Madison Mills

"The local poke. The neighborhood hole," Nick said.

"If you wish, yes," Singh answered, ignoring the sarcasm Nick had reached for. "There will be no end of men who want to be inside you, if that's what you want. They will worship your body—and your face. There are many young men who would sign with the Devil to enjoy that."

"For as long as it lasts."

"It would last for years—glorious years."

Nick's thoughts went back to Sami Hulagu, the blacksmith, and the burns on his face. They didn't detract from the man's sensuality, Nick had to agree. They, rather, enhanced the mystery of him. He still had the body of a god—a heavily muscled god, the god of blacksmithing. Hephaestus to the Greeks; Vulcan to the Romans. Nicki was already weaving a story to be written about Hulagu, god of American smithies. And, thinking of Hulagu, Nick felt a rise of disappointment surging over him. There had been just the one time and it had been two weeks since the masked party at the B&B. It was like Sami was avoiding him. What Erick had said about Hulagu—that he was a one-and-done stud—kept going through Nick's mind. He hadn't believed at the time that it would apply to him. He still didn't want to believe it applied to him. Sami had not made him wait as Erick had said he did with men. They had melded so well, so naturally and completely.

Nick was used to men coming sniffing after him, especially after they'd had sex with him. But Sami hadn't come for him or summoned him, or even noticed him as Nick frequently walked down to the creek bank solely to see what Hulagu was doing. He usually was blacksmithing, shirtless—the Vulcan god of the Americas—keeping the tourists mesmerized with his physique and arrogant, confident charisma as much as with the skill of his metal work. Nick had even followed Sami at a distance one day when he and a young man connected in the smithy and Sami walked the young man down the street to a small, old brick cottage on the bank of the creek.

It was obvious that Sami was taking the young man to his home, something he hadn't done with Nick, and it was equally evident from the intimate embrace Sami had the young man in that Sami was going to fuck the young man when they got there. But Sami's whole attention had been on the young man. He hadn't seen Nick. He hadn't come for Nick or summoned him in those two weeks. Nick's sexual frustration was high. Singh was fucking him and doing very well with it. But Singh wasn't Sami Hulagu, who was all the more desirable because he hadn't immediately come sniffing around Nick again. In this way, Erick's description of Sami's technique was working as advertised.

"You can do everything you did before," Singh was saying. "You can model; you can even resume a successful career as an escort."

"Perhaps," Nick answered. Now that he thought of it, he probably could extend the modeling and escort work longer now with this new, more permanent face. Yes, in time, the aging of his body would go out of whack with his new, more-permanent face, but that probably would be farther into the future than it would have been without the plastic surgery. In fact, he probably would have had a couple of series of surgeries in the future anyway. He was becoming more and more resolved to this. And, in turn, he was changing his attitude toward facial beauty in general. Sami's burns gave him arousing character in Nick's estimation now, for instance, rather than disgusted him.

"No perhaps about it," Singh said, breaking once more into Nick's thoughts. "You're a sexual bombshell. I think I've already proven that I think that. I've had trouble keeping my hands off you."

"I wasn't aware that you had kept your hands off me." They both laughed, aware of the irony that Singh was holding Nick in an embrace as they sat on the side of the bed, had dropped the mirror, and was fisting and stroking Nick's cock. Both of them knew they'd be fucking again in short order.

"I must go call Harvey Williams and tell him he can visit on schedule. He wanted to visit after the reconstruction was complete."

Harvey Williams, Nick thought. The older, rich man who had shown such concern for him—and who had fucked him at the New York InterContinental so masterfully and whose only drawback had been how ugly his pockmarked face was. Now, Nick realized, the man's face didn't bother him at all. Now he could only think how he'd gone over the moon with Williams's thick, long, throbbing cock inside him. Nick suddenly was in high heat again.

"You are going to go call Mr. Williams now? Right now?"

"No, not right now," Singh said, with a laugh. He half rose and turned to where he was standing, bent over Nick's body, and between Nick's legs. The young man sighed as, grasping his hips between his hands, Singh positioned his cock at Nick's hole. Nick lurched and yelped as the Indian doctor penetrated him strongly and began to pump him deep. Arching his back, Nick reached out for the hand mirror and briefly looked at his face again. Yes, the work had provided enough flexibility for him to see adequate expression to being taken forcefully. He tossed the mirror aside; wrapped an arm around the doctor's neck, bringing the man's face down to his for a deep kiss; and dug the heels of his feet into the edge of the mattress, raising his pelvis and putting it into motion, melding into the rhythm of the vigorous fuck.

He was going to be a model again—and a high-class rent-boy. He was going to give the johns the fucks of their lives again.

"When Williams comes, you two are going to double me, aren't you?" he asked.

"Yes," Singh answered, "when Harvey Williams comes we are going to share you. It's the culmination of this project."

So that's what Nick had been to them, he thought—their project, setting them up to being inside him at the same time, together.

* * * *

Nick did a doubletake at the door to the George B&B. "Umm. Is Erick here? He invited me over to discuss our novel manuscripts."

"He had to go out in a rush, honey, but he'll be back in a bit. Come on in and you can wait for him in the parlor."

It was only when the man spoke that Nick realized it was George, the B&B owner and Erick Bradford's partner—in more ways than one, Nick had been told. This wasn't the zaftig, blonde-wigged drag queen of the night of the masked party, though. This was a tall, robust man, who was heavy, but more muscular than fat. He also was very good looking, with a mane of salt-and-pepper hair and a sport shirt unbuttoned enough to show that his chest was hirsute and his pecs firm. His trousers were tight enough for Nick to discern that he dressed left and he was hung.

Nick followed the man meekly through the foyer and into the parlor, and it not lost on him that George had given him an "I could eat you alive" look at the door. Nick's hand had self-consciously gone to his right cheek, to hide the scar there and possibly to come up with a lame apology for his looks, before he realized that there wasn't anything wrong with his looks anymore, and that although he didn't look like the Nick of old, George wouldn't have known how the Nick of old looked anyway.

In the parlor, where George said he could wait for Erick to return, George didn't make Nick wait alone. After offering Nick a drink and that being turned down, George sat across a coffee table from Nick's chair in an open-legged stance that showed that, if anything, he was harder now than when he'd answered the door. Just to make his interest clear, he dropped his hand to dangle in front of his crotch, moving it enough to capture Nick's gaze, and gave Nick a come-hither smile. He wasted no time with the banter of seduction. What was that both Singh and Erick had said to Nick about not being caught alone with George? Nick mused.

Feeling awkward, Nick tried to put the conversation at the level of chitchat. "I had the tour the night of your masked party of the paintings of yours hanging around in here. Very impressive. I loved the color schemes and how the paintings draw you in and make you smile."

"Kumar tells me you are a model and a male escort in New York," was George's response. "He says you take cock and that you're a bombshell in bed. You take cock, right? Kumar has fucked you good?"

"Um, yes. But . . ." Nick stopped there, He didn't know what "but" would imply. The man's directness had thrown him off guard. And the man looked like a power driver.

George wasn't direct only in his language. He unzipped himself, took a champion, hard cock out of his trousers, leaned back, and stroked himself as he continued the conversation. He obviously was looking for a reaction from Nick, who studiously did not give him one.

"You are sex on a stick," George said, "but I'm sure you know that. If you work for a New York escort service, you rent by the hour. I want to fuck you. This isn't New York; we don't do New York prices here. But I'll give you $200 to go upstairs with me and let me bang the shit out of you while we wait for Erick to come back."

Ah, yes, Nick remembered what the guys had said about being left alone with George—where that surely would lead.

"I don't know about—"

"I know about it for both of us," George said, standing up. "Do you want to walk upstairs in front of me, or shall I carry you up?"

Eyeing the man's very inviting shaft, Nick said, "It looks like it would be dangerous to let you walk behind me." Kumar had canceled him that the best way to get along in the neighborhood was to go along.

George carried him upstairs bent over his shoulder, muttering, "How do you like it best: missionary, doggie, cowboy, all ways?"

Such refined charm.

George indeed was a power driver and he banged the shit out Nick. Nick had a good time and came back downstairs $200 richer to join Erick, who had returned in the interim, after he knelt between George's naked thighs and gave the big man an expert blow job. Before George blew, though, he pulled Nick up into his lap, descending on his hard cock, and, held the young man close to his chest, George's mouth possessing Nick's, and bounced a crouching Nick up and down on his cock to a mutual creaming. Nick earned the $200. Using the leverage of his feet, flat on the mattress on either side of the big man's hips, he rode the cock hard in coordination with George's power drives.

When George had finished Nick—and, even for being a rent-boy, Nick could think of no other description for it than that George had finished him—they held there, Nick in George's lap, facing him, both panting hard. George still inside him.

"Did I live up to New York standards?" George whispered in Nick's ear.

"You surpassed them," Nick answered.

"I'm going to fuck you again in a few minutes."

"Yes, please. Did I meet your standards?" The man had been an expert with the cock, probably in the top ten of the men who had ever fucked Nick, and that was saying something. It was still a few slots in back of Sami, though.

"More than, yes. I could tell you're a professional. What the muscles of your channel walls can do . . . well, that should be patented. You don't have to go back to New York. You can stay right here in Madison Mills. I can pimp you, right here in the inn. There are men living here who want what you can give and we're on the gay circuit for B&Bs. You can do as well here in Madison Mills as you can in New York."

"It's something to think about," Nick answered, clearly pleased that he had satisfied to the point of receiving that offer.

"Now? As you can tell, I want you again."

"Yes, please."

Without rising immediately, George instructed Nick to stay on the cock but to cantilever his torso out over the carpet and stream his legs back around George's hips. George grabbed the young man's wrists with his hands. At this point he stood, with Nick's small body flared out in front of him like a diver coming off the board into the water far below. "Use your toes. Fuck yourself," George commanded. "This is called the Flying Fuck. They have this in the big city?"

"No," Nick managed through his heavy breathing, as, pushing off with his toes he fucked himself on George's long, thick, throbbing cock.

When Nick came downstairs, he was humming, and his mind was working hard on how happy George was in fucking him—how often George had told him how good-looking and sexy he was. All of his fears had been for naught. What Singh had said to him about not needing to be the old Nick—that he was quite presentable being a new Nick—had hit home. Nick was whole again—and he was a new Nick.

His euphoria dissipated a bit when he got to the bottom of the stairs and saw Erick sitting there, Nick's manuscript in his hands. He'd just been upstairs, being banged with considerable noise, by Erick's partner. He started to apologize, although he couldn't think of anything he could say that would be acceptable. Erick said it for him.

Erick grinned and said, "George fucks real well, doesn't he? Don't look so scared. I know he fucks other young men. I told you that at the party. If he didn't, he'd be more than I could handle. Come on in here and sit and listen to the praise I have for your manuscript. I've read most of it. It's great. I want to put you in touch with my agent."

Nick floated into the room and they sat discussing the manuscript for an hour. Erick had the insight to realize that there were people from Madison Mills, including George and him, loosely folded into characters in the book.

"This Antonio guy—the Greek—that has strong elements of our blacksmith, Sami Hulagu, in it, I think."

"Yes, you're right," Nick answered.

"You seem smitten with him. That's where you went the night of the masked party, isn't it? You went with him and he fucked you good."

"Yes."

"I knew he would. He fucks all the good-looking young men who will take his cock. You write about him with a bit of melancholy, though. He only fucked you that once, didn't he?"

"Yes. Just that night."

"You'd like him to fuck you again, though, wouldn't you?"

"Yes. He is sexy as hell."

"Yes, he is. But, as I told you before, he's pretty much a one-and-done lover. He had a steady once, but his lover died. I haven't known him to repeat since then. But I know how you feel about him. I feel that way too."

"He's—?"

"Yes, he's fucked me too, and it was divine. But it was only the once. I, like you, would like him to do it again and again—and George wouldn't mind, just as I don't mind that he banged you upstairs and I listened down here to you getting it real good from him. But I have to counsel you not to put much hope in getting it from Sami again. The way you put it here in this manuscript, though, is melting. Keep that just the way it was. Now, about getting this into the hands of my agent . . ."

Nick knew he was getting good advice. That it was good advice, though, didn't make it any easier to take.

* * * *

Erick's Agent had taken Nick on readily, but with the proviso that Erick work with the manuscripts before sending them in.

They were in Erick's bedroom in the cottage he and George shared, standing beside the desk where they would work after they had settled into a routine of relaxing before starting the review of Nick's latest writing. It was a strange way to relax, but it did drain the tension out of them and helped them focus on the writing more than on sex—after having taken care of the sex. It also fulfilled what Erick wanted in compensation for helping Nick with his writing. He hadn't been just teasing Nick about engaging in mutual hand jobs.

Nick was full frontal to the mirror, watching his reflection in the glass, not being able to fail to appreciate the beauty of his body and face. as Erick held him close and stroked him off. Erick was standing close behind Nick, embracing him with one arm rising up Nick's torso, the hand cupping Nick's chin and pulling his head back as Erick buried his face in Nick's throat. Erick's other hand was snaked around Nick's waist, encasing and stroking off Nick's shaft.

After writhing a bit in Erick's firm grasp, Nick splashed his cum on the mirror, and Erick said, "Now me. On the bed."

The two were positioned beside each other, Erick on his back on the bed, Nick sitting sideways by Erick's thighs, facing Erick, but scooted down. Erick was panting and moaning, his left leg bent and crossed over Nick's thighs, as Nick stroked the other young man's cock with one hand and finger fucked his hole with the other hand.

George entered the room as Erick arched his back, cried out to the ceiling, "Oh, shit, YES!" and arced his load up his belly. George leaned over, grabbed Nick, and manhandled him over to the side of the bed. "Nick first, then you, Erick," he growled.

This too was sometimes part of their work routine—taking care of everyone's sexual needs and desires before Nick and Erick got down to serious work.

Erick sat against the headboard, watching, as George positioned Nick's shoulder blades on the surface of the bed, with his lower torso jutting out over the carpet, his legs bent and his feet flat on the carpet. Going under him, facing up, George—dexterously for a man of his mass—went into the position of the upward-facing crab, penetrated Nick's channel with his thick cock, and, rocking up and down, started to pump him.

Nick was doing what he needed to do to get along in the neighborhood. He certainly needn't have worried about whether men would still want him after his face surgery, he now accepted.

* * * *

Nick was standing on the balcony outside his clinic bedroom, looking down the slope to the center of the Madison Mills village and toward Neshaminy Creek, when he realized that the ornate metal railing on the balcony must have been crafted by Sami Hulagu. He was mooning about sex with the muscular Turk and trying to pick out the smithy from among the buildings below, when arms went around him from behind and he was folded into a strong embrace of a taller, heavier man.

He leaned his head back into the hollow of the man's shoulder and sighed. The man's beard brushed against Nick's cheek, he turned his face up to the man, and their lips met. He opened his lips to the man's tongue and moaned deeply. His eyes were open. It no longer concerned him at all that Harvey Williams wasn't a handsome man—that, in fact, his face was ugly and pockmarked. The rest of him was all that Nick could wish for, and what was in the surface beauty of a face. Not much. Not enough. Certainly not after he had gotten beyond the burn scars on Sami Hulagu's face.

But no use dreaming about Hulagu anymore. He wasn't here and not likely ever to be here. Harvey Williams had been here, and Harvey Williams had been so good to Nick.

"I've wanted you so bad," Williams whispered in Nick's ear when their lips parted. Nick knew how much Williams wanted him, His hard cock was pressed into the small of Nick's back. "Will you take me?"

"Yes, of course," Nick answered.

"I can't wait. Will you take me here . . . now?"

"Yes. Please, yes. Hurry. Fuck me. Fuck me hard."

Williams knelt behind Nick. He pulled Nick's trousers and briefs off his legs, and he buried his face in Nick's crack, causing Nick to writhe in his grasp and moan and groan deeply. Nick slid his arms out wide on the railing and gripped it hard to hold himself steady. Then Williams stood back up, lifted Nick and hung him, belly down on the top of the railing, with his arms and torso dangling over the balcony and his legs dangling above the balcony floor. The older man worked his cock inside Nick's channel and fucked him and fucked him and fucked him.

Williams took Nick to the young man's bed and fucked him some more. Afterward they lay there, panting slightly, fondling each other's bodies, and coming back to earth.

"I want you occasionally," Harvey murmured. "You can do as you like with other men if you'll just be with me occasionally."