A Madness Most Discreet Read online

  The man glanced between us, suspicious that this was some kind of shakedown.

  “You’re not shy, are you?” Arden goaded. He placed his thigh between the man’s legs and rubbed it against his crotch. “Think of it as a souvenir.”

  “Yeah, all right,” he said at last. “You’re prettier than the usual riff-raff who come through here.”

  “Cash up front,” Arden said, eyes flinty.

  “I’ll have to stop by a machine.”

  “We’ll meet you at yours.”

  The man scribbled the name of his hotel and room number on a bar napkin and passed it to Arden.

  “Twenty minutes.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder where a few other men were skulking around a pool table. “Got to get rid of my boys.”

  “They’re not invited,” Arden said, probably thinking the same thing—there were too many of them.

  “They’re not interested.”

  Arden smiled, flashing his gap tooth. “More for you then.”

  Back in the car, I tried again to talk Arden out of it. “We can go back to the cabin right now. There’s nothing you need to prove to me.”

  “You need to understand.” Arden’s normally expressive mouth was set in a grim line. “To see it firsthand.”

  “I don’t judge you for the arrangement you have with your benefactor. Or the others.”

  “But you should.” Arden pointed to a motel named El Camino, two stories with a breezeway on the second floor, like any other economy shelter you might find right off the highway. “There it is. Get the money first. You’re only going to record it, not participate, unless you feel like it.” Arden looked at me, but I was too stunned to give an answer either way. I was trapped in a car hurtling over a faulty bridge. “I’ll tell you when it’s time to go. I can handle some rough treatment, but if he hits my face, step in.”

  “He’d better not.” My anger flared at the thought of it. And a sick twist of terror that I might not be able to protect him.

  Arden laid a hand on my arm. “It’ll be fine.” And the thing left unsaid, I’ve done this before.

  I stewed in my seat, upset that I couldn’t control this rapidly escalating situation. “Are those your usual rates?”

  “In a place like that, yeah. Those men don’t have a lot of cash to burn. In the city, I could get a lot more, especially if I dress up. Or if it was pre-arranged.”

  “And your benefactor.” I didn’t need to spell it out. Arden knew what I was getting at.

  “That’s more like a salaried position.”

  “And the work is the same?”

  “It’s a little more sophisticated but essentially, yes.”

  What did he mean by “sophisticated?” I didn’t ask.

  The john pulled in a few minutes later in a beat-up pick-up truck. I noticed a brace around his left knee and a slight limp to his gait as he climbed out and sauntered across the parking lot. I assumed from the way he was dressed that he worked construction or a trade.

  “There he is. Let’s go.”

  Arden approached the man, using the same slinky walk he’d adopted at the bar. He left his jacket in the car even though the temperature was dropping. The john looked almost surprised, as if he hadn’t expected Arden to show, and handed me the money without looking me directly in the eyes. Five crisp twenties, straight from the bank. Non-taxable income. I folded the bills and tucked them into my wallet, briefly wondering if we might be robbed and/or beaten later. This was way too risky.

  “This way.” The john motioned to one of the ground-floor units. Arden kept up small talk, catering to the man’s interests. The john was here to lay tile for a chain restaurant opening up nearby. It was back-breaking work, but it paid well enough, even better when he was expected to travel.

  “How lucky that our paths crossed,” Arden said. I couldn’t disagree more.

  Inside the hotel room, the john tossed me his phone and told me his passcode. He didn’t offer to shower or even wash his hands, and he didn’t expect it of Arden either. A glass of water would have been nice.

  “I’ll probably never get another guy as good-looking as you,” the john said with genuine adoration. My envy reignited—it had never really gone away—and I was paralyzed with indecision. There was no way I could watch this play out, but I couldn’t walk away either.

  “Aren’t you a charmer,” Arden cooed, then turned to me, all business. “Try to keep my face out of it.” The john complained that was his best feature, to which Arden replied coyly, “But you haven’t seen my ass yet.”

  The man scoffed at that but didn’t argue. He stripped off his sweat-stained shirt, revealing a wide girth with whorls of hair everywhere. His pants came next as the man fumbled with his belt buckle. Arden watched him like a con artist sizes up his mark. He wasn’t nervous or having second thoughts. He was in his element.

  “Come ‘mere,” the man said gruffly. He grabbed Arden by his shirtfront and brutalized his mouth with a kiss that probably tasted like sour beer and desperation. Arden stiffened, then submitted to it. His reaction was that way with me too, maybe because he never knew what to expect.

  “Where’d you come from?” the man said, yanking Arden’s shirt over his head and tossing it aside.

  “Narnia,” Arden said.

  “Where the hell is that?”

  “Pretty far from here.”

  “You’re too pretty for this town. You should move to New York City. Become a model.”

  Arden’s eyes widened. “You think I could?” he asked demurely.

  “Hell yeah, or work in porn.”

  “I’m working in porn right now,” Arden teased. The man tried to relieve Arden of his pants but gave up after a half-hearted attempt at peeling them from his hips. He told Arden to get naked, and Arden did so with practiced efficiency. He seemed comfortable in his skin, and only a little wary, trying to anticipate the john’s next move.

  Then there was no turning back. The john’s hands were eager and rough. I didn’t know if it was his demeanor or because he was a big man with big hands and not a lot of patience. He pawed Arden everywhere—his ass, his thighs, his cock and balls. He sucked his face like a squid, then smacked his butt and told him to get his ass on the bed. The john was naked save for his socks. His dick was rock hard with the head poking out of his foreskin like a red rocket. Not as big as I’d expected for a man of his stature, but it hardly mattered because soon enough, he’d be fucking Arden while I filmed it.

  Arden was enthusiastic as far as I could tell. Made the appropriate moans and groans, but the whole thing seemed put-on, like that twink in the porno we watched. Arden had a spaced-out look on his face, and I wondered if he might be disassociating, like when I did a reading and had to detach my mind from my body in order to get through it.

  “Come get a close-up of this,” the john said to me. He was fingering Arden’s ass.

  I came around to Arden’s backside and saw what had him so excited. Arden’s naked hole, hungrily clutching at the man’s fingers. Pink and raw and perfect.

  “Damn, that’s hot,” he said. He noticed my own erection and invited me to take it out, so I did. I stroked it a few times, capturing that on video too. I glanced up to see Arden watching me with a hooded expression.

  “Put it in my mouth,” he said. The john offered me Arden’s cock sucking services with a hospitable gesture. Guilt warred with my arousal, and Arden, noticing my hesitation, told me to come closer. I climbed onto the bed and sat against the headboard with my pants peeled down just enough to expose myself. Getting fully naked would make me too vulnerable. “I still can’t reach you,” he complained. Even though I wanted Arden’s lips and tongue on my naked skin, I slipped a condom over my erection and scooted toward him.

  Arden mouthed my cockhead while the john continued working over his ass, probably more than was necessary. Arden was sloppy on my cock, drooling and slurping and generally slutty. Even knowing it was a performance didn’t diminish my desire, and I found
myself slipping into a role of my own, that of a man who would take what he was being offered without considering his own decency.

  My fingers carded through Arden’s wavy hair while he bobbed up and down. He gave head with a single goal in mind. I probably wouldn’t come like this, not with a condom dulling the sensation and Arden’s machine-like efficiency.

  “Even his dick is nice,” the man said, taking hold of it like a gear shaft and giving it a few rough pumps. “You could definitely work in porn.”

  Arden mumbled something in gratitude, not deviating from his task.

  “I’m about to bust a nut,” the john said. “Gotta get inside this cunt right quick. You got a condom there, buddy.”

  I tossed him one. Arden had filled my pockets before we left. The john ripped it open with his teeth and sheathed his cock, then drizzled more of the lube I’d provided him. With one big hand on Arden’s back, I watched him line himself up.

  “Here it comes, pretty boy.”

  Arden popped off my cock and raised himself on all fours while the man sunk in, not stopping until he was balls deep. The man groaned and Arden arched like a cat with an exhalation that passed from his mouth to mine. The man was inside him. A stranger. A john. My Arden was getting pumped full of paying dick for the price of a nice lunch in Manhattan.

  The phone in my hand blinked red. I’d forgotten I was recording. “You’re out of storage.”

  “Fuck it,” he said. I tossed his phone onto the other bed while the john picked up the pace. Arden had wound up in my arms while the man stood behind him with his bad knee braced against the bed, punching into him without much finesse. Their bodies made wet, slapping sounds. Meat on meat. Dick in hole. It was a strange arrangement, Arden and I tangled in a lover’s embrace while the john rutted against him like a sweaty pig.

  “Fuck, this is a good piece of ass,” the john exclaimed, grinding into him enthusiastically, digging his fingers into Arden’s muscled flesh. The john didn’t know that his mother had loved Shakespeare or that he was writing a memoir or that he separated his food on his plate so that nothing touched. That whenever he walked outside, he’d look up at the sky and crinkle his nose and wait to see if he might sneeze, which he did more often than not, always followed by a polite, “excuse me.”

  He didn’t even know Arden’s real name.

  “You enjoying this, you little cock slut?”

  Arden groaned and rested his sweaty forehead against my shoulder. I felt every jolt, every invasion of that clumsy, anonymous cock as it bullied its way inside him. Our sweat mingled as did our breath while Arden braced for every artless lunge.

  “You didn’t have to do this,” I said to him, bitter that he’d made me an accomplice to his debasement, albeit a willing one.

  “Yes, I did,” Arden grunted.

  “I’m gonna blow,” the john warned unnecessarily. I reached down to find Arden only half hard.

  “You want me to—”

  “No.”

  The john jerked forward, trapping Arden’s hips under his big hands. His shoulders shivered like a horse’s withers as he spent into the condom. Arden took the force of his impact, even as the john fell with his full weight onto his back. He reeked of stale beer and sour sweat and cheap, motel sex. I wanted him gone.

  “Shit, that was good.” The john grabbed Arden’s dick and squeezed. “Did you?”

  “Yeah,” Arden lied.

  My prick was hard and aching and confused. I hadn’t wanted to watch a stranger fuck him, but I was aroused by it all the same.

  The john, now flaccid, tied off the condom and lumbered over to the bathroom to trash it. Arden gingerly untangled himself from my sweaty embrace and started to dress. I followed his lead, taking care of my own condom as well.

  “Feel free to take the second bed,” the john said. “There’s a continental breakfast. I’ll be out of here early in the morning.”

  “That’s all right, sweetie,” Arden said, slipping back into his saucy rent boy persona. “I got more work to do tonight.”

  The john glared at me like I was a monster. “You should give him the night off, after that.”

  I was dumbstruck as to what to say. How many johns did Arden typically service in one night when he’d been working the street? And what about nowadays, with his benefactor and his clients?

  “Can I get your number?” the john asked.

  “How about I take yours?”

  They made the exchange, and I guided an unsteady Arden out to the car. It was colder now, and he started shivering in the passenger seat. I turned up the heat and made him wear my flannel along with the jacket. I needed a cigarette. Arden probably did too.

  “How long did that go on?” I asked him.

  “Awhile,” he said vaguely.

  “Did you have a pimp then?”

  Arden shifted in his seat. He looked withdrawn, eyes dull. “Off and on. I needed one sometimes, when I was too wasted to remember to collect the money.”

  My rage at how he’d been treated—might still be treated—was a dangerous thing.

  “Men still fucked you, knowing you weren’t really there?”

  Arden shrugged. “I’m a commodity.”

  A commodity, present tense.

  “Do you like being treated that way?” I was trying to understand what motivated him. Was it only the money? A cheap thrill? Anonymous sex?

  “I don’t know. Sometimes. Does it change the way you feel about me?”

  “Is that your goal?”

  Arden nodded, then shook his head, as confused as me. I drove us home in silence. If I’d known what to say, I’d have said it.

  8

  the arrangement

  We arrived back at the cabin a half hour later. Arden was slow to follow, even when I went over and opened his door for him. He was hard to look at—so beautiful it hurt. It was dangerous for me to fall for a man like him. His “lesson” made that perfectly clear. He was unavailable, reckless, probably unstable. The red flags were all around. I should walk away. Or run.

  “I need a shower,” he said when we were inside. I motioned to the bathroom, glad that he was going to wash the john’s stink off of him. I needed one too. “Take one with me?” Arden asked in a shaky voice.

  I followed him into the bathroom. We undressed, and I shoved our clothes in a corner, silently swearing to wash and possibly burn them later. I got the water going and climbed into the shower stall after him. Arden asked me to wash him, and I did so with a clinical thoroughness, as if I could scrub all traces of the man’s touch from his skin.

  “You have sex with men for money,” I said, a statement of fact.

  “Yes.” His back was to me, his damp hair curling at the ends where the water droplets collected.

  “Rich men, poor men, they all have their price.”

  “That’s right.”

  I was beginning to understand his reasoning.

  “But you want to be with me still,” I said.

  Arden nodded and hung his head.

  “Not like them.”

  “Not at all like them.”

  I guided him around and backed him against the shower wall. His eyes were wide and vulnerable, desperate for… I honestly didn’t know. Something simple, right? I slid my palm along his slick chest and down to his cock. He was hard—we both were. All of that build-up with no release. I stroked him, slow and sensual and only for him. Arden’s shoulders curled inward, grateful for the touch.

  “When you’re with me, you’re mine,” I said.

  “Yes.” His back pressed flush against the wall. The john laid tile for a living. Tomorrow, he’d be matching up his tiles, trying to get his lines even, maybe doing grout work, and he’d be thinking about fucking Arden. He’d be remembering Arden’s greedy little hole swallowing his dick, how tight he was, how good it felt to fuck that body. Maybe he’d watch the video after work while drinking a beer and fondle himself with his clumsy right hand. He’d fantasize about the good-looking rent boy wh
o could have been a model or a porn star. What a good lay he was.

  “I don’t want the fantasy,” I told him.

  “Me neither.”

  “And I won’t ask questions unless I think I can handle the answers.” We were establishing the rules. What a relationship between us might look like and what we were each willing to compromise in order to make it work.

  “I can lie.”

  It’s not a lie if we both believe it.

  “I don’t want that.” Franco had lied to me constantly, and I’d hated him for it.

  “Okay.”

  He leaned his head against the tile, and I watched the water sluice down his neck and shoulders, carving paths over his tendons and along the ridge of his collar bone, following the grooves of his muscles, hanging like jewels from his nipples, spilling down his abs and dripping from the light trail of hair that led to his groin where my hand still massaged him. Water always found the path of least resistance.

  “You’re beautiful,” I said, “and interesting and intelligent. You’re so much more than a commodity.”

  His eyes blinked open, disbelieving.

  “I’m glad you think so.”

  I leaned forward in pursuit of his mouth and swept his lips cautiously. They parted, and he took my tongue like he took my cock, eager and a little bit sloppy. I slowed and kissed him deliberately. There was no need for him to perform with me. Let us teach one another a new way, one that belonged only to us. I would demonstrate how wonderful I thought he was. And he could show me how to be wild and spontaneous. We could be good for each other and good to each other.

  Warm water dripped into our mouths, and I kissed him until we were both dizzy and half-drowned.

  “Did you like that?” I asked and he nodded, strangely subdued. “If you don’t like something, tell me.”

  “I will,” he said softly. Had he ever had a relationship that wasn’t predicated on money? Had he ever had the agency to say, no?