Page 54 of Pieces of Me

Byron nodded, turning to rush out the door, leaving Scott in blessed peace. The basketball combatants were still calling playful insults to each other as they showered, ignoring Scott completely, to his relief. He dawdled over toweling off, getting dressed, and even took the time to use the blow dryer on his thick hair, arranging it into perfect waves.

When he emerged a full half hour later, he was amused to see Byron dutifully waiting for him, perched on a chair in the lobby. “I thought you might have given up on me,” he teased, chuckling when Byron gave a fervent declaration of “Never!”

They strolled out to Scott’s car, the darkness of the parking lot creating an intimacy that was perfect for Scott’s purposes. When they reached the convertible, Scott clicked it unlocked and tossed his gym bag inside, reaching for Byron to pull him into a hot, messy kiss. Byron clutched his shoulders and groaned, pressing closer.

Scott tore his lips free, kissing his way up Byron’s jaw to his ear, where he traced his tongue over the shell, nipping at the lobe.

“You’re cute, and you got me hot,” he breathed. “Suck me off, sweetheart, and you’ll make my day.”

“Yes, I want to,” Byron panted, and they climbed into the car. In a flash Scott had his pants open, his T-shirt pulled up, and a condom on. Byron tried to kiss him again, but Scott threaded the fingers of one hand in his hair and pushed his face down where he wanted it. The blow job was clumsy and enthusiastic, slobbery but with lots of hand action, and soon Scott was arching his back off the seat as he came satisfyingly hard.

Byron sat back with eager eyes and swollen lips, and Scott brushed his fingers over his cheek. “So good,” he crooned, encouraging Byron to finish himself, leaning over and growling dirty things in his ear until Byron came in a messy rush all over his hand and stomach.

Scott handed him a wet wipe from a canister he kept in the glove compartment. He stripped the full condom off and wrapped it in another wipe, depositing the whole thing in a plastic grocery store bag hanging from the console.

“I have to take off now,” Scott said when they were both put back to rights, and he leaned across Byron and pushed the passenger door open. “Out you go, okay?”

Byron climbed out and bent to peer inside. “See you in a little while, at the club? If I give you my number, will you call me?” he asked hopefully, and Scott winked at him.

“You know it, babe.” He reached over and pulled the door shut without another word, slammed the car into gear and roared off.

✩✩✩

“Get on up out of here!”

“Fuck you, bitch!”

Rylan glanced over toward the voices, which were getting louder and more heated.

“I know you’s not a real woman, so why should I pay for what I ain’t gettin’? Maybe I want some hot, tight pussy? Got any of that?”

“You gettin’ plenty, asswipe, so don’t ever go thinkin’ you gettin’ your tiny dick sucked for motherfuckin’ free.”

Rylan remained leaning against the wall, not interfering; at least he wouldn’t unless fists started flying. It was wash, rinse, repeat―the scene pretty much the same as yesterday and the day before that and the day before that.

He sighed. The mark of a good photojournalist was patience, but patience alone didn’t sell photo-essays or put money in the bank. His savings gone, Scott’s offer of a possible job at the club was a godsend, and if nothing happened out here again, maybe Rylan would have something to fall back on until he could think of another angle of approach. If not, well, it was time to make the rounds of the department store photography studios, although the thought of waving rattles around to get screaming babies to smile made Rylan want to cringe.

“Fine, you ugly cunt. Go fuck yourself.”

“Better than you doin’ it!”

The altercation was finally over, the wannabe john slinking off into the darkness, hands shoved in his pockets. He sneered at Rylan as he passed. “What you starin’ at, fag? Take a picture; it lasts longer.”

“Sure thing.” Rylan held up his Nikon, and the man yelped and scurried away.

“Ha! Run, pendejo! Run home to wifey-poo! Ain’t nobody gettin’ their dick sucked tonight!” The woman was hooting with laughter, her husky shouts and taunts following the man as he beat feet out of there. Rylan shook his head, ready to pack it in for the night. It was getting late, and he wanted to get to the club and see about that job.

“Hey.”

He looked up from fussing with his camera, startled to see the woman now standing in front of him, her arms crossed over her chest. “Hi,” he replied cautiously, slowing down his movements like a hunter afraid to startle a deer.

“So ’zactly why you out here every night again?”

She knew damn well what Rylan was doing out here; he distinctly remembered introducing himself to her the first week he started showing up, but he was happy she was talking to him, so much that he impulsively said, “Buy you a cup of coffee? I’ll tell you all about it.”

The woman considered him, looking him up and down, absently rubbing her bare arms. Maybe it was the way he’d scared the guy off with his camera, or maybe it was because she felt sorry for him standing there night after night. Or maybe she wanted a fucking cup of coffee. Whatever it was, she nodded and tottered next to him on her platform sandals as Rylan headed in the direction of a nearby diner, frantically calculating how much cash he had left in his wallet.

“Ooh boy,” she said under her breath as Rylan opened the door and gestured for her to precede him inside. “This ain’t gonna be pretty.”