“At least we got a look at those three who met you tonight,” Jackie pointed out hopefully. “I may get a lead there, if I can identify them.”
“There’s one thing more that worries me,” Stark said quietly.
“What’s that?”
“I’ve kept a sort of diary, most of my life,” Stark explained. “I used to write down things that happened to me and how I felt about them. It’s got everything about Steve in it, every single time we were together, and everything we did, in detail, in my own handwriting.”
Jackie groaned aloud. “Don’t tell me our friends have that in their possession?”
“No, thank heaven for that,” Stark assured him quickly. “I have it here, with me. But I’ve been scared green that they might get hold of it. They could sell that for a fortune and ruin my career in the bargain.”
“I think,” Jackie said, standing. “I’d better take that with me, just to be on the safe side. You have my word that I won’t read it, of course, but I think it will be safer at my office than here.”
“You’re right, of course,” Stark agreed. He took a key from atop his dresser and unlocked his suitcase, removing a thick, battered notebook from it. “I suppose I should have burned it,” he said, handing the book to Jackie. “But somehow I couldn’t bring myself to do that.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Jackie assured him. “And don’t worry, we’ll put an end to this scheme.”
“I’ll pay a fee, of course,” Stark told him with a grateful smile. “And I’ll be in your debt forever.”
“Forget it,” Jackie answered, “It’s our job, remember. We don’t base our assistance on whether or not someone can afford us.”
“You know,” Stark said after a pause, a faint smile playing across the deep red of his lips. “When I look back on it, those incidents with Steve were sort of pleasant. Nothing serious, of course, but I can’t deny that I enjoyed them.”
“At least you’re more honest about that than many others,” Jackie said. He was puzzled by the change he could not quite define.
“I wonder,” Stark said, his smile broadening although the blush had returned. “If any one of us ever really outgrows his childhood?”
Jackie was beginning to understand at last. The gleam that had crept into Stark’s dark eyes, the timid blush—unless he was badly mistaken, and he rarely was about such things, the rock-and-roll singer, idol of millions, was making a pass at him.
“Are you suggesting,” he asked quietly, “That I make you a child again, just for tonight?”
Stark held his ground and met the questioning eyes squarely, despite his embarrassment. “I’ve never dared to repeat those scenes, because of the risk. But I know I can trust you and, well, it might be a bit of fun, mightn’t it?”
Jackie grinned broadly. It was natural, even among the most sophisticated, to retain a certain awe for stars of such magnitude as Dingo Stark. Everyone had some idol of whom they would cherish a souvenir: a lock of hair, a piece of clothing. In his own case the memory of a bedtime romp was the sort of souvenir Jackie most enjoyed. And after all, there was that redhead that he stood up to come here, a tempting morsel he had hated to pass up.
“It might be at that,” he agreed, laying the diary gently atop the dresser. He did not hesitate as he began to remove his clothing. His schedule was frequently a busy one and more often than not such diversions as this had to be accomplished with speed and efficiency.
“Would you—would you like the light off?” Stark asked, no longer the self-assured singer star, but an awkward, uncertain young man.
“I always believe one should see what one is buying,” Jackie answered. “Besides, I’m not bashful.”
He had, in fact, no reason to be modest over the body that was coming into view. Dressed, and assuming his customary manner, the youthful blond gave an impression of being weak and even effeminate. He was small and slender but the more than casual observer, seeing the body naked, could at once see that weakness was only an illusion.
Beneath the delicate-looking skin, well-trained and coordinated muscles rippled and surged as he moved. It had often proven to his advantage to appear less than an athlete but Jackie was that and more. At his command were phenomenal resources of strength and agility that had seen him through more than one fracas.
His body was nearly hairless, except for a bloom of golden silk at the base of his abdomen that framed a more than ample manhood and the soft down that gave added luster to the curving softness of his buttocks.
“Tell me,” he addressed his companion as he stepped nearer. “Those gyrations you use when you’re singing—did you learn those from Steve?”
“Some of them,” Stark admitted shyly. With his eyes he had been devouring the attractive body, now naked before him.
Jackie took the robe gently in his hands, pulling it open. Stark’s body lived up to its promises. He was tall and big-boned, with an exaggerated angularity that was not pretty but at the same time uniquely attractive. His chest was not particularly developed, and his waist rather thick in contrast to his slender hips, with the result that his shape was nearly straight up and down.
The same dark hair that framed his face was repeated thickly at the center of his chest, thinning out to encircle the deep rosettes of his flat, masculine nipples. From his navel the luxuriant growth began again, fanning over his gently rounded abdomen to climax at his thighs and continue down the long columns of his legs.
Looking down, Jackie was pleased to discover that his nudity had not been wasted on the English youth. Nor had he any reason to be disappointed by what he saw. The young Steve, Jackie decided, had had more than one reason for encouraging and continuing the relationship with his comrade. A homosexual, even an active and experienced one, could shop around quite a bit without finding better.
Stark shivered slightly as Jackie lifted the robe off the wide shoulders and tugged it gently from the arms, letting it fall to the floor.
“Nervous?” he asked tenderly.
“A little,” Stark answered.
Jackie led him to the bed, flicking off the light as they lowered themselves to its surface. His own ardor had been aroused by the ripened fruits before him, waiting to be plucked. At the moment he could not help resenting Stark’s young friend. He would like to have been the first himself.
He did not attempt to kiss the face near his, although their lips were only inches apart. He knew Stark’s type. The ones who did not regard themselves as homosexual were sometimes receptive to a little “fun”, but more often than not they drew the line at kissing a member of their own sex. It was a peculiarity that Jackie recognized, although he found it difficult to understand.
Stark had no such reluctance, however, in the use of his body. His embrace was warm and eager, his body twisting and squirming as he crushed it tightly against Jackie’s. His hands played up and down Jackie’s back, reaching to fondle and knead the yielding softness of the taut mounds at the base of Jackie’s torso. For several minutes they twisted and rubbed together, sweating with the warmth of their passion.
Jackie smiled to himself as he recognized the preliminaries to the method Stark expected to use, a method known to some as the “Princeton rub” because of its alleged popularity among the students of that school, and to more serious researchers as the English Method. The latter name came from the reportedly common use of the method among English boarding school students, although the Greeks, who called it merizein, were said to have practiced the same method in their highly homosexual civilization.
In its simplest form, the method was little more than a prolonged embrace, the participants pressed tightly against one another’s abdomen until the finish.