by J. P. James
“Speaking of support, Chase, would you please join me on stage?” BJ calls out. The next moment of silence shakes me from my daydreaming, and I find BJ staring directly at me. He gestures, holding his hand out to me. Everyone turns and looks my way.
I lock eyes with BJ. I would know that gaze anywhere. I don’t want to go up but manage a nervous smile. BJ hangs onto the microphone, still gesturing to me as if I’m a retarded child. Then he clears his throat.
“Please, don’t keep the crowd waiting,” he says, as charming as can be.
I feel myself sweat nervously. Oh god. I’m basically in the middle of a sex dream, and now I have to get up in front of the entire restaurant. How did this become such a nightmare?
I must look beet red. I glance left and right. Everyone is watching me. They can see my flushed face and the silly blue suit I’m wearing. I know I’m wearing clothes, but the way everyone is staring at me, I feel completely naked.
The stage lights guide me through the crowd. I do my best impression of a confident power walk. Still, I feel like a donkey who’s being led to the front of an auction. I shuffle onto the stage like a drunken clown.
I have never been so painfully aware of how bright the lights are. Also, this damned suit is so tight. It’s in the new style, and hugs my arms and legs practically like a second skin. I feel like a sausage in a too-tight casing.
Fortunately, the crowd can’t tell how uncomfortable I am. People clap as I walk up to BJ and hug him. He leans into my ear and whispers, “You look amazing. Thanks for being here,” before he returns to the microphone.
“Everyone, I’d like you to meet Chase,” he says. The crowd continues to cheer him on. “As you know, Chase is my boyfriend, and he’s been by my side throughout this entire campaign.” He grabs my hand and holds it tightly, and I can hear some sighs from the crowd. “That’s right, DC has been wonderful to us. Not a lot of cities would welcome a mayoral candidate who’s openly gay, but you have done what no other city has – you’ve opened your arms and hearts to the wonderful world of possibilities!”
The crowd cheers again, and there are a couple foot stomps and loud hoots. I can feel the burn of a hot light on my face. But wait – the stage lights aren’t on me; they’re on BJ. So why do I feel the pinpoint of a laser beam directed at me? I smile down at the crowd, doing my best Jack Kennedy impression. My eyes dart toward the bar and wham! There are those demanding blue eyes again, staring directly at me. I knew that beam felt familiar; the same piercing sensation as before reverberates through my entire body. I can feel sweat glisten on my arms and neck. I’m glad no one can see where else I’m starting to feel hot.
Shifting my weight from side to side, I notice what this mysterious man’s gaze has done to my sex. I have never felt so hard, and here I am on stage in front of a crowd of people. Please, I hope my jacket’s covering everything.
Thankfully, all eyes are on BJ. I’m glad he’s giving a speech right now. Hopefully, everyone is enthralled with him and no one gives a second look at my quivering body. Who is this man that can’t take his piercing eyes off of me? If he’s here for BJ, then he’s got me fooled.
But who am I kidding? This mysterious man, whoever he is, must be wondering what BJ is doing with such an immature boyfriend. I must look like fresh meat. I can’t help but shift my eyes around the crowd and fidget with my hands. I feel like a child in his dad’s suit. No, the mysterious man can’t possibly be looking at me that way. Yet somehow, I know he’s here for me, and that he’d take me with more than just his eyes when the time is right.
3
Blake
“Finally, some peace and quiet,” I tell myself as I close the limo door behind me. This is the quietest it’s been since I entered Westie’s. That place is a madhouse tonight.
My phone rings, and I already know who it is. Bless his heart, this is the seventh time Jimmy has rung me tonight. Maybe he wasn’t sure that I’d show up. Sometimes, I wish he’d take his job a little less seriously. I pick up the phone and calm him down.
“Jimmy, hi. Yes, the limo arrived, and I just sat down. The driver is pulling away as we speak,” I say while Jimmy continues to talk my ear off. Of all my aides, Jimmy treats me the most like a nagging wife, but I don’t mind. It’s his personality, and he wants to do the best job possible. Honestly, if it weren’t for him, I would probably forget to take my multivitamins.
“The venue was a little rough for my taste, so I left early. I can see why BJ Jones is so popular with young voters,” I admit. I roll down my window and feel the cool air across my face. It’s a welcome comfort because I can still feel the handsome man’s face sizzling on my brain. He’s hot on my tongue, like a scalding broth.
“Jimmy, I need to call you back. Yes, I’ll take my one-a-day when I get home,” I insist before hanging up. I’ve gotten used to cutting him off. I can only take so many requests from my assistant.
But back to the fundraiser. Once he took the stage, I knew I had to retreat. I couldn’t crave him from that distance; it would have been too obvious. Watching him from the bar was better for everyone. That way, I don’t look like a perverted geezer, and he can feel like a human being instead of a piece of meat.
Too bad I moved a bit too far away from the stage. The audio was atrocious, and the crowd was too rowdy. I couldn’t hear BJ introduce that handsome man. Was he his husband? Was he his boyfriend? If I’m lucky, perhaps he was nothing more than his assistant or a speech writer. He did thank him in the middle of a stirring talk, though. The stranger must be important.
I look down at my phone and open the browser.
“Where are you, BJ Jones?” I wonder as I scroll through link upon link to his campaign materials.
I find the politician’s Twitter page. There must be at least one picture of his friend on here. That’s all I need.
My eyes start to blur as I scroll further through his feed. I have never had Facebook, and plan to keep it that way. I don’t see how Instagram will help me at this point. I own a multi-billion dollar publishing house. I don’t need a newsfeed to tell me the difference between real and fake news.
“Yes,” I say. It comes out like a grunt. This man has me acting like some kind of animal.
There’s a picture of them at a cookout from the summer. Judging from their wet hair and skin, it was a humid day, but this man looks all the more beautiful. The way his skin glistens makes me want to taste the salt with my tongue. I want my mouth all over his muscles.
The caption reads, “A well-deserved break from the campaign trail w/ @ChaseAdams.” As I read the name in my head, I feel the heat rise within me.
“Chase Adams,” I whisper. I let the name come slowly, careful not to force it from my mouth. In holding it back, the words again come out like a groan.
This time, I find Chase’s Twitter account, and his bio says everything I need to know.
Chase Adams. Reporter for the Washington Post – Federal Law Enforcement. Lover of all things weird and wacky. Did I mention I need coffee?
Hmm. He’s smart and funny.
Good humor, brains, and body. I shouldn’t be surprised. The Washington Post only hires the best of the best, not just good reporters but exceptionally well-rounded people. I should know because once upon a time, I wanted to work there.
Speaking of things well and rounded, I can’t get his body out of my mind. It was taut and fit beneath that blue suit, the material hugging his ridges. I couldn’t take my eyes off his physique.
Stirring, I decide to dial Jimmy and wait for him to pick up; it usually only rings once.
I’m right. He answers immediately. I calm him down again. “Jimmy, let’s go over the schedule. What do tomorrow’s meetings look like?” I ask.
As he runs down the list, I chant his name over and over in my brain. Chase Adams. I want to know the name intimately. I need to know Chase intimately, too. My mouth opens of its own.
“Before lunch, I need to schedule a meeting with a cub reporter; I beli
eve his name is Chase Adams. Shift any meetings you need to, got it?” If anyone can move around my schedule without suffering a heart attack, it’s Jimmy. “Great, and yes, I’ll take my one-a-day as soon as I’m home. Don’t worry. Goodnight, Jimmy.” I hang up before he can “one more thing” me.
I roll the window back up, sufficiently chilled by the night’s air. However, I can feel the fire at the bottom of my stomach, smoldering at the thought of Chase Adams and me in a room together alone. I feel myself stiffen. I can’t wait to discuss this man’s potential in each and every way.
4
Chase
I walk arm in arm with BJ as we climb the steps to my apartment building. Then I turn around and wave goodnight to Jerry. As he drives away, he gives us his signature thumbs up. I swear that guy is always business, no pleasure.
I wish I could say I’m arm in arm with BJ because we’re hopelessly in love, but actually, it’s a far cry from romance. Instead, I’m just trying to get us home before BJ passes out. You see, BJ loves to drink. He had a few too many after his stirring speech at Westie’s. Luckily, Jerry whisked us away before BJ could make a complete fool of himself in front of the cameras and crowd.
“For a native, you sure can’t hold your alcohol,” I grunt at him as he leans into my chest, his face resting against my pecs.
“Babe, this suit looks great. It’s great. You’re great. Everything is great,” he says like a drunken cheerleader. His words are slightly muffled because his lips can barely form coherent words.
I unlock the front door and drag him over the threshold. Damn, BJ’s heavy. He tries to stand up straight and almost succeeds it until he trips over his own foot. Goofball, he was so close.
“Chase, my love, thank you so much! Thank you for being there. You met my friends and my supporters. I feel so amazing,” he says, gushing over the swirl of memories from tonight. I smile and lay him on the couch before sitting in the chair next to him so that he can stretch out. Usually, when he gets this drunk, he’ll kick me out of the bed. It’s better if he just has the couch to himself for a while.
I stare out the window as BJ curls up like a baby. My boyfriend’s right. The night went off without a hitch. Westie’s was awesome as usual, there was a huge crowd cheering BJ on, and everyone loved what he had to say. Practically everyone wanted to meet and greet him after his speech. Not to mention the music was bumping all night. It was spectacular, all around.
Except I didn’t have a great night and I can’t tell anyone why. See, I spent the night locking eyes with my handsome mystery man, but when I left the stage, I couldn’t find him anywhere. It’s like he disappeared. Now, I’m a horrible boyfriend, and my crush has vanished into thin air.
I had a fool-proof alibi. People were mingling after the speech. I could have walked right up to him, shook his hand, and introduced myself as BJ’s partner. Maybe he’s a huge fan, and we could have talked about BJ the whole time. I could ask him what he does, ask if he comes to Westie’s often, tell him I’m new to the city, and he’d offer recommendations. If I were lucky, he would have asked my name, and we could have exchanged business cards and a friendly handshake. Maybe that’s all I need to get him out of my system. BJ is still my boyfriend, and he’s still a good guy…I think?
I don’t know anymore. I feel like a Leprechaun who made it to the pot at the end of the rainbow, only to find it empty. I feel like something’s missing, that’s for sure, because I can’t stop thinking about this mysterious stranger. I didn’t see the handsome man leave. Did he take a car or an Uber? His suit tells me he could have left in a limo, but I’ll never know. I never got to introduce myself. I never even got a chance to ask his name, so what do I do now?
The night is still young. I’m so horny for him. I would have settled for a firm handshake, but in my wildest dreams, I would have let him do so much more to me. Then, like an illusion, he was gone.
“Chase, did you have a good time?” BJ asks, his face now muffled by the couch. I run my fingers up and down my crotch discreetly, remembering the guy in the bar. What would a night in his arms be like?
Fortunately, BJ’s too out of it to notice what I’m doing. “Perfect,” I say rather quickly. I don’t know whose question I just answered.
I run my finger over the sensitive tip of my dick, and the sudden sensation catches me off guard. I cough quickly to catch my breath. There’s a fire inside of me. I wish the mystery man were here to ease it.
“If it weren’t for Travis, this night wouldn’t have gone so smoothly. I owe him,” BJ says as he beats the cushion under his head.
“Who’s Travis?” I ask idly, more out of habit instead of interest. My hand moves from my cock to my balls. I try to imagine the stranger’s mouth on them, licking and sucking. Mmmm.
“I’ve told you about Travis. Remember, Travis McCord? I met him a couple of months ago. He took me to that charity gala last week,” he goes on.
BJ’s story shakes me from my daydreams. What did he just say?
“That oil guy? You told me you met him last week,” I remind him. I would remember since I haven’t liked the sound of this guy from the beginning.
“Did I? Well, we’ve been in the same circles for a bit, and he invited me to some charity gala. I went because it was a great opportunity to talk business and meet other important people. You know, potential donors and all. Travis is great,” BJ enthuses. “He knows where it’s at, and has tons of hook-ups.” My boyfriend rubs his head. Maybe he has a headache coming on.
But something about this whole thing sounds off to me, so I throw a sharp look at my boyfriend. “Just be careful, alright?” I ask him. “You know DC is full of sharks, and this Travis person could be one of them.” Then again, even though I’m concerned, I’m losing interest in the conversation.
BJ is still tucked into the couch cushion, facing away from me. I cup my cock again lightly, feeling the hardness into my hand. How would that mystery man grip it? He looked so strong at the restaurant. I bet he’d handle my rod well.
BJ coughs. “You shouldn’t worry, Travis is on my side. He financed the fundraiser tonight, and he’s also offered to be my economic advisor. I’m lucky to have all this support in such a short amount of time, especially from a wealthy and powerful person,” he mumbles from the depths of the cushion. He sounds like a sleepy child, dreaming of all the Christmas presents under the tree.
I, on the other hand, nearly fall off my chair. I can daydream later.
“What?! Tell me that again?” I ask as I stand and walk to the couch.
“Travis McCord is going to be my economic advisor. What’s the matter?” BJ mutters. He turns to me, but his eyes are closed, and he’s smiling like a child.
“Let me get this straight. You lied to me about Travis. Now, I’m learning after the fact that this sketchy guy paid for your big fundraiser, and is now an economic adviser. Are you kidding me, BJ?” I accuse him like he’s standing trial for being a rotten boyfriend. He peels his eyes open and sits up.
“Hey, easy now,” he objects. But he’s still drunk, and gets up too quickly. My boyfriend grabs the arm of the couch to stop the room from spinning. But I’m not done yet.
“Not only that, but now you’re telling me you’re going to let a snake-oil salesman tell you how to craft policy? What the fuck?” I ask. I don’t know where this is coming from, but I’m pissed. BJ stands, still keeping one hand on the arm of the chair.
“Whoa, Chase! Relax!” he says tensely. He winces like he has a raging headache, yet I can see the softness in his face. He looks like a baby to me. How have I not noticed this until now? I can’t shake my wariness, though.
“This guy’s chummy with you for a reason. He might tell you that climate change isn’t real. He might convince you that sea levels fluctuate like gas prices,” I say. “But don’t believe it. Believe in the data and the facts, BJ. Don’t believe in some Texas oil man. They want one thing only, and that’s money.”
BJ takes his hand off the arm of
the couch. He’s wobbling, but manages to stay upright.
“Babe, I’m not an idiot. McCord offered his help tonight, and, I don’t know, maybe I can help him in return. I know what he is. He’s playing a game, and in a way, I am too,” he admits while burying his hands in his pockets. He always does this when he’s nervous.
“BJ, did you ever think he wants to help you for a reason? You’re young, and maybe he thinks you’re gullible,” I hypothesize. BJ shakes his head and shoots me a nasty look.
“Do you think I’m gullible, Chase?” he asks, practically spitting fire at me now. “Geez, I didn’t know this is what you thought of your own boyfriend.”
I stand my ground. “BJ, you’re acting like a brat. Your views are inconsistent, and when you’re challenged on them, you get defensive. That’s all,” I say as I cross my arms over my chest. I keep thinking Chase, where is this coming from? But I have to call BJ out. I’m never this harsh with him, but things seem to be spinning out of control. Maybe it’s time someone started challenging him on his politics.
The words set BJ on fire. Pointing his finger in my face, he yells, “I’m acting like a brat? Look at you! You had a great time tonight, but the second you don’t understand something, you throw a fit!”
The burning desire I had for my mystery man is gone. Now all I feel is disgust. I’m pissed because how dare BJ say I don’t know anything? I’ve sat in on more committee meetings and political forums than he has. I may be new, but I wouldn’t be at the Post if I weren’t smart! Still, maybe we’re not fighting for the right reasons. Am I just upset because I have blue balls for a mystery man I’ve never met?