Goos or Gander

His shaving finished and having spent several ritualistic moments admiring his face and the frosting effect of his blond-blended-into-auburn curly hair in his bathroom mirror in the Savannah, Georgia, East Hall Street Victorian mansion, twenty-four-year old Andy Towson’s attention was brought back down to earth by the sound of the car horn from the parking pad in back. Andy’s bedroom and bath were on the back of the house. His wife’s bedroom and bath were one floor down and on the front. That separation pretty much reflected where their three-year marriage had gone. It was something they had accepted from the beginning, having gone into the marriage with separate needs from being married to each other.

Not that this was a different marriage arc from Sherrie Guilford’s earlier marriages. Sherrie, the owner of two iconic Savannah restaurants, Sherrie’s and Guilford’s, a local celebrity, and a national cookbook best-seller, admitted to being forty-two but undoubtedly was years older. She liked having boytoys, but, like Elizabeth Taylor, publicly declared that she wanted to keep it on the up and up by marrying them before bedding them. As with Andy, she needn’t even bed them often as long as they looked really good escorting her to events.

She didn’t marry them for very long, though, and her time married to Andy had actually been longer than for most. Like most of the others, Andy had been working as a waiter at Sherrie’s on Barnard Street when they met. He was studying the fine arts at the Savannah College of Art and Design—SCAD—at the time and putting himself through college by waiting tables. He was a damn fine artist and had works in area galleries. Marrying Sherrie had moved him out of the restaurant and she was paying his graduate-study bills. He wanted her to continue doing so, but the prenup he had signed necessitated him living on a short leash until a divorce settlement.

Some of Andy’s art involved camera work, and when he’d stopped working at the restaurant, he picked up part-time work for a law firm photographing insured property from jewelry to houses. He was a guy who liked to keep in great shape, so he was a volunteer fireman for the SCAD Number Nine W. Henry Street Fire Station, as well. The fire station was south of the large Forsyth Park and Sherrie’s East Hall Street mansion was east of the park. Andy could make it to the station in less than ten minutes when he was home.

Andy was quite good publicity for the fire department. He was so well-built, handsome, and sexy that he’d made the cover of the department’s jazzy beefcake calendar the last two years running.

And the reason Andy wanted to stay in great shape as well as the reason he chaffed at being on Sherrie’s short leash until their marriage took its course and he got a payoff in the settlement was that Andy was a guy’s guy—a gay top. He could say he was actually bi, as he didn’t really mind fucking Sherrie a few times a month and could get off on that. But he much preferred fucking men. Since he’d seen there was a finish line for his marriage, though, to keep his legal position as strong as possible, he’d kept himself celibate where other men were concerned. It hadn’t been easy, though.

What rankled with him was that he suspected Sherrie wasn’t holding back. No matter what she publicly said about not bedding them before wedding them, He was sure she already was grooming her next husband, a twenty-one-year-old by the name of Matt, who was a waiter at her Guilford’s restaurant on West Liberty Street. Her trip-to-the-altar pattern had become quite clear, as was her need to trap them younger as she got older.

If he could just catch her and Matt in bed together and photograph them, that would go a long way to neutralizing the prenup he’d signed.

The car horn he’d heard blare at the back of the house, played to that possibility. He went to the window and looked down into the parking area at the side of the pool in the backyard, where the cute young pool boy, a mixed black-white named Caleb, was cleaning the pool, getting it ready for use. I was late March, but in Savannah that meant it should be warm enough to swim soon. And it already was unseasonably warm. Caleb was braving it. He was just in a Speedo—and looking good and oh so fuckable.

The car, which was Sherrie’s distinctive pink Jaguar, was being driven by Matt, and he was sounding the horn to let Sherrie know he’d arrived to take her to one or both of her restaurants.

Andy got to the window quick enough to see Matt come out of the car and kiss Sherrie before both of them got back into the car. He cursed himself for not having a camera at the ready, but by the time he got one back to the window with him, the Jag was driving off.

Caleb was standing there, posing nicely, though, and looking up at the window at Andy, standing in a nearly full-length window with just a towel around him. The two ogled each other for a long minute, Caleb obviously flirting, going into a pose, flexing, and dropping a hand to his crotch. He was giving Andy one of “those” smiles. Andy knew he could have the pool boy if he wanted him. And he wanted him. But Caleb was such a recent hire that Andy had a fixation in his mind that Sherrie had hired the pool boy to lead Andy astray to allow her to cut him off in the divorce settlement, using the prenup he’d signed.

Andy would resist that, even though it gave him blue balls. Caleb was oh so fuckable. Andy wasn’t going to bite on this challenge to his resistance. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going play a bit, though. He snapped a couple of photos of Caleb and “accidentally” let his towel drop from his waist, showing Caleb what was being held out of his reach. Andy’s erection, flashed right before he moved away from the window, was enough to keep Caleb speculating on possibilities. If he was reporting back to Sherrie, Andy hoped that would make her frustrated about what was “oh so close” to working but that wasn’t happening.

Although Andy would dearly love to get Caleb under him. And he was coming close to the breaking point today. He was calculating in his mind just whether or not he could get it on with the pool boy and not be caught by Sherrie when he was saved by the siren. The call to a fire was being sounded by the fire station and Andy needed to be on his way.

He was so keyed up, though, that he was still hard and panting for it while they were fighting a brush fire at the Mother Mathilda Beasley Park on the seedier, east side of the planned garden city, with its network of park squares. While getting into his fire gear at the station, he, in high need, was exchanging looks of desire and need with another young fire fighter, Adrian, who he been dancing around with in sexual negotiation for some weeks. And such was the state of his need that, if his situation wasn’t what it currently was, he probably would have gone with Adrian somewhere after the fire was put out and they’d both taken care of their want. Maybe Sherrie didn’t know about what was possible at the fire station.

But Adrian got singed in putting the fire out, and he went to the hospital for treatment instead. They exchanged forlorn looks as Adrian was been wheeled over to an ambulance.

Something had to give soon, Andy thought, or he was going to bust. Just let’s get on with this divorce and a juicy settlement, he thought, as he went home to dress and to check in with the law firm of Christopher, Wyly, and Wolfe that he did some work for and from which he’d gotten a summons to do a job on Tybee Island, an Atlantic barrier island to the southeast that served as Savannah’s beach resort.

* * * *

“Evan Hart? Evan Hart, the movie actor? You want me to photograph him in a compromising position?”

“We want to be very discreet about this. He’s going to be in a sticky divorce situation with quite a lot of money on the line. His wife—”

“Vicky Drake?” Andy asked. “The hotel chain heiress?”

“His wife, our client, who will remain nameless for this transaction,” Hunter Wolfe of Christopher, Wyly, and Wolfe overrode Andy, “wants to have the best advantage in the divorce settlement.”

“He’s signed a prenup she’s going to try to invoke?” Andy asked. This was almost too coincidental. This was essentially the same jockeying that he and Sherrie were moving into. They just weren’t on the public celebrity level that Evan Hart and Vicky Drake were. He was supposed to stay clean from sex with men to avoid his prenup with Sherrie from kicking him and him being kicked out of a healthy monthly check from her, but he was going to be expected to photograph the hunky movie star, Evan Hart, getting it on with another man? His wife must be worth billions. This was essentially what had been laid out to him in this meeting with the law office partner.

Evan Hart. Who would have known that he was gay, Andy wondered. And, according to this lawyer, a bottom to an older man, a former professional basketball player. But then, Andy had met many older men—not that Evan Hart had hit fifty yet—who wanted to bottom for him, and that was OK with him—or, at least, was until his marriage started going on the rocks and he had to give that up.

But Evan Hart. That would be a particularly thick notch for Andy’s bedpost.

Winning the prenup battle wasn’t easy right at the moment. It wasn’t just the thought that Evan Hart took cock but this wasn’t the largest of offices he now was in, and there were two men here in their late thirties or early forties who were real hunks. Hunter Wolfe was handsome, in great shape, and was both stylish and elegant in his dress. Andy thought he also was giving him the eye. The other man, sitting off to the side and not yet formally introduced, was a bit rougher than Wolfe, but even more ruggedly handsome. He was Latin, dusky in skin and dark of hair, with a sense of mystery and command.

“You want me to get close enough to Hart and his boyfriend to photograph them in the clutches?” Andy asked. “Where is this to happen? Where are they shacking up? And do you have any idea how I’m going to get close enough to them to get the shots?”

“They have a beach cabin out at Tybee Island,” Wolfe said. “We have a cabin near them. They like to party with other gay guys. And getting close to them is where Eduardo here comes in. This is Eduardo Fernandez, Andy. He is a makeup artist for the movies, and he knows and has worked with Evan Hart. He’ll be going to Tybee Island with you—as your boyfriend. And he’ll be getting you into the beach parties and, we hope, close enough to Hart and Kyle Borden to do the job.”

“Kyle Borden? The black basketball phenom who went out after breaking his legs in a skiing accident?”

“The same. He landed in Hart’s bed, and Hart’s wife doesn’t like it that much. You think you can handle the job? You’ll have to pretend to be in their world and to be in it with Eduardo here.”

“Yes, I can handle that,” Andy said, turning away so that Wolfe couldn’t see his slight smile. It would be less difficult than avoiding getting it on with Wolfe, who couldn’t know how interested in men—and maybe Wolfe himself—Andy was. Christopher, Wyly, and Wolfe was Sherrie’s law firm and most likely would be handling her divorce case. Andy’s problem wouldn’t be one of convincing Hart and Borden that he could run with a gay crowd. It would be in holding off from actually running with a gay crowd.

And the intriguing hunk over in the corner, the Latin Eduardo Fernandez, would be a problem too. He was just too sexy to be real.

“So, it will be you and me, Eduardo,” he said, turning a smile in his direction. “I hope you’re up for this.”

“No problem,” Eduardo said, returning the smile—and, in the process, lighting up the room.

I hope to hell the Eduardo is a top, like me, Andy thought. If not, it’s going to be hell keeping my hands off him. Shit, what I have to do to keep from losing out to Sherrie is hell.

* * * *

Andy rolled over on the bed facing the ocean in the 11th Place beach cottage on Tybee Island and watched Eduardo’s beefy jiggle as he padded to the attached bathroom. He hoped there were no cameras in here since he’d just done what he was determined he wouldn’t do until a divorce and settlement from Sherrie had gone through. He’d found out that Eduardo was a submissive. Eduardo was just too sexy and he’d been the one to come on to Andy when they were having several drinks the previous night after they’d checked into the cottage and cased the area—in particular the beach house the movie star Evan Hart and former basketball player Kyle Borden were in two houses up the beach. Before he knew it, they were on the bed and Eduardo was under him and any denial that Andy fucked other men—even while he was married—was beyond denial.

When they’d awakened today, just an hour ago and close to noon, Eduardo rode him in a cowboy. Two days in a row made it an affair, an affair that Andy had declared to himself wouldn’t happen again for some time but that had just happened.

After Eduardo had taken his turn in the bathroom, Andy showered, shaved, and groomed himself. When he came out Eduardo was fashionably decked out for walking on the beach and finding someplace to eat. It was unseasonably warm for the end of March, so they could go out in shorts, a T-shirt, and boat shoes. Eduardo looked like a male model. And so did Andy when he came out of the john.

Eduardo was flipping a pair of sunglasses.

“You’re going out this early?” Andy asked.

“We both are. They are on the move—probably off for lunch somewhere down the beach. We follow. We can eat where they eat.”

“And how do you know they are out and about?” Andy asked.

“Spy technology. We have Hart’s phone captured. With my phone,” and he lifted his cellphone to show he had a map of Tybee Island up, and a red dot showing not far from where they were. “I know where the movie star is every minute.”

“You people are serious about this, aren’t you?” Andy asked, clearly impressed and maybe a bit intimidated as well.

“There’s lots of money involved.”

“Maybe you can show me how to operate this system with someone else.”

“Maybe. What would be in it for me?”

“Did you like what you got last night?” Andy asked.

“You bet, big cock man,” Eduardo answered.

“So, we can remain such good friends by doing favors for each other.” Andy really was playing with fire. He needed to not do this with Eduardo again—at least for a while. He shouldn’t have done it the first time. And the second, third, and fourth time, Andy thought, not being able to hold back a small, satisfied smile.

“How is this going to work, though—us getting hooked up with them?”

“Leave that to me. That’s what I’m mainly here for. Bring your camera along, but don’t try to use it on them yet. Just let them get used to you having it with you.”

As it turned out, hooking up with Hart and Borden was a piece of cake. They were run to ground at a beach bar called Spanky’s Beach on 18th Street, running parallel with the Atlantic Ocean beach. They were sitting outside under an awning, and it was the movie star, Evan Hart, who recognized the movie makeup artist Eduardo Fernandez and who hailed Eduardo and Andy over to his table as they were just conveniently sauntering by on the street. It all happened naturally and would be remembered as being initiated by Hart himself.

Hart, a submissive, moved his eyes immediately to Andy. He lived the lifestyle, even if it was secretly, and he sized relationships up quickly. He knew from working move productions with him that Eduardo was a submissive. He could tell by the way the two walked close together and touched each other as they did that they were a sex pair. That meant Andy, who was visibly younger than Eduardo, was the top. And he was a top who Hart would be happy bottoming for. Hart, like Eduardo, was a submissive and was older than Andy looked. Hart’s assessment of Andy was that he was a young hunk and half.

Andy didn’t have to do any work at all to attract Evan Hart. That wasn’t what Andy understood he was here for. He had come to somehow get into position to photograph Evan Hart and Kyle Borden doing the dirty. But if it helped to get there to have Hart interested in him, Andy would go with that.

He went with that. Andy and Eduardo were invited to lunch with Hart and Borden. They accepted and a good time was had by all, with the conversation going to the gay scene on the island. Hart volunteered that they partied with others nearly every evening at their rented beach house, which, “miraculously enough” was located just two houses down from where Andy and Eduardo were staying. The discussion unfolded naturally and the sought prize came quickly. Hart invited Andy and Eduardo to party with them that night.

Such a good idea, Eduardo said, and just like that, Andy and Eduardo’s job of getting close to and thick with Evan and Kyle was set.

All during lunch Andy was fiddling with his camera. He even did some impromptu clicking, but, of course, not at Evan and Kyle, whose relationship and vacationing on Tybee Island were meant to be a deep secret.

But the fiddling with the camera made Evan Hart accept it as just a benign prop Andy traveled with.

* * * *

Tybee Island came to life on the weekends. It was Friday, March 30th, and men had gathered on the beach outside Evan Hart’s 11th Place rented beach house. Men gravitated to him—to him as a movie star they all could identify but everyone was pretending wasn’t him. Or, if not to him, they were attracted to his big, black sidekick, the former professional basketball star, Kyle Borden. Hart had set up a volleyball net on the beach to attract gay men. The day was unseasonably cold—not warm enough to go into the water, but warm enough for men to play an invigorating pickup game of volleyball in skins. The men gravitating here were all good-looking and well built. Lesser endowed men could clearly see the competition and didn’t have the balls to believe themselves worthy to mix in this crowd.

The men who showed up were going to party all day.

The volleyball game was well under way when Andy and Eduardo came out on the beach to join in. Neither had any embarrassment about fitting in with the “beautiful” crowd. Whatever side the pro athlete Kyle was playing on was the winning side of the moment. Once he and Eduardo were on the same side, there was no contest. The two men were flirting and touching, though, so they didn’t stick with the game for long. This was the protocol for the afternoon. The game kept rolling on out on the beach as men played as much with each other as in the game. From time to time, two or three men would come out of the game, go into Hart’s beach house, and have sex. Later they would return.

The older, but still presentable, men sat off to the side, watching the game and the players, doing their hookups vocally and by eye contact. Evan Hart was one of these men. He was a man of endurance; he’d gone into the house with another guy frequently.

Andy kept eye contact on where Hart and Borden were at all times. He’d left his camera in his beach rental. It had served its purpose. Hart and Borden were used to him having it and clicking anything and everything. Their guard was down when they absorbed that he didn’t have his camera. What they didn’t focus into was that he did have his cellphone and that it could take photos.

Hart kept flirting with him from the sidelines as he played volleyball. This was emphasized while Eduardo and Kyle were away from the game, in the house, quite evidently having sex. Although he flirted back, wanting to still stick with Hart to be able to photo Hart and Borden getting it on sometime during the day, Andy held off. He’d like to fuck Hart. The movie star was quite fuckable, but that wasn’t the assignment, and Andy was trying his best not to fall into that himself for his own legal reasons. He did see the irony that he was here to capture a falling off of the wagon for a divorce case while he himself was trying to avoid this in his own impending case.

As it was getting dark, caters arrived—again a couple of gay men who Hart had discovered and folded into his periodic beach party scene—and set up for a BBQ dinner on the beach house deck. A few more than a dozen of men were there for that phase of the party, all standing and sitting on the deck, drinking beer, eating BBQ, and flirting with each other. The beach house’s three small bedrooms continued to see a revolving parade of men, fucking on the beds and returning to the deck afterward. There were a few more tops than bottoms. Nearly everyone was fucking anyone they were compatible with. Kyle fucked all of the bottoms and had them all purring. Andy responded to flirting, but he hadn’t fucked anyone yet. He was watching for Evan Hart to pair up, hopefully with Kyle Borden, because that was who was going to be named as correspondent in the divorce case. Eduardo was lying down and opening his legs for every top who fancied him, although he too was keeping an eye on Hart and Borden—and Andy as well, pursuing the assignment.

As the party moved on into the evening, Andy got his chance. He observed Hart and Borden cozying up with each other. The crowd was beginning to thin out. The caterers had packed up and left. There was evidence that the drinks and snacks were not limitless. Eduardo nudged Andy to make sure he caught Evan and Kyle linking arms and heading for the bedrooms. Andy followed, pulling his cellphone out of the pocket of his shorts.

The big, black basketballer stud, Kyle, balled Evan Hart on a bed in a missionary in which Hart sat on his butt, his torso half reclined back, his legs raised and spread, Kyle holding his ankles and crouched between his thighs, fucking his fast and hard. Hart was grasping the black man’s buttocks and exclaiming in dirty words and phrases how good he was being fucked by a hard, thick, black cock.

Andy caught it all on his cellphone. Evan and Kyle were so much into each other that they didn’t notice him at the door recording their romp on the bed. Assignment done, He returned to the living room. There were only half a dozen of men left. They’d put on more mellow music since before Andy had followed Evan and Kyle to the bedrooms, and the men who were left were dancing close together.

Freed of work responsibility, Andy downed a beer and danced with Eduardo. He drank another beer and danced with Evan Hart, who had returned from the bedroom. They partied for another hour or two, the atmosphere becoming languid and sensual. The beer still flowing.

Andy came to in the middle of the night, in one of the bedrooms, the lights blazing, he and Evan Hart naked, Andy stretched out on his back on the bed, Evan Hart saddled on his hips, skewered by his cock, riding him slowly, fully sheathed, in a rocking cowboy fuck.

In his mind Andy fully realized he shouldn’t be doing this. But he already was doing this. And he’d wanted to get it on with Hart ever since he heard he’d been meeting the movie star. He was doing it now. It probably didn’t make any difference. Andy had filmed the evidence—Hart and Borden—that he’d been sent to get. He shouldn’t really matter what he an Hart did now.

And, anyway, they were doing it now. Andy dug his heels into the mattress, grasped Evan by the waist, and became more active in the thrusting.

They cried out in unison as they both came—together.

* * * *

“What did you do that for?” Andy asked, shocked to see Hunter Wolfe of the law firm Christopher, Wyly, and Wolfe ceremoniously tear up the photos Andy had had printed and toss them into a trashcan at the side of the desk in his Savannah office. It was the afternoon of Saturday, April 1st, and Andy had had to rush to get the photos printed and get back to Savannah from Tybee Island. When he had phoned Wolfe that he’d managed to photo Evan Hart and Kyle Borden in the sexual clutch, Wolfe had wanted to meet with him in Savannah that afternoon even if it was a Saturday.

“I didn’t need to see these photos. The photos I wanted to see were these on my cellphone that Eduardo Fernandez sent me,” Wolfe answered. “Here take a look. These turned out quite well, don’t you think? You and Eduardo in Henry’s Tybee Island beach house and then you and Evan Hart last night in his beach rental.”

“You had the rental house bugged,” Andy said. “And Eduardo must have taken the photos last night. But why? This isn’t what you sent me to do. Are you making a fool of me?”

“Well, it is April Fool’s Day,” Wolfe said and laughed. “I think it will make for a memorable joke. And the beach house you stayed in belongs to one of our partners, Henry Wyly. We have the bedroom bugged with hidden surveillance cameras just for work as this.”

“What’s going on here? It isn’t Evan Hart you wanted to compromise, is it? It’s me. This is Sherrie’s firm. I should have known. You set me up, didn’t you? You pitched a scenario for me to work and then you worked me that way just to give Sherrie the ammunition she needs to invoke my prenup provisions. I’m the fool here.”

“Something like that, yes, but with a bit of variation. Your wife is Henry Wyly’s direct client and her business helps keep him a partner here. He was on vacation when your wife came in to see if we could set something up to trap you. I took it on but in Henry’s name. He doesn’t know yet we’re doing this for Sherrie Guilford.”

“Shit,” Andy exclaimed.

“We’re at a bit of a decision point here, though. I could erase these photos and go with these other ones instead. You needn’t be the April Fool here if you don’t want to be. What do you think of these photos?”

He turned the cellphone and scrolled through a few other photos for Andy to see—photos that made Andy gasp. They were photos of his wife, Sherrie, in the sack with that young waiter, Matt, who Andy was sure his wife was grooming to be her next husband. And there were other photos too—ones of Sherrie jumping of the bones of the pool boy, Caleb.

“Why, that’s that the same beach house I was just at,” Andy said.

“Yes, yes, it is. Henry knows Sherrie has been using it for her trysts for years. He doesn’t know you’ve used it the past two days.”

There were photos of Eduardo fucking Sherrie at the beach house too.

“Well, fuck,” Andy said.

“This is a decision point for you,” Wolfe said. “We can use the photos of you on Sherrie’s behalf to squeeze you on the prenup or we could use the photos of your wife to squeeze her on the prenup. You can be the April Fool or she can be. Let’s discuss this.”

“I’m listening,” Andy said.

* * * *

He cried out. They both shot their loads. Andy let loose of the grip he was using to hold Hunter’s legs raised and spread in a missionary fuck, and the younger man withdrew and went over and leaned into the doorframe of the lawyer’s glass door out onto Hunter’s apartment balcony. He pulled a cigarette out of a pack on the nightstand and lit up before going to the door. He opened it to provide an escape route for the smoke. From Hunter Wolfe’s fourth-floor West River Street condo, one got a clear view of the Talmadge Memorial Bridge bringing traffic into the city from the north on Route 17.

It had been a good fuck, and Andy would have been happy to do it—once his problem with Sherrie’s prenup had been settled—even if fucking Wolfe hadn’t come as part of the deal for Sherrie to be April Fool’s Day screwed rather than him. The lawyer hadn’t really had to go to these lengths to get in bed with Andy now that the prenup problem was negated. Wolfe was a handsome man and in good condition, and Andy didn’t mind fucking men significantly older than he was. He was free to do so now that he’d struck this deal with the lawyer. Wolfe would be his divorce lawyer and they’d ditch the damning photos being collected on Andy and substitute those featuring Sherrie. The divorce would go through, but Andy would be receiving a hefty allowance now rather than being tossed out in the cold.

But it hardly seemed to have been worth all of the effort just for Wolfe to manage a way of getting Andy on top of him without Andy losing a favorable divorce settlement.

“I don’t understand why you went to all this trouble,” Andy asked as he lounged against the doorframe and smoked his cigarette. Hunter was stretched out on the bed, giving Andy a dreamy look, and pulling on his cock, regaining his arousal. They both knew Andy would come back to the bed and do him again—and they both were good with that. “Won’t this fuck up your law firm? Weren’t you supposed to be representing Sherrie in this divorce?”

Wolfe laughed. “It’ll be worth it. Your wife is stuck on Wyly to represent her more than the rest of the firm and he’s using that to jerk the other lawyers around. She’s sleeping with Wyly too, you know. Doing this the way I am is going to make Wyly an April Fool as much as your wife. When she finds out the firm has gone with you rather them her and we collected the photos on her, she’ll blame Wyly, who’s still celebrating down in the Bahamas. She’ll leave and he’ll get the blame. In the photo collection we did, this is a case of what’s good for the goose is good for the gander—in duplicate.”

“So, I’ll screw Sherrie and you’ll screw Wyly. April Fools to them both,” Andy said.

“I think a new firm name of Christopher and Wolfe sounds great, don’t you?” Hunter asked, with a laugh. “And for right now I’d like you to come back to bed and screw me again.”

And that’s exactly what Andy did.