Get a grip, get a grip. The words kept zipping through his head. Slowly he turned back toward the bar, certain his face was bright red as he crossed his legs, trying to hide the sudden erection the sight of Eric Méndez had caused.
His dreams and fantasies the past week had been centered around this man. His dark, straight hair falling across his face, obscuring one eye, the other wide, dark and brown, fixed on Johnny. Now here he was in the flesh.
He heard the man approaching, felt him slide onto the stool next to his, smelled his scent, citrus and testosterone, intensely alluring. Against his will Johnny turned toward the man, drawn to him. He didn’t dare speak, certain his voice would crack or croak.
“Evening, Marlon,” Eric said easily, his voice smooth and low. “I’ll have a glass of Cabernet when you get a chance.”
Johnny swallowed, realizing he hadn’t taken a breath since the man had sat down. He took in air through his nostrils as he stared at the gorgeous Latino. As if feeling his gaze, Eric turned slowly toward him, his eyes locking on Johnny’s, just like that first fateful night. His mouth curved upward in a warm smile that fell over Johnny like sunlight. “Hi there. You look familiar. The name’s Méndez. Eric Méndez.”
He extended his hand and Johnny took it, praying his own hand didn’t betray him with a tremor. “Wilson,” he answered in kind. “Johnny Wilson.” And then, inanely, he added, “At your service.” Fuck, why did I say that! I sound like an idiot.
But Eric seemed charmed by the remark. Raising his eyebrows slightly he answered, “I like that in a man. At my service, huh?” He nodded as if to himself. “That does have potential, Johnny. Yes, indeed.”
Johnny blushed, suddenly understanding the implication of his words. Of course! The guy was into BDSM, though probably he didn’t know Johnny knew this. Eric’s smile widened as Johnny’s cheeks flamed. He wished he could sink into the floor below the bar, or slip on a magic ring and disappear.
“Here you go, Eric. What brings to you to our humble little place, eh? Slumming?” Marlon set down a paper napkin and placed a glass of red wine upon it in front of Eric. She glanced at Johnny, her expression sardonic, even amused. But instead of betraying him, perhaps aware he must be dying a thousand deaths at the moment, she simply said, “Hey, Johnny, can I get you another beer?”
Johnny nodded, grateful for the distraction as they both watched her draw his drink. As Marlon set down the fresh beer and removed the empty glass, Eric continued their conversation, his voice a pleasing register with the barest hint of an accent. “So, this is a corny line, but do you come here often? I don’t get by Moe’s much anymore, but this is a good place to come to unwind without anyone hassling you.”
“Um. Yes, I mean no. No, this is my first time here. I was at DeSoto’s the other weekend, with my friends. Maybe that’s where you saw me, I don’t know. I, um, I don’t get out much, you see.” Oh Jesus, could I sound any lamer? Mentally Johnny slapped himself in the head.
Eric just smiled. Lightly he touched Johnny’s thigh with two long-tapered fingers. “Relax, Johnny. It’s okay. I’m guessing you’re pretty new to all this? And more than a little overwhelmed? Well, all I can say is, don’t be. How about we move over to a booth? A little more private. We can fill each other in on where we’ve been all each other’s lives.” He laughed lightly, his eyes gentle as he surveyed the obviously nervous younger man.
Johnny bit his lip, looking around the room toward the booth where Amanda sat with her girlfriends, completely unaware Johnny was faced with the object of his desires there in the flesh. From where he sat, all he could see was the back of Amanda’s head.
“There’s one over there,” Eric pointed across the room, no doubt assuming Johnny had been scanning the room for an empty booth.
Why not? He didn’t need Amanda to hold his hand. Eric Méndez wasn’t going to bite him, for heaven’s sake. And he seemed like a truly nice guy. Johnny realized he’d expected someone stuck-up and aloof. Someone self-absorbed and aware of his own appeal to others. How could he not be? Yet this man seemed self-effacing, pleasant and down-to-earth. Yes, he was still sexy as hell, but not in a threatening way.
Johnny stood. “Works for me.”
They took their drinks and sat down in a little booth for two nestled in the far corner of the room. Johnny felt a moment’s pang of guilt as he passed George, who raised his glass toward the handsome couple and then looked away, his face blank.
Once they were comfortably seated on opposite sides of the table, Eric said, “So what brings you to Moe’s?”
“Oh. Well.” Johnny felt his tongue tie, like it was literally in knots. This was ridiculous! He never got this way around women, no matter how gorgeous. What was his problem? He took a drink of his beer and started to speak, hoping the words would form on his lips, though he didn’t yet know what they would be.
“Johnny. Please. I don’t exactly know why you’re so nervous, but please relax.”
Johnny laughed, a sharp little bark and then sighed. “Is it obvious as all that? I’m sorry. It’s just, I wasn’t expecting you, not here, not tonight!”
“Expecting me? Were you expecting me at some other time, then?”
Johnny looked at the handsome man across from him. Did he level with him? He’d learned from his experience with women, admittedly his limited experience, it was usually dangerous to level with someone one was attracted to. Invariably someone ended up hurt. He knew he didn’t want it to be him.
On the other hand, what did he have to lose? So far, he was making a total ass of himself. Maybe in this case, honesty was the best policy. It couldn’t be any worse than the stuttering, stumbling first impression he’d made. Eric was probably already so disgusted he had invited Johnny to a booth out of pity.
“Fuck,” Johnny said softly, before he realized the word had been waiting on his tongue.
“I’m sorry? Did you say fuck?” Eric looked quizzically at him.
“Man, I’m the one who’s sorry! I’ve fucked this up from the minute you walked in the door. It’s just, well, like I said, I didn’t expect to see you. After that first night, if you want to know, I’ve thought of little else but you! And now, here you are in the flesh. I could reach out and touch you. That is, if I wasn’t afraid you’d see my damn hand shaking.” Johnny laughed self-consciously, ducking his head.
Eric smiled back, his white teeth beautifully straight against his smooth olive skin and red lips. “Johnny, I have to tell you, I don’t have a clue what you’re going on about, but I can see you’re very nervous and definitely agitated about something. If it puts you more at ease, I came here to find you. I wasn’t expecting to see my golden boy yet, either. I was going to put out the feelers and try to learn more about you before I actually made contact.”
Now it was Johnny’s turn to stare. “Your…what?”
A hint of color rose in Eric’s cheeks. He laughed softly, shaking his head. “See, I’m as nervous as you are. I just know how to hide it better. When I came up to the bar and said you looked familiar? That was bullshit. I knew exactly where I’d seen you. It was last Saturday at DeSoto’s, in the courtyard. Suddenly you were there, this tall, golden Adonis in black jeans, and when I looked again, you were gone!”
Confusion and something else, a rising hope Johnny barely dared acknowledge warred with each other inside him. “But you were with that guy. That Ginger somebody. He said you were his master. The flaming redhead—” Johnny bit back his own words, aware he could be offending Eric with his crude remark.
But Eric only laughed. “He said that, did he? And yes, he is flaming, and he’d be the first one to admit it, and he’d thank you for the compliment. But we are no longer an item, as they say. Not that we ever really were. He liked to play that up for his pals, I suppose. He’s a pain slut and I get off on sexual domination. There was certainly no love involved, at least not on my side.”
Johnny absorbed this, the words sexual domination reverberating in his head. Softly he ask
ed, “Golden boy?”
Eric grinned and put his hand over Johnny’s. Johnny felt an electric current pass through the other man’s fingertips. He resisted an impulse to grab the hand and kiss it, instead just keeping very still.
“That’s what I called you in my head,” Eric explained. “I didn’t know who you were. It was Ginger, in fact, who gave me your name. He said you’d come with Marlon and her girl, and I put two and two together, thinking maybe I’d find you here, or ask Marlon if she’d let you know I’d been asking after you.”
Eric took his hand away to drink from his wine glass. “There,” he said, setting the glass down and smiling at Johnny with warm brown eyes. “Now you know it all. You were thinking of me since that night, and I was thinking of you, and here we are.”
“Yes,” Johnny echoed inanely. “Here we are.”
“Now the question is, what are we going to do about it?”
~*~
Eric’s lower Manhattan apartment was small but elegant, far more elegant than Johnny’s efficiency in Brooklyn. Johnny sat on the edge of a black leather chair, looking around the room at the tasteful prints on the walls. He didn’t know much about art, but he liked what he saw. Eric Méndez, as he’d imagined he would be, was all class.
There was a bookshelf filled with interesting titles, both fiction and nonfiction, but Johnny was too nervous to get up and have a look at them—something he would have done in more normal circumstances.
Normal circumstances! They’d left Moe’s together after about twenty more minutes of small talk. When Eric had said, “Let’s head over to my place,” it hadn’t even occurred to Johnny to refuse. It was understood somehow that they would end up there. It was inevitable, it was fated.
“Let me just say goodbye to Amanda. I came with her, I don’t want her to worry.”
“Sure.” Eric nodded, standing. “I’ll just go settle up at the bar.” They took a cab to Eric’s apartment building, neither one speaking as they rode along the city streets. As they’d climbed the three flights of stairs Johnny kept asking himself what he was doing there, but inside he knew. This was the beginning of something.
The beginning of his life.
Eric came into the living room with two glasses filled with a ruby-colored wine. “This is port. My favorite for sipping. Do you like it?”
“I don’t know,” Johnny said. “Never had it. I usually drink beer.”
“Well, it’s nice as a kind of relaxer. This is an especially nice vintage I found recently at a little store down on Broadway. It’s full-bodied with tones of fruit and a little tannin. The finish is extremely long.” Johnny had no idea what Eric was saying. Eric swirled the liquid in his glass and took a sip. He sat down, watching as Johnny tasted the drink.
“So what do you think?” Eric was leaning forward, his expression eager.
“It’s really good. Sweeter than I was expecting,” Johnny answered.
“It’s a dessert wine, really. Very concentrated. Just for sipping, not getting buzzed.” Johnny took another sip. It really was delicious. He smiled at Eric and sat back in his chair.
They were silent for a while, enjoying the fine port. It was late and Johnny had already had several drinks, but he felt so alive, every nerve ending thrumming with possibility. At the same time Johnny found himself relaxing. Eric was so easy to be around. It was hard to reconcile the sexy guy in the courtyard surrounded by hangers-on with this easygoing, laid back guy. Eric had put on music, something soothing with keyboard and strings. The silence between them easy and companionable.
After a while, Eric said, “So tell me, when did you first figure out you were gay?”
Johnny coughed a little into his port. “Excuse me?”
Eric laughed. “Hey, it’s what I do. I’m a psychologist—I have a sense about these things. It’s pretty clear, even if I wasn’t trained to pick up signals, that you’re struggling with something new, and that something is your sexual orientation. Am I right?”
Johnny looked away, but then back at Eric. Slowly he nodded. “You’re right. I’m…I’m gay.”
“That’s still a hard thing for you to say, to admit aloud.” Eric’s voice was gentle.
“Yeah. Yeah, I guess it is. I’ve been thinking it for a while now, though. First it totally freaked me out, you know? The Wilsons are not homos.” He grinned apologetically.
“You mean the Wilsons don’t admit they’re homos.” Eric smiled, arching his eyebrows.
Johnny nodded vigorously. “Yeah. Not an option. Nothing touchy-feely is an option, unless you’re female. Even then, watch out if you’re too emotional. We Wilsons suck it up and take it like men.”
Eric nodded slowly. “Nothing wrong with taking it. In the right circumstances.” He turned his piercing gaze on Johnny and Johnny felt flames licking over his face and the back of his neck, though he wasn’t exactly sure what Eric was getting at.
“Let’s go to the couch.” Eric stood up from his chair. Johnny stood as well and together they sat down on the sofa, Eric leaning back, Johnny again perched on the edge of a cushion, as if he would bolt at a second’s notice.
“So tell me about it, Johnny. How did a hot, sexy man like you get all the way into his twenties without knowing you were gay?”
Johnny looked down into his wine and answered slowly. “I guess I did know it.” Eric stayed quiet and Johnny went on. “I mean, I knew something was wrong. Something was different. I’ve never been able to connect. Yes, that’s the word, to connect with women. I can appreciate their beauty, the beauty of a female form, and I didn’t even mind the sex, per se.” He smiled a little, thinking this must sound strange, though maybe not to Eric the psychologist. “It was just, I don’t know, it didn’t thrill me. It didn’t make my heart pound or my blood heat. I had to imagine stuff. You know, try to get myself hard so I could have sex with them. It was almost like a chore. I always ended up feeling cheated and worse, feeling like a failure.”
He looked imploringly at Eric for acceptance, for understanding. “It sounds hard,” Eric said. “To go through your life like that, thinking you were broken.”
“Broken.” Johnny turned the word over in his mind. “Yes. Broken. That’s exactly the word to describe it. And now to find out maybe I’m not broken. Not fucked up like I thought I was. It’s such a…”
“A relief?” Eric supplied.
“Yes, yes, a relief.” Johnny nodded. “I was just looking in the wrong place. I get that now. Because when I saw you…” he paused and bit his lip, feeling suddenly shy. “Well, I’ve seen good-looking guys before, of course. And I’ll even admit they’ve made me hot, made me hard. But I was always able to chalk it up to envy. I would say to myself, ‘Man, if I only looked like him, then I’d feel sexy and all the babes would want me and I’d want them.’ But I was fooling myself. I know that now.”
“You sure were, Johnny. Because you are so hot, I need an ice bath about now!” Eric laughed, and Johnny laughed too, pleased. He leaned back, putting his legs out, uncoiling at last.
“Well, thanks. But, Eric, when I saw you, something clicked inside of me. Like this switch went on and I was suddenly aware. I know that must sound weird. How is it possible, you’re probably thinking, for someone to go twenty-four years without even knowing who they are? Have you ever heard of such a thing? I never thought of myself as stupid but, Jesus, how dumb can you get?”
Eric shook his head, placing his hand on Johnny’s forearm. Johnny tried to ignore the electric zing of desire Eric’s touch caused as he listened to the man’s kind words. “I’ve heard of that more often than you might think,” he said, his eyes kind. “It’s not stupid at all. You’d be amazed how many people go through their whole lives never connecting with who they really are. Never exploring or even recognizing their own potential in so many ways.” He dropped his hand from Johnny’s arm and Johnny instantly felt its lack, though he didn’t outwardly react. “Really, Johnny,” Eric continued. “I wouldn’t spend another second beating
myself up about this. What’s really exciting, what you should focus on, is the fact that now you’ve come alive. You’re awake and aware. You’re ready to begin your new life.”
“That’s just what I was thinking earlier. It’s like you’re tapped into my head somehow. I like it, but it makes me a little nervous too.” Johnny grinned uncertainly.
Eric tossed his head. “Nah. Don’t be nervous. If I’m tapped into you, it’s only because you’re tapped into me too. There’s something between us. We both felt it from the moment we saw each other. I have to tell you, Johnny. For me it isn’t usually like this. I play the field—that’s how I operate. I select the one I want, I go after him and I get him. I use him till I tire of him and then it’s over. I know that sounds cold, but you’ll find in the gay scene things are often like that. Men even expect it of one another.
“Which isn’t to say there isn’t romance and true love too. Sure there is. But it’s not such a focus for most guys. We’re more into the sex, I guess.”
Johnny laughed. “That’s no different from straight men, trust me! We…” he paused, and amended, “I mean, they, just have to do the lovey-dovey stuff to get into the girl’s pants. It’s the women who want all the flowers and candy and shit.”
Eric laughed too. “Well, I don’t know. A little romance is very sexy too, in the right circumstance. I’m just saying I haven’t found the right guy. At least, I hadn’t until now.”
He said the last words softly, almost tentatively, as if afraid Johnny might rebuff him. Johnny didn’t reply, feeling his mouth suddenly go dry. Eric held out his hand and Johnny handed him his glass. Eric set both glasses on the low, black coffee table in front of them.
Without speaking, they moved closer to one another on the couch, so their thighs were touching. Slowly Eric reached up and stroked Johnny’s cheek. Johnny felt dizzy and frightened, but also very aroused. His cock stiffened. He swallowed hard, letting his eyes close as Eric continued to stroke his cheek, his other hand resting lightly on Johnny’s thigh.
“May I kiss you?” Eric’s voice was like a caress. Johnny still didn’t open his eyes, but nodded slowly. He shivered as Eric’s lips gently touched his own. He felt like a statue, unable to respond or resist. Eric kissed Johnny’s closed mouth, keeping his own lips closed as well. After a moment his lips moved over Johnny’s cheek to his neck. Lightly he kissed the skin, allowing the tip of his tongue to graze the flesh. Johnny remained still as stone, eyes closed.
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