Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 66022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
If the conversation managed to last more than twenty minutes without Will succumbing to boredom, and if the guy was good-looking or interesting enough to capture his imagination, he would end up in bed with him before the night was over.
“I’ve never been here before,” the man offered. “I’m not from New York. Just here on business.”
“So I guessed.”
The man held out his hand. “I’m Andrew. Andrew Cunningham-Winchester, at your service.”
“That’s quite a mouthful. I’m Will,” he added, shaking the man’s offered hand. “Will Spencer.”
“Spencer, hmm?” Andrew’s smile broadened considerably. “Are you related to the British nobility of that name?”
“I seriously doubt it.” Will laughed. “My great grandfather’s name was Spelzinksi or something like that when he arrived at Ellis Island with one suitcase and a hundred Zlotys sewn into the hem of his jacket. The immigration officer asked him how he’d like to be Spencer from now on and he smiled and nodded, with no idea what the guy was saying. Or so the family lore goes.”
“You don’t say,” Andrew answered, lifting an eyebrow. “A nugget in the melting pot that is America, eh?” Leaning close, Andrew’s voice suddenly dropped into a low, suggestive register. “I’m going to go down and check out this pit everyone’s talking about.” He looked Will slowly up and down, his intention clear. “Care to join me?”
Will thought about it. He was mildly curious to see the setup. Francois and Paul had gone on about it at some length as they’d driven into the city—detailing the sumptuous feather mattresses covered in swaths of velvet and lots of gorgeous naked men, muscles shining with sweat and body oil, waiting on hands and knees…
He doubted the actual experience was quite so exotic. These sorts of scenes tended more along the lines of horny, lonely men with hairy asses desperately humping one another in corners, their eyes squeezed shut as they rutted and grunted in their lust. He’d never personally gone in for public scenes, though he had nothing against sex with strangers.
Still, he was here, after all, in the trendy underground gay club of the month, so why not at least check it out? He shrugged. “Why not?”
He downed his drink and followed Andrew toward the back of the room to a large swinging door. They pushed their way through and descended a rather steep staircase. The music here was softer, the room backlit by wall sconces designed to look like flickering candles. Will spied Paul and Francois in a corner, Francois’ pants already around his knees, his cock in Paul’s mouth, a third man still fully clothed standing behind Francois attempting to kiss his neck.
The room was crowded, the air ripe with the odor of spilled semen, male sweat and a riot of mingled colognes. Men in various stages of undress were huddled in groups, gyrating and groaning. “Reminds me of a place in Amsterdam I used to frequent,” Andrew said quietly. Will startled, having almost forgotten Andrew’s presence beside him. He turned to him, watching as Andrew took off his jacket and looked around for somewhere to hang it. Hooks had been provided along one wall of the room, already heavy with jackets, shirts and pants. Will found himself wondering if people sometimes ended up with the wrong clothing when they went to retrieve their things.
Andrew returned and pulled Will into an embrace. He’d taken off his shirt as well. His chest was broad and covered with a mat of reddish frizz. Will could feel his erection pressing hard against his thigh. Shorter than Will by several inches, he lifted his face, bringing it as close as he could to Will’s, his lips parted beneath the curling mustache, his intent clear. His breath smelled like stale whiskey, cigarettes and onions. Will pulled away, unable to hide his flinch of disgust, suddenly yearning so intensely for Jack he felt faint with it.
“What’s the matter?” Andrew said, knitting his brow. “Is something wrong?”
“I’m sorry. I need some air. This isn’t my thing. Catch ya later.”
Stepping over three men engaged in some sort of complex maneuvering that looked more like a game of Twister than any sex Will was familiar with, he hurried up the stairs and back into the club proper.
Paul and Francois remained in the pit for God knew how long. Andrew, it seemed, had also found a partner or partners, as he too had yet to reemerge. Will glanced at his watch. It was nearly midnight. What an idiot he’d been to do this. Once upon a time he would have drowned his sorrows in meaningless sex, but he found he couldn’t do that anymore. Or rather, he didn’t want to.
He thought about Jack, alone in his house, or worse, still being harangued and interrogated by his outraged offspring. He shouldn’t have left him. He shouldn’t have abandoned him as soon as the emotional going got tough.