Pick Up the Pieces

by Tinnean

  He replied the same way: “Some other time, Sweetcheeks.”

  Until the night he didn’t.

  Paul and I were both at home. I’d come down with a really nasty head cold, and he had taken the night off to nurse me through it. Of us all, he had the deepest nurturing streak.

  He was sitting in the recliner with his legs dangling over an arm, stuffing white cheddar popcorn in his mouth, and I was curled up on the sofa, wrapped in a cashmere afghan, which had been a gift from a grateful gentleman friend who had thought he was impotent. Turned out he was just gay. The area surrounding me was littered with tissues, and on an end table was a mug of tea that steamed gently. Paul had stirred a large spoon of honey into it, knowing that made the tea palatable for me.

  We were watching the Howard Hawks’s version of The Thing from Another World, and in spite of the movie’s age, we were both caught up in the desperate battle at the top of the world between a handful of soldiers and civilians and the threat from outer space. I groped for the mug just as the sound of the door buzzer shattered the tense silence. Paul and I both jumped.

  “Shit!” I’d spilled tea in my lap.

  “I’ll get it, Sweets. Take another sip. And don’t whine,” he said when I made a face at him. “It’s good for what ails you.”

  I grumbled under my breath but did as he ordered. He would have made a good doctor, and sometimes I wondered what our lives would have been like if our families hadn’t discarded us like so much trash.

  “You got any whiskey?” It was Vincent, and I’d never heard such pain and fury in his voice.

  “No. Vincent, what’s wrong?” Ever since that thing with the congressman, Pretty Boy treated him as if the sun rose and set on him. I couldn’t help feeling a little morose, and I blamed it on my cold. “Is that blood on you?” The question was strident.

  “Not mine,” Vincent responded carelessly. “What about gin? Vodka? Rubbing fucking alcohol? Goddammit, I need a drink.”

  “You know we don’t have any liquor here.” That was a lie. I heard a fist slamming against a wall and a steady stream of swearing in a vicious monotone, and Paul’s voice became gentle. “Come with me, babe. Come on. I’ll take care of you.”

  I heard his bedroom door close. It had taken that incident with the congressman for us to formulate one of our staunchest rules: do not bring clients home. Only… Vincent wasn’t a client. I unfolded my legs and made my way into the kitchen, sniffling and dragging the afghan behind me. Something stronger than tea was in order, I decided. I put water in the reservoir, counted out the spoons of coffee into the filter, and set the coffeemaker to brew. Then I went back into the living room to watch the rest of the movie.

  Two hours and another creature feature later, the coffeemaker automatically shut itself off, and I had to turn it on again. If they didn’t come out soon, the coffee would be so scorched-tasting I’d have to throw it out and brew a fresh pot.

  I was coming out of the bathroom, the diuretic quality of the tea playing fast and loose with my bladder, when Paul slipped out of his bedroom, shirtless and limping a bit.

  “Shhh. He just fell asleep.”

  “Did he hurt you?” I could see bruises on his shoulders, scratches on his back, and love bites on his neck. His nipples were red and chafed, and there were more bruises showing where the waistband of his sweatpants hung low on his lips. “Motherfucking son of a cocksucking bitch, I’ll tear his dick off and shove it up his ass!”

  “I’m fine, Sweets.” His eyes became dreamy. “God. That was… intense!”

  “Oh, no! Tell me you didn’t kiss him.”

  “I didn’t kiss him,” he repeated dutifully, but before I could sigh in relief, he spoiled it. “He kissed me. Oh, God, Sweets, that man’s lips are awesome.”

  “Jesus, you haven’t fallen in love with him, have you? Ah, fuck, Paul, you know better!”

  He flushed. “Of course I haven’t fallen in love with him. What do you think, I’m stupid?”

  I just hoped I could believe him.

  WE CAME home one morning after a night’s work to find Vincent leaning against the wall next to our door. Dangling from his fingers was a ring with a dozen shiny keys on it. “For each of you, and spares.”

  “What?”

  He nodded toward the door. There was a new lock on it. “The security in this place is for shit. My arthritic grandmother could have picked the lock to get in.”

  “Hey! That was a top-of-the-line lock!”

  “Yeah, well, this is better. I’ve put in security cameras too.”

  “Where?”

  He pointed them out, and we never would have spotted them if he hadn’t.

  “Ah, Vince….”

  He gave me a look that told me he didn’t want any thanks. “I’ve routed the feeds for them—”

  “Feeds?”

  “The cameras are no good if you can’t see what they’ve taped. Anyway, I’ve routed them to your closet, Sweetcheeks. It seems to be the most organized. No offense, Pretty Boy, but I’ve seen your closet.”

  Pretty Boy gave a sniff. “My clothes aren’t wrinkled, and that’s the most important thing.”

  “Yeah. I’ve set the tape to loop every twenty-four hours. I’d save them rather than tape over them, but that’s me. The TV and VCR are on the top shelf. Consider it a going-away gift.”

  “Uh… thanks.” I didn’t bother asking how he’d gotten into the apartment to do that. He’d changed the lock, which had been guaranteed tamper-proof.

  “This is a rough business, and I don’t want to read in the paper that one of you got hurt.”

  “But you’re here to protect us.” Pretty Boy flirted his lashes at him.

  He cleared his throat. “Actually, I won’t be. I’ll be moving at the end of the week. You can keep the security—”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  Yes, he did. I jabbed my elbow into Paul’s side. We had no idea how long it would take us to get the studio apartment rented again.

  Vincent ignored our byplay. “—since I’m giving you such short notice.”

  “Will you stay in touch?”

  He looked surprised—because even rent boys valued their friends?—then cleared his throat. “Yeah. When I can.”

  Paul hugged him, and Vincent patted his shoulder awkwardly. “Uh… I’ve got to pack.”

  “Make sure you give us your address. So we can send you a Christmas card.”

  “Yeah.” He started down the stairs.

  “I thought you said you were going to pack.”

  “Huh? Oh. Yeah. Fuck it. I’ll do it tonight.”

  Paul used one of the new keys to unlock our door. “That was so sweet of him.”

  “He won’t, Paul.”

  “Won’t what?”

  “Stay in touch.”

  “You’re a cynic, Sweets.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t want to see you hurt.”

  “He won’t hurt me.” Paul sounded so sure, but I was afraid he was in for a big disappointment.

  When Vincent moved out, it was with nothing more than he’d brought with him—his clothes, that flat case, and the ceramic dog.

  To my surprise, he did keep in contact with us, and I would have wondered if he’d fallen in love with Paul, but johns didn’t fall in love with hustlers.

  Chapter 7

  JOHN WAS able to rent out the studio apartment quicker this time. We’d had a cherry tree planted in front of the house right after we’d moved in, and it had leafed out and flowered nicely. A woman who said she was an artist moved into the apartment. Because of the hours we kept, we seldom saw her or the people who stayed in the first-floor apartment, although I became acquainted with Delilah Carson, one of the girls, after we’d tricked together.

  Delilah was a beautiful brunette. I was never sure what color her eyes were. She always wore different colored contacts that went with a variety of wigs.

  The exec who requested her wanted a boy involved too, and I was free. I as
sumed he wanted to take turns fucking us, having us go down on him, or maybe that he and I would double-dick Delilah.

  “Are you okay with that?” I asked her, a little nervous, because while a guy could take it, she was a woman.

  She gave me an amused look. “Sure I am, Sweets. Don’t worry about me. I like sex, and I’m good at it. And whatever he wants, he’ll pay us well for it.”

  Delilah and I were still dressed when he got there. “Glad to see you haven’t started without me.” He wasn’t as young as I’d expected, in his late forties, maybe. He carried himself with military precision. Although the top of his skull was hairless and the sides were shaved, he wasn’t at all hard to look at. “You can strip now.”

  We made a show of it, undressing each other. He seemed to enjoy it, if the bulge in his trousers was anything to go by.

  “How do you want us, sugar?” Delilah sauntered to him and began undoing his tie.

  “I’ll be in the middle.”

  I blinked. “Uh….”

  “You have a problem with that, Ace?” He sat on the bed and unlaced his shoes.

  “His name is Sweetcheeks, sugar. He doesn’t have a problem, do you, Sweets?”

  “No.” I swallowed. I’d never topped anyone before. What if I fucked up? My cock didn’t seem worried, though. The exec had removed his shirt, revealing his chest, which was nicely muscled for his age and with a thatch of fur, contrasting with the sparse amount of hair on his head.

  Delilah tore open a condom packet and came toward me, an extra sway in her hips. She knew he was watching us.

  “You’ll do fine, baby,” she whispered and winked, then dropped to her knees. “Turn a bit, Sweets,” she ordered, and the john got a good view of her rolling the condom over my cock with her lips. Then she rose and turned to him. “Your turn, sugar.”

  He was naked now. Delilah tore open a foil packet and repeated the process.

  “On your hands and knees,” he told her.

  Her bed was large and square, a real passion pit. She adjusted some pillows, positioned herself gracefully on them, and glanced over her shoulder.

  He turned to me. “Prepare me.”

  I took the tube of Wet from the bedside table and squirted it on my fingers.

  “Planning on doing something anytime soon, Ace?”

  “Just letting it warm.”

  He seemed surprised. “Thanks.” He parted Delilah’s legs. “Put my dick into her. I won’t move until you’re in me.”

  His cock was hard, and even through the latex barrier, I could feel his heat. I licked the side of his neck and did as he’d instructed. Then I stroked my lubed fingers over his hole. He must have done this before, because he easily accepted two fingers. More lube to make sure he’d be comfortable, and then I started sliding into him.

  “Burns,” he hissed. He spread his legs wider, pushed out his ass. “Give me more.” He braced his weight on one hand while he toyed with Delilah’s nipples with the fingers of his other hand, and she made little happy sounds. “Keep going.”

  He held still until I was buried balls-deep inside him, although shivers rippled the muscles of his back and his breath whined. I balanced myself by holding lightly to his hips. On my back stroke, he pulled back also, and on my forward stroke, he went forward. Delilah gave a ladylike little grunt as she accepted the weight of both of us.

  It was exciting, but what was even more exciting was how it felt to fuck a man, so hot and so tight, and I thought the top of my head was going to explode in a million different directions. The bed creaked. Sweat poured off us. Somehow I held on until he groaned, and I managed to make it look as if I’d purposely timed myself to come when he did.

  “Nice.” He petted Delilah’s flank, then reached behind and squeezed my ass. I withdrew from him, removed the condoms we wore, and disposed of them both, then returned to the bedroom to find two glasses of champagne on the bedside table. Delilah wasn’t there.

  “I’ll… uh… I’ll just get dressed and be going.”

  “Why? I paid for the afternoon, and I’m going to want you again.”

  “I thought…. The two glasses of champagne?”

  “I don’t drink. Delilah’s getting me coffee.” He studied me through hooded eyes. “I’m not gay.”

  “No.”

  “I just like variety in my sex life.”

  “Yes.” I climbed on the bed beside him, careful not to touch him. He ran a palm over my chest, tugging gently on the nipple ring I wore, and I arched into his touch.

  Paul and I had gotten our nipples pierced the day after Christmas in 1992. Mine had been an early present for my eighteenth birthday—it sucked having a birthday so close to Christmas—but Paul might have been a little looped. For that matter, I was kind of fried myself. And although he’d cried as the needle pierced his left nipple, I hadn’t found it hurt very much when mine was done.

  “Here you go, sugar.” Delilah came in with a cup of coffee.

  While he drank his coffee, Delilah did things with a mouthful of champagne, and before long she had us both hard. She fastened a strap-on—a black leather harness with a large black dildo—around her hips, rolled on a condom, and lubed it up with languid strokes.

  The exec growled at me, “I’m fucking you this time.”

  “Sure.” And once he was suited up, I got on my hands and knees.

  As soon as Delilah was in him, he slammed into me. He fucked hard and fast, groaning as the big dildo fucked him in turn—Delilah didn’t spare him anything—but the previous encounter had taken some of the edge off, and he made it last, squeezing first the base of my cock and then his again and again to stave off our climaxes.

  The time after that, I fucked him again, while Delilah changed dildos and fucked me.

  The last time was the original formation, Delilah on the bottom, the exec in the middle, me on top.

  The afternoon had worn into the evening. My legs were like rubber, and I could barely walk to gather up my clothes. The exec grinned at me and slipped some folded bills into the front pocket of my trousers.

  “Thanks.” He tucked bills into the cleavage of the silk robe Delilah had put on and kissed her cheek.

  “Sure thing, sugar.”

  “I’m going to get some rest. I’ve got a big meeting tomorrow.” He limped into a spare bedroom, not bothering with his clothes.

  “Thanks, Sweetcheeks.” She gave me my half of the fee.

  “Anytime, Delilah.”

  I went up the stairs, my own gait a little gimpy. I was going to feel this for a while, and I decided to take the night off.

  The bills the exec had put in my pocket were a tip, and I took them out and counted them, giving a low whistle. I’d gotten good tips before, but this was equal to my fee.

  I ran a tub and dumped half a box of Epsom salts into it before I settled into the water to soak out the worst of the aches.

  I liked what I’d done, and that confused me. I reached for the phone extension we kept near the tub and called Tim, the one man I knew I could trust to give me the facts.

  “I’ve always bottomed, Tim.”

  “And you want to top again? I think… if things had been different for you, Sweets, I think you would have been a good top. You might find other johns who want to bottom. Remember what you like, and give it to them. I won’t say ‘try to give it to them.’ This is our business… your business,” he corrected himself, “and you’ll do a good job. Besides, it’s nice to have a change of pace.”

  “Do you and Cris….” My mind boggled. Tim had been the quintessential top. He’d had men in authority coming to him, paying him to fuck them. Even one politician whose homophobic tirades got him reelected on a regular basis.

  “Yeah. When Cris is in the mood to top, I let him. Why wouldn’t I? But we’re out of the business now, Sweets, and we can do what we want. You’ll have that too one day.”

  “Yeah. Sure.” But I doubted it. “Thanks, Tim.”

  I pushed it out of my mind, but
the next time that exec was in town, he had Delilah call me, and the time after that as well. He had me wear dress whites and addressed me as Lieutenant Commander, while Delilah wore a Marine uniform, and he called her Lieutenant Colonel. For what he was paying us, we’d have gotten on all fours and barked like a dog.

  Chapter 8

  THINGS CHANGED.

  In 1997, about six years after the start of the arrangement I had with John, his father died, not unexpected, since the man smoked like a chimney in spite of the surgeon general’s warnings. Shortly afterward, John met someone while teaching a night course in real estate at the same junior college where I’d eventually gotten my degree in computer accounting. He fell in love with the guy, decided to come out of the closet, and they moved in together.

  “This will have to be our last time, Sweetcheeks.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, John. I’ve enjoyed our times together. Would you like to bring your friend around? I’ll do the two of you. A farewell gift.”

  “You’d do that?” He had once confided that a threesome was his favorite, most illicit fantasy, although none of the other boys had tempted him enough to want to try it with them. And frankly, I was selfish enough that I didn’t want to share him. “Thank you!” Abruptly, his expression became dejected, and he turned bright red. “I… I can’t. Bradley doesn’t approve of paying for sex. He doesn’t even know about you. Sweetcheeks, you won’t try to get in touch with me, or… or….”

  “Butt into your life?” I squeezed his arm gently. “I won’t. I wish you only the best, John.”

  “Thank you. You’ve been so good to me. We had some good times, didn’t we?”

  “Yes, we did.” I didn’t love him, but I liked him a lot. “Hold on to my number, okay? If you ever want me, Wednesday at noon will be yours.”

  “But Bradley….”

  Bradley sounded like a stuffed shirt. I hoped he appreciated what he was getting. “You can tell him you’re my real estate agent. It’s the truth.”

  His face brightened. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that. Could we… uh… have one more time?”