Author’s note: If you are about the age of Carter and his cousin, unhappy and considering leaving/running away from home please do not use my story as any sort of model. This is fiction in which I can control what happens to my characters. I never ran away from home but, certainly, I was aware of young men who did and…it almost never ended happily.
And this. If you are in contact with someone elsewhere whom you know only through the electronic medium, if they tell you to come to them, DON’T DO IT. It’s my personal belief that Facebook has a lot of sexual crime to answer for, particularly among the young. There’s an American television show called “Catfish” which deals specifically with discovering what and who the person at the other end of the line really is. In only one or two episodes has this had even had the glimmer of a happy ending.
Carter and I looked at each other with that stupid ‘just fucked’ grin that the young get. Making up a social error, we’d found that our play mates were called Moma and Yousi, were from Iran-they were careful to point out their families had got out before the nick of time, their families had departed in the early 1970’s. Seems that no matter your place of origin, attitudes don’t change much; Their parents, they were brothers, had not taken kindly to the revelation of sexual preference although told never to come back, they had been allowed to keep the monies some relatives had left them plus their cars, their clothes, really fine jewelry, personal stuff….but told to get in those cars and leave.
Sensing good advice, they did. It hadn’t taken them long to find their way into sin but they’d been smart, worked sin to their advantage, took massage courses, the weight training sessions that were suggested and…somehow ended up at the Denver airport. They didn’t own the gym but the man who did hardly paid any attention; As best they could tell, it was run as a tax write off, they were hired because they were decorative, really studs on the hoof , enticingly so-they stood near the front of the windows a lot. Fully licensed massage therapists, their days weren’t very interesting and, in fact, they were considering a change in scenery; Although they’d never seen them, the mountains surrounding Tehran approximated those near Denver.
It went through my mind, just based on the porn we’d watched and having no idea how to make this work but…with Sam, us, the Iranians, we damn near had our own male brothel and….the gym was the perfect sort of place from which to operate. (We assumed that Sam might like to escape the pool hall and sucking ‘special customers’ in the can where he worked hustling pool.) Men come in, work out, find there are specialties, make selections, hop on a table, in a steam room, experience a form of aromatherapy not often suggested to open your lungs….Not to mention giving all of us a place to work out and stay in the best sort of shape, based on our drooling over the porn we could get, that was most desirable. Then there was our age…the expression ‘young, tender, meat’ went through my head. The only problem now was how to bring it up?
Pleasantly exhausted, we all racked out in a sort of darkened room that was marked ‘aromatherapy’, said to be very helpful after a workout although just what sort of workout wasn’t specified. Carter was, well, thoroughly fucked, a first for both of us which our new fuck buddies had just discovered; Two virgins in one day, probably a record for the Denver Airport….but I’m guessing. Lolling about, warm, letting the aroma do whatever it’s supposed to do, I mentioned, as casually as a 19 year old can mention, that, in truth, we were probably on our way to California to pursue a career in photographic porn….a buddy-it seemed best not to bring Sam in to this-had thought we might find employment.
I believe it was Yousi who commented that why go to California to have one’s picture made? He bet-and I thought this was probably a sure thing-that there was someone, possibly right in Denver, who took exactly those sorts of photographs and, were he to be honest, he and his brother had been approached…well, eventually, they’d succumbed to certain offers that led to a well lit studio, their bodies covered in oil and pictures being made. Matter of fact, if we were interested, he could show us the results of that trial run….But only IF we were interested, of course.
Silence can be a great come hither, if you play it just right and, for men as naive as we were, we inadvertently did. So much so that, not bothering with a towel, he left for a moment returning with a folio of pictures of …..the two of them. We knew they had great bodies, indeed we had intimate knowledge of them but…in the pictures whoever took them knew what they were doing and knew just how to make their bodies….even better than in reality. Whether the magic of retouching or airbrushing had been applied, they looked sensational and, having had the pleasure plus privilege of seeing the real thing up close and personal, we knew the pictures accurately depicted the real deal.
Yousi pondered….wondered….if, of course we had a three o’clock, but…if that could be delayed, perhaps we might be interested in finding out how we might look. Nothing porno, you understand, just some intriguing pictures that were, at best, suggestive. I believe it was Carter who asked if what we’d just done with each other was ‘suggestive’ and, if it was, what was the suggestion? Oh, and we had a friend, nice guy, surely they’d like him, right here at the airport…he supposed, if there was sufficient reason, we could always postpone our departure…if a promising deal seemed, well, promising.
“Here’s what I can promise…” Yousi bent over, took my cock, not as limp as one might have thought given all that aroma, in his mouth as well as sticking one middle finger up my ass. That seemed to suggest something so I did; I wondered aloud how photographs of young well shaped meat, brothers actually, would look fucking each other or, if that was too far, a simple 69, or, maybe just looking deeply into each others eyes as we jerked off, or were jerked off.
In the dim of the therapy room, I could see two pair of beautiful dark Persian eyes-well, I couldn’t see Yousi, he was otherwise engaged but I have a good imagination-slowly rising into a smile as their cocks rose, apparently to agree that, yes, illustrations such as suggested would have a certain appeal. He left out the word ‘market’ but we added it in our minds.
I had to pause while Yousi finished me off, rolled me and ate my ass-a new experience, but…why tell him? I could tell Carter was interested in having this new experience as well; How easily Moma read his mind when he rolled on his stomach and stuck his ass in the air, carefully splitting it with his hands. What a nice long tongue he had, I could see that we were in the hands, and other selected body parts, of truly gifted amateurs or real professionals. (I mention “amateur” for, as of that moment, money, that dividing line between pro and am had not been mentioned. Suggested, alluded to, vaguely mentioned but no offers of hard money for hard cocks had been offered. Yet.) Surely they must have known, given the revelation of our former virgin status, that what we were doing was learning on what may become OJT-whatever it sure as fuck beat Sam having to give blow jobs in a bathroom at a pool hall-however, that didn’t seem to worry them.
To be encouraging, difficult as I was close to climax, I did struggle out the word, “Bareback”…the suction on me went up a factor of at least three. What we knew was that ‘bareback’ meant having sex with whomever without any ‘protection’ from disease. Bareback, to us, was the norm, it was how we practiced our semi-limited sex but…we were bright, knew the problems, possibilities and though the AIDS scare was somewhat in the past, it was something to consider.
To every stone in the road, there’s a construction crew ready to smooth things out…in this case it was just a revision of what we had, and suspected our new buddies also, did, sex with each other without protection. Laying there, Yousi playing with my nipples, I imagined a scenario in which brothers, possibly a pair of brothers were photographed doing a double 69. Carter and I were no strangers to that, we both enjoyed it, enjoyed each other and, in the homes from which we were now in absentia, it had the virtue of being very, very quiet as well as something that didn’t suddenly end…if you understood control of yourself which we did.
Sometimes the big picture needs illustration so…I slid out from Yousi, went to Carter, put myself in the classic 69 position and took his cock in my mouth; He returned the favor. One thing we’d always lacked was any sort of video so we had to imagine what it would look like, live, if two men were sucking each other off. We knew what we did but that was for our own pleasure with no consideration of what a viewing audience might want; Somehow I felt there was a Persian version to this and I was right. Yousi and Moma, either to demonstrate or because they just wanted to, matched us. We learned that we’d been mostly correct what was needed was a bit of drama to sell to someone watching.
Aunt Jane had taught us carefully that the best literature and writers of same were those who could allow the reader to not just identify with the characters but imagine what it might be like to be experiencing the action being described. Watching our two new buddies replicate what we were doing showed us that not only would we enjoy it more if some sound, some motion was added but we’d enjoy each other more as well. Again, the proscription about noise at home had limited us though on many occasions, we had to use our hands to suppress exactly the sounds the boys from Tehran were making.
Oh, Aunt Jane, were you ever right, the more excitement, the more it’s conveyed to the interested party, the better it is. Probably being sucked off by two guys in a gym in Denver wasn’t what she had in mind but, already, we’d done pretty much everything that no one at home ever had in mind.
One thing about airports, there are clocks everywhere. Another thing, over time we’d both gotten to be fairly good actors if only to get our cluster of parents to let us do what we wanted. (Retrospectively, what we’d wanted wasn’t much but, working them to let us do it or have it was an interesting experiment. It also points up how we weren’t treated appropriate to our age…we were now upgrading that.) “Shit, Carter, we gotta scoot…” He seemed momentarily dim. “The plane..the three o’clock plane….”. (If that sounds like a line from old television show…..)
He was with me. “Guys, if we promise to change our plans…..??”
“If you promise to change your plans…what?”
“Could we come back and, uh, use the gym again?”
Yousi grabbed me, smiling, “We open at nine, we’ll welcome you but now….come on, both of you, showers, you’re covered in oil and, uh, other oil, ever been scrubbed in a shower?”
Sam looked a bit surprised. “Jeez, you two certainly look healthy.” We sat at a table and ordered what was a very late lunch. “Sam, we gotta talk to you, here, now…fuck the food…do you know the two guys who run the same day gym or whatever it’s called??”
“ The black eyed guys? My God, every gay man who even comes in and out of here knows them but boy are they off limits….”
“They fucked us. Among other things…..”
Sam sat down. Hard
“Listen they’re really nice guys, just stuck in there on display, bored but….they liked us.”
Sam didn’t respond, just looked at us for a moment. “They fucked you?”
“Yeah, YAY, we’re not virgins anymore and that’s not all we did.”
An hour later, as Sam rounded up passes for us with our things to get on the bus with him, he still had a confused look. “You…and your brother…met the Iranians at that gym and they…had sex…”
“All kinds!” I probably sounded like a kid straight from the farm who’s just discovered there was more to do in the hayloft than just pitch hay and for none of it did you need clothes…..
“That’s all your things?” He referred to the one duffel bag and one back pack… “We were, as usual, wearing each others clothes… Sam, we left in an awful hurry.” As we pulled away from the white spires of what looked a lot like a very modern cathedral on the prairie it was snowing. “Guys, it’s cold, you don’t even have a warm jacket or a parka or…maybe you can wear some of my things or Tom’s…”
Who knew that the trip from the airport to Denver took longer than the flight to Denver on the plane?
Three hours later, we were all holding a beer, in front of a fire, wearing thermal underwear Tom used for hunting. Sam, of course, had real adult clothes something I begin to think we really didn’t own. Actually, we didn’t have much adult anything except for our cocks and balls which were clearly adult. He’d called the pool hall to say he was not able to come in, sorry, he’d be back tomorrow and maybe bring some friends-what they understood we might do there was left as a question to be answered. We’d also given him a fairly definitive tour of our day with Moma and Yousi…not realizing they were the fantasy men for a bunch of the gay guys who worked at the airport, or the airlines or just passengers who saw them in the window and wondered if they had time for a massage. What we didn’t realize, we’d never worked anywhere, was that if you were employed, say at the restaurant where Sam was, you could not go wandering about making friends at other businesses. Hence the lusting after the Persians never got further than noses pressed against the glass and heavy breathing. We, as passengers, could walk in, suit up, strip down, get screwed…whatever we wanted plus whatever they wanted to do to us. I could see Sam was…not jealous but wished he could have something like that.
The few comments he made about Tom were nice, but in the whole time he’d be home between flights, he and Sam didn’t do even part what we’d done that afternoon. Then there was the issue of the pool hall and….blow jobs in the bathroom. That was something neither Carter nor I could understand-our innocence extended in many directions one of which was not understanding that you did what you had to do….something we’d never experienced; Except for not having winter clothes, we’d had it all-listening to Sam clearly made that point.
The one thing about hitching rides with Sam was that he started at 6 which meant transport called for him around 4:15 which meant we had to be up, bathed, shaved and ready to go before then, all three of us. Used to doing everything together, it was more like 2 ½ people getting ready than three. Also, over the night, it had snowed, which meant the temperature had dropped; It was a good thing Tom was out of town for between the two of us, we were wearing most of his cold weather clothing…some of which had his airline brand on it…not his name, but to see us was to easily believe we were employees of the airline. In other words, as soon as we hit the airport, those clothes had to be ditched; Having had the mini tour of the airport-the maxi tour would have taken days if not weeks-I’d noticed clothing stores. They weren’t open when we arrived-almost nothing was-and, because we were being ‘accommodated on the transport’ we were let off at the airline spot-the uniforms demanded that. We’d been told how to get, quickly, away from there, find the ubiquitous lockers that are in every large airport, stow the outer, airline branded, clothes then wander into the terminal…wait until the restaurant was open, have breakfast.
Jesus, they gouged you on prices. For once, we couldn’t share clothing as we each needed a full set; cowboy boots (We’d always wanted a pair), boot cut jeans, warm flannel shirts plus a warm jacket, gloves and a knitted watch cap. All well and good if you were out doors but…we weren’t. Just to look like travelers, we bought another back pack, filled it and somewhat regretted that the first ‘adult’ clothes we’d actually picked out ourselves were, of necessity, heavy weather gear. We did each buy a pair of jeans and a shirt, sort of change out for the cowboy look. Careful about money-right then there was no income and what we had needed to last for….who knew how long?
Even taking a very long time to eat breakfast and our shopping expedition, the gym didn’t open until 9 leaving us with time to wander and see what else we could find to do. Not much. There were shops offering hair cuts, nail salons, souvenirs all over the place but…when you looked for actual activities….the airport was geared to passengers going from one plane to another or leaving the terminal and beginning the long, long trip home. Or places you could dump children to play video games while the adults could go get a drink; Probably well deserved given the number of the children the length of the flight as well as whether you had a spouse or partner or family member to help with miniature crowd control. Given enough adults you could swap off drinking with minding the young and then return to drinking. The amount consumed rose exponentially based on the number of the young, how long the lay over was plus how long had the inbound been as well as the distance yet to be traveled.
We found a place to sit and talk…one thing, we needed to level with Yousi and Moma, we weren’t waiting for a plane, we’d left home, there was Sam…they’d been so great to us…beyond just the sex…but they had to know the whole truth. We weren’t wanted, we hadn’t done anything wrong-if you excluded worrying our families-so that was the whole story. I’m not sure either Carter or I were too keen about revealing that we were sort of small town boys, recently virgins, who were really grateful to them and…what next?
The tale got told sooner than planned. Again, our innocence in the greater world. Never occurred to us-we’d never had jobs-that people showed up to get ready to open their businesses, true with the gym. We were suddenly picked up, hugged and kissed by our Persians then led into one of the many doors-you wouldn’t see them if you weren’t really looking-that led to the myriad of walkways behind all the shops where whatever they sold was brought in, supplies for the airport….and of course the back door to the gym.
I guess we didn’t look too happy as we started our recitation of who, what, where, when, why…leading up to that moment. Their reaction was not what we’d expected, they were thrilled, we had everything in front of us, we could do whatever we wanted, they saw what we missed; We could now begin our own lives with no family to dictate, however kindly, what we’d do. They pointed out we were good looking, really well build, intelligent, good men, polite, the sort of guys whom anyone would like to meet. And pay for. In short, we could be adults.
It was Carter who, suddenly, hopped up, threw his arms around me and kept saying, ‘We’re free, we’re free….” and he was right we were. It was a cliche but if you looked into a darkened gym you saw four men, arms around each other, jumping up and down yelling something.
Now that everything was on the table, the Iranians had an idea, we should work at the gym. In fact we knew a lot about training, so the modest amount that was done there was easily handled. And, as Yousi said, two more studs in the window couldn’t hurt business. They hustled around and put together outfits that more or less suggested we worked there. Each of us had a tank top and very short shorts with the business name on it-push up jock, the guys insisted (they wore them,) plus white socks and white sneakers. The four of us standing together in front of one of the mirrors in the gym looked…formidable and, why not admit it, desirable plus, with the group, you had a selection of sizes, colors and what seemed to be concealed in our ‘working clothes’. While we couldn’t be paid, Moma figured out that if a client tipped us, and looking at us, he felt we would be tipped, it was ours to keep. Carter, somewhat innocently, asked what we should charge for sex…if asked. They hadn’t thought about that; seems they had what we might call ‘regulars’, guys who transited the airport all the time-as well as flight crews who were also frequent flyers in more ways than one-so dropped in for, well, whatever they dropped in for. Yousi made the point that…with us out front dealing with whomever came in, they’d have more time for…their other activities. Turned out he had a list of locals, some who worked in the airport, who liked to drop in and do whatever. Trouble was, they had the gym to run so their personal business time wasn’t much. Now, with us, we were led to believe their days could be fuller, thanks to not being involved ‘out front’. As to what we might…sell…they suggested that we hold back, get some practice. If they had clients who would enjoy some fresh young meat, and understood we hadn’t exactly achieved professional status, perhaps something could be worked out. One thing of which I felt pretty sure, when it came to sex, the cost was never a precisely set number; Part of it was driven by the anxiety of the consumer, another part by the look of the sales person and a third portion by what was wanted.
Yousi was quite direct pointing out that a great part of our charm was our youth and inexperience. Something about fucking a virgin in a whorehouse or, as he put it, say, “Gee, Mister, I never done that but I sure am willing to try” even if you just finished doing it ten minutes earlier. What they both said was….to see how the day went, what or who turned up, if there were any sales….the worst would be we’d get a good workout, spend some time in the whirlpool not to mention some time with them. Interestingly, they’d sort of divided us, I went with Yousi and Carter with Moma. Doing it that way, there were always two guys in the gym and the other two not in the gym doing whatever they thought up to do. Simple.
Apparently they’d been in touch with their buddy the photographer making it clear to him they had some really fresh meat, well cut, looked great in the window only needing some publicity photos…or whatever to launch our careers. Their word must have carried some weight as Youssi told me, just pick a time, preferably in the evening, and we’d drop by his place for a sort of meeting, see what he thought he could do for us. Remembering what he’d done for them, what he could do for us was…..a lot.
I was having real pangs of guilt about Sam; He’d been a friend when we needed one and….the idea of him giving blow jobs in a bathroom to earn money, well, it just made me sad. Told Youssi the whole story, Sam, the bathroom, wondered if just maybe….I saw that magnificent Persian smile, those dark happy eyes turn first mad then sad. Clearly he’d never had to suck off guys in a bathroom or anywhere just to make a buck.…. He did, however, have an idea all I needed to do was hang around the gym when it opened, handle any business that happened in, which, that early, usually was non-existent, he had some errands to run. Okay, I could do that. Five minutes later he reappeared in street clothes, good looking ones, kissed me on the cheek, called me something in Persian then ducked out the back door.
Based on my little experience with him but knowing what he’d done for us, I’d have laid money that Sam had seen his last men’s room unless he went in to use it.
I was a little surprised, a Delta flight got canceled so for their First class passengers they’d offered a free massage or workout or…whatever they’d like at our gym. Great! Business. Mouma and Carter handled the massages-that Carter had never given one didn’t seem to be an obstacle and, I could tell, at least one of the guys wasn’t as interested in getting rubbed down as he was seeing what else Carter could do. When he asked him if he’d mind working without his shirt, I saw Moma wink at him then draw some heavy curtains that gave him plus his customer some privacy. Out front, I had a couple of guys interested in working out so…got them into shorts, shirts, shoes and gym class started. Guess they liked it, when they left, and we didn’t ask, they each left a ten spot on a table. Both said they hoped they came back through Denver again. On a hunch, I gave them a card from the gym writing on the back, “Ask for Carter”. We could easily both be Carter, we were often told what a strong resemblance we bore.
And then it got really crazy. Two more flights were either delayed or canceled and though they weren’t give free passes to the gym, three passengers on them were on the Volleyball team at some university so they almost needed no help, another pair of guys were into strength training so my attention was on them, making sure their form was good, they didn’t get too many plates on the bars….just like we’d been taught when we took up lifting.
Carter, briefly, appeared and discreetly showed me a fifty then Youssi had another massage for him, a regular for whom he didn’t need to worry about whether he knew kinesiology but was more than pleased to find a fresh, tender ass. His first ‘quicky’. The guy was up, in, out and gone in fifteen minutes. Good for a twenty. Out front I, too, was getting modest tips, nothing under ten which seemed good to me. One thing, we’d been busy and it suddenly occurred to me…..my guy had been gone, I looked at my watch, four hours!
I mentioned this to Youssi who didn’t seem disturbed….as if to give me a signal, he reached in a drawer and took out a phone. Meaning, I guess, he’d heard from his partner and all was well. Okay but…I felt some responsibility for Sam; My concern was that for his kindnesses to us, we could accidentally get him fired… About then two guys walked in who, I could tell, were interested in something physical….just not in the gym. Smiling I zipped back, found Youssi in the shower-massaging builds sweat-and told him what I thought. He just smiled, told me to find Carter and, for a little bit, he’d handle out front while we gave service as requested in the rear. He’d have a quick chat with the men, see what was up and which of us they wanted. Wow! I was about to turn my first trick….and only the day after getting fucked for the first time.
One good thing that Carter and I had done that was suddenly of some importance was the ass play before we ran off to become, I guess, hookers. We’d each ‘experimented’ with dildos of increasing size, as well as the time we’d had them stuck in us. We’d widened ourselves so when something that was flexible went in, the muscles that normally would have needed to be stretched already had been. Which meant we immediately took to being fucked; Just now very important as gym work was turning more to getting physically worked over than worked out. We were loving every minute of it, our learning curve going up fast.
Help was on the way. I looked up to see Moma leading a puzzled looking Sam who was carrying the clothes from our lockers as well as his things; Something suggested he’d served his last load of eggs anything.
He looked at me, seemed to smile, then was whisked back with Moma. But not for long. Both of them returned in gym outfits ready to assist with customers. Sam, being somewhat short on the protocols of muscle, fitness, but not, oh yeah, sex, was plunked behind a desk where he signed people in, took payments, then escorted them back to a locker, gave them work out clothing then returned to his desk. I wondered if anyone ever asked directly to be sucked off? If so, some else could take the desk while he did what he knew so well to do.
I took that suggestion to Moma who was immediately taken with the idea but…needed something: An audition. Smiling he leaned over Sam’s shoulder and asked that, if he could spare a moment….I took Sam’s place at the desk having little doubt he’d need more than a moment. While I had never personally been blown by Sam, all those guys at the pool hall wouldn’t have returned for more service if he wasn’t at least…competent.
We were surprisingly busy-the addition of Carter, me and Sam came at a good time, our Persian buddies would have been overwhelmed although, as the day went on, more and more guys came in to catch a quick workout rather than a quicky. Which was probably just as well; Sex, however pleasant, is tiring. Also, this was being good, old fashioned hooker sex where you didn’t know the john, just pay up, in out-or whatever-leave a tip, thanks, and on to the next trick.
Moma reappeared with Sam; Both were smiling which didn’t just suggest, but roared he’d passed the audition. Beyond that, as was pointed out, not everybody who wants sex wants muscles…Sam had that…semi-waif look which some guys like and of course, his specialty which, in effect, we gave him sole right to perform. If we had to, we would but….for the discerning man wanting his load removed orally, Sam was your man.
Somewhere in the afternoon we realized we were hungry; Nothing since breakfast at the airport restaurant then non-stop work since then. As with most gyms, we had a glass fronted refrigerator filled with all sorts of ‘healthy’ drinks and food. Also about then I realized that….Sam, and therefore us, had missed the transport back to the city….rumored to be a hundred dollar cab ride. The Persians looked puzzled. Cabs? City? Sam? They thought we understood we were going to live with them…Sam too. That’s when he broke down and cried. I believe it was Yousi who said no part of our family (Huh?) made their living sucking the penises of pigs in a common bathroom; He came with us. This captain person could find someone else to warm his sheets. On our way to their home this evening, we’d stop by, he could leave a note, clear out his things and-I got teary eyed myself-come home with us. They then each took him, kissed him on both cheeks and lamented they’d hadn’t known about him sooner.
To their credit, the Persians had a strong sense of family, of belonging, of brotherhood. While it was never openly discussed, I knew that being abandoned by their family was a wound, a deep one. Oddly, Carter and I were a sort of bandage, we added and made a family plus, of course, Sam. Almost instantly we were treated like relatives, ones they liked, and wanted to share everything with us.was that concept of sharing that really knocked over the two of us. Being newly anointed adults, we’d never seen the other side of ‘family’, we were always the juveniles, the boys, the kids….until now.
The gym operated on fairly long hours-almost everything at the airport did. It didn’t open until ten but closing was at eight. That is official closing; No one was admitted after that hour but, for those already there, they stayed until they’d finished whomever they were working with or on. Almost no one after, say, five, used the work out part which left all of us available for the kind of sex which goes with modern airports…in other words, just about anything that doesn’t require ‘appliances’ and doesn’t produce screams. As a rule.
Finally we were all closed up, last customer shooed out the door leaving with a big smile and a nice tip for Sam. We learned something that Sam knew, without knowing it, but we did not. Simply put, a blow job, next to jacking someone off, is the simplest form of sex. As he said, in the john at the pool room, he could do….six or eight guys an hour. They came in prepared to be blown and all he did was help them over the fence. Simple, quick and, while not as financially profitable as what he’d made that first day, it was instructive to all of us; A blow job is the first thing, may be the last thing but serves as the open sesame to what else they might want. Sam was getting ten dollars per dick of which three went to the pool hall owner but in his ‘opening day’ at the gym, he’d cleared nearly two hundred but only half the number of men. As he said, he was a pro, could do a really good job….offered, as we had time, to give each of us a demonstration. How could we refuse? Our new brother? Our only concern was…what could we show him?
The drive back into the city was an E ticket ride. We were to find that neither brother apparently took, and passed, driver’s ed (or had held licenses ever) so our trip into town was not only shorter than the drive out but an adventure but, occasionally, up and or down streets inadvertently taken as conversation interfered with driving . If I’d wondered how all five of us, plus our things, could fit, I hadn’t dealt with the largest Cadillac SUV made. What we also found was that Sam had never driven to Tom’s so had only a vague idea as to where it was. Mercifully, he did remember a large shopping mall quite nearby and, once we found that, we found his (former) home.
His note to Tom was a kind of joint effort, each of us trying to think of words, phrases, kindly things that thanked him, expressed appreciation but…walked the line from sounding like either A. “Dear John” (Well, “Dear Tom”) and “Fuck You”. What we came up with was probably received in the mind of the recipient rather than the sender but we’d all meant well. And, as Yousi said, how grateful can you be to someone who let you earn your living sucking dick in a can at a pool hall? He had a point.
Apparently when the Persians had told us they’d been forced to leave home with very little save for some ‘things’ from relatives, their cars not to mention all their clothes, jewelry (Every single piece of it real; If it looked like gold, it was gold etc.), ‘trinkets’ that could be sold for thousands of dollars….but the most important things, each other.
Their home….paid for in cash as we were told….was an overbuilt ranch, five bedrooms, ditto baths, a pool, four car garage…you get the idea. At about five or six thousand square feet it seemed ‘cramped’ to them which only shows how one sees things can differ. That we would all be comfortable was beyond question what was less resolved was who was sleeping with whom. Yousi and Moma, obviously had the Master bedroom, but after that, their cheerful way of apportioning lodging was just to say, “Look around, when you find something you like, that’s yours.”
For the first night it seemed best to take Sam, find a room with a either a large bed or twins or…. We found something that, might have seemed cramped to, say, Her Britannic Majesty, was more than adequate for the three of us. The bed? Well, I didn’t know they may sheets that would cover an 18 wheeler but, apparently, they did. Not to mention an overflowing of pillows, stacked blankets, a bench at the end, made to resemble something from a ranch where you’d remove your boots only ours would seat all the ranch hands….the word excessive comes to mind. Sam, somewhat in awe, wondered who in their right might built this sort of place? Maybe a rock star but here? And that’s before we opened the door to what I’d thought was a closet but found it accessed an indoor lap pool.
Carter looked at me. “Jordan, when did we fall out the back door and into Oz?”
Else where Sam had opened another door saying… “Guys, I think I found either the john or the locker room for the Broncos….”
We wandered around opening doors, drawers, finding what amounted to a sitting room with an enormous television, theatre seating…eventually we just sat on the bench not certain what to do. Their hospitality was…overwhelming…a word that pretty much described everything they did. Their kindness, generosity, genuineness was….overwhelming simply because there was no believing it wasn’t real.
“Maybe….we should go find them…..?”
“Okay, put Toto in the basket…”
The three of us, very close together, started down a hall that, I assumed, ended in either a modified version of the Baths of Caracalla or the reception hall at Buckingham Palace.
Turned out….neither. Great, smiling, black Persian eyes over….stark naked bodies….
“The guy who does our pictures will be here pretty quick, c’mon, follow us to the studio.”
I felt our career in porn was about to begin.
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