Jude had gotten through the second set at The Spot in Chelsea the same way he had gotten through all of Logjam's concerts in the last two decades—riding a high on the music, the roar of the crowd, beer, and poppers. If the proportion of beer and poppers had been relentlessly creeping up over the last fifteen years, it had been too gradual for Jude to notice it, or too scary for him to acknowledge it.
Derek leaned against the metal railing as his grey eyes passed over the crowded cafeteria. With the entire population wearing the same uniform he had to focus on faces in order to differentiate each inmate.
Parker saw him walk into the hardware store again and work his way around the outer aisle. Parker was helping a customer pick out paint and wondered if the good-looking man would work his way over to Parker's station, being attracted to Parker, or if this was the hardware store he had always come to and Parker just hadn't noticed him before his visit the other day.
"So, you are here to audition for my movies," Mr. S said to me as I entered the living room to the hotel suite. He was the director of Ruby Bulb films, and I'd been waiting for weeks to see him, as he only gave two auditions a day. I could tell which one was the big director immediately when I came into the room, as he was a Big Daddy Warbucks type, all height and big bones and muscles, and no hair.
Tiffany was furious with her parents. What were they thinking, sending her to this godforsaken place? She wouldn't have minded a summer in Rome or Paris but no, they had to send her to Istanbul. Just because she got in a little scrape back home in Tennessee, her parents decided that she should spend some time with her diplomat uncle and his native wife in Turkey.
When I first saw him, he was sitting on a park bench (and, no, he was not eyeing little girls with bad intent). He was reading a book. Later, I would come to understand that this was his default state.
In this instance, the book was William Gibson's Neuromancer. I was pleased. Literate and sexy; the intellect and the libido are inseparable after all, or should be.
"Say what?" Rocky Hansan asked.
"Silas's Choice," I repeated. "You are offering me the same options you offered Silas Collins three years ago. Did you realize that?"
"Of course not," the chief of the Near East Division said. "Farthest thing from our minds."
"Hello, you must be Shayne. I'm Mr. Caldwell's boy, Jerome. Come on in. I'll take your bag to your room. He's out beyond the great room, in the pool. Go on back."
With that welcome, I entered the world of Ted Caldwell, retired supposed master spy, the man I'd been sent to the New Jersey shore to interview over the weekend for Spy magazine.
When I started driving some years ago, I recall my dad's repeated warnings about keeping plenty of gas in my car. Well, as this 19-year-old sat on the gravel shoulder of a rather desolate foothill highway after running out of gas, the last thing I wanted to think about was my dad being right, as usual. It didn't seem that I would have to worry about anybody coming along this road at 1 a.m., so I figured I might as well bunk in my car until daylight.
"Ahhh, that were very nice," I said with a deep, satisfied sigh, as I spilled my seed down Des's chin. We were in the boathouse on the lower lake, here because Des had wanted me to fuck him. But now we'd have to sit and talk for a bit, listening to the racing shells grind against the dock outside in the bit of a squall that had come up over Sandhurst. It would take me a few to recharge.