Chapter 2: part 2: Revelation

Trenton made it a point to walk his mother home from then on. Any time he wasn't busy with swimming practise or absolutely snowed under with homework, he showed up at the shop around closing time. He was doing it for his Mom, of course. The fact that Clive was usually there, and usually spent a few minutes talking to him, was totally irrelevant. Totally.

Trenton quickly came to the conclusion that Clive was the coolest person on the face of the earth. He could talk about absolutely anything--sports, music, movies... Of course, there were times that Trenton felt like Clive was speaking a different language.

Once Trenton found out that Clive had cut the hair of a star who was now playing the lead in the hottest western on tv. Clive had said dismissively, "Gorgeous, but a real bitch." This had confused the hell out of Trenton. After all, this was an actor, not an actress. He'd mentioned that, rather hesitantly, to Clive, and had received a smirk. "You don't have to have boobs to be a bitch, dear boy. Believe me, Miss Thing qualifies."

Clive's wardrobe was a never ending source of awe. There was a steady stream of denim, leather, suede, and silk. For awhile, during the colder months, there were flannel shirts, but always worn unbuttoned over a bare chest in the shop. Clive called it 'getting in touch with his inner lumberjack'.

When he actually was fifteen, Trenton got up enough nerve to ask Clive where he bought his leather. Clive regarded him thoughtfully. "I could tell you, Trenton. But it's rather expensive. Aren't you saving?"

Trenton blushed. "Well, yeah--for college expenses. Even if I get a scholarship, there's gonna be extras. But I thought, maybe one pair..."

Clive shook his head. "You shouldn't. It's not really your style."

Trenton felt bewildered, as he often did with Clive. "I didn't know I had a style."

"Certainly you do. It's 'clean cut, wholesome young stud next door'. You're doing fine with the jeans and tees and shorts. I even think one of those rather hideous Hawaiian shirts would suit you." Clive smoothed a hand consideringly over Trenton's shoulders. "No suits and jackets, though. Not unless it's one of those candy colored prom formals." His hand slid down Trenton's chest. "I think you'd look rather delicious in one of those. Enought to make a prom queen... of any persuasion... breathless." He gave the frozen boy a pat before stepping away. "Let admirers give you the leather, and save it for special occasions."

Well, that made no sense. Clive had refered to him as a 'stud'. Trenton hardly felt qualified. Sure, he'd started dating recently, but it was no big thing. He dated because that was what guys his age did. The 'saving for college' thing was a good excuse not to date too often. If a guy was on a budget he couldn't be reasonably expected to spend too much time escorting a girl around. And as for letting admirers buy him anything...

Trenton never met a girl that wanted to spend money on him. Truth be told, he didn't really enjoy the dating too much. He didn't like having to make all the decisions about where to go, what to do, what to eat--but that was pretty much how things were set up. That's what all the manners books and social ettiquette films said--the guy was in charge. The girl might make a suggestion, but meekly accepted his directives.

Trenton just didn't feel comfortable telling someone else what to do. Maybe that was why he went along with what Clive had pronounced, and didn't try to go changing his wardrobe.

The months flowed by. Trenton passed fifteen and started edging toward sixteen. He went to school, practised swimming, studied, made a few good friends. Some Saturdays he would take his books down to Attitudes, sit in one of the chairs in front, and study. He became well known to the regulars, and was greeted affectionately by men and women alike. He was sort of adopted as a mascot.

Trenton got kind of curious about Clive and his 'special' clients. There seemed to be no set pattern to who Clive accepted into his private station. There were men and women, young to middle aged. Even one lady that Trenton would have classified as elderly, who had the most beautiful silvery white hair Trenton had ever seen.

They'd disappear into Clive's station. After awhile they would emerge with fabulous hair and a rather dazed, but happy, look on their faces. Clive would always be in a fantastic mood afterwards. Once or twice he even pinched Trenton's cheek playfully.

One day when Clive had taken a pretty redhead back, Trenton had taken the excuse of watching his Mom work to go sit back near the station. She was working at a place right by the entrance to the mysterious sanctum, so Trenton had a good excuse to be close to it. He leaned his head against the wall in an attitude of bored waiting, pressing his ear to it.

You couldn't hear all that much over the salon chatter, running water, and hairdriers, but you could hear enough to tell that more than haircutting was going on in there. Simple cosmetology could not evoke such grunts and moans. The little redhead came out with a new shag hairdo, a bruised looking mouth, and a dreamy expression.

Trenton peeked into the private room after she left. Clive was standing in front of the far mirrors, smoothing wrinkles that hadn't been there before out of his leather pants. He caught Trenton's eyes in the mirror, and winked at him.

Trenton sat back with a huge blush rising in his cheeks. Wow. Clive had actually 'done it' with that woman back there, in broad daylight. Imagine, having sex in the middle of the day. Imagine Clive having sex in the middle of the day. The very thought made Trenton get stiff.

Which was why he was glad he had a textbook to open across his lap when Clive strolled out. He patted Trenton's flushed cheek. "Better than the Saturday matinee at the Starland, hm?"

Trenton ducked his head. "I wasn't... uh... I was just sitting here, and..."

"Don't sweat it, pet. Anyone who goes back into that room knows that there's going to be specualtion on the outside."

Trenton's face was about at hip level. There was a small wrinkle in the satiny black leather just where the hips began to curve into the ass. Trenton pointed, fingertip not quite daring to graze the material, and whispered, "You missed a wrinkle." Then, near horrified at his own boldness, he quickly bit the offending fingertip.

Clive stared down at him, watching him nibble his finger. The hairdresser's tongue darted out briefly to wet his lips. "Thank you so much for pointing that out, Trent." He carefully smoothed away the wrinkle. "There. That better?" Trenton nodded silently. Clive touched his fingers under Trenton's chin, lifting it lightly. "Very conscious of the little things, aren't you, dear? That's good."

Trenton had to hold himself to keep from leaning into the touch. And, somehow, he thought that Clive knew that, and it pleased him. That made Trenton happy, to think that Clive was pleased with him for any reason. Because Trenton was fairly certain that he was in love with Clive.

This confused him a lot. He didn't think he was queer. He liked girls well enough, but didn't get horny excited over them like the other guys. He could admire a nice rack or a good set of legs, but it was more on an aesthetic basis than a hormonal one. But he didn't find himself getting all hot and bothered by his friends and the other guys in the gym locker room, either. He liked looking more than he did with the girls, but the guys...

They were just too much like himself. It was confusing. 'Sex Ed' didn't help much. It was mostly warnings about useing protection, or better yet waiting till you were married. They showed scare films about what could happen to you if you got a disease and didn't treat it. Yuck. In one of the films about 'sexual developement' it was mentioned in passing that boys and girls often went through a 'crush' stage where they might become infatuated with one of their own sex, usually in a kind of hero worship relationship. But don't worry, these are a natural stage, and you will soon transfer your affections to a more suitable person. When you mature, your attentions will fixate naturally on a suitable mate.

Huh?

This seemed so odd that he'd mentioned it to his mother. Ever since the 'jailbait' incident, Mrs. Vittelli had known that Trenton needed a male authority figure to talk to. She was a liberal and well informed woman, but there were some things that her generation just didn't discuss with their children, especially not mother to son. So she encouraged him to talk to Clive.

Clive, ever honest, had gently explained to her his interests. She'd nodded, and told him that she wasn't quite as middle-American blind as he seemed to think. But she trusted him to be an honorable man, and if her son came to him with questions, she trusted him to be honest, and not take advantage. Of course, she went on, when Trenton was old enough to make up his own mind...

She shrugged. There hadn't been any girlfriends hanging about. Her son was a sweet, decent, kind boy. If he wasn't interested in girls, she could deal with that, perhaps better than Trenton himself could.

One afternoon just after his sixteenth birthday, Trenton was helping by sweeping up the floors at Attitudes. There were few customers. Clive was flipping through a new hair design magazine, muttering to himself and making notes on a legal pad. Trenton looked up when the bell over the door jingled, and stopped dead when he saw the new customer.

They had male customers, all right, but this was the most masculine male customer he'd seen. The guy must've been six foot three, and two-twenty or two-thirty of muscle. Just muscle and sinew, all packed in tight and hard. He was wearing a gym outfit of shorts and a tank top, and there was just so much of him there. Slabs and plains, and bunches. Look in the encyclopedia under 'bodybuilder' and you'd find his picture.

He went to the counter and slapped it with one hand roughly the size of a dinner plate. Clive looked up sharply at the sound, a frown on his face. It melted into a grin when he saw the big man at the counter. "Tuscon! You musclebound bastard!" He hopped up and went around the counter.

Clive and Tuscon did a variation of the slap-hug-grab-yer-ass-damn-it's-been-ages greetings. At one point the bodybuilder lifted the smaller hairdresser clean off his feet. Clive just laughed. When he was set back down, Clive grabbed his arms and shook him, then ran a hand over the dark, half inch stubble that covered the man's head. "Getting kinda shaggy there, Toose." Trenton watched in stunned amazement as Clive casually hiked up the man's tank top and ran a hand over his massive chest. "Pelt's starting to grow in, too."

"Yeah, that's why I'm here. Got a contest tomorrow, and I was hoping you could fit me in."

"For you, of course. Step on back to the station and I'll get what I need." Clive went back into the storeroom, and Tuscon headed for his private station. Trenton had stepped to the side to allow passage, and was watching him, open mouthed.

Tuscon noticed. Well, well, well He stopped near the boy with the broom. This was worth taking a moment over. He regarded the boy closely. Ooo, that's a sweet little mouthful of white meat. I didn't know Clive went for 'em that young. "Hi, kiddo."

Trenton gulped. His voice was faint. "Hi."

"You Clive's... friend?" He nodded. Tuscon reached out and slowly drew his finger down the center of the boy's chest, letting it come to rest on his waistband. "You just Clive's friend, or do you make new friends?"

Clive came out of the storeroom carrying a box of supplies. He frowned when he saw the pair, and went to them. Trenton was staring at Tuscon, mesmerized. Tuscon was practically licking his lips, and about a half minute away from digging his hand into the boy's fly. Clive said, softly but clearly, "Tuscon, take your hand off the pretty little chicken."

Tuscon's hand dropped away. "Aw, Clive..."

"I'm doing you a favor, moron. He's sixteen."

Tuscon blinked, then said sadly, "Aw, shit. Ain't it always the way?"

"Don't worry. I'll make it up to you. Get in there." As Tuscon went back into the station, Clive said gently, "Trenton, darling, close your mouth. You might have more than a fly get in, if you catch my drift." Trenton's mouth snapped shut as he turned scarlet. Clive shrugged. "Don't let it bother you, pet. Tuscon has that effect on a lot of people. He's a dear, but much too impulsive. I keep telling him he has to check IDs if he doesn't want to end up pumping iron in jail on a statutory charge."

Clive went back into the station, shutting the door. Trenton finished sweeping, but after he finished, he couldn't resist going back and sitting by the door again. There were fewer customers today, and most of them were up near the front of the room. That meant that... um... accoustics were clearer.

"There... once again you scalp approaches baby's butt status."

"Thanks, Clive. Not a nick, as usual. You're the only person in the world I'd trust near me with a cut throat razor." Trenton shuddered. "I had my legs and back waxed in Frisco last week. All I really need is the arms and chest."

"I'll be the judge of that. Strip." Clive's voice wasn't friendly and jocular anymore. It was hard. Tuscon didn't protest. The door was too thick to hear the rustling of clothing, but Trenton assumed that Tuscon was taking off his clothes. Trenton, himself, couldn't imaginge disobeying Clive when he used that tone of voice.

Trenton heard the muted clunk of Clive's boots, and imagined him walking around a stripped Tuscon, examining him. He started to get a hard on, and crossed his arms over his lap.

"Arms, yes. Chest, yes. Have to have all those nice muscles show up clean and clear when you oil up and pose for the judges, don't we? But what about this?" There was a moan that made the hair on the back of Trenton's neck stand on end. "You can't have that kind of stubble, Toose. Not with that obscene little posing pouch you use during competition. I'd be ashamed if anyone knew I let you leave here like that. And what about your balls?"

There was another groan, longer than the first. Tuscon, when he spoke, didn't sound as brash as he had talking to Trenton. "Please Clive."

"What did you call me, Toose? You know the rules."

Breathless. "I'm sorry, sir. Please, sir."

"Please what?"

"Please keep doing that."

"Maybe if you behave yourself. Lie down and spread your legs."

There was the creak of Tuscon climbing up on Clive's leather upholstered chair/table. There was a barely audible hissing sound. Trenton was at a loss at first to place it. Then he remembered what he'd glimpsed in the box Clive was carrying. There had been several cans of shaving cream. Then there was silence. But a loaded silence. Once Clive said, "Tuscon, stop fidgetting. You're going to make me regret not tieing you down. Next time you'll be trussed tighter than a thanksgiving turkey."

"Promises, promises." The other man's voice was thick.

There was a smacking sound. Clive's voice was stern. "I mean it, Toose. You don't want any fresh cuts when you go on stage tomorrow, do you? Now hold really still while I get around your nipples, if you don't want to lose one."

"Clive!"

"Yes, yes, I'm joking. Big baby." Trevore strained his ears, and imagined that he could hear a rasping scrape. "Done. Now to get rid of those pesky old pubes." The hissing sound again. "Relax, dear, I'm going to be using disposables on this. I'd practically have to try to cut you with them. Okay, Toose, you know the drill. Hold yourself up out of the way while I work."

Silence again. Trenton's mind was working overtime supplying details, though. The crossed arms weren't cutting it. He grabbed a towel and dropped it in a wad on his lap for camoflage.

"Tuscon, don't you dare play with yourself while I'm doing this. I said these things weren't risky, but it's still possible for you to give yourself an impromptue vasectomy if you move too hard at the wrong time."

Trenton was sweating with horror and arousal. He shoved his fists down on the towel.

"There. Here, wipe yourself off while I get the oil."

"Sir, are you gonna..."

"Shut up, Toose. You need this to make sure the skin isn't irritated, you know that." A moment of silence. "Of course, it also makes it easier for me to do this."

There was a long, shivery moan. More silence. Then another moan. "I'm ready, sir."

"You're ready when I say you're ready, and I want to get another finger up in you to be sure you're stretched out nice and open. All that weightlifting keeps you wound up tight, Toose. It'd be like trying to fuck my way through a brick wall if I didn't loosen you up." More silence, than a smack. "Turn over, and spread."

Trenton leaned his head against the wall, huddling his body toward it. He grabbed hold of the chair arm, because if he didn't he was going to grab his cock and start beating off right there in public. There was an animal growl, and a wet, meaty smack. It continued as a steady smacking sound, mingled with groans and faint words. Trenton lifted his feet off the floor, curling up in the chair. His prick was trying to poke a hole in his pants.

"Aah, damn. Oh, fuck me, sir. Fuck me hard!"

"You don't have to ask, honeybun. Lift your ass. Yeah, like that." The tempo of the slapping increased emphatically.

With a groan, Trenton bolted for the men's room. Inside, he barely managed to lock the door before falling to his knees. Ripping open his fly, he hauled out his weeping, straining cock and masturbated furiously. He came in about a minute, spraying the tiles with thick jets of semen. After he emptied his balls, he collapsed over on his side, panting, staring off blankly.

"That's it," he thought dazedly. "I'm gay."