Dirty Dining (NSFW)

Copyright 2013 EM Lynley. Please do not share or repost without author’s permission.

Jeremy’s a grad student who’s always short of money. When his fellowship gets canceled he’s tempted to take a job at a men’s dining club as a serving boy. The uniforms are skimpy and he’s expected to remove an item of clothing after each course.  He can handle that, but he soon discovers there’s more on the menu here than fine cuisine. How far will he go to pay his tuition, and will money get in the way when he realizes he’s interested in more from one of his gentlemen?

Chapter One

“You ever do any modeling?” The guy came up to Jeremy in the gym locker room while Jeremy was drying off after his shower. He’d noticed him checking out a few other men in the weight room and even it the pool while Jeremy was taking a breather from laps.

“I’m not interested in whatever it is you’re offering.” Jeremy had heard this before and it never ended well. Not that he’d ever fallen for the scam, but a few of his friends had. It was never just “modeling.”

“You could make some easy dough.”

“I don’t need easy dough.” Jeremy opened his locker but he didn’t want to take the towel off in front of this guy.

“Sure you do. I’ve seen your car. Someone smashed into the side of it and you haven’t fixed it yet.”

“Too busy,” Jeremy lied. Truth was he used the insurance money for bills, but he’d never admit that to this guy.

“Don’t you want to know what the job is?”

“No.” Jeremy didn’t have time to waste. He grabbed his boxers from the locker and turned away from the guy and bent down to step into them.

“That’s all you’d have to do. Just take off your clothes and let people look at you.”

“I don’t strip. No thanks. And that is emphasis on the “NO.”

“Three hundred bucks, just to take off your clothes. Not stripping. You just remove one piece at a time. Five hundred if you let someone else take your clothes off for you. And no other touching or funny business, unless you want. And that would pay extra.”

“Get out of here before I call the front desk.”

The guy held up his hands and backed out of Jeremy’s personal space. “Sure thing. Sorry.” He slid a hand into his jacket and Jeremy braced for him to pull out some kind of weapon. All he had was a business card. “I’ll leave this, and if you change your mind, call me. The job’s on Friday night.” He put the card on the bench and left.

Jeremy finished dressing quickly before the guy came back, or followed someone else in from the gym. He was slinging his backpack over his shoulder when he glanced down at the card. More out of curiosity than anything else, he picked it up.

Thomas Jerrold

The Dinner Club

415-555-1087

He flipped it over but the back was blank. Just a simple white card with raised black printing. For some reason that intrigued Jeremy more than anything the guy had said to him and he jammed it into his pocket and headed out. He tossed the pack into the passenger side of his car then walked around to look at the damage: the whole right side of the car was scraped and dented from someone opening their door as he drove by. He sure would like to get that repaired before it started raining and the exposed metal under the scraped paint began to rust.

Maybe he could get more hours at the clinic. He’d ask about it tonight when he went to work.

* * * *

But the clinic didn’t have extra hours for him. In fact he found out they were cutting hours for most of the part-time staff. He worked his shift then went home to the apartment he shared with another grad student. Jeremy was in his last year of a Ph.D. in microbiology and thanks to the California state budget problems, fees had gone up yet again. His lab work took up so much time he couldn’t get a part-time job that paid enough. He could try to get another loan, or… he dug his hand into the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out the little white business card.

Three hundred bucks just to take his clothes off? Three hours of being naked didn’t really seem so bad. Was there anything wrong in just checking out what this Dinner Club was? He was staring at the card when Doug, his roommate came through the front door with a pizza.

“Leftovers, want some?”

Doug worked at one of the best pizza places in town and their leftovers were better than fresh pizza from almost anywhere else.

“Sure.” For the next thirty minutes Jeremy forgot about Thomas from the Dinner Club and concentrated on double-crust pizza with chicken, tangy tomato sauce and marinated artichoke hearts. And they shared a few beers. By that time Jeremy had already started working on his reading for class the following day and didn’t have time to Google the Dinner Club. He’d look it up tomorrow.

* * * *

 

“Everyone, this is Jeremy.” Thomas introduced him to the other guys who would be working that night, including one he recognized from the gym.

“Hi, Jeremy,” they said in chorus.

One blond guy with long bangs came up and gave him a not-very-subtle once over and before Jeremy could stop him pulled his shirt out of his jeans far enough to get a good look at Jeremy’s abs. “Very nice.”

“Stop that, Kit.” Another guy shook his head and tugged Kit away. “You’ll scare him off before dinner even starts.”

Jeremy wasn’t thrilled with the grabby hands and hoped the client—whoever that might be—wouldn’t take liberties the way the fellow serving boys did.

“Let me give you tonight’s assignments.” Thomas spoke up to get their attention over the chatter that had resumed. Jeremy was glad, since he noticed some of it was speculation about him.

“Please let me have Mr. Gray.” Kit sashayed up to Thomas and tried to pull the clipboard out of his hand. The same law-abiding guy pulled him back.

“Sorry, Kit. You’ve got Mr. Yellow.”

“Oh, not so bad. I didn’t know he was coming tonight.” Kit grinned. “Or at least he will be,” he added in a singsong that had the others laughing.

“We’ve one new client, Mr. Green.”

“Let me have him!” It was another guy.

“Sorry, Rand, I think you’re a bit too much for him. I can’t have any of you scaring him off either. I think Jeremy will serve Mr. Green.” Thomas nodded at Jeremy. “He seems a little shy, so maybe you two will be a good match.”

“Okay.” Jeremy wasn’t sure if he’d been insulted or given an easy task. So far no one here seemed shy. But he needed to learn the ropes before he figured out precisely what was expected.

Thomas gave out the rest of the assignments. Each client had a color-coded name, reminding Jeremy of the Tarantino film Reservoir Dogs. He hoped like hell tonight wouldn’t end up the same way, with everyone dead or wishing they were.

Once Thomas left, one of the guys came up to Jeremy. “I’m Rand. Been here the longest, so I’ll walk you through your duties. And if you’re not sure what to do, just ask me.”

“Okay.”

“First here’s your costume.” Rand handed Jeremy a box. “Open it up.”

Jeremy pulled up the flaps and pulled out the flimsy pieces. Some thin filmy fabric, gold cord and not much else. “This is a costume?”

“Yeah. We’re all supposed to be Greek slave boys tonight. Dinner has six courses and there are six items in each costume. You take one off after you serve each course.”

Jeremy swallowed. Well, Thomas had told him he’d be taking his clothes off. He hadn’t realized quite how this would work, but it seemed easy enough. “That’s it?”

“You let your gentleman choose which piece you remove.”

“Then I take it off, right?”

“Yeah. Or if you let the gentleman do it, you get paid double.”

“That’s it? Just taking clothes off? No one’s going to put their hands on me or expect a lap dance or think I’m sucking them off?”

Kit giggled in the background. “Only if you want to, sweetie. And you may want to.”

Rand shook his head. “You can do what you want. If your guy asks for something, you can say no. You just can’t offer anything or we can get in trouble for soliciting sex. There’s a menu—coded of course—and the guys can order off that. You just let your gentleman know which menu items are available.”

“What if I don’t want to do any ‘menu items’?”

“That’s fine. That’s why we put you with a new guy. The new guys don’t often feel comfortable enough for anything besides the basic dinner service. Thomas can tell what guys are going to want, usually. They all have interviews to join, and he knows what the want, depending on what kind of questions they ask.”

“Okay.” Jeremy wondered what Kit and Rand did on a normal night. He didn’t think he’d want to do anything to his “gentleman.” He could get through this one night and then see if he could stomach another dinner.

“Don’t forget to tell him about night caps.”

“Right.” Rand continued. “That’s spending the night with the guy. There’s a basic fee for that. You get half. And then whatever you decide to do in the room is entirely up to you. Even if you just hold hands. You negotiate that.”

“It’s optional?”

“Yes. My god you are a nervous Nelly aren’t you. What do you think is going to happen? The guy’s going to tie you down and rape you in the dining room, then carry you upstairs for round two?”

“Ooh, I hope so!” Kit trilled.

“Knock it off,” another of them said and shrugged. “Don’t worry. It’s really easy, and it can be fun if you’re in the right mood. I’m Barry.” The guy held his hand out to Jeremy and they shook.

“Thanks, Barry.”

“Better get dressed.” Rand tapped the box and then headed over to a chair at a mirror across the room.

Jeremy put the box down on the spot in front of his own mirror and pulled out the costume. It wasn’t much. He’d probably catch cold in it. But he could use three hundred bucks. He took his street clothes off, aware of the stares of the other guys in the room and reminded himself that was the job, letting other guys look at him. He slipped on the tunic, a sheer piece of fabric that left his arms completely free, then he put on the bottoms. It was more like a loincloth, two thin pieces of white fabric attached to  gold mesh belt. The back barely covered his ass and the front left his dick and balls swinging free.

He glanced in the mirror and moved around, realizing that with every step or slight brush of air, just about everything was visible. The front barely reached past the end of his cock. He glanced around and realized the other guys were wearing equally revealing costumes, all of a similar theme. They were in slightly different cuts and colors, but all had gold or silver braid and mesh.

The other pieces of his costume included gladiator sandals, thin leather soles with thick gold braids that wound their way up his ankles and calves. Gold wrist bands completed the outfit. He hardly considered wrist bands and shoes as items of clothing and realized the goal was to get the serving boys naked as quickly as possible.

“Forgot your headpiece.” Rand came by and settle a ring of gold leaves on his hair. “Do you want some shine or color?”

“Make up?” Jeremy glanced around to see the other boys with makeup brushes and eyeliner pencils. One guy was painting another guy’s nipples with something glittery.

“It’s optional, but you can decorate yourself a little. It’s all food grade stuff they use for cake decorating mostly. Edible.”

“Makes your nipples nice and sweet.” Barry laughed and handed a brush and pot of pink glittery powder to Jeremy.

“Just in case you let someone lick them.” Rand grinned and Jeremy moved the edge of his tunic so Rand could paint pink sugar on his nipples. The brush tickled and he squirmed a little at the strange sensation. He watched the other guys getting ready and realized a couple of them had tubes of lube and butt plugs or dildos.

Kit bent over and another guy moved close and lubed up a few fingers and slid one inside of Kit. What the hell? He stared. Several of the guys were lubing themselves or others up, sliding fingers and toys inside stretching each other out.

“Wait a minute. Rand? I thought this was serving dinner, not fucking.”

“Their gentlemen like more than dinner service. Some clients want to play with you or feel your ass is all ready, even if they don’t intend to fuck you. Marketing.” Rand nodded. “I’ve seen guys slip their hand up someone’s skirt, feel that slippery hole and go for everything on the menu.” He laughed. “It’s optional. But I don’t recommend you slick up unless you’re into that.”

“Uh, maybe next time.”

“Sure.”

Jeremy couldn’t help staring. These guys seemed excited about the idea of their colorful gentleman fucking them. And Jeremy found watching them get ready was enough to get his cock a little bit hard. He glanced down and realized his little loincloth lifted up, making his slight arousal completely obvious.

“Looks like someone might be on the menu after all.” Barry winked and turned so he could slide a slim dildo into the guy at the mirror on his other side. “Let me know if you want some prep?”

“No. Not tonight.”Jeremy kept watching, wondering what Mr. Green would be like. Would he ever want some stranger to fuck him? Of course he would, he’d gone home—or not home—with guys he’d hooked up with at clubs. You didn’t need dinner and a movie if the attraction was mutual. But would he fool around for money? That changed everything, didn’t it?

A dinner gong sounded and the other boys—as they liked to call themselves—put the finishing touches on their costumes and make up and lined up to parade out in front of tonight’s gentlemen. Each boy had a colored arm band that would match a ribbon on one gentleman’s lapel. Butterflies fluttered in his gut and soon turned to huge bats flapping their wings when the door opened and he heard the men’s voices, their laughter as the boys walked into the dining room.

Rand had told Jeremy to go last, so he could see how the other boys greeted their gentlemen and he stood in the doorway observing. Boys’ bodies blocked his view at first and he was halfway into the room, glimpsing heavyset men with grey temples and jowls, before he spotted the bright green ribbon on his client’s lapel.

“Oh, dear. Oh fucking fuck,” he thought and moved around the perimeter of the room, feeling the breeze under his loincloth as his cock and balls swung free with each step. He felt the sheer fabric flutter around his dick, and trying not to be self conscious as he exposed himself to everyone in the room.

Mr. Green was fucking gorgeous.

* * * *

Brice Martin hadn’t known quite what to expect when he’d been invited by a colleague to the Dinner Club. He’d heard of the place, and he’d checked the website, but outside of a few vague descriptions and tame photos, it wasn’t clear precisely what went on during one of the dinner parties. He’d been at Christie, Miller and Mann for six months before anyone there realized he was gay, and then within a week he’d been invited to dinner here by one of the junior partners. He hoped it was a good sign, but he didn’t know quite how to act. He’d watch Watkins and take clues from him, but the idea of paying for sex of any sort wasn’t on his wish list.

They’d come here straight from work, still wearing the suits and ties they’d put on for a meeting with someone from the Securities and Exchange Commission. They’d taken a cab from the office to the house, and been given drinks while they waited for dinner.

Brice didn’t know how to interact with the other diners. They were here for what promised to be a pretty licentious evening, but he didn’t go in for either exhibitionism or voyeurism. Was he supposed to chat with these guys? He had enough to worry about with what Watkins would do or expect. Best to just stay quiet and see if anyone spoke to him.

Finally, they were ushered into the dining room. In the center was a long wide table. It was made of sturdy wood with a dark green runner and eight place settings, four to a side. The dishes, glassware and silver were of top quality, as good as any San Francisco restaurant he’d eaten at. At each place setting was a wide bench rather than a chair, and plenty of room between each bench.

“Sit where you like, gentlemen.” The man at the door greeted them and waved them toward the table.

Watkins took a seat at one end and pointed to the opposite bench. “Sit there.”

Brice complied, then wished he’d seated himself next to Watkins. With this configuration they could watch each other. He didn’t want Watkins observing him, nor did he want to watch Watkins with his own serving boy.

Boy. The word jarred every time Watkins said it. “Of course, they’re all legal. But they’re called boys.”

Brice sipped his dirty martini—extra dirty, just to dilute the booze. He’d been nursing the same one since they’d arrived. Watkins was on his second neat Scotch.

“Welcome to the Dinner Club. I’m Thomas and I’ll be your host tonight,” the man at the door announced once everyone had been seated. “Please ask me if you need anything you’re not getting.” He gave a crooked leer of a grin and some of the other men laughed. “We have a few new faces, so let’s have a reminder of the ground rules, before the boys come out.”

The men glanced around the table at each other and Brice hoped no one spotted that he was the newbie. He was uncomfortable enough. There was a palpable tension in the room, the others looking out of the corner of their eyes at each other, as if this was some sort of competition. Thomas opened an ornate carved chest and pulled out a shoebox-sized container. He stood behind Watkins. “You’re orange tonight,” Thomas stated before he pinned a bright orange ribbon to Watkins’ lapel. He moved to each man, selecting a ribbon from the box and pinning one on each guest. As he made his way around the table, he continued his explanation.

“Your serving boy will be wearing a ribbon on his arm that matches your lapel ribbon. You will be served only by your boy. Rule number one is that you will refrain from touching him in what we call the bikini zone, unless you have his permission. That means you ask. Not all boys on are on the menu for that, tonight.”

A low murmur of disapproval emanated from the table, but Brice couldn’t tell who had made the sound.

“Rule number two is that you will refrain from touching anyone else’s boy at all, unless invited by the boy and his gentleman.”

“Rule number three, no sex in the dining room. And by sex, I mean fucking. No fucking the boys in the dining room. Save that for night caps in your rooms if it happens at all.”

Brice sucked in a breath. That was good. He hoped he wasn’t going to be expected to do anything in public with this boy assigned to him.

“So, what can we do to the boys in here?” A man with a Texan drawl asked.

“If it’s on the menu, hands and mouths on the boys only. Gentlemen, keep your dicks in your pants in the dining room. If you can’t wait till dinner’s over, leave the room.” He glanced around and seemed to be gauging the men’s moods. “But boy-on-boy, anything goes. With permission from both parties. If anyone says no, that means no. My assistants will enforce that and they’re here to protect the boys. Be respectful of them. We can all have fun without anyone getting hurt.” At that remark two heavily muscled men in tight black T-shirts and black pants entered the room. One moved to each end of the table and took up a post against the wall.

Thomas looked at the men again. “Now, who’s ready for dinner?”

A loud chorus of whoops and affirmative noises erupted.

Brice glanced at Watkins, who was grinning back at him, nodding, with an odd glint in his eye.

“This, my friend, is going to be fun.”

“Can’t wait.” Brice took a gulp of martini and nearly choked, then he turned his attention toward the door.

He felt more than heard or saw a commotion in the hallway and then Thomas nodded and the door opened. The first boy came through, wearing a gold-edged toga and a bright blue ribbon tied around one upper arm. Not mine, Brice thought. The boy was blond, clean and very good looking in that go-go boy twink way that he saw too much of at some of the local clubs.

The other men let out oohs and aahs, and a few disappointed groans as they spotted attractive boys wearing someone else’s color. Each boy made one round of the table before settling next to his gentleman on the wide bench seats. All were model good looking and none wore much. What little that had on emphasized smooth, lithe bodies, focusing attention on nipples painted with glitter and tiny shorts that left little to the imagination about the size and shape of their cocks.

Despite his initial distaste for the general set up, Brice couldn’t help feeling a little animal thrill at the sight of all these gorgeous bodies on display, knowing that as the night progressed, they’d be reduced to sexual objects, if they weren’t already. So far, all but two of the boys had entered the room, and Brice still hadn’t seen his.

Then, a boy with an orange ribbon flounced into the room and just behind him, Brice glimpsed a flash of bright green. As the orange boy moved out of his line of sight, he saw the one assigned to him for the night: he wore a sheer sleeveless tunic and a tiny gold-edged loincloth that fluttered up enticing him to glance under with each step. This boy was no boy in reality. While he was a smooth as the others, he had the muscular upper body of someone who played a real sport regularly, not one who sculpted muscles in the gym, and as he came around the table, Brice noticed the gold braid laced up around muscular calves and thick thighs, and he forced himself to move his gaze from the tiny barely-there skirt to the green boy’s face.

“Hi, I’m J—Remy. Call me Remy.”

“Hi, Remy, I’m—”

“Mr. Green,” Thomas said from behind. Apparently the boys weren’t supposed to know the gentlemen’s names.

“Hi, Mr. Green.” Remy sat down next to Brice, close but not so that their thighs touched. He turned and smiled. He looked like he was in his twenties, clear skin, smooth and just-shaven. He had silky hair the color of wheat and even, white teeth. He looked sober and healthy. Brice wasn’t sure what he’d imagined, but it wasn’t this farm-boy look. Was this better or worse?

Both, he decided. He certainly wouldn’t mind touching this guy, but the downside was how much he might want to by the end of the evening.

“Another drink, sir?” Remy motioned toward Brice’s martini glass.

“No thanks.”

“Do you want wine with dinner?”

“Just a glass, not a bottle.”

“Come on, Green,” Watkins shouted from across the table, smirking as he emphasized the pseudonym. “Look it’s on the firm, let’s have a bottle of something good.” He leaned down and before he could grab the wine list, his boy had handed it to him and opened it up. Watkins snaked his arm around the boy and they murmured, cheeks together as he made his choice and Thomas nodded.

“Boys, the first course is ready!” Thomas announced and Remy hopped off the bench and lined up to leave the room. He moved gracefully but swiftly, as if he couldn’t wait to leave. Brice wondered if he should have done or said something differently.

A few moments later the boys paraded back in, each holding a plate, again circling the table and most of them doing their best to show off their physiques. Remy came around toward Brice and bowed low, then placed the plate—a salad—in front of Brice.

Around him Brice noticed the other men, including Watkins were removing clothing items from their servers. Watkins had pulled his boy’s tunic off so the young man sat shirtless, dark nipples budding in the chilly room.

“Uh, your armband?” Suddenly it seemed creepy to want to watch this guy peel off his clothes—worse to do it for him.

“Do you w—”

“No, you do it.” Brice watched Remy’s face, eyes flare wide as he took in Brice’s choice. The arm bands had to come off at some point.

Remy couldn’t unsnap the band on his own and Brice had to help him. His fingertips brushed against the firm smooth bicep muscles and he felt the warmth of Remy’s skin. The jolt of sensation that traveled from his fingers into his core surprised him. He took his time at the task and noticed Remy’s eyes flutter as he looked away. How did he manage to look so innocent and naïve?

Remy sat down next to Brice and poured him wine and another glass of water, waiting for Brice to ask him to perform a task. The other men seemed to enjoy having their serving boys feed then, or just sitting on their laps, the gentlemen stroking a thigh or pinching a nipple in between bites of salad. One  man had removed his boy’s shorts and had one hand stroking the boy’s firm cock while being fed. Brice wondered what would be left for later if the guy started off there.

Across from him, Watkins’ boy sat on his lap, while Watkins hand rested under the filmy loincloth. It was hardly subtle, but somehow preferable to what the other guy was doing.

* * * *

* * * *

After dinner, the boys filed back out of the dining room, waving and blowing kisses. Remy had only given a shy smile when he slid off Brice’s lap and followed the others to the door. No one stopped to collect their discarded costumes.

“Would anyone like a nightcap?” Thomas asked as the men sipped at their after-dinner drinks.

Brice didn’t need any more alcohol. A few men nodded and Thomas bent for a whispered conversation with each one. Watkins gave Brice a thumbs-up signal, and responded with a shrug. He’d just nurse the beverage until he could make a move that wouldn’t insult Watkins. Thomas, however, didn’t seem to be serving any of whatever the men had ordered, then finally he came to hover at Brice’s shoulder.

“I’m fine. Nothing more to drink for me.”

“Mr. Watkins has already arranged your nightcap with Remy. Anything else is between you and Remy, but the room is yours until 10 a.m.”

“What?” Brice realized he’d spoken loudly when several others turned toward him.

Thomas leaned so his mouth was an inch from Brice’s ear. “A nightcap here means spending the night with one of the boys—as long as it’s mutually agreed upon. We provide the room and no questions asked.”

“But I—” Brice stopped as he noticed Watkins looking at him. Apparently he better accept the offer and then figure out what to do with Remy later. The whole situation was uncomfortable. What had he been thinking coming here with Watkins? He liked to keep his private life private. Was this preferable to being dragged to a strip club with women dancers and being expected to ogle and jeer and make derogatory comments? It was more honest, but Brice still felt like he was exploiting the boy who’d served him.

But Remy had agreed to spend the night with Brice. Maybe the boy was a lot less innocent than he appeared.

“How would you like him? Please point to your preference.” Thomas opened a menu—Brice was getting used to these tonight—with options:

Dressed, undressed, hard, prepped, in bed.

Fuck. Not very subtle, was this process? He pointed to “dressed.” Thomas nodded and straightened up.

Thomas left the room and two of the guests followed him. When he returned he placed a key in front of each of the remaining men. Brice received a key marked #4. It was an old brass skeleton key, shiny and gleaming on the table, with the numeral painted in gold on a leather tag.

“In order, please, gentlemen.” Thomas nodded as he stood in the doorway and presumably the man with key #1 stood and Thomas escorted him from the room.

“You got yourself a shy one there, Brice. But cute.” Watkins’ voice boomed through the quiet room. “You know, I just assumed you’d want him. Did you want one of the others? Or two?”

One of the other men joined in with Watkins’ laughter.

“No. He’s fine. Perfect.” Brice smiled and acted like he was used to ordering boys for the night the same way he ordered a pizza

Watkins let the room next and then the others. Brice was the last to leave.

“Third floor, sir.” Thomas pointed to an old-fashioned elevator with black wrought-iron grill. He opened the door and ushered Brice in, then closed it. The elevator rose slowly through the floors and at the top Brice had to unlatch and open the door and closed it behind him. The key felt heavy in his hand as he made his way to Room #4. He stood outside the door for a moment planning what he’d say when he entered. He imagined the other men opening the door to hard, naked boys or whatever they’d ordered off the nightcap menu.

He took a deep breath and opened the door. The room was dim, lit by low lamps that gave off a warm glow like you might have found in a Victorian brothel, if his impression of a brothel were accurate. A leather armchair—big enough for two, just like the dining benches—and a four-poster bed. A door off the left led to a bathroom. Brice took in the furnishings as his gaze scanned the room and came to rest on Remy, leaning against a polished wood dresser. The boy was fully dressed in a pair of jeans and a dark blue long-sleeved T-shirt. At his feet sat a blue-and-yellow gym bag with the familiar “Cal” logo and the image of a bear—the UC Berkeley mascot.

“Hi, Remy.”

“Hi, Mr. Green.” Remy’s mouth curved in a half-smile, but he didn’t meet Brice’s gaze. In fact he looked as uncomfortable as Brice felt. He went and sat on the couch, a frilly Victorian number. Remy moved away from the dresser and sat next to him. IT was more of a love-seat and their thighs pressed together. Here they were, alone in a room, both fully dressed, when half an hour earlier Remy had been naked and aroused as he perched on Brice’s lap feeding him morsels of chicken. Brice shifted as he felt his own arousal begin again. He did not want to be attracted to this man. He didn’t want to use another person like this. He’d never paid for sex in his life and he wasn’t about to start.  He noticed Remy glancing at his crotch and he shifted again.

“Remy, I have to be honest. I don’t want to sleep with you.”

Remy glanced at the telltale bulge again before returning his gaze to Brice’s face. “You don’t?” The tone sounded as if he were insulted. Could he possibly be disappointed? Then it dawned on Brice.

“I’ll pay whatever you’d make if I did. I just won’t pay you for sex. I won’t do that.”

“You won’t pay for sex, but you’ll pay me not to have sex?” Remy stared, eyes wide.

“That doesn’t make a lot of sense, does it?” Brice laughed and Remy joined in.

“What are you doing here if that’s not what you want?”

“I’m here because of my co-worker. I’m new and he thought it would be a treat to take me here. But it’s just not my kind of place. He ordered you and the nightcap, and I can’t just refuse.”

“You’re not into guys?”

Brice laughed again. “I am into guys. I’m just not into putting my private life on display.”

“So you want your co-worker to think you fucked me? That’s better than just telling him you’re not into this kind of thing?”

Brice shook his head. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s ridiculous. I should tell him the truth.”

“That you’re not into this?”

“Right. Just tell me what I owe you, then you can go home.”

“They have rules here about that stuff. I’m brand new and I don’t know what happens if you break them. But I can’t take your money. They pay me in the morning when we leave. Just for the night. Less if you only stay part of the n night.”

“You’re kidding?”

Remy shook his head.

“So, if you leave early or leave before I do, then you don’t get paid?”

“I don’t think so. Like I said, I’m new, but that’s how Thomas explained it to me.”

“Then I can stay the night. I’ll sleep on the couch. You take the bed.”

Remy glanced down at the frilly loveseat. “No, I can’t do that. I’ll sleep here. Can I use the bathroom first?”

“Sure.”

Remy took his bag and walked into the bathroom, flipped on the light and shut the door. At least Brice noticed it had modern fixtures, even if the color scheme echoed the bedroom. He listened to running water and a few minutes later, Remy came out wearing gray-heather boxer briefs and smelling of toothpaste. The hair framing his face was damp. He sat on the sofa next to Brice and Brice hoisted himself up and went into the bathroom.

It was clean, with a Jacuzzi tub and a large separate shower stall, everything in dark green and brown tones. Big fluffy towels hung on racks. The modern room broke the old-fashioned image set by the dining room and the bedroom, but Brice could see the attraction to the large tub and imagined what the other couples might be doing in the shower. He washed up at the sink then brushed his teeth. The Dining Club provided toothbrushes—still in the package–and a variety of soaps and creams. Everything was top quality from Armani.

Should he disrobe in here the way Remy did? He wanted to hang his suit up, so it made more sense to undress in the room by the armoire. He opened the door and walked out. Remy silently watched as Brice removed his jacket and hung it up, then did the same with his trousers. He unbuttoned the shirt and added it to the armoire before turning back toward Remy, who still sat on the loveseat.

“I’ll take that, Remy. You take the bed.”

“I don’t feel right letting you sleep here. You’re the gentleman.” He grinned at the term and so did Brice. “I should be helping you hang your clothes up, too. I’m sorry.”

“I only expected you to serve me dinner, and to be honest you went far beyond anything I expected from that.” Brice glanced away at that point. It was awkward discussing this now, especially after they’d been so much more intimate earlier that evening, both aware of the other’s arousal. Had he met Remy in a different place and time, he’d gladly spend the night with him and not in separate beds.

“I liked serving you. Really.” It was Remy’s turn to look uncomfortable and break his glance away. “I wasn’t sure what to expect from this job. But it was fun. Thanks.”

“Thank you.”

Remy blinked, his long lashes brushing his cheeks. Brice stood in his briefs staring at him. The room was cool and Remy’s nipples stood up darker than they’d seemed earlier and no longer sparkly.”No glitter now?” The words were out before Brice could stop himself.

Remy ran a hand across his chest, fingers brushing one nipple and making it stiffen further. He gave that shy grin again. “It’s this special food coloring that they use for making cake icing. Would you believe that? The guys paint themselves in all sorts of places. And it’s all edible.” Remy chuckled.

Brice licked his lower lip trying not to think of how it would have tasted to lick the sweet glitter from Remy’s pretty pink nipples. Even now he imagined how they’d feel plump and hard in his mouth and he felt the warmth and heaviness at his crotch. Remy’s gaze moved in that direction and Brice recalled he was wearing brief that revealed his thoughts and urges. He better stop these thoughts or he’d wish he felt differently about the decision he’d made regarding Remy.

“I’m glad you didn’t expect anything from me,” Remy said. “I saw what the other boys did in the dining room, and what they said in the dressing room. They have lots of options on their menus, but I don’t think that’s the right thing for me. I never really understood why guys would pay for sex, when they know the other person is only saying and doing those things for money.”

“Yeah. I know.” Brice shook his head and moved toward the bed and got under the covers before his ache turned to a full hard-on. Why the hell was he suddenly so much more attracted to Remy? But the truth was he’d been attracted to him the whole evening and he kind of hated himself for falling under the spell of this place and this boy. It went against so many things he’d believed about himself, but maybe underneath he was just like those men who would pay pretty boys or girls to treat them nicely.

Remy stretched out and dangled his legs over one arm of the loveseat, settling his head against one of the cushions. The thing was too short for him and Brice knew he’d wake with a sore neck and aching back. If Remy fell asleep in the first place.

“Look, Remy, this bed’s huge. There’s room for both of us. I promise to keep my hands to myself.” Brice shifted over to one side of the bed and patted the side.

“Well, if you’re sure.” Remy didn’t make a move yet, as if weighing the options. “Okay. Thanks.” He got up and moved toward the bed. Even in the low light Brice could see the outline of his cock against the thin cotton of his shorts. Remy lifted the comforter and slid under, then turned so he faced away from Brice.

This was going to be one hell of a long night, Brice realized.

* * * *

Jeremy slid into bed and turned away from Mr. Green—hell, he still didn’t know the man’s real name. Was that part of the rules, too? He didn’t want to hide his disappointment that Green wasn’t more attracted to him. Not that he wanted to let Green fuck him or suck him or get him off or get himself off, but maybe Jeremy’s pride was a little wounded. He’d wanted Green to at least ask him for something, tell him how hot Jeremy was and how he made Green crazy and please? But instead, Green seemed like a nice, honest guy. On the other hand, Jeremy was in bed with him. And Green had the makings of another nice hard-on when he’d gotten undressed and headed for bed.

Jeremy would actually be happy to fcuk or be fucked by Mr. Green. For free. If they’d met in a club or a bar, he’d pass all of Jeremy’s tests for a casual fuckmate. And everything that had gone on at dinner had Jeremy far more turned on than he ever expected to be. He liked sitting on Green’s lap and feeding him. He liked watching the boys playing and sucking each other off and he even wished he’d been brave enough to let Green know it was okay to play with him during the meal. And now, Jeremy had just agreed to spend the night with Green hands off, despite the fact that Mr. Green was apparently as attracted to Jeremy as Jeremy was to him.

Well, it was a long night and maybe somewhere in the middle they’d give into the urges they both wanted to ignore.

 

Sometime during the night at least part of Jeremy’s wishes came true. He woke up to discover he’d rolled over and was pressed firmly into Mr. Green’s back, enjoying the contours of Mr. Green’s shapely firm ass.

“Uh, sorry,” Jeremy whispered and pulled away. He needed to pee and moved carefully toward the bathroom in the near-darkness. He hoped Green hadn’t woken. When he got back to bed he discovered he was wrong. Green was lying on his side, eyes open and glinting.

“It’s cold without you,” Green whispered. Jeremy felt a little warmer at the words and slid in under the quilt.

Chapter Two

 

Jeremy left just after 8 a.m. That was the morning rule, stay past eight and the gentleman paid the room charge. He wanted to leave before Green woke up. Why hadn’t he asked his real name? Of course that was against the rules. The gentlemen stayed anonymous for many reasons. Some weren’t out, some were married, others might be embarrassed if their dinner club activities were discovered. And the Club had the practical purpose of keeping the boys from meeting the gentlemen elsewhere, thus depriving the Club of its reason to exist. They thrived on repeat customers who wanted to see their favorite boy, or so it seemed from what Jeremy had heard from the others in the short time he’d been at the house.

He took BART over to Berkeley then cycled home from the station and tossed his bag into his room once he got into the apartment. He lay on his bed staring up at the ceiling trying to process the night before. He needed to get to a 10-a.m. class but he was in no hurry. He was reluctant to wash away his memories of the night with Mr. Green. He wanted to keep Green’s scent close, think about how his body had felt against Jeremy’s. His hands on Jeremy’s skin and his lips … No, he had to stop thinking about that. Too late. His cock thickened and the familiar tension filled his body, the familiar ache tightening his balls and quickening his breath.

Why not? He slid one hand into his jeans and grasped his cock, imagining Mr. Green’s hands on him, Green’s mouth sucking at a nipple. The ache grew and Jeremy slid his pants and shorts down, not bothering to remove shoes or socks. He started with long smooth slow strokes, eyes closed to heighten the fantasy that it was Green pleasuring ghin. He heard himself groan and quickened the pace of his stroking and let go as the first wave of pleasure shook him. He shot thick spurts on his torso and gave in to the overwhelming sensation of physical bliss.

Afterward he lay panting, remembering that fantasies weren’t really bliss, just a quick respite from the rest of his lonely life.

Serving Mr. Green had been another pleasant detour. He’d enjoyed taking care of his gentleman, knowing he got the man aroused, and surprised by his own arousal at the environment. He’d gone only for the chance to earn some money, expecting the worst and assuming he’d feel used and degraded in the process. But Kit and the others had a good time, enjoyed getting each other off for their own pleasure as much as for the amusement of the gentlemen. Was there really anything wrong with that, if everyone consented, every step of the way?

Even the night cap had been no pressure. Jeremy had wanted to do far more than he’d originally agreed to, and it had been awkward. But what was wrong with any of it?

Nothing.

Jeremy decided then and there that if Thomas would have him back, he’d work again at the Dinner Club. And he’d loosen up and have some fun. Not all the gentlemen had been as handsome as Mr. Green, but Green said he wanted to come back. A win-win, right?

Jeremy spent another twenty minutes fantasizing about having Mr. Green’s hands on him at the table, and letting the other boys watch Jeremy’s gentleman ordering from the menu. God, how ridiculous their code phrases were, but Jeremy wanted to be on Mr. Green’s menu and wanted to perform whatever the man might ask.

Let’s just hope he asks.

*

Later that day Thomas called to let Jeremy know he’d performed well enough to become a regular. He just needed to let them know his availability. Which days could he work and how many nights a week did he want? Jeremy said one night a week and told Thomas which days were best and how far in advance he needed to schedule around his academic commitments. Now all he had to do was wait.

* * * *

Brice woke up alone in the room. Sun flickered through the edges of the heavy drapes but there was a chill anyway. Remy’s pillow bore an indentation but it was cold. He’d gotten up and left long ago. The clock on the night table—an old-fashioned one with a second hand that clicked its way around the face of the clock. He glanced toward the bathroom but it was wishful thinking. Remy was gone. His sports bag wasn’t in front of the armoire where it had been the night before.

Brice checked the clock again—after 9 a.m. Remy only had to stay till eight to get his payment. Was that all he cared about? Brice didn’t think so. Somehow, despite both their comments to the contrary, Brice though they’d connected on more than just a physical level, though the physical had been nice. He sat up in bed craving coffee. It was Saturday and he wouldn’t need to go into the office. He’d just check email. Reluctantly he crawled out of bed, visited the bathroom and grabbed his phone out of his jacket pocket as he made his way back to the bed. He sat there for a few moments and crossed the room to the armoire and began dressing. He checked his reflection to make sure he looked presentable and slipped into the hallway. The elevator was on his floor already and he rode it down slowly, then got out at the ground floor. He didn’t know if he was supposed to check out. He left the key on a table near the door and slipped out of the Dinner Club and into the bright sunshine of a San Francisco autumn morning.

He’d taken a cab with Watkins the night before and he walked toward the next main street—Mission, stopping along the way at a tiny grocery store for their largest cup of coffee. The Starbucks across the street would be packed and he didn’t fancy standing in line wearing yesterday’s suit, his dress shirt unbuttoned and his tie rolled up in a pocket. He looked like a guy who hadn’t been home the night before and he didn’t like that. Coffee in hand—and after ignoring the judgmental stare of the turbaned man behind the counter—he hailed a cab and headed for home.

 

By Monday Brice realized he couldn’t get the thought of Remy out of his brain. He found himself far too obsessed with the young man. Ten times that weekend he’d considered calling the Dinner Club for a reservation that week and ten times he stopped himself. Thankfully the number was unlisted or he might not have had the necessary willpower. He certainly didn’t want to call Watkins on the weekend to ask for the number. He’d never live it down.

Brice had been in his office less than an hour Monday morning when Watkins slipped in, carrying a large Starbucks cup with half a dozen instructions penned on one side. Figured that this guy was high maintenance, even when it came to his coffee.

“So, Gordon, how’d you like the club?” Watkins oozed into one of the leather chairs opposite Brice’s desk, wearing an improper sneer.

Brice had steeled himself for this conversation. He smiled and nodded, hoping he looked knowing and suitably debauched from the previous night’s activities. It wasn’t how he felt but he had to keep up appearances.

“Loved it. Thanks for taking me.”

“That’s it? That’s all you’re gonna say?” Watkins leaned forward, one hand on the edge of Brice’s desk.

“Yes.”

“Well, you’ll need to loosen up a little next time. Maybe we can…” Watkins’ voice trailed off as he must have realized Brice wasn’t into anything that involved the pronoun “we.” Watkins nodded and grinned again. “Kit’s a pistol. Took me most of Saturday and part of Sunday to catch up on my sleep.”

“I think he’s a little too much for me.” Brice made sure to sound like he envied Watkins’ sexual prowess and might save the knowledge for future use.

“That Remy, he’s nice and fresh. Kind of like the boy next door quarterback of the high school team. Nice change from the pretty boys. Should I give him a run next time?” Watkins paused but not long enough for Brice to answer. “I usually like ’em squirming a little more in my lap, you know? Like to get a real feel for them during dinner. Remy’s new and maybe he’s a little shy—or maybe he’s just uptight. Well, he won’t last long in that case. Thomas likes the boys to be a little more active during the meal service.”

Brice felt a heaviness in his chest. He hated the thought of Watkins with Remy. At least based on what Brice though Remy was really like. Maybe the guy had acted shy just for Brice’s benefit and the following night he’d gone down on every other boy in the room? The idea of that both repulsed and slightly aroused Brice and he felt a little sick over it. Whatever Remy was really like, Brice wouldn’t wish a night with Watkins upon him.

A low buzz sounded and Watkins grabbed his chest pocket, then pulled out a cell phone. He glanced at the screen and replaced it without answering. “Gotta run. Need to get some signatures on a contract. I’ll be back later to have you check that everything’s A-OK on the paperwork. What time you here till?”

“Till at least five. Buzz me when you’re on the way back if you’ll be later than that.”

“Gotcha!” Watkins rose and gave Brice a salute and a conspiratorial leer and headed out of the office.

He’d left his ginormous coffee on Brice’s desk and Brice waited a few minutes to see if Watkins would return. When he didn’t, Brice dumped the contents out in the kitchen and tossed the cup in the compost bin.

The rest of the day and most of the week passed without incident. Unless one counted that Brice wanted to see Remy again so badly he was ready to get the number of the club from Watkins. He managed to make it through Friday night by heading to a favorite bar with some friends and getting drunker than he usually did. He stuck to beer to minimize the aftereffects the following day, then went for a long run in Golden Gate Park. By Sunday night he fell into bed exhausted and he thought he was over the pull of the Dinner Club. As much as he would like to see Remy, he hated that he had to do so through the repressive system of paying for favors. He didn’t want Remy to feel exploited and as long as they interacted there, Brice would never know for sure why Remy was with him: for money or because he actually liked spending time with Brice.

Brice’s well-laid plans blew up in his face Monday morning. His boss rolled into his office, not bothering to knock on the half-shut door and deposited himself in the same chair Watkins had used a week earlier.

“Hope you’re not busy tomorrow night. And if you are, cancel your plans.”

“Okay. Why?”

“Got an investor who’s looking for a place to plant about $50 mill. I need your help to land him.”

“What can I do?”

“He’s from a private fund in Missouri and he’s pretty excited about visiting San Fran. I need you to take him around and show him a good time.”

Brice sat back in his chair. He knew this was code for the prospect was gay, most likely closeted back in his red-state home life, and wanted to blow off more than steam while he was in town. And that if Brice showed him the right kind of fun he’d toss them $50 million to invest. “What did you have in mind?”

“Somehow he heard about the Dinner Club. Can’t wait to go. You two have reservations for tomorrow night and you’ve got Wednesday off. Let him do or have whatever he wants, money is no object here.”

* * * * *

Read Part 2