A Dangerous Game (7 page)

“Time to fuck,” Devin panted.

“I should have figured you’d say that. I’m not interested, man.”

“Come on. All you have to do is roll over on your stomach. I’ll do all the work. It’ll feel so good.”

As much as Wren loved sex and loved getting fucked, this whole scenario was so surreal and out of line that he had absolutely no desire for this very hot, very horned-up man whose enormous dick was only inches from his face. Funny thing about Wren—he liked to be an equal participant in matters sexual.

And right now he felt like any choice he had had been ripped away. He wasn’t sure if he should get up and punch the guy in the face or simply get up and leave.

Before he could decide anything, Devin began pumping his cock faster and started to moan, his body contracting. Before Wren knew what was happening, hot jets of come were raining down on his face and hair. Wren squeezed his eyes shut tightly, knowing from past experience that semen in the eyes was not a pleasant thing.

None of this is pleasant
, Wren thought as he felt the crawly semen trickle down his face and onto his neck.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ hot,” Devin moaned. “I couldn’t help myself.” He shook the final few drops of come off on Wren’s face, squeezing the tip of his dick to make sure he got every drop. “You wanna clean it off?” He placed his dick a tongue length away from Wren’s mouth.

Wren turned away, his back to Devin. He wanted to cry.

He thought this must kind of be what it felt like to be raped.

“Go away,” he whimpered.

To his immense relief, he heard Devin pad away from him, toward his bedroom.

Wren lay there for a long time, shaking. Finally he wiped his face with the sheet, sat up, lit a cigarette, and waited for morning.

He sat up all night, smoking and trying to tell himself he was being silly. He hadn’t been raped, not really. Devin hadn’t even touched him.

So why did he feel so violated? Why did he feel Devin had used him and stolen from him something he’d never get back? He thought of his mother and how much more awful what she went through must have been, with complete physical penetration. But damned if he didn’t feel like he’d been a thing, a device to use, to degrade.

It was dehumanizing.

During those long hours, waiting for dawn to filter into the apartment, Wren experienced a gamut of emotions, ranging from depression to despair to rage. What he had felt for Devin, whether it had been as friend, lover, or fuck buddy, was now all gone, replaced by hatred.

It was all Wren could do not to go into the bedroom and do something in retaliation to the man. He didn’t know what it would be—if he would spit on him, punch him, strangle him, or just scream at him, telling him what a user and asshole he was, with no respect or dignity.

But all he did was wait for the grayish-pink light of dawn to tiptoe into the apartment. When it did, Wren rose from the couch and went into the bathroom. He took a piss and stood over the sink, splashing water on his face and pulling at his hair until he thought he looked halfway presentable.

Back in the living room, he dressed silently, his fingers trembling as he pulled on a T-shirt. Just as soundlessly, he slid into his jeans and sneakers and then gathered up his few belongings. Finally, he tucked everything into his duffel bag.

He looked around the apartment he’d thought was going to be his home for a couple of weeks at least, and the light revealed nothing out of place. The near-overflowing ashtray on the coffee table was like a pimple on pristine skin.

Dude. Do not tell me you are going to be courteous enough to empty that tray.
Wren’s hand hovered over the aluminum ashtray, and he finally did pick it up. He tiptoed into Devin’s bedroom with it and stood there, near the doorway, watching Devin sleep. The sheet was pulled halfway up over his stomach, leaving his magnificent, perfect pecs exposed. Wren was stunned to see that, even though the guy’s mouth was open and he was snoring somewhere in the decibel vicinity of a freight train, he had a hard-on. It was plainly outlined beneath the sheet’s thin fabric.

Without making a sound, Wren moved slowly and cautiously over to the bed. He dumped the ashtray gently on Devin’s crotch and tiptoed away, leaving the ashtray itself at the foot of the bed.

At the door he whispered, “Thanks for nothing, you dick. Don’t say I don’t clean up after myself.”

He grabbed his duffel and continued to the front door without making a sound, then slammed it behind him, hard enough to rattle the frame.

Immature, yes, but it did make Wren feel better.

“HONEY, WHAT
are you doing here? I thought you were gonna stay with your friend Devin.” Linda peered out at him from the doorway of her new apartment, hair tousled, sleep in her eyes. She did not look happy. “What time is it?”

“Sorry. I think it’s only a little after six. Did I wake you up?” Wren whispered in deference to the early hour.

“Well, yeah.”

Wren hadn’t wanted to bother his mother, and now he wished he had found a Starbucks or something to hang out in until a decent time. Just as he had, Linda had moved in a hurry over the weekend. It was amazing how quickly a life could be stripped down and transported.

But he didn’t want to miss her before she started her new responsibilities at the hotel, which she had told him would encompass daytime hours. “I no longer have to say I’m
just
a bartender. I’m in management,” she had boasted.

“Things didn’t work out with Devin,” he blurted, trying to peer around his mother, who stood in the doorway with the door only halfway open. The remainder of the space was blocked by Linda’s petite form. She held a pale blue satin robe closed at her chest. Okay, this was weird. So Wren asked, “I’m sorry it’s so early and all, but are you gonna let me in?”

Linda leaned close, whispering. “Can you come back in about an hour?”

“No, Mom. I got all this shit to carry around.” He pushed past his mother into the apartment. The first thing he noticed was that it was not a one bedroom, as she had said, but a studio. The second thing was her brass bed, all set up in the corner, and the man in it, clutching a sheet to his hairy chest.

Linda tittered. “I don’t think you guys have ever met. Harry, this is my son, Wren. And Wren, this is my boss, Harry.”

The man, besides having a body like a gorilla’s, had no hair on his head, and his deep brown eyes were piercing. “Charmed.”

Wren nodded. He turned back to Linda. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that screwing your boss was part of your new job description.”

“Wren! I oughta slap your face. Apologize to Harry.”

Wren just shook his head, not removing his gaze from his mother. Like him, her skin was fair and pale, and he watched the line of scarlet move up from her chest to envelop her face. It felt good. She
should
be embarrassed.

Linda pulled her robe tighter. Harry got up, keeping the sheet around him, and went into the bathroom, then closed the door behind him.

“What’s going on, Ma?”

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to tell you. Harry and I have been seeing each other for a couple of weeks now. It just happened. I know he’s kind of hairy, but I think he’s cute. And he’s good to me.”

“And you’re good to him. Is this how you earned your promotion?” Wren sneered.

Linda leaned her face in close to her son’s. She was smiling, but there was nothing cheerful about her words. “Don’t you dare talk to me that way. I don’t deserve it. All I’ve done, my whole life, is take care of you and make my share of sacrifices so you could be happy. And I’m not complaining. I did it out of love, expecting not a damn thing in return. So don’t you barge in here and judge me for maybe going after a little bit of happiness myself. Is that too much to ask from my son? My son who I thought, by the way, was a grown man?”

It was Wren’s turn to redden. He could feel the heat burning his face.

Linda went on. “And for you to insinuate that I got my promotion by screwing the boss, well, that really sucks. Do you know how hard I’ve worked? How many overtime hours I’ve put in? How much I volunteered for stuff no one else wanted to do just so I could get ahead? How dare you say that to me! It would make me nothing more than a common whore. Is that what you think?” Linda grabbed Wren’s chin, forcing him to look at her. “You think your mother’s a whore?”

For the second time that day—and it wasn’t even 7:00 a.m. yet—Wren felt on the verge of tears. He’d been a shit to talk to Linda the way he had. His voice came out as a quivery whisper. “I’m sorry, Mom. I wasn’t thinking. I had a rough night.” Wren bit his lip, wondering if he should tell Linda the truth about what happened during the night but decided against it. She didn’t need the heartache, and she could never understand. Or maybe she would understand, and it was that second option he feared subjecting Linda to.

No, he was a grown man, as she had said, and he should take care of himself.

“Things didn’t work out with Devin. And I’m feeling kind of homeless right now.”

As if to underscore the impossibility of Linda taking him in, Harry emerged from the bathroom, followed by the sound of a flushing toilet. He must have left his clothes in there, because he was now dressed in old man jeans and a light blue Oxford shirt. He was strapping a gold watch on his hairy wrist. Eyeing the two of them, he sat down on the edge of the bed and slipped on a pair of loafers, sans socks.

Wren wondered what on earth his mother saw in this man. But that was a conversation for another time.

“I better be getting downstairs.”

He paused in front of Linda and smirked at Wren. Wren stepped aside, and Harry gave Linda a quick peck.

“See you down there?”

Linda smiled, and Wren didn’t miss the way her eyes lit up when she looked at Harry.

“Give me an hour.”

They both waited until Harry closed the door to move. Once he did, Linda moved to the bed and began making it up. While she worked, she talked.

“So, you’ve seen the place. If I had my druthers, your first visit would have gone a little different, but what the hell.” She finished making the bed, went into the bathroom, and closed the door behind her.

Wren sat down on a little floral-patterned love seat positioned at the foot of the bed and listened to the sound of his mother moving around—the toilet flushing, water running, finally the hiss of the shower.

When Linda emerged, she was just about ready for the day. She still wore the robe, but her face was made up and her auburn hair was pulled back into a damp ponytail. She looked like a teenage girl. Wren bit his tongue to prevent him from telling her that she could do a lot better than Harry.

“As you can see, there isn’t much privacy. If you’re gonna stay in the room, you have to close your eyes.” Linda had paused in front of her closet, moving hangers back and forth.

“Never mind, Mom. I’ll use the bathroom if you’re done in there.”

“Sure.”

When Wren came back out, Linda was dressed for the day in a black pencil skirt, white blouse, stockings, and black leather pumps. To add some color, she had wrapped a green, lavender, and blue print silk scarf around her neck.

She looked beautiful.

“I’m sorry I had to talk to you that way, but you were way out of line, buster.”

“I know.”

Linda came up to him and put her arms around him. “You wanna stay here? I can manage for a bit. Harry will understand.”

Wren struggled out of her embrace. “Where would I sleep?”

“There’s the love seat,” Linda offered.

“That would be great if I was a little kid. Or a contortionist.”

“You could sleep on the floor. I could fix it up real nice with pillows and blankets. Maybe we could get one of those air mattresses.”

“Aw, Mom. You’re too nice. There’s no room for me here.” As Wren said the words, true, he felt engulfed by sadness. He didn’t know where there
was
room for him. In the space of a mere few days, he had gone from having a job and a home to completely displaced.

Linda said, “Honeybunch, there’s always room for you. Wherever I am.”

“I know, Mom. Thanks.” But he didn’t know. His mother deserved her space, and two people in this tiny room—to call it an apartment would be being overly generous—would be cramped. They would be at each other’s throats within a day. Hell, one could hardly even get dressed in private. “I’ll find a place.”

“Well, if you don’t, you come back here. No son of mine will ever have to sleep on a bench or some crap like that, not if I have anything to say about it.”

Wren hugged Linda. “I’ll remember that. And I don’t think it will come to that. You need to be getting to work, huh?”

“Yeah. I don’t wanna be late on the first day of my new job.”

“Good luck, Mom. I love you.”

“Aren’t you sweet? I love you too, Wren. Just lock the door behind you when you leave.” She pecked him on the cheek.

And with that his mother was gone, leaving the faint smell of her perfume, Miss Dior, in her wake.

Wren stared at the closed door for a long time. That door, the small apartment, everything that had happened all coalesced into one fine point in Wren’s mind.

The answer awaited him, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to make that leap. For one, Linda would be so ashamed if she knew the truth. For another, Wren didn’t know if he could abide his own self if he took the track that was front and center in his mind right now.

But what was the alternative? Sleeping on the street? Working at yet another dead-end job that would leave him exhausted and living paycheck to paycheck?

He groped around in his duffel, hoping he had lost the simple white engraved business card, praying to himself that fate would intervene and yank the choice he was contemplating out of his hands, but his fingers closed around the piece of cardboard in short order, after moving aside just a few articles of clothing.

It had sunk to the bottom of the bag.

Much like I am sinking to the bottom
, Wren thought.

He stared at the card for a long time. Whole minutes passed, and then he pulled out his phone and punched in the digits.