Lower Than the Heart

By Habu

It's Valentines Day and having outlived one older lover, Washington, D.C., playwright Trent Colson is (only barely) resisting the attractions of another older man, stage director Gerhardt Von Hultz, who is in cancer remission. Trent retreats to the Eastern Shore of Virginia, nominally for quiet time to make rewrites to his coming play, but more in frustration and denial. Here he falls under the power of a manipulative lover, Buster, who sees sex between men as a clear victor versus vanquished struggle in which the only point is the concludion. Buster defines Trent as the natural vanquished and manipulates him as such.

Another man enters, however, who endeavors to prove to Trent that there is far more to a sexual relationship between men than that.

Will the spell Buster has cast over Trent be broken and what will be waiting for Trent when he returns to Washington?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BarbarianSpy
• Release date: Feb 9, 2013
• ISBN: 9781922187314

Habu

Habu is one of the pen names of a former supersonic spy jet pilot, intelligence agent, male model, movie actor, and diplomat. A wild youth in South East Asia was spent enjoying whatever sexual opportunities came his way, and much of his gay male writing is about recalling incidents from those days and inventing ones he’d perhaps have liked to experience. He now leads a very quiet and ordinary life.Check out our blog and get free stories. Feedback and reviews are always appreciated.

Book preview

Chapter One: Director’s Couch

I can understand you wanting to get away to complete the problem scenes in the second act, but to such a remote place? Do they even have cell service in—what did you say its name was—Oyster, Virginia? It sounds like a dump. Or a pile of rubbish. I have visions of an oyster shell pile on a deserted scrub beach. Everything washed out in soft, weak pastels; everything all used up before you got there. How can you find inspiration in such a place?

Trust a man of the theater to think in terms of the set, Trent mused.

It very well might be a dump, Gerhardt, but the ‘deserted’ idea is the enticing one. My cousin said I was welcome to stay in his Eastern Shore cottage, but he didn’t promise much more than electricity and an indoor toilet. I was led to believe that made it a luxury property, though.

Are you fleeing me, Trent? The older man sounded pained. He was breathing heavily.

Trent had let him put an arm around him on the sofa and come in close. He’d even let the stage director unbutton his shirt and run his hand in and lay it on his chest. They had kissed once. They had kissed and done a bit of fondling before—they were hands-on and dramatic theater people—but Trent was afraid it possible that the man thought Trent would let him fuck him tonight. He had implied the hope in suggesting that they meet at Gerhardt’s 3rd street, Southwest, contemporary townhouse within walking distance of where they both worked, at Washington D.C.’s professional theater, the Arena Stage. Gerhardt Von Hultz was a permanent company stage director there, and Trent Colson was this season’s playwright in residence. He had been picked up in the Young Playwrights program at the age of twenty-four, which was the youngest one could be.

Truth be told, Trent had implied it might happen by agreeing to come to Gerhardt’s compact, two-story, two-bedroom, townhouse that was worth a mint because of its location.

No, I’m not fleeing you, Trent lied. This second act is a real bear to work out. I just can’t do the recasting here. My hotel room is just too noisy—and the space they’ve given me at the theater is too quiet, except when rehearsals are on, and then it’s too chaotic. Two weeks. That’s all I need; that should do it. Uh, Gerhardt, no please.

He pushed the hand away that had covered his basket.

Please let me bed you, Gerhardt said with almost a whine. They were weeks past Trent not understanding what Gerhardt wanted. His hand moved back inside Trent’s shirt and cupped a pec. I know you like older men, and you said you found me attractive. And it’s been so long for you. I would think you were ready to explode. It’s just a matter of release—for both of us. Artists need regular release.

No it wasn’t just a matter of release, Trent thought. When he had thought that could be what it was was when he signaled that maybe he was ready. That had changed when he’d arrived here this evening, though. The symbols of Dietrich’s expectations going beyond a mere sexual release had changed that.

He looked down at the coffee table. The man was sweet. He’d had flowers and a box of candy and even a schmaltzy Valentine’s Day card waiting for Trent when he arrived. But when he had seen those, that’s when Trent knew not only that this meeting was just a ploy—that it also was an expression of hope for more than Trent ever could give again. It was a bad ploy. Taking this anywhere close to romance—to the beginning of love—was exactly the worst way to approach Trent under the circumstances.

Yes, I find you attractive, Gerhardt, and I like you very much. But I probably shouldn’t have said anything that day. I was in my cups and vulnerable. It was a bad day.

Anniversaries of a lover’s death are always bad days, Trent. But Kevin was older than I am, and you can’t just stop having sex because your lover has passed. You are young and handsome and delectably built. This is the theater. We live for the moment in the theater. We fuck. It gives us inspiration. In fact it very well may be what would give you inspiration to clean up act two. I could fuck you to creativity. You’ll love the feel of my cock inside you.

Always the dramatic and flamboyant one, Trent thought. Nothing subtle about theater folks.

Gerhardt . . . Trent didn’t even know what he was going to say next, because Gerhardt had turned his face to his and they were kissing. Gerhardt was kissing more than Trent was. And his hand went back to Trent’s basket. This time Trent let it remain there.

But he had no intention of letting the stage director fuck him tonight. The making out was pleasant. It had been so long since he’d gone even this far. He was angry at Kevin for dying on him so early. It was true that he gravitated to older men and it was also true that Gerhardt Von Hultz was a handsome man of great charisma. He was tall, at least six and a half feet, and trim but with good muscle tone and an energy level that had him bouncing all over the theater.

He had fucked nearly every young man in the theater company, and they all had spoken of his unusual length and vigor and stamina and how well he took care of the men he took to bed.

There was every reason for Trent to let him seduce him, and he realized that he should give the memory of Kevin up. No, not give it up, honor what Kevin had told him as he was being wheeled into the operation he didn’t leave alive—that if he didn’t make it through, he wanted Trent to get right back on the wagon. But . . .

It’s because of the cancer, isn’t it?

Bingo.

"It’s because I’ve had cancer. And because of how Kevin left you. I can see it in your face when I mention it. I’m in remission, Trent. I’ve told you how I feel about you. I’ve told you I’ll stop sleeping around.