Ups and Downs

Roast Pheasant and Ground Beef

After a full day of orgies in the fitness center and our hotel rooms, you might think Rafael and I     would be exhausted, but we were actually pumped up about the reception and dinner that evening. Mr. Block and Woody were scheduled to attend an international conference on LGBT rights at the United Nations on Monday, and they took the opportunity to invite a few men who would also be attending. This was not a business dinner, though. These were friends that Mr. Block and Woody had gotten to know over the years.

The cocktail reception was scheduled to begin at 5:30 p.m. with dinner at 6:30, but I decided to go to Mr. Block’s suite an hour early just to make sure that everything was in order. When I got there, the bartender was already setting up the open bar, two waiters were busy setting the dinner table and placing name plates at the assigned seats. And, of course, Conrad was expertly overseeing all the preparations, making sure that every piece of silverware was placed exactly where it should be. The three young staff members wore tight black pants, tapered white shirts, and rainbow bowties—what I call “party formal” but also damn sexy. Conrad, of course, looked absolutely dashing in his Edwardian butler uniform.

Dressed in our new Brooks Brothers suits, Rafael and I looked very professional and handsome—if I do say so myself—as we took pictures of everything so that we would be prepared for our meeting with the hotel manager next week. We also made note of the seating arrangements. As usual, Mr. Block would be seated in the middle of the table with Woody directly across from him. Rafael and I would sit at opposite ends of the table.

I introduced myself to the staff just so they would know who was in charge. They were all very friendly, and I would have jumped any or all of them on the spot under other circumstances.

The first guest to arrive was the CEO of one of the country’s largest and most active gay rights organizations. I was sworn not to reveal any of their names, so I’ll just refer to this man as Mr. Right. He was followed by General Peace, a member of the U.S. Joint Chiefs of Staff, who looked very commanding in his uniform with all its ribbons and metals. I would have let him jump me under other circumstances.

Mr. Yen, as I will dub him, the CEO of one of Japan’s most successful international corporations arrived with Señor Papi, Spain’s ambassador to the UN.

I expected Rocky, the rock superstar known for pushing boundaries in both his music and his public behavior, to arrive with a flourish, but he was upstaged by the pansexual Bollywood film star known only as Arup—meaning formless or shapeless in Bengali. While Rocky was dressed in a conservative leather jacket and business slacks, Arup wore the traditional Indian sherwani, a kind of knee-length shirt-jacket, but that is where the traditional style ended. His white sherwani, atypically unbuttoned down to his sternum to show off his very hairy chest, was adorned with swirls of brocade in pink, blue, and yellow, the colors of the pansexual pride flag. Instead of traditional pants, he wore opaque white tights that showed off the muscles of his dancer legs. A flaming red silk stole draped over one shoulder fluttered in the air whenever he waltzed across the room, which seemed to be the only way he could transport himself. It was all self-aggrandizing, and he played it to the hilt.

Watching Woody and Mr. Block mingle with these mammoth egos was an education in itself. Regardless of the stations they had reached in their respective careers, they all deferred to Mr. Block. Of course, he didn’t flaunt his authority or his charisma; he didn’t have to; it was just there, and they all knew it.

Most of the chatter over cocktails was just that, catching up on what everyone had been doing since the last time they had met, new projects they had launched or were working on, and, of course, who was sleeping with whose husband or boyfriend, who had been caught with his pants down—literally—and who was a good lay and who wasn’t.

Señor Papi, being from Barcelona, was delighted to learn that Rafael spoke not only Spanish but also Catalan. “You will love Sitges,” he told Rafael. “It is a beautiful village, and there is always lots of excitement,” he winked and nudged Rafael with his elbow on that last word, assuming that Rafael would know what kind of excitement he was talking about, and, of course, Rafael understood completely.

“I understand that Barcelona is a very beautiful city as well,” said Rafael, trying to keep the conversation sociable and respectable.

“Indeed,” said the Ambassador. “You must come visit me at my villa, and I will give you the royal tour.” His words seemed normal enough, but his intonation and gestures added a whole other layer of meaning—the emphasis being on ‘lay-er.’

Rocky had a reputation in the media for preferring younger men, and since I was the youngest man there, I suppose it was inevitable that he would zero in on me. As it turned out, though, he was nothing like the media made him out to be. He was affable and outgoing, but not obnoxiously so, and when it came to big heads, his was probably the most sedate of all the guests. He was cordial, even respectful, toward the hotel staff, thanking them for the most minor courtesies. Frankly, I don’t think he gravitated toward me because I was young; I think he was just seeking to avoid the maelstrom of egos in the presidential suite.

As we were chatting, I noticed that the Spanish ambassador strayed for a few minutes into the dining room and then returned a couple of minutes later to whisper something to Conrad, who nodded and then strolled into the dining room himself. When Conrad returned to announce that dinner would be served, I lagged behind, making sure that everyone was accounted for, and when I went to take my seat, I noticed that Rafael was in my chair. Conrad quickly, but smoothly, ushered me to the seat that was originally reserved for Rafael.

So now I am sitting directly across from Rocky, and Rafael is sitting directly across from the Spanish Ambassador. All of a sudden it hit me: Señor Papi’s presence at the dinner was not coincidental. Mr. Block had engineered it for Rafael’s benefit. For me, getting to sit across from Rocky was just a serendipitous consequence of Rafael’s good fortune.

Dinner would have made Kim proud: roast pheasant with a rice pilaf containing wild mushrooms, water chestnuts, and diced carrots, an acorn squash casserole with a parsley garnish, and French-style green beans. Beside each plate was a three-section tray with a choice of three sauces: spiced apples, cranberry sauce, and mint jelly. All of this was served with a hearty California burgundy. When everyone complimented Mr. Block on the feast, he deferred the praise to me, and I, in turn, credited Conrad and the hotel’s chef, which brought a subtle hint of approval from Woody.

Conversation over dinner consisted mostly of a continuation of what had been discussed over cocktails, but I noticed that Mr. Block very diplomatically and very smoothly coaxed the VIP guests into sharing ideas about how everyone could advance gay rights and particularly the protection of gay children and teens. All of the men present were either very wealthy and powerful or had influence with people who were, and Mr. Block wanted to make sure they left that evening with ideas and a bit of prodding to advance the causes dear to him. Arthur Block’s talent was having his guests leave the gathering with renewed motivation and the conviction that the ideas exchanged had all originated with them.

After dinner, the party continued with brandy back in the living room. All in all, it was a very pleasant and productive evening. As the guests departed, Rafael escorted Ambassador Papi to the elevator. I hung back, of course, to tie up loose ends and to thank and tip the staff, who could now let their hair down and gush over the presence of a rock star. Rocky handled the attention with aplomb, joking around with the guys and signing autographs graciously and cheerfully.

As I walked to my room down the hall, I passed General Peace who was walking back to the presidential suite. “Forgot something,” he said as he passed me. Yeah, forgot to get laid. Is it Mr. Block, Woody, or both?

I had assumed that Rocky, who had followed me out of the suite, had taken the elevator down to the lobby, but when I got to my room and turned to close the door behind me, Rocky stood in the doorway. After a moment of stunned silence Rocky finally broke the spell. “Well, are you going to invite me in, or are we just going to screw here in the hallway?”

The small talk didn’t last very long, but the foreplay did. Rocky was a true gentleman. He kissed me slowly, sweetly, and lovingly, and he undressed me in the same manner, purring over various parts of my body as he exposed and savored them to his delight. Once he had me completely naked, instead of undressing himself, he rose from the bed and stood facing me, just staring. “Something wrong?” I asked.

“Everything is just perfect,” he sighed.

“Well, don’t you want to make love to me?”

“Of course, I do—all night long,” he said. “But right now I just want to drink in your magnificence.”

I know it might sound corny, like a line he had used to seduce men a thousand times, but he was truly sincere. He was genuinely worshipping every inch of my body with his eyes.

I lacked his patience, though, and he had the advantage in that I was completely naked and he was fully clothed…but not for long. I grabbed him by his leather jacket and pulled him back down onto the bed, where I unceremoniously ripped off his clothes and threw myself on top of him, kissing him passionately as our stiff cocks rubbed against each other, aching for relief. I licked his body from head to toe and back up to his crotch, where I devoured his beautiful cock.

When I offered my ass to him, he said no. “I want you to make love to me,” he said. “I want you inside of me.” That sentiment caught me by surprise. Based on his reputation as a wanton Lothario, I expected him to be a confirmed top, but if he wanted my dick, I was more than happy to oblige.

I approached him as he had with me—slowly, gently, tenderly licking his rosebud, gingerly inserting one finger and then two, rubbing them in and out cautiously while at the same time sucking his cock and playing with his nipples.

“Oh, Joe. You are so fucking hot. I need you.”

I didn’t require any more persuasion. I lubed his hole and my pole with saliva drooling from my mouth. Though I entered him delicately, he gasped when my instrument breached his spinchter ring. Even though I knew he was in pain, I had to smile because I also knew the ecstasy he would soon enjoy. Once his rectal muscles had adjusted and relaxed, I proceeded to fill his canal with my meat, edging forward and back and forward again until I reached his prostate. Another gasp. Another smile.

I moved in a slow, steady rhythm, massaging his tunnel with my manhood until he practically screamed, “Oh shit, Joe! Fuck this. Shove it in! Fuck me hard, Joe. Pound the goddam shit out of me.”

Who was I to disobey a rock star? I slammed him hard and fast, like a jackhammer demolishing a concrete wall. He yelled and writhed so uncontrollably that I had to hold him down as I destroyed his ass. ­­­But then I took a sharp turn. I slowed down almost to a crawl. I pulled my dick all the way out and slowly, very slowly pushed it back in. After the third time, Rocky barked, “What the fuck are you doing, you idiot? Fuck me!”

“I’m sorry. Did you say something?” I teased.

“I said, ‘fuck me,’ asshole.”

“Oh,” I said as I thrust once as hard and deeply as I could. And then I punctuated each word with another powerful thrust. “You. Mean. You. Want. Me. To. Fuck. You. Like. This?” It was sweet torture, and I was loving it.

“Ah. Shit! You just wait…you goddam muthafucka. Ah! Gawd! You wait ‘til…ah…it’s my turn. Ah. Oh, fuck!”

“If you don’t like my dick,” I mocked, “I can stop.” And I did. With my dick pressed deep into his hole, I froze—just waiting for him to beg me for more, which, of course, he did.

“No, no. Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Fuck me.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you say ‘please.’”

“Please. Please don’t stop.”

“Please what?” I cajoled.

“Please, sir. Please fuck me.”

“That’s. Better,” I said, again punctuating my sentences with single deep, forceful thrusts, slowly picking up speed until I was once again ripping him like a dynamo.”

“Oh, fuck!” he shouted. “I’m coming. I’m coming.” And though neither of us had touched his stiff rod, he exploded all over himself, his dick firing like an automatic assault weapon. As I released his wrists from my grip, he flailed and pounded the bed with his fists as he experienced the most violent orgasm I had ever witnessed.

As he was blasting away, I slowed my pace but didn’t stop, and just when it seemed that he had finally caught his breath, I attacked again, drilling his hole fast and furiously until I also burst wide open, flooding his guts with my voluminous man seed before I collapsed on top of him.

After about five minutes of gradually coming down from our highs, Rocky finally spoke, “Well, I was right.”

“About what?” I asked.

“You really are magnificent.”

I had to laugh, but then he added, “but you just wait ‘til it’s my turn. I’m gonna fuck you so hard, you’re gonna cry tears for me to let up, but I won’t. I’ll double down and then triple down until there’s nothing left of your sorry ass. When I get through with you, it’ll be nothing but ground beef.”

To be continued