I gazed into the dressing room mirror as I sat contemplating applying my stage makeup. Looking past my own image, I viewed the androgynously beautiful face of Kim, chin perched on my shoulder. All of my senses went on alert as Kim’s fingernails scraped down the side of my bare torso, firm buds of breasts pressed into my shoulder blades.

“Relax. Go with it. You’re too tense,” Kim murmured, lips then going to the side of my neck. I shuddered as I tilted my head away to give maximum purchase to those lips and Kim’s hands moved around my chest to cover my pecs, thumbs and forefingers latching onto my nubs and making them pucker up. I was going hard and began to pant. I’d dreamed of this but never had been here before. For the $5,000, though--not to mention having dreamed of it--I would “go with it” as Kim suggested. I knew Kim was only trying to help.

I could tell from the script what sort of performance this would be--or would simulate, I trusted.

“A kiss,” Kim murmured. “We should do this before we are on stage, don’t you think? On stage it should come across as natural, not forced.”

I did think, I supposed. It was just two matinees for $5,000, and I’d already memorized the lines--and I had dreamed of this, even if I’d never had the nerve to do it.

“Ooo, such muscles; you’re a real hunk,” Kim cooed.

Kim licked up my cheek, urging me to turn my face, which I did, my lips meeting Kim’s and opening to a pressing tongue. I shuddered again as I followed the progress of a hand down my belly, the unlacing of the codpiece of my tight costume leggings, the fishing out of my hard cock, and the start of the rhythmic hand stroking, letting nature take over, as I moved my hips, sliding my cock inside the loose sheath being provided.

My thoughts of simulation for the performance were beginning to melt away. But was I really ready for it?

“Give me your cum,” Kim murmured, long dark hair draping down and tickling my bare chest as my lips briefly were freed. “It will make the work on the stage so much easier. You know it will.”

I couldn’t disagree. I’d had no intention of doing this, despite my suspicions about the abbreviated script of Romeo and Juliet I’d been given, but there was the $5,000 for just two matinees of work, during what I’d been afraid would be a down time in my production schedule, and also, I couldn’t deny, there had been the longing to explore the possibilities of this side of me. When I signed the contract, could I really say I wasn’t attracted to it by the other possibilities?

Overwhelmed by the new sensations, the sensuality of the circumstances, the sweetness of Kim’s kisses, the sliding of Kim’s sheathing hand on my throbbing cock, I let my pelvis relax and Kim’s hand take control. It didn’t take long to give Kim what was asked for.

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

“I’m not,” Kim responded, with a smile.

* * * *

“That’s just as well,” VanDerGrifff said, with a little laugh and a smile. He removed his hand from my forearm where we sat at the bar. I had to strain to hear him over the noise in the room, packed with gyrating bodies--all male. I had to strain equally to understand him as I’d had a drink or two too many in my nervousness to the alien--but dreamed of--position I was in. “It actually is just as hoped for what I have in mind. Consider what I proposed. I’ll put it more formally in writing and mail it to you with a contract for you to sign if you’re interested.”

We parted then--or I should say, I left the gay bar, Tony VanDerGrifff, the play director from Washington, D.C., saying he was staying as he wanted to make a hookup. Before he had swung off in whatever direction he was going in, he’d called over a willowy transvestite in a gold lamé slip of a rag that barely covered anything, stuffed a fifty in her cleavage, and told her to give me a good time. Immediately pulling into me and running her hands over my biceps, she seemed willing and tried to drape herself over me even closer, but, embarrassed, I begged off and left the bar quickly.

I wondered if VanDerGrifff was mistaking whatever I’d said in my drunkenness about my dreams with some sort of reality.

I hadn’t known he’d take me to a gay bar after my Off-off-Broadway performance as Stanley in a sexy production of Streetcar Named Desire. I’d been keyed up from the moment I’d discovered it was a gay bar and had taken another look at Tony, finding him intriguing and showing a comfort in this venue that I’d never taken the chance to develop. I’d just had the last of a mountain of fights with Petra and had left her with her slicing into me the parting declaration that I probably liked men better than women. I hadn’t thought of that before--or had made an effort not to--but I’d given a whole lot of thought to it since. I just hadn’t done anything about it.

I was in my bad-boy beefcake role phase on the stage and, in this production of Streetcar, had moved around the stage nearly throughout stripped down to the waist and being sullen and sultry. I’d had no idea that the Washington stage director who approached me at the end of the performance, invited me for a drink, and said he might have a short but lucrative gig for me, had done so for more than my stage performance. When we got to the gay bar in the Chelsea section of Manhattan, though, I began to think that his interest was purely sexual.

I learned that it was both, but he dropped the personal interest in me with the comment, “Pity that we want the same thing,” after we’d had a discussion over too many drinks that had me revealing too much about my current state and frustrations and saying what I only barely could remember when I woke the next morning that I said. His interest in my stage work had been sustained though.

He was contracted to stage two privately commissioned, closed, all-male-cast matinee performances of a stylized Romeo and Juliet  production at the American Shakespeare Center in Staunton, Virginia, in a month’s time. I was being offered the role of Romeo. The remuneration was beyond satisfactory, I had dead time between productions that both the gig and the $5,000 would fill nicely, and it wouldn’t take long to learn my lines. I had done Romeo and Juliet  before. Mostly I had to remember which lines of Romeo to excise in this limited outing. The script concentrated on a graphically sexy relationship between Romeo and Juliet, with the normally unrequited love angle being very much requited. I signed the contract.

* * * *

Bare to the waist in a hip-hugging tight leather legging outfit, with a laced up codpiece, and writhing on top of Kim Hunter, decked out in a diaphanous wrap, atop the prominent altar and/or tombstone dominating the Shakespeare Center’s stage in the first rehearsal of the abbreviated Romeo and Juliet production, I began to fully admit to the thrust of this production. Tony VanDerGrifff sat in the center of the hall, giving directions.

“Now fuck,” his voice boomed out from the darkened hall.

“Fuck? Really fuck?” I lifted my head toward the spotlights and asked, incredulous.

“Yes, really fuck Kim,” VanDerGrifff bellowed. “And make it really sexy. Show us hard dick in hole. Why do you think this high-roller client is willing to pay big bucks for this?”

Dutifully and willingly Kim reached a hand down between my thighs, which were encasing his legs, and started pulling at the lacings of my codpiece.

In shock, fool that I was for not fully accepting the lay of the land before now, I stopped Kim’s hand with mine and sat up on the side of the altar, looking out into the audience.

“I can’t,” I said, breathing heavily. “I’ve never before . . . and with others watching.” I had almost said I’d never fucked a man before. It was too late for VanDerGrifff to know this. I needed this money.

“Well, shit,” Tony’s voice rang out. “Let’s cut for the day anyway. Maybe you and Kim can . . . later . . .”

Kim sat up beside me, lacing his arm around the small of my back and resting his hand on my thigh. “Let’s go home. I’m sure we can work this out,” he murmured.

Going home with Kim, who was playing Juliet. He was a bit-actor transvestite from the area, living in a small cottage in a town called Port Republic, where one river fed into the Shenandoah, in the shadows of the western slope of the Blue Ridge mountains. I’d just arrived in Staunton earlier that morning. It had been arranged that I would bunk with Kim Hunter during the production. I was only now aware of what bunking with Kim meant. There was only one bedroom in his cottage--but at this point I didn’t know that. I’d come directly to the theater in downtown Staunton.

Assumptions had been made--probably my fault. Who knows what I told VanDerGrifff in that bar when I was drunk. At the time, I’d thought I was taking the first plunge with him. Naïve as I was, I hadn’t been giving any thought to configurations of bottoms and tops. I obviously had gotten across to him, though, that I was interested in topping even if I hadn’t specified how new the whole idea was to me.

I stewed about this as we drove northeast from Staunton late in the afternoon. I couldn’t figure out what was holding me up. I’d dreamed of trying this out, and Kim was quite attractive, in an androgynous way. It would be an easier transition, taking a transsexual first as a progressive move to men.

I was still stewing, with Kim, at the wheel, turning a face of beauty to me from time to time, giving me an encouraging smile and murmuring, “Don’t worry, we’ll make it work. We’ll work into it. I find it a turn on for me, actually, breaking in a hunk like you.”

I had to admit that I found it all rather a turn on too. I just had to find a way to turn myself on--to get past my own natural inhibitions.

I was still mulling that when a convertible veered around us on the two-lane road leading into Port Republic, giving me only a glimpse of two young woman in the front seat, hooping and hallaring in drunkenness as they sped past us. But they didn’t get much past us when the convertible went off the side of the road ahead and into a tree. Kim was already reaching for his cell phone to dial 911, as he eased his Mustang onto the shoulder of the road behind the flipped-over and smoking convertible.

Both girls were bruised, bleeding, and barely conscious as Kim pulled the driver and I her passenger out of the wreck that was popping and giving off flames. I held and rocked the passenger while I listened for the progress of the far-away sirens. She couldn’t be out of her teens. She was too young for this--maybe to die.

At Kim’s cottage, shaken, I lowered myself into a front porch chair as Kim continued on into the house, saying she’d get us a couple of beers and would be back in a few minutes. I was confused on whether to think of Kim as a “him” or a “her,” but it helped at this point to lean toward the “her.”

She took longer than a few minutes, and I’d stopped quaking and having my mind possessed with the sight of the overturned convertible before she came back out onto the porch and handed me a beer. She’d taken the time to change into a slinky red satin shift that couldn’t have come much below what she was swinging between her thighs. Moving behind me, she handed me a beer over my shoulder and I took a big gulp of it. But after that one gulp, I had to put the beer down on a side table because she was tugging at my T-shirt, wanting to pull it over my head.

“I can’t get over how magnificent your torso is, big boy--and a dick to die for,” she was murmuring as she tugged on the T.

When she had my shirt off, she perched her chin on my shoulder as she’d done at the dressing table in the theater, and ran her hands down my chest. I was going hard in anticipating where she was going with this--where she’d been before. I was also panting lightly, which she seemed to appreciate.

“Tony picked a divine Romeo,” she murmured in my ear. “You are one beautiful hunk of flesh. We’ll work through this.”

Then, as before, she turned my chin toward her face and we kissed as she ran a hand down to my crotch, unzipped me, and released my engorging cock. She didn’t stroke me for long, though, before she’d come around to in front of me, straddled my legs with hers. She wasn’t wearing anything under the shift. I shuddered in the shock of it--and a flash of pleasure went through my body.

Taking my head in both of her hands, she pressed my face into her belly and gave me a deep moan. A hand moved my hand under the hem of the dress, and I was encasing her cock and stroking it. A new, not unpleasant sensation, encouraged by her moans and her hands cupping my head and pulling my face into her. Then the hands were gone, and she was slowly pulling the shift up and off her body. My lips went to her belly button, opening over a gold ring there.

“Take me to heaven,” she murmured, as her hands went back to cupping my head and pushing it down. My mouth opened naturally over the bulb of her cock and then down the sides of the shaft. I’d long fantasized over this act. Now that it was here, I just relaxed and took it naturally, guided by her sighs and groans.

This didn’t last for long--I was quite willing to continue with it--before Kim was sinking down between my knees, taking my cock in her mouth, and quickly sucked me to an ejaculation.

This was a whole new, pleasurable sensation to me, too.

I could have done more, progressed further then, but with a laugh, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Kim popped up, laughed, and said, “That made me hungry. How about you? Let’s go in and have some supper.”

Yes I was hungry. A whole new sense of hunger. I wanted to take Kim then, throw him down on the grass, and fuck the stuffing out of him. Him, her, whatever. The shift off, I no longer could think of Kim as a “her.” He was a trim, willowy young man, albeit there had been some work done on his breasts. I had sucked the cock of another man and been, in turn, sucked off by a man myself. The transition in my perceptions was happening--and it wasn’t the trauma that I had expected it would be. I wanted more.

But Kim was already moving into the house. Whether or not he wanted me to be inflamed and frustrated to the point of going all the way without giving it deep thought or falling under the wheels of inhibitions, that was the way this was working.

The dinner conversation centered on the two young women we’d sent off in ambulances earlier in the day, assured by the EMTs that both would make it--that they were lucky to have gotten out of the car before it went up in flames.

“I take it as a sign that we must grasp life as we can,” Kim said. “That we never know how much more life there is for us. If we want something, we shouldn’t take too long in grasping it.”

Although intellectually I could have argued that if the girls hadn’t been half looped and taking a great risk, life wouldn’t have given them a whammy. But I got the point and I was trembling from want, sitting across the table from Kim, seeing the androgynous beauty of him and his half man, half woman shape in the red shift he had slid down his body again when we entered the house.

“I get the point,” I said in a low, hoarse voice. “Which way is your bedroom.”

Kim smiled and rose from the table.

Still in his shift, me naked and on my back on the bed, Kim rode my cock, facing away from me, initially maintaining control of the fuck and doing the rising and falling. As I became engulfed in the flames of desire, though, I sat up in the bed, ran my hands under the hem of the shift and up to cover the little mounds of breasts plastic surgery had given him, and started thrusting my hips up, reaching new depths and greater thickness inside his channel and making him cry out for me and bounce with increased rhythm on the staff.

After we’d cooled off from the fuck, I turned him on his belly, pulled the shift over his head, mounted his ass, and deep thrusted to another ejaculation, the two of us reaching it almost simultaneously now. He had gone up a bit on his knees, lifting his buttocks to me to receive me as deep as I could go--letting me know he wanted what I was giving him, making me want to give him all that I had. From the back he was all man now. I had completed the journey; I was fucking another man. No pretenses of being with a woman.

After firing off again, I collapsed full length on top of him. Now it was me brushing aside the long strands of his hair, finding the hollow of his neck with my lips, and then coaxing his face around for a deep kiss.

“Again?” he murmured as we came out of the kiss.

“Yes, again and again,” I answered, exhilarated by the new-found pleasure and release of it all.

“What now, though?” I asked.

“I guess Tony will know you can fuck me on the altar during the performance now.” he answered in a dreamy voice.

 

Habu

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