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 is one further instalment to come. But comments on the first two are welcome -- to antinous48@yahoo.co.nz.
CHAPTER 2: AN EVENTFUL SATURDAY
I woke up the next morning, Saturday, excited and jittery. I hadn't felt that way, or at least not for that sort of reason, since my teens. My original plan had been to prepare for Monday's business meeting in the morning, then spend the afternoon sight-seeing. On the face of it, my encounter with Chris involved no change of plan, since I wasn't due to meet him until noon -- but I got little work done that morning, and I was already sitting anxiously in the hotel lobby at 11.45, gazing out through the plate glass window. I was worried that if Chris turned up wearing the shabby jeans and jacket he had had on the previous night, the doorman of my smart hotel wouldn't let him in. To spare Chris that embarrassment, I was poised to dart outside as soon as I saw him come near.
On the dot of twelve Chris came into view. But I didn't leap up and run outside -- instead I leaned back in my armchair and drank in the sight of Chris as he walked confidently past the doorman. It was the sort of hotel where the dress code specifies 'casual elegance'. Well, no one could have been more casually elegant than Chris was that morning. He still sported a bristly chin and floppy spiky hair, but instead of his ragged jeans he was wearing a clean smart pair, and instead of the jacket he was wearing a white T-shirt that hugged his torso, under a crisply ironed blue shirt, unbuttoned. The shirt had shoulder-flaps, and sewn on to its two pockets were military-style badges. A macho look -- but Chris was living proof that machismo and elegance aren't incompatible.
I stood up. Chris caught sight of me and broke into a smile. As he walked over to me I registered further details: a plain ring on his right third finger, a black-and-white towelling sweatband on his right forearm, and a small oblong metal plate (a military identification tag?) dangling from a thin neckchain. Around Chris's waist was a belt of black leather with metal studs, and he had rolled his shirtsleeves up, drawing attention to the swell of his biceps. All this proclaimed 'You mess with me and you're in trouble'. But Chris's face told a subtly different story. His square jaw, prominent cheekbones and chin with its Kirk-Douglas-style dimple could have belonged to a routine Hollywood tough guy. But in contrast I noticed again Chris's delicate mouth, his fine straight nose and above all his eyes -- long-lashed and penetrating.
'Good to see you, Chris,' I said, shaking hands. We both picked up from the night before: studiedly casual, friendly but low-key. 'You too, Nick,' he said, adding '-- so Englishmen don't wear suits all the time!' 'No, even we need to unwind sometimes,' was my bland reply. 'Glad to hear it, Nick! You wanna unwind? I'm here to help!' said Chris, putting his hand on my shoulder with a grin -- but then it was if he felt he had gone too far, because he immediately put his hands in his pockets and looked at the floor, hunching his shoulders.
'Let's have something to drink before we start sight-seeing,' I said to cover our joint unease. 'Sure,' he agreed. We sat down in armchairs at right angles to one another -- knees not touching this time, but there was compensation in that I could get a better eyeful of Chris in the daylight of the hotel lobby than in the smoky dim bar. As for Chris, I could tell that, as we drank our coffee and chatted (about the hotel, the weather, nothing personal), he was appraising me keenly too. I noticed more and more in Chris's eyes a hesitant questioning look, with a hint of sadness, even though on the surface he was bright and cheerful.
'Maybe this is a lame idea,' I said, 'but as it's my first time in Gotham City I'd really like to do all the obvious tourist things -- the Statue of Liberty, the Empire State Building ...'
'Why, fine! That'll be fun for me too!' said Chris. 'That is ... I said I'd show you around, but I gotta admit, I haven't been to those places since I was a little kid, so I won't be much good as a guide ...' He hesitated, then looked away from me with a confused, troubled expression: 'So, I mean, if you want a proper guide, I'm sure the hotel here can arrange --'
'No, Chris, I want YOU to show me!' I blurted. He looked quickly at me -- startled, questioning, perhaps pleased, all at once. Now it was my turn to worry that I'd gone too far. I gabbled on: 'I mean, I'll enjoy it more with you' ('Hell, I'm making this worse,' I thought), 'that is, you said it would be fun for you, so why not let's do some sightseeing together.' I tailed off lamely, conscious that I was blushing.
Chris smiled at me. His smile widened. 'OK, off we go!' he said. He leapt to his feet, grabbed my arm and pulled me up. 'Smart English Nick and local boy Chris -- we're gonna see the sights of Gotham City!'
To cut a long story short, it was one of the most enjoyable afternoons of my life. Despite what he had said, Chris had plenty to tell me about the places we visited, and his evident pleasure -- or rather (I won't be modest) his evident pleasure at showing them to me -- left me elated.
We had dinner together, then around nine o'clock we found ourselves strolling back towards my hotel. How was the evening going to end? I didn't know, but I wasn't worrying about that: I was just savoring the here-and-now, enjoying chatting to this sweet gorgeous young man that I had met less than twenty-four hours before.
'It's been a great day, Chris. You've been an awesome guide! And ... and ... thanks again for coming to my rescue yesterday.'
Chris stopped and turned to face me, with a serious expression on his face. 'Nick, I don't know how often you'll be coming to Gotham City. Maybe ... well, maybe you won't be here often.' Chris's voice was neutral and calm, but I could sense that it took an effort on his part to keep it so. 'But whenever you come, I want to be not just a guide again for you but ...' He faltered, then took a deep breath and began again. 'Because ... because ...' Chris gently grasped my left wrist with his right hand and raised my hand to the level of his chest. 'Put your hand there,' he said softly. We were standing close together in the middle of the sidewalk, facing each other, oblivious to the passers-by who skirted around us. Guided by Chris, I pressed my hand against his chest (the first time I had touched it) and felt under the cotton of his T-shirt his right nipple and the firm half-moon of his pectoral muscle. Chris carried on speaking, almost in a whisper: '... what are you touching, Nick? What's this under your hand?'
My mouth was dry and my heart was pounding. I found I could hardly speak. But there was no need, as Chris carried on speaking, softly but with increasing confidence. 'What you feel here -- it's not just my body, it's a wall, a strong wall, to protect you, Nick, a wall to keep you safe. Gotham City can be dangerous, you've learned that, English Nick, but you've got a place in it -- if you want -- where you'll always be safe and ... and always be welcome, and that place is with me.'
'Oh wow, Chris, I ...' I couldn't say more. Instead I hugged Chris tight and he hugged me, in the middle of the sidewalk, for a long minute. When we separated and looked at each other, silly happy grins were on our faces. Neither of us said anything. Instead we walked on slowly, each with an arm around the other's waist.
At last I found myself speaking again. 'Yeah, you rescued me, Chris. But we'd already met! Say, when you saw me in the street and asked me for a light -- what was in your mind then?' As soon as I said this, I realized that I hadn't seen Chris smoke all day. Then, too late, it dawned on me that that hadn't been a wise question to ask.
Sure enough, Chris stopped walking and froze. He turned towards me, glaring coldly. 'Why d'you ask that now, Nick? Only a fool would ... But you're not a fool!' He turned away and slammed the palm of his had hard against the stone wall of the office building we were passing. 'I thought we were having a good time today -- we both were -- but ... but all the time you despised me! You're smart, yeah -- smart and so superior! I gotta hustle for a living, sure, but after all we done today -- after what I just said -- you ... you rub my nose in ...' He leaned his right hand against the wall, presenting his back to me, gazing down at th sidewalk, his shoulders bowed. I stood aghast, speechless. At last he turned back towards me, his face this time creased as if he were holding back tears: 'I really thought you liked me, Nick. Well, my mistake. Why should a smart English guy like a ... a low-life Gotham City street punk? Because isn't that what I am, Nick? Isn't that how you see me? And you're right! I've been a fool, thinking ...' He took a deep breath and looked at me solemnly. 'Like I said, my mistake. Thanks for the meals, Nick and -- goodbye.'
'NO!' I reached out towards Chris, but, quicker than me, he had already darted round a corner and was running down a dark narrow side street. I dimly realized it was the side street up which we had walked the previous evening, when Nick was guiding me back to the Hotel Bristol. Numb, dazed, I found myself shambling back towards the hotel now, only a few yards away. Then -- 'No!' I said again aloud. Passers-by looked at me, startled. Turning, I ran back to the corner and looked down the dimly lit side street. No sign of Chris. He could be anywhere by now. Even so, I ran wildly after him: 'Chris! Stop!'
Was there some commotion ahead? In the entrance way to what looked like a warehouse on the other side of the street, three figures seemed to be engaged in a tussle. There was another man, smartly dressed, watching them. Suddenly I recognized our attackers from the previous night, struggling to force Chris through the door of the warehouse. 'Get away, Nick! They don't want you!' yelled Chris, panting. 'Stop, let him go!' I shouted -- just as Chris was forced inside the building. The door slamming behind him. The smartly dressed man and the two thugs turned to face me.
'It is unwise of you to interfere,' said the smartly dressed man.
'Let Chris go!' I said again, standing, panting -- all too conscious how futile it was for me to issue a command like that. The thugs advanced menacingly. 'He's seen us. We'd better take him too, boss,' said the taller one. 'Yes, unfortunately' said the boss, 'we'll have to decide later what to do with him. No, don't be rough with him. I think he'll come willingly.'
I found myself ushered through the door through which Chris had been forced moments before. When we saw each other again, we were both captives ...