Chapter 30 - Bizarre Love Triangle.
“Why is it that every time I see you these days, you’ve got your head stuck in a book?”
I looked up to see who was giving me shit, only to find my friend, Zeboria, grinning down at me. Now, don’t get me wrong, I really liked Z - he was an incredibly gifted artist and a generally nice guy - but that’s not to say I enjoyed being interrupted. I hadn’t had a spare moment to myself in what felt like ages, so when I finally had a chance to spend some time reading further in Billy Carnegie’s journal, I didn’t appreciate this new distraction. And when I saw the greasy musician who was tagging along at Z’s heels, I was even less thrilled. It took everything in me not to sigh loudly at seeing that mousy little face staring back at me.
“Hey, Z. Ethan . . .” I sighed and set aside the journal, realizing I had to be pleasant for at least a couple of minutes if I didn’t want to alienate my buddy. “What are you up to this afternoon? I thought you were going to spend the rest of the day in the studio working on your assignment for Professor Reading’s Expressionism project?”
Zeboria dumped his backpack and art portfolio off on the floor next to my chair and pulled another of the comfortable big black leather armchairs around for himself. The lounge area of the Student Union was reasonably crowded that afternoon, with kids crashed out on every available couch and chair and a few even slouching on the floor in out of the way corners, leaving Ethan without any option other than to perch on the arm of Z’s chair.
Not that Ethan seemed to object to the seating options; he wrapped one arm around Z’s neck, as if to steady himself, and proceeded to make a show of the way his fingers twirled and tugged on the larger man’s short braids. I even caught him looking at me out of the corner of his eye, and the minute he knew I was looking, he very pointedly leaned over to deposit a quick kiss on Z’s cheek. But if Ethan thought he’d make me jealous, he was way off base. The only thing I felt as I watched that over-the-top display was pity for poor Zeboria. Z had no idea who he’d gotten himself mixed up with. But, whatever. I suppose there’s somebody for everyone, right?
“. . . I just can’t get the composition right. I’ve redone that one section at least five times but it still seems off somehow. I’m about ready to just scrape the canvas and start over from scratch. Either that or put my fist through it.” I eventually tuned into my friend’s recitation of his woes related to the project he’d been struggling with all week. “Anyway, when Ethan showed up, I figured it was a good excuse to take a break.”
“I came over to tell Z my fabulous news,” Ethan interjected boastfully. “I’ve got a new gig coming up in a few weeks; I’m going to be performing at a private party for this really exclusive social club. One of the members saw my Christmas recital and recommended me. These guys want me so bad, they’re paying me double what I normally get. It’s quite an honor, not to mention a really sweet deal.”
“Sounds great, Ethan.” I unenthusiastically offered him a tight-lipped smile and then immediately turned my attention back to Z. “So, I was thinking, what if you went with a more muted palette of colors . . .”
“It’s the Duquesne Club,” Ethan interrupted, apparently not done being the center of attention. “I’m going to be one of the top-billed entertainers at their Annual Founders Day Gala. It’s, like, one of the biggest honors possible in a small town like Pittsburgh, you know? The membership there is made up of the wealthiest and classiest elites in all of Pittsburgh. Maybe even in all of Pennsylvania. And it’s famous for hosting some of the world’s most promising up-and-coming talents - I heard that Itzhak Perlman played there when he was just starting out, and Yo Yo Ma too - so I’ll be in great company. I mean, you never know, maybe this’ll be the perfect stepping stone to a paying career.”
I couldn’t help it - that stupid, haughty smirk on Ethan’s face just got to me somehow - so I just had to show up the arrogant little social climber. “Yeah, I’m familiar with the Duquesne Club. My family has been members since my Great Grandfather’s time. And, by the way, the Founders Day Gala is a total snooze fest. Trust me. The median age of the folks attending that event is, like, a hundred and fifty. You’ll be lucky if they all have fresh enough batteries in their hearing aides that they can actually hear you playing. But, yeah, congrats anyway, I guess,” I commented, secretly enjoying the way Ethan visibly deflated as I popped his superiority bubble. Then I turned my attention back to Z’s artistic problem. “So, like I was saying, I’d go with secondary colors and mute them down more. Make it feel hazy, like the way a horizon looks on a hot summer day, all washed out . . .”
Zeboria and I spent the next ten minutes or so talking art while Ethan stewed and fidgeted, clearly annoyed that he was being left out of the conversation. It was kinda fun, annoying him like that, so I dragged out the discussion a little. I know, I’m a total shit, but that’s part of my charm, right? Zeboria seemed oblivious about the tension between me and Ethan, which I assumed meant that Ethan hadn’t told his new squeeze about his previous obsession. But, hey, as long as it kept Ethan away from me, Z was welcome to him.
Eventually Ethan got bored listening to the two artists talking about stuff that he didn’t know anything about and he started wiggling on his perch. I saw the moment when his hand moved from contentedly playing with Zeboria’s hair to tapping on the man’s shoulder. But when Z continued to ignore even that - cuz you know that it’s virtually impossible to get an artist’s attention when one of us is talking about painting, right? - Ethan actually stood up and moved so he was standing directly between the two of us, effectively putting a stop to the discussion.
“Hey, Z, I thought we were going to go get a bite to eat, Hon,” Ethan suggested.
“Oh, right . . .” Zeboria hooked his arm through the loop of one backpack strap before standing up and also grabbing his portfolio. “Thanks for the tips on my project, Justin. I think I’ll definitely try out a more muted palette. Good call, man. Damn, I want to get back to it right now.” But then he looked over at an impatient Ethan and shrugged.
“See you around, Z.” I waved goodbye as the two of them sauntered off towards the cafeteria, happy to have my peace and quiet back, then I dove back into the journal I’d been reading.
‘September 30, 1885, All Hail the Pittsburgh Gas and Light Company!’, the next journal entry I read began, causing me to chuckle at the author’s trademark hyperbole. ‘The PG&L utility tunnels have finally made it all the way down Sixth Avenue, even unto the steps of the Duquesne Club. And, even more good news, Andrew has been chosen to supervise the completion of some repairs to the Club’s building, such repairs encompassing the refurbishment of the kitchens and the shoring up of portions of the ramshackle old basement to accommodate the installation of a new, improved, coal boiler system. Andrew assures me that it will be a simple matter, as part of these improvements, to provide the building with an accessible entrance to the PG&L tunnels, which will allow us two to once again resume a more frequent acquaintance . . .’
Well, that explained the tunnel extension going to the Club. Peebles really was quite resourceful using all those utility tunnels for his private needs. No wonder all the intervening journal entries had been so boring; it sounded like the lovebirds had been kept apart all summer by Billy’s overbearing family and were only able to reconnect at the end of September once that tunnel was ready to rock. And now that there was no physical restraint on their relationship, I was expecting the Carnegie Chronicles to heat up again. However, as I read on, I was a bit surprised to find only lukewarm comments about Peebles over the next few weeks. That was curious.
I would have read further, but when I finally looked up and noted the time, I realized I was late for History of The Renaissance. I quickly stashed the journal, legged it across the snow-covered breezeway to get to the adjoining Fine Arts Building, and then took the stairs three at a time up to the second floor. Luckily, my professor was still distributing copies of that day’s handouts so I hadn’t missed any of the lecture. I grabbed a copy of the lecture notes, and a seat, and tried not to pant and gasp too loudly as my heartbeat slowly came back to normal. But even then my head was filled with images of Victorian Era tunnels, not Renaissance palaces, so it was questionable whether the lecture was any use to me at all.
After my history lecture let out, I went directly to the computer lab to put in some work on my Graphic Design project. We were supposed to create business cards for a hypothetical business - surprise, surprise that I’d decided to create a leasing company for the Triangle Building using one of the millions of photos I’d taken of Brian’s Tower to create a stylized depiction of the building as the background for the business card I was designing. I thought it looked great, even if I did say so myself. Maybe, once Eggy’s meds fully kicked in, he might be interested in using these cards I was making to lease out parts of his building again? I mean, you never knew, right?
Once I had the card design pretty much done, I packed up my shit and decided to head over to the building itself, just to get in an Egbert fix, cuz you know if I go too long without a hit of my hermit, I get a little crazy. And I think Eggy was just as glad to see me as I was to be there, because as soon as I let myself into his office he took the latte I’d brought for him out of my hand without even pausing to contemplate the germs it might be swathed in, set the cup aside, and immediately took possession of my lips in a toe-curling kiss.
“I take it you’re happy to see me?” I purred when I was finally allowed to breathe again.
“Nah, I’m just taking a CPR course online and needed someone to practice on,” my Eggy snarked in response, albeit without the necessary grouchy undertone that would make it believable.
“Well, I’m happy to serve in that important role. Feel free to ‘resuscitate’ me as much as needed.”
“Oh, I want to do a LOT more than resuscitate you. Trust me,” Brian replied with a lascivious twinkle in his eye that got me wondering about just how fast those happy pills of Daphne’s worked. “What I’d like to do is bend you like a pretzel and then . . .”
“Then what?” I asked, breathlessly, more than ready to be pretzeled, provided it would lead in the direction I was hoping.
Brian laughed, looking sort of amazed at himself and what he’d been saying. “I don’t actually know what I’d do with you after that, to be honest. I just . . . Well . . . You weren’t here to distract me last night, so I was trolling the internet, and I saw this thing, and the guy was a skinny blond, which sorta made me think of you, only his ass wasn’t nearly as nice, but I still thought . . . I mean, you are pretty bendy, so . . .” he spluttered to a stop.
“Brian Kinney. You naughty boy, you! You were watching porn on the internet last night, weren’t you!” I teased him.
He snorted loudly. “I’m a horny gay man; what do you think I do when you aren’t here to distract me? Watch reruns of ‘Leave It To Beaver’? Of course I watch porn. As often as I fucking can,” my horny hermit insisted, sending me into a proxysm of laughter.
“Sorry, Brian. It’s just that, I never thought of you like that. Watching porn. I guess . . . I guess I just assumed you’d find that kind of thing sort of icky . . .”
“No. Not at all,” he immediately assured me. “I mean, I can’t actually DO any of that stuff . . . not now at least . . . but it doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy watching it. Dreaming about it. Remembering it . . .”
“Remembering?” That comment threw me for a loop. “Does that mean that you’ve actually done some of the stuff you’re seeing on those porn channels?” Brian looked at me with a ‘seriously?’ face. “Sorry, I guess I just assumed . . .”
“Assumed what? That I’d always been this ridiculously pathetic?” Brian scoffed. “I told you before that I wasn’t always like this. I’m not some pansy little virgin, Justin. Back when I was in college - and even before that - I was out there all the time. I’d even started to build up a bit of a reputation as kind of a Stud . . .”
“Wow, I . . .”
“Close your mouth, Justin. It’s not that hard to believe, is it?”
I shook my head but ended with a semi-doubtful shrug.
“If it wasn’t for my head short-circuiting the way it did when Donal got sick . . . I would probably still be out there fucking like my life depended on it.”
So, yeah, I hadn’t really thought about that possibility at all. It’s not that I hadn’t imagined Brian having sex before . . . In fact, it’s something I thought about A LOT . . . but, that’s all it was - a thought. Hearing him talk like this, knowing that at some point THAT was his reality . . . Wow, just, wow . . . Damn, thinking about Brian, out there fucking random guys, was getting me all hot and bothered. So many thoughts were running through my mind right then, and before I could even stop myself I started asking questions, the filter on my brain having somehow forgotten to kick in.
“What sort of . . .” My voice cracked like an over-excited pubescent boy and I had to stop and clear my throat before continuing. “What sort of things did you get up to? You know, back then?”
Brian leaned heavily against his desk and folded his arms. I could feel him watching me and when I looked up he had this look of self-satisfied amusement on his face. Like he was enjoying the memories that were flowing through his mind.
“What didn’t I do?, would probably be an easier question to answer.” Brian chuckled to himself and that little secret smile on his lips was just way too enticing.
“Tell me. I want to know.” My voice sounded so raspy, but fuck me, my mouth had gone suddently dry and was I instantly as hard as a fucking brick.
“I used to love picking guys up off the dance floor and dragging them to the backroom with me . . .”
Holy shit . . . Brian in a backroom . . . My mind was already off, spinning through a hundred different fantasies.
“And then, depending on what mood I was in, I’d either push them down onto their knees and have them suck me off, fucking their mouths until I knew they couldn’t take any more, or I’d shove them up against the wall and fuck their brains out until they couldn’t remember their own name.”
I couldn’t hide the fact that I was now rubbing myself through my jeans.
“So you always topped then?” Jesus, I swear I moaned as I asked him.
Brian chuckled loudly as he watched my hand moving roughly over the large tent in my jeans.
“Always.”
“Fuck!” I’d probably describe myself as pretty versatile, although I secretly preferred bottoming, so Brian coming right out and saying he was a top had to be a fucking sign; it just had to be.
“Does that surprise you?” Brian asked, as he walked towards me, getting right up in my personal space and then reaching down to replace the hand fumbling at my crotch with his own.
And if I thought I was being rough with my dick, pawing at the bulge extending the thick denim of my jeans, it was nothing compared to the way Brian started to pull and tug at me through the intervening fabric. You wouldn’t think somebody could get that heated from just frotting and fondling through their clothing, but yeah. I stood there, completely in his power, as he took over. His teeth were digging into his bottom lip and his breath was blowing in my face as he exhaled heavily with each jerk of his wrist. I could feel myself getting lightheaded the closer I got to coming, almost like I was going to pass out. I remember thinking, ‘I swear, if I fucking die before this man has shoved his cock up my ass, I’m going to be so pissed’.
Then Brian ordered, “come for me, Justin.”
As soon as he said that, I felt my body just completely let go and I came in my pants with a loud grunt. Spurt after spurt of warm jizz filled my briefs and I just kept on coming. It was fucking glorious and embarrassing all at the same time.
“Sunshine? You okay?” I could see Brian talking to me, but all I could hear was this loud buzzing in my ears.
“Huh?”
Brian smacked my ass and threw his head back laughing. “Fuck, I still got it. Do you remember your name?”
I shook my head playfully, loving the cocky look that was now plastered all over my hermit’s face. The things this man could do to me . . . And that was before we’d actually had full-on sex . . . But now that I had it in my head that he was this brutal, domineering top, I just couldn’t stop thinking about how much I wanted him. And judging by the persistent distension of the fly of Brian’s jeans, he was probably thinking about the same thing. I sighed, a little too melodramatically probably, but I couldn’t help it - he was just so deliciously tempting and yet so out of reach. I felt a bit guilty about always pushing for more from him. I didn’t want him to think I wasn’t being understanding of his OCD or that he didn’t satisfy me - because even without the Full Monty, I was happier with my Eggy than I remembered being with any of my previous boyfriends, by a longshot - and yet I still wanted more. I mean, let’s face it, that cock of his was meant to be used, and keeping it hidden away in his pants was, like, a fucking crime. He really should be out there fucking beautiful men every night in the backrooms of the world. Or, at the very least, fucking ME in the bedroom of his tower. He would be sooooo good at it, you know? Seriously, if he could almost make me forget my own name after just a handjob, what the hell would having his nine inch cock shoved up my ass do to me? I could only imagine.
“Come on, you,” Brian was tugging me after him in the direction of his rooms before I’d even had time to drag my thoughts away from my fantasies and back to reality. “You’re a messy, dirty little boy. You need a shower. And while we’re in there, maybe you can use one of those horrible tasting condoms you bought to take care of this little problem I have . . .”
After that I jogged ahead, leaving him in my wake as I sprinted to the shower, so I could get the water started. The mere thought of having that hefty slab of man meat in my mouth again, made it water. And, if I couldn’t have what I really wanted, at least I could have that, right?
Later that evening, lying in Eggy’s big, comfortable bed with my head nestled in the crook of his shoulder and my body feeling happily replete after several more rounds of creative sexiness, I found myself once more marvelling at the fact that I’d finally found someone like Brian. All those years of dating, the weekends spent trolling through bars and clubs, the many, many men I’d flirted with at the Diner, not to mention the hours spent swiping through Grindr, and in the end I found the perfect man when I’d least expected it, hiding away in an empty old building. It just goes to show that you never know when you’ll find ‘The One’. Or at least the one I thought was ‘The One’, even if we were still so new and still figuring out how to make it all work.
Of course, that got me thinking again about Billy and Peebles and how they’d found each other, in part, because of this same building. Maybe there was something more to the mystery of the place than just how it came to have hidden rooms and secret tunnels - maybe there was some unknown quality built into the solid brick of its walls that encouraged gay romance? Like a haunting which only brought happiness to lonely gay boys? Okay, and maybe I’m just a silly, romantic fool.
“What are you giggling about now?” Brian asked, giving my shoulder a squeeze with the arm wrapped beneath me.
“Just hypothesizing about how your building is a magical love nest for gay boys,” I answered him with another laugh.
“You think so, huh?” Brian smiled sideways at me, his eyes crinkling up so adorably I felt melty inside. “Brat.”
“How else do you explain all the gay romance that’s happened under this roof in the past?” I replied, reaching for Billy’s journal, which I’d left sitting on the nightstand next to the bed. “See, I found the passage about how Peebles managed to build a tunnel to the Duquesne Club so his lover could still secretly join him, here in Peeble’s love hideaway.”
I pointed out the passage I’d read just that morning and we speculated over the costs Peebles must have had to go to in order to accommodate his Billy. It was clear that Peebles was pretty much head over heels for young William. Lying there in the arms of my lover, I could relate.
However, as we continued to read through the subsequent journal entries, I began to doubt my theory about the building being the birthplace of some ancient, perfect, gay love. The tone of Billy’s entries had changed somehow. He still wrote of Peebles frequently, but with less glowing accolades. It seemed their relationship was becoming more routine. Their romance more rote. Less exciting. Less mysterious. And, I guess that’s what happens to most relationships over time, but . . . well, it left me feeling somehow deflated. Bereft. Like *I* was the one growing more and more dissatisfied, which wasn’t right at all, not when I was lying in the arms of the most wonderful man I’d ever met. It was disconcerting and I read on with a bit of apprehension about where my ideal romance mystery was leading.
“Huh, looks like Billy finally got a bit of a break from his family. Seems like they up and left town for the winter,” Brian commented, pointing out a new entry. “Peebles’ tunnels must have fooled Old Thomas, if he relented and left his rebellious son in charge of business back here in the Pitts.”
Brian began to read the passage aloud, “‘November 4, 1885 - Life here in Our Fair City has once again settled down now that Father and Mother have relocated for the season to the more civilized environs of New York City. I am left here in Pittsburgh, put in charge of father’s business interests, albeit with my brother, Frank, and father’s business manager, Mr. Cruthers, looking over my shoulder at every turn. My days, therefore, are extraordinarily full, yet tedious. However, there is compensation, as my private time is less scrutinized now that Father is temporarily out of the picture. To celebrate, Andrew convinced his partner, Jay, to accompany us on our visit to Beefy’s this evening. I must admit that I was glad of this addition as it means I shall no longer be the Novice of the group. It was also pleasant to have another younger person amongst us. I have often felt set apart as the youngest, by far, of the denizens who frequent Beefy’s Den of Iniquity. And, although I feel quite experienced now as compared to how naive I was when I began this journal, I am still the youngest of the Hotel Liberty’s patrons. So it is quite refreshing to indoctrinate another newcomer who is closer in age and experience level to myself. Jay seemed to enjoy himself exceedingly, once he had accustomed himself to the amusements offered. I look forward to including him more often in the future . . .’”
“Sounds to me like the boy had his first three-way,” Brian surmised. “And liked it.”
“Yeah . . . Oh, Fuck!” I exclaimed, sitting up abruptly when the full import of this entry finally hit me. “Shit! You know what this means, Brian?” Eggy continued to just lie there, completely oblivious and unimpressed, while I was reeling. “Jay Frick - Peebles’ ‘straight’ business partner - joined Andrew and Billy at Beefy’s!” I shouted, still getting no real reaction from my bed mate. “Don’t you get it? Jay Frick was secretly gay and he was fooling around with Andrew and Billy . . . You know, Jay, the guy whose wife KILLED HERSELF after her husband VIOLATED THEIR MARRIAGE BED!”
“Ohhhhhhh!” It was like a lightbulb turned on in my hermit’s brain.
“Oh is right! No wonder Alma was so freaked out! She must have discovered her husband was gay and he was not only sleeping around on her, but doing it with other GUYS!”
“Hence the whole, ‘Ruination of your Soul’ thing,” Brian added while I nodded at him like a bobble-head doll. “Yeah, that makes a lot more sense now. Discovering your hubby was a fag was probably a real shocker to an uptight Victorian Society Matron. Although, I still think offing yourself over it is a little dramatic, don’t you?”
So maybe there really was something to my speculation about the building exuding a gay vibe. I mean, if it could turn a married, straight guy like J.H. Frick to the dark side, who knew, right? And, not that I’m opposed to three-ways in principle and all, but you had to feel a little sorry for poor Alma. An affair is one thing, but a homosexual affair, with more than one other partner, would be a lot to forgive. In that case, though, it would seem that the building wasn’t just a gay love nest, but the center of a gay love triangle.
“I’ve got a great marketing idea once you’re ready to start leasing your building out again, Brian,” I voiced my conclusion, thinking back on those business cards I’d designed for my Graphic Arts project and already making mental revisions. “But you’ll need to change the name of your building first. Cuz this place isn’t just a ‘Triangle Building’, it’s a ‘Love Triangle Building’.”
