Impulsive

“You’re Gordy Hightower, right?”

Gordy looked up through the haze of drugs and booze and the wandering hands of the two stagehands who were introducing him to the delights of the Big O Ranch Nightclub outside of Colorado Springs.

“Yeah, that’s me. Something you want signed?” he asked, his voice a bit slurred, a hand brushing the long, straight, black hair away from his face. Gordy was a handsome, perfectly proportioned Lakota Native American of twenty-three and a current pop music star doing a national tour. He was giving a concert at the nearby Red Rocks open-air amphitheater the next night, and two of the stagehands, knowing he was gay and promiscuous, had volunteered to take him to a rocking gay nightclub with a huge swimming pool as the focal point at a ranch. They were locals and knew the club manager would pay them for bringing talent like Gordy to the club to be seen and maybe even to perform for free. On impulse—Gordy did everything on impulse—he’d let them take him on the club crawl. They’d supplied the drugs, the booze, and the wandering hands.

They were looking to score with a rock star—something they could brag about later: “I was in on doubling Gordy Hightower”—and there was every reason to believe that Gordy would give them the thrill they sought. He had that reputation in the entertainment industry, and the stage hands hadn’t found it hard at all to entice him into the adventure.

It was a pool club. Everyone was in Speedos or less. There also was a stage by the pool, with a band and pole dancers at the side.

Gordy was having a rocking good time. The band wasn’t bad. The pole dancers were inspiring. The two stagehands were two big, muscular bruisers. Gordy had a beautiful brown body, but he was willowy rather than bulked up and his signature long, straight, black hair descending to his waist gave him somewhat of an androgynous look. It was a given when the stage hands offered to show him a good time that they’d be fucking him. Gordy was an easy lay. He’d responded to their signaling from the get go. They already had him between them backstage after the concert rehearsal, fondling and kissing. It wouldn’t be much of a rearrangement of bodies to put them in a double penetration position. Gordy’s reputation was casual gay bottom.

The place was rocking and there were hundreds of beautiful gay men enjoying the pool, the band, and each other. With his exotic looks, Gordy was a recognizable celebrity and was being ogled by all of those around him. He wasn’t the only recognizable figure there, though. A couple of tables over, a monster of a muscular hunk, the gay porn star Austin Hawk, had set up court with his fans. At six-foot-seven and 240 pounds of muscle and a cock that was celebrated on film, he was as much in the eye of those at the club as Gordy was. The two had noticed each other too and had exchanged steamy looks. Much of what Gordy was freely letting the stage crew guys do with their hands on his body stemmed from Gordy imagining Austin Hawk doing to him.

The man hovering over the table, assuring himself that Gordy was the Gordy Hightower, rock star, was the manager of the club. He was ecstatic at having two celebrities at his club flirting with each other. This was a PR bonanza.

“How about giving the crowd a song or two?” he asked. “I’ll pay you a thousand bucks for two songs on stage.” That wasn’t anywhere close to what Hightower normally earned for a song, but this was here, now. It would be like free money that didn’t have to go through his staff and accounting process.

Gordy was beyond happy time. Much to the disappointment of the stagehands who were preparing him, he broke away from in between them and took the stage. He gave the crowd three songs, starting with his current hit “Honky-Tonk Boy,” which was so popular that the band had no trouble giving him a full backing. The guys on the poles gyrated to the boisterous song and got Gordy going too. He gyrated with them, slinging his slim hips this way and that and bumping and grinding as he sang. The crowd went wild. In the third song, “Indian Giver,” the guys on the poles went naked and swung their meat. Gordy joined them, swirling his long, black hair around his willowy, perfectly formed brown body, and wagging an erection at the crowd. The crowd went delirious.

The two stagehands were positioned in front the stage to catch Gordy as, naked, he stretched his arms out and did a dive of faith into their arms. They carried him off to one of the side alcoves with a curved banquette seat.

Stagehand One, stripping off his Speedo, sat on the bench and pulled Gordy down into his lap. Gordy gave him a lap dance until lust overtook them both. The stagehand positioned Gordy with Gordy’s channel sliding down on the stagehand’s cock. Gordy leaned back, letting his arms dangle at his side, and using the leverage of his knees on either side of the stagehand’s hips, languidly fucked himself on the man’s cock in a drug-induced state, while Stagehand One held the Lakota hunk’s slim waist between his hands and feasted on the Native American’s nipples. Gordy swayed his head, putting his long, black hair into motion, to the beat of the band on the now-distant stage. Fans gathered around, cell phones out, to capture the moment, the images later to make their way around the Internet. The publicity from this would not diminish Hightower’s popularity.

Stagehand Two came in behind Gordy, moving his thighs over those of Stagehand Two. Gordy gave a little cry of surprise and pain-passion as Stagehand Two nudged Gordy’s chest over into the beefy pecs of Stagehand One, rolled Gordy’s buttocks up, and forced his cock into the Lakota singer’s channel, sliding in on top of Stagehand One’s buried shaft. The surrounding crowd went crazy.

The two stagehands got their “I was in on a doubling of Gordy Hightower” bragging-rights memory that they had been seeking and the Internet was there to prove it.

As the two stagehands shared Gordy in a fuck, the porn star, Austin Hawk, muscled himself through the ring of those who were watching the rock star being double fucked. He was naked now too and was fisting a champion-sized cock. As he watched Gordy Hightower being doubled, he pulled a young, short guy who had followed in his wake around to in front of him, facing the spectacle of Gordy being fucked. Hawk, holding the smaller guy in front of him, put the young guy on his cock, bent over at the waist, arms and feet dangling in front of him, entirely under the control of the porn star.

While Hawk was losing himself in the moment, his bodyguards were doing what they could roaming the surrounding crowd and fighting a losing battle of preventing the capture of this turn of events on cell phones.

The stagehands fucked Gordy and Austin Hawk fucked his small guy, but it was Gordy who had his eyes glued to Hawk and Hawk who was equally focused on Gordy.

When the stagehands had finished with Gordy, he looked around, his mind still much in a haze, looking for the porn star. But Austin Hawk was gone. His attention went back to the men at hand. The stage hands had set up an enterprise. Assessing the men standing in line on the beauty of their bodies and the size of their cocks and offering Gordy’s tail to any of those who passed muster and would pony up $100, Gordy slouched on the bench, opening his legs to the men who passed muster and ponied up. Gordy never asked who got the money and the stagehands never offered the information.

There were “I fucked Gordy Hightower” memories to spare created that drug-infused evening. As the evening wore on, though, the honor of having done so got less and less rare.

Although it was good for business, the club manager later recalled that he thought Hightower’s impulsive promiscuity was a plaintive call for help.

* * * *

Gordy Hightower wasn’t the only act playing the Red Rocks Amphitheater west of Denver on Saturday afternoon, but he was the big-name main event. He’d shot up into the stratosphere of American rock stars in less than a year. It was a novelty for a Native American from a Lakota reservation in the Dakotas to zip onto stage and capture the popularity he had, but he was unique. He had a sound and an androgenous stage presence all his own with his long, black hair and sexy body that he always put on display, and he could be both outrageous and impulsive.

There were those willing pay top dollar for one of his concerts just to see how far down he was willing to strip that night. A lot of his concerts ended with an unplanned killing of the lights on the stage. There were rumors that in one private party concert he’d let a guy come up from the audience and fuck him on stage.

The morning papers didn’t explicitly cover his “everyone have at me” performance at the Big O Ranch gay nightclub outside of the Colorado Springs the previous night, but there were hints in the media and more open mentions across the media. The Internet was alight with videos—from all angles. He was unpredictable and impulsive, and the current generation music and porno worlds lapped it up.

The sold-out Red Rocks concert only fanned the flames of his notoriety as well as the speculation of how long his star could soar before it plunged to the earth.

“You have a visitor. I managed to sneak him in,” a stagehand—Stagehand Two of the previous evening, whose name was Jack—said as Gordy was sitting in front of a mirror, bare-chested, brushing his long, black hair out in his Red Rocks dressing rock a half hour before he was to go on. Bands were already on stage warming up the capacity crowd. Gordy was to be the headliner closing act for the concert.

He looked toward the door through the reflection in his dressing table mirror, to see the bruiser porn star Austin Hawk standing in the doorway to the dressing room.

“I know you,” Gordy said.

“I know you too, Hightower,” Hawk answered. “You put on quite a performance yesterday at the Big O Ranch.”

“I didn’t think you appreciated me; you didn’t stay around,” Gordy said as he watched the big guy come into the room, shut the door, and walk over to behind Gordy, sitting at the dressing table. Hawk’s big mitts came down on Gordy’s bare shoulders, but they didn’t dwell there. They continued gliding down the young man’s chest until the palms covered Gordy’s pecs. He twitched as Hawk pinched and rolled his nipples between his fingertips.

“Is this being too forward for you?” the actor asked.

“What’s too forward?” Gordy responded.

Hawk laughed. “Am I going to fuck you? That isn’t too forward either?”

“If you want to, you’re going to fuck me. Should we give them a thrill and do it on stage today?”

“I’m not quite the exhibitionist and as impulsive as you are—at least when I’m sober. I knew where you’d be tonight. I know Jack and he helped me get in here. He’ll help us get out too,” Hawk said, lowering his face to the hollow of Gordy’s throat, sniffing him there, and planting a kiss. He could feel Gordy trembling to his touch. “I left the club last night to get set up for us this afternoon.”

“This afternoon?”

“Yes. I do movies, you know. We’re going to do a movie and I’m going to fuck your lights out in a film that will burn up the Internet.”

“My handlers tell me my night clubbing last night is already doing that. And I have a concert to do this afternoon. We can burn up the Red Rocks by doing it on stage.”

“I don’t think so,” Hawk said “I think you’re coming up into the mountains with me and we’re going to do a movie for a very private, high-paying audience.”

“That’s crazy,” Gordy said, but Hawk already was pulling around to hover between Gordy and his dressing table. He threw a leg over Gordy’s lap and leaned his shoulder blades back into the mirror. He’d unzipped himself, freed a humongous snake of a thick cock, and was holding it in his hand.

“Yes, it’s crazy. Suck my cock.”

“Here? Now? I go on in a half hour.”

Hawk laughed. “Yes. Here, now. This is what you do. This is what you love. Not just sucking cocks but doing life on the fly. Suck it.” He slapped Gordy across the face, grabbed his hair in a bunch as it was cascading down his back, and pulled Gordy’s face into his crotch.

Gordy took the shaft deep into this throat and gave the porn star head.

“OK, that’s enough. Let’s go.” Hawk pulled his shaft out of Gordy’s mouth and pulled the young man up out his chair.

“Now? I’ve a got a concert.”

“No. You’ve got a movie.” He started pulling Gordy toward the door. He was about twice the young man’s size. It was no contest.

“Wait. My shirt.” Gordy was just in low-rise faded jeans and moccasins on his feet.

“You’re fine as you are. You’re more than fine.”

Jack, Stagehand Two, helped them get through the backstage area, to the parking lot, and into a white F-450 XL Super Duty King Ranch double-cab truck. Hawk drove them west, up into the hills, on State Route 46, the Golden Gate Canyon Road, pulling off on a dirt road in a cut in the mountains near the summit. Down the road, they came to an A-frame house hanging off the side of an incline and with parking between it and the drop off. They were looking out over west Denver.

“Whose—?” Gordy started to ask.

“Borrowing it from a friend. Ain’t the view something else?”

As they drove onto the parking pad, a couple of guys came out of the A-frame. They were hauling camera equipment.

Austin Hawk fucked Gordy Hightower on the backseat of the F-450, with Hawk standing on the running board and Gordy on his back, half in and half out of the truck, the ball of one foot lodged in the top edge of the back of the doorframe, and his other leg hanging through the open truck door, with the window down. The cameras caught the missionary fuck from behind Hawk’s naked body and from the open back door on the other side of the truck. During the fuck, Hawk hauled Gordy out of the backseat, turned him over with his legs dangling down from the door opening, and fucked him doggy style. Burying a hand in the back of the Lakota Indian’s head, Hawk grabbed a hank of the long, straight, black hair and pulled Gordy’s head into his chest, arching the young man’s chest back. From the other side of the truck, the camera caught and lingered on a shot of the young man’s pain-ecstasy in the fuck. Gordy was singing his passion as he’d never done before, and it was all caught on a video to be sold at a very high price to a small subscription service.

They moved to the bed of the truck, which was covered with a gym mat and fucked in various positions, including with Hawk on his back and Gordy riding him in a wild cowboy position with his long hair streaming around his body. No one seeing Gordy’s performance would suggest that he wasn’t willing to be fucked on camera.

Whoever was letting them use the mountain cabin let them have it for the night. A second porn movie was filmed on the bed on the balcony of the A-frame, looking out a full wall of glass over the night lights of Denver.

Needless to say, Gordy Hightower did not make his afternoon concert at the Red Rocks Amphitheater, although, as twilight approached, they could see the lights of that from their mountain perch.

* * * *

Eight months later Gordy Hightower was back in Denver, where he was giving a deposition on a $120,000 lawsuit taken against him by the manager of the Red Rocks concert he bopped out on. Despite other acts having performed as advertised and thus had to be paid, the headliner hadn’t appeared and the concert management had to agree to refund the ticket money for anyone who wanted it. A lot of concert goers jumped at the chance to get their money back, and there had been a whole hell of a lot in attendance at the concert.

Oddly enough, none of this detracted from Hightower’s popularity. He did a free, double-length concert, filmed in the studio, on the Internet in apology to his fans and they were assuaged by this—especially those who got both a refund on a live and a free concert on the Internet.

He was celebrated even more as a wild and crazy free-spirit guy—the Original American was what he was being touted in a humorous bow to his Native American origins—than he had been before. New hit recordings of “Just Me” and “Original Rebel” added to his fame. His concerts were still sellouts with no worries whether he would appear or not as long as money would be refunded if he didn’t show and there would be a free apology Internet concert. He had also released a discount-priced slick video concert after his failed concert. But he had shown at every concert since the Red Rocks.

And now he’d shown at the deposition. His managers and insurers understandably didn’t want to lose the $120,000 they were being sued for, the insurers more than the managers, who understood that the notoriety of their boy’s impulsive nature added to his worth. On the other side, the concert managers were possibly more interested in the media coverage of the suit than in winning it too. At some point, Hightower’s lawyers would bring up the fact that Gordy had given the proceeds from his post-Red Rocks video to the managers of the failed concert.

Across from Gordy at the table sat the main concert promoter, Arnold Black, who looked like a seasoned thug and who was just that. In addition to promoting concerts, he owned casinos in Las Vegas, Atlantic City, and the Poconos and was up to his ears in underworld connections in order to be able to operate. He was a big bruiser, muscular but heavy beyond that, bald, the face of a second-rate prize fighter, and a glare that would curdle cream. Only his very expensive shark-skin suit detracted from the sense that he had come right off the docks of Jersey City.

Right now, Black was staring down Gordy like the young man’s skipping of Black’s Red Rock’s concert was a hanging offense and the insult had festered with Black for the past eight months.

Gordy’s lawyer moved to cut into the bottom line from the get go. “Off the top, we want to stipulate that the concert management received $50,000 from the follow-up video proceeds of what Mr. Hightower would have performed at the live concert, that he hadn’t agreed to the refund policy, and that he was taken ill and couldn’t go on. There’s a stipulation in the concert contract that relieves him of responsibility for appearing if he’s too ill to perform.”

Black’s lawyer piped up. “$50,000 doesn’t come anywhere close to covering the concert management losses, and it’s a clear admission of responsibility and culpability on Mr. Hightower’s part. As for illness, no doctor ascertained that Mr. Hightower took sick, and—”

A gruffly voice Arnold Black broke in at this point after delivering an impressive snort. “The fucker wasn’t ill and he was performing—just not at the Red Rocks.”

Gordy, who had been looking everywhere in the room except at Arnold Black because it had been the thuggishness of Black that had aroused Gordy when he first sat down at the table, now turned his eyes to the concert impresario. “How do you know where I was and what I was doing that afternoon?”

“I subscribe to a special video service. I know exactly what you were doing—what you will do,” Black growled.

“And you watch that sort of video?” Gordy asked. Black didn’t answer but the exchange of looks the two engaged in was, in itself, an answer. It also was a connection of another sort between the two.

At that point, Gordy’s lawyer, having no idea what was being conveyed here other than their respective clients shouldn’t be permitted to talk directly to each other during a deposition, cleared his throat and launched into lawyerese that silenced both Black and Gordy into just staring at each other.

It wasn’t long before the meeting went on pause for a break. When Gordy walked out of the room, his eyes searching for a men’s room and seeing a sign for one close by in the corridor, he took a look in the other direction to see that Arnold Black was standing at the corner to another corridor, looking at him. After giving Gordy a meaningful look, the thuggish concert impresario turned the corner and disappeared. After a slight pause, Gordy impulsively followed him. When he got around the corner, he saw that Black was standing at the door of another men’s room, away from the activity in that part of the building. Black went into the men’s room. After a short time, Gordy followed him.

They were the only ones in the men’s room. Black was standing at a urinal. He had his cock out. It was humongous—long and thick . . . and half hard. Gordy stood there, a few urinals away. But he was turned to Black, watching him piss in a strong arc. He didn’t unzip and belly up to a urinal himself. When Black was done pissing, he remained there, grasping his cock and stroking it erect.

“I liked that video you did with Austin Hawk,” Black said while he was stroking himself. “I liked what Hawk did with you—that you just let him have what he wanted . . . and took it and took it.”

“So, you did see the video from Hawk’s subscription service,” Gordy said. That said all he needed to know about Black. Black was a player of young men and was willing to shell out big bucks to see Hawk perform.

“Touch it,” Black commanded, wagging his erection in Gordy’s direction. Gordy didn’t respond immediately, and Black reached over and took one of Gordy’s hands and moved it to his cock. “Touch it. Stroke it.” Gordy then fisted the erection in an expert underhanded grasp and smoothly stroked it. After a few minutes of Gordy responding to that command, Black growled. “On your knees. Suck it.”

Gordy went down on his knees and gave Black head, as the man ran his fingers into the singer’s long, black hair at the back of his skull and held Gordy’s head to his crotch until he’d released in the back of the young man’s throat.

“Come with me,” Black said as he pulled a gagging Gordy up from the floor.

“Shouldn’t we be getting back? The lawyers will be looking for us.”

“No, we go the other way,” Black said, pulling the young man out into the corridor and hustling him down the hall in the opposite direction from the room where they had been involved in a deposition. “There’s more than one way to settle this lawsuit.”

Gordy could act on impulse, but, apparently, so could Arnold Black.

* * * *

The motel was a fleabag named the Wagon Wheel on West 58th Avenue, in Allendale, on the western edge of Denver. Gordy sat in Black’s rental Chrysler 300 while Black rented the room they’d parked in front of. Lots of rooms were available, although two doors down from the one they rented was one where the door was open. An old orange Dodge Charger was parked in front of the room and a hunky Hispanic buy, stripped down to shorts and flip-flops, was soaping up and hosing off that car. He also was ogling Gordy and Gordy was eyeing him back while waiting for Black to secure the room.

Once they were inside, Black took charge and went straight for business. He told Gordy to go shower and clean himself out. When Gordy came out of the small bathroom with its chipped black and white tiling, Black was down to in the buff too and checking out what was on TV. He knew his motels, because he managed to find a gay sex video channel. Black was paunchy, but he had a powerful body, heavily muscled. He was hirsute, some of the hair turning to gray, the rest a mousey brown, and he was hung like a bull.

Gordy sat on the foot of the bed, working his cock and watching the gay video while Black took a shower.

When Black came out, in full, thick and long erection, he put Gordy on the floor, both of them facing the TV set, on all fours, and, without ceremony, he mounted Gordy’s hips, penetrated him, grabbed a hank of the Lakota’s long, black hair to use as reins, and rode Gordy to an ejaculation. Gordy ran a hand under his belly and took care of himself.

Afterward, Gordy returned to sitting at the foot of the bed and watching the TV while Black stretched out on the bed and had a smoke. He played with his cock until it was hard again and then called Gordy to come up onto the bed and ride the shaft. Gordy did so, facing away from Black, palming Black’s knees, and watching the TV. The video showing used the same position, and Gordy made an effort to coordinate his rising and falling with that of the actors on the screen. The top in the video was Austin Hawk, which Black had found amusing and had gotten a good laugh out of.

There was no reluctance or shyness on Gordy’s part. He liked being fucked and had been aroused by how impulsively they had walked out on their lawyers to get off in a cheap motel.

When they were done a second time and, leaving Gordy stretched out on the bed, Black flipped off the TV, took another shower, and came out of the bathroom dressed and closing his fancy gold cufflinks on the white Egyptian cotton dress shirt, he probably wouldn’t have said anything to Gordy before he left if the young man hadn’t spoken. He’d gotten what he wanted. He had no trouble leaving the young, promiscuous, and unpredictable rock star naked on the motel room bed.

“So,” Gordy said, “does this square us? Since we’re such friends now, are you going to drop the suit?”

Black snorted. “Of course I’m not going to drop the suit. This doesn’t come out of your hide and, if anything, it appears to make you more of a god in your fans’ eyes. The insurers will pay the freight and both sides get great publicity out of the court case. I’m taking your insurers to the cleaners. It’s just business. Don’t take it seriously.”

Hanging in the air was whether the fucking they’d just done should be taken seriously, but the answer for both of them was probably a no, so the question wasn’t asked.

“You going to drive me back?” Gordy asked.

Black was already at the door, with it open. It took him no time at all to snort again, say, “Fuck, no,” and be gone. Gordy rolled off the bed, went into the bathroom, and took another shower. He had all the time in the world and no immediate plans other than to check to see if he had brought cash or cards to get a cab from here. He wasn’t all that sure where he was booked in a hotel. He usually moved in haze of drugs these days and relied on his manager and his “hanger-on” guys to guide him around. He hadn’t paid much attention to how they’d gotten here from anywhere.

When he walked out of the room, the Hispanic hunk two doors down, was sitting in front of his sparkling clean Dodge Charger, sitting in a plastic patio chair that was tipped back against the wall, and drinking a beer out of a bottle.

Gordy looked at the Hispanic hunk and gave him a smile. The Hispanic guy smiled back, tipped the chair back onto four legs, stood and went to the open door of the room in front of the Charger. He held out a hand.

On impulse, Gordy walked to him. “What does a guy have to do to get a ride in the nifty car of yours?” He asked.

“We should be able to strike a deal,” the Hispanic hunk said, with a smile. He came close to Gordy and when Gordy didn’t shrink away from him, he palmed Gordy’s butt, guided him into the motel room, and shut the door behind them.