Trance

Newsgroups: alt.sex.motss Organization: S.P. Dyer Computer Consulting, Cambridge MA

TRANCE by Kenn Richie

"You're magnificent! Fabulous body, great cock, incredible!"

"Thanks;' Trance muttered sincerely, even though he had heard such compliments many times before.

"You may get dressed now, if you like," the older man sighed. "In fact, you'll be safer if you do. I may be in my mid-flfties, but I still know how to pounce:'

"Isn't that what you brought me here for?"

"Not exactly," the man sighed, as he sank into the padded leather chair behind his carved oak desk. He continued to look appreciatively at the strikingly handsome nude body standing before him. He even made a slight whimpering sound, then drummed his fingertips together, and grinned. "Of course, you don't have to get dressed right away," he smiled. "I'm not so old that I've stopped looking."

"That's why I'm here; that's what you paid me for," the man known as 'Trance' reminded. "When a model shows up for work, and there aren't any cameras, he still gets the picture, if you'll pardon the pun:"

"You speak so well. Proper English. No slang:"

"That's one of the best assets I have;" Trance chuckled.

"You have an ample supply of others;" the older man acknowledged, drinking In the sight with his sparkling eyes. "Why do they call you 'Trance'?"

"Just a catchy name. I danced at a nightclub once, and the owner made me get dressed, because he said I was putting the drinking customers into a trance. I picked it up from there;" he answered. "A lot of models use catchy names like that. Like rock groups."

"As a model, do you have any contracts, or commitments, of any kind?"

"Why? You need release forms on all the pictures you're taking? Have you got a camera?"

"How often do your clients have cameras?"

"Once in a while," the muscular Adonis drawled.

"Fifty dollars an hour; two hour minimum."

"That's my rate," Trance smiled. "But I accept tips for extra services."

"What do you do for two hours?" He caught the almost angry look on the young stud's face, and fumbled to clarify his question. "I mean, it can't take that long to pose for a picture, or - well, you could provide your other service in just a few minute's time."

"Other guys give rub-downs. I'm a model. I pose, and you can look me over all you want."

"Look, but don't touch?"

"Sometimes a man has to show me the pose he'd like." Trance grinned. "Like, if you wanted me to lean my ass on the edge of your desk, around here next to your chair, like this? Maybe you'd want me to open my legs a little more, so you could see my balls. It's only natural for you to touch my leg, to show me how much you wanted."

"And if I was doing a clinical study of erections?"

"That would take some kind of touch, too," he grinned. "You understand the deal."

"For an added price ..."

"Hey, not always," the young man protested. "A hundred bucks is a lot for two hours, so I don't always try to get more on top of that. I do mostly repeat business, so I like my clients to feel happy -- not pissed off, thinking I'm trying to hold them up for more money. They can tip me If they want to. I get lots of tips."

"I'll plan on that today," the older man grinned. "You're an exciting hunk, Trance, and I may not resist the temptation."

"You want me to sit with a leg on either side of you?"

"Ah, no. No, not just yet." The man blushed. "So far, I think I've asked you three or four questions, and you've avoided all of them," Mr. Dobson added, as he rose quickly from the chair and walked self-consciously around the desk, past the picture window. "Is it going to take the full two hours to get you to talk openly about ... your work? About sex?"

"Talk Is a form of intercourse," the young stud grinned, casually following his client around the room.

"Stay back from the window," Dobson urged. "There's a view of this whole corner, from some offices In the building across the street."

"Sure," Trance agreed. He didn't believe in giving away things that his clients paid to view. He repeated his pun for emphasis. "Talk is intercourse, according to the dictionary."

"I know. Will it cost me extra? A big tip?"

"Don't get me wrong, mister," Trance warned. "There's a law against prostitution."

"Oh," Dobson sighed, sitting now on the padded leather sofa, safely away from the window. "I could be a policeman, this could be a set-up with microphones, and hidden cameras. A real sting operation."

"You hired me to pose in the nude. That's what I'm doing."

"We both know the deal," Dobson sighed. "What I want is information, but it'll help to get things understood. Come over here, stand close in front of me, and pose it."

"Yes, sir," Trance smiled, recognizing the boss's orders for the work he was accustomed to doing.

Dobson reached into his pants pocket, and found a coin. He pressed It into Trances hand, then leaned forward to suck the dangling, but partially hardened, penis into his mouth. He gave It a few little tongue teases, then let go of it with a smacking sound.

Startled and a bit confused, Trance stepped back and looked into his hand. He shrugged, then tossed the coin on top of his clothes.

"A quarter's worth," Dobson laughed. "The crime's been committed."

"Hey, hang on now, a quarter? Shit!"

"Technically, you took money for a sex act, so we understand each other about that. Technically, I gave it to you, so that's pandering. No cop or sting operation would do that. I'm telling you, you're safe. Now, can we talk openly? Have intercourse?"

"Oh," Trance grinned. "I guess. Thanks for the quarter."

"How the hell do you manage to taste like mint?"

"Just a little gimmick. A trademark, like the catchy name. I rinse off with a mouthwash before I go out. There's some guys who worry about my not being clean, and they like that. Ok, it's talk, then. I get into a habit of being subtle... and careful.

"Making it a habit to be careful is much to be desired," Mr. Dobson sighed. "I want to know all about what you do. Your whole life."

"What's a nice girl like you doing in a job like this?"

"You're not a girl, Trance," Dobson chuckled. "You sure as hell aren't that! How nice you are, and what sort of work I might have in mind for you, remains to be seen."

"Okay If I sit down?"

"You may do anything you like to make yourself comfortable. If you want to get dressed, you may."

"Naw," he shrugged, with a sly grin. "Mint has a way of stimulating the appetite. We've got lots of time."

"First off, how free are you?"

"I'm not free. I'm pretty high-priced," Trance laughed.

"I've seen some men that aren't nearly as good looking or charming as you, and they charge a great deal more."

"How free am I? In what way?"

"Agents? Managers? People you're responsible to? Lovers?"

"A pimp, maybe?" Trance laughed again, beginning to enjoy this invasion into his personal life. It was a different way to earn his money, and the novelty was a pleasure.

"Not now. There was a man who got me started, but I've paid him back ten times over, and now we're just good friends. I'm my own business."

"Is there anything that ties you down? What If I wanted to hire you for a week - an exclusive deal?"

"Hey, I like that. A week in Hawaii, maybe? Hell, I'll go right now, only we're liable to get arrested on the way to the airport unless I get dressed first! Let's see ... seriously? Ahhhm, I've got clients with appointments. I'd have to cancel those. I've got a cat to feed, things like that. If It meant going somewhere, like even to your place, I might want to pack a change of clothes."

"Outside of the needs every man has."

"You mean, like dope? Is that what you're really trying to ask?"

"I guess I was."

"No dope, no booze," he sighed. "I'll do grass with a client if he wants that, and he's my last for the night, and I'll drink wine with dinner, or maybe have a beer. I smoke cigarettes like an old lady, I don't inhale, and I usually crush them out after one or two puffs. Colas my big hang up. I'm really an addict about Coke, Pepsi, R.C., or any other brand, as long as it's a cola. That's my drink in any bar I go to, but I don't go to bars unless a client takes me there."

"If I wanted to hire you for a solid week, you could do it?"

"I love my work. I can't seem to get enough," he repeated, grinning. "If this week you have in mind means being locked up in a room by myself a lot, I could go a little nuts. I need to be kept busy."

"How many clients do you take on?"

"In a week? In a day?"

"How many times can you cum in one twenty-four hour day?"

"Oh, wow," he chuckled. "I've never tried to go for a limit on that. One time there was a party. Oh, It was all day and all night - not bang, bang, bang - but I managed seven, and felt like I could have done more. But that was a special sort of challenge thing. I had to rest up for damn near a week afterwards. You want to know what I do on the average?"

"A very good average. When you're at your best."

"Let's see. I book my dates two a day. My best clients are at night, and most of them are for all night, with a second go-round in the morning. The next are evenings. I try to make every work day a full work day. I never book one without looking to fill up the other slot, too. Once I've got those booked, I start taking day jobs for the same day. Well, I'm here with you. I don't happen to have anyone for later this afternoon - but I would have booked someone for then if I'd gotten a call. Tomorrow I didn't book anyone. It's going to be my day off. Day and night off. I work three or four days, then take a day off. It depends on how the calls come in. So, how many times do I cum? Ahhhhmm, counting a few that don't want that, and good days instead of bad ones? Make it five for an average. Some days six, some four. Five times a day average, five days a week, average."

"You never have any trouble doing that much?"

"That's not so much. I could do more if I wanted to. Hey, I pace myself. I make a thing out of saying two hours, so I can always give myself at least that much time between. The glands keep up with me. One thing I found out that I can't do is take a long time off. Never more than a day at a time of not having any. I found out that, if I build up too much, then everything goes off with the first shot, and I have a hell of a time for the rest of the day. Right now, you're my first client, and I took yesterday off, so I'm at my best. I need to work today, because I plan to take tomorrow off too. I couldn't go three days without."

"Five a day, five days a week," Dobson muttered, wiggling his fingers. "Twenty-five a week? The average for a man your age is around five!"

"Well, that guy probably does some other kind of work too."

"That's twenty-five hundred dollars a week? Plus tips?!"

"And, I pay taxes on it - all nice and legal," he answered. "Hey, I don't want to give you the wrong impression about tips. I take them, when they're offered. I don't hustle for them, or ask for more, unless a client wants something that's not on the menu."

"What's on the menu?"

"Chef's special," he answered, holding his cock. "But, this isn't on the menu at all," he added, lifting his leg, and his balls, to offer a glimpse of the crevice of his buttocks.

"How I use my mouth is sort of optional. Like now, I'm using it to talk. If I'm really in the mood, I might get into something French. If the client wants it, but he doesn't really excite me, then I start dropping hints."

"If I wanted to fuck you in the butt right now?"

"I'd tell you that It would take me another two or three hours to get in the mood for something like that. I wouldn't wait around for that long a time, of course, but you'd get the message."

"And, if I wanted you to suck me?"

"I kind of dig you," he smiled. "A little side order like that comes with the price of the meal, probably. Some guys, I'd hint for a good tip."

"Or maybe you'd turn them down?"

"That's very, very rare. I love people. I love men. Age, or looks? That doesn't mean a damn thing to me. Anytime I've ever turned somebody down, it was for a different reason."

"Oh?"

"You wanted to know how my business worked, right? You're a new client, okay? I won't have more than two or three new clients in any given week. Most of my business is with regulars, and we know each other, we know the score, everything's damn near cut and dried. With a new client, I'm a model. What you hired me to do is to hang around naked, letting you look. That's it. If I like this new client, like I do you, then we see what comes up, you know?"

"You took my quarter," Dobson smiled.

"For the intercourse we're having," Trance laughed. "Hey, I get a lot of guys that really pay me to look. There's not even a hint of something more than that sometimes. Only, when they do that, I remind them that THEY can do whatever they want. They can take pictures, or they can jack off. It's their dime, you know?"

"Oh."

"Then, If they want to get themselves off, fine. I try to do what I can to help. I'll turn it on, talk dirty, maybe even lend a helping hand. Once that sort of thing gets going, it usually leads to something more; then, eventually, we understand each other, and we start talking about a place on my list of regular clients. If a guy really turns me on, I'll go down on him the first session."

"Or, if he offers a big tip."

"Or, if he offers a big tip," Trance agreed. "Most of my clients love to suck, and they're not worried about getting off themselves. About, oh, maybe a third of them like to be fucked. I've got a few that sixty-nine, and one or two that are on some sort of strange other trip. Most of the menu is the chef's special."

"What about v.d.?"

"I knew you'd ask that," he groaned. "I keep myself as clean as I can, but there's always some degree of taking a chance. I carry rubbers in a flashy cigarette case in my jacket pocket, and absolutely nobody fucks me without wearing one. I take a chance fucking a client if he objects to my wearing one, but I always ask. Hey, I've got nothing but high-class clients. Sure, you can argue that germs don't know about things like bank accounts, but you better believe doctors do. My clients are all the sort of people who have regular check ups, and take care of themselves. I get checked, and tested, once a month. Knock on wood, I've never had a problem, but I admit it's there. It's one of the risks of my profession, like having brakes go out is a risk to a truck driver."

"You want a job?"

"I'm working right now," he grinned. "You've got more than an hour left; what suits your fancy? Oh, incidentally, since you asked about v.d., I just got a doctor's report this morning. I'm as pure and clean as the driven snow."

"I was thinking beyond the next few minutes. I meant, a job for a week."

"Vacation in Hawaii?"

"Right here in town," Dobson said, returning to sit behind his desk, and trying to look businesslike. "I have a rather important wager going with a friend, having to do with breaking records. He's run across a young man with considerable prowess, and lasting ability, but with no experience. I've argued that experience would be the champion in the long run - in, say, a one week long test. I'm betting the kid will take off at a pace that will burn him out, while you, if you'll take the job, would pace yourself carefully, and score more orgasms in a week. Do you recall the old story of the tortoise and the hare?"

"A contest on who can cum the most times in a week?"

"Exactly."

"Mr. Dobson, you just got yourself a winner!"

"Don't be too sure," Dobson laughed. "I'm told this kid scored eight in one night."

"Sure, that's possible. One night. How long did it take for him to recover? There's a limit to what the skin can take, even. You ever hear of dishpan hands?"

"That's the very thing I'm betting on. Your wisdom from your experience."

"You've got a winner. Hey, I love it. When do I start?"

"Midnight tonight, if you're agreeable."

"Ahhh, I'm booked. Maybe I can cancel out."

"You could start with your client. There aren't any restrictions on who your partner might be. You could include all your regular clients, as long as they sign one of these cards. Your ability to find as many different partners, to add up your score, is only a part of the contest. Jacking off is illegal. All orgasms have to be genuine, full-contact sex acts, but they can be oral or anal, or, for that matter, with women."

"I could go to a steam bath, lie on my back, and play machine gun around the clock!"

"That's what I'm betting the kid will do," Dobson grinned. "I'm betting you'll pace yourself better than that."

Trance was reading the small print on the card. "It says here no pulling it out, or using abortive measures. That means no using rubbers?"

"The person has to sign that they took your orgasm," Dobson nodded. "You told me you took a chance now and then, and that you were careful."

"Hey, I won't have any problem, and I don't plan to get anybody pregnant. Well, maybe I will. A girl now and then for variety, maybe. Hell, no problem. I'll win this bet for you, hands down."

"I'll alert your competition, then give you a call to confirm that we start at midnight tonight. We meet back here at eleven-thirty, one week from tonight. if you boys end up In a tie, you'll have to do a sudden-death sixty-nine. Everything agreed?"

"I'm all set."

"Here's your check." Dobson grinned as he wrote it. "Three thousand for doing the job. That's about what you average now, including tips. Another three, as a bonus, If you win."

Trance read the check that was handed to him. "Three thousand, one hundred ninety-nine dollars and seventy five cents?"

"The job, your two-hour fee for today, a hundred as a tip, less the quarter I already gave you."

"Hundred dollar tip?"

"You're a magnificent hunk, Trance, and I love mint."

"Yes, sir!" Trance beamed. "Hey? Feel like making that sixtynine?"

"As a matter of fact, that would be rather nice," Dobson grinned, taking off his jacket.

Trance was worthy of his name by eleven-thirty on the agreed night. He plodded into the offlce with the trance-like expression of the totally spent! His opponent, a kid named Walter, was unable to get up off the sofa, to shake hands, when they were introduced. Dobson's friend, a Dr. Wilson, paced about - anxious to hear the results, but really quite amused by It all.

The two older men teased and tormented the worn-out youngsters, by talking of their plans for a night of sex yet to come. No-one cared to prolong the agony, however, so the cards were counted. Walter's total came first, a rather astonishing forty-three cards.

But then Trance turned with a sly smirk toward Mr. Dobson ... one that broke into a huge grin of pride, when his stack of cards was revealed to total forty-nine!

"Last one was late this afternoon," he drawled. "I could have made it an even fifty, but I thought I'd save one for now. There's half an hour left. Who wants to make it an even fifty?"

"That's me," Walter moaned. "I swore to myself that if you beat me out, I'd give you my ass. I bow to experience and genius. One free fuck, Trance, but If you want it now, you'll have to turn me over; I haven't got the strength."

"I dunno'," Trance grinned. "I usually get paid to fuck an ass. But, it looks okay. Tell you what. Come and spend the night with me at my place. I want to get to know you, anyway. Business is good. I might take on a partner."

"i can't think of that now."

"Maybe by morning," Trance laughed.

"Well, you win," Dr. Wilson chuckled, as he double checked the cards. "I'll pay up like a good sport. Oh, shit. I don't have a nickel. You got change for a dime?"

"Five pennies," Mr. Dobson noted, making the change.

Both Trance and Walter stared at the men in total disbelief. They had spent thousands to win a five cent bet?!

Dr. Wilson had brought some champagne for the occasion, and there was a lot of small talk, and storytelling, to be done regarding the whole adventure. Some note was made of Trance having included two women in his stack, and he told of the neighbors who had been eyeing him for months. Both young men agreed, however, that their favorite partners were the less-than-overly-attractive gay men. They agreed that women usually required much too much time wanting to be courted and squired about, and that the very handsome, attractive gay men either wanted money, or they too expected special favors. "An ordinary, everyday, average gay man knows whether or not he wants to have sex right then and there, when you ask him. Theres no bullshit about it!"

They talked about a number of prospective partners that refused to sign the cards. For all the breakthroughs socially, and laws regarding two consenting adults in private, many were afraid the cards were some sort of plot to reveal their identity.

Dr. Wilson was curious to know how many people had turned them down because of the no condoms rule, and the young men had to answer that there had been only a very few. "Sometimes a man asked about that, but, by that time, I had him hot enough that he didn't push it. Nobody insisted."

Finally, the two handsome studs staggered toward the door, and the cab they had called to haul their weary bodies to Trance's apartment. They both promised to have complete physicals in Dr. Wilson's office, as soon as they felt recovered enough to get there.

The two older men were left to chuckle over their game.

"We'll start on the mailings tomorrow," Dobson sighed, flipping the cards through his fingers.

"The letter we printed up ought to drive the point home," the doctor answered. "It would scare the shit out of me."

"Close to a hundred people here. One hundred people that could have contracted AIDS in the last week, and from just two sources. Your young stud and my male prostitute. Either one of those two might very well have been infected. Close to one hundred people who took semen into their bodies"

Let's hope the letter gets the point across, and they'll be a little more careful in the future."

"It's a hard lesson to try to get across."

"Expensive, too," the doctor laughed. "How much did this cost us?"

"Money's nothing compared to the need," Dobson argued. "We spent a little bit that you and I can both afford now, just to help get the message across. Think what It would cost us if we didn't."

"Think what if our boys really did have AIDS?"

"I'd - Ahm ... I'd be anxious to see you professionally, Doctor."

"I'd be looking for a doctor myself."

"Shame on you."

"You too," he laughed. "Hey. Double or nothing. I'll bet you a dime on the next one."

"You're on."

-- Doug Mackensie doug@spdcc.COM System operator, Doug's Den BBS - (617) 245-1270 - 300/1200/2400 baud GayCom in New England "More fun per byte"