Show-Offs

When I heard the apartment door open I stopped cold. Christopher Melon had returned home earlier than usual, and the sound of two male voices entering the apartment told me he wasn’t alone. I stood in his master bedroom dressed all in black, a thick wad of his cash in one pocket, several expensive pieces of his jewelry in another.

The apartment had two exits—the door from the hallway through which Christopher and his guest had entered and the sliding glass door leading to the balcony through which I had entered twenty minutes earlier. The only path to either exit was through the living room where, from the sound of things, Christopher was preparing drinks at the wet bar.

My pulse raced and I struggled to keep my breathing steady. I had never before been trapped in a residence I was burglarizing. The closest I had ever come was more than a decade earlier, when I’d been younger and less cautious. I’d slipped out the back door of a Tudor in the Heights just as the homeowners entered through the front.

I ventured a glance into the living room. Slim, dishwater-blond, impeccably groomed Christopher stood with his back to me. His guest, a slightly older, dark-haired man with broad shoulders and thick arms barely contained by the sleeves of his Polo shirt, stood staring into Christopher’s eyes. Both held drinks.

Christopher was a regular at the Cock and Bull, one of several establishments I frequented in search of appropriate marks, but his guest was unfamiliar. When the older man wet his lips with the tip of his tongue and ran the backs of his fingers down Christopher’s cheek, I knew I didn’t have much time. Christopher immediately placed his unfinished drink on an end table, took his guest’s hand and turned in my direction. As they approached the bedroom I backed away from the door and slipped into the walk-in closet. I left the door open a fraction of an inch so I could peek through the crack and see what was happening.

The two men didn’t waste any time. They barely made it into the bedroom before the bigger man pushed Christopher against the wall only inches from the closet door. He covered Christopher’s mouth with his, and one hand groped the smaller man’s crotch. Christopher’s slender hands fumbled with the bigger man’s belt, button and zipper and soon freed his long, thick-shafted erection.

They spun around so that the dark-haired man’s back was against the wall and Christopher dropped to his knees on the carpet before him. He wrapped both hands around the thick cock jutting in front of his face and took the spongy soft mushroom cap into his mouth. He licked, he sucked and then he drew in another inch of the bigger man’s shaft.

That wasn’t enough for the bigger man. He grabbed the back of Christopher’s head and thrust his hips forward, sinking the entire length of his cock into Christopher’s oral cavity. I expected Christopher to gag, but he didn’t, unexpectedly impressing me. Then the bigger man drew his hips back until just his cockhead remained in Christopher’s mouth before he pushed forward again. His heavy ball sac bounced off Christopher’s chin, and he did it again and again.

As I watched the dark-haired man face-fuck Christopher so close to me I could have reached out of the closet and touched them, my cock began to thicken and rise. I carefully shifted position to untangle it from my briefs.

The bigger man’s hips began pumping faster and then he suddenly stopped with his cock buried deep inside Christopher’s mouth. I watched Christopher’s Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed wad after wad of the bigger man’s cum, and I swallowed hard, too, because I almost came in my shorts.

When Christopher finally pulled away, a thin string of cum stretched from his lips to the bigger man’s rapidly deflating cock until it finally snapped as Christopher stood.

The two men stepped away from the wall and out of my line of sight until I realized I could see the entire bedroom reflected in the mirror hung above the dresser. I watched as they stripped off their clothes. Christopher had the light, all-over tan of someone who spent time in a tanning booth. Though his face, neck and arms were the leather-brown of someone who spent a lot of time outdoors, Christopher’s guest was eggshell white beneath his clothes, his only color provided by a light dusting of black body hair.

By the time they finished removing their clothes, the dark-haired man’s cock had begun to resume its former stature. Christopher reached into his nightstand and retrieved a partially used tube of lube. He handed it to his guest and then lay back on the bed. His guest lay beside him and opened the tube. After he slathered lube between Christopher’s asscheeks and on his own thick cock, he lifted the slender blond’s legs and nearly folded Christopher in half. Then he pressed his cockhead against Christopher’s lube-slathered sphincter and pressed forward until he buried his cock deep inside Christopher’s ass.

Christopher’s cock was trapped between them and, as the bigger man drew back and pressed forward, his abdomen rubbed against the underside of Christopher’s stiff shaft.

I was so excited I felt my underwear dampen with precum, and it took tremendous willpower not to pull my cock out and stroke it into submission. I didn’t dare though. I knew that getting caught in a man’s closet with his valuables in my pockets was bad, but getting caught in his closet with my hand wrapped around my valuables was infinitely worse. So, my erection and I waited patiently while the two men snuggled, fucked yet again and then snuggled more.

I waited a long time in that closet, until I was certain, from the sound of their breathing, that both men were asleep. Then I slipped from the bedroom, across the living room, out through the sliding glass door, and over the rail to the ground one floor below. My nondescript car, parked two blocks away, remained undisturbed.

Once home, I sat on the toilet, took my still-hard cock in my hand, and churned butter until I came with a rush that painted the back of the bathroom door with cum before I could catch it in the tissue I held in my free hand.

The next day I fenced Christopher’s jewelry, more valuable for its gold content than its craftsmanship, and pocketed the cash. That evening I took myself out for a steak dinner accompanied by a moderately priced bottle of wine and flirted with my handsome waiter. Tony had waited on me several times over the years I’d been dining at Carvello’s but was half of a committed relationship and had long ago made it clear that nothing would ever come of my flirtation.

Then I relaxed that evening at Leon’s, a dark neighborhood bar where I could enjoy myself without thinking about work. Other evenings in other bars led to other apartments and other homes. As nondescript as my car, I watched the pickups and kiss-offs, learning the routines of potential marks. I paid attention to who went home early and who remained until closing, who left alone and who left on the arm of another man, and who actually had money and who merely fronted. I followed the best marks, learned where they lived, and determined whose homes were easily accessible and whose were best avoided. Then, when I felt confident that I would have sufficient uninterrupted time, I visited some of those homes, leaving with hundreds and sometimes thousands of dollars worth of cash and easily fenced valuables.

And every time I was inside one of those homes without an invitation, I thought about what I’d seen in Christopher Melon’s apartment. I’d never thought of myself as the type of guy who liked to watch other men having sex—I hadn’t even watched porn since dropping out of junior college—but I frequently found myself churning butter while mentally replaying that scene.

I worked a circuit, never too many consecutive nights spent at the same bar, never at the same bar so often that bartenders and barflies recognized me, but often enough that I knew the routines of their most affluent regulars. Then one night I found myself back at the Cock and Bull, Christopher Melon’s favorite watering hole, and he was there, leaning against the bar, waiting to be approached. My cock twitched at the memory of Christopher giving his dark-haired guest a blow job only inches from me.

I plied Christopher with drinks, maybe even using his own money, and soon felt his hand between my thighs, cupping my balls and squeezing my tumescent cock through the material of my chinos. I already knew what he looked like naked, what he looked like with a cock in his mouth, and what he looked like in the throes of passion. What I didn’t know, until that moment, is what he felt like, and I liked the way my cock felt in his hand, even with layers of cloth between them. I watched his reflection in the mirror behind the bar, much like I had watched his reflection that night in his bedroom, and I suggested there might be somewhere private we could go.

Christopher removed his hand from my crotch, finished his drink and took me back to his apartment. Once inside he offered me a drink, apparently following some long-established script of seduction.

Then I turned to Christopher, pulled him into my arms, and covered his mouth with mine. We kissed long, deep and hard before I peeled off his clothes and fucked him until he screamed with pleasure.