Chapter 7
And now, Wade knew, that cock was waiting for him, the super-swollen prick dripping freely with an excessive flood of lubrication; the prodigious balls hanging hot and loose between his opened thighs. Wade put one hand around the big cock and pulled its heavy length up from Paul's stomach to his lips; he tasted the delicious richness of Paul's juice.
His other hand came up under the balls, lifting them and massaging them, and feeling the great reservoir of power which they contained. His tongue licked hungrily at the big cockhead, and slowly he tested his ability to take its pulsing roundness into his mouth.
He could feel Paul react, his whole body vibrating, and Paul's soft cries of desire were telling Wade how good he was making him feel. Wade moved further down on his cockshaft. How much of the massive pole could he engulf? How many of those exposed nerve endings in that stupendous prick could he arouse?
The further he went the easier it seemed to be accept the size of Paul's dick. He felt a combination of the satisfaction it was bringing him and the obvious exaltation he had produced in Paul.
"Oh, suck it, baby," Paul was moaning. "Suck that cock. Yeah... there. It feels so good, so good. Suck it... take as much of it as you can. Eat me, Wade. Eat my dick."
And the proof of Wade's ability came more quickly than he had expected. He reached the ultimate goal of his sexual odyssey -- the entire length of Paul's big cock was buried within him, the head of it all the way into the back of his throat.
"Oh, baby," Paul suddenly called out. "I'm going to shoot! I'm going to shoot my come down your throat... suck, Wade, suck it, suck that dick!"
And an instant later he had gone down on Wade as far as Wade was on him -- and with a violence so intense Wade thought he heard the accompanying explosion of thunder, they both began to come. It was impossible for Wade to tell whether it was Paul's bursting jolts of semen he was more conscious of, or his own jetting flood. They rocked and quivered with the energy of the dual release. Wade could feel the pumping of Paul's balls in his hand which surrounded the big sac, and urged them to deliver more and more of the thick cream. Paul's lips and mouth and throat were pulling a matching portion of churning semen from Wade's cock.
And even after the last traces of orgasm and passion had gone from their bodies, they still lay plunged full length into each other's mouths, drifting from fiery passion into an unequaled state of exquisite enchantment. Wade had always heard the term "afterglow". And now, lying in a prolonged sixty-nine position with a young man whom he did not understand, he felt sure he knew what the term meant.
He was a little bit in love with this stranger named Paul.
The remainder of that week passed like a dream to Wade. For the first time in years, he was sleeping while it was dark and living while the sun was shining. But more importantly, for the first time in his life, he was finding out what it was like to share a life with someone.
He was sleeping late every morning, only vaguely aware when Paul left his arms and the apartment to go to his job. The tension and exhaustion of years of crazy schedules, noisy clubs, long band practices, an undefinable loneliness had never been dissipated when he'd started living with Rick.
He had only gone from one sort of pressure at work to another at home.
He believed Paul when he told him after several days how much better he was looking. It was not only the tan he was building up from their afternoons together at the beach; he felt better, he was happier, and he simply looked it.
He would make a big breakfast for himself when he got up, clean the apartment, and be ready for an equally expansive lunch with Paul when he came back from his job at the hotels. Often they took the meals as picnics and spent their time on the sand. They swam hard, walked endless miles along the ocean, and talked for hours and hours. The odd part was that they never seemed to talk about anything except Wade.
Then, of course, there was the lovemaking. Every day. And more than once a day that first week. Open, uninhibited, marvelous sexual exploration and satisfaction. And with Paul it never had the aura of insatiability which had made sex with Rick so urgent, desperate, and violent.
Paul came home from work one afternoon exceedingly horny. With a cock the size of Paul's, it wasn't easy for him to hide the fact that he had a hard-on.
"Wade, would you do me a favor and get my rocks off?" he asked quite frankly. "By hand or mouth... or even by slamming a Goddamn window down on it!"
"Of course," Wade answered, putting down the silverware and dishes he had been setting the table with. "What's the problem?"
"The problem," he said, already shedding his clothes, "is those two jock college boys who checked into the hotel day before yesterday. They apparently came down to Miami Beach to set up a nonstop sex orgy, and they are doing their damndest to get me to join in."
He was nude now, and Wade could see the heavy ooze of clear juice welling up from the head of his cock. Paul sat on the sofa, putting one hand firmly around the cockshaft to milk up more of the lubrication.
"Oh, shit, I can beat it myself," he said, spreading the slick fluid over his tool.
"No, you don't," Wade told him as he sat on the floor between Paul's legs and took hold of his cock. "Tell me what happened, and let me enjoy myself. I like sucking your cock, Paul... among other things." And he went down on the prick, delighting in the taste of Paul's body and in the feel of the throbbing hard dick in his mouth.
"Well, these guys are eating all their meals in their rooms, and a lot of other things besides, judging by who I've seen in there and who I've seen going in there. I guess athletes specialize in athletes, but the group up there this morning was enough to bend the mind."
He stopped talking suddenly and took in a sharp breath.
"Oh, that feels good, Wade," he exclaimed, grinning at the man who was busily sucking his cock.
Wade moved back from the dick to return the smile; Paul took the opportunity to slide forward on the sofa so that his balls were hanging over the edge. Wade took hold of them with one hand to increase his excitement.
"Go on with your story," Wade said, and he engulfed the inviting, purplish head again.
"This was about eleven o'clock. They had called room service and put in a big order. They knew I was on duty from the two previous days, and they've been cruising me pretty openly on each occasion. When I knocked on the door, someone called out that it was open, so I pushed it aside and wheeled the cart into the living room of their suite. There were seven guys in there, all with drinks, and not one of them had a stitch of clothes on. They all looked like members of a college football team. Enough muscles among them for three times as many guys... and plenty of cock too, believe."
Wade stopped working on his cock long enough to ask, "What were they doing when you came in?"
"Waiting for me. I don't mean to be conceited about it, but there was no doubt, that the two who lived there had told the five guests about me. I felt as though I had walked out onto a stage with seven glowing spotlights on me. They were all sitting around bare-ass on the couch and chairs, one was on the floor. None of them had hard-ons exactly... but they weren't exactly relaxed either. One of the guys who is registered there closed the door behind me... started talking, introducing me to the others. Of course, I haven't the damnedest idea of what their names were. All I wanted to do was get the hell out of there."
"Why?" Wade asked Paul. "What the hell difference would it make to have a swing with some of them?"
"You really don't understand me, do you, Wade?" he said. "If I had decided to have sex with any of them, would I have come back home and asked you to do this?"
"No, I guess not."
"Would you have followed through if you had been there? Would you have let them talk you into stripping down, and going at it hot and heavy with any or all of them?"
"I'm not sure," Wade said. "But then, they probably wouldn't go after me the way they did you. It's different with you."
"How?"
"You are exceptionally handsome... and something about you spells 'Sex' to everyone."
"And you think this is an advantage?"
Wade couldn't answer the question.
Paul stood up suddenly, grasped Wade by the upper arms, and lifted him bodily from the floor. As soon as Wade was on his feet facing him, Paul covered his mouth with his, parted Wade's lips with his tongue, and plunged it deep into Wade's mouth. Before Wade could recover from the pleasant surprise, Paul had already opened his trousers and pushed them down with his shorts. He began to fondle Wade's cock until it had reached a full erection.
Paul transferred some of the slick lubrication from his cock to Wade's, and in a very short time he had Wade extremely aroused as he rode his hand smoothly up over the cockhead and all the way to the base. Wade matched the motion on Paul's big prong; each of them kept increasing the pace and following suit until their, hands were slimy tunnels of eroticism.
Paul stepped back to the sofa, pulling Wade with him by the hand on his dick as well as the strong suction of his mouth, and sat down again. The movement forced Wade to kneel facing him, his knees on either side of Paul's. They were going to shoot off on one another, Wade knew, and from the increasingly rapid pace of their breathing and the strangling sounds they were making, Wade knew that the moment of orgasm was not far away.
At the very last instant, just as Wade could feel the first squeeze of the orgasm deep between his legs, Paul pulled his mouth from his with a loud wet sound, threw his head forward, and captured his straining cock with his lips.
There was no stopping at this apex of sensation. Wade began to come, and at the unceasing stimulation of his hand, so did Paul. Paul's thick, splashing ejaculations coursed on Wade's hand and arm, onto Paul's stomach and chest, dripping down Paul's abdomen towards their original source. At the same time, Wade's balls were sending out their own pulsing jets of jism, and Paul was receiving them sweetly, almost greedily.
Tuesday was Paul's day off at the hotel, so Monday night the two of them went out for a good seafood dinner and then went bar-hopping at Paul's suggestion.
Wade found the bars in Miami much like those he had been to in Los Angeles. There was the eternal cruising, the continual search for a new bed partner, a good-looking trick, or even a possible new lover. Even the guys who were not strictly out looking for sex still were looking. Wade knew that it was as impossible for a stranger to walk into a gay bar and not be noticed as it would be for an alligator to slither up to the bar and order a drink.
And even though he was not as good-looking as Paul, Wade found himself receiving just as much attention because of his newness as Paul was getting for his special attractiveness.
Wade really didn't pay much attention to the strong glances and occasional leading remarks made to him. It was interesting, even somewhat flattering. But he had no intention of going off with anyone or bringing anyone back to Paul's apartment, even though Paul had given his permission for Wade to do so. And the last five days had made it clear that Paul wasn't out to pick up another guy, either.
Wade knew that it was a convenient arrangement and nothing more. They were infatuated with one another, but Paul understood quite well how Wade felt about Rick, and he knew that despite all the problems between them, Rick was the man Wade would eventually be going home to. At the same time, Wade was smart enough to realize that his meeting Paul was the luckiest accident of his life.
About eleven o'clock they arrived at what was apparently Paul's favorite bar. It was a large circular room with a ceiling dominated by a magnificently intricate chandelier. There was a continuous wall of seats along the outer wall with tiny tables which could be put together or left separate, and in the middle there was a circular bar surrounded by stools, except where a baby grand cut into the almost-complete wheel.
It was the most crowded of all the bars Paul had taken him to, but Wade noticed the unused piano while they were waiting for their drinks to be served.
"Don't they ever have a pianist?" Wade inquired.
"Yes," Paul told him. "A fellow named Sammy. I wonder why he's not here."
"Maybe he's on his break."
Paul shook his head. "I doubt it. If he were working tonight, there would be at least five cocktail glasses up there. I don't think he can play unless he's drinking." When the bartender was setting their two glasses before them, Paul asked, "Henry, where's Sammy tonight?"
"Beats me, Paul. Tonight, or last night... or Saturday night. He hasn't shown up."
"I'll bet Rodney is sore as hell," Paul laughed.
"Yeah," Henry commented. "But what's he gonna do? It isn't easy to pick up another pianist."
Paul looked at Wade with a cunning smile. "Want to earn some money?" he asked.
Wade looked around the club. The crowd was comparatively quiet, good-looking; neither the screaming queen group nor the heavy-drinking crowd. They would probably be a good audience for jazz piano music.
"Why not?" Wade answered. "That is, if the hours aren't too long."
"I hear the money is real good," Paul said, then turned to the bartender and asked, "Is Rod around now?"
"He's upstairs, I think," the bartender said. "Wait a minute. I'll call and see."
He went to the other side of the bar and picked up a phone there, an intercom instrument, Wade noted. A minute or so later, he was back.
"He's in his apartment. Says come on up, and the drinks are on the house."
"Thanks, Henry," Paul said, pushing a five-dollar bill across the bar. "Take, out for the drinks, anyway. This is strictly a business call."
When the change had come back, Paul told Wade to bring his glass and follow him. They went back toward the front entrance, and just across from the little checkroom they turned up the stairway which said "Lounges". Halfway up, Paul stopped and faced him.
"Don't let Rod con you, Wade," Paul warned. "He's famous for that. This bar is a gold mine and he can afford top money. I heard him arguing with Sammy once, and he was saying that he made more money here than he could get in New York. You'd know about what the pay should be, so don't feel you have to do him any favors. He's just an acquaintance as far as I'm concerned. I suggested this for your benefit, not his."
"Okay, Paul, thanks. I appreciate the interest." He grinned down at Wade and they went to the top. There were three doors, one marked "Private". Paul pressed the buzzer.
Wade wasn't prepared for the man who opened the door to them. He had not formed any definitive picture of what Rod might look like, but what he encountered was the farthest thing for any image he could have conjured of the owner of a gay bar. Rod was about six feet four, weighed over two hundred pounds, and could have passed for a rancher or a lumberjack.
He had the strong, sculptured face and body of a true outdoorsman, with thick black hair, wide, squarish dark-blue eyes, a straight nose, and the kind of clean-edged mouth Wade had always associated with carved marble. At the moment he was bare from the waist up, obviously in the midst of getting dressed. His huge chest, the crevice like a canyon, was covered with a mattress of curly hairs, some of which had gone gray. Wade judged him to be about thirty-five.
"How's the Miami Beach virgin?" he called out in a deep baritone voice which suited his appearance. He clasped Paul by the upper arm until Wade was introduced, then extended both hands to shake Wade's and to simultaneously clasp their joined hands in a muscular grip.
"Good to know you, Wade. Come in and sit down. Let me freshen your drinks."
"They're brand new," Paul said, going toward the built-in bar across the room, "but if I can, use a taller glass, I'll pour it over some ice."