I was eighteen, right out of high school, and chose to go to West Hollywood over New York… mostly because of the weather. I'd had enough of 92 degree heat that felt like 110 degrees and driving in snow. I wanted to go someplace where if I felt like going the fuck outside in the middle of January to dance my shit off, I wouldn't have to strip away twenty layers to get my Tootsie roll center. Not saying that I don't love a good striptease, but parkas and snow boots just ain't my idea of sexy, but I ain't judging if that's somebody else's thing.
My parents weren't too happy with my long distance move and the fact that I wasn't going to college. I will admit I was pretty stupid back then. Sure I'd seen movies like 'Animal House' and others where college kids ran around butt-ass naked and having group parties with lots of beer, pot and sex, but I didn't think it would be party heavy enough for me. I'd been trapped inside the tornado alley, Bible Belt all my life, so it was with a lifetime of dreams packed at the front door that I took off the day after graduation, not wanting any classes and studying interrupting getting my dick wet. I wanted life to be a party all the time, 24/7. I wanted to be the cream covered twinkie in the middle of a circle jerk, the party mix that everybody reached for; they could grab my ass, my nuts, shove their tongue down my throat… it didn't matter. Whatever they wanted to do to me they could do; anything that would make me forget about Mark.
I have to admit that even though I was ready to leave Missouri by the time I was eight, getting away from anything that reminded me of Mark was what ultimately drove me to West Hollywood so quickly. He still had three days left until he had to report for duty in Georgia, and I wanted to make sure that I was the first to leave.
So, since I'm a writer who never went to college, I should probably explain that I took a few classes during my stint at Folsom Penitentiary. I'm not saying I'm a great writer, but I'm sure as shit a lot better than I was when I was traveling across country in my Datsun 240Z with its original cherry-popping red color that wasn't exactly popping cherries, even back then. Unlike the man who raised me, cars were never my thing. Sure, I liked to look hot behind the wheel, but I never got into that whole tinkering and rebuilding bullshit, so by the time I hit the road, my Datsun had lost her prime.
Anyway, getting back to finally learning how to write a complete thought, prison taught me a lot that I got to take with me. Incarceration wasn't fun, except for most of the sex of course, but I did finally get something of an education. So, like I mentioned in my first memoirs, Folsom wasn't all that bad for me. Of course, now would be a good time to talk about that closeted Aryan Brotherhood prick, Jackson Reed, who had continued to be my cellmate until the day of my release, but as you can see how easily sidetracked I get, I'll talk more about him some other time. But one thing I will say is that, unless it's the end of the world, he ain't getting out any time soon, so I got plenty of time.
The moment I drove down Santa Monica Boulevard, I knew I was home. Not only could I feel the change in temperature, but I felt a change in my life. Men walking around, holding hands, kissing on the sidewalk and wearing clothes that would get you killed, or at least put in the hospital, where I came from. My blood was pumping so fast with excitement; it didn't matter that I had no job yet or no place to go. I had just over a thousand dollars on me for a hotel room and food, but I knew I had to make that stretch as far as it would go, which I thought I could make last for months or even a year. I was a solid, young man with a firm ass, rock-hard abs and a larger than average cock… but then, as I quickly learned while scoping the guys on the street, so were most of the other WeHo boys. Suddenly, I wasn't feeling as special as I thought I was, and I wouldn't be the new hot face of Santa Monica Boulevard that everybody would take turns fucking. Even before I parked (which really sucks in West Hollywood, let me tell you) and got out of the car, I had seen my competition; however, unlike most of them, I was a state finals wrestler and I knew how to handle competition… and how to win.
As I walked down the boulevard, trying not to look like I had just drove in from the farm, I already had it in my head that drinks, food and a room would be provided by some hot, successful model who was just a little older than I was and would have a pecker just as pretty as mine with a tight ass that I could munch on for days. We wouldn't fall in love because my heart still belonged to only one man, but I would give him such good sex that he would ask me to stay with him. We would go partying every night, and take turns searching for other hot guys to bring back home with us. Then he would go to work the next morning, another modeling gig or something, while I slept in. But then he'd come back home and we would do it all over again.
I remember it was about the time I usually ate dinner and I already skipped lunch that day, so I thought I'd test my skills over at this "world famous" burger joint with outdoor seating. It was busy, but not packed, with mostly old guys… well, at a time when I thought they were old; but now, I would punch myself in the face for thinking anyone in their 30's was anything but young. I didn't need to fuck them, I just needed a burger, and all I needed to do to get what I needed was to flirt a little, maybe rest my hand on their meat while I chowed down on some more flavorful meat. That's when I met Michael and Dillon.
Michael was no model that was for sure. He was already starting to go bald and had a tire around his waist that protruded every time he sat down. Dillon was much more my type, and even though he had a nice body, it was his eyes I liked most about him; the most amazing sea-foam green eyes I'd ever gazed into.
Michael and Dillon were a couple and invited me to sit with them within the first five minutes of loitering outside the small, wrought iron fence that separated the outdoor patio from the sidewalk. Again, I tried acting (I was in Hollywood after all) like I was just resting or waiting for a friend, who was running late, but these two guys saw right through me like I'm sure everyone else could. The plan was to just start up a conversation with someone, while I was waiting, and then have them offer me dinner once I pouted about being stood up. The guy would then have pity me and offer to be my date for the night. But Michael and Dillon immediately invited me to join them without any questions or conversation.
I sat with them and ordered what I wanted, and while I waiting for my food, Michael asked me, "This your first time in LA?"
Okay, I agree that I'm not a very good actor, but I didn't think I was so obvious to look like I just got off the bus.
"Yeah," I responded.
"Where are you from?" he asked again.
"Kansas City," I honestly told him. As much as I wanted to leave my hometown, I wasn't ashamed of being raised there. I still have a lot of school pride.
"Why'd you come here?"
By that point, it was only Michael who was asking all the questions. In fact, Dillon wasn't even looking at me anymore with those gorgeous green eyes of his. It made me shudder to think that Michael was the only one with any interest in me and Dillon was only going along with the charade to appease his boyfriend. I didn't know why, I thought Dillon could do a helluva lot better.
Tired of answering questions, I thought I'd ask one of my own, "Where'd you come from?"
"Illinois."
Of course Michael replied first, even though my sights had been focused on Dillon, but at least Dillon did answer even though he still wouldn't look at me, "Here."
"You never lived anywhere else?" I immediately asked, not wanting to break the conversation I could be having had with Dillon rather than Michael, but he kinda gave a shrug and shook his head.
"Where are you staying?" asked Michael.
At first, I remembered thinking, 'A place to stay already? That was quick. Maybe I'm not like all the rest.' And then I thought that if I could land a sleepover with these guys that quick, I'd have no problem getting some guy who I was more interested in to ask the same question and turn my plan into a reality before the end of the night.
"Staying with a friend," I lied, wondering where the fuck was my burger.
"You and your friend should come clubbing with us. We're hitting Rage tonight."
At first I didn't understand what he meant by "Rage", but as Michael said it, he motioned to the club across the boulevard, which looked like the perfect place to meet my sugar man.
I told them I would, hoping they would pay for my cover and all my drinks until I had the chance to blow them off, then further lied that the friend I was staying with was actually a female cousin who didn't approve of my lifestyle; she had to put me up because I was family. I always did have a knack for coming up with a convincing lie when put on the spot, and they believed me… no problem.
Once my hamburger and fries finally arrived, I must have scarfed it down because Michael stopped wanting to ask me all his stupid questions. Of course, Dillon wasn't asking any either, but that was nothing new.
It was around eight o'clock when we finally left the burger joint and we started heading over to Rage, but then passed right by the entrance.
"Where are we going?" I had asked, suspicious.
"Back to our place. It doesn't get busy 'til eleven."
This town was definitely different from Kansas City, like another world even. Not only did we not have openly gay bars, but the one place the homos did hang out together was a secret place by a watering hole in the fields that was busiest just after dusk.
Finally, Dillon spoke again, "Where's your luggage?"
"In my car," I immediately answered, excited that Dillon was speaking to me, but not thinking of the lie about my cousin. It wouldn't make sense that I hadn't left my luggage back at her place. Hopefully, they wouldn't catch on.
The walk back to their apartment wasn't long. We arrived within five minutes.
Even though neither Michael nor Dillon were overly effeminate, one of the two must have insisted in painting the walls mauve with gold trims. Art works hung from the walls and were displayed on shelves. Their furniture was contemporary classy and brought more color to their living room that contrasted the walls. Aside from the color scheme, it was exactly where I imagined living in my dream man in my grandiose plan.
Michael excused himself and went into the room I would later know as the bedroom while Dillon crossed into this tiny kitchen nook that was just as well decorated as the rest of the place. He opened a bottle of red wine.
"Merlot?" he asked.
"Aint'cha gotta beer?" I asked, never having a drop of wine in my life and wondering what the fuck was wrong with these guys for wanting to drink wine.
"Sorry," he said, sounding about as apologetic as a snake to a mouse after swallowing him.
Dillon placed three glasses on the counter then didn't even fill them half way. I wanted to ask him if he was running low on wine and if so, maybe they could go out and grab some beer instead, but he handed me my glass then took his own. I watched him lift the glass to his lips. They gently pressed against the rim and he let the red liquid just caress his mouth, teasing him with just a taste; a quick sip. Suddenly, wine was sounding better than ever. I tried to copy Dillon's approach, but unlike Dillon, I cringed after tasting the bitter sauce. However, I continued sipping and doing just as he would.
I heard running water from a shower turn on from the next room and felt a rush of excitement down in my groin; not that Michael was getting naked and about to lather himself up, but that I would be alone with Dillon for however long it would take Michael to wash his plump body.
We stared into each other's eyes and I was finally able to look longingly into those deep green orbs, which only made me even more excited. Since Dillon was refusing to talk again, I was about to ask him about his relationship with Michael… when Michael suddenly walked out of the bedroom buck naked with his flaccid penis flapping from side to side. I couldn't help but stare at him, which Dillon didn't seem to mind.
"I can't forget this," Michael said, picking up his glass of wine.
As I watched him walk back to the bedroom, he oddly enough, aroused me even more than I thought possible. His ass was the plumpest ass I'd ever seen with a patch of fur just above the crack, as well as another patch which looked misplaced below his left shoulder blade. Until that day, I thought I didn't like any amount of fat or hair on a man. Mark and I used to shave each other clean, which was always extremely arousing. So, naturally, I thought I didn't like beary men because that's not what Mark liked, but I quickly changed my tune and learned that Mark and I didn't always have the same taste.
Michael's legs were also very stocky and looked like they had been used for some kind of sport; football or baseball maybe. And although I only got a quick glimpse of his shaft, it was nothing to shake a stick at; although smaller than mine but looking very tasty.
Once Michael disappeared back into the room, I turned back to Dillon who took another sip of wine. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to follow Michael or not, if this was a come on or if they were just extremely comfortable around strange boys. The look I gave Dillon was of a naïve, young country boy, which is exactly what these two seemed to prey on.
I took another sip from my glass, which had actually started tasting better and better. I was beginning to see what all the fuss was about.
Still not sure what I was supposed to do next, I asked Dillon, "Are you taking a shower too?"
"Maybe," he replied while refilling his glass. "Do I stink?"
"No," I answered, not sure if I was giving him the reply he wanted to hear. Maybe he was looking for an excuse to take a shower… with me. "Do I stink?"
It took him a moment to answer after pondering the question, "You smell new."
New? That was an interesting response. Perhaps he was implying, "I'm not a virgin."
Dillon laughed for the first time in my presence. He had a cute laugh that lit up his face… and his eyes.
"I didn't think you were. You probably would have ran when you saw my naked boyfriend if you were still a virgin. I know all about you country boys."
I didn't confirm nor deny anything else. I just let Dillon continue thinking what he wanted to think.
"Did you like what you saw?"
I couldn't help but wonder if he was asking a trick question, even though both men seemed comfortable with their open relationship.
"Was I supposed to join him in the shower?"
"Only if you wanted to."
"Would you shower with us?"
"Only if you wanted me to."
