“Hi, Jacob. When and where?”
“Great,” Jacob replied. “I’m so glad you can take the job. Here are the details.”
The house was small and located in a modest neighborhood, not the sort of place Elite’s usual clientele resided. There was a Dodge Dart parked in the driveway, circa 1962. Avery parked on the street in front of the house and walked up to the front door. Opening the screen, he rapped on the door, as there was no doorbell in sight.
Though he heard some shuffling inside after a bit, it was another good minute before the door was pulled open by the tall, thin man who had to be in his eighties if he was a day. Slightly stooped, his sparse white hair was neatly combed over a pink scalp. His pale blue eyes sparkled with a lively intelligence. He wore a slightly-yellowed white dress shirt tucked into rumpled gray trousers.
“Ah. You must be the young man from Gentleman’s Elite,” he said in a quavery voice. “Please come in.”
He stepped back and Avery entered the foyer, which opened directly onto a small living room with faux-wood paneled walls and furniture covered in knitted afghans and lace doilies. “I’m Avery. It’s nice to meet you, sir,” Avery extended his hand, cautiously taking the frail-boned fingers in a gentle grip, noting the gold band on the man’s left ring finger. “You’re James Smith?”
“One and the same.” The man appeared to be nervous, though his handshake was surprisingly firm. “I’ve made some coffee. Would you like a cup?”
“No thanks. I’m good. But if you’d care to—”
“No, no,” Mr. Smith said, twisting his hands together anxiously. He grimaced in what Avery supposed was meant to be a smile. “I’m sorry. I’m a little, uh, nervous. Out of my ken, you understand. I’ve, uh… I’ve never done this before.”
“Never called an escort service?”
Color rose over Mr. Smith’s pale, wrinkled cheeks as his eye flicked away. “Never been with a man,” he muttered.
Avery kept his expression neutral, not even trying to speculate about the man’s reasons for waiting until this point in his life to explore his true sexual feelings. Was his wife still alive? And if so, did she know about this call?
It wasn’t Avery’s place to pry. He was there to provide a service, nothing more. Offering a smile, he said gently, “I hope the experience measures up to your expectations, Mr. Smith. I’m honored to be your first.”
Mr. Smith met Avery’s gaze. “Please. Call me James. I feel old enough without the mister business.”
“James it is.” Avery reached for the man’s hands, gently pulling his tangled, nervous fingers apart and taking them into his own. James would have been as tall as he was if he wasn’t hunched with age. “This is your hour, James. My job is to make you comfortable and happy. There’s no written script or agenda. Whatever works for you is what we’ll do, okay? We’ll figure it out together.”
James’ smile was genuine this time. “Thank you, Avery. You seem like a very nice young man. I honestly had no idea what to expect.” He swallowed visibly, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing. “Uh. What do we do now?”
“Would you like to show me your bedroom?” Avery asked, glancing toward the stairs.
“Oh. Um. Yes. Of course. Excellent idea.” James laughed nervously. “I should tell you, I feel like a total fool.”
“Not at all,” Avery said as they walked together up the narrow, carpeted stairs to the second floor. “I think you’re very brave,” he said sincerely.
The bedroom, small and tidy, was also covered in doilies and knitted afghans, the decoration clearly feminine.
James stopped in the center of the room, again wringing his hands. “I, uh, I don’t know what comes next.” Anxiety was radiating off him in waves, and Avery’s heart went out to him.
“How about let’s get to know each other a little?” Avery set his messenger bag down beside the bed. “Would you like a massage? It might help you relax.”
“Okay, yes. That sounds good to me,” James said, but he remained rooted where he was, making no move to undress.
Avery waited a few beats and then suggested, “Maybe you want to take off your pants and shirt so they don’t get wrinkled?”
“Oh, right. I, uh, okay. Yes. Okay,” James replied, still not moving.
Avery reached for his arm and gently guided him toward the bed. “Why don’t you sit down on the bed and I’ll take off your shoes?”
“Oh, the royal treatment, huh?” James replied, his eyes twinkling.
“Absolutely,” Avery said as James perched on the edge of his mattress. He knelt in front of the older man and untied the laces of his orthopedic black shoes. He pulled them off carefully, along with the black socks, revealing long, thin feet. He rolled the socks neatly and placed them in the shoes, which he set aside. James, meanwhile, had begun unbuttoning his shirt, a good sign.
Avery got to his feet and helped with the buttons, taking the shirt from him and folding it neatly over the back of the nearby chair. Still in his undershirt, James rose from the bed, unbuckled his belt and opened his trousers. He let them slide down his long, thin, hairless legs to the carpet. He was wearing bright blue boxers with images of SpongeBob SquarePants printed all over them. Avery tried, and failed, to suppress his smile.
Glancing down, James chuckled. “My twenty-year-old grandson’s sense of humor,” he said. “I have seven grandchildren and four great-grandchildren,” he added with obvious pride. “He loved that show when he was a kid. Watched it non-stop. He’s over in Afghanistan right now. Wearing them reminds me of him.”
“I think that’s great,” Avery said, grinning back. “They’re spiffy,” he added, channeling his own grandfather’s favorite expression.
“That they are,” James agreed, appearing to relax a little.
“You can leave them on for now,” Avery added as he gently lifted the hem of James’ undershirt and pulled it up over his head. James allowed this, revealing his pale, slender body. As Avery folded the shirt and draped it on the chair, he suggested, “Why don’t you lie down on the bed? We’ll start with a nice back massage and see where we go from there.”
“Sounds good,” James agreed.
As James pulled back the bedding and carefully lowered himself to the mattress, Avery reached for his messenger bag. Opening the flap, he removed the massage oil and a hand towel. He left the lubricant and condoms where they were.
Remaining fully clothed himself, he sat beside James, squirted a small amount of oil into his palms and gently stroked James’ papery skin. James sighed with apparent approval and closed his eyes. “That feels good,” he said. “No one’s touched me like that since Grace passed last year. She was my wife of fifty-four years. Grace Marie.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Avery said. “That’s a long time to be together.”
“Yes,” James agreed. “I was lucky. I miss her every day.”
James’ neck and shoulders were knotted with tension, or maybe it was just arthritis. Whatever the case, Avery gently kneaded what little muscle remained for several minutes, pleased when James eventually relaxed beneath his fingers.
“Back when I was coming up,” James said suddenly, his eyes still closed, “the priests would lecture us on the perversion of a man being with a man. A crime against nature—a mortal sin, punishable by damnation to hell for all eternity. It was an aspersion against God, even worse than self-abuse—their term for masturbation.”
Avery sighed, thinking how many lives had been ruined by the misguided censoring and condemnation of natural feelings and desires. Wasn’t life hard enough without that kind of bullshit being thrown at you?
“I bought it, the whole kit and caboodle,” James said, as if listening in on Avery’s thoughts. “Married the first girl that’d have me. I spent years feeling secretly ashamed. Then, I finally went to the priest to confess my sins.”
“What did the priest say?” Avery had never had much use for organized religion.
“He said it was a sin agai
nst purity to be attracted to another man, but as long as I didn’t act on it, I wasn’t committing a mortal sin. My wife, may she rest in peace, was basically asexual except when it came to procreation, so that worked out well for both of us. She never knew. But I was living a lie our entire marriage.”
How many people twisted and hacked at their true natures in a desperate effort to conform to something they believed was their only option? He thought about Hank, who presented a dominant persona to the world in a desperate bid to maintain control, when what he really needed—what he longed for—was to give that control over to another. Would Hank be able to reconcile his submissive feelings and longing with his perception of himself as a Dom? Would he be able to trust Avery enough to take him there? Or would he continue to live a lie, as this poor man had done for his entire life?
“What made you decide to call Gentleman’s Elite?” Avery asked as he kneaded the old man’s thin back and shoulders.
“I’m not getting any younger, you know. If I’m going to hell, I might as well have something to show for it.” James chuckled dryly. “I didn’t want to pick up some guy in a back alley or whatever you do, not that anyone would even be interested in an old man like me.”
When Avery started to protest, James waved him to silence. “No, don’t bother. I’m not a fool. Anyway, I did a lot of research. Ah. That feels good. Right there. Yes.”
Avery focused on the spot just below James’ left shoulder blade.
“I have a laptop, you know. I even have a Facebook page so I can see what the grandkids and great-grandkids are up to, though my seventeen-year-old granddaughter, Sophie, has informed me that Facebook is so last decade.” He laughed, and Avery laughed with him. Not one for social media, Avery had zero online presence.
“Anyway. I know you can find anything on the internet. So, I did a search and Gentleman’s Elite had the best reviews for discreet service with well-vetted employees. And it was the priciest,” he added with a chuckle. “I figure in this business, you get what you pay for.”
Avery added a little more oil to his palms and moved lower on James’ back. He gently pulled the boxers about midway down the man’s backside, moving slowly in case James wasn’t yet ready, but James made no comment or restless movement to indicate discomfort.
Instead, he continued, “Since Grace passed away, I’ve been thinking a lot more about my own mortality, naturally. I could go any day now. I thought to myself, I should try it, at least once. If I go to hell”—he shrugged philosophically—“at least I’ll have found out what all the fuss is about.”
“Did you know,” Avery said conversationally as he focused on James’ lower back, “that the world’s population is nearly seven-point-six billion right now? And of that number, four-point-five percent openly identifies as gay?” In fact, four-point-five percent of Americans openly identified, but Avery had extrapolated out to include the world’s population, and the actual number was certainly higher. “That means some three hundred forty-two million people on the planet right now are gay. Would a loving god really condemn all these people, people he ostensibly created, to hell?”
James twisted back to regard Avery, squinting as he looked him up and down. Avery worried he’d overstepped with his philosophical ruminations—definitely not what he was hired for. But, to his relief, James laughed. “You’re absolutely right, young man. A loving god would not do that, and that’s precisely how I’ve reconciled this for myself. Too bad it took me all these years to get there.”
James settled back into his position, his head resting on his arms. “And you,” he continued. “You’re just what the doctor ordered. You remind me of Tim Dylan, the redhead I bunked with in boot camp before being shipped off to Korea in nineteen hundred and fifty. He was big and tall like you, and built like a tank. I’ve never admitted this to a soul before, but he’s the one who always came to mind in the moment of ecstasy, if you know what I mean.”
“I do,” Avery replied, delighted by the man’s quaint turn of phrase. “And thank you for the compliment.”
James rolled over suddenly, fixing Avery with an intense gaze. “You’re my birthday present to myself. I’m eighty-nine today.”
“No kidding,” Avery said, smiling. “You don’t look a day over seventy. I’m happy to be your gift.” Figuring the time was right at last, he rose to his feet, adding, “We should unwrap your present.”
When James didn’t protest, Avery unbuttoned his flannel shirt and pulled it from his body. James nodded, his tongue flickering over his lower lip. “Go on,” he said softly.
Avery kicked off his boots, took off his jeans and stood a moment, his hands on the waistband of his boxer briefs, his eyes on James. “Shall I continue?” he asked.
“Um. Maybe not just yet,” James said, though he was smiling. He patted the bed, remaining on his back. “Maybe a little more of that wonderful massage.”
Avery sat beside him and moved his hands in sweeping, smooth strokes over James’ chest and stomach. James had his head tilted back, his eyes closed. Taking a chance, Avery leaned down and lightly kissed James’ throat. James remained still, but offered a small sigh of pleasure. Avery moved lower, drawing circles with his tongue around James’ nipples.
“That’s nice,” James said.
After a time, Avery moved his hands downward over the soft paunch of the old man’s belly. He rested one hand, palm flat, over James’ silly boxer shorts and looked inquiringly at his face, waiting for permission.
James’ eyes flew open, a flush moving again over his cheeks. He placed his hand over Avery’s, the quaver returning to his voice. “It’s been a long time. Man or woman…”
“Close your eyes again,” Avery said soothingly. “Just relax and close your eyes.” He stroked the liver-spotted, gnarled fingers, gently removing the old man’s hand and placing his arm at his side. “Relax,” he repeated.
After a while, he again placed his hand over James’ groin. He could feel the stirrings of an erection and, though James lay still with eyes closed, he didn’t stop Avery this time. Avery moved his hand over the soft cotton of James’ boxers, tracing the line of the hardening shaft beneath.
James bit his lip, his chest rising and falling, eyes closed tight. Avery placed his other hand over the old man’s heart, which was beating fast.
“You’re doing great,” Avery said soothingly. “Can I take your boxers off, James? I want to give you the rest of your birthday present now.”
James’ eyes remained squeezed tight, his lips now parted, his breath rapid. Without opening his eyes, he whispered, “Yes. I’m ready. As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Avery slipped his fingers into the waist of James’ boxers and tugged gently downward, pulling them along his legs. He removed the underwear and set it near James’ feet at the end of the mattress. James’ cock was fully erect now, as long and thin as the rest of him, rising from a nest of white pubic curls.
Leaning down, Avery slid his lips over the head of the shaft.
James gasped and flinched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. But he didn’t open his eyes, nor did he tell Avery to stop. Avery took this as tacit permission to continue. He cradled the delicate balls in one hand, sucking and licking James’ cock as James trembled and sighed. Eventually his fists uncurled, his breath coming in deeper pants punctuated with soft moans.
Avery took his time, hoping to draw out the pleasure for a man clearly starved for touch. He alternated between kissing and licking James’ shaft and balls and stroking his torso and legs. James remained still throughout, his eyes closed, arms at his sides, his cock nearly as hard as a much younger man’s.
Eventually, Avery rolled James gently to his side so he could stroke his ass. He drew a finger carefully along the cleft, gauging James’ reaction as he did so. James tensed. To relax or at least distract him, Avery took James’ cock into his other hand as he lightly teased the man’s puckered entrance.
James shuddered and sighed, shifting so he was ag
ain lying flat on his back. “Not yet,” he said. “Not yet. Maybe next time.”
Accepting that, Avery focused his full attention on James’ erection, drawing it deep into his throat and then slowly releasing it, using his tongue and lips to elicit a series of cries and moans from the old man.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” James suddenly cried, stiffening. He reached for Avery, his grip surprisingly strong as he spasmed in release, spurting just a few droplets of jism onto Avery’s tongue, which Avery easily swallowed.
Lifting his head, James opened his eyes. He fixed Avery with a look of such pure gratitude and awe that Avery’s heart flooded with tenderness. “Happy birthday,” he said with a smile.
“Thank you,” James whispered, tears in his eyes.
Avery lay down beside James and took him into his arms. James curled against him, resting his head on Avery’s chest as Avery held him close. So much loneliness in the world, Avery thought to himself as he stroked James’ back. He snuck a glance at his watch. The hour James had prepaid for was over, but Avery was in no hurry. It was the man’s birthday, after all.
He’d thought maybe James had drifted off, and thus was startled when the older man slipped his hand into Avery’s boxer briefs and curled it around his flaccid shaft.
“Oh, my,” James said, stroking Avery’s cock with more skill than Avery would have expected. “This thing is huge, even when it’s sleeping.”
Avery laughed. “I think you’re waking it up.” He lifted his hips and slid his underwear down. James continued to stroke him, rapidly bringing him to erection. “Now that your present is unwrapped, Mr. Smith, would you care to sample the wares?”
Avery’s cock still fisted in his hand, James hoisted himself up on one elbow, his face creasing into a delighted grin. “Why, yes, young man. I do believe I would.”
~*~
Hank hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep in front of the TV until his phone began to buzz and dance irritatingly on the table beside him. He grabbed the phone, hoping it was a text from Avery.
It wasn’t a text, however, and it wasn’t from Avery. It was a phone call from Doug Gardner, his father’s financial advisor and the person who doled out Hank’s monthly allowance from the Seeley fortune. That was weird. The guy never called Hank directly. When Hank needed something, he had to go through the gauntlet of receptionists and secretaries at Gardner’s office just to leave a message.
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