Hotel-Side Assistance

But then there was a red jeep nudging its way into the empty space I'd been protecting, and I pushed off the fender of the BMW to fend the guy off, pointing to the flat tire and calling out to him that I was trying to leave space for the guy who would change it to work.

"I'm the guy who's going to change it," he called back through the window. "I'm from GoodJackRoadsideAssistance. I should have plenty of room, and me parked there will protect my back while I work."

I pulled back as he pulled into the empty space. I was caught off guard, having expected some sort of marked truck and thinking he needed the extra room to change the tire, but if he thought he could do it with his Jeep beside where he had to work, that was OK with me. I'd let a guy take charge if he wanted to, and my flash impression of this guy was that he clearly could take charge.

My first impression, looking through the Jeep window and across to the driver's side, was that he was a compact, solid Marine type of mixed race. He was bullet-headed with buzz-cut dark hair and a receding hairline back from both of his temples and, like Ron, he was olive skinned. But he was more Mexican than Mediterranean and more blue collar than Ron's stockbroker look. He also was older, upper thirties, I thought, to Ron and my mid-twenties. He gave me an interested grin, though, his eyes focused on my exposed pecs and torso.

He came out of the Jeep quickly and was all business. He was in Western jeans and honest, worn cowboy boots and, now that I saw him standing up straight, proved to be muscular and thick bodied and maybe an inch or two shorter than I was. I could see that he was wearing a T-shirt with his business logo on it.

"You got the keys, Beau?" he asked.

I did and gave them to him, taken aback that he called me by name. But I guessed that the rental company had given him my name in case he had to ask for me at the hotel reception desk. He must have known the car he was looking for. He'd driven right to it in the parking lot.

"The rental company told you my name?" I asked.

"The rental company told me all about you," he said, a grin on his face. And was that a wink with his eye? Well, shit. It's like I was wearing a billboard or something here in Denver.

He plunked the power drill down beside the flat tire and moved around to the trunk, popping it open with the key fob.

"Ah, good, you brought something that can get the lugs off," I said, somewhat idiotically. "I could have changed the tire myself if I had a tool like that. Of course, the spare they provided isn't much good." I suppose he was so macho that I wanted to establish that, except for the tightness of the lugs that power tools caused, I could have—and would have—changed the tire myself. "These days, without power tools—"

He took it another direction at first. "I never go anywhere without my power tool," he said, giving me a wicked grin. "I'm a power tool kinda guy."

"Good to know," I answered.

He segued back to safer ground. "We've gone to puttin' them on with power tools to control the business. It lets me meet the clients," he said, with a "just kidding" grin, as he came back from the trunk with a disappointingly small temporary tire. I almost swallowed my tongue and couldn't say anything smart back to him because he'd stripped off his T-shirt while he'd been back at the car trunk, and he was a hunk and a half magnificent. He could have held his own in a Las Vegas stripper line. We always tried to have a rough trade guy on the line. He could have been that guy.

He had a full left-arm sleeve colorful swirly-pattern tattoo and also covered his left pec, and when he went down on his knees, turned from me, to work on the wheel, I saw that his upper back was spanned with an angel's wing tattoo as well. He had a body-builder's physique. Definitely rough trade. I had my rough trade moods. This could be one of those.

"You're right. This puny tire isn't going to do you any good. Good thing they told me what kind of tires they have on this baby." He put the emergency tire back in the BMW's trunk and hauled a real tire out of the back of his jeep. He looked up at me and grinned. "I don't do this for just anybody."

"But the rental company told you I wasn't just anybody," I said. I knew I was being flippant.

"Got that right" came zinging back at me.

He worked quickly, occasionally looking up at me and grinning. As he worked, I put my T-shirt back on, feeling that the two of us topless out here seemed almost obscene, although I'd been thinking of having sex with him from the moment I saw him through the window of his Jeep.

When he was done, had put the flat tire in the Jeep trunk, saying, "Big ole nail in it. Had to have been picked up sometime yesterday. You're lucky it went down here in a parking lot and not on the highway," and was pulling his T-shirt back on, I thanked him and tried to give him a twenty. I'd already worked out with the owner of Classe Auto Rentals that they'd cover his bill and the owner would cover me.

"Not necessary, thanks," he said, not taking the twenty. "I feel like I should be paying you." Rather than explaining that, he rushed on to say. "I could use a beer, though. Does this hotel have a bar?"

"Yes, and I'd be happy to treat, but can you take the time?" I asked. "You don't have another call to make?"

"It's lunchtime and I'm Jack—Jack of the GoodJackRoadsideAssist name," he said. "I can take off all afternoon, if I want to."

Ah, so, he did own the roadside assistance company. "In that case, it's lunchtime now," I said, not wanting to let loose of him. "The hotel's got a restaurant. How about having lunch with me—on me."

"On you?" he said, grinning. We both laughed. "I did say I could take off all afternoon, if I wanted to," he repeated. "There are all sorts of things I'd like to do on you."

Well, that certainly broke the ice.

"So, I don't have to do any more dancing around on what you like to do," I said.

"Nope. I dance lead, just so you know. Any guy as fit and good-lookin' as you who wants a guy to do him, I'm the man for the job."

"Good to know."

* * * *

When Jack and I had entered the hotel, he shied away from the restaurant, seeing that it was upscale.

"Uh, maybe . . ."

"They'll serve the same food in the bar," I said. "We can go in there."

"You really want me to stay?" he asked.

"I really want you to stay. And I'm paying. You changed my tire."

"That was what I'm paid to do. That's my job."

"OK, how about you rev my engines. I'm not ready to let you go yet."

He laughed. "That will do nicely. I thought maybe I came on too strong out in the parking lot."

"I have an appetite for strong men. Let's have some lunch."

We went into the bar and ordered. We were the only ones there. A Djokovic-Cilic tennis match was showing on the screen, and I immediately thought of the red Camaro guy, Ron, and the prospects of the two of us fucking. I was in heat. Ron would be smooth. This guy with me now would be rough. Which did I want? I think both.

We sat at a high-top table, with Jack sitting right next to me, our thighs touching, and my thoughts immediate went back to Jack. He was muscular and compact. I wondered if he was hung. I liked my men thick and long. I wanted to be fully possessed. I could tell that Ron was long, at least.

"You look a little flushed. I think you were out in the parking lot, waiting for me too long. Sorry I had trouble with the tickets before you."

"I'm in heat," I said. I let my calf rub against his. "I need a strong man between my thighs."

It was his turn to look a little flushed. He diverted from my straightforward pathing. I, in fact, was very much in heat. Sexual heat. "You're lucky this happened in the hotel parking lot, Beau," Jack said again when we'd settled and had our beer and burgers.

"I guess they must have given you my name at the rental car place," I said. "Guess they told you how I got a nice car like the BMW out there."

"I knew your name already," Jack said in a low voice.

"You did?" I showed my surprise.

"I was at Boyztown last night. I saw your act."

"Ah."

"I was there with Howard. He told me he'd rented one of his sports cars to you."

"Ah."

"He told me that you took cock from him when he gave you the car—that you're a real sweet lay."

"Ah, so what did you say to him then?"

"I said I wanted to get up on stage and lay you right then and there. I wanted me some of that sweetness."

"Ah."

So, he was on the straightforward path too. Just not moving as fast as I had. But when he got ready, he went directly down the path. I didn't say anything to that right away. I took several bites of the burger and swallows of the beer and looked up at the tennis match on the screen.

"When your flat tire call came in, he called me and asked me if I wanted to take the call. He said that, if I played my cards right, there might be more in it for me than just the tire changing fee. He said that for such a sexy guy, you were an easy lay."

"And you said yes?" I asked, turning my full attention. "You took the call because you wanted to fuck me too?"

"That was quite an act you put on at Boyztown," he said. "Yes, of course I wanted to fuck you. You're a male stripper. You show it all on stage. You demonstrate up there how you could use it. You give out to men, don't you? If I'm wrong, just tell me. You've been signaling hard to me. I'm not so dumb I can't read a guy offering himself to me."

"Are you hung, Jack? Howard at the rental car place isn't hung. I like my men big and long." Without waiting for him to answer, I put my hand on his crotch and gave him a good feel.

"Satisfied?" he asked.

"Eat up and let's go up to my hotel room," I said. A man I had picked out myself. Screw the botanical gardens. For that matter, screw me—upstairs in my hotel room. Screw me hard. Be rough trade for me—with me, on me, in me.

* * * *

As a power top, Jack was a surprise—but a pleasant one. He was all I could have wanted in a top and more. In my line of work, cocks come—and come—and go, and one becomes much like the one before it, with some pleasant surprises in size, vigor, and completion and some not-so-pleasant experiences just to endure until the next one penetrated. But Jack fucked me. I felt it with him.

The first time he fucked me, he kept his cowboy boots on and had me bent over the side of the bed in my hotel room, holding me close, immobile, and totally captive and completely his, kissing me in the hollow of my neck, and pumping me slowly, deeply with a magnificently thick and long cock.

He fucked me like a lover rather than a casual lay, which I would not have expected from the rough-worker look of him. He held me securely, but cradled in his arms, as he worked his cock deep inside me. He had his own condoms and lube, so he was a player. But he didn't just take. He entered, entered, entered me, wanting us both to feel the tightness of his thick, hung cock, but then held, when he was buried, until I had opened to him.

"Take it, take it, baby," he murmured, and he paid attention to my needs and how I was doing with it. "You got it, baby. Oh, so good. You OK? You doin' fine?"

Yes, I was.

From there, we worked together, both of our hips in coordinated motion. He reached around with a hand and stroked my cock while he was stroking his inside me, holding it in a loose sheath so I could fuck his hand. All the time he was holding me with strength, making sure I knew he was in charge. After I'd come, he continued in a strong, rhythmic beat. He was in top physical shape.

After he'd come, he held me there, cradled in his arms, kissing the back of my neck and my shoulder blades—and my mouth when I turned it to him. His lips were gentle but insistent and tender, not at all what I expected from such a man. I felt him tense and ejaculate and go soft inside me, if only briefly, and then harden again. He turned me under him and fucked me the second time in a missionary position, with my knees hooked on his hips. He was as tender and long lasting that time as the first.

Not at all the rough trade I'd expected. Better than that.

As the afternoon wore on, he pulled me up onto the bed, slipping off his cowboy boots and made total, deep love to me, reaching as deep as any other man had, opening me up completely to him, fucking me in my core. A lover, not a john.

When he'd done me totally this time, he pulled me up onto the bed, stretched out beside me, and pulled my body possessively into his in an embrace. I felt safe and satisfied in his arms.

"Did I do you good?" he said. "I understand you've had a whole lot of experience with what a good fuck would be."

"You did me perfectly," I responded.

"I'll drive the BMW back to the rental office and you can follow me in the Jeep," he whispered. "They'll give you a replacement car there," he added.

"Not straight away," I said. "I won't turn down the offer on going to the office, but I think it will take a while there before I'm given a replacement car."

"So, it's true Howard will expect you to let him fuck you to get a replacement car?"

"Yes, that's how it works. I'm just a male whore."

"Do you want him to fuck you? Do you like his cock more than mine?"

"You know the answer to that question, I'm sure."

"Then I'll be the one fucking you for the replacement car, not Howard. I'll be there with you. Howard and I have an understanding. We'll get the car and I'll follow you back here in the Jeep. OK?"

"More than OK," I answered, snuggling down into his embrace. And that's what we did, but not before he fucked me again in a side split and we'd showered together.

After we'd returned from Classe Auto Rental, me in a Porsche 911, he fucked me for the fourth time that afternoon. The dude had the stamina and cock of a bull. He left me moaning and was gone before I had a chance to tell him I wanted to have him inside me again—and again after that.

* * * *

I slept after Jack left my hotel room. I had to; he had exhausted me. In Las Vegas I sometimes took two or three men in quick succession after my nightclub act. I've had experience taking two together. Jack made me feel like I'd taken four. But, God, was it a good feeling. He looked like a rough fucker, and I could get off on those, but he was a lover. He had been as attentive to my needs as his own, and he taken me fully.

I woke satisfied, sassy, and as much in heat as I'd been when I'd taken Jack to my hotel room. That was a quirk of mine—a handy one if you are a stripper and whore. Sex begets the need for more sex with me. It was too late to do any sightseeing and I didn't feel like going downtown for dinner before my evening at Boyztown started at 10:00 p.m., so I decided to try a restaurant in the town center across Church Branch Boulevard from the hotel. I was itching to try out the Porsche 911. At the same time, I was nervous about blowing another tire.

I took the elevator down to the lobby and looked into the bar on my way to the hotel exit. Ron's face lit up into a smile and he waved to me. I remembered then that there had been a possibility of dinner and something else with Ron. I walked into the bar.

"You remembered," he said.

"Barely, I'm afraid," I answered, sitting down across a cocktail table from him, on a banquette. "But not because I hadn't been thinking about you," I added so he wouldn't be deflated. I wanted him inflated. I had this immediate need and he seemed immediately available. He moved to a chair beside me and draped an arm along the top of the banquette behind my head.

"Did you get your tire issue resolved satisfactorily?"

"Very. Very, very," I answered. I was thinking of what came after with Jack, but I didn't necessarily want to share that. "I exchanged the BMW for a Porsche."

"Neat. Nearly worth having the flat, I'll bet," he said. We ordered drinks and chitchatted a bit until they came. He wanted to make quite clear to me that he had money. He was here on business but he lived in LA and was high up in a family corporation there. And it turned out his Camaro was rented from Classe Auto Rental, as well.

"I have expensive tastes," he said. "I'll bet you do too. We share an interest in sports cars and some more exotic and erotic interests as well."

"Possibly, but that's rather a leap, isn't it?—from exotic to erotic."

"Not all that much if good research is done," he said. "Just an exchange of an 'R' for an 'X,' although I'm partial to Xs. XXX has a nice ring to it."

That was a new one. I'd never heard that one before. I was impressed.

He put his free hand on top of my thigh under the cocktail table. I left it there. "Is it just me or were you showing interest in me out in the parking lot this morning? You seemed willing to have dinner with me."

"You seem like a nice guy—and interesting," I said. "And, as you say, we seemed to have the same interests."

"Like in men?" he asked? He moved his hand to inside my thigh.

"I got a certain vibe, yes," I answered.

"And one of a matched pair, I hope," he responded. "I'm a power top. I pray you're a submissive bottom."

"If I say yes, where is that hand going?" I asked.

"Where it's going unless you say no," he answered, and he started stroking my hardening cock through the material of my shorts with a thumb. I opened my stance more to his attentions. "I think I've discovered that you are interested," he murmured, his lips momentarily close to my ear. He gave me a little kiss there before pulling away. I gave him a little smile. He knew we were going to fuck. I had known that as soon as I'd seen him in the restaurant.

"You mentioned having done research. You researched me today? You have some reason to be both confident and forward like this?"

"When I come to Denver, I like to go to the Boyztown nightclub. I haven't been there yet on this trip, but I went to the Web site. Your picture is there as a guest celebrity."

"Ah."

"I called a friend on the staff there. He said you took cock too—at a price."

"Ah," I repeated.

He took out five one-hundred-dollar bills and fanned them out on the table. "For after dinner. I'll take you to dinner and, if you want these five Benjamin Franklins, I'll take you up in your hotel room—or mine. Better yours, though, as I don't think you'll be moving for a while after I've done you."

Such confidence—and arrogance. I perhaps should have given some thought to the cockiness of the man. He was obviously high class and he was gorgeous, but he turned out to be cruel and rough with the fuck—he gave me the manhandling that I had expected from the rougher-looking Jack. Ron was rough trade.

He slapped me around; he made me gag on his cock; when he fucked me, he smashed my cheek against the glass overlooking the Rockies; he jutted my buttocks back toward him, with his hand palming my belly; and he forced himself deep up into me without giving me enough time to adjust to him. He treated me like a Vegas pole-dancer whore. I was a bit higher on the prostitute chain than that, but sometimes I liked to slum. He made me want to slum this time. Luckily, although he was long, he wasn't nearly as thick as Jack had been, and it hadn't been that long since I'd been fully opened up by Jack.

Once Ron got a rhythm going, he grabbed my hair, running his fingers into my scalp, bowed my head sharply back into his chest, and rode me hard. Before he left, he made me ride him too in a cowboy.

I earned the five hundred dollars. But an extra five hundred dollars is always a nice thing to have.

The makeup artists had their work cut out to hide the bruises when I'd dragged myself into the nightclub to start my shows that night. I wasn't going to complain about the rough sex from Ron. It paid well, and I did occasionally like that. I had expected it from Jack that day. It didn't interfere with my act. I easily bounced back from one sexual encounter to being ready for the next.