Ups and Downs

Putting on a Show

“Jeez! I don’t know how to process all of this,” I confided to Rafael as we were getting ready to leave the warehouse in Greenwich, Connecticut, where the homoerotic art show was being held. I was already reeling from having modeled naked in front of all of those strangers, seeing my sketches on exhibit there, having them fetch more than I could have imagined on auction, and seeing my brother Eric for the first time in ages and learning that he is bisexual. “And you won’t believe this,” I added. “I just learned that our boss, Mr. Block, is actually Brock Archer, one of my favorite writers and now one of my favorite artists as well.”

“Yeah, I know,” Rafael confessed.

“You know? What the—”

“Ron and Kim know too, and Woody, of course, but we were sworn to secrecy. Besides, we knew you would figure it out soon enough. You’re not quite as dumb as you look,” he teased. “We actually had a bet going on how long it would take you. Looks like I owe Kim 20 bucks.”

“Well, obviously we aren’t the only people who know,” I replied. “I learned it from a complete stranger here.”

“That sounds like Ben Steinberg,” Rafael said when I described the man to him: tall, brown hair, brown eyes, slight accent, maybe German. “He handles Mister...uh, the boss’ art exhibits and book sales in Europe.”

“I think I should go talk to Mr. Block about it,” I said.

“Too late,” said Rafael. “He and Woody have already left. They wanted to meet with Ben before heading for the train station. Anyway, I’m sure that Ben has already told him about your conversation.”

Since Mr. Block and Woody had already left, Rafael, Ward, and I grabbed some gyros and headed back to our hotel to pack for the ride home.

Despite what had been a rather long and eventful day, Ward was more than eager to party and so was Rafael even though the two of them had been partying all day, it seemed.

In Señor Papi’s limo, Ward’s eyes lit up when Rafael told him about our little escapade with Davey and Zac in the back of Mr. Block’s limousine. “I’ve never done it in a limo,” he exclaimed. “Who wants to fuck me right here?” he asked. Naturally, Rafael jumped at the chance.

“Should we raise the window?” asked Ward, referring to the privacy window between the driver’s seat and the back seats.

“Nah,” replied Rafael. “Hernando likes to watch, and I don’t mind if you don’t.”

“Mind? Who me?” asked Ward. “I love having an audience. It just makes it all hotter.”

Hernando gave us a thumbs up and adjusted his rear-view mirror.

“Fuck me good,” demanded Ward, “’cuz when we get back to your hotel, I’m gonna fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before.”

In that moment, sex was the last thing on my mind. Well...okay...maybe not the last thing, but not the first thing either. Even though I pleaded that I was not in the mood, Ward insisted on taking drags on my cock as Rafael pounded his ass. Of course, the blow job felt good...duh...but I withheld any orgasm for the time being.

In our hotel room back in New York City, Ward lived up to his promise to fuck Rafael like he had never been fucked before. Though Rafael and Ward pestered me to join them, I begged off. I must confess, though, that watching Ward tear up Rafael’s ass like he had torn up mine was a real treat. I had experienced Ward’s aggression first-hand, but watching it being done to someone else was quite entertaining, to put it mildly. It did help get me in the mood for what was to come later that night.

“Jeez, Ward!” exclaimed Rafael as Ward approached us at the back door to the concert stage at Madison Square Garden. “Why didn’t you just wear your birthday suit?” The question made sense considering that the pants Ward was wearing left almost nothing to the imagination. They were styled much like the jock strap he had worn at the art show except that they were long pants. They had the same laced front, and even though those laces were tied—unlike the ones on the jock strap—they still gave a glimpse of the dark hairy bush underneath. They were also somewhat opaque and so tight that anyone could easily see the protuberance of his cock hanging very low down his leg. Obviously, he was going commando.

“It pays to advertise,” replied the hunk who had modeled nude with me at the art show in Greenwich and probably would have fucked me right there on the stage if time hadn’t run out.

“I only have two names on the list,” said the mammoth guard at the door. We didn’t know his name, of course, but we dubbed him Sherman because he was built like a Sherman tank.

“I know,” I confessed, “but could you just call Rocky and ask him if he’ll let Ward in with us?”

“I dunno,” replied Sherman, sizing up Ward. “That thing real?” he asked, eyeing the huge snake slithering down Ward’s tight pants. Before Ward could answer, though, Sherman reached over to research the specimen himself. “Hmm,” was all he said as he picked up his cell phone and called the rock star who had invited Rafael and me.

“On a scale of one to ten,” he spoke into the phone, “I’d say about a 20.” Then, after a brief pause, “Okay, you can all three go in. The usher will show you the way to the green room.”

“Bruiser was wrong,” said Rocky upon meeting Ward and devouring him with his eyes. “Not a 20. More like a hundred. And he even has a sense of fashion,” he gloated as he massaged Ward’s reptilian appendage through the disgustingly revealing tights.

“I’d love to stay and ‘chat,’” said Rocky with air quotes, signaling that he really meant something more intimate than conversing, “but it’s time for me to go on. Follow me,” he added. “You can watch the show from the wings.”

The concert was fucking great. Rocky outdid himself. He was in top form vocally and physically. The dude really knew how to put on a show, and he was incredibly erotic. The way he moved his body as he performed was sheer seduction, and it worked. Not only did the audience scream, swoon, and sing along, but I saw a couple of guys get so drawn into the performance that they pulled out their dicks and jerk off to the beat of the music. It was enough to get the three of us hard as rocks too, and I could tell that Ward wanted to beat off like those guys, but Rafael and I pressured him to hold it. He did as we urged, but he also gritted his teeth for nearly two hours.

When the band finished their last number, the audience demanded more, so they did two encores, and Rocky invited a couple of guys in the front row to come up on stage and make out through the last number, which had very hard beat. “Make out” is putting it mildly. It’s a wonder nobody got arrested.

“That was a helluva show,” I said to Rocky as we walked back toward the green room.

“It was fuckin’ hot!” demanded Rafael.

“Damn right,” agreed Ward. “I’m so fuckin’ hard right now I’m about ready to explode.”

Before we got to the green room, Rocky led us into another room where the members of the band were changing. As Rocky introduced us to the guys, each one shook our hands and a couple of them groped the python trying to crawl its way out of Ward’s tight pants.

As we watched Rocky strip and change clothes in the green room, Rafael and I had to literally hold Ward back lest he jump our host right there on the spot. The dude was horny as hell, and his tight pants could barely contain his excitement.

“Save it,” commanded Rocky. “My record producer has invited us all to a party at his penthouse. It’s gonna be wild.”

When we got to the penthouse, the place was already hopping. Alcohol was flowing freely, and so were hormones. Though there were a few women present, most of the attendees were male, and they constituted quite an assemblage: members of the band and stage crew from the concert, nearly a dozen celebrities from the entertainment world—music, movies, TV, and Broadway—and their escorts.

“You got an ID, kid?” we heard Bruiser (a.k.a. Sherman) ask the cute young eye candy entering the apartment.

“It’s OK,” assured one of the famous movie stars in attendance. “He’s with me.”

“If he ain’t 18,” asserted Bruiser, “he’s gonna have to be with you somewhere else.”

Thoroughly annoyed, the middle-aged guest snorted, “We’ll have to see what Rocky has to say about this.”

“I wouldn’t advise that,” said Bruiser firmly.

“And why the fuck is that?” the actor demanded.

“Because Rocky don’t allow no minors—no exceptions—and if you try to push it, this will be the last invitation you ever get to one of his parties.”

Demuring, the deflated movie star took his young consort and slinked away.

Everywhere we looked, guys were going at it hot and heavy. Some were bent over leather chairs or stretched out on the floor, a couple were fucking on the sofa, and there were even a pair of guys screwing out on the balcony, not really giving a shit whether anyone could see and hear them or not.

Rafael went for two of the band members who wasted no time getting better acquainted, and as Rocky made the rounds saying hello to everyone, Ward tailed him like a desperate puppy.

I found a comfortable seat in a secluded corner, but it didn’t stay secluded for long. I was immediately approached by three guys who started undressing me with no formalities, and having held back all day long, I was now ready for some hard-core action. I wanted to fuck and get fucked until I was exhausted, which is exactly what I did. These guys introduced me to sex positions I had never imagined before, culminating in a sausage link, also known as a daisy chain.

From the corner of my eye, I could see Rafael serving as the cooked ham in a deluxe sandwich, and I saw that Ward had finally seduced Rocky, or was it the other way around? I watched as they went into a nearby bedroom, but they didn’t stay there. They grabbed the king-size mattress and dragged it to the middle of the living room. “We both enjoy putting on a show,” they later told me. And quite a show it was. They wrestled for nearly 20 minutes until Rocky finally triumphed. (Actually, I think Ward let him win.)

After Rocky ravaged Ward for almost an hour—the way he had ravaged me—they took a short break and flipped the mattress, so to speak—Ward tearing up Rocky’s yearning ass. As I enjoyed occasionally looking over from my own little orgy to check in on them, I noticed that they sometimes looked in my direction to see if I was getting slammed enough. The same could be said for Rafael and his new partners in crime.

Sometime around 3:00 a.m., after most of the guests had either left or conked out, I thanked Rocky for the invitation and especially for letting me bring Rafael and Ward. “I know they had a fantastic time,” I assured him.

“Don’t go,” Rocky sighed.

“I’ve gotta get up and go to work in the morning,” I said.

“But you don’t have to be over at the U.N. until 1:00 p.m.,” announced Rafael.

“Yeah, but I have some things I need to do,” I said.

“Are any of these things life and death?” asked Rocky.

“Well, no,” I confessed.

“Then come with me,” he instructed.

Rocky led me into another of the bedrooms in the penthouse and locked the door behind us. He led me over to the bed, turned down the covers, and ushered me in. “We don’t have to fuck,” he spoke softly. “Let’s just enjoy being together.”

And that’s exactly what we did. As I lay on my back, Rocky curled up with his head against my chest and my arm wrapped around him. He didn’t need to be fucked. He just wanted to be loved. I knew the feeling.

To be continued