[As a story about Cliff, this incident is not actual. Since this is a work of fiction, all the names and details are invented.]
I thought I'd died and gone to heaven, but it was only Montreal. He was so gorgeous that just looking at him gave me a hardon. At least the beginnings of it. I felt flushed and hot, that's for sure. The thong, he'd gotten down to, bulged with him. But I'm not really a size queen, not really. It's the overall that gets me - eyes, arms, presence. That's what he was full of. Presence!
He was finishing up one set when I came into the bar, and by that little bit I saw, I was riveted. "I've died and gone to heaven," I must have said out loud because the old queer next to me said, "He is the best. Wait till the closing, when he goes all the way."
'All the way?' I was puzzled.
'Strips total.' He leered at me.
When's closing, I wondered. I wandered away and watched the other strippers from a distance, but compared to Mr. Wonderful, they lumbered along. As they twisted and bumped I pictured that Adonis in my mind. Broad shoulders, tapered waist, glowing skin, flashing black eyes that haunted me. He had a flush of reddish brown hair on his upper chest that reminded me of Nicholas Cage in that old Valley Girl movie when Cage was a newcomer.
Me? How could I ever get it on with him I wondered. In my dreams. But I wanted more, the real thing. What were my prospects? A guy twice the age of my Adonis, in shape but no beauty, as spectacled as Harry Potter and much more tweedy. I was comfortable in my professorial role, but accepted I had no real magnetism for the hunks I lusted after. Finally though, I roused myself to shake off all self-doubt and loss of confidence. I considered my assets instead.
I looked prosperous, though casually dressed but more upscale than most of the blue-collar, college kid, leathered and trashy blue-jeaned regulars in the bar. I had a good smile and was not bashful and could look a guy full in the face, nod in his direction, even introduce myself. I was sober and otherwise drug-free, though I was dying for a cigarette. I resolved to give connecting with him my best effort.
I walked around the complex, had one beer, and watched Raimond, as he was introduced, do his second set. When he was off, I moved to the dance floor to shake off the erection he'd caused, but the industrial pounding music only made me more excited if less tumescent. Time seemed to crawl while I waited for Raimond's finale. Believe it or not, I even had to fend off one guy who recognized me from the lit conference we were at. Another evening, I would have accompanied someone so much to my modest taste anywhere. Instead I said, "Sorry, George, I have a date." Or wished I did.
When the third set came up, I moved to the bar along which the performance would take place, and zeroed in on a strategically placed stool. '"I'll give you $20 dollars for this seat," I said to the geezer there. He looked at me blankly, reached for the twenty, took his beer and was gone. I perched myself and took a deep breath.
The assembly came out, one by one, to do their stuff. I tried not to pay attention to the openers, waiting for Raimond, the obvious star. Then he came out.
Raimond wore work boots, bulky white socks, a flimsy cotton vest and the most amazing thong, the likes of which I'd never seen. I don't know what it was made of, but it was translucent. Though clothed, you could see the outline of his package. He started out slow, his muscular arms up with fingers interlocked behind his head, moving feet, legs, and hips to the beat. Rai beamed when he danced, not like some glum bums. Dazzling.
He gradually moved along the bar, stomping, twisting, and shaking his booty.
As he got towards me, I could see the outline of his cock, long and full. >From ten feet away, I could see that the snug hold of the thong pouch riding on his precious cargo had stimulated his genitalia enough so that the foreskin was back along the ridge of the glans. The outline of the rim of his uncut majesty was obviously visible through the membrane he was wearing.
I shifted in my seat to accommodate my own swelling penis.
I locked eyes with him, and smiled my appreciation. Rai, five feet away, nodded at me and radiated a smile back, broader than even before. He came alongside. I bobbed my head in time with his music, licked by lips and held up a twenty U.S. dollar so he could see what it was. He dropped down on his haunches, his knees over my shoulders, and his protrusion almost into my mouth. I tucked the bill into the elastic band at the top of his bushy basket, my fingers falling slightly over the sheer material that pretended to covered him. Latex? Silk? I was too far-gone to figure it out or care.
Rai grabbed me by the ears and pressed my lips to his fleshy prong just for a moment before he was up. He twirled about three times, pivoting on his quick feet in front of me, then with his buttocks towards me he bent double from the waist and shook his anus at me, hardly covered by the slender strap of the thong. I smelled the musty rich smell of his sweat, woodsy cologne, and body juices of a man in heat.
He went on to other customers, but looked back at me again from twenty feet away, nodding and sending me silent messages with his eyes and smile. At the far end of the bar, he got off and came back on the floor, stepping his way through the crowd. I'd swiveled on my stool, and when he got to me, he gyrated himself between my legs, pulled back my sports jacket, and swiftly undid the top three buttons of my shirt so that he could feel my nipples in their forest of chest hair.
'Hmm,' he said, and clambered aboard my thighs, lap dancing there for a few seconds.
'I'm Cliff,' I said.
'Later,' he said, and was off down the floor.
Back up in the bar, he did his final mess around. Raimond swayed, pivoted and swung his feet. Either he had his arms out in palpable abandon, ecstasy and joy or he was feeling himself up. He massaged his hirsuite chest, fingering his nipples, coursing his sides, passing over his awesomely hung Moby Dick, or tugging at the sides of his nearly invsible, briefest of briefs. With his back to the crowd, he began to play with the waist band and strap of his thong, lifting the half inch that held against his anus the very place we all wanted to be. He began inching it away from that luscious bung hole and teasingly pulled the band down below the buxom, curvaceous turn of his bum.
Now fully nude in back, he turned forward to show that his efforts to exhibit his stunning buttocks had their effects on exposing the front. The translucent mask was off the pubes, the same henna hued hair as on his chest and head. That last bit of cover clung at the top of his shaft. I heard myself gasp at the vision of what was to come.
His thumbs were in the straps on either side of the auburn bush and moving up and down as if he was about to go native. And then, I don't know how he did it, but in a single move, they fell to his boots and he kicked them off behind the counter, and his right hand was cupping his marks of manhood while his left was behind him. He pivoted to show that he had his "fuck you" finger up his ass. He pivoted again and stuck that middle finger deep in his mouth, sucking it and swaying, his eyes rolling back as though in a orgasmic spell as deep as any psychedelic trip you ever experienced or imagined. Then his eyes were open and he looked at me and I back at him, dead on.
He lifted his hands, palms up and out, then thrust forward to the crowd as though saying, "I'm yours." His treasure protruded there, the glow of his blood charged through cock and balls, and for a moment all eyes were focused on that gorgeous center. I was not the only one to gasp. The lights blinked out for a moment, and when back on, he was gone, and it was closing time.
I shuffled out with the rest. Knots of guys stood on the walk in front, eyeing one another, trying one last time to score. The old queer who I'd had an encounter with previously came towards me, and I thought quick how I'd turn him down. 'Back door, you fool' he said; 'the help goes out the back door.' I nodded and made my way around the corner to the alley.
The dancers and bar tenders were coming out and lining up with their various dates. Then Rai came out the dimly lighted door. He wore very faded jeans above his boots, so tight they showed his assets front and back to great advantage, topped with a sleeveless t-shirt that said, "Support Your Local Galactic Federation," a beret, and a jean jacket under his arm. He carrued a small athletic duffle, the strap over his shoulder. And he came straight to me.
'Hi, Cliff,' he said. 'Remember me.'
'And how!'
'Let's go to your place; mine is full of house mates.'
'Fine. It's the Metropole, about eight blocks. Shall we walk.'
'Taxi. More private.'
That's best, I thought; the way he looked we'd have a trail of twenty guys following us. I hailed a taxi, and we got in. He said, 'It's a hundred for a quickie, two hundred per hour or five hundred a night. Then I'll want breakfast and carfare home.'
I didn't care if it was Canadian or U.S. dollars. 'Okay,' I said. 'Let's go all the way.'
'You call the tune; you pay the piper. I trust your face, but just so there's no misunderstanding, the money comes up front.'
'Works for me.' I knew there was a cash machine in the hotel to make up the difference for what I had locked in the room safe.
I never stay in conference hotels because of their size, expense, generally poor food, and lack of privacy. The Metropole was European style, comfortably quaint, independent and gay friendly. No one batted an eye at a forty year-old professor coming in after 2 a.m. with a young stud and his duffle bag.
In the room, Rai dropped his bag and gave me a lusciously wet and deep, tongue-searching kiss. 'You get comfortable; lay out the cash, and I'll come to you after a shower.' I opened the safe as he got out of his street clothes. How marvelous to see him undress with such complete ease. He wore no underwear.
I'd had a nap between the conference and going to the bar. It had been a long night after a full day of sessions, but I was excitedly alert. Stretched out nude in bed, I could hear my heart pounding in my ears. When the water stopped in the shower, I filled with anticipation at his approach and sat up on my side of the bed. He came in, his skin glowing impossibly in the dim light, and knelt between my legs, lifting my charged testicles and tumescence in his hand. Bending, he sniffed it, nosing in the mustiness that must be there. 'Nice,' he said and popped the whole handful in his warm, salivary mouth. He rolled my balls around with his tongue and head rotating like a pendulum.
I moaned and fell back across the bed. He stood, positioned my legs over my shoulders and began to rim my ass, stopping only to say, 'Umm, perinaeum pie, my favorite,' as he licked the tender spot between the scrotum and the anus. What he was doing was worth 500 alone; my only fear was that it all be over too soon. I thought my chest would explode and then my nuts.
'Do you want to fuck or be fucked?' he asked in the sweetest, calm voice.
'Fuck me, but make it last.'
'I can do that.'
He went to his duffle for lubricant and a condom. It was a thrill to watch him stand in the dim light, jerk himself a few times to get back his erection, and then unroll the rubber onto his shaft. As he lubed me, he let his cock slap around on the inside of my thighs and about my rear. It kept us both upward bound. When he'd coated his own sheath, he eased in opening my sphincter and inching down the shit chute. I lifted my legs over his shoulders again, and clasped him around the back of the neck so that my ass raised to great his entry and the slow pulsations that followed.
Raimond did not so much plow as most fuckers do, but wriggle and jiggle, like his rod was a magic wand, a human vibrator with a hundred tingling fingers. And suddenly he was not just in my ass but occupying my whole body, my nerves inflamed. The crazy excitement in every fiber was so intense, I felt my hair stand on end, and the pleasure became in itself unendurable because it was so raw, novel, and total.
I was a baby being rocked, a toddler being swung dangerously high over everyone, a kid thrilling on his first Ferris wheel ride. I was a teenager having his first wet dream, and then going ga-ga the first time over the handsomest boy in eighth grade, cavorting nude with a best buddy, exploring every inch of one another. I was blown and fucked at the same time in a dark alley - fucked up the ass and fucking some bearded wonder's mouth. Someone crouched on the ground licked around the corona over and over again in constant swiveling worship for three hours continuous, through multiple orgasms, and never losing my erection. I was rolling in an ocean of cum, and a hundred mouths were licking it off of me in my ears, between my toes, under my armpits, the backs of my knees, every crevice, every inch.
Truly, I had resurrected and gone to heaven. When I came, I shot in loud spats on the bed, five, six, seven times. Raimond pulled out, shed his sheath as easily as he had his thong, and jerked his fuck machine three times to explode upon me, grabbing my head and coming in my mouth with his rich, savory brew. He rubbed himself over me and we lay compressed, arms enfolding one another, our shared cum gluing us together.
'Great fuck,' he said. 'If you're good, I can do this again in about four hours.'
I was too spent into nirvana to say anything. For a man whose career is words, I felt a single word would destroy the whole transport that I felt and wanted to keep forever.
He went for towels so we could brush off. Then he pulled down the covers, plumped up the pillows and got in bed so that I fell into his arms as he held me with caresses and kisses until I slept.
I slept until ten a.m. that Sunday morning. We didn't fuck again, but the memory of the first still raged in my brain as it always has.
We showered together, went downstairs for brunch, Rai wearing a shirt and tie I supplied to set off his packed jeans and boots. He thanked me upon leaving, saying, 'You supported me through another month of ballet lessons. You're the best, Cliff." Then he kissed me right there on the street before getting into his taxi. And he was gone.
But never forgotten.