Only One Draw Ch. 01

Toby Drake's breath became a bit ragged. The man not only looked a hunk, but he also was smooth and had an arousing, straightforward sex approach. That was refreshing in Drake's business. There was no question that he was interested in Drake and the young whore wasn't put off by the man saying straight out that he wanted to fuck Drake. Drake wanted to fuck him too. He was the most attractive prospect in the room. His approach was so smooth that Drake entertained visions of lying on his back on the leather bench between where they were standing and the paintings on the wall, opening his legs to the man, while the man hovered over him and penetrated. Drake had no doubt that the man would be good at it.

If the man, whoever he was, could afford the price.

Both of those questions were answered when the man Drake had been waiting for, Corwin Case, the owner of the Farragut Art Gallery, at Farragut Square and Connecticut Avenue Northwest, a primary dealer in the art work of Griffin Gould, the featured landscape artist at this Artechouse exhibition, saddled up to Drake and the man.

"Ah, Griffin, I see you've already met my young friend, Toby Drake."

Gould's hand came off Toby Drake's butt and he turned a smile to the art gallery owner. "Yes, we were just discussing the sensuousness of art and the high price that good art goes for, Corwin. I think our exhibit here is going quite well. I already see red dots on a few of the painting. Money in the bank for both of us. I can afford to pursue other pleasures of mine now."

Gould was the artist for this exhibit, but Case was paying for the evening and any paintings sold were being handled through the Farragut Art Gallery, with Case taking a hefty commission.

The three chatted for a few minutes, with Case pointedly putting an arm around Drake to establish his territory. Drake was there on Case's credit card and both Gould and Drake got the message. Neither of them mentioned that Gould also did male nudes, that it had been established that Drake could be hired to model, or that both Gould and Drake now knew, without anything explicitly being said, that the two would meet again and fuck--if Gould wanted to budget for that.

Toby Drake hadn't been the least surprised that the man who saddled up to talk to him about the paintings and to signal sexual interest was the artist for the exhibit, Griffin Gould. Toby had been disingenuous about indicating he had little knowledge of art. He kept track of the local art scene. He knew what artist was being featured in this exhibit--and he'd seen Gould's photo.

What did surprise him was to learn that the man did male nudes as well. That was a far departure from innovative cityscape oils and hadn't been mentioned in anything Toby had read. He was equally surprised--but happy and intrigued--that the man was a gay top and was forward about it. He was a hunk and had a sexy approach to it. From the prices attached to his paintings, Drake also knew that the man should be rich, which was always a good thing for a rent-boy to know about his client prospects.

The three hadn't chatted for long before a nervous-looking young, foxy-looking dark-haired and complexioned young man approached them and addressed himself to Gould.

"The Sinclairs have latched on to one of the larger ones in the other room and may need just a little shove to red dot it, Griffin. Maybe you should--"

"Well, all right," Gould said, a bit of irritation showing in his voice. "I'd best go to them." He turned to Drake and said, much to the dismay of the foxy young man, as was apparent in his face, "I'll be in touch." That was accentuated by Gould touching Drake's arm with those long, slender, artistic fingers of his. And then to Case, "You know I hate the sales angle to all of this."

When they were gone, Drake turned to Case and asked, "Who was that--the young man who interrupted our conversation?"

"That was Luigi Finelli, Gould's assistant and everything else," Case answered. "A nervous and possessive little thing. He is here from Italy on an art grant and has latched himself onto Gould like a barnacle. Don't let him see you get too close to Gould. In fact, it would be in your best interests not to get close to Gould, in any event. He's bad news sexually."

"I go where the escort agency sends me," Drake answered. He'd given Gould a business card. No reason any of Drake's other clients should know that, though.

"He's known to be very rough," Case said. If he thought that would put Toby Drake off, he was very much mistaken.

"You can be very rough," Drake countered.

"Not like Gould can be. Speaking of sending," Case said, "I think I got the distinct impression Gould wants me to come work the Sinclairs for him. They are rich as Midas and they like his work. This shouldn't be hard. But, there's his agent, Sam Shaffer, over there. I'll rope him in on the way." With that, he handed Drake his empty wine glass and walked away.

"Be very careful of that man, Toby." Drake recognized the voice, the deep husky androgynous voice of Natalie, who had, as Drake remembered, been called Nick before having taken the transition to T-girl all of the way. She worked for an escort agency in the capital city that wasn't as much a competitor of the one Toby Drake worked for as it was a specialized service that complemented Drake's. Drake's service was the premier and highest-drawer escort agency in Washington, D.C., one of the few with a male-for-males section. Natalie's was all T-girls, in various stages of transformation. Drake could be hired to cross dress and be a woman in a man's fantasy, but Natalie's agency could provide female functionality in someone who had once been male. There was an increasingly larger demand for that for some reason, especially among the foreign diplomatic corps in the city. Both Natalie and the owners of her agency had propositioned Drake more than once to transition and come with them, but Drake was still all man and hadn't entertained an interest in changing that. That didn't mean he didn't like bringing out his feminine side with crossdressing, though.

Drake had seen Natalie earlier in the reception across the room with a somewhat portly older man. She was in full-on dress, wearing a slinky black ankle-length number with sparkles and a plunging neckline. Natalie had gone the whole distance, breasts and vagina and all. She had a beautiful face, with emerald-green eyes and a strawberry-blond hair--her own, not a wig--with body and cascade. He wasn't surprised that she'd come to him when neither was overwise engaged. Drake knew something that probably concerned her and that she would ask him about. But he couldn't tell her what he knew.

He assumed her warning was about Griffin Gould. "You mean the artist?" he asked. "Have you been dated by him before?"

"Yes, Griffin Gould," Natalie said. "He didn't take me anywhere but heaven and hell, but I've modeled for him--once--and he's said he wants me to do so again. I'll bet he asked you to model for him too."

"Yes, he did," Drake answered. "And I got the strong impression that he wanted something else too."

"Bingo. His idea of posing for him for drawings is to be fucked too."

"Which he pays full price for?"

"Of course."

"He looks to be a hunk. What is the problem? Being fucked is what our business is all about, isn't it?"

"Yes. But he's cruel and it's all about him. He scared me."

"But did he fuck you well?"

"Completely," Natalie said, and shivered.

"Did this happen before or after your total conversion? I'm sorry. Don't answer if you think that's too intrusive, but I wonder how liberal his tastes are."

"I don't mind talking about becoming all woman, honey," Natalie said. "I just have to be careful that the client fully understands what he's getting and that it's what he wanted. I've heard stories of transformed T-girls getting beaten badly when the john discovered what they were. In Gould's case, he engages us to paint and fuck precisely because of what we have between our legs."

"And that is all understood--what you have between your legs--by the man you're with this evening?"

"Certainly. He's connected with the artist--with Griffin Gould--which is why we're here. My man is Sam Shaffer, the artist's agent. Gould does a line of snatch shots. Who are you here with?"

"Corwin Case, owner of the art gallery that sells most of Gould's work. He's sponsoring this exhibit. So, we're both with someone connected with Gould. I wonder if someone is here with him."

"There should be, but I don't see her--and speaking of full conversions, Destiny told me she'd be here with Gould tonight, but I haven't seen her. I asked him about her because we're trying to set up a luncheon date, but he just told me she is a flighty one, so he wasn't betting she'd make it. Imagine that, not showing up for a high-fee arrangement. That doesn't seem like Destiny to me. She's still paying the bills on her transformation."

Natalie and Destiny--as Drake remembered, Destiny's "before" name had been David Danforth--worked for the same escort agency. "I can't think of Destiny not showing up for a high-fee assignment either," he said.

"She called me late this afternoon. She said then she'd be here tonight, but she sounded a bit strange. I thought she might have taken something, but she told me she hadn't. She posed for Gould earlier and said he was rough with her. She didn't sound well. Maybe she's sick. I'll call her in a bit and check up on her."

"That sounds like a good idea. I'm on empty, I see," Drake said, waving his wine glass to verify the point. He was still holding Case's empty glass too. "While my man is selling one of Gould's paintings, I think I'll get a refill and ditch this other glass. It was good seeing you. You look terrific in your new life."

"Wait a minute," Natalie said, extending a manicured hand, with silver-polished fingernails that matched Drake's in hue--anyone looking at them together in their personal beauty and black outfits with silver highlights would think them the perfectly matched couple. "Speaking of phone calls, I came over to ask you something."

Uh, oh, here it comes, Drake thought, and he was right.

"I've been trying to call Liam for days. Have you heard anything from her? I'm worried about her. It isn't like her to go off the radar for this long, and the agency says she hasn't checked in for nearly a week."

Liam was another of the T-girls working for Natalie and Destiny's escort service. Although she dressed the part, she hadn't done any of the conversion yet. She planned to and, although her escort agency gave her gigs, they hadn't fully contracted her until she'd either gotten boobs or a cunt. There was a market for trans like Liam, though. There were men who wanted that--looking female until they are unwrapped and then just being a small, male submissive for them.

"No, I haven't heard from her," he answered. "I'll check when I can. Oh, look, there's my man, Corwin Case, returning from a sale, I think, because he's smiling." Corwin caught Drake's eye from across the room and wagged another empty wine glass at the young man. Drake wondered if the man would get so drunk he couldn't get it up in the after-show festivities. But he didn't really care. The fee would be paid regardless. "Ah, he wants me to meet him at the wine trough. Let me know if you get through to Destiny and find out why she didn't make it here."

Drake hurried off, as he didn't want to talk more about Liam. He didn't want to have to lie to Natalie about the missing T-girl. Liam wasn't missing, Toby Drake knew. Liam was dead, possibly murdered. Well, probably murdered. Drake's roommate was a Washington, D.C., Vice cop by the name of Hardesty. Hardesty had told Drake about Liam's death because he wanted to know everything Drake knew about the crossdressing rent-boy. They weren't releasing any information on the murder yet, though. And this had put Drake behind the eight-ball on saying anything to the other prostitutes. That didn't stop them from asking him if he knew what was going on, though, because they all knew of Drake's unusual living arrangements--living with and being fucked by a Vice cop when Drake was in the business.

Drake never got around to asking if Natalie got through to Destiny on the phone that night. About an hour later, as the buyer prospects were thinning out, leaving just the drinkers and grazers here of those and not intending to buy, he was standing with Corwin Case, who was gauging whether it was safe to leave, as he didn't see any potential buyers left, when Sam Shaffer came storming up to them.

"Will you believe that? I paid for the night--well, not for the whole night, I guess. I hadn't committed to that until I saw how it was going."

"What are you saying, Sam?" Case asked.

"That little whore I brought. I knew I shouldn't have let her talk to Griffin. I swear if he didn't sell so well, I'd dump his ass."

"Slow down, Sam," you aren't making sense, Case said.

"He's humping her. I brought her, and Gould has taken her back into one of the storerooms and he's humping her. He's fucking her on my credit card."

"Natalie?" Drake couldn't help saying. He also nearly couldn't help snorting a laugh. Natalie had warned him off Gould and here she was, back in the back, riding his cock.

"I could kill the little bitch," Shaffer said. "I'm outta here." He headed for the exit.

"Well, that decides that," Case said.

"Decides what?" Drake asked.

"That means we can leave. I didn't want to leave before Gould's agent did in case I was gone and missed a sale. He'd never let me forget that. He'd probably send me a bill for his missed commission. But he's gone, and horny old Gould obviously isn't interested in selling any more paintings tonight, so we can go."

"Back to your place?" Drake asked.

"To the gallery. I keep a small apartment there. I don't feel like crossing the river and going to McLean tonight. Let's go. There will be taxis still tonight."

He was right. There were still a couple of taxis out in front of the Artechouse gallery, waiting for fares. The next taxi up was a Capitol Cab Company car. Drake didn't particularly like the leer the big, black driver gave him as he and Case entered the cab. And he most definitely didn't like the driver snatching looks at them in the backseat as they moved across the federal complex and onto Connecticut Avenue for the short run up to Farragut Square. Case wanted to start the kissy-feeling phase of the night before they reached the gallery. He was paying the bill, so Drake had to let him put his tongue in Drake's mouth and fondle him as the taxi moved.

But Drake didn't like the look the driver was giving them in the rearview mirror. He didn't like that one little bit.