Tuesday, February 27, 2007

Last Call

Jimmy exchanged words with the late arrival in the doorway, pointing now and then in my direction.

Randall pulled aside his winter coat and sat on the arm of the couch. “Who’s that?” he leaned to me.

“My next husband,” John replied.

Carlos finished buttoning his shirt, then turned to have a look.

The late arrival strode across the room and stuck out his hand. “So this is your place, eh? I’m Harry, like the prince. Otherwise, not that ‘hairy’ at all, really.”

“Hi, Harry,” I smiled, taking his hand. “Nice to have you here. This is John, and this is Randall.”

John stood and shook Harry’s hand. “Pleasure.”

“Right, nice to meet you as well.”

Randall leaned forward to buss Harry’s cheek. “Hey, sexy.”

“Oh, that’s right nice, innit?” Harry looked around. “So what, I hear I missed the party?”

“Yes, unfortunately . . .” John began.

I put a hand on his thigh. “Yes, unfortunately you missed the rehearsal. The main event is just about to begin.”

Harry laughed.

Randall looked him over. “You know, I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

“Yeah, I talk fast. That and the accent. East London. Here on business. Telecom.” Harry looked around. “So, what? Do I just undress and we get going? Wham bam, like that, right?”

Carlos appeared by Harry’s side, unbuttoning the shirt he had just put on. “If you’d like, I can give you the tour.”

“Yeah, mate, that’d be great, thanks,” Harry smiled.

Carlos led Harry toward the bedrooms.

Jimmy’s eyes followed. “I see Carlos is making himself right at home.”

“Yeah,” I said, looking after. “Carlos has never been here before, right? I swear, these parties—one minute I’m blowing someone whose name I don’t know, the next we’re making introductions in a shower, and before you know it, he’s moving in with John’s fiancé.”

“That’s the biz, doll,” Jimmy shrugged. “I’m sorry I let that kid in so late, but I thought you and John would enjoy him. He’s cute and all twinky-twink, like you like.”

“Yeah, he so-oo cute,” John agreed.

I looked at him and smiled.

John is the only fellow who regularly attends both my boys-only party and my mixed bisexual party. While his attendance has always been smooth sailing at the mixed party, we initially encountered a little elbow-jabbing at the boy party.

The conflict was a classic one: when it comes to boys, John and I go for the same type. Put us in a room full of attractive, naked, available men, and we’ll hone in on the same one—the smooth bottom twink.

We each like many flavors, but this one melts in our respective mouths.

Over the course of our years of shared orgies, John and I have achieved a kind of natural balance derived from our complementary personalities.

I tend to be outgoing, so I am likely to be the first to get together with a boy we are both eying. I chat him up and bend him over, giving him a good run to his finish line.

John, by contrast, is more retiring. He begins most parties as a wallflower, keeping his boxers in place as he surveys the first rounds of activity. I used to encourage him to jump in, but he would just quietly shake his head. I came to realize that he wasn’t shy; he simply preferred to study a situation before diving in.

Eventually, though, he would show up in the tangle of bodies, nude and revealing his secret—for John possesses a monster cock. It is long and thick and utterly unexpected, as John is otherwise of average build. His delayed presentation is always well timed, like discovering in the third reel that there’s something unusual about that mild-mannered reporter.

Just as my cute lay has recovered from my best pounding, his eyeballs will pop at the rare prospect of taking so grand a cock. I often stand by, offering encouragement and prepared to finish the job when John shoots his load.

When I follow John in fucking someone, I often crack that I should strap a board to my ass so I don’t fall in. It’s a bit like driving a Volkswagen in the wake of a Mack truck.

John and I exchanged glances before following the boys to the bedroom.

Harry was reading titles on my bookcase by the light of candles and porn. Carlos stood smiling next to him.

“Jefferson, I’m really impressed,” Harry said. “You must read a tremendous amount.”

“It’s all décor, meant to impress people I want to get naked,” I replied, taking his arm. “Glad to see it works.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not much to judge by, am I? I get naked remarkably easily.”

“Good to know.” I pushed Harry back on the bed and unbuttoned his jeans. Another button appeared. “You wore button fly pants to an orgy? Christ, Harry, you must have all the time in the world.”

“Do you want my help, then?”

I unfastened the next button. “No, it’s fine. At least you present me with a few challenges.”

I took down his pants and his underwear, and then sat him up to tug his sweater and t-shirt over his head. He was left in a pair of ankle-high white cotton socks. I moved to pull them.

“No, wait,” he said reaching. “I want to leave my socks on, ‘cause my feet get cold.” He paused. “Well, no, that’s not true. It’s just a bit of a fetish, really.”

I smiled. “We do fetish on request. Now shut up and let me get a look at you.”

“Right, then.” He crossed his ankles, propped himself on his elbows, and let his eyes turn to the porn on my television.

I rested a finger on the toe of his sock and let my eye travel up his body. Lean, hairy calves. Runner’s thighs. Thick, uncut cock. Narrow hips. Smooth, thin torso. Long neck. Angular, boyish face. Short wavy hair.

I unfastened my shorts and lifted one of his ankles away from the other. I slowly separated his legs wide apart.

Thanks again, kharma, I thought as I took Harry’s cock in my mouth.

The other boys wasted no time. Harry blew John as he held Carlos’s cock in his hand. Randall had stripped to his white cap and sat stroking his cock at Harry’s scalp.

I closed my eyes, involuntarily. I prefer to watch sex unfold, but my mind often denies my eyes in favor of other senses.

I wrapped my hands around Harry’s waist. They could nearly meet near his middle.

I gave myself over to the cock in me.

“I think this boy wants to be fucked.” I opened my eyes to see John close to my face. I took the cock from my mouth.

“What, already?” I whispered. John nodded to Harry, who was noisily slurping Carlos. He was clearly ready to be sent over the edge.

I also noted that John was very hard.

I nodded and stood. I opened a condom package and reached for the lube. I knew our choreography: I would fuck the twink, pass him to John, then return to close the deal.

I only regretted we were moving so fast—never mind that I had set the pace.

I pulled Harry down so that his ass was curved up. I spread his cheeks as I lubed him. I entered him easily.

“Hmm, you’re tight, Harry. How’s it feel?”

He took the cock from his mouth for a moment—“Go for it, mate”—and switched to Randall’s dick.

Right, then.

I held his socks to my neck as I gave him wide swivels, pulling my hips back and pushing deep.

I was taken by Harry’s enthusiasm and looks. I watched his face as I began to thrust deeper and harder.

He took it well for a while before holding out his hand. “Ow, okay, one second, mate.”

I stopped. “Talk to me.”

“It’s just . . . you’re too big and it’s a bit much all at once.”

“Need a break?”

“Yeah, mate, sorry.”

“No worries, handsome man,” I said, pulling out. “I’m here if you need me.” I bent forward to kiss his navel before excusing myself to the bathroom.

I tore off the condom and washed my groin. I splashed water in my face. I caught a look at myself in the mirror. I was flushed and grinning.

When I returned to the bedroom, John was fucking Harry.

“Oh yeah, mate, harder!” Harry called. “Harder, man!”

I raised an eyebrow to Randall. It’s not often someone tells me I’m “too big” before moving on to John.

I reclined next to Harry, gently stroking his torso, kissing his forehead. Randall put his arm around me.

“Oh shit!” Harry threw back his body. “Shit, I’m cumming!”

John leaned forward, taking Harry’s load full in the face.

I returned to the bathroom for a round of washcloths.

As we sat on the bed coming down from sex, I noticed the time. It wasn’t yet ten. Harry had been at my place for about twenty minutes.

I reclined on a pillow next to Randall. “Don’t you have a date?” I asked.

He scratched his nose. “I think my train is delayed.”

“I hear there’s a lot of construction work,” I sympathized.

“So, how long will you be in New York?” John asked.

“About four months,” Harry said. “I’m just here for work, and, you know, this.”

“Did you say you work in television?” Randall asked.

“Telecom,” I corrected. “Like, ‘telecommunications.’”

“Well, yeah,” Harry said. “Yeah, that’s what I said, but that isn’t actually what I do, really. Actually, I’m an escort.”

“Ah,” we replied.

I looked at John. “Think of all the money we saved by fucking Harry for free.”

“I know, now I can afford that new car,” John smiled.

“Is there much money in that?” Randall asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I do all right,” Harry said. “I mean, I’ve got a look the johns go for, don’t I, like a young boy, and in the U.K., I’m sorta famous as a porn star.”

“Ah,” we replied.

“Yeah, so some johns want to fuck the British porn star.”

“What’s your porn name?” Carlos asked.

“Same as my real name, actually. I escort and do porn under my real name. Not smart, maybe, but that’s how I started, so it’s done now.”

“Aren’t you afraid your family will find out?” Randall asked.

“Nah, fuck my family. I mean, I run away at sixteen, so they got no hold on me.”

“Wow, sixteen, that’s so young,” Randall said. “I’m twenty-one and I still live with my parents. But where are you in the U.K.? I have family over there.”

“East London.”

“Hmm, I don’t know where that is. I visited my cousins in Manchester . . .”

“Yeah, that’s not London.”

“I know, I know. I didn’t really like it, but I was in a bad mood anyway. I was engaged to be married . . .”

“You were engaged?” I asked, surprised. “I thought you had no interest in girls at all.”

“Oh, I don’t,” Randall said. “It was an arranged thing. My mother wanted me to marry one of my cousins.”

“How did you dodge that bullet?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I didn’t like her, which she didn’t like. And we were both fifteen, so they kind of had to listen to us . . .”

“You were engaged at fifteen?” Carlos asked. “That’s crazy.”

“We’re Indian,” Randall shrugged. “That’s how my family does it. Where are you from?”

“Puerto Rico. Come to think of it, my cousins married pretty young.”

“Yeah, see?” Randall said.

“Do you like girls at all?” John asked Harry. I knew what he was thinking. This guy was a character. He’d go over well at my bisexual parties.

Harry rolled his eyes. “No, no way. I fucked one once, I think, it was disgusting, but I was so high on coke . . .”

We laughed.

“Seriously, I tell you. Girls is good for one thing and one thing only—you date them to help you get really young boys.”

Randall giggled. “Oh my God.”

“It’s true,” Harry went on. “What do young boys want? To shag some girl. So if you’ve got some fancy girl, all the boys will want to shag her, right? So you say, fine, mate, you can get with her if I get to fuck you.”

We laughed. I choked slightly.

“It works, I’m telling you.”

“I don’t doubt it works,” I coughed. “I’ve just never heard that notion expressed so baldly. You’re a callous genius.”

“No, no,” he shook his head. “I just know how to get young boys.”

“Young boys . . . how old are you?” Randall asked. “You’re my age, right?”

“No, I’m older, twenty three. I just look younger. That’s fine, but I like them really, really young.”

“Like how young?” Carlos asked.

“Well, legal, of course. But that’s different in different places, innit? Here, of course, I go for eighteen year olds. That’s legal. But in the U.K., it’s sixteen, so there I fancy sixteen year olds. Younger than that, you have to go someplace like Morocco or Cuba . . .”

“Ew, you go younger than sixteen?” Randall asked.

“No, no, well, I don’t want children,” Harry said. “Just really, really young boys.”

“Hmm, yeah, well, I like older,” Randall said, stroking my hair. I kissed his ribs.

“Each his own,” Harry shrugged.

“Yeah, Morocco, never been,” Carlos mused. “Of course, Americans can’t go to Cuba.”

“Why?” Randall asked. “They don’t like us?”

I took Randall’s hand. “Baby, honey, where’ve you been?”

“Come on . . . “ he hedged. “Come on, I grew up in a village in India. I don’t know these things. Why, is it about nine eleven and that prison thing?”

I kissed his cheek. “Cuba’s a long story. I’ll tell you some time.”

Jimmy knocked on the door. “Oh, I’m so glad to see the natives are happy. Are you children okay? I’m just about to leave.”

“Yeah, right, I should get going, too,” Harry said, standing. “I’ve got a call tonight.”

“Which way are you going?” John asked. “Maybe we can take the train together.”

We traded contact information after we dressed. Everyone made sure he had Harry’s phone number.

Harry smiled and kissed us each in turn, saying he had a fine time. He assured us he would definitely arrive earlier for the next party.

A week or so later, I decided that I would relate this story on my blog. As Harry is open about his identity, I thought he might not mind being blogged under his real name; with luck, he might even send me a photo to post.

I dialed him up.

“Yeah, hello?” Harry answered in the noisy din of a bar.

“Harry, hello, this is Jefferson . . .”

“Yeah, who is this?”

“It’s Jefferson,” I said, speaking a little more loudly. “We fucked at a party at my place about a week ago.”

“Oh yeah, right! How are you?”

“I’m fine, thanks. Listen, I have a question. I’ve got a sex blog . . .”

“What’s that? I can’t hear you, sorry, mate.”

“I’ve got a sex blog,” I said, enunciating loudly. “I write about sex, you know, real life stuff, things that have happened.”

“Oh cool, that’s great.”

“Thanks. So I’d like to write about meeting you . . .”

“Yeah? Who is this? You’re the bouncer from Wednesday, right?”

“Me? No, I’m not a bouncer. We had a sex party at my place, a private event. There were five of us in one bed, I was the blond, there was an Indian kid—ring any bells?”

Harry paused. “Sorry, when was this?”

“A little over a week ago.”

“Yeah. So anyway, go on.”

“Okay. So I write about real sex, and I usually use pseudonyms. In your case, I wondered if you would like me to use your real name, as you use it in your work.”

“My real name? Oh no, don’t do that. I’d prefer pseudonyms.”

“Okay, that’s fine. I just wanted to check.”

“Thanks.”

We paused.

“Anything else?”

“No, I guess that’s it. Hope to see you at the next party.”

“Wouldn’t miss it. Cheers!”

“Bye, now.”

At the next party, I was blowing Randall when he raised the bill of his cap to look at me.

“Hey, have you heard from Harry? Is he coming tonight?”

I looked up and took his dick from my mouth. “Sometimes, baby, people just pass through this life.” I licked his foreskin. “I’ll explain that sometime—though Cuba will be easier to comprehend.”

1 comment:

Willow said...

This post totally proves the Jefferson conjecture.

The boys have the hottest sex ever, and never come back.

The girls want to move in.