Wonderful

I began my career in hospitality and hotel management in Las Vegas just after the recession hit. It certainly wasn’t my childhood dream come true, but it paid the bills. There are certain perks to working in a hotel, primarily being able to relocate easily and travel for leisure on an employee rate. It wasn’t until I found employment in an Austin hotel that I had the pleasure of experiencing a new benefit that finally presented itself – a horny guest.

On a particularly mundane day at work I stood at the front desk overseeing the usual operations and guest interactions. One of my associates was approached by a man who politely asked if he could check in. I welcomed him to the property and proceeded to busy myself with some administrative work at my terminal as he was being stepped through the arrival process. I looked up before he turned toward the elevators to find him beaming at me.

Moments later the phone rang, and my front desk agent answered cheerfully. Most of us in the hotel industry, including her, hate the constant barrage of guest complaints and requests, but she was good at masking this. After a brief one-sided conversation she hung up the phone and looked at me.

“Mr. Smith wanted me to let you know that you are a wonderful manager?” she said, laughing and perplexed. “All you did is welcome him, I am the one who checked him in! You didn’t even do anything!”
“Are you trying to say I’m not wonderful?”
“Yeah, you’re wonderful, alright…”

An hour or so later I spotted Mr. Smith in the lobby working on his laptop. He was facing my direction, so it was hard to avoid making any sort of eye contact. I wondered if he was going to approach the desk and shower me with more unfounded compliments. Alas, he remained seated for a while before hitching the elevator back to his room. I postulated that he was utilizing the free wireless internet in the lobby. I decided to send him up a bottle of wine as a surprise amenity, mostly to justify his previous claim about me.

My shift was nearly over for the evening, and I was looking forward to going home. The lobby and desk were slow, making time drag unbearably. The phone rang once more, and I answered it quickly out of boredom. It was Mr. Smith.

When I asked how I could assist him he informed me that he was struggling with an audio visual issue for a presentation he would be giving the next day. He wasn’t sure what cord he needed to connect from his laptop to the projector. I figured this would be another opportunity to impress him and live up to my newly acquired reputation.

“Does your laptop have an HDMI port? We have those cables available, as well as others,” I said in my over-the-top hotel management character voice.
“I’m not sure…”
“Would you like me to come up and check for you?” I was used to people in our hotel lacking any technological saavy.
“That would be great, whenever you get a chance,” he replied before hanging up.

I grabbed a radio and informed my staff that I would return shortly after helping Mr. Smith. I made my way up to his room, happy to have a bit of an escape from the Front Office. It felt good to walk the floors every now and again.

He opened the door and moved aside so I could walk in as we exchanged hellos.The amenity I sent up was set up on the desk, his laptop on the bed, and a bottle of personal lubricant on the nightstand. “How embarrassing,” I thought. “He must have forgotten to hide the lube. Or maybe he just isn’t shy.”

I picked up his laptop which was probably the newest version Mac had released. I turned it on its side to look at the ports and found that they were all very clearly labeled, including HDMI. Looking up, I realized that he had moved much closer to me as I was examining his device. I was about to speak when he took his hand and put it on my waist. “Ah,” I thought. “What a fool I am to fall for such a thing. I’ve been lured.”

I had worked in the industry for so long, I wondered how this could have never happened before. It’s not as if I had been aging well, and this man was actually pretty attractive. Older than me, as per usual, with strong facial features and slightly thinning ginger hair and a bit of a belly. I knew it was against policy, but I didn’t want to ignore the opportunity lest I regret it later. What if this is my only chance?

What started with making out quickly turned into him trying to get pieces of my suit off, with particular attention to my pants. He pushed me back onto his bed and eagerly pulled out my dick. He sucked like a Hoover, as if he had been waiting to do this for a long time.

He grabbed for the lube, conveniently within arms-reach as he had planned. And just like that he rode me like I was a dive bar mechanical bull. The only problem was his inability to control the volume of his voice.

“You have to be more quiet, or we’re going to get a noise complaint,” I said sternly. “And I’m the manager who’s going to be called to deal with it.”
“Sorry, sorry,” he spit out.
“It’s okay, just… enjoy my dick silently.” It was an awkward thing to say, but it worked.

I could see it wouldn’t take long for him to erupt and had to scramble to move my dress shirt and tie out of the way. You never really know how much a guy is going to cum. As it would turn it in this case – a lot.

I didn’t have time to worry about “getting mine” so to speak; I needed to get back into my suit and return to the desk. I was imagining my karma coming around in the form of a fire in the lobby due to my absence. Hotels brainwash their employees well and ingrain guilt deep into their souls.

As I was fixing my hair in his bathroom, Mr. Smith asked, “You are clean, right?”
“First of all, that is a conversation we should have had before you hopped on my cock. And secondly, yes, I am STD free.” I replied curtly.
“Good, I need to stay clean for my wife.”

Wife. He said wife. He’s married? The man was obviously gay, how could this be? Does his wife know? Do they have an agreement? Or is she some delusional belle waiting for him at home while he gets his jollies travelling for work? Is he one of those traditional Texans on the down low afraid to come out of the closet? All of these questions and more were racing through my mind in that moment. Not only did I not have time to fish for answers, I wasn’t sure I even wanted to know the truth. Did it matter? The deed had been done. My heart was so conflicted.

“I come back to this hotel every three months, ya know?” he said, breaking the silence.
“I didn’t know that, no.” I had to play nice and act casual. After all, he could get me in trouble if he really wanted to.
“Yeah, I’ll have to find you again when I come back!”
“Well…you know where to find me, Mr. Smith.”

 

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Three Doors Down

No, this post has nothing to do with an iconic rock band that may bring back memories of an overly emotional late 90’s existence. If I go crazy, then will you still call me Superman? Well, I would certainly hope not. But while we’re on the subject of the Man of Steel, we all have something that makes us weak – we all have our own personal kryptonite that brings us to our knees, sometimes literally. For some of us gays, it is a straight man.

Now it is no secret at this point that human sexuality has an intangible fluidity that escapes explanation at times. So, “Why not?” says the gay man looking for a challenge.
I personally never cared much to waste my time pining after heterosexual men, regardless of whether or not I thought I was able to lure one in. That is, until, I met the man who lived three doors down.

He would stand outside his apartment door smoking a cigarette and drinking a beer just about every time I passed by. We never exchanged many words, just empty phrases that were born from a sense of obligation. Months passed without us even knowing each other’s names.

As chance would have it, I adopted an overly gregarious roommate who managed to make friends with just about every tenant in our miserable complex. Before I knew it, there were strangers in my apartment being introduced to me as if I was new to my own home. They all meant well, of course, and even invited me to a BBQ at our communal pool.

“That’s the man from three doors down,” I said to my roommate as we approached the pool gate with towels and cans of beer.
“That guy?” he replied, “Oh, that’s Jason.”

He didn’t look much better with his shirt off than he did with it on, but there was still something alluring about him. Perhaps it was the camouflage swim trunks and goofy smile that were capturing my attention. Or the fact that he was so eager to tell me his life story.

He grew up in Florida with his devilishly handsome brother, often finding himself in trouble with the law. He married too young and had children well before he was ready to take on the responsibilities of parenthood. His wife left him after a few years, being unimpressed with his lack of money or motivation. From there he moved to Texas to live with his father where he would continue to cycle through girlfriends who wanted to take a turn with a kind-hearted bad boy alcoholic.

“So, you’re gay?” he asked me. Apparently my roommate felt inclined to inform Jason of my sexual orientation beforehand.
“Mostly,” I replied, which is my go-to answer when I’m asked that particular question.

He reassured me that there was nothing wrong with being gay, as if he wanted to suddenly become my therapist. I nodded and smiled politely. He asked me questions about being gay and how it played into my own life story. I indulged his requests, and he soon came to know more about me than most.

The night ended, and I remember laying in bed thinking about him. Not sexually, necessarily, just as a new character in my life.

On a warm summer evening I found myself chatting with him on the patio of another neighbor I would have never met had it not been for my roommate. He told me wild tales about the various physical altercations he engaged in, including a run-in with Hell’s Angels. He had a story for every scar.

He was uninhibited by nature, but the beer seemed to push him just a little further.
I came to realize this as he randomly told me of a time he accidentally slept with a transsexual he mistook to be an ebony goddess. “I don’t remember, but I think I had her dick in my mouth. And it was bigger than mine! Does that make me gay?” he asked. I merely shrugged. “Well, whatever. When I get drunk, sometimes I just want to find a warm hole.” He made it easy to either laugh with him, or laugh at him. I fell asleep that night still chuckling to myself.

It was autumn now, and Jason and I were accustomed to making small talk outside his door. I’d bum a cigarette and a beer off of him after work sometimes, or find him Skyping on the stairwell with some girl from his past that he couldn’t wait to introduce me to in person. I never lingered very long, though I could sense his loneliness. My roommate had moved out some time ago, so I could relate to that. But it didn’t explain the curious way he would look at me sometimes.

One evening I laid in bed, letting time slip idly by, waiting to become tired enough to justify an attempt to sleep. But then I heard a knock on my door. I lived in a bad part of town at the time, which made me wary of unannounced guests. Especially now that I lived alone.

Upon opening the door I found Jason holding a 12-pack of Budweiser. “Hey, man,” he started, “You’re not going to bed are you?” Although I was wearing nothing but a bathrobe, I declined any notion of slumber and invited him in.

We sat on the couch, and mostly I found myself listening to more stories from his past. He seemed more vulnerable than ever though, like he just needed someone to care. Suddenly I had been confronted with my own kryptonite.

He followed me to the kitchen to retrieve another beer. We were both drunk already, but then again, Jason was always inebriated to some degree. I noticed him subtly look me up and down as I tilted my head back to chug. And then there was a silence.

“You know I’m just stalling for time, because I know something is going to happen, right?” I was used to gay men who are so much more direct. But still, I knew what he wanted.
“Yeah,” I said nonchalantly, “but it ain’t happenin’ in the kitchen.”
“Where do I go?” he asked, dumbly. I took his hand and brought him to my bedroom.

Without hesitation I dropped my robe and began ripping his clothes off.
“This is just sex,” he said. “I don’t want anything else…” he said sternly as I fell to my knees.
I looked up at him”Get over yourself, do you think I’m going to ask you to be my boyfriend or something?”
“Well you can’t tell anyone, no one can know.” he said while resisting to moan.
I pulled my head back. “Who would I even tell, Jason? We can keep talking, or I can suck your dick. I can’t do both.” He said nothing more.

I stood up and pushed him onto my bed. He was taller and stronger than me, but I suddenly felt a certain power over him. If I was going to be his experiment, I might as well take control of it.

“I’ve never had better head in my life,” he said while arching his back.
“Of course you haven’t,” I said confidently.
“Are we gonna fuck?” he asked, earnestly.
“I think that’s pretty obvious,” I replied, rifling through my nightstand for a condom.

It took him a second to figure out a rhythm, and he looked slightly terrified. After many welcomed thrusts, his noodle began to go limp. “Oh no, I’m so sorry. It’s not you, I just don’t think I’m gay!” he said with a sense of alarm in his voice.
“Perhaps not, but it was worth a try, right?” I said, standing up.
“Where are you going?”
“Get dressed, I’m seeing you to the door.”
“Just like that? You’re kicking me out?”
“Yeah, what do you want to cuddle?” I said with a laugh.
“You’re not mad at me, are ya?” he asked.
“No, I want to go to bed, fool. We’re neighbors, I’m sure I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He collected what was left of his beer, and I closed the door on him with a quick goodbye.
I returned to my bed, the scene of the crime. “I did it,” I thought. “I had sex with a straight guy. The guy from three doors down.”