“Good show tonight, Dan,” Phil remarked.
“Yeah, it isn’t a bad crowd, for a week night. I made a few bucks.”
“You might be able to make a few more. One of the customers asked me if he could buy you a drink.”
“Which one?”
“The good-looking bastard with the long black hair, sitting out there front and center.”
“Oh, him? I guess he’s not too shabby, is he?”
“So you’re interested?”
“Let’s just say I wouldn’t say ‘no’ to a drink right now.”
“Go on then, chat him up. What’ve you got to lose? He doesn’t look like a vice cop. But then, you can never tell. So let him make the first move.”
“What do I look like, an idiot?”
Phil smirked. “You look like a guy who’s about to get laid—if you play your cards right.”
“We’ll see. Some of these big spenders tend to be all talk and no action.”
Dan took his time packing his gear into his gym bag, and checking his appearance in the dressing room’s wall mirror, before he went out into the barroom.
He didn’t want this dude to think he was an easy lay just because he took his clothes off in public for money. On the other hand, it was always smart to be friendly to the paying customers. A gay bar wanted to have a reputation for hiring employees who were approachable.
Dan went over to the black-haired man’s table and caught his eye. “Mind if I sit down?”
“Please do.”
“Phil—the manager—said you asked him about me.”
“I certainly did. Thanks for coming over to keep me company.” The man’s manner was light, friendly, and not at all pushy. “What’ll you have to drink?”
“Vodka and tonic, I guess. Thanks.”
The shirtless waiter, a young guy Phil kept on the payroll mostly to supply some eye candy for the customers in addition to the strip acts, was already approaching the table, and he was smiling seductively at the black-haired patron in anticipation of earning a big tip of his own. The man gave the kid their drink order, and then he turned his attention back to Dan.
“I’m Mitch.”
“Dan.”
“I already knew that,” Mitch pointed. “From when they announced you. Or is that just your stage name?”
“No, it’s my real name. I don’t have enough show business aspirations to need a stage name. I have a day job. I only do this to make a little extra money.”
“Well, you do it very well. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
They shook hands, a bit formally, it seemed to Dan, given the circumstances. Mitch had a firm handshake. He seemed masculine, which Dan liked in another man. Like any gay bar, The Tool Shed attracted its share of young twinks and fluttery old queens. Its core clientele, though, tended to be blue collar and macho, and those were the kind of gay men in whose company Dan felt most comfortable. He preferred a gay man to be as much like a straight man as possible. Well—except in bed, of course!
Dan knew he was expected to make small talk. “I don’t recall seeing you in here before, Mitch.”
“You haven’t. It’s my first time. I’m in town on business. I’m staying at that motel right down the road.”
“Oh, yeah. I know that place.” Dan didn’t see any need to be more specific—to volunteer the information that he’d been known to accompany the motel’s guests back to their rooms.
“It’s kind of a dump, but it’s good enough as a bed for the night. There’s not much of a gay nightlife in this town, is there?”
“I guess there is if you know where to look.”
“I was told this is a good bar. A good pickup place,” Mitch specified.
“It is—from what I’ve observed, working here.”
Mitch smiled. “Not from what you’ve experienced directly, coming here when you’re not working?”
“Hey, you and I just met,” Dan protested. “I can’t be expected to let you in on all of my guilty secrets, not all at once.”
“Fair enough.” Their drinks arrived, and Dan noticed that Mitch gave the waiter a generous tip. This was promising. “Are you going to go on again?” Mitch asked.
“No, I’m done for the night.”
“Too bad. I wouldn’t mind seeing you in action again.”
“I can only stay for this one drink. I have to get home to my wife.” Dan deliberately spoke casually, but he waited to see Mitch’s reaction.
The other man, however, seemed neither surprised nor discouraged by the revelation of Dan’s marital status.
“Is she waiting up for you?” he asked.
“Probably.”
“How does she feel about you working here?”
“She’s fine with it.”
“That’s interesting. Some women wouldn’t be. She doesn’t get bothered, or jealous, at the thought of you showing off your body for a lot of gay guys, and them coming on to you?”
“Not much,” Dan said. “It’s not a big problem for her.”
Mitch smiled. “Because you’re not gay?”
“Because I’m strictly gay for pay.”
“I see.”
“Does that bother you?” Dan asked.
“Not at all. I find it kind of intriguing, in fact. Stimulating.”
“Do you like straight guys?”
“I like them as long as they don’t insist on being too straight. You know, in bed.”
“I know exactly what you mean. Most men—even supposedly straight men—aren’t going to turn down a good blow job, for example, if they can get it.”
“Most men—if they’ve got any sense and aren’t hung up on labels like gay and straight—won’t turn down a lot more than just a blow job, once they’ve given it a try.” Mitch met Dan’s gaze, looking at him in a way that was decidedly appraising, and making no attempt to disguise the nature of his scrutiny. “What about you, Dan? Are you open-minded?”
“Very much so, I hope.”
“That’s good to hear. Would you be open-minded enough to want to go back to my motel room with me and fool around for a little while? If I made it worth your while, of course.”
Not expecting a proposition quite so soon, Dan was taken by surprise, and he stalled for time. “I don’t know. It is kind of late, and I really should be thinking about heading home.”
“Where your wife is waiting for you, with a light burning in the window,” Mitch said, humorously.
“That’s about the size of it.”
“But somehow I have this feeling that you’ve been known to keep her waiting, occasionally.”
“Sometimes.”
“For the right price,” Mitch suggested. “You being gay for pay, as you said.”
“Yeah.”
“How’d you like to make another fifty dollars tonight?”
“I’d like it a lot better if I could make seventy-five … or a hundred.”
Mitch wasn’t deterred, from the looks of it. “For fifty bucks, I’d expect to take care of you. For a hundred, I’d expect you to take care of me, too.”
“No problem.”
“No offense, but I don’t have much use for the kind of guy who just lies there and goes through the motions. For a hundred, I’d like to see some enthusiasm. Feigned or otherwise,” Mitch added, wryly.
“You’d be surprised how much unfeigned enthusiasm I can come up with for a hundred bucks.”
“I may hold you to that, Dan. And of course, if you show me a really good time, then there’ll be a little extra in it for you. How about it? Do we have a deal?”
“Let me think about it while I finish my drink.”
“Give it some serious thought. Please.” There was an urgency in Mitch’s voice now, and the sound stroked Dan’s ego.
Mitch wanted him, Dan realized. Hell, most of the customers did! Usually it was a guy who wanted to even the score by cheating on his unfaithful boyfriend, or it was some basically shy but oversexed number who ass
umed that Dan would be more readily available than most studs because of the blatant sexuality he projected onstage. Sometimes Dan gave them the quick thrill they were looking for, leaving the bar with them for a private session. Afterward, he’d take the money and run.
Sometimes, though, he toyed with his prospective trick, half encouraging, half discouraging the guy, the way he’d just done with Mitch tonight, because he simply wasn’t sure he was up to it. Stripping was hard work, and so was performing sexually on demand. He really wanted to go home and get some sleep.
Still, a hundred bucks was a hundred bucks.
Mitch’s black eyes were still fixed on Dan, smoldering with raw desire for him. Dan wondered whether in fact the other man’s lust was directed more toward the lingering mental image of the naked man he’d seen up there on the stage, than toward Dan himself, the guy who was fully clothed and seated opposite him now. Maybe it didn’t really matter.
Dan sensed the power he held over his admirer. He knew from experience that these gay men were all alike. Once they set foot inside The Tool Shed and caught the strip acts, their blood rushed from their brains down into dicks, and their dicks did their thinking for them. This man might be a little more sophisticated than most, but underneath his urbane veneer the beast was lurking, eager to run free.
Tired though he was, Dan decided he’d be able to rise to the occasion. In his experience, cash was an infallible aphrodisiac.
“I have to make a quick phone call,” he told Mitch. “Why don’t you meet me outside?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll only be a minute.”
“Take your time,” Mitch said, although to Dan’s ears he didn’t sound particularly sincere. Mitch was obviously eager to get Dan alone, to have him all to himself. He got up and went toward the door.
Dan didn’t like to be seen leaving the bar with a customer. It might lead to gossip among the other employees. Phil had enough sense to keep his mouth shut about what he might see or overhear. Some of the guys who worked for him weren’t that street-smart. If Dan was going to turn tricks, he was damn well going to try to be as discreet as possible about it. And he did have to let his wife know he’d be late.
He found a comparatively quiet corner of the barroom and pulled out his cell phone. It took several rings before there was an answer.
“Yeah?” Amber sounded sleepy.
“It’s me. Are you in bed?”
“Hell, yes. Where else would I be, at this time of night? Out somewhere with my rich boyfriend? Don’t I wish!”
“Sorry if I woke you up.”
“Never mind, honey. Where are you?”
“At the bar. I’ll be a little late getting home. Don’t wait up for me.”
“Are you with some guy?” Amber asked, bluntly.
“Yeah. Just some dude from out of town. He wants me to have a drink with him.”
“I’m sure that’s all he wants,” Amber retorted, in a tone of voice now heavy with sarcasm. “Well, for God’s sake be careful, and don’t be too long.”
“I won’t be. See you soon.”
As he turned off the phone and headed toward the door, Dan felt a little flustered. He could feel his face warming with embarrassment. Amber knew perfectly well what he was up to. Dan didn’t know why he should be coy about it, and pretend he was just “having a drink” with this new acquaintance of his. Somehow, though, not verbalizing it explicitly made him feel like less of a whore.
Mitch was waiting for him outside the bar. “Everything all right?” he asked.
“Sure.”
“You don’t have to rush off and get home by a certain time?”
“Not really.”
“Good. I like to take my time. Let’s go.”
Their cars were parked near each other in the bar’s parking lot. Dan followed Mitch the short distance to the motel. As he pulled into the motel’s parking lot, Dan caught himself stifling a yawn. But he could already feel his fatigue fading, and being replaced by a growing sexual anticipation which energized his body all over again. He wasn’t feeling too mentally alert at the moment, but brain power wasn’t the most important requirement for the task at hand.
Just get it up and keep it up, he told himself. That’s all this guy expects from you! And you’re good at that. You’ve never let a paying customer down, yet!
The motel room was in more or less the condition that Dan had anticipated. When Mitch ushered him inside it and turned on the lamp on the small built-in desk against one wall, Dan saw that the bed was already turned down, with the pillows indented and the inexpensive white sheets rumpled. Mitch had made himself at home, leaving his luggage shoved in one corner and some articles of clothing draped over the back of a chair.
On the nightstand were a box of condoms, a bottle of silicone gel sex lubricant, and a bottle of whiskey—the latter with its tape seal still intact.
“Looks like you were expecting company,” Dan joked.
Mitch smiled. “I was never a Boy Scout, but I do believe in being prepared. I hoped I’d get lucky at The Tool Shed—and I sure did. I think I brought home the prize.”
This was flattering, and Dan was grateful that Mitch now seemed quite relaxed and comfortable with the situation—not anxious and jumpy, the way some johns could be.
“Want a drink?” Mitch asked, gesturing toward the whiskey bottle.
“Sure.”
“I’ll go get us some ice. There’s a machine outside the office.”
“I know where it is,” Dan said, without thinking. “I’ll get it, if you want.”
Mitch smiled. “No, you stay put. You’re my guest.”
Mitch took the plastic ice bucket with him, and Dan made himself useful by opening the whiskey bottle and removing the cellophane wrappers from the two plastic drinking glasses on the desk. Mitch, he realized yet again, was no cheapskate. The whiskey was an expensive imported brand.
When Mitch returned with the filled ice bucket, he set it down, and then he looked at Dan somewhat quizzically.
“I suppose you’d like your money up front,” Mitch said, matter-of-factly.
“No, when we’re done will be all right. I would like some of this whiskey. It looks good.”
“Coming right up.” Mitch put ice in both glasses, and then he began to pour. “Say when.”
“Make mine a stiff one.”
Mitch laughed. “A man after my own heart. Cheers.”
They touched glasses, and drank.
“Oh, this is good stuff,” Dan declared.
“I’m glad you like it. Drink up. I like to treat myself at the end of a long, hard day, before I go to sleep. I like to treat myself to a decent drink … to a sexy man … and to a nice dick.”
Dan smiled. He sat down on the edge of the bed. He leaned backward and spread his legs, cradling his glass against his chest with both hands. He could feel himself getting excited. His cock was stirring inside his pants, and he knew that Mitch was aware of the fact. The other man was looking at him with undisguised admiration, checking him out.
“Well, this is definitely a decent drink. Am I a sexy man?” Dan coached.
“You know you are. You’re beautiful.”
“And I do have a nice dick, if I do say so myself.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed that. The way it was on display back there in the bar made it hard to overlook. Tell me something, Dan. Do you like it when men look at you like that? When they admire you? Do you enjoy showing off for them?”
“Yeah, I enjoy it. I love it,” Dan admitted.
“And do you enjoy it when you allow them not just to look, but to touch?”
“I enjoy that, too—when the other guy knows what he’s doing. I bet you know how to show another guy a good time, Mitch.”
Mitch chuckled. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. I have every intention of proving you correct.” Peering over the rim of his glass as he drank, he gave Dan a rather searching look. “Do you know what I do for a living, Dan?”
; “I have no idea.”
“I didn’t want to mention it until we’d, ah, clinched our deal, so to speak. I didn’t want you to think I was trying to impress you, to lure you into bed. But the fact is, my lover and I both work for a gay porn studio, in Los Angeles. He’s a producer, and I handle distribution.”
“Oh, really.”
Mitch laughed. “I can see you don’t believe me. I imagine you’ve heard too many guys try to bullshit you with similar lines. But in my case, it’s no act. Here’s one of my business cards.” He handed it over. “Check me out. Ask people if they recognize my name, and go ahead and look me up on the Internet. You’ll find out I’m legit. Technically, I’m not in charge of casting. But everybody who works for the studio is encouraged to keep his eye open for new talent. When we see a good-looking guy on the street, or in a bar, a guy who seems to have potential, we hand him a card and tell him to fill out our online application and submit it. Quite a few guys have got started in the industry that way. I think you’d be a natural. And several of the men who work for us are ‘gay for pay,’ and identify themselves as such. It’s almost a selling point, because some viewers are turned on by the thought of watching a straight guy having sex with other guys. I’m quite serious, Dan. Think it over, and if you ever decide you’re interested, give me a call and I’ll see what I can set up.”
“But I already have a job. A day job, plus this stripping gig.”
“Well, you don’t work your regular job on weekends, do you? And as for The Tool Shed, I imagine Phil could spare you for one weekend. We could fly you out to LA on a Friday evening and you can come back on the Sunday afternoon. We’d pay for that, and we’d put you up, either in a motel—nothing fancy, about like this place—or you could stay with me and my boyfriend. We have a decent house, if I do say so myself, with plenty of room. And we’d feed you, so your only out-of-pocket expenses would be incidentals. I assume your wife would be okay with you being out of town for a weekend—so long as you were working, to bring home some money?”
Strictly Gay for Pay Page 2
