Matt did not have time to troubleshoot the problem, tracing it to the condom, excessive atmospheric pressure on his cock, alcohol soaked nerve endings—or some combination of the three. The only option was to pump faster, harder, building friction on his cock.
By the end, Vince was helping out, holding his folded legs, allowing Matt to support his upper body weight with his arms as he bored his cock in and out, up and down—until he collapsed, his face sporting a goofy smile.
Two condoms down. Five to go.
It was 1:45 a.m. They lay entwined, making pillow talk as they drifted off to sleep—if only for an hour before their next bout.
It was during this interlude that they shared their stories in whispered snatches.
Matt learned that Vince lived in Austin, Texas and dreamed of fame as America’s version of Dame Edna. Imagined a guest appearance on theTonight Showwith Jay Leno. Vince had a loyal fanbase in Texas, Oklahoma, and Louisiana, but couldn’t get a toehold outside that region. What he needed was publicity, something that would catch the attention of important people in New York. Agents. Jay Leno’s staff.
Matt talked about Adam, fell asleep mumbling Adam’s name.
Matt’s eyes cracked open around 3:00 a.m. when he sensed a lubed finger probing him.
“Ready for Round 2?” Vince asked.
Chapter 30: Rocky Horror Handcuffs
10/20/’95
Adam,
I get that you’re fragile right now, and I get that your counselor worries that you’ll get hurt. And your dad is a homophobe. So’s mine, by the way. (My dad, not my counselor. I don’t have one of those yet, but I’m going to need one soon if you don’t write me back…)
10/24/’95
Adam,
My favorite Leyendecker cover is by J.C.’s brother, Frank, also gay, which I’m sure you know. “McClure’s Magazine,” April 1910. There stands a small, lithe Perseus, wearing only sandals, a loincloth, and a giant scabbard. He’s just slain Medussa and holds her head in the air triumphantly.
He’s you—or you’re him, all legs and attitude. That’s how I seeyou, not as some fragile, breakable thing…
10/27/’95
Adam,
New Year’s Eve is 9 weeks and 2 days away. Will you be my date that night? Can you convince your jailors to give you one night of freedom? All I want is to hold you and maybe kiss you at midnight. I’d give anything to see you smile…
Saturday, October 28, 1995
Matt tried not to flinch as the man stuffed a dollar bill into the waistband of his gold boxer briefs. The buck was a tip for the cocktail Matt had just handed him—as if the man needed another drink. As if he couldn’t have fetched it himself. The buck also provided the man an excuse to cop a feel—in this case of Matt’s ass, testing its firmness as if thumping melons at the market. And, since the briefs were the only thing Matt wore—besides sneakers, he’d been thumped a lot already (ass, balls, cock, nipples), and the night was young.
He grinned and bore it. Had to. He was there for a good cause, this being the annual Halloween party sponsored by Nicholas and his partner, Bradley, both GM alumni. This party was a fundraiser for the GM.
Officially, the GM was there to serve food and drinks. Unofficially, they provided eye candy for aging queens—which gave the party cachet and made its invitations a coveted commodity. It was a win-win situation for everyone: Nicholas and Bradley got bragging rights as hosts of the hottest, most exclusive gay party in town; the GM raised enough cash to keep the lights on at the clubhouse; GM members earned much-needed spending money just in time for the Christmas season; and party guests got to blow their wads—figuratively and literally.
It was a formula that predated Samhain itself: older men with fading looks trading the contents of their wallets to indulge their fantasies with guys still in the bloom of youth but who had the empty pockets that went with it. Think of it less as sex work and more as the Second Law of Thermodynamics—only with money. Nature abhorring a vacuum and all that.
And, just as All Hallow’s Eve was the one night of the year where the spirits of the dead roamed the earth, this party was the singular annual event when GM members exchanged their favors for mammon.
The theme of this year’s party wasThe Rocky Horror Picture Show, which explained the gold boxer briefs Matt and five other members wore—in tributeto the “Rocky” part ofRocky Horror. William, sporting a black corset and feather boa, was Dr. Frank-N-Furter. Harley was Riff Raff. Paul was Eddie.
Luke was away on security detail.
Matt had not heard ofRocky Horroruntil six weeks earlier when William had told them all about this party and its theme. Matt still hadn’t seen the movie—not really. Seeing and hearing background snippets as it looped perpetually on the big screen TV at Nicholas’s and Bradley’s house didn’t count.
The little bit Matt had seen was just weird. That “Time Warp” dance? Weird—especially when performed by inebriated middle-aged men acting like teenagers. And what was the deal with all the callouts? Janet was a slut. Brad was an asshole. Got it the first twenty times.
