Ups and Downs

Temptations

Rocky and I snuggled all night...what was left of the night. Being an entertainer, he was a night owl, but I was used to getting up with the sun to go to school or work. So, when I awoke at dawn, he was still sound asleep. It would have been delightful to roll back over and cuddle throughout the day, but alas, I had commitments.

The conference at the U.N. was not scheduled to start until 1:00 p.m., but I wanted to get oriented, so I arrived at 9:00 to take a tour of the building, which is very impressive. Marc Chagall’s stained-glass “Peace Window” is absolutely stunning. Picasso once said, “When Matisse dies, Chagall will be the only painter left who understands what colour is.” I don’t know about that, but his work is certainly colorful…and amazing.

After the tour, I grabbed some lunch in the cafeteria and met Mr. Block and Woody in front of the conference room. “You brought the Wacom,” noted Woody. “Good. There will be transcriptionists, so you won’t have to take down everything, but you should take notes on anything that might constitute an action item for Mr. Block. If you ever have any questions, just look at me, and I will give you a signal.” I tried to talk to Woody about learning that Mr. Block is actually Brock Archer, but he evaded the question and ushered me into the conference room.

The conference ran until 6:00 and was followed by a dinner hosted by the Japanese CEO, Mr. Yen, who had been at Mr. Block’s dinner party. I was surprised to see Rafael and especially Ward there since Mr. Block did not bring them. Rather, they were guests of Ambassador Papi. I envied them for looking so refreshed, but unlike me, they had been able to sleep until noon.

By the end of the evening, I was exhausted, and I still had to get up in the morning to meet with the hotel manager, Mr. Danvers, before heading for the airport. On Mr. Block’s instructions, Rafael and I had taken lots of pictures of the hotel and extensive notes on our observations. The boss knew that the meeting would be beneficial for Rafael in his new job in Sitges and that I might even pick up a few pointers as well. Actually, I learned a lot, but that was mostly due to the insightful questions that Rafael asked. I know that Mr. Danvers was impressed.

We considered ourselves very lucky to have the opportunity because we knew that Mr. Danvers was a very busy executive and probably was meeting with us only because of Mr. Block’s considerable influence. We promised to keep the meeting short, but Mr. Danvers, a very handsome, immaculately dressed man in his mid-forties, was overly accommodating. An hour into the meeting, I finally had to excuse myself to meet Mr. Block and Woody for lunch and then depart for the airport.

“Please be my guest the next time you are in New York,” he said.

“I’m sure that Mr. Block will be returning soon,” I assured him.

“With or without Mr. Block,” he insisted.

I thanked him for the offer but explained that I could never afford his elegant hotel on my own.

“Oh, but I have my own apartment here in the hotel,” he replied. “You will be my personal guest.” The offer did sound very appealing. I wondered if Mr. Danvers was as good-looking out of his custom-tailored suit as he was in it.

Just as we were getting up to leave, we were approached by the concierge. “Excuse me,” he said. “I have a message for Mr. Campbell.”

It was a note from Woody changing our plans. He said that he and Mr. Block would be staying over a couple of days but wouldn’t need me. Instead, they had arranged for me to meet with the director of the Leslie-Lohman Museum of Art in Soho at 5:30. They had re-booked me on a red-eye flight.

“You will love the museum,” said Mr. Danvers. “It is devoted to the works of gay artists and gay themes.”

I wondered aloud why they were sending me back without them. “Probably because the big Halloween party is coming up in a couple of weeks,” said Rafael. “Kim is incredible at organizing these events, but it is a huge affair, and he can still use all the help he can get.”

Since I had several hours to kill before my appointment at the museum, I was very tempted to suggest to Mr. Danvers that we go up to his apartment for a little “farewell party,” and I could see that he had considered the same option, but, unfortunately, he had other appointments that he could not cancel, so Rafael and I decided to have a nice, leisurely lunch and then take a stroll through Central Park. I did leave our little meeting with Mr. Danvers with a substantial hard-on, though. I was so tempted to drag Rafael into the bushes at the park and screw the hell out of him, especially since this would be the last time we would see each other.

Mr. Youngblood, the director of the Leslie-Lohman Museum greeted me when I arrived. He was younger than I would have expected for a man in such a responsible position, and he was damn cute. Between his good looks and the very impressive erotic works of art, including several Archers, I popped another boner. I tried to conceal it with my tablet, but it was a futile effort. “Don’t worry about it,” the cute curator brushed it off. “It happens a lot in here.” I’ll bet it does, you fucking stud.

First, Mr. Danvers at the hotel and now Mr. Youngblood at the museum. Fuck, I really needed to get my rocks off, but I just had to hold it.

Still, I felt like I was at home in that museum. I appreciated that Mr. Block had arranged for me to see the place and meet Mr. Youngblood, but I didn’t realize that there was more to his motives.

“I hear that you are an accomplished artist yourself,” said Mr. Youngblood.

“Mr. Block told you that?” I asked.

“Yes, but he is not the only one,” he said. “I have received several phone calls from our patrons who were at Greenwich this past weekend. You made quite an impression.”

I thanked him for the courtesy, but there was more. He invited me to send him some sketches to exhibit in the museum. Me? Average Joe from Columbus, Georgia, exhibiting my doodlings in a New York museum? Wow!

“Let’s discuss it over dinner,” he insisted, and since I didn’t have to be at the airport for a few more hours, I gratefully accepted. Dinner was delicious, but what I really wanted was the gorgeous Mr. Youngblood for dessert. Sigh.

The red-eye flight back to San Diego was nearly empty, but there was a pregnant woman in first class who monopolized the bathroom, so when I had to take a leak, I strolled to the back of the plane. I did a double-take when I saw the man in the back row playing with himself, and he had a lot to play with. It was huge.

When I stopped in my tracks to gawk and then looked back toward the galley, one of the two flight attendants there just looked at me and shrugged the whole thing off. When I finished my business in the lavatory, the man was still going at it, sometimes with both hands. One of the flight attendants came out of the galley, sat down beside him, and took over the stroking. Yeah, a hand job. He looked like he wanted to suck it off, but seats in coach are pretty cramped, and he would have to have been a contortionist to get into position.

After about 10 minutes of the complimentary jerking, the other flight attendant called, “Henry, time to bring out the drink cart.” So, Henry, the jerking flight attendant, excused himself and returned to the galley. When the duo exited the galley with the drink cart, I scooted over into one of the seats across from the stranger. After watching for a few more minutes, I dared to make a move, sliding into the seat next to him.

The man smiled at me, “Edward,” he offered. I smiled back and told him my name. As I replaced his hand with mine and stroked slowly, he commented, “Take your time, buddy. No rush.”

We chatted and I learned that he was a frequent flyer. “I make this trek twice a month,” he said. “The guys (referring to the flight attendants) know me”—as if that gave him license to expose himself. “Occasionally, I’ll get lucky,” he added, “and find some guy who will give me his phone number or follow me into a restroom when we get to the airport and blow me.” This was obviously a man who got aroused by taking risks. Hmmm. I wonder if I should....

“Ah,” he exclaimed. “Getting close. You’re good,” he commended me. “Nice touch. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that you’re fucking hot. Gets my juices flowing.”

I thanked him for the compliment just as he pulled up his sweatshirt and shot all over his chest and belly. Once the orgasm subsided, he raked a finger across the white pudding and stuck it in his mouth. On the second run, he offered the cum-soaked finger to me, and I accepted it politely. “And they say you can’t get a good meal on a plane anymore,” the man laughed. Before I knew it, Henry was standing over us offering us a couple of moist towels.

When the plane landed and we passengers disembarked, I headed straight for the toilet, and when I exited the stall, I saw the pilot enter another stall…followed by Edward. I was so tempted to see if I could make it a threesome. I walked out of the restroom, paused, and almost turned to go back in there when my cell phone beeped. It was a text from Kim. He and Ron were waiting for me at baggage claim. Apparently, Woody had asked them to pick me up. “He asked Ron,” said Kim, “but I insisted on coming along.”

“Good,” I exclaimed. “Let’s ride in the back seat together, and you can blow me. I’m so horny, I’m about to burst, and I don’t think I can wait half an hour until we get home.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” said Kim. “Remember that Mr. Block has a penthouse overlooking the park. That’s just five minutes away.”

 The penthouse was luxurious…surprise, surprise…and the view from the top floor of the high-rise building was unbelievable. Not only could we see Balboa Park from one side, but from the other side we had an incredible view of the bay and the Pacific Ocean beyond.

Ron and Kim wasted no time in tearing off their clothes and mine. When Kim tried to drag me into the nearest bedroom, I recalled the scene at Rocky’s after-concert party, where one couple fucked out on the balcony. We didn’t actually go out on Mr. Block’s penthouse balcony, but we did grab some cushions and pillows off of the sofa and throw them on the floor next to the balcony. And we opened the glass doors just to be daring.

When Ron went down on me, I let out a Rebel yell that I was sure could be heard by people on the street 12 floors below us. I thought I would explode immediately. “Don’t you dare!” Kim threatened. “You’re gonna fuck me tonight, and I expect you to make it last.”

Though it had been a very long day, and I had arrived back in San Diego exhausted, seeing Ron and Kim again, or maybe it was the exhilaration of having sex overlooking the water with the glass door open, reinvigorated me. I fucked Kim good while Ron tongue-fucked my mouth and played with my nipples and finger-fucked my ass. It was the next best thing to being in the middle of a sex sandwich.

Having sex with new partners—as I did in New York and Connecticut—is always exciting, but there was something amazingly comforting about having sex with a couple of good friends. It was the perfect homecoming.

The three of us spent the night in the penthouse, treated ourselves to a late breakfast at Urban Mo’s, and went back to the house. To home.

To be continued