Strictly Gay for Pay

by Graeme, Roland

  Strictly Gay for Pay

  by Roland Graeme

  Copyright © 2013 Roland Graeme

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  Cover design by Humblenations.com

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One: The Dive on Five

  Chapter Two: Worth Every Penny

  Chapter Three: The Repair Man Cometh

  Chapter Four: A Neighbor Lends a Hand

  Chapter Five: Complete Customer Satisfaction

  Epilogue: Repeat Customers

  Dedication

  To Muzio Scaevola

  Faithful companion and collaborator

  Chapter One: The Dive on Five

  “We want Dan!”

  “Bring him out!”

  “Bring him out—and make him take it off!”

  “Show us that meat!”

  “Take it off! Whip it out!”

  “Take it off, hell! Jerk it off, Dan! That’s what we really want to see!”

  “Yeah! Come on! We want to see Danny Boy! Naked!”

  Phil, the manager of the bar, chuckled, then raised his portable microphone to his lips and bellowed above the tumult. “Wow! For some reason, you guys all sound kind of horny and sexually frustrated tonight!”

  “Yeah!” several members of the noisy, drunken, excited crowd yelled in response.

  “I thought so,” Phil said. “Well, we’ve got the cure for your problem right here! You need fast, hard relief? You got it! The Tool Shed is proud to present … our very own local bad boy—Dan, the Man!”

  The crowd’s welcoming roar was almost drowned out by the raucous beat of the hard rock blasting through wall-mounted speakers in each corner of the barroom. The employee who was manning the sound booth had turned up the volume to mark Dan’s entrance. A spotlight bathed the male stripper in its lewd glare as he strode onstage, already half-naked, and began to dance as suggestively as was possible without actually miming an explicit sex act.

  “Yeah! Take it off, Dan! Take it all off!” men in the audience shouted.

  “We want to see your dick, Dan!”

  “See it, hell! We want to suck it!” one especially uninhibited customer yelled. He seemed to be speaking for the group, since his neighbors howled their approval.

  “Show us that beautiful butch ass!” another patron pleaded. His outburst, too, was instantly echoed by several other men.

  Some of the other guys who danced at The Tool Shed had to work extra hard in order to keep the audience’s attention and earn the really big tips. But not Dan. When he was on stage and stripping, everybody in the audience paid rapt attention, like so many medical students studying an anatomy chart in a lecture hall. Everybody joined in the horny, sex-hungry chanting that provided an obscene verbal counterpoint to the music accompanying Dan’s dance.

  And Dan reveled in his status as the current featured attraction of the bar. The Tool Shed had once been a grubby, run-down roadside bar catering to local truck drivers and bikers. In those days it was “gay friendly” rather than an overtly gar bar, but it already had developed a slightly unsavory reputation as a homosexual cruising and pickup spot. Because it was located on Interstate Highway 5, the locals referred to it, often dismissively, as “The Dive on Five.”

  The nickname had stuck, even after the bar was taken over by new management, who renovated it inside and out to give it a somewhat more respectable look, and advertised it as an openly and unapologetically gay establishment. And business really picked up when the bar started hiring male strippers. On a good night, the barroom would be crammed with gay men who’d come specifically to watch the performers.

  Dan enjoyed seeing the impact of his hot body and big cock reflected in the crowd’s eager faces as they watched him undress. There was a palpable throb of collective excitement that always surged up from the spectators when he came on, as the climax of each night’s show. As good as the other performers were, Dan was unquestionably the star, the stud for whom the customers hung around waiting all night.

  He was, undeniably, a beautiful man. He looked taller up there on the stage than he really was, and although some of the other strippers had more dramatic and athletic moves, Dan danced with an innately lithe, sensual grace and confidence. He was a gym rat—working out with weights was his only real hobby—and it showed. He was perfectly proportioned, with rippling muscles, a narrow waist, broad chest and shoulders, firm buns, chiseled calves and thighs—the works. He was also male-model handsome, with a killer smile. There was a balance in his features between boyish innocence and mature, macho self-confidence that many gay men found irresistible.

  So-called “performance nudity” was legal in this state, so the strippers invariably concluded their gigs by shedding the last vestiges of their skimpy costumes and dancing totally nude. By this point in the proceedings, a certain amount of audience participation was not only permitted, but openly encouraged. The naked performers would descend from the stage and circulate through the crowd, allowing themselves to be kissed, touched, and groped. In return, they’d have paper money thrust at them, which they sometimes had to hold wadded up in their hands, if they didn’t have any place else to stash it. This was one of the telltale signs that a guy was new to stripping. The more experienced, savvy dancers learned to retain a token body adornment, usually in the form of an arm or wrist band, into which bills could be tucked.

  Those in the audience who could tear their gaze away from Dan’s penis and buttocks might notice that he, alone of the strippers, wore a gold wedding ring—even when he was otherwise completely nude. They speculated about whether he was married to a woman, or to another man.

  Tonight, Dan was really enjoying himself. The crowd was revved up. He knew he was going to make some good money. He possessed very few inhibitions to begin with, but this evening he cast them aside for the duration of his performance as freely as he divested himself of his clothes.

  Once he was onstage, Dan immediately singled out a plump young businessman type in the audience. It always helped his concentration when he focused on one patron at a time. This dude had a round, boyish face behind wire-rimmed glasses, and he was seated with a group of his equally well-dressed and prosperous-looking friends around a table in the first row. They were no doubt enjoying a night out on the town after working together in some office all day long, and they were ready to spend some money. This geek would be his first victim this evening, Dan decided rather maliciously, his first big tipper. Dan would play up to him, tease him, get him all hot and bothered, and really go the extra mile to turn him on. The dude’s buddies would get a kick out of it, and they’d encourage the guy to stuff a few bills into Dan’s thong.

  And so Dan did just that, brazenly offering his increasingly exposed body to the poor guy, who seemed dazzled by the individual attention he was receiving from such a stunningly handsome stripper, and whose buddies thought the whole scene was a riot. After a few moments of embarrassment and hesitation, the baby-faced young executive got into the spirit of things too, licking his lips and grinning sheepishly. Dan abandoned the narrow, cramped stage, descending the three steps that led from it to the bar’s main floor level. He danced his way through the audience and approached the table he’d targeted. Hovering right over the seated businessman, Dan encouraged him to unbutton the waistband of the impossibly tight denim jeans he wore. Then Dan slowly and teasin
gly unzipped his fly, pushed the jeans down to his knees, and revealed the very snug-fitting black bikini briefs he wore underneath.

  “Go on,” Dan invited, raising his voice so he could be heard above the steady beat of the music. “Pull ‘em down for me and see what’s under them! I promise you, it won’t bite.”

  Giggling, the customer got a good two-handed grip on the sides of the briefs and eased them down—revealing that under them, Dan’s genitals were packed inside the pouch of a matching black silk thong. The pouch was barely large enough to hold Dan’s penis and testicles inside it when his genitals were relaxed. The moment his cock began to stir and develop even a hint of an erection, it tended to poke its head free of its flimsy silk covering. Dan had more than a hint of an erection already, and the head of his penis was exposed. His “moneymaker,” as he affectionately—and accurately—thought of it, seemed determined to get into the act, calling attention to itself.

  With several bills tucked into his thong, Dan backed away from the table for a moment, continuing to dance as he wriggled out of his pulled-down jeans and briefs. This required a bit of agility, but Dan had practiced the maneuver until he was able to execute it gracefully—and without losing his balance, stumbling, and falling down on his ass, which was a mishap known to have befallen more than one less coordinated stripper. Naked now except for the thong and a thin leather armband encircling his arm like a tourniquet just below the swell of his left biceps muscle, he gyrated with real freedom now, and the crowd went wild. Nor were the patrons shy about showing their appreciation of the display. Dan found himself surrounded by customers who, if they weren’t standing already, had jumped to their feet and were now approaching him, rather than waiting for him to circulate among them.

  Soon, the pouch of Dan’s thong was stuffed with cash, as well as with his stiffening prick. Deftly, he transferred the money to his armband. Then he made his way back to the plump, bespectacled young businessman. It was always good customer relations to give a big tipper a little extra attention in return for his investment.

  Making direct eye contact with the flustered number and flashing him a seductive grin, Dan thrust his crotch forward, practically into the man’s face, and twisted his pelvis as smoothly and freely as though it was mounted on ball bearings.

  He ran the flat of his hand over the bulge of his thong, rubbing his genitals through the sheer black silk. The young executive was glassy-eyed behind his eyewear, seemingly mesmerized. His buddies all had their stares focused on Dan’s groin, too. His near-masturbation had rendered them temporarily speechless.

  Slowly and provocatively, Dan hooked his thumb over the top edge of the silken pouch and eased it an inch or two downward, exposing his pubic bush and the thick lower shaft of his cock. Only his swollen balls, which were now drawn up tightly against the base of his penis, remained inside the pouch.

  “Say hello to my little friend,” he purred, as he pointed his stiff penis directly at the young businessman. “See? He wants to come out and play.”

  “Bring him out! Keep him out!” several spectators chanted.

  “Little, hell!” a nearby drunk bellowed. “That fucking thing is huge!”

  Dan fought to suppress a smirk from curving his lips. False modesty wasn’t part of his personality. His cock was big. He knew it and he took pride in the fact. He was fully aware of what an asset his penis could be.

  He worked the table again. The chubby number and his buddies were all pushing tens and twenties toward him. Dan encouraged them to take turns wrapping the bills tightly around the stiff shaft of his penis and securing them with a thick rubber band, which he’d worn around one wrist until now. The guys all took advantage of the opportunity to cop a feel as they fastened the money to Dan’s prick. It was a lewd little game, one of his own invention, and, for Dan, it was an arousing and a profitable one.

  He tugged his thong carelessly back into place, making sure most of his erection was still exposed, and he moved on, working the crowd.

  Yeah! You know you want it, so go for it, Dan thought excitedly, while he smoothly negotiated the sea of outstretched hands that were vying to touch him, hold him, grope him, caress him—to possess him, which was what all of these men really wanted to do. And you over there—you go for it, too, buddy! he added, smiling invitingly at one number who was seated alone near the businessman’s table. There you sit, trying to act cool, trying to pretend you aren’t really all that interested. Bullshit! You don’t fool me. Not for a moment. You’re no different than these other guys. You want my cock, just like all the rest of them do!

  The customer who had now attracted Dan’s attention was definitely worth a second or third glance. He had a more upscale, sophisticated look about him than did The Tool Shed’s average patron. His clothes —khaki slacks, brown leather loafers, a brown sports coat worn over a plum-colored T-shirt—were casual on the surface, but they looked as though they had cost a lot. He was a little older than Dan, maybe thirty, with pleasant good looks and a well-groomed mane of glossy straight back hair, worn rather long, which fell over his ears and the nape of his neck. He had a matching mustache, neatly trimmed, alert black eyes, which were staring unblinkingly at Dan at the moment, and a diamond stud screwed into his left earlobe. The gemstone caught the light reflected from the stage and seemed to be winking at Dan, like a tiny star in a night sky.

  Hot, Dan concluded. A pretty hot number … a cut above some of the typical riff-raff we get in here! Must be from out of town. The high class ones usually are, damn it! Could be a big spender, from the looks of him.

  Dan’s curiosity, and interest, was further piqued by this well-dressed dude’s attitude. He didn’t seem, at first glance, to be caught up in the same fever that gripped the rest of the crowd. Instead of perching on the edge of his seat, gaping and practically drooling, as though he’d never seen a male stripper before, this man sat back, apparently quite at his ease, and he continued to watch Dan dance with those coal-like black eyes of his, looking as though he was sizing Dan up with complete objectivity. The guy did permit himself a slight smile and even a nod, when Dan held his gaze for a moment and treated him not only to a special, glowing smile of invitation, but rotated his pelvis extra hard to make his cock swing in a circle.

  Dan liked to be appreciated, but his instinct told him that this guy wasn’t aroused by just anybody. It would, therefore, be a coup to get a real rise out of him. Dan always got turned on sexually by his own performance, but it was twice as erotic for him when he saw somebody in the crowd who appealed to him become equally excited in response to his efforts, the way the long-haired gentlemen was now. He might not be caught up in the shared frenzy of the other men in the barroom who were noisily egging each other and Dan on. No, he was engrossed in his private contemplation of the dancer’s perfect body, handsome face, and oversized cock, as Dan prick-teased every man in the room with his unattainable maleness and the fantasy of having sex with him—a promise always there, but tantalizingly just out of reach. Out of reach, at least, while the strip show was going on! What might or might not happen afterward was another matter.

  It was time to give them The Full Monty. Deftly, Dan transferred all the paper money from his thong to one of his hands, palming the bills. Then, slowly and provocatively, he shed the thong and flung it aside. Stark naked, he gave the onlookers a demonstration of how he could shake his booty in such a way that his erection swung first clockwise, then counterclockwise.

  Men crowded around him, wanting to kiss him, to lick his body, to fondle his cock and ass. Dan let them—as long as more paper money kept moving from their hands to his.

  He glanced over at the black-haired dude’s table. The guy was still seated there, leaning back in his chair, his body language suggesting a nonchalance which his intent stare belied. He was looking at Dan, watching him being mauled by the other customers. When he saw that he’d caught Dan’s eye, the man held up between two of his fingers a crisp-looking banknote, folded in half.


  The bastard wants me to come to him, Dan realized. He thinks he’s too good to get up and come over here to me. He thinks he’s better than all these other guys. Well, I’m not proud. Money’s money. His cash looks as good as anybody else’s!

  He managed to make his way to the table. Men followed him. Smiling, maintaining eye contact, Dan treated the seated man to a virtual lap dance, crouching over him and writhing, but without actually touching him. Dan was sweating profusely by now, his skin flushed a ruddy pink from his exertions and bedewed with hot sweat. It wouldn’t do to stain a customer’s clothes. Some guys who came to The Tool Shed for the stripping didn’t care about such things, but Dan sensed that this man was rather fastidious.

  He was rewarded for his efforts when the man unfolded the bill, then very slowly and deliberately pressed it against Dan’s torso. He rubbed it back and forth, ensuring that it got wet with Dan’s sweat, and then he plastered it onto Dan’s left pectoral muscle, smoothing the edges and the corners to make sure that it adhered to Dan’s flesh.

  Dan had already gotten a glimpse of the denomination. It was a fifty-dollar bill, which was an exceptionally generous tip by The Tool Shed’s standards.

  “Thank you,” he told the man.

  “My pleasure,” was the response, in a soft, insinuating tone of voice.

  When his act was over, Dan snatched up his discarded clothes, bowed and blew kisses to the audience, and sprinted offstage. He could hear them applauding and screaming for more.

  Phil was standing in the wings. “Go on,” he urged Dan, with a broad, knowing grin. “Give ‘em an encore, stud.”

  Dan did so, returning to the pool of light thrown by the spotlight and treating the audience to a brief but provocative medley of his favorite moves. Then, at last, he was done for the night.

  To thunderous applause, he retreated backstage.

  In The Tool Shed’s small, rather grubby dressing room, which all of the dancers shared, he toweled the sweat from his body and changed back into his street clothes. As usual, at this point in the evening, he felt a slight letdown. A moment ago, on stage, he’d been the focus of all those other men’s attention, a star. Now, backstage, off duty, he was just another exceptionally good-looking young man—and one who had a lot of bills to pay on his limited income.