The Party
By Steve Nugent
Published by JMS Books LLC at Smashwords
This story appears in the print collection Attractions.
Visit jmsnyder.net for more information.
Copyright 2011 Steve Nugent
ISBN 978-1-61152-080-4
For more titles by Steve Nugent at Smashwords visit
https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/stevenugent
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Cover Photo Credit: Marcin Moryc
Used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.
Cover Design: J.M. Snyder
All Rights Reserved
WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.
No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.
This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America.
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The Party
Steve Nugent
By the time we decide who to invite to the party, we’re at each other’s throats. I definitely don’t want his piss-elegant, arty-farty friends, who stand around like swans, their necks turning as someone new comes into a room, nearly hissing through their almost-smiles. I tell Jim this but he just looks into the distance and says—as he always does, which drives me up the friggin wall—“You take these things too seriously. I think the parties go quite well. Just put a bunch of people together and throw a few beers into them, and the whole thing goes like a bomb.”
He is drawing breath for the next piece of social observation, but I interrupt and tell him I’m not interested, slap my hand on the wall, and get out.
Outside I ask myself, while pulling a cigarette into my lungs, What the fuck does it matter?
So I stub out on the brick wall, go back inside, and sit down across the room from Jim, who has poured himself a beer. Then I notice the palm print on the white wall, which doesn’t make me feel any better.
“Invite who you want,” I say offhandedly. “It’s all the same to me.”
Jim doesn’t miss a beat. “Then what about Chris Lord?”
“Well, what about Chris Lord?”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
Of course I do. Jim’s still pissed off about Acapulco.
* * * *
We were by the hotel pool and I was drifting off, feeling scorched, inhaling coconut oil and my armpits, when I heard someone call out, almost in my ear, “Joe, there’s lots of space over here.”
Naturally I was interested, so I sat up, as if startled, hitching up my electric blue boxers while looking around to get a look. He was, by this time, standing over me as he pulled the chaise around to face the sun. I couldn’t see much more of him than his crotch—no complaints, I settled for that. First, full frontal of dick—curved to the left with an outline of head pressing into the nylon of black Speedos. Then a side view—nice thickness, with balls tightly in a bundle and his hair bushing over the top. He glanced at me and smiled as he smeared on the oil. I thought he was coming on to me—surely not that brazenly.
I didn’t want to stare. “It’s not polite,” as me mum used to say, but I didn’t want to get caught by Jim.
Jim’s a jealous bastard. Most old guys are. He’s around fifty. I met him when I was stuck for cash, so hung in for a longer time than I thought I would, and eventually got used to the lifestyle, the three squares a day, and a bit of pocket money to throw around. I wouldn’t want to have to give it up now. Not that I don’t like silver hairs. Even if they don’t keep it up, they have a bit of technique that lets them do things to you some of the younger blokes don’t, and I like a bit of kink now and again. When I’m out with him, I make as if he’s just my uncle or dad—even call him Pops at times in stores and joke about it being time to get back to the home, and he just laughs it off. Maybe it’s all got something to do with having a dad who was a prick, but I don’t really believe in all that psychology bullshit.
This one with promise at the pool would have been just about my own age, and as it was about the third day in Acapulco and I was away from my usual routine of life, I was aching to feel a bit of young flesh under my fingers, and do someone who could spray it all over me. Joe, his companion, was an ordinary looking coot with a wispy beard, and with not much to show under the nylon, so I felt certain I was strongly in the running.
After a while I casually shifted my chair into a strategic position to focus on him—in fact, my head was right on a level with his bod as I surveyed from under my arm. Dirty blonde with the tips highlighted, slightly smaller than me, lips just made for kissing. I could study his rosy nips, the rise and fall of his smooth belly, and savour the thin blond line of hair that broadened from his navel to join his bush. Then I turned my full attention, with uninterrupted view, to his dick as it lay, fallen now from its position astride the balls, outlining even more the head. This is too much for a normal shagger like me, I thought, and had to shift on my belly to let my own get some air, then check on the other side that Jim was sleeping soundly with his shades falling down his nose.
The climax to all this came when the snake started to uncoil. I was hypnotised. Holy sweet Jesus! In broad daylight! He must be having a hot dream.
He wasn’t. He opened his eyes and turned and looked straight into mine, smiling a lovely set of whites, and said, “Hi, I’m Chris.” I knew the party was only starting.
* * * *
We got it on quite a bit in the next four days—mostly in his room, as it turned out his buddy Joe was doing his own holiday shopping. Jim saw me and Chris chatting a few times, and more to have something to bitch about than any firm suspicion, he’d ask if I’d been “tricking with that young man who looks like a hustler.”
Of course I lied through my teeth. At midday I’d steer Jim to the pool bar and leave him sucking back the Mexican suds for the afternoon. I was working a double shift to keep them both happy—shipping and receiving at the same time, you might say.
* * * *
So rather than a bigger party, Jim finally decides to give a little soiree just for his close boozing pals Don and Ed, to fill them in on the Acapulco holiday. After loading up on the drinkables, he tells them about the great time we had together, emphasising togetherness, to get his pals a bit green. He’d nudge me to confirm. I’d just nod, now and again, going along with it all while they would look straight into my eyes as if to say, “Yeah—and with how many others?”
Jim, when all were sauced up a bit, says he’ll show the holiday photos. “A premiere,” he announces. “Just got them back. Unseen by any eyes.”
Now Jim is no Herb Ritts but he tries to get a few unusual shots, and often succeeds because he can’t see much beyond his outstretched arm; it’s a case of pointing the camera in the general direction and hoping for the best. So when the photos were mentioned, you could see Ed and Don exchange glances, then head to the fridge to stock up on more beer. I thought the showing might pass a few boring minutes. I was right. It did.
At first there’s a lot of Acapulco Bay, on a slant in the morning light, at night from the hotel window, mostly sky, a view of the room with the King-sized bed, the bottom half of those wankers from Sudbury, me in a towel lying on the bed, me at the market, Jim standing midget sized on the beach—taken by me.
I’m scanning Jim’s view of the pool area taken from the bar when Ed, next to me, suddenly snatches it. “Pass it along here…keeping all those nice tanned bodies to yourself, eh?”
There were lots of nice tanned bods in the picture, swimming, splashing, sitting, lying on backs, on bellies, chatting, reading. Ed gives them all close examination, and is just about to hand it back to me when he does a double-take, pauses, gives me a look, and calls out, “I thought your room was on the front, Jim.”
“Ocean,” Jim replies haughtily. “I told you that already.”
Ed passes the pic to Don, Don peers, takes a little time to get it, throws a crooked grin at Ed, looks at me, and turns the picture for me to see. I’m already panicking.
On the left of the picture, where the rooms opened onto the balcony surrounding the pool, two people are standing beside an open door. The one in black Speedos holds the door open. The other, in electric blue boxers, his head turned toward the camera as if surveying the area, is going into the room.
I freeze, my whole body numbed out, pulse racing, visions of Sally Ann hostels.
Then after what seems a lifetime Ed leans forward, his beery breath fumigating me, and whispers in what he considers his sexiest tone, “And what will I get for doing a good deed for you?”
Luckily Jim is pretty drunk by now. Holding a photo an inch from his eyes, he hears nothing.
I’m a desperate man. “Anything.”
“Anything?” Surprise, disbelief, and pleasure in Ed’s husky voice.
“Anything,” I promise, my heart sinking fast and my future getting grayer by the second.
He licks his lips, smiles, takes the photo, and slips it into his pocket.
“Thanks, Ed,” I mumble.
“No problem, boy. The pleasure will be all mine.”
THE END
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ABOUT STEVE NUGENT
Steve Nugent lives in Toronto and has had short fiction published in fab magazine and Velvet Mafia. His stories have appeared in the anthologies Quickies 2, Exhibitions: Tales of Sex in the City, Buttmen, Bent, Afterwords: Real Sex from Gay Men's Diaries, and Boyfriends from Hell. In 2011 his first print book, Attractions, a collection of gay erotic short stories, will be published by JMS Books LLC.
ABOUT JMS BOOKS LLC
Founded in 2010, JMS Books LLC is owned and operated by author J.M. Snyder. We publish a variety of genres, including gay erotic romance, fantasy, young adult, poetry, and nonfiction. We are an invitation-only small press. Short stories and novellas are available as e-books and compiled into single-author print anthologies, while any story over 30k in length is available in both print and e-book formats. Visit us at jms-books.com for more information on our latest releases!