Crossing the line - 5. The Party

Mr Francis Heyward requests the pleasure of your company at an early Summer party, dress casual.

“Dress optional more like”, Dan grinned and handed me back the card.

Fancy embossed printing and all. It was addressed to both of us but sent to my address and there was a handwritten note from ‘FH’ saying how much he looked forward to meeting me.

“Shall we go?”

Dan shrugged, “Got to, haven’t we?”

“You can wear your new suit!”

The suit was due for delivery. I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall at the final fitting; to hear Dan, the trousers were skin-tight and revealed every detail. I reserved judgement but wondered whether they’d prove viable. Knowing Dan, he’d rip the back seam and reveal acres of naked bum.

Speaking of which, “We’ll have to get you something for the party, it’d be better if you were in something casual rather than business outfit.”

“My old...”

“Will not do”, I took his hands, “Something comfortable, but not an old thing out the wardrobe. We don’t know who’ll be there.”

Over the next few days, I turned that over in my head and came to no conclusion. Did Heyward have regular events like this, send invitations to anyone vaguely interesting or to whom he felt an obligation. Would it be all gay men, potential victims for one of his themed parties, or would it be everyone from the local mayor and his wife to art critics like me. Or did Heyward’s reach stretch far enough that there’d be an art-themed party? Would it be all familiar old faces?

This latter I doubted, none of the feelers I’d sent out had come back with anything. The art world, or at least my corner of it, was not buzzing with talk of Francis Heyward and his party.

--oOo—oOo—

“What do you think then?”

The new suit was very, very sexy, and very well cut. It showed off Dan’s rear fabulously, and his package, which was neatly contained. Whilst far more suggestive than an ordinary suit, it was a long way from explicit. The fabric had give in it, the cut gave Dan movement, and the seams were double sewn. It was beautifully made, with lovely detailing. The jacket was cut quite short, so there was no getting away from it, the trousers showed everything off.

It seemed to work, and he even gave it grudging approval, it did provide him with a bit of support, so the little man was not flopping around. It was smart, certainly, definitely sexy, but without a doubt, it was too much.

“How do the trousers feel?”

He looked abashed, “I know they show too much but they feel OK.”

“Pricey too, I expect.”

“Yeah, gather so. But I’m assured that they are robust and will last.”

“So, no embarrassing splits when you bend over.”

“Fuck. I hope not. Guy at the tailor’s assured me not. I know Mr H is odd, but he won’t want me wandering round with half my arse hanging out, will he?”

I shrugged, “Doubt it, not a good look if the senior security officer greets the guests that way. What do the boys think?”

“That it looks cool, and a bit OTT. Though Jack and Nige kept quiet.”

“Well, they’ve gone further.”

“Yeah, right!”

He’d already christened the suit, cutting a dash greeting guests come to stay at The Manor. But no, he was not wearing it to the party, we’d found him a suitably colourful shirt and I’d allowed him to pair it with chinos in the make that he liked. And he was most insistent that he was wearing something underneath them. I joked that Heyward would never know. How wrong I was.

We arrived at the garden party some 15 minutes after kick-off, not too early, not too late. We were greeted with some surprise at the gate by a man Dan introduced as Gordy. Seen for real, and up close, the house was as hideous as I’d expected, the neo-classical gestures all seeming to clamour for attention individually rather than hanging together. And its huge size didn’t help. It evidently had all the extras a modern house needed, indoor swimming pool, gym, cinema, the lot.

The party, however, was going to be outside in the gardens (which were just as elaborate as the house, at least judging from photographs), and there was an outside pool too (of course) though nothing had been said about it in the invitation. Car parked on the forecourt, we were ushered through a gate in the hedge that hid the formal gardens from the hoi polloi and stray visitors.

There was a glass of champagne, and a maitre d’ who pointed us in the direction of the food, and the bar, explaining that there would be entertainment later in the Rose Garden. We were welcome to use the swimming pool, towels provided, but no costumes, all swimming was nude; this latter said with a straight face. His final words were that Mr Heyward would greet us later. By the end of this peroration, all I wanted to do was scuttle off and explore, and I pitied the man, having to say it over and over.

“Blimey, quite some joining instructions!”, Dan lifted his glass to me and grinned.

“I wonder how many people were prepared for the ‘all swimming is nude’ bit?”

“Not many. Certainly not me.”

But our attention was grabbed by the garden. This was impressive, particularly as the whole thing was newly created. A lawn abutted the terrace in front of the house and from here were separate areas, ‘rooms’, each leading to another, some clearly separated by hedges or planting, others more notional. It was an invitation to wander. Dan looked at the plants, I looked at the general effect and the people.

It wasn’t going to be a raunchy party, that was clear from a quick glance at the partygoers. The guests were in the 30 to 50 age range, mainly men but some women, and no cute youngsters. Not many looked the ‘strip off and swim’ type either, dress was smart casual and a lot of care had been taken. They were a varied bunch; the ones I exchanged pleasantries with included guys from charities Heyward supported, some from local community enterprises, one or two from businesses, craftsmen, and such. I even met one bloke who had done the speciality plasterwork in the house.

“Varied bunch, this lot.”

Dan had stopped looking at plants and we were working our way towards the bar. The sound of what seemed to be a brass band wafted across, along with the bubble of chatter and the distinct noise of splashing. So, someone had taken the plunge and was swimming! The bar was set up at the junction of several garden rooms divided by clipped hedges. There was food too, stuff you could easily pick up and nibble. People sat in amongst the rose borders, dutifully listening to the quintet of brass players but it seemed music designed to be listened to on the hoof. The pool was in its own enclosure, complete with a pool house with a classical portico.

“No sign of Francis Heyward?”, I checked with Dan in case I hadn’t recognised the man.

“No. Bit like one of those films where a mysterious bloke invites a set of complete strangers to dinner, and they discover how they are linked.”

“I saw a porn film on the same theme, needless to say all the dinner guests proved to be former sexual partners of the mysterious host.”

“Cue grand orgy at the end.”

We both laughed, the present company was so diverse that the idea seemed ludicrous.

The pool was, unsurprisingly, quite quiet; a fifty-something man, a bit too overweight but very striking looking if you went for the meatier look, with a much younger man whose hair (both head and body) was styled within an inch of its life, and two guys that had ‘gay’ written all over them – hair trimmed close, neat yet interesting facial hair, gym-honed bodies, neatly shaved genitals, and one had a PA.

“Now, they certainly look as if they might be Heyward’s exes.”

Dan shrugged, “The rumour is that he has a boyfriend, someone very low key who keeps out the limelight.”

I pulled a face, “Truth or fantasy?”

Dan shrugged again, “Not sure. Doubt we’ll ever be privileged to find out for certain.”

“You fancy a swim?”

Dan stared at me, somewhat alarmed, “Yes, as it happens, I do fancy a swim, and no, I don’t want to present you to my boss bollock naked.” He grimaced and I took his point. But we were interrupted by a voice, mellifluous and frankly, a bit seductive.

“Ah, Dante.”

We turned and were greeted by a dapper, grey-haired man clad in natural coloured linen. He was certainly trim and if it wasn’t for his grey hair, would have looked alarmingly youthful. He was alone but shadowed by a young man in slim-fitting, expensive-looking suit, definitely more PA than bodyguard. I tried to discreetly work out if there was anything under the PA’s trim trousers, I suspected not but didn’t want to start my meeting Mr Francis Heyward by obsessively staring at his PA’s crotch!

Dan said a crisp ‘Sir’ and almost bowed, but Heyward shook his hand warmly and turned to me, “Sir, this is my …”, then Dan hesitated over what to say and Heyward smoothly took over,

“Ah, the fascinating Mr Ames, delighted to make your acquaintance.”

We ended up on first name terms, even Dan, and the way Francis Heyward seemed to use Dan’s full Christian name with relish made me feel that he rather enjoyed the unlikelihood of it, a Scandinavian Viking named after an Italian poet.

“Our meeting is so opportune, I was just about to have a swim, won’t you gentlemen join me?”

He smiled, and probably perfectly well knew that he’d put Dan in a spot. Perhaps this was one of those dodgy line-crossing moments, but it was supremely, deftly done. Dan looked tongue tied, unsurprisingly, and I agreed that a swim would be lovely, and we walked over to the pool house. It was as if we were in a bubble, no-one approached.

I went first, deciding someone had to take the plunge. Heyward didn’t take long to strip, he was only wearing shirt, trousers and shoes, no socks, no undershirt, no underpants. Interesting, was going commando a corporate requirement then? He was as trim as expected, and nicely tanned all over; he was also remarkably hairless, just a little patch above his dick and nicely smooth balls. Natural or artificial? I wasn’t sure, and again didn’t want to be caught staring.

Dan stripped quickly and was soon in the water; grinning at me, it was clear he knew what I was thinking, ‘Out of harm’s way’. Heyward’s sidekick picked up his clothes and neatly folded them but didn’t join us in the pool. We swam, and chatted about the gardens, though Heyward batted away any compliments saying he knew nothing about gardening and relied on good people. Art, however, did interest him and he said that he read my blog and would be interested to talk properly. He was especially interested in Donald Mitchell, saying that he owned some and wanted to talk about the artist more since he’d read my most recent article. What did he want to talk about, I wondered?

With Dan some distance away, Heyward stood still in the water and faced me, “What do you think of Arthur Winston?”

I shrugged, “I like his abstract work, the recent stuff is rather political for my taste, but clever.”

Heyward looked thoughtful, “Mmm. I have the possibility of one.”

“See it in the flesh, I’d advise, they can be very powerful.”

“Mmm. I read your article.”

“About Winston?”

“Mmm. Strong stuff. The policeman involved was Dante.”

It wasn’t a question, I nodded, “Yes, unfortunately.”

He gave a thin smile, “You survived.”

The sidekick signalled to him, and he sighed, “Ah, my time is up. I would love to stay longer, your article on Donald Mitchell and his exploitation of his models intrigued. I will be in touch.”

With that he leaped out of the pool, no need of steps, giving us a final flash of toned buttocks and… Well, that didn’t bear thinking about did it, not with him being Dan’s boss and all. A few minutes later, now dressed, he and the sidekick emerged from the pool house and departed, already greeting other guests.

Dan and I were still in the water.

“What was that about being in touch?”

“He reads my blog, was interested in Arthur Winston, and in talking about my article on Donald Mitchell’s exploitation of his models.”

Dan’s eyebrows raised, “For real?”

“Yep. I think we might get some sort of invitation.”

“Shit.”

“Precisely. And it occurs to me that the stuff I wrote about Donald Mitchell might be a bit near the knuckle.”

“What d’you mean.”

“Exploitation, whether it’s naked models or blokes providing Heyward with entertainment. It’s all about using money for your gratification, whether full-frontal Greg, or Jack and Nige leather jock straps.”

“Fuck. But he seemed quite cool, mind he’s always that.”

“One cool customer indeed, and quietly manipulative, I suspect.”

“Why d’you think?”

“Come on, he got us naked, didn’t he?”

Dan frowned, “But that was just chance.”

“Really?”

“Surely, he just likes showing off. Got plenty to show off too.”

“Yes, very trim. No tan lines.”

Dan grinned, “Nice shave job too.”

“Indeed, quite elaborate manscaping, I wonder who does it?”

“What d’you mean, surely he does?”

I shrugged, “With his money, perhaps he has a man who comes in?”

Dan guffawed “Blimey, sitting with his coffee and newspaper of a morning with his legs up and akimbo getting his gonads shaved.”

I smiled, “I think we can do without that image.”

We swam for a bit, then the pool got busier, so we left it.

Dan was looking thoughtful as he dressed, “Do you think he always goes round like that?”

“How?”

“No knickers? Perhaps that’s why he wants me to be like that?”

“I did wonder, a sort of corporate identity?”

He grinned, “No Knickers Inc. Still, there’s some guys there I’d rather not think about like that.”

I smiled, “It was practical for today’s event, strip off easily.”

“Do you think he does that a lot?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me if some other guests get the same invitation, very levelling, all being naked.”

“That manipulation again.”

I shrugged, “May well be.”

We didn’t need it, but we had a final load-up from the buffet and went in search of a quiet seat. In a walled garden that looked older than the rest there was a gazebo with just a guy sitting there writing, in a world of his own. He was quiet and somewhat out of place, but happy for us to but in. We chatted, inconsequentially. He was a writer, and his other half ‘did stuff for Mr Heyward’s company’ so he was invited too but preferred to slip away after doing his duties. He gave a charming smile, and we ended up chatting about words, that I wrote them, as did he, and how differently we both used them. Dan sat quietly eating but paying attention. I sometimes tended to forget that he liked words too.

--oOo—oOo—

Jack told her, by the way.” I looked inquiringly. “His girlfriend. About the extra gigs and stuff”

“And?”

“As long as it doesn’t involve sex or porn, then take the bugger for every penny you can get.”

I laughed, “Good for her.”

“Even being fully naked.”

Now that was eyebrow raising time, “That’s been suggested?”

“Evidently, sort of very discreet, like. But the fee was tempting.”

“Is he going to keep you posted?”

“Yep. I’ve also got to present proposals to Mr H. for rationalising things. You know, indoor and outdoor stuff, private gigs and that.”

“Will you mention the dodgy bits?”

He pulled a face, “Not sure. What d’you think?”

“Just say custom and non-standard dress, leave it at that.”

“What if…”

I took his hand, “One dodgy step at a time. At the moment, I’m inclined to agree with Jack’s girlfriend.”

“Even if I have to go naked?”

I laughed, “Well, we’ve done that already, or have you forgotten?”

But in bed, a couple of nights later, I suspected that these issues were at the front of Dan’s mind.

“You ever go to any of those clubs you’ve talked about, where they have sex ‘n that.”

I wasn’t sure where this was going but could at least be truthful and definitive. “Not for a few years at least. My slut phase”, Dan gave a snort at the phrase, “was my 20s. I did visit one or two in the years after, but gradually stopped. Why?”

“I was sort of curious.”

“To try one? Just looking or in the market”

His response sounded upset, shit! “Not like that. I thought the two of us could go along.”

“Ah. Well, my favourite has closed but there’s always something. Gay or mixed, leather, jocks or boots only?”

“Blimey”, he sounded amused, good!

“Well, there are more, but I’ve never been keen on rubber or sports gear and the more exotic stuff.”

“Gay, jocks or boots.”

“Right.”

“For preference, boots only.”

“You want to get your kit off?”

In a very quiet voice, “Well, I wanted to see what it felt like, to you know be naked and to do it in public.”

“I see. Well, I’ve done plenty in my time, so no reason why not. If we like it, we can see what else is out there.”