Saturday, April 7, 2007

More Than Five and Less Than Ten

The door opens without a squeak. You can only tell that it’s the door because the air sweeps your face like a door. It’s not a clean sweep, but a warm one, full of humidity, in this, the room they do this in. The only room without air conditioning. I wonder if I’ll feel the door swing shut again, another cloud of black, soft air, but there isn’t. The door remains open, so that they can come and go as they choose. They know the room much better than I do, will have no trouble finding the door. I wonder what the first touch will feel like, whether it will be strong or light, how forceful, really, this whole experience will be. I wonder if they’ve got some ritual, some secret handshake in the dark, if they discussed what they would do before they got in here, all of them in a lit room, hunched over as if preparing the plays in the second half.

Of course, I’m shaking. Of course I am. I tried not to think about it too much, told myself I was going to a party with friends, that I would tell all my good stories and they would laugh and shake their shoulders, but they left me here in the dark for a long time, long enough for me not to know how long, and I’ve worked myself up, in the fifteen to sixty minutes that I’ve been in here, to a frothing nervousness, the kind that you get at a podium, the vicious tomfoolery of your opposing muscles, unable to decide what to do, uncontrollable wave cancellations in your electricity.

You only have to do what we ask you to do, Nick said. We may ask you to turn around, or open your mouth, or stand up. We’re polite, but you better take it as an order, or you’ll never get this opportunity again.

The first touch is not gentle, but it is a kiss. He palms the crown of my head and shoves me to his mouth. I’m shocked at first, but I get it, try to do my best and find it easy. The time in the room alone was also filled with blurred beats of what might happen any minute and I’m ready. I’m more than ready.

You can’t lift your arms unless we lift them for you.

My arms dangle at my sides, still hopelessly twitchy, with real messages to fight now, ones that want me to paw the air, count the visitors, feel their bodies, but I manage to dangle them. A hand comes around my front from behind, slips under my shirt, nail-skates my skin and lands on my nipple. I buckle and feel him pinch. This buckling thing isn’t allowed. I whimper a little because the pinch is hard and unexpected. The pinch is emphasized with a twist to see if I’ll call uncle. I don’t. The man behind me gives a satisfied “humph,” and kisses the back of my neck just below the hairline. He drags his tongue, circling what he has to know is my tattoo, stops and blows on it. I arch my neck. I can’t help that.

My keys swung in the ignition and I regarded them for as long as it was safe to do so, wondering that the wind didn’t flutter them around like the chaos of current above the steering wheel. Nick said he hadn’t been in a convertible in years and would stop mid-sentence to lean out to the side or straighten above the windshield, the hot day completely negated in the wind. “Do you really have the authority for this?” I asked him, watching the bend of his jeans at his hip as he sat down, his arms relaxing at the bicep. He simply looked at me as if he was about to end the deal if I said one more stupid fucking thing like that. I turned forward again and bent my neck back, squinting at the glare of the car in front of us.

I can feel the hard-on of the guy behind me, half between my ass-cheeks and half above, as if he’d put a flashlight in his pants. He bends his knees until the hard-on is below my asscheeks and lets it catch on the way up, pushing me into the man who’s kissing me. The man at my lips takes this as an affront, twists my face and bites the side of my upper lip. It stings awful and I suck air in around it, mostly his exhales, I gather. The air tastes like him. Why? I want to ask, but he relents with a lick on the inside of the lip, looking for blood, no doubt. The man behind, as if sensing the mercy up front, pulls my pants down over my ass and slaps it hard, rubs the sting away, then slaps it again. A whine escapes, though I’m clamping my mouth shut to stop it. The man behind takes this as a challenge and spanks harder, four, five, six! He rubs the sting away, but bends over to rip at it with his stubble.

”Is there a safe word?” I asked.

“Is there a safe word?” Nick repeated incredulously. “You need a safe word?”

There are two more hands now, each descending the sides of my pants, pulling them down my thighs. My shoes are removed without much thought for my balance and the pants are removed to parts unknown. A hand enters my underwear through the right leg, weighs my balls gently and taps behind them. “Give me your hand,” says a voice to my right. I lift it toward the voice and it is taken, puddled with lube and wrapped around someone’s cock. “Twist it slowly,” he says. Then all I hear from him is moaning. As I turn him in my fist, he fucks it. I consider dropping, taking the tip in my lips, though the one is still sore, but remember that I must wait for orders.

My knees are kicked bent behind me. I take it and straighten again. “No, on the floor,” says a man behind me. My knees fall to the rubber floor, the one I’d bounced my heels on as I waited. A chop of the forearm arches my back concave. There is a squirting noise, a slap of latex, one thumb in my asshole pulling one direction, another pulling opposite. Then a cock and nails into my skin. Exquisite pain, a 911 call within me in a gasp. I’ve lost pace on the man in my fist and he flicks at my fingers and wraps them tighter. “You’re multitasking today, boy,” he reminds me. I’m very sorry and match the twists to the fucking behind me. There are fingers in my hair and my head is lifted painfully. I’d been hearing squishing smack noises in front of me somewhere and they approach quickly. The smell of cock is here, salty and sour, and my lips are split by the tip of one. I taste the candy bubbles of the lube and open my mouth wide for it, my lips wrapped around my teeth. “Good,” I hear. The cock is rubbed sincerely on its way in, a welcome for the swollen traveler.

Lube has begun to pool on the rubber and my right knee has found a daub. It keeps slipping, parting my legs and pulling me down. The man who’s fucking me gets impatient having to pull me up and spanks me hard and red. A new sharp twinge stampedes up my back. The knees are withdrawn from between my legs and my knees are nudged shut. A hand comes up to my shoulder and wrenches me back. The cock is returned full force with hardly a consideration, a warning, a bow to etiquette. I almost lose the cock in my mouth in the tussle and my head is wrenched forward again by the scalp. After a few pushes and pulls, the two men figure out their tug-of-war, and instead of relenting, pull harder. I’ve got hands hooked around my hips, controlling their every move and another twisting my head by the hair, taking the neck in yanks when this isn’t enough.

The man fucking my hand begins to slow and stops my wrist from twisting. He lifts my thumb to the tip of his cock and circles it slowly. He’s groaning, shaking, calling for God. Then there is warmth and pressure, three gooey gushes under the pad of my thumb. “Umph,” he finishes with. I’m too tired to think about it. The hand in my scalp changes direction, however, and shoves my face down and to the side. I see it glow blue. There must be a blacklight. “Lick it up,” he says. I descend, my tongue leaving wider and fainter bastes of pale blue on the rubber with each pass, the salty bitter swept into my mouth and swallowed.

The room is Machiavellian hot. Sweat pours off me in rivers. I can taste it, feel the others’ sweat hit me in little rainstorms. With a jerking plunge, the man fucking me comes, bounces in grunts. He waits, pulls out and smacks my ass one more time for good measure.

”How many are you?” I asked Nick.

“More than five, less than ten.” He saw me squint with doubt. “Don’t worry, though. Some are just watchers, or listeners mostly. You won’t have to take care of all of them yourself.”

It occurs to me that I hear squishing smacks all around, that not all of them are coming from the men who are touching me. The one who finished behind me is replaced, this one in a hurry without grind or romance, simply pumping into me quickly, as if there were a time limit. I hear a groundswell moan to my left and teeth chatter. A Fuck!

“Talk to me,” says a voice to my right, very close. “Tell us what you want us to do.”

“I want to make you come. I want to make you all come. I’ll lick it up. I’ll fuck you dry. I’ll suck you crosseyed. Whatever you want is what I want you to do.”

Another cock is brought to me and my face is lifted by the chin. I feel warm shocks to my upper lip and nose, open my lips and suck it in between my teeth. “Aw, God!” I hear from just above. His thumb sweeps my lips and pushes the remainder inside. The man behind me stops abruptly with a yelp and pulls out. Nothing happens for a while, but the exhales of men, my own probably the loudest.

A ghostly apparition of bluish white brush strokes gets closer and farther away. My mouth twitches and so does it. It’s a mirror. Light comes up, just enough to see myself. The men come into the picture and lift me to my feet. Two hold my arms back, two bend at my feet to hold them in place. One stands behind me and waves at me in the mirror. He nibbles the back of my neck. A finger is plunged into my ass, then another and another. I’m hanging from them, exhausted and drained. The fingers begin to rub and a harsh blushing tingle rushes my body. The man under my right arm licks the sweat off of my cheeks, reaches to my front and grasps my cock. The one on the left gently pulls at my balls, biting into my shoulder. I can barely lift my head to watch. Another man drops to his knees and licks the tip, rubbing his tastebuds across it.

A steamroller hurricane passes through me and I come with the very last of my energy, almost a death-throe, a cracked jolt and I’m swimming in a dream. Then there is black again. I wake in a comfortable bed hours later, sore but comfortable. Nick, the man who made the lick that almost did me in, hands me an aspirin and some Gatorade.

“You did good, buddy,” he says and gives me a sweet kiss on the mouth. There will be a new one next week. I’m in.

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