XXXXXX
Readers: All comments are welcome. Hope you enjoy.
Be aware: this is a long one-off story with more sexual tension than actual sex.
And please don't forget to donate to nifty to keep this site free.
XXXXXX
Whisper
Hot breath in my ear, a deep low voice whispers, "I'm going to fuck you." On the "going," a lip grazes my earlobe. And I learn my earlobe is hot wired to my cock.
It's my first time in LA and it's on the company's dime. Our department had record profits last year, so even this lowly assistant was allowed to come. It's not like it's costing the company much – I'm sharing a room with Henry, the most junior sales guy. The boss and HR made clear it isn't just because Henry and I are both gay that we're sharing. We're just the bottom guys on the totem pole. "Bottom guys." That was the boss's term. He stopped mid-sentence after that, looked me in the eye and said, "Figure of speech." Right. It was forty-five minutes after that I was called into human resources and given the same schpiel. Only instead of being a bottom guy on some totem pole (penis-shaped in the boss's mind, no doubt), I, along with Henry, am one of the two most junior members in the department. The trip isn't mandatory. I can stay here. The whole thing should be looked upon as a sort of unofficial bonus. Does doubling my per-diem sound nice? Blah-blah-blah. Covering their asses right and left to make sure I don't sue for sexual harassment or insensitivity or some such shit. As if I'm going to give up a trip to Mecca because I was called a bottom. I mean, give me a break.
This bar is packed. Nothing like back home. And the guys... Man, I need to transfer to the LA office. It wouldn't come as a surprise to learn there was a hot code to get in here. Not a dress code, a hot code. Wear whatever the fuck you want apparently, but be at least a 9 on the 10 point scale or don't bother trying to get in. Being among so many other good looking men makes all the working out and manscaping worth it.
Henry and I are with some dudes we know from the Dallas headquarters and friends from Atlanta and some of the other regional offices, so it's almost like we're in a local bar hanging with our posse. Posse. Geez. One day in LA and I'm a cast member of "Entourage." That show's been off the air how long now? The joint is packed. You can't stand still without touching at least two other guys. And walking? You are going to be touched. Hands on shoulders. Hands wedging between two dudes and landing on the small of some guy's back. Maybe it's not sexual, but it's pleasant as hell.
Our group is at the pool table talking to some local guys. It's one of the few places in this dive where we can all pretty much hear each other. It's our third, maybe our fourth beer, so we're all buzz cozy. I'm talking to the guys sitting next to me on the edge of the table. Henry started off standing in front of me, but the constant crowd surge has moved him toward the corner of the table and now some tall black dude in a suit stands in front of me, facing the opposite direction. Henry's got his hand around some bearded surfer's neck. If they haven't made out yet, it's going to happen in the next two minutes. There's a crowd surge again. Everyone shifts, squeezes in, steps aside, leans back, whatever, to make room for a waiter carrying about a dozen mugs of beer. (Waiters? In this place? Go figure.) The black lawyer-looking dude is pressed toward me. My legs forced wider to accommodate him. Now they're touching Mario on my left and Victor on my right. Victor's telling me some dirty joke I've heard before but not told as well as Victor tells it, so I'm laughing my ass off. Then some dude I can't see calls "Vic-TOR!" and Victor's turned away and shouting at some guy about five heads over. Mario's still wrapped up in his conversation with the Asian guy on his other side. Dwayne? Dwyer? Something like that. So it's just me. I look around. Finally I look straight ahead. Lawyer's facing my direction now and he's looking around the room just like I am. Just like me he's got no one to talk to for a minute. We half-smile at each other with a head-tilt then resume scoping out the room. There's another surge and Lawyer is pushed toward me again. Even leaning back, I get his face right in mine. Good breath. Nice stubble. His hand lands on my leg.
"Here we go again," he says.
"Lucky us," I say.
That's it. Neither one of us can do any better than that. The surge passes. I'm able to sit fully up and he's able to stand vertical again. He smiles and shrugs. I do the same. We just have nothing to say to each other. It's no big deal. So conversation dries up in a bar? It happens. Then Victor's friend is gone and the guy on the other side of Lawyer shouts in Lawyer's ear and we're both back in our former conversations. But Lawyer's hand is still on my leg.
"Hey! Hey! Hey!" It's Henry. "Okay, so we're all just getting to know each other. Maybe even meeting for the first time. So everyone's got to tell the person next to him a secret. Something you've never told anybody else in your life. And you've got to keep the secret – you're not allowed to share it." A team-building game. Henry loves this shit. "You tell your secret to one guy and then he tells his secret to another guy. You don't give to and receive from the same guy." There's some grumbling and griping and resigned shakes of the heads, but everyone participates. Surfer leans in to Henry. Henry's eyes and mouth go wide. Henry then whispers to the guy on the other side of him. Meanwhile, Victor's talking to the guy on his other side, so I lean in to Mario. "Once I licked my brother's cum off of a used tissue," I say. Mario grimaces and laughs at the same time. It's when he turns and talks to the guy on his other side that I get the hot breath in my ear, feel the tongue touch my earlobe and hear the deep voice whisper, "I'm going to fuck you."
Now you don't know me, but I have a pretty good sense of humor so my burst of laughter is genuine. Me, someone's bottom. That's a good one. I turn my head and it's lawyer dude smiling down at me. He lifts an eyebrow and lets it drop. It's more than a half-smile this time. This time he's showing teeth which he slowly licks with the edge of his tongue. Nasty.
"Really?" I say. "That's news to me. When's this supposed to happen?"
He answers in the casual, matter-of-fact way he said the line that got my attention in the first place. "Tonight." He loosens his tie. The highest priced stripper couldn't have done it better. Or had better timing.
"Mmmm," I say, scrunching up my face as if I'm giving this serious thought. "Nah."
He winks and nods his head real quick like. All confidence. But I don't go in for arrogant fucks like him. And I'm not a bottom.
"You got the wrong guy. Maybe..." I tilt my head toward Victor. Lawyer doesn't even look at him. He just looks me in the eye, not blinking, and says, "I've got the right guy."
Another round of beers comes our way. I don't care who's buying. I paid for the second round so I can drink care-free. Everyone's kidding around and talking even more than before. Henry's team-building trick worked. Mario's leaning in my ear: "How old were you?" I hold up ten fingers. Mario's jaw drops. "But my brother was 18," I tell him. Mario wants to know if I ever did it a second time, but before I can answer, I hear Lawyer say "Cheers."
He's hitting my beer so I'm spilling it on my lap. I look up from the spill and then spill more. Where'd Lawyer's shirt go? Last I looked, he was wearing an expensive suit jacket with that tie that probably cost more than the suit. Now they're both gone, along with the shirt. If he was wearing an undershirt, it's gone too. He's just... flesh. I like to think I have a pretty great body, but I'm realistic enough to know I can't compete with what I'm seeing. No one could. He laughs, I think more for his own benefit than for mine. "Cheers" he says again, lifting his mug. I raise mine in return.
"It's impressive," I say, openly ogling his chest and abs, "but not going to happen." There is nothing about being pursued by a guy that gets me off. I'm in charge or I'm celibate.
Lawyer shrugs. "Night's young," he says. "You never know."
"Oh, I know."
"Everybody's wrong sometimes." God he's cocky.
"Not this time."
There's a sudden crowd surge and he's pressed up to me before I can lean back. It isn't a bad thing, but now this is principle. Guys don't get to act like this with me. His hand is back on my leg, further up this time. He leans in and opens his mouth, prelude to a kiss. My hand stops him.
"I'm good," I say.
"What, afraid I'm going to rape you right here?" He snickers. So do I.
"Yeah, you're going to take me right here on top of this pool table in front of everybody."
"If that's the way you want it." He smiles and takes a step back. With two swift movements his belt is off and his low-rise pants drop another half inch. It's obvious what's stopping them from dropping any lower. We both laugh pretty hard at that.
"Could you imagine the reactions of the guys in this bar if you and I started to fuck on this table right now?"
"We don't have to imagine it," he says, punctuating his words with a little gyration of his hips. This guy is fun. We're not a match sexually, but conversation-wise, he's naughty and funny and charming. And, man, that confidence. He must get laid twice a night. "I get why you won't kiss me," he says, studying me real close. "You're afraid if you kiss me, you'll want me to fuck you and then I'll have been right and you'll have been wrong. I get it."
That's hardly the case and I tell him as much. Then why don't I let him kiss me? We go back and forth like this a few more times before Victor says something about the Dodgers and Mario leans in and says something about the Yankees and now it's all baseball all the time. We move on to Lady Gaga and HBO and Hawaii and X-Tube and I manage to get Lawyer out from between my legs. I stand so that won't happen again. Lawyer is about four inches taller than me. Maybe five. So my eyes are right at his lips and those perfect teeth and that nasty, nasty tongue. How it ended up in my mouth, I'm still not sure. And I acknowledge I did not kick it out or even try. Sometimes you find yourself in a kiss that's the way kisses are supposed to be. If you ever have, you know why I didn't spit it out.
After I don't know, maybe an hour, his tongue is gone and I hear him laugh. I open my eyes and realize I'm the one whose lips are reaching out for more. The fucker. Of course I laugh. Out of the corner of my eye I see Henry with his hands up Surfer Boy's shirt. Surfer Boy has his hand down Henry's pants. And I can see who's going to be in our room tonight. Great.
By the time we checked in this afternoon, there were no rooms left with two queen beds. It was a single king bed or nothing. Henry was ready to make a stink. The whole time he'd been planning on bringing guys back to the hotel. We talked about it and I said I was fine. Henry and whoever he brought back to the room could do whatever they want in Henry's bed. I'd wear earplugs if I couldn't sleep and didn't have a partner of my own. Henry went back and forth between making sure I was really cool with it and teasing me about the guys I would bring back to the hotel; that maybe I'd be the one making all the noise. But we both know Henry is a wilder dude than I am when it comes to sex with strangers. One king bed, though. That's a different story.
We're the junior guys in the department. Before me, no assistant had ever been brought to one of these sales meetings. And this is only Henry's second one. So neither one of us wants to complain. But. We were both looking forward to more than a little action in LA. Henry more than me, but still. One bed puts a crimp in our plans. Henry and I aren't into each other. We tried and it didn't work out. So we both take the old school attitude of not fucking your co-workers. You can fuck with a co-worker, giving him shit or going trolling with him for guys, but you don't have sex with each other.
It was a solid minute before I said let's just take the room.
"O-kay," said Henry, "but I'm not not going to bring back a guy because you might want to sleep."
"And I'm not waiting in the lobby for you to finish your business."
"You'd be waiting all night, bud. Besides, you could have someone in the room, and I wouldn't wait for you to finish. Granted, that would only take a minute – "
"Fuck you."
"—but If I need to sleep, I'm sleeping. I don't care what you're doing on the other half of the bed."
"Same here." I said. We took the room.
So I look at Henry and Surfer Boy and see who I'll be sharing the bed with tonight. He won't take up too much space. And if he isn't a moaner or some hyper-active gymnast, I may sleep through whatever it is they'll be doing. This'll be a first for me. Ah well. I decide to look at it as more of Henry's team building. Maybe I can pinch-hit for him if he needs a break. Surfer Boy's ass is definitely something I'd be interested in.
First things first. I've got Lawyer breathing down my neck. Literally. His nose is right along my hair line and he's "mmm"ing and "ohhhh"ing so low that only I can hear him. There's a touch of something that can only be lips. I pull away but he's stronger than he looks and pulls me back. "Didn't you ever play with matches when you were a kid?" He bites my neck, his tongue landing on the spot that gets me going. Pulling away this time does even less good. Getting away from him by tilting my head down onto his head only exposes the other side of my neck. Now the one "mmm"ing and "ohhhh"ing is me. The fucker.
His hip is digging into my back. So finally he's gotten the message and turned away. Good. In the latest mini-surge, Henry is next to me again and I get a glance behind me. Lawyer dude's right there. He never turned away. He is right behind me. That isn't his hipbone digging into me, not unless his hipbone starts at his crotch and stretches north. The fucker. This is my bit. Finding guys I want, overpowering them with my confidence, grinding my dick against their ass whenever I have the chance. Works pretty well. Maybe it even works for this guy, but not tonight.
The hottest guy in here – the 12 in a room full of 10s – and I don't want him. Actually, it's not that I don't want him. It's just that I want him in the same way he wants me, to make him my submissive bitch. Experience has taught me that me and another dominant top never works out. Sex goes from 90 to zero real fast when both sides realize the other one isn't giving it up, no matter how much coaxing, sweet-talking or licking you do. It turns into a great big "what's the point?" You're a couple of school boys, all foreplay, no action. Waste a couple dozen nights that way, you learn your lesson.
Henry's shouting in my ear. "Tosh says there's dancing down the street." Surfer Boy is named Tosh. Of course he is. I can hear his parents: "Hmmm... William or Tosh?... William or Tosh?... What do we want – a brain surgeon or a surfer?" Tosh it is. Clear as anything I see Tosh in surgical scrubs, hands raised in classic surgical pose, standing over a patient in an operating room. The surgical nurse hands him a hockey puck of surfboard wax and Tosh rubs it onto the patient's shaved skull. "Gnarly..." I spit up beer laughing at my private comedy.
"That's it, we're done here." Henry has gotten between me and Lawyer and pushes me toward the exit. "No more beer. Time to dance." The trip to the exit is slow and gropey. Ah, if straight men could only have such fun. And lawyer dude is back at the pool table doing who gives a fuck.
The dance club is just as crowded as the bar and three times as large. Surfer Boy's at home on the dance floor. Me, I'm definitely a tourist but I could give a shit. It's good to finally do more than just stand or sit. There's a lot of touching going on in this crowd. Plenty of sweating. And lots of shirtless guys – including a few who'd do well to reconsider that choice. Victor's got his eyes closed and is bopping up and down in slow motion. Some dude sneezes a sloppy one into a Kleenex and Mario shouts in my ear, "Your brother! Go taste!" It's that kind of fun. I'm digging it.
I see the guy who's just my type. My size, my height, my coloring. That's right, I'm one of those guys who likes to fuck clones of himself. He gets all my attention. Now I'm lawyer dude, staring down my clone, smirking, licking my lips. All that shit that sounds so stupid when you put it in words, but do it – don't just say it – but do it among a few hundred other horny guys with all that pounding base and testosterone and it's just the thing to make the little brain take over. The guy's a bottom. I know it for a fact. And not from his dancing which gets the message across loud and clear. Or from his grabbing my cock and making that hungry puppy dog face. How I know for a fact he's a bottom is he's got a tattoo reading "bottom" right above his ass crack. It would have been hotter on his neck. If it isn't ironic, he and I should get along fine.
We wind up back with the guys I came in with, all of whom tell us to get a room. Tattoo's all for it and you know how I feel, but I don't want to leave this den of half-naked, sweaty, glistening men. Time to activate Plan B. B for bottom. Dancing Tattoo to the rear of the dance floor takes some time. There I position us between an enormous speaker and the wall. Back here, we can only be seen by a few lucky dancers. I don't mind giving them a show. Not one bit.
Tattoo's back is against the wall. My tongue is down his throat, his arms are around my neck. We're moving like we're in some rush, but really we're both dragging it out. Finally, I unbutton the top rivet of his jeans. Pop. He returns the favor. Pop. I pull his pants apart. Pop pop pop pop. Rivets, not a zipper. Nice. He pulls out my cock which is very cooperative. Tattoo looks to the left. An old dude and some tweekers are pretending not to watch. Tattoo gets a wicked look in his eye. I know it `cause I've seen the same look in the mirror. Clones, remember? We kiss that much harder. It's not clear who's trying to devour whom. Looking him in the eye, I reach around and slap his ass. He leans his head back. I whip him around and push down his jeans. Little me needs no help finding his new home. He's good that way. Give him an assignment and he needs very little supervision. It frees my hands to find Tattoo's other hot spots. His hips. His chin. His serratus anterior muscles, the little ones covering the rib cage. It's what great sex should be. Top working his bottom the way a musician works his instrument. Tattoo's a limber dude – guys my size usually are – so he twists his neck around far enough for us to still kiss. The whole business is hot and messy and just the way I like it. With one hand I'm pulling his head back by the hair and with the other I am giving him the kind of good time his ass is giving me.
I look for the audience's reaction. Old guy's got some memory going on and the tweekers have lost all sense of rhythm. Glad they're enjoying this as much as I am. Smiling behind them, though, taller than them all, is lawyer dude, all shiny flesh and low slung pants with – ah, man – just the tip of his cock peeking over the waistband. And that tongue. Nasty. I'm fucking Tattoo and biting his neck and giving him my all, but I'm looking at Lawyer.
Every guy learns the sad truth of the line "all good things must come to an end" just about every day of his life. Sometimes five times a day. Tattoo and I learn it again right now at the exact same moment. We stay together for just about forever, the last two people on the planet. When that passes, we enjoy some good postplay. There's some wiping up that needs to be done. And some kissing. Some pulling up of pants and buttoning. And more kissing. Lawyer's pretty much forgotten by now. It isn't until Tattoo and I join Henry and Surfer Boy at the bar that I remember Lawyer. That's because he's standing about ten feet away shaking his head at me and smiling that nasty grin of his.
Henry calls Tattoo my name, then does a double take between us, as if he can't tell us apart. Tattoo laughs hysterically. Me, I've heard Henry do this routine maybe not a million times but prit near. I told you I have a type. Surfer Boy wants to show us another club and Henry will do anything Surfer Boy says. Tattoo is going to stay here with his friends and try to make some new ones like me while I move on in search of more friends like him. And ditch this lawyer dude. But before we go, lawyer guy has one paw on my shoulder and his other wrapped around my right hand. "Can't blame a guy for trying," he says.
I shake his hand. "All's fair in love and war," I say. And he looks at me with that cocky smile. "Glad to hear you say that."
And we're gone.
At the next club there's more dancing and more kissing. More Victor bopping up and down all by himself with his eyes closed. More Mario indulging his Asian fetish. More Henry and Surfer Boy, only now they're hooked up with some muscled trucker. Looks like the bed's going to be crowded tonight. And there's my stalker: lawyer dude. He's at the rear of the club, at the bar with his back to me. That's my cue to get out of here.
Outside, the air is cool and refreshing. The absence of pounding base is momentarily disorienting the way solid ground is disorienting after three hours of skating at a roller rink. I send Henry a text telling him where I am. Maybe we'll meet up later tonight, maybe not. We both have hotel keys, so we don't need to be with each other.
After the intensity of the first few clubs, the dive I land in is a welcome break. There's actually an empty stool at the bar and a bartender with nothing to do. The beer comes in a can. This is a neighborhood bar time forgot while around it everything else got waxed and plucked. My spot is the far end of the bar with a perfect view of the only entrance. Let's see Lawyer follow me here.
There's a pinball machine older than me being played by a couple of guys older than my father. Three empty beer cans stand before me. And Lawyer isn't anywhere to be seen. I know I should track down Henry rather than stay here by myself, but I don't move. I know I should track down Tattoo again for our second round but I don't move. I know I should track down some bottom even if it isn't Tattoo. I'll never sleep if I don't and I didn't come all the way to LA to jerk off alone. But I don't do any of these things. All I do is stare at the door Lawyer doesn't come through and the window Lawyer doesn't pass.
After my eighth can, it's time for sleep and me to get a room. Sleep's going to be my bottom tonight and given how I feel right now, that's perfect. Henry and his surfer and trucker can go to town. All I need is my corner of the bed. I won't hear or feel a thing.
And I don't. Not until something warm and wet wriggles between my toes. That wakes me up. Our hotel room is pitch black so opening my eyes does no good. Black-out curtains block the windows. Some rubber stripping blocks out light surrounding the door. Clock radios and tvs are unplugged. There's just no way to see anything or anyone. My head is no longer a helium balloon over the city; it's a dead weight lying in a feather pillow. There's no music unless you count the sounds of men moaning and groaning and licking and slurping and making all kinds of mysterious sounds as music. I do, so I don't mind. But I don't need to jam with the band. Just listening in my fetal position is fine with me. So the toe thing isn't doing anything for me.
Me rolling over discourages the tongue. The hand I have to discourage with my foot. There's an orgy going on in my bed and all I want to do is sleep. When did 26 get so old? Someone got the message so they're leaving me alone. Probably Surfer Boy but it could be Trucker. Henry wouldn't approach me in the first place. Maybe by mistake, but only then. The two of us messing around with each other would be worse than messing around with our own brothers. It would be messing around with our own sisters. Ew.
Maybe I sleep. Maybe I don't. Eventually someone has his back against mine and it feels good. It's obvious whoever it is is doing something with his arms and head, but he's doing them to or with someone else. All I get is the back. That's my speed tonight.
A couple of times hands brush against me reaching around the back behind me. I move with the mattress as it moves with the guys doing the moving. Or maybe it's just one of the old vibrating kind and someone dumped so many shitloads of quarters into it it's gone out of control. If my great-grandparents had had radio porn back in the forties it would have sounded like this. There are worse ways to wake up.
So when the head attached to the back behind me bumps mine, my head responds. Whoever it is – it damn well better not be Henry – doesn't miss it. The guy's hand drags down my thigh and I slowly uncurl. There's the sole of some guy's foot against mine, our toes interlacing. Rolling over in the dark, buzzed, among these pillows and blankets and men – it's a vertiginous experience. Up and down are lost to me. Hands, mouths, something – they're here, they're gone. Hot breath on my cheek. There's flesh between my teeth. I'm squeezing someone's sac with my right hand while my left is being deep throated. My own cock is grazed by the stubble of someone working his way up to the top. Surfer Boy? I'm licked and swallowed and slurped and unable to show my appreciation because my hands and mouth are full. Whoever it is down there has no gag reflex. I sort of pity the guy. He'll never get to experience one of his own blowjobs from the other side. Fingers knead the balls. My dick is free and now my balls are getting the mouth treatment. Someone else lifts my leg and clings it to his body while licking my heel. My arms are stretched behind me. This is yoga as it's supposed to be done.
The tongue that worked over my balls is following the curve of my ass. It's the kind of round, muscular ass no one can resist, so I'm not surprised the tongue gravitates toward it. The tongue playing with my anus, though. That I don't see coming. How does a dude make so much noise moaning when his mouth is already so busy? As if my own mouth isn't itself multi-tasking. Someone's musky member is in it but it's not stopping me from competing for loudest "nnnngg" of the night. My ass is puckering to accommodate the tongue, challenging it to go deeper. Surfer Boy or Trucker, he's doing nice work. His warm breath on my taint is just right. It will be satisfying when I fuck him after this to show my appreciation.
My right foot makes contact with someone's chin, my left scrapes something as my leg stretches out air borne but I don't care. The ass is in charge right now. It's greedy for that tongue. The tongue is out. It's one of those moments in sex when you have to reposition before moving on to the next piece of business or get better access to whatever it is you're already doing. I'm glad to help, lying on my back, curled with my ass in the air, legs wide. And the tongue is back. Just resting at the opening down there. Teasing. My ass is doing its own teasing. Puckering. In and out. Finally our rhythms match. And the tongue is going in, nice and wet and thick. Thicker than I'd expected. My back arches in abandon. The tongue is getting thicker and thicker. And harder. Where's the breath on my taint? How long is this tongue?
That's when I realize it's no tongue at all. There's a shift. Suddenly there's the most incredible pain and pleasure in my ass as someone's cock slides all the way in. Now a chest is against mine and someone's biting my neck. I'm moaning and trying to breathe and being stimulated in so many places at the same time, all I can do is lie there and take it. The warm breath that should be on my taint is in my ear and there's a familiar voice saying, "I told you I was going to fuck you."
Me, the bottom. Who knew? I guess he did. Using Henry to get to me. The fucker.
And as the tongue that isn't a tongue keeps working its way home, I laugh.
END
======== All feedback is invited, so please share your reaction. Thanks.
Please check out my other stories:
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/college/little-dude-series/
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/sf-fantasy/the-hand
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/the-convertible
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/jockstrap