Flip Mecum in New York Ch 07

Flip In New York Ch. 07

Flip and Michael begin a new life in New York

T his is an original, fictional story. None of the persons or places is real—even if their names seem familiar. Everyone engaged in sexual activity is over 18. © 2024. Brunosden All rights reserved.

[Author's Note: This is Part 2, a continuation of the series entitled "Flip Mecum," published on Literotica. As I post this, I 've just completed Part 2 and will edit and post over the next week or so. The first few paragraphs of this chapter are a review of the first six chapters. Skip them if you're familiar with the story.

I finished the last part of Chapter 06 with this:]

"There is obviously more to this story. Two complex guys with very different paths and soon to have two very different jobs in New York were going to try to make love work. They thought they had it. And they were committed to building on what they had. But, they are young and their experience is almost entirely in the sex business where their looks got them by. Michael is definitely going to find that he must continue to sell his body to make it in the industry. Maybe not with escorting or making porn, but selling nevertheless. They both have tremendous drive—and libidos. And they are extraordinarily handsome. So there will be many temptations and much potential for disruption. It wasn't going to be an easy road."

This next set of chapters examines the "adjustment period.

Flip Mecum is South Texan, a magnificent young gay, with a lightly-muscled, swarthy, but hairless, body, bleached blond shaggy hair, dark eyes and a seven-and-a-half hooded dick. A year of vigilant gym-work has produced the luscious body of a gay club dancer-porn star. He has all the look of a dark predator, a predator that many would like to see in their bed. He has just passed qualification exams and is now a Master Electrician. As this chapter starts it's a few months after his twentieth birthday.

Michael Archangel has about the same build as Flip, but a longer, thinner dick, and he is totally opposite in coloring—almost albino, with curly blonde hair and piercing dark blue eyes. He actually looks a little like an angel whose wings have been clipped. Michael too has been doing porn flics. He's a few years older (24) and has a college degree in acting. He entered the porn filming industry in LA. Then he was "sold" to a Houston club owner (really a gay male pimp with a bar/dancehall front) and porn film maker.

The guys had met at the club where Flip was dancing, but clicked a few weeks later when Flip made his first porn flic.

Both are outstandingly handsome, real head-turners. Both were lured into the sex business in different ways. Obviously the looks and the body made it possible. So did near despair and destitution. On Michael's part, drugs also had role. They've been gay club dancers, porn film stars and escorts, but have escaped to New York where both are trying to start again, outside the porn industry if possible—while preserving the young romance that they started in Houston. They are free of parental disapproval and "pimp ownership", but still lead a fragile, on the edge existence. Their mutual commitment is real, but it hasn't been tested in the cauldron of real life. And neither one has much experience with the requirements of fidelity and relationship.

****

Flip....

The first few days of my time in New York were spent in bed with Michael—except for the six or so hours each day when Michael was devoted to the Off-Off Broadway drama in which he had a what he describes as a "small part." I was in carnal paradise, living with the boy of my dreams and hopelessly in love. During those absent times (which were obviously mostly from late afternoon to late at night), I was in the real world, on the internet, finishing up research on the Brotherhood of Theater Electricians (BTE)—the techniques and requirements for joining, the costs, the exams and the prospects for admission.

I learned that COVID had decimated BTE in New York. When Broadway shut, the members had spread to the ends of the earth—where their electrical talents were in demand even with the pandemic. They hadn't returned. Thus, there was no waiting list, and a few slots were available. Broadway was re-opening, slowly but surely. I got the application, completed it and filled out the forms and paid the fees to have my Texas credentials forwarded. There would be no test and only one perfunctory interview. I hoped that I'd be working soon.

I couldn't believe the phenomenal hourly wages—but then I realized that, working on the books, there were mandatory contributions and withholdings for union dues, FICA, medical insurance, accident insurance, retirement savings, New York City, State and Federal tax withholding—all in all about one-third of my wages—even more than they had taken in Texas. But I was assured that overtime was routine when a play was running and the net weekly take-home could easily double with a few hours of overtime. And I learned that I wouldn't need to take any theatre lighting design courses—unless I had visions of management or design.

By the third day, I was set. In a few weeks I would be working. I had expected to land a job before my money ran out, and I had done so quickly and without much effort.

And Michael and I were dynamite in bed. That's really all that I had planned and hoped for.

My time with Michael changed dramatically from the easy erratic (and erotic!) experiences we had had in Houston. Now we had to schedule, well, sort of. Michael often returned from a performance around 1 a.m., exhausted, but still hyper and horny. I recognized the symptoms and quickly realized that Michael needed to top. His love making was aggressive, hard and fast—just the way I like to be taken—and just the way Michael needed to fuck to work out his alpha feelings, apparently aroused during the play. That situation was fine with me. After only a week, I was already sure we were going to make it. He was the best partner that I'd ever had. And we were learning to trip all the pleasure points with every coupling.

****

Michael....

I was a little surprised that Flip arrived in New York so soon. I had just landed my first acting role, and I had been in the apartment for only a few days. I was mostly thinking about my career and the future and rehearsing 24/7. I still thought of Michael often, but I needed to become an actor, a successful one, to follow my dream and live with myself. But, when I met him at LaGuardia and saw that dark figure walking purposefully down the corridor like he owned it with a glow in his eyes (and the bulge in his jeans), I was in love all over again. He was a magnet. We'd make it work.

We rushed home—it would be our home now. I think Flip might have been a little disappointed on the small size of the studio, but he brightened when he realized it was "ours" and how little it cost. There wasn't much to explore and explain. We were naked and in bed less than two minutes after we entered.

How could I have doubted? This boy was a prize, the most beautiful guy that I had ever met. He was perfect: dark, sensuous, mysterious. With the most attractive dick that has ever hung on a man! (Although by then, it wasn't exactly hanging, it was uplifted and angry, ready to do some serious fucking!) He pushed me onto the bed and stretched out over me nestling carefully between my legs—so my dick was hard on his gut. The feel and texture of his skin, the weight of him, the heat of him, the need in him lit me up like the New York skyline. His flesh was alive, both hard and soft, smooth and hot. Just touching him raised my blood pressure (and another important part of me). No one had ever done that to me. No one. I was ready to be his to use for whatever he wanted.

Then he reached down and took my lips. He began the familiar suck that took the soul right out of me. His tongue dueled with mine as his hands stroked my aroused flesh. Every place he touched came alive instantly and began to shiver, then boil. His hands on my pecs tensed and harened them, and his fingers on my nipples sent shock waves all the way to my dick. I was so aroused, I was going to explode.

"Flip, I need you inside now. It's been too long."

He pulled back, sat on his calves and smiled as he reached over and grabbed the lube. His hood had already drawn back revealing an Indian-red head, oozing pre-cum, and presenting on that soft wrinkly collar that I called a crown. I licked my lips involuntarily. He did both of us and began to open me with long talented fingers, almost immediately touching and stimulating my love nut. I shuddered at his touch. I was so into this boy, so willing to trust him with everything I had. He pulled my legs up onto his shoulders and bent over pushing me into the familiar jack-knife position. Then he placed his cockhead at the entrance and applied a little pressure. Nothing in the world feels better than that first touch of a boy's cockhead on a mancunt rim. So promising. So "loaded" with potential. My eyes narrowed in invitation. And my mouth formed an O—which he quickly stuffed with a finger, a small taste of what was about to occur.

His cockhead rimmed me, leaving pre-cum around the surface of my cunt lips. I rose from the bed to meet him. He knew I was totally ready. He applied a little pressure and popped in. We were connected, and there was no pain. I smiled and Flip recognized the pleasure I was already feeling. And so began his athletic thrusting that earned him a deeper and deeper place inside me. I was stretching to accommodate while feeling the intense pleasure of his presence inside me. He was big and I was very full. He bottomed just as he took my lips again. Fuck! This was porn material. But there wasn't a camera to record it. Or a director to script it. It was all ours.

Flip must have prepared himself. (We both knew all the porn portions and tricks to prolong an encounter.) For even though it had been weeks since we were together, he lasted—even when my fingers reached around and rimmed him. He pumped and swirled his dick around inside for minutes as my arousal and tension climbed to the heavens. Fuck, it's so good to be taken by a professional. Each of us heated and darkened. Every inch of our skin was alive with the sensations of touch. My nipples were hard and erect. I was at the edge of a totally passionate experience. And so was he.

I knew the climax was approaching. I felt Flip's legs stiffen as his ass muscles strained for depth inside me. Then the gut muscles contracted. He was going to plant heavy and deep. He was cocked and ready. His eyes looked into mine with an apparent question. I tightened my gut and pushed my legs high on his shoulders, lifting and rolling my ass up from the sheet and doing my part to ensure his depth. My index finger penetrated deeply and touched his love nut. "Yes, I'm ready, Flip. Let's do this together."

So he moved into his violent stroking mode. Fast, hard and deep. And it took me right over the crest. My rigid cock began to spurt between our chests, coating us with my creamy essence. My anal muscles contracted and Flip flipped. He spasmed and blasted. Maybe a half dozen times. Releasing cups of spunk inside my gut!

Then he massaged my cum onto our chests dropped down on top and released my legs which wrapped around his butt and pulled us tightly together. His hands went behind my head and pulled us into a deep kiss. I was full and I was plugged. He was giving his little guys plenty of chance to take up residence inside me while his tongue took possession of my mouth. And our chests were glued together.

This was paradise. If I could have this—and maybe a chance at some acting, I would be happy. We needed nothing more.

After a little while, he rolled off and stared at the ceiling. "Michael, you're everything I want in this life. You are so good to me—and for me. We're going to make it. I know. Now tell me about your acting and how I can help." Then he reached over and cupped my balls, taking possession and fingering them lightly, rolling the balls like worry beads as he turned his attention to my story.

Just try to tell a coherent story when a maked terrific guy is fondling your balls. I provided an abbreviated description of the play and my part, telling little of the story. I wasn't ready yet to give him the details. The play was personal, edgy and, I feared, might upset him. We were having too much fun at the moment. "I'll tell you more later. I love the play. It's difficult, and it keeps me reaching for my best. But, right now, I'm ready. Your hand on my balls is VERY distracting. It's my turn, babe."

"How do you want me, Michael?" I motioned him to his belly. I wanted to feast on that ass. And I didn't want to look into his eyes. Mine might spill something I wasn't ready to tell. But, fuck I was hard and ready to plow his dark little bubble butt.

And then over the next few days we learned to deal with our new routine. I had a combination of rehearsal-in-motion and performance every night except Sunday. We were in a full run, but the writer-director was still making changes frequently based on audience comments and his own instincts. New York is supposed to be the "finals", but this director was treating it like a pre-Broadway out of town trials, open to modification and improvement. And Flip needed to find his way—before our (no his) money ran out.

I had not really confided details of the role to Flip, but Flip had caught on quickly from my tense, hyper attitude when I got home that it was difficult for me. It was my first role on Broadway, and it was tough one. And I had been taught "method acting" where an actor learned to live his role all the time, to get "into his character's head."

I came home simultaneously exhausted and aroused. Both emotions resulted from the drama—but the overlay of co-actors, audience, the director and producers all hitting on me really put me over the top. It was an ego trip. Until then, with my feelings for Flip at their peak, I don't think I ever realized that being an "A-grade" hunk was a handicap. Given the substance of the play and the way I looked, it was inevitable. I was a target. But, temptation I didn't welcome with Flip at home. And then of course I didn't know how many times I could say no and remain in the cast. I was still feeling my way in the New York drama scene. It was a small company. And I guessed I was the odd-man-out of the non-stop orgy and discussion of orgy, that pervaded every night.

I had been cast in a play that would be a challenge for any actor and a near impossibility for a new guy. There were four main actors, all male, and two medical professionals—both female. The principles (all gay men) had paired off before the first curtain rises, but the dialogue suggests that there had been some trading of partners and maybe even an orgy before the first scene. They all knew each other—as friends and, as my Bible friends would say, "carnally." One of the guys has terminal AIDS and is mostly shown in bed. His "husband" is Pete. The other three characters (Pete, Steve and me) had been tested and were AIDS free. Maybe they/we felt lucky. But, just maybe, they felt guilty that they weren't in the bed. It was all so unfair.

Steve and Pete are old buddies, both tops and dominant—definitely jar-head types. Their language is from the New York gutter. Their clothes are definitely "gay summer"—tight and skimpy, not gang-black. I play the role of Sean, Steve's current boyfriend-bottom. But, as the plot unfolds, Pete makes a play for me, and Steve lets it happen because he feels so bad that his bro is losing his mate. I'm torn between my attachment to Steve and an attraction to (maybe pity for) Pete. There is no actual sex on stage, but the language is definitely X-rated; there is a strong suggestion of off-stage sex, mostly rough; there is a lot of physicality on stage; and, I'm cast bare-chested, in underwear, usually only bikinis or tight trunks. Although the story is powerful and legitimate, there is no question that the producers and the director are selling my body to the mostly gay audience. I'm the candy in a dark, sad drama. The critics have loved it. Even the NYTimes considers it to be serious drama—not porn, and they praised my "realistic" characterization of a "young man willing to do anything for a mate"--even getting involved with his mate's bro which "tears him up emotionally."

The role is absolute dynamite. The stage atmosphere is very "Angels in America." And although I have the smallest part, it is not really small—and I've got dozens of lines and I've definitely got the most fantastic body. I'm running away with the audience which is in deep sympathy with my dilemma (and presumably in lust). I want Steve, will do anything for him, even if it includes fucking Pete, which tears me up. And Steve is into me, or at least taking what he can from me, but there doesn't seem to be a reciprocal commitment.

I feel that I've moved from filming gay porn to acting live in a play that was only one step removed from our roles in Marty's porn flics—except it's definitely a downer. A major downer. I assume the role was inevitable in the industry, given my looks. And hopefully it wouldn't always be the case. But right now I'm holding on by my fingernails—and trying to handle Flip's enthusiasm without spilling the details of my role is getting harder and harder.

I'm pursued (offstage, that is) by members of the audience, two of the producers and the director almost every night. At the beginning, presumably to get the part, I allowed one producer and the director (not together) to fuck me. That may have been a mistake. Neither guy is pin-up material, but each thinks he's fabulous catch and great lover. (NOT!) Now they think they have permission anytime they want. I'm just a whore, their bitch. But I really wanted this part.

By the time I reach home most nights, I'm so hyper that I immediately attack Flip, throw him on our bed and fuck the hell out of him for a half hour, sometimes more. And we fall asleep after--almost always with Flip in my spoon. No words are spoken. But the room is filled with moans, purrs, whispered invitations, then the aromas of musk, testosterone and cum. He's my tension release. And then when we fall into the spoon, he's my security blanket.

Flip.....

I love the animal that takes over Michael every night before he returns. I'm assuming it's the play. But he doesn't want me to see it yet. He says he hasn't really gotten into the role yet. He's still growing, and he wants me to wait until he feels more comfortable. I'm going to give him another week—before I start work—and I'll sneak in to the theatre even if he's not ready. I've got to see this role which transforms my guy.

By late morning when we wake, Michael is back to normal. I take Michael into a loving embrace and we make slow passionate love. Then, it's my way. I push him onto his side, move his top leg forward and begin to eat my way around his rim and into the hole. He squirms in pleasure as he wipes the sleep from his eyes, and purrs. He's mine now. My pet. My boy. My love. My hands caress every inch of his warm, sleepy body. And I adore the bedroom hair! I lube us both and slip easily in. And as I do, I move my chest over his back pushing him forward, permitting me to go deep. He knows then I'm in charge. That he is totally mine. Then it's slow strokes as I play with his nipples, bring them to rigid erection. I nip at his nape and under his ears as I whisper words of love. Finally, I grasp his rigid staff and hold him still as I pump relentlessly inside, hitting his nut with every stroke. I can feel his tension rise. He begs for release. And then I give it to him—my cream and his release. I stay hard and inside as we drop off for that last ten minutes of dreamy quasi-sleep. Maybe the best 10 to 15 minutes of every day.