Gay-for-Pay Pt. 01

After several minutes of heated necking, Patrick separates from Abel and immediately begins pulling off his t-shirt. Taking the cue, Abel starts unbuttoning his shirt. Even before the shirt is completely off, Patrick goes back to touching him, fingering Abel's large dark nipples that are as hard as raisins. Feeling Patrick's touch on his tits sends a shiver through Abel who lets out an audible groan.

"You're sensitive," Patrick says with obvious relish. "I like that."

When Abel returns the favor and even bends down and licks Patrick's much smaller tits, the boy giggles.

"I guess you're over being shy," Patrick says.

"Nope, still shy. But really turned on."

"Fuck, you're beautiful," Patrick breathes, and bends forward to return the favor, licking and nipping at Abel's nipples.

"Jesus. Fuck. Damn," Abel groans as a sharp pang of pleasure goes through him.

Even as he is tasting Abel's sweet tits, Patrick reaches down to touch and finger the prominent bulge showing in Abel's jeans. He starts to drop down to get a closer look, but pauses long enough to quickly strip off his own jeans before getting to his knees and pressing his face into Abel's warm, tantalizing crotch. With the pressure of it growing too much for him, Abel unzips and kicks off his own jeans, leaving his hardon enclosed only in his gray briefs. Again, Patrick leans in and closes his mouth over the full rounded head of Abel's cock, clearly outlined in the underwear. Abel groans and reaches out and pulls Patrick to his aching tool.

But after only a few minutes of his stimulation, Patrick backs away from Abel and strips completely, chucking aside his own underwear. When Abel starts to do the same, Patrick stops him. He takes the briefs in hand and slowly sides them down, allowing the young man's long brown cock to emerge inch by inch until finally the swollen head springs free and stands proudly at attention. Patrick caresses it and then with consummate care brings the tip into his mouth. Abel gasps.

"Damn," he says through gritted teeth. "You do know how to put on a show."

"We aim to please," Patrick grins up at Abel and brings the dick back into his mouth.

Abel starts to laugh but then chokes when Patrick swallows even more of his thick mancock. As he draws Abel in, he lets his fingers move up the young man's hard thighs, up to his well-muscled ass where he briefly fingers his hole. Just that slightest touch on his manly bud sends an electric charge shooting through Abel so that he staggers and cries out, lurching forward until he reaches out and steadies himself on Patrick's shoulders.

"Fuckin' shit!" he yelps at the sudden bolt of raw feeling going through him. Quite simply he has never felt anything quite so amazing as that. He gasps and looks down at Patrick.

"Fuck, what did you do?"

Patrick just glances up at him with a look of great satisfaction, and then goes on chowing down on Abel's thick, juicy, sweet brown sausage.

"Jesus, man, you do that so good," Abel pants as Patrick manages to swallow nearly all of the young man's long full cock in one motion.

"I like playing with your body," Patrick says, taking a breath after a few minutes of sucking. "I like how you react to everything. Like how you react when I deep-throat you. Like how you jump when I do this . . ."

And with that Patrick again touches Abel's bunghole, this time pressing his finger up inside the warm moist entrance.

"Ay, fuck! Fuck!" Abel yells, jerking forward and then stumbling back, out of Patrick's hands.

"You little fucker," Abel gasps as Patrick laughs, then Abel laughs too.

Abruptly the young man grabs Patrick and hauls him to his feet and wraps him another tight embrace, kissing him ardently. The sudden molding of their naked bodies together shocks even Patrick who responds by clutching Abel even closer, smashing their cocks together and kissing him hungrily. This time it is Abel who wraps his hands around Patrick's ass and begins sliding his fingers into the hot opening.

"Damn, I wanna fuck you," he whispers into the boy's ear.

Patrick leads him into the bedroom.

"It's your first time. Are you nervous?" the boy asks.

"I wasn't until you said that."

Again, Patrick takes the lead. He leans back on the bed and encourages Abel to penetrate him that position. But when it proves awkward, he turns onto his stomach and allows Abel to try entering from the back, in a doggy position. This only proves marginally better and neither boy is really satisfied.

"Shit," Abel says, frustrated. "I was afraid of this."

"You're trying too hard. In fact, I think we both are. Sex doesn't work unless you can find a way to be both relaxed and intense at the same time."

"And how do we do that?"

"I have an idea. But first I need to get you good and hard," Patrick says, dropping to his knees and again swallowing Abel's cock which has drooped noticeably. In short order the cock revives; in fact, Abel must push Patrick off less he come too soon.

"Easy does it, speedy. You do that too good."

"Lay flat on the bed," Patrick instructs.

When Abel is prone on the bed, Patrick climbs over him and positions his butt over the rejuvenated fuck piece. And then while simultaneously pushing down, Patrick pulls Abel's cock up into him, drawing it in inch by inch until it finally pops fully inside his hole. Both boys let out a loud groan.

"Oh, fuck! I can feel that . . ."

"Jeez, me too," Patrick moans, settling back as waves of hot raw pleasure invade his body.

"To tell the truth, this isn't really new to me," Abel murmurs, breathing deeply. "Girls really like it this way. Especially Jo. She'd do it like this all the time if I let her . . ."

After a few moments to adjust to the thick hot cock in his guts, Patrick starts to move on the rod.

"Oh, fuck, fuck. That's so great!" Abel declares, grinning up at Patrick.

Abel joins in the movement, thrusting up as Patrick comes down, the perfect hammer on anvil motion. And like a hammer and anvil, their collisions set off a cascade of sparks as the friction between them grows and grows. Abel holds onto Patrick, keeping him tightly in place, balancing the boy and allowing him maximum penetration when he pummels the boy's wonderful warm, velvety hole with his hot steely weapon.

"I'll tell you this," he moans as he fucks the sweet hole. "No pussy ever felt so damn good as this. . . . Your hole: It's so tight and hot and silky . . . all at the same time."

Abel is now fucking harder than ever, thrusting up so powerfully he is literally tossing Patrick up into the air. Finally, the boy is forced to cry out.

"Easy! Easy!" he says.

"Too much? Should I stop?"

"Don't you dare . . . Just dial it down a little."

"Will do."

"And just so you know," Patrick gasps in-between fucks, "you feel pretty darn good too."

Still struggling to maintain his balance, Patrick leans forward and plants a hot kiss on Abel's lips. For a moment they pause and kiss, exchanging the heat of the moment with their tongues. Seconds later the intense physical fucking resumes, the boys' bodies racked with heat and sweat. Patrick feels as if he is riding a wild, overheated roller coaster, where every toss and turn slams him with another hot pang of desire. Moments later almost imperceptibly at first, Abel starts to come, shaking slightly and then violently shuddering, blasting one thick bolt of white hot cum after another deep into Patrick's racked body. The intense feel of cum boiling up inside him trips off Patrick's own orgasm and he starts erupting long ribbons of cum all over Abel's sweat-streaked belly and chest. Finally, much spent, both boys crumple into the sheets of the rumpled bed.

"Not bad, DeNiro," Patrick mumbles drowsily as he snuggles up against Abel's wonderfully warm moist body. "Not bad at all." Seconds later the boy drifts off to sleep.

A little while later, Abel moves through the darkened apartment, quietly gathering his clothes. He quickly pulls them on and slips out the door. Though he knows he has not done anything wrong, he can't shake the feeling of guilt welling up inside him.

************

The following weekend Marco picks up Abel at his apartment for a trip to a different bar, this one farther out on the edge of Los Feliz. Other than describing the place as another gay bar, Marco has been very mysterious about this one, refusing to give any details about it, even its name. Abel's curiosity was immediately peaked when Marco gave very specific instructions about how to dress for this place: black leather boots if he has them, if not work boots, and if not that black running shoes; worn jeans, the older the better, with a black belt; and finally, a black or gray t-shirt. When Marco shows up in his sporty, late-model, European car to get Abel, the young man has plenty of questions about where they're going. But Marco just smiles and deflects every question, saying only that he wants Abel to walk into this scene "fresh" and "without preconceptions." Naturally, this only spikes Abel's curiosity that much more, but Marco is adamant and will reveal nothing more.

When they pull into a slightly seedy area rife with warehouses and aging industrial buildings, Abel's curiosity starts to turn to dread.

"What kinda place are you taking me to, man?" Abel grumbles, staring out the window. "Is it even safe here?"

They pull up next to what looks like a large cinderblock warehouse with a parking lot in back. Abel is more wary than ever when they approach the entrance which consists of a heavy metal door with a portico in front. It is at this point that he notices a line of very imposing motorcycles parked just to side of the entrance. The motorcycles are large, shiny, chrome-plated affairs, some with distinctive color patterns incorporated into their sleek design.

"Jesus Fucking Christ, you brought me to a biker bar!" Abel declares.

"Well, I prefer to call it a Leather and Levi bar myself," Marco chortles. "But I wouldn't argue if you wanted to call it a biker bar. Lots of these guys do ride bikes."

"Dammit, I shoulda figured it out from what you're wearing," Abel says, noting Marco's form-fitting black t-shirt, thick black studded belt and black biker boots. "Somehow I never saw you as the biker bar type."

"OK, see, that's part of why I brought you here, amigo," Marco explains. "When it comes to this scene or any other, I don't think I have a type. I don't believe in them. This is something I picked up from Jo. You should be open to experiencing as many scenes as possible and avoid getting stuck in one groove."

"Do you come here a lot?" Abel wonders.

"I wouldn't say a lot, but I do come here from time to time. What I like about The Tool Box is it's not as pretentious as a lot of places. Guys are just guys here, no muss no fuss."

"So that's the name of it: The Tool Box?"

"Yeah," Marco grins. "Subtle—huh?"

"Sheez, Marco, you really know how to throw curve balls. So, um, how am I supposed to act in this place?"

Marco shakes his head. "Like a guy. Look, muchacho, it's a man's world here, like I said. But other than that, it pretty much like any other place. You go in, you meet people, you strike up conversations, see where things go. Some of these guys may be pretty macho, but underneath it all they're still just gay guys."

On the inside, Abel is all eyes as they stroll around the sizable bar. And for the uninitiated, there is much to see. The Tool Bar does stand in stark contrast to the flashiness of the dance bar they visited the previous weekend. It almost looks like an old-fashioned Western saloon with lots of wooden beams and a long bar at one end made of thick, rough-hewn wooden slabs. Even the walls have lots of exposed wood decorated with emblems, photos, banners and trophies. Abel is forced to admit it does feel pretty cozy on the interior and it's nice to have music dialed down to a conversational level.

Certainly another point of interest for Abel, and Marco too, are the men of The Tool Box. Taking his cue from Marco, Abel tries not to stare, but to observe the denizens with a cool, detached, even nonchalant air. The bar is fairly hopping on a Saturday night. And as Marco points out most of the guys are not bikers, but really just pretty much ordinary young men like Abel and himself. The bikers can usually be readily identified by their distinctive jackets and shirts that typically bear attached emblems and badges identifying their particular biker groups.

Marco is less inclined to push Abel to make contact with anyone in this distinctive crowd, but he is pleased the see that after a while Abel is relaxed enough to want to try to initiate contact on his own. As they order a drink at the bar, Abel turns to another guy standing nearby and attempts to strike up a conversation.

"Wow, dude, you sure got, um, some big muscles."

"What?" the guy says, frowning and turning to him with a hostile look.

"Uh, what he meant is you've got some pretty impressive ink on those muscles," Marco says, jumping in. "All I've got is this puny little eagle on my bicep, but you've got all kinds of fantastic designs on your arms and neck. Is that Oriental script?"

The man relaxes and smiles with pride. "Yep, Japanese. I got some Kanji, Hiragana, and Katakana script here."

"You get that in Japan?"

"Nah, man, I wish. I had it done in Little Tokyo. If you want I can write down the tattoo parlor for you."

"Are you kidding? Si, compadre, I'd love it."

The man trots off to find something to write on. While he's gone, Marco turns to Abel.

"Hey, amigo, be careful what you say in here. This isn't like some downtown cruise bar. These guys pride themselves on their masculinity and don't want to be treated like some empty-headed piece of meat. When you approach them, be chill, laid back, low key. Ask them about sports or cars or even tattoos, something that's more substantial than 'Dude, you look hot.'"

Just then the tattoo guy returns with a slip of paper that he hands to Marco.

"Thanks, man. I really appreciate it. So I'm Marco, and my pal here is Abel."

"John," says the guy who nods and clicks his bottle of beer with Marco and Abel's beers.

They go on chatting for a while about guy stuff, cars, sports, and even good bars to hang out in, until finally John signals he has to go and heads for the exit.

"So what'd ya think?" Marco asks, trying to gauge if Abel picked up any pointers from the conversation.

"Interesting," Abel says. "But are you sure he was gay? I really couldn't tell."

"Si, he was gay, muchacho. Very gay. Sometimes you have to use a little gaydar. Did you not see how he was subtly checking us out when he thought we weren't looking?"

"Uh, no," Abel admits. "Jesus, Marco, I'm never gonna get the hang of this."

Marco just smiles. "Ay, you're doing fine. Some things just come with a little practice."

When Abel heads off to the restroom, a thin Hispanic boy with bleached hair, ear rings, and lots of tattoos comes up to Marco.

"Hey," he says.

"Hola, muchacho."

"Are you, um, here with that guy?"

"Si. Why do you ask?"

The boy smiles a self-conscious smile. "I've been watching you ever since you came in."

Marco flashes an amused smile. "Have you?"

He gives the kid a once over. Young. Cute. Cocky. BDSM, judging from the metallic chain around his neck and the leather harness across his slender chest.

"Jeez, you're hot," the kid grins. "Do you like to play?"

"Depends. What are we playing, muchacho?"

"Well, uh, I guess that depends on what my daddy says."

"Your daddy—huh? Maybe I should be talking to him, muchacho."

"Oh no, it's OK. He's knows I'm over here talking to you. He said it'd be OK if I asked you to come home with us."

Marco chuckles heartily. "Did he now? Nice of him. So what's your name, chico?"

"Ricky."

Marco reaches out and casually fingers a tit ring visible on Ricky's bare chest. He squeezes the ring, observing how the boy reacts with obvious pleasure at the sensation.

"Well, aren't you a cute little kid, Ricky?" Marco says.

Just then Abel returns with a fresh beer in hand. He takes notice of Ricky.

"Um, you busy?" he asks Marco, trying not to stare too much at the boy.

"Nope, just chatting with my new little friend here. Abel, meet Ricky. And Ricky, this handsome devil is Abel."

"Hi," Ricky says. "So do you guys want to come over to my place?"

Abel frowns. "Both of us?"

"Think that'd go over with your daddy?" Marco wonders.

"Daddy?" Abel sniffs, his frown growing deeper.

"Oh, yes!" Ricky exclaims. "You'd be for me," he says, touching Marco's chest. "But Daddy would love to play your friend. He really digs naïve types."

"Meaning me?" Abel says incredulously. "Jesus-Fucking-Christ, even the children around here are more sophisticated than I am."

"Oh, yes!" Ricky yelps, getting even more excited. "He'd have ever so much fun with you. I think that's why he said it was OK for me to come over here. He said you look like a virgin."

"Wait. What?" Abel sputters, appalled. "Go tell your . . . daddy . . . I am not a fuckin' virgin."

"Now, hold on," Marco says. "This whole daddy thing is starting to sound interesting. Hey, Ricky, point out your daddy to me."

"He's right there, by the bar. See, he's the one talking to that guy in the chaps."

Marco and Abel observe that Ricky's Daddy is casually chatting with another guy at the bar, but clearly watching them as well. When he sees Marco and Abel looking, he gives them a slight smile, a nod, and lifts his drink, acknowledging his interest in them.

The man is tall, over six feet, well-built, deeply tanned, hairy with a closely trimmed beard and dark hair. He looks are decidedly Mediterranean with thick eyebrows and dark intense eyes. Except for a weathered gray work shirt, he is fully outfitted in leather, including leather vest, pants, and heavy black motorcycle boots. It is a pretty good bet one of those big bikes out front belongs to him.

And while Abel reacts with great apprehension that a man like this is looking him over, Marco is intrigued, and returns the man's nod and lifted drink.

"No. No fucking way," Abel mutters to Marco, turning his back on the man. "That guy looks like a freak."

"Calm down, amigo," Marco sighs. "The assignment was to get you out into the community—right? Well, dude, this is the community—or at least a big part of it. That guy there—he's about as gay as it gets."

"Marco, come on. Tell me you're not seriously thinking about hooking up with that guy."

Marco laughs. "Me? No, he's not my type. But then he didn't express an interest in me. But you, on the other hand . . ."

"Oh, no, you don't. You're not gonna put him off onto me."

"Hey, Ricky, tell him to come over."

Ricky happily bounces over to his daddy and passes along Marco's invitation. With a big smile, the man comes right over and extends his hand to both Marco and Abel.

"Gentlemen. It's a pleasure."

"Absolutamente," Marco says, smiling wide and taking his hand.

"Hey," Abel says, also taking his hand, with considerably less enthusiasm.

And though Abel does not so much as crack a smile, the man nevertheless immediately focuses the greater part of his attention on him. And while Abel would never mean to encourage this interest, he cannot deny it is nevertheless quite flattering because in his dark way, this man is unquestionably quite attractive.

"So, hombre," Marco says, "I didn't catch your name."

"Enzo," the man remarks. But then he again flashes his slightly wolfish smile at Abel. "But you can call me Daddy."

"I think I'll stick with Enzo. Thanks," Abel says.

Still glancing Abel's way, the man wraps a big hand around Ricky's neck and pulls the boy close for a quick affectionate kiss on the mouth.