Title: Passion By Proxy
Author: Paul Plesko
Email address: pplesko@hotmail.com
Series/Sequel: n/a
Character/Pairings: Brian/Justin, Brian/Other
Category: Brian POV, angst, drama
Rating: NC-17
Date: April 3, 2003
Summary: Gap-filler for episode 301
Spoilers: For episode 301
Warnings: None

Passion By Proxy
Fiction by Paul Plesko

Waiting for the knock at the door… dreading the knock at the door. The silence was deafening. It roared in my ears with the power of a waterfall. I was numb, except for the touch of the blue sheets against my back, warming to my skin as I seemed to sink into them like soft mud. The bed offered no solace, however. This space, this view, this scent of him made me miss him even more.

I had found one of his old tee-shirts in the bottom of the hamper. It still had his sweet smell on it mingled with the staleness of my own several-day-old laundry… but there was enough of him to bring back the sensory memory. I had wrapped it around my neck… like a trophy… or more like the bloodstained white, silk scarf. I had not lost him then… but I had lost him now. I inhaled his absence as if it might bring him back. "Knock, knock, knock."

The thuds against the heavy metal door brought me to my senses. "Knock, knock, knock." He was here… and I would soon find out whether he would "do." Three more knocks as I headed to the door.

=====

Seeing Justin at Lindsay’s party made me want him with such a powerful intensity, it almost scared me. Controlled-compulsion was my usual behavior; this was something else. And after the party… even then… I couldn’t get him out of my mind. The urgency grew inside me like a malignancy. My desire for him tied my guts in a knot. The answer was… Babylon!

The dance floor swarmed with writhing, half-naked bodies. The music was loud. The light-show was intense… but nothing could distract me from my quest. Would he be here?

Through the crowd, I saw the lithe back with a thin sheen of sweat, the blond hair, the slim hips. I pushed my way across the floor, driven by the urgency and the several shots of Beam I’d had during the first ten minutes. He was dancing with someone in the darkness… his skin glowing like blue satin in the haze of distant neon. His dance-partner saw me coming and tried to say something, but I gripped him by the shoulder and spun him around before the guy could speak above the din of the music. It wasn’t Justin. The eyes were dark; the nose was wrong; the dark treasure-trail showed that the blond hair was from a bottle. He stared at me for a moment in shock. And then, realizing who I was, he stepped forward to put his palm on my chest. "Well, hello," he cooed.

I brushed his hand away with a sweep of my wrist. "Sorry… wrong asshole," I said with disgust.

"Well, you don’t have to be a drama queen about it, I was just being… " His voice faded into the music as I strode to the door. I pounded my fist against the brick as I staggered out the front door and down the stairs into the milling crowd. Not only was he not Justin… he wasn’t even like Justin. Smart-assed twink. Swish. Pimp-trade. Slut-boy.

During the next day, I still had Justin on my mind… the curve of his shoulder… the smoothness of his back… the perfection of his ass, inside and out. If I couldn’t have him, I’d find someone like him… like him in every detail.

He answered the phone as if I had interrupted his sleep. "Yeah, Stud-Files" he said softly. "Watdaya want?"

"I’m looking for something special," I said. "SomeONE special, actually."

"Well, tell me whatchya want," he insisted. "We have boys that do almost everything… except scat and fisting… but there’s not much call for that."

"I’m looking for someone young… and blonde… and blue-eyed," I replied.

"So is three-quarters of gay Pittsburgh," he snarled. "How tall?"

"About five-feet-eight, or so… someone fairly lean… and smooth… and sorta twinkie-like."

"Let me check the card file. Of course, none of these boys tell the truth, but I’ll see what I can find. They all try to sound like Leonardo DiCaprio." There was a pause and the shuffling of cards. "Here’s one. Nineteen… he’s legal. Five-foot-nine… 155 pounds… swimmer’s build… seven inches, uncut… anything else?"

"I’m looking for someone who… who looks like… someone," I tried to explain.

"Well, I can’t send you a picture over the phone. But he looks kinda cute in this picture here, even though I usually go for the dark, muscular type… but I can’t tell you much more. Why don’t I send him over and… ?"

"It’s 6 Fuller," I said. "Top floor. Tell him to use the stairs."

"Gotchya," he said. "Give him 40 minutes. You won’t be sorry. And if I can’t reach him, I’ll send a good second-choice. We got a stable here… lots of ponies to ride."

=====

"Ya know what I’d like?" Justin said, lifting his face from the computer screen with a serious, reflective expression. I looked up from the trade magazine I was scanning… while spending most of my time glancing at his torso hunched over the keyboard. He always looked so serious when he was drawing… as if he was solving complex equations of contour, light, and shadow. I loved to watch him work, especially when he was unaware that I was doing it.

"What?" I said, pretending to look up. "Vanilla ice cream and a tongue up your ass?"

"Noooo," he said with that big, gorgeous grin as if he liked my idea almost as well as his own. "I’d like to know what it feels like to be your trick-for-the-night… to sorta pretend we’d never met before and to experience what it must be like to be trapped, used, and thrown-away… like all those other guys. And maybe you’d enjoy that, too. Who knows? You might be tired of my willing ass. You could pretend I was fresh meat."

"You couldn’t be any ‘fresher’ than you are already," I grinned, rising from the sofa. "What makes you think I’d do anything differently from our usual?"

"Well, I’ve seen you… for one thing. You fuck harder than anyone I’ve ever seen… not that I’ve seen that many except in the backroom at Babylon… and occasionally when you take me to the Baths… for exploration. But I just thought… "

"You’ve been trick-for-the-night… the Trick-that-wouldn’t-leave, actually. The Trick-that-keeps-on-tricking is more like it."

"But I was so scared that first night, I hardly remember it. Well, actually I can repeat every word we both said to each other... and I still experience that first fuck in my dreams. But it was different, somehow. Maybe it was because you were afraid of hurting me... with it being my first time."

"You think that made a difference?" I asked, avoiding a direct reply to his suggestion because he was correct.

He smiled again. "Well it seemed different than the way you fuck other guys… but maybe it was just my point-of-view." He chuckled as he leaned back, looking up at the ceiling as if he were being pounded into the mattress.

"So, you want to play games, huh? Are you sure you can take it like the trash-asses I usually punish?"

"In my dreams," he said. "So far, only in my dreams."

"OK," I said. "Here’s how it’ll work. I’m going out for an hour. That’ll give you time to get dressed up any way you want to feel like a trick. Then you clear-out. And I’ll be back at 10:00. You come back at 10:15… like a good little trick… and we’ll take it from there. Any funny stuff… any familiarity… any use of names… any clue that you know your way around the loft… and the game is over. OK?"

=====

"Hi… my name is Mick… "

"Doesn’t matter," I said. I looked at him without appearing to look at him… about 5’8", a face that was nice, but a little "harder"… he looked tired.

"So, am I what you’re looking for?"

"Close enough," I said, looking away, but I saw his eyes sparkle at the acceptance. I slid the door closed and followed him into the living room, taking another drag on my joint.

"That’ll be three-hundred, then… up-front," he said, showing no hesitancy to mention the money. I suppose if you’ve done this many times, it’s just like any job. I already had it counted-out in my pocket… a big wad of 10s and 20s. He began to count it, and then paused… probably thinking it felt like enough of a handful. And he could always count it before he left.

"Bedroom’s that way," I said as I gestured. He stepped up the stairs as I took one last drag and snuffed it out in the ashtray on the kitchen counter. By the time I followed him to the bedroom he was already slipping the red pull-over off, exposing a smooth, Justin-like chest. He opened the jeans to show that he was wearing no underwear; "Just like a professional," I thought. He was a perfect body-match… slim, minimal muscularity, good obliques. Smooth as a peach. He climbed onto the bed on his side showing me the curve of his ass and back as he turned to watch me undress. I stepped onto the bed, then lay beside him face-to-face, examining him carefully. The face, the soft lips, the smooth chest… perfect. Our eyes met as I looked back up. He took that as a cue. He leaned forward to kiss me… probably something he learned to put Johns at-ease and to initiate the action. But I didn’t want his kiss… just his ass. Some guys might, unrealistically, be looking for love, but I simply wanted gratification… and the restoration of a memory. "Roll over," I murmured, pressing his upper shoulder toward the mattress. He settled into position, legs spread a bit in anticipation of my mounting, readying himself for the inevitable next-step. In this position, the resemblance to Justin was undeniable… the flowing terrain of his back, the globes of his ass moving gently as he ground his pelvis against the sheet, the soft, almost invisible, blond hair on parts of his body that otherwise appeared smooth,… the soft, fine billow of long hair against his neck. I brushed it gently with my fingertips, remembering Justin on that first night and on many subsequent nights. It was time to consumate the dream. I brushed his back softly, then reached for a condom and put it on. Once again I examined the back of his head for any clue that he was not the boy I wanted in my bed. Closing my eyes, for fear of finding such a flaw, I nuzzled his back smelling the cleanness of soap. I rolled atop him and slipped into him rapidly, so as not to break the spell. He was Justin in every way. He moaned softly as he probably had done hundreds of times before; no matter how often one is penetrated, the muscles spasm enough to cause a sharp-inhale. I pressed my knee against his right inner thigh to open him wider, then settled astride his right leg as my shaft slid into his pre-lubed ass. As my pelvis compressed his glutes on the in-stroke, the force moved him up the bed an inch or two… and subsequent thrusts drove him toward the wall. His soft grunts with each stroke sounded like true expressions of pleasure rather than phony dramatics to please a John. He braced himself against the wall with his hands as he thrust back against my onslaught. His rhythm matched mine.

"Fuck me," he said softly… a useless request since I was already pumping into him.

"Shut up," I whispered in his ear.

I kissed the rim of his shoulder where it joined his neck, remembering Justin’s taste and aroma. With my mouth open wide, I traced a long trail of lips, tongue, and saliva along the crest of his trapezius to the soft bulge of his shoulder… then raked back along the ridge with my upper teeth. He trembled. His body undulated seductively beneath me as he settled, silently, into the pleasure of the moment. I arched my back to bury my face between his shoulderblades, then licked up his centerline until my face was buried in his hair. I opened my mouth to let the soft strands cling to my moist inner lips and I inhaled the scent of his shampoo deep into my lungs. He was Justin at that moment, sheathing my cock with his warmth, giving his body to me, carrying my weight as my chest transferred sweat to his back. As I turned my head, my lips found his ear. "Justin," I whispered.

He whimpered softly as he exhaled a lungful of air.

Slower and gentler now… long strokes using my whole torso to convey the tenderness I felt for him. Hot breath against the side of his face. Things sensed… things remembered. My hands caressed his arms from shoulders to wrists, stretching him out in the spread-eagled position of true submission as my weight pressed him into the soft mattress. Rocking my pelvis, with his sacrum as my fulcrum, with the only movement being to slipping of my cock in and out of his tightness… focusing his attention, and mine, on the act itself. Full rigidity. My body working like a fuck-machine. Speeding up to overpower him… to drive him over the edge as I had done with Justin so many times before. He matched me stroke-for-stroke. An endorphin rush. The ultimate pleasure.

But as I approached my climax, the reality of the moment returned. It was not Justin beneath me. It was not his labored breathing I heard. I missed his soft moans… his wordless urgings… his physical expressions of pleasure. How could I have imagined that this trick could take his place in any way? Even for one night. I’d used hustlers before; having no-strings-attached was worth the cost sometimes. But I had used them just for the pleasure… for the release… for the "unusual" things guys would do for money… not to replace someone who was… who was… special to me in some way. I tried to get Justin out of my head so I could finish with this guy and get back to the solitude of my self-sufficient life. I had done something stupid… something out-of-control… and I hated it when that happened.

=====

Knock, knock, knock.

Right on-time. 10:15. And he knew I was there; the plan was set. I took my time getting to the door. Justin was leaning on the brick wall in tight jeans, black boots (mine), and a sleeveless muscle-shirt that looked like a coat of paint. His blond hair was darkened slightly and slicked-back by gel. And he was smoking a cigarette. I almost laughed at the transformation… until I realized that I would have picked him at Babylon in an instant. He had that look of dark-danger I like.

"Come on in," I said, stepping back from the door. "You’re right on-time." He walked past me a few feet into the darkened loft, looking around as if he’d never seen it before, then stopped. As he took another drag on his cigarette, the warm glow lit his face from below. He wasn’t smiling... trying to look cool and dangerous. I turned on the desk light and walked to face him. "Very nice," I said looking him up and down. "You’ll do. Get outa those clothes." He paused, locking his eyes on mine, then bent down to remove a boot while still making solid eye-contact. "Show me what ya got," I said as I stepped beside him and stroked the curve of his denim-covered ass with my palm. Boots removed now, he straightened up and handed me his cigarette.

"Hold this," he said. I took a drag on it, feeling the moisture of his lips as I clenched the tip in mine, then snuffed it out in the ashtray on the kitchen counter and turned back toward him. He crossed his forearms in front of him and gripped the tail of his shirt, peeling it up slowly like removing the latex from a sheathed cock. His hairless chest gleamed in the dim light as he stretched to slip the shirt up his arms. He dropped it and kicked it with a bare foot, then stood, arms at his side, as if for inspection. I stepped in front of him and stroked his smooth belly with the backs of my fingers. I saw his pecs tighten, almost imperceptibly, as he felt the first skin-to-skin contact. My hand slipped down a little, and then my fingers delved into the front of his jeans. I deftly opened the buttons... one, two, three, four... as my hand sank deeper into his pelvis. His cock was already hard... tightly covered by stretched denim... but I was able to encircle it and lift it from its resting place in his pant-leg. He was wearing one of the cock-rings from the "toy" collection... a tight leather strap adorned with chrome studs. No wonder he was hard. I gripped him tighter and pulled him closer. We stood nose-to-nose... so tantalizingly close that I could feel his heat... but still the only contact was my hand on his shaft. I gave another squeeze. "OK... show me what you can do. Go for it. You know you want it."

He paused that extra second, still looking me straight in the eye, as if to say "You want it, too" ...then he began to unbutton my shirt. As he pushed it aside to reveal my chest, he bent down to engulf my left nipple in his wide-open mouth, then tilted his head back to look up at me as if to say "I know this is the most sensitive one." He smiled along the curvature of my pec as he tightened the grip of his teeth. I winced at the combined pleasure and pain; he knew what to do to turn me on. His hands on my waist moved to the closure of my jeans. He opened them quickly and shucked them down off my hips, making my cock spring up with expectation. Closing his hand around my shaft, he gave my nipple one last chew. Then he slipped his jeans down his legs one-handed, sank to his knees, and buried my cock in his throat with one swift motion. He looked up again to make sure I was still watching him. While he swallowed on my throbbing shaft, he pulled my jeans to my ankles, stroking the back of my calf and thigh as his hand moved up to my ass to press me deeper into himself.

He knew how I liked it… a quick engulfing, a tightening of the throat around the head, tight lips, suction, and a slow, wet retreat as his cheeks sucked-in in response to the vacuum. His hand moved to encircle my balls, milking them gently in-rhythm with the mouth-action. I didn’t move a muscle; I let him do all the work. And I refrained from touching his face and hair, because he was a trick now and I was playing his game. On his knees in front of me… for the first time in the loft, I believe. He’d learned his skills in bed… where I would eventually take him… but I wanted to play with him first.

Finally, I gripped his head in my hands and took-up the rhythm, rocking my pelvis fore-and-aft as I drove it even deeper into his throat. The gag-reflex… I loved it. Tricks who continued beyond the gagging moved up a peg in my estimation. Those who couldn’t take it fell by the wayside. His nostrils flared as he sucked for breath.

He countered with a move of his own… the fingers around my balls opened and a forefinger slipped behind my sac to explore the warmth of my perineum. Emboldened, he pressed his fingertip into my hole, making it spasm in surprise. He looked up again, and I saw the corners of his mouth curl up in satisfaction… that he had been brave enough to claim the territory forbidden to most tricks… and without a reproach. My cock leaped in his throat from the added stimulation.

"A trick needs to know his place," I thought to myself. "Up," I commanded as I pulled him up with my hands cupping his jaws. "This way."

My hand on the back of his shoulder shoved him past the desk toward the tall mirror leaning against the wall… too heavy to hang, it stood there as the last check-point to adjust the hair and wardrobe before leaving. But tonight it was a destination. I grabbed a condom from the bowl on the desk, tore it open with my teeth, and applied it one-handed as we reached the mirror. "Stand here," I said as I placed him in front of the mirror and pressed my body against his back. "Watch your body as I show you how I’m gonna use it." His eyebrows flicked a surprise; he had glanced at himself many times in that mirror, but, to my knowledge, he had never used it as I had before he moved into the loft… as a full-length turn-on as I stroked myself to completion. With one arm around his shoulder, trapping his arm and pressing against his pecs, and the other around his waist exploring down his belly and into his pubes, I prepared to mastubate him to a climax. I gripped his shaft and pumped it as if it were my own… slowly, at first, then more firmly, all the time murmuring softly in his ear what I would do to him. "I’m gonna jack you until you can barely stand, and then I’m gonna fuck you… right here… so you can watch it happen… and then… well, I’ll let you think about that for awhile." His body tightened in anticipation, and then I could feel his ass moving against my cock… rocking his dick into my fist. He was ready for more.

"I want you to… " he began. I put my palm over his mouth to stifle his words.

"No talking," I growled. "Just watch the mirror." His eyes locked on mine for a moment and then they settled slowly down his torso until they were focused on his red, ringed cock being stroked by another’s fist. He arched his shoulders back against my chest and tilted his head back against my shoulder as he closed his eyes. I moved my hand back to his chest again and pressed him tight against me. His eyes opened and watched his cock again. He was breathing heavily now… feeling the internal pressure building… sensing the inevitability. I stepped forward… forcing him to take two steps to retain his balance… then spreading his feet with mine and forcing his chest and cheek and mouth against the cool glass. He reached for the frame, instinctively, to support himself. Our weight pressed the mirror vertical against the brick and I surged forward once again with my face looking over his shoulder. Our eyes met once more in the reflection. My cock, hard from the blow-job, was pressed between us, wedged in the crevice of his ass. He knew I was going to fuck him.

Rocking my pelvis back, I let my cock slide the length of his crack as I lifted him slightly to let it fall, horizontally, between his thighs. I stopped jacking him long enough to guide it into the hot well outside his anus, and then returned to the pumping action. With each stroke, I move forward a bit, driving my rod slowly into his hole… like forcing a round peg into an oval hole… driving it with sledghammer blows. He watched my face in the mirror… and I watched his… eyes widening as his muscles stretched to accommodate me… mouth sagging open as he gasped for breath. "Lift your left leg," I said as I slipped my arm from between his chest and the mirror and reached to stroke him from his right ass-cheek and over the side of his thigh until I could catch my elbow under his raised knee and lift to open him wider. "I’ll support you," I murmured as his inner thigh slipped along the mirror frame. My cock slipped into him easier now… deeper with each thrust. His pelvis was just far enough from the mirror to permit my continuing stroking; his cock-tip grazed the cool glass occasionally and left cool smears of pre-cum.

"I love… it," he said as his breath momentarily fogged the mirror. I was into him almost all the way now and began the powerful in-and-out motion that rocked the mirror against the wall. Surge after surge… thrust after thrust… my cock swelled inside him… to fill him… to stretch him… to lift him onto the toes of one foot, occasionally.

"Fuck you… fuck your tight boy-ass… fuck you ‘til you bleed… fuck your hot trick-ass," I grunted into his ear with each thrust. My hand milked his cock roughly as I plowed his ass.

"Aaaahhhh," he gasped. "I can’t… " His cum shot all over the mirror as I felt his sphincter spasm on my ramrod. It was enough to drive me over the edge. White heat burning in my pelvis… muscles tense around his trembling body… lungs filled with air to give a roar of pleasure… cock shoving deeper as if wanting to deposit its load deeper than ever before… body crushing him against the glass. I came in one tremendous flood… a flood of cum, a flood of power, a flood of sound. His eyes were open, I remember… watching me closely in the mirror as he shot his last spurts against the glass. I released his cock then, and wrapped my right arm around his waist to hold him on my still-rigid cock. I lifted him by the torso and left leg, peeling him from the sweat-dampened mirror, while my shaft stayed budied in his ass. He exhaled in one rasping moan of pleasure.

I released his leg, forcing him to stand on both feet with my arms around him for support. When he was steady, I pulled out of him quickly. He jerked as if I had swatted him. Turning slowly to face me, he leaned forward as if to kiss me, looking deep into my eyes. My hand in the middle of his chest pushed him away. He had made the no-kissing rule; he’d have to live by it. He looks sad, at first… then resigned. I gripped him by the wrist and led him to the bed, shoving him so he lost his balance and fell in a heap in the center. "Don’t get anything on the sheets," I said as I climbed astride him. "You ready to play rough?" He turned his face to look at me as if he hadn’t heard me. I rolled off of him and reached under the bed for the box of "toys"… mostly dildos, clamps, and plugs… but my fingers found the cold steel of the cuffs. I rolled back atop him before he could move and jerked his arms behind his back, clicking the cuffs on his wrists loosely before he even knew what I was doing. "The PPD had to promise to give me the cuffs if I let him loose… fucked him in the back of his police van," I said. "I wonder if I remember where I put the key?" He pulled at the chain as if he could release himself… to no avail. "Once a trick gets in this position," I whispered in his ear, "they just take whatever I dish-out. Understand, boy?"

"Yes," he murmured.

"Can’t hear you, boy."

"YES," he said loudly.

"Yes, WHAT?" I said, swatting his ass with my open palm. "Where are your manners?"

"I mean… Yes, SIR!" he shouted.

"Just a simple ‘yessir’ will do, boy. No need to scare the people downstairs," I said, smiling although he couldn’t see it. I reached down again for the riding crop. "And what should I do with a boy-ass in my bed, boy?"

"Well, I can guess," he said into the pillow. I swatted his ass with the crop. The shockwave spread over his ass-cheek like the waves in a still water-pool when you toss a stone in. His back arched in instantaneous pain… and a red welt formed slowly across his ass.

"Not the right answer," I said.

"Well, I suppose you’re going to fuck me again," he said, trying to sound logical.

SWAAAAT!!! Another stripe across his ass.

"What the… what did I do?" he exclaimed loudly after an even louder whimper.

"Beg me to fuck you, boy."

"Please fuck me… " He felt my weight shift as I lifted the crop. "SIR," he added quickly. I laid the crop on the edge of the bed and covered him with my body with his hands trapped in the concavity below my ribcage.

"Ya know?" I said softly into his ear as I apllied a new condom, "It takes me a lot longer to cum the second time. With a little luck I can fuck you for the rest of the night and save my cum-shot for your Wheaties in the morning." He nodded; he knew it was true.

"I’m ready, Sir," he said like a soldier going off to battle. I felt him reposition himself beneath me to find a more comfortable position for the long-haul.

I slipped it into him then… in one smooth motion lubed by the mucus that still clung to the condom. He barely acknowledged the penetration. I wrapped one elbow under his throat and arched his back tighter against my chest. "This one’s to remember," I whispered as I begain to pump in and out of him slowly. The soft swishing-sound of veined skin against rectum and the soft suction of his ass on my shaft were the only sounds. I paused once to stuff a pillow below his belly to change the angle a little, but otherwise I maintained a relentless in-and-out motion, feeling his soft tissues molding to fit my dimensions. The soft swish was soon joined by the slap of my pelvis against his ass-cheeks. He lay there, almost mindlessly enjoying the stimulation. His fingertips strained to stroke the mounds of my abs as they contracted to jack-knife my body into him. His chin pressed into my brachio-radialis. We moved like the parts of a fine machine… oiled by body fluids and powered by lust. He began to struggle as my arm pulled too tight.

"You’re choking me," he rasped. I released the pressure just enough to let him breath.

The powers of my thrusts increased. Each one jolted him along the sheet a few millimeters. After 20 minutes, his face hung over the low head-board and the top of his head brushed the poured-concrete wall. There was no place to go, so his ass took the brunt of my pounding. He grunted softly with each impact… a low, gutteral, animalistic sound that matched the primitive nature of our sex-play. His cock, softened earlier after he shot, was now hard again from the friction of the bed-sheet. Each thrust rubbed its raw tip against the smooth-appearing percale like the finest sandpaper.

My forearm was sore from the sharp edge of the headboard, so I pulled out of him quickly, rolled off the side of the bed, moved to the foot, gripped him by the ankles, and pulled him so that his groin rested at the bottom of the mattress. I climbed between his splayed legs and entered him again. The thrust revived him. He moaned randomly now… not in rhythm with my strokes but as the mood moved him. He was drenched with sweat… most of it mine… and his fingers clenched and relaxed rhythmically, still bound behind his back with the cuffs.

"Has Trick-boy had enough?" I whispered in his ear. No response.

"Has Trick-boy had ENOUGH??" I said loudly.

"No such thing as enough… " he murmured. I couldn’t avoid a smile.

It was time to climax and bring the game to an end. I wanted to heal him, not hurt him. I increased my speed again, feeling the exhilaration of the end of a race. Nothing could stop me now. It had all the magic and sparkle of the first time… the erotic explosion… the cataclysmic climax.

I lay in a pool of my own sweat in the curve of his back, gasping for breath. Chest heaving. Saliva dripping onto his shoulder. Muscles tight in tetanny. Cock still trembling inside him. Gasping. Unable to make a coherent sentence. Then silence.

His first movement was to turn his head to the side. "If you could be any kind of animal, what animal would you be?" he asked quietly.

"What-in-the-fuck are you talking about?" I shot back.

"Just trying to get to know you more, that’s all," he said relaxing again into silence.

Two minutes of catching my breath. I could feel my cock softening in his interior.

He looked over his shoulder. "This is a nice place you got here," he said.

"This isn’t the Pittsburgh Home-decorator Tour, boy. Shut-the-fuck-up."

Two more minutes of silence as he squirmed slightly beneath me. "I’m hungry," he said. "May I go to the refrigerator?" He was back in the game… wanting more.

"Tricks don’t have refrigerator priviledges," I replied. "All right… game’s over. I can’t stand the stupid small-talk." I reached for the key, conveniently placed by the bed, and uncuffed him. He rolled under me and stretched his arms above his head, rubbing his wrists.

"God, that was intense," he said. I pressed him down on the matress with my forearm and bent down to kiss him… softly, at first, then more powerfully… acknowledging the fact that he was no trick. Moist lips, hot tongue. I brought my other hand to my lips and kissed his dried cum on my wrist, then transferred the taste to his lips… the way he likes it.

"I’d be a black panther," I said. "Or maybe a boa constrictor… "

=====

I sped-up my attack on Mick-the-Trick, wanting to get it over-with. He wasn’t Justin. He couldn’t be Justin. He couldn’t ever replace Justin. And I was feeling more foolish by-the-minute for thinking he could. But the thought of Justin, even though he wasn’t there, was enough to make me cum… more in anger than in pleasure.

He felt my climax, sensitized by experience, perhaps. These boys aim-to-please and are almost insulted if they can’t bring you off. A $300 insult, to be exact. When I pulled out of him, he rolled over and reached for the condom.

"Let me take it off," he said. "I want to see how much you shot."

"Is it a contest?" I said. "What do I win?"

"A free repeat," he smiled. "Or, I can come back some other time."

"And how do I know the contest isn’t rigged?" I asked. "You’re the only one who gets to compare the ‘performances.’"

He smiled. "Well, you don’t know. I decide. But the first fuck’s sorta for you… the one you paid for. The second is for me… with guys I like."

"You’ve done your job… you’ve collected your pay," I said as I slipped off the bed headed for the shower. He moved to follow me. "And you know how to find the door. I expect your ass to be outa here when I’m finished with my shower." He looked pissed, but not hurt.

"Well, next time… ask for Mick," he said as he gathered his clothes and shouted toward the bathroom door.

"Yeah," I said turning on the water. "As if there’ll be a next time… "

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