He tried a prostitute to see if a professional could arouse him, but it was a failure. Instead they talked; her hour of time became a counselling session. He found it easy to open up to a complete stranger that wouldn’t judge him. He broke down and told her everything. She held him as he sobbed, gently suggesting that he needed to be honest with himself, and try a guy.
What was the big deal? In this day and age it was accepted and celebrated. Who cared whether he was straight or gay, get on with it, life was short?
So here he was running down a busy London street with the man who’d started it all. He felt strangely elated, excited; this is what he’d been searching for.
David had turned off the main street and taken them down steps to a basement apartment. Seb hadn’t spoken a word, all he could concentrate on was the feel of David’s grip on his arm. Excitement flooded through him, he couldn’t speak. David released him and fished the front door key out of his pocket.
“Here we are, home sweet home,” he announced as he threw open the door for Seb to step inside.
Seb obeyed, his heart pounding.
The apartment was impressive: soothing, bright, and glamorous. The boy had taste and was obviously doing well. Seb remembered Helen and her brother coming into an inheritance a while back, he wonder what he did for a living, if he worked at all.
David pushed him into the living room, throwing aside what looked like a camera case. Maybe he was a photographer?
“Sit down, boy, let me get you a coffee, espresso do you? Excuse the mess; wasn’t expecting guests.”
The place was immaculate.
David busied himself in the open plan kitchen. A large breakfast bar separated the two areas, living and cooking. He seemed to have all manner of cooking instruments known to man. Pots, jugs, ladles and chopping boards hung from every available space. Herbs, spices, pulses and pastas packed glass jars covering the work surface. The scene reminded Seb of a celebrity chef reality television show, the guy could obviously cook.
The smell of coffee filled the air as David ground beans. Seb sat down in the nearest of the oversized cream sofas. It was deep and soft, he started to relax a little. This is just two guys having a coffee, catching up on old times, he told himself.
Was David gay or straight? He looked pretty macho, and the apartment seemed macho, maybe David was straight after all. He didn’t want to make a fool of himself… shit, how the hell could you tell? He looked around for signs. Everything was beautiful; art, sculptures, flowers, the decor simple and classy. But straight guys could have good taste… couldn’t they? Maybe the bathroom would show signs.
“Where’s the Gents, mate?” Seb said in his deepest virile voice. David laughed; he sounded more Aussie than Irish.
“Down the corridor, one on the left and one the right, depends if you want a shower or a jacuzzi… mate,” he mimicked, enjoying Seb’s confusion.
Seb jumped up and strode (as wide-legged, John Wayne manly as possible) down the corridor. Looking straight ahead, past the wet room, he noticed an open door, through which he could see a wall covered floor to ceiling with paparazzi style black-and-white photographs. A single spotlight shone on the collection; the rest of the room was in darkness. Each image seemed to be of the same face; close-ups, long distant, group shots, and intimate blurred entwined bodies. Seb squinted, trying to focus on what he was seeing.
David’s hand hit his shoulder, he jumped.
“This way, mate,” David breathed close into his ear, as he physically lifted and turned the surprised, 230 lbs. Seb into the bathroom doorway. He had the strength of an ox.
“That’s my den, very messy, you don’t want to go in there, you don’t know what you might find,’ he teased.
“Oh yeah, sorry, lost my bearings, thanks.”
Seb fell into the bathroom, promptly closing the door behind him. The electricity rush of being manhandled by David paralysed him. God, he felt like a stupid kid with a crush. His hardening cock made it difficult to pee.
Having found no tell-tale signs of David’s sexuality in the bathroom cabinet, he returned to the living room. The den door at the end of the corridor was now firmly closed. He found two steaming hot cups of coffee and David waiting for him. He was lounging on one sofa so he opted for the other.
They sat chatting for over an hour. Catching up on school, on life, on everything except that night in the dorm. Seb filled David in on a scandal that had hit Heddington Hall after he’d left, three staff had been brutally murdered, the Headmaster, the school priest and a science professor. David was shocked. They giggled over the meteoric rise of four pupils in their year who were now Members of Parliament, helping to run the country, no wonder it was in such a bloody awful state. They found that they had photography in common, and discussed the magic of it.
Seb’s mind kept wandering; he couldn’t help but let his eyes drift to David’s crotch. David didn’t help, he’d opened his shirt, complaining of the heat, and sat with his legs wide open, facing Seb. While they chatted he would, seemingly innocently, rub his thighs, spreading his hands wide over the leg muscle, gently massaging the length of it.
Maybe kissing boys had just been a phase that David had gone through and now was firmly heterosexual, panicked Seb… why do I want him so badly? gotta get outta here and have a wank.
As if reading his mind, David jumped up and walked around the back of the sofa.
“You know what?” he bent down and pulled out his camera from the black bag he’d been carrying earlier.
“Gonna put you on the other side of the camera for a change, stay right there, the light is really good coming in on you from the window.”
He lifted the camera to his face and started to focus on Seb.
“Nah, not me mate, I don’t go there… pig ugly me,” he turned away embarrassed, David ignored him. ‘Give it a rest,’ he laughed, shielding his hand between them, self-conscious.
“Besides, I thought I was here to talk about a surprise for Helen,” he queried through splayed fingers.
David expertly manoeuvred the camera in and around his reluctant muse’s hands. All the while giving vocal encouragement, his voice low and teasing.
“Yeah, that’s good.”
Click, click.
“Yeah, you look great, Seb.”
They laughed as Seb jumped up to get away and David chased him around the room, the camera clicking furiously.
Click, click.
“That’s it, just like that.”
“Love it… keep doing that…”
Seb was beginning to enjoy himself, being chased, having someone else try and capture some magic in him for a change.
“You look great, yeah…”
He played the fool now, posing in different silly positions, sticking out his tongue, jumping up and down like an ape, crawling on the floor, sitting at the piano pretending to play it like an old pro, the crashing sound of the notes, horrendous, all the while David following, encouraging.
Boisterous laughter filled the room. Finally, Seb, performing an ill-timed spectacular superhero leap from one sofa to another, tripped and fell. He lay flat out on his back, heaving with exhaustion.
‘I surrender,’ he gasped. ‘That’s enough.’
David quickly straddled him, the camera poised over his face, catching the joy in it.
“Enough…enough,” he begged.
Click, click.
“That’s it… gotcha! … finally caught the real you,” he shouted triumphantly as he relaxed laughing, and plumped down astride his model.
Silence.
You could hear a pin drop, the atmosphere changed gear.
David straddled Seb’s groin, pinning him to the floor, the camera forgotten, held in limbo between them. Seb stared up into David’s beautiful face, enjoying the weight of his body pushing down on his cock, the delicious feeling of sexual submission washed over him; he could pass out with pleasure.
The look in David’s eyes as he watched Seb said it
all; they were back in the Heddington Hall dormitory, two boys bound together in a secret moment. Seb’s tight short breaths grew louder, breaking the silence. He waited, unsure what to do next.
“There is no Helen’s birthday surprise,” David whispered. “I lied, to get you here.”
He leaned down and gently kissed Seb’s open mouth. The hot softness of his lips sent a rush through Seb, he couldn’t move. His mouth hung open as David pulled away, begging for a second kiss. His eyes pleaded for more.
David held back, enjoying the moment of power over his pathetic prey… he’s gagging for it, whimpering like a puppy, ready to let me do anything I want… just the way I like them, let him wait a little longer, soon I will take him, the longer he waits, the sweeter it will be, he won’t know what’s hit him. He felt the beginnings of Seb’s hard-on nudge beneath him.
Mission accomplished, his mood switched, he got up sharply, purposefully ruining the moment.
Standing over Seb, eyeing the bulge in his jeans.
“Oops, sorry luv, forgot you’re into women, forgive my rudeness… did you enjoy my sister?” he spat sarcastically, his head rocking back with laughter.
Seb, confused at the sudden change in attitude, scrambled to his feet. The bastard was laughing at him, what was he playing at? He pulled himself together, embarrassed hands covering his tell-tale cock.
“No, no, I mean yes…. NO… I must go; I have a meeting, thank you for the coffee, David.”
He ran for the door, desperate to get out, get some air… what happened?
David shouted after him, “when you decide to stop running away, I’m here, you won’t be able to deny it forever Seb, some things are stronger than us, sex is one of them!”
David followed him out the door and shouted up the steps.
“Don’t leave it too long, I may not fancy you forever, you’re cute, but not that cute sweetie!”
His words stung in Seb’s ears as he crashed out onto the noisy Brompton Court Road. Tears pricked his eyes… fuck, the shame of it, he was again back at school, running down the corridor to get away from David and the feeling of dirt.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Tara had had absolutely no joy in trying to persuade Franco to let someone else do the shoot. The advertising agency and client were so excited about the campaign that they’d bent over backwards to get Franco to agree the very lucrative contract. Everyone was happy but Tara. The Italy trip was looming. She tried one last stab at talking it through with Seb.
They met for a drink at the Foyal Ruck Bar, a popular haunt in the Fulham Road; she came clean about her fears. He was sympathetic, but felt they could get away with it.
“Look… I sorted it with everyone involved in the original shoot, they’re signing a privacy contract. They’ve all agreed to keep quiet, they like working with me, no worries. To keep the advertising boys happy I’ll sort the contract with the model, you, through my office.”
“If this gets out, my job is dust, you know what those anal fence-sitting corporate boys are like Seb, some of them would love nothing more than to twist this into more than it is, I’ve worked hard to build up a reputation within this business; conning your superiors is not a good thing on a CV.”
“You’re over-reacting, babe. If this goes well, it could also be the making of you, think of the publicity, ‘Producer, Campaign of the Year’ you would be made, set up your own agency, stuff em I say.”
“Urrrgh! I’ve got a bad vibe about this Seb, I’ll do it, but I’m not happy.”
Tara sipped her drink tentatively, looking around the bar. The Foyal Ruck was full of beautiful boys and girls, draped over large sofas, dining tables, and chairs. The place had a cosy, debauched country manor feel, complete with fireplaces, candelabras and hunting paraphernalia.
Stunning eight foot high oil paintings by Scarlett Raven adorned the walls. Tartan fabrics were mixed with fur and lace. Not what Tara would have put together, but it seemed to work in a bohemian miss-match way. They had found a private nook area in the corner, tucked behind a suit of armour clad in stockings and suspenders. The nook housed a tartan sofa, fireplace, and backgammon board coffee table.
Surveying the scene, she felt old and fat. The boys looked so young in their grown-up business suits, fat knotted ties and gelled hair. The girls had fab bodies, washboard stomachs framed with skimpy tops and tight low-slung jeans, whatever happened to waistbands? She didn’t remember her stomach ever looking that good, even at their age.
A melody of cell phones rang and bleeped around her. People didn’t go out with their mates anymore, they went out with their phone, spending all night at the bar checking mail. The art of one-on-one conversation had come to an end. She was sounding more and more like her mum.
… lighten up , she told herself… get with the program, get ya phone out, and play with it.
That reminded her, she must get a new ringtone, the laughing frog on amphetamines was not happening for her.
Seb went to the bar to get another round in, she adored him, he was a sweetheart. Shame she’d never fancied him, he would be a dream to link up with, but there was a brotherly chemistry between them, always had been. She couldn’t imagine ripping his clothes off and leaping on him, she would leave those thoughts to Helen.
He was very excited about this campaign; it was something he could get his teeth into. The air of mystery was fun; he felt he was getting one up on the ad men, who normally prostituted his work. The agency had asked him to take a film camera with him when they did the stills in Italy. They wanted amateurish film footage of Franco and the girl, as if taken by a holidaymaker. Footage of them hanging out at the beach, at a restaurant, a bar, looking relaxed and happy. They would then edit the crude footage into fifteen-second commercials. which would join the poster and radio ads.
Seb was stepping into another side of film, which energized him. He also needed to get out of London for a while, away from the likes of David. He couldn’t stop thinking about him and the humiliation of running around like an idiot with a crush, having his picture taken…. what an eejit!
He returned with drinks, to find Tara scrolling through her ringtones. Playing through each one until she ended up frustrated, choosing a simple ‘ring—ring, ring—ring’ old-fashioned land line.
“The whole bloody idea, babe, is that you have an original tone, so that you don’t have to jump looking for your phone every time you hear a phone ring,” he laughed.
“But they’re all so bloody annoying, I want a low soft sound that doesn’t do my eardrums in,” she moaned.
“At least we all know the demented frog is you when it goes off, no one else would have such a crappy one,” he laughed, promising to load a new one off the web for her. “What about a bit of the deep throated mister Barry White, letting you know he’s hanging on just for you?”
While she fiddled with her phone, reinstating the frog, Seb leaned back into the sofa, surveying the bar. He didn’t feel comfortable in sloaney places. The posh, spoiled young kids annoyed him with their street ignorance and stuffy self-importance. He saw them as dim-witted inbreds, spawned from a heritage of self-obsessed families that gave themselves titles and double-barrelled names in an effort to sound important, archaic crap. They were depressingly uneducated and out of touch with real life. This wasn’t his normal hangout but hey, he could put up with the eejit toffs for one night.
He thought of David, for the hundredth time that day. David was the most beautiful, mesmerizing creature he’d ever seen. If he walked in now there would be a silence. His gothic dark looks were so damn sexy he would turn all heads, male and female. His power lay in his eyes; they penetrated deep into you, saw your darkest secrets, and willed you to bring them out to play. A dirty grin would creep onto his face, saying, “I know what you want and I’m gonna give it to you, when you’ve got the guts to admit it,” he would see your bad side and not flinch, on the contrary, he wanted you all the more for it.
Seb’s body shivered with
anticipation. Fuck it, what the hell; why shouldn’t he give it a try; he would call him and go over for another… coffee.
Coming out of his daydream, back to reality, he looked over at Tara, her head bowed, still trying to find her ringtone. His heart sank with recognition, was hers the face on the walls of David’s den?
Chapter Twenty-Five
To keep it private and simple, just a few of them would go to Italy for the Sporjakk job. Seb, his assistant Mark, the hair stylist Anton (whose skills included makeup, not that Franco needed either, swooned Anton), and Tara. The fewer people involved the better. The four travelled together on the midday BA flight from Heathrow, without much ado.
In contrast to Franco, who travelled later that afternoon; the persistent Maria insisted on being with him to send him off. At check-in, she managed to catch the eye and smile sweetly at paparazzi that had, per chance, been there to snap a departing holidaying royal. She enjoyed being in the limelight and draped herself elegantly on Franco’s shoulder at the mere sniff of a photographer, soaking up the opportunity to be the beautiful celebrity couple. Photographers took the bait and snapped away, glad of the opportunity to capture the normally private life of Franco Rossellini. The pictures would be worth a buck or two.
Michael sniffed in annoyance at the fake act of union, chucking the bags noisily onto the check-in belt; he pushed past the posing Maria. When would this bird get the message… get lost. She didn’t care for Franco, she just wanted the fame and money, and she used her cunt to get it. When would the boss wake up? This was gonna put the spanner in the works with that Tara bird if he wasn’t careful.
Michael was dreading the journey back to London; he had to take her with him. Let’s hope she sits in the back and shuts up for a change. Whenever they were alone, she would use the opportunity to sneakily question him on Franco’s movements. Sourcing info on him, everything from where he bought his shirts, to his favourite eating places, to whose was the blonde hair she’d found on the backseat of the car? It had taught him to give the car a good clean every time he picked her up, for fear of her going into one.
The Penance List Page 16