Happy St Patrick's Day Oliver

by Livia Ellis

  I don’t know if the Doctor has had other guests at his London home, but for both Avan and myself it is the first time we’ve been invited for an evening. The Matchmaker is vague when she gives me details about what to expect. Before I ask, I’m told that no money will change hands. The Doctor will pay her and she will pay me and we will all pretend that this is not a transaction.

  Fair enough. I can do that. The Doctor is not the only one of my clients that likes this sort of arrangement.

  I am to dress for dinner and act like a gentleman.

  Does she think I need to be told this?

  After recent incidences it might not hurt to be reminded who I was when I first walked into her door. I’m getting a bit rough around the edges. Not a bad thing considering my profession. But best to keep things in perspective.

  Dress for dinner. Act like a gentleman. Anything else?

  The Doctor is her friend.

  I’m fond of him myself.

  Just do whatever he asks.

  Is he going to get weird?

  She has no idea. He’s a hard man to know. I’m to come back to her and give her the details. This request of his is a first for her. As far as she knew he was just into performing oral sex in a very clinical way. Why he suddenly wants two men for an overnight is a mystery. But he does and he very specifically asked for me and Avan.

  Is she giving this talk to Avan?

  Yes.

  So I’m not special?

  I’m very special. So is the Doctor. Be good to him. She can only assume he’s treading into waters he hasn’t explored for a very long time.

  I’ll be good.

  Of course I will. Be on time. She hands me a card with the address, date and time written in her own hand.

  At precisely one minute before I am due, I meet Avan on the street in front of the house.

  As instructed, we are both dressed for the evening.

  I don’t know if this sort of meeting is never not slightly awkward. Only by forcing myself

  Avan is smooth therefore I am too. I wonder what the situation is that he would be uncomfortable in. Probably none.

  We are welcomed into the house by the Doctor. There are seventeen other men in the library. They range in age from forty to seventy. Maybe slightly older and younger on both ends. Not what I was expecting. Not even a little.

  Waiters serve champagne in long stemmed saucers placed on silver trays.

  The Doctor greets us. He is warm and affable. We are guests. I feel bad knowing I’m going to take money to attend his party. I wonder if anyone else other than Avan is being paid to attend his party. Are we all being paid to attend? I sincerely hope not. I would be friends with the Doctor without needing to be paid.

  Oliver – the Doctor puts a hand on my shoulder to steer me into the mix – surely I must know one or two of the guests?

  I look around. Faces start to come into sharper focus. I do know a couple of the men in the room. Men that know me not as James, but as Oliver. I know these people by sight. They were friends of my grandfather. Some have been to Wold Hall. I am Lord Harkslon. Their dear friend James’ grandson.

  The Doctor moves me about the room. There isn’t a woman in the house. Just men in evening clothes drinking champagne and chatting.

  A bell rings.

  The Doctor leads us into a dining room. I find a place card with my name on it – my real name not James my working name – near the end of the table. Avan is down at the other end. He is not my date. The Doctor is my date. He’s subtle about it, but there is an air of ownership. I nearly laugh outloud. If I wanted an older sugar daddy I could do worse than the Doctor.

  I give my place card then the Doctor a meaningful look.

  He laughs a little. Do I really think he didn’t know exactly who I am? He knew my grandfather.

  How well did he know my grandfather? We both understand what I mean.

  They were just friends. More like acquaintances. They knew each other around the club. That’s why I’m there. To meet the officers of the club. He’s putting me up for membership.

  Avan?

  Avan is for later.

  A man in chef’s whites steps into the room saving me from having to comment. Dinner will begin with chilled avocado soup served with chardonnay and end with birthday cake paired with brut rose.

  I look at the Doctor.

  Happy Birthday?

  He certainly hopes it will be a happy birthday and with such charming company how could it not be?

  The pressure is on.

  After dinner we return to the library. A tenor sings while we drink brandy.

  I decide that if I were a gay man this is how I would live my life. I will have formal dinner parties with my gentlemen friends. We would drink brandy and eat cake for my birthday.

  When the tenor concludes his performance four of the men including the Doctor slip out of the room.

  The remaining gentlemen begin to play cards or backgammon or chess.

  I don’t know why, but I’m drawn to the piano. I haven’t played in years, but suddenly I want to. Now that I no longer have to it suddenly has appeal to me. Besides, it’s just very quiet and some music wouldn’t hurt to muffle the sound of shuffling cards.

  No one objects to my playing. I was right. Some sound was welcome in the room. Standards seem to work with this crowd. I’m not half bad either. It comes back quickly. All of those lessons finally find a purpose. I get requests. My repertoire is larger than I knew. Maybe this is what I should do. Find a lounge that needs a piano player. I leave my brandy glass on the edge. Maybe someone will tip me.

  I don’t know when the Doctor returns. I only know that at midnight the party ends like a full-stop has been stamped on a page. One moment everyone is there. The next they are gone.

  Except for me and Avan. We linger.

  The Doctor joins us where we wait in the library.

  Is there a rule that everyone needs to leave at midnight?

  Yes. It’s been in the bylaws for over two hundred years. No matter how much fun is being had, the party is over at midnight. That way no one ever overstays their welcome.

  Smart.

  It is clever. We two are to follow him.

  He leads us up the stairs to a bedroom and promptly excuses himself before slipping through a door.

  I look at Avan. Avan looks at me.

  I think we’re on the clock. Hard to know anything for certain.

  The Doctor returns wearing a silk dressing gown with a velvet shawl collar over satin pajamas. He looks dashing as he takes a seat in an arm chair.

  Ignore him. Just do what two attractive young men would do at the conclusion of what can only be considered an absolute success of a dinner party.

  The Doctor is a watcher. I’m not even a little surprised.

  I feel curiously shy.

  Avan is pure confidence.

  He pulls me to him. I’m willing to let him dominate me. He’s bigger than me and stronger by a fair margin.

  For months I’ve been the aggressor. Before with Elon I was passive. I let him control the seduction. I was comfortable in that role. Once again, I let myself be seduced.

  He removes my jacket and tosses it to the side. He unbuttons my shirt, and then walks behind me and pulls it off. He reaches around me and grabs the bulge in my trousers. He turns me around and undoes my trousers. They drop to the ground and then he kicks them away. I’m naked and exposed as the Doctor silently watches from his chair.

  Avan removes his own clothing with care. It’s not so much as striptease as it is a gradual revealing of his secrets. I’ve seen him naked before, but there is something tantalizing about the manner in which he disrobes that seems well practiced. If there is a school of seduction, then Avan must have graduated top of his class. I thought I was good. But he is just so much better. My confidence is shaken. The only thing I can do is watch and learn from the master.

  He runs his hands freely over my body, purposefully avoiding my cock. He’s
behind me again, his pelvis grinding against my cheeks as his hands grasp the tops of my thighs. I let him guide me to the bed. This is nice. I miss being made love to. This is what I enjoyed about being with Elon. It’s been too long since I was the object of someone’s absolute attention.

  He pulls me into his arms and kisses me. We lay facing each other kissing. Down below, our cocks rub together, but our hands are occupied touching faces, lips, ears, and arms. We kiss for a long time. Kissing moves to touching with our hands. Our cocks rub together. He takes my hand and wraps it around his erection. My hand works him until I feel him respond to my touch. We kiss as I jerk him off. I never would have believed I’d have this beautiful man in my hand like this. Or that my touch would make him moan and thrust his hips. When his orgasm comes, he ejaculates with a cry into my hand. I grip his twitching member as he sends thick streams of cum onto my belly. His pelvis jerks forward with the spasms until he’s spent.

  I think he’s done. That he’s going to roll over and call it an evening. I know I very well might if I were him.

  But he’s not done. He moves his body against mine then slides on top of me and between my legs. A trail of kisses run down my body. His mouth finds my cock and his eyes find mine. There is nothing sexier than looking into a man’s eyes as he gives a mind altering blow. Avan bobs his head up and down as he sucks me hard and deep into his throat. His lips wrap tightly around my shaft, and he uses just enough tongue on the tip to make me want to scream.

  My dark haired lover releases my cock from his mouth and takes it with his hand. Butterfly kisses brush my stomach for a moment before he goes lower. His lips grab hold of my balls and draw them into his mouth as his hand continues to work me. I want this to last forever, and he isn’t pushing me toward an orgasm. He takes his time, which lets me savor the experience of being made love to. One hand massages my cock and the other seeks out my entrance. When he finds it, I smile. His fingertip plays with the pucker of my anus, but he doesn’t penetrate me.

  He releases my balls from his mouth and retakes my cock between his lips. His head bobs up and down fucking me with his mouth. That teasing finger playing at my anus presses in past the hard ring of flesh. The slowly building orgasm takes control of my body. I want to come. He stops for a moment, allows me to savor the experience, and then lets it happen. Or orgasm grabs my body like a fist and squeezes. I ejaculate into his hand and am rewarded with kisses on my stomach.

  My arm props behind my head as I look at him kneeling back on his legs. His hands are on my thighs, massaging up and down. He leans over me and kisses me. It’s deeply intimate. An act of love. I believe that he wants to be with me. I have been given a gift with this experience and will be better for it.

  The weight of his body covers mine. Soft lips press against my mouth. A sweet, soft tongue slides between my lips. Hands brush my hair off my forehead. Teeth nip at my neck, and then at my ear. He’s gentle and affectionate. There is no pressure to perform. Sex doesn’t always have to be about racing to the finish. It’s about the journey to the orgasm more than actually coming. Avan has reminded me of this. I had forgotten. Sex isn’t just work. It’s pleasure. What a basic and important thing to have forgotten.

  I want more.

  The Doctor rises from his chair and disappears.

  Avan grabs the edge of the duvet and tosses it over us.

  He mumbles a goodnight before rolling over on his side away from me.

  I might have forgotten we were being paid to perform, but Avan clearly did not. Amazing really. This is why he is the best.

  I think I won’t be able to sleep but then I drop into my dreams a moment later.

  ***

  A bloodcurdling shriek knocks me out of bed with a thump to the floor.

  I look up to the door into the face of a more than middle aged woman who very well might be having a heart attack. She screams a second time.

  Avan throws a pillow at her.

  The Doctor’s voice comes booming down the hallway.

  Mrs. Lattimore is the woman’s name. She is the housekeeper. She is not accustomed to waking the Doctor and finding two men in the bed. Not only in the bed, but naked in the bed. This is nothing short of an outrage. In her fifty years she has never been subjected to such an affront to her eyes.

  Avan would like to know why she kept staring at his naked bum if her eyes were so affronted.

  A tiny laugh sneaks out of me. Mrs. Lattimore did give my naked bits more than a passing glance.

  The Doctor, who is already immaculately dressed in suit and tie, is not amused by any of this caterwauling.

  Mrs. Lattimore is to pull herself together and prepare breakfast for three.

  She is dismissed.

  Avan and I laugh loudly.

  Then it’s our turn to get scolded.

  We are to get dressed and most definitely not permitted to be cheeky with Mrs. Lattimore. Mrs. Lattimore is an old dear. Perhaps not very progressive, but an old dear none the less. Downstairs for breakfast in ten minutes. There are dressing gowns etc., etc., in the armoire.

  Over breakfast served by an indignant Mrs. Lattimore, I’m handed the invitation for the party in Ireland. I’ve moved on to the next stage of the initiation.

  Dublin

  The house Elon lived in for the four years we attended Trinity is exactly where we left it.

  Why didn’t he sell this place?

  He doesn’t sell property. He especially doesn’t sell property at the lowest point the housing market has been in for years. If he didn’t still own the house then we would have to stay in a hotel. I know how he feels about staying in hotels.

  He likes it?

  Only when there isn’t a house he can stay in for free.

  Why are really rich people so cheap? Why?

  The door opens. There is music coming from inside of the house.

  Does he have guests?

  No.

  Housekeeper?

  No.

  He has had the place cleaned in the past five years, right?

  He uses a service that comes in once a month to do a maintenance clean. They don’t play Prince the early years when they’re dusting the furniture.

  Squatter?

  A worrying possibility.

  Should we call the police?

  Probably not a bad idea.

  Avan walks past the two of us muttering something under his breath about us being a group of four men that work out regularly and probably have the ability to manage the situation.

  Do we follow him?

  Do we? I’m not sure we do. How likely is it we would only get in the way?

  Pretty likely.

  Ultimately we don’t have to follow Avan. He returns to the entry with Elon’s father red faced and sputtering under his arm in a chokehold.

  Do we know this man?

  Elon is worryingly silent. I sense he is contemplating what the ramifications would be if he just let Avan toss his father out on the street.

  I decide to intervene before Thor Sorenson’s eyes pop out of his head.

  Yes. We know him.

  Avan releases with Elon’s father with a shove as a blond in a bra and panties wielding a wooden kitchen mallet comes spinning around the corner. The blond is disarmed and knocked to her bottom with a slap of skin against tile. A blond in her underwear and a middle aged Norwegian aren’t exactly hard to take out, but giving credit where credit is due, Avan does have some pretty impressive moves.

  I introduce Avan and Marcus.

  Thor gives Avan a wary look. Does he work in personal security by any chance?

  No.

  Military?

  Yes. He’s Israeli. It’s mandatory.

  Has he ever considered working in personal security?

  No.

  The blond is dismissed. I know a working girl when I see one. She’s a working girl. A very expensive working girl. I put my sunglasses on before she gets a good look at me.

  Elon looks from the departing blond
to his father. This is the part where I wish at some point I’d bothered to learn some Norwegian. I can only guess what was said, but I think it went something like this:

  Elon: What the hell are you doing in my house with this blond who is not your current wife? Or is this your current wife? I thought your current wife was Chinese. This woman is not Chinese.

  Thor: I use this house to conduct my multiple affairs with beautiful women. My current wife is Nigerian. Not Chinese. This woman is not my current wife. She is a blond. We all know I like blonds. Your mother is a blond. How is your mother by the way?

  Elon: She’s insane.

  Thor: Are you still in her will or is the goat inheriting everything?

  Elon: I’m back in the will. I’m considering having her murdered just to make sure I get everything before she has a chance to change the will again.

  Thor: Smart. Let me know what you plan on doing. I know a guy if you need a name.

  Elon: I’ve got a guy if it comes to that. What are you doing here anyway?

  Thor: Having a dirty weekend with the blond in the panties that actually thinks a wooden kitchen mallet is an effective weapon against intruders that can grab a grown man back the neck. She’s not very bright, but she is pretty and that’s what matters. About the kid. Keep in mind you are the only child of two only children. If you didn’t produce a kid then your jackass cousin Sig would end up with everything.

  Elon: If we’re all dead, what difference does it matter anyhow? It’s not like we can take it with us.

  Thor: Good point. What are you doing in Dublin?

  This is the moment when the conversation returns to English and we are included.

  We’re in Dublin for a night before we go to a party in Galway.

  Excellent. Dinner? His treat.

  The Dawn of St. Patrick’s Day

  I can’t sleep. I’m restless and I don’t know why. Something about returning to this place has set my nerves on edge.

  At five in the morning I give up and get up.