Chapter 25 - Shower.

“Ta da!” I burbled happily, holding up the notebook I’d liberated from the basement of the Hotel Liberty as soon as I reached Brian.

“That’s it? You’ve been gone, like, an hour, and all you found was one moldy old pocket-sized notebook? Seriously?” Brian grumbled.

“I wasn’t gone an hour, you big worrywort,” I corrected him with a chuckle. “It was more like ten minutes, tops. I barely had enough time to look around before you were ordering me to come back.”

“Felt like an hour to me,” Eggy mumbled under his breath.

“Well, however long it was, I managed to use my time well,” I answered politically so as not to cause a fight. “You won’t believe what I found over there. It’s so cool. I only brought back this one book because most of the other stuff was too bulky to carry - plus I really didn’t go over there to steal stuff . . .”

Brian snorted, which I chose to ignore as I continued on with my story.

“. . . but I don’t think anyone will miss this one little book. Besides, I wasn’t going to pass up the chance to read what’s in here!”

I was waving the small, dusty, leather-bound notebook in Brian’s face as I spoke. This turned out to be too much for my OCD boyfriend, who promptly stepped backwards, far enough away that I couldn’t touch him with the potentially contaminated object. Apparently, compulsions top curiosity in this instance.

“What’s so special about it?” he asked once he’d retreated to a safe distance.

“This little book happens to be the journal of our dear, sweet, young Billy Carnegie . . .”

“No shit?” Brian finally seemed impressed by my find.

“And that’s not all I found. Wait till you see the pictures I took! Come on, let’s head upstairs and I’ll show you everything.”

“Okay. But . . .”

“But what?” I asked, wondering why he was looking at me with his nose all scrunched up like that.

“Maybe . . . You might like to take a shower first?” Eggy suggested. “You look like one of those chimney sweeps from Mary Poppins.”

I looked down at myself and noticed for the first time just how much dirt and dust was coating my clothing after my foray into the bowels of the Hotel Liberty. No wonder Egbert was squicked just looking at me. I must have carted at least half the filth from that basement room back out with me. And looking at all the dirt on my clothing made me realize that was likely the reason my breathing had been getting a little ragged. Damn asthma. Brian was probably right that a nice long shower should be next on the agenda.

We quickly secured the tunnel door with its chest of drawers blockade and made our way out of the secret room and through the basement. I found my trusty messenger bag where I’d left it on the floor by the basement door and fished through it till I found my inhaler, taking a nice long hit of Albuterol. Then, as soon as my airways felt less constricted, we climbed the stairs back to Eggy’s rooms and he pointed me towards the bathroom forthwith. I was happy to go, but not alone.

“You gonna join me, Big Guy?” I asked coyly, tilting my head towards the bathroom door with what I hoped was an inviting smile on my lips.

“I think you’re capable of taking a shower all by yourself without falling over this time,” he waffled.

“Of course I CAN shower by myself, but where’s the fun in that?” I replied saucily. “Besides, I might have some dirty spots I can’t reach by myself and you wouldn’t want that, now would you?” He was smiling now and looking at me with more than just a little interest. “Come on. I’ll let you wash my back and get me super-squeaky clean all over . . .”

“There you go with those ulterior motives again,” he protested.

He didn’t resist, though, when I reached out, snagged the hem of the shirt he was wearing, and doggedly towed him after me into the bathroom. I must really be good at this hermit therapy thing, you know, because a month before he wouldn’t have let me touch him even that much. Thankfully, he was much more compliant these days. So, when I had him where I wanted him - complacently standing in the middle of the bathroom - I took it one step further and reached up to begin unbuttoning his shirt. And he didn’t even flinch.

I took my time going button to button and then sliding the fabric off Brian’s shoulders, enjoying for a moment the fact that I was being granted so much unfettered access to touch him. Once I had him bare from the waist up, I allowed my fingers to trail over his smooth chest. I marvelled at the golden tan of his skin, despite the fact that he rarely, if ever, got out in the sun, figuring it must be his natural skin tone. My paler hand resting against his pec showed off the difference amazingly, and for an instant I almost forgot what I was supposed to be doing other than just running my hands over his beautiful skin.

“You next,” Brian directed, fingering the hem of my shirt, still seemingly too nervous about my dirty clothing to fully enjoy my fondling.

“I’m getting there,” I advised with a chuckle as I pulled the filthy thing off over my head, raising a small cloud of dust in the process.

Brian stepped away from me and pointed nervously to the laundry hamper. While I was there I slid off my pants as well, tossing it all in together and leaving me wearing nothing but my birthday suit. As I turned around, I caught my Eggy getting a nice eyeful of my tushie, which made me blush for some reason. It’s not like I cared about being naked around him, but there was something about the fact that he was obviously appreciative of my assets that left me flushed and strangely disconcerted. Brian was such a contradiction in every way - how he managed to be so sensual and at the same time untouchable, was a mystery . . . One that I was almost as eager to solve as the mystery of his building.

As soon as I was freed of the worst of my dirtiness, he let me approach again, and I was allowed to resume my touching of his glorious skin. This time I remained conscious of my goal, though, and guided my trailing fingers lower and lower till I came into contact with the waistband of the jeans he was wearing. It took no time at all to undo the top button and then unzip the fly all the way. Meanwhile, my man stood there and let me undress him like a Ken doll, not helping but not stopping me and, shit, if that didn’t make it even hotter. I felt like he was giving himself up to me and allowing me all the control which, for him, was really something. He didn’t even bat an eye when I slid my hands inside the back of the now loose jeans and cupped a firm butt cheek in each palm as I pushed the pants below his hips.

“Mmmm,” his barely vocal purr sounded loud in the small enclosed space of the bathroom as I spent a minute or two kneading at the globes of flesh.

“You know, for a big guy, you have a remarkably compact ass,” I commented, getting a scowl from the object of my observation. “I mean that in a good way!” I rushed to correct his assumption. “It’s just that you fit so perfectly in my hands. It’s like your ass was made for me to fondle.”

“Did I mention how weird you are?” was his only response.

“Maybe once or twice,” I teased.

Meanwhile, I noted that he hadn’t yet pulled away from me or taken any other action to halt my explorations of his nether regions, something that I was rather impressed by, to be honest. I shuffled a few inches closer, allowing my hardening dick to brush against his, all the time prepared for him to reach the limits of his comfort zone and tell me to stop. But he didn’t. So I followed up by leaning forward and depositing a line of kisses up the column of his neck, beginning on his bare collarbone and proceeding upward at an angle.

When I eventually reached his ear, I gave the lobe a friendly little nibble and whispered, “at this rate I’m never gonna get that shower.”

My teasing seemed to break the tension of the moment and we both laughed. Brian moved away first, pulling open the door to the shower enclosure and reaching in to start the water running. I waited as patiently as I could, considering the state of lust I was in after that energizing make out session. When all was ready, he stepped in, under the water, and I followed. He handed me the bar of soap and just when I was about to rub it all over my body, I quickly changed my mind. I rubbed the soap between my hands, making sure I got a decent amount of foam to work with. I could feel Brian watching as I rubbed over my slippery chest, down my abs and over my package, making sure I was nice and lathered. Then I handed the soap over to him and smiled as he did the same. His hands mirroring mine perfectly.

Damn, how I wanted it to be MY hands that were caressing that beautiful body!

But we hadn’t done that yet and I didn’t know how far my Eggy was willing to let me go. It was killing me, though, not to touch him right then. He was so statuesque, standing there like a fucking adonis, with water dripping off all his parts and the bubbles from the soap dripping down his pecs, flowing into the well of his navel, and then overflowing to trickle down through his pubes like some licentious Galton Board, until all the drips coalesced together into one stream that drizzled off the tip of his hardening cock. When his hand drifted down to wash his ball sac I think I moaned aloud.

“You’re drooling,” Brian commented, rightly, with a smirk at my piteousness.

“Can you blame me?” I gestured to the image he was creating and sighed. “To have all THAT right in front of me and not be able to do anything about it? It’s just fucking cruel, is what it is, Egbert.”

“Who said you couldn’t do anything about it?” he asked with a flirtatious little smile that immediately hit some chord deep inside me.

“Halle-fucking-lujah!” I mumbled and immediately took him up on his invitation, stepping forward, capturing the hand that was currently playing with his soapy balls and taking over the washing duties with a happy moan.

I started with a bit of general fondling, just letting my hand cup underneath the swelling of his small but firm balls and then gliding upwards, circling around the fullness of his penis as it hardened at my touch, ending with a happy little tug. Brian mmmm’d at me, his eyes closed and a half-smile on his lips. Since he was obviously enjoying himself, and not freaking out over all the touching, I felt emboldened. I took a better hold on the object of my focus, enjoying the heft of his dick lying against my palm, filling and plumping with each beat of his heart. I let the soap act as a lubricant as I slowly and deliberately slid my fingers up and down the silky smooth shaft, pulling him towards me a little bit with each motion, until there was barely an inch between us. Then, with my free hand, I reached out, grabbed his wrist, and guided his hand to my own straining cock. He hesitated only an instant before he grabbed hold, his grip was firmer than I had expected, which pleases me immensely.

And then we just went for it like fiends!

So, yeah, mutual hand jobs may sound a bit juvenile to some of you. I get it that you probably think I’m being a little overboard in my enthusiasm here. But I’m not sure if you understand just how monumental this development was for my OCD Hermit Boy. Cuz, guys, there’s nothing quite so messy as dueling hand jobs - assuming you do it right - with cum flying everywhere and so much touching of genitals and just the general unsanitariness of it all . . . The fact we were in the shower obviously helped a lot, because all the water and soap probably countered Brian’s anxiety to a large extent. But still, can I just say, HOT, FUCKING, DAMN!

Needless to say, neither one of us lasted all that long. A few dozen strokes and we were both cumming buckets. I loved the little jerk and twitch of his cock in my hand as he shot, followed by the groan of repletion as his body sagged against my own. I followed suit half a second later, my head cushioned against his strong pec and one arm wrapped tightly around his waist, holding us together and upright. Then we just clung to each other for fuck knew how many minutes, inhaling the sandalwood aroma of his soap while the warm water showered down over our bodies, rinsing away all evidence of our lust and refreshing us at the same time.

As if that wasn’t miraculous enough, however, our shower ended with yet another milestone. When we’d both finally caught our breath, Brian leaned over, used one long index finger positioned under my chin to tilt my face upward, and initiated a kiss for the very first time! I was so surprised I almost forgot to kiss back at first.  

“I think we’re both clean enough by this point,” Brian announced when he finally pulled away, reaching out to shut off the water.

I was still too caught up in that amazing kiss to say anything and simply tripped along after him in a happy daze.

All fresh and clean from our shower, I followed Brian into his room where he handed over a clean pair of sweats for me to put on since my clothing was now quarantined in his laundry hamper. I guess I was still a little tired from my marathon Diner shifts the past few days because that, plus the happy lassitude after our shower-capades had me feeling sleepy. No wonder the temptation of Brian’s nice, big, clean bed was too much for me to resist; I immediately climbed up on it and made myself comfortable. By the time Eggy had finished dressing and turned around, I was already propped against the headboard with one of his pillows behind my back and the quilt pulled up over me.

“Make yourself comfortable, why don’t you?” he snarked.

“Don’t mind if I do,” I replied with my bratty-best smile. “But I’d be much more comfortable if you joined me.” I patted the spot next to me on the mattress. “Oh, and bring Billy’s journal with you - we can read it together while we snuggle.”

His nose scrunched up tightly as he looked at me in disgust. “I don’t . . . snuggle,” he insisted but at the same time he followed instructions by going out to the other room and grabbing the journal as I asked. When he returned he had the object with him, keeping the book well away from his body and using a wet wipe to protect his fingers from the dusty cover. “Here . . . Just don’t get dirt all over my fucking bed,” he ordered before taking up his spot next to me.

To placate him, I used the wet wipe to remove any lingering dust, although it was already pretty clean after having most of the contamination wiped off by the fabric of my pants pocket on the trip back here through the tunnel. That small gesture seemed to appease the clean freak lying in bed with me, though, since he nodded approvingly when I looked in his direction. Accepting that as a general go ahead, I opened the front cover of the book and started reading the first entry aloud.  

“January 1, 1885: ‘Be at War with your Vices, at Peace with your Neighbours, and let every New-Year find you a better Man, or so says the esteemed Mr. Benjamin Franklin, and I have determined to make that my motto for this coming year in the hopes of ameliorating my condition. Father, I am sure, believes me incapable of such change, but I am resolved to prove him wrong. It needs only that I apply myself to my schooling, avoid temptation, and elect to choose wiser company, according to the paterfamilias. We shall see, I suppose. We shall see . . .’”

“Best laid plans of mice and men . . .” Brian opined in response.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure his father’s idea of ‘wiser company’ probably didn’t involve the type of men who frequented the Hotel Liberty,” I agreed, picking up my phone off the side table where I’d left it and pulling up the photos I’d taken of the secret barroom in the former Hotel’s basement. “At least not the men who were using these little beauties . . .”

Brian turned the screen towards himself so he could better see the pictures I’d taken of the drawers full of sex toys and whistled. “Wow! My, my, my . . . Those Victorian gay boys certainly liked their toys, it seems.” I swiped through the pictures for him, allowing him to see the full panoply of all the goodies I’d discovered.

“You’re not just kidding,” I replied, getting to the picture of the device in the last drawer and enjoying the grimace the contraption caused on my Eggy’s handsome face. “Anyone who was willing to take on THAT beast, was hardcore.”

“I didn’t even know S&M was a thing back then,” Brian voiced the same thought I’d had. “What’s the rest of the room look like? Whips and chains hanging from the walls, no doubt?”

“Actually, no.” I swiped through the pics again till I came to the shots I’d taken of the room itself. “It looked very elegant and presentable at first glance. Just like any other tavern of the time, I suppose. Except for the fact that this particular bar was hidden away in the basement, and there was no obvious door leading out to the Hotel proper, a casual observer wouldn’t have any clue what went on there. Not until they looked in the cupboards, of course.”

“No door?”

“Nope. Not that I could see. Although I suspect there was a secret entrance somewhere here, along this wall.” I pointed out the spot on the picture I had taken showing the long wooden bar along the right-hand side of the room and then the empty space between that and the cupboards against the end wall. “See. They could have easily hidden a doorway like the one down in your basement over there.”

“But why hide the room in the first place?” Brian asked as he scrutinized the picture more thoroughly. “I mean, it was a Hotel, right? Which means that it would be perfectly normal to have a tavern on the premises. Why put the bar in the basement, in the first place, and then hide it with a secret door on top of everything?”

“Well, duh! Because it was a GAY bar, of course,” I answered. Brian seemed skeptical, even though he’d seen the pictures of the dildos in the drawers. “Don’t you see, Eggy? The Hotel was already getting called out by all the church folks, so they had to hide it! They were basically ALL in the closet back then.”

“We don’t know that they were ALL gay, Justin.”

“Well, enough of them were that they had a pretty impressive collection of things to shove up their asses.” Brian laughed at my phrasing and shrugged in concession. “Maybe Jones himself wasn’t gay, but even if he was just willing to accommodate the clientele that swung that way because he was a good little capitalist, there’s no reason to hide the whole room unless it really was specifically meant for his homosexual customers, right?” Brian still didn’t look like he was totally in agreement with me, so of course I sprang immediately into PSA mode. “Did you know that same sex sexual activity was technically illegal in Pennsylvania as late as 1980, when the sodomy laws were officially changed? Before that, it was illegal to have anal intercourse of any sort, even if it was between a married man and his wife. It was a felony, even. Hell, they were actually convicting people on those grounds as late as the seventies - there was this one serial killer who . . .”

“Are you minoring in Sodomy Studies or something, Sunshine? How do you know all this shit?” Egbert teased me, interrupting right when I was getting on a roll.

“Daphne and I did a research project on the topic for Sociology back in Freshman year. It was really interesting, actually.” He huffed a laugh or two at my nerdiness, causing me to blush but still not shutting me up, because I don’t shut up - or embarrass - that easily. “Anyway, the point is that, even if Jones himself wasn’t gay, and was simply catering to his more deviant clients’ interests, it was still illegal and he’d have wanted to hide the fact of what he was doing. And since there’s no other explanation for wanting to hide the bar, ergo, it had to be what we today would call a ‘gay bar’.”

“I suppose it makes sense,” Eggy finally conceded. “With all Jones’ clients in the closet, why not put the closet itself out of sight in the basement. But that still doesn’t explain why there’s a tunnel between this building and the Hotel’s ‘gay bar’.”

“Which is why I want to read this.” I waved Billy’s journal around triumphantly. “I’m hoping our boy Billy can solve the mystery.” I opened the book again and started on the next entry.

“. . . January 2nd, 1885: ‘Father has asked me to join him at the Duquesne Club this afternoon for the weekly Commerce Committee meeting. I am dreading the tedium already. My resolutions for the New Year may already be in jeopardy . . .’”