So, Russ was staying over another night. I was ok with that, on a lotta levels. I had gotten a mediocre blow job out of the deal, which was more than I usually got on a Friday night (I'm usually close to bone tired after doing a show: Saturdays killed me but, well, when something special happens....), and whatever else anyone else thought, I thought Russ wasn't hard to look at. That night, when we got into bed, I noticed something I hadn't noticed the first time he shared my bed: russ was covered in very short, soft fur, somewhere between brown and red. I had no idea how that jibed with his hair color (later, when he showed me photos of his parents, I guess it made sense: his father had dark hair the color that Russ had, and his mother had that shade of hair chicks who go for henna rinses are always after. Hers was natural: I've been in this business long enough to spot a dye job a mile away, and I can always tell in photos. Now, what was puzzling as we got into bed was... excuse me, WERE, a few things. I didn't remember that Russ had kept his underwear on the first night he slept over, but he did this time: dark red speedos. Dark red speedos on a straight guy. This was getting very confusing. Then, sometime during the night, he had burrowed into my chest, his ass up against my crotch, and my hand had moved to his right nipple. Did I put it there, or did he? It wasn't there when we went to sleep, and he told me he didn't know. But to return to his ass and my crotch: was I wrong or did he start bumping that fine ass of his up against my cock in the morning? And did he kind of squirm around so that my fingers were running back and forth over his nipple? NAH. I must have imagined it. (Later, when I asked him about it, he smiled and said that yeah, he WAS teasing me with the butt bumps, but he knew nothing about the nipple play. When I started to get up out of the bed, he grabbed my arm. "Can't ya stay in bed a while? " "Wish I could. Gotta start pulling myself together, and if Daddy doesn't get in the kitchen, there won't be any coffee." "HUH? You have a Starbucks just down the street. I'll go." "You'll do no such thing Russ. Not all of us get paid a bridge analyst's salary, and I am not gonna get used to it. Nope. I'll just pull on something and get the coffee going. " Then, that strong bugger grabbed me and pulled me on top of him. "Can I get a good morning kiss? And maybe...." he smiled and moved my other hand on top of his other nipple. What the hell was going on besides me getting harder than a rock (he was too. I could feel it). "No kissing right now, stud. You've got crotch breath?" "Crotch breath?" he seemed puzzled until I gave him a look. "OH YEAH. Well, I guess if you don't like the smell of your own dick." That just riled me and I grabbed his nipples hard. "NOW LISTEN UP YOU. YOU ARE NOT BEING A PROPER GUEST." He laughed, but then, as I squeezed he started to moan. "Well, you sure are showing some outstanding hospitality Lane. GOD your fingers are AWESOME." Damn right they are. How many recalcitrant buttons have these hands taken care of? Let's not go there because right now, I was working with some NOT so recalcitrant buttons. Mr. Russ underneath me was beginning to show some SERIOUS morning wood, and so was I. "Listen dude, we gotta stop or else." He smiled. "Or else what?" He had a point. But no, I wasn't ready for it "Or else I'm gonna throw your sexy legs in the air and pop that cherry at... 8:30 in the morning on a fine Saturday in late summer." "Oh, you're not gonna do that without help." He tried to get up but... once Mr. Lane has a man's tits in his hands, he ain't going anywhere. He pushed up, I squeezed harder and he fell back down on the bed. "FUCK. There is nothing I can do when you do that." I smiled. "Good to know. Because I have a feeling I can do something else and make you as helpless as a newborn heifer." "Oh yeah, what's that?" I have big hands. And they're strong. But I can do a feather light touch if I want to, and at that minute I did. I dug my fingers into his ribs and started tickling that slab of Irish sprig smelling beef. "SHIT! GOD. Do I have ANY secrets from you?" He began to giggle, then laugh heartily. I wanted to continue. In fact, I wanted another blow job, however mediocre it would be, but I stopped. "You just mind your place, Russ. Now I'm gonna go and make that coffee. I drink it black. " "YUCK" he said, and I responded. "Well then, big boy Russ better go get some clothes on and get that goddamn Starbucks he wants so badly. But I'll be on my third one before you get back. " "Yes sir," he bellowed, jumping out of the bed, like some kid on Christmas. "That ass... " I muttered as he ran to get some clothes on. He did have a bag that he had taken from Maritza's, but he just jumped into the stuff he was wearing the night before and he was gone. In fact, I was finishing up cup number two when the doorman rang my intercom. "Mr. Lane, your guest is back." "Thanks Rodrigo. Let him up." "He's a keeper Mr. Lane. He brought me a muffin." "Then keep him," I said, as I got off the 'com. He bustled back into my apartment like some supercharged dog walker, coffee in one hand and a bag of pastry in the other. "I didn't know what kind of muffin you like, so I got one of each." Ya know.... So we sat there, him drinking a venti extra light and extra sweet and eating a strawberry muffin while I picked at a blueberry one. I shouldn't have been eating the carbs, or the sugar but then again, I shouldn't have been trying to seduce this hunky straight boy sitting at my eating table. "Hey, let's think about what to do today, dude" I looked at him. "To do today? Russ, did you forget I gotta work?" "OH SHIT THAT'S RIGHT. I forgot. DAMN. Double shift. " Then he smiled. "I guess you'll just have to put up with me until Sunday so I can repay the hospitality and take you to dinner." I don't melt very often, but... And of course, my hard on raging in my gym shorts wasn't helping. "Listen stud," I told him. "This is all fine and good, but I have my morning routine and I gotta get moving, so if you wanna get the shower first, I'll clean up the bedroom and..." "You want me to do that Lane?" I smiled. "Naw, I'm pretty fussy about this kinda stuff so, go get cleaned up and good smelling. "Can I get the good morning kiss after I brush my teeth?" I just started laughing. If he was planning to stay until Sunday, that mouth of his was gonna smell like my cock again, that was for sure. Well, someone told me that straight guys spend more time in the bathroom than gay guys do. Russ sure proved that. And he walked out, drying his hair, buck fucking naked, his cock kind of flapping against his legs. Yeah, Maritza had given up something really good. "Now, where's that kiss?" He said, as he walked over. I was sitting down and his cock was just about eye level to me. Lane is 100% topman, but I gotta tell you: I came close to having penis breath that morning. Instead I stood up to give him that kiss and he smiled, opened his mouth and said "tongue, please?" OK, Lane was gonna do some serious jerking in the shower. When I came out, he had dressed in the stuff that he took from Maritza. It looked like an old college t shirt, some khakis that had seen better days, and a V neck sweater. Not too bad. The color on that sweater though... As my Italian American friends say: "schivatz" (I asked. it means "bad. very bad. YUCK. ) "Hey, dude, while you were in the shower I began thinking: any possible way I can see your show ?" "You wanna see my show? It's a big foofy musical. " "Yeah, so? I like music." "Well, you won't see me. I work backstage. " "Yes I will. That's your work out there, dude. All the costumes..." Sometimes. Sometimes. Yeah, he hits the mark. It's one of the reasons I keep him around. "I dunno. Probably not the afternoon show. They bus them in from Long Island, from DC, everywhere for the matinee. But lemme see. " I got on the phone and called Phoebe, also known as "the goddess of last minute tickets." "Hey Pheebs. Lane here. " She raved for a few minutes about the country captain at the impromptu party that started all of this, and then I asked. "Girl, I got a favor to ask, and I'll make it up. I have a gentleman caller and..." "That hunk who couldn't keep his eyes off you at the party, Lane?" HUH? I guess I was too busy being a host to notice THAT. "I'm serious Lane. Remember when Randy put his hand on your shoulder?" Randy was our dance captain, and one of my many not so secret crushes. Think of ALL the Village People in their heyday, wrapped up in one hunk and you've got Randy. And yes, I DID remember. (I HAD in fact jerked off in the shower, and if I hadn't, I probably woulda came right there, since my two "crushes du jour: Russ and Randy came up in the same conversation). "Well, that guy was balling up his fists, and I almost saw smoke coming out of his ears. " "No shit...." I said to her "We've been taking it slow." "Oh. You haven't fucked him yet." I had just taken a mouthful of coffee and nearly spat it out. "Let me see... shit outta luck for matinee, but.. I got a good one in the mezzanine. OH, it's on the aisle. He's got those long legs so... by the way, Lane, is it true what they say about guys with long legs." "Uh huh. They walk faster than us," I teased her. "But yes, it's true. " "Ok, I'll leave it at the box office. What's his last name. Now, THIS was embarrassing. I did not know his last name. "Hold on" I looked at him. "What's your last name Russ? So you can get the ticket." "Carlson Sir." She started laughing. "You're training him and you don't know his last name? I LOVE you gay guys." "Thank you Pheebs. Dinner on a Monday?" "Dinner on a Monday. With cocktails. And dessert." "So, ok, here's the story Mr. Carlson." He smiled when I said that. "No afternoon tickets, no way. You don't wanna hang out with the blue haired ladies anyway. But... if you can find something to keep yourself busy, there's a ticket for the evening show. " He smiled and blushed. "Well, thanks. And thank Phoebe. " He blushed some more. "Could I hang out here in the afternoon?" "Uh, sure," I heard myself say, thinking "WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING?" Yeah, the TV is easy to operate, there are take out menus if you get hungry, the whole nine yards. Now, let Poppa Laundry get his stuff together. " My morning routine on Saturdays was one I had used for years. First, I checked my emergency repair bag to make sure I had thread, needles, extra buttons, spot remover, nail polish remover, even a can of hairspray. All there. Then I had to pull something together to wear. Normally, I don't pay much attention and I grab whatever's on the top of the pile: I'm backstage and I'm coming home, who cares what I look like? I dug through my jeans: where's that pair of black ones that make my ass look.. normal sized. AH, there they are. And... YEAH. This is the polo shirt that shrunk just right. Showed off my arms. He wolf whistled me when I came out of the bedroom. Listen up. Things get pretty hectic until about 1:30, then there's a little break. After 2, until the show ends and I get everyone undressed and the evening stuff prepped, it's nuts. So if you need to call, not until after 6:30, m'kay stud?" "Dude, this is awesome. Just fucking awesome." He grabbed me in a bear hug and growled. "You're just the fucking best. I'm so glad the train was late that day." Someone told me that the goddess of transportation was this enormously fat woman named Squat. I needed to light her a candle.
So I headed off to work, trying not to think about the hunky almost stranger in my apartment, trying not to think about what I wanted to do to said hunky almost stranger, and trying not to think about HOW I was gonna do what I wanted to do to said hunky almost stranger. I had a plan. "The best laid plans of mice and men go astray," as they did.
At 6:45, I got a text. "DUDE. I got the ticket AWESOME. I'm outside the theater. Can I see you? " Now, if you work theater you know that the time between Saturday matinee and Saturday evening is NOT free time. If you smoke, you get a chance to get one cigarette in. That's about it. "Ok, but it's gotta be quick, stud. It's hell back here." I leff the theater. Phoebe saw me. "Off to meet Mr. Wonderful?" I huffed, and she said "you think I'm not coming? " I headed out and looked for that sweater. It was a color not seen in nature: EVER. Not even in camel puke. Where the hell was he. "OH, Lane. Your dream of Long Island chic is across the street. Here he comes. " And yes, here he came. And what's wrong with Long Island chic if you can pull it off ? Russ must've gone shopping: he didn't find clothes that would fit him in MY apartment. Black shirt, untucked, two buttons opened (THAT CHEST HAIR), new jeans. He was carrying that jacket he was wearing the first time I saw him. Was I gonna have time to jerk off between shows? He smiled when he saw me. I held out my hand to shake and he ignored me, looking directly at Phoebe. "I remember you. You were at Lane's party. The pretty girl in the blue dress." FUCK! My best friend was about to steal my date from me. Phoebe batted her eyes. "Well, yes, I DID wear a blue dress. You must be Russ. And aren't you... a sight." If Phoebe insults you, she likes you. Russ' jeans were tight enough that I could tell, he liked her too. "Well, I'll just leave you two to your own devices " I said. No one paid attention to me. I knew it was too good to be true. I don't think he heard the sarcastic "enjoy the show stud" as I went back to the theater. Boner killer. Forget about dinner Phoebe. I hate you.
So, show ends, I pack up my kit (more than a usual share of wardrobe emergencies. I'd have to restock on Sunday. I had Sunday off: the assistant costume curator took over, and Mondays too, when the theater was dark). "Good show everyone," the conductor calls out. "Lane, thanks so much for that repair. I didn't know the button on the jacket was so loose. " "What do you expect when you eat three donuts before each performance, COCHON" I think, but smile and wish him a good night. I check my phone, see nothing and head toward the corner. I figure Russ and Phoebe will go get a drink somewhere and he'll sneak in at like three or something. Maybe I'll hit a bar. "DUDE. WAIT UP!" I turn to see a running hunk of black polyester and denim coming at me, with a big smile on his face. "Russ? You waited for me?" "I didn't tell you that was the plan? Oh, I'm sorry. I guess you had your own plans." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "it was an awesome show dude. Only the second time I've been to Broadway." "I thought.. I thought you were going out with Phoebe?" "Phoebe? NAH. Not tonight. I have a date with someone else." I was really confused. "Who? Maritza dumped you, you're not going with Phoebe." He cocked his head. "You dense or something Lane? You're my date." "HUH? " (yeah, I know. I get confused a lot. ). He smiled, and grabbed me. "Gimme another lesson in that french kissing stuff dude." He was getting good at it. "Well, wow!" I said to him. "Where you wanna go?" "Your place. I did some studying." He looked at me. "Lane, I'm ready."
Well, what could I say? What I did say was what I said the first time. "GET IN THE CAR." On the way home I asked "Studying?" "Yeah, you got shit loads of movies and then there's the internet, and.... He had spent the afternoon watching gay porn. "Russ. DUDE" I laughed. "These folks are professionals. It doesn't happen like that the first time." He looked at me. "Then... can we practice?" This Southern boy has a large collection of sewing paraphernalia, and an even larger collection of brown liquor. BUT... both pale in comparison to his collection of sex toys, including a series of dildos and vibrators in half inch gradations (yes, both length and width), starting at "don't make me laugh" and ending with "GEEZ. A female blue whale couldn't take THAT." Time to get the boy in training. As you'll find out, if he was a C+/B- cocksucker, he got an A+ in dildo reception. Come on back. As the old song goes "stick around we'll tell you more."