The Surprise Party

08:57 PM

"Don't scream, don't jump around, don't act crazy."

My first instinct was to do all of those things. The person who had just materialized at my elbow was reinforcing his warning by pricking the side of my neck very slightly with what I assumed to be a knife. A very sharp knife. I had never been mugged before -- I've never even known anyone who had been mugged -- so I didn't have much experience in framing a response. I really, really wanted to scream and jump around. I wasn't sure how the mugger might have defined "acting crazy", but I suspected I'd feel better for doing some of that, too.

"Empty your pockets," he ordered. "Hand everything back to me. Don't drop anything, don't throw anything, don't try to turn around. Don't do anything that might encourage me to poke a hole in you with this knife."

"I don't really have a lot of stuff with me," I protested. "Only some cash for a cab -- "

The point of the knife became more insistent.

"For Christ's sake! This isn't a negotiation! Just give me everything you've got on you and shut the fuck up."

"Okay, okay. I'm just trying to explain -- Ow!" Quickly, I passed back the twenty bucks in fives and ones that I always carried on my run just in case something came up while I didn't have my wallet with me and I needed a bit of pocket cash.

"That's it? That's all you've got?"

"Yes. That what I -- Shit! Stop doing that!"

"Stop talking or you'll get a lot worse." The mugger rattled the bills, then crammed them into his pocket.

Harry Claussen, my usual running partner, was working an extra half-shift tending bar at an upscale Greek place down on South Bridge Street, so I had been running solo this evening. I never bothered to carry a phone for my run, partly because there was no place for it in my running shorts and partly because I had no desire to clutter up my run with the detritus of the working day. It had never occurred to me that there might be armed muggers in the park. The worst thing that had happened there in recent memory was a flasher who had been annoying women and kids since the beginning of summer, rousing the police to an intense, if ineffectual, flurry of activity. Violence, even only implied violence, was unheard of. With law enforcement pretty much a fixture now at the park entrance and at the bandshell, my mugger was skating on the thinnest of ice trying this now.

"Give me your clothes."

"What? Shorts and a tank top? They're not worth five bucks altoge -- "

"Jesus! Do you want me to cut you? How have you lived this long without somebody yanking your tongue out of your head? Just do it!"

I pulled my tank top over my head, then stepped out of my running shorts.

"Hand 'em back to me. Okay, now the jockstrap. And the socks and shoes, those are nice running shoes. I'll bet they're even my size."

"Oh, come on! Leave me something -- "

"One more word and what I'm gonna leave you with is a potentially fatal knife wound. The jock. The shoes. Now."

I did as I was told, then stood with my hands over my crotch, feeling extremely uncomfortable. I had been known to bare all at the behest of a strange man before -- many strange men, truth be told, some stranger than others -- but never at knifepoint.

"Now then. The cops are still looking for the flasher, so if I were you I wouldn't go hollering for help, not with your skinny ass hanging out like that. You just stand there like a good boy for a count of ten as I walk away. Do what I tell you and I'll leave your shorts on the bench over there where the path curves back on itself. Dig?"

I nodded, and the knife disappeared from my neck. I counted to about six and then whipped around, staring wildly at the path, the shrubbery, even up into the trees. No sign of the mugger. Still keeping my hands over my crotch, I scurried up the trail to the bench.

Nothing.

"Motherfucker!" I groaned. Now what? I was trapped in a Freudian nightmare: buck naked at midnight in a public place, a mile and half from my apartment. If I walked out of the park like this, I'd be arrested by the time I got across Nineteenth Street. The east entrance, around the corner from Fairleigh Drive Circle, would be less exposed, but I'd still have to get the twenty blocks to my apartment.

Bartender Harry was a friend with benefits: I had been hoping that we would have our usual run then indulge in a less-usual but always-welcome romp in the sack to celebrate my birthday, which was only hours away, but his work intervened, and I had launched my birthday-eve evening without a plan. Now I was alone and naked in Fairleigh Circle Park and celebration was the furthest thing from my mind.

One thing at a time, I thought. I took a deep breath and started jogging toward the gate.

Not only was the east entrance to the park smaller and less well-lit, but it opened onto a long row of on-street parking. When I ventured out onto the sidewalk and peered up and down the street I could see that there was one car, an older BMW, sitting in a parking space about fifty yards to my left. Two men were sitting on a sidewalk bench nearby, talking. They were dressed to party, but looked pretty subdued for all that. I decided to risk an encounter.

"Um, can you help me? I've been mugged in the park."

One of the men, a stocky fireplug type with a stubble of black hair and beard, dressed in tan slacks and a yellow-and-white silk bowling shirt, stared and then guffawed.

"I'm seeing things!" he laughed, elbowing his companion.

"I'm seeing it, too. Maybe it's a whattayacallit, a collective hallucination."

"I'm not a hallucination," I pointed out, resisting the urge to snap. "I was attacked by a mugger in the park while I was out for a run. He stole everything. My money, my clothes, even my shoes. My apartment is about twenty blocks from here, on Thirty-third Avenue. Could you give me a lift there? Or maybe let me have something I could wear so I could walk home?"

The second man rolled his eyes. He was taller and leaner than his friend, with dark skin and a shaven head, wearing black jeans and a clingy white t-shirt, the shirt dazzlingly bright under the street light.

"How do we know you're not some naked psycho looking to inveigle yourself into our confidence and then knife us in the back?"

"'Inveigle'? I like that," his friend put in. "Inveigle."

I held out my hands. "No knife."

"Nor a lot of places to hide one, I'm thinking," observed Bowling Shirt, hiking one eyebrow at my exposed crotch. I quickly put my hands back down.

"And no money to pay for a lift," T-shirt pointed out.

"I can pay you when I get to my apartment."

"Oh, right. Like we'll ever see you again once you're through the front door."

Bowling Shirt nudged the other. "Maybe we should continue our negotiations in the car. The cops will be by any minute." He looked at me significantly. "They're extra-vigilant lately, what with all the naked weirdos running around lately."

"On account of the flasher. I know. Despite appearances, I'm not him." I wasn't sure about the wisdom of getting into a car with Abbot and Costello here, but standing around under the street light was definitely asking for trouble. "You tell me what it'll take to get me home. But I agree: Let's get under some cover first."

T-shirt shrugged. "Looks like we've got nada better to do tonight. If nothing else, you'll make a great story for us to tell next time we're out on the town." He paused, then gave me a significant look. "Maybe the evening won't be a total loss."

Bowling Shirt opened the passenger door, then climbed into the back seat. T-shirt slipped behind the wheel and patted the front passenger seat. "Come on, nature boy. I don't want to have to explain you to the midnight patrol."

Nothing about this situation inspired confidence, but my options were limited. I slid in gingerly, keeping one hand over my junk.

At the long red light at Twentieth Avenue Bowling Shirt leaned up between the seats.

"Y'know Eli, I've got a t-shirt and boxers on under my fancy duds. I could give him those, if I had an excuse to take 'em off in the first place."

"Good thinking! We just have to figure out what incentives he can offer."

"I have some ideas I could put on the table, especially since tonight's little get-together turned out so lame."

"What kind of ideas?" I asked. I was still nervous, but the implications carried in Bowling Shirt's banter were adding a whole different dimension to the evening's events. Without even being aware of what I was doing, I moved my hands away from my crotch. Eli turned left, then got caught at another light.

"We were at party tonight," he explained. "We were supposed to be meeting up with a couple of very fine gentlemen, who turned out to be just as fine as we had been told, but who were actually trolling for sugar daddies and did not have time for us blue-collar types. We're not quite sugar daddy material."

"TMI, buddy. Cut to the chase."

Eli glanced back at his friend and then reached over and patted my leg. "I think nature boy is picking up the cues, Tony," he said. As he moved his hand away, his fingertips brushed my dick, which twitched in response.

"You want me to ... barter for my ride?"

"That's up to you, nature boy," Bowling Shirt said. "We can let you out here if you'd prefer."

Eli reached over and ran his knuckles down my chest. "A friend of mine has a space in a parking deck up by the Viaduct. Private, with a gate. He switched to riding a bicycle in May, so he gave me the code and the sticker for his space." He leaned forward and tapped a small blue and white sticker attached to the upper left corner of his windshield. "The deck is deserted this time of day. Security cameras on the stairwell and the elevator, but nowhere else. We can go there and all be nature boys together for a little while."

"I'm not ... I don't know," I stammered. That was a lie, of course: I knew perfectly well. I just felt that some sort of pro forma protest might salvage a little of my dignity before I gave these guys what they wanted. What I wanted, now. Eli grinned down at my blossoming erection.

"Like I said, it's up to you," he said. "We're actually very nice guys, just very horny, and a bit frustrated by the way our evening turned out. We're just looking for some fun to brighten up what has not been a great time so far. Hell, I'll even get you home, whether you party with us or not. That's how nice we are."

Bowling shirt leaned up behind me and licked my ear. "C'mon, man. Give me an excuse to take off my boxers and my t-shirt."

My dick rose to attention.

09:21 PM

The parking deck was a small one attached to a building that was full of lawyers during the day, but deserted by the time Happy Hour rolled around. There was one empty SUV down on the first level, the only vehicle in the place. Eli followed the spiral up to the rooftop level and pulled into a space and turned off the engine.

"A little moonlight, a little romance," Eli sang as he climbed out of the car and pulled his shirt off over his head. "Just the place for a ron-day-voo, don't you think, Tony?"

Bowling Shirt urged me out of the car, then climbed out himself, clutching a small zippered bag. He rummaged in this for a moment then grinned and tossed the bag back into the car, holding up his prize.

"Lube," he said. "I didn't know whether we'd need it or not tonight but fortune favors the prepared, and -- well, here we are!" Having delivered this speech, he unbuttoned his shirt and took it off, reaching back into the car to drape the shirt carefully over the back of the seat. Shoes, socks, and slacks followed, then he stripped off his t-shirt and boxers and laid them on the seat.

"For you." he said with a smile. "For afterwards."

He called my attention to an impressive erection and I took a step back. "What made you guys so sure I would do this?"

Eli laughed. "A straight guy -- or anybody particularly uptight -- would have let that mugger stab him rather than give up his clothes. You, on the other hand, look like the kind of guy who might get off on letting a tough dude tell you what to do."

"Like now, f'r instance," Tony said, leading me around to the front of the car. "Assume the position."

09:28 PM

The next hour was a blur. While I bent over the front end of the car, my legs spread, hands braced on the car hood, Tony and Eli took turns, back and forth: while one fucked me, the other hovered, touching, stroking, pinching, teasing. Tony was big and rambunctious, devoid of finesse but full of joyous abandon, while Eli was smooth and skillful, pressing all the buttons, ringing all the bells. Somehow the whole scene was so bizarre, so impossible, that the offense to my delicate middle-class sensibilities had evaporated like frost patterns on a window the moment things got hot. A part of me was still frantic with anxiety and apprehension, but that part had been overwhelmed by a more primitive component, the animal hindbrain that had me bucking and moaning with pleasure.

"Admit it. You're enjoying this as much as we are," Eli crooned into the back of my neck, his flat belly pressed against my back, his narrow hips rolling and gyrating, slapping against my butt with each thrust.

"Yeah. I am," I admitted breathlessly.

"Good. It's no fun unless everybody's having fun."

"That's very ... enlightened ... of you."

Eli chuckled and bit my ear. "I like to think so," he agreed.

I consider myself pretty ordinary in most ways. I'm a vegetarian, but if I'm at your house and you serve chicken soup, I'll eat chicken soup. I like to dress well, but I never own more than four dress shirts at a time. My apartment is clean and tidy, but I don't make visitors take off their shoes at the door. I like sex, but I'm not spending all day watching porn and haunting the clubs down by the river. At the same time, if someone suggests a good, vigorous session of boinking, I'll rarely say no -- in fact I'll usually drop trou at the first hint of interest. Since the launch of the compvaxx program five years ago removed the threat of sexually transmitted diseases from the equation, I've been pretty busy. Am I a "slut"? If you're into labels like that, maybe I am, but then, maybe I'm just a guy who knows what he likes, and sees no downside to getting as much of it as he can.

Eli gave way to Tony. After a little while, Eli took over again. Back and forth. Two men, very different in so many ways, but the same in the ways that mattered most. Eli was right: I was enjoying this experience immensely.

Tony was the first to reach climax. The banter had died down as his breathing had become rougher, and the only warning he offered was a prolonged hiss through his teeth as his thrusts became shorter and faster. I arched my back and pressed into him, flexing and squeezing, and he released a sudden rush of breath and orgasm swept through him.

I could feel the muscles of his belly clenching and releasing as he shot his load.

"Shit yeah!" he gasped with a final shudder, dropping his weight down against my back. "Whoo, baby." He nuzzled the back of my neck then we stood up, still connected, and I twisted my head and shoulders around far enough to allow us to kiss.

Tony eased out of me and stepped back, his dick glossy and dripping, and Eli patted him on the shoulder, then on the ass. Tony grinned and wiped sweat out of his eyes, and then Eli lifted me backward onto the hood of the car and pulled my legs up to rest on his shoulders.

"I want to see your face," he explained. "When I come, I want to see what I'm doing to you, or for you, or with you, and I want you to see what you're doing for me."

By this time Eli, too, was long past romance and he plunged into me without preamble and set to with a will.

"So warm and wet, soft and tight at the same time," he crooned. "I can feel all the little muscles grabbing at me. Tony's jizz is slick as oil on my dick."

The sight of his fleshless belly and tight chest hanging over me, his lower body rocking back and forth, was intensely erotic, amplifying and expanding the physical sensation of his hard penis sliding in and out of my ass. There was a background of traffic noises from the street below, along with the occasional distant hiss of a plane arriving or departing at Bowden-Caine, fifteen miles north of the city. Louder and more insistent were Eli's rough breathing, my moans of pleasure, and the ridiculous sound of sweaty flesh slapping against sweaty flesh. Eli's suave self-control had abandoned him by degrees and now he was running on instinct.

"It's ... it's that time," Eli panted, then he groaned as his dick jerked and pulsed, his belly clenched, his thrusts erratic, random. His climax was prolonged, accompanied by a chorus of grunting (his) and panting (mine).

When it was over he bent down and kissed me, moving his cock gently inside me, churning his semen and Tony's together. His breathing slowed as he continued a slow, languorous grind, his sweat dripping onto my face, my eyes, my mouth...

"You gentlemen do realize this is private property, right?"

10:26 PM

I snapped my head up to see who had spoken. Ten feet away from the car stood two men in gray uniforms.

"Shit, Eli!" Tony hissed. "Security guards."

"Don't mind us!" Eli called as he stepped back, his dick flopping, spattering spunk, and trotted around to throw himself naked into the driver's seat of the car. "We're just passing through."

Waiting just long enough for Tony to jump in, Eli started the car and backed out of the parking space. Startled and still dazed by sex, I slid off the hood and stumbled out of the way, my rigid dick slapping my belly, dribbling pre-cum. I stared at the two security guards, one watching me, one watching the car drive back down the ramp and out of sight.

"But ...!" I protested weakly. "They -- he ... " I gave up. "Well, hell."

"They're gone, my friend," said the older of the guards. "You've been had tonight in more ways than one."

I must have looked bleak, because he laughed and patted my shoulder. "I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable story behind all this."

"No, there isn't," I told him. "It has been insane from the beginning." I fumbled for a moment at my crotch, trying to hide my persistent erection, then finally gave up. It wasn't as if I had anything left to conceal. "What happens now?"

The guards looked at each other.

"I think I have a pair of old uniform pants I can loan him," the younger guard said. "Maybe a t-shirt, too. They're in my locker someplace."

The older guard nodded. "Good idea." He looked at me. "We've got trespassing, indecent exposure, public lewdness -- Lord knows what else. We should call the police, but Melaku here is about to go off shift, and I'm just starting, so we'd both find our evening pretty badly disrupted by a visit from the cops."

Melaku grinned. "Benny, I'll just go look for those pants. It'll probably take me twenty or thirty minutes to find them, my locker is such a mess."

"You do that," Benny agreed, returning the younger man's grin. "Meanwhile, I'll settle things with our streaker here."

Melaku strolled away to the elevator, and Benny looked me over speculatively. This whole setup really looked like, well, a setup, but ... no, there was no way. That would just be beyond belief. He wouldn't ...

"Now, let me tell you that I much prefer women, when it comes to the sorts of shenanigans you folks were up to out here this evening. That said, however, what we saw certainly got my motor running. I consider myself a pretty progressive kind of guy, and you've definitely caught my attention, even with a dick and without tits."

I exhaled, a long slow breath. This night just couldn't get any weirder. Had every buttfucker in town been lined up in my path tonight?

Benny unbuckled his belt, unfastened, unzipped, and released a veiny, gnarly tree-stump of a cock.