Golddigger

Justin eagerly awaited the grades from his mid term exams. Certain that he had done well, after four long years, the fledgling artist could finally see the light at the end of his educational tunnel. Now poised for a June graduation, one of the most popular students at Pittsburgh’s Institute of Fine Arts sat impatiently across from professor Dailey’s big oak desk. The stone faced, grim reaper scanned Justin’s term paper, before handing it to him.

“C…You gave me a C?” Justin couldn’t believe his eyes.

“You could have done better,” Professor Dailey said.

“But Mr. Dailey, I thoroughly researched every single item in this paper. Then I transferred that knowledge onto canvas….” Justin argued.

“You plagiarized Mr. Taylor.” Professor Dailey said.

“I did not plagiarize!” Justin held his ground.

“That’s exactly what you did.” Professor Dailey begged to differ. “I saw the delicate strokes of Monet, and realism of Rembrandt, the interpretations of Picasso, but I didn’t see Justin Taylor. REAL art is having your own voice. A chimpanzee can copy what he sees.”

Justin looked at the red “C” on his paper. Fuck it. Who gave a damn about the old prick on the other side of the desk? Professor Dailey had had it out for him every since he got married. There was nothing Justin could do that would satisfy the homophobic, old nut-sack. As far as Justin was concerned, a “C” was still passing, and this time next year PIFA, and professor Dailey, would be but a fond memory in his distant past.

“Thank you, sir.” Justin stuffed the exam inside his book bag, and stood to leave.

“Mr. Taylor, what do you plan to do after you graduate in June?” Professor Dailey stopped him.

“In case you’ve forgotten, I happen to be married to two of the most successful men in Pittsburgh. One of whom happens to be the owner of “Kinnetics.” Justin said smugly.

“You didn’t answer my question. What are YOU going to do Mr. Taylor?” Professor Dailey reiterated.

“I’m going to continue to work in the art department with my husband’s advertising agency.” Justin said.

“In other words, you’re content to remain a golddigger.” Professor Daily said.

“Excuse me?” Justin frowned.

“GOLDDIGGER, one who’s uses his ass, instead of his talent, surfing through life on a borrowed surfboard, riding a wave that was handed to him because of his looks. Golddigger.” Professor Dailey defined the term.

“I am NOT a golddigger, and I resent you calling me one.” Justin said emphatically. “You must not know who you’re talking to. I could bring you up before the dean’s board, and have your ass fired by this afternoon for what you just said to me.”

“Yes, I’m sure you, and your powerful husbands, could, but where would that leave you? No doubt in the same place, at the mercy of two gay men.” Professor Dailey chuckled.

“What do you want from me, Mr. Dailey? Why do you hate me so much? What have I ever done to you that would make you treat me this way?” Justin needed to understand.

Professor Dailey leaned back in his chair. “I’ll bet you think I’m tougher on you because you’re gay. Well you’re wrong. I’m tougher on you because I see talent going to waste,” he said.

“I don’t see how working for one of the most successful gay advertising agencies in Pittsburgh can be called a waste.” Justin said.

“Mr. Taylor, I’ve been teaching art for 26yrs, and I’ve helped to develop a lot of raw talent. I’ve waited a lifetime for a prodigy like you, and it kills me to know you intend to waste your natural gift in an advertising art department. Justin, I want to offer you the chance of a lifetime. I’ve taken the liberty of sending some of your work to Sam Auerbach at Chicago’s Art Institute. He wants to offer you a fellowship.”

“A fellowship?” Justin looked surprised.

“Two years, Justin. An opportunity to study with one of the masters for two years.” Professor Dailey emphasized.

“Sam Auerbach.” Justin gasped.

“One of the greatest contemporary artists of our time.” Professor Dailey re-emphasized.

“I can’t.” Justin said.

“What do you mean, you can’t?” Dailey barked.

“I’m married. My life is here!” Justin said.

“Married, you call what you have a marriage?” Professor Dailey dismissed Justin’s claim. “A marriage is a commitment between two people. What you have is a temporary threesome. You know how fickle gay men are. What’s going to happen to you when you’re no longer young and beautiful, Justin? Every man needs something of his own, and I’m trying to give you the opportunity to be your own success story, and not just another golddigger, at the mercy of whatever crumbs a man decides to throw at you for services rendered.”
 

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
 

“A golddigger, imagine the nerve of that old fuck, calling me a gold digger!” The topic of conversation continued later on that day, at Daphne’s.

“Who’s Sam Auerbach?” Daphne asked.

“He’s a contemporary artist…And then professor Dailey all but called my marriage a joke!” Justin was still fuming.

“Do you want a latte?” Daphne asked.

“Sure.” Justin said. “Old man Dailey says that Brian, and Tony are just using me until they can find someone younger, and more beautiful.”

“Extra foam?”

“Daph, have you been listening to anything I’ve said?” Justin stopped ranting long enough to ask.

“Sure I have.” Daphne strolled over to her friend. Careful not to spill a drop, she handed the full, oversized cup to Justin. “Professor Dailey offered you a fellowship with Sam Archieball…”

“Sam Auerbach.” Justin corrected her.

“Whatever.” Daphne rolled her eyes. “Anyway, professor Dailey thinks you’re a golddigger, because you don’t want to accept a fellowship in Chicago. You want to stay in Pittsburgh and spend your husbands’ money.”

Justin looked at Daphne. “It sounds so much worse when you put it that way.” He frowned. “Am I a golddigger, Daph?”

“Of course not.” Daphne took a sip of her latte. “You just happen to select who you fuck very, very well. I ain’t mad at you. I mean…why fuck the counter-boy at the Liberty Diner, when you can fuck the owner of The Plaza, AND Kinnetics? Damn, Justin, how do you do it? Most girls can’t find one prince, and you found yourself two.”

“But what about me? I’m no prince, Daph. Tony, and Brian are both successful businessmen, and I’m nothing.” Justin said.

“That’s not true.” Daphne argued. “Let me tell you something about men, Justin. Men are superficial. They fall in love with body parts, ass, hair, tits… When those things are gone, so is the man. That’s why a girl has got to milk it, and use what she’s got, for as long as she can.”

“That’s called being a golddigger.” Justin reminded her.

“Au contraire, my bubble-butt friend. That’s called using what you’ve got to get what you need.” Daphne corrected him. “My advice to you Justin is to enjoy Tony and Brian while you can, and don’t forget to stash away a nice nest-egg for yourself. Just in case.”

 

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
 

Golddigger. Professor Dailey’s insinuation had already left a bad taste in Justin’s mouth. Now that Daphne had concurred, it was even more bitter. How dare anyone imply that Tony or Brian would pay, indeed, would keep him around just for sex. The Royal Trio was based on love, respect, and as deep of a commitment as any other couple, gay or straight.
Justin slid the loft door open to find his two princes, sitting behind Brian’s desk, looking at the computer monitor.

“You’re crazy. That’s not going to work.” Tony said.

“Oh ye of little faith, watch this.” Brian moved his computer mouse.

“Hum. Maybe.” Tony changed his tune.

“Maybe what?” Justin slid the loft door shut behind him, and laid his book bag on the floor. “What are you two looking at?”

“Our new home. Come here, princess.” Tony beckoned.

“Our home?” Justin tossed his coat onto the sofa, and hurried over to join them.

“Behold, the royal loft!” Brian moved the arrow across the screen. “Conjoined enough so that we can all be together, yet commodious enough to give each of us our own space. First we have to acquire the downstairs apartment, and the one on this floor, adjacent to mine. We knock down this wall, and put in a winding staircase. This glass partition leads to the patio, and the rooftop garden…..”

Justin listened, and watched as Brian explained his loft/penthouse/home layout for the three of them. “It sounds so expensive.” Justin said. “Buying the units, then the renovations…How much is this going to cost?”

Tony leaned back in his chair, and pulled Justin close to him. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head over minor details, princess. That’s what your rich daddies are here for,” he purred.

“You make me sound like a golddigger.” Justin said.

“Golddigger?” Tony smiled, and quickly decided to play along. He reached inside his suit jacket pocket, and pulled out a hundred dollar bill from his wallet. Tony placed the gratuity between his teeth like a rose, and began to unbutton Justin’s shirt.

Not to be outdone, Brian pulled out two hundred dollar bills, and moved in from behind. “I’ve got this,” he said, then reached around, and moved Tony’s hands away, before wedging the currency between the belt loops on Justin’s jeans.

Tony watched as Brian went to work on the brass-colored zipper. “I see you want to play high rollers.” He pulled out another hundred.

“Excuse me, you two!” Justin protested.

“I agree with you, baby. He is a cheap bastard, isn’t he?” Brian opened his wallet, and emptied all of its contents at Justin’s feet. With bills still fluttering to the floor, he slid Justin’s jeans down around his ankles, then lifted him up, and over his shoulder, caveman-style. “I win.”

Brian was about to turn and walk away, when Tony stopped him. Now it was a matter of pride. The handsome millionaire removed his American Express Card from his wallet and swiped it between Justin’s sweet ass cheeks. “Hand him over.” Tony held out his arms.

The bidding war was on. Brian set Justin down, and placed his Platinum Visa Card on his desk. Tony saw that Visa, and raised it with his diamond bracelet. Brian placed his Rolex next to Tony’s bracelet, and Tony promptly upped the stakes with a Rolex of his own… Back and forth the two of them went, with neither prince willing to concede a loss. In the midst of their fun, they failed to notice that their prize was not amused.

Finally, Justin stomped his foot to get their attention. “WHAT’S THE MATTER WITH BOTH OF YOU? I’M NOT FOR SALE! I’M NOT A GOLDDIGGER, I’M YOUR HUSBAND!” he reminded them.

Tony and Brian both stopped, and looked over at Justin, standing opened shirt, and bare-assed, with his pink little pecker peeking out from a patch of blonde, riding atop a set of taut little jewels. They then turned, and looked back at each other. “I win.” Brian declared.

“The fuck if you did!” Tony disagreed.

To hell with it. Justin smiled, as the bidding continued.


NEXT WEEK: Christmas Colors

Return to O.G.'s Fanfic