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Last Night 1
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Archive-Name: last-night-1
Part I
I'm sitting in my chair, nursing a vodka tonic, a drink I don't
really like but makes me feel more mature, and I notice this guy's been
looking at me for about twenty minutes now and while at first he made me
uncomfortable, I'm slowly getting used to it. The song they're playing is
called "Fingerfoc" and it's by a band that calls itself Friends of
Carlotta. I don't know what this means but it is danceable nonetheless.
I want to get up and dance, but I don't want to leave my drink
sitting there and they're not allowed on the dance floor--drinks that is.
I look back to my right and he's still looking at me. He maintains the
stare long enough to let me know he's looking at me and then I guess he
get's nervous because he turns and looks away after a few more seconds.
I suck down the last of the vodka and then take an ice cube into my
mouth before getting up to dance to "Warlock" by Skinny Puppy. I have this
problem with the video that accompanies this song because it is so
outrageously violent and sadistic, but somehow I'm still drawn to it. I
wish I could explain the emotion.
Another emotion I wish I could explain was how I feel about this
man who's been watching me. He's not bad looking, but that's not always a
clear sign as to what one can expect personality-wise. The song ends and I
notice that he's been watching me dance and that makes me feel really
uncomfortable because I feel like I've been put on display for him and that
does nothing for me except make me feel like a piece of meat and I tend to
think of myself (most of the time) as a little bit more than that.
I wonder if I want to get to know this guy and really before I have
a chance to decide the matter for myself, he walks up to me and asks me if
he can buy me a drink. I'm not a fool and I'm running short on funds so I
acquiesce by letting him buy me a rum and coke(T). He comes back a few
minutes later, sets the drink down and then ever-so-politley asks me if he
may sit down. I ask myself what it can hurt, and I would have trouble
telling a total stranger that just spent four dollars on me to fuck off
completely. I owe him so much.
He sits down and for about a minute just ignores me. At first I'm
dumbfounded. Is this all he wanted, literally just to sit down beside me?
How queer.
About the time I complete this thought he turns to me and says,
"So, what's your name?"
"Chris. What's yours?"
"Mike, my name's Mike."
I just nodded. I didn't really know how to respond to this whole
thing. It was something I wanted, but it was something I was afraid of.
"So," I said, "Do you come here just for the music or the people?"
"The music, I really like the music. Why do you come here?"
"Well, when I first started coming, it was to try and meet people,
but after a while I kind of gave up on that and now I just concentrate on
having a good time."
"Do you usually have a good time when you come here?"
I replied with a smile and left it at that. One of those smiles
I've patented where I purse my lips on one side of my face and the rest of
my lips are left to cross to my ears in a straight horizontal line.
"How long have you been coming here?" I ask.
"Well, I first started coming here about a year and a half ago and
at first it was like you said, I started coming here to meet people, but i
learned that there were certain nights you came to have fun and there were
certain nights you came when you wanted to pick somebody up."
"So what kind of night is tonight?" I asked.
"I decline to answer," he offered.
"I decline to let you continue unless you answer," I offered.
"Can I tell you later."
"Yeah."
"So how old are you?" Mike asked.
"Nineteen. How old are you?"
"Twenty-two. Do you have a fake or something?"
"Yes."
"Aren't you afraid you'll get caught using it?"
"That's not something I worry about too much. Why were you looking
at me?"
"Because I find you atractive."
"Really? What about me do you find attractive?" I was more than
just a little curious as to what another man would find attractrive about
me.
"I don't know, just something about the way you look."
"OH."
"I don't know."
"So you're gay?" I asked him, as if by now it wasn't more than just
a little apparent.
"Yeah. You?"
"Yeah. I couldn't say that about a month ago, but I'm getting
better at that. Do your parents know?"
"Why should they? It's none of their business who I'm sleeping
with. If I moved in with some guy then I guess I might mention it to them,
but otherwise, I don't think it's anything dear old mom and pop need to
wrestle with. Do your parents know?"
"Hell no! That's the last thing I think I would care to drop on my
parents at Thanksgiving or some other family-oriented holiday like that."
"Say," he said, and I can't believe he said it, "Do you want to go
some where else and talk?"
Me being the idiot and completely naive, thinking, oh yeah sure,
says, "Yeah, I guess, where do you want to go?"
"Well we could go to my place."
"You're place? Where do you live?"
"Over near Ludlow Heights. Do you know the area?"
"Yeah," I looked up to the sky.
"Do you want to follow me there?"
"Sure," I said, "sure."
I got up, conscious and sure that everyone in the club was watching
us and knew that I'd let him pick me up and that we were going back to his
apartment for probably more than just an in-depth discussion on East-Asian
politics or something like that. No, the hard-on in my pants had to have
given this one away. Never until this point had I thought my dick was this
big, but then whenever I would prefer to be a little less noticeable, I'm
usually a little more noticeable.
The whole drive over to Ludlow Heights, one which typically takes
only about ten minutes, I kept contemplating whether or not I should just
turn off and go home. I just didn't have a good feeling about this and I
kept thinking what a sleaze I must seem to be. Here I've known this guy a
whole ten minutes and I'm following him home for what will most likely be a
night of torid, disgusting, (wonderful, exuberant, fantifying) SEX.
Of course I didn't turn off before I got there and I pulled up
right behind him with a huge grin on my face when I got out of my car.
He also seemed just a bit happy by the whole situation, and I don't
know if I could blame him: he'd been watching me and he'd wanted me and
he'd gotten me. (I think. I think I've made up my mind.)
I walked into his room and one of the first things I did was to
turn on one of the lights because I trusted him, but one can't be too
careful. He asked me if I wanted anything to drink and I declined, then
changed my mind and took a glass of water from him. I walked around his
apartment, fascinated by the way it seemed that this gay man lived his life
as normally as any heterosexual man. The only give-away as far as I could
tell were the two pornographic magazines that he had laying on his kitchen
counter. I asked him if he masturbated and he shyly replied yes, he
reciprocated the question in my favor. I said yes matter-of-factly and
moved on through the apartment to take in as much as I could.
I sat down on his couch and asked if I could take off my shoes. He
told me I could do whatever I wanted and I took that as a sign of his
submissiveness although I knew that if anything was going to happen, I
wasn't going to be the one to insigate anything.
I slouched down on the couch and spilled the drink into my throat
taking in the lushness of the water. He knelt down in front of me and began
to massage my feet. The glass in my hand went to lay against the back of
the couch ad my head went back also to stare at the ceiling. I didn't
remember a foot massage as being so sensual.
He took my socks off. I started to protest to his disrobing, but i
had trouble being so hypocritical considering the difficulty I was having
once again hiding my manhood. Is manhood an oxymoron in the present
situation?
My heart started beating faster when I realized he wasn't just
interested in my feet anymore and that he had started massaging my calves
and was working his wonderfully powerful hands up my legs and making me
feel incredibly relaxed considering the situation.
He told me that he couldn't have me feeling so uncomfortable and
that if I would just relax I would enjoy myself a whole lot more. Then he
asked me if there was anything I would prefer he not do. I said "no." I
said, "Do whatever you like."
I guess he took that as a sign of my submisiveness and that's
probably the point that the whole eveing took a differnt route.
He stopped just rubbing my legs but put his mouth to my jeans as if
he were kissing me although I have a hard time saying he was kissing my
jeans. Anyway, I was incredibly turned on, but I continued to just look up
at the ceiling and turn my head and take in what was going on.
As his head moved over my genitals I thought I was going to come
right there in my pants but he didn't stare there long, instead he just
untucked my shirt and then proceeded to plant tiny little kisses all over
my chest and my nipples. He unbuttoned my shirt and soon it was off.
I wanted to have his mouth on mine. I wanted to touch him, to feel
him, to taste him, to have him. I didn't know for sure how to proceed so I
just did what felt right. I leaned forward and slowly, passionately I
kissed him on the lips. We broke the kiss for him to kiss my neck as it
fell back, suddenly going limp. Again he worked his way down my chest and
this time when he got to my belly-button, he began to work at my belt to
take it off. Usually in this situation I like to help my attacker, but I
let him do it himself as I wanted my throbbing cock to be free of its
restrictions.
When he got the belt undone, he unbuttoned my pants and pulled them
off, along with my green-plaid boxers. My penis lay there. Hot, wet,
wanting to be sucked. (Suddenly seeming sadly smaller.) He did what I
wanted and I thought I was going to go nuts. He slipped his mouth over my
erect penis and I swear at that very instant I shuddered. He went up and
down, back and forth over my dick, licking and sucking. I came in his
mouth. I didn't want to, not so soon, but I did it anyway and enjoyed it,
went nuts over it, went to him to kiss him, to share with him my scalding
hot fuck-juice. He hadn't swallowed it all and I did taste my own come.
Liking it, loving it, wanting his.
"Can....we....go....to....your.....bedroom," I asked him between
pants.
(Gasp.) "Sure."
I picked myself up and started to follow him, but before we left
the room I turned him around and grabbed the back of his neck to kiss him
some more. His hands ran the course of my now naked body.
"Fuck me," he moaned, "I want you to fuck me."
"Whatever, anything you want...."
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