Page 4 of Taurus

2. ZANDER

I exhibited a pattern of behavior that went directly against my wants to find a relationship. I lived in a city with far more bottoms than tops, and I was an equal whoreportunist to make sure that all those bottoms got topped at least once.

I’d agreed to meet a friend at one of my favorite places. The Playhouse Club was every sexual desire I’d ever had, on steroids. I only went there on the weekend, although there should never be a limit on pleasure seeking activities.

Gael, my friend, was a tattooist. He’d mentioning bringing his boyfriend here and how he had a friend. The last thing I needed was to be set up, and he knew that, so I worked off the assumption that he was just bringing a friend to show him the place.

I was beyond late to meet my friend, but when there was a bottom out there in need, I came—or was that cum, either way, I did the deed and satisfied another hungry hole. In a nice, black ensemble, shirt and jeans, I went to go meet them.

My evening was just getting started it seemed as I spotted Gael by the bar.

“This is my boyfriend, Ash,” he said. “And Ash’s friend—” he turned around. “Oh. There he is.”

“Sam,” Ash said. “Look who we’ve bumped into, this is Gael’s friend.”

It was nice that they played the ruse of this not being a pre-designed event, but what neither of them had counted on was that I’d just fucked their friend in one of the rooms upstairs. And he didn’t even know it was me. “Hi,” I said.

“Hot,” he said.

“Thanks.”

“I like to say it how it is,” he said. “You have a symmetrical face, very pleasing.”

“And you have—” I was never caught off-guard like this. “A lot of confidence wearing next to nothing.” And I knew exactly what he was hiding under that crop top and those loose fit denim shorts.

“So, what do you do?” he asked.

The minute I said it, he’d put it all together and realize the man behind the bear head was me.

Gael spoke. “Zander owns a store, he rents out—um, stuff for events, like photobooth things, you know the type of shit people get for weddings.”

“Yeah,” I said, nodding, not adding anything extra. He’d missed a key part of my business, which was renting out costumes, but sure enough, he was right. “And what do you do?”

“I’m a bartender,” he said.

Ash hit his arm. “You’re selling yourself short,” he said. “Sam went to this mixology school, he makes the best cocktails. I had him make specialty cocktails for one of my gallery openings.”

“That’s right, I’ve seen your paintings,” I said. “Well, I’ve seen photographs of them.”

“It was a two-week course,” Sam jumped in. “And it’s kinda mandatory, but I’ve done a bunch of classes and I went wine tasting in Italy and France last year, so I’d like to think I know what I’m talking about.”

Now I felt like the odd one out. Gael had his tattoos, Ash had paintings, Sam had a passion for cocktails, and all I did was dress up and jerk off on a webcam for a job. The second part of my job wasn’t public knowledge, but it was how I made most of my money.

“So, what kinks are you into?” I flat out asked him, not wanting to waste a moment.

Gael and Ash took that as their cue to leave the conversation.

Sam’s tongue brushed across his teeth as he looked lost in thought. I wondered what he was censoring himself from. There were no right or wrong answers.

“Be honest,” I added. “It’s a safe space.”

And the Playhouse Club was a safe space, operating on a traffic light system where kink and intimacy were concerned. Red for stop, green for go, and amber for caution.

“I’ve never really detailed my kinks,” he said, his tongue searching for the straw in his glass. “My friend probably wouldn’t want me to tell you that I pretty much love looking at dick, sucking dick, thinking about dick at any given minute, stripping men down in my imagination.”

“A voyeur?” I asked.

Sam sucked hard on the straw, finishing his drink. “Yeah, a little, but the idea of being watched sounds fun, I’ve just never tried it.”

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