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Richie didn’t think he looked like a queer or a fag. He was tall, dark, and had smooth olive skin. He had strong features and walked with a heavy step. He did a lot of heavy lifting in the maintenance department and he’d built up muscles without even trying but he believed what he was told. He got engaged to a neighborhood girl, Rosie Paganan,o and he played the game for as long as he could. And when he couldn’t take it any longer, he wound up breaking off the engagement and moving out of his mother and father’s house for good. He moved into a large apartment building in Parkchester, with two other guys who were just like him that he’d met at a bar.
Richie knew what Brad Lindsay’s life was like. He knew why Brad had gotten married. He suspected Brad had been pressured into marrying a woman just as he had, because Brad didn’t know what else to do. Richie knew how difficult it was to kiss a woman and make love to a woman while dreaming about a man at the same time. The only difference between them was that Richie had seen other options and Brad hadn’t.
When Richie climbed the front stoop of the strange townhouse in Manhattan, he stepped into the vestibule and buzzed apartment number forty-two. He glanced down at the small flower arrangement in his left hand and smiled. He’d never gone anywhere in his life empty-handed. And even though this was a cheap bouquet from a corner grocery store he’d passed on the way, at least it was something pretty.
The intercom clicked and Brad asked, “Yes?”
Richie leaned forward. “It’s me. I’m here.”
“Come on up.”
It was one of those walk-ups, on the fourth floor. But Richie didn’t mind. He took the steps two at a time without stopping to catch his breath once. When he reached the fourth floor, he turned left at the top of the steps and glanced at the numbers on the doors. There was a middle aged woman with short curly blond hair standing outside apartment number forty-four. She was holding a bag of groceries and trying to unlock her door.
Richie noticed the apartment next to hers was forty-two, so he stopped and said, “Let me help.” Then he took the keys, opened the door for her, and smiled.
“Thank you so much,” the woman said. She looked him up and down and smiled. She glanced at the bouquet of flowers and said, “Aren’t those lovely. Are they for someone special?”
Richie smiled. He could tell she was the nosey type. People in small buildings like this wanted to know everything. This is why he liked his large apartment complex in Parkchester: no one cared one way or the other. “They are for a friend,” he said. He didn’t go into detail. And he didn’t move until she was inside and she’d closed the door. He didn’t want her watching him knock on the door of this strange apartment and seeing Brad answer.
When it was safe, Richie knocked on door number fortytwo and Brad opened it. Brad smiled and stepped aside and gestured for him to enter. “I hope you didn’t have any trouble finding the place.”
Richie shrugged. He handed Brad the flowers and said, “I know the city pretty well. It was easy.” Then he glanced around and saw older furniture and a TV from the mid 1950’s. The walls were covered in some kind of old fashioned cabbage rose paper and the trim was thick and dark and dismal, with ornate carvings and old fashioned scrolls. It looked as if whoever lived here had picked pieces up from second hand stores and bargain basements. Everything was either someone else’s cast off or something that should have been thrown away ten years ago. But it was clean and there was a faint smell of spicy masculine cologne lingering in the background. There wasn’t a speck of dust; the pillows were arranged neatly on the threadbare sofa, and not a cobweb in sight. Whoever lived here didn’t have a lot of money, but they were definitely organized.
Brad closed the door and walked up behind Richie. He thanked him for the flowers and brought them into the small kitchenette. While he searched for something to put the flowers in, he said, “Make yourself at home.”
Richie said, “Okay,” and then he glanced at the bedroom. This was one of those railroad flats, where one room leads right into another, and the bedroom was right off the living room area. The bedroom furniture wasn’t much better than the living room. But the bed was covered with a white chenille spread and the pillows had been tucked in perfectly. He almost laughed. It reminded him of his grandmother’s bedroom.
“Can I get you anything?” Brad asked from the kitchen.
“No, I’m fine,” Richie said. He knew there were two ways to go in a situation like this. He could pretend to be innocent and let Brad make all the moves. Or he could be bold and stop wasting time.
He decided on the latter and walked into the bedroom. He knew they probably didn’t have that much time: a couple of hours at the most. So he kicked off his work boots and pulled off his industrial socks. Then he unzipped his brown work pants and unbuttoned his brown work shirt. By the time Brad walked into the bedroom, with a small jar of petroleum jelly in his right hand, Richie was on the bed, totally naked, with his erection resting on his smooth flat stomach. He spread his legs and smiled.
Brad smiled and rubbed his palms together. “You aren’t shy, are you?” He looked at Richie’s cock and licked his lips.
Richie spread his legs a little wider and reached down to stroke his dick. He lifted all nine inches and pointed it in Brad’s direction. “I like you. And I know we don’t have much time.” Then he rolled over on his stomach, arched his back, and looked over his shoulder. “And I think I know what you like.”
Although Richie had always been truly versatile when it came to sex with men, he had a feeling Brad was the aggressive type who always had to be on top. The married guys were usually this way. They seemed more comfortable rationalizing having sex with men as long as they didn’t suck dick or get fucked. This way they weren’t as queer as the guys who were on the bottom. They were just studs who liked to fuck a tight hole. This kind of thinking made no sense to Richie. If you were attracted to guys it didn’t matter what you did in bed. In his opinion the best lovers were, indeed, versatile. But Richie had learned to play the game in order to make men like Brad happy.
Brad removed all his clothes and climbed up on Richie’s back. “You have a nice ass,” he said. “So nice and round and firm.” He moved his hips slowly and rubbed up and down.
Richie spread his legs wider and kissed Brad’s hand. “You feel good, too.”
