First and Only

"Yes, hold just like that, please. You pose well."

"As well I should," Philip answered as he put an arm up to lean on the frame of the door out to the balcony. All he was wearing was an opaque dress shirt, unbuttoned and gaping open, which was made even more opaque—luminous even—by the backlighting of the sun beyond the balcony of the eleventh-floor, Darlinghurst, Sydney, apartment. Philip's trim, well-muscled, but not overly so, blond body was gorgeous in its smooth-muscled sculpted lines. His cut cock hung low, nestled in a well-defined nut sack. The only jewelry Philip was wearing—by request—was an elaborate Esculpta cock ring at the base of his cock, made of black rubber, with silver lions' heads on each end, that wound around the base of the cock more than once, showing the lions' heads at the top, facing away from each other.

"How about this?" Philip asked after Steve had taken a couple of photos. He lowered his head, looking at his feet, so that his face didn't show, just the tousled top of his blond, with golden highlights, head of curly hair.

Steve, about ten years older than Philip—thirty-five to Philip's twenty-five—dark-haired, slightly hirsute, rougher looking, more heavily muscled and solidly built than Philip, put the camera down, turned to his easel, and picked up a chunk of black charcoal. "Perfect. Now if you can hold that pose for fifteen or twenty minutes, we're home free." He was dressed only in gym shorts, pulled down in front by a heavy basket, and flip-flops.

"There, done," he said some fifteen minutes later.

"Can I see it?" Philip asked, raising his head. He had remained stock still the entire time.

"Later," Steve answered with a husky voice. "First we fuck. I told you you'd pose and I would sketch, and then we'd fuck." He had lost the gym shorts and was in magnificent, uncut erection.

"Where?" Philip asked, his eyes big in confirming the size of Steve for real for the first time outside the pages of a glossy nudes book. Philip felt himself going hard.

"Sit on the chair on the balcony. I'll be out there in a minute."

The minute was spent gathering up lubricant and condom packets.

Coming out onto the balcony, Steve sank down on his knees in front of Philip. He grasped Philip's legs under the knees and parted and lifted them while he pulled Philip's buttocks forward and rolled them up. He spent several minutes licking down the side of Philip's cock as it engorged, sucking on his balls, and seeking out his hole with a tongue before he returned to Philip's cock, deepthroated it several times, and then gave him the preliminaries of a blow job in earnest, while Philip moaned and bucked under him, talked dirty, and clutched at Steve's curly black head hair with his fingers.

At length, Steve pulled his mouth off the cock, and this was when Philip thought he would be fucked. He was prepared for that. For some time now he had welcomed the thought, even as thick and long as Steve's cock turned out to be.

But Steve surprised him. When he opened a condom packet, he rolled it down on Philip's cock instead of his. Then he dribbled the crowned cock with lubricant, palmed more of it, and rubbed that into his own asshole as he stood and crouched over Philip's lap. He lowered his channel on Philip's cock and started, first, a slow rise and fall rhythm on the cock, pulling Philip's face into his chest, the young man's lips onto a nipple nestled in black, curly chest hair. Philip placed his hands on Steve's waist and groaned at the surprise pleasure of his cock being worked by the older, well-experienced man.

After a few minutes of a gentle rhythm, Steve began picking up speed, fucking himself hard and deep on Philip's cock. Philip raised his head and Steve cupped his ears and brought his lips into a deep kiss. Philip reached down and started stroking Steve's cock in a rhythm matching Philip's ever-faster rise and then slam down on the cock. Philip flopped his head back as he came out of the kiss and cried out "Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, of fuck!" as Steve went after Philip's arm pits with his tongue and teeth.

They came almost simultaneously—the very first time they had sex. It was not the fuck that Philip had expected by a long shot, but it was a good one for him.

* * * *

Earlier in the day, if Philip was being honest with himself, which he always liked to try to be, he was bored and cruising. He was on the second day of a three-day layover in Sydney, and, having nothing else to do—he wanted to go to a beach, but the directions that anyone had given to him on getting to one had been too complicated—he found himself seeking out the gay districts of the city in search of some action. He'd never been to Sydney—or Australia, for that matter—before. He'd been told that there was a gay district in the southern Sydney sector of Darlinghurst, within walking distance of his hotel in the harbor area, and he had found a gay bookstore, The Bookshop Darlinghurst, there and was perusing the book offerings—and the clientele. He hadn't been laid in nearly a week, and he was getting jittery.

There were several young men there. Only one was brawny in the way Philip liked his men, though. Heavily muscled and wearing gym shorts and an athletic T-shirt with deep cuts in the armholes that showed tight, curly black hair peeking out here and there and in more profusion at the armpits. He looked like a footballer, and he looked like he could be rough in sex. He also looked several years older than Philip. All of this was enticing to the young man. But the man's attention seemed to be elsewhere.

Philip moved to the table of art books. He saw the 2013 edition of the Dieux du Stade Calendar, featuring artistic nude shots of the rugby players of Paris. He didn't have this edition of the calendar yet and thought this would be as good a place to buy it as anywhere. But as he reached for it, so did another hand. A bigger, rougher hand than his, with tight, curly black hair on the back of it. The hand came down on top of his and held his hand.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Philip said. "We seemed to have been reaching for the same calendar at the same time."

"I would have thought this book over here was more to your interest," the man he'd already scoped out said in a rich baritone voice.

"Uh, which one?"

"The Henning Von Berg photo book. Alpha Males."

"And why did you think I might be interested in that one?"

"All of his models are particularly hung. That's the point of the book. The lower hung a man is, the more he is Alpha material, according to Von Berg."

"Oh, and am I supposed to be impressed by big cocks?"

"I certainly hope so."

God, he's cocky—and confident of himself, Philip thought. Then he went on to append, as well he should be, as he looked down the line of the man's torso from his muscular pecs to his solid waist and the way his gym shorts were pulled down in front. Philip could make out the line of a thick cock and there were two silver lions' heads peeking above the center of the waistband, just above where the man's cock would be rooted. It didn't even appear that he was wearing a jock or briefs under the gym shorts.

"There are several copies of the calendars," he said. "We can both have one." But the man still had his hand on Philip's and Philip hadn't tried to take his away. He had come in here on the off chance of picking up a hookup for the afternoon. And this guy fit the bill. Philip didn't want to discourage him.

"You don't sound like you are from around here, and I haven't seen you in here before," the man said.

"No. I'm an American. This is my first time in Sydney. I'm just here for a few days this time, although I'll be back frequently now. I haven't seen much of anything."

Offer to show me something, Philip was thinking. I think you know what I want you to show me. You're cocky enough to assume that's what I want to see. And I'm needy enough for you to be right.

"Ah, an American. So, what part of America and what brings you here?"

"I live in Los Angeles. I'm an air steward. Just signed on for the Los Angeles-to-Sydney route. I'll be here a couple of times a week for a couple of days."

Take me somewhere and fuck me, Philip added in his mind.

"An air steward. Qantas?"

"No, Delta."

"And your interest in this art work is?"

Because I'm gay and cruising, Philip screamed in his brain. Because I'm looking for some hunk to fuck my brains out. I'm bored. And because, like the men in this art book, you fit the bill and know you do. But what he said was, "I'm also a model. On the side."

"Ah, a model . . . on the side And maybe all that entails."

Yes and on my back too. Go ahead and say it. Go ahead and make something out of it. Tell me you want me on my back.

But the man just repeated himself. "A model. I could have guessed. Nudes?"

"Yes, sometimes. But mostly underwear . . . and jeans . . . and swim wear ads."

"So, as good as nude, considering the ads for those these days."

"I guess you could say so."

Ask me to go with you somewhere, Philip's mind was begging.

"And an escort too, I'll bet," the man said. Philip had been looking away from the man and now his gaze snapped back to the man's face. He was giving Philip a level look and had a slight smile on his face. If he was moving in for the hookup—which Philip welcomed—this was the most direct stab at it Philip had heard thus far. Philip shuddered a bit. The man was a strong dominant. Philip would be manhandled. This was like winning the lottery.

"Are you always this forward?" Philip asked. He intended to make it sound insulted, but he didn't think he'd accomplished that. And he wanted to hook-up anyway.

"When I see something I'm interested in, yes. So, are you an escort in Los Angeles too?"

"Yes, when it suits."

"Both ways?"

"Excuse me? What do you mean? Both men and women? We're standing here in a gay bookstore, you know. But women hire me to escort them as well as men."

"I mean top or bottom or versatile?"

Philip gave it a few seconds to make the man wonder if he was home free—although, of course he was. He was a real hunk and he was crowding in on Philip just the way that made Philip melt to a man. "Yes to all of it," Philip answered. "Both men and women, both top and bottom. Now is that all you wanted to know? Are you really asking if I'll go with you—let you fuck me? Wanting me to say that I want you to fuck me?"

"Well, what I really wanted to know—what drew me over here—is wondering if you would model for me."

Was that a "gotcha" grin on the hunk's face?

"You're a photographer?"

"No. I'm a sketch artist. Charcoal mostly—because it's faster. I like to capture expressions and poses instantaneously."

"And should I ask what else you do as you did with me?"

"You mean other than fuck my models?"

"Yes," Philip answered, his face turning red. It wasn't this man who was going to be embarrassed by direct talk.

"No problem. No secrets. I'm in construction."

"Oh, a construction worker." Yes, he did look a little like a construction worker, Philip thought. Solid, compact, hunky, and a bit rough. And he was dressed for the part. That didn't make much difference to Philip. He liked them a little rough. And this guy had an attitude that suggested he'd drive real hard. Philip also liked casual sex. This was working out well for him.

"Not a construction worker. I said I was in construction. As in an architect. High-rise buildings. I work here and in Brisbane. But I live mainly in Brisbane because there's a lot of construction there. More than here. I keep a place here too though."

"Your place is nearby?" This was where Philip expected to be asked baldly to go there with him. He would just as baldy say yes.

"Yes, just down the street a bit. So, I wondered if you would sit for a drawing for me."

"In the nude, and then we'd fuck?" It was time to stop dancing around the topic of interest to Philip?

It came right back. "Yes, something like that. If you wanted a big cock, applied well."

"Yes."

The man looked a little surprised. He apparently hadn't expected this so fast after all the work he'd done, all of their playful bantering. He backpedaled a bit. "But you said you were a professional model and a rent boy. No preliminary negotiations? No 'It will be this much'?"

"I said escort, not rent boy. Don't cheapen it. I don't need your money."

"But you want to fuck. You came into a place like this looking for a fuck. I can tell."

"I said yes. And I've also said I don't need your money. Yes, I want to fuck. Yes, I came here looking for a hookup. And I think you'll do fine—if you haven't been hyping what you don't have. But you could pay me in some way for the modeling. There's something I need someone to do for me."

"What's that?"

"I've wanted to go to a beach. I've heard they're good here. But I have no way to get to one or any idea what direction to go in."

"You want me to take you to a beach in exchange for a fuck?"

"As the price of modeling. The fuck would be free. I want it, and I think I'd enjoy having it from you. I won't lie about that."

"You have a suit with you? I only ask because whether or not you do determines which beach I take you to."

"Not with me, but back at my hotel."

"Which is your hotel?"

"The Grace on the corner of King and York."

"The art deco one near the harbors? That's on our way to the beach I have in mind."

"Bondi beach? That's the one I've heard the most about."

"I'm thinking of a more private one. Obelisk beach. On the other side of the entrance into the bay from Bondi beach. It's more private."

"OK. How are we going to get there?"

"I have a ute. We'll take that."

"A ute?"

"The Aussie version of what I think you Yanks call a pickup truck combined with a sport's utility."

"Let's go, then. I'll get the calendar. You might want one too. You look like a rugby player too."

"I've scrummed in my time, yes. But those are French guys. They wouldn't measure up to us Aussies."

Still boasting? "Maybe you should buy the Alpha Males book, then. You said it covers champion hung guys. You could compare."

"I don't need the book. I'm in it. Page 32."

With trembling hands Philip flipped the pages of the glossy photographs of nudes. "Holy shit. That is you. Holy shit."

"Shall we go?" the man said, with a smile, as he put the palm of his hand on the small of Philip's back and started guiding the nearly hyperventilating young man toward the bookstore's door.

Already taking charge. Philip trembled with anticipation.

The man's ride turned out to be a sleek and sporty lime green Ford XR8, which he extracted from an underground garage nearby underneath a high-rise apartment house that Philip thought might be where the man had his Sydney digs.

* * * *

The man, who introduced himself as Steve on the ride to the hotel, sat in a chair and watched Philip undress in his hotel room and then pull on a skimpy Speedo. Philip kept looking at the bed. He did want to go to the beach, but what he really would have liked would have been for Steve to fuck him with that monster cock before they went—if, of course, the photograph in the art book hadn't been photo shopped. Philip was real interested in checking that out.

But Steve didn't take the hint. He just sat and watched. And Philip wasn't going to beg for it. At least not yet.

"Don't you have a suit?"

"In the ute, yes. But I'll wear what I have on," Steve answered. Philip hoped that Steve would be going into the water. He couldn't wait to see a pair of wet gym shorts hanging off the guy. He was wondering if those silver lions' heads were attached to what he thought they were. There wasn't much they could be attached to if not that.

Obelisk beach was out Middle Head Road, toward the harborside town of Manly, on the north shore of the long bay stretching inland to Sydney.

The section they went to was a gay beach permitting nude sunbathing, and although there weren't many guys on the beach, they tended to be paired off and were making out most of the time. Not actual humping, as that wasn't allowed on the beach, but everything up to penetration, and there were many pathways leading in from the road to the beach covered in heavy foliage. Pairs of men could go off into the bush for their fucking and then come back and perhaps pair off with others for another round. Several eyed Philip and Steve closely in passing, but a good look at Steve told them it was best to move on and perhaps take their chances with Philip later if he was alone.

Philip and Steve mainly made out—heavily so, and in fact probably a bit beyond the beach's "no penetration" rules. They didn't go off into the paths, and they didn't stay long on the beach. Steve obviously had an agenda. He was the aggressor. That was the way Philip wanted it.

After they had lain on a beach blanket, side by side, on their backs for a while, Steve rolled over on top of Philip. He didn't let his weight rest on Philip except at their crotches, propping himself up on his elbows and his knees, but what he did to Philip couldn't be called much less than a dry fuck—with enough penetration to make Philip moan for more. His knees were between Philip's thighs, his arms were cradling Philip's back, and his hands were cupping Philip's head, holding him captive, while Steve ground against Philip's basket with his own and trapped Philip's lips in deep, tongue in mouth kisses when he wasn't ravishing Philip's nipples with his lips and teeth.

Rolling Philip's pelvis up by forcing his thighs under Philip's, and after rubbing the underside of his nearly unclothed cock over Philip's hole at length while Philip shuddered and writhed under him, Steve pressed his cock head, fettered only by the thin material of his gym shorts and the not-much-thicker material of Philip's Speedo, against Philip's hole and actually managed a bit of penetration of the bulb in short jabs that had Philip gasping and counterpressing, bringing the gigantic bulb a bit further inside his opening, sighing for him, and whispering of moving into the foliage and completing the fuck. Philip, panting hard and groaning and moaning, begged and whined for the fuck, but Steve just laughed. At length Philip came in his Speedo and collapsed under Steve.

"Fuck me for real now, please," he whined.

"Drawing first. Then we fuck for real. Had enough of visiting a beach? Are you ready to go back to my place now? Now that I have shown that I can make you come even without taking our clothes off?"

"Oh, god, yes."

* * * *

After Steve had surprisingly (to Philip) fucked himself on Philip's cock on the balcony, he rose from Philip's lap.

"You have no end of surprises in you, do you?" Philip asked.

"It's all a progression, a conditioning—all by my schedule, my personal rules. And, trust me, you will not leave here before you've been royally fucked. It's late. I'll go fix us an omelet for dinner. You want a glass of red wine? You'll be staying here the night."

It wasn't a question.

"Yes . . . thanks," Philip answered, still confused that it was Steve who had his channel spiked—and aroused at what the man was promising was to come. And not just by what he said—also by the confident way he strutted around in the nude in his apartment, and with what was swinging between his legs. Philip would have to think about all of this. Perhaps he was more aroused by this strange approach Steve was taking than if he had just fucked him in the hotel room. Above all because now he'd seen—and handled—the man's hard cock, and now he knew, with a shudder, that he would be taxed to his limits when he had to sheath it. Sometime. Unless the man was just toying with him. He certainly had been toying with him.

Philip got up from the chair on the balcony after a few minutes and entered the living room which, in one longer-than-wide space ran into where the dining table was and then to the open kitchen beside the entry door. The eleventh-floor residence at Park Apartments on Oxford Street did have a bedroom and bath in another room. The apartment was small, but Steve had said he lived most of the time elsewhere, and Philip thought this place still was probably expensive. It was more than a hotel room; it was high in the building, and it had a spectacular view toward the city center and Circular Quay where the Sydney Opera House reigned.