Ask anyone that's me me for five minutes, and they'll tell you I'm ruthless. Seductive, flirtatious, sensual, driven; these are all words that apply to me.
It's only my closest friends that know it's a mask.
When I'm in anyone else's company, I am the ultimate Lothario. A handsome Casanova, making women melt even as I seduce their men. Spend ten seconds in my line of sight, and try not to lust after me. I guess that's why I was so blown away by JL - he saw right through me straight away.
He was everything I'm not: genuine, assured, together. It helped he was also tortuously beautiful. There was definitely something about that shock of shiny black hair, those caramel eyes, that ivory skin with just the right amount of stubble. Those plump, pink lips that begged to have a cock wrapped around them.
I was on a date. Some random blond twink actor's agent showing off his latest acquisition: an equally bland B-list actor who was starring in his first film after escaping his soap-opera 'career.' We were at the post-wrap party, listening to some dreary director blather about how this was his pet project, and how it was great to have it finally happening five years after he first came up with it. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit, blah, blah, blah. I excused myself in order to 'freshen up,' the twink slipping me the goods as I slipped away.
Typically, it turned out to be more sugar than cocaine; more than enough to fill Elvis on one of his deep-fried peanut butter days. It took the whole bag to get a mild buzz. That's when I decided to leave the party. I couldn't be fucked saying goodbye to anyone.
That's also how I ended up in bed with JL. Okay, not bed so much as some sweaty half-lit cubicle at a sauna.
After I got him off, he started laughing. Big hearty, laughs with a touch of venom for extra spite.
He turned towards me, still laughing, and told me I was pathetic.
I've heard this bullshit before from different queens. They tease you to get you heated, it usually ends up with a great repeat performance. I took up the challenge.
Except he kept laughing the whole time we fucked, tears streaming down his face. He just kept guffawing, even when I managed to rip something inside him with one hard thrust. I stopped after that, bored of the game.
Still laughing, he looked me in the eye.
"You have no passion. " And after a moment, "No - that's not true. You have - how you say, 'misguided passsion'? What do you know about sex? Love?"
I stared him down.
"Who the fuck are you?"
"The lover you are not. The lover you'll never be."
I tried, but failed, to keep my voice level.
"What the fuck do you know about me?"
He shrugged, then leant down to the floor. He rummaged around his towel area, found a packet of cigarettes and pulled two out.
"You," he said, lighting both cigarettes and passing me one. He inhaled. "You are a hollow shell. You know nothing about anything, not even yourself."
I slapped him. Hard.
I stormed out of the room, noticing him wipe blood off his cheek. He was laughing. "I thought I just did."
I only realised I'd left my towel in the room when I got to the end of the dark hallway.
Three weeks later, I went to a party with friends - some Victorian terrace in the ghetto.
The host had bought some artwork the other week, and wanted to show off. We went to his
study for a 'private viewing.'
Of course, within thirty seconds, he was sucking me dry. Tongue playing with the base of my cockhead, throat expertly devouring my hard shaft, fingers deftly massaging my balls. What can I say? The boy knew how to look after his guests.
Just as I blew, someone started clapping from a dark corner.
JL stepped forward, smiling broadly.
"Bravo, Marco! One of your best performances yet!"
I stood there, wondering how he knew my name. I was sure I hadn't given it at the sauna. The host, by now completely red-faced, stammered some excuse. He couldn't get out the room quick enough.
The sound of the door slamming brought me back. I bowed, grinning venously.
"I do my best."
JL walked up to me, and zipped my pants.
"I've seen better."
He leaned forward, pushing a large wooden desk against my back. "You know, an old woman once told me when I want to seduce someone, I should pretend my equipment was damaged at war. That way, you could get to know the person well, maybe even fall in love with them, before you even get near the good stuff."
I sighed. Practically exhaled ennui. "Yes, I've read Armistead Maupin too."
"So why don't you try it? In fact I dare you."
"Sure - but I can headfuck with the best of them."
"I dare you. You can start with me."
"Fine," I retorted. Childishly.
It lasted all of ten seconds. We broke the desk fucking.
Of course, that was the start of it.
Over the next few weeks, every time I would head out, it was as if I had a "Leper" tattoo
on my forehead. I'd hit on some guy, who would promptly leave with some ultratoned prick.
Every night, I would end up in JL's bed, enduring the taunts at the end of every session.
At some point, I gave up. I'd go straight to his apartment after whatever function or dinner I had to attend, sometimes waiting for hours on the front stoop for him to arrive. The taunting
stopped, too, replaced by the sneer he reserved for me on arrival. "Oh, you've come again."
Gradually, he began to delay the sex. Whereas before we'd go straight to the bedroom, he would insist that he had some TV show to watch, or needed a cup of tea or a joint or a line. Or something.
Friends didn't see me for weeks. I started leaving work half an hour early, just so I could get to his place before he would.
One night, he didn't arrive.
I ended up sleeping in my car, uncomfortably curled under the wheel. Bucket seats are not good for sleep, no matter how high quality the leather.
I woke up at seven to the sound of the passenger door opening.
JL got in, sighed, and told me he loved me.
I slapped him. "Get out."
Seeing red the whole time, I drove home and took the day off. I ended up stumbling around the house all day, naked and delirious.
It was dark when I woke, a line of drool caressing the fabric on the couch. I poured myself a glass of red and stared at the blank TV screen.