“Well, that was one way to cool down and blow off steam before a big event,” I remarked as I accepted the gum, pulled my pants back up, and turned to give Ben an exhilarated grin.

He nodded, smiling with satisfaction. He licked his lips, and even that tiny, involuntary gesture was enough to make my spent cock twitch with desire again. I was insatiable, it seemed. No matter how much I got from Ben, it was never enough. I desired him on the level any other human might desire food or shelter. His touch, the pleasure he could so easily give me, it was all becoming so important to me. My body ached for more, no matter how far we pushed each other. I wanted to be impossibly close with him. I wanted his body and mine to be touching always, forever hinging on the edge between measured closeness and wild, uncontrollable desire.

This was all still so new to me: the ritz and glamor of the high-class art world, riding in fancy vehicles, dressing to the nines, eating only the best and finest food, and of course, all along standing by the side of the most captivating and good-looking man I had ever met in all my years on this earth. I looked over at him, watching the bluish lights of the city at early dusk washing over the curves and lines of his face. A neon sign playing rainbow light over the straight slope of his nose. A flickering streetlight strobing gold across his high, polished cheekbones. Even the shadows danced along his features in a way that made him look almost otherworldly in his handsomeness. He was incredible. He was everything. And I could not believe my luck to be the man beside him tonight.

We cleaned ourselves up as best we could, brushing off our clothes, styling our hair back into place, occasionally laughing at one another with a shared thrill. We were still riding up in the clouds, kept buoyant by the exquisite high of pleasure.

However, as the car pulled up to the curb outside the building, my heart skipped a beat. A flush of anxiety filled my body as I looked up at the impressive facade, the bright lights strobing slowly and decadently along its carved face. There were people walking up the front marble steps in evening gowns and glittering designer heels, clutching couture bags, their fingers, wrists, necks, and ears adorned with the finest scintillating gemstones and precious metals. These were high-society people, the kind for whom this sort of event was the norm, the baseline. These people intimidated the hell out of me. I could just feel that they would immediately know I was out of place the second I walked into the room. They would be able to smell the blue-collar stink on me, I just knew it. There was a part of me that wanted to stay in the car, to tell Ben to go on without me. I worried that I could be an anchor, something to drag him down instead of helping him glide through the crowds of people who would accept him on sight as one of their own. The last thing I wanted was to slow him down. Ben was the kind of man who was unstoppable. He could climb any social ladder. He could succeed over any expectations. I didn’t want to keep him from shining with my inherent dullness.

He could sense it. He could feel the hesitation in my body as I looked out the window. I felt him reach for and grab my hand. His thumb traced soothing circles inside my clammy palm. I turned to look at him just as he leaned in close. His warm breath tickled the vulnerable flesh of my neck as he whispered in my ear, “You can handle this. They’re going to love you, Noah. I promise. It will all be just fine.”

I managed to put what I hoped was a convincing smile to my lips and I nodded. Ben squeezed my hand and got out of the car, helping me out like a true gentleman. Once I stepped out into the brisk air, I took a deep breath. Somehow, the building looked even more foreboding now that I was standing in front of it. The place was an old, historic brownstone with at least ten floors, balconies, and a grand entrance that looked like it could easily be the setting of a spy movie or something. There were little notes of art deco influence, cornices and carvings that only added to the cinematic elegance of the place. I wondered what the hell it could be like to live or work in such a location. It seemed impossible that anyone could call this palatial testament to the wealth and artistry of mankind a home or place of employment. Even though I personally worked in a similarly beautiful, historical place at the Gilded Fox, this loft expo still seemed far, far beyond my own league of existence. Every little detail was designed to impress and intimidate, and for a fish out of water like I was, it was certainly effective. I was less impressed than I was worried. After all, I lived in Manhattan. I saw wealth and fortune every day. I was surrounded by it. But I had never tried to move about within that world, and I was dreading being viewed as a phony or a poser.

But Ben, rather unsurprisingly, seemed unaffected by the pomp and circumstance. He patted my arm and led me up the marble steps with a quiet confidence that I luckily found pretty infectious. He moved through this world with such ease, such at-home naturalness that I could almost make believe I belonged here just by sheer proximity. I continued comforting and calming myself with the promise of getting to look at fine art.

As we stepped through the grand entry, Ben looked at me reassuringly. “What are you thinking right now?” he asked. “Are you all right?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. I’ll get through it. This just… well, it feels a little surreal for me, to be honest.”

“That makes sense. It’s a strange world to walk into, even for me,” he said.

“I’m just reminding myself I’m not here for the people. I’m here for the art,” I declared softly, as much for myself as for him. “I’ve always loved art. I was fascinated with it as a child. You know, growing up with six siblings definitely meant I had fewer opportunities to do my own thing. It’s expensive raising seven kids. My parents did their best. But as a young boy, all I ever wanted was to visit a museum, look at the famous art I’d been looking at in that art history textbook my parents kept on the coffee table. I made it happen one summer, too.”

“Did you? How?” Ben prompted, genuinely interested in the story.

My heart warmed at the memory. I sighed. “I think I was, I don’t know, nine or ten years old. School was out for the summer, and I was already bored out of my mind. I was a very energetic kid, even though I was pretty quiet. Anyway, I made it my goal to visit the Met.”

“Really? How did you manage that?” Ben asked, smiling broadly. We were walking through to the main hall now, but I was trailing down memory lane.

“Well, I started looking for any odd job or chore I could perform. You know, mowing lawns, raking leaves, picking weeds, washing cars, scrubbing decks-- anything I could think of. Anything people asked me to do. I kept myself very busy,” I explained with a chuckle. “I swear I must have gotten three separate sunburns during that summer.”

“You had a stronger work ethic as a child than I’ve ever had, clearly,” Ben joked.

I grinned. “Yeah. I had a goal in mind. I know a ten-dollar entrance fee doesn’t sound like much now. But for a lower-income family with seven kids, that kind of money was never just lying around. My parents were constantly struggling to have anything left at the end of the week. I was not about to ask them for money—I knew they wouldn’t have it. So I could only rely on myself. And finally, I scraped together enough money to buy a ticket and a tour of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

“I picked a day—the final day of summer right before the school year was slated to pick back up. I paid for my subway ticket across town. I marched right up to the Met, bought myself a ticket, and after convincing the door guy that I was old enough and responsible enough to go on my own, he let me through. I spent my whole day there, from the moment they opened in the morning until the second they closed up that night. I just spent hours wandering around by myself, being awed by the art. It was a whole new world for me, Ben. I had never seen anything like that before in person. I felt incredible. I was so inspired. Even as just a dumb little kid, the art I saw there that day moved me. It changed me,” I admitted dreamily.

We stepped into the elevator, and the metal doors slid shut silently as Ben gazed at me sidelong, those brown eyes smoldering with heat. At first, he was quiet, and that worried me. Maybe I had screwed up, talked too much about myself. Revealed something too big about who I was and where I came from. I was starting to second-guess myself when suddenly Ben grabbed my hand and pulled me close, pinning me to the wall of the elevator cell, his lips crashing against mine as his hand cupped my cheek. It was a tender, passionate kiss that had me tingling from my head to my toes. I sighed into his mouth, feeling that electric current jolting between us as always. When we finally broke apart just before the elevator doors opened again, there was a split second of intensity between us. Ben’s brown eyes locked with mine, and I felt a wave of pure affection and closeness pass between us. A lump formed in my throat.

Nobody had ever looked at me like this before.

Ben saw me, not just the curated version of myself I put out into the world, not just the stats of my life on paper. He saw straight through to the untouched depths of my soul, and I knew in that instant that he understood me. He knew me. Without even trying.

The elevator doors opened, and there was a ding!

Ben smiled softly and gestured for me to come with him. “Follow me,” he said gently. “I can’t wait to show you off to these uppity art scene people.”

We were at the top floor, and my jaw dropped as soon as we stepped into the loft. It was stunningly beautiful. Blue lighting flashed up the walls, and crystal chandeliers dangled opulently from the vaulted ceilings. I was in awe. Every person, every item of clothing, every song, every angle, every work of art-- it was all perfection. Never before had I seen so many avant-garde fashion looks in one location altogether like this. Never before had I heard such cool, experimental music. I could not locate a speaker. They were somehow so expertly hidden or disguised that it gave the aura of music simply materializing out of nothing, like the air itself was imbued with rhythm and tenor.

It was sometimes difficult to identify an artist from a mere attendee. Everyone was equally beautiful and intimidating. Everyone looked as though they could seamlessly meld into the scene, as though the loft itself was a work of art. I was not accustomed to this world, and under any other circumstances, I probably would have turned tail and fled like some terrified prey animal. But with Ben by my side, I felt a little braver. He was perfectly at ease in this environment, slipping into his role with gusto. He offered me his arm, and I gladly took it, needing the physical anchor to keep my anxieties from floating me away into the stratosphere.

“Do you know any of these people?” I asked quietly, leaning close as we walked through the gallery, surrounded by exquisite glamor on all sides.

Ben nodded slowly. “Yes. I recognize some of the usual suspects. High rollers. Bored, rich housewives. Eccentric collectors. And then, of course, the artists themselves. I have a list in my head. Names I can pair up with faces. I know exactly which artists I am interested in pursuing tonight. If I can recruit even half of that list of gay male artists for our art showing, we’ll be golden,” he explained in a near whisper.

“Wow. You’ve really got a handle on this, huh? You must have seriously done your homework,” I said, genuinely impressed.

“This is where I tend to excel,” he said coolly. “Just follow my lead.”

I, too, began to recognize some art and artists and even put the pieces together to identify certain collectors I knew about. Even though I was more of a hobbyist from afar than the kind of guy who could blend into this world, I had my own mental list, and whenever I recognized someone, I made sure to let Ben know about it. Before long, the two of us had parsed out just about every guest we came across. We were experts. Now that we knew the lay of the land, it was game time.

Ben led me into a conversation with an art collector I recognized vaguely. He was a fast-talking, deadpan kind of guy, the sort who was clever and witty enough to move through a conversation at breakneck speed. I found it a little tricky to keep up with him, but Ben was totally unfazed. We learned that the guy was called Felix. He was a collector of marble and avant-garde sculpture. Despite the vaguely snobbish vibes he gave off, Ben soon had him entangled in a lively discussion about Rodin, which led to Felix offering up some of his personal collection for the art expo at the Gilded Fox. I was especially surprised and impressed by this agreement once Felix stalked off and Ben revealed to me that Felix was already well known to the members of the Fox—because he was an old rival of a council member.

“Won’t that rock the boat just a little too much?” I asked incredulously.

Ben only gave me a fiendish wink. “Oh, I think it’ll be just the right amount of drama.”

“Wow. You’re very cavalier about all this somehow.” I chuckled.

Ben shrugged and squeezed my arm a little. “Consider it a gift,” he said loftily.

After we moved on from the conversation with Felix, Ben directed me over to an artist whose work was truly transcendental. He was a painter who incorporated a fair amount of gold leaf and metallics into his backgrounds and foregrounds, creating a dramatic chiaroscuro for his subjects. He painted intricate, stylized still life scenes as well as expressive but surrealistic human subjects. I was intrigued. I could not believe I was actually standing in front of such an accomplished up-and-coming artist. But Ben talked to the guy as though they were old friends, like they had known each other for years, even though I knew this had to be their first encounter. I couldn’t grasp how Ben managed to pull it off, but it was highly entertaining to see. He knew just the right questions to ask to get the artist talking passionately about his art.

As it turned out, the artist was a quiet, sensitive man named Nicholas, and he had just returned to New York after a few years studying and creating art at a university in Paris, of all places. I was gob smacked by the man’s accomplishments, all the places he had seen, the art he had created, the wealth of knowledge and talent he had at such a young age. Ben took it all in stride, of course. He knew how to meet each person at their own level, and no conversation topic ever seemed to stump him. Ben had something for everything, for everyone.

Within a few hours of sipping expensive wine and mingling with the high-brow attendees and starry-eyed artists present, we had already racked up a long list of people who agreed to take part in the art show at the Fox. I had even gotten the opportunity to have a conversation with an artist I had admired for years and years. It was a lovely talk, as she was much more down to earth and friendly than I’d expected, and I left it feeling buoyant and lucky. The evening was a wild success, and now that most of the work was done, Ben and I were just enjoying walking around together looking at the art. We shared our impressions of different works, often disagreeing on what we preferred, but always laughing about it. He was just so easy to talk to, and I found myself completely at ease with him at my side. In fact, I was beginning to wonder how I had ever tripped my way through life before meeting him. Ben brought so much light and vibrant color to my world. He was like a flash of lightning, a jolt of electricity to wake me up in a way I never thought possible. We laughed, we talked, we shared deep stories about art and how it moved us. At one point, Ben even stole a kiss-- on my cheek, of course, but it was still enough to make me shiver with desire.

For a moment, toward the end of the evening, Ben found himself caught up in a lively conversation with yet another talented artist, and I was zoning out a little. Even though all this had been a wonderful time, I was starting to feel a little overwhelmed and tired. So I let Ben talk while my eyes moved through the crowd, idly clocking famous faces as I looked around. But then I saw something that put me off guard.

A flash.

Just a split-second burst of light, barely big enough to stand out in the moody bluish lighting of the gallery. But it was enough for my eyes to notice, and within a few seconds it dawned on me that someone had just snapped a cell phone photograph.

Of me. But not just of me… it would have to be a photo of both of us. Ben and me.

My heart began to pound as I let go of Ben’s hand and excused myself. I started making my way across the room, through the rotating crowds, walking in the general direction of the camera flash. I was nervous, wondering who the hell would care enough to snap a photo of us. What if it was going to be used as evidence? Or blackmail? After all, Ben had just been inducted into the Gilded Fox membership, and there were people within the club who certainly opposed the new changes Ben wanted to enact there. It didn’t take a leap of faith to think he might have a few enemies among them. And since I was a simple bartender, not a member, it was still taboo for Ben and me to be together.

Someone wanted proof. And they had just gotten it.

I tried desperately to locate the photographer in the crowd, but unfortunately, he had managed to slink away undetected. I found myself lost and panicked in the throngs of people I didn’t know, looking around for Ben with wide eyes. My heart began to pound like crazy, and nausea twisted up in my stomach. Just as I was beginning to truly panic, I felt a calming warmth grab my hand. I turned quickly to see that Ben had found me, and there was a soothing, tender glow to his eyes in the low light. Instantly, my anxiety seemed to wane a little, and I heaved a deep breath.

“What happened? One minute you were right beside me; then I turned around and you were gone. Are you all right?” Ben asked me with genuine concern.

I forced a smile, but I knew it probably was not very convincing. I shrugged.

“Sorry for disappearing on you like that. I-I just… I thought I saw something,” I said.

Ben frowned slightly. “What was it?” he asked.

I glanced around nervously, then led him by the hand to the edge of the crowds where it was a little quieter. I leaned in close to reply in a low voice, “Someone took a photo of us.”

Ben raised an eyebrow. “A photo...of us? Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I saw the flash and everything,” I told him. “I tried to go after the guy, but he escaped somehow. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, no. Don’t apologize. You did nothing wrong. And don’t worry, Noah, I’m sure there are much more exciting images here to take photos of than the two of us. It’s rude, but that person probably just snapped a picture of one of the paintings,” he assured me.

I bit my lip, not persuaded. “I don’t know, Ben. It worries me,” I murmured.

He looked at me for a long moment, reading the fear in my eyes. Then he nodded and whispered, “Come with me. I can think of a good way to get this worry off your mind.”