© 2000 All Rights Reserved.

by Murray Sexton

Wearing my slinkiest disco shirt, black Calvins, and Doc Marten�s, I was off to the Oil Can. Ordering my first Cuba Libre, I ran into "Biss Mitch" at the bar. Mitch has Austin�s most room-filling personality, and a physique to match. He is a gravity well around which orbit the sexiest, most alluring men in Austin.

Orbiting tonight was Terrance ("Didn�t you used to go by Terry? Drew? Cain?" Mitch asks), sporting a fresh tan from Cozumel. He fit my "type" admirably: blonde, blue eyes, slender, hard muscles covered in the softest, smoothest skin. At six feet, he is taller than I usually seek out, and at 37, older � but he�s the one doing the seeking tonight. He is a former minister (aren�t I always drawn to men of the cloth?).

Something about small men. "Not at all! I love small-framed guys. I�d pay extra for small!" A remark I would soon regret on the dance floor, as my insecurities began to emerge, unfold, and elaborate. Terrance is far too pretty to be hitting on me in earnest, without incentive. Or maybe with my new exercise regimen, I have finally lost the Magic Pound. Eyes seem drawn to me. The eyes are drawn to Terrance�s butt, exposed, naked, carefree before me, as we dance and grind. Is he a hustler? Was some coded message exchanged between Mitch and Terrance, some secret, knowing glance between pimp and �ho�? Was there something I said inadvertently, innocently, that in a hustler�s milieu had closed our contract for the night? Do I have enough money if he is? A hundred or so � but he must go for a thousand or more. I�ll be ruined. But I can�t afford to insult Biss Mitch. Was it when I bought him a drink? "Weller and Coke". Maybe my introduction was Mitch�s voucher for my credentials as a john. Robert dances with us, too. Is Robert your boyfriend? "A good friend, and a great fuck," as Terrance moves my hand to Robert�s crotch. Robert is very off-type for me, but enticing, mysterious: tall, dark and handsome. I could never afford them both! They�ve mistaken me for a rich "mark"! Is that what happens when you wear slinky designer shirts?

I am relieved when another man draws Terry�s attention momentarily. Taller even than Robert, he must be six-six, but boyish, and grinning infectiously as he fondles Terry�s now-exposed penis. We pass our palms across one another�s bodies in a friendly, casual way. (Can I be arrested for standing next to a naked man in a dance bar? Or just asked to leave?). Terry is not a hustler, just slutty, a quality I admire for its kinship to freedom. Or else he�s advertising, or recognizing one of his regular clients. Other boys join in. I am fondled. I am smiling from the glee of it. Other boys lose interest and wander off. Something in the dynamic tells me that it�s not about money. But by now I�m so caught up in the dance, the euphoria, that I have no further thought of hustlers. I am loved.

"You want another drink?" asks Terrance. He buys a round for the three of us. (Hustlers never buy drinks, I notice, confirming my conclusion). He tries to offer me his card. He is out of cards. "I think you�ll like my website." I watch as he writes the address � but then gives the card to someone who distracted him. On the patio, Robert suggests we go to the Chain Drive. "Where are you parked?" "I drive a Miata too!" "No, I need my car � it�s an independence thing. I�ll probably get there before you."

At the Chain Drive, I order another Cuba Libre (my third) precisely at last call. I am being noticed by everyone but the bartender, who seems to look with disdain on my slinky shirt, and who takes my order only after all others are served. Slinkiness is not contemplated by the leather/levi dress code. I consider taking off the shirt, but shaved chests are not favored here either. Terrance and Robert arrive. We walk towards one another and meet at the geometric center of the room�s Fung Shui, kissing like old friends. Robert gives me his enormous balls to play with. I receive them like an award, surrounded by my adoring public. We process to the patio. Already, Robert suggests we go back to the hotel. We finish my drink, and I follow. Robert will drive, when he finishes throwing up. It seems he has been boozing and X�ing more than my own three drinks. On the way to the elevator, we see Gothic couples on settees. Robert walks with a sway and a swagger.

We enter the room. Terrance continues to undress. I suggest to Robert that he might want to brush his teeth. Robert hands me a tiny ziplock and asks me to "set out" the contents. "I wouldn�t even know what to do with it," I say, handing it back, still wondering exactly what "it" is. Cocaine? Special K? Meth? Robert snorts a keyful now and again. Terrance undresses me, and begins to suck my cock expertly. Robert undresses himself. I suck on Robert�s enormous balls. I need those balls. Robert seems oddly distant. He is tripping. Terrance�s tongue seems aimed at my sphincter. "Sorry � that�s like fingernails on a chalkboard to me." He begins to press his cock against my anus. "You�ll need a rubber for that." He is in no hurry to find a rubber, but fucks my hand while he fingers my prostate. I am delirious. He moves in to fuck me once again. Robert gives what I interpret as a patronizing cluck, seeming to chastise Terrance for persisting in trying to fuck me bareback when I have already refused. I am silently grateful for that cluck, and I wonder if I would have had enough resolve without his help. I reach across Robert for a rubber, and hand it to Terrance. He puts it on, and suddenly takes control, shifting roles subtly, deftly, moving my legs into position, and giving me a skilled, deliberate ride. My eyes roll back. Terrance kisses me deeply. His skin is so soft and pliable that it seems delightfully misplaced over his gym-hardened muscles. I am getting close. There is nothing in the world like an anal orgasm.

Just as I approach this elusive peak of ecstasy, Robert begins to grouse and whine about how he has been left out of everything the whole evening. There is no diplomatic way to describe how his intrusive self-absorption deflates my hard-on, but I fill with empathy, tempered with surprise. I had thought he wasn�t very interested in me � he has rarely seemed to return my caresses, or even to invite them. My inner impression is that I have been going out of my way to include him, and have been ignored. But my impressions are not the ones at issue, and I feel powerless to impart to him the well-being I want for him. I curl up in his lap, and play with his beautiful balls, sucking them a little, hoping the genuineness of my silent affection will overcome his drug-enhanced feeling of isolation.

"It�s no good now � why don�t you two just finish and go. I wanted to be with you, Terry. I thought you wanted me."

"But I never get to play Top," Terrance whines in return.

I suck on Robert�s dick, while I�m still curled into a fetal position. At last, it starts to get hard. I perceive the warmth he starts to feel for me. He smiles dimly with his eyes. But I am not the one who can resolve the problems Robert and Terrance have with their relationship. Terrance has underplayed the seriousness of that relationship in describing it to me, "a good friend and a great fuck," because what is clear in Robert�s moodiness is how needy he is, how much he longs for Terrance�s love. I am aware that Robert feels threatened by my presence � jealous � but I also feel a certain sense of entitlement to my own climax, and to my own experience of Terrance�s love. I want to guide Terrance�s hand and body to caress and include Robert, but it is not my place to do so. This is about their love.

"You know, you can fuck me too, if you want to," Robert says. Terrance responds immediately, with that same subtle shift of roles, taking control and bringing his sexual intensity into focus, this time inside Robert. I am relieved. This isn�t really the way Robert wants it � he is a Top after all � but it is exactly what Robert�s and Terrance�s relationship needs. I begin to feel that that was my role here tonight, to force them into expanding their intimacy. I continue fondling Robert�s cock, and now Terrance�s balls, and my own cock, while they fuck bareback. The emotional release is growing more intense, as Robert begins to groan with pleasure. We all reach climax together, Terrance still inside Robert, and we all collapse in place in a heap together on the bed, exhausted, gratified, strained, but curiously uplifted. Robert asks me something, mumbling. Would I do him the favor of leaving the two of them alone now? Of course, of course. On my way out, Robert kisses me goodbye, and smiles dimly with his eyes. I drive home, sated, knowing this night was not really about me, but still feeling privileged at having been given a role in it � a small role that draws on the innermost nurturing part of my masculinity.

TM