You know the type: That cocky young guy, effortlessly beautiful, so enticing yet completely out of reach, smiling and laughing, overly confident and full of himself, thinking his beauty is a right, not a gift, something to take for granted, to horde, like a toddler with a new toy. “Who are you looking at?” Peter seems to say with his eyes when he catches Matt watching him from across the bar. Matt can tell this boy has a handsome, lean body under that t-shirt and jeans. This kid is so cocky, with his perfect teeth, flawless skin and thick hair. Matt might be an “everyman” when it comes to looks, but he’s got a singular skill that sets him apart: He knows boy flesh and he gets what he wants. And, today, he wants Pretty Boy Pete, displayed on his fireplace mantel like a trophy, roped and helpless, ready to be stripped and abused.
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