people were using this photo to claim Anson is light in his loafers. That’s probably why his lawyers fought so hard to get the photos taken down.” She handed Ru the stack. “Hey, you know me. Like a lot of women, I love my boys gay. It’s fun imagining what they get up to. But a bunch of Gray’s fans are redneck guys. Not so forgiving. And your total population of gay men just won’t make up the difference if he loses his good-old-boy audience. A lot of people make a ton of money off that boy’s ass.” She gazed at Ru. “It must be tough.”
He smiled at her. “You’re a good woman, Lottie O’Grady. Not many people could rustle up much compassion for a Hollywood gazillionaire with hot and cold running everything.”
She cocked her head at him. “But I bet you can.”
Anytime he wanted to relegate Mrs. O to the tall pile of Laguna eccentrics, he’d recall this moment. He just smiled. “Thanks for these. I’m sure they’ll be very educational.”
“Sure.” She chortled. “If you’re getting a PhD in giant cocks.” She held the door open. “Come on, kids.” The two dogs ran out, and she leaned in and kissed Ru’s cheek. “Pleasant dreams.” Laughing riotously at her own joke, she left, closing the door behind her.
The stack of papers shook in his hand. Carefully he locked the door. He set the photos on the coffee table, facedown, went into the bedroom, and changed into his silk pajama pants, leaving his chest bare. He gazed in the mirror. If he’d been on that beach with Gray, would the man have noticed him? He turned sideways. Not a bad chest, really. Slender, but all those years of passionate weight lifting had paid off. He still had nice pecs and a six-pack—not that he ever showed them to anyone.
In the bathroom, he peed and washed. Nice and comfy, he strolled into the kitchen like he had all the time on earth and didn’t already have half a boner. He poured a glass of chardonnay and approached the coffee table like it held the original of the Mona Lisa. Sitting carefully in front of the stack, he shoved a cushion behind him, took a deep breath, and turned over the first photo. It was the one Mrs. O had showed him—Gray on a beach, nude, with several men in the background. Jesus, look at that schlong. Ru let out a long, slow breath and forced his eyes to the other men. Two guys sat on beach chairs, both apparently also nude, but that far back the photo quality was so bad it was hard to tell. He could see that one leaned over toward the other. Maybe had a hand on the guy’s arm. Behind them stood another figure. Definitely a man, because he seemed to have a protuberance standing out in front of him and maybe, just maybe, he had his own hand on said protuberance. Hell, probably just a jackoff party. You don’t have to be gay to masturbate.
Carefully he turned over the next photo and laughed. Some enthusiastic fan had blown up the most notable part of the previous photo. This picture could have been a baseball bat for all Ru could tell. But shit, Mrs. O had a point. The man redefined “hung.”
What’s next? A captivating shot of one rock-solid buttock, definitely belonging to Gray, in the foreground of a photo of several men standing around drinking. One guy’s arm almost certainly encircled the neck of another. Ru stared lovingly at the Anson ass, then flipped the page. Well, okay. A nude man, in this case not Gray, stood with his back to the camera, arms apparently crossed over his chest and legs sturdily planted. Beyond him, some guy’s bare butt stuck up in the air as he kneeled on a chaise. It didn’t take much imagination to guess that the owner of the bare ass was in the process of sucking somebody off, but the nude back blocked the view. Reminded Ru of the old Cruise movie, Eyes Wide Shut , where the director had inserted guys in black robes into the scene to cover up the image of women fellating men. Except no women here, baby. Of course, it could just be his dirty mind.
He smiled at her. “You’re a good woman, Lottie O’Grady. Not many people could rustle up much compassion for a Hollywood gazillionaire with hot and cold running everything.”
She cocked her head at him. “But I bet you can.”
Anytime he wanted to relegate Mrs. O to the tall pile of Laguna eccentrics, he’d recall this moment. He just smiled. “Thanks for these. I’m sure they’ll be very educational.”
“Sure.” She chortled. “If you’re getting a PhD in giant cocks.” She held the door open. “Come on, kids.” The two dogs ran out, and she leaned in and kissed Ru’s cheek. “Pleasant dreams.” Laughing riotously at her own joke, she left, closing the door behind her.
The stack of papers shook in his hand. Carefully he locked the door. He set the photos on the coffee table, facedown, went into the bedroom, and changed into his silk pajama pants, leaving his chest bare. He gazed in the mirror. If he’d been on that beach with Gray, would the man have noticed him? He turned sideways. Not a bad chest, really. Slender, but all those years of passionate weight lifting had paid off. He still had nice pecs and a six-pack—not that he ever showed them to anyone.
In the bathroom, he peed and washed. Nice and comfy, he strolled into the kitchen like he had all the time on earth and didn’t already have half a boner. He poured a glass of chardonnay and approached the coffee table like it held the original of the Mona Lisa. Sitting carefully in front of the stack, he shoved a cushion behind him, took a deep breath, and turned over the first photo. It was the one Mrs. O had showed him—Gray on a beach, nude, with several men in the background. Jesus, look at that schlong. Ru let out a long, slow breath and forced his eyes to the other men. Two guys sat on beach chairs, both apparently also nude, but that far back the photo quality was so bad it was hard to tell. He could see that one leaned over toward the other. Maybe had a hand on the guy’s arm. Behind them stood another figure. Definitely a man, because he seemed to have a protuberance standing out in front of him and maybe, just maybe, he had his own hand on said protuberance. Hell, probably just a jackoff party. You don’t have to be gay to masturbate.
Carefully he turned over the next photo and laughed. Some enthusiastic fan had blown up the most notable part of the previous photo. This picture could have been a baseball bat for all Ru could tell. But shit, Mrs. O had a point. The man redefined “hung.”
What’s next? A captivating shot of one rock-solid buttock, definitely belonging to Gray, in the foreground of a photo of several men standing around drinking. One guy’s arm almost certainly encircled the neck of another. Ru stared lovingly at the Anson ass, then flipped the page. Well, okay. A nude man, in this case not Gray, stood with his back to the camera, arms apparently crossed over his chest and legs sturdily planted. Beyond him, some guy’s bare butt stuck up in the air as he kneeled on a chaise. It didn’t take much imagination to guess that the owner of the bare ass was in the process of sucking somebody off, but the nude back blocked the view. Reminded Ru of the old Cruise movie, Eyes Wide Shut , where the director had inserted guys in black robes into the scene to cover up the image of women fellating men. Except no women here, baby. Of course, it could just be his dirty mind.
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