Flip Mecum in New York Ch 15

"If that's the way you feel, there is nothing I can say—beyond reminding you that Kirk was the same way. He had left school and sold his soul to Angelo. He would have done—maybe still would do—anything for stardom. He lives on the applause and the adulation. It's his daily bread. I know I'm always going to be second, but we've learned to live with it. Actually, I've learned to live with it. I know he's fucked around some, even with some of the cast from Storm House. So did Michael."

I backed off and expressed surprise at that. "Oh, sorry. I thought you knew. SH was taped in a large residence on the upper West Side. There were many bedrooms upstairs. Boys will be boys. And hunks will be hunks. Those beds were hot all the time. Kirk confessed many times—but he always protested it was nothing. Just relieving pressure during the filming. I'm pretty sure that Kirk and Michael have done it a few times. I know there were are many more that he never mentioned. I'm willing to put up with it. I love him. I know he loves me in his own way. And if that means sitting in the second chair from time to time, I'm okay with that. Even if I have to watch."

"I don't think I can do that, Brent. You are way more tolerant than I could ever be. I need to be first. And now, Michael will be back in a day or so. He'll either be in hell because he didn't get the part. Or he'll be in heaven because he did. I hope he did. I really do. But, I know that means he'll leave soon again for LA—and probably for many other long periods after that. And each time he's gone, I'll be dreaming about his partners during those absences. It's going to tear me apart. He keeps telling me to have fun. I know that's designed to give him freedom. But, that's not what I want."

"I've offered to move to LA. But he's told me not to, telling me that I had a career too in New York and deserved to follow it. Now, I'm sortta thinking that he just doesn't want me around in LA. I'm old baggage he doesn't want to carry."

"You need to talk that out with Michael, Flip. I can't tell you how to feel. But, I can tell you that whatever you decide, it has to be for you, not Michael, not me, not anybody. What can you live with? What do you want to live with? You have to realize that if you open this conversation, you must be prepared to lose him forever. Are you ready for that? I love you boy. I really do. You're a good one, maybe a great one. And I'm glad to know you and be your neighbor. Do what you need to do. I'll be here to bind up the wounds. But, not because you've found another willing partner with a slow, fuck-me drawl. Decide yes or no on Michael first. And, by the way, when the dust settles, this coop is yours. And I'm still your friend."

Then he left. And I was due at the theatre—one of the last two performances with the rock duo before Kirk returned to the cast. And I had a meeting with my agent tomorrow to talk about a music video. And he hinted that there was another Broadway part that would be perfect for me if I wanted to leave Oklahoma! in the summer.

Michael....

On Wednesday morning, I had decided that I had to return to New York. I booked the late morning flight that would get me home while Flip was performing. I'd be there. A surprise. When he got home. But I still wasn't sure whether the surprise was on me or on him. This was a totally unscripted part. I didn't know the words. I certainly didn't know the climax—or the ending. I needed to make the grand gesture, or we were finished. I knew that, while I still loved Michael, the last few days had convinced me that we couldn't sustain a relationship on his monogamous terms. I was coming back to LA on Sunday—maybe for good. I decided to take the high road. Flip had been so good to me for so long. I owed him And, in my way, I think I still love him. I need to release him. I can't be what he needs.

Flip....

After the talk with Brent, I was concerned that my performance wouldn't be good. And I always felt that the audience deserved my best—all the time. I was wrong. Once the lights came on and I emerged on stage, I dissolved into Jud. I felt him deep inside and lived him for the audience. After all, in the musical Jud loses everything—even his life—to Curly. He had gambled, in his way, that he could snare Laurey. But the dice were loaded and he lost.

There was a cast party after. BonTemps and Tammie were leaving after two more nights—and everyone assumed that the last night or two would be blow-outs. No one could predict the plans and possibilities of a very young raucous group of fans—mostly outside the theatre and most without tickets. It was entirely possible that the last performances wouldn't happen at all. Rock popularity is often anarchic.

The afternoon's talk with Brent and the performance left me drained. I didn't feel as celebratory as the others. So I had a drink and moved out as inconspicuously as possible. I knew the party would go all night at the nearby Marriott Marquis where a large private room had been reserved by the producers for the purpose. I didn't feel like partying.

I walked into the coop and knew instantly that someone was there. Not someone—Michael. I felt it in my bones. Why hadn't he called or texted? I really didn't need a surprise. And I hadn't worked out yet where we were.

I continued on and entered the bedroom. He was in the shower. Apparently, he had just arrived home. So, I went back to the kitchen and gulped a few swallows of KG, right from the bottle. Then chased it with some Coke. It burned, but it quickly reacted with the drink I had already had and upped my tolerance for the bullshit—and the pain--that was coming.

When I walked back in, he was drying off. "Just in time. I won't have to dress." He approached and we embraced. His naked body formed to mine, and my cock immediately responded. I was Pavlov's fuckin' dog when Michael rang. The old feelings were still there. I love this man. It really doesn't matter what he does to me. I needed some explanations. But, I needed him in my arms, under me and with my cock inside him even more. I pushed him backwards until his knees caught and he fell into onto the unmade cum-stained bed. I ripped off my clothes and fell on him, capturing him with legs and arms. Our lips touched; we opened and tongues dueled. I was totally animal. I was a dom, taking what I wanted. He pulled back just a bit, "You've been drinking. That's new."

"There was a party at the theatre tonight. Our stars are leaving this week." I didn't have to add the swallows I'd just downed in the kitchen. It was getting easier to lie to him. "I had no idea you'd be here. Or even if you were coming home to me again after three days of silence."

"Well things were just really hectic. I barely got home today. Filming starts on Monday and I fly back Sunday."

"So I guess you got the part?"

"There should be a half-million in our account by now! That's half. The rest is paid when I finish. And all expenses in California and New York are paid. I'm going to be a star, Michael."

"You've been my star for more than a year, Michael—as well as my angel, and my lover, and my friend, and my companion. Fuck, I've missed you."

I pushed his legs apart and fell into the void. He knew what that meant. He pulled the legs out and back and rolled up.

I bent over to lube. His ass was deep red and his anal lips were more swollen than any I've ever seen."Fuck, Michael, you're all bruised! Did the producer rape you? I thought you said he wasn't that big. Did the bastard use a giant dildo? Please tell me he isn't into bondage and SM."

"Just fuck me, Flip. I'll give you the gory details later." I did as he said, but I was gentle. He really did look sore. It didn't take long. I stroked smoothly and slowly and my hands caressed his body. I was soon shooting inside, and he was spurting between our chests. Then he grabbed me tightly with his legs and arms and held me close. "You feel so good, Flip. So good. Somehow, it felt like a good-bye."

Nothing felt right. I think we were both injured and would never again feel the excitement and love that had filled our bed for months. Now there was no trust—if there ever had been. There were tears in his eyes. That was a first. Maybe he was a better actor than I had ever dreamed.

I flopped off onto the pillow and stared up at the ceiling. I knew something was wrong. The confession was coming. Fortunately, I thought I knew it all. So it wasn't going to be a shock. I probably couldn't believe most of it. And I hadn't decided how much if anything about Trey I was going to tell.

"Well, we've talked about most of this. Paul Armstrong, the producer, attacked me in his pool within hours of my arrival in LA. He was very clever about it—he didn't rape, but if I didn't move into the guest house bed with him, I could turn around and fly home. He fucked me hard and expertly. I guess he's had a lot of practice. But, he's an old guy and not particularly endowed. It was like a trick."

"Then after lunch the next day, it was Marylyn—in the same bed. I don't even think he had changed the sheets. She was hungry and seemed to like it. She even asked me to do her ass."

"Later it was Ross. But he passed out before he could do anything. And then withdrew his objection to me the next day without coming on to me again. He's going to be a challenge on the set. He's on drugs and a drunk. And he's told me that he expects me to do him regularly during filming."

"Then there was a surprise in the eleventh inning. The financier put in a a pitch-hit appearance and also demanded a piece of me. His piece turned into two days of ferocious fucking and near bondage. I barely escaped this morning."

"And, as I said, I'm due back Sunday to start filming on Monday. I'll probably be gone another two months.. But that gives us a few days for fun."

"I think maybe you forgot the hot beds on the Storm House set."

He went silent, realizing that I knew just about everything.

"Of course, I have performances every night until you leave. The world has not stopped rotating or revolving during your time in LA, Michael. Last I heard LA was still part of the planet."

"You sound really pissed, Flip. We talked about this. You can do it too. And then we come back together. What's the story?"

"You're the story, Michael. And most of it is untold. You didn't just change in a few days. It's always been that way. You're not the same person—maybe you never were. My love just blinded me. The Michael I knew was humble, frightened that he wasn't good enough, loving. And I thought he was truthful. You never whispered a word about Storm House. In fact, you boasted about your virtue."

"Fuck, Flip. I am the same person. Are you envious of my success?"

"I'm very happy for your success. Not too happy about how you got there. But happy anyway. Do you expect me to just sit around and wait until you return in a few months? While you continue to fuck the producer, the co-stars and the financier? Shit, do you have to do the financier's daddy too? What happens if you get another picture? Where am I in your life, Michael? Because you don't seem to be in mine anymore."

"You must think I was born under a shell. Those bruises on your ass are not small tokens of someone's affection. You've been handled—and roughly. And your story very carefully omitted any mention of that. Why, Michael? Why?"

"I didn't think it would do either of us any good. Croft is a giant. His cock must be over a foot and beer can thick. He fucked me hard for two days."

"And you let him?"

"At first, I blew him off. But, he's the money behind the picture. If I didn't cooperate, I was out. You don't understand."

"So you let a wealthy giant hurt you? Wait a minute, you loved it, didn't you? And you're going back to him, aren't you? What won't you do to succeed Michael? And you weren't going to tell me, were you?"

"Well, it's over with Croft. He told me he was through with me."

"Fuck, through with you? I thought he was financing the fuckin' picture. You've got a contract. Why would he be through with you?"

"He's got a wife and kids. And his father in law holds the ultimate purse strings."

"Ah. Now I see the whole picture. He pulled out on you. Or you'd still be in LA in his bed. Is that right, Michael?"

"Yeah. I guess it is. I'm a bad boy, Flip. You get to do anything you want when I leave on Sunday for LA. That was the deal."

"Nothing in the deal involved you getting involved with someone—even a giant-dicked financier—and I bet he's good looking, isn't he?"

"He's not bad. But, it's over."

"But who's next, Michael. The camera crew? The makeup man? I'm not interested in an open relationship. I've told you that many times. Right now I feel pretty used, and pretty dirty, and pretty disappointed."

"I'm going to sleep in the maid's room. I can't sleep in the same bed with you anymore. Good luck at the Academy Awards. I'm sure you'll kill em—at least the one's you've slept with. Don't bother to come back, Michael. At least not to me."

I rose and moved to the lumpy mattress on the day-bed. And then I cried. I cried for me. I cried for Michael. I cried for what we had lost. I cried so hard that I was heaving in pain with the sobs. Then suddenly, I quieted and finally cried myself to sleep.

The next morning, he was gone, but there was a note:

"Flip, my love, Headed back to LA today after I go to the bank. I'm going to take my advance. I'll leave the rest. And you can have the coop. It was always yours anyway. I'll miss you, Flip. Maybe someday our paths will cross again. You know where to find me. You're welcome in LA anytime. I do love you—at least as much as I am able. I'll never love anyone else as I've loved you. Look me up when you get to LA. Please. Your Archangel."

I started to cry again, but walked into the shower and turned it on stone cold. Minutes later, I felt refreshed—and free. I made coffee and then headed for the gym. I needed to punish myself. Two hours later, I dragged into the apartment and changed the sheets on the king. The old ones went into the trash chute. Most of Michael's clothes were gone, including all his favorites. And he had taken the Archangel signet ring that I had left on the dresser.

Strangely, I fell more relieved than sad.

*****

I'm pretty sure my performance was sub-par tonight, but no one seemed to notice. The shouts, catcalls and foot stomping from the audience dominated the entire production. The audience was alive. And when Curly utterly defeats me, they applauded, then boo-ed. I was the ultimate villain. BonTemps had been the good guy, and they loved him. Audiences are so fickle. But, I'll be okay by tomorrow.

As I opened the stage door, I looked around and saw the crowds. I ducked back in and left by a service door. There were fans there too, but not wall to wall. Nearly a block away, as I was walking to the coop, I heard a familiar voice, "Need a body-guard, Flip? I'm going yall's way." His hoodie was thrown back displaying the brightest halo of strawberry curls that I had ever seen. It actually glowed with the reflected street light. He really was an angel. And below that mop was that giant dimpled smile. I felt all warm inside.

He took my hand, and we continued to walk up Broadway.

BD

Postcript:

I know from comments that many readers were rooting for a HEA for M&F. But there are also comments, some printed on Literotica that Michael needs to go. Thank you for all your advice. I couldn't make it happen. My stories grow organically. I try to get in the heads of my guys, and let them write the story. Even though I'm typically a few chapters ahead in a long story, I'm still listening—to what they're telling me. (And I hear what you, the readers are saying.) In this story, as the protagonists developed, I realized an HEA was not going to happen. I tried. Believe me, I tried. Neither was really at fault. They were just different people who needed different things. A relationship built on Flip giving in to Michael's ego and cheating over and over was just not going to be good for either of them.

In the next few years, Michael will go on to Hollywood stardom. After a few months, he and Croft begin regular fuck-dates, but they always leave Michael hungry, wanting more and feeling owned. Michael remains addicted to Croft—who at least keeps him from drugs, since he's got an investment in Michael, as the owner of his acting contract. Michael also enjoys "boyfriend" status on a serial basis to many of the leading men on the screen. He hasn't settled down yet. He's married to success and stardom—and the mystery of someone new taking him. He's happy. That's exactly what he thinks he wants and needs. At least for now. Long term stardom is probably an illusion for him. Sometimes bad, weak guys do finish first. But, Flip remains a ghost in his memory.

Flip too is on his way to fame and fortune. He's no longer the naïve, innocent boy he was when he left Hanover for Houston. He's packed a lot into four years of early adult-hood. He went from a small town gay just discovering his sensitivity, to a Houston stripper and escort and porn star—because of natural talent and a very attractive body. Each role taught him something; but none of them changed his essential desire to have someone he could love and rely on. How ironic that his initial stardom was founded on playing a villain which is so contra to his personality! He even perfected a trade, a real talent—that would serve him well if his looks faded even a little. He's given up on Michael. It was incredibly painful. But better now than in a few years when his options are more limited. Suppose he had given in, left his career and followed Michael to Hollywood? Where would he be in a few years? He's definitely ready for a mature, hot romance and commitment. And right now my guess is that he's going to give Trey a real chance to become the one.

There will be a follow on series for Flip and Trey. They are too good together to leave it here. And continuing interactions with Kirk, Brent and maybe Michael. I've now got six characters (if you count Angelo) whose lives have touched. But this novel is finished—at least for now. Thanks for staying with it through 15 chapters, typos and even a mis-filed chapter.

I've been posting on Literotica for just about a year now. In that time, excluding two dups, there have been 100 stories. I've gone back a read a few and ask myself, "Did you write that?" And then it turns me on! I'm pretty sure I can't keep this pace up and continue to have a life. But, it's been a real trip. Thank you. BD

PPS: This is not a farewell. I've got three stories ready for editing--saved on the computer. And Flip and Trey are already whispering that they want more of each other—and from me. BD