Pent Up by Damon Suede Read Free Book Online Page A

got a whiff of a ripped straight guy down on his luck. He’d grown up Catholic and, though he didn’t have a problem with gays in theory, the macho worship gave him the heebs. In his experience, queers were either clueless kids afraid of football or creepy geezers who wore too much Drakkar… or at least that’s how it had felt in the bar. The hot homos he saw on TV had never showed up to grope him and call him papi . Not that he wanted them to, of course, but getting sexually harassed by friendly jocks would have made the stripping easier to laugh off. No such luck. The first time some grampa licked his knee, he quit.
    As they reached the sixth floor, a willowy carrot-topped boy with a mustache caught his eye, all of twenty-four and prettier than Ruben’s ex-wife. He squinted and moved in for the kill. Great. Bravo makeover in five… four… three—
    “If you dressed differently.” Bauer eyed the pleated pants, also Charles’s.
    “Man, you put me in whatever the hell you need. I am at your service. I’m like: free threads?” Ruben shrugged. “Done.”
    Checking the other side of the menswear aisle, Ruben clocked a girl with a short cap of streaky blonde hair and a mouth like split berries. Yes, please.
    The ginger kid had vanished. Her eyes glittered at Ruben and a saucy grin flickered at the corners of her mouth.
    Thank you, baby Jesus. His cock swelled; he fought the urge to shift it and hoped he didn’t get an embarrassing poky in front of the client. Was this hot slice gonna take his measurements? He hadn’t been with anyone in so long.
    He squared his shoulders and tightened his abs under his belt. Would it be sleazy to cop her number while his boss paid a couple grand for his clothes? Ruben hadn’t gotten his ashes hauled in so long that he’d almost forgotten what it was like to get off beyond sex dreams and ninety seconds of salty midnight fireworks.
    Then she saw Bauer and the smile caught fire. “Mr. Bauer!” Ruben and his sticky candle winked into invisibility, as if someone had pinched his wick.
    What did that mean? Was his boss some kind of celebrity?
    “Joysann.” Bauer raised a hand at her.
    She crooked her pretty finger and they ended up in a large dressing room with a three-way mirror and a row of leather Ralph Lauren armchairs facing a dais. On one wall hung a rack of understated clothes on hangers.
    Joysann’s eyes, smile, hands sparkled at them. Her lips were very pink.
    Bauer flicked through the hangers, nodding at them. “This is my friend, Ruben Oso. He just flew in from Orlando, but his luggage is on its way to Cartagena.”
    Instead of sitting to give them space as Ruben expected, Bauer hovered, which only made his arousal more awkward.
    Joysann looked at Ruben. “Lose the pants, but keep the shirt and shoes so things hang right.” She was teasing him.
    Really? In front of his boss. He sighed. Ruben draped his jacket over a chair arm, and started to kick off the shoes. He shucked out of his slacks and returned to her wearing the button-down, his red boxer briefs, black socks, and a pair of weather-beaten loafers. Unsexy as hell. Oh well.
    Bauer considered Ruben in the mirror. “Shoes too, I think.”
    Joysann didn’t blink, ready to stroke his ego till he squirted cash. “Hope didn’t know sizes, but she sent your photos.” She nodded at Bauer like she smelled fresh credit cards. She squinted at the rack and pulled a couple of hangers before she asked Ruben, “Forty-eight regular?”
    “Uh, sure.” Ruben gave her a shy smile and stepped onto the dais with his back to the mirrors. He had his pop’s square build and sharp nose: pure Colombiano. “You think you can hook me up?”
    “Any friend of Mr. Bauer.” She snapped a measuring tape and— srip-swip-thit —swiftly checked his shoulders, chest, arm, waist, neck, even squatted and slid her hand straight up his fucking inseam, just barely jogging his nutpouch.
    He flinched and coughed.
    “Sorry.” She giggled