Chapter 1
“You’ve got to be one of the stupidest people I’ve ever met,” Anthony said, “and, that’s really saying something, because I’ve met a lot of people.”
He was furious and flustered, and his face was so red that it warmed the air around him. But, not all of that redness came from anger. Some of it came from blood, and as he wiped the goopy, congealing fluid from his nose and upper lip, he looked at me and shook his head.
I wanted to apologize to him, to run over to him, take him into my arms, and tell him how sorry I was that he got dragged into this mess. But now was not that time. First, we had to finish what had already begun—and, what had already begun began not too long ago, when Anthony showed up at London’s pool house to “save” me from whatever came next.
So, let’s go back to that point, shall we? Or, better yet, let’s go back just a bit further, to make sure we’re all on the same page.
Flash back to an hour or so earlier… I’d spilled the beans to London and told him all about my late-morning romp with Anthony in his office. After I’d shared the most intimate details of our encounter, London went on to ask some questions that I didn’t expect a young man like him to ask.
Rather than asking me how good the sex was, how large Anthony’s cock was, or anything down n’ dirty like that, London asked more general, practical questions, and they made me very suspicious. My suspicions were confirmed when I answered the seventh “Private” call to my phone. It was Anthony, calling to tell me what I’d just figured out on my own: It wasn’t Willard Preston, London’s gay lover, who was trying to blackmail him; it was London, my only friend and “beard,” who was behind the scam.
Anthony said he’d be right over, and I was supposed to play it cool until he got there. But, the moment I hung up my phone, London knew something was up, and I knew that he knew. There was no avoiding the elephant in the room, so I decided to face it head on.
I turned the tables and started asking my own questions, and the first one I asked was, “Why?” Why? Why? No matter how many times I said it aloud to him, and despite whatever else I asked or said, that one question kept firing over and over again inside my head. I wanted so badly to know why someone who I’d trusted would attempt to use my secrets against me.
London surmised that Anthony was on his way and asked me to sit down on the couch, so that he could answer my question. I did as I was told and took a seat, and prepared myself for what he had to say.
“At first,” London said, still sporting a crooked grin, “this whole beard idea sounded really good. I thought we both could help each other a lot. We both had big secrets we didn’t want our parents knowing about, and playing boyfriend-and-girlfriend could help us cover them up… for a while.”
The beer that London had given me was warmer than I would have liked, but I sipped at it anyway, just to calm myself down and give me something to do as he went on.
“But the more I thought about it,” London continued, “I realized, we’re not on even playing fields. Yes, we both have secrets—but, mine’s a lot bigger than yours.”
London looked at me as if he expected me to understand, but, really, I didn’t. I guess you could say it was because of my young, modern mindset. Like most people my age, I don’t really judge people based on their sexual preference. I mean, I was a little burnt when I found out London was gay, but that was only because of the awkward sexual encounter we’d shared a couple weeks before, and because he’d suggested that we date.
But, at the bottom line, it didn’t faze me that London was gay. I simply didn’t care. His business was his own, and I didn’t think it was a big deal. I could understand why he’d be reluctant to tell his parents though—but, since I’m not gay, there really was no way for me to understand exactly what
“You’ve got to be one of the stupidest people I’ve ever met,” Anthony said, “and, that’s really saying something, because I’ve met a lot of people.”
He was furious and flustered, and his face was so red that it warmed the air around him. But, not all of that redness came from anger. Some of it came from blood, and as he wiped the goopy, congealing fluid from his nose and upper lip, he looked at me and shook his head.
I wanted to apologize to him, to run over to him, take him into my arms, and tell him how sorry I was that he got dragged into this mess. But now was not that time. First, we had to finish what had already begun—and, what had already begun began not too long ago, when Anthony showed up at London’s pool house to “save” me from whatever came next.
So, let’s go back to that point, shall we? Or, better yet, let’s go back just a bit further, to make sure we’re all on the same page.
Flash back to an hour or so earlier… I’d spilled the beans to London and told him all about my late-morning romp with Anthony in his office. After I’d shared the most intimate details of our encounter, London went on to ask some questions that I didn’t expect a young man like him to ask.
Rather than asking me how good the sex was, how large Anthony’s cock was, or anything down n’ dirty like that, London asked more general, practical questions, and they made me very suspicious. My suspicions were confirmed when I answered the seventh “Private” call to my phone. It was Anthony, calling to tell me what I’d just figured out on my own: It wasn’t Willard Preston, London’s gay lover, who was trying to blackmail him; it was London, my only friend and “beard,” who was behind the scam.
Anthony said he’d be right over, and I was supposed to play it cool until he got there. But, the moment I hung up my phone, London knew something was up, and I knew that he knew. There was no avoiding the elephant in the room, so I decided to face it head on.
I turned the tables and started asking my own questions, and the first one I asked was, “Why?” Why? Why? No matter how many times I said it aloud to him, and despite whatever else I asked or said, that one question kept firing over and over again inside my head. I wanted so badly to know why someone who I’d trusted would attempt to use my secrets against me.
London surmised that Anthony was on his way and asked me to sit down on the couch, so that he could answer my question. I did as I was told and took a seat, and prepared myself for what he had to say.
“At first,” London said, still sporting a crooked grin, “this whole beard idea sounded really good. I thought we both could help each other a lot. We both had big secrets we didn’t want our parents knowing about, and playing boyfriend-and-girlfriend could help us cover them up… for a while.”
The beer that London had given me was warmer than I would have liked, but I sipped at it anyway, just to calm myself down and give me something to do as he went on.
“But the more I thought about it,” London continued, “I realized, we’re not on even playing fields. Yes, we both have secrets—but, mine’s a lot bigger than yours.”
London looked at me as if he expected me to understand, but, really, I didn’t. I guess you could say it was because of my young, modern mindset. Like most people my age, I don’t really judge people based on their sexual preference. I mean, I was a little burnt when I found out London was gay, but that was only because of the awkward sexual encounter we’d shared a couple weeks before, and because he’d suggested that we date.
But, at the bottom line, it didn’t faze me that London was gay. I simply didn’t care. His business was his own, and I didn’t think it was a big deal. I could understand why he’d be reluctant to tell his parents though—but, since I’m not gay, there really was no way for me to understand exactly what
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