Coming to Love - 4. Lots Happening in Seattle

Greg and Chuck’s faces showed their distress at my misery as they opened the door of the Mustang. They helped me to my feet, seeming sincere in their concern. I was still unsure about trusting their motives. The horror of the previous night was fresh in my mind.

I took the plunge. “Listen, guys, I’m sorry if I—”

They both made shushing noises to say it wasn’t a problem as they steadied me. I was shaky, not from being wasted but from the intense emotions surging through me right now. I leaned on the car, facing them. “I was so fucked up last night—”

“We all were,” Greg interjected. “Saturday nights can end up that way.”

“Did you get sick or something?” Chuck sounded concerned.

“Almost, but I’ve been there before, and I know how to handle that.”

“So, something else?” Greg prompted.

The last thing I wanted to do was to tell them what happened, but they appeared so sincere and eager to help, and something made me think I might feel better if I talked about it with someone.

Despite my efforts to prevent them, tears slipped past my lashes, running down my cheeks as I blubbered, “Alison and Freddie—”

The expressions of worry on their faces suggested that Greg and Chuck knew something they weren’t telling me, but I continued my tale of woe.

“You already know I drank too much. When Alison and I got back to the apartment, she hit on me. I brushed her off and went to the kitchen. Freddie was there and seemed upset that she got to me first. When I told him nothing happened, he tried to hit on me, too. Being the newbie in the house, I only wanted to get along with everyone. I feel like shit for letting them treat me that way—”

My babbling ran its course. Greg stepped close and put a hand under my elbow, guiding me without pressure. “Let’s go inside and sit somewhere quiet where we can talk.”

Chuck took my car keys, rolled up the window, and locked the Mustang. He caught up with Greg and me as we went inside The Gaiety. The place was empty, except for a couple of servers and a few people at the bar. We sat at a table on the far side of the room and ordered Starbucks coffee, which they informed me was a local specialty that was about to go nationwide.

After the waiter brought our order, Greg faced me. “I don’t want to bad-mouth anybody, given that you only got here yesterday and have to live with them for six months, but I think Chuck and I might know what happened.”

“Do you?” I hoped I wouldn’t have to relive all the humiliating details.

“Well, more or less. Everybody knows those two roommates of yours are certified creeps.”

“They’re a pair of real shits,” Chuck added.

Greg went on, “Would I be correct in thinking that, once you got home, some kind of sex took place—sex you regret now?”

“Not quite, but almost.” I sniffled, and Chuck handed me a napkin to wipe my nose.

“Well, let me tell you a couple of things.” Greg cleared his throat and wiped an eye. The emotion of the moment was getting to him, too.

“First of all, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m pretty sure you didn’t ask for whatever they wanted to do to you. Second, this isn’t the first time we’ve heard about the two of them. They are famous for having voracious sexual appetites and few scruples about how they satisfy them. If anything we did—” he paused to look at Chuck, who nodded with enthusiasm, “played any part in what happened to you, we are truly sorry.” He took a deep breath.

My voice shook as I reached over and laid one hand on Greg’s and the other on Chuck’s.

“Thank you. I mean it—thank you. I have been trying to make some sense of all the shit that happened, and in my mind, the whole evening was fucked up. That’s why I fell into the trap of believing that Kit’s flashing his dick at me, and the two of you being all friendly, and all I drank, was all part of the plan to fuck with my head.”

Greg patted my hand. “Bruce, we’re so sorry for what you went through. It not only sucks that a decent person like you had this happen to him, but also because those two bastards did a number on you, and we didn’t think to warn you or try to keep you away from them.”

“It’s not your fault,” I assured them. I stood up, and they followed. I pulled them into a group hug and clung to them.

“I’m sorry I doubted you,” I began.

“I would have thought the same thing,” Greg reassured me, brushing his thumbs along my cheeks to wipe away the moisture. I couldn’t help noticing his and Chuck’s eyes brimming with sympathetic teats.

Although few people were in the bar, they were all staring at us. My two new protectors closed ranks around me, shielding me from the general view. We took a moment and composed ourselves. Taking a last drink of our coffees, we hurried outside.

Standing by the cars, Greg turned to me. “What do you think you’re going to do now?”

“Oh, shit, I haven’t thought about that. I can’t go back to the apartment and live with them as if nothing happened.”

“I don’t think you can,” Chuck agreed.

After a thoughtful pause, Greg said, “Bruce, this may not be the best thing to say, given your experience with roommates, but if you need a place to live for a while, you’re welcome to crash with us. We have a spare room with a bath, and we promise we’d stay out of your way.” Chuck nodded in agreement.

I considered their proposal. Without a doubt, I needed to get out of where I was, and it would be better to be somewhere with other people around, rather than checking into a hotel room alone. By now, I was convinced they were telling the truth about their involvement, and I believed in their sincere concern for me.

I swallowed hard. “If it’s not too much trouble, at least for a while, I’ll take you up on your offer.”

They grinned, and we joined in another three-way hug. They both kissed me on the cheek at the same time. We stepped back and shook hands.

“So, what’s the plan?” Chuck inquired, looking at us.

“Are you already all unpacked at the apartment?” Greg asked me.

“No. I only brought one suitcase inside. I sent some boxes ahead, and they’re all stacked up in my room, but nothing’s unpacked.”

“Well, I think the best approach is to go over there right now and move your shit into our house, and we’ll be as quick and quiet as possible.”

Chuck added, “If any of them are home, one of us will corral them out of the way while the other helps you load up the vehicles. Do you think it will all fit in two cars?”

“Oh, sure. There isn’t much. I sold almost everything I owned before I left Stanford.”

With no further discussion, we put the plan into action. Greg got into the Mustang with me, and Chuck followed in their SUV. When I unlocked the front door, I held my breath as we tiptoed in. Looking around, I saw Alison’s and Freddie’s doors were shut.

“Maybe they’re all out,” Chuck whispered, reading my mind, and I nodded with a grin.

The three of us moved with purposeful determination and had all my belongings packed and loaded into the cars in under five minutes.

When I returned to the house for one final check, Alison opened her door.

“Going somewhere?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

“As far from this shithole as I can get.”

“With those two poofters? You’ll fit right in with them.”

I stared daggers at her and, to my surprise, she paled, stepped back, and shut and locked the door of her room. I threw my house keys on a table and slammed the front door as I left.

********

Greg and Chuck lived a half-mile from The Gaiety in one side of a duplex in an upscale condo community on the shore of Lake Washington.

The small guest room had a view of the lake and a private bathroom. I was grateful for the scenery and the privacy. I had been in shock since the moment I walked into the corporate apartment and found I had three weird strangers for roommates, and I regretted it all the more after the one night I spent with them.

The guys left me alone while I settled in. I only unpacked the necessities, stacking the boxes containing my books and personal items in a corner. I wouldn’t need them until I moved into a place of my own. When everything was settled in, I came down to the back patio where they sat enjoying the beautiful day.

“I want to tell you how grateful—” I began.

Greg raised a hand to stop me. “No need to thank us, Bruce. We’re glad you don’t still think we were part of that bullshit.”

“No, I realize you weren’t.”

Chuck offered, “Something to drink?” I grimaced, and he hurried to add, “Iced tea or mineral water?”

I agreed to mineral water, and he went into the house to get it. Greg indicated a lawn chair between theirs. I stretched out and relaxed a bit.

“I bet you feel like you’ve landed in a nest of rattlesnakes!” Greg observed.

“No shit. I never expected anything like this—not in a lifetime.”

“Well, please don’t assume this is how the people at Worldwide Aero always act. We’re not like that, believe me.”

“I have orientation tomorrow morning, and I hope it will be the beginning of the healing.”

“Well, I hope this is the beginning,” Chuck corrected as he returned with my water.

“I do, too. I misspoke,” I apologized.

“Don’t sweat it,” Greg comforted me. “you have had the most unpleasant welcome we can imagine, and we’re still pissed off at the behavior of those two assholes.”

“Do you think you ought to report them to Human Resources?” Chuck spoke with doubt in his voice.

“What good would it do? We were all adults. I was drunk, and neither of them actually did anything. I was stupid or fucked-up or something.”

Their faces reflected sympathy for my dilemma. Chuck smiled. “A wise person once observed ‘the best revenge is living well.’ I hope you can do that.”

I raised my glass and saluted the two of them. “Here’s to living well!”

The guys ordered Chinese delivery for dinner and refused to let me pay my share. “You can treat us the next time,” Chuck assured me. We stuck to non-alcoholic beverages. Exhausted by the emotional roller coaster, I excused myself and went to bed at nine o’clock, setting my alarm for six, so I could jog before work. I needed to detox my system of the negativity that tainted the start of my life in Seattle.

A five-mile run and a hot shower refreshed and renewed me. Feeling clean inside and out, I joined Greg and Chuck at the breakfast table for cereal, yogurt, and OJ. The three of us decided we would drive to the office together, and since I didn’t have a gate pass yet, Greg was elected to be the chauffeur.

My orientation day went normally—at first. I signed up for payroll, insurance, and parking, then went through the obligatory health and safety training. Near the end of the day, though, I was required to attend one more seminar. When I read the name of it, I shivered with dread: Sexual Harassment.

The presenter was a woman no more than five feet tall, around 50, with gray hair and the kindly aura of a grandmother. That’s why I was surprised by her direct and matter-of-fact approach.

“Sexual harassment is any verbal or physical behavior that is sexual or sensual in nature, is unwelcome or not explicitly consented to, and may or may not do actual physical, emotional, or spiritual harm. It is a crime, and you will be terminated if you are found guilty of committing it.”

Her soft but firm voice seemed aimed right at me. In self-defense, I tuned out the lecture. I already knew what she was talking about—from recent experience.

What happened to me was “unwelcome” and I didn’t “explicitly consent” to it, but I couldn’t claim I was completely innocent. After all, I went into Alison’s room, and I let Freddie undress me. Angry, hurt, and confused, I told myself, “Fuck them. Just move on and get over it.” Mom’s words about how everything that happens becomes part of me and I can learn from it echoed in my mind.

“Wow! That sounds a little too close for comfort, so soon after the events of Saturday night,” Chuck exclaimed as I related the details of my first day at WWA to my roommates. I caught on early in the day that my coworkers referred to Worldwide Aero by the three-letter acronym.

I leaned forward from the back seat of Greg’s car. “Well, it’s not the company’s fault. I guess it’s an important topic, and they want all employees to be on notice right from the start. It was no big deal for me. I’ve heard it a lot of times in other places.”

I pondered the irony. “I have to assume Alison and Freddie were told the same thing on their first days, and look how little good it did.” Chuck and Greg exchanged glances but didn’t say anything more. I needed to move on, and they sensed it. We changed the subject and enjoyed the ride home.

Greg fired up the grill, and we enjoyed fresh-caught fish, roasted potatoes, and a salad made from fresh vegetables we stopped to buy at a roadside stand. We went light on the wine—a glass and a half apiece.

Our daily activities soon became routine. We went to work together—I started driving us because I now had a parking pass, and arriving at the office in the convertible with the top down made my roommates happy. We came home, fixed dinner, sat outside to enjoy the evening, and headed to bed by ten p.m. It was almost domestic!

There were two bedrooms—the one I was using they called “the spare room,” and the master bedroom was where Greg and Chuck slept. From the first moment I moved in, they were never shy about kissing each other or holding hands in front of me. It was obvious that they were a devoted couple, and it pained me to remember what it was like living with David and loving Winston. We never discussed their relationship—it was simply a fact of life in “our” house.

But on the way home from work Friday night, Chuck turned to speak with me. “Uh, Bruce. If it’s not a problem, we like to go out to dinner on Fridays and then move on to a club for some fun.”

“That’s fine with me.”

Greg jumped in, “What Chuck means is that he and I are going out. There’s no pressure on you to join us unless you want to.”

“Come on, dudes. The last thing you need is a third wheel!”

“Oh, no. You wouldn’t be that. We weren’t sure if you were ready to—”

“To show up at a bar where I might run into Alison, Kip, or Freddie?”

Chuck, who was in the front seat, turned to me. “Not to put too fine a point on it, fuck yes!”

I laughed. “Well, the only way I’ll know the answer is if I go out with you and see what happens.” I paused and thought. “But why don’t we take both cars, just in case anybody wants to cut out early—or gets lucky!” We arrived home, and I went up to my room to dress for the evening.

My hands shook as I searched for clothes that weren’t too sexy, but also not so nerdy that no one would think of talking to me, let alone hitting on me.

Approving smiles from the guys greeted me as I came downstairs in khakis and a tee that showed off my upper body. I followed their car across town to a restaurant where we grabbed a quick meal. They couldn’t hide the fact that they were eager to start partying, and we drove a couple of blocks to the club they’d chosen—a gay bar called Club Fly.

The thrumming beat of techno music grabbed and surrounded me as we passed through the neon-painted doorway. A brightly-lit dance floor in the center was filled with men, many of them shirtless, dipping and bobbing to the insistent beat. The looks on their faces proclaimed that they were ready for fun, and by that I mean sex!

Gazing around the perimeter, I could make out tables and booths swathed in semi-darkness, an ideal setting for holding hands and making out. I saw three or four women, but everyone else was male, ranging from late teens to senior citizens. The atmosphere in the place sizzled and crackled with sexual electricity. For reasons I couldn’t explain, it felt like the right place to be—comfortable, safe, and hotly sensual.

Friendly voices called out to my companions as we moved into the room. The two of them guided me to a long table of their friends, introduced me all around, and seated me between them so I wouldn’t be too self-conscious about not knowing anyone.

I didn’t know if they were all pampering me, but I have to say that the evening went well for me, despite my hesitation. When we got home a little after one a.m., Greg and Chuck hurried into their room and closed the door. I knew the feeling—when you’re horny, there are not a lot of things that can slow you down.

Turned on by the heady vibe of a room full of hot gay men, I undressed and stretched out on my bed. My cock was already hard, and I began stroking it. My wandering mind surprised me by taking me back to the first time I had sex with Craig. We went up the mountain near my home in Denver to the hunting cabin we called The Hide. It sure lived up to its name that afternoon.

I fell into a kind of erotic trance, remembering every sight, sound, and physical feeling of the day we gave our virginity to each other. My body responded to the memories with growing need until hot liquid hit my chin and spurted on my chest and abs, then dribbled down onto my pubes. I shot my load at the same time that Craig and I ejaculated together in my memory.

Naked with a pool of sticky jizz drying on my belly, I lay in bed for several minutes, then got up and went into my bathroom to clean up. When I finished, I stood for a moment, examining myself in the mirror. That’s when I heard soft voices on the other side of the wall.

The house was designed so that the second story consisted of two bedrooms and two bathrooms. Both bedrooms were on the side of the house with the water view. A long hall ran the length of the other side, with windows looking out on the backyard and pool. The bedrooms were at opposite ends of the hall, and the bathrooms, each accessed from the adjoining bedroom, were side-by-side in the middle.

I never detected any sound coming from the other bedroom, which I attributed to a well-built house or thoughtful discretion on the part of my roomies. But tonight, standing in my shower with my ear close to the wall, I heard water running and soft laughter and giggles, accompanied by occasional moans of pleasure.

For some reason, I was surprised. Sure, I knew that Greg and Chuck were gay, that they shared the same bed, and of course they had sex. But I had never been faced with audible proof.

To be clear, I was not, and am not, a voyeur or any shit like that. I knew what sex sounded like from having often made all same noises myself. And I didn’t care what other people did in private. In fact, I was damn glad these two men had each other and were willing to share their lives with me.

But something about hearing their play in the shower turned me on, and I found myself aching to be in there with them! I pressed my ear to the wall and tried to overhear every sound of their love-making, all the while furiously jacking my cock.

Sure enough, their love-making got louder, and I could make out some words.

“Oh, baby.” “Give it to me!” “Fuck me, Greg!” “I’m gonna come, Chuck.”

As their ecstasy loudly climaxed, my body convulsed with pleasure, and I shot another giant load across the bathtub. I panted from exhaustion, almost as if I had been in the shower with them.

I heard the water turned off and the sounds of my two hosts moving into their bedroom, so I went back to bed and closed my eyes, falling asleep in no time.

In the morning, I woke up with another raging boner and relieved the pressure in the shower. Before turning on the water, though, I caught myself pressing my ear against the wall. I wondered if anything was happening on the other side, but heard nothing.

After my run, I joined Greg and Chuck at the breakfast table. They looked at each other with sly grins.

“What’s up?” I asked, smiling.

“Oh, nothing,” Greg looked at Chuck and giggled.

“We just, well, that is—” Chuck tried.

Greg jumped in. “We hope we didn’t wake you up with our little fun last night.”

I played innocent. “Wake me up? You gotta be kidding. My head hit the pillow, and I was out like a light. Didn’t open my eyes once until daylight.” I smiled at them again.

“Good.” Greg sounded relieved. “We’re glad you slept well.” Chuck tittered.

After letting them stew in a minute or two of silence, I gave them a sly grin. “So, what were you two doing that you thought might wake me up?”

They blushed. It was so cute—two grown men, gay lovers for perhaps years, shy about someone hearing their moans of carnal delight!

Seeing their discomfort, I hurried to head off any embarrassment and added, “I mean, I assume you two make love, maybe every night, and I know from experience that sex often involves making sounds, so even if I did hear anything, it would make me glad you have each other.”

They both sighed, relieved. Chuck explained, “Well, to tell you the truth, we were more concerned about how you might feel, since you don’t have anybody—uh, right now.”

My face darkened. “Please don’t worry about my sex life. Right now, it’s the farthest thing from my mind.” I was lying. Lately, I thought about sex all the time. I was thankful that Alison and Freddie did no lasting damage to my libido, but I wasn’t ready to talk about it.

“Oh, no. Of course not,” Greg spoke for both of them.

My naughty grin put them at ease. “Relax, bros. I’m fucking with you. I’m as horny as the next guy, and as soon as I can hook up with someone, you might hear noises coming from my shower.” The moment the words were out, I knew I was busted.

Chuck raised his eyebrows. “So, you did hear us last night?”

“Well, maybe a little when I was in the bathroom taking a piss.”

They stared at me in silence until Greg grinned, “Well, Bruce, any time you’re ready—if you’re interested—you’re welcome to come over to our side of the wall and join us!”

********

I threw myself into my work. The plans for the third International Space Station were well underway, so I spent most of the first few weeks becoming familiar with them, a task that was sometimes confusing because everything was labeled in English and Russian.

I took Spanish in high school and a couple of years of German in college, but I never came close to mastering either language. At lunch one day, I complained about the challenge of dealing with blueprints in two languages. One of my teammates explained, “Oh, I thought you knew. WWA offers Russian courses for anybody who wants to learn. They meet three times a week for two hours, and you can do it on company time.”

Eager to solve the problem and hoping to score points with my supervisor, I joined the classes and soon was conversant to a decent level and could read anything written in Cyrillic. Little did I realize how much trouble it was going to cause me.

The execs attended quarterly meetings alternating between Renton and Kazakhstan’s Baikonur Cosmodrome. I was never invited to travel to Russia, but when our counterparts visited WWA, I got to know a couple of them.

As the work grew more complex, the Russians spent additional time in Renton, and we often worked into the night, ordering dinner in, and eating at our desks. On days when the schedule allowed, a group of us dined at local restaurants and usually ended up in a bar called Vkusny—the Russian word for “delicious.” I enjoyed practicing my limited Russian vocabulary—especially learning all the dirty words—and drinking almost unlimited vodka.

Somewhere along the way, one of the Russians took me under his wing. Gregor Mikhailovich Galinsky was an engineer like me. Although the Russian and American components of the Space Station were developed independently, our work often intersected.

He was a handsome man, about five years older than me, with dark hair and flashing eyes that twinkled when he told a dirty joke. I was surprised by his fluency in American slang and profanity.

Somehow our friendship began to go beyond work. On Saturday and Sunday mornings, Gregor and I would meet at one park or another and jog ten miles. After the first couple of times, he introduced me to Spa Odessa, a Russian bathhouse in Seattle, where we often went following our jog, relaxing in the hot tub before showering under an ice-cold spray.

Needless to say, I found myself interested in more of Gregor’s body than just his eyes. His long uncut penis flopped from side to side as he soaped his back, and his bubble butt seemed to always be aimed in my direction while he bent over and rinsed his legs. I enjoyed the unintentional show and turned away a couple of times to conceal my rising erection.

Gregor was friendly but reserved, and I never got the slightest hint that he might be gay, until one evening at Vkusny when we found ourselves the only members of our drinking party still at the table.

“You handle your vodka ochen chorosho, Bruska.” He used a made-up Russian diminutive of my name.

“Very well?” I repeated, translating his words. “You think so, Grisha?” I called him by his own diminutive.

“And your Russian improves every day.” He raised his tiny glass to toast me, and we both threw the fiery liquid back.

We sat in silence for a while, enjoying each other’s company.

“Izvinitye, my friend, may I ask you question?”

I chuckled. “I guess so, as long as it doesn’t violate our non-disclosure agreements.”

His roar of laughter brightened the room. “No, no. I would never do such thing.” He paused. “No, what I wanted was to ask you why your eyes are always on me in shower.” His accent was thick and husky.

I choked on my drink and went pale. I sputtered but couldn’t speak.

“The reason I want to know,” he went on, “is because I find I can’t take my eyes off you.”

I felt my heart flutter out of control, and I know that’s bullshit, but the effect of his words was so intense I couldn’t forget it.

“You mean—”

“Da, I mean I am also interested in you.” He set down his vodka glass, reached over, and rested his hand on top of mine. “I hope I do not offend you in any way.”

Although I was finding it difficult to breathe, I managed to speak. “No, Grisha, it doesn’t offend me. In fact, it’s a pleasant surprise.”

His smile beamed at me, and he patted my hand before withdrawing his. “Well, what shall we do with this new-found knowledge?”

Like a schoolboy caught with his hand in the cookie jar, I was speechless, but his grin never wavered as he waited for me to summon the courage to answer.

I found my voice. “Well, I think we should go someplace where we can look at each other without embarrassment or interruption.”

“Is good idea. Where did you have in mind?”

My stomach sank. I knew I couldn’t bring him back to the apartment I lived in with Greg and Chuck, and I was embarrassed for him to see my tiny room—not to mention for my two roomies to hear us going at it.

“Do you have somewhere in mind?” I croaked.

“Sadly, I am in shared hotel room, so that is not option.”

We sat in silence, pondering our dilemma. At last, Gregor smiled. “What fools we are. Hotels are everywhere.” He leaned in close to my face and spoke with a sultry voice. “There must be one where we can find privacy.”

At that moment, the room blurred, and the lighting dimmed. I thought I was having an out-of-body experience until a voice announced, “We are closing, Gospoda. Please finish your drinks and depart through the front entrance.”

The words might as well have come from a deus ex machina because I took it as a sign that I should go with him.

We exited the bar as the lights were going out. In the parking lot, Gregor turned to ask, “Do you know of any place near here?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Well, I think I saw a couple of them only few blocks from here. Would that be all right for you?”

My heart pounded as I nodded in assent.

We got into our cars and I followed him down the street. We stopped at a motel, and I rolled down my window as Gregor came over to my car to speak to me.

“If they accept cash, I can go in and pay, but if they require credit card—”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it. I have a personal card that will cover it.”

And it did. In less than five minutes, I registered under my own name, not mentioning that anyone would be joining me. I pocketed the key card and drove behind the office to park in front of the numbered door. Gregor followed and parked a few doors down.

I let myself into the room and left the door ajar. Seconds later, Gregor slipped in and closed the door.

We approached each other tentatively, and I gazed into his dark eyes, thinking of the Russian folk song, Ochi Chornye. He drew me into a kiss that melted my resistance.

********

Two hours later, I lay naked, flat on my back, while my new lover smoked a cigarette.

“That was ochen chorosho,” he sighed with a contented smile. “I hope you enjoyed it, too.”

“Very much—I mean, ochen, Grisha. You are very—vkusny.” We both guffawed.

He mused, “If I may, you seemed—what is word?—intense, I think. As if you have not done this before.”

“Oh, I’ve done it before—but not for some time.”

“Why is that?”

I hesitated, unsure how much he would be interested in knowing. “Well, you see—”

I ended up pouring out my whole life story. He stifled a sob when I detailed Winston’s death and funeral.

“We Russians are emotional people,” he explained and chuckled at tales of my exploits with Craig, Pete, and Just Joe. “You have lived interesting life, Bruska. I am afraid my own has been dull in comparison. But I enjoy your stories vicariously.”

Vicariously? He knows a lot more English than I thought. I wish my Russian were a lot better.

The night passed in slow motion as we chatted, laughed, and made love.

Finally, we both realized we couldn’t delay the inevitable. Getting out of bed, I pulled my clothes on as he did the same on the other side. We met at the door and smoothed each other’s clothing. One final deep kiss, and we exited—Grisha first, followed by me. It was a night to remember and quite a surprise to me.

********

My tryst with Gregor Galinsky took place on Saturday night. On Monday morning, I found an email on my computer saying my supervisor wanted to speak to me in his office as soon as I came in.

Two men in dark suits were there when I entered his office, but my boss was nowhere in sight.

“What’s going on?” I demanded.

“That’s what we would like to know, Mister Hutton,” the taller of the two stated.

“I’m sorry? What are you talking about?”

The shorter one looked mean. He barked, “We’re talking about Gregor Mikhailovich Galinsky, aka Grisha—your Russian lover.”

The blood drained from my head, and I wavered. Tall Man shoved a chair under me. My heart pounded, and I felt like I was going to throw up.

“Gr–Grisha?”

“That’s right,” Short Man sneered. “We know all about the two of you. Or would you like to see the video we made Saturday night?”

“Vid–video?” My mind raced, trying to figure out how there could possibly be a video.

“You bet your sweet gay ass, there’s a video, and I bet your employer would be very interested in seeing it.”

“You mean—you’re not from WWA?”

Short Man laughed bitterly. “Not even close, asshole. Who did you think we were, Human Resources or the fucking Russian-American Friendship Club?”

I thought I was going to pass out. Tall Man stood behind me and supported my shoulders. “Relax, Bruce. It’s not as bad as you might think.”

Wide-eyed, I stared up at him, then across the desk at Short Man. Are they playing good-cop bad-cop? Even if they are, I am in deep shit.

Tall Man came around and sat facing me on the edge of my boss’s desk. “It’s true, Bruce, we know all about your little romance—”

“It’s not a romance. It’s casual. And it was the first time.”

“Bullshit!” Short Man shouted.

His challenge restored my voice and my courage. Leaning toward the man behind the desk, I sneered, “If you’re so smart, you would have known it was the first, and only time. So what game are you two playing here? Do I need to call a lawyer?”

Short Man cruelly deflated my false bravado. “If we wanted to arrest you, Bruce, you wouldn’t have access to a lawyer. You would disappear into a maze of courts and prisons you never imagined existed.” He gave me a cruel grin, which chilled my blood.

Defeated, I fell back into the chair. Tall Man turned and scowled at his compatriot. He returned to me and shrugged his shoulders. “He’s an asshole, but it’s the truth. We would appreciate your cooperation, Sir. Your country would appreciate it.”

I peered around him at Short Man, who had given up. He leaned back in his chair and looked up at the other secret agent, or whatever he was.

Tall Man leaned in close to my face. “Are you familiar with the term Honey Trap, Bruce?”

I mumbled, “Honey what?”

Short Man laughed derisively, and Tall Man gave him a withering stare before turning back to me. “A Honey Trap is a technique the KGB uses to worm their way into the lives of innocent men and women, in order to obtain what the Russkies call kompromat—compromising information. It’s not secrets—at first, but it’s always something their victim wants to keep secret.”

Short Man chimed in, “It’s a way of blackmailing you into telling them anything they fucking want to know about America’s space program, including the military and espionage aspects of it.”

“And you think that’s what Grisha is doing with me?”

Tall Man took over again, “We’re not sure. It’s what we want to find out.”

“So what do you want from me?”

“You have to decide, Bruce. You see, we don’t know what Galinsky is up to, if anything. He may be setting you up as a mole in our country’s technological industry. Or he could be planning to blackmail you with some pictures of his own. Or—” He paused for effect. “He might be a lonely gay man, miles from home, who thinks he has met a kindred spirit and compatible lover.”

Short Man chimed in, “We doubt that last thing is likely.”

“But we know you can help us,” his tall companion explained.

“How? How can I help you? You’re the goddamn government, for shit’s sake.”

Both men found that amusing. Tall Man answered me, “Sure, we would figure it out, sooner or later, costing the taxpayers thousands of dollars and perhaps sacrificing any number of secret details to the Russians—when you might resolve all our concerns acting alone.”

“Well, not alone,” Short Man interjected. “Galinsky would of course be involved.”

My head cleared, my heartbeat slowed to normal, and the nausea subsided. “I understand. You want me to spy on him, to find out if he’s spying on me, uh, us.”

“Something like that.”

“And am I to assume it includes having sex with him—as often as I want?”

Both men were stymied. They exchanged glances before Tall Man confirmed, “Well, yes, that appears to be the connection you two have.”

“Let me get this straight. Homosexual activity is a crime punishable by prison, and my government wants me to commit it for the sake of the whole goddamn U.S. of A?”

I thought for a long time while they sat fidgeting. I enjoyed turning the tables and making them uncomfortable for a change.

“So here it is,” I began. “I like Grisha—a lot. We hit it off, and I think I know him. I also believe he’s not a spy or a mole or what-the-fuck.”

The two secret agents were aghast at my assertion. I continued, “But because that’s what you two assholes think, I’m going to help you—not to catch my friend in anything sinister, but to vindicate him to you and help him keep his good name.”

“If that’s what you think will happen—” Tall Man allowed. “But be aware, we don’t make accusations like this without good reason. We know quite a few things about Doctor Galinsky that I believe you are unaware of.”

“So enlighten me.”

Over the next hour, the two agents laid out their suspicions and the basis for believing Gregor was a Russian agent trying to infiltrate American companies and steal our technology.

I had to admit that if their information were 100% accurate, it was possible to interpret it in a negative light, as they did. The more they revealed to me, the more I wanted to exonerate Grisha and keep him as a friend—and lover.

“You two ever hear of Mati Hari?” I demanded at last.

“Of course.” The Short Man spoke in a friendly tone for the first time. “But she started out as a spy and used her wiles to entrap generals and politicians. We’re not asking you to do that, and we know you’re not a professional.”

“I’m grateful for that, I think,” I responded to his backhanded compliment.

It was almost lunchtime when we opened my supervisor’s office door. He was nowhere in sight, and the two agents quietly left the building as I returned to my desk. No one ever mentioned the strange meeting or the two men in dark suits, but I started following their directions in my dealings with Grisha.