Dating Rules and Pretty Fools Chapter 3

Dating Rules And Pretty Fools – Ch. 3

By Laura S. Fox

Gay Erotica

Intended for Mature Audiences Only

This story will contain graphic depictions of sexual intercourse, strong language and it is not meant for readers who are less than 18 years of age.

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Chapter Three – Serious Business

The merchandising opportunity had fallen through. Not that it had been that much of an opportunity, Otis thought as he began calculating his ins and outs, seeing how the people who were supposed to give him work rarely called him. One of them had commented on his looking like he couldn't lift a box if his life depended on it, and that had hurt because it wasn't true. Maybe he wasn't fit for heavy lifting, but surely he could lift a box. Or even two.

That left him with his part-time job at the restaurant and the dog-walking business. Otis liked the sound of that. Dog-walking business. It meant that it was justifiable to take it seriously, and Otis found himself a lot more at ease in the company of Fidos and Buddies than in that of humans. He was so lucky that Mr. Smith had promoted him to waiting tables. It was enough to make ends meet already, and Missy had also assured him that he'd start raking in more than decent tips. So far, he had gotten a few, but he had only been in his new position for a few days. It felt rather good, and he silently thanked his grandma for teaching him good manners. So far, from what he could gather, he had gotten the biggest tips from his elderly customers. Just like his grandma, they appreciated a young man who knew how to behave without being rowdy or obnoxious like so many youths today (as grandma used to say), and that Otis could understand.

Well, it wasn't only the elderly part of their customer base leaving him tips. There was also Jackie. The boyish customer in the well-cut suit appeared relentless in his pursuit of arm candy, although it left Otis feeling rather odd. Maybe Jackie was the kind who liked unusual things and unusual people. Definitely, since he was frequenting a restaurant that appeared to cater more to people of a certain age, that was a bit odd about him. That evening, when he and Otis had talked for the first time, Jackie had left Missy a generous tip, but only after having her promise that she would share it with Otis. And then, the following day, he had appeared again and, while Missy refused to send Otis over to take his order, he hadn't gotten mad and had just looked at him from afar. The glances Jackie threw his way, while indulging in his expensive food, made Otis go through the stages of an unknown illness. At times, he felt hot all over and, at others, he sensed a cold gripping him as he started to sweat.

Jackie left good tips, according to Missy. In Mr. Smith's book, he was a good customer. Missy had started to mellow toward him, as well. She had laughed at something he said at least once, and Otis had noticed that it was her pleasant, good-natured one, not a fake one. That meant that she was beginning to like Jackie, at least a little.

In the meantime, Otis had struggled to keep clear of his handsome neighbor. After all, the last conversation they had, things hadn't gone down too well. Otis had managed to snatch one piece of advice from Hudson, but it now looked like an appetizing morsel that left him wanting more. One way or another, he had to find a way to apologize properly for spying on his neighbor – it had the be the spying that had made things sour so fast – and then make a new attempt at obtaining new advice from someone as accomplished in the dating sphere as Hudson appeared to be.

Only those young men didn't appear to be there to date Otis's neighbor. Hudson had mentioned his work... but he hadn't cared to disclose what that was all about. There had been a camera, and some objects hanging on a wall... Otis closed his eyes and tapped the pen against his lips as he struggled to remember. He recalled something that looked like a leash, and another object that appeared to be a muzzle meant for dogs. And the camera, of course. However, none of those frequenting Hudson's apartment appeared to be pet owners. That left Otis more puzzled than ever. There had to be something else. Without a moment's hesitation, he began searching for other uses of muzzles and leashes on the Internet. And it only took him a few quite interesting answers from the bots roaming the vast virtual world to make him close the browser and turn his phone with its face down.

Was Hudson into that sort of thing? Otis shuddered as his mind wandered. Just imagining himself wearing a leash and coming to rest his chin on Hudson's knee, his tongue lolling out, waiting for a treat, made his entire body tremble in the most impossible ways. He lay on his back, and placed both hands on his belly, waiting for the trembling to fade. Before, he had thought that his neighbor was out of his league, looks-wise and everything, but now, he had confirmation that was true. He would never be able to assume the kind of alternative lifestyle the Internet had just explained to him, where leashes and muzzles were not used on pets.

It would be better if he didn't think about his neighbor so much. Otis decided that he would do everything tonight not to think of Hudson at all. His brain needed a breather, obviously, because all night he dreamed about tattooed arms closing around him and impossible heat scorching his skin.

***

"How did you get those?" Hudson questioned as he took the young man's hands in his and turned them slowly. The chafing was bad. There were scars and scabs there, which meant that whoever had done that to him hadn't cared about letting him heal. Or was it a sign that his latest model preferred to torture himself?

"You know," the reply came. "The usual way." He drawled the words while wedging his knee between Hudson's legs and looking up.

"Oh, yeah? And what's that?" Hudson continued while taking in the marks on the thin wrists and making mental notes about the human being in front of him.

He was nineteen, he called himself Jasper – which Hudson suspected to be a fake name – and he looked like someone whose innocence had been robbed from him some time ago. His washed out looks – blond hair, pale skin, eyes of such a light blue they looked watery – didn't make him stand out as far as appearance went, but the languid way he carried himself sent the right message. He was available and willing.

"Can I blow you?" Jasper, most probably fake Jasper, whispered and freed his hands to palm Hudson's crotch.

"No need for that," Hudson said, moving away. He should ask his captain for a serious bonus after this; he hadn't had a proper erection in days. The pictures from the case file were haunting his dreams. And he had thought himself tough, capable of stomaching most anything. This time, it looked like there was a piece of him waiting to be snatched by the darkness of that world.

"I won't ask for extra," Jasper whined. "You're paying well."

Hudson ignored him and took his seat on a chair behind the camera. "It might come as a surprise to you," he said, crossing one leg over the other at the ankle, "but I don't fuck my models."

"Are you sure you're in the right business, man?" Jasper asked, trying to hide how hurt he was that his overture had met such a blunt refusal. "I mean, all the guys into this stuff," he gestured vaguely at the walls, "fuck. Don't tell me you don't have a working wiener or something weird like that."

Wiener. That was the type of thing a kid would say. Hudson consistently asked his models for their IDs, but he had seen so many fake ones so far that it had turned mostly meaningless. In the case of the age-ambiguous fellow in front of him, he had every reason to believe that he was dealing with a runaway. The accusation, however, stung more than it should. Hudson had no issues with his equipment, ever. Now, it looked like he was going through some old-age crisis, and he was several good decades too early for that.

"I happen to have all I need at home." As he said the words, the flash of a singular blue eye, its iris rimmed with black, crossed his mind.

"Oh, really? What is he like?" Jasper asked and crossed his arms.

"What other kind of work do you do?" Hudson asked abruptly. Just thinking of Otis in front of this messed-up youth made him feel dirty. And why was he thinking of his neighbor as if he was the imaginary boyfriend? He needed to get out more, probably, he thought with grim humor.

"I can do everything," Jasper bragged, opening his arms wide. "I hustled on the way here, you know."

"Anything since you got here?" Hudson asked. "Has anyone approached you with some proper offer?"

Jasper took his interest as something else. He offered a toothy smile that must have looked cute in his mind. It only made Hudson pity the young man more. "You know you can have me all for yourself, daddy."

Hudson could only do this much not to roll his eyes. He had just turned thirty. But probably, for young men like the one he was looking at now, he looked old enough to be called that. Would he look the same to Otis? Would he think the same type of stupid shit? No, Otis, despite his oddities, appeared to have an unusual kind of intelligence.

And he was doing it again, letting his mind wander to his strange, beautiful neighbor while he had a job to do, and one that required all his attention and everything he had, his soul included. "You're into daddies?" he asked, forcing himself to smile. "What kind?"

Jasper seemed to understand that Hudson's interest was only professional, so he straightened his back. "The kind that pays, you know?"

"I see. And have you found some lucrative business so far?"

Jasper narrowed his eyes. "You think I'm lame. You think I can't find men to pay for my ass and mouth. That's why you're asking."

"Yeah, that's why I'm asking," Hudson said in a level tone, forcing his smile into a smirk.

Jasper huffed in annoyance. "I'll have you know that I'm already working."

"Oh, yeah, where?"

There was only a short moment of hesitation, and Hudson grinned more, showing his teeth. Jasper relented. "The Bouncing Bunny. I suppose a family man like you doesn't go there. But it's got class," he argued, as if he was being contradicted in some way. "And customers pay big bucks to have us boys all to themselves."

All right. That was one trashy venue to look into then. He wasn't crazy to send anyone to Watkins, not unless he found someone he hoped would infiltrate that organization successfully and that he could control from afar. And, while Jasper fit the bill, with his lost innocence and wan smile, and the desperation shining in his eyes, he wouldn't send him to the chopping block, either.

However, Watkins was bound for a little visit. Hudson was curious about what was on offer. "The Bouncing Bunny, huh? I might try it out," he said.

That appeared to confuse Jasper. "But I'm right here. You don't think that there are prettier boys than me there, do you?"

"And if I do? You said the place's got class," Hudson mirrored his words from earlier. He was cruel on purpose.

Blotches of red appeared on the pale skin. "You're an asshole. I'm not going to do anything for you." He got up and grabbed his jacket.

All for the better. Hudson didn't care too much about his current fake job. He had selected several sets of pics so far to update the site and make it look like an alive and well-to-do place, but he didn't want to have possibly underage strays undressing for him and his camera. That also meant that The Bouncing Bunny was going to get a new prospecting customer and soon. If all the boys there looked as young as Jasper, he had a little tip to offer to the right department. However, he needed to see if The Bouncing Bunny was part of the human trafficking ring or not.

***

It hadn't worked at all, Otis thought grimly as he walked back home. The restaurant wasn't very far from his apartment building, and he liked the exercise, regardless of the weather. He had tried to think less of Hudson, but quite the opposite had happened. It hadn't helped that Jackie hadn't been there tonight, as usual, to serve as a distraction. It baffled Otis to the extreme that so much of his mental space was inhabited by his neighbor. Maybe it was all because he had unfinished business with the man. In life, one needed to have guts; he had read that exact thing somewhere, but he didn't recall where. And this type of situation required guts.

He would knock on his neighbor's door tonight. He would apologize again for the spying, and then he would offer payment for the dating advice he needed. Was Hudson expensive? As someone who had just come into a little bit of money, Otis thought it right to provide himself with a little extravagance. Of course, there was the matter of not exactly knowing his neighbor's rates when it came to that kind of thing, but maybe they could work something out, like business partners. Yeah, that sounded about right.

And, before he lost all his courage, he decided to do it right now. As grandma used to say, no moment like the present, and there was also that nice quote she used about the present being a gift. That was a gift Otis was planning on putting to good use tonight.

He decided to take the stairs instead of the elevator, and by the time he reached the landing on the fifth floor, he was already breathless. However, the restless energy that had propelled him into action was now a bit subdued, so that he could control his thought-mouth coordination when talking to Hudson.

He paced the landing a few times, determined to get his breathing under control before doing what he was there for. Once he decided he no longer sounded like he had run a marathon, he stepped in front of 505 and knocked. There was a chance that Hudson wasn't home, and that would be a tad disappointing, especially since he worried that his newfound courage might deprecate before he got the chance to try again.

He was still lost in thought when the door opened in front of him. Hudson was there, right in front of him, and the way he looked rendered Otis speechless. He wasn't wearing a shirt and that left his chest bare. The beautifully shaped pectorals made Otis's mouth go dry and, to escape them, he moved his eyes lower, over the well-defined abdomen, only to have them come to rest on two symmetrical tattoos engraved over the external oblique muscles. They represented some sort of gun, the barrels pointing at the V the lower abs were making at a slanted angle. Otis felt a new kind of terror flaring inside his mind. He couldn't tear his eyes away. They were glued there, while his mind was supplementing the details that were still hidden to the naked eye by low-cut blue jeans, hanging over sexy hips.

"You have more tattoos," he whispered.

Hudson sighed, like it pained him even to talk to Otis. "Are you here for an inventory of my tattoos? And my eyes are up here."

Otis finally managed to unglue his eyes from the sight of those gun tattoos and looked Hudson in the face. "Do you need an inventory of your tattoos? I wouldn't mind."

Hudson laughed and crossed his arms, leaning against the door jamb. "Why are you here, Otis?"

"Right." Otis reached into his pocket and took out the tip money he had collected over the last few days. "As you can see, I have come into a little bit of money. Now, I can pay."

Hudson blinked once and then frowned, although the corners of his lips curled upward, a clear sign that he couldn't be mad. "For what?"

"Dating advice."

***

Hudson had been killing time before the opening of The Bouncing Bunny, and the last thing he'd been expecting was to see his nosy neighbor at his door. And now, Otis was there, handing him a few neatly folded bills with both hands and leaning forward, like a Japanese businessman offering his card. This wasn't a good time. In one hour, he'd be out the door, heading over to a shady venue that probably exploited youths who didn't have anywhere to go or were unable to fend for themselves, young men who sold their bodies like they were nothing. And now, he had this young man standing there, so unlike all the men that had visited his apartment over the last few days.

It wasn't a good idea to have Otis over. No, not a good idea at all. However, some of the weariness that had been growing in him since he had taken over the case seemed to lift the moment his eyes met that singular amazing blue eye. Without thinking twice, he moved out of the door and gestured for Otis to follow. "Come on in, then."

Otis moved past him and Hudson closed the door behind them, not before looking – force of habit – up and down the corridor for any sign of suspicious strangers.

"So, what do you want to know?" he asked.

Otis sat gingerly on the sofa, but only after Hudson insisted. "About dating. I can pay." He was still holding out the neatly folded bills.

"Put that back in your pocket. I'm not charging for this. But, first of all, let me get this clear. What makes you think I could give you dating advice?"

"You date a lot," Otis pointed out, as if it were some obvious fact that Hudson wasn't aware of.

He actually dated very little. Ever since making detective, he hadn't paid much attention to dating anyone. Hooking up, yeah, he did that, but getting involved with someone? That hadn't been in the cards for a long time.

"What exactly makes you think that?" Hudson was standing, but at a fair distance, so as not to startle the strange, beautiful creature sitting on his sofa. However, it appeared that even so his mere presence was tangling up Otis's speech. The words coming out of the pretty mouth that made him think that a term like Cupid's bow was aptly applied were a stuttered mess.

It didn't take a genius to realize that Otis was ogling him. He was trying not to, but the way he bit his bottom lip, turning his eyes away only to move them back was so endearing that Hudson felt something akin to a wave of pleasant sensations moving through his chest.

"You are comfortable with other men," Otis finally explained.

"And you're not?" Hudson asked and moved closer, drawn to the pretty man in front of him.

Otis shook his head slowly, while his only visible eye remained glued to Hudson.

Hudson smiled and put one hand on Otis's head, running his fingers through the silky hair, marveling at the strange contrast between the dark roots and the rest of it. Otis stared at him, his lips parted, moist and inviting. What would it take to have him? Hudson wondered. What would it take to scare him off, as he should?

The fascinating blue eye blinked slowly, so slowly that it seemed unnatural. Hudson felt enthralled beyond reasonable thought. He tipped Otis's chin, caressing it and then leaned over. He closed his eyes as he brushed his lips against the soft mouth waiting for him. There was no resistance, just a sort of startled passivity. Hudson waited against himself to be pushed away, but, when nothing happened, he moved his tongue to taste the pretty lips properly. A small soft moan escaped Otis's mouth, and Hudson took it as an invitation. He cupped the blond head with one hand to help himself into that maddening kiss.

Otis tasted amazing. Hudson wanted more—

He almost stumbled and fell on his ass when he was pushed away. Otis rushed out of the room and then the front door opened and slammed shut, while hurried steps faded away.

He looked around, a bit startled and confused. What on earth was he doing, flirting with his neighbor? Then, he winced as he felt the not-so-familiar-lately straining in his pants. He grabbed his crotch and groaned. "Are you fucking kidding me?" he asked, his words bouncing back to him in the empty apartment.

For days, he had looked at attractive men in all kinds of sexy outfits and getups, or wearing nothing at all, and his dick had remained as limp as if it served no particular purpose but hanging around like an old wino at a seedy bar. And now? It was up and about only from a mostly innocent kiss.

Hudson increased the grip on his erection until the itch went away. He had work to do; getting hard over his pretty neighbor was not part of it.

***

Otis clenched his hand into a fist over his chest. His heart was hammering. He was sweating so much that his shirt clung to his back, and his cheeks were burning in shame. What had just happened? Why? His brain struggled within the confines of his skull, searching for a way out. Was that what a real kiss felt like? And people weren't instantly dying or combusting from them? How was it possible?

Without actually doing any thinking, he began undressing, decided that he needed a cold shower. His entire body was burning. He stepped under the spray and gasped when he felt the water on his skin. The shock alone helped him focus a little. He put both hands on the wall and stayed there.

Hudson, his neighbor – what was his last name? – had just kissed him. Otis touched his lips briefly. There was nothing left there, but Otis couldn't shake off the overwhelming sensations washing over him, not entirely. He let his forehead rest on the cool tile wall and took deep breaths.

His very handsome, very sexy neighbor, had kissed him. Did he kiss all the men coming into his apartment? What kind of work did he do, again? Otis squeezed his eyes shut, but it wasn't helping. His imagination worked in unbecoming ways. Otis pressed between his legs; his neighbor made him have sex thoughts, strange thoughts that involved him spread naked on the man's sofa, wearing nothing except for maybe one of those leashes on the wall. Hudson would bring a hand to caress his back slowly until he reached lower.

That was just as far as he could go. Otis was only dimly aware of his breathing growing ragged, harsher, as the tension in his body gave in. The cold water carried everything away, even the signs of that shameful release. He shuddered, his eyes still close. Hudson should never know that he had been thinking of him like that. It was wrong; Otis knew it, and yet, he couldn't bring himself to feel bad about it. His body trembled for a while, first from the slowly fading eddies of pleasure, and then from how cold he felt.

He turned off the water and walked back into the room, using a towel to dry his hair and rub it against his skin. He needed to be careful about not catching cold, especially now that he had just gotten a promotion at work.

That had been a kiss, he thought, as he lay on the bed, his arms spread out to his sides, his eyes on the ceiling. "Grandma, someone kissed me today," he whispered, as his cheeks began to burn. Of course, he wouldn't tell her about what that kiss did to him, but he could tell her something else. "It was like nothing I've ever felt in my life. It was amazing."

***

Finding The Bouncing Bunny hadn't been an easy feat. The place wasn't listed anywhere, Internet research hadn't produced much, and if those weren't signs that something was very wrong about the place, Hudson didn't know what else it could be. However, his street smarts didn't let him down. He knew how he looked, with his tattoos and rough appearance. He had led a different kind of life before becoming a detective, running wild, doing whatever he believed would make him feel free until, quite soon, he had come to the realization that so-called freedom was overrated.

Asking here and there as he walked through rundown neighborhoods finally brought him to the front of what looked like a door leading into a cave. It was quite apropos; shady dealings weren't meant for sunlight. He entered without being challenged by anyone, but once he was inside a heavyset man on the north side of two hundred and fifty pounds put a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, pal."

Hudson took in the long stage that was probably meant for some type of striptease entertainment. There was no one dancing in skimpy clothes on the elevated dais at the moment. There were very few clients, too, and they were all nursing drinks.

He waited for a moment to reply to the brute palming his shoulder just enough to prove that he was someone people didn't usually mess with. "Hi," he said and turned his head to face the man. "I've heard good things about this place," he added. "Although it looks kind of empty."

"You here for boys?" the brute asked.

Straight to the point. Hudson nodded.

"They don't happen until later. Go to the bar. Drink."

What a pleasant welcome, Hudson thought dryly and obeyed. This kind of place was probably concealing its usual source of income by providing outrageously expensive drinks to the patrons. He took a place at one of the tables around the stage and waited as his eyes began scanning his surroundings.

***

A couple of hours later, and what would count as an enormous expense as far as drinks went – Hudson had chosen the path of moderation while trying not to come across as frugal – the show started rolling in front of his eyes. The boys, because they could hardly be called men, presented themselves with languid moves that appeared to whet the appetite of those watching at a snail's pace. Hudson pondered. He had gotten into the place without any problem. That meant that the owners who ran the club weren't worried about the police. It also meant that, most probably, they had some solid fake ID business helping them, to prove that their employees were of legal age. That was one theory. Hudson was all the more intrigued.

"Hey, family man," someone called for him. Jasper stretched on his belly and came level with Hudson's eyes. "I thought you were too good for the likes of me."

Hudson smiled and waved a bill in front of the young man, watching how his eyes followed it avidly. "I thought I'd try it out. Say, what's the usual MO around here? Who do I ask for a special lap dance or something?"

Jasper pouted but grabbed the bill from Hudson's hand, putting it carefully into his skimpy underwear. "You could have had me for free. Don't tell me you want to pay now."

"Maybe I'm here for the atmosphere," Hudson joked. "How about you and a friend? How does that sound?"

Jasper turned his head, and it took Hudson only a moment to realize that he was searching for someone with his eyes. "I'll go ask and arrange something," he said, all business-like. And then, as if he had just remembered that he was supposed to be in this for pleasure, too, he offered Hudson the same toothy grin as before. Just like then, it was lackluster, and only a sign that something important had been lost some time ago.

The brute from before came to escort him down a long hallway, his attitude somewhat deferential now that Hudson was a paying customer. "Do you like'em young?" he joked and neighed like a horse.

"The younger, the better," Hudson said with a shrug.

"We got all kinds here," the brute said and opened the door to a red room, in which a round bed was placed in the middle with a couple of chairs around it. Despite the shocking crimson color, upon a closer inspection, the appointments appeared cheap as if they had been shopped for at a discount store for used things.

Hudson made a show of trying the bed springs and nodded as if he was satisfied with it. He had his back to the brute and wasn't in the least surprised when the man grabbed his arms and began searching his pockets. "Hey, man, what the hell?" he protested for show.

"A photographer? Like for newspapers and shit?" the brute asked.

"No. I'm an artist," Hudson said with self-importance. "Erotic photography."

"Is anyone paying for it?"

"Yes."

"So, you here to take photos of them boys?"

"Yes. I will pay."

"You be damn sure you pay," the brute said and pushed him away. Then, he pushed the stolen card into Hudson's chest. "But no funny business. No newspapers and shit. We don't need that kind around."

"I'm not a reporter." He was someone much worse than that for the kind of business they ran at The Bouncing Bunny. But he wasn't keen on volunteering that information.

The brute seemed convinced. "Well, enjoy yourself, photographer. No funny business," he repeated and wagged his finger at Hudson.

Hudson put his hands up and offered a grin full of teeth. "No funny business," he promised.

TBC

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