Naked Hero - The Journey Away

of hindsight Lee now had cause to wonder if it really had been such a smart move on Lewis’s part.
    Out and proud – that was Lee Porter – given how he made a living, he couldn’t be anything else. But Lee was more than just a good looking guy with a body to die for – he had a razor sharp brain to go with it and was a very canny businessman, driven by money and success, as well as great sex. He’d read with interest the speculation in the press prior to the final, about what it might be worth if Lewis was to win. A million pounds plus was the prize he’d definitely walk away with, but for a Brit winning Wimbledon, they reckoned he could add a couple of noughts to that figure through the sponsorship deals that would land in his lap. But that didn’t happen – at least not to the extent that it could have, because instead of the fortune, Lewis chose notoriety by coming out as the only queer in men’s tennis, which tarnished the image in corporate eyes. Then he hid himself away from the glare of publicity, and from what Lee could gather, turned his back on the gay world... which sort of defeated the point.
    Lee’s reverie was disturbed by Sebastian Collins . He had taken up a position at the front of the room and was shouting into a microphone. He got his desired effect as conversations were terminated and the room quickly hushed. Lee knew he was going to have a scene later with Collins when he would collect the balance on the night’s fee from him. The old queen wasn’t too pleased about Joey taking Lee’s place for the night. But that was too bad. There were no names on the contract and he had his own reasons for not appearing along with the others. Collins was getting his pounds of fine flesh, and should be happy with them. The boys were putting on a good show. The white trunks and tennis shoes might be a bit of a cliché, but none of the male guests seemed to be complaining.
    Lee ignored Sebastian as he started his speech, and turned his attention back to Lewis , studying him intently as he had done since the arrival. He had to admit that the lad looked good: an inch taller than himself at six foot two – and decidedly handsome in a Celtic way with a mop of brown hair and chocolate brown eyes. The clothing he was wearing disguised most of the other assets, but Lee’s expert eye could still determine an excellent body. Not quite as muscular as the crew that Lee ran, but then his sport didn’t demand that type of perfection. He was dressed in a shirt, so the famous tattoo was hidden by a different type of sleeve – almost as if he was now ashamed of the feature that had made him so distinguished. And there was another trademark that was missing as well – the joie d’vivre that once was there.
    Lee flicked his look to the cup-kissing poster and was stunned by the difference he saw. On the wall there was a face that made you feel happy – radiating a kind of euphoria that even in the clubs you rarely encountered. Whereas the current face of Lewis Macleod that Lee returned his eyes to – it was clearly the same one, arguably more handsome with a bit of maturity, but the spark had definitely gone out. Instead of happiness there was unmistakable sadness, the source of which went deeper than some scandal in the gutter press. It looked like he carried a burden that was too much for his age. It looked like he might be ready to throw in the towel.
    Once again Lee found himself questioning why. Why did he do it when he could have lived the lie? There was too much to gain - too much to lose. He could have been outed, but that would have been well down the line. That would have been this week! Eighteen months on, after eighteen months of gravy, and a hundred million quid sitting in the bank! Given that option, Lee knew what he would have done – taken the money, lived the lie... and then have some mega serious fun!
    As visions of a billionaire lifestyle flashed through his mind, Lee was aware that Sebastian Collins had now finished his speech and had handed the microphone to Chantal Duboir. He heard her thank the people of Sydney and Australia for their support over the years, but was too engrossed in Lewis Macleod to take much more in. What he did note was a change in the tennis player’s expression now that Chantal was speaking. A bit of the spark was coming back.
    ‘Well I’m glad somebody can do that for you,’ he said to himself.
    But it was only superficial. Lee could see that the underlying