Goodnight, My Angel - Georgeotown Book IV - 24. GMA XXIV

“I love this shit! I may just start wearing a brain bucket more often.” CJ momentarily squeezed the clutch lever with his left hand and turned the throttle twice with his right. The resulting VROOM, VROOM was music to his ears.

“Wanker!” Owen’s response was loud and clear through the helmet’s built-in speakers. “Why do you even have the GPS on the heads-up display? It’s not like we can get lost. US 1’s the only road to Key West.”

“Yeah, but this is too damn cool not to play with. It’s insane I can see the map on the visor.” The high-tech helmets were a present from the fathers, and this was the first time they had taken them for a spin.

With a baby on the way, CJ’s graduation looming, full-time employment for him soon after, and a move to the Capitol Hill house sometime later in the year, they did not think traveling would be feasible for the foreseeable future. The ride on the Overseas Highway from Miami to the Conch Republic was their big motorcycle trip for 2020. They had flown to Miami International Thursday night, having taken Friday off from work and school.

Chipper was away for the long President’s Day Weekend, so they were unable to connect with him. Sebastián and Rosario Abelló insisted they spend the night in their condo, and Olga Santos had joined them for dinner. Conversation focused on her upcoming move to Washington and the Abelló grandparents’ plans to travel to the nation’s capital as soon as their great-grandchild was born.

“What are you listening to?” Owen rode a motorcycle-length behind on the right side of the lane while CJ led the way on the left—the usual staggered formation for group rides.

“Buffett.” CJ liked the fact the new-fangled system in the helmet paused the music whenever someone in the communication loop spoke.

“Duh! That’s a no brainer. I meant what album.”

“Oh, not sure. Can’t remember. I set it to play at random. But the song’s ‘Party at the End of the World.’ I think that’s appropriate.”

When CJ mentioned Island House as a possible place to stay, César and Brett frowned. The clothing-optional, gay guesthouse was a luxurious place the two had visited in the past. They made it clear, at times it resembled a bathhouse due to the sexual shenanigans of guests and day visitors. They suggested staying elsewhere, and CJ opted for Cypress House instead.

“Hey, Oz. The next island’s Boca Chica Key. Look to the right when we cross it. You’ll get a glimpse of the Naval Air Station Key West field. If we’re lucky, we’ll catch a plane taking off or landing.” CJ sighed and pulled onto the road’s shoulder as a couple of planes roared above. Ripping their helmets off, they swiveled their heads to follow the jets’ turn and landing approach. “Fuck! I can see why Ritchie wants to fly those suckers whenever I think of how powerful they are.”

“We’re almost there, right? Only one more key before the end?”

“Yep. That would be Stock Island. Once we ride over the bridge after it, we’ll be in Key West proper.”

When the highway ended on Roosevelt Drive, CJ turned right. The road skirted the northern edge of the island where the Gulf of Mexico waters pooled into a pond between landmasses, lapping at the rocks lining the waterfront promenade.

“Weren’t we supposed to turn there?” Owen pointed at the intersection with Palm Avenue Causeway

CJ caught the extended, gloved finger in his rearview mirror. “I thought you said we didn’t need the GPS, Oz.” The reply carried humor in its tone.

“Yeah, well, I turned it on when we stopped to watch the planes land. Figured I’d check it out driving through the city.”

“That turn would have been the most direct route to the guesthouse. I added a little stop along the way.” Where the GPS had instructed Owen to make a right, CJ continued on Roosevelt Boulevard until it became Truman Avenue. Several turns followed the one on Frances Street, and they eventually traveled less populated roads. CJ slowed down and pointed to the left before backing the Harley into a parking spot, leaving sufficient room for Owen to do the same.

Turning off the engine, Owen removed his helmet and stared in the direction CJ had waved a hand at before stopping. “You brought me to a cemetery?” The Aussie sounded incredulous and amused.

“Yeah, just wanted you to see it. We don’t even have to get off the bikes. This place always fascinated me. Because of the water table, most graves are above ground. I’ve seen pictures of the same thing in New Orleans. Just wait until rising sea levels drown both places out. There’ll be bones floating all over.”

“Kinda morbid, mate. Let’s hope I can do something to help us deal with climate change. The stupid ass in the White House sure as shit ain’t gonna do anything. Two consecutive appointments of fossil-fuel industry flunkies as EPA Director tells me he doesn’t care.”

Past the burial grounds, CJ ignored the route the mapping app suggested—they had kept their helmets on to facilitate communication. He navigated from memory through the traffic-congested, narrow roadways as their speed diminished to a crawl. At Duval Street, they turned right.

“This is the main drag, Oz. I’m taking you the long way ’round so you can soak up a little atmosphere.” CJ maintained a running commentary of the places he knew about: Buffett’s Margaritaville, The Bull on the corner of Caroline Street, and Sloppy Joe’s—Ernest Hemingway’s favored watering hole—near the end of the road.

“When was the last time you were here? All you’re pointing out is bars. I know you weren’t old enough to drink then.”

“Ha! I wasn’t. But most of these places are also restaurants, so I’ve been in them. I guess it’s like seven years since I was last in Key West? Ritchie’s dad used to boat down here a couple of times a year.” CJ was surprised he felt so little resentment towards the man who threw him out of his home for being gay. Maybe his dads were right, and he was growing up. He realized hanging on to hatred did not accomplish much. Using setbacks as motivation to accomplish goals was much more productive.

On the corner of Simonton and Caroline Streets, Cypress House rose in majestic tropical splendor. Verdant foliage hid most of the two-story, cypress-plank-clad structure dating to the nineteenth century.

They booked their stay at the suggestion of their Wilton Manors biker friend, Carlos; his motorcycle-riding pal, Aaron, owned the guesthouse. “Welcome to Cypress House, gentlemen. Good ride?” The man could have been the poster stud for muscle bears. Somewhere in his fifties, he stood a smidgen under CJ’s six feet, arms and legs rippled with muscles. A mixture of black and white hair covered his equally muscular torso. His beard and the hair on his head matched the salt and pepper combination. Sneakers and shorts appeared to be the staff uniform. Two young men sweeping the wide porch and the sidewalk in front wore the same.

“Mate, it was top notch. I’d only been as far as Key Largo before. CJ took me scuba diving at the state park there. But riding over the Seven Mile Bridge, endless water stretching to my right and left, was incredible. We kept our speed down to enjoy the view, so everyone kept passing us. The big trucks were a pain. The bike shook every time one roared by.” Owen may have been complaining, but the smile was permanently affixed to his face. “I’m kinda sorry we rented the Harleys for only one day. I guess we can walk everywhere once we return them tomorrow morning. And since we’re flying home from the airport here…”

“You’re Australian, right? That’s what Carlos said when he talked to me about you two. I always have trouble telling the difference between Aussie and Kiwis.”

“Nah, it’s easy. We’re the smarter, better-looking ones. It’s how you can tell us apart from the sheep fuckers.”

 

“What can I get you guys to drink?” The perky waitress bared her teeth in a smile that suggested she wanted to nibble on her two good-looking customers. The fact CJ and Owen wore only shorts and flip-flops may have had something to do with it.

“Hmmm, not sure.” CJ pushed his sunglasses atop his head and gave their server his most innocent smile. “Pour me something tall and strong.”

The woman’s smile grew. “You mean like your friend here? How ’bout we make it a hurricane before you go insane?”

CJ glanced at the big Rolex on his wrist. “It’s only half past twelve, but I don’t care.”

The simultaneous “It’s five o’clock somewhere” and subsequent laughter had Owen staring at his husband and the server as if they were extraterrestrials. CJ’s “At a moment like this, I can't help but wonder what would Jimmy Buffett do,” was enlightening.

Recognition visibly washed over Owen’s visage. “That’s a song, isn’t it?”

“It’s Five O’clock Somewhere,” said the server.

“Allan Jackson with an assist from Jimmy,” CJ added.

“Guess I’ll be hearing a bloody lot of him this trip. You’re as nuts about Buffett as your dad’s about Springsteen.”

“Hey! I grew up listening to the man. Anyway, a hurricane sounds good to me right now.”

“Oh what the hell, make it two.” Owen winked at the waitress.

“Be right back with your cocktails. I’ll take your order then. Today’s lunch special’s a grouper sandwich with fries and fresh fruit.”

“So, Oz… Anything in particular you want to do?”

“Apart from scuba diving tomorrow?” Although Aaron no longer ran a fishing and diving business, he still owned a boat and was taking the couple out the next day. “Laying out in the sun, eating stone crabs, and drinking. What about you?”

“We should take the Conch Tour Train. It’s a trolley ride throughout the island, and we can hop on and off wherever we want. I wouldn’t mind visiting Hemingway’s house again.”

“He’s big around here, isn’t he? I saw his face on a few signs.”

“Hemingway lived in Key West for a while. The town’s always attracted artsy types and was a hot spot for literary figures. Hemingway wasn’t the only one. I know Tennessee Williams and Robert Frost spent time on the island too. I always heard Hemingway advised to ‘write what you know,’ and I kept that in mind while working on Bullies Beware. Funny thing is, I later found out it was probably Mark Twain who said it.”

“That’s fine with me. Maybe we can take the tour tomorrow afternoon? After we get back from diving?”

“Perfect. How about we walk around a little after lunch? We can hang out around the pool afterward. We’ll catch the sunset at Mallory Square before dinner and then hit a few of the bars.”

 

Once they left the congestion of Duval Street behind, the air smelled cleaner; automobile traffic and the accompanying emissions felt a world away. They window-shopped, keeping a list of stores they wanted to explore further. Back at the guesthouse, they slathered suntan oil over each other and claimed two lounge chairs by the pool. Multi-colored bougainvillea rose from the narrow soil-strip wedged between the deck and the wooden fence surrounding the property. The colorful display may have lured visiting Yankees for a closer look; CJ was a southern boy though. Bright blooms could not entice him close enough to the shrub. He was well aware the thorny garden fixture was often planted in front of windows to deter burglars. He had learned his lesson the hard way when younger.

Thin Alexander palms and clumps of bamboo soared amidst the pink, white, and burgundy flowers, while heliconias, gingers, and bromeliads added their own splashes of color closer to the ground. It was a postcard-worthy tropical display, and CJ realized he missed it.

“Damn! Whenever we’re in South Florida, I rarely pay much attention to my surroundings. It’s Miami. Been there, done that. This, I’m enjoying. Seeing all these warm-weather plants again I’m realizing I miss this shit.” The two hours spent frolicking in and around the clothing optional setting were the perfect antidote to the cold and snow they had left behind in Washington.

 

Happy hour was a daily occurrence under the covered porch abutting the pool. A couch, a table, and an assortment of chairs accommodated whatever guests and tricks decided to hang around. Aaron had shown Owen and CJ where the alcohol was kept and extended an invitation for them to have a nightcap whenever they dragged themselves home. He was not around that afternoon; one of the twenty-something, slim guys sweeping the grounds when they arrived wheeled out a bar cart with bottles, mixers, and simple snacks.

“Hey, guys. I’m Stone. Where y’all visiting from?”

“CJ.” Shaking hands, CJ thought the name was a good fit. The man’s open Hawaiian shirt displayed a slightly furry, rock-hard body. Massive thighs and bulging calves extended below the khaki shorts’ hem. Combined with the bulging crotch and rich baritone, the man epitomized the popular perception of a hyper-masculine male.

“Owen. Good to meet you. We’re from Washington. And you?”

“Local. I’m Terry’s boyfriend”—the stud pointed at the guesthouse employee—“and I come over whenever he works happy hour to help him out. Are you guys a couple or just friends?”

CJ raised his left hand and wiggled his fingers to highlight the wedding band. “Husbands. We’ve been married coming on two years in June.”

“That’s great. Congratulations!” Stone raised his cocktail in salute. “Is this your first time on our little island?”

“It is for me. CJ was born in Miami and he’s been here a bunch of times. Before I met him.”

“How long you in town for?” Almost imperceptibly, Stone moved closer to the couple.

“We fly out Monday.” Owen helped himself to a second rum and Coke while Stone draped an arm over CJ’s shoulders.

“Perfect! You guys have to come see me at the bar tonight.”

“You a bartender or a bouncer?” CJ imagined the man’s size would be good for security, but his looks would make him a ton of money as a cocktail slinger. He grinned trying to shake the image of the fit but borderline anorexic Terry being pounded by Stone.

“Neither! I’m a dancer at Bourbon Street Pub. Y’all come by, and I’ll make sure the bartenders give you a drink on the house.” The man leaned in, placed his other arm around Owen, and lowered his voice. “And if you’re interested, I’m available for play. Free of charge. Terry has a huge hose and likes sloppy seconds. I’m sure he’d love to watch the two of you tag team my hole.”

 

“Well, that’ll remind me not to make assumptions.” A blanket of clouds obscured the sky, but CJ swore the sunset celebration at Mallory Square would be just as festive even without the guest of honor present.

Owen’s strong cocktails had him in a relaxed mood. He chuckled at his husband’s comment. “You mean Stone and Terry?”

“Yeah… I should have known better than to assume the muscle-bound, hairy stud was a top, and his hairless, emo-like boyfriend was a bottom.”

“Life’s a bitch, ain’t it?”

“Nah… Stone’s the bitch. I wouldn’t mind hearing him squeal while he gets bred.” Owen nearly tripped trying to slap CJ’s head while laughing.

Dinner at Antonia’s Restaurant was outstanding. The elegant, cozy, Italian eatery was the perfect spot for a romantic Valentine’s Day meal, and the bottle of Tuscan 2015 Castello di Bolgheri red Owen ordered was expensive but worth every cent. Since they planned on rising early to go scuba diving, they skipped the bars, had a final drink by the guesthouse pool, and made enough noise afterward a couple of the other guests made comments and gave them smiles and winks the next day.

 

“Thank you for calling Cypress House. How may I help you?” Aaron answered the phone and held up a finger; CJ and Owen dutifully waited by the screen door. “I’m sorry, we do not reveal information about who may or may not be our guest.” The stare he gave the couple revealed his confusion. A few polite words later, the call ended and his guests were under scrutiny. “Why does a reporter for The National Enquirer want to know if the two of you are staying here?”

CJ shook his head and Owen chuckled as they climbed into Aaron’s pickup for the short ride to the marina. “Because I just posted a picture of me and Ozzie in front of the Cypress House sign on Instagram. That woman’s been pestering me for an interview the last couple of months. She stopped calling us directly when we had our attorney send them a letter threatening lawsuits if they printed anything remotely false.”

“I give her points for being persistent, mate. I thought she’d fade away after Ethan got in touch with them.”

“I’m entirely puzzled.” Aaron drove through streets nearly devoid of traffic, often glimpsing at the rearview mirror; he had air tanks and equipment strapped to the truck’s bed.

“Blame it on social media. She writes about influencers all the time. When CJ refused to be interviewed, she started digging around for dirt.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Aaron was apparently not well versed in modern marketing techniques.

“An influencer’s someone with a large following on social media, Aaron. They can nudge people to do or buy something.” CJ was not stupid. He knew his followers would listen to him, but he refused to monetize their loyalty. He continued to wonder how he had reached this point after being such a reticent participant while in high school. “Companies will pay them or give them free products in exchange for plugging whatever they’re peddling.”

“You’re shitting me.” Aaron backed the truck into a space and turned off the engine. “One of you want to grab a trolley from next to the office? We need it to carry the equipment down the dock. So, like you get paid if you post something about wearing… I don’t know… something like those sunglasses on top of your head? Like product placement in movies?”

“I don’t. And that’s the issue. I refused to be interviewed because I don’t, and she didn’t believe me.”

“Can you do that? Can you convince people to do things like that? How much do they pay?”

This was not the conversation CJ thought he would be having this morning. “Probably… I know whenever I post something about one of the charities I support they get a bump in donations. But those are the only times I try to push my followers. Most of the time, what I share’s fun stuff about our lives in DC and our trips. As for how much influencers can make, I know some people get paid over a grand for a single post.”

“You’re shitting me!” Aaron took each tank handed to him and secured it inside the vessel using straps rising from the gunwales. The cooler and equipment duffle bags he asked Owen to place nearer the bow.

“Nope. And they pay the most for travel related posts. This morning, when I shared the picture of your place, all I said was we were escaping winter for the weekend. You may get a few inquiries.”

“Well, if anyone books because of you I guess I’ll have to figure out a commission.”

“Not on your life! That’s the kind of stuff I’ve avoided so far, and I’m not about to start by making money off someone I hope will become a friend. Carlos speaks highly of you, and I hope Ozzie and I get to come down and visit a few times.”

“You say when. I’ll make sure there’s a room for you guys. Even if I have to cancel someone else’s reservations.” Aaron stuck the key in the ignition and powered up the large inboard. “One of you want to jump on the dock and get the lines?”

“Got it, mate. That’s always my job when we go out on my cousin’s cat.”

“So, CJ, how did you get to the point you can make money by posting pictures online?”

Owen didn’t give his husband a chance to reply. “His bloody trainers.”

“Actually, Oz, it’s all Clinton’s fault.” CJ spread his legs and planted his feet on the deck while bending his knees. He knew his balance would be fine while they motored through the no-wake zone, but it was an automatic reaction to being on a boat.

“The two of you are intent on keeping me baffled this morning, aren’t you?” Aaron’s chiding was done with a grin.

“CJ’s right, but his first offer came from a shoe company. He has a fixation with PF Flyer high tops. Whenever they’re visible in a picture, he hashtags the brand. They contacted him and offered free ones in exchange for further posts.”

“I turned them down. My dad’s a financial guy and suggested I ask them to let me buy stock in the company instead. It’s owned by New Balance. I got a letter from them letting me know if they did a private offering, or if they ever went public, I’d get a chance. I’m still waiting.”

“Makes sense. Carlos told me your family’s well off.” Aaron’s words elicited a shrug from CJ and an eyeroll from Owen. “He also mentioned you were very active in the 2016 presidential campaign. I’m guessing that’s where the Clinton reference comes from?”

Even with sunglasses on, CJ squinted; they were traveling east into the sun toward a dive spot a few miles off Key West International Airport. “Yeah… my dads used to be kind of private, so they always warned me against sharing too much on social media. They had security concerns. When I became a surrogate for Hillary, they changed their tune. They encouraged me to become an active participant, so I could do a good job for her.”

“So, who are you supporting this year? I’m guessing you’re a Democrat and assuming it’s not that idiot Republican.”

“No and no.” CJ braced himself to deliver the spiel he had been spouting for a while. “I’m registered to vote with no party affiliation. But I gave up on Trump a long time ago.”

“You supported him in the past?”

CJ sighed, buying himself a fraction of a moment to formulate his answer. The brash boy who blurted out the first thing that came to mind was long gone. “It’s… complicated. Ozzie will tell you on election night when Trump won, I said we had to give him a chance. To be honest, I don’t disagree with everything he advocates, but his methods are repulsive. It didn’t take long for me to realize he wasn’t going to change and act the way the leader of the free world should. He’s a lying sack of shit who in retrospect had no business getting elected.”

“It sounds complicated for you, kid. I get the feeling you’re a liberal, so I’m not sure how you support any of his policies.”

“Welcome to my world, mate.” Owen stood on the other side of Aaron as the man seamlessly wove his way through channel marking buoys, and opened up the throttle as they reached open water. “My husband’s a complicated man. He supports individual gun ownership one hundred percent but also favors limits and controls. He thinks abortion should be legal but also backs the death penalty. He does believe in lower taxes but not for the top percent of the population. He’s big on a strong border to prevent illegal entry but thinks we need realistic laws that acknowledge we’re a nation of immigrants.”

“Sounds borderline libertarian to me.”

“Yeah, that could describe me. Except there’s lots of weirdos advocating near-anarchy in that camp. I have a more global view than most libertarians. Once again, I don’t disagree with Trump flexing the American economic muscle, but the way he’s gone about it is idiotic. You don’t piss off the people that can help you achieve your goals.”

“Then why don’t you run for office?”

“I’m not ready.” There was no hesitation in the response this time. “Look, I don’t think I’ve led a sheltered life, but it’s definitely been a privileged one. I need more experience before I would consider running for anything. If I ever run for office, I intend to win and do a proper job.”

“So you’ve given up on politics until you think you’re ready?”

“Oh, hell no, he hasn’t.” Owen’s rapid response drew a chuckle from the grizzled biker. “You should hear him cuss whenever that idiot in the White House tweets another outrageous thing. Or see the number of contributions he made to candidates all over the country in 2018.”

“That was an interesting election.” CJ was suddenly in a reflective mood. “Some of the candidates I supported won, a bunch lost. At least the change in control of the House of Representatives acted as a break. Before that, I felt we were barreling toward a tyrannical dictatorship without anyone willing to question anything.

“Before you ask, I’m doing the same thing this year. Ozzie and I haven’t decided who we’ll support. Now that he has a green card, he can legally contribute to campaigns. Giving money will be our only involvement. I start work at the State Department this summer and plan on not voicing my support for anyone. Of course, my financial contributions will be public record, but I think diplomats should be above partisan politics. Once I no longer work there, we’ll revisit my political future.”

In 2009, the ex-military, missile-tracking ship USNS General Hoyt S. Vandenberg that once monitored space launches off Cape Canaveral, and followed Soviet missile launches during the Cold War, was sunk to become an artificial reef. A common practice, these ships attracted marine life and helped decrease pressure on coral reefs by providing divers with an alternative environment to explore. Owen had selected the wreck when CJ asked him to research diving spots and choose one.

They dove twice on it. Due to the depth, and the required decompression stop, the second one took place after a long rest aboard. By the time they returned to Key West and cleaned the equipment, CJ felt it was too late to ride the trolley; they postponed the sightseeing for a day.

After lunch, they lounged around the pool, napped, and eventually found their way back to Mallory Square. Clear skies allowed the sun to set over the Gulf of Mexico in view of the celebrants. Jugglers, fire-eaters, magicians, and other assorted denizens of the quirky island made it feel like a pagan ritual. When the reddish orb dipped below the horizon, it received a standing ovation.

“Hey, Oz. Wanna get up early tomorrow and walk to the other side of the island? We can catch the sunrise. Not many places you can do a dawn-to-dusk pub crawl and watch the sun rise and set over water.”

“Shut up! Not a chance. We’re going drinking tonight and I plan to sleep in tomorrow.”

Dinner was followed by a stroll and more window-shopping along Duval Street. By the time they stopped in front of the bar, they were ready for a drink. Music escaped out the entrance and the open windows facing the street. Every stool by the bar to the left was occupied, and a guy in fashionable underwear gyrated under flashing lights on a platform to the rear.

“What can I get you, guys?” The smiling bartender appraised them, and CJ wasn’t sure if the man was seeing dollars or dicks. Sex permeated the resort town’s atmosphere.

Owen gave him a cursory glance before turning his attention to the skinny blond on stage. “Bacardi and Coke for me.”

“Coconut rum and pineapple juice for me.” CJ ran a hand down his exposed chest hair and opened the last button of his shirt. Already in a festive mood thanks to the bottle of wine polished over dinner, he knew the move might get them a better pour. Flirting worked in both directions. “Hey, when does Stone go on stage?”

“Stone, eh? Figures you two would go for the beefy one. I think he’s next or the one after.”

“Thanks.” CJ left a generous tip knowing the server would remember them.

Walking through a door in the back, they exited into open air. In front, a covered tiki bar was as busy as the one inside; beyond it, pool lights illuminated a handful of people in the water from underneath. “I’m glad we’re not staying here. Not sure I could handle the noise late at night.” Owen swept a hand in the direction of what they assumed were room doors.

“We’d prolly be out here partying anyway.” When the music changed, CJ looked behind and noticed Stone exiting the restroom. “Hey, I just saw Stone. Let’s head back inside.”

The man was dressed much like the two of them, walking shorts and short-sleeved, button- down shirt. CJ was certain Stone would shed the tourist attire soon enough. When he saw the couple, he hugged both. “Thanks for coming, guys! I go on after this song, dance for three numbers, and then I’ll come mingle. You’ll get the drink I promised between sets.”

“Cool… Oz, save us spots as close to the stage as possible. I’ll go get us another round.”

When CJ returned, a muscular, shirtless, black man had an arm draped over Owen’s shoulders, and both were laughing. “You can repeat the offer to my husband. Wanna bet you get the same response?”

“What response?” CJ handed over his husband’s cocktail while looking the man up and down. “Hey, I’m CJ.”

“Udell here made me a proposition he graciously extended to both of us when I told him I was here with my husband.” There was a hidden message in Owen’s tone: be nice CJ.

“And what would that be, big guy?”

The semi-darkness of the room hid part of Udell’s features, but the perfect row of white teeth on display reflected sufficient ambient light to illuminate his face. “Damn, Owen, you didn’t tell me your husband was as hot as you!” He ran a finger down the middle of CJ’s chest, twirling the hair around his navel. “I was explaining I’m from the Bahamas, and I’m trying to make enough money to stay in town a bit longer. Since I have a weakness for sexy blond men, I told your husband I’d give him a discount from my usual rate.”

CJ had no problem figuring out where the conversation was headed and decided to play along. “And what kind of services are you offering us a discount on?”

“I help visitors relax.” Udell took CJ’s free hand and plastered it against his crotch. “There’s almost eleven inches in there that can massage your insides. It might hurt a bit at first if you’re not used to someone like me, but I promise you’ll like it. I can go all night and cum a lot so both of you can have at least one inside you by morning.”

CJ gave the large lump a rub and reclaimed his hand while grinning. “Nice, very nice. But what if what we’re interested in is this?” The same hand clamped onto a rock solid ass cheek and squeezed.

“Nah… I don’t get fucked, man.”

“Too bad. Look, I don’t wanna waste your time. You should keep working the crowd, it ain’t gonna happen with us.” CJ gave Owen a quick glance and was rewarded with a wink and a short nod; his husband approved.

“Damn, too bad. I would have loved to sink into both of you. Maybe I’ll look for you if I can’t find a customer. Might be hot to fuck you even if it’s for free.”

“You do that, bud.” CJ grasped Owen’s belt buckle. “Come on, Oz. I wanna show you something.” He hated to miss Stone’s performance; a glimpse at the stud undulating on stage only served to get him hotter. What was it about the place that had him in a perpetual boned state? Once back outside, he pointed at the wooden staircase on the building’s side. “Let’s go check the rooftop deck.”

“Now? I kinda was looking forward to watching Stone strut his stuff.” If Owen was disappointed, his mild tone did not reveal it.

“We’ll stay late and catch his next set.” CJ took long strides towards his goal. “Right now I’m horny, and I need to get off.”

Ambient light cast shadows over most of the space, the thumping music below and the myriad conversations around the pool were nothing but jumbled sounds. A lone couple leaned against the front railing looking down at the street. CJ manhandled Owen onto one of the benches at the other end, dropped to his knees, and reached for his husband’s zipper.

“You sure you want to do this, CJ? Out here in the open?” Owen unbuckled the belt, unfastened the top button, and spread the fly’s flaps.

“I don’t give a shit. Nobody can see anyway.” No further words were uttered, but Owen grunted when CJ swallowed him whole.

CJ pulled out his dick and stroked it with one hand, while the other one he used to play with Owen’s hole. The other couple on the deck came closer and stared, exchanging gropes and face licks. “Damn, he’s a good cocksucker.”

CJ drew back and grinned. “Thanks, boys. Lots of practice.” He redoubled his efforts and when Owen clasped his head in both hands, he knew the end was near for both of them.

“Fuck! That was good.” He tucked his now softening cock back in his shorts while licking his lips. “I’m ready for that other drink now. And hopefully, we can go back to flirting around without getting overheated.”