Men of London 03 - Suit Yourself (7 page)

“You are such a prick,” he said evenly as
Taylor gasped in amusement.

“I have one of those, yes,” Taylor
spluttered. “Oh God, Leslie, your face. It was too damn precious.
You looked as if someone had asked you to eat a baby.”

“That might have been preferable,” Leslie
muttered. “Honestly, what else are these people going to expect me
to do tonight?”

His question was answered sooner than he’d
anticipated. Another of the models, Bernsen Jenner, sauntered over,
all one hundred and fifty pounds of him, stark naked, with a dick
that looked as if it could be used as a third leg to kick start a
jumbo jet.

Bernsen waved toward his crotch. Leslie
stared and he noticed Taylor was having a good look, too.

“Leslie, my dumpling,” he crooned. “I need
you to trim some stray hairs for me. My B is looking a little
untidy.”

Leslie shook his head in disbelief at the
vision that was Bernsen’s crotch. His groin was artfully shaved
with the initials B and J either side of the meaty appendage that
swung between his legs. This was still better than dealing with
lady parts, and Leslie was quick to nod his head. After all, dicks
and balls were more his speciality.

“Sure,” he burbled, “Glad to.” He reached
over to a nearby dressing table and grabbed a pair of clippers.

“More your thing, then,” whispered Taylor in
his ear as he continued staring at Bernsen’s dick. “I’m really glad
you invited me tonight. This has been an awesome evening.”

“Uh huh,” Leslie said as he knelt down before
Bernsen, feeling uncomfortably as if he was about to give a blow
job. “Wait until I tell Draven how much you enjoyed yourself.”

He revelled in the sight of Taylor’s
discomfort at that veiled threat as he worked. Bernsen gave a
mournful sigh as he watched Leslie busy himself tidying up the
man’s bush, pushing his dick away gently to one side.

“You pay two hundred pounds for a manscape
and this is what you get,” the model fretted. “There is no sense of
service anymore. Everyone is just out for a fast buck.”

Leslie nodded. “Well, I manscape, too.
Sometimes I do it myself and sometimes I go to the salon. And it
looks nothing like
this
.” He narrowed his
eyes as he snipped stray hairs. “Is this one of your pre-show
customs then, Bernsen?”

The model gave him a sly look from under
perfectly manicured eyebrows. “Custom? No, my plum, I just think
you are too adorable and I like your hands on my body.”

Leslie blushed pink in pleasure. He finished
up and stood back to admire his handiwork. In truth, he thought
that there was little difference, but he’d tried to make Bernsen
happy.

The model looked down and inspected his
groin. “Looks better. Thank you, my sweetheart.” He patted Leslie’s
head and turned and disappeared into the throng that milled
around.

Leslie chuckled. “I love the whole BJ thing.
I wonder if he gets much action with that design. Do you think he
just drops his pants and pushes his crotch out at someone and he
gets an instant blow job?”

Taylor flapped a hand. “I’m still in shock
finding out how much he paid for the damn shave. I’d have done it
for him at half the price. The shave, not the BJ. Although…” He
leered and Leslie pursed his lips.

“You, my friend, are a complete tart.” He
grinned. “That makes two of us. I still wouldn’t have paid that
much though for a treatment.”

Just then, Camilla, one of the models
currently standing around, waiting to be dressed, gave a loud
unladylike snort. She put her thumbs in her barely there, canary
yellow thong and pulled them down. “Huh. What do you think
this
is?’ She indicated her crotch and
stared at him.

Leslie wasn’t really sure what she was asking
or pointing to. There was so much bronzed and pink-lipped flesh on
display he felt a little nauseous.

“Uhmm, a vagina?” he proffered weakly.

The model gave him a withering glance.
“Darling, you are definitely
so
gay if you
think a woman’s vagina is on the outside of her body.”

Leslie’s face heated up at the sniggers
around him—Taylor’s the loudest. “I know where a woman’s vagina
is,” he said haughtily. “But honestly, I wasn’t sure what you were
pointing to.” He swallowed. “It was rather open to interpretation,
really.”

Taylor’s chuckles grew louder and Leslie
turned to glare at his amused friend. Bruce had joined them and was
watching the proceedings with laughter on his face.

Camilla’s hand waved at her crotch. “This, my
clueless friend, is a
three
hundred-pound
wax job. We all pay a lot to look as good as we do. So I don’t
think your Bic razor job comes close.” She sniffed and stalked off
as Leslie watched her, open-mouthed.

“Bitch,” he sniffed. “I don’t use a Bic.”

Taylor exploded in laughter, his face pink.
Despite himself, a smile tugged at Leslie’s lips. “Bastards,” he
said affably at Taylor. “If you were forced to stare at women’s
bits, I’d bet you’d sing a different tune.” He cast a glance at
Bruce. “Except you, old man, because everyone knows you
love
the ladies…”

Bruce guffawed. “Working around this lot of
divas is enough to put you off ’em for life,” he snorted. “But I do
admit this job has its perks.”

* * *

An hour later Leslie was sitting in a small
storage cupboard, surrounded by various old props, clothing, towels
and smelly laundry. He’d had enough of everyone, so he’d slunk away
to check his emails and texts for the first time that day. His
overriding hope was that Oliver had responded to his cute monkey
card. Leslie had known it was a long shot but he lived forever in
hope. He made himself comfortable on a pile of old towels,
stretched his legs out before him and heaved a sigh of relief as he
pulled out his smartphone. No one would think to look for him in
here.

He wrinkled his nose in distaste at the reek
in the room. “Smells freaky,” he grumbled to himself. “But at least
it’s private and I can think.”

He flicked quickly through his messages and
his heart skipped a beat when he got to his texts. In fact, Leslie
was sure he squealed like a
Supernatural
fan meeting Dean up close and personal. “He texted me!”

Hands trembling with excitement, he opened
the message.

Hi Leslie. Got yr card.
Tks, it was rly cool. Hope u r well. Coffee sounds gd.
Oliver.

Leslie sat back against the wall and took a
deep breath. “Oh hell. He wants to go for coffee.” He texted back
quickly.

OMG, gd to hear from u.
Glad u lkd card. When do u wnt to meet up?

His eyes watched the small screen, willing a
reply. After about ten minutes had elapsed, he sighed.

He’s probably not got his
phone on him.

Leslie kept telling himself that even after
the day from hell ended. Taylor had been philosophical about the
fact Oliver had texted him, but not called back yet.

“Give him some time,” he’d advised, a twinkle
in his eye. “He might have lost signal or something. Maybe give it
a day or so, see if he gets back to you.”

* * *

Now Leslie was home in his small, minimally
decorated apartment, curled up on the couch with his favourite
fuzzy socks on and a warm tracksuit. He wouldn’t been seen dead in
what he called his
sloth clothes
in
public, but at home, on his own, he rather enjoyed the freedom to
be a slob. It was hard work looking as good he did all the
time.

He fed his fish, added an extra castle he’d
bought to the fish tank so Glenda, a small clown fish, could try
something new—the fish seemed to have a thing for hiding behind
castles—then made himself a cup of hot chocolate.

He watched the news on television with eyes
that barely took it in and kept darting to his phone every five
minutes. When the phone finally rung and he was dozing on the large
red throw pillow, he sat up with a start. The strident tones of
Lady Gaga’s ‘Born This Way’ echoed in the stillness of his lounge
and he scrambled dozily for his mobile. It was an unknown caller
and for a moment, Leslie was tempted not to answer. He’d been the
subject of harassment before from a guy he’d given his number to
and now he was a little wary. The thought in his head though that
this could be Oliver calling made him waive his natural tendency to
ignore the insistent ringing and he answered.

“This is Leslie.” He mentally crossed his
fingers hoping psycho stalker Brian hadn’t managed to track him
down.

“Leslie?” The hesitant voice on the other
side made Leslie want to squee in delight.

It was him.

“Oliver?”

“Uhmm, yes. You recognise my voice then?” He
sounded amused and Leslie’s heart beat faster.

“Of course. It’s only been a couple of weeks
since I saw you. My memory isn’t that bad.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry it took so long to reply to
you. I was…busy.” There was a short silence. “I thought we could
meet up somewhere on Thursday evening. You know, just for a chat
and a cup of coffee.” His voice was hesitant but firm.

Leslie pursed his lips.

Ah, setting the
expectations. He sounds a little skittish. I can be his friend if
that’s all he wants. I don’t want to scare him off. I know I can be
a bit…intense.

“I’d like that; coffee sounds good. If you
text me the address where you want to meet, I can meet you there
after work on Thursday.”

“Uh, sure. It’s a little place called
Fidalgo’s, not far from my house. I’ll text you the details. The
owner knows me, so just mention my name when you get there and
he’ll show you through.”

Leslie nodded happily. “That sounds good. I
look forward to it.”

Oliver sounded more relaxed when next he
spoke. “Yeah, me, too. It’ll be good to chat to you. I’ll see you
then.”

The phone went silent and Leslie did a little
jig around the lounge. He saw Mrs. Camberwell from across the
courtyard in the opposite block of flats watching him from her
window.

He pranced over to the large picture window
and waved. “Hi, Mrs C. I’ve got a coffee date with a porn
star—well, ex porn star.” He knew she couldn’t hear him but she
waved back and disappeared.

Ever since he’d danced naked in front of the
window one evening and she’d seen him, she’d been very friendly.
He’d been rather drunk at the time, he had to admit. Luckily she
hadn’t seen the sexual calisthenics that had occurred after
Leslie’s date had pulled him back from his exhibition of Michael
Flatley’s
Riverdance
routine and pushed
him onto his knees on the carpet. The guy—Darren, Darryl?—had had
the presence of mind to close the curtains before fucking him
senseless.

That image brought back some fond memories.
After sending a message to both Taylor and Eddie with the joyful
news Oliver had called him back, Leslie used that memory to jack
off later to the face of Nicky Starr in his heyday, blissfully
content that on Thursday, he’d get to meet the real man behind the
mystery.

Chapter 6

Oliver sat at his usual table at Fidalgo’s, his
fingers nervously tapping the red-chequered table top. His stomach
was in knots and he’d barely slept last night. He’d even thought of
crying off today and telling Leslie that something had come up and
he wouldn’t make it. However, the thought of Katie—who’d highly
approved of the coffee plan—bitching at him for
not
going was worse than the alternative.

And he really did want to see Leslie again.
He’d thought of nothing more from their last phone call. It would
be good to talk someone who was so bright and bubbly and, he
admitted to himself, sex on a stick. Although that wasn’t what he
wanted from this, he reminded himself. He needed a friend, not a
lover. And besides, he doubted Leslie would be interested in him
that way. He probably had a string of undamaged goods at his beck
and call.

For God’s sake, stop
analysing everything and get on with it.

Despite that thought, his cock throbbed in
his black jeans when he saw Leslie enter the coffee shop. The man
looked like he had just stepped out of a fashion magazine. Dressed
in tight black chinos, finished with high-heeled black boots, with
a white collared shirt and a leather jacket, wearing the biggest
pair of sunglasses Oliver had ever seen, Leslie looked
mouth-wateringly tempting. His jet black hair was styled artfully
over his face, one strand of hair falling down, making Oliver want
to brush it away. He took Oliver’s breath away.

Down boy
, he
cautioned himself.
Keep it simple. Just friends,
remember?

Alberto, the owner, approached Leslie and
gestured, then his coffee date looked over to where Oliver sat and
the most beautiful smile flooded his face.

Oh dear God
, Oliver
thought desperately.
I am in so much fucking
trouble
.

He didn’t dare stand up for fear the hard-on
he sported would spring free in celebration of Leslie’s presence.
Instead he remained seated, uncomfortably so, and as Leslie
approached the table, he waved at the chair opposite, willing his
erection to go down with thoughts of copulating old men with hairy
bodies and limp dicks.

“Leslie. Glad you could make it.”

Leslie seated himself at the table and
flashed another grin. “I like this place. Very trendy. And that guy
on the front desk is yummy.” His blue eyes cast a mischievous
glance toward Enrico, one of Alberto’s sons who’d just arrived at
the reception stand. Enrico looked down at the desk, a smile on his
face. A sudden rush of jealousy assailed Oliver.

Where the hell did that
come from?

He quashed the unreasonable emotion and waved
toward one of the passing waiters. “What kind of coffee would you
like?”