Thanks to everyone for the comments on the first couple of chapters! Definitely let me know (email me) if you have any comments or ideas. Been hard to carve out the time to write, so it's been a while, but I'm definitely planning to see this story through. I'd rather take my time with it than rush out something I'm not happy with. This chapter's mostly setting the stage for the next one.
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[This is a work of fiction.]
********* Draining Darren: Chapter Three *********
On Wednesday, I sat in my first chemistry lab of the summer session. The teaching assistant was giving a presentation repeating what the professor had told us about the syllabus on Monday, and I was not hearing a word of it.
The first full week of summer classes had been in many ways completely normal. I was registered for two classes I needed to graduate next year, chemistry and public speaking. The chemistry lecture was a brutal two and a half hours on Monday afternoons, with its lab on Wednesday mornings. Public speaking met Tuesday and Thursday at noon. Boring as they were, neither class would require too much brain power for me to get at least a B. Which was a good thing, considering that I had other things on my mind.
The previous weekend, I had been "interviewed" for a new part-time job at a members-only club downtown, then examined by their in-house doctor. I had been examined, probed, stroked, groped, and milked twice--and I couldn't wait to go back. As soon as I got the all-clear from Dr. Peters, I could start working.
Needless to say, the wait had been agonizing. Elijah said I would probably hear back "midweek," but he didn't have much else to offer. He still refused to answer any questions about the club, even though I had already gone through the interview and signed an NDA. He claimed it was because I hadn't been officially "initiated" yet, but I thought he also enjoyed watching me agonize over my questions and the wait.
Plenty of men had seen me naked before that Saturday, but I had never felt quite so exposed as I did before Elijah, Mr. Barker, Dr. Peters, and all the other men in the upstairs hallways of the club. In the exam room, Elijah had seen me completely helpless, legs spread open strapped to a chair, covered in my own cum. That feeling, and the look on his face, played over and over in my head in the days that followed.
It also got rid of any anxiety I had about being naked in our dorm room. I didn't bother to cover myself when I changed, and I slept completely naked without shame. I was hoping that Elijah would reciprocate, but I still hadn't seen him in anything less than a towel or a pair of the tight white briefs he wore. He slept in them, and he let me see, but he kept his package out of view.
Elijah was hot, very hot, but the longer I lived with him, the more I realized how high the price of that truly was. He worked out obsessively, every single day, and kept track of everything he was eating in some app on his phone. And it wasn't like Barker or anyone at the club was making him. I'd seen guys of all shapes, sizes, and ages in the brief tour Elijah gave me of the upstairs. It seemed like what Dr. Peters had said was true--our cocks, our balls, our loads were the only thing that actually mattered. Elijah's obsession with his body was his own.
I didn't know him well enough to know whether or not it was a real problem. At that point, what I really wanted from him was to just see what he was hiding under those briefs, and I had a feeling I would get the chance soon enough. At least, as soon as that fucking doctor would get around to calling me--
"Take one and pass it down."
I snapped back to my present reality and out of my thought cycle. I refocused my attention on the lab safety worksheet that the chemistry TA had just handed me.
When I finished it and finally got the hell out of the classroom, I pulled over to the side of the hallway to check my phone.
Oh, holy shit. There was a new email in my inbox:
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- Darren,
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You've just received medical clearance, and you can start work this weekend. You will come in tomorrow at 4pm for downstairs training, and on Friday evening for upstairs training and a private event. We will provide you with appropriate attire.
Richard Barker General Manager - - - - -
"What should I wear?"
It was Thursday afternoon, and I was standing in our dorm room wearing only a towel. I'd run straight to the showers after I got out of my public speaking class (not for all the money in the world could I have told you what happened during that lecture--I was a ball of anxiety about going back to the club that afternoon). I had just enough time to shower and change before heading back to the club.
"Wear anything, dude. You're not going to be wearing it for very long once you get there," Elijah responded. He was sitting at his desk, half-watching a lecture video while texting.
"Oh, really?" I smirked at him. "They're going to get me out of my clothes that fast again?"
He rolled his eyes at me. "Not like that--at least, not today. Probably. This is just your downstairs training shift. I just meant they'll give you something to wear. Like Mr. Barker said--`appropriate attire.' You know, coats and--"
"--ties and stuff, yeah, I know," I finished for him. He was still not giving me enough details, but it was at least helpful to know this afternoon was going to be more about the catering-and-coat-check side of the business. The "downstairs," with the respectable businessmen and politicians having lunch, the elegant parties with their families. As opposed to the "upstairs," where men like me and Elijah were drained of their cum for...well, for what, exactly, I was not yet sure. I didn't know the rules yet. Looking back, I almost want to laugh at how naive I was. How little I knew about what I was getting into.
I decided to wear essentially what I had worn the last time I went to the club--my only blazer, my only pair of slacks, and my only quasi-formal loafers, but this time, with the second of the two button-downs I owned. Comparing my wardrobe to Elijah's, I was really beginning to think it might not be such a bad idea for the club to give me some new threads.
"Okay, I'm off. Any last words of advice?"
Elijah swiveled in his chair to look directly at me, his eyes doing a quick scan of my entire body. Even though I was fully clothed, it still felt the same as it did when I was entirely naked in front of him.
"You'll be fine, man," he said. "Just do whatever they tell you. Don't ask too many questions too fast, just, you know, let them answer them at their own pace." He gave me a quick, reassuring smile, and turned back to his laptop. I grabbed my keys and headed for the bus.
**
"Darren! I'm so happy to see you back. Congratulations on getting hired, by the way. Here for your downstairs orientation, yes?" Marty, part-receptionist, part-gatekeeper, was sitting cheerfully in his same spot behind the front desk. Shining out from underneath all his friendliness was a sharp competence. I got the sense that he knew everything that was going on in the building at all times, that he would know every detail of every event right down to the color of the tablecloths. I would later come to learn that he also managed Mr. Barker's schedule, and could tell you where the boss would be at any moment, day or night. (Whether he would tell you is another story entirely--but I'm getting ahead of myself.)
I smiled at him and told him that yes, I was here for my orientation, and dutifully went through the door on the left (my left, that is; Marty's right) when he gestured. I nodded as pleasantly as I could as I passed him. I knew that Marty was not someone I would want to piss off.
The door was heavy, but it swung smoothly, and I found myself in what looked like a small ballroom. It looked like it could host about a few hundred people comfortably. Everything looked very old and very well-polished. The floors and the walls were solid, dark wood, and the opposite wall had windows with beautiful stained glass panels of family crests, coats-of-arms, and university seals. A small chandelier hung from the ornately painted ceiling.
A few staff members were setting up tables under the watchful eye of Mr. Barker and an older man I did not recognize, who was holding a clipboard. I made my way toward them, conscious of the loud thunk my old loafers made with every step.
"Darren!" Mr. Barker called over to me. He looked at his watch. "Right on time. Good. Come over here, I want you to meet someone."
I shook hands with the man with the clipboard--Barker introduced him as Mr. Green.
"You can call me Malcolm," said Mr. Green. He had a gentle smile, and a time-hardened irony in his voice I'd heard before from gay men of that generation.
"No, actually, you cannot," said Barker. "At least not in front of the members. We've got to keep up the formality, Green."
"I don't see any members here! Do you, Darren?" Green gestured at the room, still nearly empty save for the two or three men unfolding tablecloths.
"I, uh--" I looked to Barker, then back to Green. "No, I don't, Mr. Green."
The two of them laughed, and Barker clapped my shoulder. "You'll do fine, kid," he said. "I'll leave you in Mr. Green's capable hands."
Green shooed him away with his clipboard, then gestured for me to walk with him.
"I've actually worked as a waiter before, at a restaurant back home for a few summers," I told him.
"Really? Well, this should be a breeze, then!" He handed me a stack of white cloth napkins and started me on rolling them silverware.
"No, no, not like that," he said, swatting my hands away and showing me the proper method. "Did they not have silverware at this restaurant `back home?'"
I laughed. "It was more of a paper-napkin kind of place," I admitted.
He nodded, smiling his knowing smile again. "Where is `back home' for you, Darren?"
"Arizona."
"Arizona!" It seemed I'd caught his attention. "That's not one I hear often. What brought you out east?"
"Oh, you know, school, I mean, I'm in college here. I actually transferred this past year, but that's a long story." I turned attentively back to the silverware.
"Well," said Green, "I hope I get to hear that story someday. For now, finish with these, then I'll show you what we do with the tables, once--oh Christ, THOMAS, put that down--"
Green scurried away to have some choice words with another staff member carrying a chafing dish that was "wrong, all wrong," and I got back to work.
After we finished setting up the ballroom, Mr. Green took me on a quick tour of the rest of the downstairs. As it turned out, "downstairs" consisted of the first two floors, plus the basement and part of the third floor. In addition to the ballroom, the first floor also had a large main dining room and a few smaller private ones, the main kitchen, and men's and women's cloakrooms.
"Anyone can be a member downstairs, men and women." Green explained. "Well, anyone rich enough to buy in, and there are a limited number of memberships. Plus, they need to be sponsored. Upstairs members have everything the downstairs members have, along with everything else. But that's men-only, and admission is much more selective, as I'm sure you can imagine." He shrugged. "Membership's above my paygrade. I just make sure everything runs smoothly downstairs--and believe me when I say that this place would probably burn to the ground if I wasn't around to keep things moving."
From what I'd seen so far that day, I believed him.
The second floor had a small pub that served lunch, and a larger bar that opened onto a billiards room. There were a few more private meeting rooms and event spaces up here, for what Green described as "unpleasant things like business."
Green did take me up the carpeted staircase to the third floor, too, but only briefly. This floor also housed squash and racquetball courts and a surprisingly large pool. Downstairs members had locker rooms by the pool, but upstairs members and employees had their own locker rooms.
To get there, Green led me through a door marked "PRIVATE" down a short hallway to an unmarked black door, which he unlocked with a keycard. Beyond that door was a small foyer before the carpeted staircase that led to the fourth and fifth floors--the real "upstairs." To the left of the staircase was the member locker room, and on the right, locker room for the staff, where Green led me next.
I'd been in the staff locker room last week, when Elijah brought me down here after the interview and my appointment with Dr. Peters. The last time I had come down those stairs, I had been completely naked, with my own cum drying on my stomach, chest, and face. As Green led me into the staff locker room, I realized that the black door was the border between "downstairs" and "upstairs." Beyond that door, anything that took place was private. Secret.
The locker room was mostly empty, except for one guy taking a shower. Green gave me the code to my locker. Two garment bags hung inside, and a duffel bag sat neatly on the bench directly in front of it.
"Okay, Darren, this is where I'm going to leave you. There's clothes in these bags--don't worry, sweetie, they're labeled, you'll know exactly what to wear for your shift this weekend. Marty downstairs will call a car for you so you don't have to carry all that home on the bus." He patted me on the arm and shuffled out of the room.
I sat heavily on the bench, trying to absorb everything I'd been learning. I was tired, but part of me--maybe most of me--wanted to continue that tour, to see the rest of the upstairs. To learn what my duties would be up there. Be exposed again. Drained again.
I decided I would go to bed early that night. I knew I would need to be ready for anything when I returned to the club on Friday evening.