Hipster Brothel (contemporary gay romance)

by K. A. Merikan

  “Ah, that. It’s a whole new type of experience,” he said with what didn’t even seem like his own voice. “People can pick and choose outdoorsy activities and all that. And it’s always booked for the whole evening, so that I can establish a connection with the clients, you know?” But how was Bradley to ‘know’ when Mr. B himself had no idea what he was talking about? His hands were getting sweaty, and his stomach cramped again with such ferocity he regretted having lunch at all.

  Bradley grinned. “Kudos to you. When I first thought about it, I thought I could sell myself to women, and have so much sex. But then I thought I might not get it up if I don’t like some of the clients, and then what?” He shrugged, shaking his head. “Like those porn actors who fail in front of the camera. I don’t think I could do that.”

  Thanks, Bradley, yet another thing for me to worry about.

  “Nah, I’m too horny for a problem like that.” But voicing that lie only made Mr. B feel worse about himself.

  He hung around, exchanging a few words with each of his former coworkers when Bradley went off to attend to a customer, but when the door to the office opened behind his back, it was as if all of Mr. B’s body hair bristled with worry. He had been delaying the actual conversation he needed to have with Mr. A, hadn’t he?

  “B?” called out Mr. A, and his footsteps resonated over the floor as he approached.

  Mr. B took a deep breath before turning around with a smile plastered to his face. “Hey!” Would Mr. A tell him to leave? Kick him out and make a scene? Would he even want to listen to anything Mr. B had to say? Would he take a look at the photos of Mr. B’s new creations only to mock them?

  Mr. A regarded him with a weirdly neutral face, but came up and gave Mr. B’s back a little welcome pat. “What brings you here? Haven’t seen you in over a month.”

  “I’ve been busy with the business and stuff.” Mr. B laughed nervously, realizing that despite not wanting to be in a relationship with Mr. A anymore, he had missed him. They had so much history, shared so many good times, and ultimately—Mr. A wasn’t a bad guy. He’d always been supportive and understanding, so maybe it would be actually nice to mend those severed ties after all?

  Mr. B had felt so lonely in the days since his argument with Jo that he longed for a chat with someone who really knew him. Mr. A crooked his head, and his gray beard trembled when he exhaled loudly, turning his body to indicate the office. “Would you like to have some coffee?”

  Mr. B welcomed the invitation with relief flowing down his body. “Yeah, that would be great. I’ve got some things I hoped you’d like to have a look at,” he said as he followed Mr. A through the door.

  Mr. A showed him to the achingly familiar room that smelled of wood, paper, and Mr. A’s bitter cologne. It was a handsome, masculine space, sparsely decorated but homely, and Mr. B could acutely remember all the times the two of them had fucked here.

  It was kind of like coming home, even one that was no longer his and one he didn’t want to move back to.

  Mr. A walked up to the desk with refreshments and gestured for Mr. B to sit in the space where he usually sat with customers. The coffee table and two sofas were still as comfortable as Mr. B remembered them to be.

  “So, how is it going?” Mr. A asked as he put a mug of black coffee in front of him, before sitting down himself.

  “Good, good. Great even.” Mr. B smiled widely and pulled out his beat-up tablet. “I’ve actually come to show you some of the things I’ve been working on in my spare time. I’ve been upcycling furniture from my brother’s junk yard. Using some pipes as decoration and all that. I know you said it would be weird if I still worked here, but I hoped maybe you’d consider taking my stuff into the store if you thought it was any good?”

  Mr. A relaxed and reached for the tablet. He looked through the pictures with a slight frown, then shrugged. “It is good work. How much do you want for them?” he asked in the end, sipping coffee from a mug with international names for tobacco.

  Mr. A had been the one to teach Mr. B how to smoke a pipe. Good times.

  As they talked about the pricing of the furniture and about some of the techniques Mr. B used to make them, what was tricky about them, how a prototype broke under him because it had woodworm holes, he finally managed to relax and forget what was waiting for him in the place he now called home.

  At least until Mr. A leaned forward and put his cup on the table loudly. “What’s going on, Mr. B? I’ve known you too long not to notice when you’re thinking too much.”

  Mr. B stalled and licked his lips. “Huh? Nothing’s wrong. I guess I just was a bit nervous, because the last time we met… yeah.”

  Mr. A rolled his eyes. “Words. Words. Words. Don’t give me that shit. I practically made you into an adult.”

  Mr. B opened his lips but then closed them again, taking more time to gather his thoughts. “I’ve got my first customer today,” he wanted to say, but he whispered instead.

  Mr. A exhaled and leaned in farther, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Getting cold feet, huh?”

  “I know what you’re thinking. That I’m boring, and can’t go through with it. But I’m sure I can. It’s just that… I don’t know if I haven’t bitten off more than I can chew.”

  Mr. A rubbed his palms, watching him in silence. “I don’t think you’re boring. Most people don’t become escorts, and that doesn’t make them boring. By that standard I’d be boring as hell,” he said, grinning widely.

  Mr. B chuckled. “I guess. You’ve got any advice for the guy who’s only ever slept with his boyfriends?”

  Mr. A pressed his cheek against his knuckles so hard the flesh almost hid his eye. “B, I gotta say this is kinda messed up. Couldn’t you just fuck around first, like everyone else?”

  “I thought this would be easier in some way. That I’d have more control over everything. I have this whole questionnaire—”

  “A questionnaire?” Mr. A’s eyes went wide. “A questionnaire for fucking?”

  Mr. B growled. “Yes and no. It’s about sex, but about the whole experience as well. Do they wish to smoke, do they have any allergies…” he drifted off, noticing Mr. A’s blank stare.

  “Has it occurred to you to just talk to them over the phone?” asked Mr. A, leaning back against the backrest. “I mean... you clearly don’t want to go through with this, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation. And where’s Jo in all this?”

  Mr. B licked his lips. “I… We kind of broke up.”

  Mr. A sighed and tapped his thigh with his fingers. “He couldn’t take it, huh?”

  “He needs to do things in his own time, and I get that. Don’t be mean to him if you see him in town.”

  Mr. A chewed on his lip, thinking. “I guess I thought you two would last longer, considering how close you’ve been with him. I mean, you spent more time with him than you did with me. Work excluded.”

  That wasn’t true. Was it? “I lived at your place, we spent lots of time together.”

  Mr. A scowled. “Come on. Whenever you actually were with me, you kept texting him, or talked about him. No one likes to be the third wheel, B.”

  Mr. B shifted around on the sofa uncomfortably. He had loved spending time with Jo, maybe a bit too much. “We were only friends back then. I didn’t even know he was an option. And we did Crossfit together, so it might have seemed like I was out with him a lot…” That sounded lame even for his ears. Maybe Mr. A was right? Maybe he hadn’t even realized when he’d fallen into a Jo-sized hole?

  “I believe you, but I could see you were getting distant. I thought if I’d open up the relationship you two would get it out of your systems.” Mr. A picked up his empty cup and played around with it.

  Mr. B cheeks went aflame. “What? You assumed I’d get together with him?”

  “It was glaringly obvious you two had chemistry, but since Jo claimed to be straight, I thought you and I could move on after you fucked him a few times.” Mr. A sighed. “Instead, yo
u spent even more time with him. I guess I decided it was a waste of time. Both for me and for you.”

  Mr. B watched him in silence, wondering about these revelations, and it struck him for the first time that Mr. A could be right about this. That in the last year, even before they’d opened up the relationship, instead of wondering how to spend time with Mr. A, he’d planned camping trips with Jo, and extra training sessions with Jo, and movie nights with Jo…

  Guilt hit him like a gust of strong wind. He hadn’t been there for Mr. A. He’d found comfort in knowing Mr. A was there, that they were close, that when he came home, he could fall asleep next to a well-known, safe, and handsome guy, but he hadn’t put in the same work into the relationship that he used to when it began.

  “I’m sorry,” Mr. B said, kneading his own fingers.

  Mr. A shrugged. “I had a lot of time to think about this. It’s fine now. I guess I should have confronted you about it, to talk like adults, instead of getting all passive-aggressive about your friendship with Jo.”

  “I think I hadn’t even realized I’d fallen for him.” Mr. B didn’t dare look up at Mr. A. But who else could he talk to about this?

  “Of course. You’re a good guy. You don’t cheat,” said Mr. A with resentment growing back into his voice. “I bet everyone was patting you on the back, because I was the one to leave you.”

  Mr. B rubbed his temples. “You’re right. It wasn’t fair on you. Are you doing okay now?”

  That must have done the trick, because Mr. A visibly relaxed and put back the cup on the table. “Yeah. I kind of enjoy being single, but who knows what’s gonna happen? I’m not getting any younger.”

  Mr. B dared to smile and looked up. “Your beard is graying. It’s hot on you.”

  “I know, right? I might soon be someone’s daddy,” Mr. A said, wiggling his eyebrows.

  Mr. B snorted, disbelieving how light it made him feel to be able to have a laugh with Mr. A. “There’s lots of fresh hot otters on the scene…”

  “There sure are. All in need of guidance and a firm hand. I just might start accepting resumes.” Mr. A put his ankle on his knee, relaxing into the sofa.

  “Talking about guidance… How dumb do you think my Lumbersexual Experience idea is on a scale of one to ten?”

  Mr. A’s nostrils flared as he looked up at the ceiling. “The idea itself is pretty good, but with you in the picture? That’s a 2 at best. Can’t imagine you doing this on a daily basis.”

  Mr. B slapped his leg. “That’s such a shit thing to say! Are you saying I’m not hot enough?”

  Mr. A laughed. “You are very hot. I guess I could be wrong. Do your client tonight and see if you want to continue. No harm done, right?”

  “I guess. It’s just that I’ve invested so much in the train car. You should come see it one day. It came out really amazing. There’s an outdoor space, a fire pit, all those things I’ve been talking about wanting to do for so long. I’ve sorted out all those projects this summer, but I have to make this work if I want to move on.”

  “Oh, I’ve seen it…” Mr. A said with a smug smile, making Mr. B’s cheeks go hot again. He must have seen the train car on the website then. Which meant he’d seen the other pictures too. “Good photos. If you decide that you don’t want to do this gig anymore, the portraits of you and your dick will be perfect for a dating app. And you could just sell the train for profit.”

  Mr. B groaned. “But it’s my train. It’s really cool. I wanna keep it even if just for use in the summer.”

  “Rent it out then. There are many options to get back that investment. It’s going to be fine, B,” Mr. A said and patted Mr. B’s knee. “What’s your client’s name?”

  “William. He sounds like he’s gonna wear a suit and come from his job at the bank.” Mr. A was right though. Mr. B would do it at least this once and prove to himself that he could be the outrageously lumbersexual man who didn’t need to be in love in order to get hard.

  Mr. A snorted. “Guys like that always have the weirdest kinks.”

  “Yeah, he wants me to wear wooly socks.”

  *

  It was getting dark, but with the fire sparkling nearby and the fairy lights, the property looked cozy and welcoming. Mr. B prepared everything beforehand. He had ingredients for making s’mores, he washed himself once more, using water he heated up for the occasion on the gas stove, and he dressed the way William wanted him: in jeans and a red plaid shirt, with woolen socks pulled up high so they would be visible over his boots. The customer asked him not to perfume himself, and Mr. B couldn’t stop thinking that he might already reek from nervous sweat.

  Mr. A had been right that he could just go through with this once and get it out of his system. See if he wanted to continue, but while soothed emotionally, the stress of the impending encounter was rising with each passing minute.

  In the warm glow of the fire pit, he saw a bike drive onto his property before he even heard it, and Mr. B’s eyes went wide at the sight of Jo.

  “No, no, no… not now,” he whined to himself and let go of the ax he’d been gripping so hard it made his palm hurt.

  Chapter 10

  Jo’s palms were disgustingly clammy around the handles of his bike, and he rubbed the moisture off on his jeans as soon as he dismounted. His head pulsed, as if even his bones quivered from the stress of this meeting. Mr. B looked magnificent in the shirt unbuttoned halfway to reveal his furry chest, but when he dropped the ax, Jo flinched.

  “Jo, whatever it is, it needs to wait until tomorrow. I have a… guest coming any minute now.”

  Jo swallowed hard. “But this is important,” he said, slowly approaching Mr. B, who stood by the buzzing firepit, looking like a real-life lumberjack.

  Mr. B glanced over Jo’s shoulder, then back at him, his lips set. “Okay, but you’ve gotta be quick.”

  Jo took a deep breath and slowly pushed his hands into his front pockets. On the way here, he’d created a whole speech. It had many important points, and it was honest about all the things he’d done, and those he should have done instead, but faced with Mr. B’s worried, unfocused gaze, Jo forgot it all. “I fucked up. And I miss you,” he said in the end, softer than he’d intended. The light danced over the soft strands of Mr. B’s perfectly groomed beard and flushed skin so lively that Jo wanted to stroke the heated flesh.

  Mr. B went silent for a while, looking at Jo as if he couldn’t decide what to do about him. “Jo, I can’t be with you, and not be with you. That non-relationship thing didn’t work for me, so where do you want to go from here? See you at Crossfit kinda thing?”

  Jo opened his mouth, feeling as if the air formed a solid ball that wouldn’t fit through his windpipe. In the end, he pulled the bag he wore across his shoulder to the front of his body and pushed his hand inside it. “No. That’s not what I want,” he said softly, pulling out a small cardboard box, which he presented to Mr. B. A shiver went down his body and he took a step closer, more nervous by the second.

  “Do you want me to open it now?” Mr. B weighed the plain package in his hand, as if he wasn’t sure if he wanted to.

  Jo nodded, patting his cheeks to keep focused. “Yes. Tell me what you think.”

  Mr. B opened the box and as soon as he pulled out the empty jar and looked at the label, his tense expression changed into a soft smile. “Jornard’s,” he read out the name of the jam on the label. “Rosehip jam.”

  Jo exhaled, studying Mr. B’s expression with caution. He didn’t want to disappoint himself with premature joy. “I know you don’t like your full name, and I thought of alternatives, but if we put your nickname together with my name, the best I could come up with were BJ, JB, or JOB, neither of which works for the brand name. So I remembered this, and it works...” He licked his lips, struggling for breath.

  “So you still want to do the jams? But the name… You said yourself that it would sound like we’re married.” Mr. B searched Jo’s eyes for an answer, but he didn’t exactly seem di
spleased.

  Jo groaned in embarrassment. He’d kind of hoped Mr. B would see the front of the label first. “Oh, God. Just look at the other side.”

  Mr. B’s eyes went wider when he turned the jar in his hand, and he gave a brilliant laugh. “Wait… are you coming out on a jam jar?” It could have been Jo’s imagination, but it seemed like Mr. B inched closer.

  Jo scowled, and heat filled his face at a rapid speed. “Yes. As a matter of fact I am. See, there’s no doubt who that is,” he said, taking the jar out of Mr. B’s hand and tracing the names written next to the two men drawn on the label sharing a sweet kiss. They were cartoons, very cute ones too, but it was undoubtedly Jo and Mr. B holding hands and locking lips, like they should in real life. He took a deep breath. “Juniper helped me make these. And I’ve had time to think. If I don’t care what some people think of my clothes, or about me in general, I shouldn’t care if they think I’m gay. Like, there’s literally nothing bad about it. And I just want you to know that I will be in this with you, so please, tell me you haven’t given up on me, B,” he said, letting his hands drop.

  Mr. B’s chest was moving up and down fast, and every second of the silence was giving Jo ulcers. In the end, he slowly looked up, and his eyes glinted in the light of the fire. “Jo… this is the sweetest thing ever. You have no idea how much I love you.” He rubbed one of his eyes but then stepped forward to hug Jo tightly. “I miss you every day we don’t talk, but I was afraid you were ashamed of me. Of us. And I couldn’t live like that.”

  Jo shuddered, getting to his toes and melting into Mr. B’s firm, warm embrace. His eyes tickled, and his throat hurt from the tension, but the swarms of butterflies tickling his stomach from the inside pushed him farther into the welcoming arms. “I love you too. I’m so sorry I was an ass. I would never be ashamed of you.”

  The gentle touch of Mr. B’s big hands on his back made Jo regret ever hurting his cuddly teddy bear. A kiss to Jo’s ear followed, only making him shiver at the way the blond beard tickled his skin. The scent of freshly cut wood, of smoke, and the forest combined into a perfect background for Mr. B’s fresh, natural aroma.