The 'Chris' in this story is based on Chris Trousdale as he appears in pictures on his Myspace page -- punkish, in scruffy jeans. But the story is purely fiction, and implies nothing about the real Chris Trousdale, his habits or his sexuality.
There are two further instalments to come. But comments on this first one are welcome -- to antinous48@yahoo.co.nz.
CHAPTER 1. A FRIDAY EVENING STROLL
An evening stroll had seemed like a good idea an hour before, but now I realized I was thoroughly lost. It was Friday night in Gotham City, and I had just arrived from London for a business meeting on Monday -- the most important assignment I had had so far, as a rising twenty-something bank executive. I now found myself in a dimly lit street of decaying buildings, with no idea how to locate the bright lights of my smart hotel. Who was there to ask? In the gloom I could see no one except a young man with punkish hair lounging against a grim graffiti-covered wall a few yards away. He was already looking towards me in a way I didn't quite like. But what choice had I? I walked up to the young man, trying to appear self-confident.
It was he who spoke first. 'Got a light?' he asked. He was a tough-looking young guy, about nineteen, who looked thoroughly at home in this grim neighborhood. My eyes traveled up: dirty sneakers, faded and torn blue jeans, a brown leather belt, an inch of underwear, then ... his unbuttoned jacket revealed a tanned hairless torso, husky and well-proportioned. On a chain round his neck dangled a cross and what looked a miniature pair of handcuffs. But he was smiling now, which made him seem less threatening. 'No, sorry, I don't smoke', I said, trying not to wonder what this young man was planning. 'But ... I'm looking for the Hotel Bristol. Can you help me?'
His smile broadened. 'You foreign?' he asked. 'Yes, British,' I answered; 'I've just arrived in Gotham City and ...'
'Hotel Bristol!' he interrupted: 'That's not far from here. But for a stranger in a suit, in this part of town -- ' He shook his head warningly. 'But no problem, I'll take you there!' So saying, he grasped my arm and steered me firmly round. I found myself walking back the way I had come with this young man on my right. The young man's left arm was draped across my back, his hand gripping firmly my left shoulder, and his body was pressed close against mine as we walked.
I tried to think quickly. There was still no one else in sight. A glance sideways confirmed that my self-appointed guide, though not tall, was solidly built. He responded to my glance with a cocky lazy smile again, now at closer range. He was handsome, and I could tell he knew it. He had a straight nose and a small mouth with full red lips. Across his high forehead, long spikes of greasy-looking dark hair fell untidily, and lank strands extended down his neck to meet the collar of his jacket. But by wearing his hair in a way that on most people would have looked a mess, this young man seemed to be saying to the world: 'Hey, see? I don't have to bother! I look stunning anyway!' The same applied to the scruffy sideburns and three-day beard -- they just served to emphasize his strong square jaw and his cleft chin. But most riveting of all were his high cheekbones and the penetrating gaze of his long-lashed dark eyes under their slanting brows.
The unspoken message of that taunting smile was clear: 'You're afraid of me, but you know you've got no choice. If you try to get away, I'll knock you down and steal your wallet. But if you play along, there's a chance I'll get you back to your hotel safe and sound, in return for which you'll give me some money, pretending to believe a hard-luck story that I'll tell about my sick mother (or something like that).'
My response to this unspoken message was to say: 'Uh, thanks -- silly of me to get lost ...'
'No problem!' he said again. 'I know every street in this part of town! My name is Chris!' And he paused to take my right hand in a firm grip and shake it. 'And I'm Nick!' I replied.
As we shook hands, I could see at close range the contours of his muscular chest revealed by his open jacket. I was beginning to find something exciting in this adventure. There are worse experiences than walking along with a cute tough nineteen-year-old's arm draped round one's neck in a friendly fashion, even if the friendliness is a pretence. And if muggers are round, I thought, they'll think twice about hassling the two of us ...
I was wrong. As we passed a dark alleyway, a figure in a leather jacket suddenly appeared in front of us and said something to Chris. I didn't understand Chris's reply (I think he was speaking Spanish), but I could hear his cold disdain. Then I looked over my shoulder: a tall powerful-looking thug in a white singlet loomed threateningly behind us. Chris saw him too, and reacted fast with a massive upper-cut to the thug's chin. I saw the thug collapsing into the gutter while his leather-clad friend gawped in amazement. But I had no time to stand and stare as Chris grabbed my arm roughly and yelled 'Come quick!', dragging me after him across the deserted street and round a corner. We stopped outside a dimly-lit bar and Chris rubbed his sore fist. 'Ow! That hurt! But we got away! We'll be safe in here!' he said.
It was a smoky bar, and I could tell by the smell that it also served cheap food. 'Hey thanks,' I blurted out. Whatever Chris's intentions had been, he had clearly saved me from something worse. 'Those guys,' he replied, 'they wanted me to help rob you. But don't worry, I'll get you back safe to the Hotel Bristol, OK?'
'Let me buy you a meal first, Chris', I said. 'I'm really glad I met you!'
'A meal? Fine!' said Chris. I followed my self-appointed guide and protector, and we sat down facing each other in a narrow booth by the wall. 'I'm glad I met you too, Nick!' Chris went on, leaning across the table and giving my shoulder a playful punch. 'It's not every day I meet a real smart-looking Englishman! I'm privileged, man!'
I searched for irony in Chris's voice and look. Certainly it was there. Chris knew that I didn't know how a streetwise guy like him might try to exploit that 'privilege'. But at the same time his smile seemed warm, with genuine interest and friendliness in it. The booth was so narrow that our knees could scarcely avoid touching under the table. Instinctively I pulled my leg back, but Chris shifted so that our legs just happened to touch again. I felt the gentle pressure of his knee against mine. He didn't seem to mind, and I certainly didn't mind either. We gave our order to the waiter. Then there was a pause. Chris leaned back and looked steadily at me, a quizzical expression in those penetrating eyes. I realized that I had a hard-on, and blushed. In Chris's smile there was now a hint of amusement -- but friendly, not scornful.
'How long are you in Gotham City, Nick?' I told him. Then: 'Time for any sightseeing?' he asked.
'Well, maybe ...'
'... 'cos I'd be happy to show you around. Tourist sights, or ... places off the beaten track. Whatever -- you name it. Like I said, I know my way around.' His smile turned into a broad grin as he stretched lazily, pushing his shoulders back and his chest out. Then he draped one arm casually along the top of the booth by the wall. His unbuttoned jacket fell open to reveal his nipples, standing out darkly against his tanned chest and drawing attention to the contours of his pecs. For the first time I got a proper look at his belly. His abs looked firm, but there was just a hint of a bulge around his navel. Chris's body, I could see, was not that of a muesli-eating fitness enthusiast, with elegant designer muscles. Instead, it was the body of a boy who had grown up strong by necessity, looking after himself in a rough neighborhood.
Our food and beer arrived. Chris was clearly hungry. He concentrated on eating his massive hamburger and French fries, and we talked little. I ate my sandwich, wondering where Chris would have eaten that evening -- or whether he would have eaten at all -- if he hadn't met me. Then Chris leaned back again in his seat and looked at me seriously. 'Time to get you back to your hotel, eh, Nick? It's getting late!'
I was relieved. Chris seemed to read my mind. He fascinated me, but I would be glad of the comfort and security of my hotel room to reflect on the evening's experiences. Outside the bar, he put his arm round my shoulders again as we walked. I could tell he was on the alert, but there was no sign of our earlier attackers or of any other suspicious characters. 'You've had a scary introduction to Gotham City, Nick!' he said. Again he seemed to read my mind. 'But not all bad, I hope?' he went on -- and when he turned to look at me, I saw this time in the serious expression of eyes and lips something new. He seemed younger, hesitant, almost pleading. The thought came to me in a rush: 'This boy wants reassurance! He genuinely wants me to like him!' I blushed again, thankful that in the dark street Chris wouldn't be able to tell. I played safe with a joky response. 'Well, I've encountered two bad guys and one good guy so far! So you're right -- not all bad!'
We rounded a corner. Suddenly we were in a wider street with brighter lights, and I saw the neon-lit entrance to my hotel just fifty yards ahead. As we reached the imposing entrance, Chris spoke: 'OK, Nick, so you'll meet the good guy again tomorrow! Here at the Bristol, in the lobby at noon!' He presented it as a matter-of-fact statement, almost a command, but I could sense his anxiety. If I said no, Chris would handle my refusal coolly -- but that would cost him an effort, because he very much wanted me to say yes. 'Of course I'll meet you, Chris, how can you doubt it!' -- that's what I longed to say in reply. But I knew that that would be a mistake, because I needed to be cool too. That was an unwritten rule in our game, and each of us would have been uneasy if the other had departed from it. So what I actually said was: 'Sure, Chris, you can give me that guided tour you promised!'
Chris beamed with pleasure, then waved goodbye and walked off to ... I had no idea where. Would I really see again that scruffy but gorgeous young man, and feel again his knee pressed against mine and his arm round my shoulder? In my comfortable room at the Hotel Bristol that night, it took me a long while to get off to sleep. It was just as well that I didn't know what was in store, or I wouldn't have slept at all ...