Lexington Black (21 page)

I pulled Rob to a sitting position and turned
him so he was face-down against the cold black granite surface. The
extra wide counter accommodated the length of his torso with ease
and his backside was mine to explore. He grumbled at the discomfort
to his cock, being squashed against the unforgiving stone, but I
told him sternly to keep still. He turned his head to one side and
stretched out his arms along the edge of the counter, holding on as
I spread his cheeks. His unique scent made my nostrils quiver and
my lust rise. He let out a cry as I slavishly licked up his crack
to his pretty, de-furred hole. It was tight and puckered, but not
for long under my talented tongue. I spread his cheeks wide and
dove in, slavishly lapping up his intoxicating taste until he was
moaning constantly, his beautiful eager hole reddened and open.

'Oh god,' he moaned as his backside lifted,
yearning for more of my tongue. He squirmed and grunted as I
tongue-fucked him relentlessly. My face was wet with saliva as his
hole widened and became more inflamed. My cock was fucking inflamed
as well. I reached over for the bottle of olive oil and drizzled
some on his crack. My fingers slithered as I rubbed it in, slipping
inside his hole with ease. Then I pulled him back onto my cock,
hard and deep, all the way in. His cries took on an animal quality
as he felt the invasion. I was fucking him so hard that sweat
prickled on my back as I worked him. Rob was grunting constantly,
his cock mashed against the kitchen cupboard, every ounce of energy
from my body mercilessly hammering into him. No feather bed
protection, no supportive warm water, just wood and granite,
forcing him to absorb every thrust as it reverberated through his
body. I was waiting for his pleas for me to stop but they didn't
come. He gripped the edge of the counter and pushed back at me,
goading me to fuck him harder. I couldn't. He was getting
everything I had. Knowing he had beaten me, I threw back my head
and howled as the climax shot from my balls, electrifying my cock,
reaching deep into his convulsing body. By now he was sobbing,
sweat pooling between his shoulder blades. As the orgasm shook him,
his cries became hoarse and faded with exertion. He was slipping
around in a mess of olive oil and his own semen. I collapsed on his
back, breathing heavily.

When I looked up, he was holding on to the
edge of the counter with white knuckles, like Harold Lloyd hanging
on to a window ledge for dear life in a black and white movie. He
gave me a weary look and rested his forehead on the cool granite. I
grinned at him.

'Suitable payback?'

'Fuck you,' he retorted, and I laughed
delightedly. It was the first time he had ever sworn at me.

'When are you going to tell him?' Peter asked
on the following Tuesday morning. I had gone to the gallery in the
East Village to have a look at a forthcoming exhibition before it
was opened to the public. Pretty, skinny boys in black rushed
around like ninjas, shifting paintings and arranging gaudy flower
displays. The gallery was completely white so as not to detract
from the paintings it contained. The latest were anatomical pieces
in thick, lurid oils. Most of them made my eyes water.

'Jesus, it looks like Charles' Manson's
living room in here,' I said, looking around.

'Very funny,' Peter said stiffly. 'You've no
idea about art, Lexington. Trust me, this stuff will sell like hot
cakes. Most of it is destined for the Upper West Side. Now answer
my question.'

'The answer is, he doesn't need to know,' I
said, looking askance at a hideous oil painting of some poor
woman's vagina. I didn't have a problem with pussy as a rule but
damn, it looked as if she was having a miscarriage.

Peter stood in front of me, blocking my view.
'You need to tell him,' he said forcefully. 'If you have any
respect for him, you need to be honest.'

'I do respect him! But he doesn't need to
know I was at Melville. And he doesn't need to know I fucked his
father! What the hell will that achieve?'

'At least he can make the decision of whether
he wants you or not, based on an honest assessment of what is in
front of him!'

'Speak fucking English, for Christ's sake.' I
turned impatiently away. This was an argument long in the brewing
but I still wasn't prepared for it.

He flapped around me like an irate black
swan. 'Now listen. I was with Gavin for all that time because we
were honest with each other. What you're hiding from him is
massive. He's writing about his father, for God's sake! How's he
going to feel when he finds out you've been playing him for a
fool?'

'He isn't going to find out.' I could feel my
temper rising.

'He will at some point. He isn't stupid, Lex.
There's a massive amount you haven't told him about your past life
and he's curious about it. Believe me, I know.'

Fear clutched at me. 'What's he been
asking?'

'Why you won't talk about your school days,
for one. He's assuming something terrible happened to you. And he
wants to know why you're keeping him away from your father. You
don't want anything to come out, do you?'

'No, I don't,' I said, keeping my voice low
so his assistants would not be able to hear. 'And if I find out
you've said anything to him...'

'You'll do what?' Peter glared at me.

I looked around the gallery. 'You can forget
my investment in this place for a start. I could pull the plug
tomorrow if you say one word to Rob about my being at Melville. One
word, Peter, and it's all over.'

'You're .... threatening me?' Peter looked
horrified.

'You're goddamned right, I am.' I moved
closer to him. 'Consider my financial involvement in this company
finished the moment you say
anything
to Rob about my
past.'

'But you're my friend,' Peter stuttered.

'Just remember that when you need more money
for exhibitions. And for what it's worth, your taste in art totally
stinks.' I strode out of the gallery before he could reply,
slamming the door behind me. Because of him, I was in the foulest
of moods. I couldn't risk him saying anything to Rob. For once in
my life I had found someone who didn't give a stuff about all the
trappings of wealth, the money-making bullshit I wallowed in every
day. He was happy with walking in the city, movies, meals in simple
restaurants. We talked endlessly, laughed and made love. He was the
man who made me feel complete. I couldn't lose him. I wouldn't lose
him, and no-one was going to stand in my way.

******

Almost three weeks in, and Rob was aware of
how much he had changed. His dress sense had immeasurably improved,
for a start. Under Peter's guidance, he had kitted himself out in
some decent shirts, smarter trousers, tighter jeans, a couple of
trendy jackets and some classy pairs of shoes. It wasn't too
different to the look he had been striving for back in England, but
this time he had managed to combine Oxford chic with Stateside East
Coast elegance.

He had gone back to Ruby's for a wax
treatment and a hair cut, something that amused Geri no end when he
told her. He hadn't sent any more pictures, wanting to surprise her
when she picked him up from the airport. Not that he thought about
that day too much. As he spent more time with Lex, the more he
wanted to stay in the US. The country had worked its way under his
skin but he knew the only way to live there was if he had a job and
could be self-sufficient. He didn't want to live off Lex even if he
had the opportunity. That really would have made him a rent-boy and
in the end, Geri was right. Lex had bought his time for a month.
There was nothing to suggest that he would want him around after
that, unless it was for sex. And the sex was very good. Every time,
it seemed to get better. When he looked in the mirror, he now saw a
healthy, lean man with good skin and sparkling eyes that told of
infinite satisfaction. He couldn't imagine anyone else being that
good for him. And that frightened him more than anything.

The thought was troubling him as he poured
coffee and took it out to the balcony so he could take in the view.
In just over ten days it would all still be there but he would be
back in High Wycombe, in his flat that smelled of greasy kebabs.
Yes, he would have new clothes and a new life as a gay man to deal
with. He would also have a book which was almost ready to send to
agents, but he wouldn't have Lex, and that hurt too much to think
about for any length of time.

So he buried himself in his novel and stuck
with the routine he had made for himself. On the whole it was easy,
now that he had the motivation to do it. On the desk by the window
he had his laptop and the papers he had bought with him. The words
kept coming and at times he had to force himself to stop and walk
the city streets for a while just to give his eyes and fingers a
rest.

Because he had decided to use a pen-name, he
could separate himself from the sad reality and put aside the fact
that this was his father he was writing about. Once he did that,
the novel came spilling out of him. He found he was writing
feverishly even when surrounded by people, his focus all on the
burgeoning story being created by his hand.

During the day, Lex left him alone to work.
His own job was demanding enough and free time was at a premium. In
a way, Rob was glad because he wanted nothing to get in the way of
the creativity once it had started to flow. It was selfish, he
supposed, but it was the main reason why Lex invited him in the
first place. He made a promise to himself to stop at six every
night to avoid burnout, and he religiously kept to it.

When struggling for inspiration, he left the
apartment and went to sit in a variety of coffee shops, making more
notes, writing snippets of conversations, soaking up life as it
shifted and changed around him, like dappled sunlight on water.

Sketching notes in his ring-bound book, he
watched the Jewish traders with their skull-caps and sharp suits,
the WASP women in designer clothes, their faces perfectly made up.
Then there were the scruffy students, the hobos lurking in the
background, waiting to be moved on, and one solitary transsexual
woman, forlorn in a shabby dress and wonky lipstick. After a while,
Rob approached her and asked if he could interview her. She looked
pathetically delighted.

In the end he had bought them lunch and the
woman, Gemma, told Rob all about her former life as a married man,
her two children who did not speak to her, and the wife who had
accused her of child abuse after discovering her dressing up in her
clothes in their bedroom. It was such a horrendous story that Rob
felt sorry for her. She had come to New York to seek a better life
but it was her last day. She had had enough and was going to Los
Angeles instead, hoping that people were friendlier out in
California.

Rob gave her $100 for her time, which at
first she did not want to accept but then she did. Rob suspected it
was the only money she had on her. Then on impulse he gave her the
address of Peter's gallery and said to mention his name. Maybe
Peter would be better at giving advice and support than he was.

He noticed that Geri had tried to call him a
few times, but he did not feel ready to talk to her. Any problems
at home would not go away just because he knew about them. He did
not want to think about home or Sara's Big Day or his poisonous
mother or work or anything else that was waiting for him back in
England. In fact, he did not want to think about flying back to his
old life in ten days time. A few short weeks was all it had taken
for Lex to seduce him and turn him into someone completely new.

Or had he? The more Rob thought about it, the
more he realised he was more like his father had been. Reserved,
always wanting to do the right thing, studious and decent, at least
on the surface. He still wasn't ready to look at the picture in the
cardboard tube. He thought about telling Lex about it and decided
against it. Lex would only persuade him to have a look at it once
and for all, and that would cast a shadow over their golden time
together.

For that was what it was. Something beautiful
that was destined to end. Soon he would have to move on and get
used to living with his new identity, that of an openly gay, single
man. There was no getting past it, so it was useless hoping for
something more.

His time with Lex was precious, and not
always spent in bed. Sometimes they walked around the city, Lex
showing him the sights that were obligatory for the tourists, and
some that weren't. He noticed the hobos sitting on the sidewalk,
polystyrene cups for any spare change, their sob stories around
their necks. Lex looked at them with distain. Most of them were
lying, he said. They just made the wrong choices and wanted
everyone else to pick up the tab.

Near Central Park, Rob gave one of them a
couple of dollars. The man nodded and whispered his thanks.

'You shouldn't do that,' Lex admonished him
as they walked away. 'He'll only spend it on booze or drugs.'

'Maybe, but if that's the way he blocks out
his miserable life, who am I to judge? You don't know these people,
Lex, any more than I do.'

'I don't have to. They're all over the city,
scrounging off hard-working people like me.'

Rob stopped and looked at him. 'How do you
know that? Have you talked to any of them?'

'No, but ...'

Rob marched back to where the hobo was
sitting and crouched next to him. Lex stood a few feet away,
pretending he was window-shopping. The man looked suspicious.

'What happened to you?' Rob asked.

'Why do you care?'

'I'm interested. I'm a writer, and I'd like
to know your story, if you don't mind telling me.'

'Jesus, Rob, we're going to be late,' Lex
said sharply. 'Our reservation for lunch is for one o'clock!'