Chapter 29 The Time of His Life
Less than an hour later Matt was in Bella’s room, in the shower with her, letting her slide a soapy finger into his hole, prepping him for rimming, prelude to fucking. Except, of course, Bella was a guy. A hot one with a big cock.
Matt’s course reversal from disinterest in Bella to willing acceptance of her finger up his ass had surprised even himself…
Bella’s show ended at midnight. She disappeared backstage. Dancing resumed in the pit, but Matt remained at the table with William. What was the point in dancing if not to find a fuck buddy? Nobody wanted to come between Bella and her marked man.
Matt eyed them wistfully.
William told him to cheer up, that Bella didn’t really expect him to do anything. That this was about optics, a showbiz thing. All Matt had to do was leave with Bella, wait 15-20 minutes, then return. People would assume he’d had a quickie and was back for a new partner.
William said it would be a win-win for both Bella and Matt. Bella would get her precious optics. Matt would be a hot commodity, having been marked by Bella as the most desirable guy in the joint.
“Plus,” William added, “you should consider staying with Bella. You’ll find her charms to be breathtaking—in the most literal sense of the word. Breathtaking, dahling.”
Matt didn’t give a shit about optics or being a hot commodity. Life was not a giant stage—except that it was to people like William and Bella.
Cue the fucking spotlight. It was a nightclub, after all, and everyone had been waiting for Bella to claim her marked property. Matt sat illuminated in a circle of bright light.
Cue the hand on his shoulder.
Matt turned to see a tall guy standing there smiling down at him. The guy was probably in his mid-twenties, twenty-seven Matt would later learn.
“Matthew,” William said, nodding towards tall guy. “This is Vincent.”
“You can call me ‘Vince,’” the guy said to Matt. He had a deep, sexy voice. He pointed to the lipstick smear on Matt’s chest. “I believe that’s my mark. I always mark my property.”
Matt recognized Vince’s eyes. He was Bella without her makeup or costume—or more accurately Bella was just Vince’s drag persona. And, minus the 3-inch heels and 18-inch wig, Vince was a manageable height.
Cue the song, “I’ve Had the Time of My Life.” The last song in the movie Dirty Dancing.
Vince took Matt’s hand, much as Patrick Swayze took Jennifer Gray’s in the famous “Nobody puts Baby in a corner” scene. Coaxed Matt out of his chair.
Pulled Matt close to him, with his hand on the small of Matt’s back. Gazed into Matt’s eyes for the opening lyric.
Took Matt’s right hand, clasped it. Moved his other hand up to Matt’s shoulders and maneuvered him through a head and shoulder roll.
Moved behind Matt and caressed a hand down Matt’s face and chest, stopping at his hip during the female vocals.
The audience began clapping in rhythm with the beat.
By the time the song ended, Matt was swooning over Vince. Would have borne his children had that been an option. Eagerly followed him to his room (south-facing second floor, overlooking the parking lot, which was its own swarming meat market).
Vince hurriedly closed the room’s curtains, explaining to Matt that open curtains/lights on signaled the guys in the meat market that you wanted company. Someone always came knocking.
Here they were in the shower, one of those hotel tub/shower combos made to accommodate one normal-sized adult.
Not roomy enough for a 6’ 5” personal trainer (Vince’s day job) AND a 6’1” college soccer player.
Nor were they sober enough to manage the logistics, there being a bottle of vodka in the room, and their having had a shot or two already.
They didn’t know much about each other beyond first names and the fact that both were horny.
There was a quick inventory of condoms. Matt had three.
Vince had four. Both wanted to top. Vince suggested they flip-fuck.
He figured they could top three times each before the 11:00 a.m. checkout time.
If one of them wanted more than that, they could arm wrestle to see who got the coveted seventh condom.
Matt agreed to flip-fucking. He was a reasonable guy, willing to compromise, especially when tipsy. He agreed, though, while they were still clothed. Agreed without having seen what it was exactly he was consenting to let penetrate him.
H-O-L-Y S-H-I-T!
Matt had no idea cocks came in that size.
Length and girth well past the Kraken, which until that moment was the biggest cock Matt had ever seen.
(Being an fCOC kid, Matt’s immediate frame of reference was Numbers 13:33.
The Israelites, spying on the people of Canaan, had seen their first giants—Goliath’s ancestors.
The Israelites’ takeaway was that they felt like grasshoppers compared to the Canaanites.) Matt understood the sentiment.
He had cock envy in terms of wishing he packed such a monster. He had trepidation in terms of letting that thing anywhere near his hole.
Still, a deal was a deal. Matt and Vince stumbled into the shower. Fumbled first kisses. Slowed down and merged their mouths while warmish water rained down on them.
Soaped each other up.
Matt liked the heft of Vince’s pendulous balls. Lathered them up and kneaded them clean. Decided they needed another go. Liked the way Vince’s cock showed its appreciation for all the ball-kneading, the way it swelled up and bobbed.
Vince cleaned his lipstick from Matt’s pec. Washed Matt’s hair and sculpted it into a sudsy mohawk. Gave Matt’s pubes a matching ‘do.
And, since this was a flip-fuck situation and both were eager to move on to the fucking part, at one point each had a soapy finger inside the other. That may have been what caused them to tumble sideways, pulling the shower curtain down, landing in a soggy heap on the bathroom floor.
They scrambled to the bed.
Vince toweled Matt dry, then licked his nipples until they glistened with saliva.
Vince positioned Matt face-down on the bed, arranged a pillow under his hips, then crawled in between his spread legs.
Vince started with Matt’s taint. Licked it. Nuzzled it. Took long, deep laps of it with his tongue.
Matt squirmed with pleasure. Spread his legs further. Relaxed his glutes as Vince prised them apart and worked his tongue towards the hole.
Matt yearned to play with his cock. Wanted to stroke it while Vince tongued his hole.
He couldn’t reach his cock, though. It was trapped beneath him. And, besides, he needed to save his spunk for Vince’s ass, the whole flip-fuck part where Matt would get to top.
This was a night of many firsts for Matt.
First-time being buzzed, which unmoored his inhibitions and set him adrift on a sea of bliss.
First-time being rimmed, which probably wouldn’t have happened without the buzz.
He would have been too worried about odors or even dingleberries.
Would have been twisted up in his own mental baggage about masculinity, worried that he was losing his by being “the girl.”
First-time with a complete stranger. Matt had had sex with five other guys.
All of them were his fellow students at MCU, fellow members of the GM.
Trusting Vince, whom Matt had only just met, whose last name Matt didn’t even know—trusting this stranger to lick his way inside him, required a new level of courage.
First-time with condoms, which was both scary and exciting. Condoms were the necessary evil that offered a frontline defense against the death sentence that was HIV-AIDS. That was a sobering thought.
Vince used the considerable strength of his arms to spread Matt’s ass cheeks wider. Worked his fingers into the crevasse. Pulled at the edges of the hole. Stretched it. Licked and teased it.
“Let me in,” Vince whispered. “Relax.”
Matt felt a wet, slick thing slither into his sphincter, flick the inner skin.
It was an intensely intimate feeling, this first tongue inside him. Kind of a Neil Armstrong man-on-the-moon moment.
Matt giggled, not certain whether it was because of the whole moon/mooning connection or because Vince’s tongue tickled inside him in a rutty way.
Matt’s head was on the bed, his vision restricted. He sensed Vince’s reaching for something, heard lube being squirted, felt a finger ease inside him. Finger and tongue were both in there now, probing.
Matt moaned.
“Keep your head down. Arch your ass up,” Vince coaxed.
Matt did as instructed, assumed this most-vulnerable of positions: head down, arms stretched to support and balance the head, legs bent and splayed, ass arched upward, inviting penetration. He was trussed for spit roasting. All that was lacking was an apple in his mouth.
He tensed, suddenly remembering the only other time he had been in this position. Adrenaline rushed through his veins. His heart pounded.
Vince sensed the change. Removed his finger. Bent down to look into Matt’s eyes.
“Everything okay?” he asked. “We don’t have to do this, you know.”
That was all it took for Matt to put the fear behind him. Vince could be trusted—unlike the youth pastor who had raped him.
Matt smiled woozily. “We’re good. I want you inside me.”
A few minutes later Vince applied the condom to his cock, pressed the tip to Matt’s hole.
Matt had only bottomed one other time—for William, whose cock, like Matt’s, was dwarfed by this Goliath dick, this Paschal candle compared to Matt’s pillar-sized one.
“Take a deep breath,” Vince said. “Now, slowly exhale as I push into you.”
There was some pain. How could there not be?
Vince’s cock was an eighteen-wheeler going the wrong way through a single-lane country road.
Going the wrong way, reversing course, then ramming forward and denting the guardrails.
Backing up. Gunning its engine and spinning its wheels as it fishtailed into another rail.
Matt’s prostate was collateral damage, although it wasn’t complaining. To the contrary, it cheered every fast and furious moment.