In My Father’s House

by E. Lynn Harris

  “You don’t have to do the party, Daniel,” I said with a cool tone, “but I would like to bring you into the agency. We do a lot of sports modeling. It looks like you would fit the build on what most of our clients are looking for. In fact, a friend of mine is looking for models with your look to do a high-paying job in the Caribbean.”

  Excitement flashed across his face for a split second.

  “Of course,” I said, “that means we do a lot of swimwear and underwear modeling assignments. Do you have a problem with that?”

  He squared his broad shoulders and said, “Of course not. Just ’cause I don’t want to sell myself to these sick men doesn’t mean I don’t want to show my body.” His voice got lower and softer. “Matter of fact, why don’t I give you a look at what you’d be sending out.”

  “Excuse me?” I asked as he stared hard into my eyes. “That’s not necessary—”

  Daniel popped open his shirt and dropped his jeans without a hint of shyness. His muscles rippled under smooth bronze skin. I didn’t know where to look first: the bulging biceps that tapered down from his buff shoulders, his round, hairless pecs, his washboard stomach, or those muscular thighs. Standing right in front of my desk, he was a living, breathing underwear ad in a pair of black boxer briefs as tight as his own skin. He either had a huge dick or his average-size one was fully erect.

  I forced myself to stop my jaw from dropping. And my body was on fire, hard as a rock there behind my desk.

  “You think your clients will like this?” Daniel asked. I was trying not to stare, so I picked up his comp card and acted like I was studying it.

  “Mr. Dean, you’re avoiding me,” he said with a teasing tone. “Do you think I’ll get a lot of work with your agency?”

  “I’m sure you could, Daniel. You have a very nice body.”

  “Would you like to see more? I think you would,” Daniel said as he dropped the boxer briefs. Now I was really in trouble. His hairless body was flawless, the kind gay men dreamed of, with its soft, smooth skin over hard muscles.

  “Daniel, you don’t have—”

  He walked behind my desk and stood in front of me totally nude. “Would you like to touch my abs?” They were so cut, and in my face, it looked like I could run my fingertip through the ridges and trace little squares.

  “I don’t think I can do that,” I said, trying to maintain a professional and firm tone of voice. I couldn’t help inhaling the mix of his cologne and that clean, musky man scent that made me feel weak. Still, my voice was strong. “You might say I sexually harassed you, Daniel.”

  He let out a low, sexy laugh. His huge dick swung like a pendulum in my face as he said, “No, it’s perfectly clear that I’m sexually harassing you, Bentley. I think you’re quite handsome yourself and this has nothing to do with me signing with your agency or not. This has everything to do with me wanting to see how it feels to have you inside me.”

  As Daniel talked, my dick was getting so brick hard that I was sure it would tear through my underwear and pants. I’d heard of things like this happening in auditions, but it had never happened to me. Should I tell this handsome man to put his clothes back on?

  Or should I just clear my desk?

  The cool, controlled businessman in me took over as I said, “You don’t even know me, Daniel. I thought you came in for work.”

  “We can talk about work later,” Daniel said as he got on his knees and reached for my zipper. When his warm hands covered the head of my dick, I felt defenseless. He licked the pre-cum off my dick. It stiffened even more.

  “Damn, Bentley, you taste good,” Daniel said, pulling on my pant leg. “Take these off.”

  “That feels good,” I groaned. “Can you take it all?” I whispered as I let my pants drop to the floor.

  “Let me see.” Then he showed me the answer: yes. Because he took me in so deep, I could feel his lips brushing against my nuts.

  It felt so good to focus on the pure pleasure of the moment. Nothing else. After about five minutes, Daniel stood in front of me. He smelled so good. My eyes met his penetrating gaze.

  His voice was deep and dominating as he said, “I want you to take this splendid piece of meat and fuck me, Bentley.”

  “Do you have condoms?”

  He looked surprised. “Don’t you?”

  “Not at the office,” I said as my dick began throbbing.

  “Damn, don’t you want some of this?” Daniel asked as he turned his ass toward me and tooted it up in the air.

  “You know I do,” I said, running the palm of my hand over the perfectly round curve of his ass.

  He looked me in the eyes and ordered, “Sit your ass on your desk and let me ride it.”

  “But we don’t have condoms,” I said with a tone to let him know this conversation was over.

  “I’m not going to let you put it in,” he said, “but I want you to see how good it’s gonna feel. When you get some free time, we can do it right.”

  I moved some folders from my desk. It felt cold as I sat my bare ass on it. Then Daniel sat on my lap, facing me. He placed his arms around my neck and laced his fingers to lock his grip. He kissed me gently and choreographed every move until his plump, naked ass brushed against my dick. Then he started grinding and teasing me.

  Damn, I thought, I ought to just take a chance and get some of this ass.

  He had the sexiest look in his eyes as he whispered, “You want it, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, I do,” I groaned, running my fingers over his baby-soft but rock-hard pecs.

  “What you gonna do with it, Bentley?”

  “I’m gonna fuck the shit outta you.”

  “Sure you are,” Daniel said as he bounced his ass up and down on my dick and his own hard dick against my stomach.

  “Don’t play with me, boi,” I said. Daniel continued to grind his ass against my dick. It felt almost as good as I knew that it would once I got inside. Before I knew what was happening, the pre-cum turned to a nice little load of cum, but not as much as normally jutted from my dick.

  “Shit, dude,” I said deeply. “You got skills. I haven’t come that way since I was a teenager.”

  Daniel smiled as he dismounted off my lap. “Just wait ’til you put it in. Be prepared the next time.”

  “When will that be?”

  “Soon. Give me your number.”

  I got off the desk and pulled my pants up. I scanned my desk for a notepad so that I could give Daniel my number. “Where do you live?”

  “Fort Lauderdale. And yourself?”

  “On South Beach.”

  “Must be nice,” he said, pulling on his boxers.

  “Not on the nice side.”

  “Every side of South Beach is nice.” Daniel stood there in that underwear model pose that I could imagine on the side of every bus in Manhattan. Or workin’ it for Mitch’s agency down in the Caribbean.

  “So do you still want to work for me?”

  “If it’s a good opportunity,” he said, pulling on his jeans, “I’d be interested. But none of those parties where people gawk at me and think flashing cash will get them a piece of ass.”

  “So this isn’t going to cost me,” I said playfully.

  His tone was hard as he said, “Don’t step to me that way, Bentley. You know better.”

  “I’m sorry, just trying to make a joke.” My office was silent and felt a little awkward as I finished writing my number and address on the notepad.

  “I know,” Daniel said as he pulled his shirt down his arms. “You seem like a cool dude. I’ve been looking for a new FWB.”

  “FWB?”

  He poked his head out of the shirt and said, “Friends with benefits, silly.”

  “Oh,” I said, handing him the paper. I didn’t ask him for his because I figured if he really wanted to see me, now he had the information.

  “Thanks, Bentley. I’ll give you a call. Or maybe I’ll drop by when you least expect.”

  “Do that,” I said,
challenging Daniel, even though I didn’t like surprise guests. I just wanted to see if he was bluffing.

  “Okay, but don’t say you haven’t been warned.”

  “Warned about what?”

  “This ass. It’s addictive.”

  TEN

  Two days before the big party, my client threw me a curveball. Mr. Sneed rang my cell phone, instructing me to replace one of my masculine “top type” guys with a slender, feminine guy. His casual and comfortable use of that term raised my suspicions once again that sex was secretly on the agenda for this event.

  Because what Mr. Sneed meant by “top type” was that some gay men prefer to be on top during sex, as the one who does the penetrating. Whereas a more feminine guy would be a “bottom” as the one who gets penetrated. Guys who did both were called “versatile.”

  Still, Mr. Sneed played it off in the visual sense, focusing on how the guys would look as “eye candy,” not on how they would perform in bed.

  Why hadn’t he told me this at our first meeting? I could have chosen from several feminine guys at the casting. Most of the several dozen models who showed up—forming a line that snaked out the door and down the street—were masculine. They made it easy to satisfy Mr. Sneed’s initial request.

  Now I was starting over. Since I didn’t have any feminine types on my roster, I had to go back to Model Mania’s Web site. I placed my ad and received a couple of responses. I invited two into the office for interviews, but only one showed up.

  When he walked into my office with such command, I didn’t know who was interviewing whom. He was obviously gay, and slim-hipped with an auburn and black Mohawk hairstyle. Wearing tight, skinny jeans and a sheer black shirt with a white T-shirt under it, he had a scarf tied around his neck. He carried a brown leather man purse.

  “I’m Bentley Dean,” I said, extending my hand.

  Instead of giving me a handshake, he rubbed his delicate hand across the top of mine and said, “Charmed, I’m sure, Mr. Dean.”

  “And you’re Gabriel.” His face was oblong and hairless, with flawless mocha skin that looked more than familiar with facials. His nose was somewhat pointed, which blended nicely with his high cheekbones. His eyebrows were waxed into perfect black arches. And his dark eyes appeared seductive and smoky, because he was either wearing black eyeliner or had permanent makeup tattooed into the bases of his eyelashes that were curled but natural-looking. Whether the dark pink hue on his full lips was natural or not, that was a big question mark.

  “Yes, Gabriel Teal, like in Halle Berry’s baby daddy, Gabriel.” His gold hoop earrings shook a little.

  “Have a seat, Gabriel.”

  “I think I will,” he said. Gabriel removed the neck scarf and dusted my chair before sitting down. What was that about? There was no dust on my furniture.

  “So how long have you been modeling, Gabriel?” I asked as I sat behind my desk and scanned the comp card that he handed me.

  “Since I was sweet sixteen.” A choking cloud of his floral-scented perfume came at me across the desk.

  “All in Miami?”

  “No, I did a little in New York and some in Los Angeles. Mostly runway shows, but some print. I got a fierce walk. You want to see?”

  “Not right now.” I took another look at his comp card.

  “So tell me about this job,” he ordered.

  “Excuse me?”

  His brown eyes flashed impatience as he looked at me. “You said I could make some nice money. What’s the gig?”

  “I have a client who’s having a private party and he wants some nice-looking young men,” I said. I saw no need to mention the “gay friendly” part.

  “All men?”

  “Yes. Is that a problem?”

  “Not for me. No, no, not at all.”

  “Great.”

  “Now, whose dick am I expected to suck?” Gabriel’s bluntness startled me.

  I set down his comp card and looked at him to make sure I’d heard him right. “Excuse me?”

  “Now come on, Mr. Bentley. Gabriel has been around the block a time or two. Is this some kind of sex party?”

  “Mr. Teal, I’m not a pimp,” I said with an irritated tone. “I’m running a legitimate modeling business.”

  “Sure you do. But you still didn’t answer my question. Whose dick do I get to suck? And are these white men, black men, or a little of both?”

  I shook my head, not bothering to hide my annoyed expression. “You will not be expected to perform any sexual acts, Gabriel.”

  “But there will be dick there, right?” Gabriel spoke as if he were asking if Roscoe’s House of Chicken and Waffles had fried chicken on the menu.

  “I’ll ignore that.”

  “But you shouldn’t. Am I going to be your token fem guy? I’ve been to the parties before where everybody walks around the room like they’re the king of the butch queens, but when the lube comes out, they all have their asses tooted up for the big dicks.” Gabriel laughed and said, “My mom always told me, ‘Today’s trade is tomorrow’s competition.’ ”

  I showed no reaction and said with a flat tone, “Are you interested in doing the assignment, Gabriel?”

  “Is there going to be dick there?”

  Tired of that question, I responded, “It’s going to be all men.”

  His face lit up. “Then dick will be served. I think I’ll do it. Where do I need to be? And would you like me to wear something tight?”

  “You can wear whatever you like.”

  “Panties or not?”

  “Panties?”

  “Yeah, I have this married executive type who likes me to wear purple or red panties. I’m sure you’ll have one like that there. I like to please my clients.”

  I could not wait to end this conversation and my bored tone of voice let that be known. “I don’t care what you wear under your clothes, Gabriel.” This guy—and I use the term loosely—was tripping me out, but I had to satisfy my client’s needs. He was just what Mr. Sneed had ordered.

  “Am I making you uncomfortable, Mr. Bentley?”

  “It’s Mr. Dean, and of course not.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I flipped through a pile of mail, giving him a hint that it was time to wrap up. “Why would you ask me that, Gabriel? I’m simply trying to fill a job order.”

  He smiled as if to say “you can’t fool me.” “Oh, I’ve met your type before. I don’t think you qualify as closet, running a modeling agency and all. I’m sure you’d like to fill this order with one of your Ralph Lauren or football-type models. But I’m telling you, the brothers who act straight in public with their wives and important careers, they still like us fems in private. You know, we make them feel more like men.”

  I logged on to my computer. I thought about going straight back to Model Mania to find another guy who was not as offensive as Gabriel, but something stopped me.

  “If I pick you,” I said, looking at him over my desk, “then you’ll have to sign a nondisclosure form.”

  “But of course.”

  “There is a clothing allowance.”

  Gabriel clapped. “Oh, goodie, new panties!”

  “I haven’t said you got the job for sure.”

  “Oh, you’ll hire me,” he sassed.

  Gabriel had sent me into a “Calgon, take me away” moment. I needed to be reminded why I was interested in men. Warren. I focused on my computer and logged on to Facebook. I typed in Warren Stubbs. It said he had 2,393 friends. And every face I saw was a beautiful woman of every hue and hair color. A couple of dudes were in the mix. But it was clear what kind of face Warren was trying to show to the world: a ladies’ man who loved ladies only.

  Gabriel’s voice made me realize he was still talking.

  “Who else is as cute as I am? And you know I’m exactly what your customer ordered. I’m telling you, Gabriel will be the hit of this party. And who knows? Your client might give us both big tips. Don’t miss out on a good thing, Mr. Dean, beca
use I make you a little uncomfortable.” He chomped his cosmetically whitened teeth into the air between us and seductively said, “I don’t bite—unless I’m asked.”

  “I can reach you at this number?” I asked, trying to hide my face behind the comp card.

  “I can be reached there 24/7. But I don’t know why you just don’t stop playin’ and tell me where I need to be and when.”

  “I will call you either way.”

  “Sure you will,” Gabriel said as he stood up. For the first time, I realized he was tall. He peered down at me, making me feel as small as my attitude.

  “Thanks for coming in,” I said, standing up in front of my desk. Again I extended my hand and again Gabriel brushed across the top like a paintbrush. He didn’t say a word as he swished out of my office, leaving his floral scent behind.

  ELEVEN

  The night of the big party finally arrived. I was standing in front of my dressing mirror, trying to decide if I should wear a tie with my navy blue suit and crisp white shirt. I placed a yellow and pink tie against the shirt, then a red one, and finally an all-white one. None of them looked right, so I decided to go with the open collar look.

  I liked to take my time when getting ready for an event, so I could arrive feeling fresh and relaxed. Nothing made me more irritated than rushing and dealing with last-minute drama. So far, everything was going smoothly.

  I brushed my teeth and swirled some mouthwash before squirting a little Tom Ford cologne behind by neck. I was ready to go and wanted to get there at least forty-five minutes before the first of my models arrived.

  As I was looking for my keys, my cell phone rang. The display glowed with blue letters: TRISTAN.

  “Hello, Tristan. You ready for the party?”

  “What’s up, Bentley?” He sounded nervous.

  “I’m good,” I said impatiently. “What’s the matter? You lost the address to the party?”