Speak Its Name: A Trilogy Read Free Page A

balance. He’d expected that the gap in their social and financial standing would help him to keep his distance but it didn’t—again and again his gaze drifted towards his visitor’s handsome, shy face.
    Lamont had put together a plan to get him through, to let him enjoy the time spent with this attractive young man without disgracing himself. In the first place he wouldn’t use Christian names. He hadn’t known the real name of the young man he had picked up in London.
    They call me Domino , for obvious reasons. One nudge in the right direction and I’m flat on my stomach.
    Lamont hadn’t shared his own name at all, making the boy refer to him as “sir” throughout. It was cold and impersonal and while part of him had wanted the lack of involvement, the absolute anonymity, part of him had despised it. It kept reminding him that it had just been a sordid business transaction—no love or affection, not even friendship.
    The second point was simple. He wouldn’t let Easterby touch him, not even for a handshake. There had been plenty of touching in Lamont’s car with Domino; he hadn’t left a bit of that lad’s body unexplored.
    I don’t mind what my gentlemen get up to—do whatever you like, sir.
    But the experience had been curiously unmoving—fun, of course and he’d had a final burst of unbelievable pleasure, but the whole thing was just disappointing. Perhaps it was because any trust, any friendship, any love, had been missing, so Lamont found it empty of all meaning. He wasn’t like other men seemed to be, he couldn’t disconnect the physical sexual act from the mental experience accompanying it, and that created a stalemate. If he wouldn’t let himself get close to someone—for fear of rejection, denouncement, violence—then he might never find the ultimate communion. The ultimate in pleasure.
    So he and his visitor simply drank tea and talked. Easterby began to act less like a naughty boy called to the Headmaster’s study to explain his conduct and Lamont felt less like a lecherous satyr on the hunt for an innocent to debauch. They found some common ground—an interest in the stories about Sherlock Holmes, a fondness for stodgy traditional English puddings, an affection for the music of Gilbert and Sullivan. They even found things to laugh over in the exploits of an obnoxious physics student who’d come a cropper on the river in a crew of little ability but plenty of swagger. Easterby brought the laughter to a sudden end by leaping up, making a hurried apology and saying that he had to leave immediately. Another engagement, he pleaded, so sorry .
    This proposed departure was so abrupt and unexpected it spurred Lamont into action. “But you’ll come again? I was planning a picnic on Saturday—can’t just take myself. Will you meet me here and we can go down to the river?”
    “What time?” Easterby ventured, after a long pause in which he seemed to be mulling things over.
    “One o’clock would be splendid.” Lamont bit his lip, knowing the danger he was putting himself in. He’d held out well this afternoon; how would he fare on some secluded river bank?
    “Then one o’clock it is.” Easterby bowed slightly and left.
    Lamont watched him go, fairly certain that the excuse had been a false one, not knowing why he’d been so rash as to extend the invitation to meet again. He went over to the still warm chair and ran his fingers along the back, where Easterby’s head had at last rested while he’d been relaxed and laughing. He sat down in the same seat and entertained his old thoughts—joy combined with guilt and self loathing.
    ~
    Easterby almost ran to his room; there hadn’t ever been another appointment of course, he just wanted to get out of a place in which he was feeling far too much at home. He needed to be away from company in which he was feeling uncharacteristically at ease. Separate from the temptation to touch another man.
    He’d found the last half an hour to be one