by Kim Fielding
“But you can’t…. There’s shit you don’t know about me, Jeff. A lot of shit.”
“I know about Max Palmer.”
Cleve flinched as if he’d been hit. He was silent for a long time, all the way on the other side of the room, and then finally he rasped, “Not anymore.”
“Huh?”
“When I told you in Venice that I’m not a whore, I meant I’m not one anymore.”
Jeff didn’t answer. He could have mentioned the Austrian guy in the main square, but that seemed petty. He wasn’t trying to pin Cleve down for his lies. He was only trying—Christ, he wasn’t sure what he was doing. Except for Cleve. He was sure he wanted Cleve.
The man in question left the window and sat down again in the chair. He picked up the saltshaker and ran a finger along the smooth metal top. “I’m not ashamed of the modeling. Didn’t mean to make a living at it, that happened by accident, but once I was there, it wasn’t so bad. I made pretty good money. Had fun sometimes. It kinda… kinda turned me on, knowing guys were out there, getting their rocks off from looking at me, watching me. I bet you think it’s disgusting, though.”
“I never said that.”
Cleve looked up at him. “Did you watch some of the videos?”
Jeff blushed. “Clips, yeah.”
“Did they turn you on?”
“Um… yeah.”
“’Course they did. They’re really fucking hot.” Cleve tilted his head appraisingly. “Is that why you came after me? To see if you could nail the porn star again? Maybe get your euros’ worth out of his ass?”
“Five minutes ago I was boring Jeff from Normalville. Now I’m a… a pervert. You can’t even get your stories straight about me, let alone about yourself.”
Cleve put down the saltshaker. “So what the hell do you want? My entire fucking life story in sordid detail, with helpful pictures and diagrams on the side?”
Jeff did want exactly that. But suddenly his knees felt ready to buckle with fatigue, and he yawned jaw-crackingly. “Not now. I know it’s early, but I didn’t get much sleep and… and what I really want right now is for you to get into bed with me. And promise me you’ll still be here in the morning.”
“Okay,” Cleve said, as if it were as simple as that.
They didn’t speak much as they took turns in the bathroom that was too small for two. Cleve watched as Jeff chased his pills with a glass of water, then asked, “Can I borrow your toothbrush? Or is that too personal?”
“I had my dick in your ass,” Jeff pointed out, “and your tongue’s been in my mouth plenty of times. I think that’s pretty damn personal. Help yourself.”
Cleve laughed and then brushed his teeth.
They both stripped quickly—nothing sexy about it—and Jeff turned out the lights before climbing into bed. Cleve lay down beside him. They sighed in unison as Cleve snuggled back into Jeff’s arms, and although Cleve’s smooth round ass felt really nice pressed against Jeff’s cock, Jeff was asleep before he could muster the energy to move.
HE HAD forgotten to close the drapes, so he awakened with sunlight in his eyes. To his enormous relief, Cleve was still stomach-down in his bed, one leg thrown over Jeff’s. Moving carefully, Jeff managed to get up without waking the other man. The blankets were already down to Cleve’s waist, and Jeff drew them very slowly all the way to the foot of the mattress, revealing Cleve completely. Cleve mumbled something incoherent and shifted a little but didn’t wake up.
He was beautiful. His skin almost glowed in the morning light, and the ink on his arms was especially bright. His hair was glossy, his face heavily whiskered and yet childlike in repose. Jeff admired the long sweep of his spine down to the full curves of his ass, the thick thighs with their sprinkling of dark hairs, the vulnerable pink of his balls nestled between his splayed legs.
Jeff padded to the bathroom and drank a glass of water. Then he pulled a clean pair of boxers on and, making sure the volume on his computer was turned off, booted up.
After quickly deleting the usual spam and advertisements—Eddie Bauer was having a clearance sale—he opened a message from his mother.
Jeffy,
How is Zagreb? Will you stay there for the whole week? Do you still plan to go to Paris next?
Next week. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. Really, he hadn’t thought past finding Cleve and figuring out what was going on. He turned his attention back to the e-mail.
I have an offer on your house, darling. It’s less than the asking price: $185k. But I think if we counter-offer we can get them to $200k. Let me know what you want to do. We have 2 days to decide.
Love,
Mom
He’d been over the figures in his head many times. Because his mother was willing to skip her commission, two hundred thousand meant he’d just about break even. He’d be broke, but he wouldn’t be in debt, and on his salary, he could afford a decent apartment. But… his house.
“Hope it’s not pictures of me making you frown like that.” Cleve’s voice was sleepy, rough-edged. He hadn’t moved out of his sprawl on the bed.
“Why would I look at pictures when the real thing’s right here?” Jeff countered.
“C’mere.”
Jeff found himself drawn to Cleve’s lazy smile. He sat on the mattress, but Cleve reached up and pulled him down flat and then draped himself on top.
“I see you wake up happy,” Jeff said. Cleve’s hard dick was digging into the elastic waistband of his boxers.
“It’s been a while since I didn’t wake up alone. It’s nice.” Cleve licked beneath Jeff’s ear. “You don’t grow much of a beard, do you?”
“Not really. Drove me nuts when I was a kid. I thought I didn’t look manly enough.”
“Manly enough for me,” Cleve said, pressing his hips more tightly against Jeff’s.
Jeff groaned. “God, Cleve, this isn’t—”
“I know. You want to interrogate me. How about we fuck first and then you question me when I’m too spent to put up any resistance?”
Lust, embarrassment, and amusement warred confusingly in Jeff’s head, and he couldn’t put up even token resistance. Cleve kissed him, sweet despite morning breath, and then suddenly flipped himself around so that his ass hovered temptingly over Jeff’s face. Jeff reached up and squeezed with both hands. But Cleve had plans: he bent over and pulled Jeff’s hardening cock through his fly, then began to lick it. At the same time, he lowered his pelvis a little, making it clear that he expected reciprocity. Which Jeff was happy to provide.
In the golden morning light, they sucked and licked and stroked, and their moans and gasps echoed off the walls of the small room. Jeff tried to warn Cleve before he came, but Cleve simply continued to work him, reaching his own climax moments later. He twisted back around and lay on his back beside Jeff, panting. Jeff reached over to tug at the hair on his chest. “Have I softened you up for questioning now?”
Cleve snorted. “Pretty much. But can we eat first? I never had dinner last night.”
“Yeah. Sounds good.”
They attempted to cram into the shower together, but it was just too small. Jeff ended up going first, with Cleve watching through the glass and waggling his brows lasciviously. Then it was Cleve’s turn to wash. He had to dress in his clothes from the day before.
“We can go by your hotel and get your stuff,” Jeff said. “It’ll save me some charges on my credit card.”
But Cleve shook his head. “Wait. When you hear everything you… you might change your mind. You should change your mind.”
Jeff disagreed on both points but didn’t say so.
Jelena smiled at them as they walked through the lobby. “She’s really pretty,” observed Cleve when they got outside.
“Yeah. Do you, um, like girls too?” It was sort of a basic question, but not one they’d discussed before.
“Like men better. I’ve had sex with women a few times—out of curiosity or… you know. Professional reasons. But it didn’t really
float my boat. How about you?”
“Once. College. I was drunk and horny and she was cute.”
Cleve snorted softly. “Those are good enough reasons sometimes, I guess.”
“When you’re nineteen, sure. Not so much when you’re thirty.”
“Or thirty-five,” Cleve sighed.
Jeff glanced at him. “Really?”
“Would I lie about that?”
Jeff didn’t know what Cleve would lie about, but he didn’t say so. He just walked alongside the other man, and within a few minutes they were dodging trams and passing by the horseman with the pointy sword. Cleve led them through a passageway that cut through the middle of a building—Jeff hadn’t noticed it the previous day—then across the street and up the stairs that led to the greenmarket. The place was buzzing again, men and women of all ages haggling over produce and cheese and jars of honey. Jeff wondered if Croatian strawberries were as tasty as Italian ones.
Cleve chose one of the cafés, and they sat down at a wobbly outdoor table. Without even asking Jeff first, Cleve ordered for them both—in English, which the waiter seemed to understand well. The waiter returned with pastries that were close cousins of the burek, comprised of phyllo dough around a cottage cheese sort of filling. There were also cups of thinned plain yogurt, which they were evidently supposed to drink, and strong sweet coffee. “Turkish coffee,” Cleve explained. “It’ll grow hair on your chest. Watch out for the grounds at the bottom of the cup.”
“I never grow hair on my chest.”
“Consider yourself lucky, dude. Waxing sucks.”
That seemed to be about as serious as Cleve was willing to let the conversation get, at least for the moment. He answered Jeff’s questions with a shake of his head until Jeff gave up and watched the market crowds instead. Cleve was keeping an eye out as well, but his attention seemed more focused, as if he were looking for someone.
“Are you worried about something?” Jeff finally asked.
“Not yet. I think I probably have a couple more days. I hope so, anyway.”
“You told me you’d explain.”
“Not here. Come on.” Cleve surprised Jeff by paying for breakfast, but then he grinned at Jeff, acknowledging without words that it was Jeff’s money anyway.
They left the market square via a side street and then emerged across from the cathedral. One of the spires was covered in scaffolding, and several tour buses idled in front. “Where are we going?” Jeff asked, knowing Cleve wouldn’t answer.
And Cleve didn’t. He simply walked past the cathedral and up the street for about a block and then paused at a bus stop. The shops all around them sold religious supplies—and, for some reason, wine—and a nearby kiosk was doing a bustling business in votive candles.
When the bus rumbled to a stop in front of them, Jeff climbed obediently aboard, and Cleve paid again. They sat silently, winding their way through a quiet residential neighborhood where flowers bloomed brightly in window boxes and young children strolled down the sidewalk. They didn’t ride for long—maybe ten minutes—and they disembarked when the bus stopped next to a very long, high wall.
It was only after they stepped through an archway in the wall that Jeff realized where they were. “Do you have some kind of thing for cemeteries?” he asked. This one was huge, with endless rows of dark tombstones arrayed under tall, shady trees, and statues and little buildings scattered here and there.
“They’re peaceful. I like the idea of all these people tucked away and remembered by their loved ones.” Cleve seemed to choose a row at random and began to stroll slowly, Jeff at his side. “This one’s called Miragoj. Despite all the wars and shit, everyone’s buried here: Catholics, Orthodox, Muslims, Jews.”
“I thought you didn’t know Zagreb.”
“Not well. But I’ve been here a couple times before. With Eddie,” he added, not looking at Jeff.
Jeff didn’t speak. The gravel crunched softly under their feet as they walked slowly down a slight slope. Cleve stopped at an especially big gravestone with a golden lion atop it. Whoever was buried there had died in 1903.
“My parents kicked me out when I was fifteen,” Cleve said. “You know that part. Mom’s religion said it’s a sin for one boy to love another, but not for a mother to stand by while her husband beats her son. I crashed with friends for a while. I… got by. But one day in January when it was really fucking cold, these guys I sort of knew said they were heading to Seattle. And I thought, why not? I’d never been out west.”
“Where are you from?” Jeff asked.
Cleve turned to smile at him. “Cleveland, of course. My legal name is Thomas, but nobody’s called me that since I left Ohio. Except—nobody.”
“What do you want me to call you?”
“Cleve,” he responded firmly. “Tommy Prieto died twenty years ago.” He continued walking, turning a corner and then another, heading back to the edge of the cemetery. What looked like a blank wall on the street side was on this side a series of long arcades, each inset with complicated mosaics and large memorial stones.
It was a pretty place, Jeff decided. The flowers and candles looked sweet rather than morbid, and the grounds looked more like a park than a burial ground. He imagined ghosts silently promenading, and the thought didn’t frighten him at all.
This time Cleve stopped in one of the arcades, looking down on the rows of stones. “Seattle was okay. Wet. I was in a club one night and this guy was there. He seemed really old to me at the time, but he was probably younger than I am now. Bald, kind of… elegant, you know? He told me I was good-looking. He asked me if I wanted to be a model. I wasn’t stupid. Figured it was just another line, a way to get into my pants. But he gave me his card and I told him I’d think about it.”
Jeff trailed his hand along the smooth stone railing. “You called.”
“Yeah. Couple weeks later. I needed the cash. I wasn’t legal yet but Frank didn’t care. He had someone make fake papers for me. He made up that stupid name too: Max Palmer. Christ. And the stuff he had me do… at first it really was just modeling, like in jeans with no shirt on, or a bathing suit. Underwear. The nude stuff, the costumes, the videos, they didn’t come until a little later.”
He started walking again, leaving the arcade and heading deeper into the cemetery. They passed an ornate mausoleum, an old headstone topped by a stone violin, a newer one that resembled a piece of modern art. “You said you weren’t ashamed of the porn,” Jeff said.
“I’m not. Did what I had to and I was good at it. Didn’t hurt anyone. Hell, think of all the happiness I gave to my audience. And I didn’t—” He stopped and grabbed Jeff’s arm and, for the first time since they’d entered the cemetery, looked him in the eyes. “I didn’t fuck for money. I mean, I did, when the cameras were on. But when men offered to pay to have me to themselves, I always turned them down.”
Jeff wasn’t sure why this point was so important to Cleve, but it certainly seemed to be. Jeff nodded. “I get it. It’s not… it doesn’t bother me, if that makes a difference to you. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it. You’re hot—why not take advantage of that?” He meant what he said, not only because he was no prude, but also because he couldn’t blame a kid for trying to capitalize on what few assets he had. However, Jeff also couldn’t help feeling jealous of all the men who had touched Cleve before him, all the ones who’d jerked off to him. And, to Jeff’s surprise, he was angry as well—pissed off that a teenager could be let loose into a world where adults only wanted to use him.
Cleve was looking intently at him, maybe trying to read this complex mixture of emotions. Then he let go of Jeff’s arm and continued walking. “I got to travel. All over the States, but sometimes internationally too. I loved that part. And I made pretty good money, but I spent it as soon as I earned it. I didn’t have a bank account, didn’t have a driver’s license, didn’t have papers that weren’t fake. Didn’t have the faintest fucking idea how to handle finances, and I wasn’t really
thinking about the future—about my future.”
“You were a kid. Kids don’t think about their future.”
“I bet you did.”
Cleve was right. By the time he’d entered college, Jeff was almost obsessed with planning for himself, with creating a life that was safe, and secure, and predictable. That’s why he’d chosen computer science as a major—not because he had a passion for the subject but because it seemed like the surest ticket to a secure job. Now, he smiled wryly. “Yeah, but I’m a boring geek, remember?”
“Boring geeks rule the world, pal.” Cleve shoved his bicep gently. “And you’re not so boring. But I didn’t plan, and I didn’t exactly have a pension plan. And I got older.”
“Ancient.”
“For modeling, yeah. Nobody wants to wank to wrinkles and middle-aged spread. I worked hard to keep myself in good shape, but it was pretty clear that the clock was ticking. The shoots they were starting to offer me… weren’t what I wanted to be doing. I was pretty vanilla for a porn star. I was starting to feel a little panicky because, after porn, what kind of job was I gonna get? Ride ’Em Hard and G.I. Jockstrap don’t look all that impressive on a resume.”
A couple in their fifties passed them on the path, staring curiously as they walked by, and a younger couple—tourists—took photos of each other near a statue of an angel. “Want your picture together?” Cleve asked them.
“Oh yes, please!” answered the girl in a thick accent that sounded vaguely Scandinavian to Jeff. The boy handed Cleve his camera before slinging his arm around the girl’s shoulders. They both smiled widely for the shot and then thanked Cleve before strolling away.
“That reminds me,” Cleve said. “Did you ever hear from ass hat over those pics we took in Venice?”
“Uh, yeah,” Jeff replied and tried not to blush when he remembered what Kyle had written. “I think he was impressed.”
“Good.” Cleve looked a little smug, and for the first time, it occurred to Jeff that Cleve might be feeling a little jealous too. As far as Jeff knew, nobody had ever felt that way about him before. It was kind of pleasant, actually.