Nowhere Railcar Diner

"But you'll think about it. We're good together." Not that they couldn't be better together, she couldn't help but think. "I'd like it to be more permanent . . . oh, fuckin' shit. Oh, god. Oh, shit. Yes, YES! FUCK ME!"

Eddie had cut off what he took as an unsatisfactory, threatening discussion by rolling over on top of Maggie, pushing his knees between her thighs and under her buttocks, and thrusting inside her. He started to pump again. Rocking back and forth against him and digging her fingernails into his shoulder blades, she positioned herself to give him the best thrust angle. He was such a stud.

All Maggie could then think of was what Eddie had that BJ didn't—he could get it up again quickly and he was young and vigorous—a god of the fuck.

She was the luckiest woman in Mina. She didn't even think of the irony of that—how small Mina was and how lacking in fit men—men worthy enough to fuck her.

* * * *

Maggie Bell had one vice she didn't let anyone, including Eddie—or, previously, BJ—mess with. Two weekends a month she either drove down to Las Vegas or up to Reno to gamble and not return until Sunday evening. She always said that this was why she'd bought the Railcar Diner in Mina—because it was halfway between the two gambling meccas, but far enough away from either that she had to make a special trip to indulge her itch. So, she took her time off from the diner during the weekends. A former waitress, Peggy Tanner, took Maggie's place on Saturday and Sunday breakfast and lunch services—and filled in for sick and vacation leaves on other days. The diner was closed on Sunday evenings.

Maggie's "no deviation" schedule left Eddie to indulge in his vice every other Saturday night too, after he'd closed down the diner. And, with Maggie traveling back on Sunday afternoon, he could safely stay out all Saturday night and, with no Sunday evening service, he could recover before Monday. It enabled him to make good money to put to his "getaway" plans.

Eddie liked fucking women well enough, but it was nothing like being fucked by a man. He was only half satisfied at first that Friday afternoon that he was on top of Susan Henderson in the backseat of her father's red Impala convertible in the meteor (or volcano) crater to the west of Mina. He hadn't felt fulfilled until Charlie Tecopa saddled up behind him and thrust inside him. Charlie had been the premier high school top, known for having the biggest cock in school. Eddie and Susan had partied the night of homecoming, but it had been Charlie who had fucked Eddie the night before.

Eddie's vice, not comprehended in any way by Maggie, although there were signs, which she was avoiding and hints from Bud Cassidy during his all-day vigils at the diner front window that she was ignoring, was not played out in Mina proper but several miles up the road at the Lighthouse Restaurant, Motel, Gym, and Club. Despite being even more in the middle of Nowhere than Mina was, the Lighthouse, another fanciful building complex on a monotonous stretch of highway in the same surprise thematic vein as the Railcar Diner, was probably the most popular spot in west-central Nevada. It was the only full-service gay men's support facility in western Nevada between Las Vegas and Reno.

It might look like it was in Nowhere, but its offerings pulled in men from Nellis Airbase to the south, Yosemite National Park to the west, and Hawthorne Army Ammunition Depot and the Walker River Indian Reservation—and even as far as Lake Tahoe—to the north. The restaurant-club-gym had motel rooms and rent-boys who performed in the club and the motel rooms. Some guys made a weekend of it. Every other Saturday night, some of them made it with Eddie Perry, who, because of his youth and looks, and limited availability, was a favorite. Eddie danced and lay under men semiregularly at the Lighthouse. His nights at the Lighthouse were about as exciting as his life got.

Eddie had the restaurant closed up by 8:15 that Saturday night, ushering Bud Cassidy out to one of the benches outside the diner entrance to finish his coffee. A car was already there, waiting for him, and Bud gave Eddie a knowing look when Eddie got into the car driven by Chris Drew, one of the rent-boys at the Lighthouse club, who had been sent to bring Eddie into the club for the evening—and, if his time was bought, for the night.

The Lighthouse was quite a complex. In the center, facing Highway 95, was the restaurant. Chris Drew and two other rent-boys, Carlos Sanchez and Jacob Grimes, were waiters at the restaurant by day and served drinks and themselves in the club behind the restaurant by night. A motel ran off toward the south of the restaurant. There were a few rooms here to be let to transient tourists, but most of the rooms were dedicated to being a male-on-male brothel. A gym for guys who wanted to let off physical steam before letting off sexual steam was in the wing to the north of the restaurant. It was run by a former army sergeant, Ian Hogan. The owners were a couple who'd been in the army with Hogan, Andy Marsden, a former sergeant, who ran the kitchen and the financial side of the business, and Collin Greene, who was the restaurant host, the main club dancer, and the premier club prostitute.

It was Collin Greene who had seen Eddie in Mina, recognized the potential in him, showed him pole dancing moves, and was impressed with how Eddie could move—and use—his body. And it was Collin Greene who, after pounding Eddie's ass himself for hours one Saturday night, had hired Eddie to dance and take tricks on any Saturday night he could show up.

It was Collin who met Eddie when the car arrived at the Lighthouse and gave him a rundown on the schedule for the evening, the information that no one had booked ahead for Eddie's time after his time on the pole, and passed on the key for the motel room that Eddie would have for the night, if he needed it. Having left the Railcar Diner, under the knowing gaze of Bud Cassidy, by 9:00 p.m. Eddie was stripped down to a G-string and weaving around on a pole to music on the small stage of the Lighthouse back-room club. The stage was big enough that Eddie couldn't be reached from any of the four sides while he was on the pole, if he wanted to be out of reach, but that, if he leaned toward a side, to, for instance, make his G-string accessible for hooking money bills on the waistband or copping a feel, that could be accommodated.

Eddie mostly stayed centered on the pole, but he couldn't resist jutting his pelvis toward a side during his routine, where a beefy, rather mean-looking, but movie-star handsome guy in black leathers and arm tattoos stood close to the stage, his eyes concentrating on Eddie's moves, and a hundred-dollar bill folded in his hand. The guy was the definition of dark and handsome and had a sexy stubble of a black beard and unruly black hair, with a curl dangling down over his forehead just as Eddie liked it. As Eddie leaned in to him, smiled, and winked, one of the big bruiser's hands tucked the bill into Eddie's waistband and the other copped a feel of Eddie's basket.

The leather guy's name was Tony Skalari. At 9:45 p.m. he was in motel room 5, on top of Eddie, pinning the young blond to the bed, feeling him up, and giving him tongue in a deep kiss. Both men were naked; both men had beautiful, cut bodies. At 9:55 Tony was straddling Eddie's chest, Eddie on his back on the bed, with his arms thrust out from his shoulders and Tony's fists gripping Eddie upper arms, pinning them to the bed, while Tony fed his thick, long, hard cock down Eddie's throat.

Stopping by the operations office to monitor the cameras in the motel rooms, Collin Greene whistled his pleasure and called his partner, Andy Marsden, in. The two settled down to watch the leather stud royally fuck the barely legal blond. They were able to see five hundred-dollar bills on the nightstand beside the bed, so they were prepared to give the motorcycle stud quite a bit of leeway in his performance.

This also might be a lucrative scene for another reason. The sex was being filmed from several different angles in the room. If the fuck was good enough—and Collin could see that it already was good enough—they'd offer Tony a performance fee to permit the film to be shown on a subscription Internet site. Eddie was already signed up for the service. He'd be paid a hefty fee for letting the stud fuck him on film broadcast to the Web.

At 10:11 Eddie was panting and moaning, with Tony still hovering over him, raised on a knee planted next to the young blond's waist, one of Tony's hands holding Eddie's head pressed to the bed with a fist choke hold on the young man's throat while he worked four heavily lubed fingers of the other hand up to the knuckles into Eddie's channel. Eddie was gurgling and his eyes were bugging out, but he had his heels dug into the mattress and his pelvis lifted and he was rocking up and down on the half-buried hand. Collin and Andy laid a bet, Collin no and Andy yes, on whether the leather stud would fist fuck Eddie and whether Eddie could take it. Collin won, though. At 10:20 p.m. Tony was stretched over Eddie with Eddie's ankles on Tony's shoulders and Tony doing deep-fuck pushups on Eddie's body. Eddie's arms were raised over his head, his hands fisting the rail of the headboard, his heels dug into the mattress, his mouth crying out, "Yes, yes, fuck me hard!" and his pelvis in rhythm with Tony's thrusts. Eddie's face was turned to one of the cameras he knew was filming this, and he was showing the taxing and the pleasure in his facial responses.

At 10:40 Tony was still stretched out on Eddie's body, but he was snoring. At 11:05 they were awake again, with Eddie on all fours and Tony mounted on his ass, taking him in a doggie. Fuckings were repeated, separated by dozing, at 12:13 and 3:05 a.m. When Eddie woke up at 7:55, on his back, an arm flung across his eyes, groaning, and with his legs spread and bent and used condoms dotting the floor between the bed and the bathroom, he was all alone.

Tony had been cruel and rough and had done a total job of Eddie—more than once. Eddie had never been fucked by a man like that before. Eddie was in ninth heaven. Collin and Andy were happy too. Tony had agreed, after getting much more back than he'd shelled out, to have his performance shown on the subscription service.

A hundred-dollar bill had been added to the five-hundred-dollar bills Tony had put on the nightstand earlier. With the initial hundred dollars while he was dancing the pole and what he'd gotten from other man while he was on the pole, Eddie had earned almost nine hundred dollars that night. Half would have to go to the house, but that would be his biggest profit night at the Lighthouse. Eddie hadn't made half that much a night before this. In fact, Eddie hadn't had a john on top of him all night before, nor been he been fucked that many times in one session before. And by a god. Eddie wished he knew who Tony Skalari was—if that was his real name—where he had come from and where he had gone.

Collin and Andy had broken off watching at 10:35 the previous night and gone on to other activities swirling around on a busy Saturday night at the club. They were back the next morning in time to scan the tapes and then to sign Tony up for the subscription service. They'd indulge in the pleasure of watching and editing the film of the entire night later. They'd get more than one subscription film off this.

* * * *

It was just after 10:00 a.m. Monday morning and Maggie Bell was hovering over Buddy Jim Cassidy's table at the front window of the Railcar Diner, pouring him another cup of coffee and telling him of her weekend trip to Las Vegas, when she saw a motorcycle pull off Highway 95 onto the parking strip in front of a restaurant.

She whistled and said, "Now that's a nice piece of equipment," tipping the coffee pot back up but not pulling it away. The tracking of Bud's eyes went with hers to take in the new arrival.

"You speakin' of the motorcycle or the guy on it?" he said.

"Both," Maggie said, with a laugh. "But the hunk looks particularly good. Couldn't be from too far away to be on a bike and not buried in road dust."

"That's Tony Skalari, from over in Hawthorne."

"You know him?"

"I know of him. He works in his father's garage. A mechanic. Real good with motorcycles, I hear. Real good with his hands and other parts of him too, if you know what I mean."

Maggie knew what Bud meant. "Nice," she said.

"They're Italian," Bud continued. "They's a bunch of them over there in Hawthorne. Each of the boys a hellraiser and a stud. A close-knit group."

"Vavavoom, he looks delicious." Tony had remained straddling his motorcycle, his black-leather clad tight pants and his black-leather boots extending to the ground. He was wearing a black-leather jacket too, but it was open and he was bare-chested under it, his torso covered with colorful tattoos in a professional-looking swirl pattern. He took his helmet off, putting it under his arm, and shook out his curly black hair. His beard was what was likely a close-cropped, permanent five-o'clock shadow.

"I wouldn't bother," Bud said, dryly ". . . if you catch what I mean."

Maggie did. She and Bud had been on the same beam for some years. "Pity that. What a waste of . . ." But then she stopped, which had Bud looking out the window again after having taken a gulp of his coffee.

They both watched as Eddie came into view from around the side of the building. He was carrying a duffel bag, which quite likely carried everything he'd brought to the rooms off the back of the restaurant. Maggie's hold on the coffee pot wavered as she saw Eddie walk over to the motorcycle, Tony cup the back of Eddie's head to bring their faces together, and the two of them kiss.

"Careful there, Kiddo," Bud said, taking the pot out of her hand and lowering it to the tabletop.

"Well, I'll be damned," Maggie said as she collapsed into the bench across the table from Bud. She turned her face from the window so she couldn't see Eddie get on the bike behind Tony and wrap an arm around him as Tony kicked the motorcycle into gear and turned it north, toward Hawthorne.

"Sorry, babe, I thought you knew. Eddie goes out to the Lighthouse and performs and services the weekends you're gone. I just thought you knew and didn't care."

"Damn that Hawthorne. It steals my best workers."

"I guess Hawthorne is the big city compared to a Nowhere place like Mina," Bud said. "But I kind a like it here. You're here, for instance."

"I'm just an old foolish woman," she whimpered. "Gettin' too old for anything."

"Not too old. You're still sexy as hell," he said.

"You really think so, BJ?" Maggie asked. "After I was so foolish as to take a young boy like that over you?"

"You've had a rough life of it, babe. You seemed to like your young boy toy. I didn't begrudge you that."

"That was good of you, BJ, but you know what I was thinking each time I was with Eddie?"

"No, what?"

"That he was good, but at some things you were a whole lot better. Some important things."

"Like what things?"

"I'm not sure I can tell you. I could probably show you. Come on back to the apartment."

"What? Now?"

"It ain't busy in here now. Amy can hold down the fort," she said as she rose from the booth and took BJ Cassidy's hand, pulling him up as well.

"Well, all righty then," he said, grinning, as she led him away. Sometimes, he was thinking, when you wait for it all polite like it comes around again.