Background Swinger

“Hey, Juliette’s trying to get your attention.” Pete Hayden touched Chad Silver’s forearm and Chad turned his gaze to the door into the smoke-filled room and picked out of the haze the middle-aged, hefty woman with the red-and-blue streaked long hair who was poured into a red, frilly, rack-emphasizing blouse and a black skirt. The two men, blond Chad, nineteen, and the taller, heavier, darker, and slightly older hirsute Pete, were sitting on a platform on adjoining wooden stools, strumming guitars. Chad’s tenor was soaring over Pete’s bass in a Simon and Garfunkel song.

Chad managed an insincere smile as Juliette shuffled forward, stepped up on the platform, leaned down with a purposeful jiggle of her breasts against Chad’s arm, and said, “You know how I invited you to do the improv thing with Sean and Inez at the CD Friday night?”

“Yeah, Juliette,” Chad answered, then he raised his voice above the din of the crowd at the Cellar Door in Georgetown on an M and 34th Street corner just on the D.C. side of Key Bridge over into Rosslyn, Virginia. Not that much of anyone could hear him on a Tuesday night in May in 1965. This wasn’t much of a music night at the Cellar Door during the week, even though the club was a well-known folk venue in the nation’s capital. For most of these folks it was a source of beer at a younger age than you could buy it across the bridge in Virginia or even in Maryland on the other side of D.C. And they came here to ream out the establishment in high-flying words they were just learning in school.

Chad, a student of government, with a music minor, at the nearby George Washington University, by day could drink beer in D.C., but not in Virginia or Maryland until he was twenty-one. But he didn’t come to the Cellar Door for the beer. He and a few of his “whatever makes you happy” friends were into the folk music scene. The Cellar Door was a venue for first-class folk groups on the weekends like Sonny and Cher, Ian and Sylvia, and Sean and Inez, and Chad came to rub shoulders with them and, sometimes, with a few of his friends from GWU, he sang backup for them.

He sang there with Pete too, who wasn’t part of the college crowd. Pete was a bodybuilder high school dropout who worked as a waiter at the Orleans House restaurant across Key Bridge in Rosslyn, Virginia. The two had been brought together by the harmony match in their voices, and they now were roommates as well.

Juliette, the club manager with an apartment upstairs, put on a special act three or four times a year when she thought the crowd had turned over. In this act whatever professional talent that was on stage—more a platform at the end of a medium-sized room—asked if anyone wanted to come up and sing a few songs with them. Chad was among those trained musicians salted around in the room—other GWU students, like Chad—who would come up and do a slick job as backup for the artists. Occasionally, a tone-deaf drunk would also come up, but his or her isolated antics would be entertaining as well.

Chad, movie-star handsome, blond, and well-built, had become a favorite of forty-year-old Juliette, who was described by some as buxom and by others as hefty. To keep him on a leash, she let Chad in on this act if he was available. It was more than his clear tenor that prompted her to do this, though.

“You know that I invited you to do the act behind Sean and Inez Friday night. If you’re interested, you could run transport for them as well. I know you have a car. They’d have to be picked up and taken back to the Iowa Jima Motel across the bridge by the Marine memorial. Maybe you’d like to do that for them. It would give you more time—private time—with them. They’re cutting a record, you know. They may need backup instrumentalists for that. Pretty soon they’ll be too big in the business for the likes of the CD.”

“You know I’d kill to be able to drive them around,” Chad said. “But why do I sense that there’s an ‘if’ condition here?”

“No condition, of course,” Juliette said, but by the way she leaned into him and put her hand on his hip, slipping her fingers up under the hem of his T-shirt, he knew better. “If you’re finished with your set now for a while, maybe you’d like to come up to the apartment and smoke some shit with me before you have to go on again.”

“I guess I could do that,” Chad answered. And he guessed he knew what he had to do to get the driving assignment. He really did want to get close to Sean and Inez. They already had two records out. He’d worn the records out, playing them. If getting close to them meant letting Juliette wear him out . . .

Juliette, forty and hefty, not ugly but not so pretty either, an Amazon of a woman, insatiable and zaftig, with big tits and broad hips and puffy labia, wore the nineteen-year-old college sophomore out in her upstairs apartment.

They sat on a worn sofa in Juliette’s small living room, Chad more or less reclining into a corner and Juliette sitting cross-legged, nearly hovering over him at the other end. The blond-wood, modern-style coffee table was pulled up close enough for her to reach the ashtray with the joint in it and the two beers, both of which she periodically took up, took a drag from, and passed to Chad for him to use as well.

They’d paused inside the door out to the landing, standing against each other long enough for Juliette to offer her lips for a kiss and for Chad to purposely miss and kiss her on the cheek. Her hands were busy during this awkward interlude, though, and she unbuttoned her blouse and let her pendulous breasts swing free. She took one of Chad’s hands and moved it to her right breast, and, in feeling this up and pressing her nipple with his thumb, he did show some interest. Chad was an all-American boy; he couldn’t resist big tits.

“It’s hot in here. Let’s get comfortable,” she said, seemingly belatedly because she’d already freed her doggies. But she was referring to him and had pulled his T-shirt over his head before he was fully aware she was doing it. Her fingers went to his chest, and the two stood there on the stair landing, breathing heavily as they worked each other’s nipples with their fingers.

Chad had fucked her before, so this wasn’t exactly new ground they were covering. She wasn’t pulling him into anything they hadn’t done before. But, like before, she was the one doing the initiating. The impression that he was hot and bothered for this wasn’t there. Juliette’s hand slid down to his crotch, and that caused him to turn and walk over to the window, where there was a record player.

“You’d said downstairs that you’d received a new Sean and Inez recording from their manager—to listen to before they come on Friday,” he said.

“Yes, it’s there by the record player. You want to listen to it?”

“Sure,” he said. He wanted to do anything that would delay the inevitable. “If I’m going to sing backup on any of their new stuff, I should know what I need to fill in.”

“You put it on, and I’ll get us a couple of beers and something to mellow us out.” First, though, she stood at the door into her kitchen and, posing for him, although he was trying to show interest in the album cover he was taking the record from, Juliette reached under her skirt, released the clips on her garter belt, and made a show of pulling her stockings off. As he got the LP going, she went into the kitchen and came back with two beers and a joint. The ashtray was already on the coffee table.

That’s when she got them both on the couch.

“Make yourself comfortable on the sofa, and let’s get a little high and listen to Sean and Inez,” she said, which was what led to Chad reclining, shirtless, into the corner of the sofa on one side and Juliette, breasts swaying through the open gap of her blouse, sitting more in the middle than at the other side of the sofa, making sure that Chad got more of the beer and more and deeper drags on the joint than she did.

He lay there, back into the sofa corner, his legs dangling off the middle of the sofa, looking dully at Juliette with a sloppy grin on his face, as she unzipped him, fished his cock out of his jeans, and bent over and took the shaft in her mouth. What young all-American guy was going to try to back out of a blow job?

He moaned when he was hard and she was leaning over, holding his cock between her breasts and rubbing it. She leaned over more and kissed him on the torso and licked up to his nipples. Then, at last, he moved his arms around her, lifting her blouse off her back. Chad groaned as Juliette moved over him, hiking up her skirt, slipping off her panties, and putting herself in position on top of him. Her hand took his cock and moved it to her clit, rubbing herself with the bulb of the shaft.

“You’re so big, baby. So hard,” she whispered. “Such a stud. Be good to me, baby.”

If he wasn’t half stoned and hadn’t known before they’d come upstairs that they’d be doing this, Chad would have laughed then. He wasn’t doing anything, not really. She was doing it all. She was being good to herself, and that was just about the extent of what was happening here. Well, he’d gotten hard and was keeping hard. He wanted to continue doing special things here at the Cellar Door, and he knew what he had to do to keep those favors coming.

It wasn’t so bad, though. She wasn’t a looker or young and she was jiggly heavy, but she had a cunt, and she knew how to move on a cock. If he closed his eyes . . .

Juliette positioned herself above him and moved the bulb of his shaft in position between her puffy labia. Chad groaned and she whispered, “Oh, baby, yes, baby,” as she sank on the shaft. She cupped her left breast and rubbed its nipple against Chad’s cheek. Instinctively, his head turned so that he could inhale the nipple into his mouth and give it suck. His hands glided down her back and clutched her buttocks. Her pelvis rose and then descended. Rose and descended. Rose and descended.

With a shudder, his eyes held shut, Chad fell into the fuck, moving his hips, clutching and manipulating her buttocks, fucking her. A channel was a channel was a channel.

“Yes, baby,” Juliette murmured. “Fuck me. Fuck me good.”

They brought their rhythm into synch, and, resigned and with instinct taking over, the half comatose Chad took over the thrusting, grasping and squeezing of Juliette’s plump and slack butt cheeks and rhythmically thrusting up with his pelvis, as the victorious woman raised her torso, arched her back, worked her breasts with her hands, and mewed in satisfaction. Across the room, the record had long ago played the side it was on and the only music in the room other than the grunts and groans of sex was the scratching of the record needle at the center of the record.

They listened to the other side as, both fully naked now, Juliette was working Chad’s cock up again with her hands and mouth, he was reclining back on the sofa, puffing on the joint, until, Chad completely mellowed out, she took his hand and led him into her bedroom to lie, half conscious, but hard and moving by primeval instinct, between her spread and bent legs. Arching her back, cupping the young man’s balls with her hand, Juliette guided the bulb of his engorged cock to her cunt again and rubbed the glans between her folds and against her clit, whispering, “Fuck me again, you big, beautiful stud. Fuck me good.” Placing the cock head in position, she thrust her hips up, impaling herself on him, he responded drunkenly to the thrusting, and they were back to doing what copulating animals do. Burying his face in her cleavage, Chad fucked her to a second coming on her bed while she pretended the beautiful, virile young man, young enough to be her son, wanted her so bad that he was pinning her to the bed and taking her by force and from uncontrollable need.

An hour later, when Chad stumbled down the stairs, alone, and walked into the intoxicating, drug-drenched haze covering the Cellar Door performance room, the partying was still going on, albeit with a thinned-out crowd. Pete Hayden was back on stage, sitting next to Chad’s empty stool, and singing “Blowin’ in the Wind.” The audience that remained was stoned enough now that he could be heard over the murmur of voices in the room and to those listening, Pete was every bit as good as the professional talent would be.

“So good of you to show up again. Hey, where you been?” he asked as Chad perched back onto his stool, not too steadily, and picked up his guitar. “Did you forget break was over and that we’re getting paid as a duo?” He had a bit of irritation in his voice, but Chad knew it wasn’t genuine. Pete relished the opportunities to sing solo. He also knew that he was here more as Chad’s accompaniment than on his own standing—and, the real reason for irritation, if there was any genuine irritation, he knew where Chad had been and that he had been earning his pay—their performance gig—here. Pete wouldn’t have minded to be in Juliette’s good graces and to get his hands on her tits himself.

“Sorry, man,” Chad said. “I lost track of time. Have we done ‘Sound of Silence’ yet?”

They hadn’t, so they did.

After the 2:00 a.m. closing at the Cellar Door, Chad drove them home to Pete’s Colonial Terrace apartment across Key Bridge and off Wilson Boulevard in Rosslyn. Pete was the one with a name on the one-bedroom apartment mailbox. They rode in Chad’s pride and joy—and biggest expense—his red 1958 Ford Fairlane convertible.

Inside the front door to the apartment, Pete gathered Chad into his arms and kissed him. Chad went with the kiss but he wasn’t holding up his end of the lust. “Sorry, Pete,” he said, as the older, more muscular man drew his lips away, “I’m really tired tonight and have an early class tomorrow.”

“I can smell her on you,” Pete said. “No telling you’re getting something out of this. But let me do you a favor—let me fuck the scent of her away.”

Chad didn’t want to discuss what he’d gotten out of giving into Juliette sexually again. Pete pulled him into an embrace and went into another lip lock. Chad responded more passionately this time, but he drew away again and said, “Maybe for that a shower is better. What I need is a shower and some sleep.”

He got the shower but not much of the sleep.

When he came out of the bathroom, with a towel wrapped around his waist, he saw the pile of Pete’s clothes on the floor by the bed—the only bed in the room, a queen. Pete came up behind him and embraced him, one arm wrapping around the smaller man’s chest and the hand of the other one wrapping around Chad’s cock, stroking and engorging the shaft. He buried his lips in Chad’s neck, latching onto the younger man there with his teeth. Pete’s cock was hard, pressed against the small of Chad’s back.

Chad didn’t have to pretend arousal with Pete as he did with Juliette. Sighing as Pete loosened the sheath of his hand on Chad’s cock, so that the younger man could stroke freely in the hand, Chad moaned low in his throat, reached a hand around to put Pete’s cock in position, and thrust his hips back, taking Pete’s thick, long, hard cock deep. They fucked there, standing, between the bathroom door and the bed.

As tired as Chad was and as willing as he was to go with male or female from a sex is sex is sex philosophy, being fucked by a man aroused him more than fucking a woman did.

Pete fucked Chad from behind, with the younger, smaller man bent over the bed, after Chad had sucked Pete’s cock erect for a second taking and Pete had knelt behind Chad and eaten his ass out while milking the younger man’s cock. And before dawn, Pete drew Chad into his embrace, both men on their sides, Pete facing Chad and Chad facing away, and, bending and pressing Chad’s left knee up into his chest, entered him again, and fucked him deep while Chad, half awake but a hundred times more willing and into the fuck than he had been when semicomatose with Juliette, rocked back on the shaft filling and stretching, and eventually flooding him.

As Chad’s 9:00 a.m. Economics 103 course session was starting over on the GWU campus, Chad was saddled on Pete’s cock, as his roommate lay on his back on the bed and held Chad’s waist between his hands. Chad had his hands run into Pete’s dark chest hair, was rubbing Pete’s nibs with the heels of his hands, and was bucking, bucking, bucking on Pete’s cock. As Pete dressed to meet the Orleans House restaurant opening up the hill on Wilson Boulevard in downtown Rosslyn, Chad was dozing on his back on the bed, fondling his cock, purring softly to himself, and free of all thoughts of having fucked Juliette the previous evening.

The two guys didn’t pull an all-night fuck like this very often, but being able to do a music gig at the Cellar Door was arousing to them and they usually celebrated like this after they’d been on stage.

* * * *

Inez’s thin, naked body was under him on the bed in the Iowa Jima Motel in Rosslyn, her knees rubbing his hips, her back arched off the mattress, her red hair fanned out from her head, Inez sucking on the knuckles of one hand, with the other arm flung out from her side, her fist clutching at the chenille bedspread, as Chad, crouching between her thighs and grasping her waist, watched the root of his cock moving in and out of her cunt. It had seemed she would be too frail, too narrow across the hips, too small of cunt to take his cock, but she swallowed it right up and was moaning deeply for him as Chad fucked her. This was sexier, more arousing than he’d thought it would be. It certainly was more arousing sex than he had with Juliette. He went with women to get something—something other than the sex—but this, this was pretty good. She was a real honey, and she was tight, and she was dripping for him, murmuring for him to fuck her good.

And she was a folk song star. He was fucking a nationally known folk singer—every groupie’s dream.

Chad tensed, jerked, bugged out his eyes, lifted his head, and cried out to the ceiling, as Sean, tall, thirty, gaunt, bearded and with hair dipping to his shoulder blades, saddled up behind Chad, thrust up inside him with a long, thin cock, grasped his waist, and began to pump. Inez didn’t reject Chad and Chad didn’t reject Sean. Chad fucked Inez and Sean fucked Chad.

OK, this was even better, Chad thought, as he looked down at the sinewy muscled, lightly covered with curly black hair forearm of the folk singer. Sean was hard-bodied, sinewy everywhere, no fat on him. Chad had followed the veining on the man’s body, mesmerized by it, going hard for it—and now luxuriating in the working of the man’s cock inside him. Chad could almost feel the big vein going up the hard shaft as it plowed him.

Chad lay stretched out beside Sean and Inez on the bed, smoking a joint and watching, as Sean took up the position between Inez’s legs that Chad had been in and fucked Inez. When Sean pulled out of Inez, she turned over on her side and watched as Sean grasped Chad, flipping him onto his back, pulled his butt down to the end of the bed, raised and spread the nineteen-year-old’s legs, thrust inside him, and resumed the thrusting. Same rhythm, female cunt exchanged for male ass. All sixties-style avant-garde, free love.

Inez leaned over and kissed Chad on the lips and then took the joint from him and puffed on it while Chad nuzzled her pert little tits and dominant Sean fucked his ass, rowing Chad’s legs back and forth to the rhythm of his thrusts.

The three had met for the first time earlier that evening. Chad had fucked the Cellar Door manager, Juliette, for the privilege of driving the two performers back to their Iowa Jima Motel room. Both Sean and Inez had loved Chad’s 1958 red Ford Fairlane convertible on the short ride across Key Bridge from Georgetown to Rosslyn. Inez, sitting in the middle of the front bench seat, had run a hand up under the hem of Chad’s T-shirt and was cooing to him about the horsepower and thrust power of the convertible. And Sean, sitting on the other side of her and his arm extending across Inez’s slight body, first stroking the knob on the gearshift of the car before moving the hand to Chad’s crotch, was asking if Chad was coming into the motel room and fucking with them.

Chad had said yes. He worshipped the folk music the duo of Sean and Inez. Inez had shown interest in the handsome nineteen-year-old blond college sophomore, taking every opportunity to rub up against him when they were on stage together. Chad and his friends had done their periodic act of coming up, seemingly spontaneously from the audience, and singing a couple of songs with the professional duo as backup. The audience had eaten it up and Chad grinned from ear to ear. Between sets, Chad almost melted when Inez invited him to sit with them at a table while on break in the smoke-filled Cellar Door performance room. Chad responded in a flirty way with Inez as the price of being chummy with the professional duo. He was more taken with the tall, gaunt, bearded baritone and guitarist, Sean, with the knowing, piercing eyes, who had worked a leg between Chad’s knees at the small table and pressed his knee into Chad’s crotch and rubbed.

There had been little question of what the two wanted from Chad. He was nineteen, blond, beautiful, and had a good tenor voice. He also was under their spell. They could ask anything of him, and they did.

“We have a gig at the Palace Theatre in Baltimore tomorrow night, but no way to get there,” Sean said, as sex was over for now—for a very short “now.” “You have such a nifty red convertible . . .”

“Sure, I maybe could drive you to Baltimore,” Chad answered. He had a French test tomorrow, but what the shit? “And I thought we really sounded good together at the Cellar Door tonight—me singing a soft backup to your soprano and baritone. Maybe in Baltimore—”

“Yeah, maybe we could do something together in Baltimore,” Sean answered, his voice a little flat. But Chad had stars in his eyes. Others had gotten their big break on less than this. He didn’t hear any insincerity in Sean’s voice. “Bring your guitar—if you can drive us to Baltimore.”

“Sure, I’d be happy to drive you to Baltimore tomorrow,” Chad answered, it was all set up now in his mind—everything set up: the drive to Baltimore and then him singing with Sean and Inez on stage there.

“That’s really sweet of you, baby,” Inez said, sitting cross-legged above where Chad was on his belly beside her. She coaxed him to move over, with his head between her legs. She held his blond curly head to her crotch, as he slid his tongue between her labia and up to her clit. He groaned as Sean saddled himself on his ass, slid his long, thin cock inside Chad’s passage, and started to pump him again.

* * * *

“I’ll be with you in a minute. Ya’ll have a seat and take a load off. I’m short of opening acts for tonight and need to get that pinned down.”

His name was Bob. He was the manager of the Palace Theatre in Baltimore, where Chad had delivered Sean and Inez early Saturday afternoon. He was behind his desk, with a phone receiver up to his ear and cradled into his hunched shoulder. His eyes went to Chad as soon as the three of them entered his office, and Chad recognized the interest behind that look. He got a lot of those looks. He was one fine looking nineteen-year old and there was something in the way he handled himself that told women and men alike that he was available to them. He had a shyness about him that had submissive written all over him—not to mention that he was flanked by Sean and Inez, each of whom was palming one of his butt cheeks as they stood in front of Bob’s desk.

For Bob’s part, from Chad’s perspective, he was his apartment mate Pete twenty years from now—a Pete who had left the gym behind him fifteen years ago. He was a big, dark-haired, hirsute man who, when he stood up behind the desk with the phone receiver still planted in his ear, showed that he had a beer belly on him too that Pete likely would have in twenty years if he didn’t keep going to the gym regularly. Bob was the typical high school football lineman who had moved from the field to the stands a couple of decades ago. Still, he was a good-looking guy in the face.

“Damn. Doesn’t answer,” he said, as he dropped the phone receiver to his beefy hand and then slammed it into the phone cradle. “Glad you, at least, made it,” he said. “Don’t need to do any ticket returns if the mainliners are here.”

“You need more opening spots than you have?” Sean asked.

“You got it,” Bob answered.

“Chad here, who gave us a ride up from D.C., performs at the Cellar Door. Maybe he could be persuaded to hold over here to do a spot tonight.”

Bob’s eyes, which hadn’t left Chad the entire time the three had been in the office with him, narrowed, taking in a whole new interest in the blond honey standing between Sean and Inez. Bob knew about the Cellar Door. There was a main folk venue in every city. In Baltimore it was the Palace Theatre; in nearby Washington, D.C., it was the Cellar Door.

“You sing there, at the CD, for Juliette Green?” he asked, the question directed at Chad.

“Yes, sir,” Chad answered. That wasn’t all he did for Juliette, but the manager of the Palace Theatre didn’t need to know that. Still, Chad was accustomed to getting the looks Bob was giving him and knew what desires lay behind them. Chad was prepared to do for Bob what he did for Juliette if it got him a spot on stage.

“What do you sing—whose songs?”

“A few of them are my own, but I sing the tenor on Simon and Garfunkel songs with a friend from D.C. at the Cellar Door, and I’ve done versions of John Denver, Cat Stevens, Donovan, Bob Seeger, Bob Dylan . . . and others. I sing the tenor in Peter, Paul, and Mary songs when a group gets together on that.”

“That’s a lot of covering,” Bob said, drawing out the word “covering” and acting like each of the names given was an aphrodisiac for him. He sat back down in his chair and swiveled it around to the side. “I see you brought a guitar. Sing me something. Here, sing me something sweet.”

Chad perched on the side of the desk and started into “Scarborough Fair.” By the time he transitioned into “You Were on My Mind,” Bob had a hand on one of his thighs, and Sean, standing on the opposite side of Chad, had a hand on his other thigh. Inez was kneeling at Chad’s feet, which were dangling off the side of the desk, and had a hand on his calf. All three wanted him. If they’d only known, they could have shared him right there on the desk top. Chad was well versed in trading sex for stage gigs in the music world—rather innocently so. Sex was a casual resource for him, not some precious treasure to protect. This was the sixties. He never initiated it himself, though. It was always a deal that someone else was offering.

“So, what do you think?” Chad asked when he was finished auditioning.

But he wasn’t finished auditioning.

“I’d like to hear that in one of the rehearsal rooms. Just you and me. I’ll have someone show you and Inez the dressing rooms, Sean.”

Once alone in the rehearsal room, Bob said, “I think you know the score, baby. I think you know what you need to do to get on stage here.”

“Yes, sir,” Chad answered, pulling his T-shirt over his head.

Bob fucked Chad up against the wall in the rehearsal room. Chad had already knelt before him; unbuttoned, unzipped, and flared Bob’s jeans; and sucked his cock to hard. Then, jeans puddled around Bob’s ankles and Chad’s jeans and briefs bunched up on the floor, Bob backed Chad against the wall and lifted his smaller, trim body up and settled it down on his cock. Chad hooked his knees on Bob’s hips, lifted Bob’s beer belly up into the concave area of his own chest that he created to accommodate it and give Bob’s thick and long cock maximum access, and wrapped his arms around the theater manager’s neck.

Bob knew how to give cock in this position and Chad knew how to take it. Moving the young man’s body up and down the wall with the strength of his upward thrusts, Bob fucked Chad to mutual ejaculations. Chad fully participated in the fuck, moaning for Bob, declaring that Bob was performing stud services, and meeting Bob’s upward thrusts with downward jabs of his own, taking Bob deep, stretching for him, causing his passage walls to ripple over the plowing shaft—and then sinking to his knees when they’d both come and taking Bob’s cock in his mouth again.

The audition now complete, Chad got an opener slot in the night’s Sean and Inez concert at Baltimore’s Palace Theatre.

* * * *

Chad’s stint on stage at the Palace was received well, and he walked through a garden of applause into the audience as he finished. He had intended to proceed to the back of the theater, which was set up with tables and chairs rather than stadium seating, taking a victory walk through the smiling faces, including one he zeroed on—a middle-aged blonde sitting alone at a table, her cleavage almost busting out of the slinky top of her cocktail dress. She looked out of place in this folk venue, which was why Chad’s eyes had picked her out for him to sing to during his performance. She had maintained the connection as well. She looked like she was dripping in money, and as Chad walked into the audience, she motioned to the unoccupied chair next to her at her table.

Before Chad could decide whether to join her, though, Bob reached out and latched onto his arm.

“You done good, kid,” he said. “Come on back to my office and let’s talk contract.”

Bob fucked Chad on top of his desk, Chad on his back, his arms stretched out to his sides, his hands clutching the edged of the desk top to hold himself steady, his legs spread and raised, Bob’s hands gripping them under the knee, while Bob crouched over him, standing between his spread thighs, and thrust, thrust, thrust, pistoning Chad’s ass.

The proffered contract lay under Chad’s back. He’d said he would consider it. The problem was that he still was a college student—at George Washington University in Washington, D.C., a long commute from Baltimore. He maybe was rushing this music thing. And just maybe he was giving too much of himself up to establish this music thing. The contract itself wasn’t much better than he could get from the Cellar Door, especially if you considered the cost of transportation. But then, taking Bob was easier on Chad than servicing Juliette was.

But for now, he was getting a great fuck. Bob picked up the pace of the thrusts. Chad arched his back, cried out that he was coming—and then did.

When he returned to the music hall, Sean and Inez had done their gig—and were gone.

“They left with someone who said he’d give them a ride to their next city—Richmond,” the stage manager told Chad when he asked about their dressing room being empty.

“But they were going to spot me a hotel room for the night and give me gas money,” Chad said. And they had promised to do so much more with him too, Chad was thinking.

“I don’t know anything about that, kid,” the stage manager said, and then, because he was from an older generation, he added, “You folk people are fickle. Who’s to tell what you’re going to do next?”

Not finding that comforting, Chad went back down into the audience, which had thinned out. There was some sort of local hopefuls singing going on on the stage now, and apparently the local hopefuls weren’t all that popular in Baltimore. The older blonde was still, there, at her table, still alone, and still beckoning to Chad as soon as she saw him emerging from the wings on the stage.

“You were great, Hon,” she said, as Chad settled in the chair next to her. “But you look sort of down now. What’s the matter? You were great. You should be all beautiful smiles. You’re are a beautiful young man, you know.”

Yes, Chad knew. Men and women alike, kept telling him so. And they wanted something from him too.

“I lost my hotel room for the night—I’ve come from Washington, D.C.—and my gas money for getting back is gone too,” Chad admitted.

“We’ll have to see what we can do about that. My name’s Angela.” She put a hand on his forearm and fluttered her false eyelashes at him.

Angela fucked Chad—she taking all of the initiative and neither one of them minding that—in a Baltimore hotel room. The gas money cash he needed, plus $25 for the “services,” was already laying on the nightstand next to the bed.

Chad sat on the end of the bed, feet on the floor, while Angela sat in his lap, facing him, her arms around his neck, her tits jiggling against his chest, his hands gripping and spreading her buttocks cheeks, as feet planted next to his hips, she bounced on his cock.

It was OK, but it wasn’t great. Chad thought of himself, in Angela’s position, bouncing on Pete’s or Sean’s or even Bob’s cock while he was letting Angela take what she wanted. He liked it well enough to get hard and come for a woman, but it was better with a man. Actually, he went highest when he was fucking Inez and Sean was fucking him.

* * * *

“The Jackson Trio is here next Saturday. They need transportation and we’ve discussed getting them a couple of backup singers for a few of their songs.”

Juliette was sitting with Chad at a table in the Cellar Door on a Tuesday afternoon as a sound and light crew was setting up for that evening. Chad and Pete had a spot in the performance lineup. Pete was pulling down a shift at the Orleans House before coming into D.C., though.

“The Jackson Trio?” Chad asked. Three young black men, good-looking all. Two of them were gay tops. They’d performed here before. Chad had performed in bed with those two before—both of them together.

“You might be interested in that?” Juliette asked.

“Sure.”

“What are you doing this afternoon? Want to come upstairs with me while I decide who I hook the Jackson Trio up with?”

“Sure, why not?”