A Starr is Born

by Ryan Field

  Morton slowly walked over to where he was standing and he reached for the menu in his hand. As he took the menu, his fingers brushed against Harrison’s large hand and the menu fell to the floor. Harrison was speaking with that deep, smooth voice again, and his expression suggested he had a few vulnerabilities about his age, and the age difference between them. Morton wanted to make it clear that the least of his concerns was their ages, and he wanted to do this by showing him instead of telling him. He wanted Harrison to know this wasn’t about an older man going after a younger man. He felt the same attraction.

  Instead of waiting for Harrison to make the first move on him, this time he reached down and he grabbed Harrison’s crotch with his right hand. He squeezed him gently and said, “I’m only hungry for one thing right now, and it’s not Chinese take-out.” He could feel Harrison growing erect in his jeans. It didn’t seem to take much. “I want your dick.”

  “You surprise me,” Harrison said. “I didn’t expect this.”

  Morton caressed his beard, and then he went down on his knees so he could unzip his fly. He wasn’t wearing underwear that day and Morton slid his dick out of his pants and started stroking it gently. He kissed one side of this dick, and then the other. He looked up and said, “I hate to play games, and I hate to pretend. And I really do like you.”

  Before Harrison had a chance to reply, his lips parted and he took Harrison’s cock as far into his mouth as he could. He tried to swallow the entire shaft, but he simply couldn’t do it and wound up leaving at least three inches of dick exposed at the base. Not that Harrison seemed to mind. He grabbed the top of Morton’s head and spread his legs a little wider. Morton sucked slowly, but with an even rhythm that had more to do with actual sucking than simply moving his head.

  When he did slide his head back he concentrated on just sucking the head of Harrison’s cock with his lips and his tongue. While he ran his tongue in circles around the head, Harrison moaned and his legs shuddered a little. Like all the worst clichés he’d ever heard, the head of Harrison’s cock was round and bulbous, and it reminded him of an actual knob. Just the thought of his lips wrapped around Harrison’s cockhead left him with his own erection. It also left him wanting more, and he eventually stopped sucking so he could remove the white mini-dress and spread his legs for Harrison.

  Harrison glanced down at him kneeling on the floor. He was only wearing a white thong and white stilettos. His eyes met Harrison’s and he said, “Fuck me.”

  Harrison smacked him in the face a few times with his dick, and then he kicked off his black biker boots and yanked down his jeans. He pulled his black V-neck T-shirt off and tossed it over his shoulder.

  Morton hadn’t realized how hairy he was in all the right places and he knelt up a little higher so he could bury his face between Harrison’s ball sack and his leg. He inhaled his scent and licked his balls. He ran his palms up and down Harrison’s legs and arched his back. Although he’d had other lovers before Harrison, he felt as if he’d finally met a real man with whom he could connect. A real man with a deep voice, a real man with hairy legs, and a real man with a scent that made him want to submit to anything. If this moment had been taken out of context, he would have laughed at himself that night for being too eager. But in this context, while their hearts raced and their bodies begged for more, the only thing he wanted to do was turn around and bend over.

  Harrison helped him get up to his feet, and then he wrapped his arms around him and started kissing him. When his tongue met Morton’s, Morton reached up with both hands and rested them on the back of his head. His dark hair was so long and thick Morton couldn’t stop touching it. Each time his long dark beard brushed against Morton’s smooth face, Morton spread his legs a little wider. He felt completely overpowered by Harrison, and yet at the same time he knew he maintained a good deal of the control.

  They reached a point where they both started breathing so heavily there was only one thing left for them to do. They’d held back as long as they could. Their needs and desires overtook them and they both knew it was time to move forward. Harrison started guiding him back toward the sofa. They continued to kiss while Harrison slowly rested him on his back and climbed on top of him. Morton spread his legs and held Harrison’s shoulders. Harrison didn’t even bother to remove Morton’s thong or stilettos. There was a box on the glass coffee table and he removed the lid and pulled out a tube of clear lubricant. Then he lathered between Morton’s legs with the lube and pushed his cock to the bottom of Morton’s body with one deep, hard intrusion.

  Morton forgot about everything except for the man who was on top of him and deep inside him. It was more than sexual pleasure, more than lust, and even more than emotional gratification. This was a connection to something more spiritual for Morton and he forgot about everything else. It wasn’t religious, but it was definitely beyond this Earth, and there were no words to actually describe it so that he could put it all into place like he did with most things in his life. This strong man on top of him and inside him had such a vibrant brand of energy that he lifted something from the bottom of Morton’s heart he didn’t even know was there in the first place.

  Morton closed his eyes and spread his legs wider. He held Harrison’s shoulders as Harrison moved in and out of his body with only one goal in mind. Harrison moved slowly at first, and then his speed increased as they moved closer to climax. He became an eager lover and he stirred something else in Morton that didn’t happen often. Harrison’s moves stimulated his prostate and brought him to the edge without even touching himself. All he had to do was remain on his back with his legs open and his hands on this wonderful man’s shoulders.

  When he finally heard Harrison grunt, he knew they were both close so he grabbed Harrison’s head and he pulled him closer and kissed him. They kissed a few times, locked in this embrace, and then Harrison threw his head back. His face turned red, he grunted a little louder, and he slammed his pelvis into the bottom of Morton’s ass so hard the sofa moved a little. A second or two after that, Morton came and his entire body went still. Then Harrison moved a little, and Morton had a double orgasm and he came again. The second time wasn’t as intense as the first, but it left him breathing softly and begging Harrison not to pull out. And they remained there on the sofa, until Harrison finally went flaccid and slid out of him.

  Harrison rested on top of him and said, “Stay here tonight. Don’t leave.”

  “I have to go home,” Morton said. “I don’t even have my clothes. I don’t want to go home tomorrow morning in yesterday’s drag.”

  “You can wear my clothes,” he said. “I have tons of things. I want you to be the first thing I see in the morning when I wake up tomorrow.”

  He didn’t actually agree to stay over, but he didn’t refuse either. He simply rested his hands on Harrison’s back and resigned himself to the fact that he really didn’t want to leave. He wanted to sleep with him, and see him first thing in the morning. He knew what was happening and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He was falling in love, and he had a feeling that nothing in his life would ever be the same again.

  Chapter Nine

  “What’s up with the drag thing?” Harrison asked. “Seriously. You don’t have to do that, not with all your talent. You don’t need a gimmick. With your voice all you have to do is stand there and sing.”

  Morton reached down and grabbed Harrison’s penis. They were still in Harrison’s bed and they’d just finished making love, again. It was the fourth time since Morton entered Harrison’s penthouse the night before, and he was so hungry he could have eaten raw beets. He was resting back in Harrison’s arms and the covers were pulled up to their waists.

  He shrugged and said, “The drag is and it isn’t a gimmick. I guess it’s my comfort zone, because I grew up with two dads who were drag queens. And I also like the concept of being gender neutral. I’m not trying to impersonate a woman, not in the classic literal sense of drag. My drag crosses over into breakin
g down some of the male stereotypes. Barbra Streisand could wear men’s suits and ties in movies and no one said a word, but if Al Pacino wears a pair of high heels, they all go berserk. And I don’t think that’s right. So I’m doing things my own way, as a gender bending man. Even though I identify as a gay man, I don’t want society putting gender specific restrictions on me. I guess it’s a personal thing of mine.”

  “I get it,” Harrison said. “But do other people get it.”

  “Well, I’m not totally sure,” Morton said. “I’m not even sure I’m good enough to pull the whole thing off.”

  “I’ve seen you perform,” He said. “People love it and they don’t care what you wear. You might just be that one rare performer who can break all the rules.”

  Harrison’s phone rang and Morton didn’t get a chance to respond. He took a deep breath and sighed, because he didn’t know how to respond to something like that. He’d never been able to judge himself in an objective way. If anything, he was the most critical of his own work.

  While Harrison screamed at Sam, Morton glanced around the bedroom and shook his head. He’d never seen a bedroom so huge and empty at the same time. Three walls were more of the same gray color as the rest of the apartment, and there wasn’t a piece of art hanging anywhere. One wall that ran the length of the room was floor to ceiling glass with another door that led to the terrace. The view overlooked Central Park and gave the illusion of being way out in the country. The only furniture in the room was an over-sized king bed, two square Lucite night stands, and a mid-century modern chair covered with bold leopard print. It was the kind of minimalism Morton had never understood, and it reminded him more of a cold institution than a home.

  When he hung up with Sam, Harrison kissed the top of Morton’s head and climbed out of bed. Morton watched him lope to the bathroom naked and he couldn’t get over the way his thick flaccid penis bounced up and down with each step he took.

  “What’s going on?” Morton asked.

  “C’mon,” he said. “Let’s take a shower. I was supposed to be downtown rehearsing this morning. I totally forgot.”

  “You want to shower together?”

  He stopped walking and sent him a backward gaze. “Oh yeah. You can soap me up.”

  About an hour later, they rushed up to the top floor of the building Harrison owned where he kept his music studio. As they crossed through the doors, Morton saw Sam standing behind a glass wall with a serious expression. Sam flung them both a look, and made a face at Morton as if it had been Morton’s fault that Harrison was late. Morton just smiled at Sam and pretended he didn’t notice anything unusual. He had this feeling that Sam didn’t like it that he was becoming a big part of Harrison’s life, almost as though he resented him being there.

  Harrison left Morton at the entrance and headed over to the musicians who’d been waiting for him to arrive. They didn’t seem to care that he was late. They shook hands, hugged each other, pretended as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Morton felt a little self-conscious about what he was wearing that morning because it made him look like Harrison’s twin brother. It wasn’t his fault. He had to borrow clothes from Harrison that morning and the only things Harrison owned were jeans, black or gray V-neck T-shirts, and black boots. He had a few formal black outfits in the closet, but Morton couldn’t very well put on a tuxedo at that hour of the morning.

  Morton walked over to the glass booth where Sam was standing and said, “It’s very exciting for me. I’ve never seen anyone rehearse this way before. I rehearse my own acts all the time for my own performances, but it’s so small time compared to all this. And Harrison is so excellent.”

  “Yeah, he’s a real peach of a man,” Sam said, as he glanced down to adjust a few switches on a long control panel. “He was supposed to be here two hours ago, you know.”

  “I didn’t know,” Morton said. He didn’t want Sam to think he’d made him late. “If I had known we would have been here on time.”

  Sam hesitated for a moment. He looked down at the control panel and rubbed his jaw as if he wanted to choose his next words with care. When he looked up again, he said, “I’ve been his manager for over 16 years, since he started out. I’ve seen it all and I know him better than anyone else, and I know he doesn’t do well with distractions. Unfortunately, he is easily distracted. If he’s not focused on the music, he’s all over the place. He’s always been like that.”

  “Distractions? Are you saying I’m a distraction? Harrison didn’t have a single drink last night, he didn’t take one drug, and he seems more focused now than I’ve ever seen him.”

  Sam made a face. “He needs to work. It’s more complicated than you realize, and he can’t have any distractions whatsoever right now. And it’s my job to make sure he’s okay and that he doesn’t have any distractions.”

  Morton didn’t like what Sam was implying, so he decided to set things straight from the start. “Well my job is to make sure he’s happy and healthy, and from the way you’ve been doing your job I doubt he’s been happy or healthy in a long time.”

  Then he turned his back on Sam and headed toward a small bench where he could watch Harrison rehearse with the band. When Harrison saw him from the other side of the room, he grabbed a few sheets of paper, hopped over a few band members, and raced over to the bench.

  He kissed him on the mouth in front of all the other guys and said, “Here. Learn this.”

  “Huh?” He glanced down at the paper and saw that it was some kind of musical arrangement print out titled, The Last Man.

  Harrison pointed to a small glass booth behind the bench and said, “Go into that sound proof booth and learn this music. There’s a piano in there.”

  “But why? I don’t understand.” Morton had never been the kind of performer who could just wing it. He preferred… required… hours of endless rehearsals until he thought he was as perfect as he would ever get. The rehearsals gave him confidence, because he felt as though he knew what he was doing. He also thought rehearsal made him better.

  “I have a fantastic idea,” Harrison said. “Just go in there and learn this, and I’ll explain it all later. Trust me.”

  “I usually need more than an hour to learn something,” Morton said.

  “You’ll have a lot more time than that in the future,” Harrison said. Then he kissed him again and said, “But for right now an hour is all you need.”

  He turned and jogged back toward the band, and he left Morton standing there with a blank expression and a handful of music. Morton glanced down at the title again and read it aloud, “The Last Man.” It was a song written and arranged by Harrison Parker that looked as though it started out slowly and worked up to a grand finale. Just from glancing at the first few bars, he knew he could handle it. He figured it couldn’t hurt to learn it, so he turned in the opposite direction and went into the soundproof booth to see what this was all about.

  An hour later, he couldn’t get the song out of his head. Although Harrison’s composition skills were excellent, Morton had changed the key to suit his range, he’d added a few extra key changes to the bridge, and he removed some of the chords at the end he didn’t think needed to be there. Overall, though, this was one of the best songs he’d ever seen, from the melody to the lyrics to the general content. The Last Man was a love song about two men that was supposed to be performed as a duet. Two gay men to be exact. All his life he’d always wanted to find the perfect pop rock love song that told a story of two men falling in love just like the millions of heteronormative love songs that were out there in the world. It’s not that he had anything against songs like When A Man Loves A Woman. They were fine, and people loved them. It’s just that after half of a gay lifetime listening to straight people sing about their straight love, he wanted a little bit of a balance so that gay men had something with which they could identify.

  Harrison must have been watching him. He knocked on the booth and opened the door. “How’s it going? What did you
think?”

  Morton stood up from the piano and said, “I love it. I love everything about it. It’s as if I’ve been waiting for this song all my life.” He wasn’t exaggerating either.

  He walked over to Morton and put his arms around him. “I knew you would. I wrote it a few years ago and I never did anything with it. Or rather, I didn’t know what to do with it.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’ve been waiting for the right time to sing it,” he said. “It’s a duet. I can’t do it alone. It wouldn’t work.”

  “You want me to do it with you?” He pressed his palm to his chest and blinked.

  “Of course I do,” Harrison said. “Who the hell else would I do this song with?”

  “Well.”

  He grabbed Morton’s hand and said, “Let’s go rehearse it with the band now. I want to hear you do it with your voice and your style. I’ll follow you.”

  As Harrison yanked him to the middle of the studio, where all the musicians were watching and waiting to see what might happen next, Morton followed him without saying a word.

  They spent the first half hour working out the little issues and learning how to work with each other. Harrison tended to plunge right into the entire song, and Morton preferred to go line by line until he felt comfortable enough to put it all together. In this case, the music flowed so easily it didn’t take long for either of them to grasp the basics enough to put the entire song together. And by the end of that first hour, they sang that song together, from start to finish, as if they’d been rehearsing it for weeks. The guys in the band even stood up to applaud at the end.

  The only one who didn’t seem to be smiling too much was Sam. He finally came over and said, “Why are you wasting so much time with this song? It’s not as if you can do it in public.”

  “Why?” Harrison asked, as if he already knew the answer.

  Morton knew why but he didn’t want to get in between Harrison and Sam.