Enticed #25: Pilgrimage Pt. 2

This is Part 2 of the twenty-fifth chapter of my adventures in the early nineties with a gay man about fifteen years older than me who saw me as a near-reincarnation of his first boyfriend. Check my post history for earlier installments of the story of an older man’s toy.

After a couple hours in that first club, we decided to see what other clubs might offer. I’d never been to gay bars or clubs before. I wanted to experience as many as I could while we were in what I assumed at the time was Homo Heaven East.

“That was a lot of fun,” I told Blaise as we walked down the strip. “We should check out the clubs in Gate City. I know there are a couple gay bars. It’s nice to be in a freer environment that isn’t the Lodge.”

A block away from the first club we found a very bright, very pastel, very neon club that would scream gay to a blind man.

We found two spots at the crowded bar. The music was loud. The smell of booze and sweat and cum somehow filled the air. There was a small stage with flamboyantly dressed dancers. A couple were in drag. I didn’t know if they were meant to be the entertainment or just patrons who found the only convenient place to dance.

While we waited on our drinks I leaned over and kissed Blaise on the cheek. He turned his head quickly and met my lips with his tongue and suddenly we were making out like teenagers.

We stopped kissing when our drinks came. But my hand was on Blaise’s cock and found it to be pointed stiffly to one side in his khakis.

Finally, I noticed a photocopied poster on the wall behind the bar. It announced an amateur striptease contest right there in that bar the next night. Costumes were welcome and full nudity would not be encouraged or discouraged. The prize was $500.

“We have to come tomorrow,” I told Blaise. “I have to enter that contest.

“You don’t mind, do you? This is really your weekend.”

“I would never turn down a chance to show off my red-hot boy toy,” he said. “You just don’t know how much I like seeing other men look at you – and the looks they give me after.

“You can strip in all the gay bars you want as long as you come sit next to me after.”

“Every fag in Miami is going to know who my daddy is before we leave,” I assured him, sliding a hand up his back. 

“We’ll have to go shopping tomorrow for some kind of costume at that store we went in earlier,” I said. “Maybe I should get a t-shirt with ‘RHBT’ on it.”

He gave me a confused look.

“Red Hot Boy Toy.”

“Let’s go to the bathroom again,” Blaise said.

This time it was my turn. Blaise dropped to his knees without even closing the stall door.

“Give’em another show,” he said, looking up at me as his hands freed my nearly hard cock.

In about two seconds it was pushing against my lover’s throat.

He turned the tables on me and sucked me as aggressively as he’d fucked me in the last bathroom stall.

Not wanting to let him down, I again made a show of moaning and grunting loudly.

“Suck it, Daddy! Suck it,” I breathed passionately. “You’re so good at taking care of your boy!

“Yes, Daddy! Just like that!”

My eyes were closed, but I could hear and feel the presence of several onlookers.

Blaise pulled me out, turned his head sideways, and licked down my shaft to my balls. It took me a second, but I realized he was making sure to show off the size of my stiff cock to our audience.

Between my moans I heard a couple “wow”s and “damn”s.

“Make me cum, Daddy!”

I instantly hit the back of his throat again.

“I’m cumming, Daddy! I’m cumming!”

I filled his mouth with wad after wad of cum. I had become so horny in the last hour I was aching for a release.

Blaise licked and sucked and jacked every drop he could get out of me right there in full view of all the men that bathroom could hold.

Again, we were applauded and liquored up the rest of night. We didn’t stagger back to our hotel until after 1 a.m.

We woke naked late the next morning. I dove immediately on Blaise’s morning wood. Moaning, he forced me to move around so he could enjoy my protein at the same time.

It was almost lunchtime before we were drained, showered, and dressed to head out again. Blaise wore his normal shorts and polo. I chose a t-shirt and a tight pair of gym shorts with nothing but a cock ring underneath. Again, I left nothing to the imagination.

Blaise found this outfit nearly as hot as what I’d worn the day before. It seemed he actually wanted me to be his little twink in spite of his protestations to the contrary.

“I don’t want you to be a twink, just a boy toy,” he protested. “It might be subtle, but there’s a difference. I still want you to be my straight boy conquest. Or, at least, my bi trophy.

“I can’t help it if I find some outfits sexy.”

“Well, I’ve worn this around the house,” I said. “I’ve mowed the yard in these shorts.”

“Mowing the yard and going out in public are two different things,” he said. “Nobody looks twice at a man in shorts mowing his yard. But, walking around town in those with that snake bulging out is completely different. You wouldn’t walk downtown at home like that. But you can down here. And that’s part of what makes it sexy.”

“I love that you want to show me off,” I said. “You can show me off all you want to. I have no problem being a trophy as long as I’m your trophy.

“I just want to make you happy and horny.”

“You certainly do that,” he said. “And the shows you put on last night were award-winning!”

After brunch, we headed straight to the gay adult store we’d found Friday. Not only did I want to find some treats for Blaise at home and something new for my shows, I also needed to find a costume for the strip contest that night.

I found a full Chippendales costume and showed it to Blaise.

“Nope,” he said. “Too cliche at this point. Or too commercial. I don’t know what it is.”

“I wore something like this for New Year’s Eve,” I said.

“That was different,” he argued. “It works for New Year’s Eve. But that’s all. I just don’t like it. You’re much better than that.”

“What do you think about a mesh tank?” I asked, holding a black one up to my chest.

“That would look good with jeans or leather, especially with your white skin,” Blaise said. “You could do that in a show or in private. I like that.”

I grabbed one in black, blue, red, and pink, of course.

At the thongs and g-strings I found a leather g-string that attached to a studded black leather belt via D-rings front and back.

Blaise approved of that immediately.

Then I headed to the leather area, which was more than half the store. I found a black leather collar and a pair of cuffs.

“Why don’t I just do a leather costume?” I said. “That’s pretty easy. And, I can use it all for my domination show back home.”

“It’s quick and easy,” Blaise admitted. “I just don’t know how much leather other contestants are going to be wearing.”

“I brought your pink leathers,” I said. “That would definitely be different. That is, if you’re OK with me wearing them for anyone but you.”

“No,” he said after thinking about it for a minute. “I like them being private – except for the ring around your wrist, of course.”

“Well, I’ll just have to out-perform them if I can’t out-dress them,” I winked.

Then I stumbled across a piece that looked like a sling with spring clips on either end and a chrome ring in the middle. I stared at it for a couple minutes, turning it around, stretching it out tight. Then, suddenly it dawned on me.

I pulled the belted g-string out and clipped the ends to two of the front D-rings.

“Perfect!” I thought.

I grabbed a bunch of replacement butt plugs in every color, including a black one for my costume, and several tubes of lube. I might as well stock up, I thought.

After spending a couple hundred dollars there, Blaise stopped into a screen-print t-shirt shop and had a handful of t-shirts made for me with “RHBT” on them in different colors.

We spent the afternoon by the hotel pool. I had a tiny pink Speedo I couldn’t wait for him to see. His eyes never left my crotch as we cooked in the Florida sun.

The only time he got wet was when I jumped in the pool to swim a few laps. He would sit on the edge with his feet in the water to get a better look at his “hot, young merman,” as he called me.

I didn’t realize it until after my second or third foray into the pool. But, when that pink swimsuit got wet it was just a little transparent in the sunlight. Blaise, of course, noticed right away. He just didn’t say anything.

I had made a point of pulling our lounge chairs close. When I lay back I set my hand on his arm. After I’d been in the pool and returned to lie down again, Blaise laid his hand on my bare, wet thigh. I couldn’t help but sigh and moan quietly at his touch.

After a few hours of letting Blaise ogle my barely covered bulge at the pool we went up to shower and get ready for dinner and my performance.

As soon as our door closed I was on my knees pulling his shorts down. I had his sweaty cock in my mouth before he understood what I was doing.

He was hard in seconds and I lapped his meat from base to tip over and over as his heart rate increased.

When he was hard I stood up and rubbed his cock against my own growing dick in my still-wet Speedo. I jacked the underside of his cock up and down my groin over and over as he watched, biting his lip.

In minutes I had my stiff cock out and thrust my shaft up and down against his until we both were breathless.

Then I dropped back to my knees and throated him until he pumped his hot juice down my neck.

We dressed pretty much the same as the night before when we left for dinner. Instead of jeans, I wore light pleated slacks that gave my otherwise unencumbered cock and balls plenty of freedom. A black cock ring that was almost visible through the pants pushed my package forward to swing and bounce with every step.

I carried my costume in a leather belt bag I slung over my shoulder.

We made it to the bar a little before the contest began at 10. Blaise found a small table just in front of the stage as I was led backstage to change.

There were only eight performers/contestants. One of those was in full drag. A couple were early adherents of the heroin-chic look. They were emaciated and pale. The others were textbook examples of the word “twink,” thin, young, and very effeminate. A couple probably were a few years too young to even be in the bar, let alone take their clothes off for adults. I was the only one that looked “butch” or masculine at all. Maybe that would be my edge over the competition, I thought.

Then I realized I was the only one that had an actual costume. The rest looked like they were just going to strip out of the clothes they wore to the club.

Either this was going to be easy money, or I had greatly misjudged the level of this contest.

I was the fifth stripper to perform. I use the word “stripper” loosely since I only had two things that I could take off.

I pulled out all the stops and gave the already drunk crowd the raunchiest, grindiest performance I could. My mesh tank came off quickly and was tossed into Blaise’s face.

I spent nearly half of the eight-minute club mix-tune gyrating and hip-rolling until I finally made a show of unbuckling each of the clips that held my g-string to its belt, one at a time, to screams and howls.

I made a point of keeping my cock hidden until I had all three clips released. When I finally let the g-string drop it became suddenly obvious that my belt had another attachment.

Another leather strap clipped to the front of the belt held a chrome cock ring in place around my half-hard eight-inch cock and swollen balls. The volume of the screams and whistles doubled.

Blaise’s eyes were as wide as I’d ever seen them. I hadn’t let him see this part of my new costume.

I wasted no time rocking my hips just so to get my cock and balls spinning first clockwise, then counter-clockwise. Nearing my climax, I did a little spin around on the small stage and slid my hands down my white legs to grab my ankles and display the black butt plug in my ass. In another second I was on my knees with my ass in the air, rocking and humping.

I picked up my g-string with my teeth and crawled naked to the edge of the stage toward Blaise. A suggestively crooked finger later and he leaned in to take my only garment from my teeth with his own.

The crowd lost their minds at that. And, my time was up.

“Holy shit!” the next contestant said as I passed him backstage.

“Girl, if you ain’t a professional, you oughta be,” another one said.

I had to wait backstage until the end of the contest so we all could go back out on stage to be judged by the crowd. I had no choice but to remain clad only in my leather collar, cuffs, and belted cock ring since Blaise had my g-string and tank. I was handed a towel, but only used it to dry off.

“Do you want me to go get the rest of your costume, Honey, so you don’t have to stand around naked?” the black drag queen MC asked. His purple eyeshadow-covered eyes never left my still half-hard cock.

“Why?” I said. “Does this bother you? I don’t mind if you don’t mind. Thanks, though.”

He eyed me up and down, grunted, sighed and walked off.

A few minutes later, we all were paraded back out to the stage. There was barely room for the eight of us plus the MC.

As he called our names, – all fake, I assumed – we each stepped forward and the audience showed their level of approval with applause.

When he called my name, Alpha Beta, the crowd was on their feet, screaming and clapping for several minutes.

“We seem to have a very clear winner,” he said.

When the other contestants were dismissed, he asked me to remain on stage. As he handed me the $500 cash prize, he asked me about my name.

“We all choose our names at some point,” he said. “Why did you choose the name Alpha Beta?”

“Because I’m both an alpha and a beta,” I explained into the mic. “I like to give and take. I’m a top and a bottom.”

Just as I said the word “bottom” I grabbed one of the MC’s tight round ass cheeks making him jump and squeal.

Another round of applause saw me off the stage.

I joined Blaise a few minutes later after I’d gotten dressed. My regular cock ring kept my bulging package swinging and wobbling through the room under my loose linen pants. Every move I made was under close scrutiny.

Walking through the crowd was a lot like the Lodge after a show. Several men leaned in to whisper dirty nothings in my ear. A couple patted me on the back. A few patted my ass. Several handed me cash tips. Blaise later told me that several men had patted him on the shoulder as they walked by the table or congratulated him.

“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispered in my ear. I could hear the arousal in his voice. “And, I don’t mean the hottest thing I’ve seen you do. I mean, the hottest thing I’ve ever seen! Period.

“I’ve got a wet spot in my underwear.”

My hand was on his thigh instantly.

The MC brought Blaise and I a round of drinks that had been purchased by a man across the room. I raised my beer to him when our waiter or waitress pointed him out. He was one that already had given me a tip.

“I’m Steamy, by the way,” he said with his pink lips.

“You got that right,” I winked.

“Oh! No!” Steamy said, his hand now on my arm. “Don’t you start flirtin’ with me, Hotness! I’d put a hurtin’ on you, Boy! Mmh!”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Blaise chimed in. “He’s worn out four men at the same time as a submissive.

“There’s no one better!”

“A sub?! Oh! Shit! Now I am intrigued,” Steamy said with a flutter of his fake eyelashes. “I wish you were for rent. I’d like to see what a hot little matchstick like you can do for a queen like me.”

A few minutes later, two more men came by our table, whispered in my ear, and palmed a little cash.

“I assume they’re complimenting your show and giving you tips,” Blaise said, “just like at home?”

“Some of them are making some pretty good suggestions we might try out when we get home,” I replied.

Steamy continued bringing us drinks sent by other patrons. Before he walked away one time, a man who didn’t seem to fit in at all walked up to our table. He was wearing a pink button-down, jeans, and designer loafers. But, something about him seemed off to me.

“How much for some private time?” he asked, his eyes never leaving my tented groin.

“What do you have in mind?” I asked, trying to sound innocent. The music was so loud we had to yell to be heard.

“Let’s go somewhere quiet and private,” he said. “I’d love to see if you can do more than dance.”

“Even if you weren’t an undercover cop,” I yelled loud enough for the ten men around me to hear, “I’m not really for sale like that.”

His face went white. I was clearly correct in my assessment.

“Besides,” I continued as I slid my hand over Blaise’s shoulder, “my daddy doesn’t like to share with strangers.”

As he walked away, some of the guys around me began whispering to each other. A couple left our circle, I assumed, to begin spreading the word that there was at least one undercover cop in the club.

“That was amazing, Matchstick!” Steamy said as he draped an arm over my shoulders, appearing as if by magic. “Do you know how many boy toys get propositioned like that? I wish we could all spot’em like that.”

I reached up and touched his hand.

“Thank you,” I said. “But, why ‘Matchstick?’”

“Look at you, Honey,” he said. “Red hair, white skin, and hot all over! And, you lit every man in here on fire tonight!

“If that ain’t a matchstick, I don’t know what is.”

I laughed. But, Blaise looked up and caught the eye of my new drag queen friend and gave him a knowing nod and wink.

“I’ll be right back,” Steamy said.

While he was gone I accepted a quick compliment from a young couple as they walked by our table. Just after they walked away, a man I didn’t see leaned over me from behind wrapping his arms over my shoulders with his Tom Selleck mustache tickling my ear. One hand slid down my chest and stomach.

“I caught your show last night at the bar down the street, too,” he whispered. “You’re quite the performer, Stud.”

His right hand pushed something under my belt, into my pants and then slipped out. In a second he was gone. I wasn’t shy about pushing my own hand into my pants to find that he had deposited a $100 bill. 

Steamy was standing over me with a scotch for Blaise and a beer for me.

“What the Hell?” he said. “Did you just get a hundred dollar tip?”

“Well, he – uh – caught us doing something else last night, too,” I stuttered, glancing at Blaise. His eyebrows shot up.

I looked up and a man was whispering into Steamy’s ear.

“I see,” he said, setting the drinks on our table. “You’ve been performing elsewhere, huh? Are you on tour or something?”

“Something like that,” I said. “What can I say? I like to perform. And, I like to make this man happy.”

“Well, these drinks are for you two,” he said. “Even if everybody else stops buying your drinks, the rest are on the house.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“You didn’t have to point out that undercover cop, either. If you see anybody else that doesn’t look like they should be here, you let me know.”

“I’m pretty good at reading my crowds,” I said.

“You see those two Preps over there?” I nodded towards the bar at a couple men in their early thirties in expensive button-downs, khakis, and penny loafers. “At least one of them is married. They probably work together or they grew up together. They’ve experimented with each other, but haven’t gone very far. I think you’d call them discreet, in the closet but very curious.”

Steamy looked at me after eyeing the couple closely.

“How’d you do that?”

“See that guy in his forties at the end of the bar by himself watching everyone, but not really drinking his beer?” I said. “He’s a cop. He’s nowhere close to being gay or bi or even curious. He’s disgusted by everyone here.

“If I had to guess, I’d say this place is being watched very closely. I know gay bars still get raided once in a while even here. Keep your eyes open.”

He just looked at me with big eyes surrounded by purple mascara.

“In the real world I’m a photojournalist,” I answered his unspoken question. “I’ve learned to read people and see things other people don’t.”

“I also have my own private show back home,” I continued. “I know my audience and pay close attention to new faces.”

“I knew you were too good to be just some twink off the street,” Steamy said. “There’s no way some random queen is strippin’ and workin’ a room like you just did.

“Bravo, Matchstick!”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to let the right people know what you just told me,” he said. “But, I’m comin’ back. I want to hear your whole story.”

Fifteen minutes later, Steamy was back with more drinks.

“Now, spill it,” he said, pulling a chair from another table to sit directly across from me. “If I hadn't just seen your performance and how you and your so-called daddy fawn on each other, I would never think you’re queer. You don’t throw up any of my Gaydar flags whatsoever. Not a blip.

“What’s your story?”

I looked down and smiled shyly. Blaise hid his smile behind his glass.

“Well, actually,” I began, “I’m more bi than gay.”

“That’s a start,” Steamy said. “Keep going.”

“I was completely straight, never thought about men, don’t even find them all that attractive even now,” I said. “That is, until I met Blaise. He talked me into letting him – uh, do things. And, one thing led to another.

“So, a couple years later, I’m a bisexual sex addict art photographer with a handful of nude male art books and a private, underground live sex show.”

“Mother-fucker,” Steamy said in obvious shock.

“And, you’re right,” I continued. “Blaise really isn’t my daddy and more than I’m his twink. But, I am every bit his boy toy. I’ll do anything he wants. And, I love being shown off and showing off for him at least as much as he enjoys showing me off.

“And, instead of my daddy, he’s my best friend – with a lot of very dirty benefits.”

“That deserves another round,” he said. “Here’s to friendship.

“If you ever come back to Miami, you look me up, Steamy Windows. I’ll get you a spot to perform and make some extra cash any time you want.”

A couple free drinks later, Blaise and I headed back to our hotel before my prediction came to pass. We didn’t want to be caught up in another gay bar raid in Miami Beach.

We were a little reluctant to leave Miami the next morning. But, we had to get back to the real world.

About an hour into our flight I told Blaise to meet me in the rear bathroom in exactly two minutes.

I opened the door when he tapped and ushered him into the cramped space, dropping immediately to my knees.

His jeans were open and halfway down his thighs in a second. His cock was in my hand the next.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“There’s no way we’re flying anywhere without joining the Mile High Club,” I said. “The least I can do is give you a blowjob at 30,000 feet.”

I made it as quick, but sensual and loving as I could. It took Blaise about two minutes to fill my mouth with his thick cum. I made a point of holding most of it in my mouth.

“Oh! God!” he exclaimed when I opened my mouth to show him his own sperm covering my tongue.

I made a show of swallowing it before engulfing his spent meat again to clean off anything I’d missed.

A minute later I returned to my seat and he followed as if nothing happened.