Love is This, Also Love is That
Chapter One: Lost and Found
Getting laid had never been a problem for Alfred F. Jones. Women flocked to him like gulls to a french fry left on the beach. It boosted his ego further every time he heard to previous one-night-stands arguing over who had the rights to him.
His little brother commented, once (back before he had disappeared into the night), that he puffed up like a little bird taking a bath when they would squabble over them like street dogs over leftovers.
He was also no stranger to excitement, always the man coming up with fun (and usually safe) plan for his weekends. He could have gone to several parties this weekend, or even had his own in his parents' house while they were out of town on business (theirs was much bigger than his own house).
But, he was responsible. One screw up, even a small party and getting a little bit drunk in public, could completely destroy not only his reputation, but his future aspirations to be an officer of the law. He had to be a good role model so that he could one day teach his children right from wrong, and maybe bring his wayward brother back home.
So, with all this in mind, to be honest, he had no idea what he was doing on this side of town—the so called "red-light district" (but he hadn't seen a working traffic light since he had entered).
It was quite terrifying, if he were completely honest with himself. He could have sworn he saw someone get gunned down in an alley (or maybe it was his overactive imagination), and he must have witnessed ten drug deals in the thirty minutes he had been driving.
Despite his morals, he had always had a fascination with the slums of town, wondering what it was like to be so free from the rules of society. He wondered what it was like to buy a woman for the night and own her in that way—did such a transaction make one feel more powerful? He wondered if the drugs that so many were addicted to were just as good as his little brother had claimed they were so long ago (before, at the tender age of fifteen, he had faded into the shadows and hadn't been heard from since).
He pulled over to the side of the road, making sure the windows were sealed tight and the doors were locked as he released the breath he forgot he had been holding. He closed his eyes, and went over the reasons for him being there—all the ones he had formulated in his mind seemed especially foolish now. He could lose his future, be killed—he heard these type of people could smell police officers or do-gooders from a mile away. That must have been why the streets were so empty, he thought mirthlessly.
A soft rap at the window jolted him out of his thoughts, and his baby-blue eyes connected with sharp green lined with dangerous black. It took him a couple seconds and a good hard look at thick brows to realize he was staring at a man. He thought about it for a moment, and when impatience began to shine in those emerald eyes, he rolled the window down.
"Can I help you?" Alfred asked politely.
Bitter mirth glittered behind kohl-lined eyes, "No," he replied, "I was wondering if you needed help. You've been parked here for quite some time." The voice was accented (although Alfred was having trouble tracing it), and there was something sinister lurking behind seemingly pleasant words.
Alfred looked around sheepishly, "Yeah, uhm… I was just collecting myself, y'know. Got a bit lost."
"I see," the man purred, though it seemed rehearsed. His voice wasn't unpleasant, a delicate tenor with an almost sophisticated edge to it, "I may not be able to help you with directions, but I can definitely help with… other things."
"Like… telling me where a gas station is so I can get directions?" Alfred asked, truly confused, and the man outright laughed.
"Think harder, Love." The stranger nearly giggled, a hollow, tinny sound, "It'll come to you."
Alfred stared at him dumbly for a moment, his brain taking its sweet time catching up with the words spoken to him. Oh… oh. Oh.
"You're a prostitute." He blurted without thinking. The man didn't seem fazed, so it must have been correct.
His retort was a dark, cheerless chuckle accompanied with the statement, "Not to sugar-coat it, yes." His eyes smoldered at Alfred, and the man in question felt his cheeks begin to burn, "So… are you interested?"
Alfred was stunned silent. Part of him—the one his mother raised to be a good citizen and uphold the law, which he now sought to protect—vehemently objected. Yet something in him, the part that yearned to rebel against morals and so-called "proper" behavior, would not let itself go unheard. It banged against the bars of its cage like an enraged mountain gorilla.
The man wasn't bad looking—he didn't appear short or tall, with messy blonde hair and green, green eyes under (unattractive) thick eyebrows. He was wisp-like, and he could see his fingers were long and thin, as were his wrists. The sharp angles of his face made him look almost feline, with a sort of cat-like grace in his limbs as well. However, he looked sick—too thin, with dark circles, covered by makeup, bruising his eyes like a meth addict. Though he looked far to good for that kind of drug.
He wasn't gay though—it went against everything he'd ever been raised to know. But, had he been into men, he was assure the mite of a man would probably not be his type—while his skin appeared flawless, except for the bags under his eyes, and shone beautifully underneath the discoloring of the streetlight, making green eyes both greener and gold and casting him in an almost god-like sepia and maybe he was attractive— he was far too thin and weak. He did not like to shake the sheets to find his lovers, or have to worry that he could break them with a simple embrace.
Plus, this was a prostitute! It was not only an illegal trade (he could take the sick looking man to the police right now, have him jailed and maybe sent to rehab), but he must have slept with hundreds of men by now. He looked young, but not immensely though. The thought of having sex with someone so… loose was disgusting, revolting, vile…
Yet, there was something so tempting in those serpentine eyes.
He found himself at a conflicting crossroad. To experiment, or not to experiment? That was the question. A painful sounding cough reminded him that the man was still there. Common sense and rebellion were both tugging unceasingly at his brain, and he could see the jade eyes begin to glow with resigned disappointment.
Against his better judgment, Alfred unlocked the car door.
Tbc…
(( A/N: I'm hoping to get a few reviews on this! I have a couple more chapters worked out, but I'd love suggestions. Please be kind with criticisms though. ))
