Used

It was then, too, that I decided I wanted to leave my telephone number. But the door was locked and I had neither pen nor paper of any sort with me.

* * * *

"How about taking a walk down at the Inner Harbor after the gym tonight."

Phil had whispered this in my ear as he held me when I'd come down off the chin-up bar. Tuesday night. He'd left me with the accountant on Friday night when we'd had what I thought was a date, just the two of us, but he hadn't said a thing about that tonight. Of course he'd given me warning Friday night that he might have to go to the hospital.

That entering my mind, I answered him with a change of topic. "How's that patient? The one who fell Friday night that you left the pool hall for?"

Was that a hint of panic I sensed in his intake of breath—that I wasn't just saying yes to going with him tonight after having been stood up on Friday night?

"Turns out it wasn't really my patient. But since I was the one who was called in, I had to feel her legs for possible breaks and stay until her doctor came in. Nothing broken; just bruises."

You can feel my legs again anytime you want, I thought. And this being the case, I quickly said. "Glad to hear it wasn't anything serious. Yes, I'd love to walk down to the Inner Harbor with you after we finish here."

Phil had been spotting the small Hispanic guy too, whose name turned out to be the pedestrian Pedro, but I still was surprised—and more than a little teed off—that it was Phil and the Hispanic waiting from me to dress and that Pedro was obviously going to do the walking with us.

The Inner Harbor of Baltimore is all gussied up with outdoor cafés and promenades, a yacht basin, and a large, popular aquarium. Even at 9:00 p.m., there were noisy crowds and a lot of partying going on, with lots of colored lights and boats out in the water, shimmering from the dancing light of the moon and the lights on the promenade.

We walked around a bit, with me wondering when and if we'd drop Pedro, or if Phil was in to taking us both on at once—which I was willing to try. Phil stopped, though, beside a table in an open-air bar. Two beefy black guys were sitting at the table.

"Well, hello there, guys," Phil said. "Mind if we sit?"

"No. Glad to have you," one of the black guys, in a deep voice, said. "We're about to shove off for Mickey's, though."

"That sounds good to me," Phil said. "Maybe we'll walk on over there with you. This is Shawn and that's Pedro. And these are friends of mine, orderlies in the hospital, Buck and C. J." We shook hands. The one called C. J., by far the better looking of the two, and built to beat the band, wasn't real quick to give me my hand back.

Mickey's proved to be a gay dance club on Lloyd Street, east of the Inner Harbor, that I'd never been in before. I didn't go into gay clubs, normally. I took my few encounters as they came in straight-life venues. I didn't advertise and didn't go into this life all that much. The night with the accountant was probably the wildest time I'd ever had with a man.

Lots of smoke again, this time caused by a smoke machine, I was sure, and strobing lights, in various colors. A not-so-great-but-who-cares? band was playing and the dance floor was chock-a-block with gyrating men. The tables and bar were crowded too, although every time we went to the bar from the dance floor, spaces cleared for us. Buck and C. J. were commanding figures. Some would even say threatening figures. They were in silky soccer shorts and muscle Ts, and I had to admit that when we were dancing with them, they were both sexy and sensual in their moves. And very macho. Every gyration and thrust was powerful, sexy. I would have gone hard out there even if they hadn't touched me, but they did touch me. Both of them.

I was facing C. J. when the band went into one of its rare slow dances, and C. J. just put his hands on my waist and pulled me into his crotch. I could feel the heft of him against my groin, and I knew he could tell I was hard. His hands went to grip and squeeze and separate my butt cheeks, and he ground our pelvises together as we moved against each other in place. I put my hands on the back of his head and our foreheads were plastered against each other. Our eyes were locked. If we weren't both clothed, he would have been inside me now.

"I'm gonna fuck you tonight," he murmured.

"Yes," I answered in a whisper, not knowing if he heard me, knowing that it didn't matter to him if I said yes or no. God, the stud was nearly fucking me now.

A fast dance started, and, with a laugh, C. J. pushed me away from him and spun off to dance with someone else.

Phil was still on the dance floor with a willowy, rather effeminate blond when C. J. said he wanted another beer and he pulled me, while Buck pulled Pedro, to the miraculously space-available bar. The two black studs ordered beers for the four of us, and Buck enfolded the small Pedro in his arms and dry humped his leg, while C. J. pulled a bottle of different-colored pills out of his pocket, opened the bottle, and poured a stream of the pills out on the bar top beside the beer glasses.

"Your choice," he said with his mouth close to my ear. After he said that, he stuck his tongue in my ear, and turned my face away.

"None, thanks," I answered. "I don't do drugs." I wondered how he could be doing this so openly.

He shrugged, while holding me close to him in an encircling arm, picked out a pill, popped it in his mouth, and took a swig of beer.

I relaxed a bit, figuring he wasn't going to press the point. He turned my face to his with a hand under my chin, and we went into a kiss.

He pushed the pill almost all the way down my throat with his tongue. It only took a moment to take effect.

It was just a swirl of memories from there until the morning when I woke up slouched behind a dumpster in an alley off the Inner Harbor. Snatches of visions of the evening before rose to the surface. The four of us were in a back room, probably in the same club, because this band was as shitty as the one that had been playing when I passed out. I was kneeling on the floor, my back against the wall, C. J. standing over me, the heels of his hands pressed to the wall on either side above my head. Face fucking me with a big, black dick. Buck was plowing Pedro on a cushioned platform in the center of the room. C. J. plowing me against the wall, with my legs hooked on his hips and my arms around his neck. Buck fucking me on the platform while C. J. took care of Pedro against the wall.

Then just three of us in a car, no Pedro. C. J. fucking me in the backseat while Buck drove, and then C. J. driving and Buck fucking me in the backseat. Both of them with big, black, hard, cocks.

I would have liked to have been fully awake for it. But if I had been, I don't know if it would happened at all. Maybe, maybe not. They were both real studs.

The last I'd seen of Phil was him dancing with the effeminate blond on the dance floor of Mickey's.

* * * *

"Where'd you go Tuesday night?" Phil asked when we first ran across each other in the gym Thursday evening. "I was dancing on the floor and then when I went to look for you, you all were gone. Went to another club, did you?"

He burst my bubble of anger by being the first to speak. It made sense. We'd left him; he hadn't left us.

"Yeah, we went someplace else," I muttered, looking down at my socked feet. It was too embarrassing to give him any details. They were his friends—coworkers—apparently. In a big hospital, though. He wasn't responsible for what they did. And I couldn't say I wouldn't have gone with them without the drugging. I'd told C. J. I would, before I was on any sort of manufactured high. I couldn't say I didn't enjoy getting fucked by two big, black dicks. It wasn't what I'd ever done before, and it helped me feel better about it that I didn't have much of a say in it happening Tuesday night. But I also didn't want to make the decisions and I wanted to be controlled. Couldn't have been controlled any more than that.

"Well, how about tonight after gym," he said. "We really do need to get it on."

Yeah, we really did need to get it on. It seemed like something that just wasn't happening, but I couldn't see that that was anyone's fault.

"That would be great . . . I thought—"

"We could go clubbing. Maybe back to Mickey's."

"Not there, please," I answered. "But, yeah, to a club somewhere. And then—"

"Great. Great. Let me introduce you to a new guy here. Randy. Randy, come on over here and meet Shawn. Randy is willing to spot other guys, but he doesn't know what to do. Mind if he rosa-blanca.ru along tonight?"

It depended on how far he was going to tag along, I thought, but I said. "Yeah, sure."

Randy was a big guy, maybe of Scandinavian extraction. Blond and big boned. Pretty much in shape, though. Big hands and big feet. I wondered if the old story of that meaning he was big elsewhere panned out in his case. It had in C. J.'s case. I didn't remember the accountant's hands and feet, and he'd been bigger and thicker than C. J. was. Randy had a sloppy "golly gee" smile that I liked.

So, I had two spotters all to myself this evening. Pedro hadn't shown up. I wondered at one point why not and worried a bit about when and how he'd dropped out of the mix Tuesday night. But I didn't wonder long.

The Scandinavian had a sensual touch. Not like Phil, who obviously was professional at touching other people, but in a strong, steady way. He was good at spotting, because he exuded confidence. He was open and humorous and seemed clean cut as well as well cut. He was wearing a wrestler's athletic T that was too big for him, with the scoop of the neck hanging down to show bulging pecs and plump nipples and aureoles the size of quarters. He had a ring in one of the nipples, which made me see him as gay. It seemed that most of the guys coming to this gym were gay.

I had a revelation and went instantly angry, though, when I was coming out of the changing room and into the front reception area to meet up with Phil. Phil wasn't alone. Randy was there with him, obviously ready to go "walking" with Phil and me just as Pedro had done two nights previously. And more than that, money was exchanging hands between Randy and Phil.

Instantly I understood all. I don't know if Phil ever intended to give me a proper fucking. But it looked like he'd rent me out for as long as he could get away with it.

I turned and went out the service exit in the back and down a fire escape and to the street. Then I came around to the front of the building and waited in the bushes. The Scandinavian came down to the steps in front the building and stood there for a few minutes. He was joined in a few minutes later by Phil, who obviously was apologizing for not being able to find me in a search of the gym. Somewhat reluctantly the cash went back from Phil to Randy, and Phil walked off.

I waited until Phil was pretty far down the street and so did Randy, apparently not being sure where he was going next as it wasn't where he thought he'd be going.

"Hi," I said, as I walked up to him.

"Hi," he said back. "You're here. We were looking for you and Phil couldn't find you."

"Crossed signals, I guess," I said. "He told you you could fuck me, didn't he?"

"Yes," the guy looked somewhat embarrassed at having it said so openly. "He said that he arranged your dates for you—and handled everything."

"And you gave him money for it?"

"Yes. But he couldn't find you, so he gave it back."

"Just crossed signals," I said. "You can give it to me. I've got a place we can go."

I'd kept my place tidy. It was a small room with a kitchenette and a bath in something nearby but not much more fancy than a tenement. Mostly student housing, which I covered by working part time for a vet while going to school. I'd kept it tidy since that first encounter with Phil in the sauna, because I also thought there would be a good chance Phil and I would wind up there some night—some night before this, of course.

I rode Randy's cock with him on his back and holding my waist as I straddled his hips. I was delighted to note that the adage about big hands and feet, big cock held true with him. It took some time for me to take his whole shaft in. After the first coupling, he whispered how good it was for him and asked me if it did it for me too. I answered that it did, mostly, but that I liked it better when the other guy took complete control.

"How far does that fifty bucks stretch?" he murmured.

"As far as you want," I answered.

"Through the night?"

"Yeah, if you want. You're good."

"Even if the bed collapses?"

"We'll do it on the floor then." I was thinking of Phil, what I was—and would be—denying to Phil with this encounter.

I had a loose but, it turned out, a resilient bed. Randy admitted that he liked the way it squeaked and the headboard and footboard moved dangerously with the rhythm of the fuck. I thought then that Randy was trying to bust the bed as he missionary piston fucked me and the bed squeaked and moaned in harmony with my moans and the headboard and footboard shimmered back and forth. I met him thrust for thrust until he exhausted me. And then he fucked on alone until my tongue was lolling out of my mouth and I was lying there, appendages every which way, like a Raggedy Andy doll.

He banged me twice more the next morning, taking complete charge, once with him standing at the foot of the bed and me arched back to the bed on my shoulder blades and him grabbing my hips and pounding my ass and once, by complete surprise, on the kitchen counter as I was fixing us something to eat. That was my favorite one.

When he had showered and left the apartment, me still in the bed watching his every movement, he left me an extra $50 on the nightstand. I would have liked to see him again, but I knew that, just like with the accountant, that wasn't going to happen. To these guys, thanks to Phil, I was a prostitute one-night stand. While he was showering, I had looked in his wallet. His name wasn't Randy. I made no attempt to remember what his real name was, though. I didn't take anything out of the wallet. Phil may have made me a prostitute, but I wasn't going to be a thief too.

I didn't go back to the gym, deciding that losing the money on that contract was better than contending with Phil again. I felt like I'd dodged a bullet by not bringing him back to my place. He didn't know where I lived. I'd just given my school box number to the gym when I'd signed up. I liked the fucking, and I'd liked the men he'd hooked me up with a lot; I just wasn't that fond of being used.