Middle Men

The phone on the nightstand next to me suddenly rings, and I damn near have a heart attack. I pick up the receiver. “Hello, Roger?” a baritone voice asks.

“Yes?” I say.

“This is Doug. I’m stuck in traffic and I’ll be about fifteen minutes late. Is that okay?”

I take a deep breath. “Yeah, sure. No problem.”

“Room Twenty-eight, right?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“Great, see you in a little while.” Doug hangs up.

I glance at the clock on the nightstand. It’s a quarter to ten. Zero hour is now pushed back to thirty minutes. I still can’t believe I’m doing this. All during the sales seminar today, all I could think about was what it was going to be like with Doug tonight. I mean, hell, I don’t even know what the protocol is in something like this. Do we make conversation first? Do I just tell Doug what I want him to do? Do I pay him up front, or afterward? When I finally hear a knock on the door, I seriously consider not answering it. But my Midwestern politeness wins out. I put my head between my knees, take a deep breath and then get up and open the door, my heart pounding hard enough to wake the dead.

Doug stands framed in the doorway, dressed in jeans and a light blue tank top that hugs his torso like a second skin. He doesn’t look real. In fact, he looks something like a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day balloon, biceps pumped up like cannonballs, pecs that threaten to rip his shirt open, shoulders like a fuckin’ bull’s. I have never in my life seen a man so muscular. He regards me with calm, blue eyes.

“Hi, Roger,” he says, holding out his hand.

“Hi,” I say back. We shake hands. Doug’s grip is firm but cautious; as if he knows that he could squeeze my hand to a pulp and is making an effort not to do so. He walks into the room and looks around. He has the air of returning to familiar surroundings.

“You’ve been in this room before?” I ask.

Doug smiles. “A couple of times.”

Okayyyy, I think. Doug has the corn-yellow hair and broad face of the Swede farmers I see back in Green Bay. His hands are the size of dinner plates. He sits in a chair, crossing his right ankle over his left knee. I sit opposite him. We look at each other.

“So, Roger,” he says. “What brings you to L.A.?”

I clear my throat. “A sales seminar. I work for a publishing firm in Wisconsin. We do inspirational books like Losing the Loser Within You. That was a big seller. Maybe you heard of it?”

Doug smiles blandly and shakes his head. “Sorry,” he says.

“How about Be a Winner, Not a Whiner? We killed with that book.”

Doug shrugs. “I’m not much into reading,” he says.

A silence lies between us like a dead flounder. “You ever been in L.A. before?” Doug asks.

I grab at the conversational line he throws me. “No. In fact, I’ve never been out of Wisconsin before.” I clear my throat. “I’ve never done this, either. You know...”

“Hire an escort?” Doug gives a slow, lazy smile.

“Yeah.” I let a beat go by. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” Doug just sits there, looking at me calmly. “I flew in last night,” I go on, speaking faster now. “And I picked up this gay paper at a bar across from the motel. And there were all these ads in the back. All these hot guys for sale. I never saw anything like it!” I glance at Doug. “It was just a spur of the moment thing. Here I was, loose in this city, and I just wanted to do something I’d never done before. Something crazy.”

“Cool,” Doug says. He looks bored.

“I’m sorry to talk so much. I’m kind of nervous.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Doug says. He stands up and nods to the bed. “Shall we get started?”

“Yeah, sure,” I say. I hesitate. “But, could you...”

“Yeah?” Doug asks.

I swallow. “Could you put on a strip show for me? Just let me watch you as you take everything off?”

Doug grins. “Yeah, Roger. Sure.” He hooks his thumbs under his tank top and slowly peels it off. His torso is cut and sliced so that every sinew is out there on display. Amazing. His nipples stand out like little pink fireplugs. Doug kicks off his shoes and pulls his socks off. He unbuckles his belt, pulls down his zipper and slides his jeans down thighs as solid as tree trunks. He’s wearing white cotton briefs underneath. The bulge in them lives up to the promise of his huge hands.

He steps toward me. “Okay, Roger,” he says, stopping in front of me. “You do the rest.” He stands so close to me that I can feel the heat rising from his body. After a couple of beats, I hook my fingers under the elastic band of Doug’s briefs and slowly pull them down, past his dark-blond, neatly clipped pubes, past the thick base of his cock, past inch after inch of the fat, pink shaft that follows. Fascinated, I trace the course of a vein until I get to the ridge of Doug’s cockhead. The thin cotton fabric snags on that briefly and then clears it. Doug’s half-hard dick springs up and sways slowly in front of my face.

“Jesus,” I mutter.

Doug’s dick is fat and spongy and candy pink, with blue veins snaking up the shaft. His cockhead flares out into a rubbery, red fist of flesh. Doug shakes his hips and his cock swings from side to side in a slow, pendulous motion. His ball sac hangs low, furred by a light dusting of blond hair, the right nut lower than the left.

“You like it?” Doug asks.

I look up into his wide, blue eyes. “Hell, yeah.”

Doug turns and walks back to his chair. His ass is high and firm, the color of pale cream, the crack a thin, tight line. He sits down; his legs spread apart, his balls hanging so low they cover the crack of his ass. “Come here,” he says gruffly.

I slide out of my chair and crawl across the carpeted floor to Doug. He sits still, his eyes fixed on me. I reach up and run my hands up his thighs, feeling the hard muscled flesh under my fingertips.

“Yeah,” Doug breathes, “that’s right, go for it.” I lean forward and bury my nose in the soft fleshiness of Doug’s ball sac and inhale deeply. A scent of musk and fresh sweat fills my nostrils and flows down into my lungs. The scent is strong and heady, and if the evening consisted of nothing but me sniffing Doug’s balls, I’d be content. I press my lips against the loose folds of the fleshy pouch and tongue it, sucking on one ball and then the other as Doug rubs his cock over my face.

Doug raises his legs and exposes the pink pucker of his asshole to me. I tongue that too, something I’ve never done before. I slide my tongue past his balls and up the thick shaft, as I reach up and squeeze his nipples. Doug’s body squirms under me. “You can squeeze harder,” he murmurs, and I increase the pressure of my fingers. I push my tongue into Doug’s piss slit, tasting the drop of precum that dribbles out, and then slide his cock into my mouth, nibbling down the shaft until my chin presses against his balls.

Doug lays his hands on either side of my head and proceeds to fuck my mouth with long, deep strokes. His dick widens at the base, and each time it slides down my throat, my lips pull back. I look up across the expanse of muscled flesh into Doug’s light blue eyes. Doug regards me calmly as he pushes his hips up and fucks my face. This is just another day at the office for him, I think. How fuckin’ strange!

I pull his cock out of my mouth. “I would love you to suck my dick,” I say, without any real hope that Doug will do so. But Doug pushes himself out of the chair and stands up, pulling me up with him. He undoes my belt, pulls down my fly and tugs my pants down past my hips. Doug kisses me lightly on the mouth and then kneels in front of me, wrapping his huge hand around my dick, stroking it slowly. He bends his head down, and I feel his lips work their way down the length of my shaft. Doug bobs his head faster, jacking me with his hand as his mouth slides up and down the shaft. I run my hands through his thick, yellow hair.

“Fuuuck,” I groan. Doug gives great head. He presses his lips tightly around my shaft and twists his head from side to side, sucking me off with genuine enthusiasm. I arch my back, eyes shut tight, feeling him draw me closer to orgasm. I push him away just before I shoot.

“Not yet!” I gasp.

Doug looks up at me, his eyes bright. “Let me fuck you,” he growls.

“Sure,” I say, laughing.

It just takes a minute for Doug to grease up and sheathe himself. I pull him onto the bed, on top of me, and he slings my legs around his torso as I guide his dick to my asshole. He slides his dick in all the way until I can feel his balls press against me. Doug starts pumping his hips, slowly at first, but then with increasing tempo. There’s a mirror that runs across the length of the wall next to the bed, and I watch Doug’s reflection fuck mine, his smooth, dimpled ass pumping up and down, his dick sliding in and out of my asshole. Doug’s face is inches above mine, and I turn and meet his gaze, looking deep into his eyes. Doug is fucking me with a hard, driving energy, his balls slapping against my ass with an audible thwack, but his eyes keep that same deep, level calm as they peer into mine. I crane my neck upward and kiss him, and Doug slides his tongue into my mouth. I stroke my dick in time with his thrusts, bringing myself to the brink of shooting, but holding back, waiting for him. Sweat trickles down his face and drips down on me, his eyes are hard and deadly serious now, his lips pulled back into a soundless snarl.

“I want to watch you squirt your load,” I pant, and Doug nods. A few more thrusts and he quickly pulls out of me.

“Here it comes,” he growls, pulling the condom off his dick. He straddles my chest as his dick squirts its load hard against my face, one blast after another. I open my mouth as the thick drops rain down on me, onto my cheeks and chin and eager tongue. A few strokes trigger my own orgasm, and I cry out as my spunk pulses out and sprays Doug’s back.

Doug looks down at me, grinning. When the last spasm passes through me, he rolls off onto his side and kisses me lightly.

“Well,” he says. “Did you have fun?”

I just laugh, without saying anything.

The next morning, at the seminar, while the other students learn about marketing strategies for midsized publishing companies, I sit in the back and pore over the escort ads of the gay newspaper, hidden away in my course manual. I’m in the grip of some crazy, wild energy; it’s like I’m possessed.

I make a phone call during the class break and that night, I’m visited by Carlos, who describes himself in his ad as “a punk with attitude.” Carlos is short and muscular and theatrically contemptuous, with dark eyes that burn with a bright cynicism in his brown, handsome face. He wears a gold cross around his neck; his left bicep is tattooed with a big-titted, naked woman riding a crescent moon, and his left with Santa Guadalupe. Carlos fucks me mercilessly, spewing out a steady torrent of abuse. “You like that, cocksucker?” he growls, as he thrusts deep into my ass. “That feel good, you pussy bitch?” He’s like a goddamn force of nature, his hands all over me, his thrusts deep and sure, his liquid, dark eyes glaring down into mine. When I finally come, groaning loudly, Carlos startles me by placing his mouth over mine and tonguing me fiercely. The orgasm that sweeps over me lifts me up like a swelling breaker and slams me down hard against the mattress. When Carlos shoots his own load into the condom up my ass, he thrashes wildly in the bed, tearing the blankets off, crying out in Spanish. He leaves fifteen minutes later with my money stuffed in his back jeans pocket, slamming the door.

When I scan the escort ads the next day in class, my eye snags on Spike: Trailer Trash from Hell. His photo lives up to the heading: stringy, long hair; two-day beard stubble; a surly scowl; a lanky, tattooed, muscle-packed body with just the first fringe of pubes before the photo crop. He’s hot in an inbred sort of way, like the slow-witted, scary-looking but hunky third cousin you always find at a big family reunion, the one who works for a living scraping up road kill. I dial the number listed in the ad as soon as I get back to my motel room.

Spike picks up on the third ring. “Yeah?” The voice is deep and pure Tennessee backwoods.

“I’m calling about your ad,” I say, putting some attitude into my voice. “You mind if I ask a few questions?”

“Shoot,” Spike says. He sounds...not bored, just not all that concerned about selling himself to me.

“Well, I guess I’d like to know what I’d get for my money.”

Pause. “Well, what do ya want?”

“Do you make out?”

“Sure. Unless you’re really gross. That doesn’t happen often.”

I decide to cut to the chase. “Would you suck my dick?”

“Yeah,” Spike says. “Probably.”

“Let me fuck you?”

“No,” Spike says. “I don’t do that. But I’ll plow your ass if you want. Plow it good.”

I have my dick out, stroking it. “Would you sit on my chest and beat off for me? Drop your balls in my mouth and let me wash them with my tongue?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Spike says. There’s an edge of impatience to his voice. “You can suck on my balls for as long as you like.”

I’m stroking faster now. “How about fucking my mouth nice and slow? Then squirting a load on my face and licking it off?”

“Hey, are you jerking off?”

“No,” I say, pulling my hand away from my dick. “I’m just trying to get some information.”

“Yeah, right. If you want to set up an appointment, fine. But if you want to fuckin’ whack off over the phone, call the sex hotline.”

I let a beat go by. “How about tonight?”

“It’s possible. What time?”

“How about eleven?”

“Yeah, that’ll work.”

“Okay.”

“Cool. Where you at?”

“Room Twenty-eight at the Palms Motel at La Cienega and Hollywood. You know it?”

“Yeah. It’s a dump. I’ll see you then. By the way, my fee is two hundred dollars.”

“Yeah, sure. No problem.”

I hang up and sit on the bed, looking at my reflection in the mirror. You are one crazy, out-of-control fucker, I think.

The man’s standing over by the cigarette machine, nursing a Bud. He’s wearing a black tank top and his bicep rounds nicely as he brings the bottle to his lips. The light is dim, and it’s hard to guess his age...late twenties maybe. He’s wearing sideburns, and his black hair is short and spiky. He looks good.

It’s a little after ten, and I’m in a bar on Santa Monica Boulevard, in West Hollywood, killing time until my appointment with Spike. The sound system is blaring some hip-hop shit, and I can barely think, the music’s so loud. The guy by the cigarette machine has been eying me now for the last twenty minutes. Damn if it doesn’t look like he’s coming on to me, but I’m finding that hard to believe; there are younger, better-looking guys packed in the crowd around me. Yet, when he sees me returning his stare, he raises his bottle to me in a toast and smiles. After a couple of minutes, he threads through the crowd to the spot next to me.

“Howdy,” he says.

“Hi,” I reply cautiously. Up close, he looks older and scruffier, but still hot, his eyes dark and intense, the torso beneath the tank top lean and muscular.

“I’m Randy,” he says, holding out his hand.

We shake hands. “I’m Roger,” I say.

Randy flashes me a smile. He’s missing an eyetooth. I don’t know why, but I find that sexier than if he had a set of perfect teeth. “You don’t look like you belong here,” he says. “You look like you’re from out of town.” He lets a beat go by. “And lonely.”

“Oh, yeah?” I say, not denying either.

Randy’s smile widens, becomes more intimate. Yet his eyes keep their shrewdness. “I thought you might like some company.”

“Well, maybe,” I say. I quickly scan his body. This is too good to be true, I think.

I’m right. “My rates are reasonable,” Randy says, still smiling. He puts his hand on my thigh and squeezes gently. “And I’ll show you a good time for sure.”

Sweet Jesus, I think. Is there anyone in this city who just has sex for the fun of it?

“Well, I don’t know,” I say. “I kind of have other plans later on tonight.”

Randy’s hand slides down my thigh and cups my hard dick. “Why don’t you break them?” he said.

I glance at my watch. It’s almost ten thirty. Spike’s probably already on his way. “No,” I say. “It’s too late.” I give Randy a level look, taking in the tight body, the seedy handsomeness. My dick is pushing against my jeans, and I do not feel like walking away from the wild little scene this could turn into. Randy returns my stare and gives me a gap-tooth smile. “Tell me, Randy,” I ask. “Are you into threesomes?”

“Fuck, yeah,” Randy says.

We get back to the motel room around a quarter to eleven. When I close the door, I make sure it’s unlocked. I pull Randy toward me and we kiss. Randy’s breath smells of cigarettes and beer. His tongue snakes into my mouth and his hand slides under my shirt and squeezes my nipple. He breaks away. “I thought this was going to be a threeway,” he says.

I run my hands up his muscular torso, tugging on the hard flesh. I look up at him. “Yeah, well, we’re just warming up until my buddy gets here.” I unzip Randy’s fly and slowly pull down his jeans. Randy’s not wearing any underwear, and his dick springs up, half hard, dark and uncut, the dripping knob peeking out from the puckered foreskin. His balls hang tight and plump, shaved smooth. Fuckin’ beautiful, I think. I wrap my hand around his dick, pull the foreskin back and give a squeeze. A clear drop of prejizz oozes out, and I lean forward and lap it up, rolling my tongue around the dark, fleshy head, probing into the slit. I work my lips slowly down Randy’s shaft, feeling it stir and harden in my mouth.

“Yeah,” Randy sighs. “That’s right. Work my dick.” He holds my head in his hands and thrusts his hips forward, sliding his dick down my throat. I run my hands over his asscheeks, squeezing them as he fucks my mouth, feeling them clench and unclench with each thrust of his hips. Randy pushes me back onto the bed and drops his balls in my mouth. I suck on them as Randy rubs his dick all over my face.

I go back to sucking his dick again, pulling off my clothes as he fucks my mouth with slow, easy thrusts. When I’m naked too, I pivot around on the bed. Randy takes the hint and slides his lips down my hard dick as I continue to suck him off. All I can see is Randy’s ball sac hanging above my face, all I can feel is his thick dick sliding down my throat and his hot mouth working my own dick. Randy’s finger presses against my asshole and then enters it, knuckle by knuckle. I groan loudly, my voice muffled by a mouth full of cock.

There’s a knock on the door. Randy looks up expectantly. I take his dick out of my mouth. “Come in,” I call out.

The door opens, and Spike stands in the doorway, looking at the two of us with narrowed eyes. He’s wearing an old Navy flight jacket, tattered 501s and a pair of snakeskin boots. I train my eyes on him. Spike steps in and closes the door behind him, takes off his jacket and lets it drop to the floor. He’s wearing a wife-beater shirt, which hugs a lean, muscled torso. Wordlessly, he balances on one foot and pulls off a boot, and then does the same with the other foot, his long, stringy hair falling into his face as he bends over. I glance at Randy and see him taking Spike in with a cool, level gaze. By the way his dick twitches I can tell he’s as excited about this new development as I am.

Spike walks toward the bed, shedding clothes with every step. By the time he reaches us, he’s buck naked. He still doesn’t say anything, just grabs my head and pulls it toward his crotch. I bury my face in his balls, breathing in their stink, and then take his still-soft dick in my mouth. It hardens as I work my tongue around it. Spike holds on to my head and starts mouth-fucking me with short, quick jabs.

Spike’s skin is pale, and his dick is like a peeled tuber, a thick fleshy root with blue veins snaking up the shaft. The cockhead flares out like a red toadstool, the piss slit deep and pronounced. It’s an evil dick, a dick that no decent, civilized man would ever have, and I could happily spend the rest of my life with it crammed hard down my throat. Spike obligingly plows my mouth with that horse dick, thrusting full in and churning his hips. My nose is pressed up against his pubes, and I’m gagging for air. He proceeds to face-fuck me mercilessly, until my eyes start tearing and my jaws ache. His balls hang low in a meaty, red pouch, and they slap against my face with each thrust.

I have to break away for breath, and Randy spells me off on Spike’s dick. Randy may be playing for pay, but he throws himself into deep-throating Spike with a full-throttled enthusiasm, swallowing Spike’s dick whole as Spike pumps his hips. I lean back on my elbows and take in the hot, sexy show they’re putting on for me.

“Stand up,” I say. Spike and Randy stand in front of me, hands at their sides, their hard dicks twitching, one cut, one uncut. They take turns fucking my face; first Randy, with deep, long strokes, then Spike with his piston thrusts. My hands wander over their bodies as I work their dicks, tugging on their flesh, tweaking their nipples, squeezing their asses. I take both their dicks into my mouth at the same time; my lips stretched wide, my tongue rolling over the thick shafts, feeling the rubbery cockheads pushing against each other.

Spike pulls his dick out and gives me a mean, yellow-eyed stare. “You got rubbers?” he growls. This is the first time he’s said something. His voice is sandpaper on rusty iron.

“Yeah,” I gasp. “Over on the dresser. There’s a jar of lube, too.”

Spike walks over toward the dresser. “I’m done fuckin’ face,” he says over his shoulder. “It’s time to plow some ass.”

It only takes a minute before I’m on the bed; face down in the pillow, ass up. I can feel Spike’s lube-slicked finger slide down the crack of my asshole. It pushes against my pucker and then enters me.

“Fuuuuck!” I groan.

Spike twists his finger as he slides it up to the third knuckle. “You like that, motherfucker?”

“Fuck, yeah,” I groan again.

Spike pulls his finger out and then thrusts two in. He curls them inside me, and then corkscrews them in and out. I give out a cry that dies down to a trailing moan.

“Okay, motherfucker,” he says. “I’m goin’ to fuck your asshole raw now.” I turn my head and watch as Spike rolls a condom down that evil dick of his and greases it up good. He pushes me onto my back, grabs my ankles and slowly impales me.

“Aw, fuck, easy, man,” I gasp.

“Just take it like I give it,” Spike grunts. He pushes on in until his dick is full up my chute. I feel like I have about two feet of cock crammed in me. Spike’s holding my ankles, spreading my legs wide as he pauses for a moment. He slowly pulls his dick out until I can feel the ridge of the head rub against my asshole and then thrusts full in again. I groan once more. “Yeah, suffer,” Spike snarls. He picks up his speed, fucking me hard and fast, his balls bouncing against my ass. Randy joins the fun, squatting down and dropping his plump balls into my mouth as he slaps my face with his hard dick. He pulls his balls out and slides his dick into my mouth. It eases in like butter on a hot skillet; I can’t get enough of it, and I suck and slobber over it as I wrap my hand around my dick and start jacking.

I sink into the feeling of sweaty bodies pressed against mine, hands stroking my flesh, dicks pummeling me. Everything is sensation: my holes stuffed by these hot fuckers, the feel of sweat-slicked flesh on flesh, the tingles that ripple up from my cock each time I fuck my lube-smeared fist... I turn my head and look into the mirror beside my bed, watching my reflection get stuffed with cock from both ends by these two hot, sleazy guys. A thought flashes through my head before it gets drowned out by the next wave of sensations. Holy shit! I think. For once in my life I’m finally getting enough dick! And it’s true! It seems like I’ve been craving dick every moment of my life, and this is the first time I’m feeling...truly...fuckin’...satisfied.

Randy squeezes Spike’s nipple, and they lean over me and give each other a lingering kiss. Spike is making little sex noises now, whimpers and grunts that become louder with each thrust. He gives a hard, deep thrust and lets fly with a long, dragged-out moan as his cock slides up my ass. I reach behind and tug on his balls. They’re pulled up tight and full to bursting.

“You about ready to squirt, buddy?” Randy asks hoarsely.

“Yeah,” Spike growls. “I could pop any second.”

“Fuckin’ A, man,” Randy murmurs. “Me, too.”

Spike pulls his dick almost completely out, just to the tip of the head, and then, with a long, hard thrust, slides full in me. I squeeze my ass muscles tight, pushing up to meet Spike’s thrust. Spike groans mightily, and his body shudders against me. He churns his hips hard, and I can feel his dick pulse inside me, pumping its load of jizz into my ass. “Ahh, yeah, geez,” he groans. With a few quick strokes, my groans mingle with Spike’s and my load squirts out between my closed fingers.

Randy pulls his dick out of my mouth and starts jacking. “Damn!” he sighs, and the first volley of spunk squirts out against my face, followed by another, and another still. “Yeah, fucker,” Spike growls, twisting Randy’s nipple as Randy shoots his wad. Randy arches his back, and his body spasms with each spurt. His thick load sluggishly drips down my cheeks and chin, and Randy bends down and licks my face clean. I stare up at the two naked men kissing each other as their dicks slowly soften. A thread of cum dangles from Spike’s cockhead. It’s all one fuckin’ hot sight.

After a short while, Spike and Randy climb out of bed and pull on their clothes. Spike glances over at Randy as he thrusts his arm into his bomber jacket. “You wanna go get a beer?” he asks.

Randy grins. “Okay.” They wait as I pay them, and then walk out of the room together.

The following Monday, Jerry, my boss, walks into my office. “So how was the seminar, Roger?” he asks. “Did you learn anything useful?”

“Yeah,” I say. “It was very productive.” I slide a brochure lying on my desk toward him. “In fact, there’s going to be another, more advanced training seminar a couple of months from now. It might be a good idea for me to go.”

“We’ll see,” Jerry says, looking at the brochure. But Jerry’s a sucker for these seminars, and I’m pretty sure he’ll bite. After he leaves, I pull the gay newspaper out from my briefcase and turn back to the escort ads, already fantasizing about who I’m going to pick the next time around.