Ed, Frank, and Mark

Frank was fucking the guy when I came to the gym and still fucking him when I left. I left, that first afternoon I tried out the gym after Ed had hired me and between gofer jobs he gave me in the early afternoon and having to help set the band up in the evening, thinking I wouldn't be back, that Frank was too scary. But I couldn't help thinking about him all evening, and, of course I was back in the gym the next afternoon.

Frank was there too, working out hard. I am almost ashamed to admit that I flirted with him. I worked equipment near him and gave more ogling attention to him than anyone else working out. He noticed, and gave me some hard looks. He was zeroing in on another young guy, though—a different guy from the one he'd fucked the afternoon before. He did come over to spot me a time or two and stayed around long enough to feel me up, get my hand on his crotch, and growl in my ear, "You get a ticket to cum. Gonna spike you into next week."

I gave him a shot of the bead in my tongue, teasing him, and he gave me a harder look, knowing what I was telling him I could do with that.

Fool that I was, I didn't perceive the danger of him happening until the next week, and I figured the band would be on its way somewhere else by then.

When I went to the shower, I didn't see him still on the gym floor—or the guy he was working out with either. I discovered they were in the sauna. I opened the door to go in, only to see that Frank had the guy bent over on a shelf and was doggie fucking the other guy. He was grasping the guy's hips and pulling all of the way out of him before slamming all the way in him—again and again. The guy was jerking and wailing with each thrust. I fled back to the shower and then out of the gym.

I had reason to put Frank into the back of my mind that evening because it was Saturday and the club was crowded during the performance sets. I helped set up the band and then stood in the wings while they were practicing an hour before the doors of the club would open and they'd start performing. When the lead singer started into his songs, there I was, in the wings, singing a harmony backup line in a low voice. I didn't realize that Ed, the manager, was standing beside me until he put a hand on my arm and said, "That ain't half bad, Dane. (I hadn't told him my real name either and, as he paid me under the table—or, in my case, under the sheets—I didn't see the need for him to know that much about me.) You didn't tell me you could sing like that."

"I told you I knew bands—that I'd been in a band," I said. "I was the lead singer."

"Let's get you out there behind Snake and see what you can do," he said.

Snake didn't mind and we sounded real good together, and suddenly I wasn't just a groupie helping to fetch and carry for the band. I was singing backup in the band as well. Later, in the lounge, Snake gave me a lot more respect than he had before when he fucked me. But he did fuck me. Ed was the same old Ed that night, although he'd drunk enough that he couldn't get it up at all. Instead, he lay there beside me, close, jacking me off. By thinking back on having watched Frank plow two guys, I managed an ejaculation in Ed's fist.

I avoided the gym the next day, but I was drawn to it on Monday afternoon. And I knew as soon as I entered that today it was going to be me. I hyperventilated, but I didn't flee. It was like a moth to the flame. I knew I was going to be burned to a crisp but I wanted it so bad.

Frank came to me, just in gym shorts and sneakers without socks as soon as I entered the gym in shorts and a T-shirt. His body was magnificent, especially for his age. Hard as steel, both threatening and enticing. Rock hard pecks, with veins running along the surface and nipples bulging out. He came to me and pulled my T-shirt over my head, exposing my torso.

"I'll be spotting you today, and I'll want to see the effect of the individual exercises on your muscles." It seemed like a logical reason and he did seem to pay attention to the definition of my chest and arm muscles, moving his half-gloved hands over them as I exercised on the chest press and lat pulldown machine. The feel of the leather of the gloves on my flesh made my skin tingle and my cock pay attention. I could tell he was hard too. I knew this would end with him fucking me. I knew he knew he'd fuck me. But I knew he wanted something else too.

"You still got that bead in your tongue?" he asked.

"Yes," I answered, showing it to him.

"Good. We'll make use of that later."

I was trembling when he slid my gym shorts off, leaving me only in a jock strap when we moved to the leg press. Once again he said he wanted to be able to feel my muscles—my legs and glutes—while I was working them. Once again there was logic to it. But we both knew he was undressing me, preparing me for him to cover and fuck me right here on the gym floor with all the other guys watching and cheering for him to drill me a bigger one. Already they were beginning to gather, to lick their chops, to move their hands to their own crotches.

I was on the incline bench press, lifting a bar bell, when he grasped my waist between his hands and started to turn me on my belly, in the same position I'd seen him fuck the guy a couple of days before. I balked, though, which surprised him and he let loose of my waist and I rolled off the bench and away from him.

"OK," I said in a strangled voice, "but not here. Not in front of the others." I scrambled up and headed back to the locker room area and the showers. Frank caught up with me at the door of the sauna. He pulled me inside; slammed me down on one of the shelves, taking the breath out of me; and hooked my legs over his shoulders as his face buried itself between my thighs and he worked my cock and balls and ate my ass out. Moaning, I just lay there for him, not offering any resistance, holding his head between my hands. The men who were in the sauna moved away from us, but they stayed in the sauna, all of them watching us closely. More men, ones who had been on the floor when Frank had made his move and who knew I was going to be fucked, crowded into the sauna to watch.

He was huge, entering me. There would have been nothing he could have done to prepare me fully for mounting. He didn't half try. He obviously enjoyed being the battering ram at the gates. He invaded me without mercy, reveling in my cries, ignoring my beating on his chest, waiting for me to surrender and to go limp, a whimpering, conquered captive. He was only half way inside me when I reached that stage. When I did and relaxed and went limp, I discovered that I opened for him more easily, and he slid in the rest of the way more easily and began to pump me.

He didn't finish me there, though. To make his point and to wipe away all thought that I had any say in this, he'd been pumping me for ten minutes or so, when he rose from me, pulled my limp body off the sauna shelf, and slung me over his shoulder. He handled me like I was weightless, and I was too cowed to resist him in any way. He walked through the audience in the sauna, which parted for him to pass and followed him back to the gym floor. He put me down on my belly on the incline bench press, lifted my hands to grasp the bar bell overhead, bent my legs so that the balls of my feet pressed into the floor on either side of the bench, and mounted and thrust inside me from above. It was the same position I'd seen him fuck the guy in that first day. It was the position I'd tried to resist to avoid the audience earlier. The audience gathered just as before. He was making his point of who was in control. They began to chant for my destruction, and he proceeded to do just that.

He fucked me on the bench for a good twenty minutes. Near the end I was open enough to take him without much pain, and the pleasure of it rolled over and over me.

Then he fucked me again in the shower, against the tile wall, me plastered to his chest, my knees hooked on this hips, and him showing his phenomenal strength by holding me prisoner and sliding my back up and down on the slick tiles with the strength of his up-thrusting cock.

"Time to make use of that bead," he said, as he forced me down on my knees in front of him. "Clean it, and make love to it with that bead," he growled. I did, and he managed another afterglow ejaculation down my throat. He left me in a puddle on the shower stall floor, moaning under the cascading water. The watchers at the entrance to the stall followed in his wake when he left. No one helped me up, dried me off, or gave me assistance as I painfully dressed in the locker room to leave.

I was back in the gym the next, Tuesday, afternoon. I was determined to deny him, to get a little of my own back. He had been too hard for me, too much. I wanted to tell him so. I wanted him to want me again and for me to say that no one should be treated the way I was—that he wasn't that good, even though, truth be known, he was that good. I entertained the possibility of letting him fuck me again if he promised not to be as brutal as he'd been. It wasn't long before I'd moved to moaning for him to fuck me again. This despite having already categorized him as "too hard."

But, although he saw that I was in the gym, he ignored me and was working on spiking another guy who, as far as I knew, was in there for the first time. The fucker ignored me. I was just a one-time piece of tail for him. He was hard, unyielding, cold steel.

I had been warned beforehand by the guy at the check-in desk that it was all the conquest and conquering for Frank. One time and that was it. I hadn't absorbed that. I had thought it couldn't possibly be true for me, but it was.

Deflated, I went upstairs to the club to start setting up for the Gear Shaft's sets that night only to find their gear was gone.

"I let them go early," Mark the club manager said. "I have a more popular band coming in earlier than expected. They didn't tell you? You're not with the band permanently?"

No, quite clearly I wasn't with the band permanently.

* * * *

"They didn't tell you they were pulling out?"

I looked at him—seeing him for the first time. He'd been there, of course, moving around, overseeing everything, but I hadn't scoped on him before. I wondered why not. The man was a hunk and a half. Late twenties or early thirties and really built. Now that I thought about it, I'd seen him in the gym, working out, and he'd been bloody beautiful. Blond, curly hair and blue eyes. A lot like me, I guess, but more powerfully built. I'd first thought he was a bouncer here until someone told me he was the manager. Someone else said that, no, he owned the place. I hadn't given any thought to him beyond this. Until now.

"No. I haven't been paid either," I answered. It didn't occur to me that this Mark guy would think that we were talking about more than a couple of hundred dollars. His response was immediate and sympathetic, though. And he put a hand on my forearm that almost made me hyperventilate. The man was beyond sexy.

The question remained whether he was . . . but, then, if he owned a gay club and gym chances were good that he was gay.

"That's tough to swallow, I know," he said. "Say, I've heard you sing with Gear Shift and I've seen how you work with getting the amps set up and working. As you know we have a house band here. You could work with them until you decide what you want to do."

"Thanks, that's generous of you, but—"

He interrupted me, though, and came in close, and gave me a look like I'd seen several times before. "I know what you did for the band and for the manager. I can offer you a place to stay too—for certain services rendered. My digs are up on the third floor of this building. What say you come up there for dinner with me and we'll discuss the possibilities?"

He took his time preparing me, lying on top of me between my spread thighs lengthwise on his sofa, with my shoulders propped up on the sofa arm. We kissed, with lots of tongue, while we felt each other up. He sucked me until I moaned and I sucked him big and throbbing. He wasn't as big and threatening as Frank was, but he was way beyond Ed. A great cock, really, built to stretch and dig but not to threaten to split or come up into the back of my throat—a real pleasure tool, and he knew how to use it. By the time he did use it, stretching me internally to deep moaning and taking me to heaven, I was begging for it. And he gave it—on the sofa, in his bed, in the shower, in his bed again. He was insatiable and so was I. We fit together perfectly. And he varied it. He could be the lover, but he could give it to me rough too when I begged for it—and he loved the bead in my tongue.

Like in the Goldilocks story, Ed had been too soft; Frank had been too hard; Mark was just right.

He was just right through the rest of the summer and well into the fall as I worked with the house band on stage and he worked on me in his bed. And he was just right when I was "discovered" and offered a band of my own. And he was just right when he came to New York with me and became my manager and opened another club—and then one in Chicago and Houston and San Francisco. My band played in them all, and he fucked me in them all.

He is still just right forty years later when we are both retired and enjoying the high life in Jamaica. I still have the locker at Penn Station in Baltimore and we still call Baltimore our home. I never got farther than that on my own on my precollege journey. For that matter, I never got to college. But I've traveled the world with Mark since we met. I still keep that original amount of money I brought with me from Ivywood, Pennsylvania. It looks like a pitiful amount now, but I mark my life a success because I've never had to dip into it.

Well, no, I mark my life a success because I met the "just right" man—Mark.