Flip Mecum in New York Ch 08

Finally he released his strangle on the base of my dick and pushed me over the top. I filled his fist with my spunk. And he filled my ass with his. He held inside as we both began to cool. Finally, he pulled out and released his grip on my cock. Shit, I had been fucked. He fed me my cum. Then he tapped my ass. "Don't clean up. I wanna see the telltale of my spunk on your jeans when we leave. I want you to feel me dripping down your inner thigh. And, I want everyone to know we've just fucked. I want everyone to know your mine, babe. Only mine."

He moved back, pulled on his jeans, commando of course and slipped into the boots. Then he stared into the mirror, saw both of us, smiled and carefully adjusted his hat. We both stunk of cum, and it kept us both with semis. My Texas stud cougar was going to follow his bitch-in-heat back to her den. He had marked his territory and he wanted everyone in the jungle to know it. And I guessed I was in for more when we got back to the apartment. I hoped so.

I knew at that split-second that he had guessed that I had taken a few dicks to get the part and to keep it. He didn't have to mention it. I knew. That's why he had to take me in the dressing room. And why he needed me to express my pleasure long and loud so all could hear. Now he was the alpha, marking his territory—and wanting the rest of the jungle to know whom I belonged to.

Strangely, I was okay with that.

I guess we're not in Houston anymore, Toto.

*****

Flip....

Michael's run in Dreamers continued for three more weeks. Our nighttime fuck with him on top and our morning reprise with me taking him slowly and passionately continued.

Michael auditioned for another drama. And he got the part which was very different. This time it was Off-Broadway, not Off-off Broadway. So the pay was better and the theatre was a little nicer. And he even got to wear clothes this time. And when I say clothes, I mean clothes. It was a period comedy piece, set in England—a rip-off on Tom Jones, with lots of bawdy sex, lots of clothing being torn off (not just a "bodice ripper", but britches too). Big billowy shirts with lots of ruffles, cleavage and hairy pecs, leather britches, waistcoats and morning coats. All the trimmings. And the britches sported a codpiece. Those Brits really knew how to advertise: the crotch was enormous, prominent and outlined in contrast stitching. It could be easily unbuttoned to do one's business—whatever that might be. It had everything but a neon arrow pointing to the treasure inside! (The padded cups on NFL uniforms are a pale imitation of the real thing.) That of course and the frequent teasing disrobing on stage. Michael was bare-chested for several minutes in each scene; and he even got to show his cute little muscular ass in the final scene when a husband chases him out ot the cuckold bed.

Meanwhile Oklahoma! returned to New York after trial runs in Boston and Los Angeles (which weren't really so much trial runs as pre-season warm-ups to permit the New York opening in high season in early October—revisions were few as the Rodgers family was not going to permit much deviation from the original score). The senior tech team had handled the road. So I was left in New York to complete the set up at the Winter Garden. We only had the theatre for two weeks before previews, so I was working 24/7 alongside the set designers. After that I wouldn't be quite full time, so the union had scheduled me into a few emergency jobs on other plays.

We had a few days of run-throughs before the opening. I met most of the cast—who surprisingly treated the lighting techs with great respect. They knew we could enhance or detract from their performances—make or break them, so to speak. And we were professionals. Lighting was a key element in the total artistic picture. These actors were pros. They watched everything.

The director was a thirty-something dark skinned New Yorker, named Angelo. We joked that I was probably the only guy on the set as dark as he was. We all knew he was fucking Curly's understudy (shit, the understudy was often in Angelo's lap as the rehearsals unfolded), but that didn't stop Angelo from coming on to me. From the second day, it was clear that, if I were willing (and maybe even if I wasn't, if I let my guard down), he'd have me wherever we found a convenient horizontal surface—or even one that wasn't so horizontal! His pursuit was relentless. Evertime he came to booth to provide direction, his hand strayed to my butt. He seemed to chase all the male performers and a few of the techs. He was definitely a horny alpha, and he came across as pretty rough. So much so that I feared he might issue an ultimatum that could cost me my job. I really wasn't sure what I was prepared to do in New York to succeed. I hadn't been tested.

The star was a magnificent hunk of Nordic milk-fed manhood, Kirk Olsen. Over six feet. Blonde and blue-eyed. Muscled and built. Fantastic stage presence. Good voice. Nice toothy smile. He could even dance! He was a pro. A Tony Award winner. Completely masculine with a wedding ring to prove it, although the assistant director, Billy Wilder, Jr., followed him around like a pet dog, coaching his almost every move on stage.

Oh, to be a star with your own acting coach on stage just for you! Kirk was cool, professional and very "common-man," but there was no question that he was a sexual animal—the kind of guy you wouldn't want to leave alone with your bride. He was so smooth he could slip it in and get off before she even realized she had been had. It was clear that he was not into Billy although he seemed to soak up all of his coaching. That was clear. And he didn't seem to be hitting on Britney. Straight or not, there was no question he was packing something enormous—and wasn't afraid to show it and use it to his advantage on stage. (His cowboy pants were spandex and vividly outlined his equipment. I wondered who the lucky girl was. But, he was a really nice down-to-earth guy. He learned all our names, and he had even asked about my background and why I wasn't acting. (I lied.)

Although Kirk, as Curly, is the star and female attraction, the real star was a rock singer, Britney Space, who had decided to take a half year off from international touring to do the show. She was advertised to the hilt. Tickets for the first six months were sold out and being scalped already for thousands per seat. She was always surrounded by an entourage of assistants, and she had a dressing room that was as big as a suite at the Plaza. She required special lighting in the suite of course, and I was assigned to install it to her satisfaction. It took me a few hours to arrange what she wanted. She was a dictator and a tyrant, directing me precisely as to what she wanted. She also was a flirt. I'm pretty sure that, if I had given any encouragement, she would have banished the staff, and I could have had my first star-fuck (except of course that I slept with a star, my very own star). And I had no doubt who would be calling the sexual shots in her bed! Wow, she was hot—even to a gay man.

The final piece to the puzzle was a dark, evil figure. (Why are dark people always cast as the evil elements on stage? It's a cliché. I know. I've been in the business. And blondes can be as much into pain and S&M as anyone.) He's named Jud. He's a hand on Laurey's (Britney's) ranch and has his eye on her. Of course, he's disreputable—a definite bad guy, always dressed in black, rumored to be a killer etc etc. Laurey is not interested, and this enrages him. And, in a curious twist, she decides to play up to him to boil Curly's blood. That convinces him that if only he could get in her pants, she'd realize what a man she had been missing.

He and Curly are both after Laurey. She is coquettish in that uniquely American 40s-50s mythical style. (This is somewhat difficult for Stacey. I've seen her raunchy music videos. She's about as pure and virginal as a veteran Las Vegas prostitute. She was really going to have to reach down very deep inside to re-find her virginity.)

At any rate the musical opened to rave reviews. I was set for at least 4-5 good days of work, mostly monotonous monitoring, for at least a year. But there was time to consider what my next career step might be. I'd have a year with regular mornings off to pursue whatever I decided. I was loving the musical theatre, and within a few weeks, I knew the songs and the lines. Really to distract me from the boredom of my actual job, I used my time to follow the play as it unfolded. I knew everything by heart—the moves, the songs, the dramatic gestures. I knew that I had been a fast study. Look how quickly I had mastered the club dance routines. I had those guys eating out of my hands—well actually, I was doing most of the eating, but.... And I knew that I had knocked it out of the park with the porn videos. (Fortunately I had used a screen name, the rather corny Dirk Spear, and no one I had yet encountered had recognized me from the porn which was probably still in circulation.)

After the night at Michael's theatre and my attempt at disguise, I had stopped bleaching, and my natural black hair had finally grown out. It grew a little longer and began to fall in soft waves, even a few sexy curls that dropped below my eyebrows. I had also continued to bulk up. And my Tex persona had settled in—cowboy hat (now black although the peacock feather "eye" remained in the band, boots, jeans, rodeo belt, tight cowboy snap shirts. So the New York Flip Mecum was very different from the Houston Dirk Spear of porn flic fame—except of course to an expert.) And I knew I was dark sex on a stick. No one passed without a quick second look.

I had time. And maybe desire. So I decided to enroll in morning classes in acting. Kirk had given me a suggestion—a guy he had used periodically who conducted small classes, and it turned out that I clicked immediately with the teacher and the other students. I learned lines fast and took direction well. Michael was seriously pleased and proved it the morning that I told him I was starting.

*****

Three months have now passed. It's mid-winter, grey, threatening snow which never comes. It's really cold in New York, much colder than anything I had experience in Hanover or Houston. The streets are full of people in total disguise: puffy jackets, scarves, boots and knitted ski caps covered everyone. No one stopped to talk. It was like a city of still-wrapped automatons rushing from one heated place to another without conversation or any pleasantries whatsoever. Fortunately our studio apartment was well-heated, and our bed continued to be steamy hot, particularly since we had become accustomed to partial nudity around the apartment and sleeping naked in each other's arms.

Both of us had settled into our roles. I had developed a regular routine with Oklahoma!, handing tech four or five nights per week. And I was doing acting classes three mornings a week. The class was made up of six guys and three women. All were attractive although some dressed the role of street derelicts most days, wrapped in layers of clothing for warmth. Several had parts in dramas or musicals in the evening—thus the morning classes.

Michael's second major role was nearing the end of its short run, but he had good prospects for another. We talked about his situation. He realized that another role like the first two and he would be "type-cast" as the young, attractive gay—whether in a contemporary urban environment or historic England. The New York stage within the last few years had adopted depictions of "alternative life styles" wholeheartedly, and it seemed that every new play featured the issues encountered in modern (or historic) gay life. Sometimes it seemed that every major historic figure we knew had been a closet gay—at least to the contemporary New York stage.

It would be okay if he were given the role of a young heartthrob, but not another overtly gay part. Curiously, after all the advances gays had made, one needed a "straight" part to be taken seriously and perhaps even be nominated for a Tony.

One day over coffee, Kirk had mentioned that Storm House, the TV drama about vets suffering from PTSD was holding open auditions and would start filming in a few months. He was still undecided as to whether he would film the second season or not. He wanted the Tony from Oklahoma!, but he loved the dramatic challenge of the semi-realistic TV drama. Two members of the SH cast had "moved on" and the cast was being expanded. It was TV, but neither Michael nor I had the "true" actor's disdain for TV. If it was a good meaty role, why not? I mentioned Michael to Kirk, and Kirk took it from there. So, Michael had spoken to his agent (he now had one) and had signed up to audition next week.

Needless to say, I had become quite friendly with Kirk. He had covered his gayness really well, and he had never come on to me. One night after the performance, his husband had appeared. I saw them embrace—obviously not a bro hug and guessed the rest. We often chatted before or after he went on, and asked about the progress I was making with the acting teacher. I think maybe it was the first adult friendship that I had built that wasn't based on sex. We were like bros. He even invited Michael and me (by then he knew I was gay) to join him and Brent for dinner on one of our dark nights. A four-way friendship blossomed.

Then, as so often happens in the theatre, lightning struck—the kind that brings both misfortune and opportunity. The actor playing Jud and his understudy (despite his macho persona on stage, Jud was gay and fucking his understudy) were involved in a serious accident when their taxi ran the wrong red light. A loaded panel truck collided and t-boned the taxi. Both were injured with multiple fractures. They would be absent from the stage for at least a month. And Oklahoma! had no Jud. Several quick auditions were scheduled, mostly around other understudies already generally conversant with the action. The accident had happened on a dark day—so they had about 36 hours before the next performance was scheduled. I overhead some insurance people mumbling about prohibiting actors from co-habiting with their understudies. It was just too risky. But that was water under the bridge. It was done.

Kirk suggested me. And when the star suggests, the producers take careful note. I auditioned. I knew all the words, the action, the positioning. I had heard the director repeatedly coaching Jud. So, I killed the audition. They loved me in the part. And my dark hair and swarthy complexion were perfect. Very little makeup would be required to cast me as the villain. And I could perform that night. There would be no need for an interruption in performances—all of which, of course, had been sold out. Overnight I had a role, a major role in a smash musical—headed for fame and awards. I just had to manage not to screw it up.

Later of course, Angelo tried to take credit for my landing the role. He was obviously lining up a repayment schedule. But, in what may have been a mistake on my part, I told him to go fuck himself. His face immediately signaled a dark warning. I'd definitely have to watch my ass. Kirk wouldn't always be there to watch it for me. I had decided. I was all for using my sex to woo an audience; but my days of fucking to get a job or a part were over. I was taken.

I performed that night to good reviews from one or two critics who happened to be in the audience. And Kirk's agent took me on immediately, arranged for membership in Actors' Equity and negotiated an attractive "first" contract. I was actually going to take a cut in pay, but I was living my dream at last.

TBC BD