Part 23 – Average
November
***
"Nice houses," Trevor remarked as the Jeep cruised the neighborhood streets. It was an understatement; the posh neighborhood hosted the homes of the city's elite, the mansions constructed more to trumpet social status than to provide shelter.
"Yeah, I wouldn't want to live in one," Brandon said as he turned the wheel.
"Hell with that, I'd have one if I could."
"What's the point? Keep up with the Joneses? Not a very fulfilling life. Here it is." Brandon steered into a broad driveway, piloting through lush landscaping and tasteful lighting, parking the Jeep in one of the orderly rows.
"A lot of cars."
"There's usually about thirty people at these things."
"So, what's it all about?"
"A rich gay couple owns the place. They throw this party every month. A guy I used to know brought me a while back. The couple is kind of quirky and they're picky about who they let come to this thing." Brandon grinned. "Basically, it's a glorified orgy and all the guys are hot."
The pair stepped to the broad entryway, light sparkling from behind the glass. Brandon held the door. "After you."
A skinny man in his 60's wearing maroon silk pajamas and penny loafers stood just inside. Beside him loomed a shirtless bodybuilder with his arms crossed under a heartless glower and a black bowtie. The older man's gaunt face peered at them over reading glasses perched on his nose. "Welcome back, Brandon. Your pass, please."
Brandon pulled what looked like a dollar bill from his wallet and handed it over. "Good to see you, Corleone."
Corleone tucked the pass into an envelope and smiled. His eyes danced with a dry inner mirth. "Who's your friend this evening?"
"This is Trevor. I vouch for him."
The older man looked at Trevor as if taking a mental snapshot. He spoke with a touch of drama, evidently relishing his role. "Very good. You stake your pass on him. There are rules. First and foremost, no unprotected sex with anyone. Another's semen is not to be ingested. Do that somewhere else with someone you know. How old are you, Trevor?"
"Nineteen."
"Fine. There's an open bar off the great room. You ask for the Shirley Temple. No booze. Third, no means no. There is to be no coercion or unwanted violation of any kind." He smiled sarcastically, his cheeks wrinkling. "Inviting someone to violate you is a different story. If you break any of these rules, you and the man who vouches for you," he nodded to Brandon, "will be expelled and his pass shall be revoked. You will both be banished. If The Don and I like you, you shall be given your own pass and the right to bring others for whom to vouch. If not, then you shall be persona non grata forever. Do you understand and agree to these rules?"
Quirky was right, Trevor thought. Well, what the hell? "Yes."
Corleone caught him glancing at the bodybuilder. "Don't worry about Tiny. He's really just a teddy bear until he gets the word from me or The Don." The big man's face didn't budge. The older man smiled warmly, beckoning them to the hallway; the bodybuilder stepped aside. "Welcome to the party."
"Thank you, Corleone," Brandon replied as they moved deeper into the house.
"Who's The Don?" Trevor whispered.
"He's Corleone's life partner. Nobody knows their real names. They built this place a few years ago just for these parties. The rumor is that The Don's one of the area's real estate tycoons."
"Don Corleone. Rich. So, what's their deal?"
"Oh, they just like to watch. I've never even seen them with their clothes off." Brandon grinned. "Thank God."
The pair entered a huge room. Two stories tall, a large balcony hung above the bar and kitchen area and swept off at each end with broad staircases lined with ornate banisters. Everything in sight bragged of elegance and largesse: rich wooden hues, complementing tapestries and drapes, detailed moldings. A huge stone fireplace towered opposite the balcony, its cobbled face reaching to the ceiling over a six-foot open propane flame. Mozart floated at them from the ether. "Wow," breathed Trevor, taking in the lavish architecture. "Now what?"
"Care for a drink?" Brandon beckoned toward the bar.
A clean-cut muscular barista turned toward them, his open vest flaunting a powerful chest and rippling, corded arms. He leaned against the bar. "Gentlemen?"
"Lemonade. Cold and straight up."
"And you?" The man turned to Trevor.
"You have orange juice?"
"I will in a minute." The barista poured a tall glass of lemonade from a frosted pitcher and handed it to Brandon. He then produced half a dozen huge oranges from a refrigerator; with skilled ease, he sliced each in half and mashed them onto the juicer, his arms tightening and rippling with the strain. The man poured the juice into a glass from the freezer and handed it to Trevor. He sipped it; his lips grinned of their own accord. "That's good."
"Spare no expense," Brandon remarked. He looked at the barista as he leaned onto the bar. "You want to get together again after the party?" The man smiled coyly and nodded. Trevor and Brandon moved away, glasses in hand.
The pair reached the bottom of one of the stairways and started up. "So, stick to the rules," Brandon explained, "and it's pretty much anything goes. We got here a little late, so most of the people should be here." They reached the top of the staircase and leaned against the banister, sipping at their drinks as they gazed down at the fire. Trevor glanced around; the balcony only marked the fringe of the upper lever. A deep recess opened back, lined by doors to smaller rooms. The center of the recess hosted a cluster of sofas and tables filled with large televisions. A dozen or so men of various styles and states of dress milled about, chatting, relaxing, flirting.
"So, where will you be?"
Brandon smiled sarcastically. "With any luck, I'll be somewhere getting a piece of ass." Trevor laughed uncomfortably.
A tall muscular blond man had followed them up the stairs; he leaned on the banister to their right. "What will I do?" Trevor’s voice betrayed his unease.
Brandon pinned him with his eyes. "You are a fucking stud. Any man you see here will say yes. Pick one you like and have fun."
I'm not like you, Trevor wanted to say. Travis had come onto him; Brandon had come onto him. He'd never come onto a man. He didn't know where to start. Brandon saw the frustration in his face. "Let's say you see a chick you like at a party. You want to take her back and pound her. What do you do?"
"I walk up and start talking."
"Right. No different with a gay man. In fact, it's easier here because everybody wants you. Somewhere else, you're lucky if the chick says yes. Here, you can be surprised if they guy says no. Alright?"
Trevor nodded. "Alright."
Brandon's eyes had moved past Trevor to the blond man. Trevor followed his gaze. "Well, well..." the swimmer muttered. "Just have fun," he advised Trevor as he stepped around him and drew the blond's attention. "Hello."
The big man turned toward him; Brandon's frame disappeared in the man's shadow. "Hey."
"I saw you standing here looking like you wanted to be somebody's bitch."
The big man laughed. "You think you can take me?"
Brandon gulped the last of his lemonade. "I think I can break furniture with you." He slid his hand up the big man's back and guided him toward a door; Trevor watched with a glower as they disappeared into the room.
Why does it bug me so much? he asked himself. He knew what this party was. He knew Brandon, he knew what Brandon would do here. It didn't bother him until Brandon's hand slid up that man's back. That green tinge he'd felt months before at that damn motel while Travis had that fucking lifeguard's dick in his ass. It nibbled at him, gnawed at the edges of his patience. He finished his juice and leaned back, his eyes wandering aimlessly.
A few men had gathered around the televisions, engrossed. Curious and desperate for distraction, Trevor walked toward them; setting the glass on the table, he stepped around. Four large televisions lined across; each displayed images of rooms, beds, furniture. "What is this?" he asked one of the men seated on the couch.
"We call it the Peephole. First time here?" Trevor nodded. "Have a seat, I'll show you." Trevor settled into the leather. The man offered his hand. "I'm Alan. Pleased to meet you."
Trevor took it, measuring the man. Average in appearance, moderately athletic, maybe mid or late twenties, eyes sure and steady. Those eyes unnerved him; they seemed to look right through him. "Trevor."
"Well, Trevor, there are a dozen rooms. Eight are wired with high definition cameras. See that plaque?" Alan pointed at one of the doors; it bore a burnished steel plate embossed and painted with an old-style movie camera and a stylized three. "The rooms with that plaque feed to these monitors. Here." Alan handed Trevor an Xbox controller with a three taped onto its side. "Use this to control the cameras. Each room has three setups. Switch through them with A."
Trevor pressed the button; it toggled between a high-angle shot of the whole room, a straight-on shot at the foot of the bed, and a side shot at the bed. "Cool." Alan showed him the other functions. The cameras panned, zoomed, even switched to black and white and night vision. Trevor experimented, pinpointing a vase across the room and tightening the frame until he discerned the detail of the swirling patterns painted on its surface. He grinned. "That's awesome." Alan smiled, pleased. "So what's it for?"
"Check out seven." Trevor turned his head; the corner of the overhead view displayed the tall blond man shirtless and pushed back against the wall with Brandon's face buried in his armpit.
"Shit," Trevor muttered with a green spark. He grabbed the correct controller and centered the frame.
"You know one of them?"
Trevor nodded and swallowed. "Yeah, the shorter one."
"Ah," Alan said knowingly. "He's your boyfriend isn't he?"
Trevor didn't answer. He zoomed in. As if watching a train wreck, his eyes refused to be torn away. Brandon had pushed the big man to his knees and gripped the sides of his head, his hips thrusting his cock into the man's throat. Trevor switched to another angle, panning and zooming. The big man's face strained and reddened at the treatment; Brandon's balls squashed against his chin with each stroke.
Trevor panned up to the swimmer's face; he sensed something there, something that hurt. "Fucker..." he muttered. He hadn't felt this way on that camping trip, when Brandon had fucked that guy on the picnic table. That had been a service; Brandon had been detached, clinical.
Here, Trevor saw release; he saw relish and abandon. Brandon wasn't just having sex. He was enjoying it. Trevor's heart sank. Here, it was betrayal.
Who is he betraying? Trevor's rational side argued back. He'd never promised Trevor anything. He'd told Trevor what he was about. He'd flatly said that he would have sex with other men. Trevor had chosen to be with him anyway.
Still, Trevor's heart and mind didn't agree, and his heart struggled to maintain its composure. Brandon had shoved the big man onto the bed and rolled on a condom; he tore into the muscular asshole, pounding as if on a mission. The big man's face contorted in yelps of excruciating pleasure as Brandon's hips blurred with motion in the side view shot.
Trevor still couldn't turn away. The spectacle fascinated him even as his heart ached. "You alright?" Alan asked.
"He's never been that into it with me." And that was saying something, he realized.
Alan pursed his lips. "Seems to me he gets off on dominating. Are you the top or the bottom?"
Trevor glanced at Alan, guarded. "Top."
"Maybe he craves that," Alan suggested. "Maybe he's got an itch you can't scratch." Alan nodded at the monitor. "Looks to me like he's scratching it."
Trevor looked at Alan; Alan looked back, his observant eyes reading. "Maybe." Actually, it made a hell of a lot of sense. Why didn't he think of that himself? Just gotta look at it from Brandon's viewpoint. Trevor's rationality started soothing his heart. He zoomed out and leaned back, setting the controller on the table.
Trevor glanced at the other monitors; most of the rooms had attracted occupants in various states of undress. Five or six men around him leered at the televisions, chuckling or staring, occasionally manipulating a controller or manipulating their groin. Trevor's eyes scanned amongst the feeds. His eyebrows lifted at a particularly interesting trick involving a broom handle and a champagne bottle in room five.
Corleone materialized next to Alan. He took a leisurely seat, crossing his spidery legs, interlacing his fingers over his knee. He glanced at Trevor over the rims of his glasses. "Are you enjoying yourself, Trevor?"
Trevor nodded. "Yeah."
Corleone smirked. "Now, why are you lying to me?" Trevor's face registered his surprise. "What kind of host would I be if I saw you were miserable and said nothing?" the older man asked reasonably. "Alan, what is bothering our friend here?"
Alan pointed. "The guy in seven."
Corleone glanced over, understanding. "Ah, your friend Brandon." Brandon had shoved the big blond across a desk; the ceramic lamp lay in three pieces on the floor as the pair slowly worked the desk across the carpet with their desperate thrusts. "Trevor, my boy, look at me." He waited until the younger man's eyes met his. "Has Alan here been burning your ear about this wonderful video system?"
"Oh, come now, Corleone. A man deserves his vanity."
"I don't begrudge you. You built it, it's something to be proud of." Alan smiled, pleased again.
"What do you mean he built it?" Trevor looked at Alan.
"Our friend here," Corleone pointed, "is a very bright fellow. He built the whole system from the software up. Why else do you think we allow his ugly mug in here?"
Alan laughed. "I thought it was to make you feel better about yourself, Corleone."
Corleone's eyes smiled while his face drew into a somber expression. "Let me give you some advice. Look around yourself, Trevor. Do you see any sexy men?" Trevor glanced around; several impressive specimens of masculinity of various shapes and sizes milled, touching, smiling, sipping their drinks. A shirtless couple made out across the way, their rich skin bronzed in the intimate lighting. "There are many," Corleone confirmed as Trevor looked back at him. "Now answer me this: what is the primary sexual organ of the human body?"
Trevor looked at him sideways; the man was running mental rings around him, and he couldn't tell how to answer. "Uh..."
Corleone held up a finger, tapping it to his temple. "The brain. And before you pick one of these gorgeous hunks to have your revenge sex with, consider this." Corleone leaned forward, drawing Trevor's attention, lowering his voice almost seductively. "For all his average exterior, this man has a huge brain."
"Good grief, Corleone," Alan groaned, laughing. "I can take care of myself. You don't need to play matchmaker."
"I am a gentleman of leisure. What else have I to do but to help the less fortunate?" Alan shook his head, chuckling. "In twenty minutes, my dear Alan," Corleone said as he stood with a gentlemanly smile, "you'll be in one of these rooms with his cock in your ass. I doubt that would have happened without my good word."
Alan laughed again as the older man walked away. "I swear he takes real pleasure in trying to embarrass me." Trevor shook his head; most of the humor had flown directly over him. Still, he realized as he turned back toward the television, that was what had unnerved him about Alan - the driving intelligence behind his eyes. Unnerving, even intimidating, but also intriguing.
He watched the monitor as Brandon thrust hard, his face wrenched in the strain of approaching orgasm. "So you built this?"
"Yeah, I'm a programmer. I wrote the software and put the hardware together. The trick was building a system that could process eight simultaneous high definition video signals. It helps when your employer tells you that money's no object."
"Who are these guys, anyway?"
"Just a gay tycoon and his partner trying to spend their fortune before they die. How long have you been with Brandon?"
"Two months." Brandon's body bucked as he came, squirting his cum across the big guy's back. Trevor swallowed, his heart settling into a sense of dull acceptance as the swimmer leaned over and lapped at his own mess.
Alan looked over. "You like him a lot." Trevor nodded. "You think he likes you the same way?"
Trevor shook his head. "I don't know." He gestured to the screen as Brandon stepped back, sweat dripping from his chest in high definition. "I guess not."
"Look at me." Alan's eyes bore into Trevor. "I know what I'm talking about when I tell you that he's scratching an itch. I have a boyfriend. We love each other deeply. He's the bottom. Usually, that's enough. But sometimes, I -have- to get penetrated. He can't do it, so I look elsewhere. That's why I'm here." He pointed at the monitor. "If you want to stay with him, you've either got to find a way to scratch that itch or find peace with letting him go somewhere he can." Alan paused, smiling disarmingly. "I just hit you with the best relationship advice I've got. Did it help?"
Trevor grinned in spite of himself. "Yeah, I guess so." It did. He felt calmer. Brandon had his own needs; Trevor was being selfish by not recognizing that and arrogant by thinking he could meet them. Brandon was aggressive and dominant by nature; it was plain to see he loved to fuck. Trevor couldn't do it, just couldn't bring himself to enjoy being on the receiving end of that, and that wasn't fair to Brandon. If he loved him - love? - then he had to accept that. "Thanks," he said sincerely.
"No problem." Trevor liked Alan instinctively. He couldn't quite put his finger on why. Alan seemed to have a good grip on reality; somehow, he saw the world around him differently than everybody else, more rationally, more critically. He felt sort of stable, grounded, like a railing you could hold onto as the wind rocked the world around you. It drew Trevor, maybe because of his uncertainty about Brandon or himself or his sexuality, he couldn't be sure.
The big blond man had collapsed naked on the bed. Brandon zipped his pants. Almost by itself, Trevor's hand found Alan's leg. Alan looked over, his eyebrow arching. "I'm not going to be your sloppy seconds."
Trevor shook his head. "It's not like that."
Alan's eyes drilled him for a moment, discerning the truth. "Alright. Private or Peephole?"
The exhibitionist side won. "Peephole."
***
Room one was the only one free; the pair closed the door behind them. "Look at us," Alan smiled. "It's the gay version of beauty and the geek."
Trevor grinned, embarrassed. "Come on, give yourself more credit."
Alan shrugged, sitting on the bed. "Why? I'd be deluding myself. But you..." Alan gripped Trevor's wrist and pulled him closer, looking into his eyes. "You are a beautiful man." His hand found the back of the wrestler’s head and guided him down; their lips met in a sensual, savory kiss. Alan exhaled as it broke. He smiled. "And your outside looks good, too." Trevor grinned like a boy, flattered. "May I explore your body?"
Trevor nodded and lifted his shirt above his head, exposing his torso. Alan's fingers trekked across it laboriously; his eyes probed and his lips swept slowly, like a connoisseur over a platter of the finest cheese. Trevor's cock hardened in his jeans; he'd never been touched like this before, literally worshipped, explored and caressed and kissed like a porcelain god. Alan fondled his biceps, kissed them tenderly, rubbing his cheek against them, his warm breath washing over the skin; he did the same with Trevor's hands, sucking slowly on each digit, running his tongue from the wrist across the palm to the tip of the middle finger as goose bumps ruffled the hairs of Trevor's arm.
"Beautiful," Alan whispered, looking briefly into Trevor's eyes before nuzzling his nose into the wrestler's belly button. Trevor's chest swelled in pride; he stood tall, flexing his muscles as Alan's lips found them, presenting himself for this man's enjoyment.
That switch clicked in Trevor's mind. He pushed Alan back onto the bed and straddled his waist, working at the buttons, revealing the man's torso. He tossed the shirt to the floor and paused as he regarded the body of the man beneath him. Average was the right word; he was fit, but his body did not show the hallmarks of dedicated exercise, none of the trademarks of the countless hours of effort and pain. A chest dusted with trimmed hair; a stomach with that little bit of padding across the navel just hiding the definition; that face that was just a little bit too rounded to fit the ideal. Their eyes met; Alan was reading him, he realized. There was no fear in those eyes, no worry that he would not meet Trevor's standards or expectations. The man was supremely comfortable with himself; his source of confidence was not physical. He was not superficial; he was deep and real.
Alan read him as he realized this. The programmer smiled as if to say, That's exactly right; well done.
Those eyes drew Trevor down as helplessly as if by heavy chains. Their lips met; the passion between them ignited. Alan rolled Trevor over and their bodies entangled; arms wrapped, lips wrestled, groins ground. Alan slid down Trevor's body slowly, kissing, licking as his fingers opened the wrestler's jeans. He stood and stripped Trevor's remaining clothes followed by his own; he draped himself over the younger man's body and they made out, their erections sliding against the other's.
At length, Alan rose and straddled Trevor's chest. "You're uncut. Do you like having your foreskin played with?" Trevor nodded; Alan slid up, hanging his cock just above Trevor's lips. "Then show me how you like it."
Trevor's eyes focused on Alan's cock; he noted the aroma of clean, moist penis. A drop of precum glittered at the tip; he gripped the shaft and smeared the drop with his thumb. He worked the thumb down around the head, under the skin, noting the outline of his thumbnail in the delicate tissue as he rubbed the top of the head. Alan's body twitched as Trevor tweaked the sensitive nerve endings. He pinched the foreskin and stretched it; he slid his tongue inside and swirled it around, using his lips to tug and nibble at the soft flesh.
Moments passed as Trevor tickled and teased; finally, Alan slid away and leaned down. "Thank you," he said with a brief peck. He slid further down, kneeling between Trevor's legs. He brushed his fingertips over the wrestler's thigh hairs, never contacting the skin, just gently tickling while he blew air against Trevor's scrotum. The wrestler’s hips flexed involuntarily and he moaned. His cock jutted into the air, proud and hard.
"Are you horny, Trevor?"
"Yeah."
"What are you going to do about that?"
"I'm going to fuck the shit out of you."
Alan paused. "That's not a pretty mental image." Trevor snorted. Alan slid off the bed; he withdrew a condom and a tube of lubricant from the lamp stand. Kneeling, he dropped the condom to Trevor's belly. He opened the lube and squirted a healthy puddle into his hand; closing the tube, he gripped Trevor's shaft with the other, sliding the foreskin back.
Rubbing the lubed hand over the head, he massaged Trevor's erection slowly, gently. Trevor's sensitive cock head burned. "Oh, shit..." he muttered.
"Don't move," Alan ordered. "It won't be easy." He increased his pace, tightening his grip. Trevor's eyes rolled back; his stomach tightened and he moaned. "Good. Let's see if you can take this." Alan gripped Trevor's cock hard with both hands and twisted it as if opening a ketchup bottle; over and over, his hand worked around and back. Trevor yelped; his teeth ground together, his fists pounded into the mattress. The pleasure lanced across the length of his cock like a welding spark, searing and burning."Oh, God," he finally begged. "Stop. Please, stop!"
Alan pulled his hands away. He tore open the condom, unrolling it, careful to hold the foreskin back as he did. A new trick, Trevor noted; usually he just rolled it over the foreskin. Alan dispensed more lube and Trevor's body twitched at the difference in sensation across his uncovered cockhead as Alan's fingers smeared the fluid over the condom; Trevor's cock breathed like a living thing, raring to dive in.
Alan straddled his waist and settled back; his eyes closed and he released a sigh of relief as Trevor's length buried into him. "Perfect," he said as he sat still, allowing his body to adjust.
"It's not very big," Trevor said, almost apologetically.
Alan shook his head. "I'd say you're about six inches. Despite what your locker room pals might say, that's right at average, and there's nothing wrong with average. I can't even handle much more than seven. It starts poking and it hurts." Alan leaned over and pressed his forehead against Trevor's, speaking softly, soothingly. "No, you're just right. Goldilocks would love you." Alan's lips touched Trevor's and they kissed as Alan's body lifted and sank, establishing an easy rhythm.
A tiny humming sound buzzed from Trevor's right. Shit, he thought. I forgot about the cameras. His heart beat faster. How many guys were watching? Was Brandon watching? He hoped so. His horniness clicked into place again and he wrapped his arms around Alan's body, kissing him deeply as he thrust his hips, burying his cock into the programmer's asshole with each stroke.
Minutes later, Alan rolled off to his back. "Get up," he ordered. Trevor kneeled between his legs. The camera zoom hummed as he aimed his cock; flexing his body, showing off for his audience, he plunged it in. Alan yelped, his hand gripping his own raging hard-on. Trevor set a steady pace, flaunting his body, kissing his own bicep, rubbing his hand across his chest, gripping his ass.
"You want some hot sex?" Alan asked, drawing Trevor's attention from self-worship.
"Yeah."
"Are you sure? You might not like this."
What did that mean? "Yeah."
Alan reached up and slapped Trevor's face. Hard.
Trevor froze, shocked. His hand found his cheek. "What the hell?"
Alan yelled at him. "What are you sitting there for, sissy?" He reached up and slapped the other cheek harder. It hurt. It pissed Trevor off. He gripped Alan's legs and pounded him angrily. "There you go. Harder! Show me who's boss!" Alan reached up a third time; Trevor caught the wrist in midair and leaned over, his wrestling instincts taking over. He asserted his physical superiority, tying Alan's legs and arms into a knot, rendering him immobile, the wrestler's hips pounding at Alan's ass with every aggressive thrust. The bed creaked and shook, the camera panned and zoomed, Alan's face twisted in pained pleasure. Trevor's breath roared in his nostrils, his body ached and sweat, and that spark ignited. He refused to slow or stop; he pounded and the spark grew, spreading into a fire that raged and spread as he grunted and ground. Alan was his, he owned this man, and he growled as he came inside the man's ass, the pleasure breaking through his brow like a burst dam. Take that, Brandon, he thought in the back of his mind.
Alan's entire attention had been dedicated to watching his face, Trevor realized as he slowed, the fire finally exhausted, his breath in gasps as he released the programmer's arms. Alan untied himself and pulled Trevor down, kissing him gently, the perfect counterpoint to their animal sex.
"That was what I needed," Alan said. "Thank you."
"You didn't even cum."
Alan smiled. "The night is young."
