bianchi_andreas
April 1st, 2006, 04:22 AM
Most weekends you can find me on the tennis court. Organized recreational tennis is a big deal here, almost 80,000 people playing in 200 leagues. Competition levels range from grandmothers out for a little exercise up to cutthroat matches where the unspoken rule is that nobody wins until blood stains the court. My mixed doubles team, four other men and five women, falls somewhere in the middle: We all play hard, but none of us carries a grudge past the cracking of the first beer. This year we were good enough that we made the playoffs that were held a couple of hours downstate.
The idea of making the post season excited me, even though nobody thinks that I’m the next Roger Federer or anything. I’m the regular player in the fifth spot on our rotation, the weakest doubles pairing, but Jennifer and I had won more often than we lost this year.
As we were celebrating our advance to the playoffs, Mark Sullivan– everyone called him “Sully”– wandered over to interrupt my conversation with Jim McPherson. He tossed us a couple of bottles of water and asked me, “Listen, Chris, do you want to share a room at the hotel with me next weekend? You don’t already have plans do you?”
I was surprised. “Your wife isn’t going?”
Sully gave a wry smile. “She hates watching tennis, and I think she’s glad to get me out of the house for a few days.” Somehow, I seriously doubted that. In his early thirties like I am, Sully is easy to get along with and affable. I had seen him with his wife three or four times, and they were clearly very much in love. The prospect of sharing a room with him for a few days intrigued me as much as making the playoffs did. His ruggedly handsome face and athletically muscular body had attracted my attention from the day I met him. He knew my taste in bed partners, but before I thought too long about any ulterior motives he might harbor, Sully screwed his face up and told me, “One thing is my brother-in-law would be staying with us.” He punched my arm lightly, “But that wouldn’t be a problem, right?”
It wasn’t a problem exactly, but it did make me stop to think. The details were a little fuzzy, but Sully had filled me in over the past few months about his wife’s younger brother, Danny. In addition to a tendency to skip school, he had forged his father’s name to a release form so he could get an elaborate tattoo on his back. His biggest problem was the two pregnant classmates who fingered Danny as the father-to-be. Asking myself if I needed all the aggravation, I was prepared to lie that I already had plans. An anxious look in Sully’s eyes made me relent.
“Sure!” I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. “That’s cool.” Obvious relief in his grin made me wonder if I had made a mistake.
Early the following Thursday, Sully pulled his sedan into my driveway as I came out of the house with my bags slung over my shoulders. They both hopped out of the car, and Sully introduced us. Danny was a big, dark-haired kid, about seventeen, maybe barely eighteen, wearing a tank top that showed off the tattoo, still puffy and reddened. He gave me an unnerving leer, “Nice to meet you,” his voice charged with erotic heat. Shocked, I shot a glance at Sully who was busy stowing my rackets in the trunk. He didn’t react, but I suspected that he would have picked up the undertones if his underage sister-in-law greeted me like that. I just swallowed hard and nodded at Danny as he scrambled into the back seat, arching his back, I swear, to thrust his ass in my direction.
The trip down was uncomfortable. Sully and I talked a little about tennis, but the tension between him and his brother-in-law was thick. Danny only spoke a little, never saying anything to me that could be labeled as overtly sexual, but I’m experienced enough to know when I’m pursued. My cool indifference to seduction seemed to spur Danny.
Matters became more surreal at the tennis tournament. Our matches took place on two courts, so our first and second teams started off while the rest of us yelled encouragement from the bleachers. After flirting aggressively in the car, Danny ignored me at the match. The woman that Sully and his partner faced a perky redhead whose surgically-enhanced breasts everyone noticed, even me. Danny’s gaze never seemed to waver from her bouncing and jiggling, not even when Jim McPherson stood five feet away from him, changing shirts between sets. In his own way, Jimmy’s broad, well-developed chest was as impressive as the red-haired woman’s, better from my point of view, but that’s just my opinion. Danny never even glanced at the guy, and no self-respecting homo would have passed up that chance. I concluded that A) Danny was straight, so B) he was just fucking with my mind because C) he was a sociopath and D) . . . I don’t know what the end of that train of thought was but it added up to him being bad news. If the kid started in on me again, I would have to put an end to his games so I could enjoy the rest of the weekend.
In the end, we won the match three to two, with Jennifer and me the deciding pair at the fifth spot. Roaring back to take the first set after being down five games to none, then winning the second set easily, we gave the whole team a boost going into the second round the next day. After kissing Jennifer on the cheek, Sully pounded me on the back and grinned, “I’d kiss you, too, buddy, but the wife doesn’t like me smooching too many men.” What the hell could I say to that?
Everyone on the team went to dinner together at a steak place just down the street from the hotel. I sat as far away from Danny as I could and was relieved that he seemed to have decided to stop bugging me. That left me sitting next to Jim, who with boyishly earnest enthusiasm, engaged me in a long discussion about whether ending the relationship with his girlfriend over her incompetence at oral sex made him a bad guy. “It’s not like I don’t care for her,” he said. “I mean, I got the tattoo for her and all.”
Curious, I asked, “What tattoo?”
Jim looked around to see if anyone was watching and leaned back in his chair, tugging his shirt out of his shorts. Grinning slyly at me, he pulled his waistband down to reveal the tanned skin on his flat stomach. Just above the half inch of dark pubes that he also uncovered was a little teddy bear. He runs his thumb over it, asking, “What do you think?”
I wanted to jam my mouth on him and run my tongue over the bear, but I limited myself to muttering, “That looks cool,” and then stared off in the distance as Jim rearranged his clothes. Damn! First Danny, then Sully and now Jim . . . what was going on with these straight guys?
After dinner, Sully handed me the key to the room, saying, “I’m going to pick up some info on the match tomorrow. It shouldn’t take long.” A shiver of alarm went through me as I thought of me alone with the kid, but I shrugged it off. He had behaved himself since we arrived. In the room, Danny locked himself in the bathroom to take a shower while I flipped on a tennis match on the sports channel. The broadcast held my attention, two of my favorite hot studs on the men’s circuit. I’d be willing to go a couple of sets on or off the court with either one of them. The shower went silent without me even noticing because I was so intent on watching the pros as they served the ball. I was just looking for pointers to help my game, and the frequent flash of hard abs as their shirts rode up was immaterial to me . . . no, really, not even on my radar.
Eventually, Danny came out of the shower with just a towel wrapped around his waist. He hands me a tube of medicated cream and asks, “Would you rub this on my back? For the tattoo, you know?” He sits on the edge of the bed, loosening the grip on the towel so that it slid down a little to reveal an inch or two of the cleft in his butt.
I scooted across the bed away from him, wanting no part of this. “Put it on yourself.”
“C’mon! I can’t reach it. You don’t want my skin to go all crusty, do you?”
I tossed the ointment on the night stand between the beds, insisting, “Danny, cut it out! I’m not interested.”
He looked quizzically over his shoulder at me. “What do you mean ‘interested’?” His lips curled up in a smirk. “Oh, I get it. You think . . . C’mon, dude! For fuck’s sake, you’re my dad’s age. Jeez! I’m asking you to put the medicine on my shoulder, not give me a hand job. Get over yourself.” Danny handed me the ointment, the towel slipping a little lower as he did so. Angry about the age jibe -- I was his sister’s age, not his father’s-- and embarrassed that I had made a jackass of myself, I squirted a glob of the cream on his shoulder and used the back of my hand to smear it on his shoulder.
My face burning, I ignored his low moans of appreciation, “Wow! That feels good! You have great hands, Chris.” I focused on the tennis match on TV as he stretched out on the other bed without bothering to dress, the towel still wrapped around his waist. Danny was watching the match as well, and at first was commenting, “Good shot!” or “Way to dig it out!” Then he started with the low moaning growls again, “Ooh, yeah, baby!” and “That’s where I like it!” It was a weird mixture of the video feed from tennis and the audio feed from a porno movie. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Danny kneading his chest or occasionally reaching down to adjust himself under the towel.
After four or five minutes of this, I was disgusted to realize that I was getting turned on. Dangling between this juvenile delinquent’s thighs was a fat invitation to a lifetime appointment to the state Sex Offenders Registry. Knowing that I had to get out before my libido short circuited my sense of rational behavior, I slammed my feet into my shoes and told the brat, “I’m going down to the bar.”
“Hey! I’ll go with you,” Danny said, standing up. As he started to pull the towel away, I bolted for the door, yelling as I went into the hall, “Grownups only! No kiddies allowed!”
I was mentally kicking myself for being such a bonehead, landing in that dangerous situation. Angry at Sully as well for leaving me to look after his brother-in-law, I thought that I would find someone I knew in the hotel bar that could keep me out of trouble.
The lounge was a small, dark cave just off the lobby, a half dozen booths, ten or so tables, seating for eight at the bar. I looked around, squinting as my eyes adjusted to the dim light. Nobody I know was in there, only a young couple necking in the corner and a table of sleazy-looking men in business suits putting the moves on a cocktail waitress who had fended off a thousand more skillful advances. I would have settled for Jim and more of his saga of woeful fellatio, but I was on my own. My only entertainment would be the man who was sitting on a tiny stage, tuning a guitar. Settling at the end of the bar, I asked for a bottle of beer and was irked by the bartender’s brusque, “Could I see some ID, sport?”
“Do I look like I’m under twenty-one?” I snapped.
He gave me a weary stare, “Listen, buddy, I’ve been on my feet all night. How about you stop bustin’ my balls and either flash me the ID or take your act on the road, huh?”
I fished my license out of my wallet, and he eyed it for a second, then said, “See, Christopher, that wasn’t so hard. Common courtesy, that’s all I want.”
“Sorry,” I muttered. “It’s been a tough day.”
“Lot of that going around,” he smiled as he slid the beer and a bowl of stale pretzels in front of me.
The singer started into his set, laying into some hard, bluesy guitar licks. He had a good voice, clean but with a raspy edge, and his repertoire was heavy on dark songs about loss and loneliness, a good bit of regret tossed in for good measure. The music was the perfect soundtrack to my miserable mood, but I was enjoying listening. My appreciation wasn’t hurt by the fact that the guy was hot and sexy, his lean, hard body dressed in jeans and a tight black shirt. His dark hair was collar length, and the scruffy little goatee made his face look interesting rather than conventionally handsome. In the low light it was difficult to be sure how old he was, probably a little younger than me. Certainly, he was a lot older than Danny, so I didn’t feel like a pervert for being attracted to him. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, and as he spun though his songs, his eyes rested on me more often, mostly because I was the only one in the sparse crowd that paid any attention to him. The lyrics of misery and despair were delivered in an almost sweet manner that softened the hard edges. My musical expertise is limited, but I was surprised that his talent was hidden away in a hotel bar on a back road that didn’t go anywhere.
Listening to his music pushed me deeper into the black mood I had been. Between Danny screwing with me and Jim’s inadvertent tease, I was frustrated and pissed off, not to mention as randy as a goat.
After eight or nine songs, the set came to and end, and he thanked the crowd . . . it was just me, to be honest. The singer came to the end of the bar near where I was sitting and asked the bartender for a bottle of water. When he nodded at me in greeting, I commented, “You're so talented . . . great voice. I like your music a lot.”
“Yeah?” he asked. “Thanks. I usually try to do one set a night of my own stuff. The songs I write are too dark to do much more. I’m Kirk, by the way.”
“Chris.”
“You got any requests for the next set?”
Without thinking, I blurted, “How about the ‘I Got the Straight Boy Blues’?” As soon as I said it, I felt like a total fucking idiot. Kirk stopped playing with the book of matches he was pushing around the bar and stared at me for a few seconds. I looked away, my face burning.
“You know,” he said slowly, stroking his upper lip with one of his long, slender fingers, “I sense there’s a great story behind that. Am I right?” I looked back at him. “If you're willing to share it, I’ll stand you to a drink to hear it.” Kirk signaled to the bartender as I started telling him about the weird way Sully and Jim had been acting, not to mention the jail bait Don Juan I had been fending off all day. He was easy to talk to, and the story just poured out of me until he had me laughing at myself. Kirk shook his head at one point, saying, “Unbelievable! This would make such a great song. I may totally go klepto on you and steal it.”
As we were talking, the bartender and cocktail waitress called Kirk to the other end of the bar. He came back, looking apologetic. “Since you are the only customer in here, Annie and Tim were thinking that we might close early. You okay with that?”
“Sure,” I said, trying to hide my disappointment. “No problem.”
As I cleared my tab, Kirk offered, “I know you don’t want to go back to your room yet, right? Why don’t you come out to my truck, and I’ll play you a tape of some of my other songs?” I pretended to think it over just so I didn’t look so pathetically desperate.
Crossing the hotel parking lot to his pickup, it occurred to me that going off alone with a virtual stranger wasn’t the smartest move I could have made, but he seemed to be a nice enough guy. Once we were inside the truck, he stuck a cassette in the tape deck, and he smiled shyly at me as his own voice flowed out of the speakers. Kirk had listened patiently to my story in the bar, but now it was his turn to talk enthusiastically about music and his songs. Through his running commentary about sources and inspirations, his influences and background, part of me kept thinking how beautiful his eyes were. How much I wanted to feel his mouth pressed against mine.
After a while, he started to wind down, and I closed my eyes, listening to the raw, urgent intensity of his music. While unexpected, I wasn’t surprised when I heard the rustle of Kirk moving closer to me and resting his hand gently against the back of my neck. His fingertips, callused by the guitar strings, felt wonderfully rough on my skin. His warm breath brushed my cheek as in a low, gruff voice he asked, “So, Chris, tell me.”
Without opening my eyes, I murmured, “Mmm?” in the pause.
He moved a little closer, continuing, “Are you set on this thing with the straight guys, or are you open to something a little more adventurous?” My answer was to shift my body so that I leaned into him more. He began kissing my throat as I leaned back against the truck door, pulling him on top of me. Kirk’s hands ran down my chest as his mouth found mine. Our lips ground together, and our tongues fought. My hands slid under his shirt so I could feel the muscles of his back work beneath the warm, smooth skin. I moved to the back of his jeans, cupping his hard ass, squeezing him as we ground our hips together. His hard cock was crushed against mine. We were laughing as we tried to pull our shirts off in the tight space, our legs and our clothes tangled together.
The feel of Kirk’s bare skin against mine drew a low growl from me, and I wrapped my fist around his cock, pumping the thick shaft. I rubbed my thumb across the fat knob, smearing a drop of pre-cum around.
“Oh, man,” Kirk whispered. “Don’t stop that.”
I slowly jerked him off as he kissed my face.and neck. He pulled free of my hand, eagerly licking his way down my chest, teasing my nipples with his teeth and swirling them beneath his tongue. Wrestling free from his grasp, I flipped him onto his back, slurping the sweat from his neck and chest, chewing one tit and then the other, inhaling his clean, musky scent. As I burrowed my face into his armpit, the hairs tickling me, he angled on top again, kissing me on the stomach, then swooping down to take my nuts in his mouth. My leaking cock was throbbing, arching away from me as he pulled down on my balls and then slapping hard against my abs.
“You are so hot!” I moaned. We were slick with sweat, making wet, smacking noises as Kirk’s lean, hard body slapped against mine. Even with the windows open, the truck cab was filled with the animal smell of our lust.
While he pinched my nipples roughly, I fumbled with Kirk’s jeans, tugging them down more to uncover the tangle of dark hair at his crotch. Hooking my thumbs in the waistband, I pushed his boxers down, allowing his hard cock to jump free, long and lean like the rest of his body. The dark, flared head pulsed with his beating heart, a succulent pearl of syrup glistening in the deep slit at the tip.
I shoved his shorts lower to see his balls, as fat as walnuts nestled between his thighs, the skin covering them velvety smooth, freshly shaven. My lips brushing against them made him moan loudly, "Fuck, man, lick my balls! That feels so good!”
His ripe, musky scent filled my nose as I kept teasing him, rubbing my lips across his full sack. As he begged for more, my greedy tongue pushed out, and I dropped my head to give his nuts a slurping bath.
Kirk’s salty, pungent taste was incredibly arousing, rich and unmistakably male. I pulled one ball between my lips, licking it and rolling it across my tongue. He arched his back to press his crotch to my face. Rubbing my teeth against his tender skin had him shivering in pleasure.
I released his balls and looked into his dark eyes, hooded in desire, before grabbing his long, tapering cock and pulling it to me. I licked the shaft, almost tasting the hot blood pulsing below the skin. The fat, dark knob slid easily into my mouth and down my throat. With my lips encircling the hard shaft and my nose buried in his bush, I snaked my tongue along the sensitive underside of his dick. Kirk had one of his long-fingered hands on the back of my head and began to pump his hips, fucking my mouth hard.
He had started thrusting harder and faster when he pulled free from me. Ignoring my moans of protest, he growled, “You have a great mouth, baby, but I want to see what your ass has for me.”
Grabbing my butt with both hands, he lifted me higher so that he could nuzzle the tender flesh behind my balls, biting and tonguing me with all the energy he brought to his songs. Kirk’s expert attack had me quivering. Pivoting me closer, he pried my ass cheeks apart to find access to my pucker. I arched back, my head resting on the floorboard and my feet wedged against the roof. Pre-cum was dripping from my dick as his tongue teased and probed my hole. His hot, slick tongue danced around my hole, teasing and probing me. When he eases me back to the seat, I beg, “Fill me with your long cock!” Kirk held me close as he reached behind me to the glove compartment. I was so ready to be fucked that I didn’t even wonder about why he drove around with lube and condoms in the truck. I was just glad he had them.
Stretched out on the seat, I propped my feet on the back of the seat and the dash. I was a total cock slut, and I didn’t care. After squirting a glob of lube on my hole, Kirk greased me, slipping one and then two fingers in me. I couldn’t look away from the intense concentration in his eyes, his sweat-darkened hair plastered to his forehead.
With a wide, lascivious grin, Kirk wrapped my legs around his waist, slowly and carefully sliding his long cock into me . As I felt his balls hit my ass, his length fully inside me, he rolled his hips a three or four times and began plunging deep into me, filling me with his cock.
“You are so tight,” he groaned. “I feel like you are squeezing my dick with a fist.”
He fucked me with deep, slow strokes, and I thrust upward to meet him. We fell into a smooth rhythm, our hips pumping in mirror image. He bent to kiss me, his mouth covering mine in a long, wet kiss. Slamming his dick into me harder and faster, Kirk’s breath came in short grunts with each thrust, while I moaned his name. He hammered me with hard strokes that were violently intense, my hard cock jolting against my abs with every savage lunge. My chute didn’t feel like flesh any longer, but like molten liquid, melted by his heat. I hold his waist, feeling the strain of the muscle as he rocks deeper into me.
“So hot!” I groan. “You are so damn hot!”
He reached down and began jerking me off. I arched my neck against the truck seat, my body tense and shaking. Kirk’s breathing became heavier and his stroke short and fast. I clinched my hole tighter around him, and he groaned. He threw his head back, shuddering hard, grinding his hips against my ass, a long moaning breath escaping from him as he shot his load deep inside me.
Smiling, his softening cock still lodged in my ass, Kirk resumed stroking me. Only a few pumps of his fist were needed, and I gushed all over my abs and chest. With a long sigh, he fell on top of me, his hard naked flesh fused to mine, sweat and cum drenching us. We lay together for a long time, caressing, laughing, listening as the cassette player cycled through Kirk’s songs again. As he massaged my back and our mouths pressed together in a steamy, passionate kiss, I became hard again.
Kirk grinned slyly at me, “Ready for another chorus of ‘Straight Boy Blues,’ huh?”
“No way, babe!” I said, cupping his crotch, “You’ve got me singing a new song.”
The idea of making the post season excited me, even though nobody thinks that I’m the next Roger Federer or anything. I’m the regular player in the fifth spot on our rotation, the weakest doubles pairing, but Jennifer and I had won more often than we lost this year.
As we were celebrating our advance to the playoffs, Mark Sullivan– everyone called him “Sully”– wandered over to interrupt my conversation with Jim McPherson. He tossed us a couple of bottles of water and asked me, “Listen, Chris, do you want to share a room at the hotel with me next weekend? You don’t already have plans do you?”
I was surprised. “Your wife isn’t going?”
Sully gave a wry smile. “She hates watching tennis, and I think she’s glad to get me out of the house for a few days.” Somehow, I seriously doubted that. In his early thirties like I am, Sully is easy to get along with and affable. I had seen him with his wife three or four times, and they were clearly very much in love. The prospect of sharing a room with him for a few days intrigued me as much as making the playoffs did. His ruggedly handsome face and athletically muscular body had attracted my attention from the day I met him. He knew my taste in bed partners, but before I thought too long about any ulterior motives he might harbor, Sully screwed his face up and told me, “One thing is my brother-in-law would be staying with us.” He punched my arm lightly, “But that wouldn’t be a problem, right?”
It wasn’t a problem exactly, but it did make me stop to think. The details were a little fuzzy, but Sully had filled me in over the past few months about his wife’s younger brother, Danny. In addition to a tendency to skip school, he had forged his father’s name to a release form so he could get an elaborate tattoo on his back. His biggest problem was the two pregnant classmates who fingered Danny as the father-to-be. Asking myself if I needed all the aggravation, I was prepared to lie that I already had plans. An anxious look in Sully’s eyes made me relent.
“Sure!” I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. “That’s cool.” Obvious relief in his grin made me wonder if I had made a mistake.
Early the following Thursday, Sully pulled his sedan into my driveway as I came out of the house with my bags slung over my shoulders. They both hopped out of the car, and Sully introduced us. Danny was a big, dark-haired kid, about seventeen, maybe barely eighteen, wearing a tank top that showed off the tattoo, still puffy and reddened. He gave me an unnerving leer, “Nice to meet you,” his voice charged with erotic heat. Shocked, I shot a glance at Sully who was busy stowing my rackets in the trunk. He didn’t react, but I suspected that he would have picked up the undertones if his underage sister-in-law greeted me like that. I just swallowed hard and nodded at Danny as he scrambled into the back seat, arching his back, I swear, to thrust his ass in my direction.
The trip down was uncomfortable. Sully and I talked a little about tennis, but the tension between him and his brother-in-law was thick. Danny only spoke a little, never saying anything to me that could be labeled as overtly sexual, but I’m experienced enough to know when I’m pursued. My cool indifference to seduction seemed to spur Danny.
Matters became more surreal at the tennis tournament. Our matches took place on two courts, so our first and second teams started off while the rest of us yelled encouragement from the bleachers. After flirting aggressively in the car, Danny ignored me at the match. The woman that Sully and his partner faced a perky redhead whose surgically-enhanced breasts everyone noticed, even me. Danny’s gaze never seemed to waver from her bouncing and jiggling, not even when Jim McPherson stood five feet away from him, changing shirts between sets. In his own way, Jimmy’s broad, well-developed chest was as impressive as the red-haired woman’s, better from my point of view, but that’s just my opinion. Danny never even glanced at the guy, and no self-respecting homo would have passed up that chance. I concluded that A) Danny was straight, so B) he was just fucking with my mind because C) he was a sociopath and D) . . . I don’t know what the end of that train of thought was but it added up to him being bad news. If the kid started in on me again, I would have to put an end to his games so I could enjoy the rest of the weekend.
In the end, we won the match three to two, with Jennifer and me the deciding pair at the fifth spot. Roaring back to take the first set after being down five games to none, then winning the second set easily, we gave the whole team a boost going into the second round the next day. After kissing Jennifer on the cheek, Sully pounded me on the back and grinned, “I’d kiss you, too, buddy, but the wife doesn’t like me smooching too many men.” What the hell could I say to that?
Everyone on the team went to dinner together at a steak place just down the street from the hotel. I sat as far away from Danny as I could and was relieved that he seemed to have decided to stop bugging me. That left me sitting next to Jim, who with boyishly earnest enthusiasm, engaged me in a long discussion about whether ending the relationship with his girlfriend over her incompetence at oral sex made him a bad guy. “It’s not like I don’t care for her,” he said. “I mean, I got the tattoo for her and all.”
Curious, I asked, “What tattoo?”
Jim looked around to see if anyone was watching and leaned back in his chair, tugging his shirt out of his shorts. Grinning slyly at me, he pulled his waistband down to reveal the tanned skin on his flat stomach. Just above the half inch of dark pubes that he also uncovered was a little teddy bear. He runs his thumb over it, asking, “What do you think?”
I wanted to jam my mouth on him and run my tongue over the bear, but I limited myself to muttering, “That looks cool,” and then stared off in the distance as Jim rearranged his clothes. Damn! First Danny, then Sully and now Jim . . . what was going on with these straight guys?
After dinner, Sully handed me the key to the room, saying, “I’m going to pick up some info on the match tomorrow. It shouldn’t take long.” A shiver of alarm went through me as I thought of me alone with the kid, but I shrugged it off. He had behaved himself since we arrived. In the room, Danny locked himself in the bathroom to take a shower while I flipped on a tennis match on the sports channel. The broadcast held my attention, two of my favorite hot studs on the men’s circuit. I’d be willing to go a couple of sets on or off the court with either one of them. The shower went silent without me even noticing because I was so intent on watching the pros as they served the ball. I was just looking for pointers to help my game, and the frequent flash of hard abs as their shirts rode up was immaterial to me . . . no, really, not even on my radar.
Eventually, Danny came out of the shower with just a towel wrapped around his waist. He hands me a tube of medicated cream and asks, “Would you rub this on my back? For the tattoo, you know?” He sits on the edge of the bed, loosening the grip on the towel so that it slid down a little to reveal an inch or two of the cleft in his butt.
I scooted across the bed away from him, wanting no part of this. “Put it on yourself.”
“C’mon! I can’t reach it. You don’t want my skin to go all crusty, do you?”
I tossed the ointment on the night stand between the beds, insisting, “Danny, cut it out! I’m not interested.”
He looked quizzically over his shoulder at me. “What do you mean ‘interested’?” His lips curled up in a smirk. “Oh, I get it. You think . . . C’mon, dude! For fuck’s sake, you’re my dad’s age. Jeez! I’m asking you to put the medicine on my shoulder, not give me a hand job. Get over yourself.” Danny handed me the ointment, the towel slipping a little lower as he did so. Angry about the age jibe -- I was his sister’s age, not his father’s-- and embarrassed that I had made a jackass of myself, I squirted a glob of the cream on his shoulder and used the back of my hand to smear it on his shoulder.
My face burning, I ignored his low moans of appreciation, “Wow! That feels good! You have great hands, Chris.” I focused on the tennis match on TV as he stretched out on the other bed without bothering to dress, the towel still wrapped around his waist. Danny was watching the match as well, and at first was commenting, “Good shot!” or “Way to dig it out!” Then he started with the low moaning growls again, “Ooh, yeah, baby!” and “That’s where I like it!” It was a weird mixture of the video feed from tennis and the audio feed from a porno movie. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Danny kneading his chest or occasionally reaching down to adjust himself under the towel.
After four or five minutes of this, I was disgusted to realize that I was getting turned on. Dangling between this juvenile delinquent’s thighs was a fat invitation to a lifetime appointment to the state Sex Offenders Registry. Knowing that I had to get out before my libido short circuited my sense of rational behavior, I slammed my feet into my shoes and told the brat, “I’m going down to the bar.”
“Hey! I’ll go with you,” Danny said, standing up. As he started to pull the towel away, I bolted for the door, yelling as I went into the hall, “Grownups only! No kiddies allowed!”
I was mentally kicking myself for being such a bonehead, landing in that dangerous situation. Angry at Sully as well for leaving me to look after his brother-in-law, I thought that I would find someone I knew in the hotel bar that could keep me out of trouble.
The lounge was a small, dark cave just off the lobby, a half dozen booths, ten or so tables, seating for eight at the bar. I looked around, squinting as my eyes adjusted to the dim light. Nobody I know was in there, only a young couple necking in the corner and a table of sleazy-looking men in business suits putting the moves on a cocktail waitress who had fended off a thousand more skillful advances. I would have settled for Jim and more of his saga of woeful fellatio, but I was on my own. My only entertainment would be the man who was sitting on a tiny stage, tuning a guitar. Settling at the end of the bar, I asked for a bottle of beer and was irked by the bartender’s brusque, “Could I see some ID, sport?”
“Do I look like I’m under twenty-one?” I snapped.
He gave me a weary stare, “Listen, buddy, I’ve been on my feet all night. How about you stop bustin’ my balls and either flash me the ID or take your act on the road, huh?”
I fished my license out of my wallet, and he eyed it for a second, then said, “See, Christopher, that wasn’t so hard. Common courtesy, that’s all I want.”
“Sorry,” I muttered. “It’s been a tough day.”
“Lot of that going around,” he smiled as he slid the beer and a bowl of stale pretzels in front of me.
The singer started into his set, laying into some hard, bluesy guitar licks. He had a good voice, clean but with a raspy edge, and his repertoire was heavy on dark songs about loss and loneliness, a good bit of regret tossed in for good measure. The music was the perfect soundtrack to my miserable mood, but I was enjoying listening. My appreciation wasn’t hurt by the fact that the guy was hot and sexy, his lean, hard body dressed in jeans and a tight black shirt. His dark hair was collar length, and the scruffy little goatee made his face look interesting rather than conventionally handsome. In the low light it was difficult to be sure how old he was, probably a little younger than me. Certainly, he was a lot older than Danny, so I didn’t feel like a pervert for being attracted to him. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, and as he spun though his songs, his eyes rested on me more often, mostly because I was the only one in the sparse crowd that paid any attention to him. The lyrics of misery and despair were delivered in an almost sweet manner that softened the hard edges. My musical expertise is limited, but I was surprised that his talent was hidden away in a hotel bar on a back road that didn’t go anywhere.
Listening to his music pushed me deeper into the black mood I had been. Between Danny screwing with me and Jim’s inadvertent tease, I was frustrated and pissed off, not to mention as randy as a goat.
After eight or nine songs, the set came to and end, and he thanked the crowd . . . it was just me, to be honest. The singer came to the end of the bar near where I was sitting and asked the bartender for a bottle of water. When he nodded at me in greeting, I commented, “You're so talented . . . great voice. I like your music a lot.”
“Yeah?” he asked. “Thanks. I usually try to do one set a night of my own stuff. The songs I write are too dark to do much more. I’m Kirk, by the way.”
“Chris.”
“You got any requests for the next set?”
Without thinking, I blurted, “How about the ‘I Got the Straight Boy Blues’?” As soon as I said it, I felt like a total fucking idiot. Kirk stopped playing with the book of matches he was pushing around the bar and stared at me for a few seconds. I looked away, my face burning.
“You know,” he said slowly, stroking his upper lip with one of his long, slender fingers, “I sense there’s a great story behind that. Am I right?” I looked back at him. “If you're willing to share it, I’ll stand you to a drink to hear it.” Kirk signaled to the bartender as I started telling him about the weird way Sully and Jim had been acting, not to mention the jail bait Don Juan I had been fending off all day. He was easy to talk to, and the story just poured out of me until he had me laughing at myself. Kirk shook his head at one point, saying, “Unbelievable! This would make such a great song. I may totally go klepto on you and steal it.”
As we were talking, the bartender and cocktail waitress called Kirk to the other end of the bar. He came back, looking apologetic. “Since you are the only customer in here, Annie and Tim were thinking that we might close early. You okay with that?”
“Sure,” I said, trying to hide my disappointment. “No problem.”
As I cleared my tab, Kirk offered, “I know you don’t want to go back to your room yet, right? Why don’t you come out to my truck, and I’ll play you a tape of some of my other songs?” I pretended to think it over just so I didn’t look so pathetically desperate.
Crossing the hotel parking lot to his pickup, it occurred to me that going off alone with a virtual stranger wasn’t the smartest move I could have made, but he seemed to be a nice enough guy. Once we were inside the truck, he stuck a cassette in the tape deck, and he smiled shyly at me as his own voice flowed out of the speakers. Kirk had listened patiently to my story in the bar, but now it was his turn to talk enthusiastically about music and his songs. Through his running commentary about sources and inspirations, his influences and background, part of me kept thinking how beautiful his eyes were. How much I wanted to feel his mouth pressed against mine.
After a while, he started to wind down, and I closed my eyes, listening to the raw, urgent intensity of his music. While unexpected, I wasn’t surprised when I heard the rustle of Kirk moving closer to me and resting his hand gently against the back of my neck. His fingertips, callused by the guitar strings, felt wonderfully rough on my skin. His warm breath brushed my cheek as in a low, gruff voice he asked, “So, Chris, tell me.”
Without opening my eyes, I murmured, “Mmm?” in the pause.
He moved a little closer, continuing, “Are you set on this thing with the straight guys, or are you open to something a little more adventurous?” My answer was to shift my body so that I leaned into him more. He began kissing my throat as I leaned back against the truck door, pulling him on top of me. Kirk’s hands ran down my chest as his mouth found mine. Our lips ground together, and our tongues fought. My hands slid under his shirt so I could feel the muscles of his back work beneath the warm, smooth skin. I moved to the back of his jeans, cupping his hard ass, squeezing him as we ground our hips together. His hard cock was crushed against mine. We were laughing as we tried to pull our shirts off in the tight space, our legs and our clothes tangled together.
The feel of Kirk’s bare skin against mine drew a low growl from me, and I wrapped my fist around his cock, pumping the thick shaft. I rubbed my thumb across the fat knob, smearing a drop of pre-cum around.
“Oh, man,” Kirk whispered. “Don’t stop that.”
I slowly jerked him off as he kissed my face.and neck. He pulled free of my hand, eagerly licking his way down my chest, teasing my nipples with his teeth and swirling them beneath his tongue. Wrestling free from his grasp, I flipped him onto his back, slurping the sweat from his neck and chest, chewing one tit and then the other, inhaling his clean, musky scent. As I burrowed my face into his armpit, the hairs tickling me, he angled on top again, kissing me on the stomach, then swooping down to take my nuts in his mouth. My leaking cock was throbbing, arching away from me as he pulled down on my balls and then slapping hard against my abs.
“You are so hot!” I moaned. We were slick with sweat, making wet, smacking noises as Kirk’s lean, hard body slapped against mine. Even with the windows open, the truck cab was filled with the animal smell of our lust.
While he pinched my nipples roughly, I fumbled with Kirk’s jeans, tugging them down more to uncover the tangle of dark hair at his crotch. Hooking my thumbs in the waistband, I pushed his boxers down, allowing his hard cock to jump free, long and lean like the rest of his body. The dark, flared head pulsed with his beating heart, a succulent pearl of syrup glistening in the deep slit at the tip.
I shoved his shorts lower to see his balls, as fat as walnuts nestled between his thighs, the skin covering them velvety smooth, freshly shaven. My lips brushing against them made him moan loudly, "Fuck, man, lick my balls! That feels so good!”
His ripe, musky scent filled my nose as I kept teasing him, rubbing my lips across his full sack. As he begged for more, my greedy tongue pushed out, and I dropped my head to give his nuts a slurping bath.
Kirk’s salty, pungent taste was incredibly arousing, rich and unmistakably male. I pulled one ball between my lips, licking it and rolling it across my tongue. He arched his back to press his crotch to my face. Rubbing my teeth against his tender skin had him shivering in pleasure.
I released his balls and looked into his dark eyes, hooded in desire, before grabbing his long, tapering cock and pulling it to me. I licked the shaft, almost tasting the hot blood pulsing below the skin. The fat, dark knob slid easily into my mouth and down my throat. With my lips encircling the hard shaft and my nose buried in his bush, I snaked my tongue along the sensitive underside of his dick. Kirk had one of his long-fingered hands on the back of my head and began to pump his hips, fucking my mouth hard.
He had started thrusting harder and faster when he pulled free from me. Ignoring my moans of protest, he growled, “You have a great mouth, baby, but I want to see what your ass has for me.”
Grabbing my butt with both hands, he lifted me higher so that he could nuzzle the tender flesh behind my balls, biting and tonguing me with all the energy he brought to his songs. Kirk’s expert attack had me quivering. Pivoting me closer, he pried my ass cheeks apart to find access to my pucker. I arched back, my head resting on the floorboard and my feet wedged against the roof. Pre-cum was dripping from my dick as his tongue teased and probed my hole. His hot, slick tongue danced around my hole, teasing and probing me. When he eases me back to the seat, I beg, “Fill me with your long cock!” Kirk held me close as he reached behind me to the glove compartment. I was so ready to be fucked that I didn’t even wonder about why he drove around with lube and condoms in the truck. I was just glad he had them.
Stretched out on the seat, I propped my feet on the back of the seat and the dash. I was a total cock slut, and I didn’t care. After squirting a glob of lube on my hole, Kirk greased me, slipping one and then two fingers in me. I couldn’t look away from the intense concentration in his eyes, his sweat-darkened hair plastered to his forehead.
With a wide, lascivious grin, Kirk wrapped my legs around his waist, slowly and carefully sliding his long cock into me . As I felt his balls hit my ass, his length fully inside me, he rolled his hips a three or four times and began plunging deep into me, filling me with his cock.
“You are so tight,” he groaned. “I feel like you are squeezing my dick with a fist.”
He fucked me with deep, slow strokes, and I thrust upward to meet him. We fell into a smooth rhythm, our hips pumping in mirror image. He bent to kiss me, his mouth covering mine in a long, wet kiss. Slamming his dick into me harder and faster, Kirk’s breath came in short grunts with each thrust, while I moaned his name. He hammered me with hard strokes that were violently intense, my hard cock jolting against my abs with every savage lunge. My chute didn’t feel like flesh any longer, but like molten liquid, melted by his heat. I hold his waist, feeling the strain of the muscle as he rocks deeper into me.
“So hot!” I groan. “You are so damn hot!”
He reached down and began jerking me off. I arched my neck against the truck seat, my body tense and shaking. Kirk’s breathing became heavier and his stroke short and fast. I clinched my hole tighter around him, and he groaned. He threw his head back, shuddering hard, grinding his hips against my ass, a long moaning breath escaping from him as he shot his load deep inside me.
Smiling, his softening cock still lodged in my ass, Kirk resumed stroking me. Only a few pumps of his fist were needed, and I gushed all over my abs and chest. With a long sigh, he fell on top of me, his hard naked flesh fused to mine, sweat and cum drenching us. We lay together for a long time, caressing, laughing, listening as the cassette player cycled through Kirk’s songs again. As he massaged my back and our mouths pressed together in a steamy, passionate kiss, I became hard again.
Kirk grinned slyly at me, “Ready for another chorus of ‘Straight Boy Blues,’ huh?”
“No way, babe!” I said, cupping his crotch, “You’ve got me singing a new song.”