All About Yves

by Ryan Field

  In less than ten minutes, Frazier said, “I'm getting close."

  "Me too,” Marco said. He was jerking his dick fast; his two fingers were all the way up his ass. He pictured Frazier naked, jerking off to the finish.

  "Tell me what you're doing to your puckered rosebud,” Frazier said.

  Marco laughed. He knew Frazier was talking about his anus. “I draw the line there,” he said. “I won't even say the words. However, I am sliding two of my fingers in and out of my ass for you."

  "Are you ready to take it all?” Frazier asked. “I haven't come in about three days. It's going to be a fucking gusher.” He never would have used the word “gusher” under any other circumstances.

  "I'm ready,” Marco said. “I'm ready for it all."

  "Are you my hot little slut?"

  "Yes, I'm your hot little slut,” Marco said. “Are you my big horny stud?"

  "Oh yeah,” Frazier said. “I'm your big fucking stud, and I'm going to fucking breed your hot ass any minute. Open those legs all the way for me. Spread them as wide as you can."

  A minute after that, they both came at the same time. Marco came all over his chest while Frazier grunted and whispered the words, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” into the phone.

  "I'm a mess now,” Marco said. “I hope you're happy that you've made me sink this low. And I can't believe you said, ‘puckered bud.’”

  "I'm a mess, too,” Frazier said. “And you're not here with me to clean it up."

  "I wish I were there,” Marco said. One of the things Frazier loved him to do in bed was lick up his come. Frazier never did this for Marco. Frazier always said he despised the taste of come, even his own, and said he'd gag and throw up. He didn't even like the bleach-like smell of come. But he loved to watch Marco lick it up. Marco didn't mind in the least. He liked the taste of come, and Frazier's always tasted so much sweeter than his own.

  "That was fucking hot,” Frazier said. “We're not bad for an old married couple of fifteen years."

  "It was also tacky and sleazy and awful,” Marco said. He was smiling. It was a good thing they both had the same warped sense of humor when it came to bad porn.

  "You loved it,” Frazier said. “Didn't you?"

  "I loved it,” he said. “And I love you, too."

  "Happy fifteenth,” Frazier said. “I'm looking forward to the next fifteen with you."

  "Happy fifteenth,” Marco said, “I'm looking forward to pulling down your zipper when you get home tomorrow."

  "I knew you were a dirty boy,” Fraizer said.

  "It's all your fault."

  "I'll see you tomorrow afternoon,” Frazier said. “I should be home around five, in plenty of time for the party. You can pull down my zipper then."

  "Be careful and have a safe flight,” Marco said. He never stopped worrying about Frazier when he was in the air.

  "I will,” Fraizer said. “I love you."

  "Love you, too."

  When they hung up, Marco rested his head back on the pillow and thought about the anniversary card Frazier had found in his suitcase. Then he heard a noise come from inside the bathroom. It was dark. He couldn't see well. The bathroom door was open and he thought he saw a shadow. He wondered if Yves had been listening at the door, watching him have phone sex with Frazier. He'd been so engrossed in what he was doing, he'd forgotten all about Yves.

  The next morning at ten, Jane Francis carried a tray of coffee and juice into his bedroom. She did this every morning, knowing how much Marco hated to get out of bed until he'd had at least two cups of coffee. He sat up and said good morning. She rested the tray on his lap and went to the other side of the room to open the draperies. The sun was shining and it looked to be a beautiful fall day.

  "I've been meaning to talk to you about something,” Jane Francis said, looking out the window. “Have you noticed anything odd about Yves?” She was biting her bottom lip and wringing her hands together.

  "You don't care for him.” Marco took a sip of coffee. He knew Jane Francis well enough to know she was fishing for something. He didn't want to play games.

  "Can we talk Dutch Uncle, or do you want me to tell you what you want to hear?"

  "Dutch Uncle,” Marco said. Jane Francis used this old phrase whenever she wanted to be painfully honest.

  "I don't like him."

  "Why?"

  "This is where I'm supposed to tell you what you want to hear instead of talking Dutch Uncle."

  "He can't seem to do enough to make me happy,” Marco said.

  "No, he can't."

  "He does whatever I ask him to do without complaining,” Marco said.

  "Yes, he does."

  "He doesn't think about anyone but me,” Marco said. Then he furrowed his eyebrows. “Doesn't he?” Marco wanted to know if Jane Francis knew something about Yves he didn't know. Jane Francis was loyal and rarely ever said a bad word about anyone unless it was necessary.

  Jane Francis thought for a moment. “You're the only one he thinks about?"

  "What do you mean?"

  She stepped back from the window and crossed to the side of the bed. “It's creepy,” she said. “He absorbs everything about you. He watches you and studies you as if you were a textbook and he is about to take a final exam. He scopes out every move you make. The way you walk and speak and hold a fork..."

  "I think it's flattering,” Marco said. “I don't see anything wrong with it.” He sounded defensive and annoyed, and far from convincing.

  When Jane Francis opened her mouth to reply, there was a knock on the open door. They both turned and saw Yves standing in the doorway. Marco opened his eyes wide. Jane Francis pressed her palm to her stomach and took a quick breath. Yves was wearing one of the hand-me-down outfits Marco had given him a few days earlier. He'd gone to a salon and had his hair cut exactly like Marco's. The long straggly chunks that fell to his neck were gone. His new hair style was ultra short and neat, slick with a shiny product that glistened in the sunlight. The hair cut was such a huge transformation they wouldn't have recognized him if they'd seen him walking down the street. It framed his handsome face and drew attention to his superior bone structure. In this outfit, with the new haircut, Yves looked as if he were ready to step onto a runway and model.

  Yves stepped into the room and said, “Good morning. What do you think of my new look?” It was a short fawn-colored leather jacket over a black V-neck T-shirt, tight low-rise jeans, pointed black shoes, and a wide white leather belt. He was carrying a folder of papers. He turned all the way around once so Marco could check him out.

  Jane Francis looked at Yves and frowned, then walked to the other side of the room and started folding the clothes Marco had worn the day before.

  "You look fine,” Marco said. “Much better than I looked in that outfit. It's much too twinkie circuit boy for me. Men of a certain age look silly wearing low-rise jeans, even if they still have the body to pull it off."

  Yves smiled. The haircut and the outfit seemed to have resurrected a part of his personality that had been missing. “That's ridiculous. You sound like an old man. You can still wear anything you want with your body."

  "I'm just not sure I want to dress like all the circuit boys anymore,” Marco said. “My twink days are long over."

  "I just stopped in to see if you want me to do anything else today,” Yves said, holding the folder under his arm.

  "I need those contracts mailed today."

  "I have them."

  "I need the tuxedo I'm wearing tonight to be picked up from the showroom uptown."

  "I have the receipt in the folder.” Yves patted the folder under his arm.

  "I need you to drop those papers off to the accounting firm, and I need you to deliver that check to the decorator who is doing that new chair for me."

  Yves smiled. “I have the papers and the check right here. Is there anything else you want me to do?"

  Marco smiled. “Looks like you've thought of everything, Yves.” Now there was a sarc
astic edge in his voice.

  Yves stood up from the bed and walked to the door. Before he left the room, Marco stopped him.

  "Yves,” Marco said. “One more thing. Would you happen to know how an anniversary card wound up in my partner's suitcase last night?” His voice rose. He sat up in bed and folded his arms across his chest.

  Yves halted and turned around.

  Jane Francis stopped folding and waited for Yves to answer.

  "I knew I forgot something,” Yves said. He looked guilty. His puppy-dog eyes drooped as if he was waiting to be scolded for making a mess on the floor. “I knew you'd want to give him an anniversary card. But you've been so busy this week. I meant to tell you last night, but you were reading and I guess I forgot all about it.” He pressed his palm to his chest and leaned forward. “I was asleep by the time you went to bed. Oh, I'm so sorry I forgot to tell you, Marco.” His voice became soft and apologetic. He slipped right back into the nervous, timid boy Marco had first met in the dressing room. He even bowed as if he were about to genuflect.

  "You were sleeping when I went to bed?” Marco asked, wondering if Yves had watched him have phone sex.

  "Sound asleep,” he said. “I'm so sorry I forgot to tell you."

  "I'm sure you are,” Marco said, sipping his coffee. For the first time, Marco noticed the insincerity in Yves's voice. He spoke as if he were acting in a play. No one could be that sweet and simple and shy. “It was very nice of you to think of the card. You're the most thoughtful young man I've ever met. I don't know what I'd do without you.” He decided to play with him, and not mention the fact that he and Frazier didn't exchange mundane greeting cards for birthdays or anniversaries.

  "I also put a sweet little card of my own in his suitcase,” Yves said. “Frazier is such a special man. I wanted him to know how much I admire a man who can remain in a long-term relationship. You're so lucky to have him, Marco."

  Then Yves smiled and turned in the other direction. When he was out the door, Jane Francis gave Marco a knowing look. She didn't say a word. She didn't have to say anything, because Marco already knew what she was thinking.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Seven

  Marco stepped out of his dressing room and looked at himself in the mirrored wall near the white sofa. He made mental note to remove the mirrored wall as his next renovation project in the penthouse. He'd kept the wall because he'd like the retro seventies feel it gave the room. But his tastes had changed, and he was tired of looking at himself in the mirror everywhere he walked in his bedroom. There were times, lately, when he caught an accidental glance of his face and he shuddered. He wasn't accustomed to looking into the mirror and seeing a man in his thirties. He was used to seeing a man in his twenties, with clear skin, no lines in his forehead, and bright eyes. Somehow it seemed as if he'd made the transition from youth to adulthood overnight and no one had prepared him for it.

  He was wearing last year's tuxedo, the one he'd already worn to the Rendell Vista Awards. He turned sideways and frowned at his image. There were faint dark circles beneath his eyes because he'd been up late working on his household hints book again. No one else would notice the circles, but he knew they were there. Five years earlier he could have gone out for the entire night and his eyes would have been young and vibrant the next day. He felt tired, too. There was a kink in his neck from researching on the computer in one position for too long. He turned in the other direction and sighed. He'd only worn this tuxedo twice, and it fit his trim, firm body to perfection. But he'd been looking forward to wearing one of Frazier's new formal designs that night. He'd planned his entire look around the black silk tie with tiny platinum dots that were only noticeable up close.

  Little details, like wearing the same tuxedo more than once or twice mattered to Marco. He was in the public eye, and he was aware people judged him by the way he looked, not the way he felt. And that vicious Harris Wolfe would be at the party tonight. The nasty old Upper East Side queen was always looking for something to critique in his fashion magazine. Once, by mistake, Marco had walked down a runway during fashion week in New York and his zipper had been down. No one saw his private parts; his jacket had kept everything well covered. But Harris had had a huge laugh in his next column at Marco's expense, and all Marco could do was smile and laugh with him. Harris seemed to enjoy writing the nasty comments in his column more than the nice comments.

  Marco knew he had made a huge error that day. He should have sent Jane Francis to the showroom to pick up his new tuxedo instead of Yves. An hour earlier, when Yves had knocked on his bedroom door carrying the garment bag, with that perpetual loyal smile on his face, Marco had a feeling something was wrong. When Marco opened the garment bag, while Yves stood there watching him, he pressed his palm to his open mouth.

  "What is this?” Marco asked. He stared at a bright yellow suit, with ruffled sleeves and peg-legged slacks. The shirt was orange and the tie was red. It was one of Frazier's experimental designs and was not meant to be worn in public. Frazier often experimented with different fabrics and colors, creating outrageous artistic designs, only to tone them down and edit them for more practical garments at a later date.

  "I don't know, Marco,” Yves said. “This is what the assistant in the showroom handed me. He was a young guy with bushy brown hair. He was very busy. I'll go right back and see what happened. I'm so, so sorry. I know how important this party is to you. I know how you've been looking forward to it. This is a terrible mix-up."

  Marco closed his eyes and shook his head, controlling his temper. “Don't bother, Yves,” he said. “There isn't time now, and the showroom is getting ready to close for the day. And I don't want to keep anyone waiting to go home on my account. They work hard there, and they are good people. I'll just wear something else."

  "I'm so sorry, Marco, I feel just awful about this."

  "Why should you feel awful?” Marco said. “It's not as if you did it on purpose. It wasn't your fault. Why don't you go get ready for the party now?"

  When Yves left the room, Marco called the showroom. He had been hoping to get the assistant who had handed Marco the garment bag. The only person who worked in the showroom with bushy brown hair was a hardworking young man named Sparky. Marco knew everyone who worked in the showroom, and this guy was one of his favorite employees. He had exceptional ideas and a promising future in the fashion industry. Marco caught him just as he'd been ready to leave for the day.

  "I was wondering, Sparky,” Marco said, “when you handed my assistant, Yves, the garment bag with my new formal, did you look inside the bag?"

  "Oh yes, Mr. Denny,” Sparky said. “I made sure I double checked. There were two garment bags hanging on the rack. One was the yellow experimental design, and the other was your new formal. I wanted to make sure they didn't get mixed up. Is there anything wrong?"

  "It seems I have the yellow experimental design,” Marco said. “I guess my formal is still in the showroom."

  "Ah well, Mr. Denny,” Sparky said. “I don't see how that could have happened. I distinctly handed your assistant the right bag, after checking it thoroughly, then ran to answer the phone."

  "Did my assistant see the yellow suit?"

  "Yes, he did. I opened both garment bags in front of him. I don't know how he could have taken the wrong one."

  Marco smiled. He knew how Yves could have taken the wrong bag. He'd done it on purpose so Marco wouldn't be able to wear the new tuxedo to the party.

  "I'm so sorry, Mr. Denny,” Sparky said. “I'll deliver the right suit to you immediately. I don't see it on the rack where it should be, but I'm sure it's here someplace. I'll go look for it right now. I can't imagine where it might be."

  "Don't bother,” Marco said. “It wasn't your fault, Sparky. My assistant must have had too much on his mind. I'll be fine. I'm sorry I bothered you this late."

  "Are you sure, Mr. Denny?” Sparky said. “I could have it there in a half hour."

  "Thank
you, Sparky,” Marco said. “I'm fine. Don't give it a second thought. I'll see you soon. I've been so busy with this awful TV show I haven't seen anyone in the showroom for ages. I miss my gang."

  "We miss you, too, Mr. Denny."

  "See you soon, then,” Marco said.

  When Marco hung up, he knew there was nothing he could do at that point. If he went on a rampage with Yves, he would have looked paranoid and everyone would have thought he was overreacting to an innocent mistake. And he didn't want to put a damper on the party. He knew Frazier was looking forward to this and he didn't want to spoil the evening for everyone.

  On his way to the living room, he was even starting to feel better about everything. But he ran into Jane Francis in the hallway and asked where Frazier was. Frazier always came upstairs to see him when he returned from a trip. Jane Francis gave Marco a wise smile and said Frazier was in the living room with Yves. She said they were alone, laughing and joking about something.

  When Marco reached the center hall, just outside the living room entrance, he overheard Yves and Frazier talking. They were laughing about something to do with music, but Marco wasn't sure what it was. Then Yves complimented Frazier on his wonderful designs in his innocent, timid voice. He praised Frazier's innovative lines and his use of unusual fabrics. Yves told Frazier he wasn't just a clothing designer—he was an artist in the truest respect. Yves was laying it on so thick Marco felt like sticking his fingers down his throat and gagging on his beloved marble floor. Frazier was standing there, smiling and nodding, while Yves stared at him with pure adoration in his eyes.