Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
Ethan
When Ethan and Zane arrived at The Firehouse, there was already a line of men out the door.
It took a lot of cajoling, but Ethan finally agreed to wear his new pink shirt without an undershirt – a decision he now regretted.
Whenever a guy turned and glanced in his direction, the guy’s gaze was immediately drawn to his nipples, which was making Ethan increasingly uncomfortable.
Zane, on the other hand, couldn’t seem to get enough eyes on his body.
He wore a lightweight bomber jacket over his bare chest, and had strung a metal cock ring on a chain so he could wear it as a necklace.
It dangled between his pecs like a hypnotist’s bauble, mesmerizing any man who glanced his way.
Zane leaned in and licked Ethan’s ear. “I have a surprise for you.”
“Ugh.” Ethan dried off his ear with his sleeve. “Let me guess: weed gummies.”
“No. I mean, I do have those if you want, but I have another surprise, too. Do you remember Dave Kent?”
“The guy from Ethics class?”
“Yep. I was talking to him at the gym the other day, and when I mentioned wanting to go to The Firehouse, he told me Dirk Slocum performs here.”
“Who?”
“Dirk Slocum. The porn star. I told you I passed him on the street, like a month ago. Remember?”
“Kinda.”
“Well, he dances here, so you’ll get to experience him in all his glory.” Zane held his hands about eight inches apart. “His dick is magnificent.”
“Good for him,” Ethan muttered, shuffling forward as the line of men inched toward the door.
When they finally made it inside, the club was packed.
Ethan had only seen The Firehouse during the day, when it was empty and well-lit.
At night, it was like a different world.
Men crowded the dance floor, gyrating to the driving beat of electronic dance music.
A red light over the bar lent a moody, if not seedy, air to the place.
Two shirtless men mixed cocktails for the guys huddled around the bar.
This was an impressive turnout. Virgil wasn’t kidding when he said that shows drew a crowd. With regular nights like this, Siren would easily turn a profit.
Zane pecked Ethan on the cheek and pointed to the bar. “I’m going to grab us some drinks.”
“A Manhattan, please,” Ethan called after Zane’s retreating form. Left to his own devices, Zane favored alcohol content over flavor. He shuddered at the memory of the Corpse Revivers at The Manhole.
He slipped his phone out of his pocket and was delighted to see Blake’s text.
BLAKE
Virgil made the announcement. I can’t believe it’s really happening. Can’t wait to see you after the show.
When I’m dancing tonight, I’ll be thinking of you.
Ethan couldn’t wait for Blake to see him in the audience, wearing his sexy shirt and cheering him on. After the show, they could grab some drinks and join the throng on the dance floor, grinding against each other while the alcohol in their veins softened the edges of the world.
He adjusted his hardening cock to a more comfortable angle. Hell, they might not even make it home before jumping each other. There were plenty of places upstairs, away from the crowd, where they could sneak in some sweaty post-show sex.
His fingers trembling from his sudden burst of arousal, he fired off a reply.
ETHAN
You may see me sooner than you think
He sent a wink emoji and pocketed his phone when Zane returned, handing him a cocktail.
“The show is going to start soon. We should find a good spot. Come on.”
Ethan hurried to keep up as Zane navigated around clusters of men with the precision of a dick-seeking missile. Unbelievably, he located a small patch of open floor space, just big enough for two men, at the very end of the runway – a prime location for watching the show.
The music stopped, and men wandered away from the bar and dance floor to join the crowd huddled around the runway. Two spotlights flared to life, bathing the stage in bright light.
A Latino man in a green sequin blazer emerged from behind the curtain, waving to the crowd. He stepped to the microphone stand on the wing stage and flashed a smile. “Welcome to The Firehouse. My name’s Lorenzo––”
From the audience, a man yelled, “We love you, Enzo!”
“I love you, too. And I know what you want.” Enzo stroked the microphone as if he were giving a blow job. “Smoking hot men. Smoldering dance moves.” He swiveled his hips with a sinuous roll of his body, and ended with a quick pelvic thrust. “And dick!”
The audience erupted into applause and cheering.
“How’s everyone feeling tonight?”
There were a few calls of “Good” and “Awesome” from the crowd. A guy close to Enzo pounded the runway with his fists and shouted, “Horny!”
Enzo pointed to Mr. Horny. “Good! Prepare for a five-alarm fire… in your pants. Because first up is a guy who’ll really get your engines revving.” He swept his hand toward the curtains behind him. “Let’s hear it for Diesel!”
Thumping bass vibrated the walls of the club.
The curtains parted, and a young guy with a dark buzzcut and beautifully sculpted muscles stepped onto the stage, wearing nothing more than a black tank and extremely sheer briefs.
Ethan had been expecting to see fantasy costumes, like policemen or firefighters.
This guy looked like an underwear model.
After a few slinky body rolls, Diesel peeled off his tank, rubbed it under his armpits, and tossed it into the crowd. Men fought to catch it, as if it were a baseball flying into the stands.
With a devilish smile, he hooked his thumbs under his waistband and shoved down the front of his briefs, exposing his plump cock and balls.
He stroked himself in time with the music until he was hard, then tucked his dick back into his skimpy briefs and made the rounds to collect his tips.
Every few feet, he’d flash his cock again, which had men scrambling to the stage, waving dollar bills at him.
The show was a lot filthier than Ethan had originally pictured, less like the R-rated movie Blake had described and more like softcore porn.
Man after man took the stage, and each act was just as filthy. Hard-ons were flashed. Balls were wiggled in faces. And to Ethan’s surprise, more than a few of the men wore jockstraps and were not shy about spreading their cheeks. He hadn’t expected to see so many buttholes.
After a few acts, the men started to blur together. The longer he waited for Blake to perform, the more impatient Ethan became. Angling his body away from Zane, he slipped his phone out of his pocket and checked to see if Blake had replied.
“He’s hot, huh?” Zane asked.
Ethan looked up from his phone. A burly man in a leather harness and biker boots was squatting on the stage.
He’d unzipped the back of his leather shorts, and was pushing his ass into patron’s faces, letting them fondle his hairy cheeks or slide a hand though his crack as they tucked bills under the edges of the open fly.
The concentric star tattoo on his bicep was familiar – this was Blake’s friend, Tenny.
“Yeah, he’s hot,” Ethan said.
Zane pawed at Ethan’s hands. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” Ethan pulled his hands free and pocketed his phone.
“Seriously? We’re at a show with hot naked guys and you’re on your phone?” Zane fished a five dollar bill out of his wallet. “You’re going to have fun tonight if it kills me.” He shoved the bill into Ethan’s hand and jabbed his index finger toward Tenny. “Tip the dancer.”
“I don’t want to feel up a guy’s ass tonight.”
“Now!” Zane commanded.
“Oh my god. Fine,” Ethan muttered, holding up the bill.
At the sight of the money, Tenny slunk over and dropped into a squat, his hairy crack inches from Ethan’s face.
“Wow.” Ethan sucked in a breath. Tenny had a hot ass, and the thought of burying his face in that musky cleft flashed briefly through his mind. Afraid he’d get carried away if he ran his hands over Tenny’s warm, hairy skin, Ethan demurely tucked the bill under his waistband.
Tenny glanced over his shoulder and winked. “Thanks, stud.” Then he tilted his head to the side, his brow furrowed. For a moment, something passed through his eyes. Just as quickly, it was gone, and Tenny was on to the next guy.
Zane leaned in and joked, “He liked you.”
“He liked my money.”
After Tenny left the stage, and the go-go twink cleared the runway of stray tips, Enzo stepped to the mic again.
“Are you ready for the hunk who put the ‘wild’ in the ‘Wild West’? Well, saddle up, boys, because it ain’t this cowboy’s first rodeo, and he’s ready to ride you all night long. Giddy up, for Dirk Slocum!”
The men around the runway burst into enthusiastic applause, chanting Dirk’s name. So this was the famous porn star Zane was always gushing about. Time to see if he lived up to the hype.
A dance remix of “Friends in Low Places” blared over the speakers, and a tall, muscular man in a sexy cowboy costume stepped out from behind the curtain. His long black duster was open, revealing chiseled pecs and mouthwatering abs that could’ve been carved from marble.
Thumbs hooked in his belt loops, he strolled the length of the runway with his head down, so all Ethan saw was the top of his ten-gallon hat. Beams of red and purple light swept across the stage and danced over his toned body.
There was something about the way he moved. About the shape of his pecs…
When the beat dropped, bright white light flooded the stage. Dirk whipped off his hat and tousled his hair. His lips curved into a smirk – slow and sultry – as he raked his gaze over the men in the audience.
“Oh my god,” Ethan muttered.
It’s Blake.
The color drained from Blake’s face when his eyes locked with Ethan’s.
Ethan backed away from the stage, black dots swirling in his vision, his rubbery legs barely supporting him.