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  This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design: Selena Kitt

  East Meets Wes © 2009 Kris Klein

  eXcessica publishing

  All rights reserved

  East Meets Wes

  By Kris Klein

  The ad came out in Sunday’s paper and–to my surprise–I got a lot of calls about the artwork. The furniture, kitchenware, stuff like that–yeah, I expected it all to get a lot of attention. But when you have close to four thousand dollars’ worth of original artwork on the walls of your living room alone, in a city like Phoenix you don’t necessarily expect to run into those who’d appreciate it…let alone–in this economy–be able to afford it.

  Maybe the fact the artist was local–a Mesa resident named Marilyn Barnes–helped. Either way, I was glad for the constant ringing of my cell phone all day Sunday; it meant more potential for me to sell all my stuff, and get the hell out of town at last.

  I had been hurting too much, the last few months especially. Everywhere in Phoenix I went–Charlie’s, Roscoe’s, the Gay Pride parade, the gym, Camelback Mountain–it all reminded me of Matt. We’d been together too long–had done too much around town as a couple–that now, a lot of what Phoenix had to offer was tied up in the six years we’d lived here together. When I’d come home early from work one day, about six months ago, to find Matt packing his things and moving out–giving up everything he had, we had, in order to move in with some personal trainer he’d been fucking on the side for awhile now–everything I’d ever felt for him, for us, and for Phoenix died within me as if someone had flipped a switch. Thank God everything in the house had been in my name–all Matt wanted was his personal belongings, which he managed to get out of the house all in one trip. I stayed around to make sure he didn’t swipe anything of mine–and, hopefully, to see if he had even an ounce of remorse in him about flushing our six-year relationship down the toilet (he didn’t)–and as soon as his broken-down Camry rounded the corner of Bethany Home and out of my sight, I made two phone calls: one to make an appointment, for the next day, to get the locks on my house changed; and the other to my realtor, scheduling a time for her to come over for a walk-through, so we could start the process of putting my house up for sale.

  I got drunk that night, at home alone and crying until I was dehydrated–and the next morning swore that was as much attention as I’d give to Matt’s infidelity and departure. He was, after all, a cheat and a liar and a user. Too bad it’s never as easy as you’d hoped, however; not when you have over half a decade invested into loving someone. So after several weeks of mooning around, depressed and angry, I found out from work there was an Account Executive position open at the Seattle office of the advertising agency I worked for–and I jumped at the chance to apply. I got the position a month later, a few days after selling my home (I had to cut my price twice, thanks to the current economy and that fuck-stick George Bush, but it was worth it)…

  Now here I was, with less than ten days before I had to be in Seattle for work, and I was selling off the vast majority of my belongings. I wanted Seattle to represent a whole new start, with an all-new home filled with all-new things–and there was no room for Matt in the equation, not even his ghostly memory; I wanted nothing around to remind me of him.

  Especially the artwork, beautiful as it was. Most of what was in the living room, artistically, was the work of Marilyn Barnes, whom Matt had doted on. In fact, he’d picked out most of the pieces himself, begging me to buy them for the house. And, like the good boyfriend I so wanted to be, I had. They looked great in the living room, too, especially the three smaller paintings above the sofa–all colorful abstracts of various geometric shapes and designs–but the centerpiece was the five-by-six-foot abstract that took up the entire wall in one corner of the living room. Painted with a stucco-like texture the color and consistency of desert sand, the beautiful work of art was dappled, along the left-hand side, with a vertical, haphazard red stripe that almost looked like it had been splashed onto the canvas by accident. It hung flanked on either side by fake potted birch trees, with a red sling-back canvas chair sitting in front of it. Everyone who’d ever come to the house commented on the artwork – but especially on this corner of the room, as Matt had predicted.

  As well they should; the big painting alone had cost me $1800–“marked down” from $2800. It had been Matt’s absolute, personal favorite…

  And I wanted it gone.

  * * * *

  Sunday got nuts really fast. Between neighbors and those who’d answered my newspaper ad, the house was full of people throughout most of the day. The kitchenware–pots and pans, flatware, various dishes–all went fast; not a surprise, as I always usually bought brand name, and took care of my stuff. By early afternoon, I had reasonable offers on both my living room and bedroom sets I most likely would take. Even a couple of the smaller Barnes pieces hanging in the hallway of my home sold, and I had one way-too-low offer on the trio of paintings above the sofa.

  Yet so far, no one seemed interested in the mammoth-sized painting that had been given its own place of honor in the corner of my living room. While plenty of those walking through my home that day had shown interest or even downright love for the painting, I think most felt it either too big for their home…or were too afraid to ask the price.

  The last “customer” of the afternoon–a blue-haired old lady from down the street, who paid $20 for an ornate, three-foot high Chinese vase Matt had brought into the house almost exactly a year before–had left by 4pm, and I was ushering her out the door when my cell phone went off again, for maybe the fiftieth time that day.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, I’m calling about the ad in the paper? The house sale?”

  Wow. Deep, sexy, masculine voice. Most of the calls I’d been getting all day were from women; it was nice to not only hear from a guy…but wow, what a guy.

  “Sure,” I said, “who’s this?”

  “I’m Robert,” he said. “Do you still have the original artwork, the paintings, for sale?”

  “Most of them, yeah.” This was awesome; maybe he’d snatch up the lot. “I’ve had a couple of offers, but kind of wanted to wait and see who else might show up and want them.”

  “Cool.” I heard some rustling in the background, then the husky, sexy voice was cooing in my ear again. “Could I get your address, please?”

  “Sure.” I gave it to him, along with okaying his request to come by about six that evening. “I’m Wes, by the way,” I added, after being sure he had the directions down. “So by any chance are you a painter or something, Robert? Maybe work for a museum?”

  He laughed. If possible, his laugh was even sexier than his speaking voice. “Me? Nah. I’m your average blue collar guy; work as a welder in Tempe. I just like art, original stuff, and wanted to see what you had. Probably couldn’t afford to get anything, but thought there’s no harm in looking, ya know?”

  “Oh, I totally agree. So I’ll see you at six?”

  “Six sharp. See you then. Thanks, man.”

  * * * *

  He was nothing as I’d pictured him–and yet, was so much more. When I opened my front door that night, after hearing the bell, the man awaiting me on the other side of it just blew me the fuck away.

  “Robert?” I said.

  He smiled. “Wes?”

  “Uh, yeah–come on in, man,” I replied, stepping aside to let him enter my home. My big baby blue eyes gave him the once over, from head to toe, as Robert stepped passed me into the room.

  The first thing that struck me was he could not have been more than five-foot-six-inches tall. Now I love short men–always have, and almost every guy I’ve romantically dated in my life—Matt included—has been shorter than my five-foot-ten. So that was a turn-on for me as it is, especially with the tight, round little ass, clad in faded blue jeans, I caught sight of as he went by me in the doorway.

  He was also Asian–something unexpected–and also quite possibly the sexiest, most rugged Asian guy I’d ever seen. He was olive-toned and deeply sensual, with piercing black eyes that took in everything they landed on. A blunt, round little boy’s nose seemed overshadowed by the small, thick-lipped little thug boy mouth below it. He had short, spiky black hair, a trimmed, thinned-out black moustache and baby goatee, and his bottom lip was pierced twice–once on each side, toward the corner–with curved, silver pieces of metal that curled to the shape of his lower lip…so when his mouth was closed, he looked as if he might have had a pair of silver fangs his small lips could barely conceal. He was short, compact, well-built, and walked with the air of a thug. The arm-length tattoos on his right arm, which continued up and under the sleeve of the gray t-shirt he wore,
added to the effect–with a dragon’s head and half-naked woman only two of the variety of inked artwork climbing up his arm.

  Damn, was he hot. Masculine as hell, Robert oozed testosterone from every pore of his body. That said, it was still his perfect round ass I couldn’t help watching, as he headed into the living room ahead of me.

  “Wow,” he said, heading toward the trio of colorful abstracts, each 11”x14”, that hung above the off-white sofa. “Those are sweet, man.”

  “Yeah–sweet,” I muttered, still ogling Robert’s ass. Then I snapped to, bringing myself back to reality. “Oh! Oh yeah–they are. Barnes is a brilliant painter.”

  Robert stepped right up to the paintings, stretching his body over the couch to check them out close up…which, of course, forced his perfect little ass to stick out even more at me, as well. Shit.

  “Yeah, she’s good,” Robert was saying. “I wish I could paint like–oh, man, look at that!”

  He’d turned his head mid-conversation, to catch the big Barnes masterpiece in the corner of my living room. Mouth hanging open in surprise, Robert headed over to examine it, approaching the thing like it was the Mona Lisa. I took a seat on the end of the couch, crossing my legs to hide the erection I felt growing within my beige Dockers.

  “Damn, dude–this chick’s fucking amazing!” Robert said, standing before the big corner masterpiece now, as he turned back to me with a huge smile of awe on his face that only made him that much sexier. “The way she uses color, but keeps it simple…I mean shit, man, she’s incredible!”

  “Yeah,” I said in agreement. “My ex got to know her pretty well–to the point she gave him a great discount off her usual prices. Otherwise, I never would have been able to afford her work.”

  Robert, who had gone back to studying the big painting, now turned back to face me again. “Your ex…you said was a ‘he’? ”

  “Yeah.”

  He looked at me a minute, eyes uncertain–then shrugged.

  “I got me an ex, too,” he said casually. “An ex-wife. Plus two little kids.”

  “Ouch,” I replied. “I’ll bet you really do have trouble finding decent artwork you can afford.”

  Robert laughed, shaking his head. His voice, when he spoke, was bitter. “You got that right.” He came over to where I was sitting, and took a seat on the opposite end of the sofa. “I send her $589 a month for the kids alone,” he said, “when she doesn’t even deserve custody of them. But–what you gonna do?”

  “Not much, I guess,” I acknowledged. “So–you like the paintings, huh? These are what I have left, except for a couple of really small ones in the hall.”

  “Yeah–they’re awesome.” He looked behind us, at the wall above our heads that held the colorful trio of Barnes paintings. “No way could I afford them, though, even though I really need something for my new place.” He gestured upward at the three paintings. “And I’m sure you wouldn’t wanna break these three up by selling just one.”

  I shook my head. “You’re right–financially, it wouldn’t be the smart thing to do. I bought the three of them together, as a set, so should probably sell them the same way.”

  “That’s what I figured. I feel ya.” He shifted, sitting back against the couch now and folding his arms. “I can only guess what ya paid for the three of them,” he added with a sigh.

  “Yeah, you may not want to know, Robert–even with the discount.” He was sitting to my left, on the couch, and I caught sight again of the various artwork and designs tattooed up and down his right arm. Casually, I gestured at it. “Looks like you’ve collected some cool artwork already,” I told him.

  “Oh, you like it?” Robert rolled up the right sleeve of his gray tee, all the way up to his shoulder, to reveal outlines of even more work, yet to be inked in. Even better, he was now showing off one hell of a muscular bicep. “It’s all my own work,” he said, beaming.

  “Really? You drew everything?” I leaned in closer to look.

  “Yeah,” Robert answered, proud to admit it. “Well, they’re my designs; I gave them to the guy, and he’s slowly getting them all tattooed onto my arm in a sleeve. Anyway, yeah–they’re my designs.”

  I really was impressed–the guy would have made one hell of a graphic novel artist, and I told him so.

  “You think so? I just do it for me.” He rolled the sleeve of his t-shirt down again, as I sat back on the couch. Even his fingers were long, clean and well-maintained. Sexy. “So okay Wes, let’s get this out of the way–how much did these cost you?” he asked, gesturing with a thumb at the paintings on the wall behind us.

  “Fifteen-hundred dollars.”

  Robert’s mouth fell open. “You’re shittin’ me.”

  I shook my head. “Nope. Believe it or not, that’s with the $600 discount.”

  Robert fell back onto the couch hard. “Damn.”

  “I probably wouldn’t ask that much for them, though,” I added. “Besides, I’m always willing to negotiate.”

  Robert laughed, looking over at me. “Man, I couldn’t afford anywhere near that. Not with all the negotiating in the world. And I don’t dare ask ya how much for the big one, so I guess that’s that…”

  He started to rise but I caught hold of his arm, pulling him back down to the couch. “Hey man–ya never know. For instance–let’s say I started off by saying I thought twelve hundred was a fair price for the big one. Then your counter-offer would be…?”

  Robert laughed. “Dude, like I said–that’s still not even in my ballpark, money-wise.”

  I shrugged, so turned on by him now I could almost taste his skin. He smelled of Tag body spray and a scent unique to him–clean, yet musky and masculine–and it was driving me crazy. “There are other methods of bartering besides money,” I said. “For example…take your shirt off for a minute.”

  The look Robert gave me–like I’d gone nuts before his eyes–didn’t phase me. I held my ground, and we sat there staring at each other a second. Out of sheer curiosity only, I think, Robert finally shifted and pulled his gray tee up and over his head, removing it from his body. Underneath, he wore a gray muscle tank that revealed broad shoulders, muscular biceps, and what appeared to be a virtually hairless body…except for two sweet sprigs of black, curly hair under his arms.

  He let the crumpled t-shirt settle onto his lap as I said, “See? Now my turn–$1150.”

  The young man–I would find out later he was twenty-six to my thirty–sat and stared at me another minute, as if wondering if I were really serious. His eyes averted mine then, for a moment, in shyness–before he glanced up at the three paintings above us…then back to me again. Eyes still locked on mine, Robert shifted a little closer to me on the couch, and removed his gray tanktop.

  His body was phenomenal, smooth, all chiseled abs and a defined set of pecs – complete with big, pointy nipples–I would have given anything to taste.

  He sat before me now, a mere few inches away, nude from the waist up and licking at the piercings on his lower lip without realizing he was doing it.

  “Wow,” I said, openly ogling his body now. “One thousand.” I gestured with one finger–come here–and Robert moved to sit right next to me on the couch, our legs touching.

  “You ever messed around with a guy before?” I asked.

  Robert shook his head. “I–I’ve kinda been curious about it. But no–not yet.”

  “Let’s see if we can get below a thousand.” I leaned in then, aiming to kiss him on the neck–and at the last minute my lust drove me into more gutsiness, and my lips landed on that small, grim little mouth of his instead.

  To this day, I think they were the softest lips I’d ever kissed. As his mouth opened and he responded to my kiss, Robert’s tongue slid into my mouth…and in an instant we went from kissing to making out, our mouths hungry for each other. This lasted about a grand total of one minute, though, before I felt a hand on my chest as Robert pushed me away.

  “I don’t think I can do the kissing part,” he said. “Sorry.”

  That probably broke my heart more than anything else; I could have made out with this guy, alone, all night long. Couldn’t even remember the last time I’d made out with a man whose style of kissing so matched my own. “That’s okay,” I said, not wanting to put him off. “There’s plenty more to explore.”