Seekers

Chapter 5 - The Club

Tom arranged to deliver the furniture he'd identified late on Friday. Clive and Paul both arrived to help get things in and arranged and soon had the place looking like a home. Jeff's antique desk fitted into the alcove he'd identified as his 'study' and he'd carefully unpacked his Mac, then all his books, some small mementos of his gymnastic career and his CDs. 

Paul helped him make the bed while Clive went out to fetch a take away dinner for them all with Tom. "Good, you've got sheets that fit." He laughed as he stretched the fitted sheet to tuck it round the mattress.

Jeff grinned. "Came with the bed. None of my stuff would fit this bed. Tom insisted I take everything from the display." He gripped his side of the sheet and pulled it over the mattress, then managed to slip it into place. Smoothing it down with his hands he added, "Nothing I've got would have fitted this. I've only ever had a single bed up to now and this is way more luxurious than my last bed." 

"You slept on a single?" Paul seemed to be considering that. "No lovers?" He grabbed the duvet and began to ram it into the cover. "Sorry, I shouldn't pry. None of my business. Forget I asked." He gave a lopsided grin. "I'm always ruining things before they even begin."

For a moment Jeff hesitated. Then he shook his head. "No need to apologise. No, I didn't have a 'lover' and I still don't." Their hands met as he reached for the duvet. "I'm the one should apologise. Look, at the moment, I don't know my own mind - and until I do it just wouldn't be fair ..."

Paul squeezed his fingers gently. "No, don't apologise. We're friends, remember." He stopped as the sound of the doorbell reached them. "Sounds like supper. I'll go and let them in."

Alone at last Jeff sank into his new bed and wondered how he'd got so lucky. The flat looked and felt fabulous. Tom, Clive and Paul had become great friends and he had to admit that he found Paul's company somehow comfortable, reassuring and, yes, exciting. When he was alone, his thoughts tended to drift toward Paul, and when he was with Paul, his mind was focused on him.

He drifted into sleep. Tom had said they'd collect him in the evening for dinner and the cabaret and he knew he was expected to wear something smart, yet casual. Well, that would have to be his rather daring, by small town standards, leather jeans, a good shirt and a sport coat. He hoped Paul's rather vague promise to try and join them when his gig ended would be met. 

His dreams were restless, but he awoke to sunshine streaming through  gap in the curtains and, having made his customary visit to the toilet, wandered, naked and enjoying it, to the kitchen. It was a glorious morning, so, mug in hand, he opened the sliding doors to his rooftop terrace and stepped into the sunshine to enjoy the view. Yes, life was good, and things were definitely looking up. 

The evening began well. Clive and Tom proved to be fabulous hosts and the dinner was superb. Tom paid the bill and then pushed back his chair. "Come on, we'll have to hurry now, the cabaret starts in half an hour."

Clive stood aside to let Jeff walk ahead and followed. "It's a great show, we think you'll enjoy the dance routines though."

Jeff grinned. "I have a feeling you guys are setting up a little test for me here."

Clive laughed. "You're quick, I'll give you that, but it's not so much a 'test' as an opportunity to show you what you've been missing." He turned to Tom. "Is it a 'theme' night, or are we OK as we are?"

"It's a theme, but we'll be OK with our jeans and jackets." He glanced at Jeff. "You'll have to change yours, but I have one for you in the car." He glanced at Jeff’s soft leather jeans. "Yes, those'll pass muster, but you'll have to use the jacket in the car."

This proved to be a rather interesting 'bomber' style jacket of heavy rubber, but lined and, once on, rather comfortable.

The club wasn't far, but it was in a quiet and well-lit street. At the door they were greeted by a heavily built man dressed in leather, who looked them over with approval. 

"Evening, gents. I see you're properly dressed." He opened the door. "If you've a reservation, Greg will show you to your seats, if not, he'll find you a space I reckon." 

Tom was obviously known and they were guided to a table right at the edge of the small half circular stage by the man Tom greeted as Greg. Jeff had to drag his eyes away from the rubber suit the guy was wearing, he'd never seen anything like it, but, to his surprise, found the thought of wearing such a tight fitting rubber suit very attractive. Around them other tables were occupied by couples or foursomes, everyone in leather or rubber clothing Jeff noted. The waiter appeared, his shiny black rubber tights a stark contrast to the loose white rubber shirt and apron. 

"Your first round. Compliments of the house, gents."

Jeff stared around him, trying to hide the excitement he felt. The scent of the waiter’s, warm latex filled his nose, joining the scent of the rubber jacket he wore. Around them other patrons wore leather or rubber and he had to struggle to conceal his arousal. This place was a complete contrast to what he'd expected. The lighting was soft, the decor discrete even the music was low enough for conversation. He commented, "This is nice. The last place like this I was taken to was loud, dirty and very overrated."

The others laughed. "It does get louder here." Clive sipped his beer. "And it can get rough, but not for long. Megan sees to that. There are the other kind of places, but we avoid them." He paused. "Ah, here comes the compere - sit back, relax and enjoy!" 

Jeff looked at the stage and almost spilled his drink. The man now entering the spotlight was dressed in a tight fitting suit of shiny black rubber. Somehow it made his physique more obvious than it might have been if he'd walked on stage naked. He oozed sexual presence as he smiled, raised the microphone and began his introductory patter.

"Welcome to Rubberdance!" He paused while the audience exploded with catcalls, whistles and applause, his grin wide. He waved a hand. "Like what you see? Wait 'til you see the others." He paused again as the applause erupted. "No poles! No strippers! Just music, song, rubber and dance!" The beat of the music began to pulse, then the sound of a fiddle, and the compere moved aside as four figures, in head to foot rubber, danced onto the stage. Jeff's pulse quickened as he took in the skintight suits, the hoods that completely hid the dancers' faces and the rhythm of the movements. As a dancer himself, he found the music stimulating and the choreography was impeccable. 

The rhythm changed, a more dramatic pulse beginning. Now a fifth dancer joined the four, his rubber suit a metallic silver. The others moved left and right and the silver man took centre stage, his feet skipping steadily to the beat, his movements fluid and exciting as he danced to the edge of the stage, almost to Jeff's seat. For a moment, Jeff's attention was riveted. The silver figure's rubber clad crotch advanced to be displayed barely a yard from his eye. Every detail of the magnificent erection covered by the tight rubber burned itself into his memory. Transfixed, his eyes followed the silver figure as the dance progressed, oblivious of his companions, the other dancers just accompaniment and the rest of the audience just so much background to him.

Time seemed to stand still as the dancers wove their magic, the rhythm that of Irish dance, the energy unbelievable and the sexuality unmistakable. For a moment after it reached its climax and the dance came to a stunning end, there was total silence. Then the club erupted.

The next act was a musical interlude, the players again encased in skintight rubber catsuits and hoods hiding their faces as they played a variety of energetic and exciting music. Then the dancers were back and Jeff was once again transfixed by the leader's outfit and obvious ability. When the show finally wound to its conclusion, Jeff was on his feet applauding with the others, his mind reeling and oblivious of the looks Clive and Tom exchanged as his own met the laughing blue gaze peering at him from within the confines of that exciting silver hood.

As they resumed their seats, Clive nudged Tom. "I think Jeff just got blown away there. Look, he's showing his interest." He winked as Jeff squirmed and tried to adjust his crotch.

Jeff blushed. "That was fantastic, guys. I've never seen anything like it." He swallowed the remains of the drink in front of him. "OK, you win, if this was a test of my preferences ..."

The older men laughed. "Yes, we had a rough idea you'd find this enjoyable." Tom hesitated. "You dance?"

Jeff nodded. "Yes. I used to think I was quite good - but those guys. Wow!" The image of that lithe silver rubber figure dancing filled his memory. Shit, he wasn't going to get much sleep tonight just dreaming about the mysterious dancer. 

Tom and Clive exchanged glances and Clive whispered to his partner, "I don't think he's recognised him."

Tom smiled. "No, I don't think he did, but the boy was dancing for only one person in the audience and it looks like it worked that far."

"Give him time." Clive swallowed his drink. "He needs to find himself properly first."

At home, Jeff made himself some cocoa and wandered onto the terrace, his mind in a whirl. He couldn't get that silver clad figure out of his mind. There was something very familiar about it, but he couldn't identify what it was. A shiver shook him, the night air was cool on his face and bare arms. He adjusted his crotch again, trying to make his aroused member more comfortable. It was hopeless, it wasn't going to relax.

"Fuck you, you stupid idiot. Get a grip, will you." He berated himself. He groaned. "Why? Why can't I be normal? Why does rubber turn me on like this? And why the fuck with guys?" He gulped the cocoa. "Face it, cunt. You're a fucking fag." His hand stroked his erection through the leather of his jeans and he groaned as it erupted. "Oh shit."