For today, the last Book Hooks hop in Pride Month, I’m sharing a more transgressive scene involving LGBTQ+ interactions than in my earlier posts. Incognito, my second novel, originally published in 2002 and now in its fourth edition, is unquestionably a romance. However, it is also the story of a woman’s journey to understand her own desires. When I first started writing, that was one of my personal motivations and I extended it to my characters.
I’ve always been attracted to scenarios that blur gender. In this scene, my main characters Miranda and Mark are in London for a conference, a city that Mark knows well. He has promised her new adventures; he delivers on that promise by dressing her as a man then bringing her with him to a gay gentleman’s club.
This might seem extreme to some readers, but I personally find the notions of cross-dressing and bisexuality to be very erotic. Note, too, that only a couple who truly trusted one another would ever embark on this sort of adventure.
Blurb
During the day, Miranda Cahill works diligently on her doctoral thesis. At night, she has sex with strangers. Her secret life explodes when she realizes her masked partner at a kink club and the charismatic colleague courting her are in fact the same person – the one man who can teach her to accept her diverse desires, as well as to trust her heart.
The Hook
It was a twenty-minute ride. They emerged in a brightly lit street bustling with people. Mark took her arm and led her along the sidewalk, past trendy-looking restaurants crowded with well-dressed diners, up-market bars leaking jazz into the night, and mysterious closed doors adorned with gleaming brass hardware. They stopped in front of one of the latter, beautifully carved oak with a brass plaque and bell. “Harkness Club”, Miranda read, as Mark pressed the button.
The door was opened by a clean-shaven young man wearing a crimson bellboy’s uniform. He looked them up and down in an openly appraising manner. What he saw must have satisfied him, for he nodded and gave them a stiff little smile. “Good evening, gentlemen. Welcome to the Harkness Club.” They followed him into a modest anteroom furnished with coat hooks, an umbrella rack, and hunting prints. At the far end of the room was an arch covered with red velvet drapes. With a flourish, their guide pulled back the drapes to let them pass. “The curtain rises,” murmured Mark under his breath. Electric anticipation shot through Miranda’s body.
She was not sure what to expect, but her initial reaction was disappointment. The room on the other side of the curtains was large but remarkably ordinary. A gleaming mahogany bar ran along one wall. Brass trim and ranks of glassware suspended from the ceiling reflected the golden light of ceiling fixtures with oiled paper shades. The rest of the room contained shadowy groupings of low tables and chairs. Semi-circular couches hugged the wall in the corners. The room was fairly full. People perched on bar stools, clustered around the tables, or simply stood around in tight knots with their drinks. Some violin piece played softly in the background. The swelling sound of conversation frequently overwhelmed it.
It took Miranda three breaths to notice that every one of the patrons was male.
The rich paneling, leather upholstery and old-fashioned lighting were so quintessentially traditional that Miranda expected more foxes and hounds, or perhaps flowers and fruit, to adorn the walls. When she looked closely at the many paintings, however, she saw that they were male nudes, artistic as opposed to raunchy, but undeniably erotic. She looked at Mark. “This is a gay bar,” she whispered, feeling a tiny hint of panic.
Mark grinned ever so slightly. “Well, you might call it that. I prefer to think of it as a gentlemen’s club.”
As they walked into the room, Miranda felt the eyes of the patrons, discreetly surveying the new arrivals. She was suddenly, intensely, aware of the sock distending her trousers. Mark steered them to a table near one corner. A waiter appeared immediately. Mark ordered whisky for both of them.
“We can leave at any time,” he told her. “However, I thought that you might find this scene interesting. It is considerably more tasteful than many gay bars back in the States. There are no chaps showing bare butts, no tattoos, no strategically torn jeans. The only leather you’ll see is three-hundred quid custom-made suits. Even in this environment, the Brits are restrained. Personally, I find the additional social constraints heighten the erotic tension.”
“You think that everything heightens erotic tension!” commented Miranda, sipping her drink.
Before he could answer, she noticed a man approaching their table. He was medium height, trimly built, with salt and pepper hair and a small moustache. His clothing was well-tailored but conservative. He favored them with a slightly nervous smile as he reached them.
“Good evening,” he said. “Do you mind if I join you?” He had a cultured voice. His accent reminded Miranda suddenly of Geoffrey. The memory made her sex heavy and wet.
“Please do,” said Mark, standing up to allow the other man access to the empty chair on the other side of the table. And to show off his physique, Miranda suddenly realized. There was just a hint of swish in Mark’s manner, a roll of the hips and a tilt of the chin that were not typical of his usual movement. As soon as their guest was seated, Mark held out a friendly hand. “I’m Marcus,” he said, “and this is my friend Randy.”
“Peter,” responded their guest. “I’m pleased to meet you both.”
“Likewise, Peter.”
“You’re American, aren’t you?” Mark nodded. “In London on business?”
“A bit of business, a bit of pleasure, you might say.”
There was general laughter. Miranda thus far had not dared say a word. She was fascinated, watching Mark flirt with their companion. Peter was attractive for a mature man. He had a ready smile and graceful, well-groomed hands. He and Mark chatted about London sights, shopping, entertainment. To Miranda, it seemed like every comment Mark made was a double entendre. Peter leaned forward, his lips slightly parted, his pale blue eyes gleaming, attention totally focused on her lover. Miranda felt slightly invisible. She didn’t mind.
They finished their drinks. Mark was about to order another round, but Peter held up his hand. “Excuse me, but I’ve got to visit the loo.” He strode across the room and disappeared through a doorway on the far side.
“Come on,” said Mark, grabbing Miranda’s hand and pulling her in the same direction.
“What…?”
“It’s a signal,” whispered Mark. “Come on.”
You’ll find buy links for Incognito, including the print edition, at https://www.lisabetsarai.com/incognitobook.html
