Club Raven

A short story by Anne Weller

This story includes: queer, threesome/group, contemporary romance, friends to lovers, madly in love, couple anal, blow job, firsts, shower/bath, sub/dom

Friday afternoon faculty meetings were torture. Peter, untenured, was at the bottom of the pecking order. His colleagues didn’t want to hear his opinions, and the meetings often ran long, forcing him to ride his motorcycle recklessly through traffic to make it to Club Raven on time.

But he would reach Club Raven on time. That wasn’t negotiable. The English department was his job. Club Raven was his life. At least, that was his hope. 

To Peter’s startled relief, Katherine Mandrake, one of his fellow professors, requested that the meeting adjourn, and the chairman agreed. Peter snatched up his helmet and dove for the door.

The countdown had begun.

***

By the time he reached Club Raven, the heat wave had turned Peter’s jacket into a steam tent, plastering his clothes to his body.

Gekker’s big red van occupied the usual two parking spaces, intentionally skewed to leave half a space between its flank and Club Raven’s brick wall for Peter’s motorcycle. Parking in the gap, Peter felt like a tugboat beside an ocean liner, both protected and needed. This was his place. His role. Gekker and Lily were his chosen people, and tonight he would learn whether he was theirs.

He’d left his restrictive East Coast life behind to take the teaching position, trading in old habits and attitudes for a broader view. The one constant was music, and his music had led him to Gekker and Lily.

He’d caught their performance for the first time before his moving boxes were unpacked, and he’d returned again and again to Club Raven, listening and admiring, daring to envision how his talents might complement theirs.

Gekker was a brilliant guitarist, but he didn’t sing. 

Lily sang, but she didn’t play an instrument.

Peter sang. Played guitar. Composed. It seemed like a natural fit.

Already half in love with Lily and wholly intimidated by Gekker, he’d memorized their repertoire and analyzed how to augment it. Then, when he believed he’d learned all he could from observing, he presented himself and requested an audition.

“We’re a successful duo,” was Gekker’s curt reply. “Why should we change that?”

“You’re a great duo,” Peter agreed. “But you’d be a spectacular trio, with the right addition.”

“And you think you’re it?”

“Let’s find out,” Peter challenged.

So Gekker invited him to attend their next rehearsal and show them what he could do.

It went beautifully. Peter’s and Lily’s voices blended like coffee and cream. His vocal range was wide and distinctive. His guitar playing couldn’t match Gekker’s, but he was skilled, and a second guitar added to the group’s soundscape.

There was just one problem. “You’re vanilla pudding,” was Gekker’s verdict. “Men lust after Lily. Women are a little afraid of me, which gets them wet. But you look like somebody’s kid brother. Your music’s hot, your vocals are hot, but your look kills the vibe.”

“Then change how I look,” Peter said, desperate not to be rejected. “I give you total artistic control.”

Gekker nodded. “We’ll try it for six months,” he decreed. “Then you’re in or out, my call.”

Well, tonight marked the end of that six-month trial, and Gekker’s words had been echoing in Peter’s head all day: In or out, my call.

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