It was a typical late July afternoon in Livingston. For the past several years, following my Friday work hours, I liked to unwind in the lounge at the Hilton. It was a business hotel and was full Monday through Thursday but by Friday afternoon most had checked out and gone home. So it was quiet and I liked it like that . Eddie Delancy played the piano, Anna served the tables and Leo was the bar back. He had a thousand horrible jokes and shared a few each week. All in all it was nice and I enjoyed it.
This particular afternoon there were two hard charging, corporate ladder climbing young men who were talking too loud sitting at the bar. I had come to hear Eddie not them.
A late forties blond in a grey knee length skirt, a Kelly green silk blouse, topped by a darker grey jacket, carrying a Coach briefcase came in and sat three tables over. In my mind had she opened a couple of the top buttons, raised that skirt two or three inches and let her hair down she would have been quite hot. But that's just the way my mind works.
Two tables over to my left a mid-fiftyish businessman sat listening to Eddie drinking Palm beer from a snifter. His dark blue pin-stripe suit looked tailored and his shirt cuffs were monogrammed. His pale blue silk tie matched the color of his eyes and hung loosely around his collar. His hair was closely cropped and mostly grey. A very well put together package.
At 4:30 Eddie took a smoke break, through the bar out the back door of the kitchen to the area where all the empty beer and liquor boxes were stacked. On the way out he and the gentleman to my left had a brief conversation and a hand shake. Then he stopped by my table.
"Dude...you're looking exceptionally well today."
We did that man hug thing and exchanged a few laughs. Then he was gone, just waving at the business lady in the grey skirt who was absorbed in a magazine of some sort and then ignoring the two junior execs and headed outside.
"This guy plays well," said the fellow to my left.
"Yes he does. He's a bit of a local legend. Been around a while. He leaves here and goes to the yacht club from eight to eleven."
He stood and walked toward my table and extended his right hand.
"George Taylor."
He said. I stood, took his hand.
"Larry Mercer. Want to join me?"
"Sure. Thanks." He grabbed his drink and took the seat directly next to mine.
"Traveling through? " I asked.
"Mm mm..." he said while taking a sip of his dark beer. "Cleveland, Ohio. Computer nerd. "
"Local. Museum director."
"Oh? Which one?"
"Musicians Hall of Fame."
"Wow. Then you know the piano player pretty well."
"Yeah..we've been around." I chuckled a little.
Eddie and I grew up together. We were in the same Cub Scout pack, little league ball teams, high school marching band and first sex partner. From sixth grade through the ninth we explored each other's bodies learning first hand about kissing, masturbation and oral sex. In our sophomore year he added rock and roll to his piano repertoire and the girls discovered him and then suddenly he and I didn't even run in the same circles anymore. Which was ok since I had a band too and a girl friend.
I hear Eddie still likes a man every now and then, but he has fucked every tennis mom, soccer mom and socialite in town. He and I have never mentioned our sexual beginnings.
"....I'll be flying out Sunday."
George had been talking but I had checked out thinking about my sexual history with Eddie.
We had been sitting there for an hour and a half and had had three beers including seven dollar Palms that George put on his tab. The conversation had been friendly but typical bar talk...baseball, national and American League differences, travel stories etc.
As we sat there I kept looking at his eyes...greyish blue that were almost transparent. Occasionally our knees touched under the table and at first we jerked them away. but as time wore on, if they happened to touch, we left them. And the occasional reach out and touch an arm or shoulder to make a point.
As Eddie wrapped up for the day, Anna brought our tabs and George took and paid them both.
"Thanks, man. You didn't have to do that."
"It's not often I get conversation. It was my pleasure."
We both stood to leave and George leaned in a little close and said: "I've got some real good weed in my suite if you want to come up for a bit."
"Sure." We headed toward the exit, down the hall, through the lobby, turning left to the elevators that bypassed the bottom floors and went directly to the top flours.
During the short ride up we stood almost shoulder to shoulder, our little fingers touched, although the elevator was empty. No words were spoken. My heart was doing its dance. My breathing was growing shallow. My cock was getting hard. I am going to be so disappointed if this guy doesn't fuck me tonight.
He entered the key card into the door revealing a living room with a view of the city.
"Nice," I said. He disappeared into the master space returning a few minutes later without his jacket and carrying a small humidor in his hand.
"Here, sit." He motioned for me to join him in curve section of the sprawling couch.
He opened the leather covered box which revealed a neatly strapped, small water pipe, little pill bottles full of different types of marijuana and a pouch of papers in a kit obviously designed for travel.
He chose a couple pinches from the middle bottle.
"Here, I think you'll like this." I took the pipe but he pulled a gold butane lighter and lit it for me. I inhaled deeply, passed the pipe and leaned back into the comfort of the oversized leather couch. I exhaled. "Thanks," I said as he offered me the pipe again. I answered as he offered me the pipe a second time and leaned back on the couch. Our heads side by side. We sat there what seemed like hours with our knees touching ...our pinky fingers lightly rubbing. Finally I made a bold step and moved my hand over on top of his knee. I was so turned on but we were both a little high, so we sat there...doing the seduction dance.
