Page:Jay Little - Maybe—Tomorrow.pdf/233

 "Oh …"

"I'm going to take this tie off … do you mind?"

"I don't mind."

He watched the other untie the knitted silk and place it on a small end table. Watched him unbutton his shirt and throw it across a chair.

"I'm going to do a strip-tease for you too," Paul teased, unfastening his pants. "Claude's not the only one who can, and I'm doing it the hard way … without music."

Gaylord watched; looked through the semi-nude physique. It was standing on the streets of the French Quarter amid the rows of spoiled bricks and flashing signs. It moved among feminine men who sat in smoke filled clubs; among mannish women who sipped exotic drinks from skull-shaped goblets. It floated over the broadness of Canal Street. It glided down the miles of streetcar lines. Over the heads of blacks, yellows and whites it flew. There, over the river, from the mist of a steamboat whistle, it became wet and came back to the side of the fur lined bed to get warm. It was no dream. It spoke to him.

"You've got to take these off … Remember?"

Gaylord grinned and flushed. He looked from the face to the underwear the other was fingering … He remembered Claude's nude body. The way it looked. The mattress gave under him as he moved toward Paul. With shaking hand he unfastened the shorts. "There …" he flushed. The underwear dropped slightly, showing the navel and a line of dark wiry hair. He started to lay back down.

"Oh … no … you've got to pull them down …" teased Paul.

"I do?"

"You do," grinned Paul.

"Well …" Gaylord leaned over again and drew down the underwear while wave after wave of excitement went shuddering through him. He felt even dizzier than he had at the club, and his heart beat as though it would break through the cage of his ribs. Paul's body came clear and even closer. Gaylord tried not to breathe, to stifle the swallowing sound of his throat.

The room rang out in a whisper. "Don't be afraid of Paul. He 223