Turning The Page

by Sam Elswit

  Thomas spat on his hand and lubricated Alan's member, both men too intensely aroused to care much for proper lube, or condoms. Alan hoped that Thomas was clean, but honestly, he was so old and horny and sick of being careful he didn't give a damn. He clamped down on his lips, emmiting a muffled moan as Thomas guided the tip of his member to his opening. He teasingly pressed just the tip in, letting the tight ring of muscle squeeze on the head of the organ as it penetrated him. Thomas sighed and whispered Alan's name as he seated himself fully on Alan's prodigious piece, wiggling his hips as his body adjusted to the feeling. Alan closed his eyes and tilted his head back, hoping that he could keep himself in control for a few minutes. It had been so long since he'd had sex with anyone that just being inserted into Thomas had him teetering on the edge of orgasm. All Thomas had to do was rock his hips less than a dozen times, and Alan came with a guttural cry.

  "Fuck, I'm sorry," Alan mumbled, watching Thomas extricate himself.

  "That's all right," Thomas purred, grasping his own organ in his hand. "You don't mind if I finish myself off, do you?"

  "I do," Alan said, relishing the look of shock on Thomas's face. Alan sat up, then wrapped his strong arms around the thin, frail young man. He held Thomas close and blessed his lips with half a dozen tender kisses, then reached down and grasped his organ. He tenderly lay Thomas down on the floor, and kissed his way down Thomas's body, from his lips, down his neck, down the ridges of his rib cage, to his smooth, flat stomach, to his navel, which led him down to Thomas's member. It had been a long time since Alan's last blow job, but he reckoned he could still remember the mechanics.

  He grasped Thomas by the base of his cock and held on firmly. Thomas moaned and rocked his hips, his fingers curling in Alan's hair. Alan kissed the leaking tip, then swirled his tongue around it, then slid the organ into his mouth, pressed against his tongue, until it reached the back of his throat. He'd sort of forgotten what to do next, so he slid Thomas out of his mouth, still pressed against his tongue, and sucked the head of the organ like a lollipop. Thomas groaned and squirmed as Alan took his organ in his throat again, and Alan cluelessly moved his tongue around, guided by Thomas's sounds and movements, until the younger man's seed filled his mouth. He gently removed Thomas from his lips, then swallowed the fluid happily.

  Thomas pulled Alan to him and made him lay down, each man's arms wrapped around the other.

  "That was the best cup of coffee I've ever had," Alan laughed.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  After snuggling for a while, the two men cleaned themselves up and got dressed. As Thomas was buttoning his shirt, he said to Alan, "We don't have much time for coffee, but would you want to come to rehearsal with me?"

  Alan blinked stupidly. "Rehearsal?" The gears in his head ground in an effort to recall just exactly what Thomas was talking about. It dawned on him just as Thomas responded.

  "I work at the Goldfish," Thomas said with an air of extreme self-pride. "I'm their pianist three nights a week and I've got to go rehearse with a new singer. You should come, it'll be fun, and we usually get a couple of drinks on the house."

  "Oh, I don't know..." Alan scratched the back of his head, feeling uncomfortable. He was trying to refuse politely, but all Alan wanted to do was yell, FUCK NO.

  "Come on," said Thomas, taking Alan's hand. "Please, Daddy? It'll be lots of fun..." He took the tip of Alan's finger in his mouth using such a way of distracting him from his objections.

  "Uh... um, I really... really shouldn't," Alan said. "It's just not a good idea."

  "Why not?" Thomas hugged Alan's arm obnoxiously. "It's just a little live music, what can it hurt? I know you drink, so it's not about the booze..." Thomas's eyes narrowed. "What's going on with you, Al?"

  "Don't call me Al," Alan mumbled. "And it's nothing, I just... don't want to go there. I'll take you out afterwards, how about that?"

  "Eh." Thomas shrugged. "My rehearsals are usually all-night affairs." He wagged his eyebrows suggestively. "I am young and irresponsible, after all. What kind of twenty-something would I be if I didn't get wasted on a Saturday night? I want you to be there with me. Come party with us. Please--"

  "No!" Alan yanked his hand away, scowling at the ground, cheeks burning. "I can't."

  "Yes you can," said Thomas, unfazed. "Did you get thrown out of there for using a glory hole or something?"

  "No," Alan snapped, "I used to work there."

  Thomas frowned slightly. "Oh... okay. So? What's the big deal? You banned from the place or something?"

  "I uh..." Alan took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, shivering at the feel of Thomas's hand gently caressing the back of his neck. He sighed, and, as he would always do with Thomas from then on, he relented. "Stevie Anderson and I... we have, uh... a history." Alan put his glasses back on and folded his arms. "I used to have your job."

  "Oh my God," Thomas hissed. "Really? Alan, that's so romantic and tragic! Stevie probably won't be there, he's hardly ever there any more, these days. He hasn't aged as well as you have. C'mon. We can play a few duets, have a few drinks..." Thomas's hand slid up his shoulder, and he kissed Alan on the cheek. "Let me help you make some new memories. It's time to heal, Alan. It's time to move on."

  Against his better judgment, Alan sighed again and said, "All right. Fine."

  ***

  Though the outside of the Goldfish Bowl had been maintained and updated, the interior hadn't changed much. It was still dark and dimly lit, with the same black-and-white linoleum floors, the same rich mahogany furniture, the same black table cloths. It was an upscale place for a college town, and patronized mostly by pretentious art and music students. There were still fishtanks in the windows, the interior still smelled faintly of booze, stale cigarettes, and floor wax. The place was pretty big inside, crowded with small tables and booths, able to accommodate at least two hundred at a time with a full house.

  At the front of the restaurant was the stage. It was level with the dining area, but separated visually by hardwood floors. A burgundy velvet curtain hung behind it. There was a microphone, enough space for a dozen dancers, and, of course, the big, gleaming grand piano. Thomas led Alan to the stage and sat him down on the piano bench.

  "Wait here, babe, I'll get us some drinks and let them know I'm here." He kisses Alan's cheek and trotted off.

  Alan stared at the piano keys, riding wave after wave of memory. He thought of how Stevie had done almost the same thing to him the day he came in to apply for the job, the man's large, meaty hands on his shoulders, their bodies pressed together side-by-side on the piano bench as Alan played through his audition. He was hired on the spot, then Stevie took him to the office "to do some paperwork" and wound up fucking him instead. It was Alan's first time with a man-- with anyone, actually, and it had been both exhilarating and terrifying. Stevie was never gentle with him, just passionate-- and rough. Things had started out fairly innocently, but within a year escalated into chaos. Alan was drinking all the time, Stevie had a coke problem, they fought constantly, and Stevie-- who was six-foot-four and over two hundred pounds-- abused Alan all the time, physically and verbally. Alan stuck it out as long as he could, thinking he was in love with Stevie, but he now knew, twenty-something years later, that that wasn't love. It was lust and fear. But Alan had felt ever since that Stevie had robbed him of his innocence, even destroyed his chances at ever having a decent relationship-- look where he'd ended up with Kitty!

  Alan buried his face in his hands and his elbows landed on the keyboard with a dramatic, dissonant clang that startled him out of his reverie. With red-rimmed, tired eyes and a confused expression, he stared at the empty music stand, picturing all the old sheet music: Rachmaninoff, Beethoven, Mozart; piano arrangements of Bowie, Benatar, and even Skynyrd; some old jazz standards, Stevie had even let Alan play some of the music he wrote himself in school. Alan reached out to touch the empty music stand, then found himself staring at a piano arrangement of Taylor Swift, and a gin and tonic being pressed i
nto his hand by the thin blond boy who was quickly taking over his world.

  "Taking a little stroll down memory lane, eh?" Thomas teased, seating himself beside Alan, far enough away that he could play competently, but close enough that their thighs could touch.

  "Something like that," Alan muttered, taking a sip of his drink.

  "You might want to drink that fast, Daddy." Thomas lay his fingers on the keys and started plucking out a few chords by way of warming up.

  Alan's stomach twisted in a foreboding sort of knot. "Huh? Why?"

  "Ah, well, uh. I forgot that they're doing inventory this week." Thomas took a sip of his own drink. "Stevie's here."

  CHAPTER SIX

  Alan drained his glass, then held on to the edge of the piano bench with both hands as he drowned in a wave of anxiety so intense that it made the room spin. Had he not been holding on to the bench, he would have fallen down, for sure.

  If Thomas noticed his agitation, he didn't let on. Instead he plodded right into his rehearsal, working out a few new pop music medleys and some old swing tunes. Alan wanted to listen because he thought talent was the sexiest quality a man could have, and he wanted to see Thomas's skills. But, he was too nervous, too frightened, what would happen if he saw Stevie? Should he even be drinking? Should he leave? Alan stared into the distance, his eyes glassy and his body paralyzed by indecision.

  "Play this one with me," Thomas urged. He nudged Alan with his bony little elbow.

  Alan startled and looked down at the music, then at Thomas. "Oh, I dunno, Tom--"

  "Thomas," he corrected.

  "Sorry, Thomas, I, uh... it's been a really long time since I played. I'm probably not any good any more."

  "Bullshit," Thomas said with a grin. "You're just being a stick-in-the-mud Daddy." He leaned over to kiss Alan's cheek and nip at his earlobe. "C'mon. Don't make me pout. I'm saving that for when you're really stubborn about something. You know you want to play. Music is in the blood, it's in the soul, it never leaves you." Thomas took the drink out of Alan's hand, then placed his fingers on the smooth, cold white keys. Alan's brow puckered as his other hand automatically followed suit. Like riding a bike.

  "Let's play In The Mood. I'm playing a swing competition next weekend, I need to practice." Thomas flipped open the sheet music and began to play. Alan followed. His fingers felt clumsy at first, stiff with disuse and far too big compared to the bony thinness of Thomas's fingers, so gracefully sliding across the keys. Alan hit several sour notes and screwed up quite a few chords in the first few minutes, but Thomas was right. Having his hands on the piano again made Alan shiver with delight and satisfaction. Something deep, deep inside of him which had been long dormant felt like it was waking up. A couple of tears slipped down Alan's face and suddenly he felt twenty-two again, grinning as he followed along Thomas's lead with ease, their duet resonating grandly in the empty hall.

  "You play so well," Thomas said, his lashes low as he looked over at Alan. "I didn't think you could get any sexier, but I'm kinda turned on right now. Your talent is so hot--" Thomas threw his arms around Alan's shoulders and thrust his lips up in an eager kiss. Alan accepted him into the embrace readily, and kissed back with more enthusiasm than he'd ever felt for anything in his life. He was about to pull Thomas into his lap when suddenly, from out in the dining area, someone started applauding slowly.

  "That's a nice act you got there," said a chillingly familiar voice. "Too bad this isn't that kind of club."

  Alan stiffened and hurriedly extricated Thomas from his arms, flushing with shame.

  "Oh, calm your tits, Stevie," Thomas drawled, rolling his eyes. "You seen worse."

  "I've done worse," Stevie agreed, "usually before breakfast, hah. Hey, wait a minute." At that moment he finally gave Alan more than a passing glance. He took a step forward, squinting at the man beside his star pianist. "Is that...?"

  Alan's mouth settled into a hard, stubborn. He steeled himself, then looked around Thomas at the man who had ruined his life and broken his heart. Alan bit back a cry of surprise. Back in the day, Stevie had been a muscle queen, tan and built and vain as the day was long. Now? He was overweight, paunchy and hairy, sloppily dressed, with a cigar hanging out of his mouth, and dark circles around his eyes from so many long years of late nights and partying too hard. He looked ten, fifteen years older than Alan at least, and he looked... miserable. Alan could still see vestiges of his old handsomeness etched in his face, but he was otherwise almost unrecognizable.

  "Stevie?" Alan said. He had relaxed a little. Now that he was a grown man, sadder but wiser, Alan wasn't so intimidated by Stevie. In fact, he kind of felt sorry for the man.

  "Holy shit, it is you," Stevie rasped, shuffling forward. "What the hell are you doing here? I thought for sure I'd never see you again."

  "Um..." Alan glanced at Thomas meaningfully. "Just came along to listen to rehearsal, I guess."

  "And participate, apparently," Stevie grunted. Alan could sense a bit of jealousy and it gave him a delicious pang of satisfaction. "Don't distract the kid. He's talented as hell, but he's easily thrown off-track. You've got a lotta new music to learn before next weekend, kid." Stevie wagged his finger at Thomas. "I'll not have a repeat of last week."

  "Why not? The audience loved it," Thomas sniffed. He caressed the piano keys absently. "I can't help it if I'm good at improv. I'm a free spirit, Stevie, you can't cage my artistic whimsy."

  "Artistic whimsy my ass," Stevie grumbled. "You, get back to practicing. Linton, you come over here. I wanna talk to you privately."

  Alan drew a deep breath. He wanted desperately to refuse, but he didn't want to look stupid in front of Thomas, as he already had done multiple times, and he didn't want to let Stevie know how much their relationship had messed him up, so he gave Thomas a pat on the shoulder. Alan then rose from the bench, his heart pounding. He crossed the stage and got out of the heat of the spotlights and stood in front of Stevie, arms folded defensively across his chest. Alan was a couple inches shorter than the older man, but Stevie's height just wasn't so intimidating any more. After all, Alan was in great shape, and much stronger than he used to be, and Stevie looked like all he needed was a solid poke with a broomstick or something and he'd just cave in on himself.

  "It's been such a long time," Stevie said.

  "Yep," said Alan, shifting from one foot to the other. "How, uh... how's things?"

  "Meh," Stevie waved his hand dismissively.

  "New fish tanks, I see."

  "I guess, yeah, but mostly it's same shit, different day. You'd think twenty-some years would change things, but nah. A nightclub's still a nightclub. College kids still want to get drunk and fuck each other and feel superior to the rest of the world. Aquariums have changed a little, but not much else. It's kinda... timeless, this place."

  "Mm," Alan grunted noncommittally. Maybe the industry hadn't changed much, but the man before him looked anything but timeless, in his tacky, tattered blue track suit and gray flat cap. "You, uh... seeing anyone?" It just came out. He didn't know why. Alan didn't give a shit whether Stevie was single or not, but he was extremely uncomfortable and trying to make conversation.

  Stevie grinned around his cigar. It wasn't even lit, he was just chewing on it, his teeth and lips stained yellow with tobacco. "Nah, my last pianist quit a while back, and, well... Thomas isn't really my type."

  "Isn't he?" Alan glanced over at the boy behind the piano. Thomas was radiant in the stage lights, his face solemn with concentration, his hair brilliantly blond, almost white, as his slim frame swayed back and forth with the music. Alan sighed softly. "I think he's gorgeous."

  "Hah! You? With Thomas? Talk about robbing the cradle, you're old enough to be his dad."

  "Doesn't seem to bother him," Alan said with a shrug. "Age is... just a number." His lips curled in a mischievous smile. "Bet it's been a while since you could snag a guy like that."

  Stevie's face morphed into an expression of anger so familiar to Alan th
at his heart stopped for a moment. Once upon a time, that furrowed brow and bared teeth meant that Alan was about to get pummeled. But Alan was a grown man now, and he wasn't about to take any shit from this pathetic, abusive old loser.

  "You better watch yourself," Stevie snarled, "or you might find yourself-- and your little boyfriend-- in a difficult situation."

  "Are you threatening me?" Alan's hands planted themselves at his hips, firmly akimbo, and he stood up tall. "You wanna say that again, you sick, fat old fuck?"

  "I said you better be careful!" Stevie barked, shoving Alan's shoulder.

  Alan staggered backward a few steps, stunned. Then a red film came over his eyes and two decades' worth of pent-up rage exploded inside of him. He launched himself at Stevie and started throwing punches at random (since he had little to no idea how to actually fight). He landed only a few blows, mostly on Stevie's soft body, because the older man was good at defending himself and had probably had plenty of practice. Stevie waited, blocking Alan's fists, until the younger man had gotten tired. Then, he took advantage of a moment of fatigue, and lunged forward, throwing both his arms around Alan's waist.

  "STEVIE, WHAT THE FUCK!?" shrieked Thomas, leaping up from the piano with a clang. He sprinted off the stage and watched helplessly as Stevie attacked his new lover.

  Stevie slammed Alan's body to the ground, making Alan gasp and choke as the wind was knocked out of him and the back of every bone in his body bruised his flesh. He lay there for a long moment, eyes watering in agony, ready to give up the fight, leave forever, maybe just go drain his bank account, buy a motorcycle and disappear forever, until Stevie whirled on Thomas.