5: THE INTERLOPER

Sean's phone pinged with a notification as we sat in his living room, coming down from the previous night's high. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the floor while we nursed cups of coffee, trying to ease the chemical crash.

"Interesting," Sean murmured, studying his screen with unusual focus.

"What?" I asked, only half-interested as I scrolled through my own phone.

"This guy I've been flirting with for months on the apps. He's never responded to any of my messages." Sean turned his phone toward me. "He's suddenly very eager to meet up."

I glanced at the screen — a string of increasingly suggestive messages from Sean to someone named HotNReady206. There were no replies from his end of the months long chat until this morning. It read:

Heard you host parties.

Been looking for something like that.

Would love an invite.

Especially interested in meeting you, Daddy.

"You've never mentioned him before," I said, feeling an unexpected twinge of something like possessiveness. It was an odd feeling.. I tended to avoid digging too deeply into Sean’s personal life, what little there was of it. Yet now, the thought of this stranger, this Jake, entering our carefully constructed dynamic triggered a flicker of unease.

1

I could tell he hadn’t said anything to me because he didn’t want me to judge him, to think it foolish of him to get his hopes up over some hot, young jock on the apps. But I understood that on those rare occasions when he actually got it, the attention, however fleeting, felt validating. It was a small crack in the wall of loneliness he’d built around himself, a sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as invisible as he feared.

Sean shrugged. "There wasn't anything to mention. I've been messaging him for months. I'd pretty much decided to give up and write him off as just another hot gym jock who isn't attracted to daddies. Now suddenly he's pretty keen to come over." His expression brightened. "Should I invite him to Friday's gathering?"

The eagerness in Sean's voice betrayed how much he'd been flattered by this headless torso's attention. Despite hosting regular sex parties where physical boundaries were left at the door, Sean rarely felt personally desired. His self-image remained that of the unwanted, overweight older man whose primary value was in what he provided rather than who he was.

"Up to you," I said, feigning indifference. The indifference was a performance, a shield against the unexpected pang of… what? Jealousy? I dismissed the feeling as absurd. I loved him, it's true. But I wasn’t interested in Sean romantically, not in that way. But the idea of Sean’s attention shifting away from me, of our dynamic changing, created a subtle discomfort I couldn’t quite articulate. "It's your apartment."

Sean's fingers hovered over the keyboard. "I'll tell him he can come on Friday. Seven o'clock." He paused, then added with uncharacteristic boldness, "And that I'm looking forward to meeting him, too."

Friday arrived with Sean in rare form — he'd cleaned the apartment obsessively, bought new sheets, even trimmed his beard and splurged on a new shirt. I watched his nervous preparations with a mixture of amusement and concern.

"You're really invested in impressing this guy, huh?" I observed as he rearranged the living room furniture for the third time.

2

Sean flushed. "Is it that obvious?"

"Only to someone who knows you," I replied. "You don't usually care this much what people think."

"He specifically mentioned wanting to meet me," Sean said quietly. "Not just attend a party. Meet me. That doesn't happen often."

The vulnerability in his admission made my chest tighten. I'd grown so accustomed to Sean's unconditional support that I'd forgotten how rarely it was reciprocated by others — how desperately he, too, craved validation and desire.

By seven, the usual crowd had begun to arrive — Geoffrey and some of the other regulars from Sean's online gaming community, plus a couple of acquaintances I'd made at Harmon's. The crystal was laid out on the coffee table, a fancy new bong at the ready, music playing at the perfect volume for conversation without shouting.

At 7:30, the doorbell rang. Sean stood quickly, smoothing his shirt with shaking hands.

"That must be him," he said, excitement barely contained.

I hung back, curious to see this mystery man who'd captured Sean's interest.

The man who entered was nothing like I'd expected. Tall and lean with sharp features and calculating eyes, he carried himself with the confident swagger of someone used to getting what he wanted. Attractive in a conventional way I rarely found appealing — too polished, too aware of his own charm.

"Jake," he introduced himself, offering Sean a perfunctory handshake before his eyes swept the room, landing on me with unexpected intensity. "You must be the host."

3

"Sean," Sean confirmed, practically beaming. "Welcome. I'm glad you could make it."

Jake nodded distractedly, already moving past Sean toward where I stood. "And you are?"

"Cody," I replied, confused by his focused attention.

A smile spread across Jake's face, revealing perfect teeth. "Cody. I've heard about you."

"You have?" I asked, glancing at Sean, who looked equally puzzled.

"Word gets around," Jake said cryptically. "Mind if I join you?"

Without waiting for an answer, he settled beside me on the couch, ignoring Sean entirely. The dismissal was so abrupt, so complete, that I saw Sean's face fall before he masked his disappointment and retreated to play host to the other guests.

As the night progressed, Jake's intentions became increasingly clear. He hadn't come for Sean at all — he'd used Sean to gain access to me. The realization was simultaneously flattering and disturbing.

"Seattle's a small scene," Jake explained when I asked how he'd heard of me. "Everyone knows about the talented new guy from out of town who works at Harmon's. Buddies I know who've been here said you were something special." He leaned closer, voice dropping. "They weren't exaggerating."

I should have been uncomfortable with the attention, should have redirected him toward Sean who had spent the entire week anticipating this meeting. Instead, I found myself responding to Jake's focused interest, to the novelty of being pursued rather than tolerated.

4

We spent hours talking, passing a bong between us, our conversation increasingly intimate as the crystal took effect. Jake worked at a coffee shop near Harmon's, he explained. Lived downtown in a studio apartment. Had a side hustle selling eight balls of Tina to a select clientele.

"You should try some of this GHB I’ve got. It’s fire," he suggested, his hand resting casually on my thigh. He pulled a small brown bottle from his jacket pocket and poured the clear liquid into the cap. He reached across me to grab my drink, then tossed his head back as he poured the G under his tongue and then sipped a bit of soda, grimacing at the taste.

He poured out another capful of GHB, put his thumb against my chin and said, “Open.” I complied. He tipped the small cap into my mouth, watching intently for my reaction. I swallowed the thick, burning liquid and took a big gulp of my drink, not letting my face register how awful the taste was. “Oh, tough guy, huh?” he teased, wiping a drop of moisture from my lip. “I like that.”

Across the room, I caught glimpses of Sean watching us with barely concealed hurt. Several times he approached, attempting to join our conversation, only to be skillfully rebuffed by Jake's body language or redirected with a question that excluded Sean from answering.

I should have invited Sean to sit with us. To join our flirtatious chat. After all, Jake had expressed his interest in Sean when he asked for the invitation. Why was he deflecting Sean’s every attempt to connect? The GHB began to hit me, and with it, my obligation to ensure Sean’s participation melted away, leaving only my craving in its place.

As the party evolved into its inevitable physical phase, the lights, set to follow Sean's preprogrammed scene timer, went from a chill, warm white to a deep, dim crimson. The music had seamlessly been transitioning to a rhythmic thrumming house mix Sean had made for the evening's festivities. Taking this as a cue, Jake pulled me toward Sean's bedroom — the very room where Sean had meticulously changed sheets and lit scented candles in anticipation of a connection that would never materialize.

5

"Don't you think we should include Sean?" I asked, a belated prick of conscience making me pause at the threshold. "This is his place, after all."

Jake's expression hardened momentarily before smoothing into calculated indifference. "If that's what you want. But I came here for you, not a group thing with some old guy."

The casual cruelty of the dismissal should have repulsed me. Instead, I felt a dangerous thrill at being valued above Sean, at being someone's priority rather than afterthought.

"Maybe later," I decided, allowing the G to be my compass. I followed Jake into the bedroom. As I turned to close the door, my eyes found Sean’s across the sea of bodies now pairing up and writhing all around the living room. The raw emotion that emanated from those eyes forced me to break my gaze. I looked down and then closed the door behind us.

6