by Jay Lygon
Oh fuck, what he did to me. My nuts were so tight that I could shoot any second. “Papi--”
Hector grunted. I could picture the spurt of white come over his brown hand. As he milked the rest out, I bet his come frothed from the stroking. I wanted to suck his fingers into my mouth and lick them clean.
“Pull up you underwear and put the pillows back where they belong.”
Huh? What about me? He couldn’t be serious. My balls ached and the head of my cock was chafed from rubbing against my underwear. “But--”
“I’ve warned you about your manipulative ways, Sam. Not just once, but three times, you tried to defy me tonight. I can’t let you get away with it. As part of your punishment, you’ll spend the rest of your stay in Toronto frustrated. If you come, I will find out, and you will be very sorry that you lost control. Understand? By the way, I haven’t forgotten about the butt plug. You’ll wear that until I tell you to remove it,” Hector warned me.
Even though he couldn’t see it, I bowed my head. “Yes, Sir.”
“Now, get dressed and go to your party. And, Boy, be careful how you move tonight, because that butt plug is designed to rub against your prostate to keep you stimulated.”
Suddenly, the butt plug was vibrating inside me. I had to grasp the headboard to stay on my feet. Oh Gods, I was going to shoot. I gritted my teeth.
Hector’s laugh was downright evil. “Did I mention that the butt plug has a remote control vibrator built in? I may be pressing that from time to time tonight, just to keep you on your toes, little Boy.”
The bastard was still chuckling when I hung up.
***
Hector was right. Even without the vibrator on, that butt plug rubbed me all the right ways, which was the wrong way if I was going to keep myself under control. Despite the firm jock strap I wore, it wasn’t easy. Walking through the lobby, I had to let jolts of lust run feral into the night so that I wouldn’t lose my mind.
“Sam!” Alberto bounded off a love seat across the marble floor of the lobby.
“Are you staying here, too? What a coincidence,” I said dryly.
Alberto laughed. “No, silly. I was waiting for you. I wanted to save you from a big mistake. You’re headed to the wrong party.”
“How do you know? Oh yeah, you were there when she invited me.”
He made a face. “Like I said, the wrong party. She’s over. No one is going. I’m here to take you to the right party.”
We walked outside. The doorman, who was dressed like a Prussian War Field Marshall, beckoned to a waiting cab. Alberto and I got into the taxi. He leaned forward and gave the cabbie an address.
“How do you know she’s over?” I asked Alberto as we pulled away from the hotel.
He looked out the window. “I just do. Fame is the name of my game.”
“Okay. Why is she over?”
“I saw how the audience reacted to her movie. But most of all, I watched how you responded to her during the movie. She was pissing you off. Later, after we left the theater, I thought about that, and decided she’s over.”
“You decided?” It was frightening how cool he was about it.
He turned his brown eyes onto me. For once, he was serious. “Yes.”
My mouth went dry.
Alberto perked up and changed the subject. “How did you enjoy dinner with Joseph Dudeka?”
How did he know about that? “It was wonderful,” I admitted. “But I wonder why he invited me after he threw my card away. I think maybe Harris Smith put in a good word for me.”
Alberto frowned. “Harris? He didn’t do anything. I’m the one who got you invited to all those parties in Venice, Sam. I’m the one who got Joseph Dudeka to invite you to dinner.”
Did I ever feel stupid, and a little pissed off. I didn’t like him wedging his way into my life like that.
***
The taxi pulled to the curb a couple minutes later. A cool blue sign glowed over the entrance to the club, and there was a long line of people snaking down the block. Three bouncers stood at the entrance between two short, velvet ropes. A pack of paparazzi hung at the corner.
“We’re here,” the taxi driver announced, as if it weren’t obvious.
“Come on.” Alberto tugged at my shirt as I paid the cabbie. He opened the door. I slid out after him.
Out on the sidewalk, the music from the club slammed against my chest. It was like being assaulted by invisible beings. I so did not want to go inside. It would be louder and there would be too many people. Run, my mind begged, but I didn’t want to have to explain to Hector why I disobeyed him. There was nothing to do but endure it. Maybe I could make my appearance and then leave. Hector didn’t say how long I had to stay. I wouldn’t even take a taxi back. I’d just slip into a dark corner and then phase to my hotel room.
“So what is this party?” I asked as the cab pulled away.
“A list. I’m getting you into the best. Harris Smith didn’t invite you to his party, Sam. I invited you. Remember, that’s what fame does for you.”
“But I don’t want to be famous.” I didn’t think he heard a word I said over the music, though.
I didn’t mean to take the world’s most languid walk from the curb to the club entrance, but Hector was right to warn me about how I moved. That damn butt plug massaged my prostate with each step. By the time I reached the bouncer with the clipboard, I was almost orgasmic. Maybe it was the careful stroll, or the fact that I ignored the line, or maybe it was the aura of sexual hunger that I knew radiated around me, but the paparazzi went nuts.
People waiting behind the velvet rope shouted my name. Spooked, I looked around frantically for a place to hide.
Alberto grinned. “Isn’t this great?”
“I’m blind.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
“Really, I don’t want to be famous.”
Alberto lightly slapped my arm. “Too late. You’re my pet project.”
One of the bouncers gripped my elbow. I was sure he was going to toss me to the end of the long line, but he said, “Mr. Dewey, this way.” Suddenly it was dark and deafeningly loud. The door had shut behind me, cutting off all the camera flashes. I blinked. Yellow halos slid across my vision. If the bouncer said anything else to me, I didn’t hear it.
The club looked like a converted Arabian tent, but ultramodern. Metal gleamed against black surfaces. Neon blue underlit everything, making everyone on the fringes of the crowd look like the undead. The crowd wasn’t Goth, though. By then, I knew expensive clothes when I saw them, and the women were in genuine designer dresses. The men were all young and hot. They wore tight shirts over lean, hard bodies. They either knew how to dress or had personal shoppers.
The bar near the entrance was a solid wall of people. I worked my way past them into the main room. A video showed on huge screens on each wall. On the dance floor some people bopped around, but mostly it was S&M -- stand and model. I glanced at my watch. It must have been a record. I was in the club for ten seconds and I was already bored.
Alberto grinned up at me. “Isn’t this great?” At least, that’s what I think he said. He threw his arms over my shoulders and danced so that our groins bumped.
I nodded as I backed away.
He dragged me to the center of the dance floor. His eyes shone, and that gorgeous grin of his promised all kinds of mischief. The boy moved like a go-go dancer. For a moment, he was caught up in the rhythm in his own little world. The music crept under my skin. Alberto’s joy was infectious; the music carried it to me. My hips swayed. I knew I shouldn’t. I knew I had to stop, but the pounding music broke through my willpower.
The heat of the other dancers slid over my skin. The mix of perfumes and sweat went right to my head. Feral energy hit the lizard part of my brain. This was my temple. The worship was too much to hold in, so I let it go, go, go and my arms rose and I was slinking against the sassy backside of a girl in a glittery dress. Before she could turn around, I slipped between a
lanky black guy and his shirtless, Korean boyfriend for a little three way grind. Lust and joy throbbed out of my pores.
Alberto caught up to me and wrapped his arm around my waist. He nodded, encouraging me to come along as he ground his groin on my thigh. I felt a body press against my back, and some guy turned my head to the side and kissed me, his tongue doing wondrous dance moves inside my mouth. My hand slid up my sweat-slicked chest. I put my wet fingers in Alberto’s mouth. He closed his eyes and sucked on them. More hands touched me. They tugged on my clothes. Someone rubbed my cock. I backed away from that hand and into the one sliding down between my ass cheeks. Oh Gods, not the butt plug! I twisted away.
The other dancers got aggressive. I lurched forward, nearly knocking poor Alberto on his ass. Hands grabbed at me and tried to pull me back. I shoved Alberto out of the way and slithered through the tight jam of bodies. Hiding behind a stack of speakers, I bowed my head and panted.
“Hey!” Alberto’s dark brown eyes seemed confused, and maybe a little hurt. Wanting to explain, I grabbed his shirt and pulled him toward the men’s room. That probably gave him the wrong idea. He grinned and clung to my arm.
Gently, I peeled him off. “It isn’t you,” I shouted close to his ear. “It’s…” Oh fuck it all, I was a God. There was no need to play club pantomime. I created a quiet space around us so that only he could hear what I said. “I can’t dance in public, Alberto. It isn’t you. It’s because of who I am.”
He still pouted.
Exasperated, I blew my bangs out of my face. “When I was in college, before I accepted that I was a God, my cousin and I went to Ft. Lauderdale for spring break one year. We were flat broke. Couldn’t even afford a hotel room. At one of the big bars, we saw that there was a dance contest with a five hundred dollar first prize. I don’t know how my cousin talked me into entering, but he did. I was embarrassed as hell when I got up on stage. And scared. People booed. Then the music started, and I let it take over. I just wanted people to like me enough to vote for me. I guess I didn’t know my power, or understand that I had it, but I let a wave of lust loose. Next thing I knew, drunk college girls rushed the stage and tried to rip off my clothes. My cousin and I ran for our lives. We jumped in the car, hit the gas, and didn’t slow down until we crossed the border into Alabama.”
Alberto clapped his hands together as he laughed. “Did you win?”
“Win? It took the state police three days to break up the riot I started. I’m lucky they didn’t arrest me. You saw what happened in the few moments I was out on the dance floor with you. If I’d kept dancing, this place would have turned into an orgy.”
“Would that have been so terrible?” He cocked his head to the side, grinned at me, and touched my chest.
I moved his hand away. “Yes. And I told you before, don’t touch me without permission. I don’t like that.”
“You’re so strict.” The little Brazilian batted his eyelashes.
“I told you before that I’m in a relationship.”
“Doesn’t your daddy ever let you out to play with the other boys?”
“No.”
He didn’t stop smiling, but a little of the light left his eyes. “What he doesn’t know--”
“I would know.”
Alberto showed me his sexiest pout. Then he glanced at the dance floor. “It’s dull down here anyway. Let’s go up to the VIP lounge.”
***
Alberto kept a firm grip on my hand as he led me up a flight of stairs. I could see through the mesh of the metal risers. The brushed chrome handrail was a pole suspended from cables. Afraid that it might sway, I didn’t grasp it, but I wanted to.
Halfway up the stairs, a shirtless bouncer in white harem pants blocked us. Alberto made a face and tried to step around him. The bouncer wasn’t having any of it. Alberto went all attitude. While he tried to convince the bouncer to let us pass, I looked down at the dance floor. The spell I’d cast had just about worked its way through their systems. Only a small group near the speakers tried to keep it going. The rest stood around doing nothing. For just an evening, I’d switch places with any of them. The music crawled under my clothes and tried to entice me back onto the dance floor. If only Hector hadn’t worked me up so much before I left the hotel.
Alberto’s lips pressed to my ear. “Come on.”
The bouncer had stepped aside.
I followed Alberto along the narrow balcony above the dance floor. Blue lights glowed behind sheer white panels at what looked like the entrance to a tent. We ran into another bouncer under the awning who opened a smoked glass door for us. When the door shut behind us, it was like suddenly rolling up a car window as you sped down the freeway. My ears were blocked for a moment. Then I swallowed and could hear. The music was muted in the private room. Frosted windows etched in an Arabian motif overlooked the dance floor. Square ottomans and huge pillows were scattered around the floor, but it wasn’t tacky. There was a private bar at one end of the long room. At the other end, Harris Smith sprawled on an Arabian couch as he talked to a film director I knew.
At the most, I expected a nod of recognition. I was nowhere in the same league with those folks. So I was stunned when Harris struggled into a sitting position. “Sam! You made it!” He patted the couch next to him. “Come on, sit!”
As I picked my way through the small crowd, I could feel the mixed emotions, but no one seemed to question why I’d been invited. I eased down on the couch next to Harris. When Harris reclined on his elbow, I stretched out, too.
“Would you like anything to drink? Someone, bring Sam a drink.”
“A beer would be nice.” I recognized the little queen who had visited my hotel room in Venice, but he acted as if he’d never seen me before in his life.
“I’ll have the same,” Harris said.
The little queen’s eyebrows rose, but he sashayed away to get our drinks.
Alberto curled up at my feet.
It was like being in the kitchen at Ophir’s house, only with the first rows of an Oscar telecast instead of leathermen. Sure, there were a few people I didn’t know, but almost everyone else was famous with a capital F. It wasn’t just actors, either. There were pop divas, legendary rock and roll stars, a well-known writer, and several artists. Harris introduced me to everyone.
At first I was as intimidated as hell, but then I got into a conversation with an animator about the Government of Canada’s support for the arts, which segued into a fascinating discussion of American and Canadian culture with a journalist from Vancouver, and before I knew it, a couple hours had passed.
Harris touched my hand. “Oh! I’ve been meaning to get your opinion on something, Sam. You’re the perfect person to ask.” He released the tieback on the curtains. We were alone inside although the party was just feet away.
The butt plug vibrator went off. I’d almost forgotten about it. Damn it, Hector! He couldn’t have picked worse timing.
“Do you hear something?” Harris asked.
“My phone,” I said as I dug in my pockets for my mobile. Hector must have turned the setting up, because the vibrations in my ass went from nice to Oh My God. I frantically texted a message to Hector: RED! He must have gotten it, because the buzzing suddenly quit. My grin was sheepish as I put my phone away. “Sorry about that.”
“Phone, huh?” From the way Harris grinned, I didn’t think he was fooled for a moment. Somehow, our mouths ended up tantalizingly close. “I didn’t want to ask this in front of everyone, but I hate people who have their management make awkward calls for them,” he whispered.
With a start like that, I had to know what he’d say next.
It was his turn to grin sheepishly. “Most people in Hollywood know that I’m gay, but for a lot of reasons, my management team doesn't want Mr. and Mrs. America to know, so they set up dates for me with whatever actress is hot at the moment. As a result, I have a bit of a reputation as a playboy.”
A bit of a reputation? That was putting it mildly.
“But I’m sick of this. I’m coming out. Maybe Anna did me a favor by outing me. I feel like a fraud dodging questions. It’s stupid.”
“If you’re asking me my opinion of coming out, I’m all for honesty, but it’s your life, not mine.”
“My management feels that, while it’s okay for me to be a straight slut, a gay slut is a whole different matter. If I show up with a date at an event, they want it to always be the same guy. What I do in my private life is, of course, up to me, but they want me to look like husband material in public. So I’m looking for a premiere buddy to take to all those events. Are you interested?”
“I doubt my boyfriend would understand.”
