Page 40 of Torn
I considered—very, very briefly—saying, “Isn’t that what we’re doing?” but realized he might not understand I was teasing, so I just said, “Okay.”
We made our way through the room with the dancers gyrating and sniffing poppers, their shirtless torsos glistening with sweat even in the dim light. I thought of choreographed mating rituals. The Prodigy’s “Break & Enter” was playing, revving up my pulse rate.
We passed through the heavy black vinyl drape that separated the dance floor from the back room. Even though there was very little division between the two rooms, there was a marked difference as soon as that curtain closed. It may have been my imagination, but back here, in the deep shadows, it seemed quieter, even though that wasn’t really possible. Yet there was an immediate shift fromhearingthe music tofeelingits techno beat in my bones and gut.
Maybe the sound had a different aspect because it wasquietback here in terms of talking. Guys didn’t come back here to chat. All that was audible were soft sighs and whispers, maybe a groan, muffled. There was no laughter—this was serious business.
Tom grabbed my hand and held it while our eyes adjusted. As mine did, I could see, over in the corner, a guy bent over, his hands on his knees. His white T-shirt glowed; it was pushed up around his neck, his pants lost in the shadows around his ankles. A big bearish type, naked save for a baseball cap, fucked him rapidly and really, really hard from behind. From the guy’s excited little grunt with each thrust, I don’t think he was in pain. A couple other guys loitered around the lovers, watching and perhaps waiting for their turn.
Several guys leaned against the black cinder block, flies open, while others kneeled before them, sucking.
It was like a scene from a Fellini movie.
I immediately got hard.
So did Tom, I assume. He pulled me over to a vacant area along the wall and maneuvered me so I was leaning against it. He dropped to his knees, undid his jeans, and pulled out his dick. I watched as he groped in his front pocket—he eventually produced a little brown bottle of poppers and took a big hit. Without looking at me, he stretched his arm with the bottle up so I could take it.
I took it and breathed in a lungful of butyl nitrite. As the drug hit me, causing my heartbeat to intensify to the beat of a jackhammer and beads of sweat to break out on my forehead, I could feel Tom expertly undoing the buttons on my fly. The hit had made me hungry for his mouth on my cock—desperate, really.
I didn’t have to wait long. As soon as he had my dick out, he swallowed it all the way down to the root, hungrily, like a starving man. A muffled groan issued from him, and he reached up with a hand to indicate that I should hand him back the poppers.
I did. I was still riding the wave of my first hit, the blood was roaring in my ears, and I felt transported to a world where all that exited was his mouth on my cock. It was a perfectly synchronized rhapsody of spit, tongue, lips, and mouth—never teeth. It wasn’t long at all until I felt the first tremors of coming. I breathed in sharply and tapped his shoulder.
He stopped and looked up at me.
“My turn,” I whispered.
I didn’t really want him to stop but knew if he didn’t, especially with the poppers amping up my lust, I would come in no time flat. I’m sure he wouldn’t have been disappointed. His expertise and experience were all too clearly on display.
He grinned and got to his feet. We switched places. Holding down his upward-pointing cock, he directed it toward my mouth. As quickly as he did with me, I swallowed the whole thing, which made me proud. It was thick, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if it was over eight inches. I could imagine many a disappointed boy seeing that cock and realizing it belonged to a bottom.
But for the moment, I was the one doing the servicing. I was loving it. He held the poppers to each of my nostrils, and I took a deep hit in each one and continued, oblivious to everything but the big dick thrusting in and out of my throat.
I was in heaven.
I was working for it—a jetting mouthful of come—when Tom gripped me under my pits to yank me to my feet.
I looked at him with wonder, breathing heavily, my dick jerking up and down, on the verge of coming without even a touch.
“Hmm?” I asked. I was dying to get back on my knees.
“We should get out of here,” he whispered hotly in my ear.
“You got a place?”
“Yeah, just down the street a couple blocks. We can be there in ten minutes.” He leaned in closer, pressing his damp chest against mine, grinding his cock against my own. “I really want you to fuck me, man.”
I smiled. “No problem.”
We buttoned up, zipped up, straightened up, and headed out. As we neared the door, I asked, “So this will be your first time, right?”
“What?”
We went through the door. I noticed the doorman’s gaze on us and met his stare. His grin was playful and knowing.
I waited until Tom lit a cigarette and then went on. “You know, bringing someone home from the bar. I’m sure you’ve never done that before. You’re a pillar of virtue, right?” I managed to keep my features neutral, didn’t even smile, hoping he’d get my little sarcastic joke.
He kind of did. He guffawed, expelling a cloud of smoke. “Yeah, right.”
