What was it that brought me back to Woodridge Tavern, with its peeling paint and mouldering wallpaper? Left me nursing a domestic brew at the scarred wooden bar, breathing in cigarettes and stale beer.
The local blue-collars barely noticed me, beyond the grunt of the bartenders greeting. I could've been anyone. Even if the locals had heard of Savage -- the solo guitarist with one multi-platinum debut album to his name -- recognition was inconceivable. My press was tight, and any publicity shots of me were always stylised beyond recognition. My publicist loved it; the mystery, the ambiguity, the thrill of the unknown. But that isn't why I'd insisted on obscurity.
I thought I'd done it to remain anonymous. Avoid the so-called Fame-Game. But I'd started to wonder if my motives were so pure. Or did they stem from something deeper? Something that twisted in me when I looked at the obscure anonymous images that were my public persona and all I saw was how they reflected my own fractured soul. I felt incomplete. Unfinished. My music, although rich and textured, felt empty. Without meaning. I didn't know how to fix it. Nothing I wrote sounded right.
I came back for inspiration. To recapture something I felt like I'd lost, or lost touch with.
As Savage I'd seen incredible beauty, I'd toured the world, travelling more places in year than I had in my entire *life* before. But I'd lost something. I couldn't write beauty the way I used to when I still lived here. I couldn't create anything of worth in the structured, textured luxury my life had become. It was suffocating me.
So I came back here. Out of desperation, to distance myself from Savage and try to become just Daniel Jones again. Maybe if I achieved that, I could write again.
So deep in thought I hadn't noticed the tinny AC/DC track pacifying the locals had petered out, being replaced by strains of music so familiar I didn't register at first. One of the tracks from my first album was playing. One of the lesser-known, more personal songs. By the time recognition hit it was too late to leave. I sank lower in my seat, infinitely thankful at that moment that my music didn't have lyrics to vocalise my intimate thoughts. The chords themselves were bad enough, the way they exposed my soul. I'd given the track the ambiguous name of 'Universe' to try to conceal the blatant sensuality I'd discovered in it. It was no use though, every note dripped with lustful sexuality for the sweaty, stubby-holding blue-collars to hear.
I took a sip of my beer only to find it had gone stale. I put my glass down and prayed for the song to end quickly.
A few bars in, something completely unexpected happened. Someone began to sing. A voice, sweet smooth and angelic, rang clear over the recording of my song, singing of love and lovemaking.
I spun in my chair to face a make-shift stage, atop which was the owner of the voice. Standing at a microphone was a stunning man-child clad in leather, mesh and denim. A spotlight tinged his too-pale face with orange, picking up highlights on pitch black hair that shone and hung to shoulder-length, making clear blue eyes glitter. He was oblivious to my outrage and the half listening crowd, his entire focus centred on the music, lost in the lyrics of his making.
I was speechless. I thought of and forgot a thousand things to say. I fought a million different reactions. One part of me was furious -- how dare he be so presumptuous as to mess with my music? But my main reaction was shock. This pale angel-voiced boy was singing my thoughts, *my* emotions. I'd worked fruitlessly with dozens of songwriters in my career searching for someone who could capture the essence of my music the way this boy was doing now.
Stunned into paralysis, I barely moved for the rest of the song. Just sat and absorbed the flawless perfection of his voice, my outrage leaking away as I became more and more enamoured with this angel and the beautiful words that dripped from his pale lips.
I'd heard the song a million times. Agonised over it. Written and rewritten it. But this was the first time it sounded complete. Right. It was like the missing pieces had been fitted, making it as perfect as it could be. As perfect as I'd always wanted it to be. And it was a miracle of this angel's doing.
I sat in rapture as the song wound down, the dark-haired man ending it with one clear perfect note. A smattering of applause and as the music ceased I watched his demeanour change. Disengaged from the music, no longer lost in the lyrics, his voice was too soft as he murmured 'thank you' into the mic with a shy smile. Then he turned and left the stage, with nothing but a squeak of feedback to announce his departure.
He disappeared so quickly I almost didn't see where he went. I abandoned my drink and followed, suddenly fearful he'd vanish and the answer to my whispered prayers would be lost.
I drew no attention when I slipped into a sideroom that appeared to co-act as a dressing room. Apparently security wasn't an issue at this venue. The man-child's amazing voice and talent were obviously lost on this common lot. I watched from the shadows as he spoke with an older man who appeared to be the venue proprietor. I tried to ignore a blaze of fury as the older man touched him all too familiarly, slipping a lecherous hand over the boy's rear as he turned to leave.
He didn't belong here, among this filth. These people weren't worthy to touch him. That older man didn't deserve to be bestowed the radiant smile of an angel. An angel who wore his beauty as casually as his worn leather jacket. I was in awe, but I also felt an incredible urge to protect him.
When he left the tavern I followed him at a distance. I tried to ignore the sinking feeling that settled in the pit of my stomach as he headed down Wembley Road towards the Plaza. The Plaza by day is a perfectly respectable shopping centre. By night it's a haven for pimps, dealers and whores. When he began to cross the littered car park I had to internally concede that I knew nothing about this boy. His innocence and vulnerability could be a convincing charade. He could easily be a dealer, a user or a hustler.
But I kept walking after him.
I cursed under my breath, watching from darkness as he stopped in front of the Woody's Music Store sign, shrugged out of his worn jacket to reveal a tight-fitting long-sleeved mesh shirt and fitted black jeans that sat low on his hips. He casually leaned back against the wall, assuming the traditional 'waiting for someone' pose that's a staple for all streetside hookers.
The red glow of the Woody's sign cast a scarlet tint to his hair. He was by far the most gorgeous thing on show of the fifteen or so male prostitutes who'd braved the cold air on that Friday night. Woody's was a signpost for men seeking paid male 'companionship'. The 'ladies' stayed down the other end of the Plaza, where Coles was.
For long moments I was trapped. Desperate to speak to him. Desperate to leave and forget I'd even seen him. Instead, I just watched him, casually but perfectly posed. Any 'customer' out tonight would choose him first, guaranteed. So when I heard footsteps behind me, and saw a figure at the distant end of the car park heading his way, I knew I had to make a decision.
~Chapter Two - Red Light~
I ignored the heated looks and murmured offers I got from others as I walked toward him. He watched my approach with a kind of surety, knowing he'd been singled out. When I was within whisper distance he stopped leaning against the wall and we shifted in a dance of awkward acknowledgment. Seeing him up close illuminated no flaws, if anything it just drew attention to how exquisite he really was. He regarded me with bedroom eyes, no doubt taking in my stylish but casual clothes, spiked dull gold hair. Reading my expression.
No offers, no lines, just a soft wicked smile that made a million promises and started an uncomfortable warmth below the waistband of my jeans.
"Can we talk?" At this point I really was trying to convince myself that talking was all I wanted to do.
"Baby we can do anything you like." More promises in his eyes. How could he look so innocent with words like that falling from his mouth?
He smiled again and bent to pick up his jacket in one fluid motion. Slinging it over his shoulder he sauntered away from the building into the darkness. A few steps and he turned back to me.
"You coming?"
I fought the impulse to run to catch up.
~Chapter Three - You Don't Know What You Want~
Past the auto shop, past the hardware store, to a stock-loading area cordoned off from the rest of the centre. Darkness and walls offered total privacy. I wondered vaguely if this was 'his spot' and if so, how many other men he'd brought here before me.
My awkwardness must have shown because he spoke then.
"Its alright babe, I won't bite." I fixed my eyes back on him then and his expression was pure invitation. Leaning back against the wall, one hand relaxed on his hip, his wide innocent eyes beckoning. I tried to slow my heart, but it was no use.
//Wait. You're here to talk to him. To help him help you, not use him like all the others.// I fought with myself internally, forcing my hormones into submission, trying to extinguish the frighteningly strong desire this man had inspired in me. I would not use him. It wasn't right. With that in mind I began to approach him, speaking softly but with purpose.
"Listen, I just wanted to--"
I'd gotten barely a metre before his lips were on mine. I froze in shock. He continued to kiss my unmoving lips, one hand sliding to the nape of my neck, the other brushing down my chest to settle over the fly of my jeans. I opened my mouth to object, but that just gave his tongue opportunity to slide into my mouth. His tongue stroking mine, his soft firm lips moving on mine, his hand at my head holding me to the kiss. I couldn't fight the onslaught. Before my mind could register it I was kissing back, melting in his arms, sliding mine around him to hold this dark angel in my embrace.
He turned our bodies, pressing me up against the wall and I was thankful for the solid feeling of it at my back. He broke the kiss, his hand sliding from my neck down over my chest, his other hand massaging the growing bulge in my jeans. I moaned, shocked at the need in my voice.
"How do you want it? Rough? Or gentle?" He whispered, feathering kisses over my neck and collarbone. I was panting like I'd run a marathon, his hands were sending waves of electric pleasure through me. This was happening too fast. Too late, I realised he was looking at me, waiting for an answer, his eyes startling even in the darkness.
He considered my agonised silence. "This is your first time, isn't it?" A realisation, not a question. First time with a man, first time with a hustler, you name it. My nod was no more than a shy dip of my head.
Something changed in his expression, his eyes seemed to get hungrier, a lion eyeing fresh meat. A tiny smile tinged with wickedness and he murmured,
"Well then, I probably know what you want better than you do. Want to leave it up to me?" I barely nodded. //You know me better than I do, don't you?//
His lips took mine again and he started to pull my shirt out of my jeans, all the while his hand still working over my throbbing crotch, robbing me of the ability to speak or think. The cool air made contact with my burning skin and I tore my mouth from his, trying desperately to remember what I came to do, what was so important for me to say to him.
A long moment where all I could do was try to breathe, to think. He regarded me quizzically, hands stilling on my body for a moment. Questions in his eyes, and all I could think to say was,
"What's your name?"
He let out a breath he must have been holding, a small wicked smile curving his lips. His hands sprang back to life and began working at the buttons on my jeans. He leaned his face to mine so I could feel his breath feathering over my face.
"Darren," he whispered, like he was parting with a closely guarded secret. A brief but hungry kiss. "And you are?" He raised an eyebrow, a subtle challenge in those incredible eyes.
I took a moment to remember my name.
"Daniel." I said finally.
"Daniel." He repeated, cocking his head to one side, saying it as if testing it out. Then I felt the last button on my jeans give and their weight slipped lower on my body.
"Well, Daniel..." He slipped one hand inside my now loosened jeans. I drew a breath sharply as I felt his hand close over my hard aching flesh. "It's a pleasure." He whispered... and stroked.
I groaned loudly at the more-than-intimate touch.
Indeed. The pleasure was mine.
~Chapter Four - The Price~
Wicked fingers wrapped 'round my flesh, pulling, fucking with obvious expertise... soft lips roaming my neck and jawline, sending thrills of shivering excitement down my spine... Little gasping sounds of pleasure I didn't realise I was making... oh he was *good*.
//Stop. This isn't why you came here.//
I squeezed my eyes shut and clutched at Darren's back as his lips feasted on mine, our mouths locked together, so close all the forces on earth couldn't separate us.
//Stop kissing him. Let go.//
My tongue slipped into his mouth, pushing, tasting, wanting more. He tasted of salt and sweat, sweetness and temptation. And desire.
//Leave *now* before it's too late.//
His fingers tightened around my cock, making me swoon, and I knew it was too late. I'd lost the fight the moment I saw him leaning against the wall, bathed in red light, invitation in every line of him. There'd been no conscious decision to make. I was powerless. So I figured I may as well do it properly. I might even enjoy myself.
"How much?" I choked out between heaving breaths. He met my eyes with a sweet secretive smile, licked his lips and then mine. My fate was sealed.
"One hundred, but I'm worth it baby." Light kisses dropped on my mouth, my jaw, the pulse point on my neck... "That's all inclusive." His hand -- which until then had been keeping a steady rhythm at my crotch, a simmering slow burn -- began to quicken its pace. I tried to swallow the moan that bubbled to my lips. He pressed the length of his body against mine, hand working overtime on my cock, locking my eyes to his.
"Deal?" His voice a strained caress at my ear.
I didn't have breath to answer. A groan and a nod seemed to suffice.
A soft smile tainted with calculation. "A hundred." He confirmed, changing the rhythm of his hand, forcing more strangled sounds of pleasure from my lips. "That's hands or mouth Daniel, what do you want?"
He was already unbuttoning my shirt, kissing my chest, I struggled to answer, but I was beyond words now. I just continued to thrust into his hand and let the pressure of my arm on his shoulder subtly tell him.
"Oh yeah, I know you want this." His voice flowed like honey over the bare skin of my chest, his tongue flicking out to tease a nipple. He kept me there, suffering this exquisite torture, balancing on the brink of ecstasy for seeming eons, mouth travelling far far too slowly downward, down to where I wanted it. Craved it.
When his mouth reached where his hands were, I almost fainted. Hot, wet warmth engulfed me, stimulating further my already tortured cock. I didn't last long then, I was so ready to explode. His eyes met mine as he sucked me, somehow managing to hold my gaze, even as his head moved faster and more furiously. When I came all I saw was his face, his eyes, I would swear his soul... He watched me intensely as I lost it, taking it all down, and it was more intimate than any other sexual encounter of my life.
As the pleasure ebbed away I felt the weight of consequence settle firmly on my soul.
I'd used him.
I was no better than the rest of them.
~Chapter Five - Decisions~
Cool concrete against the back of my head. I tried to meld with the wall, its solidity the only thing keeping me upright. Well, that and Darren's hands on my trembling hips.
He placed a soft kiss on my abdomen and stood slowly, casually adjusting my clothing as he went, buttoning my fly. Another kiss, long and lazy, this time I instigated it, needing to feel his lips on me again, afraid to lose his touch. He broke it, and we stood there uncertainly, my hands still resting on his hips, not wanting to let his body slip from my grasp.
His hair was rumpled now, from where I'd fisted my hands in it in ecstasy, leaving him looking dishevelled but beguiling. Innocent and fragile. I felt he might break if I touched him too forcefully. We stood, trapped in that moment for an age. Silent. Until...
"So..." He began, eyes flicking downward, as if he had something vital to say but couldn't phrase it. Or was afraid to. He settled for a leading, almost pleading look, that seemed to say "you know what I'm getting at, right?"
Ideas ran rampant through my mind... //He wants to go to a hotel. To my place. To his place. He wants to leave town with me...//
//He wants the money.//
The revelation was almost a physical blow. //Of course he wants the money. You didn't just get the most mind-blowing head job of your life because he thought you had a pretty smile.//
Feeling like a child chastised, I reached into my back pocket, drawing the required amount from my wallet, plus a generous bonus. //Fuck it, I can afford it. At least this way he might remember me.//
With the bills in my hand an invisible barrier was erected between us. I felt like I'd lost the right to touch him. Like being at a psychiatrist's after the timer runs out. My time was up. He was off limits now. I didn't like it.
I didn't own him, I'd borrowed him and now he didn't belong to me any more. I couldn't kiss him, touch him, taste him again. It hurt.
I slipped the bills into his hand reluctantly, but just as he pulled them from my grasp, I pincered them between my fingers, refusing to let go.
"Wait..." I murmured.
A crease of confusion appeared between his brows. //What am I doing?// I tried to speak, finding it hard to force the words from my mouth. But I had to.
"How much for the night?" I tried desperately to sound casual, matter-of-fact, but felt like I was failing miserably. "I mean... can we... go somewhere?"
His mouth widened. His eyes widened. And I suddenly wanted desperately to be somewhere else, someone else. //Shit. I am way out of line here. He's gonna tell me where to go.// But he didn't say anything, so I hurried to fill the gaping silence.
"It's ok... you probably don't do that, huh? Sorry... just forget I asked." I let go of the money and went to back away, forgetting there was a wall behind me, so I didn't get far. This seemed to stir him.
"No, it's not that." His smile was self-deprecating, his expression still a little incredulous. "No one's ever asked for that before."
"You're kidding."
"No. Usually they don't even want to look at me after they come." He attempted a smile to relieve the severity of that statement, but I could see pain in his eyes. Damn the Woodridge bastards afraid of their sexuality, taking it out on him. Hurting him.
My fingers brushed his cheek with infinite care. So beautiful. How could anyone shun this angel?
"They have no idea." I whispered.
"No idea what?"
"No idea what they're turning their back on." Feathered my fingers through his hair, he turned his cheek slightly into my hand. His face like porcelain in the moonlight, an apparition, a dream. "Please..." I whispered, "One night, I don't care what it'll cost, I'll pay it."
He paused in thought, but only briefly.
"A thousand." His expression was defiant, daring me to argue. I didn't hesitate.
"Done."
My lips were on his before he could take a breath to speak. Kissing him desperately, hungrily, thankful to have him back in my arms.
When I couldn't stop my hands from wandering, searching out the silky flesh beneath his clothes, he pulled his mouth from mine, stilling my hands on his body. My heart skipped -- was he changing his mind? He couldn't do that to me.
No doubt noticing my bewildered expression, his lips curved into a cheeky smile.
"Are we gonna stay here all night?"
~Chapter Six - Borrowed Time~
I can't remember the name of the motel. It was far from five star accommodation but the sheets were clean, the bed was soft and that was all we were concerned with.
I wanted to seduce him. Make him moan. Strip him of his clothes and feast my eyes and mouth on his naked body. Ply him with compliments and make him feel like a god. I pretended he'd never had that before, a client who wanted to please *him*. I pretended it was special, *I* was special. Unique. That I would mean more to him than any of the others he'd pleasured for money.
He played along. Convincingly. He quivered under my fingertips, moaned when I stroked him, kissed back with abandon when I kissed him. He did it all so well I could almost forget about the money. Almost.
He reached for me as I kissed my way down his body, his exquisitely beautiful body, pale-skinned and lean. He was everything I'd imagined he would be in the darkness of the alley where he'd stayed so frustratingly clothed. I brushed his hands off me, wanting him to lay back and enjoy, wanting to take the aggressive role he was evidently so practiced at.
When I drew his hardness into my mouth, his head fell back on the pillow, moaning loudly as I swallowed him, feathering his fingers through my hair. I stroked his thighs, cupped his balls, eyeing his pale smooth body stretched out before me in the golden lamplight, writhing with the rhythm of my strokes. It was like sucking off an angel. So beautiful it was almost blasphemous.
I'd never sucked off another man before, and I prayed my inexperience didn't show. I played at being the expert, mimicking moves he'd used on me earlier, trying to give what I liked to get when on the receiving end. His moans were encouraging.
When he came it was shattering. His sweet musical voice raised to the loudest moan, his back arched, his hands fisted, his hips bucked. He came hot and heavy in my mouth and I drank it down eagerly, tasting it. Savouring it. Glad to have it in my mouth -- real, irrefutable proof of his pleasure. One thing I knew he couldn't fake.
Afterward he curled into my arms, sweet satiated smile on his face. I ignored the voice in my head telling me that this was no more than a paid transaction to him, not the sweet intimate moment it seemed. As if trying to convince me otherwise, he laid a delicate kiss at my neck, let out a soft sigh and murmured,
"That was lovely..."
"No kidding."
I didn't mean it as a question but he must have taken it as one.
"No kidding, Daniel. You are quite the master." He assured me lightly.
"Shouldn't I be saying that to you? I mean you've had far more practice." My tone was light, but his expression soured. A glimmer of pain in his eyes.
He sat up abruptly.
I internally kicked myself. //Stupid!//
"I didn't mean..." I started weakly.
"I know you didn't." His voice was staccato. "I'm sorry, I'm not... used to this." He finally met my eyes. "It's usually a lot more... impersonal. It's easier that way... It's silly I know."
Deafening silence as I struggled for words.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"No. I'm fine, really." He smiled, but I didn't believe him. My hands found his body then, calming even strokes on his arms, meant as comfort alone.
I took him at his word, coaxed him back into my arms. We lay for a while, silent, just sharing the warmth of our bodies when the strangest thing happened.
He started to talk. No real reason or purpose, just a wandering monologue. He sketched out his life for me on scattered fragments of memory. I heard a lot that night.
About how he used to work at Woody's when it was still a music store.
About how the boys in high school who used to beat him up at lunchtimes were the same ones who'd beg him for blow jobs behind the school dance.
About the solace he found in music, and writing lyrics.
I listened. Days, weeks, months later, I could still remember every word. Couldn't stop remembering. Couldn't stop thinking about him, unhealthy as it was.
I kept waiting for it go away, this -- whatever it was -- that affixed my thoughts to him. But it didn't. I was getting even less work done than I was before I returned to Logan. I was at a stalemate.
But I promised myself I wouldn't return to the Plaza. It would only make things worse.
I didn't keep that promise.
