The Allure of Well Formed Bodies
I.
i. By Daylight
Three of the young men were sitting around the table on the deck beside the house they had taken together for the summer in only their swimming bikinis, enjoying the last of a late breakfast. The fourth, like the others, lean, muscled, handsome almost to the point of prettiness, and deeply tanned, stood with his hands grasping the deck railing and gazing out over the sand at the ocean and further than that, at the distant horizon. The sky was cloud free and the sun was blazing at noon.
Daniel is off again, Peter said.
No, said Daniel. I'm thinking about how glad I am we decided to take this place.
Really? Peter exclaimed. I was beginning to think you were regretting it.
Why would you think that? Daniel said with a smile as he sat down with the others and poured himself a cup of coffee.
Because you seem so distant.
I'm not distant, Daniel said.
Danny's always been quiet, Phil said, coming to his defense. He thinks his own thoughts.
Peter looked at him with an oddly disappointed look.
I know, he said.
Oh, Peter! Phil said, dramatically, implicitly alluding to what everyone at the table knew. Peter had a crush on Daniel. Daniel, with all the best will in the world, could not reciprocate. He would not have minded fooling around with Peter, but he held back from that because he knew that rather than affording him sexual satisfaction it would only whet a deeper longing which it just was not in him to gratify.
I know. I know, Peter said blushing.
You wish that he would think your, thoughts instead, Spencer said with a wink.
Bitch. Peter responded, joking in order to suppress a very real anger beginning to rise up in him.
Enough! Daniel interrupted.
But Spencer ignored him.
You could always try to hypnotize him, Spencer taunted. Maybe you could get him that way.
Why are you doing this? Phil interjected.
Because I'm tired of all this unfinished business, Spencer answered.
What unfinished business? Daniel said.
Isn't it obvious? Spencer answered.
This is becoming uncomfortable, Daniel said.
Aha! Spencer exclaimed.
I agree, Peter said in a half voice.
Thank you, Daniel said.
But Spencer would not be put off.
You two don't see it, he said, being inside it, or maybe you just don't want to admit it. But for everybody else it's obvious that it's not a healthy situation.
What are you talking about? Phil said with an edge of censure in his voice.
You know exactly what I'm talking about.
Well I wish that we were talking about something else, Peter said, rising from the table. Ignoring the wooden steps down to the beach, he jumped onto the hot sand and raced to the ocean. He threw himself into the foam of a large breaking wave, and swam with a graceful and determined stroke out to the pontoon anchored a good distance from the shore.
He hoisted himself out of the sea and lay on his back looking up at the cerulean wilderness, idly rubbing his flat belly with his left hand and teasing his nipple with his right. He closed his eyes and imagined it was a cruel man doing it and that by these gestures he was overcoming Peter's will and, yes, enslaving him to his own.
Rocked by the undulations of the ocean, the pontoon rocked Peter, dizzied by his swim, into a half sleep. Images of waves rose and swirled around him and a rush of excitement created a frisson of desire in his loins and he felt himself surrendering and sinking.
In the burning heat of the sun he felt his own burning desire. And then he felt the cold wetness of skin against his skin and salty lips against his.
It wasn't a dream. It was Spencer.
Wake up Sleeping Beauty even if I'm not your prince. Out here, you're my prisoner.
Grow up, Spencer, Peter said, not angry but pushing him away.
First tell me how much you want me.
I want you to get off me.
How 'bout I get off on you.
Enough, Peter said sitting up and squinting.
But it wasn't enough. As Peter squirmed in his grasp, Spencer tightened it, pinning him down as Ulysses held Proteus. As Peter struggled, he found himself transformed from a man with a sky-pointing cock to an exposure opened to ravishment. As the sea surged without, so the foam and spume of lust surged within. Both men blew like the great sea breezes that churn the waves. The undertow pulled them together. Afterwards they swam to shore side by side and ran upon the sand back to the house.
ii. Indoors
Martin arrived that night with a bottle of vodka and an ounce of grass, which was nice of him but unnecessary since the house was already well-stocked, but in the glance of an eye, his bottle was opened, drinks were poured, joints were rolled, and candle light replaced electricity.
Peter saw it and it brought him down, but it was always the same, the way Daniel lit up when Martin was around. And that scared Peter, for he knew about Martin, and he loved Daniel with a love that was proving to be self-sacrificial and, unfortunately, he thought with a wry and bitter amusement, indestructible.
Martin was a sadist. His delight was not just in causing pain but in wrecking people, in destroying beauty and simplicity. Peter saw it in the curve of his lips when he smiled. And there was something in his eyes that made him afraid to look at them.
But Daniel had eyes for Martin, nonetheless, and Peter had eyes for Daniel, and Daniel did not have eyes for Peter. Consequently he had not ears either to hear Peter's warnings when Peter had taken him aside earlier when they all saw Martin's car approaching the house.
Don't let him get to you, he said.
Jealous? Spencer interrupted, overhearing them, looking up from the mystery novel he was reading.
I'm serious, was all that Peter could say, indignant with impotent righteousness.
Ok, Peter, Daniel said, assuaging him, as was his nature to do. He'd heard it before. But, really, everything will be fine. Don't worry.
iii. In Shadow
When are you going to get your nipples pierced, Martin said, smoke from the joint streaming from his nostrils, looking at Daniel.
Do you think it would look good if I did? Daniel asked.
She's fishing for compliments, Spencer said.
No, I'm serious, Daniel responded.
Daniel! Peter cried with mock shock.
I've thought about it, Daniel responded shyly.
I did not doubt you had, Martin said.
Not only would it look fetching, dear boy, it would feel like nothing you've ever felt before. Pierced nipples, perhaps a tiny silver barbell through each one, and thigh-high leather boots, or perhaps, calf-hugging vinyl...with a bit of a heel. Leather shorts...
Yeah, Peter said, perfect! Piercings, pain and whippings.
Really? Martin challenged. How would you know?
I can imagine, Peter responded defiantly.
Have you often? Martin retorted without missing a beat.
No, Peter said. I haven't. Have you?
Many times, Martin replied, with a hint of challenge, even of threat, in his voice, but smiling invitingly at Daniel, who seemed to be entranced.
Peter stood up and walked over to the table and took a straight shot of vodka.
I have some letters to mail, he said. Anybody want to walk me to the post office?
I will, Phil said, not wanting his friend to be by himself when he felt something was disturbing him. Let me get something on.
He had been sitting, like the rest of them in only a bikini.
iv. By Moonlight
Yes, Daniel said in his sleep, unsure where the knocking he heard was coming from.
It's Martin.
Come in, Daniel said, sitting up in bed. The crescent moon was shining through the French window, and the curtains were drawn back.
Martin, Daniel said. What time is it?
A little after three, Martin answered softly.
Is something wrong? Daniel asked.
Not at all, Martin said. I woke about a half hour ago and I can't get rid of the conversation we had this afternoon, the one that so upset your boyfriend Peter.
He's not my boyfriend.
No?
No.
He'd like to be.
Peter's needy.
And you?
I couldn't give him what he needs.
And you don't want to.
Maybe you're right.
You want to be on the receiving end.
What do you mean?
Right now you need a man who values you for what you need and can take care of you, not a boy who wants to take from you.
Daniel smiled. Maybe. You think so?
Martin was sitting beside him on the narrow bed in which he slept. He took Daniel's hand.
I know so, he said. Come outside and look at the moon with me. The night is warm.
Daniel turned down the cotton sheet he was sleeping under. When he got out of bed he was wearing only his sleeping boxers, the square-cut, black microfiber briefs which fit like a second skin.
Come, Martin, said leading him by the hand.
In the moonlight, he put his arm around the boy. With the other hand he stuck a joint in his own lips and struck the lighter he held with the same hand. He brought the fire to the joint's end and drew in the flame and the marijuana smoke at the same time.
Daniel had followed his every move, and when Martin brought the joint to his lips, they parted and he inhaled, held the nutty smoke for a second and then released it. The night danced sweetly within him.
When you get back to the city next week, I'd like you to work at the club with me, Martin said, looking at the moon rather than at Daniel.
I'm committed to finishing my thesis and getting my doctorate, Daniel said, as if framing an excuse.
Of course, Martin said, without guile. You can do both. I want you to be a complete person. Pierced nipples and a Ph.D. are not mutually exclusive. Gently, delicately, he groped him.
Daniel responded with a surge of passion.
Look at the moon, Martin said, softly adding pressure to the embrace. How nice to feel my hands on your body! How nice to feel my voice in your ears! How nice to know that I can give you everything you want.
v. At Midnight
Daniel surveyed the crowded room enjoying the beautiful young men who lounged in erotic disarray with their partners on the leather sofas, or circled around the bar, drinks in hand, searching for prey, or bent forward, towards each other, penetrating the vortex of each other's eyes as they shared their drinks at their tables.
Many of their eyes were on him as he guided others to tables or brought them drinks. He had become as Martin had imagined him: well-tanned, bare chest; little silver barbells piercing his nipples; low-slung leather shorts; strongly defined abdominal muscles rippling above them; thighs lean and cabled with muscle like a race horse; thigh-high, high-heeled tight, shiny boots; a silver chain around his neck to mark his domination. Dark horizontal brows which almost met defined the bone above the caverns of his deep-set brown eyes. His perfect hair arched in a conservative pompadour, rich and abundant. His lips were full, turned up in a melting smile. Graceful, lithe, incandescent, his spirit shone in his physique. However he moved, it was dance.
II.
i.
When you're finished with the accounts, see me in my office, Martin said as he passed Daniel who was sitting in front of a laptop at one of the tables alongside the empty dance floor in the club after hours, an unlighted joint hanging from his mouth as he worked.
Daniel looked up into his master's penetrating blue eyes.
Sure thing he said. Almost done.
No rush, Martin said. We've got forever.
Daniel smiled. Yes, sir, he said.
But it was not long after that Daniel appeared in the doorway.
Come in, Martin said. Sit down.
Daniel sat on the edge of an oak and leather desk chair facing Martin. He was still dressed in his club costume at the end of the night: low hung, tight leather shorts which showed his well-wrought abs to advantage, high heel, black vinyl boots, which gave an added sleekness to the muscle cables running up his thighs, sun-bronzed bare chest with tiny titanium barbell piercings through each nipple, a titanium band with an inset circle of pale lapis lazuli around his throat, leather wrist bands studded with tiny spikes, and a glittering diamond earring in his left earlobe.
Let's finish with the night's accounts first, Martin said.
ii.
An October chill had descended on the city. When they left the club on Madison and Sixty-Fifth Street, Daniel was wearing a fur lined black velvet maxi-coat over his scant club costume and a crimson silk scarf around his throat. He was bareheaded. Martin, as was his habit, was wearing a blue tuxedo jacket with rounded silk lapels over an open-neck white shirt with a frilled front, pressed jeans, and blue suede boots. His thick, dark, wavy hair had a shading of gray at the temples. He, too, went without a hat. The only concession he made to the change in temperature was a pair of black kid-skin gloves and a long black scarf around his throat and flung over his shoulder.
Central Park was still green and the green was luminous in the silver light of the full moon.
I'm very proud of you, Martin said, his arm around Daniel, holding him tightly so that they seemed to walk as one.
Well, I can hardly believe it, Daniel said, looking up into his eyes, and I keep expecting to wake up and find the whole thing was a fiction.
Don't worry, Martin said. You'll never wake up.
You really are here, Daniel said.
I am, Martin said quietly and turned Daniel's face towards his and kissed him as they walked.
iii.
He isn't your slave?
No, Martin said.
I don't believe you, Wentworth said.
Suit yourself, Martin said. But he isn't.
That's so much not like you, Martin.
How do you know what's like me and what's not, Bradford?
It's my job to know everything. Actually, it's also my delight. That's what gives me such joy in my work and makes my column, which the base vulgar call a gossip column, so much above the usual sort of that unfairly disesteemed genre.
You talk too much, Bradford.
But it is such exquisite talk, and, don't forget, dear Martin, I also know how to listen and, especially important, that more often than not I am paid to do both; considering which, you ought to count yourself among the elect, that we engage in conversation without the intermediary agency of the cash nexus. But do be honest with me, he is your slave.
Look here he is now, Martin said as Daniel approached the bar where the two men sat over their vodkas. It was late afternoon, several hours before the club would open.
Ask him yourself.
Daniel smiled easily as he pulled off his sun glasses. He had come down to the club on his motorcycle and was dressed like a biker in side-buckled, black biker boots, tight faded jeans, a skin tight black tee-shirt, a motor cycle jacket, and for contrast, a white silk scarf around his throat. He was holding his helmet and his head was bare.
Ask me what? he said, setting his helmet on the nickel-plated bar top, running a hand through his thick brown hair, which fell back in place as if he had combed it, and pouring himself a shot of vodka from the bottle, too.
Is he your master, my dear? said Wentworth pointing at Martin.
Yes, he is my master, Daniel answered with a smile.
You see, you old humbug, Wentworth said to Martin.
You've only asked him half the question.
Indeed?
Indeed.
The other half is?
Whether he is my slave. That is what you asked me.
Daniel laughed before Wentworth could say anything.
Why are you laughing?
That again.
What again, dear boy?
No one seems to be able to understand but us, Daniel said taking Martin's hand in his own and bowing slightly his head in order to kiss the palm he brought up to his lips.
Understand what? Wentworth said, becoming flustered.
How I can have a master and yet not be a slave.
iv.
You aren't working at the Museum anymore, Peter said, snapping twigs off a dead branch he had picked up as they sauntered across the hills, going through Central Park to the West Side, a note of reproach in his voice.
No, Daniel said, looking at his wristwatch.
Why didn't you tell me?
Why would I? We haven't been in touch recently. Does it matter?
How can you ask such a question? You know it matters.
Why?
Because you matter to me.
Peter, go easy, huh. We've gone through this before.
Ok, ok. What are you doing instead?
Instead?
Instead of working at the Museum?
I'm finishing my dissertation and expect to get my doctorate by next September.
Well, well. And then what?
Too many questions, Peter.
Daniel, you aren't yourself anymore. I tried to warn you.
I got to go, Peter.
There's been a change in you.
Peter, Daniel said, slowly, I agreed to see you, and I'd be glad to spend a few pleasant hours with you, but not like this. If it's gonna be like this, I don't need it, and it's not good for you. I can't be what you want me to be. This is.... It doesn't make sense.
I love you, Daniel. Peter stepped in front of him, facing him, and stopped, blocking Daniel's way.
Perhaps you do, but, but I doubt it. It doesn't look like it.
What do you want me to do to prove it? How can I wake you up?
I'm sorry, Peter, I'm not here to hurt you. But I'm also not here to become your fantasy.
So why have you allowed yourself to become his?
I have to go, Daniel said. I'm sorry it has to end this way.
Peter looked at him.
You are in a trance, Daniel, and you don't even know it, Peter said.
Daniel said nothing; extending his palms and spreading out his fingers he took a few steps back.
Good bye, Peter. I can't help what you think. But I'm not, I'm not...
He did not finish the sentence, but quickly headed west.
Peter stood where he was and cried out to the departing figure, Watch out, Daniel. I'm warning you. You think you're hot, but he's going to destroy you.
v.
But what do you want me to do, dear boy? Wentworth said, looking at Peter over the top of his spectacles.
Use your influence, Peter said, slowly unknotting Wentworth's tie. You can. A few choice lines here and there, and, well, the club may....
Do you really think I'd do that?
To break his hold over Daniel, Peter coaxed.
Why should I want to do that? Besides, Martin is my friend.
And me? What am I? Peter began to undo the buttons on his shirt.
That's a good question.
What is that supposed to mean?
I'm not for sale Peter?
What about me?
Do you consider yourself a hustler when you're with me? Is that how you account for my generosity?
You are not getting any younger Brad, and boys like me are not going to be easy to find except...
Don't overvalue yourself.
I only value myself to the extent that I know you value me, Peter said, slyly, beginning to unbuckle Wentworth's belt.
Don't be too sure of yourself. It's dangerous.
Don't you be too sure of me. That's even more dangerous.
Are you presenting me with an ultimatum?
Call it what you like.
I'll call it off is what I'll do. I don't like this way of doing things at all.
Since when have you changed? Peter said, his hands at his side now. Everything is for sale if you know its price. You've always said that.
Did you include yourself in that?
Did you?
To be honest, no I did not. But perhaps I was mistaken. In which case.... Wentworth broke off mid-sentence, tucked in his shirt, buttoned his trousers, buckled his belt, and finished dressing.
In which case it's later than I think, and I shall find a cab outside.
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