Perseverance

"My, don't you look spiffy this evening? Going to the theater?"

"Excuse me? Oh, I don't know exactly where we're going. Just wearing what I was told to wear. This is on someone else's nickel."

Nineteen-year-old American Jordie Nelson, dressed in a tux, was sitting alone at a table on the rooftop bar of the Rendezvous Hotel Sidney the Rocks, overlooking the Circular Quay and Opera House on the Sydney, Australia, waterfront. He had been approached for a drink order by a waiter. The two didn't know each other but they were of nearly the same age, the waiter a couple of years older, and Jordie had been here before. They both were gorgeous young men and recognized each other from what their preferences were. They clicked with each other on all cylinders. Jordie, a bit nervous in coming here felt he had an ally.

"Do you wish to order a drink, or are you waiting for someone? I'm Sam, by the way," said the hotel waiter.

"Yes, I remember you. I'm waiting for someone."

Sam, the waiter, had seen this unfold before, so he did know the other young man would be waiting for someone. He thought he could guess why too. That thought excited him, though. The young American was a gorgeous blond, with a face that was more pretty than handsome, a winsome smile illuminated by pale blue eyes, and a slim, fit body to die for. That he seemed to be a bit nervous and on edge hinted at an adventure to come, which, in turn, aroused Sam. Jordie had met older men here before, and Sam was sure he knew why. That excited him a bit and he got a vicarious vibe off the transaction.

Sam backed off and worshipped the young man from the drinks bar. The young man, Jordie, didn't have to wait for too long, though, before two older men approached his table. One looked to be in his late thirties, an Australian who was somewhat flamboyantly dressed and exhibited a big thuggish look, and the other one was an Arab, clearly identified by the pristine-white thawb, an Arab robe, and head scarf he wore, and somewhere in his forties. Jordie stood to be introduced to and inspected by the Arab. When they settled, Sam arrived to take their drinks orders.

When he returned with the drinks, Sam nearly blushed at the questions he heard the Arab asking, with the Australian supplying most of the answers in somewhat bald terms. Jordie was sitting there, looking demure. The Arab was stroking the young man's forearm with his fingers, and Jordie wasn't shying away. Sam was there long enough to determine that the Arab was somehow connected with a reception and concert going on across the Port Jackson middle harbor at the distinctive, iconic Sydney Opera House.

The Arab was a sheik, named Samir al-Garfeh, and Jordie was to be his escort at the opera house event. The sheik was staying here at the Rendezvous Hotel. Neither Jordie nor his Australian pimp, Alex White, were staying here, but Jordie was sometimes brought here to meet and service hotel guests. Sam already knew Alex White by name. This was a regular place he used to hook up escorts with clients.

They stayed for only one drink. Alex White didn't stay that long. After he left, the sheik leaned into Jordie and was obviously having a more explicit discussion with him.

Sam stood off to the side, thinking once again how spiffy Jordie looked in his tux and wondering how good he'd look out of the tux. He was still on duty three hours later, near midnight, when Sheik Samir and Jordie returned to the bar for a nightcap before calling it a night. He followed them at a distance when they left. He'd already checked out what floor the sheik's room was on, just two floors down from the rooftop bar, and managed to make it down the stairs and conceal himself behind a corner before the elevator opened and the two men exited. The sheik already was holding Jordie close beside him, palming one of the young man's buttocks cheeks, as they walked to the room, entered, and the door shut behind them.

Seeing a man palm another man's buttocks as they walked in public always gave Sam a jolt of sexual arousal and pleasure. He knew the possessiveness and the permissibility that reflected. He had visions of palming Jordie's buttocks himself.

Sam couldn't resist. After a few minutes he stole down the corridor and put his ear to the hotel room door. He already could hear moaning and what sounded like a snapping sound. And then the cry of "Mercy! Oh, shit. Oh, fuck!" Again, the snap of leather on flesh. He reached for the door handle, but then pulled back. This was a professional situation. No telling what the young man had agreed to or take--or how much of his cry was for effect, what a male whore would do to inflame a john.

Inside the room, Jordie lay on his belly, naked, on the bed. His wrists were restrained to the headboard, his arms raised over his head. The Rendezvous was a gay-friendly hotel and had special rooms for special clients. Sheik Garfeh, his thawb unbuttoned and flared, his well-muscled body dark skinned and hirsute naked underneath that and in full erection, was holding a bent over leather belt, and was reddening up Jordie's bare buttocks with it, as the fingers of a greased hand worked at opening the young man's anal canal.

"Oh, fuck. The fist... not the whole... SHIT!"

Once more Sam reached for the door handle, but pulled back.

Jordie was writhing under the attention. He was moaning and panting, but he was doing what he was paid for--giving the sheik his money's worth.

Sam could tell the moment when the sheik dropped the belt, climbed up onto the bed, saddled on the young man's hips, mounted him, penetrated, and began to pump. Jordie had cried out at the moment of penetration.

"Yes, Fuckin' YES. Put it in. Screw me! YES!"

Sam discerned the unmistakable sound of flesh slapping on flesh. In addition, the bed had taken this use before. It creaked, the springs singing a rhythm song of their own. The sheik settled down to a rhythmic motion. Jordie was contributing moans and periodic whispers of, "Yes, yes. There, like that. Oh, fuck yes. You're so fuckin' big."

Unhappy and frustrated that he was getting no piece of the action, Sam moved away from the door and back to the rooftop bar two stories above.

What a waste of a beautiful young man, he was thinking. He knew, though, that Jordie would be back and that there would be other opportunities for them to converse--and, he hoped, someday, to hook up.

* * * *

Sam had another opportunity to connect with Jordie a couple of days later when he pulled a dayshift at the Rendezvous Hotel's rooftop bar. Jordie was there, at the same table, again initially alone, and looking oh so sexy in white gauzy harem pants showing that he was wearing a red pouch jockstrap underneath, and a sexy red mesh crop-top athletic T-shirt, showing off how cut his torso was. His feet were covered with open-toed sandals, and there was a beach bag in the chair next to him with a beach towel peeking out of.

"Waiting for someone again?" Sam asked, knowing full well the young man wouldn't be here if he wasn't hooking up with another man.

"Yes, again."

"My name is Sam."

"Yes, I remember." Jordie was wearing dark sunglasses, he turned and pushed them down on his nose, taking a good look at the waiter, showing that he wasn't ignoring him. "I don't think I'd forget you." Was he flirting? Sam's stomach knotted and he took the risk.

"You look like you're off to the beach."

"Yes, I think so. Lady Jane Beach."

The knot in Sam's stomach lurched. Lady Jane Beach was a gay male nudist beach out on the tip of Walton's Bay. "You think so? You don't choose what beach you go to?"

"No, I don't choose."

"You don't choose who you go with either?"

"Not usually, no."

"But you wish you could?"

Before the young man could respond, though, two men were descending on the table and Sam had to step back to wait for their drink order. The thuggish Australian pimp, Alex White, was one of the men. The other was a bodybuilder type of hunky Nordic blond, but nearly bald guy in his early forties in baggy shorts and a deep-side and front slit black athletic T that showed off the man's bulging pecs. He looked like money, and Sam knew he'd have to be rich to afford Jordie.

"This is Heinz. Visiting from Germany," Alex said to Jordie, as they sat down. "He's heard we have gay nudist beaches here. Wants to see one." This obviously had been worked out beforehand if Jordie already knew what beach they were going to and was dressed for undressing there. There was little doubt what they'd do there either. The German meaty hand went to Jordie's knee as he sat down and drifted higher as they conversed a bit over their drinks.

"Kennen Sie einen solchen Strand? Excuse me, I try to remember we must speak English here. Do you know of such a beach?" the German asked.

"I'm sure we can find one," Jordie answered, looking down at the hand on his knee, making no move to move away from it, and looking up into the German's eyes and giving him a smile.

By the time Heinz and Jordie were getting up to find Wharf 2A at the Circular Quay to take the ferry to Walton's Bay out to the end of the South Head Peninsula, Sam had arranged to take the rest of the shift off. He managed to get on the same ferry Heinz and Jordie were taking before it cast off. Jordie and his john went to the bow of the ferry, where Heinz put a possessing arm around Jordie's waist and the young man pointed out the various sites of interest along the long harbor run out to South Head. Sam hovered back toward the stern, keeping the two in sight. Jordie may or may not have caught a glimpse of the waiter dogging them, and his slight smile may or may not have been in recognition of the other young man's perseverance.

Sam gave a low sigh when he saw the German's broad hand cup one of Jordie's butt cheeks.

* * * *

After walking up and down the surf line at Lady Jane Beach arm in arm in the buff, both of them attracting smiles, gasps, murmurs of appreciation, and fantasies, Heinz and Jodie found a dip between dunes at the top of the beach where they could lay and fuck in private. Not in private, of course. After that parading around, other guys would seek out where they went to fuck and several of them put themselves into position to watch the show. There was every reason to believe Heinz wanted them to watch him fuck the American honey.

Jordie was lying on his back on a large beach towel, a hulking, bodybuilder muscular, smooth-skinned, nearly bald Nordic god hovering between his spread thighs, supporting and lifting the smaller male whore's body, with pelvis raised, with a strong arm under Jordie's waist. Heinz's other hand was clutching Jordie's throat, holding the young man's head pushed into the sand. Jordie's thighs were spread, his legs bent, his heels dug into the sand, giving the young man leverage to rock with the fuck. Jordie's hands were clutching the German's beefy biceps, his fingers opening and closing to the rhythm of the hulking man's strong, relentless, thrusts.

"Do it," Jordie murmured through clinched teeth.

Jordie suffered. That he was a rent-boy, paid to suffer like this, groaning and whimpering and whispering that Heinz was almost too much for him to endure. That, of course, was what Heinz was paying a high fee to hear.

Probably thanks to the drugs the German took to enhance his muscularity, he wasn't built big. But he had what was called a beer-can cock, extraordinarily thick, which taxed Jordie painfully as he forced himself in. Until he was fully saddled and had stretched Jordie to his relentless need, Jordie was writhing, gasping, and panting under him. When the rhythm of the plowing was established and the thick cock was being accommodated and was sliding in and out unchallenged, Jordie was able to relax, fling his arms out in a sacrificial stance, his fingers digging into the sand on either side of the edge of the towel, turn his face to the side, his eyes flashing and his mouth in a yawn. Heinz released his clutch on Jordie's throat, remained hovered above the young man, one arm still under Jordie's waist, raising him to the need to maintain purchase of the thick but somewhat stubby shaft.

Throat freed, Jordie exclaimed in a raspy voice, "You're too big... too thick," but that elicited no response from Heinz. He was what he was. The German's head was dipping down, the man kissing and nipping down from the young whore's throat to his nipples, his hand now cupping the young man's head.

"Shit," Jordie exclaimed. "Enough. You'll split me." He struggled to move out of the German's embrace, but Heinz moved a hand from caressing the young American's body to pulling back, striking forward, and slapping Jordie twice, hard, across the face. Stunned--or at least pretending to be stunned--Jordie collapsed back into the German's embrace with a deep groan.

"Hör auf zu kämpfen. Niederlassen. Nimm es--Stop struggling. Settle down. Take it!" Heinz growled, and Jordie responded to the command, flinging his arms out again, entirely open and vulnerable. Grunting, Heinz forced a thick penetration again as Jordie panted and groaned and resumed the fuck.

Jordie's face turned to the side and for the first time he saw that they weren't alone--and that he recognized the young man standing on top of the dune between them and the surf. Sam, the waiter from the Rendezvous Hotel rooftop bar, was standing there, naked, his body young and magnificent, his erection, which put that of the German bodybuilder's to shame, gripped in the young man's hand.

The two younger men locked eyes, both of them merging their sexual experiencing, Sam noticeably adjusting the stroking of his cock to the rhythm of the rise and fall of the German's bulbous buttocks in his thrusts inside Jordie's passage. Jordie rocked his pelvis, joining in the cadence. One of his hands went between his belly and that of the German's and, his eyes trained on Sam's throbbing erection, he stroked himself off. Whether or not the German was taxing him to the limit--and Jordie would feign that he was even if he wasn't--Jordie had a job to do, a fantasy to weave for the German john.

Jordie arched his back, gave a little cry and a jerk--and shot his load. Almost simultaneously Sam did as well. The German continued pumping, briefly, totally unaware that Sam was watching, and then, with a huff, he ejaculated, and his body collapsed on Jordie, pressing the young man into the sand.

They held there for several minutes, panting and cooling down.

"Das gut?" Jordie ask, using what little German he knew to ask if the client was satisfied, if the fuck had been good for him.

"Ja, das war gut," Heinz said, his voice showing his pleasure. Jodie had done fine; he'd earned his fee.

He looked toward where Sam had been standing, but the waiter was gone. The German wasn't finished. He was on the rise again. He turned Jordie underneath him, putting him on his belly, raising him to all fours, mounting him from above and behind, and fucked him again like a dog.

Eventually, Jordie was alone. Heinz wasn't there, and Jordie wouldn't see him again. Sam wasn't in sight either. The assignment was done. The fee had been provided up front, in the Rendezvous Hotel rooftop bar. But Jordie felt deflated by just being used and left there. That was often the way it was in his business, though, and with the johns Alex brought him.

After resting a bit, he sat up on the towel. His clothes were neatly folded beside him. He shook the sand out of them, put them on, and walked away from the beach, toward where he could catch the ferry back to the Sydney harbor.

At some point on the ferry he realized he wasn't alone. Sam, the waiter from the hotel bar, was lurking on the other side of the ferry. He hadn't left him, but he wasn't approaching him either.

Once off the ferry, Sam turned toward the opera house side of the harbor and walked into the extensive Royal Botanical Gardens. As he walked, he checked back periodically to assure himself that Sam was persevering, that he was following at a distance. Sam kept looking left and right, only slowing becoming aware that he was looking for a protected area, somewhere where the two of them could come together and fuck. It was risky. Alex didn't let him take any tricks that they couldn't make a profit off of--a succession of older men with money and just a quick need or with a streak of cruelty in them, with little regard for whatever Jordie might need. Many pimps in Sydney wouldn't deal with some of the men Alex would. It was Jordie who took the pain from that.

Jordie had had no intention of doing anything more than flirt with the cute, persistent waiter, but sometime between leaving the beach and arriving on the Circular Quay, Jordie had decided he wanted this. The waiter's persistence had paid off.

The next time Jordie looked back, though, he saw that not only had Sam drifted further back from him than before but that there as a group of children with a teacher between them and that the children were moving slow and chaotically. And then Jodie didn't see the other younger man at all, and he left the gardens at Bridge Street to walk back into the city center and then to his own rooms.

* * * *

"Read any good books lately?"

"It's you. Sam, is it? How did you find me?" Jordie looked up from where he was shelving book in his parttime job at the gay-friendly The Bookshop Darlinghurst bookstore on Oxford Street, in the heart of Sydney's gay district.

"I asked around. It wasn't hard to track you down. It's Jordie, isn't it, or is that just a name you use with the johns?"

"The johns?" Jordie was about to challenge that, but then he remembered that the young man had watched the German fuck him on the beach just a few days previously and he'd seen him hook up with a john at the hotel roof bar several times. Sam didn't answer. He just stood there and looked amused.

"Are you stalking me?" Jordie asked.

"Would you be mad if I did? Isn't it a form of compliment?"

"I guess perseverance is a form of compliment."

"I thought you might appreciate some young cock for a change."

"And you'd be the one to give it to me?"

"I could, yes. I wouldn't pay for it, though. We'd do it for the mutual pleasure and for you to be your own man. It seems to me that that pimp of yours holds a tight rein on you. I would think you'd like to have a bit of fun that was your own choice."

"You followed me the other day--out to Lady June Beach and then back and through the botanical gardens."

"Yes, yes, I did. That's that perseverance part."

"But you disappeared."

"I wanted you to have a bit more time to think about it. So, have you thought about it? Will you go with me?"

"What, now?" Jordie asked, giving a little laugh. "I'm working now."

"It's all in the timing, and that isn't a no," Sam said. "I found out when you go off shift--in ten minutes, and I saw your pimp ushering around someone else before I came here, so I don't think you have an assignation for a couple of hours. We have time. So, will you go with me... now?"

"I guess so... but just because you are so persistent."

"And because I showed you what I'm hanging out on the beach."

"That too. Let me just punch out up front."

"Oh, there's one thing you need to know and can provide," Jordie said, turning back.

"Yes, I know. You want it rough. I've already figured that out."

Jordie smiled. "Shall we go then?"

As they walked out of the shop, Sam let Jordie go ahead of him. He cupped Jordie's butt cheek with a hand to guide him along. He sighed and Jordie jerked and let out a little whimper when Sam squeezed hard, jabbing a finger up into the crease and finding the young man's hole. Jordie turned and gave Sam a big smile. Sam pressed in, through the material of the shorts and briefs. Jordie maintained his smile as they walked toward his flat. Jordie did prefer a dominating master.