Don't forget to donate to Nifty, to keep the lights on and the fun coming your way! You can use this link https://donate.nifty.org/ (This story contains elements of urination and raunch)
That night I was left home alone while they partied in the Hollywood Hills. The guys left me with a parting gift on their way out to the limo. Each one spit a nice wad of saliva into my face before going out. Timm spat last, gifting me with a gray wad of phlegm from deep in his throat.
I spent the better part of an hour tasting their mouth juices as they dripped down my face. My cock twinged with pleasure as the air cooled my damp cheeks. To be marked by them more than fulfilled my wildest dreams. Sometimes I reflect upon what I might have done, perhaps in a previous life, that made me so lucky now. Lottery winners, with their giant oversized checks, were nothing compared to me. The Party Boyz smells, fluids, and attention were worth so much more.
After midnight I drifted off to sleep. The front door opening at four in the morning woke me. It was Timm, the only one who made it back to the bungalow that night. Passing me, he belched and I smelled the rum on his breath.
"Good night Nothing," Timm slurred sweetly before passing out in the Marilyn suite. Wishing him the same, I curled up on the floor and slept until the sun woke me several hours later.
Phinn and Kole both rushed in around noon and began dressing for their one PM reservation at the Polo Lounge. Timm had somehow arranged a new set of clothes for me to be dropped off. Once he was texted about their delivery, he directed me to pick up the package from the porch. Since I was naked, I tried to be quick.
These new things were from Ralph Lauren. Khakis, suede shoes, and (fittingly) a polo shirt. Once I was dressed Timm came over to check out the look. Smoking a joint, he paused and exhaled smoke into my face.
"Sorry it's the cheap shit," Timm said, "but I charged it to the record label and you know how fucking tight they are. Like Scrooge fucking McDucks."
He was dressed in Balenciaga. Loose fitting jeans and a black shirt that looked like it had been almost destroyed by a lawnmower. Phinn came in sporting a Tom Ford shirt with a magnolia design and tight black pants.
"Let me hit that," Phinn said.
"Finish it," was Timm's reply. Phinn took the half-joint and put it to his sexual pink lips. Then Kole rushed in. He'd thrown on a Givenchy tee and some close fitting white jeans.
"If they don't like this outfit," Kole said, "they can fuck themselves." He put on a pair of four hundred dollar sunglasses and we were off to the lounge. The guys were supposed to take some photos with Pepe de Anda, the director of the Polo Lounge (whatever that meant). Then they were being treated to lunch on the polo patio.
The same two security guards from the plane met us as we walked in. They kept the selfie seeking tourists away, but paid little to no attention to the guys themselves. The headwaiter led them to the bar where they met Pepe. Resuming my role as movie exec Dick Garbler, I kept my distance while they posed for the photos.
"Please enjoy your meal at the legendary Polo Lounge here at the historic Beverly Hills Hotel," Pepe said. Well dressed with thick rimmed glasses, he seemed a kind middle aged man. "It's on us, so please have whatever you'd like. I'm sending over a bottle of champagne to get things started."
On the polo patio, we were seated near a coral colored column surrounded by potted plants. Taking our seats, I noted the floral smell of the many flowers and palm trees that adorned the space. The green cushions in our chairs complimented the brick floor below.
The champagne was delivered and the waitress poured us each a glass. The guys all ordered additional cocktails and the waitress zipped to the bar. We toasted the Party Boyz as a bird's song drifted in on the breeze.
"See," Timm said, "that's why I don't like eating outside. A bird could shit in your salad at any time. That doesn't bother you guys?"
"No," Kole and Phinn said in unison, giving us all a good laugh.
The waitress returned with a gin and tonic for Timm, a Long Island Iced tea for Kole, a rum and Coke for Phinn, and a water for me. Lunch was ordered (soup of the day would be ladled out for me) and the guys enjoyed their drinks for a while.
"Nothing," Kole said after emptying his glass, "I have your cocktail ready. Give me that water glass of yours." Handing it over, my dick snapped to attention. The other guys stifled laughter as Kole dumped my water in a nearby plant. My glass then disappeared under the thick white table cloth. He scooted to the edge of his seat.
"Holy shit," Phinn said as Kole's belt buckle hit the metal chair frame. Then came the faint sound of piss hitting glass. Soft, it was unlikely to have been heard by other tables over the general chatter and the breeze rustling through the palms above.
A relieved smile spread across Kole's face. I smiled along in anticipation and sudden desperate thirst for his body waste. Then Kole's smile fell and he looked worried.
"Uh oh, boys," he said. "I think I'm about to overflow this glass."
"Then stop pissing," Timm said.
"Can't," Kole said.
"You can't?" Phinn chimed in.
"In the sense that I don't want to," Kole clarified. Then he lifted my cocktail, made by his own cock, and sat it on the table. Amber liquid filled the glass, a bit slopping over the side as it hit the table.
"Jesus, Kole, you are weird," Timm said. The sound of Kole's remaining piss splattering on the brick floor was louder, but I dared not look around to see if he was being noticed by the other well dressed diners in our vicinity.
"Oh yeah," the eldest (at 27) of the group said, "that's better." His piss stream slowed and dribbled to a stop. As he sat back in his seat, a puddle began to spread out from under our table.
"Now we're having lunch in a toilet," Phinn said. "Good one Kole," he added sarcastically. After adding the lemon from his gin and tonic, Kole served me the one of a kind special he'd produced just for me. Salty and satisfying, I attempted to make it last.
"Grow up," Kole replied. "If this place is so fucking historic, how can I be the first celebrity to piss on the floor? You can bet your ass that Chris Evans and Hemsworth and Pratt and all the other fucking Chrises have pissed all over this place. Probably taken big steaming dumps too. And that guy Pepe just thanks them and enjoys the smell."
A teen boy, one of the family of four seated nearest to us, saw Kole's piss puddle engulf his flip flop. He took it off and smelled the sole.
"This smells like pee," the boy reported, droplets falling on his wrist.
"Put your shoe back on and don't be ridiculous," the boy's father said.
"We are at the Beverly Hills Hotel," Mom reminded, "I hardly think there's number one on the floor of the polo patio. Somebody spilled their water is all, pour soul." Their food was then served and they bowed their heads to say grace.
"Dude," Timm said to me in a whisper, "it's the praying picnickers from next door." Then he told Kole and Phinn about hearing them pray as he "christened" Marilyn's private terrace.
"They must think the whole fucking place smells like piss," Kole said with a grin. I took another small sip of the warm drink that had come from his dick. The waitress arrived then with our food. Dishes were distributed to everyone at the table and she turned to go. Her eye was caught by my half full glass of urine.
"I see you're enjoying one of our signature cocktails," she said.
With difficulty I kept a straight face, but the guys cracked up. The waitress walked away with a puzzled expression. My soup was delicious, especially after Timm dribbled a mouthful of his spit on top. Phinn added a well chewed wad of sea bass and two snot covered boogers from his nose. Were I allowed to speak to Pepe the restaurant director, I would have given him my compliments.
The Party Boyz were kept busy and mostly apart for the next few days. Meetings, lunches, and their auditions made it just me and Marilyn's ghost much of the time. I did enjoy it when they declared I would clean their toilets with my tongue instead of allowing housekeeping to do the honors. For hours my tongue was lapping up their dried piss and shot smudges. It was my idea of a good time.
Friday was scheduled as a fun day for the band however. Lenny had canceled a mall meet and greet after much cajoling, leaving time for Phinn, Timm, and I to go to Universal Studios.
Kole still thought they were idiots and told them as much. I doubted he meant to be so harsh and blamed the whiskey he was having with breakfast. His nerves had been rattled since the day before when he'd auditioned for Martin Scorsese. He'd been self medicating ever since.
Timm and Phinn were getting into their disguises for the day. Since his chestnut curls were the envy of every girl and gay on the web, Timm pulled it all up and held it together with a hair tie. An LA Lakers hat covered his much coveted locks and on his face he glued a false mustache.
"You have got to be kidding me," Kole said.
"Fuck you, this is professional grade."
"I think it looks real," Phinn said and then slapped a false mustache above his own lips. Topping off their incognito looks, he and Timm both donned five hundred dollar Dior sunglasses. "How's my `stache?" Phinn asked.
"Looks great," came from Timm.
"You both look like you're going as Tom Selleck for Halloween," Kole said. Then he asked Phinn if he had a hat to wear.
"No," Phinn replied. "Timm's hair is famous, not mine."
Kole shook his head and looked at me. "Nothing, would you recognize Phinn by his hair?" Knowing honesty would serve us all best, I nodded. "But don't worry,"
Kole assured, "I've got just the thing."
In a flash he returned with a floppy bucket hat from his suitcase. Embroidered on the front was the directive `Ask Me About Jesus!' Phinn tried it on. With the sunglasses, mustache, and hat he looked nothing like himself.
Timm and Phinn both wore plain white tees and neutral colored shorts bought from the hotel store. On their feet were the least flashy pair of sneakers they had. I had on the Ralph Lauren outfit from lunch a few days before. I'd barely worn anything since.
"It's too fucking hot for that today," Timm said looking at the khakis I wore. He pulled a pair of scissors from somewhere and began cutting the pants off at mid-thigh level.
"What the fuck?" Kole asked.
"Don't worry," Timm said calmly. He sliced forcefully and the left leg of my pants fell to the ground. "They're only Ralph Lauren. Basically disposable." With Timm working so close to my crotch, I hoped he didn't notice my dick start to harden. The close proximity, something about him cutting the pants off and seeing his strong arms at work, I was getting very aroused.
After one last snip I was officially in shorts.
"You cut them a little high, don't you think?" Kole asked. "Nothing, I hope your nut sack doesn't fall out in front of the fucking Minions or whatever." Then Kole told me to get down and open my mouth. I did so immediately.
Kole pulled his expensive underwear down and turned around. He squatted so that my mouth was touching his asshole. I began to lick his anus and told me to stop. Then he ripped two loud farts into my open mouth. He demanded I swallow them and I eagerly followed orders. After that Kole was gone for the day, skipping our theme park trip. Phinn, Timm, and I got in the limo and were off.
To avoid curious onlookers, the eye-catching car dropped us off far from the front entrance. Amid a sea of family vehicles, we began walking to the park. They talked about attractions for a few minutes. Phinn was most excited for the Simpsons ride. Timm looked forward to the Harry Potter attractions though he felt dorky about it.
"Hey," Timm said, stopping us a few yards from the ticket booths. I thought he might ask me what I was most keen on seeing (the Jurassic World ride), but I was wrong. Instead he said, "You need a mustache too, Nothing."
We stood by an out of service parking lot tram. Park-goers walked by us, but we were on the periphery of their vision.
"I don't have another mustache," Phinn said.
"But you can still help," Timm said with a devious grin.
I watched as he stuck his hand down the back of his shorts. Laughing, he dug as though there was an awful itch in his asshole. His moist stinking finger then came back out. With no warning, he rubbed it across my upper lip. The piquant odor tickled my nose. His finger then entered my mouth, a dry earthy flavor thrilled me as I sucked it clean.
"Don't leave a fellow Tom Selleck hanging," Timm said as he patted my shoulder in a brotherly way. "Help Nothing even out his mustache."
Phinn grinned devilishly and stuck his forefinger up into his asshole. A second of digging and then he swiped his soiled finger above my mouth. I felt the moisture and sniffed the glorious butt funk he left there. My dick was rock hard as he stuck his dirty finger between my lips and wiped the biting shit flavor from inside his ass on my tongue and teeth. Wishing I could suck their fingers and wear their ripe stinks forever, Phinn withdrew his finger and we entered the park.
Once inside the park, what we mostly did was wait. During our time before riding the Transformers ride (nauseating), another tourist in line alerted me to the fact that I had schmutz on my lip. Smiling, I told him that I knew.
After a few more rides I could tell Phinn wished he'd come there as a himself. Then he would've been given the star treatment and long lines would've been the least of his worries. After waiting a good while for a new Harry Potter rollercoaster, Timm had an idea to liven things up. When he looked at me and I saw that devious smirk below his fake mustache, I knew I was in for it.
The rollercoaster held more than a dozen cars that had four seats each. We were shown to a car near the end of the chain. Timm and I took the two seats in back. A stranger with a Nascar shirt filled the empty spot in front by Phinn. A uniformed employee checked the harnesses that came down over our shoulders and then advised the securing of hats and sunglasses during the ride. Phinn and Timm only shed theirs once the coaster had begun its slow ascent into the sky.
The rollercoaster clanked rhythmically as we climbed up toward the first drop. I looked beside me and admired the jawline that inspired a thousand Instagram accounts. Timm's profile was one you might find in fine art museums. Flawless, his alabaster skin glowed with the kiss of the afternoon sun. Dimples appeared as he smiled.
"Give me your shorts," Timm said loudly over the sound of the machinery. I looked up to see if Mr. Nascar in the front seat had heard him. It appeared not. "Hand `em over," Timm insisted with rakish glee.
"Oh god," I said. "Now?"
"You're going to tell that guy in the vest down there that your shorts fell off on the rollercoaster. The story won't work if you're wearing them."
"Timm," I started.
"I know you'll say yes. I know you Nothing," Timm said at high volume. We neared the crest of the coaster. A drop was coming. "When you say `no' to us, it's over. No more piss, no toe nails, no nothing."
He was right of course. As quickly as I was able, I unbuttoned the too-short cut-off khakis and pulled them down and over my shoes. My butt rested on the plastic seat as I handed over the Ralph Lauren remnants. Timm folded them once and held them in his lap. A breeze ran through my pubic hair.
In a blink the rollercoaster dropped, hurtling us through the air with exhilarating speed. We looped around causing my dick and balls to hang down toward my stomach. On the third or fourth loop I saw something drop from Timm's hands. Praying it was his hat, I looked over. The Lakers hat was clutched tightly in his hand. My shorts were gone.
"It'll help the story," Timm shouted at me, the wind playing with his hair the way so many millions of people wished they could. He laughed and hooted with delight.
"Oh god!" I screamed along with the other coaster passengers.
Soon we flew over a pumpkin patch and then Hagrid's hut, signaling the end of our journey. The ride slowed and we were pulled back to where we'd boarded. A guy around Phinn's age in a uniform asked us all to please exit to our right. Timm, Phinn, and Mr. Nascar all followed directions and I was left alone and pantsless.
"Sir, please exit the ride," the employee said with an arm gesture informing me of which way right was. "The magic of the movies continues in the rest of the park."
I tried to tell him my problem but wasn't loud enough.
"What?"
"My shorts fell off on the ride!" I shouted back over the crowd and wizard music that played in the background. "Maybe you have a towel or something?"
"Your shorts?" The boy looked confused. "Fell off?" He leaned closer and saw that I had a shirt, shoes, and my hands over my crotch. His jaw fell in disbelief. Another employee joined the young man to see what the hold up was.
Back in disguise, Timm and Phinn were laughing their asses off near the exit stairs. The pair of uniformed workers requested that I disembark and join them on the concrete landing. I rose to do so, unable to hide my ass from the crowd. Laughter and surprise rippled through the tourists waiting to get on the rollercoaster.
"Sir," the older employee addressed me, "they fell off? Really?"
I couldn't be certain but I thought I heard Phinn snort at this.
"Yes, on one of those loops," I replied.
"Uh huh," he replied. I noted the American flag pin he wore on his vest. "I think we need to call Bob about this one," the older told the younger. They discussed the calling of Bob for a while. From behind me, I heard countless photos being taken with phones. My bare ass would be on the internet for this forever.
Bob was called, ditto his co-workers Ted and Carol. They discussed things with the original two employees and then phone conferenced another superior named Alice. All the while, my backside was on display for the world to see. Men, women, children, the elderly, families, childless couples, theme park addicts, and so many employees that I wondered who was running the rest of the park, all got a great look.
Timm recorded the whole thing from their perch by the exit. Including the part where, after forty five minutes, they gave me a Universal Studios towel and asked me to leave the premises as soon as possible.
"Also," the younger employee told me in a whisper, "you have some gunk on your lip and you smell. Like shit. No offense." The reminder of Timm and Phinn's shit above my mouth was like a shot of pure serotonin. I smiled helplessly. Wrapping the towel around my waist at last, I walked over to the mustached Party Boyz and joined in their laughter. Phinn decided nothing could top that so the driver was summoned and we left the park.
(To be continued)