Chapter 2 #2
Charlie paused to study the chaise lounge, wondering how he might end up displayed across it. He knew he wasn’t anything special to look at, especially not after a month of fending for himself on the streets with almost no money.
As if the man could read his thoughts, he said, “Come through here. You can have a good, thorough wash and something to eat, and then we’ll get started.”
Excitement fizzed through Charlie at those words. It was mad for him to be just as eager to get started, whatever the full meaning of those words were, as he was at the promise of food.
The man led him on, through a nondescript door at the back of the room and into an area that looked far more like a living space than a studio.
It must have been the man’s private quarters.
He took off his hat and coat and hung them on a stand, then gestured for Charlie to accompany him up a narrow set of stairs to the first floor.
“The bedroom is back this way,” the man said, nodding down the hall. “But I’m sure you’d rather stop here first.”
He opened the door into a room that made Charlie gasp. It was a simple room with a plain floor, unadorned walls, and a small window, but what left him gasping was the large, claw-footed bathtub.
“Nothing but the best for my subjects,” the man said with a self-satisfied grin. “Of course, it will take a while to heat enough water to make it a truly enjoyable bath. If you’re in a hurry, it will have to be cold water only, but look.”
He stepped over to the miraculous tub and turned a handle.
Charlie gasped audibly as clear, fresh water spilled from the tap.
“Fascinating, isn’t it?” the man asked, a teasing light in his eyes.
Charlie glanced up at him, jaw hanging open. He truly had crossed over into some sort of wild, new land of secret pleasures.
The man laughed at his expression, then turned off the tap and stepped over to a small cabinet beside the tub.
“I’ll give you some time to wash,” he said, taking a thick towel from the cabinet.
“Soap is just there. I’ll find a robe and something for you to eat while you’re busy, and I’ll get the camera in place. ”
Charlie barely listened to the man’s words. He stared at the tub, his mind already attempting to solve the puzzle of how it worked. He’d only ever dreamed of seeing a house with running water before.
“It’s just a bit of plumbing,” the man said, his smile bright and charmed. “It isn’t going to hurt you….” He drew his sentence out, then raised his eyebrows like he was waiting for something. “Your name?” he asked when Charlie wasn’t immediately forthcoming.
“Charlie,” Charlie said in a soft, small voice. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt the need to speak.
“Oh, so you can talk,” the man said, his smile widening. When Charlie only nodded in return, he laughed. “I’m Jonathan,” he said, extending his hand.
Charlie stared at his hand for a moment, face going red. He definitely should not have been shaking his savior’s hand, let alone calling him by his given name. But the man seemed so insistent, so he extended a trembling hand to him.
“Don’t you worry, Charlie,” Jonathan said, all friendliness and heat. “I take good care of my boys. You’re in perfectly safe hands here.”
Those words were like a cannon blast in Charlie’s gut. His boys? He had brought other boys to his studio, taken pictures of them?
And why should he care? He was nothing to Jonathan and Jonathan was nothing to him.
But that didn’t feel entirely true. Jonathan could have walked away and let him die on the street, stripped and starving. Instead, he’d brought Charlie to this place, was offering to feed him, was offering him a bath. It had been weeks since Charlie had had a bath.
“It’s alright,” Jonathan said, stepping closer, his voice like a warm embrace. “Wash up and try not to think about things too deeply.”
Charlie might have been settled by those kind words, if Jonathan hadn’t stepped over to the cabinet again and pulled out a large enema, setting it beside the tub.
“You’ll want to use this to wash as well,” he said with a salacious wink.
Charlie’s face went hot as Jonathan winked at him, then left the room. He knew what the enema was, what it was for. He’d used one before. Rossindale had insisted.
There was no question in his mind at all about how the night would unfold.
There was nothing for it but to strip out of his filthy, stinking clothes and step into the cold, white bathtub.
He began to shiver even before he turned the taps to let the cold water flow.
It was still bliss to sluice clean water over his body, then to scrub with real soap, hair, too, and to rinse what felt like a river of dirt from his body, no matter how cold the water.
Using the enema with cold water was a different sort of experience. He gritted his teeth and got on with things, but it wasn’t the vaguely pleasant precursor to vice that he’d experienced before.
He was perched on the toilet, letting that cold water do its work, when Jonathan opened the door and stepped back into the room as though there was nothing out of the ordinary about barging in on a naked stranger on the toilet.
“This should suffice,” he said with an easy smile, like he was in his element and loving every moment. He draped the thick robe over the edge of the bathtub. “Whenever you’re ready, I have things set up in the bedroom.”
He winked saucily at Charlie then left.
Charlie let out a breath once Jonathan was gone and finished his business. Never in his entire life had things taken such a bizarre turn. Not even the first time that he’d been offered a taste of the forbidden fruit he’d craved since as long as he could remember.
He finished cleaning himself, distressed at how thin he’d grown since…before, and wrapped himself in the robe. It was warm and soft and smelled of Jonathan. He breathed in the scent and smiled, then blinked, his smile dropping, and questioned his sanity.
There was nothing for it but to leave the bathroom for the bedroom. The scent of toasted bread and something sweet hurried his steps once he made it into the hall. His stomach growled and told him nothing else mattered besides putting something in it.
Those thoughts, and everything else in his head, stopped abruptly when he entered the bedroom.
It was larger than he would have expected with a bed standing in a place of honor against the far wall.
Thick, velvet curtains hung at the head of the bed, like the screens and curtains in the studio downstairs.
There was a wardrobe and small cabinet in the room as well, and a fireplace with a flickering, crackling fire on the interior wall.
And there was a camera.
Pointing at the bed.
“It’s too late to cook anything,” Jonathan explained as he made some sort of adjustment to the camera, “but I did make toast with butter. And there’s cheese, an apple, and some cold meat, if you’d like.” He nodded to a small table by the door.
Charlie was so transfixed by the camera and everything it implied that he hadn’t noticed a plate of food right next to him. Considering how hungry he was, that was something.
Food quickly took precedence, though. He reached for a slice of apple, warring between the manners that had been drilled into him his whole life and the ravenous need to fill his belly with as much as possible in case he went another few days or weeks without anything at all.
“It’s alright,” Jonathan laughed, coming to the table and picking up a piece of cheese for himself. “Gorge yourself on as much of it as you want. There’s more where that came from. I’ll heat up some soup in the morning before sending you on your way.”
Charlie froze in the middle of chewing his apple and reaching for a wedge of toast. He would get to spend the entire night with Jonathan? With soup in the morning?
He let out a breath and his shoulders dropped.
Before being put back on the street.
Jonathan seemed to find his reaction amusing. “You didn’t think I’d cast you out into the cold with nothing, did you?”
If he’d been one to talk, Charlie would have said, “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
Instead, he pushed all thoughts of the morrow aside and dove into the moment at the expense of all else. He tried not to eat the toast too quickly and prayed he didn’t look pathetic as he raced through two small pieces of cheese and a slice of delicious, spicy sausage.
Jonathan had shifted to the side of the table, where he opened a wooden box that seemed to be filled with square plates of glass coated in something dull and grey.
“You’re in good hands with me, I promise,” he said.
“Photography is my passion, and I have devoted myself to the art single-mindedly, much to my father’s dismay. ”
He was making light of his father’s disapproval, but Charlie sensed bitterness under Jonathan’s casual charm.
“The science of photography is changing as rapidly as the seasons,” Jonathan went on as Charlie reached for a mug of some sort of light, sweet ale that sat beside the plate of food.
“I keep up with every one of the latest inventions, of course. The Americans claim they are about to revolutionize the entire industry and make photography accessible to everyone, but I choose to believe that there will always be a place for those of us who have married science to art to create worlds through images.”
Charlie lowered the mug and stared at Jonathan, transfixed by everything he said, the tone of his voice, and the movement of his lips.
“Of course, the worlds I create with my camera are not for everyone,” Jonathan added with a mischievous wink, and then proceeded on to, “If you’ve had your fill, we can get started.”
Food was forgotten. Charlie’s belly felt fuller and better than it had in ages, and his skin tingled at the whisper of what was to come.
“Off with that robe now and onto the bed,” Jonathan said, his cool cheer a sharp contrast to the smoldering excitement in Charlie’s core.