[Warning: Contains casual pansexual sex, gay male sex, lesbian sex, interracial sex, coercion, and pregnant sex. Gay male sex is emphasized.]
*****
"Hello there. Welcome to the Grove Manor Inn. I'm . . . here let me help you with those. Let me take at least one of them. I'm Albert, the lazier part of Mark and Albert."
He spoke "Albert" without the closing "T," and, from both his mixed British and Caribbean islander accent and his strikingly good "best of several races" looks, it wasn't hard to conclude that he was Jamaican. He also was a hunk and a half, beautifully built, at least six foot two tall, broad in the chest, and slim in waist and hips.
Andy had known a gay couple operated the B&B on Grove Street, in Richmond, Virginia's, Fan District—a mostly residential area of large, late nineteenth and early twentieth century row house that took its name because the streets radiated west away from the government center in the form of a fan. The Web site had made quite clear the two male hosts were a couple, if in a subtle way, so that potential guests would know before deciding to book. Andy didn't know, however, that at least one of the couple was a god-like, light-chocolate hunk.
That didn't help Andy one bit. He wouldn't have booked into the B&B, knowing it was run by a gay couple. He was having a hard enough time not hyperventilating what he was doing in Richmond at all—what was expected of him here. Sandi had made the reservations.
And Sandi was still working her way out of the front seat of their Volvo SUV. She wasn't clumsy; she was six months pregnant and showing. And she was feeling every added inch of girth and had been complaining of the discomfort all the way from the coast.
"And, by process of elimination, you must be the Clemons," Albert said as he reached out for one of the bags Andy was carrying at the back gate into the swimming pool area of the B&B. Andy had entered the alley behind the Grove Street houses, as directed, and parked between two cars on a four-car parking pad. "The Arnolds are already here and settled in. There are just the four of you for the two nights you'll be with us. The Arnolds are staying longer than you at both ends."
"Hello," Andy finally said, trying not to look at Albert like he could eat the man up, "Yes, we're the Clemons. This is Sandra. I'm Andy."
Sandra Clemons had finally caught up with them, although she was moving almost in a waddle. She was still stretching her spine with a fist in the small of her back and looking slightly harried from the drive from the coast. Beyond that, she was looking radiant, a small blonde who looked every bit the sportswear model she'd been before she'd had her first child. She smiled at Albert and shook his free hand. Andy was still juggling a suitcase, a computer bag, and the bolster pillow stuffed in a bag. Sandra couldn't get comfortable without a body pillow to lean full length against when she finally got around to sleep. Despite showing six months, she still needed attention from Andy most nights before going to sleep.
The B&B, an imposing three-story structure—with the bottom two stories being deeper toward the back of the lot—was set on a double city lot. The house was on a corner, fronting on Grove, and with its western side running along North Meadow. An old carriage house was at the back corner, long side to the alley and short side to North Meadow. The upstairs had been converted into a small apartment, Andy knew, as, for a steep price, it was available for rent as one of the B&B suites. He knew there were three two-room suites in the main house, one on the second floor against the wall facing North Meadow, and two on the third floor. He and Sandra had one of the third-floor suites. The eastern half of the double lot was taken up with a brick patio with a fair-sized kidney-shaped swimming pool in the middle.
In swim suits and rising from pool beds beside the pool as Andy, first, and then Sandra and Albert entered the yard, were what must be the other couple staying at the B&B. He was older, maybe in his fifties, of imposing stature—barrel chested, well-muscled for his age, bald and bull necked, but with bushy eyebrows and a chest heavily matted with curly salt and pepper hair. His stomach was still flat and his legs were those of a rugby player. A man, standing ramrod straight, of military bearing and Marine physique.
The woman, in contrast, was a raven-haired, trim, elegant society dame type either not older than her late thirties or having an expert plastic surgeon on retainer. She was tanned to a golden sheen and proudly and unapologetically wearing a black string bikini. Despite her age, no apologies or self-consciousness were required. Still, she was so deeply bronzed that the tanning must be perpetual and she'd probably be looking like old leather in ten years. In the meantime, though, she was gorgeous.
"Admiral and Mrs. Arnold—Hal and Margaret," Albert said, gesturing with his free hand toward the couple at the pool. "These are the Clemons. Sandra and Andrew. I'll just get the Clemons settled in their suite and either they'll come down to the pool or they'll see you for wine and cheese on the back porch at five." Albert said the last with a slight tilt up to the inflection of a question as he turned and looked at Sandra and Andy.
"What do you think, Sandi?" Andy asked. "Do you feel up to . . .?"
"I think a rest first," she answered.
"Yes, of course. There will be plenty of time for fuller introductions at the wine and cheese hour," Albert said hurriedly. "I've made dinner reservations for you at Can Can, as you requested, but those aren't until seven."
"Was it a tiring trip for you, my dear?" Margaret asked, making it obvious that she was taking note of Sandra's condition. "Did you have to come from far?" She had a smooth, but low-pitched voice. Sultry almost. It went with the rest of the package.
"Just from Norfolk," Andy answered for both of them. "Traffic wasn't too bad on 64, though. Not much more than an hour and fifteen minutes."
"Oh, a coincidence. We're from Norfolk too," Margaret said. "The naval base."
The four of them—Sandra, Andy, Margaret, and Hal—muttered a few transitional pleasantries before Albert guided the young couple to a door at the rear of the main house that led onto a porch and then what was probably a reading room set beside a large kitchen, and then into the center stair hallway. Throughout the time, Hal had stood almost glowering at them. It wasn't an unfriendly stare, but it seemed to be a quizzical one, and his attention seemed to be centered on Andy.
But he wasn't the only one scrutinizing Andy. Albert was doing so, as well as he could, as he showed them around the four ornate public rooms on the first floor, describing how they essentially had remained the same since a railroad baron had built the house in 1910, before taking them two flights up to their suite. Andy could feel Albert's speculative gazes focus on him, and it sent electricity through his body. Could he tell? And how could he tell, Andy wondered. And how could Andy just deflect that interest to a back burner?
As they'd passed the door into the kitchen, Albert introduced them to the other half of the management team, Mark, who quite obviously was the domesticated half of the partnership. He was puttering around in the kitchen, doing whatever B&B cooks had to do in the afternoon. In many respects, he was quite similar to Andy—slightly below average height; trim, but well-muscled; and strikingly good looking in a classic blond way. He also was slightly effeminate, which became obvious immediately, both from the tone of his voice and the way he carried himself. Andy wasn't effeminate, so the similarity didn't dig down too deeply.
"You're the only ones on the third floor," Albert was saying as he reached that landing, so you should have all the privacy you need. The Arnolds are on the second floor—across from Mark and me.
Andy wondered if Albert had said that just to drive home to Andy that he—Albert—was gay. But then, Andy thought, "maybe it's the whole nature of this trip that has my antennae up and has me on edge. That's all in the past. I'm married now and have managed without someone like Albert for the last three years now".
Alone in their suite, having explored the two rooms and bath and tucked their suitcases away, Andy said, "You sure you don't want us to put on our suits and go for a swim? You want to try to take a nap?"
"I want to take a nap, but I want you to put me to sleep as you usually do, Andy," she answered, giving him "that look." "I want to try out that 'all the privacy we need.'"
