Email address: pplesko@hotmail.com
Series/Sequel: Part 3 of the “Rumors” Series
Pairings: Brian/OMC
Category: Angst, Drama
Rating: NC-17
Date: June 16, 2003
Summary: Brian learns about Hammer's past from Troy...a story of ownership and loss.
Spoilers: None
Warnings: None
Author’s Note:
Troy’s head popped around the corner of the doorframe. “Oh, you’re awake,” he said. “I was wondering when Sleeping Beauty would arise. How about breakfast-in-bed, your Majesty?”
“Since I’m not sure I can get out of bed,” I moaned, “…that sounds like a damned fine idea.”
“God, I can remember that feeling,” he said with a grin. “I’ll be right back.”
I checked all my body parts to make sure everything was there. Those guys were fucking maniacs. Everything was in working order…in fact, a little engorgement was working its way into my cock, giving a little rise to the sheet. Just thinking about last night made me hard.
Troy returned with a tray…toast, scrambled eggs…lots of them…a bottle of Tabasco sauce, an orange, and 2 big mugs of coffee. “Picnic-time,” he said, sliding the tray onto the sheets. “Is this what a growing boy eats for breakfast? Mmmmm, you ARE growing,” he added, checking the mound in the sheet pulled tight by the tray. “I know what I want for breakfast.”
I laughed and rolled onto my side so the arousal wasn’t so evident. “Let me eat first,” I sad. “I can’t chew and moan at the same time.” The food was great. We shared the eggs, and I ate all the toast and the orange. I had skipped dinner to get to Rumors as early as possible last night, but then got caught in the fucking rain-storm. It was all starting to come back to me now.
“I’m sorry I was so wasted last night,” I said. “It was the second time I’ve spent the night in your bed…and we haven’t done a damned thing.” I wanted him to know that I was still open to the possibility.
“You were fucking like a madman last night,” he said, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “I came down to check on you twice… Tony watched the bar for me. I was afraid you might get involved in something over-your-head…but you were topping both times I looked…and you were still at it when I closed the place up. I practically had to use a crowbar to get you off that guy you were fucking.”
“I can remember some of it,” I said, scratching my shoulder where there was some kind of abrasion. “I have this vivid image of Hammer’s face…mouth open in a wide grimace, eyes open and bloodshot, veins popping on his forehead…for an instant I thought I was seeing the face of the Devil.”
“Not far from the truth,” he said quietly. There was silence while we both took a swig of coffee.
“Oh, and I remember you giving me a shower,” I continued. “I’ve never kissed a guy with a moustache before.”
He laughed. “There’s a first time for everything….followed by the second time.” He leaned forward to see if I would kiss him. Our lips met softly as we both tried to juggle coffee cups and to avoid the tray between us. Lips opened…tongues explored…the kiss turned into two or three with no space in-between…just two men enjoying the moment and wanting more.
“Thank you for that,” he said when we parted. “I didn’t want to take advantage of you when your defenses were down…but I’d been waiting for some indication from you that you wanted it as much as I do.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Well, so is the stray cat I took-in over 3 years ago,” he said. “But he doesn’t even like me. He just puts-up with me because I feed him.”
“Speaking of ‘feeding’,” I said, pulling back the sheet, “…are you ready for the Breakfast of Champions?”
He quickly removed the tray from the bed, then slipped out of his cut-offs. Kneeling on the bed, he dropped to all-fours as his face aimed for my pelvis. My cock, that had stirred slowly before, was now bouncing. I ran my fingers through his hair, guiding him and welcoming him. Instead of swallowing me immediately, he touched the tip with his tongue, then swirled it around the mushroom, descending slowly until his tongue found the shallow groove under the flare. His moustache brushed the tip and made me shudder.
“You’re driving me crazy,” I said softly as I pressed his head closer. His lips trailed down the side of my shaft and nipped at my pubic hair.
“I could get lost in there,” he whispered. His tongue licked back up my urethra, expressing a drop of pre-cum from the tip. He brushed his lips across it, then spread it over the velvety head. “I’m trying not to think about where this has been,” he said, looking up momentarily with a smile. His mouth opened wide as he returned to my shaft; he settled onto it without touching it until the tip hit the back of his throat…then he closed his warm mouth on it and sucked slowly back to the tip. The sensation made me jerk. It was so warm…and slow…and sensuous….unlike the urgency of last night.
“Wuft wye bakk am Iyuh boo aw vuh refd,” he said, trying to speak with my cock buried in his mouth.
I laughed out-loud as my abs contracted in ripples.
He smiled and lifted his head. “Just lie back and I’ll do all the rest,” he repeated. “I’m not planning to let you escape.” His lips descended again, engulfing me.
“Sex-slave Brian Kinney, at your service…well, uh,…you’re servicing me at the moment, I guess.”
He lifted his head, with another of those grins. “You don’t have to go back to State College, do you, today? Can you just stay here…in my bed…until we need to stock the bar for tonight? Then you can fuck all those guys to your heart’s content…all night. But I want this time with you.”
“I’ll stay,” I said, shifting my weight a little. “And I want to help you. You’ve been so nice to me.”
“You’re the first guy I’ve had in my bed for three years,” he said, suddenly looking sad. “No wonder I’m nice to you.”
“You sure haven’t forgotten how to do it,” I hissed, wincing in pleasure.
“It’s like riding a bicycle.” He paused to take a long lick as he gripped the base of my shaft tightly. “Once you know how, you never forget.”
He sucked me then…long and slowly…keeping me at-the-peak for what seemed like hours. He showed me things I had never learned from John…how to mix hand-action with mouth-action…how to keep moving at all times, spreading the sensations wider and wider, then bringing the focus back to the most sensitive spot…how to change the suction from gentle to intense…where to press with your fingers to make a cock swell all the way down into the ball-sac…how to press a finger into my ass so gently that I didn’t even know it was there until he wanted me to notice it. I wish I could remember all of it. He was the Master of erotic stimulation. At times, he had me begging for release. At other times, he had me begging for more. Sometimes he made me relax so much, I felt as if I were melting. And at other times, my toes curled so tightly that I got a cramp in my leg. Sometimes my abs would tighten so much that I’d sit up, reaching out for him, but he would push me back into the pillows and pick-up the pace again. It was delicious torture.
Eventually I begged him to let me cum…and he took me over-the-top, swallowing and gurgling on my ample load. I collapsed into a puddle…even more debilitated than I was after the marathon fuck-session…and I hadn’t done anything but lie there.
He crawled up to kiss me again, then lay in the curve of my arm.
“That was incredible,” he said, licking his lips. “You young guys cum in buckets.”
“I thought I drained the tank…last night. But you tapped the reserve supply.”
We were quiet for a few minutes, just remembering the glory of it…reveling in the sensory overload.
He turned to look at me…feigning seriousness. “You’ve heard the phrase ‘fucking your brains out,’ haven’t you?” I nodded in the affirmative. “Whenever I see a guy cum…or whenever I cum myself, I have this weird feeling that cum is simply liquefied brain cells that somehow come spurting out your cock. I know how stupid that sounds…but, have you ever seen brain tissue? It sorta looks like that.”
I was tempted to ask where he’d seen a part of a brain before, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
“Every time you cum, you lose a few more brain cells…until you’re fuckin’ stupid.” He laughed again.
“Maybe I should hold-off until after I graduate,” I said, giving his shoulders a squeeze.
Silence again. I could tell something was bothering him.
“Do you remember what you asked me…last night?” he asked. “…before you went to sleep.”
I thought for a moment. “Yes. Something about Hammer calling me by the wrong name. ‘Nicky,’ I think he said. He was a little crazy…but the names aren’t similar at all.”
“Yes, he probably called you Nicky,” he repeated.
“So,…..who is Nicky?” I rolled onto one elbow to look down at him.
“It’s a long story…and I don’t know how much you need to know. But I think you’ll find out eventually anyway. Don’t tell him where you heard it.”
“An old lover?” I asked.
“Nicky was a 15-year-old kid that Hammer brought back from one of his cross-country cycle trips…picked him up at an I-80 rest-stop somewhere in Ohio…I’ve forgotten the town. Nicky was a runaway…a screwed-up kid…the result of an abusive father. He begged Hammer to take him away before the police found him...and Hammer did."”
“Some bastards can really screw-up their kids,” I added.
“Nicky was quiet…kinda sullen…he’d flinch if you made a sudden move. I always thought he had some kind of brain damage…but Hammer wouldn’t take him to a doctor. He’d bring him here…first to watch, and later to participate. He lived with Hammer for two years.”
“This was back when you and Hammer were buddies?” I asked, remembering how Troy had said that another guy was the reason for their split-up.
“Yeah…we rode together sometimes…and I was just getting this place fixed up, and he and some of his other construction buddies did some of the work.” He paused and looked around, making mental notes of work that Hammer had done, I suppose. “I tried to get Nicky into school,” he resumed. “…even paid for a forged birth certificate so he could go to school in Altoona…but he never did.”
“Did Hammer fuck him?” I asked.
“What do you think? Of course he did. Twice a day and six times on weekends. And he shared him with his buddies. Even me sometimes.” He looked apologetic. “He was beautiful…long, blond hair, big, sad eyes…a little on the skinny-side, but the perfect ass on him…I hardly ever saw him with clothes on.”
“Where is he now?” I asked, feeling the slightest sting of jealousy.
“He’s dead,” Troy said, matter-of-factly. “Ran away again one night…and they found him dead along I-99 somewhere up near Tyrone where the Interstate narrows to 2 lanes….a hit-and-run driver, people say…or joy-riders. He’d been dead for several hours. Smashed up pretty bad. I had to identify the body and make-up some story about how he happened to be around here. Hammer was a nut-case. He blamed me for tryin’ to make the kid go to school…or to the doctor…and I blamed Hammer for bringing him here in the first place. They sent his body back to his parents...and they didn’t seem abusive at all. They were heart-broken to learn that he’d died...but they were relieved to finally have closure. I don’t know what happened after that. The police never found out that Hammer was involved.”
“And Hammer loved him?”
“I don’t know what you call it,” Troy said with a sigh. “I try not to put words to other peoples’ feelings. It was like he owned him, body-and-soul. Like the kid was part of him. He still rides his cycle up to that spot where he died, sometimes…the guy’s obsessed.” I knew the spot, even though Hammer hadn’t said a word about it.
“There’s an anger in him…” I began. “Maybe that explains it.”
“I saw the same look in his eyes when he talked about you that first night…but you’re old enough to take care of yourself. Nicky was damaged goods.” He paused. “But to Hammer, he was perfect.”
We talked of other things…his plans, his future…my plans, my future. It’s amazing how easy it is to open-up when you’re lying, naked, next to a guy who just gave you the World’s greatest blow-job.
……………………………..
I “earned” my blow-job. I helped Troy stock the bar, wipe off the tables, and sweep the floor. He said that if I worked any harder, he’d have to give me another one just to stay even. I started washing the windows and he made me stop.
“Tonight you’re gonna eat something,” he said. “No more fucking on an empty stomach.” He pan-fried some hamburgers and french-fries. “See?” he said. “I stocked the refrigerator with things boys like to eat…just in case I could get you to stay. I had this all planned.” He sent me downstairs for some cold beers, and we sat opposite each other at the round kitchen table as if it were a feast.
“You’re coming back next weekend,” he said definitively. “I’ll even buy some steaks.”
“Next weekend starts Spring Break,” I said. “So they close down the dorms and everyone goes to Florida or Cancun…at least the ones who can afford it. I tried to find a place to stay in State College…and a short-term job…just to avoid going home to Pittsburgh…but no luck.” I dreaded going home. Even when I lived in Pittsburgh, I spent most of my time somewhere else. No one wants to be in a place where he’s not wanted. All Mom wanted to do was to save my eternal soul…and all Pop wanted was to get rid of me. I could live at Deb’s, but she asked too many questions.
“How about here?” he said. “There’s plenty of room.” He smiled, probably picturing us snuggled up in that Queen-sized bed.
“Overnight is plenty generous. To stay ten days is an imposition.”
“Can you drive nails?” he asked, “…or paint, or saw boards? I’ve got a project I’ve wanted to do, but paying a regular contractor…and having them snoop around in here…don’t appeal to me much. Hammer and his buddies aren’t about to do it, even for good pay. There’s another whole floor of this place…it’s a big fucking warehouse…and I’ve been wanting to turn Rumors into a ‘destination spot’…sorta like Parliament House in Orlando…one of the biggest fuckin’ gay-complexes I’ve ever seen. Except…Altoona doesn’t have Disney World to attract the tourists. But at least it could be a destination for all of Central Penn. It’s gonna be the biggest and best “Rumors” when I have a string of them across the state. Just give me ten years.”
I haven’t done that kinda stuff much…but I’m a quick learner,” I said, thinking this might be a good place to spend a week…fuck all morning, work all afternoon, fuck all night. It sounded almost as good as Cancun.
“And I’ll pay you,” he continued. “Not as much as you could make peddling that ass in Pittsburgh, but enough to pay for your drinks. Hell, I’ll throw in an unlimited bar bill, too. What-the-Hell! You don’t drink much.”
“Who could resist such an offer?” We laughed at my eagerness.
“Just one thing,” he said. “Hammer better not find out about this. It’s just best that he not know. I don’t know what he’d do.”
“I can hide upstairs,” I replied, “…and when he shows-up you can knock three times on the water-pipe, and then thump the floor three times with the broom handle when he heads downstairs…my signal to appear.” I was about to burst out laughing.
“Asshole,” he growled. “I’m being serious here. He likes you…and he doesn’t like me…and that adds tension. He threatened to burn this place down once…and I don’t doubt he’d do it if he got angry enough…and high enough…and drunk enough. Ya never know.”
“I can keep my distance…and I can keep out of his way.”
..............................................
“I have a hard time letting you go,” he said as I dressed to go downstairs. “I’ve made all the mistakes you’re about to make...probably even a few more,...and it’s hard to watch someone you care about go through all this shit.”
“I’ll probably make my own mistakes,” I said, “...and a few good decisions, too...just to spite you.”
He reached for me and pulled me closer. “I can’t say the things you need to hear,” he said slowly and deliberately. “I’ve been through it all...and I still don’t understand it totally...and you learn better from your own mistakes, not mine.” He kissed me softly. For a moment, I wanted to stay...I wanted to keep him from spending another evening watching other guys enjoy their sexual pleasures while he suppressed his own. I wanted to find pleasure in the known, the real, and the genuine...instead of hoisting the facade and venturing into the fantasy of male-male interactions. But he knew that desires, once suppressed, become compulsions...and compulsions become madness. I had to deal with my demons myself. Period.
I went downstairs with Troy to open the front door. There were a few cars in the lot waiting for the lights to come on. Now THERE was compulsion! The crowd filtered in slowly. Gay bars don’t fill-up until 10:00 or 11:00; better to be late and compelled to catch-up than to be early and to appear desperate. The first guys to show-up were usually the ones who felt least comfortable in a gay bar. They could use the excuse that they were just there for a drink or two in a relaxed environment. The conversation was light; most guys sat at the bar. The ones who were there for sex usually stood in solitary isolation along the two walls that had no booths, hoping to be noticed and approached. Standing too close to another guy might be misinterpreted as “being together”…a sure thing to ruin your chances. You could tell by the way they posed that they were waiting for something…and the furtive glances were a give-away, attempting to make eye contact while trying to appear indifferent. Like statues…muscles tensed into pseudo-relaxed postures…trying to look their best. It was almost sad to see them trying so hard. One-by-one they would be chosen and led elsewhere…or they might suffer the humiliation of standing there all night, rejected. Like school-girls at the freshman mixer…condemned by etiquette to await being chosen. Later in the evening, some of them would still be hoping that another guy had a particularly shitty week and one shot of tequila too many…enough to make the loser look desirable. After a few weeks of watching the action, I learned one thing; guys who smile and act friendly are more likely to get chosen than the guy who scowls and looks threatening. Daring someone to say “hello” was not a successful ploy.
And the choosers took their time, not wanting to be the first…although early choosers usually got the best. After careful study from-a-distance…the slow approach…not too obvious…not telegraphing the destination until the last moment; that was the way it was done. The slight look of disinterest. The risk of rejection. Sometimes the encounter looked like a drug-deal in-progress. It was a seller’s-market.
And everyone watched, of course…but indirectly. Staring might be mistaken for a counter-offer. Turning to chat with someone usually gave you the opportunity to look over his shoulder to watch the hunt.
I watched from behind the bar where I was helping Troy…a better opportunity to study what was going on than when I sat at the bar. I liked the view. But I decided at that moment…and the decision changed my life…I did not want to wait to be chosen, even though I’d have no trouble being picked. I wanted to do the chosing. Being the chooser gets you what you want. Having the balls to take the initiative was the key.
Hammer came in alone. He was wearing a leather jacket with no shirt…a cigarette was propped behind the ear-piece of his mirrored sunglasses. He’d been drinking already. He surveyed the room and came straight to me.
“Where’s the collar?” he said. “I told you to wear it.”
“I thought you’d want to put it on me,” I answered. “It’s with my coat.” I lied, because I had left it upstairs in the Quarters, next to the bed.
“You put it on yourself,” he replied. “It’s something you do because you want to. I only put it on you the first time.”
“I’ll get it,” I said, “…and I’ll meet you downstairs in a little while. I’m helping-out behind the bar until it slows down a little.” He nodded and turned away, then turned back to order a triple Jim Beam. Troy had overheard and he gave me a supportive glance. He poured a tumbler-full without measuring. Hammer took it, swallowed a large gulp so he could carry it without spilling, then turned away again.
“You can go play with the big-boys,” Troy said after he was out of ear-shot. “I’m OK here. Just be careful. I don’t know which is better…to try to limit his consumption, or to give him enough to anesthetize him. I usually use the latter approach.”
I watched Hammer disappear into the backroom before I dashed upstairs to get the collar.
When I returned, the bar was even more crowded than when I left. I caught Troy’s eye as he checked that I was wearing the collar. I’d left my shirt upstairs, too.
The video playing on the monitor showed two young boys, probably no older than 13, tied to each other and sitting in a small cage. They were still able to give each other pleasure despite their confinement. I decided to head to the theater to watch it on the larger screen, but before I left the bar, I noticed a young guy, about my age, standing alone against the wall. He was looking down, studying the floor tiles and shuffling slowly from one foot to the other. He had that immediate appeal that I later learned to be the signal that he was “my type”…almost as tall as I, dark hair, lean and slightly muscular, smooth chest…masculine, not fem. As he glanced up, the dark eyes flashed in anticipation. I stopped and took a step back.
“Hi,” I said. “I’m Brian.” A totally uninspired pick-up line…but it had the desired effect.
“Hi,” he replied. “I am, too…I mean…my name is Brian, too.” He looked as if he wanted to say more, but couldn’t.
“Come with me,” I said, drawing a line with my finger from his throat to the cleft of his pecs peeking out from the top of his tank-top. He smiled and took a deep breath as if he’d been holding it. Perfect teeth…nice lips that I could already imagine around my cock…a strong chin.
Instead of going into the theater, I led him to the backroom that was already busy. As our eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could tell that he was new at this…he stayed close to my side, moving even closer when someone reached for him. “Let’s try someplace else,” I said softly into his ear. I took his hand a guided him through the maze of bodies to the opposite hallway. A door to one of the private rooms stood open and we ducked inside just in time to avoid two guys that had followed us.
We faced each other in the darkness with hands on each other’s waist.
“Thank you,” he murmured. “That was excruciating. As soon as I saw you, I hoped you’d come to me. I was actually praying.”
“I’m here…and you’re here. That’s all that matters,” I said in the same soft voice.
He lifted his face to mine and kissed my lips softly. My lips twitched but did not return the kiss. “I want you to suck me,” I said. “Show me what you can do.”
He started to kneel, but I caught him in the pits and held him up. Then guided him to the bed….a cot, really…just a metal frame and a bare mattress covered with ticking. I sat on the edge, then pressed him to his knees between my spread legs. He opened my jeans quickly and pulled it out with eager fingers.
“Mmmmmm,” he murmured as my cock stiffened in his hand. “I knew you’d be big.” His lips found the tip and moistened it with saliva. “I’m not very good at this…yet.”
“Suck it,” I said more urgently. I could feel the pressure rising already. The excitement of being the initiator…the aggressor…increased the pleasure of his first touch. I reached over his shoulders and pulled his shirt up his back. “But first, get outa those clothes,” I added. He straightened up and pulled the shirt over his head….then got to his feet and slipped out of his shoes, jeans, and briefs. In a second he was back at-work on my cock. He was inexperienced, but I didn’t care. He did his best to please me. And as I rocked my cock deeper into his throat, he overcame his gag-reflex and took more than I expected. His hand explored my torso…and the other one jacked his cock. He was getting-off on my body and the feel of my cock in his throat. Someday he’d learn the fine points, but tonight it was enough to provide the mouth; I’d do the rest.
“OK, on your back,” I ordered, reaching down to grip my shaft and pulling it out. We traded places,...he on his back on the bed, calves hanging off the end...and I astride his chest with my knees pressing his biceps against the mattress. He could get-off later; I was taking over. I felt his breathing quicken under my ass as I slapped my cock gently against his jugular notch. He lifted his head and touched the tip with his chin. I leaned forward a little and slipped my hand behind his neck to lift his head; the damned bed had no pillows. He dropped his chin and let my hard shaft slide into his mouth, sucking the tip vigorously. I repositioned my ass, then rolled my pelvis forward to slip it in deeper as he moaned his assent. I put my other hand over his face to feel the sucked-in indentations of his cheeks and his lips trembling around my shaft. “Take it,” I said. “Take it all, boy.”
His head nodded in my hand...and I drove it deeper. His saliva welled-up around my shaft...then he swallowed and let me slip even deeper. After a few minutes, I wanted more motion, more stimulation, so I lifted my ass, pulling my cock out momentarily, then slipped my knees back along his sides until they gripped his waist. Leaning forward, I grasped the metal bar at the head of the bed (meant to prevent the non-existent pillows from falling off the upper end) and sank into push-up position with my dick over his face. I felt the pre-cum drip onto his face as he found the tip again and opened wide. I plunged downward driving it home as if his mouth were a gaping asshole. He gagged...then gasped...then swallowed hard and let it pass into his throat. I fucked his throat then...long and hard as he writhed underneath me, gripped my ass, and pulled me into him.
At the last moment, I plugged his throat with my bulbous tip and pumped my load down his throat, which was pulsating in an effort to swallow it. I pulled out quickly to let him breathe again. He gasped and moaned loudly. The boys in the backroom heard that one for sure!
I lay beside him with my arm over his chest, feeling his heart pound against my forearm.
“That was....unbelievable!” he gasped. “I’ve never had anyone take-over and do that before.”
“You’ve just sucked your buddies in the locker-room, I’ll bet,” I said.
“How did you know?” he said, snuggling closer. “The soccer bruises on my shins? You couldn’t see them in the dark.” He rolled his knee up over my thigh and pressed his cock against my hip. “You just fulfilled one of my fantasies...to be taken like that. It blew my mind.”
“What’s your wildest fantasy?” I asked. “That one was pretty mild.”
“My wildest? Well, I suppose it’s the same for every gay guy...but maybe not. I have dreams about being captured by a gang of guys, stripped, and raped repeatedly. Do you have that dream?”
“Grab your clothes,” I said. “Have you ever been downstairs in this place?”
“This is only my second time. I spent the first night in the bar...just watching those hot videos. I was afraid to talk to anyone. They were mostly older guys.” He fumbled for his clothes and started to put them on.
“No,” I said. “Just carry them and come with me. Downstairs there’s a place you’ll like...and some guys I can introduce you to.” It would be like tossing a T-bone steak into a pack of wolves. We headed for the stairs, naked and expectant.
I liked the role of chooser. I liked having things done my way. I liked taking the initiative; it saved lots of time. And I liked giving guys what they wanted...taking them places they’d never been before...testing their limits...stretching their boundaries. It started with young Brian#2...and it has continued to this day.
................................
When I returned to the basement later, I saw that they had him tied with his belly crosswise over the table...wrists tied to the table-legs on one side, and ankles spread wide and tied to the other side. He was gagged with his own underwear, and his ass gaped-open with the hot, red interior visible. When he saw me, his eyes smiled a weary greeting and he nodded his head “Yes.” They had satisfied his dream...and I had made everyone happy.
I felt Hammer slip his fingers into the back of the collar and pull me closer while he was fucking another kid. “Thanks for the gift,” he said with a smile. “It couldn’t have been better if it was my birthday.”
“I knew you’d like him....fresh meat,” I said.
“He said you didn’t fuck him,” Hammer said, pulling out of the tight hole without finishing. “Are you all fucked-out now?...or do you want this one, ...or the guy you brought us? Take your pick. I like to watch. And then I’m gonna fuck your ass.”
“I may go back upstairs and fuck that kid I fucked the first night...side-by-side with you,” I said. “He’s upstairs...acting cocky.”
“Don’t waste your time fucking that tired piece-of-shit,” he said. “Life’s too short to fuck the same guy twice...unless it’s YOU, of course,” he added, sliding his hand down over my ass. “If you’re stuck in a small town like this, you end up fucking the same assholes over and over...it’s unavoidable. And then, occasionally, a new piece of meat comes along,”...he glanced at Brian’s ass... “and you realize how tired you are of the same old guys. But you have your whole life ahead of you...up there at that college there must be hundreds of guys with willing holes for you to bang. And you’re gorgeous enough to get anyone you want. Probably even the straight ones. Never do ‘em twice...until you’re too old like me. The World’s a banquet, and most poor suckers are starving to death or they’re eating the same shit day-after-day. Take advantage of it while you’re young.”
I decided to fuck Brian. Technically it didn’t count as a “second-time”...so I slipped on a condom and planted my cock into his already well-fucked hole. “It’s you fairy godfather,” I whispered in his ear, “...making all you wishes cum true.” But I thought, as I approached my climax, how sad it was to have your wildest dream satisfied when you were so young. Would he remember this as the best moment of his life...and try to re-create it over and over again? Or would he find a new fantasy? And what was my fantasy? If my fantasy was to fuck every attractive gay man in the World, it was a quest without a conclusion. I made a mental note and tried to remember the guys I’d fucked last night; this guy was Number Sixteen...only 249,999,984 to go. The magnitude of it took me over the edge as I gripped his hair and whispered “You’re Number Sixteen.”
...................................
“You don’t want to drive all the way back to State College tonight,” Troy said when I’d recovered my jeans and shoes and had come back upstairs.
“I have a class in the morning,” I said sleepily. “And an exam in that class on Wednesday, so I’ve gotta be there tomorrow.”
“You can sleep here,” he continued. “...just sleep...and I’ll wake you up early enough in the morning to make it back in-time. You’re dead-tired. You shouldn’t be driving.”
“You’re making sense...as usual,” I said. “Is Hammer gone? I don’t want him to see my car in the parking lot and to come looking for me. That would be hard to explain.”
“He’s so out-of-it, I’ll walk him out to his cycle myself...and I’ll keep him distracted. He’ll never notice. And then I’ll close-up and come upstairs to lick your wounds.” He smiled coyly.
...............................
I sank into his bed and tried to stay awake for his arrival. I had started the day with him...and I would finish it with him, too.
Brian Rules for Bar and Backroom:
1. Don’t dress like a slut. There’s nothing wrong with showing your body…just make sure it doesn’t look like Halloween. You want to be noticed for something other than your clothes, because you'll be removing them shortly.
2. Your lips need to talk…before they can kiss, suck, or lick…unless you’re in the backroom, and then talking is forbidden.
3. If someone touches your ass, follow the Biblical imperative and turn the other cheek.
4. Be prepared to score; be clean, trim your nails, brush your teeth, and have a supply of lube and condoms.
5. Lying about one’s experience level is gauche, and will usually be found out.
6. Repeatedly asking for anything even after you’ve been turned down is rude.
7. Just say “No, thanks”…or be prepared to negotiate or offer an alternative.
8. Define limits. Understand expectations….especially if you’re looking for an all-nighter.
9. In the backroom, don’t gawk at other pairs up-close; leave room for action and movement.
10. Don’t try to join without an invitation or permission. A guy’s trick is not public property.
11. Masturbating while watching is rude; it’s not a peep show. Masturbating to keep your dick hard is permitted.
12. Photo equipment and cell phones are forbidden.
