Lying Eyes

by Robert Winter

  “What was your take on Fraser? Straight up guy, or shifty?”

  Maria was silent for a moment. “I’d go with straight up. I saw the edge that you mentioned, the fear, and I agree—there’s something more going on than he’s saying. But breaking and entering? No.”

  Randy found himself nodding. “Thanks, Maria. It means a lot to me that you did this.”

  “De nada. I should warn you, though. Fraser was pissed. I mean, it was clear you were the one who gave me his name and contact details.”

  He snorted. “Fine, I’ll prepare myself for a tongue lashing from a vindictive curator.”

  “Yeah, you’d like a tongue lashing from that oh-so-proper guy, would ya?”

  “Get back to work, Torres. That’s my tax dollars at work for you to yank my chain.”

  “Heh heh. Yank your chain…”

  Randy disconnected while Maria was still teasing him. He returned his phone to the night stand, crossed his arms over his chest, and thought. He was relieved by Maria’s assessment of Jack, and that troubled him slightly. He was self-aware enough to know it was more than having Maria second his judgment. That was reassuring, of course, but it didn’t tell the whole story. The fact remained that there was something off about the art historian, something that made Randy suspicious despite his desire.

  Is that why I don’t just show Jack the Sunrise painting? Because I can’t reconcile the secrets with the attraction? Or is it because once I show him the painting he’ll have no more reason to come around?

  The problem worried at him until exhaustion finally carried him off to fitful dreams.

  Chapter Nine

  “Randy? Do you want some dinner?”

  Danny’s voice through his bedroom door woke Randy with a start. He was disoriented for a moment, but remembered to twitch the comforter over his naked body before calling out, “What was that?”

  The door creaked open and Danny leaned his head in. His eyes went wide as he saw Randy stretched out on the bed, and he turned red. “Oh, sorry. I was just checking to see if you want something to eat.”

  He glanced over at the clock on his table. Already nine in the evening. Geez, he really had been exhausted to sleep so long. “Sure, sounds good. I’ll take a shower and be down in twenty minutes or so.”

  Danny withdrew, and Randy headed for the shower. Once the falling water cleared the cobwebs, he started to get a little turned on. It was Monday night, at last. Time to indulge himself. As water sluiced down his body, he imagined hands stroking his skin. His dick started to get hard, and he gave it a tug as he turned his shoulders left and right to enjoy the warmth cascading down his back and the warmth building in his balls. As tempting as it was to go for an orgasm, he wanted to save it for the club so he finished up his shower quickly.

  Once dry, Randy grabbed his clippers and trimmed the fringe of hair around the side and back of his head until it was just fuzz again. The rest of his scalp had been bare since he was in his late twenties, and what was left of his brown hair had turned mostly gray, but he didn’t mind the look. He rubbed some moisturizer over his scalp and face. He’d begun doing that early, which might be why people tended to think he was younger than fifty-one. Or maybe that’s just what they say to get into my pants? Randy snorted at himself in the mirror.

  Maybe no one would call him handsome, but he still got noticed. Usually, he figured it was people drawn to his size. When he was young, attention came easily and he took it for granted. Men liked to rub up against his big body, stroke his hairy chest, squeeze his arms and his thighs. Yes, he worked damn hard for his muscle, but a lot of it was lucky genetics too. Any time he was hot for company then, he could just go into a bar, lean against the wall with a beer, and weed through the contenders who approached him until he found whatever he wanted that night.

  By the time he was forty, the pickings were slimmer, and he had to work a lot harder to find someone to play with. Oh, plenty of men still wanted the muscle and the experience, but he also had to endure the occasional dismissive looks as some twink in his twenties slid a quick glance over his graying hair and moved on without a pause, or shook his head when Randy tried to strike up a conversation.

  These days, even though he was past fifty, plenty of customers at Mata Hari hit on him. Fucking around with someone who came regularly to his place of business seemed unwise. Crude, maybe. Notwithstanding his unusual reaction to Jack, he was determined to keep his sex and work lives distinct. When he went to the D/s clubs or leather bars, though, it was often just the guys seeking a muscle daddy who responded when he offered to buy a beer. That was fine. He still enjoyed the dynamic, even if sometimes he was putting on a performance for a visitor from the Midwest who watched a lot of porn and hoped Randy would show him what the rough stuff was like in real life. He could do that, though he occasionally ended up feeling like an extra in a stranger’s dirty fantasy. But who was he to bitch? He still got sex most of the time he went hunting for it.

  Out of the bathroom, he hesitated in front of his open closet. Normally he’d go ahead and pull on his leather gear for the night, but Danny’s presence made him pause. Yeah, this is gonna be awkward. He pulled on sweats for the time being and headed downstairs.

  Danny had prepared chili in Randy’s crock pot. An opened beer sat at Randy’s place on the table, so he took a big swallow while Danny finished up. “Smells really good, kid.”

  Danny glanced at him and blushed. “It’s nothing special, but I think it turned out pretty well,” he said as he carried two bowls to the table and placed them next to a variety of toppings already laid out. Randy helped himself to shredded cheese and sour cream while Danny spooned some jalapeños onto his own bowl.

  Randy tucked in, then grunted his approval. “This is perfect chili. Thanks for going to so much trouble.”

  “It’s no trouble. Just something I learned from my mom.”

  They ate in silence for a moment, then Randy decided he had to get it over with. “Listen, Danny. I’m going out tonight, so you’ll have the house to yourself. Or if you want to go into Washington for a late movie or something, I can give you a ride.”

  Danny’s head shot up. “I thought the bar was closed on Mondays.”

  “It is. This is personal.”

  “A date?” The sullen edge to Danny’s tone bothered Randy, but he chose not to comment.

  “Not exactly. There’s a club I like to go to on my night off.” Danny’s big eyes were fixed on him. “It’s a leather club. I may be out all night.”

  Silence filled the room, though Randy could swear he heard Danny’s heart pounding. He’d tried to avoid this situation, but Danny’s crush on him was painfully obvious. And never more so than at that moment, when Danny looked like a kicked puppy. Finally, he asked, “Will you be okay alone tonight?”

  Danny swallowed hard, blinked, and then nodded. He turned back to his bowl of chili and didn’t meet Randy’s eyes through the rest of the meal. As soon as Randy finished, Danny swept his bowl away and began to clean the kitchen. Randy waited, but he didn’t really know what he expected to happen. It wasn’t likely that Danny would ask him any questions or make small talk about where Randy was headed. He didn’t owe Danny an explanation in any case, and he didn’t want to do anything to encourage the crush.

  Still, guilt and unease warred with the chili in his stomach. He carried his empty beer bottle to the kitchen and laid a hand on Danny’s shoulder. “Are you going to be okay?” he asked again, softly.

  Danny flicked a glance at him and said quickly, “I’m fine. You have a good time. I’ll…” He choked off, then straightened and tried again. “I’m just going to watch another few episodes of The Walking Dead on Netflix and then go to bed.”

  Randy felt sorry for the kid as he returned upstairs. He’d had his share of crushes when he was Danny’s age. He knew how real it could seem, and how much it hurt when the affection wasn’t returned. But what was he supposed to do? He’d been consistent from the beginning about tur
ning down Danny’s hints and advances. Short of kicking him out, he didn’t see anything he could do differently.

  Randy took a deep, centering breath to push away the awkward dinner. He opened the closet where his gear was stored and let the scent of leather begin to guide him to the head space he craved. The light came on automatically and illuminated his second, more private hobby.

  The sight of his leather did things to him for which he had no explanation. Maybe it was why he endured the occasional sting of rejection and the disappointment of being nothing more than a one-time fantasy. He still had a reason to don the armor and step into the safe spaces where his leather was more than a costume.

  Ever since he was a teenager and stumbled across a copy of Drummer magazine, he’d been lost to it. The images of muscular men in harnesses and chaps, arm bands and jocks, had stirred something unexpected and primal. He lusted after the football players he saw naked in the showers after practice, sure. But the men he saw pictured in Drummer—sometimes hairy, sometimes with bellies, and always men—oh he wanted them so much more than any teenager in his high school gym.

  He never found a way to talk to Kevin or Luc about it, even though they might have understood. The leather was so important that he couldn’t take the risk someone might make fun of him. Over the years, it became his obsession, second only to his love of art. At first he bought just a small armband or a strap. Later, when he made a little more money, he acquired his first vest.

  Only when he got older and went into a few leather bars did he discover that some leather men frowned on those like Randy who paid for their gear instead of waiting to be gifted it by a mentor who decided he’d earned it. He went that route for a while with different men who taught him about the leather community and being a top man, but ultimately they wanted a deeper commitment to the culture than he was willing to make. The leather was highly personal for Randy, and following others’ expectations of what it should mean dulled his enjoyment.

  He’d ultimately amassed a treasure trove of purchased and gifted gear, and it was something he discussed with no one outside of the scene. Well, that wasn’t quite true. He and Thomas had talked about it, one drunken night when Randy confessed what the leather meant to him. As close as they were, though, Thomas didn’t really understand. He had his own needs and hidden desires and would never judge Randy, but he didn’t get the allure of the second skin. Maybe no one ever would.

  Randy dropped his sweats to the floor and began to dress again, from the skin out. A strap went around his balls and cock and snapped into place, presenting his set for display should anyone get him naked that night. A black jockstrap with a blue waistband covered the jewels next. He pulled on a pair of silk-lined leather pants that strained around his heavy thighs and his meaty ass, and buttoned up the front. They were slung low to reveal the sharp cut of his groin. With each piece of gear, he grew stronger and more real. Tense with promise and confident as his secret self took over.

  He debated for a while over his harnesses before choosing instead a bar vest that barely covered his nips and left his hairy chest and tight stomach exposed. A wide leather band covered his right bicep. A narrower one fitted around his thick left wrist. He opened a drawer and retrieved a silver ring to replace the simple bar threaded through his right nipple, then gave it a tug or two until the delicious pull went straight to his balls.

  He stepped into his leather boots. Often he added a motorcycle hat but tonight he liked the shine of his bare scalp. He grabbed a pair of black fingerless gloves. Stroking a hard dick with a leather-covered palm made it that much hotter and intense for both parties.

  Randy stepped back to study himself in the full-length mirror. It was a good look for him. His hours at the gym showed in his arms and shoulders, and the gray in his chest hair drew the men hungering for a leather daddy. The vest revealed that he took good care of himself. The leather pants molded and presented his big package just right. Randy flexed his hands in their gloves and let the slight creak of leather crank him up. Hell yeah, it’s going to be a good night.

  He slipped some condoms and small packets of lube into the pocket of his pants. He’d leave his wallet with his jacket. The club owner wisely had a system for regular patrons so they could sign for their drinks or whatever else they ordered; it avoided the need to carry cash or a credit card around the club, simplifying matters greatly. After grabbing a leather motorcycle jacket, Randy hurried down the stairs and called out a farewell to Danny so he wouldn’t have to face the kid in his full gear.

  Traffic was reasonably light, so just twenty minutes later, he parked his truck near the club on Fourteenth Street in northwest DC. From the road, the building was fairly nondescript. A shop that sold stuffed animals, apparently destined for traveling carnivals, attracted the attention of passers-by, so they rarely noticed the small door to the left of the display window and the brass plaque that read “Cuir.” Even if they did, few would recognize the French word for “leather.”

  Randy rang the buzzer beneath the plaque. “Yes?” came through the intercom. Sounded like Liam.

  “It’s Randy Vaughan,” he said, and the door clicked as Liam unlocked it remotely. The stairs leading up to the second-floor club were black, and the walls of the stairwell were painted a dark blue. It was maybe over the top, but Randy liked that it set a tone.

  At the top of the stairs, he brushed through a curtain that newcomers usually failed to register was made of dozens of whips hanging down. Liam greeted him, all dapper and respectful in his neat black leather jacket cut like a sports coat, worn over a crisp gray shirt and patterned blue tie. Liam had short white hair styled forward on top, and a beard that framed his narrow, craggy face elegantly and gave him gravity. His large dark eyes twinkled in welcome.

  The anteroom where Liam waited next to a host stand was done in a more welcoming shade of blue than the stairs and was lit pleasantly with a torchiere and small lamp that rested on a mirrored table alongside a chair in black leather and chrome. Liam held out a hand to Randy as he entered the room.

  “Good to see you, sir.” Liam turned a guest book around, and Randy signed his name. “Can I take your jacket, or will you keep it with you tonight?”

  Randy shrugged out of the garment. “Yeah, I’ll leave it out here. Thanks.” He placed his keys and wallet in the inner pocket before handing it over. Liam opened a cabinet to place the jacket on a padded hanger, then turned back. He ran appraising and approving eyes over Randy.

  “If I may say so, sir, that’s a very nice look. It’s quiet tonight so far, but I don’t think you’ll have trouble finding someone to keep you amused.” He grinned slightly, and Randy returned it. Once upon a time, he’d had Liam keep him company for an evening. Liam knew what he liked, including the “sir.”

  “Anyone new tonight?” Randy asked.

  “A few fresh faces. Have a good time, and please tell Patrick I said your first drink is on me.”

  Randy clapped Liam on the shoulder and stepped through the door Liam opened for him to the interior of Cuir.

  The main room of the club filled most of the second floor. A narrow bar drew the eye, with discrete pinpoint lights making the bottles of liquor shine like jewels. Patrick, the bartender, wore a short-sleeved leather shirt, open at the neck to reveal a thick strip of studded leather wrapped around his throat. He smiled wickedly in greeting to Randy and immediately began to pour a drink for him.

  Heavy velvet drapes created a semblance of dark corners for those who wanted to pretend at privacy, while spotlights carefully hit two of the sofas for those who preferred to put on a show. At the moment, a young blond man was on his knees before a rugged guy who sat illuminated in the beam of the spot, stroking a hand over the head bobbing into his lap. Randy’s dick stirred in his jock at the display.

  There were few chairs or stools, but round, bar-height tables punctuated the space to provide convenient resting places for drinks when the moment warranted. A closed door with an electronic lock was
tucked to the rear of the room. Regular patrons could, with Liam or Patrick’s permission, step through that door to claim one of the private rooms on the second floor, or—once the proprietors were satisfied no party was impaired—climb the stairs to the third floor with its more creative selection of implements, tools, and toys. Randy was definitely in the mood to take his evening up there, should the right partner catch his attention, so he planned to limit himself to one drink.

  Patrick slid a Captain Morgan spiced rum and coke toward Randy when he reached the bar. “Liam said to tell you this one is on him,” Randy said, and Patrick nodded.

  “Are you meeting anyone here tonight, or playing the lottery?” Patrick asked with a wink.

  “I’m here alone. Anyone interesting around?” Randy asked.

  Patrick seemed thoughtful. “Well, you’ve already had some fun with Claude before. Are you up for another session? I happen to know he was most appreciative last time.” Randy followed Patrick’s gaze to a tall, thin man in a skintight rubber shirt. A memory flickered of Claude sobbing and yet arching back into Randy’s hands while he applied cream after an intense session with the flogger. The man was facing away from them, and Randy quickly turned his attention back to the bar.

  “Claude wasn’t bad, but he needs a lot of after-care,” Randy murmured. “I’m not that nurturing this evening.”

  Patrick laughed. “Nurturing is not a word I’d use for you, ever. Not that I’m criticizing.” He winked, and Randy flashed to a very pleasant evening upstairs with Patrick, long before Liam had collared him and given him an ownership interest in Cuir. Patrick was very responsive and vocal, and Randy would gladly have another go at him were he not in a relationship.