I
He needed to find her again--he needed to find her again before he let her slip away from his fingers altogether, right from out of his touch and tucked away into the mocking grasp of God. He found her in the local newspaper--the headline reading, “Heroic Doctor Saves Patient Within Seconds of Her Life.”
He took this smile, kissing the paper softly, before placing it on his wall with tape.
“Daisy…” The man swooned, thinking about the fragrance and feeling his erection begin to grow. He held himself, looking at the paper once more--smelling her once more, and beginning to stroke himself within the layers of his clothing. How fitting had it been, to have her picture in the center.
How fitting it was that she, the true one for him, was in the center, the focus on her amid a wall of failed relationships, failed women. The other pictures stared back at him, the other women, with their eyes and mouth taped over.
He was over those disgusting, back-stabbing, deceiving, whores. He had found his love. He had found his Daisy.
Quick, he thought. Another wasted second and someone else might have tried to take claim over his love. Shaking, excited hands reached for the stack of newspapers he had been saving for a month. He grabbed the adhesive and began to work on courting his one true love.
Their beginning was something out of a romance novel.
Richard...preferred to eat alone. It hadn’t seemed that way, how he kept glancing at the men dining two tables over. Not that he had been the only one peaking, it looked like. In this story, of course, he was the main protagonist.
There had been two men--one, while his eyes occasionally looked up to see his partner, remained on the finishing of his dish. He seemed annoyed--but not so disrespected that he found what or whomever, rather, important enough to interrupt the meal.
Now the blonde, slightly taller man, had caught Richard staring only a few moments prior. He hadn’t meant to stare--but there was something so interesting about the couple. How they told him so much without ever speaking a word. For instance, the blonde one hadn’t been offended by any means-- continuing to look and stare as he cut into his steak and fed himself with curious, slow bites. Nothing about him seemed bothered by any kind of staring at all--and from how his eyes fell softly on Richard, it told him that he found it quite flattering. That’s the way he was used to communicating and navigating his romantic life in public. Usually with an affirming nod between himself and a stranger before he found time to catch them alone and talk to them further. His eyes said he enjoyed a conversation. The pursing of his mouth told him he begged for a little conversation.
His partner, the slumped brunette, was either a friend or a brother. Given their lack of talking, perhaps a brother, or at least someone he felt close enough to eat in silence with. From his growing agitation, however, Richard guessed he could have been an estranged lover.
He caught himself again, gave the man a soft, friendly, and polite smile, and then returned to his book before him. Usually, he would find sitting down and reading at a soiree a considerably rude gesture. Tonight, he gave himself some compassion and grace. He hadn’t liked being in the spotlight, and this wasn’t his intention when he received the Denver Local Heros Golden Award not even a few weeks ago. He took it expecting that to be the only consolation for doing his job--which of course is why he was invited here, among dancing politicians and already tipsy entertainers and other white-collars.
He wasn’t a dancer-and he preferred to eat alone. Which he supposed hadn’t made him the most entertaining protagonist. But he was happy and content with all that could be said in moments of silence rather than trying to compensate for it with words. Besides, this had been a particularly good read. He picked it up perchance--hoping to find its owner when he took the train back home from business. Alas, there had been no takers, and he was now the book’s owner. Everything about it had been as picturesque and as promising as the first frames in the beginning scene of all those hetero-romances.
The smart and pretty protagonist reads alone because she’s not like all the other women. The one who values knowledge over beauty. Richard chuckled. He had stifled himself; he knew better now not to laugh aloud at his jokes. These types were too jumpy. Anyway, It had become one of his favorites so quickly.
The book had been autobiographical yet romantic undertone. He supposed he couldn’t have looked any more single. But if anyone asked him, if anyone thought to, he’d say,” It’s about Ancient Persia.”
“Ah.” His eventual partner would eventually respond, his fingers inches away from Richard’s relaxed, right hand. This...he thought to himself...This would be the love interest.
Just as the stranger had said,” Hello.” The beginning violins of Sade Adu’sLove is Found. Well, he hadn’t actually said hello. No, No, Richard remembered now. The beginnings of their conversation hadn’t yet started with Sade. Sade had been the bait, one of the few rising actions before the climax. He had said the words,” Hello, Daisy.”
A deep, sultry voice swooned to him. He paused, closing the book and laying it simply on the table. He almost decided against acknowledging it--sometimes it was better to ignore the epithets, not to entertain those who just wanted a rise out of him. But when the figure hadn’t moved and continued to hover over Richard, he looked up, finally, with a stern,
“I’m sorry. Would you like to repeat that?”
“Your fragrance. You’re wearing Daisy.”
Richard looked up to see the man, his eyes widening at what he saw. The stranger had been beautiful. Blue hooded, piercing eyes that stared with an off-putting calmness. The sides of his hair had been shaved, the rest of it slicked back. His smile called and claimed Richard.
Before Richard could protest, telling the man what he had told the other two people who had guessed correctly that he mistook his cologne for a parfum instead, the man chuckled softly and said,
“It’s a nice scent--it fits you. I hope I haven’t been too rude, but I’ve always loved its smell.”
It made him smile, then choke out a pathetic, “...Thank you. I’m sorry. I...don’t get that often.”
The man sighed in Richard’s same tone of gloom, “They don’t make enough floral scents for men--musk is mighty, but I get so tired of smelling of fucking oak and musk.”
He made Richard chuckle. He seemed to be unreal even in those moments, he seemed like a hallucinogenic promise. He looked like the beautiful part of the love interest. The types that you had been rooting for the entire time. Perhaps it has been the attractiveness of his face. That sounded weird, he noted, but it had been too perfect--too smooth, not a blemish, not a wrinkle that made his face seem animated when he expressed himself.
“Apologies--cursing like a sailor should be for the seas. This isn’t the time or establishment for vulgarity. The name is Eddie.”
“I’m...Trager. Dr. Richard Trager.” He reached out for a handshake, something firm, masculine. What he received instead made his stomach gnaw and twist. Just as the song continued, Eddie reached his mouth down to Richard’s knuckles and pressed his mouth softly to his skin.
Richard jumped. He hadn’t meant to--but, to be so open in public, to be outed and intrigued at the very same time stifled him. In hindsight, it must have been instant Stockholm syndrome.
“Oh, I’m sorry, M’dear.”
“No, no I’m sorry--”
“--Mustn’t apologize. I completely understand.” Eddie sat in one of the empty chairs next to Richard and took a deep breath in. “We’re safe here. We’re two gays. But we’re two rich gays. They wouldn’t dare make a fuss. Unless they want lawsuits.”
Another chuckle. This one...softer. The stranger changed the subject with the furrow of his brow, his eyes straight down at Richard’s book.
“What is that?”
“Oh, this?”
He was going to say it, but then the stranger surprised him again.
“--Please don’t say it’s about Ancient Persia.”
Richard Trager, the grown man of 54, had been made to snort by a man no way near the same age as him. The realization made him recoil a bit, his shyness manifesting in the crossing of his arms.
“It’s a historical fiction retelling of the rising and falling of Alexander the Great’s empire…”
“From one of his many deep, great loves.”
Richard smiled, this time speechless.
“You know, Dr. Trager--reading The Persian Boy amidst some of the most aristocratic collection of people is already overt.”
“More or less.”
The first night had been perfect. They ditched the soiree to the ending notes of Love is Found, loosening up their ties and their suit jackets. Then eventually their vests. And then eventually, their clothes altogether.
They burst through Richard’s front door, hands insatiable as Eddie rubbed at Richard’s chest underneath, parting his legs to keep the front door open with his knee. They exchanged tipsy chuckles, Richard taking his ponytail down. Eddie stopped, entranced, watching thick, full, and peppered locks run down the man’s neck and collarbones. It made them both pause.
“Is everything okay, Eddie?”
“Yes…” He came back to reality, calming Richard down with a few pecks. His tone was soft, serious, kissing Richard back against the door. “Everything is perfect. Perfect….”
Richard let Eddie take the lead, enamored. It was as if he was watching himself through an alternative dimension, one full of Richard’s wildest dreams. He led them to his bedroom, letting Eddie toss him on the bed. Richard started to sit up, Eddie’s hands lowering him back onto his elbows. Eddie kissed hungrily at Richard’s hips, unbuckling his belt, his fingers wrapping promptly around Richard’s underwear and pants and down to his ankles.
Then he kissed Richard’s tip--and it sent the man fully sprawled on the bed, his muscles tensing and relaxing as Eddie entered the man immediately to the back of his throat.
“Oh, f-fuck!” Trager squirmed, Eddie, pinning him by his chest, interlocking his and Richard’s free hands. Eddie seemed insatiable, drooling all of his spit onto Richard’s skin before beginning to jerk the pre-cum promptly out of his partner. The spit ran down Richard’s shaft, down his balls, and over his hole, making hairs rise.
“Fuck, Eddie--you’re..you’re going to make me cum…”
“That’s the intention, my dear.”
Richard hadn’t lasted long--a fresh load on his stomach and Eddie’s hands. He turned the man around on his stomach. Half in a trance, Richard reached for Eddie’s pants, wanting to reciprocate, but Eddie paused.
“Not yet, my love…” He whispered. Eddie made a trail of kisses down Richard’s back, beginning to kiss and eat him, making the man’s toes curl as he pressed his face against the bed.
“Fuck, Eddie!” Richard bucked, Eddie, holding him in place and reaching for Richard’s still sensitive cock. It left Richard weak, his grunts turning into whimpers. Richard noted himself. He had heard himself moan plenty of times before, but these were different. These were more than moans. He had whined and whimpered at the feel of his partner until Eddie finally stood up, unzipping his pants, drooled onto Richard and himself, and pressed into Richard.
Richard hissed, Eddie’s hand jerking Richard off again, their hips rocking, making the bed creak with their weight. Eddie had lifted his hips, pressing into Richard’s lower back, making his stroke deeper as their skin slapped together. In between his legs, Richard could see the pool of his semen running past their knees.
Richard started again, into those pathetic whimpers. That deep mixture of pain and pleasure--in which Richard could neither ask for it to stop or go. He wanted it all, yet feared it. Yet inviting it, daring it to go deeper.
“I know, darling I know…” Eddie cheered him softly, continuing the force and pace of his hips. “Look at how beautiful you are beneath me...look at how much you can endure...”
At this time, all of his hair had fallen into his face and over his ears, Eddie pressing into Richard as he marveled at his body, as tight as his body was, pushing his cock out with wet, cum-slicked skin. And finally, Eddie came, easing himself out slowly, cum now on Richard’s lower back, on his skin, and dripping from out of him.
Richard expected the man to get up and leave. Not that he had wanted that, but that’s...that’s what he was used to. He held his arm again, smiling softly, nervously, watching the man as he grabbed his shirt. Richard’s eyes widened when Eddie reached the shirt out towards him. “Are you cold, love?”
Richard took the still-warm shirt, wrapping it around himself. They exchanged smiles as Eddie lay down in bed next to Richard, holding him. God, Richard prayed. Please don’t let this night end…Richard fell asleep to the melody of Eddie’s soft snore. He had fallen. Indisputably, almost damn near desperately in love. Richard never had a chance.
It had been a normal day for Niki Borja. She grabbed her coffee--never caring enough to try anything past what would keep her focused for the rest of the day. She grabbed breakfast, the Mickey D’s sandwich wedged in her mouth now as she boarded the last running 95 bus for the next hour and a half.
She had already planned out her day--she’d go to work, clean the condo, see if she could leave early (given it was a Friday), then maybe take her boys out to the park. On her good days, she could finish cleaning by noon. And Niki Borja was going to have a good day today.
Or at least that’s what she intended.
Between her and the rest of the day laid two heavy equestrian-style doors, customized and dark to pair against the recently renovated loft. She opened the door with a skill that involved doing this so many times before, training her too. It took her putting her keys and phones into her front pockets, transferring the coffee to her other hand, and then using the little strength she could in her weighed-down right hand, to open the door. With her usual impatient push, she had been unprepared for the copper smell on the other side.
“Good morning, Mr. Rick! I hope you had a good weekend--”
Niki for those few moments turned into her mother, cowering her hands from the door and wrapping it firmly around her nose, exclaiming a muffled, “Jesus maldito Cristo!”
Her coffee and her breakfast sandwich dropped flatly against the ground, she cursed to herself like her mother once more as she stepped over the growing hot puddle, finding the nearby door stops with her feet and opening the doors wide. She groaned exhaustedly. She just wanted a fucking break.
There had only been one time where the apartment had smelled like this before--it was the weekend Dr. Trager had returned home from his residency in Italy--and threw a homecoming. And she could have sworn that to be the case again, except the copper smell had remained. Sharp, piscine, and overwhelming. Suffocating, to say the least.
She took a moment to spray the room, opening the windows, taking out the trash, and sighing in frustration when the smell hadn’t dissipated. And it wasn’t until she noticed that she was actively trying to avoid seeing the rest of the apartment that she began to notice how panicked she became with fear.
She called out to the man, knowing deep within herself that she wouldn’t get an answer.
“...Mr. Rick?”
She had been so scared that her Converse felt as if they were melting into the carpet with each step--her knees buckling. She followed the smell, even when she wanted to walk into some fresh air. It was as if she had realized the harsh reality of her situation. Something that clicked for her the moment she realized she was smelling the indescribable.
And when she found the stench, she held her stomach--already realizing that was indeed smelling death. Within the bedroom, she saw blood splattered. And for a moment, that’s all she cared to see.
Slowly turning her head, she prepared herself for the rest in vain. She backed away in fear, covering her mouth in complete disgust and beginning to pray to God.
There had been Richard, or at least what he used to be, first beheaded from his body, his head resting in between what used to be legs. There had been cuts to his chest, something stuffed within those pockets of flesh to resemble breasts. There had been a similar growth to the stomach. Trager had been castrated, his head staring back at Niki with blank eyes that were supposed to resemble the child within the horrific makeshift sculpture.
She forgot she had called--where she had been. For a moment, she forgot that even she was human. It was the 911 operator who brought her back to reality.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
What Niki meant to say, was that there had been a horrible murder. That someone had murdered her boss, and that she stood amid a blood bath. What came out instead was a scream that manifested in her the moment she called his name with no answer. The scream filled the air, coming from the depths of her lungs as the reality of the moment hit her. She screamed until sirens replaced her voice.
