Private Party (7 page)

‘What are you doing?’ hissed Trade-Up. ‘My big cock is over here, not there. Come inside before the neighbours hear us.’

Then my fingers brushed the light switch and I turned it on. Light flooded the room. Trade-Up shrieked and scuttled behind the door to hide himself from me. He was naked and erect but it wasn’t an attractive sight. He appeared to be Uncle Vic’s vintage, only he hadn’t maintained himself as well. Uncle Vic might be mutton dressed as lamb, but this guy was dog food. ‘I’m going to report you to the website’s administrators,’ I reprimanded him. ‘They’ll delete you.’

But Trade-Up was unrepentant and undeterred. He stuck his head around the corner of the door. ‘I’ll give you the blow-job of your life,’ he cajoled. ‘I could suck you for hours and you can just lie back and watch some porn. I have plenty to choose from. Come on. Let’s have some fun. After all you’ve come all this way.’

‘Exactly, all this way under false pretences …’

‘Shh, shh,’ Trade-Up hissed, ‘the neighbours.’

‘You’re a fucking fraud,’ I accused him, raising my voice so his precious neighbours would hear.

Trade-Up slammed the door in my face which made me feel a little cheated. I would’ve liked to have made an even bigger scene and drawn an audience out from the surrounding flats. However, on my way out of the building, I noticed the electrical board in the hallway. Impulsively, I switched off Trade-Up’s apartment’s mains. That would teach him a lesson for making me waste my time.

My other bad experience was with SceneQueenDean. When I arrived at his place in Darlinghurst, Dean looked as good as he had in his photos. However, he had a fifty-year-old sugar daddy, Barry, who had not been mentioned in any of his messages or on his profile. Barry expected to watch us and then get in on the action once we got carried away. It wasn’t so much that Barry was older—he was quite a sexy daddy type—but the fact that they’d actively deceived me. The whole threesome thing was too reminiscent of my activities with Blake and something I’d been deliberately avoiding. ‘We just figured that if I told you about Barry, then you wouldn’t come over,’ Dean explained. ‘A lot of guys on Gaydar are very ageist.’

‘Let me get you a drink or perhaps you’d prefer some crystal?’ Barry offered with a wink

I had been feeling inclined to go along with it. I was really into Dean and Barry was okay, but the offer of drugs really turned me off. It was tacky. It was also one of the tricks Uncle Vic employed to get his way, though he offered nothing stronger than a joint. I headed for the door which prompted both of them to drop their pants in a last-ditch effort to sway my mind. Barry was already rock hard. ‘You might just have to get Dean to bend over Barry,’ I suggested, ‘seeing as you’ve already taken the Viagra. You wouldn’t want it to go to waste.’

I went home, got back on Gaydar and within half an hour had lined up GymHotJock. Hilariously, he also lived in Altair, and so I only had to take the elevator five floors for sex. He might have made for a convenient fuck buddy as he lived up to his name, but unfortunately he had some airs and graces that I couldn’t tolerate. After the sex, his first question was ‘do you own or rent?’ and he pronounced the word rent with a quiver of distaste. When I told him I was flat-sitting for a friend who was overseas, he looked decidedly put out. ‘Neither then, I see,’ he said severely. ‘I wonder if you appreciate that this is one of Sydney’s premiere buildings. It’s won awards.’

He then proceeded to tell me that he was on the committee of the body corporate and how incredibly competitive it was to get elected. ‘I take an avid interest in everything that goes on in the building. No one had told me about
you
.’

When he began to point out the various design tweaks he’d made in the bedroom, I decided it was time to depart. I hurriedly dressed, refusing the offer to try his Double Diamond Shower Head, and hurried out to the living room. However, GymHotJock was hot on my heels pointing out various articles of furniture, apprising me of their cost, and littering this monologue with the phrase ‘as an owner’ repeatedly. I’d been dismissed as some cute but homeless piece of trade. I could’ve pointed out to the pretentious shit that I actually owned a house in Surry Hills that was worth a lot more than his cramped one bedroom apartment, but I just wanted to get out of there. As I left, he told me to knock on his door any time. I must’ve looked startled as he hurriedly elaborated. ‘Not for sex,’ he said dismissively. ‘If you see anything going on in the building, things I should be informed of. Don’t hesitate. I need to know.’

GymHotJock plainly wanted to cultivate a Stasi-like network of informants in The Altair. ‘But now that you mention it, what apartment number are you?’ he asked. ‘In case I am ever feeling horny.’

I felt like saying that I hadn’t mentioned it, that I hadn’t been able to get a word in for the past ten minutes, and that he was being incredibly presumptuous. But instead, I just smiled, gave him the number of the middle-aged woman who lived next door to me, and hurried back downstairs.

When I got back to my apartment, there was a Gaydar message from Mischief. We’d developed a somewhat curious online friendship; curious as after three weeks of contact, we still hadn’t managed to meet. Nor had his face photo eventuated despite repeated requests. Usually I had a very strict rule (I was finding I needed numerous rules on Gaydar)—no photo, no further communication. But Mischief was so attentive. He sent me a message every day without fail and they were always eloquent, witty, and thoughtful. He liked to address me with a new variation on my initials CSI. I knew that these names weren’t that easy to come up with and that Mischief must have invested considerable time and thought into the likes of
Constantly Surprising Individual
or
Cock Shy Imp
. Clearly, he wanted to impress and demonstrate that he’d been thinking about me.

His messages were also written with perfect spelling and grammar. Not that I’m an absolute stickler about written English but sometimes my desire faded when I received messages from boys who wanted to ‘fuck my whole’ or ‘sick my cock’. I’d once had a bedroom disaster with a very drunk boy who threw up when we were going at it, so ‘sick my cock’ was a scenario I was familiar with. Sometimes I would receive messages where every word was misspelt except for fuck. Once or twice I replied, declining the offer of sex, but suggesting that ‘i before e except after c’ was a useful spelling rule.

Although I appreciated the time and intelligence Mischief put into composing his messages, after my experience with the fraudulent Trade-Up, I became very suspicious of Mischief’s anonymity. I gave him an ultimatum: if he didn’t send me a face photo, I would no longer communicate with him. He responded by asking for a photo of my cock. Naturally, I refused to oblige and pointed out that a face pic was completely different and far less intimate than what he was asking for. But Mischief thought otherwise.

Mischief75:
For you it’s the face that’s all-important, but for me, you Cock Shy Imp, it’s your dick. I can assure you that I am equally frustrated about you not revealing yourself to me. I think about your cock constantly, fantasise about it and long to see it.

I typed a reply, admitting that I fantasised about what he looked like too, but when I re-read my message prior to sending it, I realised how ridiculous our situation was. We’d been messaging for three weeks and I’d begun to feel attached to the guy. Yet I had no idea what he looked like or if anything he’d been telling me was true. I was communicating with a phantom. It was scarily reminiscent of the Ant/Iain debacle. I deleted what I’d written and logged out of Gaydar.

Then I ignored Mischief’s messages for several days. I figured if I went silent on him, he might come to his senses and send me that face photo. He didn’t, but nor did he stop sending me messages either. They still came daily and he expressed no recriminations or curiosity about my silence. Finally, after three days of ignoring him, I decided it was time to insist on moving things forward.

CSI-Sydney:
Let’s meet. It’s high time that happened.

Mischief75:
I would love to. But I’m in London.

I wasn’t sure if I believed him. He hadn’t mentioned anything about going overseas in any of his previous messages. He’d also put me off twice before when I’d suggested meeting: the first time because he wanted to get to know me better, and the second time because he had the flu. I replied, feigning excitement about his trip and then casually asked about the weather in London. When he replied that it was overcast but mild, I checked the London weather report online. It was as he said. Nevertheless, I wasn’t entirely sure I believed him. The flight to London, plus getting to and from the various airports, would have taken more than twenty-four hours, yet there’d been no interruption to the daily messages he sent. I pointed this out but he claimed to have sent me a message from Bangkok, where he had a stop-over.

CSI-Sydney:
Don’t you have better things to do on your trip than write me messages?

Mischief75:
You’ve become very important to me and I don’t want you to forget me while I’m away.

I asked him when he was due back.

Mischief75:
I’m here for a week, and have a couple of days in Thailand on the way home. But I won’t be able to see you as soon as I get back. I’ll have a lot of work to follow up on after this trip and I also suffer badly from jet lag. I want to meet you when I’m fresh and fit, not a wreck. But we’ll definitely meet, as soon as I can manage it. I promise.

That message made me howl with frustration. I could see this would translate into a further three weeks before we could meet.

CSI-Sydney:
I suppose I can wait two weeks if you can assure me that you’re genuine. I don’t want to be toyed with, lied to, or for you to make mischief with me.

Mischief75:
I save all my mischief for the bedroom, I promise!

I said goodbye, but couldn’t resist my own bit of mischief.

CSI-Sydney:
One good thing about you being overseas. You’ll be able to buy that digital camera you’ve been talking about duty-free.

I didn’t log out of Gaydar. Yes, Mischief and I had ‘something’ developing but until we actually met, it was just too intangible. I needed something more immediate. There were plenty of other guys in Sydney who would show me their face and everything else. I began to scroll through the online profiles.

Another month passed and still Mischief remained elusive, although it wasn’t entirely his fault. The first time we tried to meet post-London, I’d been obliged to cancel as I had a couple of day’s work back down in Melbourne as Tommy, shooting ads for a customer recipe promotion. We made a new arrangement for when I got back, but this time he cancelled—at the eleventh hour. We were supposed to meet for dinner but he sent a message only a few hours before, saying something had come up and he’d explain later.

I was disappointed, irritated, and highly frustrated. I vowed to have nothing further to do with Mischief. It was obvious the guy had no intention of ever meeting me, but got off on stringing me along. I went onto Gaydar to line someone else up. When Whopper10 sent me a message, explicit photos attached, I didn’t pester him with too many questions. I just wanted to distract myself and forget all about Mischief. I glanced at his photos, liked what I saw and asked him to come straight over and ‘use the Whopper on me’. It was only after I’d given him the directions, that I realised I hadn’t seen his face pic. Every photo on his profile was of ‘the Whopper’. I took a second look at his profile, and actually read through what he’d written, but felt reassured that he should be okay. He was older but in good shape, and his cock was certainly something to behold.

However, when I opened the door to him, my enthusiasm waned considerably. He’d claimed to be thirty-nine on his profile and I’d imagined that probably meant he was in his forties, but he was definitely in his late-forties. This extra decade in age wasn’t helped by his outfit: a ‘Lion King’ tee shirt, some nondescript brand of jeans and fawn loafers.

He liked me, immensely. ‘Man you’re a cutie,’ he exclaimed. ‘Why don’t you have your face shot on your profile? Are you shy?’

I couldn’t return the compliment. He wasn’t handsome. He was just a regular sort of guy, who was getting rather worn in the face. I could imagine being more into him if he’d been very butch and straight-acting but the tee shirt just shouted ‘I’m a big show queen’ and for me, it totally eclipsed his masculinity. My uncertainty must have shown on my face as he hastened to apologise about ‘the white lie’ on his profile. ‘On Gaydar, so many guys are only interested in those under forty. Anything beyond that is a no-go zone. I don’t like being left out of the cut and besides I don’t look that far off thirty-nine,’ he declared with a grin, expecting me to agree.

When I didn’t say anything, he hastily removed that tee shirt, revealing a gym built body. ‘I keep myself in shape,’ he boasted, quickly flexing a bicep. ‘Five times a week.’

It helped that he had muscles and that he’d taken off that appalling tee shirt. I approached him and began to run my hands over him. Meanwhile, his hand dived straight for my crotch and given that he hadn’t impressed me much, of course I wasn’t hard. I tried to guide his hand away but he was insistent. ‘I’m dying to see your cock,’ he whispered, dropping to his knees. ‘I bet you’ve got a beauty.’

‘Yeah, well I don’t know about that,’ I said, trying to pull away from him, as he began to fumble with the buttons on my jeans.

‘You’re such a shy boy. You have no idea what you’ve got going for you,’ Whopper told me earnestly, which almost made me laugh, it was so ridiculous.

His deluded comment distracted me for a moment, an opportunity Whopper took advantage of to yank my jeans and underwear down around my knees. My flaccid penis was fully exposed. I couldn’t look down. I knew it would never have looked more minuscule and was probably wilting even further beneath Whopper’s up-close scrutiny. ‘Oh,’ said Whopper, his tone heavy with disappointment, and there was a long pause. ‘It’s a grower then, is it? Takes a bit to get going. How about I do this then?’

Whopper began to suck it. I tried to squirm away from him but he clamped his hands around my buttocks and began to bob away at me, in short, little stabs. I noticed that his head scarcely moved; there was so little there to work with. The whole experience had become so awkward and humiliating, that I seriously doubted I’d even manage to get an erection and redeem myself by a few inches. I had never found sex less sexy. However, gradually my cock began to stir and Whopper began to moan encouragingly. I’d been fully erect for a couple of minutes and he was still moaning away, imagining no doubt that he was coaxing me to greater dimensions. Finally, I couldn’t bear it any longer and pulled away from him. ‘That’s it,’ I said defiantly, waving my erection in his face. ‘That’s as big as it gets.’

Whopper looked startled. ‘Really?’

I nodded.

‘Oh,’ said Whopper looking genuinely downcast. ‘Gee, that’s a shame.’

I did not appreciate being judged and found wanting by this ageing ‘Lion King’ fan. ‘Let’s look at yours then,’ I said tersely, suddenly wondering if the photo he had on his profile was for real or swiped from somewhere.

Whopper unbuttoned, unzipped and pulled it out, this great fat thing, the size of an infant’s arm. ‘Wow,’ I said, amazed. ‘You really are huge.’

‘Yeah,’ said Whopper proudly, ‘and it’s not even hard yet.’

‘I’ll get you hard,’ I offered and began to get down on my knees, but Whopper backed away from me.

‘Whoa, hang on there buddy.’

‘What’s the problem?’ I asked.

‘Well, you’ve acted pretty disinterested ever since I got here. Then my cock comes out and you change your tune,’ Whopper shrugged.

I couldn’t believe it. He was acting like a teenage girl. But his cock was still hanging there, tantalisingly, and I really wanted to get my mouth around it. I could see I was going to have to indulge him. I apologised but even that wasn’t good enough.

‘Yeah yeah. All you pretty boys ever want is to suck on it, be ploughed by it, then once you’ve come, you’ll get all uppity with me again. Mate, I’ve been there before.’

Whopper began to tuck it away. ‘Hang on, hang on,’ I protested. ‘You’re here now. Can’t we work something out?’

Whopper looked dubious, but then his expression changed. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’d like you to kiss me and have the same look in your eye as you did just now, when you wanted to suck me.’

Now it was my turn to feel uncertain. I was an actor, but could I fake that sort of lust? I had my doubts. We both stared at one another, at an impasse, when suddenly there was a familiar whoosh from my computer. ‘Ah, you have a new message. Popular boy,’ said Whopper, somewhat sarcastically.

That message put a new slant on the situation. Perhaps it would be easier to give up on Whopper who was proving to be such hard work and check out this new prospect.

‘Let’s take a look,’ Whopper said, striding over to my computer.

‘Huh?’

‘Let’s check him out. If we both like him, let’s have him over for a three-way and that’ll solve our problem.’

I wasn’t entirely sure about Whopper’s logic. It seemed to me that he was trying to muscle in on my trade. Whopper sat down at my computer and opened the message. It was from a guy whose profile I’d checked out earlier, and left a track on.

Whopper opened his profile. GreekFreak was thirty-five, hairy chest, nice face, a top, who lived in Woolloomooloo. In his private pics was a very tempting photo of his erection.

‘Shall we?’ asked Whopper.

I hesitated. Whopper leant back in the chair, and brandished his cock at me. ‘Don’t you still want this?’

I nodded which Whopper interpreted as a yes on both counts. He began to write a message to GreekFreak inviting him over for a threesome. I didn’t stop him. Instead, I reached down and began to fondle his cock while he typed. It began to grow beneath my fingers. Whopper sent his message and glanced up at me. ‘You like that?’ he asked huskily.

I nodded as I kneaded it, then leant over and kissed him. We were interrupted by a new message. The Greek had responded, confirming he was up for it. Whopper asked for my address and while he was sending it to the Greek, pushed me down on my knees to suck his cock. After a minute or so, I was vaguely aware that Whopper was still busy on my computer and glanced up. ‘Just checking who’s in your favourites,’ Whopper reassured me. ‘Seeing what type of guys you like. This HotBloke is something. You had him?’

I could only nod. My mouth was full, very full. ‘Shall we ask him over too?’ suggested Whopper.

I nodded again. I didn’t care. I was totally preoccupied and I knew HotBloke wouldn’t come anyway. ‘I’ll tell him to bring his boyfriend,’ Whopper added. ‘Say we’re having a bit of a party.’

That gave me a moment’s pause. The boyfriend had been keen on me and would probably jump at the invitation. I took a break from working the Whopper. ‘Tell him that they both have to come,’ I said sternly. ‘Not just the boyfriend, both of them.’

Whopper nodded and chuckled as he typed the message. ‘So you like a crowd? You are a naughty boy. Okay, I’ll see who else I can find to join us.’

‘That’s not what I meant,’ I tried to protest but Whopper just grinned, then guided me back towards his cock which had now swollen up to its full magnificence.

I gazed at it in wonder feeling certain that Whopper must surpass Rick in the size stakes, a thought which turned me on even more. ‘Thinking about how much you want that in your arse, eh?’ snickered Whopper, his hand delving down the back of my jeans. ‘Yeah, I’m gonna make you squeal like a pig.’

Actually that remark made me think a little more seriously about taking the Whopper. Sure, being fucked by that thing was an enormous fantasy, but in reality, I began to have my doubts. I’d always been on top in my relationship with Blake. The only times I’d been fucked was when we’d had our three-ways or I’d cheated on him. Though I’d been making up for my deprivation since discovering Gaydar, was I really ready to be impaled by the Whopper? Then I remembered that both the Greek and HotBloke were tops, while HotBloke’s boyfriend was ‘dying to fuck me’. Suddenly, I felt a little too popular and the idea of having another bottom or two to ‘share the load’ seemed imperative. ‘Find a couple of guys who are passive,’ I instructed Whopper. ‘I think we’ve invited a surplus of tops.’

‘Good point,’ Whopper nodded. ‘And it’ll be no problem rustling up a couple of bottoms in this town. In fact, I know just the pair. They’ve been sniffing around the Whopper for weeks.’

Whopper pulled up their profiles for me to inspect. ‘And they’re online,’ Whopper exclaimed with delight.

SmartArse32 (passive) and his boyfriend Butch-Bitch (versatile) were a hot looking couple who I vaguely recognised from dance parties over the years. ‘Okay,’ I agreed. ‘Let’s ask them over.’

Whopper typed the message. While we waited for their reply, we studied their private photos more closely. They replied almost instantly saying they could make it in thirty minutes. I took over the keyboard and sent them a message with the address. Whopper pulled me into his lap. ‘You like the feel of The Whopper, don’t you? Pressing up against your hole? Wanna try it for size before the others arrive.’

I quickly scrambled out of his lap. ‘I think I’d better get things organised,’ I said hastily, ‘seeing as we’re expecting a few guys. Get the condoms and lube out, find a few towels.’

Whopper sighed. ‘Okay, but hurry back. The Whopper’s rearing to go here.’

I took my sweet time. I went into the bedroom, pulled the blinds and took the doona off the bed. Then I retrieved the pump pack of lube and a box of condoms, and dug out some towels. My wallet and mobile were sitting out, so I hid them, and then scouted the room for anything else of value that should be tucked away. Finally, I went into the bathroom to check my appearance and freshen up.

‘Still no response from HotBloke,’ Whopper called out to me. ‘Looks like he’s not into it or he’s away from his computer.’

I walked back into the living room and offered Whopper a beer. However, when I took it over to him, I was startled to see that he was sending a message to someone. I checked the screen. The computer was still logged into my profile and he was sending messages!

‘What are you doing?’ I asked icily. ‘Who was that message to?’

Whopper turned, startled by my tone. ‘Well, HotBloke and boyfriend aren’t coming, so I invited a couple of others.’

‘
What
?’ I bellowed. ‘You’ve invited people over here without checking with me first?’

‘You were busy and we need a couple of backups, in case some guys don’t show,’ he justified himself. ‘You know how it is. Guys make an arrangement, then never show up. It must have happened to you.’

It hadn’t, though I had been guilty of that practice myself once or twice.

‘What’s the big deal if we end up with five or six guys instead of four? It’s just more fun all round, right?’

‘Show me who you’ve asked over,’ I demanded.

‘Okay, okay, but chill man. I’ve done this before and it was sweet. No problems.’

‘This is one of Sydney’s premiere buildings,’ I said, quoting GymHotJock. ‘Things can’t get out of hand.’

‘Yeah, well exactly. You’ve got a bloody concierge downstairs. He won’t let anyone dodgy into the building.’

‘Show me who you invited over,’ I repeated coldly.

Whopper retrieved the profile of a muscular Asian boy, Fornicasian. ‘This guy sent you a message while you were in the bathroom, so I responded, told him what we were doing and he’s keen.’

I didn’t believe him. I hadn’t heard any message arrive.

‘He’s hot, isn’t he? Look at that arse and he loves to be fucked too.’

I nodded reluctantly. He was sexy and didn’t look like he’d be trouble but nevertheless, Whopper had overstepped the bounds. It seemed to me that he was making use of my profile—my youth and looks—to snare the guys who usually ignored him. ‘Anyone else?’ I demanded.

Whopper hesitated and I knew he’d sent out more messages. But before he could reply, the buzzer rang. Whopper and I exchanged a glance. I went over to the video intercom, with Whopper hard on my heels. To my surprise it was HotBloke and his boyfriend. ‘Hey. Buzz us up,’ HotBloke demanded.

I couldn’t obey fast enough. ‘Sweet,’ Whopper grinned. ‘They made it after all.’

‘Yeah, but how many guys have we got coming over now?’

‘Oh chill, it’ll be cool.’

We were still arguing over Whopper’s transgression when the doorbell rang. Desperate to get away from me haranguing him, Whopper darted away to answer it. HotBloke stepped inside, nodded curtly to me and introduced Moby, who winked at me and tried to pat me on the arse. But I was intent on HotBloke, whose eyes were looking beyond me, scanning the room, checking out what was—or rather wasn’t—going on. ‘Is all the action in the bedroom?’ he asked.