The Darker Side of Trey Grey

by Tara Spears

  I took a sip of coffee. “She’s not exactly my type.”

  His eyes crinkled as he cleared his throat. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone say that.”

  I looked at him for a moment. He was cute, in a clean-cut American boy kind of way, or at least what the media perceived as an American boy. I kinda liked him, even though he was out of his element with me.

  “Really? Not even you?” I leaned forward, my lips twitching when he averted his eyes.

  “Actually, I dated her for awhile my first year.” He shrugged, as he stared out the window into the parking lot.

  I snickered. I couldn’t help it. “Sorry,” I said when he fixed me with a short look. I just couldn’t see him with her.

  He flipped his hand, giving me a small smile. “It’s okay. I hadn’t figured myself out yet.”

  “So, you’re saying you have everything figured out now?”

  He chuckled, shaking his head. “Hell no. God, I wish I did.” He took a sip of his coffee.

  I laughed. “Damn, I was hoping you could enlighten me.”

  He extended a manicured hand over the table. As I grasped it I wondered if he’d ever had to do anything laborious in his life. His skin felt like silk.

  “Taylor Chapman.” He squeezed gently.

  “Trey Grey.”

  I tried to feel something between us. A tingle, sexual energy, even warm interest. But I was numb just like I always was. His fingertips caressed my palm before he let go, and knowing that I felt nothing depressed me.

  “Taylor, come on,” someone from his table called. He waved over his shoulder at them.

  “I have to go. Can I ask you to dinner sometime? Would that be to forward?”

  I hesitated in answering, and he sighed dejectedly as he began to rise.

  “Not dinner. How about coffee... tomorrow morning?” Jesus, I just asked him out on a date. What was I thinking? He beamed down at me, and I found myself smiling back.

  “Tomorrow morning then. I’ll come by about nine.”

  “You know where my room is?”

  He nodded, and my lips twitched.

  “You know, that’s kinda like stalking,” I teased him.

  He shifted on his feet as he passed a hand over his face before he answered. “Considering I’ve had a crush on you for a year, and I just now got up the nerve to talk to you... I, ah, think you’re safe.” He grinned, showing a dimple on each cheek before turning on his toes and heading back to his friends.

  Safe. What a novel word. It goes hand in hand with normal. Neither of which has had a place in my life for as long as I could remember.

  I took a sip of cooled coffee as I watched him join his friends. His trappings didn’t leave much to the imagination. As he walked away, I had to admit he was pretty fine. Well, at least his ass was anyway. And maybe those dimples, yeah, kinda cute.

  I knew I would never be able to sleep with him. I just... I just... hell, I didn’t know what I wanted. I sighed, dropping my head into my hands. I was smart enough to know the question wasn’t what I wanted, but rather what someone else could handle.

  I was pretty confident Taylor wouldn’t be able to handle waking up to find me bleeding in the shower. Let alone my screaming at him the morning after because I couldn’t remember who he was, or, for that matter, what he was doing in my room.

  I doubted there was anyone who could take my shit. I pushed my fingers into my eyes, a headache beginning to build behind them. I was just too fucked up and I knew it.

  Chapter Four

  Cringing over the banging in my head, it took me a minute to realize the annoyance wasn’t in my head, but at the door. Then another moment to remember my coffee date with Taylor. It had been a bad night, full of sweating, nightmares and fear. I ignored the knocking, instead throwing a pillow over my head. What had I been thinking? I was doing Taylor a favor, he would be better for not knowing me.

  The knocking continued for another few minutes. He was persistent; I had to give him that. The noise finally stopped on a string of obscenities, and I drifted easily back to the place of nightmares.

  I was standing in the shower, head back, peeing down my legs and the relief was Elysian. My eyes opened to a storm-dimmed room, and for a second I was lost, then my bladder rapped hard, forcing me to haul myself up and race to the bathroom.

  I barely sat down, and shoved my dick between my legs, when my bladder let go in a rush. The relief was not quite as divine as in my dream, rather uncomfortable actually, and the toilet seat was fuckin’ cold. Stupid piss dreams. I always woke thinking I’d peed the bed. Of course I never had. It was just my mind’s way of waking me before I did.

  I wandered out of the bathroom groggy and heavy from having slept too much. I wanted coffee— no— needed coffee, but the thought of running into Taylor had me pulling out the Folgers singles instead. While water for both instant oatmeal and instant coffee microwaved, I found the remote in the bathroom then turned on the flat-screen. I never could find the stupid power button on the thing. If I ever lost the remote, the TV would become a useless hunk of technology because I wouldn’t even know how to turn it on.

  With lunch sitting in a lump in my gut, I washed my mug and spoon while trying to talk myself into going to Temptations tonight. What were my options? Crawl back in bed, which actually sounded like a fantastic idea to me, or go check out the club and possibly, very doubtfully, change my life. I knew the right answer, yet found myself grasping the wrong one. Turning the flat-screen towards the bed, I wrapped myself into the softness of flannel. Chicken! Yep, totally.

  I managed to make it through most of Pulp Fiction and four hundred commercials before my muscles started berating me for being so-damn-lazy. When I moved I felt the tightening in my legs. The discomfort chased me off the bed, forcing me to stretch thoroughly or suffer the consequences of painful leg cramps.

  “Fine, fucking fine, I’ll go, damn it.” I threw my hands up in defeat. If I really believed my body was making me do things I didn’t want to, would that classify me as insane or just mentally unstable? I was definitely one or the other.

  I somehow managed to ignore my scrub brush, thus pulling off a fifteen minute shower. I felt pretty damn good about that small triumph. In celebration I dug out my most expensive jeans and a black cashmere V-neck sweater. The jeans were a risk since I didn’t wear underwear, and they had a perfectly worn tear along my right ass cheek. Even so, I seriously doubted they would be provocative considering the club I was headed to. They weren’t even leather, or rubber, or latex.

  I finished off the look with a studded belt, snake link silver chain, and set out my black short healed boots. As I looked in the mirror, something was missing. I opened my top drawer, fumbling around until I found a black kohl liner pencil and tinted lip balm.

  After applying both, I stared at the face in the mirror. “If that isn’t a gay boy, I don’t know what is.” But I liked the effect so left myself alone. “Now, where is that damn card?” My eyes traveled to the toxic bag sitting ominously on top of my work clothes. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” My bare foot hit the vanity with a satisfying bloom of pain. How stupid can you be, Trey? I could do this, and without needing another shower. I hoped.

  With my hands covered in green latex and my sweater now on the bed, as delicately as any surgeon, I opened the knot. With my fingertips, I managed to get the bag pushed down past the jacket. The thought of the bag touching me made my skin crawl. I could feel the sweat beginning to slide down my temples. Suck it up. Carefully exposing the inner pockets, I felt for the card and found it. With two trembling fingers, I successfully extracted it and tossed it in the sink. Now to tie the bag back up.

  A drop of sweat traveled down my chest to my navel as my hands began to shake. Leaning away, I took hold of the yellow ties and pulled them up until they stopped. God-damn-Georgie. I couldn’t stop shaking, and it was making it hard to tie the sonofabitch closed. Somehow I managed, and let out a sigh of relief.

  I sprayed
the plastic card with bleach then soaped it up. I pulled the lathered gloves from my hands, dropping them in the trash before I finished rinsing the card in hot water.

  “Okay, that wasn’t so bad. I didn’t even scream once.”

  I wet a washcloth and wiped myself off. Thankfully sweat didn’t bother me... much. I actually liked the smell of clean sweat. The kicker there being clean. Willie always had a vile tang to him regardless of how often he showered, and his body odor used to offend my senses.

  Dressed again, eyes de-smudged, and card in hand, I headed out the door with a more positive outlook towards the evening. I had done something I never thought I would be able to do. To some it might be laughable, but to me, opening that garbage bag had been ginormous.

  Of course one tiny breakthrough makes a person stupid in a way like no other. Humming and swinging my keys around my finger, I was halfway to the dorm’s front door when I heard my name behind me. Damn. I had to face my own composition, and lie convincingly. I turned on the ball of my foot to face an undeniably hurt Taylor. His face was an emotional road map of messy lines.

  “Where were you this morning? I knocked but you weren’t home. Are you okay? Did you have a family emergency or something?”

  Bingo. The way he was rambling he would eventually hit something I could use.

  “It was a personal emergency. I’m sorry, Taylor, I should have left you a note.” Shit, that sounded sincere even to my ears.

  “Is everything okay?” he asked. The genuine concern on his face was almost heartbreaking. Almost.

  The boy was working on wrecking himself. Taylor was dressed in wrinkled blue camo pajamas and sheepskin slippers at nine on a Saturday night. The sweet smell of chocolate lingered around him like cologne.

  I didn’t understand how people could get emotional over someone they had just met. A crush, yes, completely based on appearance, lust, a primal want to fuck someone. But this? What Taylor was doing? Beyond my realm of comprehension.

  “It will be. Raincheck? Give me a few days though, okay?” I offered a small smile and he smiled back a bit unsure.

  “Kay, a few days.” He sighed, his hand coming up towards my face before he let it fall away. “Where are you going?” His eyes narrowed as if he had just noticed what I was wearing.

  “Job interview. At a club,” I replied, and the dubious look magnified as he hugged himself. He didn’t believe me. Hell, I wouldn’t believe me either. “I’ve got to go. I don’t want to be late. I’ll find you in a few days.” I turned and headed to the door.

  “216. That’s my room number, 216...” he trailed off when I didn’t stop or look back. I did wave my hand over my shoulder— once.

  God, I could be such a bastard. It really was for his own good though. Sure, whatever makes you feel better, Trey. I wiped Taylor from my mind, not needing another reason to berate myself.

  I was again thinking over my small triumphs as I pulled up to the club. A valet trotted over and opened my door. I looked up at the kid, not a kid, probably my age, with a new fear I never planned to have to face. No one had driven kitten since I had rebuilt her but me. My chest grew taut, and I started breathing too fast.

  “Sir, I’ll take care of her for you. No worries. We have a private lot and I’ll set the alarm,” he said in a kind tone. Could he see my fear? “She’s a beauty. I won’t let anyone else touch her. Just ask for Steven when you’re ready to leave.”

  He was reading my fear, and to a normal guy in love with his car he would have been convincing. I held up my hand, gesturing for a minute. Steven stepped back. I closed the door, laying my forehead on the steering wheel as I gulped air. I opened the garbage bag, I can do this too.

  I swung the door open and bolted out, almost running into the valet. I gazed at him, stuporous. I had planned to give him a warning to take care of her, but the only sound that came out was a pitiful growl. He palmed the ticket to me, and I turned and fled to the entrance without looking back. I heard her engine yowl and a shiver knifed between my shoulder blades. Someone was in my car. A stranger was driving kitten. I grabbed one of the posts holding the awning in order to keep my feet under me.

  I quickly became aware of people giving me odd looks as they passed, and when I glanced sideways I saw the peanut gallery staring at me curiously. They were all waiting for me to self-destruct, and I refused to give them the satisfaction as I forced myself to let go of the post. I might be a freak, but I preferred to keep that part of my personality private.

  Shaking my hair out of my eyes, I pulled the black and red card from my rear pocket. I flashed it to the big black man blocking the door, and he stepped aside with a flourish and a short nod.

  “Who the fuck is that?” a young woman shrilled.

  “I dunno... he looks like he could be a model, or maybe an up and coming rock star.”

  “He’s rolling on something, so... I’d say musician,” some guy in the waiting crowd answered.

  More speculations bounced through the throng of wannabes, tugging out a grin despite my recent near-meltdown. The confab outside disappeared as I stepped into Temptations, and my grin drooped.

  “Shit,” I muttered as I stopped. I wasn’t out of my element, but I was damn close. If there was one thing I was good at though, it was playing games.

  The club was roué, fashionable and raunchy all at once. From the level I was standing at, it had the appearance of a chandelier cascading in tiers. Wide black marble steps descended each level, and puffy red loveseats and chairs were scattered helter-skelter throughout.

  Two long glass and chrome bars serviced the club on alternating sides set a few levels apart. The black and white checkered dance floor occupied the pit. Both young, and the chic middle aged were bumping and grinding together under the red and gold lights in a frenzied throng of flesh.

  The most impressive feature, however, were the glass-fronted playrooms placed discreetly throughout the club. Set flush into the stark white walls, players acted out some of the more classic dom-sub scenes. They were strictly for entertainment, the performers well costumed in leather, feathers, and skin.

  I couldn’t help but wonder if Lila planned to display me in just such a cube. Her questions had been rather personal for that. However if that was her intent, I already knew the answer would be a resounding no.

  I wasn’t a dog you could train to perform in front of a crowd, regardless of how much you paid me. Money would not prevent my ticks from rearing up now and then. Something I was sure would not amuse the patrons here. Although, some might be just fiendish enough to enjoy the show.

  I flounced down the steps towards the closest bar. Liquor seemed a good place to start. The bar was busy. Two bare-chested bartenders slopped drinks, as people seemingly called orders faster than the boys could humanly fill them. The melee held a jovial air, and not one indignant voice could be heard. Most patrons chatted with neighbors, or hawked the crowd as they waited. I leaned back against the bar, quietly absorbing.

  A hand squeezed my arm, pulling my attention; “You’re up. What can I get you?” The bartender was cute in an over-groomed GQ way, and his demure grin told me he thought something similar of me.

  “Double Stoli straight.”

  He sent a kiss through the air towards me before pouring a tumbler with more than a double.

  “I love the simple boys,” he said with a wink as he set my drink in front of me.

  I may not like sex, but I loved empty flirting. I offered back a sultry half-smirk. We shared a playful chuckle then he went back to hustling.

  I slid some Stoli down my throat, and was turning around when a hand traveled along the peak-a-boo tear in my jeans.

  “I think I’d know that tush anywhere.”

  “And I think I’d know that smoky voice anywhere. Fancy seeing you here, Molly,” I said to one of my regulars before swinging my head towards her. “You look good.” She did too. Her rich sheaf of a dress matched her green eyes, and complimented her long strawberry-blond hair. But
then Molly always looked like money.

  She bumped my shoulder with hers. “You look better. So, what brings you to this rat trap?” she asked with a wrinkle of her nose.

  “I was invited.” I took another swallow of my drink as I wondered. “You wouldn’t have had anything to do with that would you?” I wasn’t sure why Molly hadn’t entered my mind when Lila told me we had some mutual clients. Molly liked to play, and she was quite well-off thanks to an ambitious husband.

  “Oh hell no, not me.” She smirked knowingly. “However, I can’t say it wouldn’t be nice to have you here. All my favorite toys in one place.”

  I laughed at that and she laughed back. She had definitely hawked me to Lila.

  “Tell me, if you have all this to play with why are you slumming with me?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Her hand slid around my backside, and I slapped it away, giving her a blithe look of warning. I wasn’t here for her to paw me. Her playful expression fell, but only a little.

  “I never really considered three hundred a pop slumming,” she said laconically as she leaned over, peering at the bartenders. “Jesus, what do you have to do to get a drink in this place?”

  I shrugged. “I just had to look pretty.”

  She let out a feminine snort as she shoved her shoulder against me. Being the gracious gentleman that I was, I moved to the other side of her so the bartenders would see her better. I leaned my back against the bar, and looked around without really seeing, my eyes being somewhat glazed over from the éclat before me.

  Molly turned around with something pink in a glass and handed me mine, refilled.

  “I think the dark-haired bartender likes you.” She took a sip of her pink concoction.

  “They all do.” I waved a hand dismissively making her chuckle.

  I took a slug of my drink, and was about to take another when my eyes caught on something shiny and pretty. When I had been a teenager, the few times I had been able to jack off without breaking down into a sniveling pile, I had fantasized about a comic book superhero. And here he was, in all his golden glory, better than my fourteen year old disturbed brain had ever been able to muster him.