All My Dreams Pass Before My Eyes
By Jack Lynch
Chapter 21
August.
Harper wiped the sleep out of her eyes, groaning as she rolled out of bed. Reggie was already in the shower so she went to the closet to pick out her outfit for the day.
This summer had been, she searched for an apt description, disappointing, fucked up, something like that. She shrugged, grabbed a black silk blouse and held it in her hand as she tried to decide. Ivory slacks or a black skirt?
It had started out as hopeful. Tucker had gotten her a job interning at his firm's New York headquarters. Her parents didn't even mind when she announced she was going to live with Reggie for the summer. That saved them thousands of dollars in rent for an apartment they knew she would hardly occupy anyway.
While she waited for Reggie to get out of the shower, she sat on the bed with her back against the headboard, knees tucked up to her chin. All of a sudden, Carey came to mind. In a lot of ways, she still missed him. He was...nice. A decent guy, funny, smart. They were somehow a better fit, even sexually. Harper truly loved being the dominant one and Carey was all too willing to play along, allowing her to be on top most of the time, letting himself be crushed as she ground her hips into him and held his arms down. His cock was so average, unlike Mandingo over there in the bathroom, but he sure knew how to use it. He had this way, this way of pulling himself up so that the top of his shaft scraped along her clit. It usually took just a couple of those moves and she was there. Harper frowned, recalling how she felt when Bell told her they'd had sex. Sad, but mostly jealous.
Harper wasn't sure how her relationship with Reggie had gone off the rails. It could have been the work. Since getting placed in the private equity department of his firm a couple of months ago, he was spending longer and longer hours at the office, frequently hitting the laptop for an additional hour or two late at night.
The sex was...just then, the bathroom door bumped open, interrupting her train of thought. Naked, Reggie was some kind of a god. Smooth black skin that fairly shimmered. Trim, muscular, well defined chest, tight stomach, smooth hips, and, of course, that cock. In its relaxed state, it was something like a thick black snake. She even dreamt once, or was that a nightmare, that he had it wrapped around her neck, squeezing the life out of her.
So, the sex had sort of withered away from bold to boring. At first, wild and violent romps around the apartment, fucking in every corner, using almost every piece of furniture. Now, it was routine. It still hurt like holy hell when he jammed that fire hose into her but she was more used to it, more ready, clinching her eyes shut and girding herself for the pain.
Last night, Harper and Reggie sat on the bed, both naked, looking at each other. She sort of dreaded it, but at the same time, she expected it. Just not quite like this. Reggie admitted he was bored, too, but he had an idea how they could get things buzzin', as he put it. A threesome. As he explained it, Harper could barely contain a smirk.
Harper, another girl, and him. Of course!
She had only had full on sex with one other woman, her college professor. There had been so many opportunities in the past, however, she'd lost count. She apparently was some sort of a dyke magnet. Her tall stature, long legs, cat-like eyes, her husky voice. Even when she was a teenager, she read it into every invitation for a sleepover. Someone who she thought of as a bestie, stammering nervously, as she invited her. That night, Harper let her friend paw away at her and kiss her before pushing her away. She knew. Now, her Gaydar was fully developed. Just yesterday, on the train uptown, she'd gotten a look from some woman. Harper just smirked and looked away.
As Reggie laid out his fantasy she glanced down, noticing that his cock was stiffening and thickening as he talked. Okay, she finally sighed, let's give it a try. With something between a smirk and a grimace, she reached over and wrapped her fingers around it.
The day went quickly. That night, showered and fresh make-up, a loose fitting blouse, sans bra, they took an Uber over to a place Reggie had apparently scoped out by himself. The Cubbyhole, a west Village bar, infamous apparently, as a lesbian joint. The place was tiny, dark, and cramped. Harper stood in one corner, Reggie allowing himself to be pushed into another corner by the crush of patrons.
It took less than five minutes before she was hit on. Some older woman, old enough to be Harper's grandmother. Holding a glass that looked like some mysterious cocktail but was really just club soda, Harper nodded and smiled. She could barely hear what the woman was saying over the music and noise. After looking over her head at Reggie, the woman got the hint and moved on. A couple of more women, one of whom had sketched a mustache over her lip with eyebrow pencil. They all approached, were rebuffed, and moved on.
Her name was Keisha. Pronounced Kay-eesh-ah, she yelled into Harper's ear. An adorable Black girl who instantly reminded her of the poet Amanda Gorman. Narrow face, bright eyes and an electric smile. Long, tightly braided hair, a cute figure. Short, maybe 5'3." A bit giggly, but that was okay. They had only chatted for a couple of minutes when Harper felt Reggie's arm wind around her waist. Looking a bit confused as her eyes went from Harper, then to Reggie, and back to Harper. Then, a giggle and a nod.
Reggie jerked his head, leading both of them out the door. A short walk across the street to the next block. A small restaurant, Do Not Disturb. The girls sat next to each other on a richly upholstered banquette, Reggie across the table from them.
Keisha looked like a kid, but she was actually older than Harper, having just turned twenty-four. An admin at a Madison Avenue ad agency. Originally from Toledo, seeking fame and fortune in the "the big shitty," as she called it.
Reggie kind of blathered on. For a moment, Harper was mildly annoyed, wondering if she should just ask him to split. Putting on his carefully cultivated Queen's English accent, once in awhile a bit of his native Cockney breaking through. The three of them danced around topic after topic.
"So, Keisha. Tell me. What do you think of my Harper," Reggie asked, a twinkle in his eye?
"I think she's, ah," stopping for a moment, "beautiful. And hot!" She proceeded to break into a giggle.
Reggie leaned forward in his chair.
"Do me a favor, if you want. Put your hand on Harper's breast."
"Reggie!" Harper exclaimed in an alarmed voice.
Keisha giggled and blushed, turning her head to the side, a hand over her mouth. Then, apparently finding some courage, she cleared her throat, reached over, and slid her hand inside Harper's blouse and cupped her naked breast, pinching an already hard nipple.
Harper immediately felt a fullness, a kind of swelling, between her legs. Here she was, sitting in the middle of a restaurant, albeit one that was filled with mostly Lesbians, getting felt up. It was very, very erotic! Their conversation continued, eyes glued to each other, Keisha softly massaging Harper's breast. Then, without a prompt, she nudged one button open, then another, and pushed Harper's blouse open.
There she was, tits out in the open. Her face felt hot. She kept her eyes glued to Reggie, afraid to look to see if anyone was noticing. For his part, Reggie had a lazy grin on his face, he too, oblivious to anyone around them.
"Shall we?" He finally asked, turning to call for the check. Humiliated and hornier than hell, Harper brushed Keisha's hand away and re-buttoned her blouse.
Within thirty minutes, the three of them were back at the apartment. Clothing ripped off of each other, grunting and groaning, laughing as they tumbled into bed.
What seemed like hours later but really was only minutes, flat on her back, Harper lapped away at Keisha's delightful pussy. She'd never gone down on another girl. God! What have I been missing, she asked herself? She barely felt Reggie enter her. She was so loose she thought her bits might wash out on the bed.
Later, much later, eyes to the ceiling, Harper tried to take stock. Next to her, Reggie snored softly. Keisha, on the other side, murmured in her sleep. Bisexuality was not ever part of her life plan, but here she was. Good thing or bad thing? Or, just a thing?
I wonder what Bell is going to say, she thought. They shared things, well, everything. Harper knew all about Bell's adventures. Toby, Micah, Carey, even the one with the next door neighbor. Just the other day, he'd sent her a text message, live and in person from his post coital spot next to Marti. She'd gotten a room for the two of them at the Derbyshire Inn, complete with champagne and caviar. He wasn't that much into the caviar but that champagne really hit the spot. He confessed he was stoned as hell, too, after sharing a joint with Marti. Tell me where she gets that stuff, Harper demanded. I know, he'd replied. It's the boss!
Harper raised her head a bit, looking over at Keisha. She was like a little Black doll. Bell will find out about her but she was going to make damned sure he never meets her. No way, was she going to share. Not this one.
Sitting at a small table in the window of Brew-Ski's sipping an iced coffee, he absentmindedly thumbed through some apps on his phone. Carey looked through the glass to an indistinguishable point in the distance. Deep in thought.
Returning to his home town for the summer, he'd taken up residence back at his parent's house. Due to his newly found wealth, he didn't really need a job. It felt strange, though. After a decidedly middle class upbringing, he just couldn't sit around. He had to do something, anything.
He casually filled out a job application to intern at the local office of his district's U.S. Representative. Much to his surprise, he quickly got a job. Apparently, the daughter of a political supporter had finked out on her internship within days after she started. Even though Carey wasn't even on the same side of the political aisle as Congressman Jones, he was hired on.
The work was mildly interesting. His primary duty was to answer the phone. The rest of the time, he was asked to research a relatively complicated subject developing background for the Congressman's position on a controversial bill circulating on Capitol Hill. As a Poli Sci major, this was right up his alley.
Fortunately, the embarrassing set of events at school had somehow been overlooked when they reviewed his application. Even though his mood sometimes dictated jerking off to the memory of being literally exposed for the world to see, he mostly pushed it to the back of his mind.
Except for this moment, sitting in the window at Brew-Ski's. He felt himself get hard as he remembered what it had felt like. Carey let out a deep sigh and tipped his drink up to finish it off.
"Can I take this away?"
Carey turned to the barista standing next to him.
The guy gave him a twinkly smile. Carey barely remembered seeing him when he first came in but he took further notice now. Good looking, slender and a little taller than Carey, long dark hair styled in a bowl cut, kind of like Justin Bieber. Although it was tousled, it look like each hair had been carefully placed across his forehead and over his ears. Thick eyebrows, full lips, and bright blue eyes.
"What?"
Carey literally shook his head as he tried to sort out past and present.
The barista pointed to Carey's now empty drink.
"Sure."
"Ya know, today's Wednesday. And, on Wednesday's, we give free refills."
"Really? I never knew that."
"Well, that's because I just made it up," the barista grinned. "I was just trying to think of a way to keep you here so I could talk to you."
Carey laughed.
Looking first up to his handsome face and then dropping his eyes to the name tag on his chest, he said, "Why, thanks Randy! I'm flattered!"
For a brief moment, they just stared at each other.
"Oh! My name's Carey."
They shook hands.
"Let me get you that refill."
As he walked away, Carey couldn't help but look at his narrow but well rounded butt. He scratched an itch behind his ear.
When he came back with his refill, Randy said, "I know who you are."
"Oh shit! You do? You found out I'm a serial killer?" Carey asked in comic disbelief.
They both laughed.
"No. I didn't know about that. You'll have to give me the details. I meant, I know you work for the Congressman. I've seen you working there through the window at his office."
Carey nodded.
"And, I know you're home for the summer and you're in school."
"How do you know that?"
"The other gal who works there. Denise is it? She told me."
This was getting interesting, Carey thought.
Randy just stood there. They were both silent for a moment as they looked at each other.
"Hey! Would you ever want to hang out?"
"Sure!" Carey answered enthusiastically.
Too enthusiastically?
"I'm going over to a friend's house tonight to check out his sound system."
Carey looked at him quizzically.
"Ah...he's an audiophile. You know, majorly into music and stuff."
"Oh, I get it. Sure, why not?"
"Great! How about if I pick you up at like eight?"
"Um...ok...I live..."
"I know where you live."
Carey was stunned for a moment. Then he chuckled, a bit uncomfortably.
"Am I getting stalked?"
"Yeah," Randy smiled, eyes still twinkling.
Feeling a little self-conscious, he got up to leave. They looked at each other.
Carey extended his hand, "Well, I guess I'll see ya later."
Randy took his hand with a quick shake and with another bright smile said, "You can count on it."
Carey left with his refreshed iced coffee. As he did, he self consciously clenched his butt cheeks. Without looking he knew Randy's eyes were locked on it. Fair enough. It was the same way Carey had checked him out, just moments earlier.
As eight o'clock approached, Carey looked expectantly out the window. The street was quiet until a silver car turned the corner and the lights flashed off and on.
Earlier, Carey showered after he got home. As he watched the water stream down his chest and stomach, his eyes came to rest on his rising and thickening cock. He imagined his mouth opening as his lips surrounded Randy's smooth cock. He sucked so hard he gagged when it hit the back of his throat. He brushed a finger against the underside of his own cock. In an instant he felt like he was going to cum.
Save it, he thought. I might need that for later.
Carey wore a tight ribbed long sleeve t-shirt that hugged his flat chest. Looking in the mirror, the shirt revealed a nice curve from his narrow waist to his hips. He wished his pecs had more definition although his nipples, barely visible as they made small points on the front of his shirt, made him look sort of cute and sexy.
Carey ran out the front door, down the steps, and jumped into Randy's car.
"Nice ride!" He said as he admired the sleek dashboard of the late model Beemer.
Randy laughed. "Don't worry. I'm not some spoiled rich kid. This is the `rents." Smiling with a twinkle in his eyes, "I'm a REALLY spoiled rich kid!"
Carey chuckled.
On the way, they traded some basics about each other. Randy was eighteen having just graduated from high school. Carey was a "townie" having been born and raised locally. Randy's family had moved to town three years ago after his father was appointed president of one of the area's largest manufacturers. Carey was twenty, about to enter his senior year in college; Randy was taking a year off. Europe, probably, pending parental approval. He had been able to defer his acceptance to a prestigious university.
Six months back packing in Europe was just on the horizon. In the meantime, Randy's parents had made a passing attempt to make him buckle down and do something. Anything. The job at Brew-Ski's seem to mollify them.
Randy smirked, "It's not like they're making me do road construction."
Carey laughed. Carey was an only child. Randy had a sister, eight years older, who was a lawyer in the city. She had a serious boy friend. Recently, she had announced with confidence that he was "the one."
Fifteen minutes later they rolled up to a modest, late 20th Century split level house. After the hot summer day, the night air felt perfectly cool as they walked up to the front door, lit by two large lantern like sconces. A few seconds after Randy rang the bell, the door swung open and they were greeted enthusiastically.
"Randy!" The man shouted. Grabbing Carey's hand and shaking it, he said, "Hi! I'm Drain," in a rich tenor voice.
After a brief pause, Carey asked, "What did you say your name was?"
"Drain."
Carey looked at him with a sudden recognition.
"You mean as in Brain Drain?!"
"Yeah-h-h!" Drain squealed, laughing and nodding.
"Come on in!"
Stepping through the door, Carey exclaimed, "Hey, man! I listen to you everyday!"
Drain and Randy just smiled.
"The Brain Drain" was by far and away the most popular morning show on local radio. Drain's 2-hour show was almost all talk, interspersed with lots of commercials, as well as brief mentions of the news, traffic, and weather. No music.
He used the show as a platform to make fun of politicians, movie stars, and just regular folks. He'd normally begin a segment by reading a statement, quote, or some new policy initiative followed by spending the next several minutes in a full rant about how ridiculous it was and how idiotic the people were he was talking about. It was hilarious. Underneath it all, it made sense, most of the time. The punchline at the end of each segment was accompanied by the sound of water gurgling down a drain. Depending on the topic, sometimes it was the sound of a toilet flushing.
Drain's live interviews were the most entertaining. He had an uncanny ability to snare some poor unsuspecting politico or celebrity in an awkward position. He spared no one, left or right, from his hilarious attacks. It was laugh out loud funny to hear someone try to stammer, dodge, or lie their way out of the corner Drain painted them into.
"What can I get you to drink?" Drain asked.
They stood around the island in the kitchen selecting soft drinks from a wash tub filled with ice.
As they chatted, Carey got a better look at this local celebrity. In short, Drain was a weird duck. Probably 5'8" or so, the nicest way to describe his physique was pudgy. Overweight and roly poly as though he assiduously avoided any form of exercise. Hard to tell how old he was. Forty something? Pasty white skin.
Carey looked more closely without trying to be obvious. It looked like he might be wearing some kind of foundation. And, was that eye liner? A full head of perfect blond hair. Undoubtedly a rug. He wore a kitschy burgundy velour sweater with an open neck revealing two thick gold necklaces. His tiny feet look even smaller because he was wearing ballet slippers.
When Carey asked him if his name was really Drain, he waved his hand and said with a chuckle, "Oh no! My real name is Duaine," and with emphasis, "with an `i.' My little brother called me Drain because he couldn't quite pronounce Duaine. It stuck." He chuckled again.
In an affected and nasal voice, put on for effect, Drain put his arm across his stomach and with a slight bow said, "Gentlemen, please accompany me to the conservatory."
The conservatory was really just the large family room in the back of the house. Rectangular acoustic baffles hung suspended from the tall ceiling. Whatever walls were not covered in thick drapes were clad in a 1960's era wood paneling. Large stereo speakers sat at one end. Several smaller speakers were scattered through the rest of the room. One wall was completely lined with shelves housing a maze of electronic equipment. Amplifiers, pre-amps, mixers, turntables, and other stereo components. Lights blinked on and off and dials waved back and forth.
A number of chairs and a love seat were sprinkled throughout the room, mostly occupied by other men. Carey found an easy chair and Randy sat down on a piano bench.
After some brief introductions Drain launched into a monologue. It felt a little strange hearing the rich mellifluous voice in person Carey listened to everyday on the radio. Everyone looked on with expressions of admiration. There were lots of "Oh yeah's" and "Uh huh's." It was kind of like a white man's revival meeting.
The other guys in the room varied from young to old, big to small, thin to fat. They all had one thing in common: they were gay. It wasn't totally obvious but Carey's gaydar detected it nevertheless. The way a lot of the guys talked and their mannerisms gave them away. A couple of them were totally fem. One wore a single dangling earring. Another played with a necklace, his fingernails painted dark blue. A muscle bound linebacker type batted his eyelashes at Carey when he glanced at him.
Drain's prognostications dealt primarily with music and the quality of sound coming from the impressive array of electronics on the wall. Sitting on the couch at one end of the room, he controlled most of the components with three remotes stationed on a small table at his feet. He lectured on the technical aspects of the recorded and amplified sound using a variety of geeky sounding words like manipulated input. He didn't play any one song all the way through. Instead, he played clips from a variety of artists to demonstrate the extraordinary capability of his sound system. Opera, rap, vintage rock and roll, Janis Joplin, Frank Sinatra, Mozart, and everything in between.
Carey was bored. His eyes wandered over to Randy. He had quietly shifted around to straddle the piano bench. Leaning forward on his elbows as he paid rapt attention to Drain, Randy's ass spread across the width of the bench. With his hips slightly raised and his back arched, it was almost as if he was inviting someone to to come up behind him and stick their dick into his ass. Carey thought it looked a little bizarre but also hot. Was he doing this on purpose?
Looking at Randy a bit closer, he admired his great hair. Brown, nice and thick. It was obvious he got it cut just the right way and took great pains to keep it neat and styled. It shined as though he put some kind of product on it. His shoulders were pretty wide. Below his chest, his abdomen narrowed to a small waist.
Glancing back at the guys seated behind Randy, Carey saw that most of them had their eyes locked on Randy's butt. One middle aged man, eyes glazed over, lightly tickled a bulge in his pants. With a gorgeous butt like that, it was no wonder he was getting that kind of attention. Carey smiled to himself.
Stifling a yawn, he turned back to Drain's monologue, trying to feign interest. Eventually, his eyes started to glaze over and he felt his chin start to droop to his chest.
Randy must have noticed because he sat up with start, hopped to his feet and interrupted Drain.
"Hey! This was fun, but we've gotta get going."
Carey shook himself awake and quickly stood up, too. After saying good byes and receiving hugs, a little close and a little too hard from Drain, they were able to extract themselves.