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CanadianGay Library Shelf Presents:

Tony’s Big Adventure
By Bob Vickery
submitted by Mike

Ever since I was a kid, I've been letting my older cousin Guido tell me what to do. Even now that I'm 18 and grownup, things haven't changed all that much. Guido has balls of brass; he can pull off the most outrageous shit. As kids, we'd be in some record store, and when we were back out on the street, he'd show me all the CDs he'd crammed into his jacket pockets and the albums he'd stuffed under his shirt.

He's always ripping stuff off: clothes, beer, radios – any shit you can think of. My folks think he's bad news, the bad seed of the family, and tell me to stay away from him. Me, I think he's pretty cool, and I hang out with him whenever I can ("Like a stray mutt," he tells me, but he grins while he's saying it). Guido seems to like having me around; every now and then he swipes a tape I want or a pair of jeans my size and tosses them to me. He even lets me fuck his old girlfriends from time to time.

So when he tells me he's going to break into the electronics store over on Franklin Street 'cause he needs a new CD player, I just figure that's Guido being Guido. But then he gives me this look. "And you're coming along too," he says. "I need a lookout."

Well, shit, I wasn't expecting that. "I dunno, Guido," I say. "Maybe you should find somebody else."

"It's a cinch, Tony," Guido says, grinning. "Grandma could bust inside this joint." He puts his arm around my shoulder. "I'm letting you in on this 'cause you're my main man, dude. Like Tonto. And you're family. Now, there's some quality shit in that store, but I need someone outside to keep an eye out." He gives my shoulder a squeeze. "You could use a new sound system, couldn't you, Tony? Something state of the art instead of that piece of shit tape player you got."

"Guido," I say, "this is an electronics store you're talking about, for Christ's sake. They'll have security systems up the ass there."

But Guido just laughs. "Tony, there ain't a security system I can't get around. Just leave it to me, OK?"

Well, anyway, let's just say that Guido was able to show me the logic of his thinking. Around midnight, still not quite sure what the fuck I'm getting myself into, I find myself at the head of the alley behind the store, keeping an eye out for trouble while Guido jimmies open the lock of the back door. A couple of minutes later, I hear him rummaging around in there. He pokes his head out the door. "Tony, come in here and help me carry this stuff out," he says in a loud whisper.

I look behind me and then walk inside. Guido's got TV sets, VCRs, tape decks, CD players, and a couple of computers all lined up by the door. "Jesus, Guido," I say. "I thought you were going to take just a couple of things, not the whole goddamn store!"

Guido gives me a smile that don't quite make it up to his eyes. "You thought wrong, Tony. I'm not going to pass up a deal like this. Now, help me carry this stuff out of here."

Well, I don't like this shit at all. As I begin piling the boxes into the back of the pickup truck Guido borrowed, I think how maybe this wasn't such a hot idea after all. Guido's still inside, rooting through what's left to make sure he didn't miss nothing. Maybe a nickel fell from the cash register today or something. I hoist a VCR up to toss in the flatbed, shaking my head.

Suddenly a high beam flashlight turns on, catching me full in its light. "This is the police!" a voice barks. "Put your hands up!"

Oh, shit, I think. I drop the box and raise my hands. I feel like I’m going to throw up.

Guido picks that moment to walk out the back door, his arms loaded. He sees me pinned in the flashlight beam. "What the fuck — ?" he says. The beam swings over to him, and as soon as it does, I bolt down the alley.

The light swings back toward me again. "Stop, or I'll shoot!" one of the cops yells after me. But I keep on going, zigzagging to make a harder target. A gun goes off, and a bullet whizzes by my left ear, chipping off part of the wall next to me. I hear footsteps on the pavement behind me, but I don't look back to see how close the cop is.

I finally reach the main street and hightail it across. A car screeches on its brakes and plows into a trash can. Horns begin blasting. I snatch a glance over my shoulder and see a cop on the sidewalk behind me, waving down a patrol car half a block down the street. Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, fuck, I think as I turn the corner.

I know if I don't get off this street now, my ass is grass. Off to my left is a revolving door with the words HOTEL Olympia written in gold above. Without thinking twice, I plunge through it hard enough to make the sucker spin like a top. It's a big hotel with a big lobby, packed with people coming and going. The carpet feels soft and plush beneath my feet, and the chandeliers above look like a bunch of glass wedding cakes. I slow down to a walk and try to blend in — which is a joke, me dressed in torn jeans, old sneakers, and a greasy, stained T shirt. One of the dudes behind the check-in counter gives me the fisheye and then turns to the guy next to him. They both stare at me. I say a prayer to the Blessed Virgin, promising that if I get out of this all right, I'll be a fuckin' altar boy. I sneak a glance at the front entrance just as a couple of cops walk through the door. Their eyes begin scanning the lobby.

A hand grabs my shoulder. I jump and whirl around, fists cocked and heart pounding hard enough to crack a rib. I face a guy a few years older than me, blond, well-built, dressed in a sport shirt and a pair of jeans like mine, only cleaner and not torn. "Hey, easy, buddy," he says, taking a step back.

I squint my eyes, giving the dude my meanest look. I have never been so fuckin' scared in my life. "Yeah, what?" I snarl.

But blondie just kind of laughs. "You do 'street punk' real good. The client will eat it up." I don't say nothing. Blondie raises an eyebrow. "Charlie sent you, didn't he?"

I don't know what the fuck he's talking about, but I figure I stick out less hanging out with him than by myself. "Yeah," I say. "That's right."

Blondie's eyes scan my body appreciatively. "I got to hand it to Charlie: He's finally coming up with some quality merchandise." He sticks out his hand. "I’m Bill."

Because I don't know what else to do, I shake it. He looks at me, waiting. "I'm Tony," I mumble.

"A little piece of advice," Bill says, his tone friendly. "Next time you have a gig at a hotel, try to dress up a little more. The staff doesn't like trade to be too obvious." He smiles, but his eyes drill holes in me.

"Yeah," I say. "I'll keep that in mind." Bill's eyes sweep up and down my body again. I shift my weight to my other foot, not liking the way he's looking at me.

"This is going to be fun," he says. "Charlie did explain the gig to you, right?"

I clear my throat. "Well, actually, he didn't really get into the details…"

Bill cracks a tight grin. "That's Charlie for you – leaves you to fend for yourself." He glances at his watch. "Well, we're due up in Mr. Keating's room in a couple of minutes, so I'll make this brief. He just likes to watch, so all we have to do is put on a show for him. There's a hundred in it for each of us, but if he likes what he sees, he'll probably tip us something extra." He gives me that look again. "You a top or a bottom?"

I look at him. "A top or a bottom what?"

Bill raises an eyebrow. "Do you like to fuck or get fucked?" he finally says, his voice patient.

I don't say nothing for a few seconds. "What the fuck are you talking about?" I finally ask.

There's a light in Bill's eyes I don't like at all. "Do we have a problem here?" he asks quietly. I don't say nothing. "Just what did Charlie tell you about tonight?" Bill is developing an attitude now.

A cop is getting closer, scanning the lobby with his eyes. He looks over in our direction. I turn my back to him. "Charlie didn't tell me squat," I say, the words falling out of my mouth. My heart is pounding like a jackhammer. "He just said to show up here for a gig and you'd explain what to do."

Bill's blue eyes narrow, and for a second I'm more scared of him than of the cop. "Charlie is such an asshole," he mutters. He wraps a hand around my biceps, and I can feel his fingers dig in. "What we're going to do," he says in a low growl, "is go up to the client's room, get naked, and put on a show. That means we're going to suck cock, fuck ass, shoot as many loads as we can work up, and each leave $100 richer. If we put on a good enough show, there's possible future work with this client. If you pull out, you can just tell Charlie that he's in deep shit."

I glance behind me. The cop is now talking to another cop. They both look our way and start walking in our direction.

"Who said anything about pulling out?" I say. I shake my arm free from Bill's grip and walk toward the elevator. "Let's go," I say. "The dude's waiting for us!" Bill finally follows after me. As the elevator door closes, I see the two cops watching us suspiciously. They stay put, though. Bill is my only ticket out of here, and I know there's no backing out now.

Bill pushes the button for the 32nd floor. The ride up is tense, with Bill staring off into space. I sneak a look at him, my eyes sliding down his body, taking in the muscles pushing against his tight T shirt. What's it going to be like to suck his cock? I wonder. Surprisingly, I'm not that bugged by the idea. In fact, as I get the picture of Bill deep-throating me, I feel my own dick start to get hard. Go figure.

We get off the elevator, and Bill leads the way down one of the hallways. He moves like he's been here before, and I catch myself wondering how long he's been in this line of work. He's a good looking guy, clean cut and in shape. At first glance he looks like one of those underwear models in a Sears catalog. But when I look closer there's something a little sleazy about him — maybe the way his eyes are always looking around or the looseness of his mouth. He reminds me of Guido. I wonder where Guido is now. I think, that asshole. If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't be in this mess. Still, it's strange that I'm not that upset. The main thing I feel is curiosity.

We stop at one of the doors, and Bill knocks on it. "It's open," a voice from inside calls out. Bill pushes open the door, and we walk in.

This is the first hotel room I've ever been in, so I got nothin' to compare it with. But it looks fuckin' swank: high ceilings, thick rugs, plush chairs, and a bitchin' view of the city skyline outside. The lights are turned down low, but I see a bed off on the other side of the room. From where I stand it looks as big as a handball court. Our "client" is standing in the middle of the room wearing a bathrobe, his hands jammed in its pockets. I figure him for about mid-40s, tall thinning hair, still in shape. I look at him closely, curious about what kind of guy would blow $200 to watch a couple of hustlers suck each other's cocks. But the guy just looks like any other Joe you'd see on the street.

"Good evening, Mr. Keating," Bill says, flashing a big smile.

Keating nods his head. "Hello, Bill," he says. His eyes shift over toward me, sweeping up and down my body like a prison searchlight. "Who's your friend?"

Bill puts an arm around my shoulder. "This is Tony." His smile widens. All of a sudden he's the nicest fuckin' guy in the world. "Tony's kinda new to this game. I'm breaking him in."

Keating's eyes light up with a new interest. I know that stare he's giving me. I've seen it on Guido's face a million times. I can almost hear the wheels spinning in his head as he tries to figure what he can get from me. There's a CD player in the corner, and Keating walks over to it and slips a disk in. Something cool and jazzy starts playing.

"Why don't you gentlemen just get started?" he says. He pulls up a chair and sits down in it, facing us.

Bill don't waste any time. He pulls me to him, hugging me tight, rubbing his hips against mine. He smiles at me, but the look in his eyes says, You'll be sorry if you fuck this up. But that ain't nothing I don't already know. I think about the cops looking for me in the lobby and what life would be like in the slammer. I nuzzle my chin against his neck and press my lips to his skin.

A saxophone bleeds music from the speakers, and I close my eyes. I feel my dick stirring, getting hard. Bill feels it too. He smiles at me again, only this time it seems more real. Some of the strain eases from his face. For a second I kinda sympathize with the guy. This is what he does to survive, and he just doesn't want me to screw it up for him. He plants his mouth against mine, pushing my teeth open with his tongue. I stiffen with surprise, then ease into it. I never kissed a man before, and the feel of his whiskers against my face is fuckin' strange. But not in a bad way. In fact, it's making me hot.

Bill pulls off my T shirt and then peels off his own. I feel his skin rub against mine, his body hard with muscle. The dude must work out. He's got a long, rangy torso, smooth and tight, the nipples a light pink against his pale skin. He bends down and runs his tongue over my left nipple as he slips his other hand down in my jeans and cups my ass. His fingers pry open the crack and rub against my bung hole.

I sneak a glance at Keating. He has his bathrobe open now; he's naked underneath and is stroking his stiff cock, his eyes glued on us. It's a turn on being watched while I do sex things I never done before, and I find myself wanting to put on a good show for him. I bend down and stick my tongue in Bill's ear. I know that drives women wild, and it seems to have the same effect on Bill. He takes my nipple between his teeth and bites it, just enough to tease.

Bill unzips my fly and tugs my jeans down around my knees. His hand slides inside my briefs from behind, and his finger pushes up my hole to the third joint. My dick is as stiff as a fuckin' tire iron and bumps hard against the piss-stained cotton. Bill drops to his knees and licks the cloth, his tongue getting my briefs sopping wet. He pulls them down, and my dick swings up, slapping against my belly. Bill sucks my balls into his mouth and rolls them around, teasing me with his tongue as he jacks me off. The finger of his other hand finds its way back inside my ass, and he begins finger fucking me slow and easy. I pump my hips to meet his strokes, my dick leaking precome. He suddenly plunges his head down and swallows the whole shaft, at the same time jamming two fingers hard up my ass. I cry out and shove my dick down his throat until my balls are pressed tight against his chin.

As I fuck Bill's face, I turn my head and watch Keating. He returns my stare, floggin' his hog so fast that his balls are a blur. He smiles at me, but I keep my face cold, giving him my best cowboy squint. His eyes eat me up; the hunger in them is so big that I half expect him to shove Bill aside and go down on me himself. But he just sits there watching me, his mouth half open, his eyes like needles. I flex my arms for him, pumping my biceps up as big as grapefruits. Keating gives a long sigh that trails off into a groan. "Look at that hot Italian punk getting sucked off," he growls softly. "Ramming his thick brown dick down that blond stud's throat. Fuckin' sexy, arrogant bastard. Maybe having a big dick shoved down his throat would change his attitude a little."

Bill looks up at me, my dick still in his mouth. I can tell he wants me to pick up on Keating's hint. I shake my head but find myself wondering what a dick in my mouth would feel like. Bill's eyebrows pull down, and his eyes shoot daggers at me. I almost laugh. It's pretty hard to give someone the evil eye when you're swinging on his stiff dick.

Bill takes my dick out of his mouth and stands up. He wraps his arms around me and pretends like he's nuzzling my ear. "Come on, Tony, do this for me, OK?" he begs softly. "Keating won't pay either of us if he's not happy with the show."

I pull back and look into Bill's face. I see something close to desperation in his eyes. And I think about my own problems too. If Keating kicks us out, I got to face those cops down in the lobby again. Besides, my curiosity is getting the better of me. What would it feel like to have a hard dick in my mouth? My own cock gives a surprising throb at the thought.

What the hell, I think. I start to drop down to my knees. "No," Keating says. "You two do it on the bed." A few seconds tick by before Bill takes my arm and leads me across the room. He climbs onto the bed, props himself up with his elbows, and spreads his legs out into a wide V. I kneel before him and wrap my hand around his dick.

I have never touched a man's dick before (except my own, of course), and I give Bill's a light squeeze, feeling its warmth spread out into my palm. His dick is a little longer than mine but not as thick, pink and cut where mine is brown and uncut, with a big ol' red cock head just dribblin' precome. His balls hang low and ripe in their sac and are lightly furred with blond fuzz.

I've had my dick sucked a number of times by various girlfriends, and I know what kind of blow job feels the best. I bend down and slurp my tongue across Bill's nut sac and up the shaft, swirling it around his cock head. The precum is slick and tastes a little salty in my mouth. I begin nibbling down the shaft, twisting my head from side to side like that Chock Full o' Nuts waitress did to me a couple of weeks ago back in the restaurant storeroom. Bill groans loud, but there's something a little theatrical about it; I suspect he's putting on a show for Keating. As for me, I’m just wondering whether I like having a dick in my mouth. I decide it's too early to tell and so I keep sliding my mouth up and down Bill's shaft, trying to figure out how I feel about it.

"Swing around," Bill whispers. "Let's get a little sixty-nine action going."

Hey, that sounds OK by me. I pivot my body around so that my dick juts right above Bill's face. As he keeps pumping his dick down my throat, he sucks my balls into his mouth and rolls them around with his tongue. He spits in his hand and then starts stroking my dick, slicking it up nice and slippery. Goddamn, does that feel good! I burrow my nose into his balls and breathe in that ripe, musky smell, so different from a woman's. We fuck each other's faces for a few minutes, our sweat slicked bodies slapping together, me forgetting all about Keating for the time being. Bill's mouth slides up to my ass, and I feel his tongue wash my bung hole. The fucker's just setting my body on fire!

Bill pulls his head away. "I want you to fuck my ass, Tony," he growls.

"No problem," I say with a grin. I swing around again and grab Bill's ankles, hoisting his legs up high.

"Hold on a second," Bill grunts. He reaches over to the nightstand by the bed. There's a jar of lube and a pack of rubbers lying on top. He tosses them to me, and it's only a couple of seconds before I got my dick sheathed and greased and plowed to the balls up his ass.

Fucking is something I'm damn good at, and if Keating wants a show, I'll give it to him. I slowly pull my dick out of Bill's asshole, right to the head, and just hang there in space for a second before plunging in hard, grinding my hips against him. Bill groans loudly, and this time the motherfucker sounds like he means it. I slam his ass hard again, then get down to the serious business of fucking the holy hell out of that boy.

Bill's eyes lock with mine, and his lips pull back in a snarl. He thrusts his body up to meet mine, tightening and un-tightening his ass muscles around my dick. It's hard to say if this is better than pussy, but it's fun as hell in its own way.

Bill and I wrestle together in the bed, sometimes me on top, sometimes him, both our bodies pumping away, me plowing his ass like it's springtime in Kansas. I can see how Bill can make a living out of this. He's a goddamn wildcat, and he knows how to play my body like a tenor sax: wrapping his legs tight around me, twisting my nipples, pushing me to the edge of coming and then backing off again, over and over. I bend down and plant my mouth over his, shoving my tongue so deep down his throat that I half expect to bump against my dick coming the other way. I wrap my lube-smeared hand around his dick, and he fucks my fist to the same tempo that I fuck his ass.

"Goddamn, you boys are hot!" Keating exclaims, but we ignore him, too wrapped up in what we're doing to each other's bodies. Bill thrusts against my slammin' dick like the pro he is, and I feel myself being drawn close to the edge again. I groan mightily, and the sound of my voice bounces off the high ceiling.

"Yeah, baby," Bill croons. "Whip it out. Let us all watch you squirt." I'd rather just shoot inside Bill's ass, but I remember that I'm playing to an audience. I pull out and rip the rubber off just as my dick starts spewing jizz. My spunk squirts across Bill's belly, caking his body with ropy wads, and I holler loud enough to bring the ceiling down on us. Bill groans, and I feel his load shoot into my hand and ooze between my fingers. I wipe my hand across his face, and he licks his sticky jizz off my fingers one by one. Judging by the way Keating is moaning and carrying on, I guess he's shootin' too, but neither one of us pays much attention to him. I sit with my legs straddled across Bill's body and grin down at him. He grins back, and a little spark of buddyhood flashes between us for a second.

After Keating pays us and we're in the hall outside, waiting for the elevator, Bill reaches up and squeezes the back of my neck. "We make a great team, Tony," he says, smiling. "Maybe we could work another gig together sometime soon."

"Sure," I say. "Just call Charlie. He knows how to get hold of me." We don't say nothing in the elevator down. Out in the lobby I shake Bill's hand, say good-bye, and walk out the hotel door. As I walk down the street, I think about Charlie and the puzzled look he'll have on his face, and I think about Guido, wondering what happened to him. He's most likely in the slammer now, and he'll be there for a good long time. I was damn lucky to get away.

It's funny how sometimes a night turns out so different than you expect. Over in the east the sky is turning light; it's time I went home and caught some shut-eye. I put my hands in my pockets and start whistling as I walk down to the nearest subway station.