Background Swinger

Chad had said yes. He worshipped the folk music the duo of Sean and Inez. Inez had shown interest in the handsome nineteen-year-old blond college sophomore, taking every opportunity to rub up against him when they were on stage together. Chad and his friends had done their periodic act of coming up, seemingly spontaneously from the audience, and singing a couple of songs with the professional duo as backup. The audience had eaten it up and Chad grinned from ear to ear. Between sets, Chad almost melted when Inez invited him to sit with them at a table while on break in the smoke-filled Cellar Door performance room. Chad responded in a flirty way with Inez as the price of being chummy with the professional duo. He was more taken with the tall, gaunt, bearded baritone and guitarist, Sean, with the knowing, piercing eyes, who had worked a leg between Chad's knees at the small table and pressed his knee into Chad's crotch and rubbed.

There had been little question of what the two wanted from Chad. He was nineteen, blond, beautiful, and had a good tenor voice. He also was under their spell. They could ask anything of him, and they did.

"We have a gig at the Palace Theatre in Baltimore tomorrow night, but no way to get there," Sean said, as sex was over for now—for a very short "now." "You have such a nifty red convertible . . ."

"Sure, I maybe could drive you to Baltimore," Chad answered. He had a French test tomorrow, but what the shit? "And I thought we really sounded good together at the Cellar Door tonight—me singing a soft backup to your soprano and baritone. Maybe in Baltimore—"

"Yeah, maybe we could do something together in Baltimore," Sean answered, his voice a little flat. But Chad had stars in his eyes. Others had gotten their big break on less than this. He didn't hear any insincerity in Sean's voice. "Bring your guitar—if you can drive us to Baltimore."

"Sure, I'd be happy to drive you to Baltimore tomorrow," Chad answered, it was all set up now in his mind—everything set up: the drive to Baltimore and then him singing with Sean and Inez on stage there.

"That's really sweet of you, baby," Inez said, sitting cross-legged above where Chad was on his belly beside her. She coaxed him to move over, with his head between her legs. She held his blond curly head to her crotch, as he slid his tongue between her labia and up to her clit. He groaned as Sean saddled himself on his ass, slid his long, thin cock inside Chad's passage, and started to pump him again.

* * * *

"I'll be with you in a minute. Ya'll have a seat and take a load off. I'm short of opening acts for tonight and need to get that pinned down."

His name was Bob. He was the manager of the Palace Theatre in Baltimore, where Chad had delivered Sean and Inez early Saturday afternoon. He was behind his desk, with a phone receiver up to his ear and cradled into his hunched shoulder. His eyes went to Chad as soon as the three of them entered his office, and Chad recognized the interest behind that look. He got a lot of those looks. He was one fine looking nineteen-year old and there was something in the way he handled himself that told women and men alike that he was available to them. He had a shyness about him that had submissive written all over him—not to mention that he was flanked by Sean and Inez, each of whom was palming one of his butt cheeks as they stood in front of Bob's desk.

For Bob's part, from Chad's perspective, he was his apartment mate Pete twenty years from now—a Pete who had left the gym behind him fifteen years ago. He was a big, dark-haired, hirsute man who, when he stood up behind the desk with the phone receiver still planted in his ear, showed that he had a beer belly on him too that Pete likely would have in twenty years if he didn't keep going to the gym regularly. Bob was the typical high school football lineman who had moved from the field to the stands a couple of decades ago. Still, he was a good-looking guy in the face.

"Damn. Doesn't answer," he said, as he dropped the phone receiver to his beefy hand and then slammed it into the phone cradle. "Glad you, at least, made it," he said. "Don't need to do any ticket returns if the mainliners are here."

"You need more opening spots than you have?" Sean asked.

"You got it," Bob answered.

"Chad here, who gave us a ride up from D.C., performs at the Cellar Door. Maybe he could be persuaded to hold over here to do a spot tonight."

Bob's eyes, which hadn't left Chad the entire time the three had been in the office with him, narrowed, taking in a whole new interest in the blond honey standing between Sean and Inez. Bob knew about the Cellar Door. There was a main folk venue in every city. In Baltimore it was the Palace Theatre; in nearby Washington, D.C., it was the Cellar Door.

"You sing there, at the CD, for Juliette Green?" he asked, the question directed at Chad.

"Yes, sir," Chad answered. That wasn't all he did for Juliette, but the manager of the Palace Theatre didn't need to know that. Still, Chad was accustomed to getting the looks Bob was giving him and knew what desires lay behind them. Chad was prepared to do for Bob what he did for Juliette if it got him a spot on stage.

"What do you sing—whose songs?"

"A few of them are my own, but I sing the tenor on Simon and Garfunkel songs with a friend from D.C. at the Cellar Door, and I've done versions of John Denver, Cat Stevens, Donovan, Bob Seeger, Bob Dylan . . . and others. I sing the tenor in Peter, Paul, and Mary songs when a group gets together on that."

"That's a lot of covering," Bob said, drawing out the word "covering" and acting like each of the names given was an aphrodisiac for him. He sat back down in his chair and swiveled it around to the side. "I see you brought a guitar. Sing me something. Here, sing me something sweet."

Chad perched on the side of the desk and started into "Scarborough Fair." By the time he transitioned into "You Were on My Mind," Bob had a hand on one of his thighs, and Sean, standing on the opposite side of Chad, had a hand on his other thigh. Inez was kneeling at Chad's feet, which were dangling off the side of the desk, and had a hand on his calf. All three wanted him. If they'd only known, they could have shared him right there on the desk top. Chad was well versed in trading sex for stage gigs in the music world—rather innocently so. Sex was a casual resource for him, not some precious treasure to protect. This was the sixties. He never initiated it himself, though. It was always a deal that someone else was offering.

"So, what do you think?" Chad asked when he was finished auditioning.

But he wasn't finished auditioning.

"I'd like to hear that in one of the rehearsal rooms. Just you and me. I'll have someone show you and Inez the dressing rooms, Sean."

Once alone in the rehearsal room, Bob said, "I think you know the score, baby. I think you know what you need to do to get on stage here."

"Yes, sir," Chad answered, pulling his T-shirt over his head.

Bob fucked Chad up against the wall in the rehearsal room. Chad had already knelt before him; unbuttoned, unzipped, and flared Bob's jeans; and sucked his cock to hard. Then, jeans puddled around Bob's ankles and Chad's jeans and briefs bunched up on the floor, Bob backed Chad against the wall and lifted his smaller, trim body up and settled it down on his cock. Chad hooked his knees on Bob's hips, lifted Bob's beer belly up into the concave area of his own chest that he created to accommodate it and give Bob's thick and long cock maximum access, and wrapped his arms around the theater manager's neck.

Bob knew how to give cock in this position and Chad knew how to take it. Moving the young man's body up and down the wall with the strength of his upward thrusts, Bob fucked Chad to mutual ejaculations. Chad fully participated in the fuck, moaning for Bob, declaring that Bob was performing stud services, and meeting Bob's upward thrusts with downward jabs of his own, taking Bob deep, stretching for him, causing his passage walls to ripple over the plowing shaft—and then sinking to his knees when they'd both come and taking Bob's cock in his mouth again.

The audition now complete, Chad got an opener slot in the night's Sean and Inez concert at Baltimore's Palace Theatre.

* * * *

Chad's stint on stage at the Palace was received well, and he walked through a garden of applause into the audience as he finished. He had intended to proceed to the back of the theater, which was set up with tables and chairs rather than stadium seating, taking a victory walk through the smiling faces, including one he zeroed on—a middle-aged blonde sitting alone at a table, her cleavage almost busting out of the slinky top of her cocktail dress. She looked out of place in this folk venue, which was why Chad's eyes had picked her out for him to sing to during his performance. She had maintained the connection as well. She looked like she was dripping in money, and as Chad walked into the audience, she motioned to the unoccupied chair next to her at her table.

Before Chad could decide whether to join her, though, Bob reached out and latched onto his arm.

"You done good, kid," he said. "Come on back to my office and let's talk contract."

Bob fucked Chad on top of his desk, Chad on his back, his arms stretched out to his sides, his hands clutching the edged of the desk top to hold himself steady, his legs spread and raised, Bob's hands gripping them under the knee, while Bob crouched over him, standing between his spread thighs, and thrust, thrust, thrust, pistoning Chad's ass.

The proffered contract lay under Chad's back. He'd said he would consider it. The problem was that he still was a college student—at George Washington University in Washington, D.C., a long commute from Baltimore. He maybe was rushing this music thing. And just maybe he was giving too much of himself up to establish this music thing. The contract itself wasn't much better than he could get from the Cellar Door, especially if you considered the cost of transportation. But then, taking Bob was easier on Chad than servicing Juliette was.

But for now, he was getting a great fuck. Bob picked up the pace of the thrusts. Chad arched his back, cried out that he was coming—and then did.

When he returned to the music hall, Sean and Inez had done their gig—and were gone.

"They left with someone who said he'd give them a ride to their next city—Richmond," the stage manager told Chad when he asked about their dressing room being empty.

"But they were going to spot me a hotel room for the night and give me gas money," Chad said. And they had promised to do so much more with him too, Chad was thinking.

"I don't know anything about that, kid," the stage manager said, and then, because he was from an older generation, he added, "You folk people are fickle. Who's to tell what you're going to do next?"

Not finding that comforting, Chad went back down into the audience, which had thinned out. There was some sort of local hopefuls singing going on the stage now, and apparently the local hopefuls weren't all that popular in Baltimore. The older blonde was still, there, at her table, still alone, and still beckoning to Chad as soon as she saw him emerging from the wings on the stage.

"You were great, Hon," she said, as Chad settled in the chair next to her. "But you look sort of down now. What's the matter? You were great. You should be all beautiful smiles. You're are a beautiful young man, you know."

Yes, Chad knew. Men and women alike, kept telling him so. And they wanted something from him too.

"I lost my hotel room for the night—I've come from Washington, D.C.—and my gas money for getting back is gone too," Chad admitted.

"We'll have to see what we can do about that. My name's Angela." She put a hand on his forearm and fluttered her false eyelashes at him.

Angela fucked Chad—she taking all of the initiative and neither one of them minding that—in a Baltimore hotel room. The gas money cash he needed, plus $25 for the "services," was already laying on the nightstand next to the bed.

Chad sat on the end of the bed, feet on the floor, while Angela sat in his lap, facing him, her arms around his neck, her tits jiggling against his chest, his hands gripping and spreading her buttocks cheeks, as feet planted next to his hips, she bounced on his cock.

It was OK, but it wasn't great. Chad thought of himself, in Angela's position, bouncing on Pete's or Sean's or even Bob's cock while he was letting Angela take what she wanted. He liked it well enough to get hard and come for a woman, but it was better with a man. Actually, he went highest when he was fucking Inez and Sean was fucking him.

* * * *

"The Jackson Trio is here next Saturday. They need transportation and we've discussed getting them a couple of backup singers for a few of their songs."

Juliette was sitting with Chad at a table in the Cellar Door on a Tuesday afternoon as a sound and light crew was setting up for that evening. Chad and Pete had a spot in the performance lineup. Pete was pulling down a shift at the Orleans House before coming into D.C., though.

"The Jackson Trio?" Chad asked. Three young black men, good-looking all. Two of them were gay tops. They'd performed here before. Chad had performed in bed with those two before—both of them together.

"You might be interested in that?" Juliette asked.

"Sure."

"What are you doing this afternoon? Want to come upstairs with me while I decide who I hook the Jackson Trio up with?"

"Sure, why not?"