We now come to a rather tricky bit. Brandon. Dangerous. Subversive. Nasty. But also very exciting.

The afternoon spent with Jules was wonderful and the evening, I am sure, would have been likewise. But about teatime there was a phone call and Jules told me he would have to leave me alone for the evening. He was terribly apologetic and seemed genuinely regretful. I say `seemed' because there was some doubt in my mind at the time and perhaps there still is.

It was one of his women, the local and current romantic interest. I expect she was a pouting blond with a cock sucker's gob, but I didn't want to know any of the details. She was stranded at the airport and needed the protection and assistance of a man. Silly cow was probably too lazy or too stupid to get back to town on her own. I thought Jules was a mug, but I didn't say so. I was brought up to be a tactful person and pride myself on it. But in truth I hated the bitch for busting up our evening.

Jules was full of kisses and carresses and I couldn't say no to him in anything. Perhaps I am a bit of a mug too.

Jules said I could watch the splendid TV he had in his room and order anything to be sent up. Or I could have dinner in the restaurant and put it down to his account. He would have a word with the manager. No expense spared and he was only sorry he couldn't be there with me. Oh, and when Brandon called in later, probably around seven o'clock, could I explain what had happened, apologise, and say Jules would be in touch tomorrow. And could I be especially nice to him since a lot depended on keeping the guy sweet.

And what about keeping me sweet? was the question uppermost in my mind. But that was Jules. I had to take him as he was.

With a passionate kiss and a long grope he was gone in a flurry and the door banged to behind him.

Now that I was alone however I stopped being a hurt baby and began to appreciate the attractions of my position. I had never had so much under my control as now -- a swish hotel, a great suite with all the conveniences, the amenities there for the asking. And, would you believe, my thoughts began to turn toward the Chinese boy in the lift as well as Brandon, who would be calling later. There was a thing!

If there was any guilt at these naughty imaginings it was soon dispelled by the thought that it was ever so slightly unthinking of Jules to leave me alone. Also I knew that my parents would be appalled if they knew. And this made me feel rather self-righteous.

So, pocketing the key to the suite, I decided to investigate a bit. I had to hunt around (there were eight lifts, all with tight-trousered operatives) before I tracked down my own particular Chinese beauty. The smile was still there, but looking a bit crumpled after a long stretch on duty. I said `hullo' and the smile widened a bit. I stood admiring his arse and shapely legs in their skin tight black silk trousers.

I came out into the lounge and the bloke behind the counter also gave me a smile. Friendly people! This was the one Jules suspected of being gay, so I went up to him, and his smile too widened.

"How may I help you?" came the phoney phrase.

It always makes me want to reply "How about sucking my cock?" But I know these people find it as false as I do. Only doing what they are told by gormless management mugs who know fuck-all.

Actually, close up the guy was quite tasty. I was feeling very naughty so I asked him about the facilities, whether there was a viewing platform on the top floor. He chatted and passed me a few brochures which entailed a certain amount of touching of hands and I began to warm to the guy. Mid-thirties, good turn out; not handsome but nice. He ended up escorting me into the quick snack restaurant and ushered me in with the palm of his hand against the small of my back. He might've only been performing his duties, but I hoped he enjoyed them. Mmmm, I liked this place a lot.

Some of the waiters were very tasty numbers indeed, mostly foreign, mostly young and handsome. Hardly any women staff. I guessed the staff manager must be a queen. Some nice Moroccan bit waited on me and I gave him my most dazzling smiles. This place was going to my head.

But it was all very enjoyable. I never knew such a world existed. There was nothing like this in our bit of suburbia. I wondered how Jules got on in these sort of places -- no wonder he always had some woman in tow; this was the sort of lifestyle they loved, especially the sort of women Jules liked most.

I hung around until the Chinese liftboy hove into sight and then asked him to take me to the viewing lounge at the top of the building: I seem to remember it was called the piazza or some such ridiculous word.

After a while I was the only passenger and I could give the liftboy my full attention. Although `boy' is a daft description since he was older than me and I certainly didn't consider myself a boy any longer.

"You have to work long hours," I observed.

He looked round at me and smiled and I wondered if he spoke English.

"What sort of shifts do you have to do?"

"Twelve hours with hardly a break," he replied, the rictoid smile faltering for a second. "It's bloody murder!"

"Sounds like slave labour to me. Is it good pay?"

For the first time he turned to face me. It made a change from conversing through a mirror like Alice in Wonderland. He was very mmmm in the cutest sort of way and I actually moved to stand beside him. The smile faded and he looked more normal. It must've been an effort keeping that grin up all day. He leaned back against the highly polished woodwork of the swish lift and put his hands behind his back. He was more relaxed now, sensing that I would not be critical.

"The pay is crap," he exclaimed, and I realised that he had a perfect comprehension of colloquial English. "The hours are too long and it's driving me crazy being stuck in this lift all the time. It's like living in a cage."

"So what time does your shift finish?" I asked, sounding him out.

He smiled and was probably, I thought, used to this sort of enquiry from some of the gayer guests.

He looked at his watch, a bright gold thing more like a bracelet that was too big for his delicate wrist. "I think you will be my last fare," he said giving me a stunning direct look. This guy knew what was what, that much was plain.

"Is there a restaurant at the top?"

"Sure. Why, you going to offer to buy me dinner?" He was laughing at me.

"If you like. A coffee at least. Or perhaps a drink. If it's allowed."

"Actually, we're not supposed to get too friendly with the guests. Polite and welcoming, but not over-friendly. But in your case I don't suppose it will matter. Who was the guy I saw you with earlier?"

So he was observant. I was wondering who or what he thought I was.

"My uncle."

"Really your uncle?" It was obvious he thought Jules was an admirer. Perhaps he thought that I was rent!

We exited the lift and that delightful bum with its curved and elegant muscles was before my eyes as we proceeded into a large hallway. My hands were itching to reach out and touch and feel. He had wide shoulders and a slim waist. He called in at a small room where another attendant was just getting into his gear, another dishy boy half into his trousers.

"It's waiting for you" said my Chinese friend, indicating the lift.

"OK sweetie," said the other cheerfully, glancing at me. "Wish you were waiting too." As he said this he rubbed his crotch.

"In your dreams darling," replied the other, blundering against me delightfully as he retreated and closed the door.

I wondered what sort of gay paradise I had fallen into out of an empty sky.

We wandered across the marble-looking floor to the great windows of the viewing platform. We were so high up you could hardly see the street below and a huge expanse of south London was laid before us.

He turned and stared at me, obviously as bemused at our sudden acquaintance as I was. "I'm Lee," he said, and his eyes started to wander over my face, shoulders, chest. It was a quite unabashed summing up. I hoped he liked what he saw. That inane public grin had gone and his full lips had a delightful natural pout.

"Chas," I responded.

"Chas," he echoed and a more natural and more enigmatic smile widened his adorable mouth. "So now you have picked me up, Chas, what are you going to do with me? Most of the punters offer to buy me a drink before they try to get my trousers down." He seemed to think this a great joke and roared a surprisingly deep laugh.

I am afraid I blushed at his directness.

"So you're gay too?"

"Too?" He was echoing me again. "That means you are Chas?"

"Might be if you stick around."

"A proposition!" This guy was a joker but now the smile was turned off. He said, "I'm probably bi and if some rich guy turns up I usually say yes so long as he's not too weird or too ugly." Now he turned to look across the cityscape and seemed wistful.

"Am I weird or ugly?" I asked trying to make it sound light and not as if I was in deadly earnest. I didn't know if I was in earnest, to be honest. But I thought I could easily get the hots for him.

He leant forward to whisper in my ear and our faces touched and his skin was really deliciously cool and soft. "You are neither weird nor ugly, Chas," he muttered. "But nor are you, I should guess, rich."

"Which is to say that you think I can't afford you?"

"So long as you can afford a cup of coffee and a bun, that will do for now."

We went into the restaurant and he duly got his coffee and a very large cream cake and ended up with cream all over those lovely lips. I longed to lick it off, but instead I asked him where he was from, thinking he would say Hong Kong or Malaysia or some such.


"No, before that, silly."

"Dagenham, you dope. I was born in Dagenham. But if you are referring to the slant of my eyes, that comes from my Taiwanese father. Mummy is English, just like you. I am a cross breed, mixed, mixed up." Now he was licking his lips lasciviously with a big pink tongue and winking at me. Then he sat back and stretched those lovely legs out in front of him and flexed his thigh muscles once or twice.

He was perfectly -- chiselled, if that is the word. His curves and outlines were all very definite, especially pre-Raphaelite; nothing Impressionist about him. He looked neat all the time, whatever he was doing. No fuzziness, no cloudiness of thought. Even when he undid the two top buttons on his waistcoat jacket he still looked very orderly. The skin of his throat was unblemished, smooth, perfect.

He was contained within himself, he created his own atmosphere independent of that around him as he sat there picking off small pieces of fluff from his taut coustume, taut from the flexing and reflexing of his shapely skin. In repose the lips were those of Tutankhamen, negroid, Nubian, but undark. Pharaoh of the east epiphanising in the west upon the shores of this too material world, his chariot ascending and descending, from the world of the clouds back again to earth.

Lee Hermes Psychopompus, leader of souls, possessor, at this moment, of my own.

These are the rolls of his royal and mystical titles, many too sacred to be uttered. I am but the herald of his fame and magic. He leads me beside still waters and by the troubled waters he also leadeth me.

He had finished his eating and drinking and for a while looked sleepy. But he soon rallied. "Wanna go up on the roof Chas?"

"Isn't this it?"

"No, right up, above this."

It was not enough that his mirrored chariot had brought me high above the world. We would go higher and he would show me all the kingdoms of this earth. I wanted to stand beside him at the very edge of the precipice.

Etc. Etc. My mind was wandering aimlessly and so I jumped up and out of my mystical reverie of his precious being. "Come on then Mr Lee."

We walked up a further flight of stairs and reached a landing with double doors on which was written PRIVATE; STRICTLY NO ADMITTANCE. As if that wasn't invitation enough! There was no one about and I held his hand. The doors swung back and it was as if we were about to enter the great throne room. We saw the sky above us and the clouds and a few stray gulls weaving in the currents of air over the great metropolis.

And all the litter of the roof of a great high building -- lift shafts, ventilation outputs, great cupboards for heavens knows what, balustrades, hoisting machinery.

Still holding my hand, he led me to the very edge of the abyss. I am not too fond of heights but his presence and touch calmed and soothed me. There was a low wall as high as my thighs but nothing else between us and death. I shrank back and he laughed and hugged my shoulders as if we had known each other for ever. Up there we were like twin gods, Dioscuri of this palace-hotel, presiding divinities.

Lee's lift-boy costume was hot and irritating and he took it off and threw it in a corner. What a way to treat your official uniform I thought, but he didn't seem to care. Under it he was wearing just a sleeveless yellow vest and I noticed for the first time what great arms he had and could tell at once that he liked the gym.

He had squatted down beside one of the pillars and I sat beside him staring at him with pleasure. Lee was one of those people (gym-enthusiasts often are) who love to be admired.

I said, rather gormlessly, "You have great arms," and I reached out my hand to feel the smooth hairless strong muscled flesh.

He didn't bat an eyelid as I sat there stroking him. He was smiling, looked out across the landscape like a cat that pretends to ignore you, stared at me and looked at my hands upon himself.

"You trying to seduce me?" he asked.

"Would I succeed?"

"Well, let's see. You're young healthy and good-looking. Looks like you get plenty of exercise. You ain't got no dough, only your uncle's, but I guess you wouldn't have to buy me."

His hand was on my thigh and he kept smiling so I leaned forward and kissed him. He let me do it, right on those pouting curved lips, but he didn't respond just took in the agreeable adulation. I looked at him, he at me. He was still smiling and he hadn't moved. I reached around him, holding his arms in both my hands, feeling the accentuations of the silken muscles. My mouth was against his fleshy lips again and he felt very good. This time he opened up just a little and I thought I caught the breath of a sigh against my cheek. The smile was now a big grin.

He ducked into a roofed section that was up there, like a corridor, one of the pillars of which he had been leaning against. There was quite a long vista of diminishing arches and the wind blew through it. He took off his lift-boy trousers and threw them to the floor. Underneath was just a skimpy pair of pants. He leaned back against one of the pillars staring sideways at me as I watched him. His legs and thighs were as beautiful as his arms, completely smooth, like silk and with gently swelling muscles.

I was eating him with my eyes, astonished at his boldness and the suddenness of his actions. He leaned his head back, staring at the roof, his neck and face in profile.

He broke the silence first, turning his face towards me slowly, dreamily. "You like what you see?" he asked.

"You know I do, you tart," I laughed.

I stood in front of him. We were exactly the same height. His glance now was no longer bold but furtive, half afraid. I could see the outline of his cock and balls through the thin white material of his pants.

I lent forward until my body was against his. I put out my hands to pull down his pants, but he restrained me and said "No, they stay on."

He undid and loosened my jeans and pushed them off my thighs until they fell around my ankles. Then he pulled me to him again and I could feel his hard cock through his pants. I still had my boxers on, black and purple stripes like the pair Uncle Jules had once given me. The steady breeze was just a little chill.

My hands were on his lovely smooth shoulders and the tops of his arms, carressing them. He would not stop staring at me, as if he wanted to catch every passing emotion on my face, as if reading an enthralling book.

He was hard but seemingly wished to do nothing about it. This stillness was turning me on. I couldn't help slowly grinding my cock and thighs against his through both our pairs of pants. The silky feel of my own pants made me think more and more of Jules. Lee did not respond, just stood there and now and then threw back his head to look at the ceiling, then again back to his reading of my emotions.

His eyes were now absolutely black, also a reminder of Jules. I was very near to coming from the friction and I told him so.

"That's wonderful," he said, holding me closer. "You just come when you are ready."

As if he were in a sexual trance, enjoying every minute but with no thought of reciprocation. It was so sexy I had to hold myself back from cummin too soon. The feel of it was like a slowly rising tide, heavy but slow.

Our mouths were together. "Can't hold it any longer Lee."

"Good. Come for me Chas." As if he couldn't come for himself!

My cummin was a slow delight, flooding my pants. He could feel it and took my face in both his hands and looked at me as I ejaculated, as if he wanted to feel the delight of it only through me.

"Mmmm, Chas," he smiled. "You have cum a lot and it's so warm."

It was warm but rapidly cooling in the breeze. "What about you?" I asked. "What can I do for you?"

He looked at me and smiled dreamily. "You have done enough," he said. "More would be too much."

"You must be saving yourself for later."

"Something like that. Anyway I better go and have a proper meal and get some sleep now. I am feeling whacked."

If you have any comments they will be welcome at charbry@supanet.com. My thanks to all those people who have let me know what they thought of this.

There is also my rather ancient website at http://www.users.globalnet.co.uk/~emenos/

for anyone crazy enough to want more.