Beach Boys (4 page)

“Let me look at you,” he said. He took a deep breath and sighed. “Did you sell your soul for those abs?”

“I’m in some kind of hell when I work out at 5 a.m. every day.”

He laughed, but then got quiet and serious.

“What’s wrong?”

“I want to show you something.”

“Okay.”

“I’m a little bit nervous,” Carlos said as he bit his lower lip.

“If I wasn’t open minded, I wouldn’t be here,” I said.

“Sorry,” he said. “This part always gets to me.”

“It’s important to ask for what you want,” I said. “The worst that can happen is I’ll say no.”

“I hope you don’t,” he said.

Carlos went to the wardrobe and opened it. Inside were a myriad of toys. Nipple clamps, handcuffs, floggers.

“Will you be my master?” he said. He dropped to his knees. “I’ve been a naughty slave. Punish me.”

S&M wasn’t exactly my thing. Dishing out pain was one thing. I could do that. Taking it was another. But so long as he was allowing me to be the Dom, I saw no reason to deny his request.

“Yes, you have been naughty,” I said. I selected the short black riding crop and tapped it against my palm. “I’ve been here for twenty minutes and all you’ve given me so far is a kiss.”

I brought the crop down hard on his chest.

Carlos shivered in response to the jolt. Then he let out a small moan.

I hit him again.

“Perhaps you’d like the chance to redeem yourself?” I tapped the crop gently on his nipples. “Or are you beyond redemption?”

“What would please you, Master?”

I grabbed my cock and presented it to him.

“Suck it,” I said.

Carlos licked his lips. He pushed my hand aside and let his fingers trace the underside of my shaft before reaching back and jiggling my balls. He took me into his mouth, sucking gently at first, but slowly applying more pressure.

My knees got weak as he alternated between flicking his tongue on the tip, using his hands on my shaft and taking me deeper with every stroke.

I came as he finger-fucked my asshole.

I needed to rest. I sat down on the edge of the bed.

He’d redeemed himself for sure.

“I’ve got to lie down for a minute,” I said.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Master?”

“I’m good.”

“I’m going to go wash up. Be right back.”

I flopped back, just wanting to lie there and enjoy the momentary bliss. I started to daydream for a moment about how nice it would be to live in a penthouse with a hot guy like Carlos. But then reality sunk in.

I started having second thoughts about the job, about what I would do when Carlos tried to pay me. I needed the money for school, but was this really the way that I wanted to earn it?
The more I thought about Carlos, the more I realized I actually liked him. I didn’t want to hook up with just any guy who flashed a wad of cash. Maybe that worked for Kyle, but it wasn’t me.

Carlos returned.

“What’s on your mind?”

His breath smelled minty fresh. He must have liked me a little or he wouldn’t have bothered to brush his teeth.

“Work. Sorry. I know I shouldn’t be thinking about that right now.”

“Do you have to go?”

“No. I mean, not unless you want me to.”

“I’d like you to stay,” Carlos said. “How much will cost me to keep you overnight?”

I swallowed hard.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“Whether you want me here because you want me. Or whether you want me here because you just want someone.”

“Does it really matter?”

“I’d better go,” I said.

I got dressed in a hurry.

“Wait,” Carlos said. “How much do I owe you?”

“Forget it,” I said. “I don’t want your money.”

I left without giving him the chance to say another word.

* * * *

I flew home that night, hoping I could erase the whole experience from my mind. I’d been lured out to Vegas by the promise of big bucks and the assurance that these kinds of relationships were no big deal. The men have money to spend; why shouldn’t I take it? I was providing a service. There was no reason why I shouldn’t be compensated for it. I didn’t expect it to wreak havoc on my heart.

My cell phone rang early the next morning. I flipped it open to take the call.

“Where the hell are you?” Kyle asked. “You’re late.”

“I’m back home,” I said.

“Have you lost your mind?”

“No. The job...it’s just not right for me.”

“Well, you must’ve done something right.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Someone left you a big tip. The big man came down and told the rest of us that we’d better ask you what you did to deserve it.”

“I don’t want it,” I said. “Tell him to give it back.”

“You’re high, aren’t you?”

“No. I just can’t take money for sex.”

“Is that what this is about? Worried about someone thinking you’re a whore?”

“Yes. I mean, no. Forget it. You wouldn’t understand.”

“I can’t believe this.”

“Goodbye, Kyle.”

I flipped my cell shut. It rang again and I sent the call to voice mail.

Whore. That wasn’t what I wanted to be.

* * * *

Kyle came back at the end of the summer. He stopped by to drop off the contents of my locker.

“I can’t believe you didn’t stay,” he said. “I made enough to get me through until the middle of next year. I could almost take next summer off if I wanted to.”

He handed me the box. My extra cabana boy uniform was folded neatly and placed on top.

“The first thing I’m going to do is burn this,” I said as I lifted it up.

“You looked good in those shorts,” Kyle said.

“We both looked ridiculous and you know it.”

“Whatever. It was still fun.”

“Thanks for bringing this stuff by,” I said.

“No problem,” Kyle said. He checked his watch. “Gotta fly.”

“See you on campus,” I said.

Kyle left.

I dumped the contents of the box out on my bed. There wasn’t much in there aside from the uniform and some toiletries. When I turned the box right side up, I noticed that there was an envelope stuck in the bottom. I pulled it out and opened it.

There was a check for fifty thousand dollars and a note from Carlos.

Ben –

I’m sorry if I said something that offended you. I didn’t know how to answer your question. I don’t meet too many people interested in me for me. If having money has a downside, that’s surely a big one. Your friend, Kyle, told me why you came to Atlantis in the
first place and why you left. I want you to take this money and use it for school. No strings. I’ll be playing in a tournament in Atlantic City next week. I hope you’ll drop by. I know the answer now. I don’t just want someone anymore.

Carlos

* * * *

I sent the check back.

But I went to Atlantic City to find out where the chips would fall.

by Elizabeth Coldwell

I honestly thought PJ would be just another tenant. Every year, when the tourists start flocking to the coast and the theatre on the end of the pier opens for its summer season, I rent out my guest room to one of the performers. Usually, it’s one of the dancers in the chorus, as my rate is cheaper than most of the boarding houses on the seafront and they tend not to earn a great deal. It’s an arrangement which works well for both parties: they get a room with a beautiful sea view and no chance of being spied on in the shower by a seedy landlord, and I get some company in a house which has been empty and echoing over the winter.

So when the letting agency sent PJ over to view the room, I was a little surprised. I opened the door to find him standing with a bag slung over his shoulder. He couldn’t have been more my physical type if I’d ordered him from a catalog: close to six feet, lean build, dark hair that fell away from his face in two floppy wings, neatly trimmed bead, soft brown eyes. I felt my mouth go dry and wiped a suddenly clammy hand on my jeans before reaching out to shake his.

“PJ Steadman? Come through, please,” I said. He followed me in and I gave him a tour of the house, showing him the kitchen, the living room, the wet room I’d had installed a few months previously, and the room on the first floor which would be his. We even popped our heads briefly round the door of my studio, but I had a number of half-finished sketches on the drawing board and I’ve always been shy about showing my work until it’s completed.

“That’s why I recognize your name,” he said as I shut the door behind us. “Neil Harrison. You do those books about the naughty monkeys, don’t you? My niece loves those.”

“Thank you,” I told him sincerely.
Niece
, I thought.
Not daughter. That’s a good sign
.
Then I hurried out to show him the garden.

“This is just what I was looking for,” he told me, as we stood in the warmth of the afternoon sun. “Quiet, close to the beach—and they said you have a cellar.”

“That’s right,” I said, trying not to look at his hands, which he used expressively as he talked. He had big, capable-looking hands, hands I could imagine pinning me securely in place as his cock plundered the depths of my arse.

Where had a thought like that come from, I wondered, doing my best to concentrate on what PJ was saying.

“If I could have access to the cellar, that would be great. I’ve got a couple of new tricks I want to work on, but the equipment takes up a bit of room.” Sensing that I was looking at him blankly, he said, “They didn’t tell you, did they? I’m a magician.”

Now that was certainly something different. It looked like I could be in for an interesting summer. I didn’t realize as I told PJ the room—and the cellar—was his, quite how interesting the summer was about to become.

Within a couple of days, PJ had settled into a regular routine. He was one of those men who seems to need very little sleep; it would be going on midnight by the time he returned to the house following the second of his daily performances, yet he would be up at six the following morning to go jogging along the beach. I had never been an early riser, but now I found myself awakened by the sound of him leaving the house. Unable to nod off again, I would take a shower. Sometimes I would spend a long time lathering myself, my hand straying down to my cock and stroking as I imagined it was PJ who was pleasuring me. Other mornings I would stand in the window, watching his distant figure as he ran along the sand. At that time of the morning he was almost completely alone, apart from an occasional dog-walker, long limbs covering the distance
almost effortlessly.

By the time he was back in the house, sweat making his tee-shirt cling to his muscled torso, I would be in the middle of making breakfast for both of us. Over coffee, orange juice, cereal, and toast, we would sit and talk about what we had planned for the day. Then he would go down to the cellar and polish his routine, and I would shut myself in my studio, producing sexually explicit illustrations which were among the best work I had ever done, but which I had no intention of ever showing to anyone.

And I still didn’t know whether PJ was even vaguely interested in me. For all I knew, he could have been steadily working his way through all the girls in the chorus line. I was certain he had caught me looking at him a couple of times, my desire for him barely disguised, but he had never said anything.

This wasn’t like me; I didn’t fall in lust the first time I saw someone. I was cautious, steady. I liked to take my time. And time was the one thing I didn’t have with PJ. In a couple of weeks’ time, his engagement at the pier theatre would be over, and he would be out of my life, his room available for rent once more. So, rather than throw myself headlong into a fling, which was what a small, rebellious part of me really longed to do, I just kept stewing in my own little obsession and masturbating to fantasies of what it would be like to be fucked by PJ. Which is what I would have done until the day he left.

Until one afternoon when there was a knock at my studio door.

I went to answer it, annoyed I had actually been interrupted in the middle of work I had been commissioned to produce. Despite the heat of the day, PJ was dressed all in black: a T-shirt that fitted snugly to his impressive pecs, and a slightly faded pair of jeans. It was an outfit that made him look domineering and slightly sinister, which I suspected was all part of his stage
persona. It also added more fuel to the fantasies I had been weaving about him; fantasies in which I was obliged to do whatever he wanted.

“Sorry to bother you, mate,” he said, “but I wondered if you could pop down and help me with something? I wouldn’t ask, but I really need a live body to help me sort out this trick.”

“Sure,” I said, setting my pen to one side. “Anything to help.”