Now, Roscoe sat at Danny Boy’s feet under the kitchen table in Shay’s house, patiently waiting for the bread crusts he knew were sure to come.
Danny Boy dropped the crusts and then picked up his cell phone, snapping a pic of the article. He texted it to Shay with the note, “Your man’s digging himself deeper. Thought you should know. Good news: he’s got a big cock.”
It was after two in the morning in San Francisco, but Danny Boy didn’t think about the time difference.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Shay was a light sleeper, so even when his phone was on silent mode, he could still hear the vibration. He wasn’t the type to ignore messages, not with a brother like Danny Boy. He’d been awakened many times before when his brother was in need, and so he reached for his phone automatically, no matter the hour.
Opening one eye in the dark and bracing himself for bad news, he tried to focus on the text message. It took longer than it should have to understand it. But when he realized it wasn’t Danny Boy who was in trouble, he relaxed and settled onto his back in bed.
Jessica was curled up on her side, facing away from him and breathing steadily. He opened the picture that was attached to the text and scanned the tabloid article well enough to get the gist.
Fucking Marty.
Shay didn’t know what to think of his friend and bandmate any longer. This was a radical departure from the man he had known for so many years. His behavior reeked of midlife crisis acting out, which would be one thing, but for it to also be so publicly documented was the most irritating part. Didn’t Martin understand that sleeping around with groupies in Dublin was a terrible idea? It was too small of a city not to get noticed.
If Ashley had never been brought onto tour none of this would have happened. The reason for her being there, as Danny Boy’s minder, had never panned out. Hell, his brother had gotten more support from a stray dog than her, the supposed specialist on addictive behaviors. All she had done was turn Martin’s libido loose and end his marriage.
With a sigh, he hit and typed, “Thanks for the wakeup call, Danny Boy.”
Shay decided that if Martin was going to run wild with his new freedom, it’d be better for him to do it under his watch. He found Martin in his texts and told him, “By the looks of things, you’ll be wanting to get out of Dublin. Come back to SF. We’ll go for a sail.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Startled out of sleep, Martin looked around, trying to remember where he was. Soon, the spare bedroom he had been using for the last few days registered. Back at Shay’s, hiding out from his latest scandal.
Turning on his side in bed, he groaned at the raging hard-on he was sporting. Then the reason for it came to mind and he felt a flush of confusion. He’d had a sex dream. Nothing unusual about that. Except for that this time it involved another man. No one he recognized. Thank god it wasn’t Conor. Martin didn’t think he could face his bandmate again if that had been the case. The other man in his dream was more faceless. It was about a different part of his body, anyway. Martin vividly recalled how sensitive he had felt. He imagined the heightened desire and intense response to touch was akin to what taking ecstasy brought about.
In the dream, he was leaning against a wall in a darkened club, much like the Dublin gay club where he’d started up with that groupie. In this case, though, he had his hands up and resting behind his head as a man slowly stroked his chest, following the trail downward with his mouth. Martin was willingly submissive to the groping, enjoying the anticipation of the man making his way to his waist. Suddenly, the man was on his knees, pulling Martin’s jeans open and reaching in to take hold of him. His firm grip was like a delicious electric current. He wanted more of it, but yet, had woken before anything else could happen in the dream.
Martin slipped his hand under the sheet and allowed himself to do something he had never done before: fantasize about a man.
“Have you ever, you know, had thoughts about a man? Sexual thoughts?” Martin asked.
“Fuck off, no I haven’t,” Shay replied without hesitation.
“I mean, never? You’ve never been interested at all?”
They were sitting in Shay’s living room, drinking coffee and slowly waking up, as had been their pattern as quasi-roommates for the last few days. The view through the expansive windows of the Golden Gate Bridge was obscured by fog, but there were still plenty of people out for their morning jog or bike ride by the Marina.
“What are you on about, Marty? Why would I ever think about a man that way? I’m not fucking gay.”
“I’m not either.”
Shay watched him for a long moment. “No, I don’t think you are.”
That reassured Martin more than he thought it should. Why would he need Shay’s reassurance of such a thing? Probably because his thoughts lately had strayed to a curiosity he had never consciously considered before. At least not until Ashley had given him permission to say he was “bi-curious.”
“But, what if I was open to . . . exploring that side of things?” Martin asked, hating the neediness in his voice. He needed a confidant for this. He needed someone to support him.
“Then you’ve come to the right fucking city, haven’t you?” Shay said with a laugh.
After a moment, Martin laughed too. San Francisco was legendary for its gay population. If he were to explore that side of himself, this was indeed the best place to be. Still, the idea of actually going out and interacting with other men gave him pause.
“Would you go with me to a pub or something like that?” Martin asked.
“The fuck I would. You want a taste of some fella, you’ll go on your own.”
“Shay, come on.”
“You were just for a ride with some woman, weren’t you? What’s happening now?”
“I am absolutely into women.”
“Good.”
“But I’m just curious to know if my thoughts are any more than that. If there might be something to going the other way.”
Shay took a deep breath and shook his head. “Jesus, man, you’re serious, aren’t you?”
“I just think, if I’m really going to figure out what it is I want after so many years of being closed off, I should make a real go of it.”
Again, Shay studied him for a prolonged moment. Martin held his ground, staring back at him.
“Well, then. I’d better go with you to be sure you don’t somehow get yourself arrested or featured in a tell-all this time.”
The forced levity Shay was employing was exactly what Martin needed. Now he needed to figure out what came next with this big idea of his.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The baseball hat and dark sunglasses Shay wore were ridiculous, but Martin didn’t say anything. Clearly, his friend was not interested in being recognized during their visit to a bar in the Castro District, one of the first gay neighborhoods in America. It boasted a wide variety of bars and clubs, each catering to a different part of the community, including leather-clad bears, twinks, muscle men, current and retired drag queens, or quiet men over the age of forty.
Unsure of what he was really attracted to, Martin blindly chose a bar that seemed to include all manner of men. He and Shay entered the place, squeezing between a mix of guys both shirtless and dressed conspicuously to impress in high-end brands. It was dark, with colored lights strategically focusing on the DJ, the small dance floor, and the bar, leaving plenty of pockets where a measure of privacy could be found. They took refuge at a spot at the corner of the bar.
“What can I get you ladies?” the bartender asked. He was a twink—twenty-one at most, slender, wearing a crop-top, short shorts, and smoothly shaven in every visible spot.
Shay bristled at the phrasing, turning his back to the bar.
“Loosen up, man,” Martin told him. He didn’t understand Shay’s reaction. They all had friends, including crewmembers they worked with closely, who were gay. Shay had never had a problem with playful, harmless flirting by these other men. H
ell, the whole band had gone to gay bars on more than one occasion, secure in their own skins and simply after good music and a good time. Remembering those excursions, Martin realized he hadn’t felt a twinge of attraction to men during those outings. He wondered if his new interest was legitimate or mere flailing now that he had the freedom to do whatever he wanted.
“Ooh, Irish, right?” the bartender asked.
Martin laughed. “Ay, born and bred. From Dublin.”
“I do love a man with a brogue.” He leaned onto the bar and winked.
More amused than flattered, Martin smiled. “How about two Jack and Cokes?”
“Anything for you, honey.”
With drinks in hand, they moved a few steps away from the bar and surveyed their surroundings. Martin scanned the men, looking for the type that might give him the same feeling his dream had. He got plenty of stares in return that immediately became a thorough up and down scan of his body. The attention made him glad he had kept up his exercise routine. Being in shape had given him a confidence he’d never had before. It made him walk straighter, hold his head higher. And yes, it probably inflated his ego a bit, but he felt entitled to that.
None of the men who eyed him did anything to turn him on. That changed abruptly when one bare-chested, well-built man met his gaze before lowering it to his crotch. He rubbed his own at the same time and Martin felt a surge of desire.
“And what am I to do when you find someone to suck your cock?” Shay asked, breaking the spell.
Martin choked on the sip he had been taking of his drink.
“Oh, sorry. Maybe it’s you who will do the sucking?”
“Fuck off, Shay,” Martin told him.
“How am I to know what your plan is?”
“I don’t know. I can’t say what the plan is myself.”
“Well, go try it on with one of these blokes already.”
“Just like that?”
“Don’t they cut to the chase? Isn’t that one of the benefits of playing on their team?”
Martin laughed. “Might as well be groupies, then. That girl back in Dublin needed literally no seduction whatsoever.”
“Well, then, aren’t you the lucky man. Got options at the ready.”
“I suppose so.”
“Get to it, then. I don’t need to be here any longer than necessary.”
Turning to his friend, Martin examined him for a moment. “Why are you so weirded-out about all this?”
“What do you mean?”
“This isn’t the reaction you had when Conor was off getting himself laid by random women.”
“It’s not the same, is it?”
“Are you homophobic?”
“No, Marty. I’m not. You know I’m not. I’m in the middle of a fucking gay club at the very moment, amn’t I?”
“That doesn’t really answer the question. Why is this bothering you so much?”
“Jesus, man, can you give me a minute to fucking absorb the life changes you’re making without turning me into some sort of arsehole who hates gays?”
Martin nodded. Just as with Celia, it wasn’t always obvious to him how others perceived his desire to explore new paths. He had to admit he had made some radical changes, including the one that led to his current willingness to engage in some kind of sexual encounter with a man.
“Okay, yeah. I get it,” he said. “Do you want another drink?”
“No. In fact, you can have mine. You know I don’t drink much.”
Downing his drink, Martin then took Shay’s and finished it off. He would need the liquid courage to go through with anything more. The shirtless guy was making his way toward them now, and Martin realized it was now or never.
“Just don’t go too far,” he told Shay.
Shay nodded and turned away just as the other man reached him.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” Martin replied with a nod.
“You should take your shirt off. Show those piercings.”
“I, em—”
He leaned close and placed his palm over Martin’s pec, squeezing before fingering the metal barbell. “I could see it through your shirt from across the room. I don’t get pierced but I like it on guys.”
Martin wasn’t sure what to say. This sudden contact wasn’t exactly a turn-on, but yet he wasn’t revolted either. Maybe he just needed to keep going.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Cameron.”
Seemed like a fake name, but Martin wasn’t going to argue. Cameron didn’t ask for his name in return. Instead, he lifted Martin’s shirt and eyed his sculpted torso hungrily.
“You’re fucking hot,” he said. “I know you from somewhere?”
Martin hadn’t actually thought about the fact that he would be recognized in this setting. He realized he should try to find as much privacy as he could. “Should we go somewhere else?”
Cameron smiled. “Say no more.”
Martin followed the man toward a corridor past the bar. It was dark but he could see two other couples groping each other. He didn’t know what he should do. It didn’t feel right to be the aggressor. Soon enough, Cameron took care of things, pushing him against the wall. Déjà vu set in and Martin felt dizzy for a minute as he flashed to the dream that had gotten him so hard.
But the reality of this man’s touch did not have the same effect. In fact, when Cameron leaned in to kiss him, Martin instinctively turned away. Nonplussed, Cameron roughly pressed his mouth to Martin’s neck. He could feel the man’s stubble and smell his body odor. It felt foreign, but not in the titillating way of newness that being with Ashley or Ava had felt. Instead, it was like he wasn’t in his body, as if the intimacy he was engaging in was being done to someone else.
“Listen,” Cameron said in between kisses, “I give but I want to receive too.”
The meaning of this didn’t register with Martin for a moment. Then the idea of having to pleasure this man came to mind and he realized that wasn’t something he had fantasized about. Because it wasn’t something that stimulated him. He had only toyed with the idea of being the object of desire. If he was interested in men, shouldn’t he want to touch them the way he liked being touched?
The true test of this came when Cameron reached for his crotch. Martin felt nothing.
“Damn,” Cameron breathed into Martin’s skin. “You’re fucking hung but you’re soft as hell.”
“I am, amn’t I?” Martin laughed.
“I wouldn’t be laughing if I were you, dude.”
But he couldn’t stop. He laughed until tears came to his eyes because this wild experiment had quickly proven to be a complete dud.
“Are you fucking with me or what?” Cameron asked.
“No, I’m sorry, man,” Martin said, trying to collect himself. “It’s just, this isn’t what I thought it’d be.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I was only trying to see if this was something I wanted, but—”
“You’re one of those married pussies who’s afraid to come all the way out?”
“No, I’m not into this at all, is the thing. And you helped me realize that. So, thanks very much.”
“Fuck that. This is not how it goes.”
Martin watched Cameron stalk away, and then followed him toward the front of the bar, only to hear him shouting to be heard over the DJ.
“Listen up!” he started. “You all see this asshole here?” He jabbed his middle finger toward Martin. Half the place was intrigued by the drama and stared at the scene unfolding before them. “This limp-dick came here to experiment with his sexuality.” There was an audible groan by a dozen men in response. “And meanwhile I’m left high and dry.” This was met with boos.
Martin was bemused but he ducked his head and held his hands up apologetically.
“Hey, he looks familiar,” someone shouted.
Shay seemed to take that as his cue as he suddenly appeared at Martin’s side and told him, �
�Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
Martin didn’t need to be told twice. He followed Shay, and the two of them were soon out the door without further incident.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Fog had descended upon the streets, leaving a wet residue on the sidewalks and cars parked bumper to bumper along the curbs. Martin and Shay walked briskly without speaking as they left the bar behind them. They had taken an Uber to the Castro District, but getting some distance by foot before arranging for a car seemed like the thing to do, so they headed down Sanchez Street.
Martin followed Shay’s lead, trusting that he knew his newly adopted city well enough to find their way. They turned first onto Duboce Avenue, and then onto Fell Street. The streets were a lively mix of college-age students and tech industry geeks, out bar hopping. The city seemed to be dominated by youth, and Martin found it intoxicating. They gave off an air of being carefree, only after a good time, without the weight of the world on their shoulders. He longed to join them as they filed into loud, bright, and crowded bars that promised an easy escape from his worries of what scandal he might have just created for himself with “Cameron.”
Instead of that seductive route, however, Shay steered them to a small, dark jazz club where the mood was decidedly subdued as a saxophonist played the melancholy notes of John Coltrane’s “Alabama.” The poignant subject matter and tenor of “Alabama” had been particularly impossible for Martin to forget. It was Coltrane’s response to a KKK bombing of a Birmingham, Alabama, church in the early 1960s. The attack had killed four girls. Martin knew this because Gavin had had a period after Rogue first visited America when he became obsessed with jazz music, with a special interest in how it had helped fuel the Civil Rights Movement. Gavin being Gavin, shared with Martin and the other band members every bit of trivia he learned on the subject, including Coltrane’s philosophy of music being an “expression of the human heart.” That had been a welcome confirmation for Gavin of his own thoughts on the purpose of music, even if he wouldn’t follow Coltrane’s mixing of music and politics for years to come. Martin wondered at the way things had come full circle with Gavin having penned the politically tinged song “Thoughts and Prayers” in response to the senseless death of children.
Finding Rhythm (Rogue Rockstar Series Book 4) Page 14