Alphie

by Amy Bellows

  Our server returns with a cup of steaming coffee for Alistair and a heaping plate of pancakes and eggs for me. “I’ll be back with some water.”

  Alistair thanks him and takes a sip of his coffee. I almost think my plan isn’t going to work, until he sets his cup down and says, “You’re too much like me, you know that? It’s going to catch up with you.”

  He said the same thing when I came out to him in middle school. Mom rolled her eyes and called him “dramatic.” The wand families with old money may still be homophobic, but I don’t have any money, and my sexuality has never been much of a problem. I don’t imagine losing my virginity at a brothel will be one either unless I go around telling people about it.

  When Mom was alive, she told me there were two different kinds of people in this world. The people who cared about doing the right thing, and the people who cared about looking like they were doing the right thing. I once asked her how I would be able to tell the difference.

  “You often can’t. But animals can.”

  Alistair may go on and on about how I shouldn’t want to be like him, but grumpy Buttercup is always happy to see him. It doesn’t matter what other people think of Alistair. He’s a good man.

  “Maybe I don’t mind being like you,” I tell him.

  He looks away from me. “If we do this right, maybe it won’t come to that.”

  Troy

  Visiting a brothel with my father isn’t exactly my idea of a good time. It sounds like the plot of one of those horrid erotic pamphlets in the back of Simian’s Bookshop. But Father wants to control the way I lose my virginity, just like he controls every other part of my life.

  I shouldn’t be surprised. At least Father is predictable.

  We’re wandering through some God-forsaken back alley where we’re much more likely to get mugged than laid, when my father stops in front of a red door.

  “This is it? Really?” I ask.

  “Would you rather there be a huge sign that spells out ‘Whores, whores, whores?’ Honestly, Troy, the discretion is part of the reason I come here.”

  I hold back the shudder that comes with the idea of my father visiting a brothel.

  He knocks on the door six times, each knock clear and loud. Almost immediately, the door opens, and a tall man with light brown hair streaked in silver smiles at us. It’s a good smile—one that reveals dimples and a slightly chipped tooth. He’s wearing a deep red suit with a collarless shirt that exposes a large swath of pale skin.

  He’s a very handsome man. Not only that, but he’s a very handsome man who has sex with other men.

  Maybe going to a brothel isn’t such a bad idea after all. Maybe I could find a connection with someone here.

  Then the very attractive man leans over and gives my father a deep kiss.

  Ugh. Disgusting.

  “So, this is your son?” the man says.

  “Yes. Troy, this is Alistair. Alistair, this is my son, Troy.”

  “Welcome, Troy. Please come in.”

  The “lobby” looks more like the front room of someone’s home, with thick rugs and chairs that seem more comfortable than sleek. There are half a dozen men in suits the same deep red as Alistair’s, milling about with drinks in their hands. The suits fit them like gloves. I’m not sure if its because I know they have sex with men, or because they’re genuinely the most attractive men I’ve ever seen in my life, but damn. One point for Father. Regardless of what happens tonight, I’m going to enjoy the eye candy.

  A wide-shouldered man in a red suit walks up to us. “Can I get either of you gentlemen a drink?”

  “Yes, please. Scotch. Neat. My son will have one as well.”

  I roll my eyes. I’m not even allowed to order my own drink? I’m twenty years old.

  “Richard, I must be honest with you. I’m pleased you’ve brought your son, and I’m always happy to see you.” Alistair slips an arm around Father’s waist. “But we should set down some ground rules before we begin. I want to make it clear that in my house, every man gets to speak for himself. So, if you were to purchase any service for your son tonight, from that point forward, Troy would be the client, and therefore, in full control of his own experience. Are you comfortable with that?”

  Father bristles. “I will be the one footing the bill.”

  “Yes. And as a result, I would want to give your son the best night of his life. Which would only be possible if he is treated as a full client, with the autonomy that entails.”

  “Alright. You’ve made your point.”

  I wonder if Alistair truly cares, or if he’s just putting on a show to win me over. Father is right. He’s the one footing the bill. I highly doubt Alistair will put my well-being over his paycheck.

  Alistair gives Father a dashing smile before turning to me. “Now, what would you like to drink tonight? My bar is well stocked. I can get you anything you like.”

  I swallow uncomfortably. Since Father only drinks scotch, I don’t know much about other kinds of alcohol. “A mint julep?”

  That’s what Danielle drinks. Perhaps it won’t be that bad.

  The bartender heads back to a small wet bar in the corner.

  “So, I assume this means you’d like to proceed?” Alistair asks Father.

  “Yes. Ask the boy what he wants. But if it makes any kind of difference, I think it would be better for him to hire one of your more experienced boys. Experience is everything,” Father says as he looks Alistair up and down meaningfully. I wonder if Father can be around Alistair without acting like a creepy old man for even two seconds.

  “Thank you, Richard. I’m sure Troy will take that under advisement. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to take Troy into my office.” When Father raises an eyebrow in question, Alistair clarifies. “To talk. Privately. Please enjoy the company and the scotch. I bought that bottle just for you.”

  Father nods stiffly. I’ve never seen anyone come out of an argument with my father as the victor. He always gets his way. One point for Alistair.

  If he can manipulate Father like that, what will he be able to do to me?

  After the bartender brings back my mint julep, which turns out to be disgusting, Alistair leads me through a hall and into a room that looks exactly like a bedroom—complete with knick-knacks on top of the dresser and a bookshelf stuffed with mysteries. I imagined a brothel would be more like a hotel. This feels more homey. I’m surprised Father likes this place.

  Alistair gestures for me to sit on a couch at the foot of the bed. “It’s good to meet you, Troy.” He settles into a chair by a small roll-out desk.

  “Uh, yeah.” Am I supposed to say that it’s good to meet him too? That would be strange, wouldn’t it? And I’m not even sure that I am. Just because someone uses persuasion or manipulation instead of commands, doesn’t mean they’re not controlling.

  An awkward silence stretches between us. Maybe I’m supposed to tell him what I want. How do I even start? Do I mention that I’m a virgin? From the moment Father realized I was as gay as he is, I’ve been under lock and key. He even forced me to do my college studies at home and put magical barriers around the manor so I couldn’t escape.

  Unless I marry a woman from a wand family, the Windsor estate will go to my cousin. After the female consumption wiped out half of the women in the upper echelons of society, it’s unlikely that anyone will marry off their daughter to the local gay boy. Father has reiterated that plenty of times.

  I guess I can look forward to being just as miserable in an arranged marriage as he was. Can’t wait.

  Alistair leans forward to rest his elbows on his thighs. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.”

  “Do you want to be here?”

  I shrug. “Does it matter?”

  “It matters to me.” His eyes seem sincere. Maybe he’s telling the truth.

  “Well, I want to have sex.” I’ve wanted to have sex for ages. Hell, I’d settle for a kiss or a flirtation.

  “With a m
an?”

  I can’t help but laugh “Yes. I’m gay. My father wouldn’t have brought me here otherwise.”

  Alistair’s lips quirk up on one side. “Well, you never know with your father.”

  I guess no one would understand how impossible Father is better than his prostitute. Which is a gross thought, but here we are.

  “Can you tell me a little bit about what attracts you to a man?” Alistair asks. “It will help me know which boys to recommend to you.”

  I’m not sure how to respond to that. I try not to think about things I can’t have, and men are firmly in the “can’t have” territory of my brain.

  “Would you prefer someone with a lot of experience like your father suggested?”

  I shake my head. I hate the idea of having sex with someone who’d treat it like some kind of lesson. It would be nice to find a guy who would make my first time feel less like a transaction, and more like two guys fucking because they want to. Like what I could have with a boyfriend if Father didn’t expect me to live in the closet for the rest of my life.

  “Well, what kind of boy would you like to hire, Troy?”

  I think about it for a second. “I think I’d prefer someone who’s gay. Like me.” Secretly, I hope that I can be with someone who will orgasm when he’s fucking me. That would be nice. But I’m sure I can’t ask for something like that.

  Alistair smiles. “They all are. No need to worry about that.”

  “Then just someone who… might be into someone like me. I mean, I know it’s for pay, but if they didn’t have to fake it too much. I don’t know.” My cheeks burn hot. He must think I’m an idiot.

  Alistair takes in a deep breath. “Things are different than they used to be for gay men in wand families. If you came out—”

  “If I come out I’ll lose my entire inheritance, including my wand. Father has made that perfectly clear. Never mind. You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Troy, do you know what my last name is?”

  Of course I don’t know what his last name is. I’m not even sure his first name is really Alistair.

  “Lowell. You and I are actually first cousins once removed. On your mother’s side, of course.”

  I try to hide my shock. The Lowells are the richest family in Maren County. What is Alistair doing running a brothel?

  Then it all makes sense. Alistair’s gay. Just like me. And he’s from a wand family. His parents probably disowned him when he came out.

  “I know exactly what losing your inheritance would mean. And I will never judge you for staying in the closet. But I had to say something, because it sounds to me like you want to have a connection with someone. That can be hard to accomplish on the same level in a brothel. Please understand that the relationship I have with your father exists because he’s been paying for my services for years. None of the other boys will be able to offer you that. They’ll be kind, and the sex will be good. They can even keep you company afterwards. But it will just be sex.”

  Does this guy have any idea what Father would do to him if he discovered Alistair was trying to convince me to come out? Either this guy is really stupid or he actually cares.

  I look away from him. “I know that. Just set me up with whoever. It doesn’t matter.”

  The warmth of Alistair’s hand covers my knee. “Of course it matters. Sex can be wonderful, Troy. Tell me about the kind of experience you want, and I’ll do my best to find you someone who can give it to you.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe one of your boys who wouldn’t mind topping? Someone who would be... gentle with me?”

  Alistair narrows his eyes, then stands and paces back and forth. “You’d like to bottom?”

  “Yeah. I mean, this might be the only time I get to be with a guy, so… yeah. That’s what I want.”

  “Do you have any other specific requests?”

  I don’t know if I should talk about the other things I’ve fantasized about doing with boys over the years. Admitting what I really want could just make me look stupid again.

  “If… there are any boys who might consider… kissing. On the mouth.”

  “Not all of my boys would be open to that, but I can ask around.”

  Of course. These boys don’t want a connection. They just want to get paid. I guess there isn’t any point in mentioning my other fantasies. Not all of his boys may be open to those either.

  “I have an idea,” Alistair says. “One I think you might like. I have a boy about your age who is completely new to the business. He’s kind, and I think the two of you would hit it off. But you’d have to get your father’s approval first, because he’s a virgin, and the cost would be exorbitant.”

  A foreign emotion bubbles up in my chest. Hope. If he’s a virgin like me, we could be each other’s firsts. People always remember their first, right? Maybe if we hit it off, we could be like Father and Alistair someday.

  I guess that’s the best I can hope for.

  “What’s he like?” I ask, trying not to seem too eager.

  “Well, he has dark hair, and he’s tall, like you. Handsome. I don’t know about the kissing, I’d have to ask him.”

  I shrug. “It’s not a big deal. I mean, I’d like to kiss him, but even if he says no, I still want to hire him.”

  “Alright. Let’s go ask Richard.”

  Father has to say yes. It doesn’t matter how much it will cost. If I have to be married to a woman for the rest of my life, I want this one thing.

  And if he expects me to go through with my upcoming wedding, he’s going to give it to me.

  About the Author

  Thanks for reading Alphie. I’m a librarian and author of MPreg romance. When I’m not writing or librarianing, I’m chasing my daughter around the house or cuddling with my wife.

  If you’d like to hang out with me on Facebook where I share sexy teasers of my works in progress and generally geek out about penguins and mermen, you can join my Facebook group: Amy’s Pillow Fort. It’s private, so none of your Facebook friends will know you’re a member or what you post.

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