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Now Vance had been over to my condo a few times, since I bought it, and loved to make a big deal about how spacious it was. Even marking off the sizes of the rooms with his feet.
“I’m a size ten,” he’d told me, once, “so eighteen of my feet equals fifteen actual.”
“I prefer a tape measure,” I laughed.
He was helping me get ready for a party for some other writers I knew, and actors and crew and such. I threw them as a way to make and maintain connections, network, that sort of thing. And that had worked out. Got me my first mainstream paying gig. The rest had fed off that bit of luck.
“Just a note to settle my brain.”
I didn’t care. He was good at parties, so having him as a guest helped get things rolling. He could talk about film, history, literature, porn, gossip in the political world...though no actual politics.
“Too many land mines for that shite,” he’d said when asked.
And on more than one occasion he’d snuck off with some good-looker...either male or female.
Funny thing is, after his first attempt he never came on to me, again. And that’s even after I noticed he was very Catholic in his tastes for companionship. I didn’t care. He wasn’t my type, at all. I go for guys who populate the main heroes of the Marvel Universe. Cap. Thor. Even Loki, once I saw him dance to Rasputin. Vance was too ghostly for that.
I didn’t have a steady guy, right then. I’d broken up with wannabe superstar Craig six months before buying the condo. He’d felt the need to focus on high-profile females to further his career path, and I’d grown tired of his preening...even though it was justified.
I’d hooked up with a couple other writers and another actor who was so paranoid he killed all the fun of the night. But overall I liked being alone in my place and felt no need for companionship.
I let Ben and Liam join my parties once they turned eighteen, and while Ben is on the young side for me, I did indulge him in his one birthday wish.
“Blow me,” he’d said. “Pull off my shit and suck me dry.”
“Wow...I never thought you’d ask me that," I said. "And don’t tell me Georgie did it; I don’t want to know.”
He’d given me a lovely sneaky grin and said, “There’s lots you don’t wanna know.”
We were in the living room, at the time, just him, me...and Liam, whom I looked at, a bit taken aback.
He almost smirked, in response, and said, “We just give each other hand jobs. Georgie’d watch and...”
“I said I don’t want to hear it. You were both underage...”
“You put a pedophile in office and...”
“I didn’t vote for him.”
“Georgie did,” said Ben. “Liked his tax breaks.”
I started to get miffed so rose to my feet and said, “Georgie was a dumbass backstabbing son-of-a-bitch.”
They both laughed. “No shit.”
Then Liam got up and came up to me and kissed me, long and deep and far more gentle than I’d thought possible. After which he murmured, “My birthday was last month and I’d love the same present. Belated.”
Belated? He knew how to use that word? I’d been thinking these two were on the lower end of intelligence, but now felt I better re-evaluate. Then he winked at me, gave Ben the thumbs up and left.
Ben was wearing a neat button-up shirt that fit loose around his neat torso and cargo shorts with a precise hem. His feet were in deck shoes, for a change, which seemed to enhance the lovely form of his legs. He scooted deeper into his chair, scrunching his shorts tighter around his crotch so I could see the outline of everything.
“It’s a birthday wish,” he chuckled. “Gotta honor it.”
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