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The Silent Hustler We had no success by the third bar. I’d rejected the handful of guys who showed the least bit of interest, my eye comparing them with Joe and finding them sorely inadequate. Joe impatiently upped the ante. “Let’s head to Lot’s Wife. They have a back room and the best salted margaritas in the free world. We’ll find a bedmate for you there. Or at least something for your big brother.” Joe led us past the line waiting to get in, smiled at the man on the door. He was greeted with a bear hug and a soft kiss. “Howdy, Joe.” “What’s it like tonight?” “Wall of flesh in there. Why don’t you angels stay out here and keep me company.” “Sorry, love, we can’t dally. Lover boy here needs a cock up his arse.” I flushed and tried to fade into the pavement, but the baldheaded guy had already dismissed me. “No minnows for me. You know I like my men with some meat on their bones.” His hand groped Joe’s cock; I flushed with jealousy.
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Finish reading "The Silent Hustler" in
Sean Meriwether
Outside the Grove Park Inn
Asheville, NC
where F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote
Five Favorite Places:
Asheville, NC
Galway, Ireland
Montreal, Canada
New York, NY
Palm Springs, CA
