Placing Out (6 page)

George was my favorite. Not only did he have a lot of money he liked giving me, but he was sweet and made me feel like I was more than a whore. Not many do that. Most like to remind me they're paying for me and they can do what they want. I met George after I'd been in town a couple of years. By that time I'd learned enough to keep men like George happy for a long time.

He wasn't the best looking guy who fucked me. I could never imagine he was Valentino, even though he had the same dark hair. He also had a wife and three kids back in San Bernardino. Came into L.A. twice a month and stayed four days, three nights he spent with me in his hotel--usually the Biltmore, my favorite place. I'd stay with him the whole four days, waiting in his room or shopping with the money he gave me. Those were always the best days.

The guy didn't have a big dick, and he was pudgy and dark--Greek, I think he said once. But he knew how to kiss and always smelled good. He knew how to laugh, too. When we weren't in bed we had fun. More fun than I've ever had with anyone. He called me his Golden Boy.

I always looked forward to his visits. When he called me one Friday morning in February, I stood in the hall on the public phone dancing from foot to foot on the cold floor. Icy winds and rain had brought the coldest weather so far this year. I remembered the terrible sub zero winters in Nebraska, but I'd been in warmth for so long I'd forgotten how miserable it was.

George distracted me. "I'm just getting in the room now. Are you free today?"

I almost said, "For you, always." But I had to be practical, I needed that money to live. Instead, I smiled. "Yes. When do you want me to come?"

"Six. The Biltmore. The usual room," George lowered his voice. "I'm looking forward to seeing you again."

This time I laughed. "Me, too."

The usual room was the eleventh floor overlooking Pershing Square. We would get room service and watch the lights and people who used the park day and night. George, an oil executive, spent his days in meetings. We never talked about his work or his home life. The first bored me, the second, surprisingly, made me jealous. Not an emotion I was used to.

I knew even if George wasn't married, we could never be together. That kind of thing didn't happen, even in Hollywood, where they made fantasies real every day.

"Wonderful. So six then? We can have a drink in the Gold Room before we go upstairs."

"I'll be there."

I hung up and hurried back to my small room. This was the only time I wished I didn't share a bath, but that would mean spending a lot more money on a place and I didn't want to do that. I knew I was living off something that wouldn't last. Once I was no longer anyone's Golden Boy I'd better have something to fall back on. The money I saved now would help me do that. Maybe I'd open a suit store, help other men dress well.

Dressed in my newest suit and bowler, I took a cab to the Biltmore. I could have walked, I lived close enough, but showing up in a cab made my entrance more impressive. The doorman greeted me by name and I made my way to the Gold Room. The whole Biltmore was a golden place. I was always awed by all the marble and gilt and people dressed in thousands of dollars worth of furs and jewels. All the stars I adored came and went all the time. I was always sorry I didn't have anybody at home to write to. The stories I could have told them.

I found George at our usual table, toward the back. It was early, so the place was mostly empty. They knew George, so we got our drinks without a problem. He had introduced me to mimosas when we first met and it's all I drank when I was with George.

After the waiter left with our orders, George reached under the table and squeezed my knee. I grinned at him and squeezed back.

When the waiter returned, George kept his hands on the table and we didn't look at each other when we accepted our menus. When our drinks were set in front of us, I sipped and finally smiled at him again.

"You spoil me. I never used to have such expensive tastes."

"A boy like you deserves the best. Didn't I always tell you I'd make sure you got it?"

As long as we were lovers, of course. I had no illusions. If he chose to end it, there would be no more champagne dinners and suites at the Biltmore.

He ordered for both of us. The truth is, he had helped me acquire a more refined appetite and an appreciation of things I'd never heard of before. Like caviar and escargot. When he told me what they were I nearly got sick. Fish eggs and
snails
? That was disgusting. But he convinced me otherwise and now I enjoyed them.

We didn't rush dinner, but we didn't linger at the table either. Everyone at the Biltmore was discreet. I guess they had to be, with the things some of their celebrity clients got into. I don't know if they knew what we were. If they did, no one ever showed they cared.

We reached our room soon after nine. I headed for the shower immediately. He'd already laid out everything. From the beginning he had insisted I be as clean for him inside as out. Once I finished, I wrapped myself in the silk dragon robe he bought me soon after our affair became permanent. He was already under the covers. George loved my showing off, but he never did the same.

I approached the bed slowly, one hand on the sash, the other inside, already stroking my hard prick. At a nod from him I loosened the tie and let the robe fall open. I went back to stroking myself, using my thumb to spread my pre-cum over the swelling head. Now the metal cock ring was visible. Another gift.

George's hand was under the sheets, masturbating. His gaze was locked on mine. My robe fell off me when I stepped forward. Naked now, I stood beside the bed, my fully erect dick at eye level. Without taking his hand off his own prick, he reached over and gripped my balls. I shifted my stance to give him better access. He had always been entranced by my balls. It took me a while to realize mine were smaller than most men's. I had a good sized dick, close to six inches, but my balls were undersized.

I closed my eyes at the sensation of his fingers delicately tugging me, slipping one finger up into my ass. I sighed when he pulled out. Opening my eyes, I found him watching me. His face was flushed. My heart galloped. Both of us eager for the night to come, but refusing to rush.

He liked to watch me masturbate. Under his watchful eyes, I scooped up a few drops of pre-cum and massaged my nipples, feeling them tighten and swell under my touch. It was easy to let my mind wander down paths of pure pleasure, knowing he watched and grew more aroused. But as much as I wanted to shut my eyes and let go, I kept them open. George insisted. He wanted us both to see.

I slid both hands down my rib cage, over my flat stomach, my muscles bunching and trembling in anticipation. My dick was so hard it almost touched my belly. I avoided it as I moved past to my upper thighs. With one hand, I cupped my own balls, tugging them roughly.

George reached over and attached the thin metal chain to the cock ring. The chain split into a Y and I released my balls and attached the clamps to my nipples. Pain pierced me like a shot of electricity straight down to my prick. The pain quickly became pleasure and I bit back a groan. Another rule. I had to keep silent. At least until he let me know otherwise.

Lastly, he wrapped my wrists in silk ties and I climbed onto the bed he had just vacated. I lay on my back, staring at the sculptured ceiling while he secured me to the headboard. Now I was spread-eagle, legs bent and open. George slid between them. His dick probed my asshole and I arched my hips for him. He rose above me, watching my face as he worked his thick prick inside me.

Only when he was tight inside me did he start moving. I humped my hips up, urging him on, my breath coming in short gasps each time he rocked into me. His movements grew more frantic.

I was losing control, but I wasn't allowed to just yet. Biting my lip hard enough to draw blood, I concentrated on staring into his eyes. Only when he closed his, battering me and moaning did I let go. I thrust up to get him in deeper and, with a final moan, he buried himself into my gut. I howled and climaxed all over my belly.

He collapsed on top of me, almost immediately rolling off. He untied me and removed the cock ring from my flaccid dick. Finally, he pulled my damp body against his. I stroked his back.

"Go clean up," he said. "I'll get us a bottle. Mumm's?"

"Perfect." I took my time sauntering toward the luxurious bathroom, where I showered again and put on yet another robe. This one leopard patterned. He donned a matching robe and we moved to the living area of the suite at the same time as the bellhop delivered our champagne in a bucket of ice. We already had the champagne glasses.

He filled two and we sat together on the gold trimmed settee, my legs curled up while I lay against him. We drank and laughed about the latest Hollywood gossip and the mess going on in Washington. I didn't think about the fact that this was only for a few short days.

I took brief refuge in imagining, for a little while, that we were a forever couple. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the dream as the hours slipped away.

Los Angeles, March 1, 1933

There were no union heads to bust. Roach, knowing the boys were getting restless in their inactivity, scheduled another pansy club raid. This time it would be the Black Kat. Roach laid it out an hour before entry.

"Get as many of them as you can. We got two wagons coming to pick them up, plus a couple of photographers and reporters from the
Times
gonna tag along. So look pretty, boys, we're gonna be famous."

Six of them stormed the guarded entrance. Roach took down the doorman, unlike Peaches, a bruiser in a short sleeve shirt showing off mounds of muscles. They didn't do him any good against Roach's nightstick and sap. Head bloody, puking blood, he went down under the surreal flashing lights of two cameras and a half-dozen men swarming inside the club like an attack of sewer rats.

Ben was in the middle. He swung his baton with the same vigor as the others, he just made sure most of them missed their mark. With blood everywhere, screams and cries of rage and fear, no one counted the number of times anyone's weapon hit flesh.

The cops were as wild-eyed as the bleeding patrons by the time it was done. Under the frenzied flashes of the photographers and the clubs that kept coming down on bowed heads, it looked like a scene out of Bedlam.

As covered in blood and vomit as the beaten pansies, Ben fought the urge to add his own vomit to the melee. Most of the other cops' eyes blazed with dark glee and they only put their clubs away when Roach barked an order and they herded the subdued deviants out into the night.

Ben found himself next to one of them. Only this one wasn't the least bit broken. He stood straight and tall, meeting Ben's puzzled gaze with quiet strength. He barely came up to Ben's shoulder, but he stood him down as though daring him to start in again with his club. Under the blood from a cut above his left eye he still looked beautiful. Golden hair and skin, it was clear his clothes were expensive and he wore them with an air of familiarity. Almost feminine, there was nothing weak about his defiance. Some executive out slumming. Ben grabbed his arm and pulled him along.

"You arresting me?"

"What the fuck do you think?" Ben couldn't help it... he admired the guy's spunk. "You're breaking I don't know how many laws."

"Doing what?" the golden boy snapped. "Standing around talking to people is illegal these days?"

"It is when it's in a place like that."

"Like what?"

Ben didn't believe it. "A goddamn pansy bar, what else? Plus, it's engaging in the illegal sale of alcohol as prohibited by Section--"

"Title II, Section 3, no person shall manufacture, sell, barter, transport... " The guy smiled at Ben's astonishment. "Don't think a queen can have a brain? Read?" He rattled his cuffs. "I wasn't doing anything in there except having a conversation with some friends."

"You can tell that to the judge."

"Maybe I'll see if I can get Judge Harris." He raised his chin and smiled. His teeth were perfect. "I'm sure he'll be happy to see me again. Even though his next appointment isn't until next week."

"Who the hell are you?"

"Dylan," he said. "Dylan Daniels. But the judge likes to call me his honeybear. Usually when I've got his dick down my throat. Hey, you think that reporter wants to talk to me?"

Ben turned in horror to see the
Times
reporter bearing down on them. Without thinking Ben spun Daniels around and pushed him through the thinning mob of men being packed into the two waiting paddy wagons. Only when they broke free in the alley, leading to the Black Kat, did he slow.

"You don't really know the judge, do you?" Ben didn't know the man, personally, but he did know Harris was running for a Senate seat and he was hated by the
Times
and loved by Hearst, who had a whole pro-Harris machine in motion. This was one piece of shit he did not want to step into.

"Of course I do. We meet up once every couple of weeks. He has this cute little out-of-the-way motel we go to. For an old guy he's pretty athletic. He especially likes me sucking--"

"God, shut up." Ben felt dizzy. The image of this beautiful man on his knees in front of him left him breathless. "Who the hell are you?"

"I already told you."

"That's not what I mean."

"I know." Daniels leaned against a brick wall. They could still hear the occasional outburst from the mob they had left. A scream was cut short. "Tell me, copper. You ever feel bad about it? You think it's okay to beat some poor guy to a pulp because he has a different itch than you?"

"It's illegal. If you didn't engage in this sort of thing, you'd never find yourself in jail like that bunch will be. Like you will be in about thirty seconds."

"Drinking's illegal, too, but you and I both know half the clowns in city hall do it. I'll bet so do a lot of your boys. They probably cheat on their wives, too, and break a whole lot of the other ten commandments."

"And that makes what you are okay?" Ben couldn't believe he was arguing with this guy. If he wasn't going to bust him, why wasn't he letting him go? Tell him to get his sorry ass out of here? God, he wasn't really physically drawn to this perfect golden boy, was he? This wasn't happening.