BluJu is in town -  Only those who have never had the pleasure, need write to BluJu@hotmail.com - you know what to ask him - will you be the one?

 

Justin placed the ad in the personal column of the Washington Herald. He’d come up with this idea during the long bus ride out of Miami and so far, in the last two months, it was working well. He didn’t have to be in Pittsburgh until the first week in September. He’d find himself a boarding house and with the money he was making, he wouldn’t have to worry about paying his way for the first three semesters at PIFA.

 

Justin had taken the bus out of Miami and had headed directly for Pittsburgh. He didn’t want to commit to PIFA until he was sure the memories the city held for him had been laid to rest. Seeing the city in the spring, with money in his pocket, gave Justin a whole new perspective of the place.

 

He wandered down Liberty Avenue amazed at how much it had changed, yet not changed since his one short foray there almost three years ago. He stopped at one of the banks and opened an account and arranged for his account in Miami to be transferred. He opened a safety deposit box and put most of his jewelry in it, keeping out the two rings that he’d need for piercing. Justin had decided to have both his right nipple and his navel pierced. His next stop was the local letter drop store where he arranged to have any mail held. He needed a credit card for his next step in this little adventure and to get the credit card offered by his bank, he needed a mailing address. Now he had both.

 

Soon, armed with the legitimacy of a credit card, Justin checked into the Plaza hotel. He wanted to see how the hotel system worked. He’d need to know this for his next step. After wandering around for a day and talking to a lot of hotel employees, Justin was pretty sure his money making plan would work.

 

To test it out, he returned to the cheap motel he’d been staying at and placed the first ad in the local daily newspaper. The day the morning paper came out; he checked his email at a PC in the library and was surprised to find he had twenty six answers. All of them included pictures, all of them begged to be the one. One of them offered three thousand dollars - he was the one.

Justin emailed simple instructions once he had his room booked at the Plaza.

 

Little One - room 714 - 9:00 - your offering is to be in a sealed envelope - BluJu - only accepts what is freely given -

 

Justin had transformed himself into BluJu well before nine, his facial mask a study in rainbow sparkles, his head dress a vision of rainbow hued feathers. He didn’t have a lot of money so he kept his outfit minimal - gold lame thong, golden high heeled boots he’d found at a second hand store. He knew that he’d never work in the same hotel twice and he’d never do the same trick twice - but he carefully recorded his appearance and date and place in a notebook. He wanted to see just how much money could be made as BluJu.

 

Justin had taken the precaution of registering at the hotel using only his initials and misspelling his last name. Rarely did anyone check spelling against I.D. and he was proven right in this theory when no mention was made of it. He’d never be easily traced should the trick want to find him again.

 

The evening went as planned. The slave had knocked on the hotel door and dropped to his knees like a good slave should as soon as his eyes lit on the majestic form of BluJu. Heady music filled the hotel room that had been transformed by dozens of small white candles.

 

BluJu stood in the center of the room, his legs spread, a riding crop, the slender whip used by sterner trainers, ended with a few short pieces of ribbon though it still stung when used. He said nothing just stood there until.

 

“Speak”

 

“BluJu, may I remove my clothing?” the slave’s head was bowed.

 

“Yes” the slave quickly removed all of his clothing with the exception of the dog collar and harness that had been concealed beneath his business suit.

 

“May I place the offering I willingly give you on the side table?”

 

“Yes”

 

Not having the security guards around, Justin was taking a chance. But he was gambling on the fetish of the slave. The next forty five minutes proceeded as Justin had planned. The slave finally lay covered in sweat and cum spread eagle on the queen-sized bed.

 

“BluJu is pleased with you Little One” he said to the large man. He removed the ball gag and untied a few of the silk scarves, leaving the blindfold on.

 

Justin opened the hallway door and checked that the way was empty before grabbing his duffel bag and quickly stuffing the white envelope into it.  He took one last look at the spent slave and smiled. The evening had proven interesting; perhaps he’d even fuck the next one.

 

He quietly shut the door and then sprinted to the Housekeeping closet that he’d unlocked earlier. Slipping inside, it was only minutes and all of BluJu was packed into the duffel and Justin Taylor, eighteen, blond and slightly unkempt appeared. The hall was still empty and he walked back toward his room and the elevator that was located on the other side. As he walked past his room the slave stuck his head out the door and look sadly disappointed to only see Justin who nodded pleasantly at him before moving past.

 

Justin didn’t worry about the man recognizing his distinctive eyes, no one had looked at him directly since he’d received his scar, no one except Brian had looked into his eyes. Justin wondered if he’d ever find anyone like Brian again. He could have been happy with the handsome and kind man, but now he was lost to him forever. Losing the trust Justin had placed in Brian, had been a bitter blow to the teen. One that he would have a long time recovering from.

 

Justin had left Pittsburgh the next afternoon after depositing three thousand dollars into his bank account. He kept the two hundred dollar tip in his wallet and wasn’t surprised to find out that the hotel room had been paid for by the slave. An added bonus and he sent appreciative thoughts to the man who had begged him to stay.

 

He’d spent two weeks in New York, though BluJu had used a different hotel each night. The money gifts he received were never lower than twenty five hundred and the highest had been four thousand. He’d taken an extra half hour for that one, taking the man to orgasm and back more than a dozen times. He was learning his craft. On the job training and they loved it.

 

Justin always stayed in basic accommodation hotels though BluJu rented rooms in the best there was to offer. His email was full each time he checked from former slaves begging to have him do them again. Justin never answered them. BluJu refused to answer.

 

Now that he had an address, Justin arranged to get a passport, something he never thought he’d ever own. He carried it around for two days checking to make sure it was real once he received it.

 

Because he never stayed long in one city, he made no friends. Considering his line of work Justin didn’t think it was appropriate anyway and after Brian, he had no desire to even try.

 

The room he’d reserved in Washington was the third one for that city. It was in the J.W. Marriott Hotel near Freedom Plaza. It was his last bit of slave training before he left the next day for Rome. He had a week in Rome and then he’d fly to Pittsburgh to begin his first semester at PIFA.

 

Tonight, because it was his last for a while, BluJu had decided it would be special, both for him and the slave. His mask was an elaborate affair reminiscent of the Venetian masks of the Renaissance, though fashioned in latex. He used brilliant colors and layered them with sparkles that resembled diamonds. He’d allowed his blond hair to grow almost shoulder length and he wove strands of faux diamonds through it. A real diamond graced his nipple ring and matching navel ring, a gold chain linked the two. A spray of paste on faux diamonds ran down his arms and over his torso ending suggestively well below his navel. Justin’s skin was flawlessly smooth. His well filled white leather thong and white leather dance slippers completed the outfit.

 

He knew he looked better than ever. The knock at the door announced the arrival of the evening’s entertainment. Justin surveyed the room, lit the last candle and turned the lights low before answering.

 

Standing before him, his head bowed was Brian Kinney. Justin didn’t flinch; he didn’t acknowledge that he knew him. “Come in slave and disrobe.”

 

Brian stepped through the door. He wasn’t sure how he was going to play this out, though certainly not as Justin’s slave. Should he say anything he wondered. Justin had walked to the center of the room and stood there, legs apart, waiting for him. Shit, Brian found himself removing his clothing, not caring where they fell, until he stood naked before the young blond. “Justin” he began

 

“You haven’t been given permission to speak to BluJu.” Justin’s voice was haughty. “BluJu allowed you to come here, now as his slave, fulfill your part of the contract.” Justin pointed to the side table.

 

“Cut it out Justin” Brian walked over to the boy and took him into his arms. “I know it’s you and I know what you’ve been doing. All the Quoin’s are aware of it and it’s got to stop.”

 

Justin looked at Brian and said. “Show me where it says I’ve got to stop. Did I sign a contract with the Quoin? Does someone have exclusive rights to my services?” he paused. “I didn’t think so.” Justin looked hard at Brian and the hazel eyes that looked back couldn’t look at him directly but rather looked down.

 

Justin’s sapphire eyes held nothing but contempt. “I’ll show you why the Quoin is pissed, why men all over the country are begging me to allow them another night.” He put his hand to the back of Brian’s auburn hair and pulled his face down for a kiss, though he had never before kissed any of his tricks, he couldn’t resist kissing the full raspberry lips.

 

Brian at first regretted his decision to take off his clothing, and then he didn’t as BluJu began his ministrations on Brian’s more than willing body. Brian found his hands bound by silk scarves to the head board of the bed, his eyes covered with another, though he’d begged Justin to allow him to watch, and though no ball gag was used, it was because every time he began to moan with frustrated pleasure Justin’s lips would find his, and the sounds he made were lost in Justin’s mouth. The persona of BluJu took Brian to the brink of orgasm time and time again, teasing with soft flicks of a bushy feather, tantalizing with delicate artists paint brushes, breath holding pain with sudden drops of hot wax, soothing kisses cool from a mouth that had just held an ice cube.

 

No part of his body was left untouched until Brian was quivering from head to toe while BluJu demonstrated his abilities. Soft words were whispered in Brian’s ears, gentle phrases of love were breathed into his mouth, a moist tongue swept over his hole before plunging in, cool lips briefly kissed his engorged cock, sweat filled with passionate pheromones washed over Brian’s body and finally, though he’d resisted longer than any that BluJu had ever been with, Brian was crying out in desperation for release. It was the signal BluJu had been waiting for. His cock had been waiting for just this moment and he quickly sheathed it in latex and using the KY lube that also provided heat, he slicked it down on his dick before nudging into the tight hole that was Brian and Brian wildly thrust back, by now the pain of a sudden entry was nothing compared to what he was feeling. BluJu untied the silk scarf that was acting as a cock ring on his third plunge into the velvet tunnel and they both exploded in orgasm.

 

Brian lay spent and truly Justin was exhausted as well, but he had the strength of an eighteen year old and he withdrew carefully, disposed of his condom and gathered his belongs for his typical exit.

 

Brian had fallen into a light slumber and Justin unfastened one hand from the head board. He knew it would take a few minutes for the spent ‘slave’ to recover enough to free his other hand.

 

Brian, realizing Justin was about to leave tried to remove the blindfold, hoping that his pleading eyes would slow the blond down, but all he saw was a hand as it pulled the door shut and the whispered words. “We could have been good together. Later Brian”

 

This time Justin didn’t take a chance and he remained in the Housekeeping closet for almost an hour. He heard Brian leave the suite and he heard him looking for him. Justin knew that Brian would be waiting in the lobby, so because the room he’d just used was his until the next morning, Justin walked back to it and let himself in. It was almost four in the morning when he took his leave from the large hotel, letting himself out quietly at a service door and disappearing into the Washington night.

 

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Rome - 5 days later

 

Justin sat as high as he could in the Coliseum seats looking down and trying to imagine the pain that had been inflicted there so long ago. He wondered if the ghosts of those who died continued to haunt the vast arena. It was a place of pain, and very little pleasure sort of what his life had been like from time to time, though he couldn’t equate what he’d been through to those who had died in agony in the dust below. He looked back at his sketchbook and put a few final touches on the man who was laying on the ground in ‘his’ coliseum while he begged for mercy from the Roman Guard who looked a lot like Justin.

 

“You are very talented.” Justin looked in surprise at an old man who had been sitting a few feet away in the sunlight.

 

“Thank you.” Justin said and smiled at the man. “I was trying to capture the pain of the place.”

 

“It is a painful piece of the earth, I agree. So many only see the architecture and forget the horrors that took place down there.” The old man nodded his head at the floor of the arena.

 

Justin was fascinated by the heavy white curls that tumbled all over themselves, a frothy cloud of hair. He would love to be able to capture the look. Reluctantly Justin turned his head back to the scene he was sketching and away from the old man.

 

“If you don’t mind, may I look through your sketch book?” the old man asked again. He gave a depreciating laugh, “I’ve painted and sketched the odd thing myself.” He held out his hand to Justin, “Armand LeBlanc, at your service.”

 

Justin wordlessly handed over his sketchbook, even he’d heard of Armand LeBlanc the renowned artist. He was famous all over the world.

 

Armand looked over the sketches, slowly, page by page taking longer with some. Finally he looked at Justin. “Where do you study?”

 

Justin had to swallow twice before he could stammer. “I’ve been accepted at the Pittsburgh Institute of Fine Arts, in fact I start next week.”

 

“Do you want to be an artist, or would you prefer to learn a commercial application for your talent?”

 

“I want to make money, and not wait until I’m too old to enjoy it.” Justin said honestly, "so I’d have to say, that I’ll probably learn a commercial application.”

 

“Have you ever considered an apprenticeship?”

 

Justin’s laugh was bitter, “The last time I took someone up on an offer to train me for something, I was thoroughly screwed, so no I haven’t considered an apprenticeship. Besides, I don’t even think people do that anymore with art.”

 

“I admit, it isn’t generally done.” Armand laughed. “But then I’m not a regular kind of guy. I have never met another person who could see the pain here in the Coliseum, and I’ve lived here more than thirty years. I have a little studio in the country, there’s a small apartment over it, not large, big enough for one or two if they are very friendly.” He laughed. “I’d like to see you develop the costumed sketches, I can see them in oils, with perhaps slightly more detail. How many are there?”

 

“I’ve done more than fifty, probably closer to sixty.” Justin admitted.

 

“I’ll tell you what young man. If you like to take chances, I will take you back with me to the country and teach you all that I know of the mystery that’s known as ‘art’. And because my name carries some semblance of weight in the art world, I will have my lawyer contact the Dean of your University and ask for a one year deferral, so you may resume your life, if you so wish, a year from now.”

 

“Do you really mean that?” Justin’s eyes were wide.

 

“Maybe, if you tell me your name.” Armand smiled.

 

“Sorry, it’s Justin, Justin Taylor.” Justin held out his hand to shake the old man’s hand. It was then he noticed that Armand’s right hand was twisted with arthritis. “Sorry” he mumbled again. “I didn’t know.”

 

“It’s a little annoyance that comes with age Justin Taylor. If it isn’t one thing it’s another. This is my little cross to bear, we all have one.” He laughed. “I still paint, but just the other day I thought I may take on an apprentice. I’d like to think that some of what I’ve learned over the years could be passed on. You are the first I’ve seen with enough talent to carry it off.” He smiled. “As you see, I’m not shy about admitting my talent. If you have talent with something, be proud of it Justin Taylor, for many don’t and as such many won’t ever say it for you.”

 

Justin didn’t have to think about the offer for long. He liked the old man who could have been a kindly old grandfather - something that Justin had always missed and envied when he read about them or saw them in movies. “I’d like to try.” He said shyly.

 

“I’ll give you time to let your family and friends know you are staying in Italy.” Armand fished out a worn business card. “Here’s my address, do you think you can find it?”

 

Justin took the card. “I don’t have anyone anywhere to notify. I’m a real live orphan.” He joked, though in truth it hurt not to have anyone to care whether he lived or died and a thousand tricks counted for nothing. He was only wanted by them until the next version of BluJu came along.

 

“Then it’s settle young man.” Armand stood and Justin stood beside him surprised at how tall the old man was.

 

“What do I need to bring?” Justin asked.

 

“Whatever you have at your hotel, the apartment is tiny; you can take your meals with me at the main house.” Armand looked at Justin, “You didn’t think we would be sharing the rooms did you?”

 

“I didn’t know.”

 

“No Justin Taylor, I have a large home and lots of lazy servants who will enjoy cooking for someone with a young appetite. I just thought you might like to have your own quarters so you can get away from an old fart like me sometime.”

 

“You don’t even know me.” Justin began.

 

“And you don’t know me.” Armand agreed. “Isn’t it wonderful, that two strangers can meet and do something impulsive?” he looked down at the arena again. “Maybe it’s the ghosts of all who died there needlessly who have engineered this arrangement.”

 

“Maybe” Justin said and he looked down, sure he could see hundreds of happy faces looking back at him, though maybe it was the evening mist that was starting to drift over the cobbled stone. “Hell, why not, I’ll be there tomorrow and if you can get PIFA to grant me an extension or whatever, then that’ll be the icing on the cake.”

 

“Good decision boy.” The old man grinned at Justin. “Where are you staying, I’ll have my car pick you up at say, two in the afternoon.”

 

Justin wrote down the name of his hotel and soon the two of them were slowly making their way down the steep steps of the Coliseum.

 

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“Where is he?” Brian shouted at the hapless man standing in front of his desk. “You fucking guaranteed you’d find him.”

 

“I was sure he’d return to attend PIFA, his scholarship went through, there shouldn’t have been a problem.”

 

“I god damn well called PIFA and he’s withdrawn.” Brian’s voice was deadly calm and anyone who knew him would have been wary. “Your company came highly recommended by the Quoin” Brian looked directly at the man cowering in front of him. “I’ll have to tell them that you disappointed me. How hard can it be to find one young blond?”

 

“All I know is that he checked out of his hotel in Rome one day early and that he gave his plane ticket to a stranded student. The department says that his passport hasn’t been used to enter the country yet.”

 

“Well find him.” Brian waved his hand in dismissal and the private detective slunk out of his office leaving Brian Kinney alone with his thoughts and his memories. For the thousandth time he wondered how the little blond shit had gotten under his skin as much as he had. He pulled the silk scarf out of his pocket and brought it to his nose, the scent of Justin’s cologne lingered and Brian felt the first stirrings of lust in his groin. He thrust it in his pocket again and this time opened his drawer and pulled out the one picture of Justin he had. It had been taken of the group of boys one day at a birthday celebration at the Quoin, Justin was at the back, but Brian had managed to crop the photo and blow it up enough that he could make out the memorized features of the younger man.

 

“Justin, where the fuck are you?” he asked himself. Brian checked his email and still there was nothing from Justin, though he’d been emailing him constantly since the day in Washington. He expected to see his emails bounce back to him one of these days soon.

‘How in hell could he have made so many mistakes with the boy? This young man, this enigma of a person, this man who was driving him insane with wanting him?’ Brian tried to concentrate on his work, losing himself in the complexities of the business world until the ping from his computer told him he had an email.

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jtaylorblu@hotmail.com

BAKinney@pittspa.com

 

Subject: leave me the fuck alone

 

Brian - you got what you wanted - consider it a gift from me toward whatever it cost you to keep me at Auntie Em’s, though I expect with what I brought in, he was more than compensated. How he must have laughed when I gave him half of my ‘pay,’ a whole hundred dollars when he was really getting thousands for me. Live and learn eh bucko.

 

BluJu has left the building - who knows for how long - who knows if he’ll ever be born again - anymore emails to BluJu will be returned - I closed the account - like I’ll be doing to this one as soon as I hit send - so there won’t be any poignant emails where we become email buddies and then declare undying love for one another. You can find another slave to manipulate - it won’t be me any longer.

 

You have a good life Brian - I know I plan on doing my best myself. You might remember the next time you find someone of interest - you have to give a little of yourself in order to be loved - you could have had that - maybe you’ll find it again.

 

Justin

 

Brian looked long and hard at the email before printing it out and marking it to be saved. ‘It was over before it had begun,’ he thought.’ What they’d felt for each other hadn’t been given the chance to develop and now he was in the Pitts alone and Justin was god knows where alone.’

 

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“Armand, I don’t believe this place, it’s amazing.” Justin dropped his suitcase and looked around the studio. It was almost entirely constructed of glass, light was everywhere. Half a dozen canvases in various stages of completion stood on easels and against the walls.

 

“As long as my muses like it - well then I work.” Armand looked around, trying to see the place through the eyes of his new apprentice. “Clear away some of the mess in that corner, you can use the easels there.” He indicated a choice area of the big room. “We have dressing rooms for any models over there, and a bathroom and the sofa, the sofa is for tired old bodies who don’t know enough to go home to bed.” He laughed. “Remember before you fuck any of the models, the walls are glass and you could become the subject of a painting.”

 

Justin flushed but said nothing. He wandered around touching things. “I don’t have anything with me - only my sketchbook and I’ve never worked in oils.”

 

“Excellent - a man of talent who has yet to learn bad habits - you make an old man happy.”

 

Justin laughed. “Where are my rooms? You said something about living over the studio.”

 

“Yes, yes, how can I forget - the stairs in the corner will take you to your room. Maria has seen to it that you have everything you need. You go up there and get settled. Lunch will be in an hour at the main house. Follow the path through the trees - we’ll eat on the patio today, the weather won’t last. We might as well take advantage of it.”

 

“Armand, thanks so much” Justin’s voice quivered, he’d so seldom received kindnesses. He quickly reached up and kissed the old man’s leathery cheek before running up the stairs.”

 

“Ahhhh, my little Justin, you are me a hundred years ago - and I am repaying an old friend who gave me my chance. What goes around, my pretty boy, always comes around.” The old man wiped away a tear at the memory of Luis, who once long ago, took him in and let him apprentice, the only payment he asked was for Armand to do the same some day. This was his chance.

 

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The mysterious blond with the knife wound on his face could be seen in many of the clubs of Rome. He carried himself with an arrogance born of knowing that he was the best at what he did. His attentions were vied for everywhere, but rarely did he partake of any of the hot flesh offered to him, though he occasionally allowed some lucky guy to blow him in the various back rooms.

 

Always, just after midnight, he would leave in a black limousine that was waiting at the curb and disappear who knows where and with each disappearance the mystery increased until it was hard to tell fact from fiction. Unwittingly he began being known by the name Blu - because of his striking blue eyes that could look into your very soul when he danced with you or allowed you to buy him a cold drink. And always his eyes seemed to be searching, looking for someone who never appeared.

 

“Justin, I think you should put at least ten of the paintings in with my show.” Armand walked slowly up and down the studio, Justin’s oils of BluJu in costume while training his various slaves were propped against the walls. “The colors are vibrant, the depth of feeling you show in them can’t help but grab even the most jaded critic.”

 

“But Armand, I don’t feel I’m ready.” Justin walked with his mentor appraising his own paintings. “I know they are good, but beside your work, they don’t compare.”

 

“I disagree, my little one, make an old man happy and put at least ten of them in the show.” He studied the paintings again and began to pick the ones he wanted.

 

“Not that one.” Justin said as the Armand had his hand on the last painting. “I should never have painted his face, he could be recognized.” The painting was of Brian on the last occasion they were together. He was writhing in ecstasy and begging to be fucked. No words were needed the sounds and smells and depth of emotion of the moment had been painted for the world to see.

 

“It’s one of the more powerful paintings Justin, it could make your career.” Armand used his voice to persuade.

 

“Rather ironic then Armand, that the man who tried to ‘give’ me a career as a whore - should be the subject of a painting that could make my career as an artist.

 

“Justin, your memory is colored by anger. From what you’ve told me, it wasn’t Brian’s intention to have you” he hesitated over the word “be a whore for the Quoin.”

 

“He did a pretty good job of faking it if that wasn’t his intention, Armand. He knew what I was doing for almost six months and did nothing to stop it. If he’d truly had any kind of feelings for me - if he truly was the Brian Kinney of the movie theatre, then he would never have allowed it.” Justin was silent for a moment and then he turned away from the works propped against the wall and said in a voice tinged with regrets of what might have been. “Take it Armand, let the world see Brian Kinney’s most private moment - he was willing to share me with anyone who had enough money - I guess I can do the same for him.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Yes”

 

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“Brian” Emmett hesitated. “Did you get the parcel I sent you?”  he held the telephone receiver away from his ear in case Brian was going to explode.

 

Instead Brian glanced over at the rather large and heavy brown paper wrapped parcel on his credenza and mumbled into the telephone “It’s here, it arrived yesterday.” He looked at it again. “I assume it’s some kind of book. You know I don’t exchange gifts with anyone and what kind of an occasion was it anyway that I forgot?”

 

“It’s the best seller - everyone’s raving about it - the bookstores in New York have sold out three times already and it’s a coffee table book worth two hundred dollars.” Emmett finished breathless.

 

“You spent two hundred dollars on a fucking book?” Brian was incredulous.

 

“You’ll want to see it.”

 

“It had better be damn good Emmett.” Brian lifted it up and began to remove the well taped brown paper. “What’s the title?”

 

“Blu”

 

“Blue? Blue what?” But the last of the paper was ripped off of the book and there in living color on the bold dust jacket was Brian Kinney, writhing in passion as a masked man played with him. Brian remembered the moment well. He remembered the feeling of helplessness and the pain of desire as his body demanded release and at the same time demanded Justin’s cock. Luckily the heavy font of the book’s title was partially scrawled across him. There was the possibility that he wouldn’t be recognized, it wasn’t as if any one had ever seen the expression on his face that was plastered on the book’s cover for the world to see.

 

Hanging up on Emmett without saying another word, Brian began to leaf through the thick pages, each one with a piece of tissue between them to protect the vibrant colors as one by one the oil paintings of Justin Taylor were revealed.

 

The eroticism alone would sell the book, but the paintings were magnificent. He read that they were part of a show that had been done earlier in the year in Rome; a show that still had those in the art world talking about the young artist filled with such passion.

 

The final page was a self portrait and there Justin stood, tall and proud in the arena of the Coliseum, two male lions resting at his feet. His face showing no hint of the Sunshine smile that Brian knew could appear. Instead he looked full of piss and vinegar and ready to conquer the world. A fitting portrait for those who knew him and Brian was proud of the young man and what he’d become at such an early age.

 

The small biography that is included on the rear page of many similar books startled Brian in its honesty and the truth hurt when he read it in the pages in black and white.

‘At twelve I was orphaned though I never knew much about what happened. At sixteen rather than submit to rape I took to the streets of Pittsburgh and ended up in Miami through the brief kindness of strangers. At almost seventeen, again rather than submit to rape at the whims of the pimps of Miami, I was left for dead on the doorstep of a Quoin where I spent two years learning how to whore, yet be in control - while my benefactor watched secretly. At eighteen I began to practice what I learned until the day came when I realized that the gentle hand of the kindest pimp is still that - a pimp though he called himself my friend. I learned to love and I learned to hate all in that one year and finally in that same year I learned to love myself and put hate of myself and others far into the netherworld of times past. And I was born once again as Justin Taylor, artist, and man who has learned to depend on no one other than himself, for I know I won’t disappoint me.”

 

Brian turned back to the front of the book, to look for a dedication, if there was one and he knew now what had caught Emmett’s attention, if the cover hadn’t already.

 

To Brian who taught me to love a man

To Armand who taught me to love myself.

Both gifts to treasure.

 

Brian wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. He’d lost Justin, probably forever. All his pontificating that queers didn’t really fall in love had been nothing but smoke and mirrors as he realized what he’d done to the trusting blond boy with the sapphire eyes who had breathtakingly smiled at him one day in a movie theater. A boy who had desperately needed to be loved and needed to love someone back. Brian sat at his desk and stared hard at the picture inside - the one that was on the cover only now it was full sized on two pages and he remembered the evening, but then he’d always been able to remember that evening and every time he’d been with Justin. Those memories were etched in his thoughts during the day and in his dreams at night.

 

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“It’s been two years Justin, and still you insist on staying with this old man.” Armand grumbled and Justin laughed at him, both were sitting in the heavy green foliage of the rear garden, sketch books on their knees.

 

“I can’t leave.” Justin joked. “You promised to teach me everything you know - I haven’t even come close.”

 

“But I’m a mean and grouchy old man; go have some fun in the city. Find yourself a handsome young man to love you and leave me to sit in the sunlight in peace.”

 

“I have a handsome old man to love, I don’t need a young one, besides they don’t ever want to talk, only fuck.”

 

“It’s the age, I still want to fuck instead of talk, but all I can do is talk.” He grinned at Justin. “You could tell me more stories of your days at the Quoin, I like those bedtime stories.”

 

“They make me sad.” Justin told him.

 

“I find them amusing.” Armand said. “All that money being spent to have my little blond boy make them do things they would never consider doing and in front of others.” He looked at Justin, “Like you make me do things.”

 

“You love it old man.” Justin teased. “And you needed to see that doctor, so don’t give me any grief over it.” He reached over and gently stroked Armand’s arm.

 

“I’d love it more if it were the other things.” And he grinned at Justin to show he was only teasing the young blond.  “To change the subject, I heard from your publisher today, they’re doing a third printing of the book you said would never sell.”

 

Justin had the grace to blush. “I think it’s the hot picture of Brian on the cover that’s selling the book.”

 

“Well, I’m sure it helps, but I’m also sure it’s all of the paintings inside that help to sell the book.” He sighed and was silent for a moment. “Do you miss it, being the mysterious BluJu”

 

“No, I don’t miss it.”

 

“Do you miss him?” and neither need to say the name, they had talked endlessly about Brian and his motives.

 

“I’ll miss him until the day I die. Do I like him? No I still don’t like him. Do I love him? With every breath that I take.”  Justin turned away and blinked back tears that had suddenly washed into his eyes. It had been more than two years since he’d last seen Brian and still the man affected him this way. It wasn’t fair.

 

“Is he about six feet four, auburn hair and hazel eyes?”

 

“With flecks of gold and green, you know that, I’ve painted him enough.”

 

“Does he usually dress all in black Armani?”

 

“Usually, though I love it when he wears claret silk shirts with his black suits.” Justin laughed “Why are you asking me this, you know what he looks like.”

 

“Because someone looking like that is walking down the pathway.” Armand said with a bark of laughter “And he looks determined.”

 

“Brian?” Justin turned and looked across the garden.

 

“You’re a hard man to track down Sunshine.” Brian said as he stepped off the path and headed toward the two men.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

“Looking for my lost youth.” Brian ran his hand over Justin’s face, his fingers memorizing the planes.

 

“If you youngsters will excuse me, I’ll head back to the house.” Armand stood up carefully and began to walk away.

 

Brian and Justin looked into each other’s eyes, it was as if they’d only been apart a few moments. “I need you.” Brian said.

 

“I need a lot of things Brian, but I don’t need you.” Justin started to turn away.

 

“I didn’t mean it that way, I need you in my life, to teach me to love and to love me back.”

 

“I can’t teach you to love Brian, you either love someone or you don’t.”

 

“I know I love you Sunshine, perhaps I should have said, teach me to accept that it’s alright to love you.”

 

Justin looked at the man he’d been running from both physically and mentally for more than two years. He’d often wondered what he would do if they ever met again and now he knew. He held out his hands and Brian clasped them with both of his. Justin’s blue eyes shone with hope knowing that he was loved and the man standing before him was willing to be loved back.

 

“I can do that.”

 

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