Date: Sun, 21 Feb 2016 03:34:24 +0000 From: Bruce Demosthenes Subject: Dominated by the boy next door 40 Try to give $1 per rope of cum you shoot reading my stories (any more ask them to send the balance to me). This is where you contribute: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html When Peter had left mad, any faint hope that he would never use the film of me and young Ian went out the door with him. Then 5 minutes later I got a text from him saying his father would be over tomorrow night at 8pm to watch the game. He was clearly leaving nothing to chance. When I want upstairs I saw the teddy bear nanny cam on my dresser aimed at the bed. The message was clear: 'you guys are doing this on the bed so I see everything, no keeping embarrassing things off screen'. I had no intention of keeping anything from Peter. My trying to protect his father probably had led to this new demand and the more intense blackmailing. I was determined to fuck his father and do it on film for this irrational boy. Several hours after Peter had left my home I had a plan. It was wrong on so many levels but I felt I didn't have a choice. At 11pm, I put on non-descript clothes and drove into the heart of the city, to a gay dance club I used to go to on weekends when I was younger. When I got there it had a line around the block which suggested it was just as happening a place as it had been in my day. After waiting in line with a bunch of 20 year olds, I finally made it to the front. I went up the two flights of stairs and paid the cover. I had never been into drugs. But drugs were a big part of the gay scene and many of my friends had been into them. I knew all of the party drugs and how they worked second hand. My plan was to purchase some GHB, which I had heard from my rave/club friends got people extremely horny, and to put some in Paul Sr.'s beer the next night. I was essentially going to date rape Peter's father. The challenge was how I would purchase drugs. I stuck out like a sore thumb. The club was filled with 20 year olds, dressed to be noticed. Some were wearing club kid outfits that, given my own situation, made me question their choices as they had things like children's plush backpacks and sparkles a pre-teen would put on their faces at a slumber party. Had I been subconsciously conditioned to equate the younger the hotter from by club days? I had to admit, these boys looked hot dressed up like little kids. I had always assumed I liked 18-25 years olds because that is when I started to come to clubs like this and have gay sex. Maybe Peter was right, I had a thing for younger and didn't realize it before. Whatever the impact coming to clubs like this had on my formative years, I did not belong here as an adult. I was twice these boy's and their fag hag's (seems that was still a thing) ages. I realized I must have looked like a cop. How was I going to buy drugs? I went to the bar and bought a drink and watched the boys dance. There were tons of cute boys. I had forgotten how much I enjoyed going to gay clubs. I loved it when I was in my 20s as there so many skinny twinks which was the type of guy I dates. And here I was surrounded by more hot 20 year olds dancing and showing off (had they gotten hotter or had I just gotten older). After a few drinks I noticed a boy across the bar eying me. Could he be interested in me? I was twice his age and I hadn't dressed up. I had dressed intentionally not to be noticed, he couldn't possibly find me sexy. When he smiled at me I went over and offered to buy him a drink. Not surprisingly he ordered a fancy flavoured martini (something that, in spite of the name, was the farthest thing from being a martini and closest thing to a juice drink). He was effeminate and skinny, even queeny, and I was totally loving his company. I liked being back in a gay environment with a cute twink who was seemingly into me. To my surprise he just out of the blue reached over and squeezed my cock, right there in the club. I had moved to the opposite side of the bar from the dance floor to where he had been sitting so there was a little privacy but still, he had grabbed my cock in public where people could see. He didn't seem embarrassed. He just flashed me a grin and after groping me for a few minutes let go and put his arm around my shoulder. Following his example my hand went to his back and I ran my hand down and grabbed his ass, squeezing each cheek. He didn't pull away, he just batted his eyelashes and smiled at me. We stood at the bar, for two more drinks, me kneading his ass cheeks and him, with his arm around my shoulder, talking to me as though my touching his ass or our age difference was inconsequential. As I felt myself getting tipsy (and I still had to drive home) I remembered I was there with a purpose to my coming to this club and it wasn't to pick up a cute boy. Every fibre in me wanted to take this boy home (or to a hotel as I was getting too drunk to drive) and fuck him. He was totally the twinky type I loved to fuck. But this wasn't about my wants. It was about what I needed to make my plan work. As we finished our drinks I told the bartender we didn't need another and grabbed this boy's hand (Freddie was his name, which suited his look, and he told me he was 18). He willingly gave it and followed me. He probably thought I was going to take him home but instead I led him to the washroom. I actually led him to the women's washroom. Even back in my day, in a gay bar the gay boys and girls use each washroom interchangeably, and the girls' was always cleaner as the few straight boys who go with their friends to gay bars always used the boys. Leading Freddie into the handicap washroom I closed the door and dropped to my knees. I undid his shiny vinyl silver pants, that form fitted his skinny legs and had accentuated his package. When I got them open it turned out he wasn't wearing underwear and he had an uncut cock, which was a treat. Taking it into my mouth I worked on the foreskin, nibbling on it and, as he hardened, running my tongue under and over it. Soon he was rock hard in my mouth. Even hard his foreskin stayed over the head. So I kept playing with it in my mouth. It had been so long since I had sucked an uncut cock. Plus I was tipsy so I was obsessing on the foreskin more than I otherwise might have. After a while a girl banged on the door and said "hurry up in there". Coming out of my blissful tipsy horny daze I remembered where I was, kneeling on the floor of the handicap stall in the women's washroom in a night club sucking on an 18 year old's cock. I wasn't about to stop sucking so the girl could use the toilet, but I could go faster and stop playing with the foreskin in my mouth. I immediately began to use my skills (skills I had acquired forcefully from Peter) and deep throated this boy. He was only about 7 inches and not very thick so it was not hard to take him all the way down my throat every time my head went down. It wasn't long and I was rewarded by him cumming in my mouth. There I knelt on the washroom floor in the handicap stall drinking an 18 year old queeny twink gay boy's cum. I couldn't believe my luck. When he finished he pulled it from my mouth, put it back in his silver pants and did them up. Leaning forward he whispered in my ear "I am still going to have to charge you $150, even though we didn't go to your hotel to fuck." My heart sank. That explained everything (and was a little depressing). He was an escort. He hadn't flirted with me and shown an interest because he found me attractive. He thought I was a mark who wanted to or needed to pay for sex (which is the opposite of attractive). Of course I had paid Peter's brother for sex and Peter of his underwear so I wasn't offended or put off, I had just deluded myself that I still had it and I had scored sex with this boy in a washroom on my own merits. As I got to my feet I fished out cash. I had fortunately taken out $500, as I had no idea the price of drugs, and had so far spent less than $100 on drinks. Peeling off $150 and handing it to this boy I was reminded of the cost of the hockey tickets the last time Peter's dad and I had sex. Having sex with Paul Sr., sex I got no enjoyment from, was very expensive. Though at least this time I did enjoy sucking off this boy so there was value for money. And Peter would never know it happened as there was no nanny cam in the washroom. When I opened the stall door and saw all the boys and girls waiting to use one of the stalls. Everyone here knew I had just sucked off this boy and they probably knew he was an escort and pegged me for a dirty old man. That was humiliating but the taste of this cute boy's cum on my tongue and the thrill of having sucked him in a club cut the sting. When we emerged from the washroom the boy said "thanks, want my number?" I was not na?ve enough to think it had been so great he wanted to do it again. He thought he had found a repeat customer. How needy did I look? I wanted to say 'I have a 16 year old boy friend' but that would be both a lie and something that would make me seem even more desperate than he believed me to be. "Sure," I said, handing him my phone, even though I had no intention of calling him. As he entered his number into my phone under the one word name Freddie (which probably wasn't his real name) I leaned foreword and whispered "do you know where I can get drugs?" "The dealer was just in front of the washrooms," he said, handing my phone back to me. "He was the one wearing the hip hop baseball hat." I had noticed the boy, as he looked out of place, dressed kinda gansta in a place where boys were dressed in tight, flashy, shiny and revealing clothes. While I had come to like Peter in gangsta clothes, he was a kid in the suburbs, a drug dealer might actually be gangsta. Plus I still looked like a cop. "Can you vouch for me," I pleaded. He laughed. "Come on," he said. I followed him back towards the washrooms. "This guy wants to buy something. He just paid to blow me in the girls' washroom," he said, without a hint of embarrassment at what we had done or at his being commercial (though I turned bright red). The dealer didn't say anything, just beckoned and I followed him into the men's washroom. When a stall became free I followed him inside. Turning he said "what do you want?" "GHB," I said. He fished out a packet which he had down the front of his pants. He must keep them there so cops would likely be reluctant to feel his crotch in a raid. "$200," he said, handing me a small vial of liquid. That struck me as expensive. I guess my scepticism showed on my face because he said "the government has changed the schedule GHB is listed on, which raises the penalty, because of the problems that have been in the news about people misusing it, so fewer people are producing and dealing it because of the risk." I was getting a lesson in economics 101 from a drug dealer in the stall of a washroom at a gay club. I paid the money, took the small vial, and made my way out of the club, to my car and back to my home in the suburbs. When I got home I went to my office and googled GHB. In my day it had been known as a drug that caused people to get very horny. I wasn't aware of 'problems'. As I went through the articles I discovered that there had been overdoses on it. And there were increasing reports of date rape. I was planning on using it for a form of date rape, but as a sexual lubricant. It seemed that if you dose a person enough they will black out and college guys were doing that to women. If you take too much people could die. What had started as what I though was a simple, albeit immoral and illegal, plan to get Peter's dad a little hornier than he otherwise might be without a social lubricant so I could fuck him was now deemed a major crime that could kill him. I began to doubt my plan. So I poured myself a drink, to return to my earlier buzz and restore my confidence, and began to search sites for what are safe doses. It is amazing what one can find on the internet (though I had no idea if the information I was finding was accurate). Nevertheless, when I crawled into bed, quite drunk, I had recommitted to my plan and had noted the dose I would put in Peter's father's beer the next day. END OF CHAPTER FORTY