Page 1 of Take My Breath Away
Chapter One
JAMES
The music’s turned up another notch, and the rhythm’s got harder. Already dim, the lights dip lower. The bar’s packed and it’ll only get worse.
It’s Friday night in Soho, and anything is possible.
Leaning back on my bar seat, I look out over the small dance floor, packed with bodies grinding to the beat beneath the pulsing strobe lights. It’s a familiar scene, and I could be in any gay bar in London, Manchester, Brighton, New York, San Francisco… I’ve been to enough in all these places, and beyond.
Blue’s one of my regular haunts, and I recognise a lot of the men in the bar.
Many are about the same age as I am and we look like what we are: middle-aged and affluent, with plenty of spare cash to flash on anybody who takes our fancy, and that attracts a lot of younger guys, hoping some of that cash will be spent on them. I don’t mind buying a few very pricey drinks if it’s going to whet the appetite. There are plenty of good looking guys around and I can have my pick of any of them. Several have looked my way, their gazes lingering, but that’s as far as it’s got and is likely going to get. Because tonight, just as on so many other nights over the last few months, I’m just not feeling it. So, I let my gaze move on, not holding eye contact, not giving out that silent signal, that silent beckon.
I’m about to throw back the rest of my drink, ready to call it a night, when a hand slides up my thigh. I must be losing my touch, as I’ve not noticed the young guy pitch up next to me.
I don’t mind his hand on my leg too much; it’s subtle, as far as places like this go. He’s smiling, in that pouty, practiced kind of way, and even under the low lights I can see the carefully applied gloss and the sultry look in his eyes. He’s cute and blond, although I don’t think it’s a blond that’s ever been classified in the natural world. I should be interested, but here and now, this whole charade’s about as appealing as week-old fish.
“I’ve been watching you. You’re very aloof. I find that attractive in a man.”
He edges in closer and looks up at me through his lashes. His hand on my thigh’s getting hot, and becoming somewhat uncomfortable, rather than the turn on it’s supposed to be. I smother a sigh. His come-on, whilst not crude, needs some practice and a little refinement. I do my best not to laugh. Refinement? Since when has a come-on ever meant to be refined?
“I’m just here having a drink.”
He answers with a simpering giggle.
“Nobody comes to Blue just to have a drink.”
He’s right, of course, no man comes to Bluejust to have a drink. They come for other things. They come for men like him. Men likemecome from men likehim. Yet tonight, I don’t want him or any of the cute young things milling around. I’ve no appetite for it, whereas months or even weeks ago, I’d have gorged. It’s time to give him a polite brush off, and go, and I’m about to remove his hand from my thigh when he leans in even closer, and whispers in my ear.
“Maybe Daddy’s been waiting for the right boy to come along.”
His voice is breathy, and his hand creeps up another couple of inches. If he gets any closer he’ll be sitting in my lap with his hand on my dick. I wrap a palm around his wrist, bringing a halt to his progress.
Daddy…Really?
It seems like the greyer my hair becomes, the more I get this. I mentioned it to my friend Elliot, but he just looked at me with horror in his eyes and said that maybe I should consider dyeing it. My response, let’s say, was colourful.
Easing his hand away, I shift my position. It forces him to move back; it’s either that or fall face forward. He looks put out, and well he might.
I’m all for saying what you want upfront, but the whole Daddy thing feels calculated as well as downright cheesy.
Not tonight, sweet cheeks.
“Whilst I’m very flattered by your attention, I should inform you it’s misplaced tonight.”
All traces of his former simpering vanish, replaced by a confused frown.
“I’m sorry, but it’s not what I’m here for tonight,” I say gently. “Let me buy you a drink. Blue’s cocktails are legendary.” They are, if you enjoy something lurid with straws and pieces of fruit. I prefer a good G&T but I imagine the cocktails are more to my uninvited companion’s taste. But he doesn’t accept my offer of a very pricey drink.
“What do you mean, it’s not what you’re here for? If you’re not, then what’s the point? It’s what everybody’s here for. To hook up. Look,” he says, edging closer, the smile creeping back on his face. “I think you’re seriously hot. You can fuck me, if you want, or I can go down—”
“No.”
I really don’t want to hear what I can do for him, or what he can do for me in the toilets, or outside in one of Soho’s many small, dark, twisting back alleys. I know more about what two men can do with, and to, each other, than he’ll ever know, because I’ve been doing it since before he was even born. That thought in itself should be a shot of cold water, but it’s not — it’s what he said before: what’s the point?
I don’t have an answer.
The guy’s already turning away. He’s lost interest, thank God, and a second later he disappears into the crowd, in search of somebody who’ll be a lot more amenable to fulfilling his fantasies for the night. I don’t even bother finishing my drink. Seconds later, I’m pushing my way out onto the street, his words still ringing in my ears.
