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
