Fan Male Ch. 02

"Oh, God, Bret," he whimpered as the American held up the next largest wand for Angelo to see before it too twirled into his cock head.

"Yeah, that's good stuff," Ted agreed.

"You've been on this Web site before?"

"Yeah. I was just there earlier this evening."

"Bet the guy who writes that is a real player."

"Not to that degree," Ted said.

"What do you mean?" the bruiser asked.

"I know him. I know Sandman. He's my roommate."

"You fuckin' know him?" But Ted didn't respond. He'd probably had enough to drink at earlier bar stops not to realize what he'd said--what it revealed about him. He had moved on toward the bar, where the guy who obviously was his rent-boy had arrived: Small, platinum-blond, prettier than most women Ted knew--and handling himself with more class and poise than most patrons of this dive of a bar would. He moved to the bar.

"Todd?" he asked.

"Yes, that's me. You're Ted?" Toby Drake, who was known as Todd by those engaging his services through the escort agency, turned and looked at the tall, handsome, almost-as-young as he was guy who had approached. He was a surprise for a client. Although well dressed, not many guys this young could afford the escort agency services. Most of those who could afford Toby had been beat up by life in accumulating their millions. Todd immediately categorized Ted as one of those instant Tech innovation guys who suddenly were millionaires and billionaires without half trying. He was pleasantly surprised, especially since this was his third gig of the day and the other two had been taxing. Maybe he could just let his hair down for this one. Conversely, maybe the good-looking guy was a sex maniac. He'd paid for a fuck, not just an escort to a public event, but he hadn't signed up for anything special. One never knew, though, until you actually got with the john.

"I think there's a nicer bar around here than this," Ted said. "I'd really like to get acquainted with you somewhere quieter. I live over near Dupont Circle and there are some good places there. I have a car. And you?"

"I walked--from nearby," Toby answered. Keeping to his safety rules, he didn't say he lived nearby. "We can take your car." He already was feeling more comfortable. The guy wanted to unwind with him first. He didn't just want to go to someplace right away to bang the hell out of him.

Ian Marcus, the big bruiser Ted had talked to across the barroom, the guy who had been reading a Sandman story on his computer, watched the Ted-Todd meeting with great interest. Todd--Marcus had heard the name spoken--obviously was Sandman, he thought. He'd found him again. He was the same guy Ian had been stalking for a couple of days as being Sandman--the small, platinum-blond, androgynously gorgeous cutie who gave all of the great fetish fucks. In fact, both of these young blondies were cute. Maybe he'd do them both.

Marcus closed his computer and left the bar in the wake of Ted and Toby, watching them get into a sleek, late-model Mustang. He ran to the Dodge Ram and managed to pick up the tail of the Mustang, which headed out on the George Washington parkway on the Virginia side of the Potomac. Out almost to the Capitol Beltway, the coupe turned into the Turkey Run park abutting the river and backed into a remote trailhead. Marcus parked his Ram out of sight and approached surreptitiously on foot. He hid in the foliage from which he could see what was happening through the windscreen of the Mustang.

By the time he got there, they'd gotten naked, and the little blond who Marcus tagged as the Sandman was on his back on the reclined passenger seat. Marus could see the blond's left foot pressed to the top edge of the windscreen where it met the frame of the passenger door and his left foot pressed into the ceiling of the car above the rearview mirror. Marus's view was of the undulating muscles of naked back of the other guy, who was hovering over the little blond and fucking him. The little guy's legs were flexing with the stroking of the fuck.

"What a little slut," Marcus was thinking. He also was thinking of what he'd like to do to the little slut.

Marcus watched until they were finished, had dressed, and the Mustang was pulling out of its hiding place, exiting Turkey Run, and driving back toward the city on the George Washington Parkway. He was following the Mustang when it crossed the 14th Street Bridge into D.C. and headed up toward the Dupont Circle area.

* * * *

Ted and Toby had done enough talking in the Mustang as they drove through the federal section of D.C. and up Massachusetts Avenue toward Dupont Circle that they both knew this was only to be a night of casual pleasure. They'd already fucked once in Ted's car at Turkey Run Park, with Ted saying he was so keyed up they needed to get right down to it. Toby was being paid for "anything goes," so he went with sex in the cramped Mustang without objection. In all, he was just as happy they'd gotten rid of the "when will it be?" sexual tension off the top.

They had only one drink at The Fireplace, a rather sedate bar, albeit definitely gay friendly, before Ted mentioned that he lived close by--almost in walking distance, actually. "Would you like to come up to my apartment," he asked.

"Now? Yes," Toby answered, quickly enough that Ted's face showed him that maybe he was thinking he meant, yes, let's get this on again. "I mean I'm anxious to get on with this--get it on with you again--somewhere not as cramped as inside a Mustang," Toby said. "I like you." That made Ted smile. He'd been antsy about this whole "paid sex" deal even if it wasn't him who was paying for it.

Toby was on his back on the bed, his arms raised over his head, his fists clutching at the headboard and his legs spread, his knees hooked on tall, well-muscled Ted's hips, and his pelvis raised to give the long, thick, steel-hard cock straight and deep access. Ted was hunched over the small, young prostitute's body, his knees pushed under Toby's buttocks, one hand gripping the young man's waist, and the other cupping Toby's head, as Ted dipped his head, kissing Toby on the lips, the throat, and the nipples, as he fucked him in long, slow, deep slides.

"So, nice, so nice. So sweet. And I can get it in deep here," was Ted's whispered mantra as Toby, thinking the same--just a straight, sensual fuck, but a pleasant way to end the day--trembled and panted, slowly rocking his hips with the other, highly attractive young man's slow, long thrusts. He wasn't responding as a rent-boy now; he was an innocent seduced and used by a master. Nothing special, but, in that, special for Toby.

The rhythm picked up and Toby lowered his arms, his fingernails digging into the lanky young man's shoulder blades, his head arched back, his eyes staring out of the floor-to-ceiling glass wall overlooking 19th Street, his mouth yawning open, all of his senses concentrating on the thick cock of the muscular young man slowly churning deep inside him. Suddenly Toby gave a little passionate cry. Ted had found the gecko tattoo, the one marking Toby's erogenous zone, and was rubbing it. Ted had laughed, having found it, knowing of Kit's stories, and amused to find this small, platinum-blond cutie shared that characteristic with the rent-boy Kit wrote about.

Quite a coincidence, he thought. The rent-boy shared several other attributes with Kit's protagonist too, Ted found.

Toby's increased arousal and animation energized Ted, who started sucking on the rent-boy's nipples as he revved up the thrusts, fucking faster and deeper.

"Yes, yes, fuck me hard. Yes, yes. Oh FUCK!" Toby set the muscles of his passage walls squeezing and rippling over Ted's shaft, which sank deep into Toby's spongy core. He didn't usually let johns inside his core--Hardesty lived there, of course, but he wasn't one of Toby's johns. When any man got there, though, Toby... had... been... fucked.

Ted raised his torso off Toby's, arched back, and thrust harder and faster. "Fuck. Fuck! FUCK!" he cried out as, young and virile, he tensed and jerked and shot a load; tensed, jerked, shot a load; tensed and shot a load.

After a short period of controlling his breath, Ted whispered, "Thank you."

"No, thank you," Toby answered, leaving, he was sure, the impression that this was just a hooker saying what was expected after laying down for john. But it was more than that to Toby. It was the nicest fuck he'd had all day--for several days. Not cymbals clashing like Hardesty did for him--just very nice, romantic even, lovemaking. It wouldn't have been professional to explain that to the other young man, though.

"I should let you shower and leave," Ted whispered. "You've probably had a rough day."

You have no idea, Toby thought, but he said nothing. He turned Ted's face to his and took his lips in a kiss. Toby rarely kissed the johns on the lips unless they insisted he do so, and he even more rarely initiated the kiss, usually only doing so with a man who couldn't perform when push came to shove and who needed comforting and assurance. The kiss lingered and then intensified. Toby opened his lips to it, as he had done with his core to Ted's cock, and Ted's tongue slipped in. Ted broke the kiss but only to kiss down Toby's throat and then to his nipples. He was still inside Toby and they both were aware that he was hardening again.

"Sorry, we should get up," Ted said, embarrassed. He'd paid for a fuck and he'd gotten two. He shouldn't presume further. He started to withdraw, but Toby clutched his butt cheeks, palming and squeezing them both and holding Ted inside him. Toby began to rock his hips against Ted, riding the cock, causing it to begin to stroke again.

"Fuck me again," he murmured. "Not on the clock. Just do it."

They quickly matched rhythms, their lips found each other again, and they fucked, this time gently, rocking with each other, Ted not daring to touch the gecko, realizing this was an entirely different coupling. This, he thought, must be why Toby was such a high-drawer hooker.

Ironically, Toby wasn't thinking like a hooker in those moments at all.

Toby was at the door to the apartment and Ted had retreated to his bedroom, when a key was turned in the lock. It was a tossup who was more surprised to see each other at the door--Toby Drake or Kit Helms.

"Kit?" Toby said, recovering first.

"Toby?" Kit said louder.

"Shhh," Toby said. "He thinks my name is Todd. He's your roommate?"

"Yes."

"You sleep with him?"

"Sometimes." Kit meant it as indignantly as it sounded.

"I didn't know that. And I didn't track him down--certainly not because you are with him. It was an agency assignment."

"I'm not with him. We just... sometimes. We've known each other since college. There's nothing 'only' about us."

"Good to know. Listen. It's just a coincidence. He contracted with the escort agency. They sent me. I didn't know you were involved in any way."

"Well, that's all right then," Kit answered. And he recognized that it was all right--at least as far as Toby was concerned. Now as far as Ted paying for it when Kit was right there in the apartment...

"It might be best not to tell him we know each other," Toby said as he edged into the corridor. "And not my real name. It was just on assignment."

"Yes, I understand," Kit said. And he did understand. They parted amicably, and after checking at Ted's door, seeing that he was on the computer, and deciding that he was too upset to speak to Ted at the moment, Kit went into his own room, stripped, and, went to the shower.

Ted, who had seen Kit in the periphery of his gaze while he read a passage on his computer screen, hesitated. He was in high heat from his encounter with Toby, but seeing Kit so soon after Toby had left, he had a sudden fear that Kit had seen the prostitute and known he'd been here. It occurred to him that he hadn't wanted that to happen, and thinking that made him consider also how he felt toward Kit.

He looked again at the screen. It was a short story, one that Kit had written.

Reynard went into the shower, turned the water on, and soaped himself up. He only had been under the water for a couple of minutes before he felt the Cuban rent-boy enter the shower behind him. Reynard had told the young man to wait in the bed until after he'd showered--that Reynard should shower as well. It was a surprise that the rent-boy came into the bathroom. They were much the same height, but the Cuban was much younger and more muscular--and lower hung--than Reynard was.

Reynard felt Ajuria's fingers touch his hips on either side, and, as the Cuban lightly stroked his flanks, Reynard gave a long sigh, and leaned back into Ajuria's chest. There was no question what Ajuria wanted--where he wanted to start earning his fee.

"Yes?" the Cuban whispered into Reynard's ear. "Here first?"

Reynard shuddered at both the "here" and the "first." "Yes," he answered.

One beefy arm went around Reynard's chest under his arms from behind and the other came around his hips and Ajuria cupped the older man's balls. He pressed a thumb on the top of Reynard's cock at the base, where a vein entered the shaft. Reynard gasped and went immediately hard.

"Good. You have virility--you harden fast," the Cuban whispered, his lips in the hollow of Reynard's neck. "Do you fuck or are you fucked."

"I want you to do me," Reynard whispered.

"You've seen me. Do you need--?"

"I can handle it. All of it. Rough as you please."

"Do you have... or..."

"Bareback me. I have been checked. I know the Florida Thunder procedure on that."

"Do you want the cock right away or do you want me to stroke you off first?" Ajuria had already taken the hand away from Reynard's cock and, after stroking the older man's buttocks cheeks with his hand and rubbing the bulb of his cock between the cheeks and over the hole, had inserted two of his fingers inside Reynard's channel and, as Reynard groaned, began to open him up.

"No, not right away," Reynard answered, pulling forward, out of the Cuban's grasp, twisting around, going down on his knees under the cascade of the water. "I want to taste you first." He took Ajuria's cock in his mouth--and then in his throat, as the young man held the gray head between his hands and moaned at the expert blow job he was receiving.

When they resumed the position of both of them standing, Ajuria embracing Reynard from behind, the Cuban murmured, "Jut your ass back and lift it," as he palmed the older man's lower belly to help him go into position. "You'll want to be as open to me as possible." Reynard complied and yelped and shuddered as Ajuria entered, entered, entered him.

The man at Eddie's Beach Bar had been right. Kit's stories were so sensual. It revealed something inside Kit--not just passion and sensuality but also a need. A need to be taken hard. Did Kit realize that need? Did he, Ted, realize that Kit had what he wanted as well?

He could hear the shower running in Kit's bathroom. He stood and stripped. He already was in erection.

Kit didn't know Ted was in the shower with him, until Ted leaned into him from behind, buried his face in the hollow of Kit's throat and touched him on the flanks, stroking him there with his fingertips--the same approach Kit had written about.

All of the resentment flowed out of Kit and he turned his face to receive Ted's kiss. Kit leaned back into Ted's chest. One muscular arm went around Kit's chest under his arms from behind and the other came around his hips and Ted cupped his roommate's balls and he pressed a thumb on the top of the young man's cock at the base, where a vein entered the shaft. Kit gasped and went immediately hard.

"I'm going to fuck you. I'm going to fuck you hard," Ted growled.

"Yes. Yes," Kit murmured, "but first... I want to taste you first." He twisted and went down onto his knees on the wet tiles and took Ted's cock in his mouth. After he'd given Ted suck for a few moments, Ted reached down, took a hank of Kit's hair and pulled him up and slammed him, face first, against the shower wall. Kit yelped in surprise and jolting pain. Encircling his waist with one hand while continuing to grasp a hank of head hair with the other, rhythmically thumping Kit's head against the wall--not enough to damage him but enough to send the signals of jolts of low pain through his brain--Ted pulled back on Kit's belly.

"Jut your ass back at me. Take the cock. Take all of it!" Ted commanded.

"Yes, YES! Fuck me hard," Kit cried out, and then he yelped again as Ted, thick, hard, and long, thrust up inside him and began to pump.

Pain, ecstasy, passion. Kit was feeling it all. Kit was loving it all.

* * * *

"OK, OK, I'm coming," Hardesty called out as he came out of his bedroom. He'd pulled on sleeping shorts, although he only used them to answer the door like this. He'd been snatching an hour here and an hour there in sleep. This was his day off, but there always was a good chance he'd be called back in at any time--if they hadn't caught the bastard yet.

He looked up at the camera feed of who was out in the corridor. They had a fish-eye lens in the door, but only those who wanted a bullet in the brain would use those. The camera they actually used was hard for a stranger at the door to determine was there and was trained on them. It was a rent-boy he knew as Angel, although he'd heard that he wasn't all Angel anymore.

"Yeah, Angel, what do you want?" he asked as he jerked the door open. Angel was a small, platinum-blond, cutie-pie pretty tranny dressed in a pink halter top covering melon breasts strongly indicating that he'd gone that far in going girl, a tight pink leather miniskirt, and black vinyl knee-high boots.

As he--or she--floated past Hardesty and into the apartment like this was home, Angel said, "I heard you yell you were coming and I wanted to get me some of that." Then she added, "It's Angelique now."

"How much Angelique?" Hardesty asked, closing the door and turning around.

"You certainly can discover that for yourself, honey. You got license. You've been in me before."

"Well, if that's what you've come for, I'm probably about ready to be called in, so unless you want to confess to a crime--"

"Oh, I think there's a crime, honey. And I think it's going to be me if you don't protect me."

"How so?" He didn't ask her to sit down, and she seemed comfortable enough standing there ogling his magnificent physique, most of it uncovered, and posing for him.

"You've heard about the freak out there molesting small, blonde ladies, I'm sure."

"Yep. That's why I'm not getting much sleep. It isn't ladies he's going after, though."

"I think that's what saved me."

"What do you mean," Hardesty asked.

"I think he came after me and would have done me if he didn't discover I'd already been done post-op."

"Again, what do you mean? I don't have all night. Tell me and go."

"I can't go. He knows where I live." Hardesty growled and waved a hand. "Well, I do a bit of advertising on the Net, with my photo and all, you know. Really good photo. Done right after I had my hair dyed platinum, and I've let it go to my shoulders as you can see."

"Yes, I see. Very nice. Go on."

"Well, this dude clicked on me and wanted to meet. I made the mistake of letting him pick me up where I live. Well, he turned out to be a big bruiser. Good-looking enough, if in a brutish way. He said he was from Baltimore and worked days in building security and nights as a bouncer at gay bars. He was thuggish enough to do it. Acted real weird. He was interested in my size and my hair. It went south when he asked me if I'd ever been fisted. Well, I couldn't get out of his truck fast enough because the vibe was more than that. And I'd heard about a couple of the boys who'd been beaten up bad by a john like that. Some have been no use to a man after that fisting shit."