Grief Of Three: Mmm Gay Menage Romance

by Sam Haywood

  While Romeo trimmed delicately with the razor and scissors, and Byron worked on my toes, the two of them kept up a running banter on some of the characters I was likely to meet at the club. I asked how the membership worked and learned that it took three existing members to nominate a new one. There had originally been twelve founders, all white men of substance. But the color barrier had been broken right away when J. P. and two buddies (one of whom was Peter Dupree, J. P.'s best friend, Roman's grand-father) had nominated Dr. Jim Wragg, the local black dentist. That led the way for others, and now there were quite a number of black members. And not all the present members were gay or even bi-some were simply gay-tolerant men who liked to work out and lounge in an all-male environment.

  "How come it isn't just a bunch of old men?"

  "Two reasons," said Byron. "One, they've been very deliberate in recruiting and welcoming younger guys. The younger you are, the less dues you pay. Eighteen to twenty-three is free. Twenty-four to twenty-eight half price."

  "Which accounts for both of us being in," chuckled Romeo. "But second-what else is there to do in this county, especially for gays? How do you meet men without getting your face bashed in? I think most of us like having the one club for all ages. The older guys are really nice, they don't pester us if we aren't interested, and they can help us younger ones out a lot. Jobs, apartments, mortgages, deals on cars...."

  Byron whooped. "Like Raymond Logan,"

  Romeo blushed. I looked inquisitive.

  "I told Ray if he would lose 25 pounds, I would fuck him," Romeo admitted sheepishly. "Hell, I didn't think he could do it. He weighed in at 252 to start. In three months, there I was in a back room with him, with about 15 guys hanging around outside laughing. I had it so dark in there, I couldn't find his asshole-he had to guide me in. But I learned something-in the dark, it really doesn’t make that much difference. He asked if I'd do it again in 25 more pounds, and I said 'yes.' And I haven't paid for a haircut since, either. Ray is a hairdresser, with his shop in the same building as the club."

  "Right next to Rita's Prom and Bridal and Rick's Tuxedo Rental," took up Byron. Actually, both those formal shops are the same place, just two different doors. And there's a florist, and two antique shops, and a travel bureau. And a pharmacy, and a men's wear store. You'll own that whole building, and the Club is the two floors up above it all.

  "And by the way, Rick and Rita are the same person, too."

  "Don't tell me."

  Romeo had to tell me. "Rick takes some of the nicer size tens out for a little test drive. There's at least three straight men in Hebron who've gained local fame by taking Rita out on a date, only to discover upon getting into her panties that Rick was along for the ride, too. Rick got a black eye from one of them. The other two just went along and fucked him anyway. And one of those was Sheriff's Deputy Joe Shaver, who has turned out to be a good friend of the Community."

  "Oh, I heard just last week that they had been seen out together at the Dew Drop over in Beulah," inserted Byron.

  "That's nothing, they had breakfast on the porch of his trailer twice last month." The two were obviously vying for the title of "best informed gossip." "Well, anyway, if a good-looking woman comes into the locker room dressed for an evening out, don't panic and cover yourself or anything. It's just Rita."

  "And if an ugly fat woman comes in, don't cover for her, either. That would only be Wanda Wiggins, the cleaning woman. She came with the building, and the old guys on the board won't can her. We've gotten used to her. She's seen every queer in the county naked and hard."

  "And she rates us to her buddies at the bingo parlour. I'm 9.95," confessed Romeo.

  "Why the demerit?"

  "My nose is a smidgen too big for her taste. I kind of think so, too, don't you?" He cocked his head sideways.

  "No, I like it just like it is."

  "Yeah, it fits right into my asshole," laughed Byron.

  Romeo gave him a glare, then shrugged, unable to deny that his nose had been inserted into Byron's asshole many times.

  I looked inquiringly at Byron.

  "Oh. Ten."

  "The woman has taste."

  The two men rolled me over and swivelled me around to they could work on my backside. I don't need much touch-up back there, but Byron lotioned me down and, before I could protest, Romeo slid an enema insert up my ass and flooded my bowel with warm water.

  "What the...."

  "You better run!"

  Amidst much laughter, I trotted to the john desperately pressing my buttocks together. As I found blessed relief, I reflected that surely I would be ready for most anything that might come up at the club tonight. When I returned to the bedroom, I found Byron working intently on Romeo's toes. I selected a razor and went to work on shaping his chest and pubic hair into a symmetrical and manageable pattern.

  Around seven-thirty, we finished with the last detail, a round of manicures. I had never felt so completely polished in my life.

  "It seems a shame to put clothes on now," I commented.

  "You won't have them on long, Cupcake," answered Romeo.

  We needed to get something to eat before going out, since we all intended to be too busy having fun to eat there. We dragged cold fried chicken, coleslaw, devilled eggs, and the inevitable green bean casserole out of the fridge. I figured I'd look just like that Raymond Logan guy within the week. At least Romeo would still fuck me, with the lights out, while Byron laughed.

  "Oh, holy shit, that looks like Mazelle Holderby's pecan pie. The only god-dam secret left in this town is what kind of special syrup she brings in to make that thing," wailed Romeo. "I'll just hold my mouth open, and y'all smoosh it all in. Then kill me."

  "High blood sugar would kill you. You may have one tiny wedge, and one only," dictated Byron. "I'm not hanging around with bloated, hypo-glycaemic bitches with clogged arteries. And put one of those pieces of chicken back, hawg."

  Under Byron's watchful gaze, we managed a modest meal of the heart-stopping foods, though the pecan pie certainly tempted over-indulgence. Finally, it was time to dress. Both Byron and Romeo had left small overnight bags with fresh clothing in the foyer, from which they produced nice casual clothing to wear for the evening. I followed suit from my own suitcases.

  I was just pulling a shirt over my head when my cell-phone rang. It was Ralph Spurlock, Grand-daddy's law partner. He wanted to see me in his office at eleven the next morning for the reading of J. P.'s will. That would clear some things up, I thought. I agreed to the time and hung up.

  "Eleven-at least you won't have to be up real early," said Romeo. "In case you want to stay out late, I mean."

  We headed down the stairs for the garage. Suddenly, Romeo's cell began to blare the opening notes of some country tune. He pressed it to his ear, and Byron and I heard almost exactly the same conversation that they had heard from me moments earlier.

  "Well. It looks like I have to be up by eleven, too."

  Both of us looked questioningly at Byron, who shrugged. We got all the way to the car and Romeo, who insisted on driving, was just backing us down the driveway, when Byron's cell phone blared, "R-E-S-P-E-C-T," and he grabbed at it as if a hamster had just woken up in his pocket. "Sure, Mr. Spurlock. Yeah, fine. I'll see you then."

  It remained to be seen how many such calls went out that evening. But I now knew there would, indeed, be others beside myself who stood to benefit financially from my dear grand-pere's passing. So far, I couldn't dispute J. P.'s judgment. I was glad these two were being included in the estate.

  Chapter 4

  Romeo pulled the Caddy into a rental parking lot across the street from Grand- daddy's block and eased into space number 122.

  "This is your space now, Ace. We'll be using it a lot coming to the Club together, I hope. That is, if you'll come with me anymore, after I whoop your ass at eight-ball tonight."

  "What makes you think I'll ever come down here again?"

  He winked at me. "We're going to see
to it that you don't ever want to leave."

  The three of us slid out of the wide front seat and crossed the street, reversing the route J. P. was taking when he got creamed by the beer truck only yesterday. I couldn't help but shudder at the thought. We hustled across, and under a covered porch that ran the length of the block here, providing a sheltered walk for pedestrians on this side of the street. I noticed the florist on the corner, and the travel agency next to that. Down toward the other end were Rita's and Rick's establishments, and a small C. P. A office. The upper floors had windows with brightly planted window boxes, but the panes appeared to be blacked out, as no light was visible there. Romeo and Byron steered me toward the center of the building, where there was a glass door with no sign on it, but the small lobby within was lit. I could see a set of mailboxes inside, and a couple of interior doorways. Byron was punching a number into a keypad.

  "0627. The date of the beginning of the Stonewall Rebellion."

  "Not a date I have ready in my memory. What's wrong with 1492?"

  "It's gotta be something only gay people know."

  "Or can learn," added Romeo.

  Inside, we passed the mailboxes for the building tenants and the door to the building rental office. Next, we came to an elevator, and Byron pushed the "up" button. It opened immediately, and we rose to the top floor. The two intermediate floors seemed to require a key.

  We exited into another lobby, but this one was carpeted and attractively decorated in a style that screamed "gay." The love-seat and chair were upholstered in black leather, and there were leopard print cushions and throw arranged on them. There were several men's magazines, including GQ and Men's Fitness on the coffee table. There was even a pedestal with a Greek statue of The Charioteer, a magnificent specimen of young manhood. At least it wasn't David. At the far side a solid wooden door had another number-code lock, and beside it was mounted a small bronze plaque with stated simply, "Elysium: A Club for Men: Private-Members Only." There was also a doorbell below that.

  Byron keyed in numbers again. "0203. February, 1903 was the first recorded police raid on a gay bath-house."

  "Oh, I knew that!" I cracked, sarcastically. "Jeez, I'll never learn how to get in this place."

  "Then either come with us or ring the bell. Or learn your gay history."

  The door swung open, and we were in another vestibule, this one darkened and panelled. There was a coat-room to one side, and next to it a small counter. Upon hearing the door open, or perhaps summoned by a signal from within, a receptionist emerged from a door next to the counter and greeted us. He was a short, wiry little fellow in khakis, sneakers, and red gold shirt with Elysium embroidered on it. He seemed glad to meet me, but rather unctuously solicitous. Byron and Romeo walked up and signed a register on the counter. I tagged along and peered over their shoulders. They each also had a member number.

  "What's mine?"

  "This one, you'll remember. 0001," explained Romeo. "And old Peter Dupree is 0002. They were the instigators of this whole thing, like thirty years ago. The twelve founders can pass their number to an heir if they want, but no one else can.

  "Hey, maybe that's what J. P. left me! His Club membership and number! After all, he didn't know you were gay, did he? And in only three and a half years, I have to start paying half-rate, with no sign of any money to do it with."

  "I guess we'll find out tomorrow. Listen, let's make a pact among us three. None of us knows what is in the will, right?" They nodded. "O. K., let's agree that whatever is in the will is J. P.'s doing, and not any of ours. We won't let it come between us, whatever he has planned."

  Byron nodded readily.

  "And one more thing," Romeo added. "About tonight. It's all in fun, Jack. We know you're going into a situation that is completely unfamiliar, and we promise we won't take undue advantage. Well, at least we won't let anything really bad happen to you, O. K.?"

  "No pain, no debasement, no piss, scat or filth, no blood, and no anal sex without a raincoat," I recited.

  "Well, that does kind of cramp our style," laughed Byron. "But O. K. Agreed."

  That settled, we turned down a corridor past the little reception cubicle, opening into the locker room. It was a far cry from any bath-house or YMCA locker room I'd ever seen. No wonder there were even some straight guys who came here. This place was top drawer. Romeo and Byron opened their lockers, which were more like closets, and stashed wallets and rings and such there.

  "Where's mine?"

  "Oh, dude, you're not a locker person. You're a room person. We'll show you."

  They led me through the locker area, past a large gang shower, a room for urinals, one for lavatories, another for toilets, and into another corridor, to room 0001. It also had a keypad lock.

  "It's 0816," Romeo said. "I don't know what happened then."

  I paused. "I do. My dad's birthday." It was kind of touching that J. P. used that code on his room. The door opened, and we went in.

  The room was about twelve feet by eighteen. It had a small seating area near the entrance, and a comfortable-looking queen-size bed at the other. There was a small wet- bar, with a rack of wine bottles and some glasses, and a small refrigerator. It even had a private bathroom, and a walk-in closet for storage. At the far end, there was a bank of uncurtained windows, which looked out, not on the outside world, but into an atrium hidden in the center of the building. Below, at the ground level, I could see the tiled pool shimmering in azure, with several naked forms swimming in it or standing around it.

  "How does a little town like this support such a place?" I wanted to know.

  "Members live all over the place, as far as Charlotte and Charleston. By having a room here, they can use the club as a weekend retreat. We have state legislators and officials, business leaders, professionals, and executives, and then we have hot-looking young military men and students as well. We're maxed out at a thousand-to get in now, somebody has to resign or die."

  Impressed, I left my wallet and watch on the end table, and we moved on through a maze of hallways, with a number of private rooms and other activity areas until, circling around toward the front of the building again, we came upon a stairway down to the next level. We descended into a large bar and game room. At one end, four pool tables were arranged under hanging lights, which provided most of the illumination for the room. All four tables were in play, with a dozen extra men standing around watching. Most of the players were missing at least some clothing, and two were jay-bird naked. At the other end, there was a dark alcove for video and pinball games. In between, there were tables and chairs, many of them occupied as well. A bank of four TV's hung from the far wall. Romeo led us toward the bar, which was tended by an enormous muscle- bound hunk wearing lace-up boots and a black, stretch vee-thong, which cupped his ample genitals in front, rode the crack of his muscled ass in back, and crossed over his bulging shoulders. Aside from this strap-like apparatus and an ample covering of body hair, he was nude.

  "Jack, my man," greeted the loquacious Romeo. "You're all dressed up tonight!"

  "He's usually buck naked," whispered Byron.

  "Yeah, special occasion." Answered Jack gruffly. "In the spirit of the strip pool game, you know. Don't want to spoil the suspense too early."

  "What suspense? Every guy here knows every freckle on every other guy's ass!"

  "There is something pretty sexy about getting naked while others are dressed, though," observed Byron.

  "Well, we haven't seen this one's ass yet, and there seems to be a lot of interest in it, too," Jack turned his strong but friendly gaze on me. "What'll it be, Mr. Carter. Sorry about your loss. J. P. was a great friend of all of us here."

  I thanked him but paused. There were no liquor bottles to be seen behind the bar, only a set of cabinets with small doors. "Uh, what've you got?"

  "Oh, yeah, well you probably don't know the system here. You see, we're not a licensed bar. You bring your own stuff, and I serve you out of your own cabinet. Since
you're using your grand-dad's cabinet tonight, I can tell you he has some real nice single- malt, and a bottle of Bombay Sapphire." He consulted a list in a notebook. "Also some Heineken's and Guinness, and a couple of bottles of nice red wine."

  "I'll work on the Heineken's. And I go by Jack."

  Jack crushed my fingers in his great paw, and then turned to the cooler for my Heineken's, while Romeo called out, "Get Coors for us, too, then." This Jack guy had one hell of a muscular ass. Even the hair down his brawny back looked sexy on him.

  Jack checked our beers off of our inventory list, while the three of us sipped our brew and swivelled to survey the room.

  The room was surveying us, too. A few faces looked vaguely familiar to me, but I couldn't really place anyone. The age spread looked to be from late teens to sixtyish, most sitting or standing with guys their own age. Lots of smiles and nods were directed at me.

  Down the room, the pool games were progressing. Amid much laughter and teasing, more textile had hit the carpet, and there were now five naked players over there. Suddenly a loud roar erupted from one corner, and a man in jockey briefs, about thirty with a hairy stomach and a bit of a paunch, did a little dance with his cue stick, and then advanced on his adversary, a naked, dark-skinned, skinny, very hairy white man around thirty-five with a resigned look on his stubbly face. The victor in underpants took his victim by the hand and led him out of the room amid catcalls and laughter from the onlookers.

  "Time to pay up, now, Larry. See you sometime tomorrow!"

  "Hey, Lar, should we tell the boss you'll be late in the morning?"

  These were immediately replaced by another pair of guys, in their forties, who racked the balls and began to play.

  And so it went. I figured out the house rules as I watched. Each pair had tallied their garments before the game and adjusted by agreement. Most of the time, one took off something if necessary to give him the same number of garments as his opponent. Whenever a player sank a shot, his opponent had to take something off. Generally, that meant that one was naked well before the game was finished, and sometimes, both men played the last several rounds in the buff. A few times, a real pool shark might have to allow his opponent one or two extra items of clothing just to even the match. Each pair had their own wager. Most had to do with some private service which was to be performed elsewhere. A few were about public entertainment or embarrassment. For example, one loser, a well-built and nicely hung black fellow in his late twenties, had to get up on the bar and do a solo jerk show for the room. I got the feeling that everyone had seen this guy jerk off before, some at very close range, but they all good-naturedly gathered around to watch, and he obligingly worked the crowd using his seven-inch tool to good advantage. After ten minutes, he spewed semen into his palm, then held it aloft for all to see, dismounting the bar to cheers and applause. He and his pool partner, now also naked, left the room arm-in-arm and grinning.