by Ben Ryder
“Can’t we stay in your room?” I asked.
The silver-haired man put his index finger to his lips as if to tell me to keep my voice down. “No, I’m hosting drinks in my suite for some friends before the gala.” His words sounded off the walls like the echo of a dozen hissing snakes. He turned toward me and handed me the bundled scarf. “Put this on.” The whisper was more of an urgent demand than a request. “We haven’t got much time.”
As I opened the black knit bundle, I saw two large stitched holes. It was eye mask. It looked like something from an old black-and-white film, like the mask a cat burglar would wear as he hung a bag marked ‘SWAG’ over his
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shoulder. As it rolled out, two leather gloves also fell to the floor. I started to back away. “No, I’m sorry. I’m not into this sort of thing.”
“Please. It will really get me off.” He wasn’t demanding anymore. He was pleading.
“Sorry, the whole fantasy thing is a little too….”
He smiled with the same mischievous look he gave me on the subway. He shook his head again and leaned in toward my ear. “That’s not what I’m going for, I promise. I’ve always had something of a James Bond fantasy.”
“But I’m the British guy. Shouldn’t I be in the tuxedo?” I asked, still not entirely convinced. “So what am I? A spy or a jewel thief?”
“Take your pick.”
I stared down at the eye mask again. During the dry years of my sexless relationship, I must have seen every kind of gay porn imaginable. Most of the movies depended on some kind of role play, whether it was the softer kind (a cute and entirely too innocent blond surfer gets rescued, then tenderly made love to by a handsome young life guard on a beach) or the heavier kind (rough guy in a leather harness gets fucked hard in a sling by a muscle daddy wearing a leather hood in a dungeon). Was this really any different?
“Will this, um, do it for you?” I asked tentatively. He nodded his head quickly and turned around before I could ruin the fantasy with too many questions.
Against my better judgment, I pulled the eye mask over my head. As I slid my fingers into the tight gloves, I could only imagine how menacing I looked. I got in front of him and tore at my jeans until my cock was released, keeping eye contact with him the whole time. I pulled the back of his
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head toward me and forced him down onto my cock. Though the leather gloves made it difficult, I somehow managed to take hold of an entire handful of hair, gripping it while I moved my body so he was forced to take the rhythm that I wanted.
He kept his eyes closed tight, only opening them for a split second to take a brief look at me, the six-foot masked man. He sucked my cock hard and long until I was dripping wet. I grabbed the back of his tuxedo collar and pulled him up to turn him around. Whatever the fantasy was, struggling wasn’t part of it, as he complied immediately. I knew he’d already undone the fly on his pants because, when I pushed his back down and his hands grasped the hand railing, his trousers fell. He wasn’t wearing any underwear.
His blowjob had lubricated me nicely. My wet cock felt a cold rush of air pass over it like it had been caught in a brief draft. The cold became warm as I slid into him. He moaned as I filled him, and his knuckles whitened as he gripped the rails. I was getting into a slow and steady rhythm as he tightened around my dick. I stared at his muscled ass as he pulled his ankles slightly farther apart to steady himself.
Suddenly, there was a loud bang, like a gunshot. The sound ricocheted off the bare high walls and penetrated my ears. Someone had come into the stairwell and let the heavy exit door slam behind them. The problem was, I couldn’t tell whether the sound came from above or below us. We both froze for a second before our heads turned in every direction. There was nothing. It must have been below us. The silverhaired man gave me a mischievous grin and nodded for me to carry on.
63I pointed my cock toward his ass, but it didn’t slide in
as easily. He was so tight it was as though he was clenching his ass on purpose to make me fight to get inside him. I pushed through and began to fuck him hard. I heard another muffled moan, but he was getting louder. I reached over and placed my hand over his mouth in warning, but this just seemed to encourage him to moan louder still.
My heart raced, and I could feel my sweat begin to mist on my temples under the mask. He bent over a little more and held the slats of the stair railings like he was behind the bars of a prison cell. His head twisted around as he looked over his shoulder at the sight of me, but this time his face had changed. He seemed to be alarmed. I thought I’d gone too far, played this role too well. I took my hand from over his mouth, but he still didn’t stop. In fact, I could feel him bouncing more aggressively on my cock. I took hold of his shoulders and gave him the roughness he seemed to crave. My balls swung as I pounded into his ever-tightening ass. I was so close to exploding inside him, I could feel the cum begin to rise. He looked around once more, but his eyes had the look of terror, and this time he wasn’t looking directly at me, but up. Suddenly I heard the sound of clicking.
He continued to force himself back onto my cock, but as I looked up, I saw a pair of navy-blue stiletto heels and a pair of men’s shiny black shoes coming down the stairs just two flights above us. They stopped, as they’d obviously heard something. I pulled out and tugged at my jeans to fasten my buttons, but the gloves hampered my efforts. I only managed to get the top button hooked and pulled my jeans up, hoping they were high enough to hold until I could get out of the stairwell.
64The shoes above us began to descend the stairs again.
Finally, at the very last moment possible, my fuck buddy finally stood. But to my astonishment, he pulled his trousers up and rushed down the next set of stairs, deserting me.
I turned back toward the door through which we’d come and rushed through it, only to find the security guard that the concierge had beckoned faced in my direction at the far end of the corridor. He jumped at the sight of me, momentarily suspended in disbelief. I’d forgotten I was still wearing the eye mask. He paused for the smallest of moments, unsure of what he was seeing, but then ran at me. I had no choice but to head in the other direction. I started to panic as I sprinted down an offshoot hallway until I saw another exit sign. My heart hammered and fear gripped me as I imagined he would shoot first, ask questions later. My cock was still hard and rubbing roughly against the denim material of my jeans.
I felt the unmistakable spark ignite. Oh God, please, not now.
Cum gushed out of my cock as I ran. The orgasm was so intense it felt like my groin was on fire. I smashed through the door and bounded down the stairs. I snatched off the eye mask and heard the quickening footsteps of the security guard as he raced down the stairs after me. I was halfway down the next set of stairs before I decided to leap. I landed flat-footed but began to topple. I leaned my body through the nearest door and raced into yet another hallway.
As I ran, I swiped the eye mask across the top of my jeans in an attempt to wipe away as much cum as I could. Then I grappled with the gloves, removing them just in time to throw them and the mask into an unattended housekeeping trolley’s trash can. I rounded another corner
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and saw a bank of elevators. My thumb bounced repeatedly off the call button as I heard movement in the hallway. I quickly rebuttoned the rest of my fly and pulled down my Tshirt enough to cover the wet patch now seeping through the top part of my pocket. A ding sounded and the doors opened.
The elevator was crowded, but I slipped into the tiny space available and held my breath, terrified that my heavy breathing might alert people to my state. Terrified they could smell the hot cum on me, I let out a small puff of air so I could breathe in through my nose. Thankfully, the women were doused in perfume that nothing could compete with.
As the doors opened to the lobby, I acted as gentlemanly as possible and allowed everyone to exit before me, giving me time at the back of the elevator to slowly let out the air in my lung
s and gasp for a fresh breath. I leaned forward and tried to massage the stitch that stabbed at my ribs.
But the moment I stepped off the elevator, I was confronted by “Jacques,” who was armed with a walkietalkie. He took a step back so as not to be within my reach. He looked around for some kind of backup, but there was none. The security guard was probably searching the floors above us.
“Hello!” I said brightly. Thankfully, he couldn’t see the long trickle of cold sweat rolling between my shoulder blades. “You certainly have a busy night here tonight!”
“Sir, I must insist that you remain where you are,” he said, pointing his radio communicator at me like it was some kind of weapon that could stun me in place. He checked again for backup.
“Excuse me?” I said, as though affronted. “Is there some kind of problem?”
66“The police are on their way. They’ll be here any
second.” I looked around as though a bomb had been planted nearby. I leaned over and whispered, “Why? What’s happened?”
“You know full well—”
“Dominic, my love, you made it!” To my complete and utter surprise, Jackie walked up behind the concierge with her arms open. She was wearing a black ball gown and had her hair up, looking very much the part of a Manhattan high-society lady. She hugged me and gave me a peck on the cheek. “It’s lovely to see you, though I give you my apologies for not letting you know it was a formal event. Come and have a drink with me and Martin, he’s wandering around here somewhere.”
“Hang on a second, Jackie. I think there seems to be some kind of issue in the hotel.” I turned back toward the concierge. I raised my eyebrows to show I expected an explanation.
“My sincerest apologies, sir, we have an undesirable character in the building, but it’s nothing you should concern yourself with. I assure you he will be escorted off the premises momentarily, if he hasn’t been already,” he said, looking a little sheepish. “Please don’t let me interrupt your evening.” The concierge turned away before he could be asked to explain himself further.
“Goodness, he seemed a little odd,” Jackie said as she took my arm and led me back toward the lobby. “I guess there must be a protestor of some sort here. It wouldn’t surprise me. This gala is full to the brim with senators,
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judges, and politicians. And God knows how many businessmen are here tonight from the Financial District.” I wondered where the silver-haired man fit into that list. Not that it mattered. He’d almost gotten us both caught, and then he fucked off and left me while he saved his own skin. As exciting as it was, there was no way I was getting myself into that kind of situation again. This had turned from a cheap thrill into a practice of stupidity that could’ve gotten me arrested or, even worse, deported. We walked through the crowds before Jackie took my arm.
“I didn’t realize I told you the venue,” she said with a sly smile while patting my arm. “I’ll be honest with you, Jackie. I didn’t intend to come tonight as I’d already returned my rental tuxedo. I was actually here… on a promise.” My embarrassment only added to my nerves, as I was still looking out for the security guard.
“On a promise? You mean you’re here to meet a gentleman?”
I let out a long sigh. “Jackie, I’ve just fucked a guy in the stairwell while wearing an eye mask and leather gloves, at his request. We got caught. The security guard is chasing me, and I have to get out of here.”
“Are you serious?”
“I swear on my life.”
“You’re the undesirable?” Jackie’s lips were trembling as she tried to contain her laughter.
“Yes.”
68It was all too much. She threw her head back and
laughed. With each draw of breath, the laugh became more of a cackle. This was one of the reasons I adored Jackie and why she’d become such a fast friend. From the outside, she looked, spoke, and acted as though a confession like mine would horrify her. In reality, though, I knew she’d be asking me for every sordid detail on Monday morning. She’d relish this story and probably hold it over me for some time. But I didn’t care, because, even at my expense, her laughter never failed to brighten my day.
Gasping for breath, she flicked her hand to give me permission to leave. I already knew she’d forgiven me for not attending the event at her invitation. Just as I was about to head out the door, a handsome man walked behind Jackie and wrapped his arms around her waist.
“You’re just in time, Martin. This is Dominic!” Martin was exactly what I imagined him to be: tall, with a full head of dark-brown hair and a dashing smile. I raised my right hand to shake his, but quickly remembered that I probably still had cum on it. Instead I extend my left hand. Jackie saw me do it and instantly knew the reason for the change. Jackie was trapped in a hysterical fit of laughter, and Martin was simply confused.
“We’ll have drinks! Soon, I promise!” I called over my shoulder, leaving abruptly as I watched three of New York’s Finest walk from the lobby toward me. “See you Monday, Jackie!”
Then I bolted out the glass doors and onto the street.
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Chapter Five
Monday, May 8, 2017 I ORDERED a beer from the cute guy behind the bar at the Beacon, a large, old-fashioned gay bar on Christopher Street. I was there to watch and review Madame Flamé, a drag queen with a reputation for being one of the best in the business. After the ribbing I’d received from Jackie at the office, I was more than ready for a drink. She was playful with it, and as expected, she demanded every detail. I told her enough of the story to have her in tears, though I left out the backstory about the subway and The Rambles. I decided to save those stories for a vodka-soaked night some other time when Martin was working late.
The owner of the Beacon had e-mailed me and asked me to do a piece on his star performer, which I was happy to agree to—but only with the understanding that she didn’t know I was there. We agreed I’d take in the show one night during the week, but I refused to let him pin me down to any particular night. I enjoyed a good drag performance as much as the next gay guy, but to be honest, I was utterly terrified by them too.
Ever since I was very young, I’d hated being the center of attention. When I was a kid, the headmaster of my high school held twice-weekly morning assemblies. Notices were
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read, school rules were reinforced, sports team achievements were applauded, and, at least once a week, the headmaster told a success story that had some kind of thoughtprovoking moral ending. At the end of each assembly, the headmaster randomly selected a pupil to stand in front of the entire student body and read a few lines from a speech from great leaders such as Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr., or Winston Churchill.
I had the misfortune of being chosen in the first week of the first term of my first year. At twelve years old, I was forced to stand behind a microphone and face hundreds of kids, ranging from my age up to sixteen. To this day, I still rank it as one of the most nerve-racking experiences of my life. It was only made worse when I tripped, both over the winding cord of the microphone and then over long, complicated words on the card the headmaster handed to me to read. The entire school went into fits of laughter, and although I wanted to walk off stage, the headmaster made me complete the entire quote, despite my stammering embarrassment. For the next five years, twice a week, I was subjected to an hour of torture. I waited and prayed for each and every assembly to end, all the while sitting panicstricken that I might be picked again. By some miracle, I never was.
Since that experience, I’d never liked having too many eyes on me at once. Every year on my birthday, when wellmeaning family members or friends sang the opening bars of “Happy Birthday,” I began to feel nauseous, since I knew everyone in the vicinity would turn to look at me. And it had only gotten worse as I got older. Birthday meals at restaurants were ruined by waiters bringing cakes to the table. It’s not that I didn’t appreciate my friends’ efforts to
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mak
e the day special, but knowing the attention it brought always made me cringe. The cake, with the ever-increasing number of lit candles, would be placed in front of me, prompting choruses of that song, slicing through conversations of nearby diners. They, in turn, would silence their conversations and stare at me. I hated it. It got so bad that, when I attended other people’s birthday celebrations, I started sweating when I heard the first chords of the tune even though I knew it wasn’t directed at me.
Then, when I was about twenty, my best friend and I were exploring the many gay bars and clubs of London. One night, I was pulled up on stage by a drag queen in the middle of her act. She wasn’t what I’d call a professional drag queen—the type that spends time, money, and effort to look like a Hollywood starlet who can lip-sync a heavy emotional song from the great divas. No, this one was little more than a transvestite who’d spent five minutes on her makeup and had thrown on one of her mother’s dresses as she fled out the door.
But this particular drag queen was so popular because of her acidic wit and a politically incorrect stream of oneliners that had her audience bowing to her genius. I was actually enjoying the show and, like everyone else, thought she was hysterical. But then she saw me. I knew it immediately. Her eyes panned around the audience and locked onto me sitting a few rows back from the stage. I was young and probably had an air of youthful cockiness about me. She sauntered off stage, and before I knew what was happening, she’d grabbed my wrist and dragged me into her spotlight. What followed was sheer, unmitigated torture.
