Dirty Dining (7 page)

J
EREMY
HAD
to set out earlier to get to the city Wednesday night. Without a bike he was forced to use the campus shuttle to BART and arrived at the club’s staff dressing room with barely enough time for a quick shower. Three guys from his previous shift were here: Kit, Rand, and a slim Asian guy named Law—short for Lawrence.

“Hiya, my tasty macaron, nice to see you back again.” Kit gave Jeremy a European-style double kiss, though the second one landed on his mouth and not on his cheek. “Have fun last time?” he asked with innuendo dripping from each word.

“Fun enough.” Jeremy grinned and gave the other boys a wave. “What’s with Kit and the bakery talk?”

“Oh, he’s on a diet and can’t eat any of that. It’s the only way he can handle the deprivation.” Rand shook his head. “Anyway, glad you’re back,” Rand said and introduced Jeremy to the two boys he didn’t already know.

“Tonight’s costume theme is sailor boys.” Thomas handed out costumes. They were all variations of blue and white, with caps and blue or white shorts. He had a handful of sailor scarves in different colors, but he held onto those. “Need to get the assignments first. You’ll get a scarf to match your gentleman.”

Jeremy went to one of the stations and slipped into his: tiny white shorts, a sleeveless white shirt with buttons down the front, and a little white cloth cap. He practiced sitting in the tight white shorts so he could find the most comfortable way and not risk pain and damage to his balls. Kit noticed and came over.

“You can let your cock hang down below the shorts, or….” He paused and cupped Jeremy’s dick through the tight, thin fabric. “Or you can arrange it so it points up and over the waistband when you’re hard. You’re big enough for that. The little guys look better hanging down.” He gave Jeremy another wholly unnecessary squeeze. “To get you started.” He winked and went back to fixing his own costume.

Like last time some of the guys lubed up or played with dildoes or butt plugs before getting dressed. Jeremy again passed. He hadn’t decided what would be on the menu tonight.

“Remy!” Kit came back over. “Your Mr. Green’s here again tonight. He was delicious. Probably tasted as good as he looked, huh?”

Jeremy felt his cheeks warming. He shrugged. He hadn’t tasted much of Mr. Green, but he’d certainly like to. “Am I serving him again?”

“Can’t see the assignments yet. But usually you’ll get the same gentleman unless they didn’t like you. But if that happens, they generally don’t schedule you at their table again. Avoids any uncomfortable situations.”

Rand came in. “Thomas needs to know if you’re on the menu tonight, Remy? Any extras at the dinner table this time? Kissing, hand job, blowjob, boy-on-boy play?”

Jeremy hesitated. He looked to Kit. Kit was no role model. He seemed to enjoy anything and everything. But he did enjoy working here and playing with the gentlemen and the other boys. “Yeah, okay.”

Rand handed him the signup sheet. There was a list of activities and how much he would be paid for each one. He could easily get a new bike if he signed up for two or three. He checked off a few boxes and signed his name at the bottom of the sheet. He wouldn’t mind kissing any of the other boys or hand jobs. And he’d certainly enjoy a hand job from Mr. Green or another toe-curling blowjob. Green might not want to play in the dining room, but if he did, it would be a win-win-win situation. Getting paid was just icing on the cake.

Thomas came in and took the scarves from Rand. “We had to switch a few boys around. Here’s your assignment.” He handed out the first four scarves, still holding a sky blue one and the green one as he approached Jeremy. He gave Jeremy the blue scarf.

“Hang on. I thought I’d be getting Mr. Green again.”

Thomas looked at Jeremy head-on. “Sorry, Mr. Green asked for someone else tonight. I double-checked because I thought you two worked out well last time.” He spoke softly, but the others could see which scarf he had been given. It was obvious what had happened. Kit looked away.

Jeremy’s stomach felt like it sank through the floor and kept going. “Didn’t he like me?” He whispered the question, ashamed to have his rejection so public, despite Thomas’s obvious attempt to spare his feelings.

“Yes, he did. But he wanted variety. We can discuss this in private later if you want.”

Jeremy blinked. Why did he take this so personally? This was supposed to just be a job for quick easy cash, not a matchmaking service. He wondered if he’d like some other man putting his hands on him. “Shit, I signed up for extras. I don’t know now….”

“Mr. Sky Blue is a regular. He’s nice, and he keeps his boys happy.” Thomas winked.

“I like him a lot,” Kit said. He came over and put a consoling arm around Jeremy. “You’ll like him too.” Kit cocked his head. “Despite what you may think, I
don’t
like everyone.”

“Jeremy, if you work here, you don’t get to choose. The gentlemen choose who they want,” Thomas said. “You need to understand this. But we have strict rules, and the men are all approved. Sky Blue’s a regular, and if he likes you, he’ll be a good client.” Code for he’ll tip a lot.

Jeremy nodded, reminding himself he was only here for the money. When he scheduled the job tonight, he didn’t even know Mr. Green was coming. It had been a nice surprise, but now he felt the pain of a rejection he hadn’t expected. “I understand. I’m sorry. I’ll get used to this.”

“If you don’t like the system, that’s understandable and you don’t have to come back. Not everyone is suited to this job,” Rand said, and Thomas nodded.

“We start serving in five minutes, so get yourselves ready to go,” Thomas said and left the dressing room.

“I feel like an idiot,” Jeremy said as he tried to tie his scarf. His hands shook. Law came over and helped him knot it.

“I’m sorry. If we could switch, I would.” Law rubbed Jeremy’s upper arm. He pulled at his own scarf—the green one. “But that’s against the rules. Only Thomas can change assignments.”

So damn many rules! But Jeremy nodded. He shouldn’t take this out on Law or any of the others. He’d do this one night and then decide if he could keep coming back here and taking the luck of the draw.

Kit sprinkled a little glitter over Jeremy and gave him a peck on the cheek. “You look great. We’ll have fun tonight. Don’t worry.”

“Servers, line up!” Thomas called, and they filed out of the dressing room. The dinner gong sounded, and they were on.

T
HE
PROSPECT
from Missouri, Red Cathcart, was excited about the dinner from the moment Brice collected him from his hotel in a taxi.

“You been here before, right?” he’d asked before he’d even shut the taxi door.

“Yes. Just once.”

“What do the boys do?”

“Serve dinner and they take off a piece of clothing—”

“Yeah, I know that. What
else
do they do?”

Brice tried to hide his frown. “It depends on the boy. You’ll get a menu of activities, and you choose what you want to do.”

“Can you fuck ’em at dinner?” His tone was half-shocked and half-excited.

“No.”

Cathcart’s face showed disappointment. “No fucking?”

“Not at dinner. After dinner, if you want.” Brice sighed. “You do whatever you want after dinner. I’ve arranged an overnight room for you.” He put on a brighter smile than he felt. “Have fun. That’s what tonight’s all about.”

“I will. I’m gonna have a great time.” He clapped Brice on the shoulder and started whistling.

The taxi dropped them off, and they entered the club, where a young man wearing a white bow tie and apparently nothing else greeted them from behind a podium. “Good evening, gentlemen. I’m Paris. Welcome to the Dinner Club. Your colors?”

Brice told him. Cathcart rubbed his hands together in a disconcerting manner. “I like this color-code name thing. Mysterious. Fun.”

Paris—who was in fact wearing microscopic white shorts revealing more of his impressive anatomy than they concealed—escorted them to an office off the entry hall. Brice had been here his first time for a short discussion before dinner. Thomas, the dining-room host, greeted them. He welcomed them into his office and explained the ground rules to Cathcart, then turned to Brice.

“Just wanted to double-check with you about the boys. You didn’t want to have Remy serve you? Is that correct?”

Mention of the name stirred something in Brice’s chest and something far lower. A bad sign. “No. Just want some variety.”

“Fine. I’ll keep that in mind with the seating arrangements tonight. Sometimes it can get awkward.”

“Awkward? How?”

“I’ll put his gentleman at the other end of the table to minimize any contact. Don’t worry.”

“Remy’s working tonight?” Brice felt a stirring settle somewhere in the middle, in his gut. He hadn’t expected Remy here tonight.

“Yes. I’ve got it under control.” Thomas handed each of them a colored lapel pin with ribbon: a hunter green one for Brice and mauve for Cathcart.

As Brice attached his pin, he turned over his options in his mind. He could still ask for Remy after all. Should he? Before he had a chance to say anything, Paris entered and asked them to follow him to the dining room. Brice paused in the doorway, but Thomas was gone—he’d apparently left out of a back door to the office.

Brice and Cathcart sat at the table as the gong sounded. This time Brice arranged to sit next to Cathcart, with the boys in between, so he wouldn’t have to watch or be watched.

As they waited, Brice wondered whether he’d made the right choice. He remembered how Remy felt sitting in his lap, feeding him, the warmth of his body through the fabric of Brice’s pants. Whose lap would he be in tonight? Who would be touching him the way Brice wanted to touch him but hadn’t? Was it out of prudishness or some misplaced respect for Remy?

He glanced around the table at the other men’s faces. Which one of them might share his bed with Remy that night? Brice remembered how he smelled and how he’d felt cuddled up during the night. And the way he’d tasted when he’d finally decided to let Remy know what he wanted. Why did he have these thoughts about a guy who took his clothes off—and probably more—for money?

Next to him, Cathcart sipped a single-malt Scotch and grinned like he’d won the Powerball jackpot. Brice felt like a different kind of whore, bringing a client here so he could close a big deal for his firm.

The gong sounded, and Cathcart put his glass down with a
thunk
, sloshing some of the amber liquid onto the table. The men turned their attention to the door at the far end of the room.

Cathcart grabbed Brice’s knee. “Oh, the boys are coming now!”

The first one entered, wearing a blue-and-white sailor suit and a dark blue scarf. Cathcart sucked in his breath. “Which one’s mine?”

“He’ll be wearing a scarf the color of your lapel pin.”

“Oh, right.”

So far Remy hadn’t entered the room. He’d been last when he came in with the green armband destined for Brice. Who here would have Jeremy tonight? He didn’t think it would be Cathcart, since he was Brice’s guest. Thomas understood that wouldn’t be very acceptable to a new member. The second boy out the door, a lithe blond, wore a mauve tie. He brushed a hand along Cathcart’s shoulders as he filed past on their circuit of the room before they would sit down with their gentlemen.

“Oh, he’s pretty, Brice. I like him.”

Four boys had entered. So far Brice hadn’t seen either his green boy or Remy. Then a slender Asian boy entered wearing green. Brice couldn’t recall if he’d been there the previous week. He was as attractive as all the others, and his exotic looks made a few of the gentlemen let out a soft gasp. Last was Remy, wearing sky blue. Brice couldn’t take his eyes off him, and not just because the tight sleeveless shirt or the tighter white shorts showed his anatomy to its best advantage.

Brice’s gaze followed Remy around the room. As Remy was opposite him, their gazes met for a flicker of a second. Brice had to look away, but he hadn’t missed the hurt he saw there. Could it be real? Or just another ploy these boys used on their clients? Brice broke the eye contact first but wished he hadn’t. He watched the boys move around the room, smiling and showing off their costumes. Then the green boy sat down, and Brice couldn’t keep watching Remy.

“Hi, Mr. Green. I’m Law,” the Asian boy said with a sweet smile.

“Law?”

“Short for Lawrence.” He grimaced, clearly not enamored with his given name.

“Hi.”

Law sidled up to Brice so their thighs were pressed together. “Here’s my menu.” He leaned forward, picked the small leather folder from the table and handed it to Brice. “And nightcaps.” He whispered the last into Brice’s ear with a warm breath and a soft brush of lips against the lobe of Brice’s ear. It was a sexy touch. Before Brice’s brain could process the physical stimulation, Law was gone.

Cathcart’s boy had gone too, to bring in the first course, and he grabbed at Brice’s elbow. “Jee-sus, we don’t have anything like this back home. Nothin’! My boy’s called Kit.” Cathcart held Kit’s menu out. “Look at what he’ll do. Damn, I don’t think I’m gonna have time to eat.”

Brice laughed. He couldn’t help it, despite finding Cathcart’s prurient interests somewhat disconcerting. But down at the other end of the table, Brice wondered what the man with the sky blue lapel pin was reading in Remy’s menu. Last time he didn’t have one, but tonight, apparently, he was prepared to do more than serve dinner. Trying to ignore those thoughts, Brice opened Law’s menu.

It wasn’t extensive. Hand job, blowjob, and some boy-on-boy action: kissing, hand job, blowjob, and toys. Brice hadn’t planned on ordering anything during dinner, but he wouldn’t completely rule it out.

As the first few courses were served, Cathcart got into the swing, removing his boy’s clothes between courses. Brice left him to his own devices and chatted when the boys weren’t in the room. If Cathcart’s enjoyment had any correlation to his interest in investing with Brice’s firm, they were set for at least the fifty million and possibly more.