My Prince (10 page)

“So, do you think you knew even back then, and repressed your sexuality until you were in a place in your life where it was safe to come out, or did you really not figure it out until your midtwenties?”

“I dunno.” George shrugged.

“I knew when I was about eleven,” Doug said conversationally. “I tried to hide it for most of my teen years, got the shit beat out of me regularly. It is what it is,” he said when George tried to offer some measure of sympathy. “I can’t blame anyone for it, not really. It was the seventies. I moved to London when I was eighteen, determined to be out and proud, and within weeks of me moving, the rumbles through the bars started. Gay cancer, they called it.”

“Shit,” George muttered.

“I hadn’t even had sex for the first time at that point. I was desperate to, and then the rumors started that you could catch this gay cancer just by
being
gay. Can you imagine that? Just being gay could kill you. I stayed for another couple of months, and then people started dying, and I decided
fuck this
and moved back home.”

“You left?”

“Oh God, yes,” Doug said, leaning back in his chair. “I hadn’t come out to my parents. I just told them I wanted to move to London for a better life, rather than wanting to move to London because I wanted to suck dick, which was the truth of the matter. Then when I came home, I made this massive fuss about hating London and wanting to come home to Scotland. That’s when I started training with my father to be a tailor.”

“You were eighteen?”

“Nineteen, by that point,” Doug said, nodding. “It took me another five years to come out.”

“Shit,” George said. “Same as me.”

“Close enough.”

“Does Alex know this?”

“Some of it. He puts me on a pedestal, Alex does. We adore each other, the feeling is truly mutual. I’m not sure how he’d react to knowing how scared I was back in those days. It was very socially acceptable to hate gay people. There were those who said the government shouldn’t be trying to cure the disease at all. Let the gays die out, they said. Let the gays all kill each other off. The world would be a better place if they did. The ironic thing, of course, was that Edinburgh had higher rates of HIV infection than London at the time.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes. It was a pretty even split between the intravenous drug users and the homosexuals. It wasn’t until the late eighties, early nineties that attitudes started to shift.”

“I wasn’t born ’til eighty-seven.”

“Fuck off,” Doug said jovially.

“By the time we were getting sex education, no one really took AIDS seriously. People were being cured of it, you know?”

“I have never had sex in my life without using a condom,” Doug said gravely.

“Are you serious?”

“Absolutely. And I’ve had a lot of sex,” he added with a wicked grin. “Those few months in London left deep scars, George. I think I’ve forgotten what point I was trying to make.”

George snorted. “There was a point to all this?”

“Oh yes. Coming out.”

“I already did that.”

“There’s being out, darling, and living your life truthfully. I’m not saying you need to turn into me, heaven forbid. But hiding who you are, those half-truths and evasive stories will come back to haunt you sooner or later. You’ll lose friends.”

“Great,” George muttered. “It’s not like I have loads of those to start with.”

“People will look at you differently. It’s what happens. But my God, it feels good.”

“Did Alex really tell you to come meet me and force me out of the closet?”

The tingles of irritation George had been ignoring started to fizz around his spine again.

“Force you?” Doug said. “Heavens, no. Never.” He knocked back the last of his gin and gave George a pointed look. “Are you ready for the next part?”

“What’s the next part?”

Doug’s smile grew sly. “The fun part.”

Chapter Six

“A
RE
YOU
fuckin’ kidding me?”

They’d left the bar and headed down the hill, underneath one of Edinburgh’s magnificent bridges to a fairly dodgy-looking door with a glowing sign. Now George stood outside one of Edinburgh’s famous saunas, arms folded across his chest.

“Come on, it’s a rite of passage,” Doug said. “It’s not like you have to
do
anything. Just go in. Experience the experience.”

“No one’s going to try and suck my dick, are they?” George asked, too loudly, apparently, because he earned himself matching glares from two little old ladies walking past.

“Almost certainly,” Doug said. He seemed to be enjoying himself, the bastard. “Just tell them no if you’re not interested.”

“Alex is going to lose his shit.”

“Forget Alex,” Doug sighed. “He’s the one who told me to take you out, show you the ropes.”

“And sweaty old man balls?”

“Watch it with the old man talk,” Doug said sharply. “Are you coming in or not?”

“Fine,” George said.

He let Doug lead the way. Doug, at least, seemed comfortable sauntering into a place like this on a Saturday afternoon. He pushed open the heavy wooden door, then held it open so George could step into the dim hallway beyond.

“Afternoon, Angus,” he said brightly to a man sitting behind a small desk. He was puffing on a nicotine vaporizer and watching the rugby on a small, ancient TV. “Angus isn’t his real name,” Doug said to George under his breath. “We call him that ’cause he’s beefy.”

“Who’s the kid?” Angus grunted.

He was probably in his late fifties, George decided. His hair was longish, pulled back into a stubby ponytail. There was a scrappy soul patch on his chin and his T-shirt was stretched tight over his impressive belly.

“A friend of a friend,” Doug said, keeping his tone vague. “I’ll cover us both.”

“Tenner,” Angus said. He took Doug’s money, tucked it into a plastic lockbox, then turned back to the game.

“Come on,” Doug said.

They pushed through a swinging door that led to a dimly lit hallway. George followed Doug, who moved through the building with an air of someone who knew his way around.

“Private rooms on the right,” he said, gesturing vaguely at doors with numbers painted in black, peeling paint. “Cost fifteen quid for an hour, if you think you can last that long. Changing room in here.”

It was like the changing rooms at the gym, which was reassuringly familiar. Cream tiles, wooden benches bisecting the room, lockers on either side. The keys were attached to rubber wrist-bands, each printed with a number. Familiar.

“You get your towels from over there,” Doug said. He was already at a locker, foot propped on a bench to untie his shoes. “And flip-flops, if you want them. You want them,” he added darkly.

“Okay.”

“Showers are at the back for after. Make sure you dump your towel in the big hamper when you’re done or Angus will come for you.”

“Got it.”

“And George?”

“Yeah?”

“Most take their clothes off when they get inside.”

“Oh,” George said, sure he was now blushing.

He moved to a locker and started to strip off. No one else was in the changing room, but plenty of the lockers were missing their keys, so he guessed the place was well occupied. He folded his clothes as they came off, layering them in the bottom of the locker, then crossing to get a towel to wrap around his waist before going back to take his boxers off. He didn’t dare look at Doug, sure the older man would be laughing at his prudishness. He had spent enough time getting naked in front of other men in locker rooms before. That wasn’t the issue. None of those guys had wanted to fuck him.

“Ready?” Doug asked.

When George turned around, he too had a towel wrapped around his waist, the key to his locker on his ankle, and a pair of generic black flip-flops on his feet. His chest was nice, George decided. Strong and toned, with a flurry of white and gray hairs dancing over the skin. Nice.

“So, your more vanilla activities are downstairs,” Doug said as he led them out of the changing room. “Sauna, steam room, Jacuzzi, showers, and the private rooms. Upstairs there’s the cinema—and they’re not showing
The Hunger Games
, darling—the glory holes and the maze, the fuck swing….”

George choked on his breath.

“Let’s stay downstairs, for your first time, at least,” Doug said, patting George on the arm reassuringly.

They rounded a corner, which opened out into a large, echoing room. The Jacuzzi was set in the middle, sunk into the floor, and low, tiled benches made their way around two sides of the room. A viewing platform, George decided. Three men stretched out in the tub, and another two sat on the benches. At the back of the room were two doors that he guessed led to the sauna and steam room.

He followed Doug’s lead and pulled his towel off, folded it, then put his flip-flops on top and set the pile on the tiled bench. The other men in the Jacuzzi had budged up so they could all fit in.

“Nice catch, Douglas,” one man said in a low voice that was thickly laced with Glasgow.

“Not mine,” Doug said easily. “Friend of a friend. I’m initiating him.”

That earned filthy chuckles from the other three.

“George,” George said, nodding his greeting, hoping his face wasn’t flushed with embarrassment.

“Andy.”

“Marcus.”

“Dom.”

“Nice to meet you,” George murmured.

“Oh, he’s darling,” Andy said. “Single?”

“No,” George said quickly, making them laugh again.

“Shame.”

The hot water jets from the Jacuzzi were aimed at all the perfect spots in his back, and despite his apprehension, George felt himself starting to relax. Doug immediately started a conversation with Marcus about something to do with the price of tartan, meaning George could look around and take it all in.

He was almost disappointed at the lack of salacious activity going on around him. Everyone was talking, or lying back in the warm water, or just being normal. George reassessed what he thought would be going on in an Edinburgh gay bathhouse on a Saturday afternoon. Probably more sex.

“Have you seen Lou recently?” Doug asked Marcus.

“He’s here!” the other man exclaimed. “Haven’t seen him for a while either.”

“Upstairs?”

“Yep. Had a fist in his ass the last time I saw him. Apparently he’s working on taking it to the elbow.”

“Jesus,” George muttered. His balls had retreated up into his body, despite the warm water.

The others laughed again.

“Do you want to go watch, sweetheart?” Andy asked. “I’ll hold your hand. Help you get it in too, if you like.”

“I’m okay, thanks,” George said.

“Not one for fisting?”

“No, thank you.”

“Shame,” Andy drawled again. “You’ve got nice hands.”

“George here was a late bloomer,” Doug said conversationally.

“Oh?”

“I came out last year,” he said, rolling his shoulders in the warm water. “To some people, anyway.”

“Not all the way out?”

“Not yet.”

“I told him he needs to do something about that,” Doug said.

“I will. When I’m ready.”

“Things ain’t what they used to be,” Dom told George. “I can’t remember how many times the council have tried to shut this place down. There’s fucking condoms everywhere these days. You can’t fucking move without falling over a condom.”

“Is that a bad thing?” George asked.

“I’m HIV positive,” Dom said wryly. “You’re asking the wrong question.”

“Oh,” George said, startled. “I’ve never met anyone before. Who was positive, I mean.”

“Wow, he is green. It’s fine, kid. I won’t bite.”

“I’m twenty-eight.”

“That’s definitely still a kid,” Dom told him, laughing. “To us old men, anyway. When was the last time you got tested?”

“About ten years ago,” George said.

The others turned to him with matching expressions of horror.

“Go get tested,” Doug said, poking his arm emphatically. “Right now.”

“I haven’t been with that many people,” he protested.

“One is enough,” Dom said. “One is plenty.”

“But I don’t bottom.”

“You can get herpes from a blow job, kid. Seriously. Go get tested.”

“Okay.”

It was easier to agree than to continue arguing, especially with these men who seemed to think they knew better than him. For a few minutes, they settled back into companionable silence, the conversation of the other men on the benches floating through the thick, steamy air. George sank farther down into the hot water, closed his eyes, and let his head fall back. This was delicious.

Doug tapped his arm. “Steam room?”

“Sure,” George said. He pulled himself up out of the hot water and gathered up his towel and flip-flops. Doug only threw the white towel over his shoulder this time, walking naked to the steam room. George decided to follow his lead, and clenched his ass to show it off as he walked away from the tub.

The steam room was the old-fashioned kind, with low wooden benches and hot coals, rather than artificial heat. There were four levels of benches, and more men in here than George had expected. The top level was full, with two men stretched out full length along the bench, lying on their backs. George set his towel down on the wood, cautious of burning his balls, then sat down on the lowest level.

“You doing okay, kid?” Doug asked. He’d taken the next level up, stretching out on his back.

“Yeah. But I won’t last long in here.”

“Pussy,” Doug told him, teasing.

George chuckled. “Your friends are nice.”

Doug made some noise George couldn’t interpret. “We had to get out of there before Dom launched into one of his gay history lectures.”

“Gay history?”

“That’s why,” Doug laughed. “Your question alone would have set him off. HIV, darling. The Stonewall riots. Gay rights, gay adoption, gay marriage.”

“I don’t know much about any of that,” George admitted.

“And if Dom knew, you’d never get rid of him. That man could talk the hind legs off a donkey. He’s a gay history lecturer at the university. He lives and breathes that stuff and will crack out one of his seminars at any opportunity.”