The Payback

I met Julian at Mark’s birthday party. Not by chance. Julian had been hired to belly-dance. Mark had had a surprising good year money-wise and he wanted a grand birthday party. Maybe, not too grand, but certainly much greater than what he had ever done before. So, he had booked a small bar, and had hired Julian. He had invited too many people, too, most of them, I had never seen before. Or afterwards, for that matter.

I don’t like being the first arriving at a party. I have done that before, and it was awkward, so, from then on, I make sure to either go with others, if that’s possible, or, if I go alone, like this time, to arrive about half an hour after the “right” time. Half an hour is a good delay. Nobody thinks you were trying to be late, and you are unlikely to be the first to arrive.

When I got there, I spotted Mark right away. He was standing, at a table, close to the bar, talking happily with some of his… friends. The kind of which I mentioned before. People I had never seen before. Regardless, I went straight there to wish him happy birthday. And as I was chatting with Mark, I saw, for the first time Julian.

Shirtless, barefoot, dressed in coins and silk, standing at the bar, sipping soda with a confident air, like he belonged there. He looked nineteen, or twenty, with a lean, defined body. A cute face, but with a look saying, “Look at me. Admire me. I know you want to!” And I certainly did.

I usually find unattractive that arrogant “I know I am hot” aura, but, in his case, his cuteness was too strong, and the combination of the two – arrogance and cuteness – made him look even hotter.

I was ready to ask Mark about him, but at that time some of Mark’s friends, whom I know, came and I lost the opportunity in the conversation. Eventually, Mark led us to a table, too far from the bar, I must say. On the other side of the room, actually. But the centre area of the bar had been emptied, for Julian to dance, as I realised not much later, when he started his performance.

I have always admired dancers. That exquisite control they have over their bodies, making it move in ways that seem impossible, always leaves me in awe. What if, on top of that, that dancer is a cute, hot guy, like Julian? Yeah, I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

Controlled, precise, sensual… I forgot my drink, I forgot the people at the same table, I might have forgotten my name, to be honest. And when his set finished, I didn’t even think before applauding. Yeah, I am the kind of person who always waits for someone else to make the start.

I thought he were to dance again later, as he stayed in costume. Which means still shirtless. I kept trying not to stare at him. I kept trying to pretend I was more than interested in the chit-chat at my table. I failed.

Julian wandered around the place, chatting with everyone. Charming! Laughing, smiling, touching, flirting. Nothing too much, nothing crude. I knew it was for business – for staying visible, staying remembered – but I was looking forward to him doing these to me.

To that, I was lucky. Mark decided to come sit at our table. And that’s why Julian came to our table last, but he stayed until the end of the night. Coincidently he sat across the table, giving me the best view of his beauty.

Slowly, people started leaving, but I was determined to leave last. Mark lives not far from my place and I told him we’d leave together to share the cab fare. Some rare times, I can be clever. Mark was the host, of course, so he would be the last one to leave, and by suggesting that, it wouldn’t look rude of me staying for too long.

“Are you gay?” Julian asked when the three of us – me, Mark and him – were the only ones left at the table.

“Were I to say I’m not, would you believe me?”

“No!”

His smirk, his confidence, his sweetness… I loved it all.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-six. You?”

“Don’t be rude!” I couldn’t but laugh. “And what are you doing for a living?”

“Currently… I work at an internet café. But I’m also a freelance photographer.”

Yeah, not really. It’s more of a hobby, but I always use this when I want to look more interesting. His eyes sparkled.

“Really? Do you shoot live shows?”

“I haven’t done that, but I could.”

“Then, be my photographer.”

He laughed. So cutely! I couldn’t say whether he was joking or not, but I agreed. And we exchanged phone numbers.

*****

For the next six weeks or so, Julian and I met every few days. Always out – cafés, bars – never at his place or mine. Every time, he flirted. Not heavily, but deliberately. He’d rest his hand on my leg – too high on my thigh, too inward to be accidental. He’d lean in close when he laughed, hold eye contact a little too long.

But he did the same thing with other people. Once, a guy he knew ran into us at a bar, and I watched Julian flirt with him just as casually. Same touch, same smile. No embarrassment. No attempt to explain.

Later I asked, “Is he your boyfriend?”

Julian shrugged. “I don’t have a boyfriend. He’s a client.”

It should have been a red flag. But I let it slide. Because I wanted it to mean more when it was with me.

*****

A month and a half after that first meeting, Julian messaged me.

“I’ve got a performance at a club,” he wrote. “And I can bring a photographer. Want to come shoot it?”

He didn’t mention money. I didn’t ask. I said yes before he even told me the date and time.

The show was good. He was magnetic on stage, and I tried my best to capture it. Not very successfully, I admit. It was tricky. Low light and a moving subject. Add to this that it was the first time I was shooting under such unfriendly conditions. But, still, I was determined to make him look as good in the photos as he looked in my head. Afterwards, he hugged me and said I’d “saved the night”.

I can’t describe how happy I was.

Editing the photos took a few days. I was still working, and I didn’t rush it. I wanted them to be perfect. During that time, Julian kept texting me, same as always. Still flirty. Still warm. Still him.

When I finished, he invited me to his place to go over them.

*****

It was the first time I’d been alone with him in a private space. I tried not to overthink it. He was wearing soft clothes. Light-weight sweatpants and a loose tank top. Barefoot. The way he moved through the room was casual, but it was as if he was dancing, even then. Maybe just in my head… Maybe!

He sat close when we looked through the photos. He liked most of them. We disagreed on which were the best. Then, just like that, he hugged me.

“Thank you!”

His face brushed mine. Too close to be an accident. My breath stopped. I didn’t dare to lean in.

He did.

He kissed me. He stopped, without pulling back. He smiled. I tried to reach his lips with mine, and he kissed me again. His hands on the back of my head secured I couldn’t stop. As if I would!

Without stopping kissing me, he slowly stood up. I followed his lead. Slowly, he took a few steps backwards – still kissing me – until we reached his bed. He pulled me down onto his bed, on top of him. Then he rolled us around and he came on top.

He stopped kissing me, and he sat on me. I tried to rise to kiss him again. He pushed me down with his hand. I didn’t resist. He took off his top and looked at me. Smiling – almost arrogantly. The way he looked at me commanded me to admire him. I obeyed. Then he stooped down to kiss me again.

He pulled off my t-shirt, and kissed me again. He ran his lips down my neck, my chest, my belly. Until he found my belt. He unbuckled it and unbuttoned my jeans. He stopped. He went down to take off my shoes and socks, and then he pulled off my trousers and boxers together. He took off his. My already hard dick got harder.

He sat on his knees, on the bed, between my legs. He held my dick – oh, so gently – in his left hand. His right hand’s middle finger pushed against my hole.

“Top or bottom?”

“Whatever you want!”

And he made me his.

Then we slept. Tangled together.

I didn’t ask what it meant. I didn’t have to. Or so I thought.

*****

The next few days I was in seventh heaven. Everything looked pink. I sent messages – “Good morning,” “I miss you,” things I hadn’t let myself say before. Not too many – I tried to hold back. Nothing clingy. Just… tender. Soft. Honest.

He answered. Always politely. Always with a flirt, a joke, a wink emoji. But never anything more.

Still, I thought he was just being cautious. Maybe waiting. Maybe shy in his own way.

Until we met again.

We were walking, just the two of us. I reached out to kiss him. He pulled away.

“What are you doing?”

“Kissing you.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Why not?” I thought he was teasing me. But!

He frowned. “You can’t just go around kissing people whenever you want.”

A pain in my chest. My brain was slower. “But we… I thought we had something.”

“No.”

“But last time–”

“That was for the photos.”

His words knocked the breath out of me. I stared at him, searching his face for a sign that he was joking. Hoping he’d take it back.

He didn’t.

I can’t recall in detail everything else we said.

After that day, something shut down in me.

He didn’t vanish from my life, but he kept his distance. No more invitations. No more just-us meetings. When we did meet, he brought others with him. Always. The flirting never really stopped, but it meant less now.

Or maybe I just stopped believing it could mean anything at all.