"Kinda. I wish," Paul said savagely, still mindful of his thoughts and the soft smile, "I wish they'd take stiff collars and throw them to the wind."
"To the wind?"
Paul looked at him, seeing him masculine, tender, high cheeked, wide of eyebrows, fair; and a lump formed in his throat. The mouth was just right, with a touch of wry humor about it, and the eyes looked out of hidden mysteries. He's married, he found himself thinking … he's married and has a wife in Los Angeles. It was only a quick thought for Ted had suddenly taken him in his arms. He shivered inside himself and the tenseness seemed unbearable. He went up on tiptoes and met the lips, his eyes closing. His arms stole upward about the neck and lips met his, hot and passionately.
The radio blared out a jazz tune but was not heard by either of them.
Paul's mind ran riot then, figures came before him and pictures after pictures … and all the while he was in Ted's arms, giving back each kiss … meeting each demand. His own robe rustled slightly. He heard the sound of loose change rattle as Ted drew off his trousers. It stopped with a clump as they fell to the carpet. His robe fell silently on them. And then their bare bodies met and hands dug deep of each one's flesh.
They laid back on the goat skin and Ted's grip and his arms were loops of steel, his lips wine, and his body was night descending.
On the other side of town, Dusty, glamorous female impersonator, sat sewing sequins on a new "drag." His slightly bald head ached, and it required an effort to focus his eyes upon the tiny openings.
His lover brushed the drops of rain from his forehead as he came into the room. He looked at Dusty with an indifferent glance and lit a cigarette.
"Did you get a bottle, Bill?" Dusty asked.
"No," he answered harshly. "I didn't get a bottle."
"Why in the hell didn't you?" Dusty glared back at him. "Isn't that what you went out for? Where's my five?"
"Your five," yelled Bill. "So it's your five now, well I spent it
