Tuesday, June 14, 2011
So are you like a handler, or what?
As promised, a nibblet from the second M/M novella Ferryman found alone in ebook or in the anthology of four novellas HARD LESSONS...
by Sommer Marsden
‘So are you like a handler, or what?’
Charon noticed his eyes underneath were smudged with what looked like kohl – fitting for a rock star – but he quickly realised it was simply fatigue. ‘Perhaps. A bit. Not really.’
Graham Cooper of Big Fuel was reported to be surly, ornery, possible alcoholic and drug addicted, rude, crass, and a sexaholic. He was reported to be a pansexual, unisexual, omnivorous, voracious and aggressive sexual hunter. Charon stared back as the younger man stared him down.
‘What the fuck does that mean? And what’s with the suit? And what kind of name is Charon?’
‘Shall I start with the first question?’
Graham dropped like a tall lean stone to the ugly green sofa and flopped a denim clad leg over the arm. ‘Go for it, dude.’
Charon frowned. Dude. He’d have to get used to that. ‘What that means is your record label wants someone to be at your … disposal should you need it while you’re on leave.’
‘Leave!’ The young man snorted. ‘Is that what they’re calling it?’
‘You’re to regroup, Graham. Find out what you want. Your becoming a spectacle over and over again isn’t good for anyone. Not you, not your label, not your fans.’
‘Whatever. I’m here in my hometown USA and I’m going to try to get my shit together. For me, though, not for them. Let’s move on. What’s possessed you to wear a fucking suit?’
‘I like suits. They suit me.’
Graham chuckled and then grimaced when he realised that the man hadn’t made a joke. His choice of words had been deliberate and sober.
‘Ohhhh-kay,’ Graham said. ‘And Charon? That’s a made up name, right?’
‘No, sir.’ Charon shot his cuff and straightened his tie. ‘It was the name of the ferryman on the river Styx. You gave a coin and he ferried you across the river to hell. It was said that those who couldn’t pay wandered for all eternity.’
Graham clapped. ‘Awesome. I pay you and you’re gonna take me to hell.’
‘Your company pays me and I’ll watch over you. And help you. I have no intention of taking you to hell, Graham. But I will be here as a resource if you need me and please call me Aron.’
‘I prefer people not use my full name. It’s a thing.’
‘You have a thing?’ Graham asked.
‘It seems I do. Now what can I help you with, Graham? Anything? Now that you’re back in your home.’
‘Haven’t been here since my mom died,’ the younger man said, and for just a second Charon saw a small bubble of insecurity and fragility in the cocky man. Something in him stirred at that, but he did not mix business with pleasure. And though he found Graham Cooper both beautiful, intriguing and arousing as hell, he wouldn’t touch him with a ten foot pole. He fondled one pearlescent button on his suit and waited for Graham to answer.
‘Did you hear me?’ he asked.
‘I did,’ Charon said. ‘My condolences, sir.’
Graham rolled his dark brown eyes and blew out a sigh. ‘Fine. Whatever. Bring me a girl. Curvy and shapely with huge tits and plump lips. And a boy. Who looks like me. Got it?’
‘Yes, sir. I’ll do my best.’
‘Do better than that. Just get it done. Aron.’
‘Sir,’ Charon said, and left as quietly as he’d come.
It was a quick phone call. Charon had handlers who had handlers who had handlers. It wasn’t so much of an escort service as someone who could find young men and women willing to fuck a rock star for free. Or for tickets, as the case were. Graham was still spread artistically across his sofa when they arrived.
Charon studied the girl, an almost plump, large breasted creature with lagoon blue eyes and rose petal pink lips (natural) and long dark hair that brushed the waistband of her skirt as she walked. Her eyes flew huge and she started to jump up and down like a teeny bopper when she saw Graham. Her voice hit unnatural pitches as she squealed, ‘I thought it was total bullshit! Total bullshit! But OMG, here I am and here you are.’
‘Sit down and shut up,’ Graham said not unkindly and she dropped her shapely ass in an easy chair as easily as a well-trained dog at the word “heel”.
‘This is Tonya, Graham,’ Charon said.
‘So I see. And this is?’ Graham nodded to the pretty young man with spiked black and blue hair. His eyes were rimmed with smoky grey, his lips almost true red in comparison with his pale skin. He was poured into skinny leather jeans and a red T-shirt that showed a wolf and Little Red Riding Hood. A black Edwardian vest and high top Chuck Taylors completed the uniform of the disenchanted.
‘This is Freddie.’
‘Freddie.’ Graham rolled the word off his tongue as if tasting it. He nodded and patted the sofa next to him. When Freddie moved forward like a wraith, Charon stood and waited. The boy seated himself next to Charon’s employer and sat frozen like a gorgeous statue. ‘You sure are pretty.’
Graham leaned in and stroked the leather jeans like he was petting a house cat. The boy flushed, his pale cheeks turning blush coloured in the span of a heartbeat. ‘Thank you,’ he breathed.
Charon didn’t know if the boy was gay or bi or just didn’t care either way. A sexual vulture, perhaps. But he saw that he was at least turned on by Graham’s touch because a hard-on rose under the constricting leather pants like a hump. Charon had to hold his breath, bite his tongue, list chores in his head and count when Graham leaned in and licked the boy’s lips. ‘Kiss me,’ he said and Freddie parted his lips and allowed Graham to slide his dark red tongue inside.
‘Hey, what about me?’ Tonya asked, crossing her arms over her huge breasts and frowning. A petulant child, a pouting minor in demeanour. She couldn’t be more than 19 and as pretty as a china doll.
‘We’ll get to you in a moment,’ Graham snapped at her. Charon watched her seal her lips shut and roll her eyes.
‘Can you get it up for girls?’ Graham asked the boy.
Freddie nodded. ‘Sure.’
‘Good boy,’ Graham said, and patted the boy’s supple cheek.