards in one room.

  I wasn’t sure whether their temperament was based on being struggling artists or just hostile New Yorkers, who said whatever the hell popped in their heads. I felt uptight and was overly vexed at their behavior.

  I continued walking circles in the apartment as I tried to make up my mind. Finally, I gave in, grabbed my brown leather jacket, and went out the door. I headed down the stairs and made my way to Ninth Avenue, then turned north.

  As I walked into Central Park, I began to shiver. No, they weren’t shivers; my teeth weren’t chattering. I was shaking. Memories of countless TV shows and films of dismembered bodies discovered in the wooded areas of Central Park flooded my head. I was distracted by mental images of yellow police tape cordoning off sections of ground and makeshift forensic labs housed under clinical tents. I was scaring the hell out of myself.

  But I didn’t turn around.

  I saw a sign with an arrow that directed me toward The Ramble, and I began to walk briskly along the dark, unlit pathways. As I got nearer, the pathway became littered with people. Some seemed to be wandering around aimlessly, while others stood still on the side of the walkway. As I approached them, I noticed they were all men. Each of their heads followed me as I passed, staring at me, trying to catch the look of my face in the dim moonlight. They were dressed

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  in dark clothes and all shared the same anxious look. They were of different ages, sizes, and races. I determined there was little chance this was a gang, as the few faces I could make out had no uniformity to them.

  Fear began to well inside me. What was I doing? I was in the middle of the most densely wooded area of Central Park in the middle of the night. Even if I needed to run, I wasn’t entirely sure I’d be able to keep track of direction in the dark. I decided to turn back. I took the fob from my pocket and put a key between each finger to make a kind of jagged knuckleduster and closed my fist into a ball. If I was attacked, I needed something to inflict enough damage to give me time to get out of there.

  I walked faster. But as I did, I saw two men a few yards away disappear together off the pathway. My feet slowed and my body tensed up. I played the scenario through my mind and decided to turn and walk in the opposite direction. But two large men were heading toward me. Either they were part of the upcoming ambush, or they could help me if I got jumped.

  I decided to continue on my original route and get out of the park. I turned my head slowly as I passed the point where the two men who vanished stood, perhaps crouched and ready to attack me. I was prepared to fight, and would hit the softest spots first. This was no time to fight like a gentleman. This wasn’t a boxing ring where fighters duck and jab, prancing around each other until one threw a punch. This was a stupid situation I’d put myself in. I’d aim for their eyes, punch their throats, or kick them as hard as I could in the balls—anything to get me out of there in one piece.

  33But as I peered through the branches of the bush that

  had yet to grow its full summer foliage, I didn’t see two thugs waiting to attack. One of them was on his knees unbuckling the other’s belt. And then I understood.

  This was a cruising ground.

  I stopped and allowed the two large men to pass me. It was ridiculous, but I tried to look innocent as they strode by, looking me up and down. I waited for a few seconds before I got back onto the path. I felt someone brush by me, and I couldn’t help but jump a little. He carried on walking, but I saw him glance back at me. The collar on his long, dark raincoat was flipped up, obscuring the bottom half of his face, but I instantly recognized the silver hair.

  I followed, mostly because he was heading in the direction that led out of The Ramble and toward the west side of the park. The wooded area was still thick with evergreens, but I could hear the sounds of traffic getting louder. I relaxed a little, knowing we were heading toward the street. But then, suddenly, he turned left onto a small path, one that had been made by foot traffic rather than cement. I stopped at the intersection and watched him walk out of sight, not sure whether to follow.

  We were away from the other men, but the place was still so dangerous. I felt a surge of adrenaline. I wasn’t much of a reckless person, regardless of what we’d done on the train that morning, but I was strangely turned on.

  He must have noticed the footsteps following him had stopped as he reappeared back on the path. I looked around to make sure there was no one else in the area as he tugged at his crotch, impatiently waiting for a decision.

  34Giving in, I made a start to follow again, but lost sight of

  him almost immediately. When I got closer to where he stood previously, I heard the cracks of fallen sticks underfoot to my right. It was so dark I couldn’t see him, but I heard the direction in which he was moving. I stepped off the path, ducking under low branches and moving around tall shrubs, following the sounds until they stopped. Finally, I saw him standing by a fallen tree trunk surrounded by bushes and covered by the low-hanging branches of a larger tree.

  I stepped up to him and surveyed the area. We were hidden from the pathway and were closer to the wall that separated the park from the sidewalk and street. As I double-checked the surroundings, he slipped off his raincoat, lightly folded it and placed it carefully over one of the low hanging branches of the tree. He was wearing a dark shirt and a different suit than the one he’d worn on the subway. My eyes adjusted to the low light, and I could see it was a gray suit that looked just as expensive as the blue one he was wearing that morning.

  Saying nothing, he moved forward and unzipped my jacket, slipping it off my shoulder and letting it fall to the ground. I moved forward to kiss him, but he jerked his head away almost immediately. He looked at me, and his eyes darted from my eyes to my lips and back again. Then, suddenly, he leaned in and kissed me. It was hard and rough. His tongue glided over mine as his hands battled with my belt. He unbuckled me and tugged at my jeans and briefs until they fell halfway down my calves. I was fully exposed and heard my pulse pounding in my ears.

  He took hold of my shoulders in his hands. His grip was firm, and I could feel his hands were large and strong. He shuffled me backward and leaned me against the tree stump.

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  I could feel his warm breath on my neck as I tilted my head back and looked up at the canopy of black branches above. Within seconds, I felt two heavy weights on my feet. I looked down and saw that he was kneeling on my sneakers, either to keep the knees of his trousers free of the dirt on the groun
d, or to anchor me into position.

  The immediate warmth of his mouth around my semiflaccid cock felt incredible in the cold air. His tongue circled the head of my dick until I grew to full length in his mouth. He found my hand and placed it on the back of his head. I needed no further signal as I slid my hands into his thick hair and pull his head farther forward so he could take more of my cock. My kneecaps bounced and my thighs quivered from both the cold air and my attempts to remain balanced.

  This guy was hungry for my cock. He tapped the back of my hand, wanting more pressure, as he was finding my girth hard to deep throat on his own. He wanted me in control.

  With both hands, I grabbed the back of his head, closing my fingers around his hair and pushed my cock deep into his throat. As he gagged I began to release, but he drove his head forward until my ass was pinned against the stump. He held it in his throat as long as he could before he gasped for air.

  He stood up and removed his suit jacket and laid it on top of the raincoat on the branch. He beckoned me toward him to one side and took my place against the tree stump, but faced away from me. I stepped behind him and pulled at his belt and slipped his trousers and boxer briefs down to his knees and bent him over, folding the back of his starched shirt above his hips. I spat generously into the palm of my

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  hand and ran the saliva over my cock, then directed it to his hole and waited for him to back onto me. I heard the blare of a siren and froze. But he seemed unperturbed and continued to wriggle his ass slowly until he found the right position. I turned my ears and heard a couple talking not too far away, probably on the other side of the wall. There was yelling nearby, an argument between two men. My heart began to pound as the siren grew louder and louder. Was it the police? Was it an ambulance or fire engine? My head whipped around in every direction to keep watch, but I had already started to pound his ass. He became tighter as the siren approached, but he made no indication that he wanted me to stop.