Jazz Baby

by Roland Graeme

  “Paul, you old whore,” the hot-looking man greeted Paul, brightly. “You old cocksucker! How are you doing, man?”

  “I’m fine, Mario.” Paul turned to me. “This is Keith, my new roommate.”

  “Roommate! Does he know what he’s in for?” Mario joked. “Hi, Keith.” He put out his hand. As I shook it, I thought I detected, in his dark eyes, a fast checkout of my hard young body and my bulging crotch.

  He shook my hand firmly, man to man, but then he held it for a couple of extra seconds, pressing my palm. He was about average height, but he had a much better than average body on him, muscular, with broad rounded shoulders and solidly contoured pecs with firm little pointed nipples poking out under his tight-fitting black T-shirt. His black, glossy hair was cropped fairly close to his head, and he had an olive-toned skin and an Italian-American cast to his features.

  Reluctantly, he let go of my hand, as we smiled at each other.

  We made small talk. Mario seemed amused by the fact that Paul and I were two sax players, living together.

  “So tell me,” he asked. “Have you guys blown each other mouthpieces yet?”

  I was mortified by the suggestion, but Paul guffawed.

  “Oh, you’re a laugh riot, Mario,” he told his buddy.

  “I seem to recall that your previous roommates only slept in the living room when the two of you had a fight,” Mario said, with audible glee. “And even then—only until the makeup sex.”

  “This is different,” Paul insisted.

  “Yeah? What’s different about it?”

  I spoke up. “What Paul means is … I’m just a hick from the sticks. You know. I’m still kind of—inexperienced,” I admitted, shamefaced.

  Mario seemed intrigued. “Good for you. That means you have it all ahead of you. You aren’t jaded and cynical, like us old queens.”

  I couldn’t help thinking that queens was a peculiar, and inaccurate, way for Mario to describe Paul and himself. Both men seemed perfectly masculine to me.

  “In fact, this is Keith’s first time in a gay bar,” Paul announced, rather maliciously. “It’s the ‘kid in a candy store’ phenomenon. He can’t decide which of these numbers he’d like to go home with.”

  “Oh? Are you just coming out, Keith?” Mario drawled. His sensuous mouth spread open in a wide, knowing grin. He had perfect, shiny white teeth, I noticed. Altogether, he was quite a sexy stud.

  “Keith is so new to the scene that he hasn’t decided he’s gay—yet,” Paul said.

  Both men seemed to find this hilarious. I joined in their laughter, just to be polite, but I might have laughed harder if the joke hadn’t been at my expense. Actually, I wanted to give loud-mouthed Paul a good kick in the balls to shut him up.

  “Hey, Mario,” Paul went on, when I said nothing. “Tell Keith what you do for a living. He’ll get a kick out of it. He probably thinks it’s okay for me to be queer, because I’m a musician. But you, on the other hand, with your line of work—”

  “Aw, fuck off, Paul. Give your new roomie a break,” Mario insisted, smiling at me more seductively than other. I liked him for sticking up for me.

  “Now I’m curious,” I said. “What do you do?”

  “I’m a cop,” Mario replied.

  “A big stud gay cop,” Paul interjected, with relish. “Some fantasy, isn’t it? I keep trying to talk Mario into walking in here some night, in his uniform. Once they realized it wasn’t a raid, he’d have these cocksuckers crawling all over him, fighting for a chance to get a taste of his nightstick.”

  I suspected that Mario had his fair share of admirers, even when he was dressed in civilian clothes.

  “Gay cops aren’t the novelty they were a generation ago,” Mario told me, modestly. “Today, it’s really no big deal.” As he spoke, he moved in closer to me, and the soft, fine-textured black hair o his brawny bare arm brushed against the back of my hand. It was as though a spark of static electricity had passed between us. I felt my dick pulsate hotly down inside my jeans, in response to his touch.

  Paul turned to ask the bartender for another round of beers, and as he did so, his butt pressed against my huge hard-on. He looked at me, and he grinned.

  “Why don’t we go upstairs?” he suggested, as he handed Mario and me our fresh beers.

  “What’s upstairs?” I inquired.

  “It’ll probably be a little less crowded than here, for one thing,” Mario said. Holding his beer bottle in one hand, he casually let his other hand go down between our bodies. His fingers traveled quickly up my thigh in the dark and when they found my dick, they squeezed it gently through the denim—gently, but with devastating effect. My prick throbbed against his grip so strongly that it almost split the seams of my jeans, and it seemed to double in size and rigidity!

  “Upstairs is the dance floor, and the backroom,” Paul explained, for my benefit. “Where the real action is.”

  Chapter Four: The Boys in the Backroom

  My two husky companions held onto me as they shouldered their way through the crowd. We fought our way toward a corner of the barroom, where there was a huge metal warehouse-type elevator door set in the wall. The elevator was manned by a tough-looking young dude in skintight jeans and a blue denim jacket, with no shirt underneath it. We crammed ourselves into the freight elevator with about a dozen other guys, and we rode slowly to the third floor of the building.

  I was shocked by what I saw. This entire floor of the warehouse—an immense open space—was filled with men. Hundreds of them! There was deafening pop music, piped in through a potent sound system, and gay porn movies were being played on a couple of large flat-screen television monitors suspended from the ceiling.

  Guys—many of them stripped to the waist and sweating up a storm—were drinking and dancing, smoking tobacco or pot, and openly snorting drugs from inhalers which they clutched in their fists. The air reeked of sweat, smoke, and sexual excitement.

  “This is more like it,” Paul commented, matter-of-factly, as he led the way to the bar.

  The bartender was a bodybuilder type, also stripped to the waist, with gold tit rings inserted through his pierced nipples and a length of gold chain suspended between them, weighing down his heavy pectoral muscles. As he served us, I couldn’t take my eyes off his massive torso and those pierced tits. He grinned at me, evidently used to the naïve reactions of clueless young numbers such as myself, who were just being introduced to the urban gay scene.

  “Mario’s tricked with him,” Paul informed me, after noticing my interest in the muscular drink dispenser behind the bar. “But I’m not sure you’re ready for that kind of heavy-duty action yet, kid.”

  “Fuck you, Paul,” I retorted.

  He leered at me. “Any time, baby. How about right now, in fact? Want to join me in the backroom?”

  “I thought this was the backroom.”

  Paul pointed to the far corner of the vast space, where guys were coming and going through a low, open archway. The area beyond it was dark—pitch black, as far as I could tell from where we stood.

  “What goes on in there?” I asked.

  Paul shrugged. “Anything, and everything. Fucking and sucking, for starters, of course. You can check your clothes if you want to.” He and Mario exchanged smirks. They were enjoying my embarrassment, the smug motherfuckers! “Come on, baby. It’s about time you made your debut.”

  They both grabbed me by the arms with firm, masculine grips, and they led me through that dark archway, and into the infamous backroom of the bar.

  At first it seemed inky black inside the space, and we moved slowly, cautiously, penetrating deep into the room. As my eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, I realized that there were small, dim light fixtures set into the wall, although they emitted little more than a faint glow. I could sense that there were other men around me. I could hear them, even though none of them was talking. What I did hear was a lot of heavy breathing. And I could almost smell the raw sexual excitement all around me, as my
eyes continued to adjust, until I could finally make out figures.

  Then I got another shock to my nervous system. I heard somebody emitting loud, guttural grunts very close to me. Startled, I turned my head—and I saw what was going on, barely three feet away from our group.

  A big dude with his T-shirt yanked up under his armpits, his solid pecs heaving, was coming, shooting his load into the hot, wet mouth of a second guy who was on his knees in front of him, sucking him off. I could see the bottom part of the big man’s thick dickshaft, pumping in and out of the kneeling cocksucker’s hungry mouth.

  The guy down his knees was blowing the other man so passionately, so mindlessly, that it was obvious he didn’t give a damn how many other guys were nearby, watching him. He was trying to get the whole thing down his throat. Even as I gaped at him, he gagged, spat a mouthful of cum onto the floor, and then went right back to sucking the cock and massaging its owner’s heavy, hairy balls with his hand, as though he was trying to coax further spurts of jism from the prick in his mouth.

  I got a hard-on, instantly. I felt a hand on my crotch, squeezing my agitated fuck tool. I kept my face averted while the fingers undid my fly, button by button, and pulled out my dick. An arm slid around my waist and pulled me toward the side of the room, into the dark.

  “Oh, yeah,” I heard myself moaning, blurting the words out shamelessly, as that warm hand caressed my naked prick from its base to its tip, and back again. “Oh, yeah!”

  All around me were guys in various stages of undress, feeling each other’s erect cocks in the dim light. Guys with their pants down and their white, brown, or black bottoms exposed, getting fucked. Guys on their knees, sucking off other guys. There must have been at least thirty or forty such couplings taking place within groping distance of me and my faceless, nameless admirer, whose hand was still massaging my wildly aroused prick.

  I heard loud sucking noises all around us, as well as deep groans of satisfaction from the guys who were coming. Across the room, somebody’s bare ass was being slapped—hard! He whimpered with masochistic pleasure.

  The guy who was groping me pulled me closer to him and he took my hand to guide it to his own dick. He was hung big, and he was rock hard. I have his cock a squeeze. My face was burning hot, the result of both embarrassment and arousal. His hand tightened its grip on my exposed member and he began to rub it, very gently but provocatively, up and down. I did the same to him.

  He reached up and pulled me closer still, putting his arms around my waist, and he kissed me on the mouth. We were rubbing our thighs intimately together and I could feel the lump of his hard dick against mine. He had a small, hard-muscled body, and with a flash of shock I realized that I was making out with a complete stranger. And I was definitely getting off on it!

  He moaned as his wet, agile tongue slid deep inside my mouth and his left hand came up and ran through my hair, pushing my lips more firmly against his.

  I felt another pair of hands on my legs, pulling our bodies apart down below, and then there was the warm pressure of a mouth going down on my dick! A third man was down there on his knees on the floor, sucking me off … and I could tell he was an expert cocksucker.

  He went up and down on my upright boner very slowly, working his tongue along the big vein which undulated on its underside, taking my balls in his mouth as well and sucking them gently, as though they were a pair of ripe plums. Deftly, he went back over my dick and down, lathering it with his warm, slippery saliva, squeezing the head of my cock with his throat muscles. Jesus, what a hot blow job the dude was giving me!

  And, all the while, the guy who was kissing me fucked the inside of my mouth with his extended tongue and sucked out my saliva, moaning loudly.

  I felt the top button of my jeans being opened and a pair of hands pulling my pants down to my knees. I tried to turn my head and look down to see who was taking such liberties with me, but the guy who was kissing me held my head firmly between his hands.

  Suddenly, several other guys, some of them totally naked, converged on me, until we were in the middle of what I can only describe as a cluster fuck.

  I felt naked dicks rubbing all over my legs, dribbling jism onto my flesh. I felt hands on my chest and belly and back, and an especially aggressive pair of palms cupping and kneading my ass cheeks. That man’s fingers spread my buttocks wide open, and I felt a tongue-tip tickle my asshole. The tongue pushed its way through my pucker and sank inside my ass—all the way inside! Christ, that felt good!

  I stuck my ass out, pushing it right into the rimmer’s face. His tongue drove inside me even deeper and felt his hot, wet mouth applying pressure to my asshole while his probing tongue swabbed it out. While he ate my ass, the other guy, the one who was sucking my cock, continued to feed upon the full length of my throbbing shaft with his mouth. Running his hands down my legs to feel my muscles, he swallowed my cockhead right down into his throat! I expected him to choke on it, but instead I felt his throat vibrate around my pulsating glans. I could also feel my cum building up in my loins, in a surging, irresistible tide of sexual liquid.

  The guy who was kissing me pulled my T-shirt up over my chest and bent his head down to suck on my nips. Now I could see the guys around me. They were in a circle, watching the action and whacking off, their pricks jerking up and down in their fists, aimed at me. A few of the men were sucking each other and groping out blindly to fondle my all but naked body.

  I arched forward with his hips. The guy with his tongue in my ass pulled back, but the guy sucking my cock went all the way down on it again. I looked down at his steadily bobbing head. My own body was pale compared to a stud on my left whose hairy legs were deeply suntanned. His dick, a huge ten-inch monstrosity, was rubbing restlessly up and down against my thigh. My cocksucker swallowed the head of my fuck stick again, practically choking on its bulk—and I started to come!

  My mouth opened in a yell and my back arched. The sucker busy at my groin grabbed my hips to steady me, and he shoved my cock right down his gullet, reaming out his throat. I shot once, then twice—and then, mercifully, the rest of my ejaculation tore itself free, in a long, steady stream of thick jism, blasting out of my dick. I felt the other man’s tongue rotate inside my asshole. The huge cock pressed against my thigh shot off a stream of hot, wet cum, some of which streaked across my stomach, and I felt various hands rubbing the slimy fuck fluid all over not only my own body, but onto the other men’s jerking cocks and balls.

  I bent forward, shoving the guy who’d been working on my tits away, and I took the head of the man who was blowing me in my hands and pushed down, hard. My cum was still pouring thickly down his throat. I held his face tightly against my groin, half in order to encourage him to take all of my load, half to force his throat to remain all the way down on my spasming cockshaft. He gagged. I held him down on my dick—both of us grunting loudly—until I was emptied of sperm, at least for the time being.

  I pulled my pants up. The crowd moved away. I felt a friendly slap on my bottom. I looked down at the handsome guy who had blown me so magnificently.

  “Thanks,” he said, simply, his speech slurred by a mouthful of thick cum. He moved off into the darkness, no doubt in search of another dick to go down on.

  Paul came up to me, sweating, and he put his arm around my shoulders, giving me an affectionate hug. “How are you doing, kid?”

  “Okay, man.”

  “More than just ‘okay,’ I’d say, from the looks of it,” he teased me. “Listen—are you going to be able to get home all right, in case we get separated?”

  “Sure.”

  “Mario has a couple of guys he wants to introduce me to,” Paul explained. “And knowing Mario, one thing will probably lead to another. But I want you to feel free to stick around here and have some fun. You can even go home with somebody, if you want to. I’ll see you back at the apartment, all right? Just be careful,” he advised.

  I wasn’t particularly careful that night, I’m afraid. Scarcely
had Paul vanished in the crush of bodies than I turned around and bumped into a husky, bearded number. He grabbed me by both of my biceps to steady me, he laughed, and then he pulled me roughly against his chest.

  My mouth opened to accept his kiss, and, as he stuck his tongue inside my mouth, we both moaned, and he reached down to feel my cock. I knew that the night’s excesses had only begun for me. It was going to be hours—until closing time, in fact—before I would want to tear myself away from this veritable smorgasbord of male flesh.

  Chapter Five: Roommates—and Lovers

  I supposed that, now that I’d participated quite willingly in a night of all-male debauchery and sexual excess, in a gay bar, I was officially “out.” Openly and unashamedly gay, after a lifetime—well, after the few years which had elapsed since my adolescence, to be more accurate—of deluding myself, and others, about my true, innermost desires.

  As I took the subway back to our neighborhood, and then walked home, from the bar, I couldn’t say that I felt much different. Not physically, anyway. I just felt fucked out, my hyperactive cock limp inside my jeans at last, and indeed feeling slightly sore as it chafed against the mercifully soft denim cloth.

  I shoved both hands through the waistband of the jeans, down inside them, and I felt my dick, giving it a soothing, reassuring caress as I strutted down the sidewalk. I felt like the hottest stud in Manhattan, gay or straight.

  I thought about the last guy whom I’d sucked off, before I left the bar. I could still taste his slightly bittersweet cum in my mouth. He was hung big, I remembered, exulting in the lewd memory. He must’ve had at least nine inches, and his penis was thick. I had barely been able to get my fingers closed around his colossal whang when I held it in my hand and played with it. But once it was in my mouth, my lips had developed an unexpected elasticity. I’d sucked on every inch of that gigantic thing!

  No doubt about it—that had really been me, sweet, innocent little Keith, on my knees in the dark, dirty backroom of that gay bar, taking that cock in my mouth and throat, and loving it. I pictured what I must have looked like, kneeling in that cum and filth on the floor, with my mouth stuffed full of another man’s turgid, oversized dick … sucking away, mindlessly … all the while, with my own cock hard again, despite its fatigue, as I worked it with my fist and kept it stiff, ready for some stranger to satisfy with his hand, his mouth, or with his ass.