Flip Mecum in New York Ch 08

Flip in New York Ch. 08

Flip and Michael try out the entertainment industry

This story is original and fictional. All characters engaged in sexual activities are over 18. © 2024, Brunosden. All rights reserved.

[Author's note. There are several references to the characters and the plot of "Ya Gotta Do What'cha Gotta Do" (in Literotica) in this chapter. If you haven't read—at least Chapter 03 of YGDWG, you might want to consider doing so before proceeding.]

Michael....

I had a strange feeling tonight. I just knew that someone important, maybe someone I knew was in the audience. Maybe a scout for another play? The buzz was that good. I was at my peak, rendering one of the best performances that I've ever given. The director came by while I was dressing to congratulate me and.... (Remember I didn't really need to change. I was only in bikini briefs at that moment. So it was really a make-up room, not a "dressing" room.) He praised me on the night's performance. "You've really got it, Michael. You are definitely Sean. I'd love to direct you again. Even with an extension, which I think is a given at this point, we'll close in another month. I'm working on something else that you might like to consider. Bigger theatre. More money. Good role for you, I think." As he was speaking, he moved behind my stool and began to massage my bare shoulders. Both hands simultaneously reached down and squeezed my nipples. I looked up into his face and saw the hunger. I wasn't going to get out of this one. I could feel his erection on my back. I knew where this was going. It didn't take a college education. But, I didn't stop him. I wanted to hear more. Another part?

He unzipped and opened while un-tucking his shirt. He had come on to me before, and I had managed to escape without offending him. Well, maybe I had let him in a time or two. But, I was pretty sure he couldn't pull me out of Dreamers now with the press I had. But, this time he was offering something in the future, and he hadn't been specific about the prize.

"You know I'm taken, Mark. He's living with me, and I think we're in it for the long haul."

"I don't see why that doesn't mean we can't have some fun. No commitments. Come on, Michael. My dick is so hard for you it's going to cream in my pants. We can't have that, can we? I know you've been chubbed all night. Like every night. You are a sex machine, Michael. A sex machine. You were made to be fucked. You're ready, I know. I'm not asking to fuck you—at least not tonight."

With those words, he moved around, straddled and pressed his cock into my lips. He was already wet with precum and the musk was strong. His pubes were inches from my nose. I couldn't help but smell. He knew he had me. I was still trying to come down from the last emotional scene when, at Raul's funeral, after Pete has fucked me and he and Steve have had it out, Steve pulls me aside and says, "Let's go home. We need to let Pete mourn ALONE. You don't owe him anything anymore." We walk off with Steve's arm around my shoulders. He knows that he owns me, anytime and anywhere. He can have any life he wants, and I'll be there when he comes home or crashes. It's sad, but all too true an ending for many in the audience. Love hurts.

My lips opened and he pushed it in. I hadn't said anything. He wasn't as long as many I've had, but he was thick and cut, and no barber had touched his bush. He was a gorilla. I could see the fur on his lower gut. His hands went behind my head, and he started to face fuck me. He was reeking of musk and pre-cum. It didn't take long. He hadn't lied. He was totally aroused and ready to explode. He touched the back of my throat. That was my cue. I reached around and began to rub my finger around his rim, finally penetrating as far as the nut. He groaned in pleasure and spilled everything down, pulling back a little at the last minute to leave a bit of cum on my tongue and lips—just so I'd know I'd had a taste of him. It wasn't really so bad. I'd done much more for much less only a year or so ago.

He pulled out, wiped on a makeup rag on the table and tucked it in. He turned to leave, red-faced and still putting himself back together. "Auditions for the new play start in two weeks. I'll let you know where and when. Let's do this again some time." Not a word about what we had both just done. He hadn't forced or raped me. I had sucked him in, and I had participated with a little ass-play. The escort in me had taken over. It was all very New York transactional. (Or maybe LA or Houston. They're all the same. He has what you want. And you have what he wants. So why not trade?)

I headed home, found Flip asleep as usual. But I needed him. I hadn't cum with the director. So I started the prep to enter which always woke him. He responded, and I made long and powerful love to him. I think I was making up for what I had done with the director. Or maybe I was re-assuring myself that he was worth the exclusivity. He was. Definitely he was. I strained to empty every ounce of my being into my lover as I tried to suck his soul into mine. The result was spectacular. I rolled off, took him in my arms, but it was a long time to sleep. Throughout, while he participated with passion and seemed the same, he had said not a word.

Flip....

After a rough short night, my eyes opened. Today is the first day that I've had off in weeks. Previews start in two nights and I know I'll be smashed to the wall for the first few weeks as we make the last few tweaks before Opening Night. Michael is sleeping peacefully beside me. But, I'm in distress. I know he's been cheating. I guess I should have expected it. I wasn't born yesterday. I know the entertainment industry. If you get a break because of your looks, you're gonna pay with your body. Period.

But why didn't he tell me? We both knew that when we were in Houston and were together, we both had sexual obligations and encounters with others. We had learned then to wall off the commercial sex from what we did together. What the fuck is the difference now? Yeah, I know. He feels he needs to keep it from me. Why? Is it that important to him?

Shit. I saw the fucking play! He's a whore cum drop to any dick in the cast. And now I learn he's probably been doing it with the director and maybe some of the producers. And he didn't tell me. That means he's got something to hide. Maybe we're not the dream couple I thought we were.

By that point, I was so worked up, I didn't feel like a morning of slow passionate sex with a lover. Everything was different. I got up quietly and left without waking him. I walked for a long time....thinking, alternately forgiving and ready to throw in the towel. Finally, I decided. This was just one of those anticipated bumps. I realized I wanted him even with flaws. I wasn't going to be the one to break us up. At least not yet.

So I went by the neighborhood bagel shop and bought two everything bagels with giant schmears. Then I headed home to put on the coffee. I had decided. I wasn't going to raise any of this. I was going to act like nothing had happened. We were too good to give up so easily. I would insist on seeing the play—tonight before I started working. At least I wanted to be able to talk about it. And I didn't want to say something about it inadvertently that would disclose my trip to the show.

Michael and I spent the day casually after we feasted on the bagels and coffee that I had picked up and prepared. Neither of us mentioned the previous night when I had seen the director emerging from his dressing room--obviously after having fucked him. I decided to remain silent and play it by ear. So Michael didn't know I knew.

I didn't want him to know I had seen the play, and it was unthinkable that the run would finish without me seeing it. So, I insisted that I wanted to see it, and he finally relented and called in to reserve a front row seat for that night. "Just remember I warned you. I really don't want to hear any critical comments from you. This is my first Broadway attempt, and I'm really not proud. Unlike our flics, there is no editing on the stage." We had until six before he needed to leave for the theatre. I could go then with him or later as I wished. It turned out that I definitely "wished" to accompany him to the theatre.

We talked a good deal late that morning to catch up. He mentioned that Dreamers would likely be extended through the end of the month (another three weeks). But, he hadn't lined anything else to follow up. With his luck, he'd be on the streets again by then. And he had yet to find an agent who would feed him leads and make sure his head shot and CV were before the right people. "It's really hard for a new guy to find an agent—at least one who is worth having."

I told him that the revival of Oklahoma! was going into previews on Friday (two nights away) and that opening night was about ten days away. I had been hired as one of the four techs who would staff the play for its initial New York run—at least a year unless the box office collapsed. There were eight performances each week (including two matinees) and I'd work four of them and be on call for the other four. I was told to expect five or six slots per week of about six hours each. I could free-lance troubleshoot or work on installation on other plays on days without a matinee, and I was virtually assured of jobs for most of the days I wanted to work. So I was employed with good income. His face said everything. He didn't need to say a word. He wasn't interested. Tech support is not really Broadway in his eyes. Only those on stage—and maybe the director--really count. I was just a talented specialist tech. Even if I was going to be supporting us.

I told him that I hadn't yet found another apartment that we could afford, that I'd signed up for a gym on the next block, and that I was still looking at lighting design courses. No decision yet. Frankly, he seemed less interested in my words than he was in rousing my cock for another round. I guess that should have bothered me, but when someone is fooling around with your dick.....Fuck, give me a break. I'm a young guy with needs.

Throughout the day, I gave him openings to talk about last night. But he never took the bait. He obviously didn't know I knew, and I started to assume the worst. This was not an isolated event. It was probably every night. And therefore not so unusual. Thus, it didn't require anything more. After all, we hadn't provided details of the various "encounters" we had had when we were in Houston. I wasn't really sure where that left me. Was I the jealous, possessive one?

However, we did have a spectacular hour in bed that afternoon. It was one of those perfect, easy sessions, the kind that couples find possible from time to time. We decided to go to the gym where we both worked out to near exhaustion. Then we showered and had lunch at our favorite neighborhood Italian café—fresh Caesar salads with blackened salmon. It's a little place with a half dozen tables on the sidewalk. The late September day was nearly perfect—warm and not humid or smoggy. We each had a few glasses from the house bottle of Soave, and then we strolled hand-in-hand back to the apartment. (Ahh! The glories of New York. Gay couples can walk the streets, holding hands and not even raise an eyebrow.)

By then we were a bit drowsy. So we stripped and moved under the covers. I reached over and pulled Michael in. His lips touched mine and we began to tongue-duel, both of our hands holding the other's head close in. Soon we were breathing as one. Our bodies entangled and our dicks collided and stretched up between our bellies. "I've missed our morning routine," Michael whispered.

That was my cue. I knew exactly what he wanted. So I pushed him over and pressed my chest into his back. His leg and thigh immediately moved forward, positioning and offering himself to my rigid cock. He knew I was going to take care of him and take him to paradise. I lubed us both taking my time to do so—massaging his warm but and stroking his moist rim. Then I positioned, pushed a little and slid easily inside. It was like a snake slithering easily into a familiar burrow. My cockhead felt his hard chestnut of love nerves, and as it slid over repeatedly, he moaned in pleasure. I rested my dick on the spot and allowed my breath and heartbeat to provide the slight throbbing stimulus. I was motionless, but I could feel his sexual tension rising. Even soft pressure there couldn't be ignored.

My hand moved to his shaft to hold him in place as I began to thrust more vigorously, achieving new depths with each stroke. My swollen hot balls touched his ass and bounced a few times. When they did I nipped the nape of his neck, being careful not to leave a mark that makeup wouldn't cover—although now I knew the part he played and the costume (or rather the lack of costume) in which he played that role, a love mark would be part of the character. A nip would be easily written off as something he and his top had done before the play backstage.

I was getting close. Thoughts and deliberate stimulation gave way to automatic motions of total pleasure. The animals in us simply took over. I strained my legs, pulled him close and contracted my gut--deepening my penetration, as my spunk began the journey up the shaft, providing me with that familiar intense pleasure. I drew my gut in even tighter and pulled him into tighter contact to stretch out even longer and reach even deeper inside him. At that moment, he began to spasm and erupt into my hand—spasms which tightened his grip on my cock. A few more strokes with such tightness, and I too was shooting my seeds inside. I was hot and full. And I planted him deep and well. After a few dry strokes, I rested. I finished, as usual, by pushing him onto his belly and spreading myself over, holding him hard to the mattress as my little swimmers moved upstream to spawn. He was full and I was spent. And both of us were totally content.

He sighed a great release, and I could feel all the tension leave his body. He was protected, owned, warm, secure and loved. It was okay to relax and revel in the closeness if only for a few moments. My head dropped into the notch between his neck and his shoulder, and I too felt completely at ease and in love. Funny, how all your fears of infidelity can dissolve into one solid fuck. We are all at peace in the quiet of an after-fuck. We dozed, alone in a city of millions.

Michael.....

I couldn't believe how this day had progressed. When I awoke and Flip was gone I panicked. It was the first time he had ever left our bed without announcing he had to—either the previous night or even that morning. I had a strange feeling of distance, almost resistance, when I had taken him after the theatre the previous night. Something seemed wrong. And now he was gone. Had he heard something from Marty? Was our new-found freedom and independence in New York at risk? I knew Flip had taken what was due me from Marty's strongbox. Were we in trouble?

I got up and looked for a note, but none had been left. So I showered and decided just to wait. Maybe there had been an emergency on the set. But on a Sunday morning? I crawled back under the covers. Surely he'd call or return soon.

And then, just as suddenly, he appeared, bearing hot bagels. He thought I was still asleep. So he moved quietly to the kitchen (really just a short wall of cabinets with a tiny fridge and a two-burner stove) and quietly measured out and began the coffee. I peered over at him from beneath the pillow. He looked so domestic and so handsome in those torn tight jeans and the ancient Oilers tee. I had a vision of him doing his chores in Hanover in simpler times. He still wore his cowboy hat, something he refused to give up even in New York. And the boots, of course. (He was always "Tex" in the cafes, on the subway and on the street. New Yorkers are very forgiving of such eccentricity, but they always name it. And, as they say, you can never take the Texas out of the boy.)

He turned toward me and knew immediately I was awake. "Do you want the coffee before or after I fuck the hell out of you, boy?"

"We need to go the gym this morning, Tex. But, I'll take the fuck and the coffee, in that order."

The tension, perhaps only in my imagination, was gone. The rest of the day was perfect. Even his familiar taking me from the side and behind was somehow special. I knew it was his favorite, and although we were usually more adventurous outside our two routine daily fucks, I was more than happy to submit and enjoy.

And then he decided to come with me early to the theatre to watch me prep. And maybe to establish his territorial claim in front of the others? Why did I think that? Was it my guilt? Later when we walked into the theatre, his arm was very firmly around my waist and when we parted, he held me in a long embrace and sucked my tongue into his mouth, nearly asphyxiating me—in front of the cast and crew. His meaning was not very subtle, I fear.

He watched as I was made up. And then when it was time for him to take his seat, his eyes opened in question—was what I was wearing (a black bikini) all that I was going to wear onstage? "This is one of my two costumes. The other is a pair of tight trunks. Until near the end of the last scene when I go to a funeral when I'm briefly dressed in chinos and a button down for all of 2 or 3 minutes. I know. It's exploitation. But, it got me the part. And it's getting me rave reviews."

"I bet," he muttered as he left to take his seat.

I was pretty good tonight. Of course, I had the toughest critic in the world sitting right in front of me. There was a standing ovation which is not frequent in New York. And I know it was mostly for me.

Flip was in my dressing room before I had even removed he makeup. He was carrying a bouquet of red roses. I wonder where the hell he found those? "That was fantastic, Michael. Now I know why you're so horny when you get home. Thanks for waiting all those nights. I'm not really all that jealous—even if those other guys are kind of hunky. Maybe we could invite Steve for a threesome sometime." Then he casually walked to the door and flipped the lock.

"I haven't touched Steve offstage, Flip. You're everything I need, love. Everything."

"Guess, what? I'm gonna give you a chance to prove that. I'm gonna take you right here, boy. Right here. Remember that porn scene Marty shot when the two big guys drilled me from both ends in the club dressing room?—it's immortalized in one of Marty's films. Well, there's no couch in here. And you won't let me invite Steve to join us. But...." He looked around at the small space. "If there were, you'd have to change somewhere else. But, I've got the dick. And you've got the hole. That's all we need."

He stepped up to me, tore off the briefs and pushed me, belly down over the dressing table. "Do it, stud. Do it. I'm so high right now that it'll not take long."

"Oh, I'm definitely going to do it. But, it's gonna take long, real long. And you're gonna scream for more. I want this whole fuckin' theatre to hear the sounds I can pull out of you with my talented cock," as he stepped out of the boots and dropped the jeans. He grabbed some face cream from the table and placed his rock hard cock at my entrance. I immediately backed my ass into and swallowed three-quarters of his pole in one stroke. He finished the penetration by dropping over my back, pulling me hard back into him, forcing in deep. Fuck he was big when he was this aroused. I was stretching to accommodate, but it was a good stretch. I could feel his throbbing cockhead in my gut.

He stroked for what seemed forever. I'm guessing maybe he had used something to delay his climax. He was vicious, strong, a real dom. An animal pounding his bitch into submission. I cried out several times. Pretty loudly I guessed. He had caught me completely aroused from the part. I needed to be fucked—by him. "Yes, right there. Hit it right there." "Fuck me, stud." "Again." "Deeper" "Jesus, you're as big as a horse." "FUUUUCK." I'm guessing everyone—the cast and my would-be suitors from the audience were listening to everything. I'm also guessing there's a lot of envy (and a number of rock hard sympathetic dicks) outside that door. Flip is the dark hunk of a man that many of them would accept readily. He had played up the macho cowboy to the hilt. I'm surprised he wasn't packing. (Well, in a way, of course, he was.)