Stan surveyed the three of us for a moment, faked a shiver down the spine, and said, ‘This is just too weird. I need a drink.’ He turned on his heels and headed for the bar.
The exchange lingered with me. The music was pounding and Jean had me in tow, doing the social rounds, but I wasn’t paying attention.
Real men. What wasn’t real about these men? The more I thought about it, the more enraged I became. Had the accusation been that they weren’t real gay men that might have been a valid question to entertain. I was a little confused about that one myself.
I excused myself and climbed the stairs to the ladies’ washroom. It was packed to the tits and there was a line-up for the stalls.
‘Shira! Fuck girl, you look good!’ Blonde and teased to within an inch of her life, Phaedra kissed me on the cheek. Thank God for Lipcote.
‘Hey, Phaedra.’
‘I just heard something – well – kind of wild. So I thought I’d come to the source.’
‘Oh yeah. What’s that?’ I asked dryly. Were we all still at high school?
‘Are you doing Sebastian and Jean at the same time?’ Phaedra was nothing if not direct.
I swiped away a little lipstick overrun on my bottom lip. ‘Yes.’
‘And?’
‘And what?’ I looked up from the microcosm of my mouth to see the whole of the ladies’ washroom looking at me in the mirror. ‘For fuck’s sake. Do you all mind?’ I demanded, turning on them.
‘And? Well? What’s it like?’
I eyed Phaedra coldly. I actually liked her; we’d worked together at an import record store for a short time and had a lot of fun. ‘I’m not going to talk about it in front of the cheerleader squad. Buy me a drink.’
She grabbed my wrist and hauled me out of the ladies’ room so fast I thought she might dislocate my shoulder.
Settled in a quiet corner of the upstairs lounge, Phaedra dutifully lined up three flaming sambuca shooters and handed me a straw. ‘Talk.’
I blew out the blue flame on the first shooter glass, plunged the straw in and sucked up the sweet, licorice fluid. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘Is it good?’
I restrained myself from being heartless and asking her if she meant the drink. ‘Yes.’
‘Damn it, Shira. I didn’t buy you three shooters for one-word answers. I want details.’
‘It’s very good.’
Phaedra glared at me angrily and then decided to try again. ‘I’ve heard that Sebastian is hung like a horse. Is it true?’
‘Yes.’
‘Does he know how to use it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Argh! Shira. Details please!!!’
‘Geez, Phaedra, it’s just a little strange. I don’t know how you gauge someone’s sexual prowess when there are more than two of you in a bed. Does he marathon fuck? No. Could he? Yes, I think so, but I don’t know who’d want it. It gets a little painful after a while.’
‘That’s the sort of detail I was after!’ Phaedra grinned suggestively and then turned serious. ‘Now, do they both fuck you at the same time?’
‘No.’ I sank my straw into the second shooter and sucked it down in one long pull.
‘Why not?’
Suddenly, I just didn’t want to be that open about it. It was too new and raw and I didn’t want to scrutinize it to death like I did with most things. ‘We only did it twice. It’s kind of new for all of us. Okay?’
Phaedra looked puzzled. ‘The way I heard it, you guys have been a threesome for ages and were keeping it a secret.’
I shot her a dubious look. ‘A secret? Who the hell can keep a secret in this town? Certainly not Jean, probably not Sebastian either and, apparently, neither can I.’
‘All the queens are saying nasty things about you: that you’re a fag hag who doesn’t know her place.’
My eyebrows rose of their own volition. ‘Do you realize you just sounded like an alternative lifestyle version of a Hollywood gossip columnist?’
Phaedra shrugged. ‘So? Do you have a response?’
‘Yeah, I kind of got the feeling that Stan was offended. Even the transgressive have their code of conduct, it seems.’
‘Well? Are you just going to let them say that about you? Aren’t you going to defend yourself?’ demanded Phaedra.
I contemplated the question while sucking down the last sambuca. It was hitting my bloodstream, and not a second too soon.
‘What am I gonna say, Phaedra? Whatever I say, they’re going to be pissed. Maybe they’re right – maybe I’m just a fag hag who’s overstepped.’ I shrugged, poached a cigarette from her pack and lit it. ‘But I want to know who gets to set the rules. I didn’t go shopping for this, you know? It just sort of happened. And at their instigation, I might add. It wasn’t my idea.’
Downstairs, Sebastian caught my arm and pulled me onto the dance floor. It was something bass-heavy and slow, but still deafeningly loud. He stooped a little and kissed me on the cheek.
‘Where’s Jean?’ I yelled in his ear.
‘He’ll be down shortly. He’s just in the washroom.’ Sebastian let his hands slide over my ass and pressed me into him.
‘I don’t think our arrangement is going down very well on a social level.’
‘Fuck them. Kiss me.’
‘That would just exacerbate the whole situation, don’t you think?’
‘Oh, undoubtedly,’ he chuckled, and pulled my face up to meet his.
It wasn’t until that moment that I realized how tall he actually was. Even with four-inch heels on, I still had to crane my neck back. The way he kissed me made me feel even smaller; he practically lifted me off my feet like a rag doll. I closed my eyes and everything disappeared but the music, his mouth, and his hands on my ass. When he finished, he nestled his lips close to my ear and said, ‘Here comes our sweet boy.’
I turned around to see Jean dodging people lithely to get to us. It was wonderful to watch him move when he didn’t think he was being observed. He did glide, eel-like. Despite his small frame, he rolled his shoulders as he walked in a deliciously predatory way. When he reached us, he flopped his arms limply over my shoulders.
‘Isn’t this wild? Everyone thinks we’re going to burn in the deepest pit of hell. Absolutely everyone!’
I slipped my arms around his waist, pulled him against me and spoke into his ear, ‘You, Mister Jean, are a troublemaker, you know that?’
‘I certainly hope so. Wouldn’t life be a bore if no one was?’ Jean responded. He began to dance against me, slowly, sinuously.
I felt Sebastian’s body behind me. I was being sandwiched. There, in front of the whole fucking world. Okay, I admit it – I was a little scandalized myself, but I’d be damned if I was going to let anyone else think I was.
‘Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?’ I asked. But the question was redundant. Jean had a thigh wedged between my legs and I could feel the stirrings of an erection at my hip as he moved against me. Sebastian was unquestionably happy; his hard-on was biting into my lower back.
That’s when I wondered if this wasn’t all about performance. Why be so public? Why did everyone need to know so badly, or so fast? Was I just a prop in their outrageous party piece?
The music changed to something a lot faster and harder, but neither of them seemed to notice. They were too busy using me as a scratching post. Sebastian’s face was in the crook of my neck, feeding on me like a vampire, and I was eating all Jean’s lipstick off. Between the rubbing and the grinding, it got so bad I had to concentrate on not doing something as déclassé as orgasming in public on a dance floor.
‘Jean,’ I whimpered. ‘Your thigh, sweetheart, you’re going to have to stop doing that or I’m going to lose it right here. Please! I’m not joking.’
‘You’re outrageously easy to get off,’ Jean hissed in my ear. He looked up to Sebastian. ‘I think it’s time to get our little Shira home, Seb,’ he yelled.
‘Why?’
; ‘Don’t ask questions,’ retorted Jean. ‘Let’s go.’
_____________
* ‘Funtime’, Pop/Gardner
CHAPTER FIVE:
NEW TERRITORY
It had begun to snow. The street lamps outside the club were splaying light in the cold air. I was mildly intoxicated and breathless as they pulled me into the back of the cab. Normally the sight of a first snow thrilled me. Now, all I could think about was how uncomfortable I felt with all these clothes on.
‘Whose place?’ asked Jean.
‘Mine, I think.’ Sebastian gave the driver an address over on the east side.
We sat in the taxi, holding hands. Their grasps were determined, and my fingers numbed under the pressure. It was as if were one of us to let go we’d all fall off a cliff into some yawning abyss. The drive was quiet. I could hear my own breathing and tried to calm it, to slow it down. But on either side of me, Jean and Sebastian were doing the same. We all sounded like we’d run a marathon.
It scared me. I’d had my share of infatuations. I’d learned how to talk myself out of them. I thought I knew the difference between lust and love, and I had never been one of those people whose sex-drive ran their lives. I had a job, I played in a band; my life was more than the boyfriend I was fucking. Why did this – this thing – feel so enormous? Where had all my control gone?
‘I feel kind of funny.’
Jean reached up and put a palm to my forehead. I shook it away. ‘Not sick, just funny.’
‘What kind of funny?’ asked Sebastian, with an amused smile. I thought it was amused, but the car was dark. ‘Funny hilarious or funny strange’
‘Funny strange. I feel like I’m out of control.’
‘Me too,’ murmured Jean.
‘I’m always out of control,’ replied Sebastian. ‘This is completely different.’ I felt him give my hand an even sharper squeeze.
Jean, I knew. I could trust him to tell me the truth. Sebastian was a different matter. He schemed, he manipulated, he had one hell of a social reputation. He wasn’t the least bit trustworthy.
I shifted on the seat, wet and uncomfortable. ‘Does anyone know what we’re doing?’
‘Definitely not,’ said Jean. He turned a serious face towards me, his eyes flashed silver with each passing street light. ‘I’m completely out of my depth here.’
‘You two, what a pair of drama queens! I know what I’m doing. I’m having my cake and eating it too.’ Sebastian pecked me on the cheek and then reached over and kissed Jean. ‘Both of you are so fucking busy over-thinking things. This is good, it feels good, we’re happy – where’s the dilemma?’
I’d never been to Sebastian’s place. It was a huge old Victorian house. When we climbed out of the cab the snow had started to settle on the ground, dusting everything in glittering crystal.
‘Wow, Sebastian! How did you afford this?’ I looked up at the building. On closer inspection, it suffered from a little neglect. The paint was peeling above the foundation walls. Some of the roof guttering had come loose. ‘What do you actually do for a living?’
Jean snickered. ‘It’s his dirty little secret. Shall I tell her?’
‘Oh, by all means, be my guest. She’ll lose all respect for me, but what’s that worth anyway?’
Jean linked his arm through mine and squeezed it. ‘Our Sebastian here is the product of stinking rich parents. He didn’t earn it – he inherited it.’
Sebastian unlocked the front door, walked in and held it for us, smiling. ‘I don’t do anything. I’m a spoilt rich brat.’
‘That’s it!’ I said in mock-disgust. ‘I can’t associate myself with the likes of you! It offends my deeply held socialist values.’
Sebastian grabbed my arm and pulled me over the threshold. ‘Values? How banal. We’re going to have to do something about those.’
The house was huge and all wood panelling. I got the sneaking suspicion that Sebastian didn’t do his own housecleaning. I couldn’t imagine anyone being able to take care of this alone. I walked through the dimly lit main hall and poked my head around into what looked like the living room. It was enormous. ‘So who lives here, your parents?’
‘No. Just me.’
‘Come on, will you?’ Jean looked over the banister from halfway up the stairs.
Sebastian looked up at him. ‘Don’t you think I ought to be a good host and at least offer drinks or something?’
‘Yes, by all means. Grab a bottle and bring it up,’ Jean said with authority. ‘Shira? Follow me.’
I ran up the staircase after Jean. He stood holding out his hand. I took it and let him lead me up the last of the stairs. On the landing, he turned right. It occurred to me that he’d been there often and felt fairly at home. The big house gave me the sense that, any moment, I’d run into someone grave and disapproving. He opened a door off the dark hallway and pulled me through.
You could have hit me with a hammer. The room was so completely different from the rest of the house. It was all a deep, dark red. The walls, the carpet, the bed, the bookcase. The only other colours in the room were on the spines of the books.
‘I just have to get through the rest of this mausoleum as fast as I can. Way too much brown,’ said Jean. ‘I tried to talk him into black, but Seb wouldn’t go for it.’
He unzipped his jacket and threw it onto a couch that stood in front of a huge bay window. Outside, the snow was coming down harder and the wind was pushing it against the glass, like static on a TV screen.
I shrugged out of my coat and draped it on top of his, still reeling a little from the shock of the room. The bed, enormous and made of wrought iron, was the only thing in the room that even came close to matching the style of the house, with round brass finials at the top of each post.
Jean walked over to me and started pulling off my clothes, dotting my face with little kisses. Something was different with him. I started in on his shirt buttons and looked at him questioningly. ‘What’s gotten into you, Mister Jean?’ I asked gently. He was fumbling with the tab on the waistband on my jeans.
‘I don’t know. Why?’ He avoided my eyes. Instead, he busied himself tugging and scrabbling at the press-stud on my jeans, making no headway at all. ‘Fuck! How do you undo this?’
‘Um . . . it’s a snap?’
Now I really was concerned. I put my arms around him and pulled him close, purposefully trying to catch his eye. He was looking anywhere else. I clutched a handful of hair and pulled his head back. The aggression got his attention. ‘Hey, what’s wrong, Jean?’
Something changed in his eyes and my heart welled up. He was on the verge of tears. ‘Jean, please! What’s up? You’re scaring me.’
‘When you think of me, how do you think of me? As a man?’ A large tear slipped through his mascaraed lashes and rolled down his pale cheek. ‘Do you think of me as a man at all?’
The question stopped me dead. I opened my mouth, hoping that something intelligent and appropriate would just flop out. What was he asking? What answer did he hope I’d give him?
The wave of guilt that washed over me was nauseating. I had caused this! He wouldn’t even be worried about it if it hadn’t been for me. I shouldn’t have slept with them. I should have dug my heels in and told them both to fuck off. I had brought this whole gender thing into the mix. If I hadn’t been there, Jean wouldn’t be asking that question. It hurt me to think he needed to ask it now. But I loved him. I owed him honesty.
‘When I think of you, I just think of you. I never felt the need to classify you, Jean,’ I said gently, kissing his pale cheek.
When Sebastian opened the door, I felt a flood of relief. I looked at him over Jean’s shoulder, not wanting to let him go. ‘We so need what’s in that bottle right now.’
‘What’s wrong?’ For all Sebastian’s supposed ‘out of control-ness’, he had a pretty good emotional radar.
‘We’re having a little identity crisis. I think it’s my fault,’ I said softly. ‘Maybe I should go.’
Sebastian came and wrapped his arms around both of us. ‘I think not,’ he said. ‘I don’t think you solve anything by avoiding it. I think it’s time for all good children to be in bed.’
Once undressed and under the covers, with Jean tucked in the middle, we passed the bottle back and forth in silence. Finally, he sniffed, levelling his eyes at me. His liner had run giving him a hurt, bruised look. ‘You didn’t give me a proper answer. I need one.’
My heart started to race. I was so scared for Jean. ‘I hope to God it’s the one you want to hear.’
‘I would appreciate the truth, please.’
I glanced over at Sebastian, who gave me a wan smile. No help there.
‘Okay. The truth . . . The truth is that I think of you as a male – absolutely male. Never once has it crossed my mind that you were anything but.’ I watched his face, trying to gauge his reaction, but there was nothing I knew how to read there – except for this person, this man I adored. ‘But I did, until very recently, think of you as gay – one hundred per cent gay. And I can tell you, it’s not so easy to know the person you’re in love with can’t love you back – except in that friendly sort of way.’
Beneath the covers, Jean’s hand searched out mine and clasped it tight. ‘And now?’
I sighed and shrugged. My stomach squirmed. ‘Now, I don’t know. I wish you wouldn’t care so much about it. I don’t. And I’d be very happy to go back to just being friends, if it would make things less complicated.’
‘Can I interrupt here and ask what the hell set this off anyway?’ asked Sebastian, passing me the vodka. I took it, but didn’t drink any more. For all the pain I was in, and for all the fear, I didn’t want to be any drunker. I didn’t want to blurt out anything stupid by mistake. I passed the bottle on to Jean.
‘I think it was probably some of the things that were said at the club.’
Sebastian shifted onto his side and put his arm over Jean’s chest. He let his fingertips trace abstract patterns on Jean’s skin. ‘Was it?’ he asked him.
Jean nodded. ‘Yeah.’
I shook my head in frustration. ‘But why did you want to tell everyone? You know how nasty they can be! What were you looking for, approval?’
Beautiful Losers (Modern Erotic Classics) Page 5