Bluegrass Symphony - 1. San Diego

"Well, that was fun." The toilet flushed and Robbie, the handsome redheaded man Wren had gone home with, grinned as he swaggered out of the bathroom.

Wren frowned, his green eyes on Robbie, and sat up amongst the sheets and blanket on the bed. "'Was?' Is the night over?"

Robbie stood beside the bed. "Well, we both got off. Usually signals the end for us, right?" He bent to pick up his pants. "I can take you home."

Wren felt a hot stab of disappointment which flickered on his face. Robbie didn't seem to notice. Wren stood, suddenly ashamed of his nakedness. "No. No, I'll take the bus. It's fine." He put on his underwear, then shoved his legs into his jeans.

Robbie had missed his expression, but not the tone in Wren's voice. "What? Did you want to stay over or something?" There was an undercurrent of annoyance in Robbie's words.

"Oh no." Wren buttoned his jeans and pulled his shirt over his head, ruffling his thick black hair as he did. "Nope. Definitely not."

Robbie frowned as Wren tied his shoes. "Man, what's with you?" Robbie cocked his head at him. "You were the one to lay down boundaries, Wren." He shrugged. "You're the one who's too good to settle down. So I'm not gonna pretend that I'm anything but a fuck for you."

Wren felt a sliver of anger, but it swiftly mingled with acquiescence to the truth. "You're not just a fuck," he said weakly. Wren shook his head. "I never wanted you to feel that way."

Robbie snorted, and he slipped his naked legs under the rumpled sheets. "Yeah. You want me to feel like you're giving me the gift of your presence." He stared, his blue eyes hard. "You wanted distance, you got it. And now, what? Now you want me to fawn over you? Spoon and get close, so my brain confuses what this is again?" Robbie set his jaw. "Nope. I'll ride your cock because that's fun. But I've learned my lesson, and that's all you're getting from me."

Wren instinctively leaned back away from him. He looked at Robbie then bit his lip. "Well, okay then." He felt the unmistakable twinge of guilt. It's true - he had been the one to walk away from Robbie's attempt to go beyond "fuck buddy" status. It was also true that Wren had done that because he wanted to remain unattached - free to have sex with whoever he liked, whenever he wished.

What really twisted the knife was that he knew Robbie liked him. He knew Robbie wanted more, and Wren had banked on taking advantage of that to spend the night with the cute young man. Staying with Robbie was a far more pleasant option rather than returning home to his own apartment.

After a grumbled goodbye he gathered his jacket and left Robbie's place, then put the coat under his arm and slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He walked head down in the warm air of the spring San Diego night.

It was early March. Wren hated that the city never had more than two seasons - hot, and not-as-hot. Already, things moved toward the eight-month-long "hot" time of the year. Soon it would be warm, dry, and monotonous. The area hadn't had a summer rainstorm in years, and Wren dreaded the constant sunshine that was just around the corner.

He continued along his way. He got to the bus station, debated a moment and kept walking. He needed to clear his head and the movement helped. The streets of Hillcrest were well lit and there were still people out and about. He wasn't overly worried about safety, not that early into the night.

Though he was still alert. After six years, things about the city began to grate on him, and the amount of crime was one. During his first year, he had been mugged at knifepoint, and he didn't relish that happening again. After that Wren enrolled in a self-defense course and learned a few Krav Maga movements against the most common attacks a man might run into on the street. He was by no means an expert, but he faithfully went to practice every week, did drills on his own, and he slowly improved until muscle memory took over during the practices.

Wren slowed as he got to the corner of University Avenue and 30th Street. He looked at the vast complex of condos which lined both sides of 30th. He had been there before and couldn't help but think of a past acquaintance he knew lived there. "Hrmm. I wonder if Bobby is up." He checked his phone. It was only ten-thirty, and Bobby had always been a little wild. He was probably out and about, but it couldn't hurt to call.

Wren stopped at the corner. Bobby had a beautiful little condo on the second floor near the intersection. Bobby was a newly licensed pharmacist and earned good money, which is how he could afford to buy a place right in one of the most desirable parts of the city. He and Wren had taken a few classes together early in their academic careers at San Diego State University, and they’d had more than one night together between the sheets.

The phone rang, and Wren smiled as he thought of Bobby - his strong, dark limbs, deep brown eyes, and bass voice. All were things which Wren found a turn-on when wrapped in the package of Bobby Parson.

"Hello?" A sleepy-sounding voice answered.

He frowned. "Bobby? Hey, it's Wren. I didn't wake you, did I?"

There was a grunt, and Wren heard sheets sliding around as Bobby moved. "Yeah. It's alright." Bobby cleared his throat. "What's up?"

"Shit. Sorry." Wren looked down at the sidewalk as he spoke, one hand on the stucco of the beige building. "Uh, I wondered if maybe you'd be up for a visit. It has been a while. We've not hung out much since we graduated."

There was a hesitation. "Wren, man, I'm paired up. You remember Gregory."

Wren grimaced and worked to keep the disappointment out of his voice. "Ah, that's great. Well, congratulations. Greg is a great guy."

'And a fun fuck,' Wren couldn't help but think.

"Thanks." Bobby paused again. "Though if you wanted to get breakfast or something with us sometime…"

Wren could hear the equivocation in Bobby's voice. Wren knew that in Bobby's eyes, he was just a fun mistake. That sentiment was likely shared by Greg too. Now that they had found someone willing to commit in one another, Wren was no longer in the picture.

Wren played along, knowing Bobby didn't actually want to hang out with him. "Uh, yeah. Sure. Tell you what, I'll email you. We can set up a date sometime."

A short time later he hung up and sighed. There was no avoiding it, he had to go home. Wren blew out a breath, jammed his hands deep into his pockets, and turned up 30th Street. Five blocks later, he was there. He looked up at the darkened windows of his second-floor apartment tucked behind the YMCA.

"Please be asleep. Please be alone." Wren pulled his keys and slowly walked up the stairs to the apartment. He crested the top of the stairs, hopeful, then slumped when he saw the doorknob with the dreaded sock tied around it.

"Company. Awesome." He gritted his teeth and sat down beside the door, his back against the building. Sometimes Travis brought girls home, and in the tiny one bedroom apartment, it meant whatever they were doing was obvious everywhere in the space.

He was also a bit of a homophobe. Wren remembered how Travis had tried to explain his requirement that Wren could never be inside when he had a date over. "I don't have a problem with you being gay, but I don't want you in the apartment when I have girls over. It's weird to think you can hear us banging."

Wren sighed, leaned his head back against the cool building, and waited.

⤱ 

Hours later, the opening of the door startled him awake, and Wren blinked up at the woman leaving his apartment.

Candice jumped when Wren moved. "Holy crap!" She laughed, a hand on her chest, and caught her breath.

"What?" Travis poked his head out the door, his disheveled dirty-blonde hair sticking up everywhere, and frowned at Wren as he scrambled to his feet. "Jeez, dude. What were you doing, just sitting there?" His eyes narrowed. "Could you hear us?"

Wren grimaced and stretched his back. "Well, the sock was on the door. And don't worry, I couldn't hear you."

Candice glared at Travis. "Hey. You said Wren was out all night." She took on a contrite frown and looked at Wren. "I'm sorry. Don't let that sock stop you. It's not like you don't already know what's going on."

Candice was a repeat hookup for Wren's roommate, which in itself was a rarity. She was also nice, which was again a departure from Travis's typical women. Wren almost brought that up, but there was already malice in Travis's eyes, so he kept his mouth shut.

"Okay. Thanks, Candice." Wren checked the time on his phone. "Ugh, it's after one. I have to get to bed. I work in four hours."

Candice made a noise of apology. "Aww. I really am sorry." She gave Wren a quick hug. "Seriously, just come in next time. You pay rent here!"

Wren smiled politely. He bid her goodbye and slipped into the building, past his irritable landlord.

Officially, Wren wasn't on the lease. He paid $700 a month directly to Travis for the use of an old futon, only because that was what he could afford. That had been his living situation for the last two years, and it had gotten old. He yearned for the day when he could get his own apartment, but that wouldn't happen until he could get a better paying job.

He wearily sat on the futon and took off his shoes while Travis and Candice necked a bit outside on the landing. Wren sighed deeply and wriggled out of his jeans, then he stood to fold them.

Candice left, Travis entered, shut the door and glanced at him. "Ugh. Man." He frowned and looked away. "I could go a lifetime without seeing you in your briefs again." He stalked off and Wren glared at the back of his head as Travis walked into the kitchen for some water.

A perverse spark flared in Wren's mind. He spread the quilt that lay on the back of the futon over his sleeping area, then he quickly shucked his underwear. "Hey, Travis."

Travis looked at him, and his eyes couldn't help but track down and land on Wren's cock. "Fuck! Dude!" He shook his head and shivered, dropping his gaze to the floor. A red flush made his skin look like it was sunburnt and Wren laughed. "It's not funny, man!"

Travis downed the rest of his water, tossed the plastic cup into the sink and walked past a still-naked, smirking Wren to the single bedroom in the dwelling. The door slammed.

"Harrumph." Wren turned down the quilt and got under it. He lay there, already dreading his four-fifteen wake-up, though he worked at a diner so at least he'd have a ready supply of caffeine.

He had already turned in applications for positions at various architecture firms in the city. Wren had completed his masters in architecture in the Fall, and now he eagerly awaited calls for interviews. After six years of school and a well-received thesis on alternative building design, he felt that he had done everything he could to put himself on the path to success. Even with his scholarships, he also accumulated forty thousand dollars of debt. So Wren hoped that it was only a matter of time - he would get calls, and he'd get his pick of workplaces.

That was the idea, at least. It had been three weeks since he had turned in his résumé to all of the major firms in town. At twenty-four, Wren was probably the youngest architect in the city, and his lack of experience hurt him. His emphasis on alternative methods of building did as well. Wren knew the compressive strengths of cob, papercrete, strawbale, and rammed earth while other architects focused on the best way to make a building stand out among the others around it.

Wren didn't want to design trophies, he wanted to design efficient, sensible, yet striking houses. With all of the fires in California, he thought there would be a hunger for the techniques he learned at strawbale and cob workshops. It seemed like madness to him to rebuild with wood when tons of straw were destroyed every year, and when baled tightly straw was as hard to burn as a closed phone book. In short, it made for fantastic building material.

He would have to wait for someone capable of hiring him to realize what he already knew. 'I just need to be patient.' He sighed. Wren scratched his groin, checked the alarm on his phone, then he rolled on his side. Soon, he slept.

⤱ 

The morning's work started with a glut of breakfast patrons. Wren tried to keep a smile on his face as he served customers, but the early hour made that tough. He walked by the table of a regular, a pot of coffee in hand.

"Hello, Wren." The broad, powerfully built man leaned back in the booth and smiled at him. Both of his wide, tanned hands rested on the Formica tabletop, and his brown eyes studied the harried, tired, underslept Wren as he buzzed about waiting tables.

"Oh, hello Mr. Branson." Wren's smile became a little less forced. Despite his need to keep moving, something about Mr. Branson always snagged his attention. There was a significance embedded in that gaze, and Wren had to admit that he found the middle-aged, confident man attractive. Wren made himself stop beside the table. "Ah, is there something else I can get you?" The man always sat in Wren's section, and by now he was nearly sure Branson was interested in him.

Branson's eyes never left Wren's face, and he gently pushed his half-empty coffee mug toward the edge where Wren could reach it. Wren nodded and he poured more coffee into the cup, glancing at Branson as he did. That stare was intense. Branson picked it up, took a gulp, then lowered it once again. A quiet sureness emanated from his customer, and Wren found that the most magnetic thing about him.

He swallowed nervously. "Is, is there anything else you need, Mr. Branson?" Wren pulled the receipt for Branson's breakfast from his shirt. He put the slip of paper on the table. The entire time, Branson had never moved his eyes from Wren's face.

The slight smile on the stout man's lips broadened a bit. "Yes." He pulled out a card and slid it across the surface. "I'd like you to call me. I have a proposition for you that I'd like to discuss in a more," he leaned forward slightly, "private setting."

That was the strangest way Wren had ever been asked out on a date. "Uh, well, if you're interested in getting dinner or something, that'd be fine." Wren picked up the card and tucked it into his pocket.

Branson sat back again and ran his eyes up and down in open appraisal of Wren until once again he locked eyes with the younger man. "I'm interested in you." Wren stepped back as Branson slid off of the seat and stood to tower over Wren. The faint scent of pipe tobacco and leather came to Wren as they stood close. "I'm interested to see if you'd be … suitable."

Wren frowned. "'Suitable?'" He swallowed, his Adam's Apple bobbing. "For what?"

Branson smirked, the expression handsome on his face. He turned with his receipt in hand and walked to the register.

Wren watched him as he stopped to settle his bill. The khaki pants he wore hugged his ass, groin, and legs in a revealing display, while his light blue button-up shirt barely seemed able to contain his thick chest. Branson never looked at him again. Instead, he paid and left the building, his body striking a virile, strong impression in profile.

Wren exhaled a breath. Everything about Mr. Branson was intense, and Wren felt as if he were constantly scrutinized by those brown eyes.

He cleared the table, and there under the empty plate was a crisp twenty dollar bill. Wren smiled when he saw it. Mr. Branson always tipped well, but that was a lot, even for him. He thankfully took the money and shoved it into his pocket. Wren finished cleaning up, then he moved to seat the next set of customers.

The hours passed quickly and before he really knew it two p.m. had arrived. Wren washed up, tallied his tips, and he left the place.

Usually, he went to a local coffee shop to sit, read, and draw house designs. But, thanks to his lack of sleep, he just wanted to go home and take a long nap. Wren walked, hands in his pockets, shoulders slumped, and a tired frown on his face. He stopped at a corner to wait for the light and felt the edges of Mr. Branson's card as his fingers moved in his slacks.

He pulled the little cardstock rectangle and looked at it.

"Managing Discipline?" Wren stared at the card. In addition to the dark letters of the business name, a black leather wristband with a heavy, attached leather strap lay on a background of pure, glossy white. Wren expected a phone number, but there was nothing listed.

"Ahhh." Wren worked his mouth. "He's a leather daddy or something?" Wren stepped away from the corner and opened the browser on his phone. He typed in the name of the business on the card and soon he was at a site. It warned him it was an adult website, and he accepted the message.

"Whoa." There were pictures of naked men in various positions, states of bondage, and then also a list of services offered with prices as well.

Wren wiped his mouth as he paged through. He stopped on one image. Mr. Branson stood dressed only in a pair of tight leather pants and boots, holding a crop in his hand, while a man prostrated himself before him. There were red marks across the naked fellow's back. "Wow."

Wren looked around, and he adjusted his erection. Pretty quickly the images got him going and he shook his head at himself. He scrolled through and got to the bottom of the page.

'If you hold my card, enter the number embossed on the back here.' A blank field awaited entry.

Wren flipped the card over. Sure enough, there was a six digit number. Filled with curiosity, he entered the number into the field on the website.

On a background of black, stark white letters were the only contents. "You bear my card. And you've seen what it is that I do, and what I am. If you are interested in learning more, call me and we shall explore things further." A local phone number was below the message.

Wren blinked. "Wha …" he rubbed his head. "He wants to do S&M with me?"

Wren knew of S&M, dominants and submissives. Though the lion’s share of his knowledge came from porn and wildly fetishized versions of the dynamic.

He shook his head. Wren walked over to the corner again, and he held the card over the garbage can. He frowned down at it. 'He seems well off. You might not have a choice but to call him.' Wren flinched. His hand wavered, and he bit his lip.

He stepped away, hurrying to beat the crosswalk light and slipped the card back into his pocket.

⤱ 

Blocks later, his mind still turned the offer signified by the card over and over. He had no real idea what Branson intended, and that put a lot of trepidation in his belly.

He started up the stairs to his apartment. Wren dug out the key and he slipped it into the lock.

'Maybe I'll look him up, find out what he's really about. Maybe I'll have an idea of what he expects from me if I accepted his offer.' He turned the key and pushed the door open.

Travis lay naked on the futon, his cock in hand, and he stroked furiously. The other hand pressed Wren's dirty underwear he had removed last night against his face.

He jackknifed forward at the sound of the door and threw the briefs on the floor. Travis stared, wide-eyed, and Wren gaped at him.

"Fuck! What the fuck?!" Travis pulled down the quilt on the back of the futon and covered himself. "You're not supposed to be home, fuck!" A terrific crimson hue made his skin look like it belonged on a lobster.

Wren blinked. "I can't -" He shook his head. "Wow. I can't even deal with this right now."

He walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Wren reached inside and pulled out two beers. Travis glared at him from his position on the couch. "Those are mine!"

"Yeah, and you were just snorting the smell of my balls while you were jerking off." Wren cracked the pop top, and he chugged half of the can.

Wren lowered the beverage and he eyed Travis as the man stood up with the quilt wrapped around himself. Travis frowned worriedly. "Uh, you're not gonna," he looked down at the floor, "you're not going to tell anybody, are you?"

Wren chuckled, still processing what was only the latest development in his bizarre day. "What the hell would I say?" Wren waved a hand. "I guess it's none of my business that you like the smell of my nuts." His words were designed to evoke a reaction from the man who so often tormented him.

The blood drained out of Travis's face. He swallowed and looked down. Wren eyed him, took another swig of the beer, then he walked around the kitchen partition. Wren observed Travis as his roommate struggled.

Travis looked up, and to Wren's surprise, there were tears on his face. "Look, I just," he wiped them away, "I just was curious." He cringed. "I like how I smell, so I wondered…"

They both let the statement hang in the air. Then Travis clenched his jaw, turned, and walked down the hall to his bedroom. The door quietly closed behind him.

Wren stared at the closed door. He blinked and shook his head. "Wow." One last swig ended his beer, and he picked up the next one. "Well, I think I'm going to drink until I can't feel my face." He opened the beer, walked to the futon and held the drink up toward the door in a mock toast. "To sexually confused assholes."

Wren stewed and drank. He finished the second beer, got up, and pulled another from the fridge. He stood at the open door of the appliance and downed it. The cold, bubbly alcohol felt good going down, and now it sluiced around in his belly with the rest. Wren grinned at the sensation and closed the fridge.

He stepped to the hallway and glared at the closed door. "Homophobic prick," he muttered. He ran his tongue over his teeth, then slowly smiled, the expression evil. Wren strolled down the hall and knocked gently on the door.

"What?" Travis's voice sounded rough like he had been crying. "Leave me alone."

A delicious finger of malice traced its way down Wren's throat to burn in his chest. He opened the door a crack. "Hey." He had to keep himself from smirking as he pushed his way slowly inside. "I'm sorry." He looked at Travis, who sat up in bed, his legs under his blanket and drawn up.

Travis wiped his face. He looked miserable. For just a moment Wren felt sorry for him. "Dude, why the fuck are you in here?" Travis's voice wavered, but he tried to muster some gruffness. Wren's second of pity evaporated.

Wren smiled his best, most winning attempt at reassurance. He sat on the edge of the bed, and Travis eyed him with a worried expression. "I'm in here to help you." He shrugged. "I mean, if you wondered what I smelled like, then all you had to do is ask."

Travis froze, staring at Wren. He wet his lips. "I..." He shook his head. "I'm not gay."

"I didn't say you were." The alcohol had given him courage, and Wren stood beside the bed and unbuckled his belt. "But you obviously enjoyed the smell of me." Travis stared in a sort of horrified paralysis as Wren pulled down his pants. Just thinking about what he'd planned had given Wren a woody, and it pushed out to create a tent in his briefs. He sat back down and scooted himself onto the bed, then he lay beside Travis. "Go ahead. You can do whatever you want."

Travis gaped, then he shut his jaw. He shook his head once, but his eyes were irresistibly drawn to the bulge in Wren's briefs.

"Go on. I'm not going to tell anybody." Wren watched the internal fight on Travis's face.

Travis audibly gulped. His eyes glanced up, took in Wren's amiable expression, then he bit his lip. After a visible struggle with himself, he stretched out a hand, slowly, tentatively.

His fingertips barely contacted the fabric covered tube of Wren's erection.

"Ah, I changed my mind." Wren rolled up, got to his feet beside the bed, and he pulled up his pants.

As Wren stuffed his turgid cock into the material of his slacks and zipped himself up, Travis gaped at him, a completely uncomprehending expression on his features. Wren grinned, gave a sloppy salute, and he turned on his heel to leave the room. As he did, he slammed the door behind him, his mouth twisted in a smirk.

Wren sat on the futon and glanced one more time down the hall at the door. "Dick."