Easy Sundays Ch. 01: New York

[This is chapter one of a four-chapter finished novella, which will complete posting by the middle of June 2021.]

"I don't believe I've seen you walking the runway at one of these shows before."

Gene Worth looked over at the man adjusting something on the standing frame of the floodlight as the last of the gawkers were clearing out of the Studio D room of Punto on New York's West 38th Street. There was nothing not to like about the guy, who was maybe in his late thirties, Hispanic, muscular, easy on the eyes, attentive to his business, and full of self-confidence. Gene couldn't help to have seen that the guy had been attentive to him as well as he walked the long, raised platform strip down the center of the room in the House of Havlos young men's fashions show. He'd been particularly attentive when Gene was modeling a "barely there" swimsuit with sandals and a pool jacket he'd slipped off half way down the room and flipped casually over his shoulder.

"No, you haven't. This was my first gig here," Gene answered.

"Manny Rodriguez, here," the Hispanic muscleman said, holding his hand out and flashing Gene a smile. "Manny's New Yorkese for Manuel. If you do more shows—and I'm sure you will, because you were a knockout in this one—you'll see me around a lot."

Gene took the hand. He couldn't very well not do so without being impolite, and he had had the urge to touch the man from the time they'd first locked eyes anyway. It was Sunday, his "easy" day. And the fashion show had put him in heat. The gawkers had been very close to the walkers all the way down the long aisle and Gene had caught many a look from a Class A looker—both female and male—that undressed him and messed with him. He couldn't help but feel stroked sexually by that. There was no doubt he'd do more runway work if he could get it.

And it was Sunday.

Manny held his hand for a few beats longer than necessary and folded a thumb under between their palms and stroked Gene's palm with it a few times before letting the hand go. Gene recognized the universal signal between gay men. Gene wasn't exactly gay; he went with both women and men, but he'd gone with enough men to recognize and appreciate the signal. The signal not only announced "gay," but since Manny had taken the initiative, it announced "top" as well—a top in search of a bottom.

Gene looked into Manny's eyes and smiled. He dipped his head slightly, and he heard Manny take his breath in. The smile was a "me too" on being gay, and the head dip was a signal of submission—putting the two together as he had done meant "I'm available and I'm available to you." Just like that, the playing field had been established.

"I didn't get lunch because of the setup required for the show," Manny said, looking directly at Gene and signaling that it wasn't just lunch he was talking about. "I think I saw you here early too. Interested in going to get something to eat with me? My treat."

"Why not, it's Sunday," Gene answered.

Manny gave him a quizzical look, but he didn't ask. He was getting what he wanted. The cute little piece was going to go with him and Manny was going to fuck him. The gorgeous little male model was being easy—far easier than Manny had anticipated he would be.

"And then maybe—" he started to say.

"Sure, why not, it's Sunday," Gene said again. This was met with another quizzical look from Manny but the cutie was saying yes to everything he suggested so far, so he wasn't going to get into an analysis of what was running smoothly.

Manny had said he knew where there was a cheap café nearby that served reasonably good food, if that was OK with Gene. "I don't live far from here," he said, looking pointedly at Gene. "But I don't want to come across as cheap or anything, if you're used to something fancier than burgers."

"I'm not used to fancy, no. I'm a student and on my own."

"Not high school, I hope," Manny said with the hint of a nervous laugh. He flashed that meaningful "just checking" look again.

"No. I'm finishing up college—a year early—and am starting in a graduate program. I'm twenty-one."

"Good. I mean it's good that you're getting an education. I didn't have the interest to go beyond high school, but I've sure learned the lighting business the 'just do it' way."

"Yeah, I watched you. I could tell you knew what you were doing."

"I know what I'm doing about a lot of things," Manny said with a slight smile. He checked Gene's face to see if the double entendre had struck home and saw that it had. God, he wondered, how could a guy this good looking be this easy?

They had walked as they talked and it wasn't long before they were seated in the café. Gene indeed seemed satisfied with the food and he didn't balk either at Manny's being expressive and aggressive with his hands, touching Gene on the forearm and shoulder and knee and thigh as they talked. Gene racked it up to hot Latin blood. The hot Latin he was eating with heated him up too. Manny knew, though, it was because he could hardly contain his need to fuck the gorgeous young man.

"You say this was your first modeling gig and you're finishing up college?" Manny said. He obviously was digging for more information. "A college here in New York? And how did you get signed up for modeling? You walked the catwalk like a seasoned pro." That modeling style had been what had made Manny think this hunt was going to be difficult. Gene had the "ice maiden/I'm just an automated dressing mannequin" look professional models maintain on the runway down pat.

"They trained me for that in college," Gene said. "I'm up from Philadelphia just for the weekend, but I'll have to move here. I've got a job signed up with this fashion house if I did well enough today—"

"You did great today," Manny interjected.

"Thanks," Gene said, flashing Manny a smile, and continuing. "And I start at Columbia in graduate school creative writing next month. I'll need to find someplace to live here in the next couple of weeks. I've been going to the Philadelphia School of the Arts. They cover performing arts as well as fine arts and writing. I guess you can say I've had a smattering of training in several areas of the arts. Dancing and specific courses in modeling helped me get this job. I need to work while I'm at Columbia."

Gene had rested his forearm on the café table and Manny was running his fingers lightly up and down the skin of the young man's inner arms. God, this is easy, Manny thought again, not quite believing his luck. Gene wasn't pulling away from him.

"So, you have to go back to Philadelphia today?" he asked.

"There's a train tonight," Gene said. "I don't have any classes tomorrow."

"Maybe I can walk you."

"I think I can find Penn Station by myself," Gene said, with a smile.

"I wasn't thinking of walking you to Penn Station. I was thinking of walking you to my place. I live just over in Hells Kitchen from here, near 52nd and 9th Avenue."

"I'm glad that's what you meant," Gene said, with a smile.

"You know what I'm saying, though." This seemed too easy. Manny wanted to pin it down.

"You're saying you want to fuck me. I'm saying yes."

* * * *

Gene was lying on the bed on his back, his eyes wide open and watering, his arms held over his head by Manny's strong grip on his wrists. Gene's fingers were wrapped around the rungs of the brass headboard. Manny straddled his chest, leaning over him, feeding his thick cock into Gene's mouth. Gene was writhing under him, gagging and groaning, not having been prepared for a cock as big as Manny's. But Manny relentlessly face fucked him, his cock engorging until he had come close to exploding. He didn't want to do that yet.

He released the young man's wrists, but Gene left his hands in place, gripping the rungs of the brass headboard as Manny moved down his body to where he was straddling Gene's thighs. He brought their cock heads together, his uncut and Gene's cut. He docked the cocks, pressing the bulbs together, pulling his foreskin over Gene's bulb, and stroked the cocks together as Gene moaned, arched his back and started to move his hips in the rhythm of the fuck.

Now. Now, Gene was thinking. He was going to put it in him now and take him to heaven. "Now. Do it now," he murmured to egg the man on.

Easy was one thing. That didn't mean it had to be fast—that Manny couldn't savor the conquest, couldn't squeeze all of the pleasure he could get out of it before carving the notch in his bedpost. He continued docking the cocks.

It was Manny who dock fucked a release out of his captive first, pulling an ejaculation out of an overwhelmed Gene, not having experienced docking before, and laughing as Gene shuddered, jerked, and slathered both cockheads with his cum, which burbled out underneath the covering foreskin and dripped down Gene's shaft. The gorgeous little piece might be easy, but he was fresh. He hadn't become a jaded bottom yet.

Gene lay there, panting and moaning as Manny moved further down, placing his feet on the floor at the foot of the bed, and pulled Gene down to where his buttocks rested on the bottom edge of the mattress. Gene lost his grip on the headboard and reached down and ran his fingers into the hair on the back of Manny's head, holding Manny close into him, as the older man swallowed Gene's cock and eventually moved down and ate out his ass, opening him up to the thrust of the cock.

Gene lay there, wide-eyed and seemingly helpless, holding his legs raised and spread as Manny stood between his thighs, rolled on a condom, and spritzed his cock and Gene's hole with lube.

"Now. Do it now," Gene murmured again.

Manny laughed. And then he was thrusting inside Gene's passage, deep, and immediately setting up a rhythm of the fuck that had Gene howling and writhing under him, clutching Manny's shoulders, digging in his fingernails there, and setting his own hips in a frenzied countermotion of pain-pleasure and moving up the scale of ecstasy.

Manny fucked him for a while in the missionary position and then flipped him over on the bed, covered him close from above, and fucked him in a doggie position, rising off his back, grabbing Gene's wrists, and arching him back as he thrust hard up into his passage. He finished the young model in a wheelbarrow position, sitting on the foot of the bed, with Gene's body cantilevered out from him. Gene's fists were buried in the carpet and his legs were wrapped around Manny's waist. Manny pulled the younger man's passage on and off the cock, on and off the cock.

"You're such a slut for it," Manny said afterward as he sat, naked, on the bed and watched Gene dress. Manny wasn't going to walk the young model to Penn Station. He'd gotten what he wanted. He did tell Gene where the nearest subway stop was.

"Yeah, well, it's Sunday. I'm prim and proper on the weekdays," Gene answered.

"I could tell that it was still exciting for you, that you were hungry for it. You said you need to find a living situation—a roommate with an apartment, I trust."

"Yeah, I haven't decided whether I need to be close to Columbia, where I'll be studying, or down here in the garment district, where I'll have to work. The woman at the House of Havlos said I might be called on short order and if I can't show up right away I might lose the job. It's a long ride from Columbia."

"There's a Web site you could try to help you find a living arrangement," Manny said, writing the URL down on a slip of paper and handing it to Gene. "You were a good lay. I'm glad we met on a Sunday."

"I'm glad too," Gene said. "You're a bit scary and intense, but I really got my rocks off, which is what I wanted." And then, fully dressed again, he left.

Back in Philadelphia the next day and without a class to go to, Gene went up on the Internet to check out the Web site Manny had told him about. It was obviously a gay male hookup site, concentrated on New York City. It did include a bulletin board on roommates and apartments, though. He found what appeared to be the ideal match for his needs in living accommodations in New York.

"Share near the garment district," it said, "One dominant, totally in-shape thirty-two-year-old seeking one small, slim sub. Cost depending on the quality and frequency of servicing." Pretty straightforward and boldly worded, Gene thought. But, depending on what this thirty-two-year-old dominant seeker looked like, it could be ideal. The thought of a discounted rent was very appealing, and Gene had already decided he would need to be close to the garment district, at least until his modeling reputation grew to where his needs would be accommodated.

He messaged the e-mail address and set up a meet on the steps of the New York Public Library, facing Bryant Park, for the next Sunday afternoon.

Of course the New York apartment was the one he'd been in already the previous Sunday, the thirty-two-year-old dominator was Manny Rodriguez, and the bed Manny fucked him on and was advertising to use was the same one he'd been fucked on the week before.

"Your share of the rent would be $600 a month," Manny said. "But it would be discounted each time you took my cock during that month. Deal?"

That would be no more than twelve times a month to live close to the garment district rent free, Gene quickly calculated.

"Deal," he said.

"First hundred dollars discounted today," Manny said. "Fifty dollars for the fuck we just did and fifty for the one I'm now going to take."

Gene groaned as Manny rolled over on top of him again, but he opened his legs to the man and took the thrust of the cock deep.

It was Sunday.

* * * *

Sunday in the park. Central Park that was. Gene picked it because it was close to a lot of high-end hotels, ones where out-of-town businessmen checked into in anticipation of early morning meetings on Monday. There always were businessmen who liked to let loose when they were in New York and out of the clutches of their suburban lives, with a wife, two-and-a-half children, a dog, and a cat. And there were men who liked to indulge in entirely different preferences than the life they lived in public when they were in a large, impersonal town like New York. The Las Vegas "What plays in Vegas, stays in Vegas" creed applied to other large cities as well.

The runway gigs weren't coming fast enough yet, the costs of starting up a graduate program were high, and Manny wasn't so demanding that there wasn't some rent to pay. It was Sunday. Gene was making ends meet—at least temporarily, he hoped—by turning a trick or two in the park on Sunday.

It hadn't been hard. He was a real looker, moved like a dancer, and looked young, fresh, and vulnerable. Mostly alI he had to do was sit on a bench not far from a drinks truck near the edge of Central Park. He could count on a seeking businessman to come along and maybe pass him three times, giving him increasingly meaningful smiles until Gene gave a shy smile, widened his stance, let his hand glide down in front of his basket for the brief moment the mark was passing, and dip his head. That was usually all he need do to acquire interested company. He could be discriminating. He could signal availability only to men he could see himself going with. Being in the fashion business, he was more interested in the quality and apparent expense of the clothes than in the man's physique, although that had to be acceptable too.

He probably was willing to go with someone older and heftier then most, though—if he had good and expensive taste in clothing. He reasoned that a man with money was best for a one-time Sunday trick than a pretty boy who you'd normally ball for free—and likely would expect you to this time as well.

On this Sunday, the man was expensively dressed, he was a bit jowly and thick around the middle, and he was on the dark side of fifty, but he turned out to be quite satisfactory. He had a great hotel room, a fat wallet, and a thick cock, and he knew how to make best use of all of that.

He bent Gene over an expansive bed beside a full-length and width window overlooking the park, covered him from behind and above and rode Gene's ass like the winning jockey at Belmont with a demanding, beer can-category cock. Gene's cries of pain-pleasure—more genuine than was often the case—were muffled by his silk briefs stuffed in his mouth, and the john let Gene clutch the $300 fee in his hand while he was pounding his ass. Coming into the home stretch, the man moved Gene to his back, and finished him in a raised-hips missionary position. There was a mirrored wall on the other side of the bed, and Gene was able to admire his lithe, stretched-out body, with his pelvis raised and the man's cock moving in and out of his ass for the finale.

Gene was walking gingerly, but steeped in satisfaction, when he returned to the apartment. He normally would have been playing the street until dark, but the hefty jockey had ridden and paid him well, adding a fifty-dollar tip, and he was home earlier than usual.

He had returned earlier than Manny had expected him. The naked man sitting on Manny's bed with two light towers pointed at him from across the room wasn't what Gene expected Manny would be bringing home. He was a black bull—muscular and hung. It was doubtful he was a bottom and Manny had shown no indication that he played defense as well as offense.

The black bull gave Gene a look like he could eat him alive when Gene entered the room with a questioning look on his face.

"You're home early," Manny said. He was standing at one of the light towers, adjusting something. A video camera rested on the floor by his feet. "Maybe that's a good thing," he added.

"I got lucky early," Gene answered. "What's all this then? And why might my coming home early be a good thing?"

"We were going to film a movie here," Manny said. "The bottom called and canceled. I haven't been able to find a replacement. I was going to have to film a solo jerk-off scene."

"And, so, what does that mean?" Gene asked.

The black bull fucked the stuffing out of Gene for the movie, forcing the small-stature model to kneel to him and gag on his massive cock and then threw him on the bed, raised him to all fours, mounted him, stuffed his ass, and rode him and rode him and rode him. All of this was done under the lights and to the whir of the video camera held by Manny as he circled the room taking the shot at the best angle of the moment.

It turned out that their apartment was also a studio for gay male porn videos and Gene wasn't aware of that that until one of the actors had failed to appear for that day's shoot and Gene got home earlier than anticipated. Gene agreed to stand in—or, rather, lie in with his legs open—when he found out that he'd earn a flat $500 up front and another $500 when and if a porn site bought the film. It was a coupling randy men salivated over—a black bull conquering a sweet young thing—so Manny convinced Gene it would be a sure $1,000.

Gene needed the money, and it was Sunday.

Later, as he was editing the film, Manny said, "This is a sure winner . . ." which it proved to be. "We'll need a stage name for you to put in the trailer and to pimp to the porn sites."

"How about Will Belayed?" Gene shot back flippantly.

"Great. Done," Manny answered and burned the name into the film credits.

* * * *

It was on a Sunday in Central Park that Gene realized that Victor Macek, a man Gene had come to worship enough that he was researching the Serbian nationalist movement to take a shot at writing a romantic adventure novel featuring Macek, was a gay boy shopper. Gene had been working the park long enough to know most of the other young men who did the same. Gene had developed a nodding acquaintance with a young guy near his own age, Alonzo, who was a "back of the front line" sometimes dancer in Broadway shows and who made ends meet much the same way Gene was doing in working Central Park.