New Year’s Eve Unzipped

Excerpt

New Year’s Even Unzipped
J.C. Long © 2016
All Rights Reserved

If something sounded worse than catering the Crestview Hills Country Club’s seventy-third annual New Year’s Eve gala, I didn’t know what it was. It was bad enough that I’d been busting my ass all of December with different holiday parties, but to have to work on what was guaranteed to be the worst night of the year? I would have quit the moment Sylvester told me if I didn’t desperately need the money.

So here I found myself on what should have been a fun night, the last—and first—big party of the year, in uncomfortable tuxedo pants and a black cummerbund and bowtie, carting around a tray laden with champagne glasses.

It was ten seventeen, and every minute felt like an hour. I shouldn’t be here, I thought gloomily as I faked a smile and offered drinks to stuffy rich people in clothes that cost more than my yearly rent. I should be drunk out of my mind right now. Or at least getting laid. There were real injustices in the world.

Once I offloaded my tray of drinks, the last to some lady wearing the ugliest pink chiffon mess I’d ever seen, I made my way back to the club’s kitchen. Access was via the narrow hallway that allowed the humble servants to come and go without being seen by their betters. I heaved a sigh of relief and dropped the fake smile as soon as the hall doors swung closed.

Jerome, one of my favorite coworkers, patted me on the shoulder as he came through behind me. A whipcord-thin black guy, Jerome had a round, handsome face and full, seductive lips. More than once, I had imagined what those lips would look like wrapped around my cock, or what hung down between his legs. “Yo, Colby, did you see that fat bastard in the tan suit three sizes too small?”

I laughed. “How could I miss him? He was throwing cheese balls back as fast as I could take them to him.”

I leaned against the wall, holding the empty tray under my arm while I pulled my phone out of my pocket. Jerome arched an eyebrow at me. “You know Sylvester’s going to pitch a bitch fit if he sees you with your phone.”

I shrugged nonchalantly. “Wouldn’t be the first time he did. Won’t be the last.” I flicked to the Unzipped app on my phone. The icon was a zipper, halfway down. Classy. But it was an effective dating app, and it was a good time killer. Maybe I’d get lucky and line up a hookup for after the party—even though that wouldn’t be until three or so.

The first thing I noticed was the bevy of unread messages I had. Forty-nine—fewer than normal. I opened the mailbox, just to see if anyone interesting had messaged me. The most recent message had no profile image—really annoying; my profile specifically said no pic, no chat. My first instinct was to delete it, but I decided to read it. Anything to delay going to the kitchen and grabbing another tray to cart around.

You’re one hot piece of ass. I would love to shove you against a bathroom wall and bury my tongue deep inside you. God, that ass looks perfect in those tuxedo pants.

I stared at the message in shock. It wasn’t about what this guy wanted to do to me—that part sounded great, to be honest; I loved getting rimmed—it was the last line, about how good my ass looked in tuxedo pants. How did this guy know what I was wearing? None of my profile pictures showed me in my work clothes.

Feeling a bit nervous, I clicked on the pictureless profile. The basic stats were there—forty-three, brown hair, six feet, one hundred ninety pounds, furry chest, athletic build, top. And then there was the location. 0.01 miles away. This guy was basically right on top of me! Does this mean he’s here, at the party? Given the size of the Crestview Hills Country Club property, it was a good shot.

Maybe tonight will be a little more interesting than I thought after all. With this idea in my head, I typed a short response: No pic, no chat, and followed it up with a wink face to show that it wasn’t an outright rejection. I didn’t expect anything to come of this, but it would be a fun distraction from the drudgery of the evening.