[art by SemperViridis, 2021]
TW for single use of a transphobic slur from a random "extra" character.
_
"It's all right, Sören. Thank you for calling. I shan't keep you, since I know you're about to go out, and I'll be leaving soon myself."
"OK. Have fun."
Dooku snorted. "As you know, I hate fun."
"I know. Bye, Nico."
"Have a wonderful day, Sören."
Dooku smiled as the call ended, his mind's eye conjuring a clear mental image of Sören - those sweet brown eyes, the full lips framed by a short dark beard, the curls, his lithe body with its exotic tattoos and piercings. Once again he felt that flutter in his stomach, that ache in his heart like a lovesick teenager.
He wasn't over Sören, and he probably never would be. But today was not a day for dwelling on what he could not have. Dooku walked over to the full-length mirror and gave himself a once-over - he was wearing a long-sleeved button-down white shirt with the sleeves rolled up a bit, under a steel grey vest and matching pants, blue socks and brown brogues. His antique silver pocketwatch was visible in the vest. He wanted to strike a balance between casual and formal, and he still wasn't sure if he'd gotten it right or not, but he wasn't going to spend hours agonizing over his outfit. He felt ridiculous enough as it is, going through a rite of passage that most men had accomplished decades earlier.
Dooku took a deep breath. His heart beat just a little faster with anticipation, and his mouth went dry. He found his breath mints and opened the tin. No sooner had he put one in his mouth that there was a beep outside.
"Coming," Dooku said, then felt like an idiot because of course the car and its driver were outside, and had no way of hearing him. God, I hope I'm not this much of a fool through the entire date.
He gave Beowulf some last-minute pettings, grabbed his keys, and then he was out the door, heart racing, mind in a giddy whirl. He might not have Sören, but he was going to enjoy what he did have.
_
Two nights earlier, Dooku once again refreshed his e-mail for what had to be the dozenth time that day and saw Sören hadn't responded to any of his e-mails yet.
Of course, Sören was on his honeymoon with Mark, and Dooku knew there was a lot to see and do in the Bay Area. Sören had probably been busy visiting the redwoods and the Golden Gate Bridge and maybe important gay landmarks like Pink Triangle Park and Harvey Milk's residence. Dooku was trying very hard to give Sören the benefit of the doubt and not take it personally, not feel like he was being deliberately ignored - he'd known Sören long enough to know that if Sören had a problem with something Dooku had said or done, he'd speak up, and how.
But it was one thing to know logically it was just the nature of Sören being on honeymoon and had nothing to do with him, and another thing to try to get that across to the rest of his mind... which had already been feeling rejected, pining away since the end of 2016. Close to two years. He'd had plenty of opportunities to make his move before Sören and Mark had even gotten involved, and he hadn't, wanting to tread lightly with someone who was recovering from abuse. Wanting to be a gentleman.
Sören didn't owe him anything, of course, and Dooku didn't feel like sitting around drinking alone, feeling sorry for himself.
The only way out is through, Dooku told himself, steeling his courage to do something that he'd never done before, would have never thought of doing in a million years before now. He couldn't make himself get over Sören, he suspected part of him would always love the younger Icelander, but he was done with waiting in vain. He was not going to cry himself to sleep tonight wishing he could hold Sören, make love to him. He was going to find someone to be a warm body, someone to find release with, someone else to focus his attention on, if only temporarily.
He was going to a gay bar.
Dooku found himself looking up local gay bars on Google, then changing clothes. He didn't know how to dress for a gay bar, someplace he'd never gone before, but he had a feeling that wearing a suit, like he did to campus, was probably overdressing. He went with a black button-down shirt and black trousers, no tie, no blazer, but basic black still looked classy and put-together. After lightly dabbing on some cologne, brushing his teeth, and making sure Beowulf had enough food and water, he got in his car and made the hour drive to Portland.
He had no idea what he was expecting when he entered The Manhole - he was feeling ridiculous just from the name. He didn't go to bars in general, as he wasn't one for crowds and noise and shitty, overpriced alcohol. But he'd seen bars on television, like Cheers.
The first thing he noticed was the dimness of the room and neon lights - one wall of the bar was lit green, another lit blue, both walls had booths where guys were sitting in groups and pairs, huddled together, flirting. There was a square space in the center of the bar framed by stools, where drinks were being served underneath violet lighting. At the back of the bar a DJ was playing annoying house music, and there was a small space where some guys were dancing, grinding up on each other, under pink light.
Dooku's eyes went back to the square. He didn't quite understand the "code", feeling woefully out of place - a quick look around told him he was probably the oldest man in the bar at the moment - but he got the sense that people here on dates or who had made connections with prospective sex partners were together at the booths, and the men who were still unspoken for were by themselves up where the bartenders were.
As he walked towards that space, he found he was somewhat mistaken in that assumption - there was one man sitting alone under greenish lighting, nursing a shot of what looked like whiskey or cognac. He had short, neatly combed and gelled black hair, wide-set green eyes in a boyishly handsome face, and was wearing a white button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up, with black suspenders.
Their eyes met and held for a moment, and Dooku's cheeks flushed. There was something familiar about the man that he couldn't quite place, maybe they'd bumped into each other somewhere, maybe he had been a student at OSU years back. In any case, Dooku liked the looks of him, and felt stupid about staring, so he gave a shy, polite smile before he continued making his way to the serving area.
There was a drink menu with prices written in glowing ink on blacklight boards. Dooku let his eyes adjust to the lighting and the stylized writing, trying to decide what he wanted - he'd have to limit himself since he was driving. He had time to make that decision, as the three bartenders - a redhead with square glasses, a bald and buff Black man, and a pretty Latino who looked vaguely like a tanned version of Sören, all three men wearing tight white T-shirts and jeans that hugged magnificent asses - were all busy with other patrons. As he contemplated whether he wanted a shot or to try a mixed drink, there was suddenly a hand on his shoulder and a soft, slightly lisping voice.
"Buy me a drink, Sir?"
Dooku looked over and saw a man who was barely into manhood - early twenties at the most, Dooku guessed. Tall but of slight build, fuchsia hair with long bangs hanging in dark, heavily made up eyes, an eyebrow ring in his left brow and three small hoops in each ear, wearing a sleeveless purple crop top that showed a pierced navel, silver bangles on both wrists, purple nail polish, and skinny black pants hung low that let Dooku know the man probably shaved down there.
The man was a bit too effeminate for Dooku's taste, not to mention too young. Dooku preferred younger men aesthetically, but who were still far enough into manhood to be called men. Dooku felt profoundly uncomfortable but he didn't want to be rude and immediately rebuff him. "What will you have?" Dooku asked, and then realized that buying him a drink probably implied being willing to do more than that, like some sort of unspoken contract.
"I'd like a glass of Cristal."
Dooku rolled his eyes. He wasn't entirely opposed to champagne, but it seemed like the choice of the nouveau riche who felt like flaunting their wealth to the proles, or those who aspired to give the appearance of such. Now now, this is not the time or the place for Marxist theory, Dooku told himself, reigning in his activist tendencies. He was here to find someone to fuck, not give lectures on class warfare.
When the redhead bartender was finally free and asked, "What'll it be?" Dooku ordered a glass of Cristal for "his young friend", and a Pieces of Eight cocktail for himself. He normally wasn't one for fruity, sweet drinks, but he wanted to feel like it was summer, instead of the winter of his heart, grieving the love he could never have.
Once the drinks were poured and paid for, the twink leaned in and gave Dooku a kiss on his cheek. Dooku tried not to recoil.
The young man winked, and then put a hand on his arm. "Thanks. Just thought you looked lonely."
Dooku found himself bristling at that. It was true, of course, but he didn't like that it was true - and he didn't like that the young man seemed to be playing to that sense of loneliness, like Dooku was desperate and had no standards.
The young man leaned closer then. "You want some company tonight?"
Dooku raised an eyebrow. Before he could say "no", the young man whispered exactly what he meant by "company". "Fifty dollars and I'll suck you off. Two hundred and I'm yours for the night, whatever you want..."
Dooku got up. Of course this man wouldn't actually be interested in him - not that Dooku was exactly interested either, and especially not now. He felt downright insulted.
He had a mind to leave without even finishing his drink, but before he could step away from the counter suddenly there was a loud clearing of the throat, directly behind the two of them. Dooku watched as the boyishly handsome thirtysomething man who'd been sitting alone, the one he made eye contact with, put an arm around Dooku's shoulders. "Good evening. This little pissant bothering you?" the man drawled in a deep, crisp voice with what Dooku recognized as a British public-school accent.
"Hey fuck off, troon," the twink snarled.
Dooku had no idea what that word meant, but the British gentleman leaned closer to the twink, gave a contemptuous sneer, and said, "I normally think sex work should be decriminalized but I have zero qualms about calling the police to haul your arse away if you don't piss off and get out of my face right bloody now."
The twink huffed, glared, and made an exaggerated stomp off. The Brit took the empty stool next to Dooku.
"Thank you," Dooku said. "He wasn't bothering me much -"
"But just enough." The Brit nodded sagely. "I've been here a few times and that's Taylor. He's a bit of a problem." The Brit looked over at Dooku's cocktail. "I would offer to buy you a drink, perhaps when that one is done?"
"I don't care for it," Dooku admitted, feeling like an idiot again - it had been a silly decision and it didn't make him feel summery and fun at all. He felt like it wasn't just his heart frozen in winter, but he was in the winter of his life, too old to be here, he was fooling himself. And this Taylor knew it, sizing him up as a desperate old man, his next trick. Dooku pushed the drink aside, feeling disgusted.
"So perhaps now." The Brit waved when the sexy Latino was free, who came over with a big grin. "One more shot of Hennessy for me, and..."
"I'll have the same," Dooku said. He winced at the price of a shot - he wasn't hurting for money at all, but it seemed like highway robbery. He turned to the Englishman. "Thank you."
"You're welcome. And... be welcome. Like I said, I've been here a few times but I've never seen you here. I would have remembered you."
Dooku didn't know what to make of that or not, whether it was an attempt at flirting or simply a polite remark on how old he was compared to everyone else. Dooku's face still flushed. "It's my first time here."
"I see. Are you new in town?"
"No." Dooku chuckled. "I came here back in the 1970s. And... it's not every day I meet a fellow British expat. Or tourist?"
"You had it right the first time." The man nodded. "I came here in 2016, so I've been here just a little under two years."
"London?"
"Blackheath."
Dooku's eyebrows shot up. "I'm from Blackheath also."
"Oh, wow! What are the odds?" The man put out his hand. "I'm Anthony."
Dooku put out his hand; Anthony's grip was strong. "Nicolae." He was so used to being called by his surname that it felt odd sharing his given name, but it just came out.
"Well, Nicolae..." Their drinks were ready. "Let's grab a table and we can get to know each other, perhaps."
They found an empty table under the blue lights. On their way over Dooku noticed Anthony was a few inches shorter than him - still above-average height - and the black suspenders led down to black trousers and Anthony had a very nice firm bubble of an ass. As they got closer to the booth, Dooku got a better look at all of Anthony. The rolled-up sleeves revealed veins in his forearms; the white shirt showed off definition in his biceps and pecs. A couple of buttons were open, exposing dark chest hair. Anthony was lean, wiry, with a slight hourglass figure. Dooku wondered if he was a dancer or something similar to that before Anthony took a seat. All in all, Dooku liked what he saw.
"So you came here in the 1970s, you said? How old are you?" Then Anthony facepalmed and rolled his eyes, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "Sorry if that's a rude question -"
"It's fine. I'm sixty-nine."
"Nice." Anthony grinned and took a sip of his drink. "I'm thirty-eight."
"Really. I would have guessed early thirties." Dooku looked him over again. "You take care of yourself."
"Thanks. I work out." Anthony chuckled. "You take care of yourself too."
"I also work out. And I'm a Krav Maga practitioner." Dooku frowned. "Not to be confused with MAGA. I don't support that at all."
"Thank fuck for that. As you might have noticed, once-liberal Portland has become a hotbed of fascist bullshit. Even some of the LGBT population here is infected with the crazy." Anthony's index finger wound circles by his temple. "Anyway, I knew that was a martial art. I'd looked into taking it for self-defense purposes, but I've held off."
Dooku was trying to figure out why Anthony looked familiar. "Do you visit the gyms around here?"
"I do. Tuesdays and Saturdays, sometimes an extra Monday if it's looking like one of those weeks and I need to blow off steam."
"Ah. I usually go Wednesday and Thursday." That wasn't it, then.
"I'm not a total jock, though." Anthony smiled. "I read more than I lift."
"I enjoy reading too. Truth be told... this is my first time ever in a gay bar. I'm... an introvert. My idea of a wild Friday night is taking an adventure with Jules Verne."
Anthony's laughter rang out. "That's great. I like that. I don't come here often - I've been here a few times, as I said, but I'm not a regular. I'm a bit shy."
"I wouldn't have known, from the way you fended off that..."
"Taylor."
"Taylor." Dooku's eyes searched the bar; Taylor was hanging over some biker-looking guy now, probably the next-oldest person in the bar.
"Well, he and I have some slight history. Just very slight. Let's not talk about him." Anthony swirled his cognac around in his glass before taking another sip. "You read."
"Classics, but also contemporary literature. I quite enjoy Stephen King, Ursula Le Guin -"
"Le Guin is my favorite author." Anthony's face lit up. "Though my favorite book by her is one that a lot of fans haven't read. It's called Always Coming Home."
"I haven't read that one," Dooku confessed.
"It's about people who 'will be might have been' living in what in the far future used to be northern California. The worldbuilding is very complex and there's lots of important themes of community and gender without coming off preachy. It's poetic. It's a beautiful book." Anthony sighed. "Sorry, I'm nerding out."
"It's quite all right." Dooku found it charming. He was, in fact, getting aroused now. "It makes me happy to see other people reading nowadays. I teach for a living and I swear my students are barely literate."
"Oh, what do you teach?"
"I'm a professor of ancient history at Oregon State, in Corvallis."
"Niiiiice." Anthony grinned. "I considered a career as an archaeologist or historian, once. It's still a fascinating subject to me, I read periodicals and like going to museums."
Dooku was starting to feel like he'd hit the jackpot, even as a small part of him cautioned himself to be careful, he had come here just looking for someone to "hook up" with, as the youth called it - and probably Anthony did as well. Dooku was attracted, but he didn't want to hope for more than one night and be disappointed. Losing Sören was bad enough.
"What do you do?" Dooku was curious.
"I'm a lawyer. I was a criminal defense barrister when I lived in London. After I moved out here and everything was squared away for me to practice law Stateside, I switched my specialty to civil rights law. Seems like we need it now more than ever, with Cheeto Jesus in office."
Dooku almost spat his drink. He'd heard a lot of euphemisms for Trump - "Dorito Mussolini" was Sören's favorite - but he hadn't heard Cheeto Jesus and it caught him off-guard, shaking, sides heaving. Yes, he liked Anthony a lot.
And so Dooku found himself doing something completely unlike him, without thinking. Just feeling, lust surging for this intelligent, handsome, witty man sitting across from him. "Would you like to come back to my place? It's in Corvallis, maybe that's too long of a drive -"
"Well, I didn't drive here, I took the MAX, I live in southeast Portland. I try not to drink and drive. You've just had the one shot and a couple sips of the cocktail?"
Dooku nodded. "I can still drive. If... you're comfortable with that. I know getting in a car with a strange man -"
Anthony waved his hand. "It's fine." Anthony nodded and smiled. "All right. So long as you're willing and able to drive me back to Portland tonight or tomorrow, whenever..." His voice trailed off.
"I can do that." Dooku downed the rest of his shot and stood up. "You had me at Cheeto Jesus. Let's go."
Anthony grinned. When he rose, he put an arm around Dooku's waist - Dooku's cheeks burned again, cock throbbing. He felt giddy as they walked out to Dooku's car.
Dooku put on jazz as they drove back. There was a long pause in their conversation as Anthony looked out the window at the city lights of Portland, watched the bridge as they rode out onto the freeway. At last Dooku spoke, feeling nervous... feeling like he ought to prepare for whatever it was that was about to happen. "I have a cat. I hope you're not allergic."
"Oh shit, I love cats." That grin again. "I can't have one with my lease, which sucks a lot, I wish I had a cat. My last cat, Mungojerrie, passed on in 2012."
"A fan of the jellicle cats?"
"You bet. My mum took me to see Cats on London's West End when I was six, and since then all of my cats have had names from the musical." Anthony laughed. "God, that sounds so gay. Though I suppose that's fitting -"
"Indeed." Dooku smiled. "I'm not such a fan of musicals. Opera and ballet, yes. Musicals, only a few."
"Opera and ballet is still close enough. I bet you like art galleries, too."
"I do. My best friend is an artist and I have some of his work on display at my place."
"Friend?"
Dooku pursed his lips. "Yes. Friend."
"Sorry." Anthony squirmed. "I just wanted to make sure that, you know. We're not getting into any sticky situations. I was 'the other man' once, a married man who lied both to me and his wife."
"I'm sorry. No, Anthony, I'm single. I've been a bachelor all my life."
"All right. Same here. There hasn't been anyone in about three years, just a few hookups."
"And you're playing it safe?"
"Yes."
"I'm terrible at this." Dooku winced, feeling intensely awkward.
"You have a bit of that stodgy professor air about you, yes, but it's a feature, not a bug." Anthony laughed softly. "I get tired of the guys who think they're God's gift to the Earth and are all about the 'game'." Anthony made air quotes. "Especially when... well, never mind." Anthony's voice trailed off and he looked out the window again.
Dooku wondered about that but he didn't probe. This was already uncharted territory enough without potentially hitting a nerve and ruining things before they'd even begun.
Dooku and Anthony were both shy enough that "things" didn't start right away. First Anthony was introduced to Beowulf, Dooku's enormous old Norwegian Forest Cat. Anthony lavished pettings and skritchings and baby talk on the cat, before his voice dropped several octaves, looking sheepish. Dooku found it adorable.
Dooku gave Anthony the tour - including showing Sören's pottery and paintings, that he'd mentioned in the car. He also showed off his impressive library of old books, which delighted Anthony, and they spent some more time discussing literature before Dooku showed Anthony his vinyl collection and record player. Anthony was a fellow vinyl aficionado, which pleased Dooku very much. He put on a Coltrane record and they sat down with a glass of wine. Beowulf came over for more attention.
Anthony noticed the potted plants hanging from the ceiling. "Those look well-loved."
"I have a garden out in back. Before you leave, I'll send you home with some fresh tomatoes and cucumbers if you'd like."
"I love fresh cucumbers." Anthony winked.
Dooku almost choked on his wine. His face burned again.
Anthony scooted closer. "I used to garden. It was something I did with my dad. We didn't have a lot in common, we still don't, but we bond over garden talk. My flat's too small for me to have a proper garden."
"Well, Anthony... we could be friends, and you could come over and work with me in the garden, if that appeals to you."
"Friends." Anthony's face fell.
Dooku exhaled, realizing he'd put his foot in his mouth without meaning to. He touched Anthony's face. "Good friends. Special friends." He leaned in, heart hammering in his ears.
Dooku had never so much as kissed anyone, but he'd seen it enough in movies - and porn - that he thought it was worth a try. His face came closer and their lips met. Their lips parted and their tongues began to brush, swirling, teasing. Dooku's cock stiffened and throbbed urgently. He loved Sören, but he liked Anthony. He lusted. Tonight, he wanted to forget about his pain and his loneliness and let himself taste life. The kiss deepened, and Anthony's hands slid down his chest. Dooku trembled beneath the younger man's touch, and groaned into the kiss when Anthony's hand strayed to caress Dooku's knee up his thigh, then rested on the hard bulge for a moment before rubbing in slow, lazy circles. Dooku's cock throbbed again, responding to the touch.
They pulled apart - Anthony still palming Dooku's cock through his trousers - and looked into each other's eyes. Now that they were in better lighting, Dooku got a close look at those gold-flecked mossy green eyes, magnetic... full of heat. Dooku crushed his mouth to Anthony's and kissed him again harder. Now Dooku's hands began to roam, enjoying the feel of Anthony's musculature beneath his hands, the sort of maleness the Greeks and Romans celebrated. He found himself undoing the buttons of Anthony's shirt, fingers playing through the dark chest hair. Before he could get Anthony's shirt completely undone, Anthony's hands were on his and Anthony pulled back. "Nicolae, wait."
Dooku caught his breath, feeling a twinge of concern.
"There's..." Anthony took a few deep breaths, looking off to the side and then into Dooku's eyes, cheeks pink. "There's something you need to know, before we go any further." Anthony looked down and then back up. "You might have guessed this already from what Taylor said in the bar, but I don't want to assume since, you know, you're a boomer and all." Anthony scooted back slightly. "I'm trans."
"You're..." It took a few seconds to register. "You're transgender?"
"Yeah. My deadname is Antonia, I have a vagina. I've known I was male since I was a kid, I came out and started living full-time as a man in 2003 and went on T and did top surgery in 2005. I still have, ah. My original plumbing, because bottom surgery has some issues that I didn't feel was worth it. Anyway, I'm telling you now before we go any further in case that's going to be a dealbreaker."
There was an excruciatingly long moment of silence as Dooku processed the information he was given. He was shocked, but then he realized not entirely surprised - he remembered noticing Anthony's slight hourglass shape in the bar and now it made sense, Anthony's shoulders were broad but he also had wider hips than usual.
And Dooku wasn't offended - he'd been a supporter of transgender people as long as he could remember. Of course, it was one thing to be an ally, and another thing to have one as a partner. Up until now, Dooku's fantasies had all involved cocks.
But looking at Anthony again - and feeling that spark between them - he still wanted to see where this went. He found himself analyzing - he wouldn't be attracted to a trans woman just because she had a cock, because she was still female-aligned... meanwhile Anthony looked like a very handsome man, and he was willing to try what Anthony had to work with.
"It's not a dealbreaker," Dooku said, touching Anthony's face again - and then he felt an ache, realizing Anthony mentioned it because it probably had been for other people. His mind flashed back to the incident with Taylor. "Taylor called you a slur?"
"Yeah. My first time going to that bar, I got really shit-faced and Taylor and I made out in the bathroom. I normally don't go for twinks but I was depressed and T makes me horny all the fucking time, and he was giving off signals like you would not believe. He even said he wouldn't charge, he was that into me. Well... he figured out pretty quickly what's down there is a packer and he got very very nasty about it, called me a bunch of things I won't repeat. I get it if someone has a genital preference, that can't really be helped, but people don't have to be arseholes about it, and he was. A lot of guys have been, over the years. I almost stopped going to the bar, but I was tired of chasers on Tinder, or the guys who were like 'ew what is a woman doing here.' I'm not a woman, dammit. So I thought a bar was better than Tinder for trying my luck."
"Chasers."
"The fetish people who want to use me as their little experiment." Anthony made a face; Dooku also cringed, feeling for him.
"Well, if it helps, I already liked you before I knew. And I still like you."
"That's a relief, because I like you too."
"And now..." Dooku sighed. He hadn't been prepared to say this to whoever he ended up spending the night with, if anyone - it was deeply embarrassing to him - but one reveal deserved another, a show of solidarity. "I have a confession of my own. I'm still a virgin."
Dooku wondered if Anthony would laugh at him, but Anthony's eyes widened and his eyebrows shot up, mouth opening slightly before he said, "You what. You're a sexy silver daddy and you came of age in the Woodstock era, how the hell does that happen?"
"Undiagnosed Asperger's, probably. I've never been good with 'normal' social interactions, let alone dating. And by the time I thought I might want to try, AIDS was a thing people of my persuasion had to worry about. So it seemed like too much of a bother." Dooku pinched the bridge of his nose and downed his wine.
Anthony grabbed Dooku's hand again and brought it back down to the buttons Dooku had been undoing. Then Anthony took Dooku's face in his hands and kissed him passionately, so hard it took Dooku's breath away. Dooku's hands shook as he undid the last of Anthony's buttons, ran his hands over the exposed chest, through the delicious pelt of black chest hair. Dooku's cock throbbed, still wanting. They kissed and kissed until it felt like nothing else existed in the world but them, nothing existed but kissing. The kisses weren't awkward at all but teasing, tongues licking in a sensuous rhythm, one leading then the other. Lust burning hotter and hotter.
Anthony stood up from the couch and pulled Dooku to his feet. "Where's your bedroom?"
Dooku led the way, arms around Anthony's waist, kissing him all the way there.