The Hoover

THE HOOVER

By

Little Dan

It was very late and I found myself rushing to get to theatre before curtain time. I didn't have a ticket but I was sure I would be able to get a single at the box office.

The outer lobby was extremely crowded, but I made my way to the window and said to the lady, "A single for this evening, please."

I don't recall her asking me whether I wanted a cheaper seat upstairs or a better seat in the orchestra, but she handed me a ticket and I paid for it. I realized that it would be better if I visited the men's room before the performance started.

"Where is the men's room?" I asked her.

"We don't have a men's room," she answered me.

I stared at her in consternation. How could a big crowded theatre not have a men's room?

"You don't have a men's room?" I asked her loudly, my amazement registering in my voice. What was I supposed to do?

"No," she answered. "You'll have to use the one in THE HOOVER."

THE HOOVER? Where the hell was THE HOOVER? Did all these hundreds of people have to go over to THE HOOVER?

"Where is THE HOOVER?" I asked her.

"About a block over," she said. A block over? People had to go a block over simply to use the rest room? I was appalled.

"I know where it is," said a gentleman next to me, who had obviously overheard everything. "Come with me. I'll show you."

We walked out of the theatre back onto the street, then down the block, then we crossed an intersection, and on the other side of the intersection I saw a string of rundown storefronts. And over one of them in large jagged block wooden letters, was written THE HOOVER.

I thanked the man, and crossed the street. I don't think he came with me. And I don't remember even having any conversation with him as we were walking from the theatre to THE HOOVER. But now I was alone, and standing in front of the seedy looking storefront. I opened the door and entered.

Right away I saw that it was a bar. A ramshackle bar in a distressed neighborhood. And this is where they were sending people to use the men's room? It was all so unlikely.

I looked around the room and there were a dozen or more ruffian-type men, blue-collar workers, in torn crumpled blue jeans and un-ironed shirts with open half- unbuttoned fronts, showing chest fur. They were all young and most had facial hair. Moustaches or beards or both. They were all what I consider to be trailer-trash. They looked tough and they looked mean, and I looked very out of place, dressed for the theatre as I was.

They didn't seem to be paying any attention to me. They were just drinking and talking. Drinking and talking and smoking.

I looked in the far left corner beyond the bar and saw a wooden door with `MEN'S' painted on it in red letters. I would have to pass many people to get there. Would I have to buy a drink first? I didn't know what to do. I felt really uncomfortable and a little afraid. I knew I had to use the men's room, and moved toward it trying to attract as little attention as possible.

I opened the door and looked in. It was white and shabby and thank-god empty.

I crossed over and stood before a urinal, and just as I was drawing down my zipper I heard the door opening. I looked over my shoulder and it was one of the handsome rough-looking men I had seen in the other room (though they all looked very much alike). He was coming toward me, drawing down the fly on his pants. In a moment he would be standing next to me and I felt that I would want to look down at the penis he would be holding in his hand at the next urinal.

I don't remember when I have ever felt so afraid. So afraid and so excited. My throat was completely dry and I could barely breathe, and something was about to happen. And I woke up.

I had been sleeping. It had all been a strange dream. Whatever did it mean? My forehead was flushed with perspiration, and I sat up in my bed. No. No. No.

I wanted to find out what was going to happen next. I wanted to be back there. Back in THE HOOVER.

Usually when you wake up you can't remember what you dreamed, but I remembered it all so clearly. The jagged wooden block letters outside the rundown storefront, spelling THE HOOVER. I would never forget that place. I wanted to go back at once. I lay down and pulled the covers up over me, but try as I might, I could not fall back to sleep.

Eventually, an hour or so later, the alarm went off and it was time for me to get dressed and go to work. I would never forget that place.. THE HOOVER. But by lunchtime at the office, when I started thinking about the dream, the name of the bar was gone. I had forgotten it. How could I have forgotten it? I should have written it down, because now it was gone. I had been stupid. I felt an awful despair, because if I didn't know the name of the place, how would I ever be able to return there? And I wanted to go back there. So very, very much. Damn. Damn. Damn. Stupid. Stupid.

But then, while I was sharpening a pencil, out of nowhere it popped back into my head. THE HOOVER. The name of the bar was THE HOOVER. It had come back to me. Thank god.

Yes. That was it. It was THE HOOVER. This time I wrote it down on a small piece of paper, which I folded carefully and put next to my driver's license in my wallet. I needed to get back there. Back to THE HOOVER. I needed to experience what would happen next. I had to find it again. Somehow. Somehow.

Day's passed. Nights passed. Dreams came and disappeared without me even remembering that I had even had a dream. It was all so disappointing. More than anything I've ever wanted in my life, I wanted to be back at THE HOOVER.

Perhaps, I could find it. Perhaps I had seen it in real life, and it become implanted subconsciously in my mind. I went to the telephone book. Nothing. There was a Hoover vacuum repair store. There was a Hoover stationery store.

There was a Hoover Dry Cleaners. There was Edward Hoover. There was Helen Hoover. There was P. Hoover. There was Quincy Hoover, M.D. But there was no Hoover bar or bar and grill.

I drove downtown and walked the streets. I didn't even know what theatre I had gone to in my dream. Had I ever been there? What was I going to see? Nothing, just nothing, looked like the landscape I remembered upon waking that morning.

Well. If I couldn't return to THE HOOVER, perhaps there was someplace like THE HOOVER. I explored the city. I drove into an exceedingly rundown disreputable section of town frequented by lower class laborers. One of the streets had a row of neglected looking storefronts. And one of them was a bar, but the name Maloney's was painted in red on the front window. Still, I thought I would investigate Maloney's.

I drove through an alley into the back parking lot and tried the rear door of Maloney's but it was locked. I walked back down the dark alley to the street and entered through the front entrance.

There were not too many people there. They all looked like day laborers. They were mostly overweight. Nothing like the gangly, long-haired, dangerous looking men I had seen in my dream. There were no scraggly beards. No mysterious moustaches. They were all wearing different sorts of work clothes and drinking beer. All the stools were occupied, with loud loutish type men watching the football game on television, and cheering on the Tacklers. Here, as in my dream, I felt out of place. I was wearing a business suit and a silk necktie and stood out like a sore thumb. And lord knows I had no interest in the Tacklers game.

I knew I had to order a drink. I looked around. Everyone was drinking beer out of a bottle. Some of them were playing pool in a far corner. There was a lot of smoking, despite the fact that the city has an ordinance against smoking in public places. The smell of tobacco was overpowering. I would have to send my suit to the cleaner's tomorrow.

I stepped up to the bar.

"What'll it be?" The bartender asked me.

"A scotch and soda," I said. He gave me a funny look. As if I were being oh so high and mighty. But I was not going to order a beer just to be less conspicuous. I hate beer. And I already looked out of place, so what difference did it make?

I stood there primly sipping my scotch and soda, but nobody was really paying very much attention to me. Actually that was comforting to me. But across the room, behind the pool table I noticed a young man. He was very handsome, in a vicious sort of way. I tried not to look at him, but I couldn't help stealing glances. Unfortunately, he seemed to know that I was looking at him. He pretended to look beyond me as his lips twisted into a sneering smile.

I took another sip. I sneaked another peak. He raised the beer bottle to his lips and swigged, his eyes glancing off me on their way to the ceiling. What was I doing here? This was all new to me. What was this strange new attraction?

In my younger years I had dated and partied like all the other boys, but as they all married and had families, I retreated further into my own little world holding down an office job Monday through Friday. On the weekends I drove out to the country to do a little bird watching. Occasionally I went over to my sister's house for dinner and to see the kids. Nothing exciting.

I had never had any desire to wed. I could never understand what people were talking about when they said they fell in love. It had never happened to me.

And I was not a terribly sexual person. I had had a few experiences, which did not excite me, and I had had trouble keeping an erection. The women always tried to soothe me and tell me it didn't matter, but after a while I didn't want to put myself through that anymore.

I did occasionally `abuse myself' as the saying goes, but with no particular fantasy, except perhaps the photograph of a large penis entering a mouth, or a vagina, or even a rectum. I liked looking at it. I just didn't want to do it myself.

My eyes darted across the room and the young man was not leaning against the wall where he had been. I quickly surveyed the area and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw him a few feet away talking to another young hoodlum type person. He registered that I had tracked and found him, and again came that cruel smile, which I knew was meant for me, and not for the person with whom he was now conversing

He had very white skin and brilliant blue eyes, but his hair and eyebrows were pitch-black. A startling combination. He was wearing a baseball tee shirt, and form-fitting trousers, all of which betrayed his every muscle and curve. He was exciting. I wished that I could know him. I didn't know why I wanted to know him or what we could ever talk about or do together. Surely he would not be interested in bird watching. And what reason would I have to go over and talk to him? What would I say? What would we ever have in common? But now I wanted to know everything about him. His name, his age, his interests. Everything. I wondered if we could ever become friends.

He seemed to make a little joke to his companion, and he kind of rubbed the front of his pants, and they both laughed, and he was heading towards me. But no. He was heading to my left, and I saw the door there. It was the men's room. He was drawing his zipper down even as he was crossing the crowded bar. I choked on a small ice cube.

It was at that very instant that I knew I needed to use the rest room. But I didn't dare go in while he was there. He would have thought I followed him. I would wait. I waited and I waited. He did not come out for another ten minutes.

I waited until he assumed his earlier slouch against the far wall, before I dared to down the last of my drink and set the glass on the bar. Only then did I walk casually towards the men's room. I made sure not to look either to the right or to the left. My eyes were glue fixedly to the men's room door. I entered.

It was a small room with rotting wooden walls. There were two urinals side by side, and when you stood in front of either of them, the door to one of the two stalls was directly behind you. There was hardly room to pass. Luckily I was the only one now in the men's room.

I stepped up to the far urinal and unzipped my fly. I was just reaching in for my penis when the door flew open and someone stepped up to the next urinal. I kept my eyes squarely in front of me. I wondered if it were the handsome young man who had been fascinating me so. But I didn't dare to look. I tried to concentrate on going. But I must have had some kind of psychological block, because as much as full as my bladder was, I could not empty it.

My face broke out into a sweat. I heard a liquid stream raining against the white porcelain of the facility to my right, but my own stream would not start. The stream to my right stopped but the man did not leave. I thought he might be looking at me. Could he suspect that I was lingering for some distasteful purpose? Certainly not! This was embarrassing.

I knew I should zip up, but I still needed to relieve myself. Finally I cautiously looked to my right.

The man was kind of a rough construction type fellow in his early forties, I would say. I noticed that his rolled up sleeve exposed some kind of military tattoo on an impressive looking bicep. His hair was just starting to go gray, and he had sideburns. He was not classically handsome, but he was rugged and not unattractive.

When I looked at him, he stared directly into my eyes.

"I'm having a little trouble," I explained, laughing. "I can't seem to be able to go."

"I haven't seen you here before," he said.

"No. This is my first visit. I was driving by and noticed the place and just stopped in for a drink. Do you come here often?" I asked him.

"Sometimes," he said obliquely, looking into my eyes and then down at his penis, which, I think, he was gently squeezing.

"Do you want to suck my cock?" He asked me, in a very blunt fashion.

"No. No." I blustered.

"I think you do. I think you came down here to suck cock. But that's fine. I like to get my cock sucked. Go ahead."

"No. Really. I just had to use the men's room."

He didn't believe me. "We can go into the stall there," he tilted his head to the stall behind me. "We can shut the door and slide the lock, and you can sit on the seat and I'll stand in front of you, and if someone comes in, you just raise your legs so they can't be seen under. No one will know. It's okay."

His words were stimulating me and I was becoming erect. Now I would never be able to go.

"Come on," he said. "I'll show you how big it gets. You'll really like it."

I had never even contemplated doing anything like that, but now the idea of it was filling me with a strange excitement. I was being torn in two. Part of me wanted to precede him into the stall and service the penis, which was going to get very large, and part of me was middle-class and offended. And also a little afraid. But the fear was an intoxicant. My penis got hard in my hand. Harder than it had ever been in my entire life. The thought of doing something so unimaginable and so forbidden was filling me with a new lustful desire. My bourgeois sensibilities had suddenly disappeared. I was just about to acquiesce, when the men's room door opened, and two burly middle-aged types came in arguing about the ongoing Tacklers game. That changed everything.

The man beside me immediately flushed, zipped himself up and left the room, and I forced myself back into my pants and followed. I needed to urinate, but I was not good at doing it with an audience. I was shy. I wondered what would have happened to me if I had ever been in the military, with that total lack of privacy. I hear they don't even have doors on the stalls. I would die.

I knew I should leave, but I spotted the handsome slim, blue-eyed, white-skinned, black-haired man again. He hadn't moved. He was still leaning against his wall. His eyes caught mine and only moved away when he threw his head back to pour another swallow of beer into his throat. I ordered another scotch and soda.

I stood there, alone, drinking at the bar, feeling a strange desire to know the tantalizing man across the room. But I was never going to go over to speak to him, and he was never going to come over to me. So finally when I finished my second drink, I put the glass down on the counter and headed for the door. I still needed to use the men's room, but not here. I would find a deserted area and pull to the side of the road.

I went out the door and back into the dark night. I walked ten paces, and heard the bar door close another time as I turned into the alley. Footsteps were following me into the alley. I wondered if I were entirely safe here. But I was probably just being neurotic.

The person behind me was probably only walking to his car in the parking lot behind the bar, just as I was doing. I did not hasten my pace. I did not, in any way, want to betray that I was afraid. I was casual. Very casual.

I knew that when I got to the end of the alley and turned toward my car, I would be able to get a glimpse of whoever it was behind me. I did and saw that it was him. The handsome young man whom I had been watching all evening. And who, I now knew, had been watching me. But I just kept walking toward my car.

I thought that at that point his footsteps would go in another direction, toward his own vehicle, but he stayed right behind me. I was sweating a little now, as I pulled out my car keys and inserted the correct one into the lock.

"Got a light?" he asked me, a long cigarette dangling comfortably from his lips. He was scarcely six inches away.

"No. No. I don't smoke," I told him. Had he followed me into the parking lot?

"I notice you got a lighter on your dashboard," he observed, looking through the window.

"Well, yes, but^Å."

"You wouldn't mind if I got in and just lit my cigarette would you?"

"I really have to get home," I explained. "I have to get up early."

"Fuck. I really need a smoke. Be a pal."

"I really don't think^Å."

"Be a pal," he urged me in a very compelling voice. I nodded. In the back of my mind was that I could open the driver's door and jump in and quickly lock it behind me. Yes. That would be my plan. But as I turned the key, and pressed down on the handle, he kind of pushed me aside and climbed in. Now he was in the driver's seat. I was afraid he was going to steal my car.

I stood there immobile for a minute as he pushed in the cigarette lighter, and then he swung over into the right hand seat.

"Get in," he said. "I'll just take a few puffs." He pulled out the red-hot lighter and touched it to the end of his cigarette. I was afraid, but I got in. It was my car, and hopefully he would get out the right-hand door in a moment.

He drew deeply and exhaled a hearty cloud of nicotinic smoke into my face. He was still holding the lighter, which was still glowing red.

"I seen you looking at me all night," he said casually.

"No. I wasn't I noticed you, of course, but I wasn't really looking at you."

"You're a fucking liar. You were cruising my body. I could see it. I even gave you the chance to meet me in the men's room."

"No. I wasn't." I protested. Both of us knew I was lying.

"I figure you're one of those high class queers who come downtown for a taste of real-man dick. Right?"

That was really offensive. I had done no such thing. Why had I gone in there? I was trying to recreate a dream I had had which had also taken place in a seedy bar. But the bar was not Maloney's. It was THE HOOVER. And the men at THE HOOVER held an unbelievable fascination for me that even this handsome fellow did not. In addition, I knew that I was a lot safer in my dream, than I now was in the front seat of my own car, in this deserted parking lot, down a dark alley, behind Maloney's bar.

He kept the cigarette dangling from his lips, not holding it at all, as he reached down and undid his belt buckle. His pants were tight, so he would have to lower them to really free himself. He drew out his member and started displaying it for me as it grew longer and thicker, and there was even a little ooze of pre-cum on the knob.

"A lot of rich older guys come down here to meet up with guys like me. You don't have to be embarrassed. I understand guys like you. I'll let you have this for two hundred bucks."

I hadn't really intended to have any contact with it at all, and now he was asking two hundred dollars.

"No. I really don't think so. I think you should go."

"I'm between jobs," he told me. "I could really use the dough." And he was masturbating the length of his erection right next to me. I couldn't not look at it.

But I also couldn't do anything about whatever crazy desire might be coursing through me.

"I have to get home," I apologized. "I'll come back next week."

"No. I need the money now."

"Please," I said.

He shrugged his shoulders and reached his arms down to adjust his pants. I thought he was just going to tuck it away, but he reached into his tight right pocket and pulled out a switchblade, which he then switched open.

"I would really hate to have to hurt you," he said. "Give me your wallet."

"Please," I said again.

"Give me your fucking wallet and be quick about it," he ordered now in a very unfriendly voice. I handed him my wallet. He kept the knife poised in my direction while he studied all my papers. I had over five hundred dollars in my wallet. I knew I shouldn't carry so much cash. From now on I would be more careful. I also would not be visiting strange taverns in a depressed part of town in the late evenings after this. I was hoping he would just take the money and go. Yes. Go, before stabbing me in the chest or pressing the cigarette lighter into my face. The lighter was in his lap. It had gone cold, but he only had to plug it in for a moment.

"Melvin Spenniker," he observed, having seen my name and address on my driver's license and all the other vital documents which one must carry today. I hoped he would not take my credit cards. I also hoped he would not make me drive to an ATM machine and draw out funds from my account, which I would then have to hand over to him under the threat of bodily harm. If I ever got out of this, I would have learned a lesson. It wasn't even fair. I hadn't done anything.

He lifted the bills out of my billfold, and carelessly flipped it back onto my lap. He counted them and smiled.

"You were stupid, man. I would have let you suck my cock for two hundred. It would have been cheaper. And I have a real nice cock, as you can see. Next time, maybe you'll know a little better."

"There won't be a next time," I said stiffly. "And I don't suck cock," I informed him.

"Suit yourself," he said. He stubbed out his cigarette in my ashtray, but hadn't yet put the lighter away. Finally, he put the lighter back in its hole, but instead of removing his hand, he again pushed the lighter in again. I was terrified. But then he reached into his shirt pocket and drew out the pack of cigarettes. He shook one out of the pack and lifted it to his lips. The lighter popped out. He took the glowing hot implement and touched it to the end of the new cigarette. Again he drew deeply, finally exhaling a cloud of blue-gray smoke over me. I knew that the smell would remain in my car for years.

He held the lighter in his hand, the burning end facing me. "And remember. If you every tell anybody. Like go to the police. Or anything. I know who you are. I know your name. I know where you live. Got it?"

"Yes." I said. I had indeed gotten it. He gave me his last cruel, sneering smile and opened the right hand door. Before he got out he leaned toward me holding out the lighter, but he was only reaching in front of me to put it back in its socket. Thank Heaven. "Nice to meet you, Melvin," he said. "Remember. Any time you want to pay me to suck my cock." He laughed at me, as he groped himself.

The moment he was out of the car, I snapped all the locks down, and placed my key in the ignition. I was so nervous that I scraped the side of the next car as I hastily backed out of the narrow parking space. I saw him laugh at me. The minute I was clear, I revved the motor and sped off. A half hour later I got to my apartment. And was I ever glad to be home. I never wanted another experience like that.

I took a hot shower and got into bed. I turned out the light and tried to fall asleep. It had been so unsettling. In one night, two different men had wanted me to suck their cocks. They had thought that I had come into that establishment for the express purpose of finding cock to suck. Was there something about me?

It was hot. I threw off the blanket. It was chilly. I pulled up the blanket. And why had I gotten so aroused when it was all happening? More arousal than I had ever felt in my entire life. I would go back to Maloney's. I would pay the two hundred dollars. I would find out what it was like. No. I would never go back to Maloney's. I could be killed if I went back to Maloney's. It was dangerous.

It was hot. I threw off the blanket. It was chilly. I pulled up the blanket. I fluffed the pillows under my head. Try as I might, I could not get comfortable. I could not fall asleep. I needed desperately to sleep. I could not fall asleep.

I had had two highballs at Maloney's, which should have made me sleepy, but they must have worn off. The fright had overcome their soporific effect. Maybe if I had another drink.

I got up and went into the living room. My liquor was in a cabinet there. I rummaged. I found a bottle of gin. Why did I have gin? I never drank gin. I was not a drinker at all. Why did I have a liquor cabinet?

I opened the bottle. It took five minutes and a sharp knife to get the damned seal off. I poured myself a stiff one and swallowed it in two gulps. Uggghhh. Horrible. Why do people drink this stuff? I sat in a chair holding the bottle for ten minutes but I still wasn't feeling sleepy, and god I needed to sleep. I poured a stiffer one and swallowed it in four gulps. I put the bottle back in the liquor cabinet and went back to bed.

Yes. It was working. I was feeling a little dizzy. Nauseous and dizzy.

At first the room was spinning, but gradually the spinning evolved into a free-floating airiness. I was on a cloud somewhere wafting through the heavens. Where was the cloud taking me? I was anxious to find out.

I was in the country with my binoculars looking to sight a blue-billed Peckerling, a bird I had never heard of, but I knew was nearby. It seemed very important now that I catch sight of the Blue-Billed Peckerling at least in flight, if not in his nest. I had no idea what he would look like, but I was certain I would recognize him by his blue bill.

As I pushed through the brush, a cluster of fearful birds, flapped into the air. I looked hopefully, but they were all sparrows. Not one blue bill. But wait. Wasn't that one? Way off there, near that other cloud? But now my cloud had reversed direction and was floating away from it, and eventually it was so far away, that I could not focus my binoculars sufficiently to identify the bird.

But then I was suddenly in the theatre. The very theatre. I recognized it clearly. I had been here before. A great happiness overcame me. I was anticipating a wonderful performance. But first I knew I would have to use the rest room. This time, having been forewarned, I did not even ask the lady at the box office where the rest room was. I knew where it was. It was down the street, then a block over, then across an intersection. Over there was a collection of run-down storefronts. Above one would be jagged block letters identifying the name I sought. THE HOOVER. The men's room was in THE HOOVER. I was frightened and excited at the same time. I was going to go into THE HOOVER, and I was going to go into the rest room hidden behind the far side of the bar.

I went in the door. They seemed to be all the same trashy-type rough-looking men who had been here on my last visit. They seemed to be country folk. I didn't know country folk, but I knew that these men were all country folk. I was sure that they all did hard labor on farms and ranches, pitching hay, tending cattle, and were all somewhat inarticulate. Most of them were angular. I have always liked angularity, and their facial hair made them look mysterious and dangerous. I felt my wallet in my pocket. Why had I brought my wallet? I should have left it home.

I ordered a highball at the bar, and stood there drinking it. I wondered when I would dare to go into the men's room. Only ten feet away. So close. So close. If I could only get to the men's room and see what would happen before my eyes snapped open. I somehow knew I was asleep, and was clinging to my sleep desperately. I knew that this was where I needed to be. In THE HOOVER.

Suddenly a handsome young man with a rakish blonde moustache moved next to me. I looked at him and smiled, and he smiled back, tipping his beer bottle at me. When he smiled he didn't look so mean anymore.

"This your first time here? I ain't seen you before."

"No," I answered. "I was here before. Once before."

"You picked a good place. We got a good crowd here. A lot of nice fellers," he told me. I was glad to hear that, and I was glad he was being so nice to me.

"My name's Luke," he offered, stretching out his hand.

"Melvin," I told him, shaking the proffered hand. "I did not give him my last name. I had not become that trustful. And, anyway, he hadn't told me his last name.

"So what brought you to THE HOOVER?" Luke asked me cagily, his eyes narrowing.

"I have a ticket for the theatre," I explained.

"This ain't no theatre," he laughed.

"I know. I know. I needed to use the men's room, and it seems they have no men's room in the theatre. They sent me here."

"How about that?" Luke said, swigging a swallow of beer.

In his slim angularity, there was a sensuality, which was beginning to beguile me.

His teeth were a little crooked. His eyelids drooped a little. He was obviously uneducated, and yet I felt so drawn to him. He took another swig of his beer, and I watched his bony hand as he lifted the bottle. He was so lean. More than lean. Skinny. I knew his legs would be long and skinny inside his jeans, but he had the most beautifully rounded firm buttocks pressing against the aging material that had grown thin and weakened perhaps through sitting on hard leather saddles.

"I have to get back to the theatre before the show starts, I should really use the rest room now," I said.

"Mind if I come with you, Mel? I need to get rid of some of this beer. Make room for more." He howled at his own joke.

"That's okay," I said. But I was nervous. I would have trouble going with someone standing next to me. I knew that.

"Okay, then." He set his empty bottle down on the bar and threw an arm around my shoulder in comradely fashion. I had never had a comrade before. I liked it.

We walked to the men's room and went in. It looked a little different than it had the last time I had been in here. Maybe a little bigger? It was probably just my imagination. How could it have gotten bigger? But weren't there only two urinals here last time? I could swear there were only two then. Now there were five.

I walked to the one at the far end of the room, hoping Luke would take the furthest one away. Why crowd together when we had so much space?

He took the one right next to mine. I almost knew he was going to do that. We were looking into each other's eyes, when I heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see his hands taking it out. If I looked I would be able to see it. I wanted to see what it looked like. But if I looked he would know things about me, so I couldn't look. My heart was pounding. I looked down. I looked down and saw

sunlight coming through the half-closed blinds. It was morning. I had somehow slept through the alarm and now I was late for work. I jumped into my clothes, and raced to my car without even thinking of breakfast. Only later, on my coffee break, did I start to recall fragments of my dream.

And then I remembered it clearly. I remembered Luke. The way he had thrown his arm over my shoulder. If only I had not had to leave so suddenly, what might have happened between us? Would I have done things I had never done before?

I could barely wait for the day to be over. I wanted to get back to THE HOOVER. I wanted to take up just where I had left off last night. He had been standing right next to me, and I was just about to look down at what he was manipulating with his hand.

But it was too early. I wasn't hungry but I forced myself to eat a little dinner. I watched the local news. I watched the national news. It was all depressing. It was not where I wanted to be. Finally, I felt it was late enough that I could in good conscience turn off the television and retire for the night.

It was hot. I threw off the blanket. It was chilly. I pulled up the blanket. I fluffed the pillows under my head. Try as I might, I could not get comfortable. I could not fall asleep. I needed desperately to sleep. I could not fall asleep.

I went into the living room and poured myself a stiff one and swallowed it in two gulps. I poured myself a stiffer one and swallowed it in four gulps. I shouldn't let this get to be a habit. I didn't want to become an alcoholic. I only wanted just once to spend the night, the whole night, in THE HOOVER.

I was a little less nauseous tonight, but the spinning began. The world was warm and comfortable and cozy and spinning. And I was in Las Vegas. I had heard about this fantastic slot machine at the Beau Riviere Hotel. The one nearest the last window of the cashier's cage. I would be rich. I had cashed in all my assets and had brought them with me.

I went to the Beau Riviere, but I had never been there before because I had never been in Las Vegas before, and I didn't know which slot machine it was. There were a lot of slot machines nearest to the last window of the cashier's cage. Suddenly I heard bells ringing and I heard the sound of a woman's voice. She was shrieking.

"I hit it," she screamed. "I hit it. I hit the forty-two million dollars. I'm rich. I'm rich."

While I was stupidly looking around, she had found the magic machine. She had beaten me to the forty-two million dollars, which I had gone there to win. I felt sick.

I felt sick and got up and ran into the bathroom. I fell on my knees and retched into the bowl. Nothing came up. Just some saliva. Or gin. Or gin flavored saliva. I could not keep drinking gin like that. I was in a hot sweat all over. Finally I felt a little better and washed off my face and dried it. What a terrible dream. To have not won forty-two million dollars when I had been so close. If I had just gotten to that machine a minute before she did, it would have been mine.

I got back into bed and brooded about my bad luck. But now I was standing across the street from the broken jagged block letters that spelled THE HOOVER. Maybe I was going to get lucky after all. I went into THE HOOVER and ordered a cocktail at the bar. I think the men there were beginning to think of me as a regular, and accept me. I didn't feel like such an outcast any more. I felt as if I finally belonged someplace.

And I didn't have to hurry back to the theatre tonight. I hadn't stopped there first to buy a ticket, so I had all night to spend in THE HOOVER. What adventures would befall me here? I needed a comrade to guide me through the rites. A brother. Where was Luke? I didn't see him. I really wished that he were here.

I felt an irresistible siren call from the men's room. I was desperate to go in there, but I wanted to go in with Luke and he wasn't here tonight. I would have to go in alone. I was a little nervous. I pulled myself together and decided to go for it. I set my empty glass down on the bar. I could still taste the gin on my tongue.

I walked casually towards the men's room door. Not looking left. Not looking right. I went through the door.

"Where ya been, man? I been waiting for you. You totally disappeared on me last night." It was Luke. He was standing at the urinal exactly as he had been the night before. I was really glad to see him.

"You were waiting for me?" I asked shyly.

"Hell, yes, man. Can't do this alone. Gotta have a little company. Gotta have my buddy with me. Right?"

"Right," I answered, the warm glow of companionship spreading through me.

"Well, step on up, man. What are you waiting for, a gold-printed invitation?

I laughed, and took my spot to the left of him. I turned my face sideways and we looked at each other. The crooked teeth and the droopy eyelids now seemed unbearably sensual to me. I wanted to wilt against his lean strength. I wanted^Å..I wanted^Å^Å.I wanted to look down.

I looked. He was holding it. Gently playing with it. It was only semi-erect, but still very large. And it was beautiful. I had never thought of a penis as being beautiful. But now^Å^Å^Å.I wanted to touch it. I wanted to hold it. To feel it grow to iron in my grip. But what would he think of me if I did a thing like that?

"Go ahead, man," he said gently. "I know you want to touch it." I stretched out my right hand and gently massaged him. He closed his eyes and sighed happily. He even lit a cigarette and began puffing on it contentedly. I reached into his underwear and handled his hairy heavy testicles.

"Nice, man. You really know how to please a guy," he told me. And I was so pleased to hear this.

I dropped to my knees in front of him, as he turned to face me. It was now clear that we were not there to use the facilities, but for other purposes.

It was so hot and hard in my hand. And so straight. And so beautiful. And now a little drop of moisture appeared on the knob. I was captivated by it. I knew I wanted to taste it. I wanted to taste Luke. I wanted to take Luke into my mouth. I wanted to take Luke's penis into my mouth.

"Go ahead, man," he encouraged me putting tender pressure on the back of my head. I opened my mouth and

the alarm went off. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Another day at work. Another fucking day. And who knew when or if I would ever get back to THE HOOVER.

I could not live my life like this. Filled with strange unfulfilled dark desires. I needed to become more proactive. If this was what I really wanted, well, then maybe I should at least experiment. I tried to work, but I was nervous all day long and kept making stupid mistakes. I had decided what I was going to do that evening. I was going to go back to Maloney's.

I had had two chances at Maloney's to do what I evidently wanted to do, and I had messed up on it. But this time I was going to Maloney's in a different frame of mind. I knew what I could find there and now I wanted it.

I ate a light dinner and dressed for Maloney's. I wore a pullover shirt and slacks. No suit and tie. Even so, I would not be dressed as the other clientele. I took my driver's license out of my wallet, which might be something I might need, and I took some cash. Around two hundred and fifty dollars. Fifty dollars would cover any drinks I might buy, and if two hundred dollars was the going rate for what I wanted to do, here it was. I put my wallet in the bottom dresser drawer.

I parked my car tightly between two others behind the bar. I hoped that tonight I would not have to make such a hurried departure that I would scrape one of the neighboring cars. I walked down the dark alley to the street and entered Maloney's.

There was a Tacklers game on the TV and most of the guys sitting at the bar were watching it and cheering. There was a pool game going on in the far corner of the room. I looked around hoping to see the construction man who had offered to let me suck him off on my last visit. He had been quite nice looking, and clean, and seemed to be a decent guy. I didn't see him. I also did not see the handsome white-faced, blue-eyed, black-haired man who wanted two hundred dollars to let me suck him, and had then taken five hundred because I wouldn't give him the two hundred.

Many of the men either had bulging beer bellies or did not appear to be too clean, both of which turned me off. If I was going to suck on someone's penis, at least I wanted him to be somewhat attractive, and I wanted the penis to be clean.

I thought longingly of Luke, with his rakish blonde moustache and his crooked teeth and his drooping eyelids, which were so, so sexy. And his straight long thick penis with the little drop of moisture on the knob, anticipating what I would do for him. But he was only a figment of my imagination. Someone who'd come to me in a dream to lead me in new exciting directions.

I kept a close watch on the men's room door, seeing who was going in and who was coming out. One of the beer-belly guys got off his stool at the bar and went in. In a few minutes he came out. I would wait. More of the same. More of the same. Eventually I knew I had to go into the men's room. But only to use the facilities. I waited until it was empty and then I went in.

I had just finished urinating, and was about to zip up when I heard the door open. Suddenly I got nervous again. I waited to see who it was. The man stepped up to the right of me, and I cautiously turned my head. He looked at me and smiled.

"Hi, Melvin," he said. "Nice to see you again."

It was him. The handsome one who had taken my five hundred dollars.

"I was passing by," I said. "I thought I'd have a drink."

"A drink is always good," he said. "I'll tell you what. Why don't I let you buy me a couple of beers? How does that sound?"

"If you want," I said. He was stroking his penis next to me and I tried not to look at it. I wanted him to offer it to me for a price as he had before. But he didn't. He just kept stroking it, and stroking it, and looking into my eyes.

"I didn't see you in the bar," I said.

"I just got here. Seems like I got here just in time to meet my buddy, Melvin. Did you come to see me, Melvin? I bet you came to see me." He kept running his hand along the length of his penis, which I could only see out of the corner of my eye, but it was exciting me, as was the sound of his voice. I felt as if he had total control over me. I knew that I wanted him.

"I came in for a drink," I said.

"I don't think so," he teased me. "I think you came in to get a taste of my cock. But you know, it's gonna cost you."

"I know," I said. "All right."

"Not right away," he said trying to put the stiff rod back inside his pants. He zipped up. "Let's have a couple of drinks first. Get to know each other."

"Okay," I said. That didn't seem to be like a bad idea at all. I wondered if we could ever become friends. I wondered if he could ever like me just for being me, and not for two hundred dollars. He followed me out of the men's room and back into the bar. Then he stepped to my side and threw his arm around my shoulder in a comradely grasp. Just like Luke had done.

We stepped up to the bar, side by side, and he pounded his hand jovially on the wood to attract the bartender's attention.

"A beer for me and one for my buddy," he told him.

"I don't drink beer."

"Have a beer."

"I hate beer."

"Have a beer. Be a regular guy for once in your life," he told me. That sounded like a good idea. I really did want to be a regular guy for once in my life. I took the beer. He raised the bottle to his lips and threw his head back, imbibing a large swallow. I did the same. Uggh. It was horrible. Bitter. I hate beer. But I drank it and kept my silence.

We stood drinking together, but not communicating. I thought it would be nice if we talked a little. I tried to get him to tell me something about himself, like what his name was^Å.

"You can call me Mitch," he said.

And where he lived.

"Different places," he answered.

And what he did for a living.

"Odd jobs," he said.

It was hard to envision a friendship with someone you knew nothing about, and who was so uncommunicative.

I kept wondering when we were going to go back to the men's room, but he just kept ordering more beers. Every time he slammed an empty bottle on the bar I thought it would be time, but he ordered more. I was sipping very slowly, so I had only had two beers to his five. Finally he slammed the bottle down on the bar, and belched a little. "Christ. I gotta take a piss," he said.

This was the time. I followed him into the men's room. He took the far urinal, which was really mine, and I had to take the one nearest the door. I heard the sound of his zipper, and then there was a big commotion down below as he tried to extract his heavy equipment. Now was the time. I started to turn to him, when I heard a powerful stream hit the porcelain. He was like a waterfall.

"Christ," he said. "Did I need that!"

"Well. After all those beers^Å.." I suggested.

"Don't you have to take a leak?" he asked me.

"I can't seem to go right now," I said. "Later. How could I go with him standing beside me holding the penis, which I wanted to suck.

"Come on," he said. He started towards the door.

"Shouldn't we go into one of the stalls?" I asked nervously.

"Not here, Melvin. Haven't you got any class?"

He was making me feel ashamed. I lowered my head and followed him back into the bar. We each had one more beer, which I hardly drank at all. And then he said,

"Okay. Let's go."

We went out of the bar together and down the dark alley. He lit a cigarette as he waited for me to open the car door. Again he got in first. I followed him and sat in the driver's seat.

"How about the money, Melvin," he goaded me. I reached into my pocket and took out the two hundred dollars and handed it to him. He counted it and smiled. He shoved it deep into his pants pocket.

And then we sat there, with him blowing smoke into my face. I didn't know how to proceed.

"Shouldn't we get into the back seat?" I asked hesitantly. There would be more room in the back seat."

"You think I'm gonna let you blow me in the back seat of some car?" he asked incredulously.

"I didn't know," I answered. "Where?"

"I like to relax and get comfortable when someone's going down on me. I like to take it slow, and have it last a long, long time."

I didn't say anything.

"Doesn't that sound good to you?"

"Yes," I admitted.

"I wanna strip down and lie on a nice comfortable bed, with my head up on the pillows, while someone works my cock over. You got a nice comfortable bed, Melvin?"

This was a new twist. I didn't know if I wanted to take him home with me. After all he had virtually robbed me once before. Once inside my home what would he take? But I was afraid to say no. I didn't want him to think that I might think that he might be dishonest. And I also wanted what I had already paid for. I didn't want to throw good money after bad, and have him get out of the car with the two hundred dollars in his pants, which he certainly would not return to me.

"Okay," I said. He smiled, and gave me a playful pat on the cheek, which I kind of liked. It was like a guy thing. We had a pact. I was beginning to look forward to it. Maybe it would be really nice to be in bed with someone.

I drove to my apartment, and we went up in the elevator. I kept thinking how good looking he was as we stood facing each other going up to my floor.

Once inside, I locked the door, and I led him into the bedroom. I pulled back the blankets so that we would be on the sheets. I started to undress, but he had just taken his shirt off. I was waiting for him to take off his pants and lie down on the bed.

"Mitch?" I questioned.

"What, Melvin?"

"Don't you want to lie down?" I asked.

"You know what?"

"What?" I asked.

"I been working all day and I'm kind of sweaty. I'd kind of like to take a nice hot shower before we start. Okay?"

"Sure," I said. That sounded great to me. I really like clean.

"Why don't you take a shower with me. We can kind of soap each other up and get to know each other a little first. Okay?"

"Yes," I said. It sounded positively romantic.

I led him to the bathroom and got into the shower. I adjusted the temperature and the flow, and waited for him to enter.

"Okay," I said.

Finally, he unhitched his belt and pulled down his tight pants. He was also wearing some worn striped boxer shorts, which he stepped out of and dropped in front of the shower door. And now I could finally see his penis swaying as he stepped into the shower and closed the door. It was hefty. Pretty much near as nice as Luke's had been in my dream. He had a really beautiful body. Hard and muscled, with firm buttocks, and the black hair was not only on his head, but all over his wonderful torso. Just looking at him was giving me an erection.

He reached over my head and adjusted the shower spray so that it was fully on him. "Why don't you soap me up first," he said.

"Okay," I agreed. I took the soap. He turned his back to me and waited for me to begin. I felt his warm skin under my soapy hands. So smooth, so nice. I soaped and I soaped, working up a good lather, then I used my hands. I massaged all over his back, and then I moved down to his rear. I massaged the two taut cheeks, and wondered if I should touch his secret spot.

"Go on, Melvin," he encouraged me, bending slightly so that his rear was more open. "I wanna be really clean for you. You know what I mean?" I wondered if he wanted me to lick him on that spot. Well, as long as he was so clean, maybe I would do it for him. I wanted him to like me. And not just for the money.

My soapy fingers felt the tightness of his sphincter. He seemed to be enjoying it. He was making little aaaahhhh' noises. I let my finger penetrate ever so slightly, and he made more aaahhh' noises.

But then he stood up. "That was real nice, Melvin."

"Thank you," I answered.

"It's like having a handmaiden," he added, and then said. "Do my legs."

I bent down and soaped his legs and feet, and between his toes, and then he turned his back into the water and let the white suds run down his body and into the drain.

"Now you can do my front," he said. I did his chest, and his abdomen but he made me wash his legs again before moving up to his privates. I was kneeling to do his legs, and then as my hands moved up toward his privates, I saw that he was erecting. I soaped my hand, and lathered his balls, and then with a very soapy hand I began to lather his penis. (The head of which was exactly an inch away from my mouth.) I would do it now. I would do it in the shower. I started to edge my head forward, anxious to know the taste of such an instrument, when he pushed me off laughing.

"Not yet, Melvin. You're too anxious. We gotta save that part. I told you I wanna be lying down with my head on the pillows."

"Okay," I said. That seemed to be my phrase for the evening. Everything was `okay'.

"Now, I'll soap you," he said.

"Okay," I said. He pushed the shower-head so that the spray was falling now on me. He turned me against the far wall and began to soap my back. It was feeling so wonderful. His strong hands on my back. Then on my legs. Then he went to my rear and did to me what I had done to him, and I knew why he had been saying aaaahhh,' because now I was saying aaaahhhh'.

Then he reached around me to do my chest and his body was pressed tightly against mine as he massaged my nipples. And I could feel his hard cock jutting between my asscheeks. This was so wonderful. So fucking wonderful.

"One sec," he said. Behind me, he opened the shower door and stooped down for a minute. But then he closed the shower door and he was back, and his left hand was massaging my left nipple, and I could feel his hot knob knocking at my rear door.

"You feel my cock, Melvin?" he asked.

"Yes," I sighed.

"How does it feel?"

"It feels wonderful," I breathed, and I rubbed against it a little, and soapy as it was, it slid around in my crack and almost penetrated me.

"How would you like to feel my big hot cock in your tight little ass, Melvin? Would you like that?"

"Yes," I said.

"I would do that for you after I let you suck on it for a couple of hours."

It sounded like heaven.

"Yes," I sighed.

He brought his mouth down against my ear, and I didn't know whether he was going to kiss it or nibble it, but he just whispered into it.

"There's only one little thing," he said.

"What's that?" I asked.

"I really fucking hate fags, man" And then I saw his right hand, which was holding something shiny, come up in a swiping motion across my throat. I didn't know what had happened. I lifted my hand to my neck, and it came away sudsy and red. I was surprised. I felt my legs starting to buckle a little and it was getting dark.

"Come on, man. Everybody's been waitin' for you. You've been holding up the party," a voice said.

"I have?" I asked. What party was that?

And suddenly there was this blinding bright light, and I was in this great white room. And there was a beautiful long penis at my lips. I raised my eyes and looked. It was Luke. I was back at THE HOOVER. I was back with Luke. But the men's room looked different than it had before. It was no longer a small room. It was endless. And there millions and millions of naked men with blonde beards and blonde moustaches. They looked similar to Luke, and they were all watching me.

"Come on, buddy." You can do it," said Luke, urging my head forward, and I took it into my mouth, and my mouth was filled with beautiful warm pulsing flesh. At last I knew the taste of a penis, and it was incredible. Even in my dreams I had never imagined it could be like this.

"That's it, buddy, good boy. Keep going. Keep going." And I kept going, and then it was happening. His fluids were erupting into my mouth, nourishing me. Such sweet nectar. Fit for the gods. He held my head to him and caressed it, running his fingers through my hair. Finally I lifted my mouth off of it, and looked up into his kindly eyes. He seemed pleased with me.

"My friend, Bill, over here," he said, pointing to one of the nearby men, "would like you to do it for him? Would that be okay?"

I nodded `yes'.

He stepped aside, and Bill took his position before my lips. Luke knelt beside my body and began massaging my buttocks, which began to rise and fall as he worked on them.

"Listen, buddy. My friend Fred, over here, would like to go in the back way. Would that be okay with you?"

"I nodded and said `mmm hmmm," because I couldn't speak with Bill's large penis filling my mouth.

And then I felt Fred's member feeding into my rear, and he was so large, I couldn't understand why it didn't hurt at all, but just felt so wonderful, and so smooth, and so soothing, and so comforting, and I was pressed between two beautiful male bodies, and this was even more than comradeship. And then I drank Bill's delicious liquor, and felt Fred's warm flood gush into my lower regions. And then I saw that there were lines and lines of men stretching further than the eye could see, all waiting for me. Waiting to fill one orifice or another with scalding jets of their masculinity. I was finally getting what I felt I had been lacking my whole life. They were filling me with masculinity.

And then Bill and Fred were gone, but there were others. So many others. And I was filled with a great happiness. Because I had found THE HOOVER again. It had been so hard to get to THE HOOVER, but I would never have to search for it again on other tortured nights. Because this time I would never have to leave it. I would be in THE HOOVER throughout all eternity.