Happy Birthday, sevigny7!
For sevigny7's birthday, fansee and I thought we'd take her to one of our favorite places on earth, San Francisco. This time, however, it's San Francisco in the 1880's, the San Francisco of Another Time, Another Place.
In case you would like to refresh your memory of Part 1, it's here.
ANOTHER TIME, ANOTHER PLACE
Part 2
EMMETT
Business at the Babylon Saloon was slower than usual for a Thursday night in April. There were men drinking at a couple of tables, while three “pretty waiter girls” sat around, gossiping, at a table near the door. The girls’ job was to amuse the customers and encourage them to drink, but it was obvious to all of us that none of the saloon’s current customers were going to be interested in any pretty waiter girl. I rubbed a cloth slowly along the bar, eyeing the dozen or so patrons myself. The prospects were not encouraging. I feared that I would be retreating alone to my third floor room above the saloon tonight.
Some steady patrons of this establishment, as well as some of the other hirelings, josh me by saying that I take Mr. Kinney’s leavings, but they are in error. In fact the sorts of men for whom I feel a mutual attraction tend to eschew Brian’s attentions, at least after they have been with him once. They find they prefer a tall, well-set-up man who is not as…ahem…dominant as Brian. Instead, they want a man who appreciates an expert cocksman. In all due modesty, I am that man.
My gaze settled on the round table at which five men were playing stud poker. Well, four men and a young boy. Justin was facing me, his gaze fixed on the cards in his hand, his face serious. One of the men at the table said something…I was too far away to catch his words…and a smile ghosted across Justin’s face as he turned his head to answer. The dealer dealt another round of cards, and Justin threw his hand in. Last month Justin had a spell of reckless play, and both won some large pots and lost some, but recently he has reverted to his usual conservative style. Brian opined that his plunging was the result of boredom with his chosen profession. I reckon he has now recalled that card play is his business and has settled down again.
The door to the saloon opened, and Justin turned to look. His face split open in a huge smile. I knew why. It must be that Brian had returned from his assignation. How in tarnation Justin puts up with Brian’s wandering ways is more than I can figure. I am almost as much amazed that Brian is still enamored of our young gentleman, even though six months - and more - have gone by since Mr. Taylor first appeared on the doorstep of this saloon. May wonders never cease!
Brian glanced around the premises, then walked straight to the poker game. He stopped and said something to Justin. Justin shook his head No and shuffled the deck. Brian walked on back to his office, and Justin dealt the next hand.
The door to the saloon opened again, and I brightened up. Tommy Barrett is an old acquaintance and one who hasn’t been in for a while. My prospects began to look up.
JUSTIN
I dealt another hand of cards. I was a little ahead tonight, which was fine. Playing poker with Sal, Ernest, and William was as much about the company as the game. Sal and Ernest came to play several times a week. They always came together and left together; I had drawn my own conclusions from that. I could count on them to withdraw from the game if between them, they won or lost more than a dollar or two. Tonight was going swimmingly: Sal was up 50¢, Ernest was down a little more. There was much banter between the two of them, with comparisons of bone-headed play to dumb luck.
William joined the game much less frequently, but like Ernie and Sal, he was a man who earned his living on the wharves and in the warehouses by the strength of his back. He too was not a plunger. The fifth man…boy…at the table had introduced himself at Timothy Wilkins; I reckoned he was a year or two older than myself. He kept his eyes averted from me for the most part, but I caught him throwing shy glances in my direction when he thought himself unobserved. If he was attracted to me, as I suspected, I doubted he would have to nerve to make a play in my direction. Should he do so, I would have to head him off even though he seemed congenial. Experience has taught me the folly of mixing business and pleasure. Having relations with persons I play cards with can lead to awkward situations; or, don’t fuck what you just fleeced.
Shortly after Brian got back from his ‘meeting,’ the door to the saloon started opening and shutting with more frequency. Business was picking up. Then the door burst open, and a group of eight or nine well-to-do young men burst through. The group included, I saw to my annoyance, Joseph Stockwell. Joey is the son of Boss Stockwell and hence free to cut up whatever japes he fancies, knowing that his father’s wealth and power protects him from any adverse consequences. He seems to have taken a particular dislike to me.
The group bellied up to the bar and loudly ordered boilermakers all around. Alerted by the noise, Brian came out of his office quietly. He stopped and spoke to Leon, before going behind the bar to assist Emmett and to keep an eye on things generally. Leon put on his coat and went out toward the back alley.
At our table, it was William’s turn to deal, which he did, and we played another couple of hands quietly. All of us were paying more attention to the men at the bar than we were to our own play. I was relieved to note that two of Brian’s largest and toughest bully boys had joined us, no doubt recruited by the still-absent Leon.
Finally Ernest and Sal stood up. Both men had started losing when Joey’s gang burst through the door. “That’ll be it for tonight, Mr. Taylor,” Ernest said. “We’re leaving while we’re still playin’ with your coin.”
William pushed back his chair. “It’s getting late. I’ll be leavin’, too.”
I nodded and said, “Good night, gentlemen.” I looked at Timothy. “It appears we no longer have a game, Mr. Wilkins.” I thought it would be a very good thing if he left, too, because he was just the sort of innocent that the boys at the bar would have sport with. To my relief, he stood up, and said, “I’ll go along with you gentlemen, if that’s all right.”
William said, “Come on,” and all four left, to my relief.
I pushed back my chair and stood up. I was uncertain what to do next. On one hand, I knew my best bet was to avoid young Stockwell and his chums, but from a business standpoint, I hadn’t made anything worth mentioning tonight. Stockwell’s crowd always had plenty of blunt in their pockets. I looked at Brian, and he gave his head a small shake. Perversely, that made up my mind for me. “Anyone like a game?” I asked.
They would. A couple stayed back at the bar, but six of them, including Joey Stockwell, came and sat down at my table. Joey yelled for a bottle of whiskey for the table, and Emmett brought it over, with glasses all around. I broke open a new deck, shuffled, had my neighbor cut the cards, and then dealt the first hand.
The game went pretty much as you might expect. They had all had at least two boilermakers before they sat down, and they continued to drink as we played. I was cold sober to begin with, and although I did sip from the glass Emmett placed at my elbow, I did not let it be refilled. Naturally, everyone else at the table began to lose, and although I played conservatively and even let a few sure things escape me, I quickly became the biggest winner.
A fellow named Wayne Brady was giving me a run for the money until the piano player, Theodore Schmidt, arrived and started playing. His arrival was quickly followed by Lindsay Peterson’s. When Miss Peterson started singing, Mr. Brady pocketed his winnings, picked up his drink, and went to sit where he could see her face. I believe he is carrying a bit of a torch for the lovely Miss Peterson.
As soon as Mr. Brady left the game, the contest became more and more between Joey Stockwell and me, with Joey baiting me at every turn. “You lucky dog, in this saloon five days out of seven. A real man would have bedded every one of those girls.” “The girls hate you, Justin, you know that? You’re prettier than any of them.” And when he won, “Not ready to play with the big boys, are you, missy?” School yard teasing, that’s what it was, but hearing every sally of Joey’s greeted with hoots of laughter got tiresome. I kept hoping I would clean him out and he’d be forced to drop out of the game, but Joey was in funds tonight.
The deal went round and round the table, with Joey losing steadily. He would have lost even more steadily had I not thrown a few, small pots his way, throwing in when I was fairly sure my hand beat his. Then I was dealt the Q♥ down, and the 9♥ up. Even though the queen and the nine did not add up to anything worth writing home about, I had a good feeling about my little lady. Besides, Joey was showing a 9♣, reducing the likelihood that he had a pair of 9s.
The betting opened at 5¢, and I met the nickel and raised it 25¢. The guy next to me dropped out; the dealer met my two bits and dealt the next up card. I was dealt an 8♥; Joey drew an unexpected 9♦. That made me pause. Joey now had a pair of nines showing, and the way he was smirking at me, there was a possibility that his hole card was the last 9. Although I had three hearts and I had seen only two other hearts showing, both mathematics and my experience informed me that the likelihood of drawing two more for a flush was highly unlikely.
I hesitated for a moment. Joey said, “I know. You’d rather be working the room with the ladies than sitting here with us, wouldn’t you? I know your sort.”
His objectionable friends loved that flight of wit and hooted their appreciation. His continuing jabs were having the effect he wanted, and I know I flushed. I have worked very hard on my poker face, but anger is still difficult for me to disguise. I said, “I’ll see your two bits,” and I threw in a quarter, “and I’ll raise you a dollar.” I dragged a bill from my pocket.
I was subjected to more jeers from Joey’s gang as well as some gasps and laughter from the on-lookers we had attracted.
The play was getting too high for the rest of his friends but Joey saw me, again with a dig at me. “Pot’s too rich for you, little missy?” I ignored him and gestured for the dealer to continue. He dealt me a Q♦ and Joey a 10♦. I had schooled my face to look disappointed, no matter what card I got, but the queen was the best possible outcome. Now I had to consider whether Joey could beat a pair of queens. If he had three nines, he could, of course, but was his air of cocksureness due to a certain win or rather to his under-estimation of my play? I said, “I’m raising you,” and I put two more dollars on the table.
Joey tossed two dollars on the table and said, “Two bucks says I see you.”
I turned over my queen. He shoved back from the table angrily and stood up. “That’s it,” he said. “I’m leaving.” His face had gotten red.
I smiled. “Can’t stand to lose to someone prettier than you, I see.”
Joey’s face got redder, and he started around the table. I felt a hand on my shoulder, and I realized that one of the men standing behind me was Brian.
I stood up. Looking around, I saw two of Brian’s bully boys standing behind him, and six or seven of Babylon’s regular patrons crowding around the table. I had friends here.
I stepped in front of Joey. He shoved me and said, “Out of the way, cocksucker.”
I stumbled backwards, and Brian stepped between Joey and me. I said, “You need to learn some manners, Mister Stockwell. Around here, we don’t use language like that.”
“I’ll use whatever language I please, wherever I please,” he said, but his voice was less confident. He looked around himself uneasily, realizing that his friends were so much the worse for wear as to be useless while my friends were angry and getting angrier.
“It’s easy to be the big man when you are surrounded by your bullies, isn’t it? It’s not so much fun now, is it, when you’re out-numbered. Maybe you should send somebody to run for your daddy to bail you out.” I was yelling now.
Joey jabbed his finger toward my face. “You’re fucked,” he snarled, then started for the door, shoving through the customers ringing him, knocking people aside. I grinned at his retreating back. I felt good, strong and powerful. I was tired of taking shit from everybody.
I looked up at Brian. His face was serious. “Congratulations,” he said. “You just made yourself a real enemy.”
BRIAN
I slipped Leon a dollar and said, “Thanks for getting everybody here so quickly.”
He looked at me with his usual glum countenance. “Getting Miss Peterson into the carriage quickly is hard work.”
I’m sure it is, but if he was trying to increase his tip, it wasn’t working. “Give Emmett a hand behind the bar until business slows down,” I said.
He nodded and moved off in the direction of the bar. I went straight to my office and shut the door. I leaned back against it for a moment. So close. That confrontation just now could so easily have gotten out of control. All it needed was one person to throw a punch or react to a shove, and Babylon would have been hosting a bar fight.
When you are the proprietor of a saloon where men meet other men, you do not want the attention a bar fight brings. You especially do not want the sort of attention that comes with a bar fight in which Boss Stockwell’s son is a participant. Boss Stockwell can do far more harm to the Babylon Saloon than I can do to his organization. Far, far more.
I pulled myself together and went to sit down behind my desk. I opened the desk drawer where I keep my bottle and poured myself a drink. I put my feet up on the desk, swirled the pale brown liquid in the glass, and thought about what I should do now. What I wanted to do was get very, very drunk and fuck somebody.
The door opened, and a candidate for fucking walked in.
I waved Justin to a seat and got out another glass. I held it up inquiringly, and he nodded. I filled it, put my feet down, and handed it across the desk. I didn’t say anything.
He said, “Are you alright, Brian?”
I raised an eyebrow and drank down half the glass.
“I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?” I didn’t think he understood his transgression.
“For shouting at Mr. Stockwell?” His voice was hesitant.
“For provoking Mr. Stockwell. He’s a horse’s ass. You know it, I know it, every man in that room knew it, including his friends. So why make an issue of it?”
“I get tired of being belittled and mocked. I had had enough tonight.”
“You were fortunate in that when you’d had enough, you were somewhere safe…somewhere somewhat safe, anyway. But how about the rest of us? How about Babylon?”
“Babylon? What are you talking about?”
He really didn’t know. “Babylon Saloon is in business because people like Boss Stockwell, with his connections, choose to allow it to remain open. If young Joey runs home crying and his fucking father decides to put us out of business, we’ll go out of business.”
“Dang, Brian. I didn’t know….” He looked stricken but brightened up almost immediately. “You’ll be O.K., Brian. You’ll figure out how to get around him if he tries anything. I know you will.”
I smiled at him, and he stood up, walked around the desk, and sat, straddling my legs. Being hero-worshipped makes me uncomfortable, but it has its rewards.
He leaned forward and kissed me softly, and I cupped my hand around the back of his head. I applied a little pressure, moving his head so that our mouths meshed more neatly. I could feel myself getting hard, my cock pressing against my pants. Yes indeedy, I thought. I’ll figure out something.
Justin pulled back and, looking down, noticed my distress. He ran his hand over my crotch, rubbing the rough material of my pants against my all-too-sensitive cock. He was watching my face as he did so, and I raised an eyebrow at him.
“Would you like me to do something about this?” he asked.
“Don’t you think you owe me?”
He slid to his knees and unbuttoned my trousers. I opened the drawer where I kept my bottle and glasses and pulled out a handkerchief. When Justin finished his ministrations, I would need a handkerchief. I like to be prepared to deal with just such a necessity at all times. In this case, while Justin had never sucked cock before we met, he proved to be a quick learner and now is more than proficient. At times, he is inspired. This was one of those times.
When I had made use of my handkerchief, I said, “Drop your breeches.”
He did so, with alacrity, presumably because he expected some sort of reciprocal action on my part. Instead, once his pants were around his knees, I sat up straight, wrapped my arm around his back, and dragged him across my knees. Before I let go with my right arm, I pinned him in place with my left, then brought my right hand down smartly on his bare backside. I have quite a large hand. It isn’t as callused and rough as it used to be, but it is satisfactorily hard. I was pleased to note that my action left a rosy imprint of my hand on his pale ass.
“Brian,” he gasped. “What the….?”
“What the fuck do you think?” and I brought my hand down on his other cheek.
He squirmed, trying to get away, but I am not only taller and heavier than he is, but I have engaged in heavy labor in my day. He has not. I administered two more slaps with only a little difficulty, one to each cheek.
“Brian! Fuck.” He swallowed a gasp. Was he near to crying? “Stop.”
Another pair of slaps. His struggles were getting more vigorous. He is wiry. “I think you know why this is happening.”
“I do. I’m sorry, Brian. Please….”
I let him up. Yes, there were tear marks on those flushed cheeks. I wiped my finger across one cheek and stuck it in my mouth, tasting the salt. I raised an eyebrow at him.
“It’s not the pain, Brian.” He was hurrying into his pants. “It’s…it’s…,” he hesitated, then rushed his words, “I’m embarrassed.”
“Act like a child, get treated like a child.”
He was looking at the ground. I put my finger under his chin and tipped his face up. I rolled my lips over my teeth and said, “I think we should go to my house now. I need more privacy to finish off your punishment.”
JUSTIN
My ass smarted, but the softening expression on Brian’s face soothed the sting. I said, “I’m ready.”
Brian said, “I need to talk to Emmett and Leon before I leave, and I want to make sure Cyrus and Luke are still around to see us home.” Cyrus and Luke are his bully boys. “I’ll just be a few minutes.”
I nodded my head earnestly. “I’ll be here.” And I would. But first I planned to go out in the alley and quickly relieve myself of my boner. I was quite hard and so close to shooting that it would be only a manner of a minute or two to make myself comfortable. I would be back in Brian’s office long before he got done giving Emmett and Leon their instructions for the evening.
I waited a couple of minutes before following Brian out of the office. I slipped out the back door, into the mild spring night. This wouldn’t take long.
In case you would like to refresh your memory of Part 1, it's here.
ANOTHER TIME, ANOTHER PLACE
Part 2
EMMETT
Business at the Babylon Saloon was slower than usual for a Thursday night in April. There were men drinking at a couple of tables, while three “pretty waiter girls” sat around, gossiping, at a table near the door. The girls’ job was to amuse the customers and encourage them to drink, but it was obvious to all of us that none of the saloon’s current customers were going to be interested in any pretty waiter girl. I rubbed a cloth slowly along the bar, eyeing the dozen or so patrons myself. The prospects were not encouraging. I feared that I would be retreating alone to my third floor room above the saloon tonight.
Some steady patrons of this establishment, as well as some of the other hirelings, josh me by saying that I take Mr. Kinney’s leavings, but they are in error. In fact the sorts of men for whom I feel a mutual attraction tend to eschew Brian’s attentions, at least after they have been with him once. They find they prefer a tall, well-set-up man who is not as…ahem…dominant as Brian. Instead, they want a man who appreciates an expert cocksman. In all due modesty, I am that man.
My gaze settled on the round table at which five men were playing stud poker. Well, four men and a young boy. Justin was facing me, his gaze fixed on the cards in his hand, his face serious. One of the men at the table said something…I was too far away to catch his words…and a smile ghosted across Justin’s face as he turned his head to answer. The dealer dealt another round of cards, and Justin threw his hand in. Last month Justin had a spell of reckless play, and both won some large pots and lost some, but recently he has reverted to his usual conservative style. Brian opined that his plunging was the result of boredom with his chosen profession. I reckon he has now recalled that card play is his business and has settled down again.
The door to the saloon opened, and Justin turned to look. His face split open in a huge smile. I knew why. It must be that Brian had returned from his assignation. How in tarnation Justin puts up with Brian’s wandering ways is more than I can figure. I am almost as much amazed that Brian is still enamored of our young gentleman, even though six months - and more - have gone by since Mr. Taylor first appeared on the doorstep of this saloon. May wonders never cease!
Brian glanced around the premises, then walked straight to the poker game. He stopped and said something to Justin. Justin shook his head No and shuffled the deck. Brian walked on back to his office, and Justin dealt the next hand.
The door to the saloon opened again, and I brightened up. Tommy Barrett is an old acquaintance and one who hasn’t been in for a while. My prospects began to look up.
JUSTIN
I dealt another hand of cards. I was a little ahead tonight, which was fine. Playing poker with Sal, Ernest, and William was as much about the company as the game. Sal and Ernest came to play several times a week. They always came together and left together; I had drawn my own conclusions from that. I could count on them to withdraw from the game if between them, they won or lost more than a dollar or two. Tonight was going swimmingly: Sal was up 50¢, Ernest was down a little more. There was much banter between the two of them, with comparisons of bone-headed play to dumb luck.
William joined the game much less frequently, but like Ernie and Sal, he was a man who earned his living on the wharves and in the warehouses by the strength of his back. He too was not a plunger. The fifth man…boy…at the table had introduced himself at Timothy Wilkins; I reckoned he was a year or two older than myself. He kept his eyes averted from me for the most part, but I caught him throwing shy glances in my direction when he thought himself unobserved. If he was attracted to me, as I suspected, I doubted he would have to nerve to make a play in my direction. Should he do so, I would have to head him off even though he seemed congenial. Experience has taught me the folly of mixing business and pleasure. Having relations with persons I play cards with can lead to awkward situations; or, don’t fuck what you just fleeced.
Shortly after Brian got back from his ‘meeting,’ the door to the saloon started opening and shutting with more frequency. Business was picking up. Then the door burst open, and a group of eight or nine well-to-do young men burst through. The group included, I saw to my annoyance, Joseph Stockwell. Joey is the son of Boss Stockwell and hence free to cut up whatever japes he fancies, knowing that his father’s wealth and power protects him from any adverse consequences. He seems to have taken a particular dislike to me.
The group bellied up to the bar and loudly ordered boilermakers all around. Alerted by the noise, Brian came out of his office quietly. He stopped and spoke to Leon, before going behind the bar to assist Emmett and to keep an eye on things generally. Leon put on his coat and went out toward the back alley.
At our table, it was William’s turn to deal, which he did, and we played another couple of hands quietly. All of us were paying more attention to the men at the bar than we were to our own play. I was relieved to note that two of Brian’s largest and toughest bully boys had joined us, no doubt recruited by the still-absent Leon.
Finally Ernest and Sal stood up. Both men had started losing when Joey’s gang burst through the door. “That’ll be it for tonight, Mr. Taylor,” Ernest said. “We’re leaving while we’re still playin’ with your coin.”
William pushed back his chair. “It’s getting late. I’ll be leavin’, too.”
I nodded and said, “Good night, gentlemen.” I looked at Timothy. “It appears we no longer have a game, Mr. Wilkins.” I thought it would be a very good thing if he left, too, because he was just the sort of innocent that the boys at the bar would have sport with. To my relief, he stood up, and said, “I’ll go along with you gentlemen, if that’s all right.”
William said, “Come on,” and all four left, to my relief.
I pushed back my chair and stood up. I was uncertain what to do next. On one hand, I knew my best bet was to avoid young Stockwell and his chums, but from a business standpoint, I hadn’t made anything worth mentioning tonight. Stockwell’s crowd always had plenty of blunt in their pockets. I looked at Brian, and he gave his head a small shake. Perversely, that made up my mind for me. “Anyone like a game?” I asked.
They would. A couple stayed back at the bar, but six of them, including Joey Stockwell, came and sat down at my table. Joey yelled for a bottle of whiskey for the table, and Emmett brought it over, with glasses all around. I broke open a new deck, shuffled, had my neighbor cut the cards, and then dealt the first hand.
The game went pretty much as you might expect. They had all had at least two boilermakers before they sat down, and they continued to drink as we played. I was cold sober to begin with, and although I did sip from the glass Emmett placed at my elbow, I did not let it be refilled. Naturally, everyone else at the table began to lose, and although I played conservatively and even let a few sure things escape me, I quickly became the biggest winner.
A fellow named Wayne Brady was giving me a run for the money until the piano player, Theodore Schmidt, arrived and started playing. His arrival was quickly followed by Lindsay Peterson’s. When Miss Peterson started singing, Mr. Brady pocketed his winnings, picked up his drink, and went to sit where he could see her face. I believe he is carrying a bit of a torch for the lovely Miss Peterson.
As soon as Mr. Brady left the game, the contest became more and more between Joey Stockwell and me, with Joey baiting me at every turn. “You lucky dog, in this saloon five days out of seven. A real man would have bedded every one of those girls.” “The girls hate you, Justin, you know that? You’re prettier than any of them.” And when he won, “Not ready to play with the big boys, are you, missy?” School yard teasing, that’s what it was, but hearing every sally of Joey’s greeted with hoots of laughter got tiresome. I kept hoping I would clean him out and he’d be forced to drop out of the game, but Joey was in funds tonight.
The deal went round and round the table, with Joey losing steadily. He would have lost even more steadily had I not thrown a few, small pots his way, throwing in when I was fairly sure my hand beat his. Then I was dealt the Q♥ down, and the 9♥ up. Even though the queen and the nine did not add up to anything worth writing home about, I had a good feeling about my little lady. Besides, Joey was showing a 9♣, reducing the likelihood that he had a pair of 9s.
The betting opened at 5¢, and I met the nickel and raised it 25¢. The guy next to me dropped out; the dealer met my two bits and dealt the next up card. I was dealt an 8♥; Joey drew an unexpected 9♦. That made me pause. Joey now had a pair of nines showing, and the way he was smirking at me, there was a possibility that his hole card was the last 9. Although I had three hearts and I had seen only two other hearts showing, both mathematics and my experience informed me that the likelihood of drawing two more for a flush was highly unlikely.
I hesitated for a moment. Joey said, “I know. You’d rather be working the room with the ladies than sitting here with us, wouldn’t you? I know your sort.”
His objectionable friends loved that flight of wit and hooted their appreciation. His continuing jabs were having the effect he wanted, and I know I flushed. I have worked very hard on my poker face, but anger is still difficult for me to disguise. I said, “I’ll see your two bits,” and I threw in a quarter, “and I’ll raise you a dollar.” I dragged a bill from my pocket.
I was subjected to more jeers from Joey’s gang as well as some gasps and laughter from the on-lookers we had attracted.
The play was getting too high for the rest of his friends but Joey saw me, again with a dig at me. “Pot’s too rich for you, little missy?” I ignored him and gestured for the dealer to continue. He dealt me a Q♦ and Joey a 10♦. I had schooled my face to look disappointed, no matter what card I got, but the queen was the best possible outcome. Now I had to consider whether Joey could beat a pair of queens. If he had three nines, he could, of course, but was his air of cocksureness due to a certain win or rather to his under-estimation of my play? I said, “I’m raising you,” and I put two more dollars on the table.
Joey tossed two dollars on the table and said, “Two bucks says I see you.”
I turned over my queen. He shoved back from the table angrily and stood up. “That’s it,” he said. “I’m leaving.” His face had gotten red.
I smiled. “Can’t stand to lose to someone prettier than you, I see.”
Joey’s face got redder, and he started around the table. I felt a hand on my shoulder, and I realized that one of the men standing behind me was Brian.
I stood up. Looking around, I saw two of Brian’s bully boys standing behind him, and six or seven of Babylon’s regular patrons crowding around the table. I had friends here.
I stepped in front of Joey. He shoved me and said, “Out of the way, cocksucker.”
I stumbled backwards, and Brian stepped between Joey and me. I said, “You need to learn some manners, Mister Stockwell. Around here, we don’t use language like that.”
“I’ll use whatever language I please, wherever I please,” he said, but his voice was less confident. He looked around himself uneasily, realizing that his friends were so much the worse for wear as to be useless while my friends were angry and getting angrier.
“It’s easy to be the big man when you are surrounded by your bullies, isn’t it? It’s not so much fun now, is it, when you’re out-numbered. Maybe you should send somebody to run for your daddy to bail you out.” I was yelling now.
Joey jabbed his finger toward my face. “You’re fucked,” he snarled, then started for the door, shoving through the customers ringing him, knocking people aside. I grinned at his retreating back. I felt good, strong and powerful. I was tired of taking shit from everybody.
I looked up at Brian. His face was serious. “Congratulations,” he said. “You just made yourself a real enemy.”
BRIAN
I slipped Leon a dollar and said, “Thanks for getting everybody here so quickly.”
He looked at me with his usual glum countenance. “Getting Miss Peterson into the carriage quickly is hard work.”
I’m sure it is, but if he was trying to increase his tip, it wasn’t working. “Give Emmett a hand behind the bar until business slows down,” I said.
He nodded and moved off in the direction of the bar. I went straight to my office and shut the door. I leaned back against it for a moment. So close. That confrontation just now could so easily have gotten out of control. All it needed was one person to throw a punch or react to a shove, and Babylon would have been hosting a bar fight.
When you are the proprietor of a saloon where men meet other men, you do not want the attention a bar fight brings. You especially do not want the sort of attention that comes with a bar fight in which Boss Stockwell’s son is a participant. Boss Stockwell can do far more harm to the Babylon Saloon than I can do to his organization. Far, far more.
I pulled myself together and went to sit down behind my desk. I opened the desk drawer where I keep my bottle and poured myself a drink. I put my feet up on the desk, swirled the pale brown liquid in the glass, and thought about what I should do now. What I wanted to do was get very, very drunk and fuck somebody.
The door opened, and a candidate for fucking walked in.
I waved Justin to a seat and got out another glass. I held it up inquiringly, and he nodded. I filled it, put my feet down, and handed it across the desk. I didn’t say anything.
He said, “Are you alright, Brian?”
I raised an eyebrow and drank down half the glass.
“I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?” I didn’t think he understood his transgression.
“For shouting at Mr. Stockwell?” His voice was hesitant.
“For provoking Mr. Stockwell. He’s a horse’s ass. You know it, I know it, every man in that room knew it, including his friends. So why make an issue of it?”
“I get tired of being belittled and mocked. I had had enough tonight.”
“You were fortunate in that when you’d had enough, you were somewhere safe…somewhere somewhat safe, anyway. But how about the rest of us? How about Babylon?”
“Babylon? What are you talking about?”
He really didn’t know. “Babylon Saloon is in business because people like Boss Stockwell, with his connections, choose to allow it to remain open. If young Joey runs home crying and his fucking father decides to put us out of business, we’ll go out of business.”
“Dang, Brian. I didn’t know….” He looked stricken but brightened up almost immediately. “You’ll be O.K., Brian. You’ll figure out how to get around him if he tries anything. I know you will.”
I smiled at him, and he stood up, walked around the desk, and sat, straddling my legs. Being hero-worshipped makes me uncomfortable, but it has its rewards.
He leaned forward and kissed me softly, and I cupped my hand around the back of his head. I applied a little pressure, moving his head so that our mouths meshed more neatly. I could feel myself getting hard, my cock pressing against my pants. Yes indeedy, I thought. I’ll figure out something.
Justin pulled back and, looking down, noticed my distress. He ran his hand over my crotch, rubbing the rough material of my pants against my all-too-sensitive cock. He was watching my face as he did so, and I raised an eyebrow at him.
“Would you like me to do something about this?” he asked.
“Don’t you think you owe me?”
He slid to his knees and unbuttoned my trousers. I opened the drawer where I kept my bottle and glasses and pulled out a handkerchief. When Justin finished his ministrations, I would need a handkerchief. I like to be prepared to deal with just such a necessity at all times. In this case, while Justin had never sucked cock before we met, he proved to be a quick learner and now is more than proficient. At times, he is inspired. This was one of those times.
When I had made use of my handkerchief, I said, “Drop your breeches.”
He did so, with alacrity, presumably because he expected some sort of reciprocal action on my part. Instead, once his pants were around his knees, I sat up straight, wrapped my arm around his back, and dragged him across my knees. Before I let go with my right arm, I pinned him in place with my left, then brought my right hand down smartly on his bare backside. I have quite a large hand. It isn’t as callused and rough as it used to be, but it is satisfactorily hard. I was pleased to note that my action left a rosy imprint of my hand on his pale ass.
“Brian,” he gasped. “What the….?”
“What the fuck do you think?” and I brought my hand down on his other cheek.
He squirmed, trying to get away, but I am not only taller and heavier than he is, but I have engaged in heavy labor in my day. He has not. I administered two more slaps with only a little difficulty, one to each cheek.
“Brian! Fuck.” He swallowed a gasp. Was he near to crying? “Stop.”
Another pair of slaps. His struggles were getting more vigorous. He is wiry. “I think you know why this is happening.”
“I do. I’m sorry, Brian. Please….”
I let him up. Yes, there were tear marks on those flushed cheeks. I wiped my finger across one cheek and stuck it in my mouth, tasting the salt. I raised an eyebrow at him.
“It’s not the pain, Brian.” He was hurrying into his pants. “It’s…it’s…,” he hesitated, then rushed his words, “I’m embarrassed.”
“Act like a child, get treated like a child.”
He was looking at the ground. I put my finger under his chin and tipped his face up. I rolled my lips over my teeth and said, “I think we should go to my house now. I need more privacy to finish off your punishment.”
JUSTIN
My ass smarted, but the softening expression on Brian’s face soothed the sting. I said, “I’m ready.”
Brian said, “I need to talk to Emmett and Leon before I leave, and I want to make sure Cyrus and Luke are still around to see us home.” Cyrus and Luke are his bully boys. “I’ll just be a few minutes.”
I nodded my head earnestly. “I’ll be here.” And I would. But first I planned to go out in the alley and quickly relieve myself of my boner. I was quite hard and so close to shooting that it would be only a manner of a minute or two to make myself comfortable. I would be back in Brian’s office long before he got done giving Emmett and Leon their instructions for the evening.
I waited a couple of minutes before following Brian out of the office. I slipped out the back door, into the mild spring night. This wouldn’t take long.