The Bellhop and the Movie Star
By Stephen Scott
Note: If you enjoyed this story, please contact me at Joe_Gillis_2000@yahoo.com
And a no-prize if you recognize the name.
Slim, brunet and farm-pretty, the young bellboy was miles away. He realized with a start that the manager had said his name more than once.
It was this damn uniform, he thought. Snug, form-fitting, so tight he didn't dare gain an ounce of weight or a millimeter of flesh or he'd rip the seams. Or rather, it was the uniforms, just like his, that the other bellhops wore at the Ritz Carlton hotel.
Like Bobby's own, the outfits accentuated every curve and line and bulge, and Bobby found it hard not to stare at the cute round bottoms of his fellow employees as they sauntered past.
Just then, it had been the pleasing, inviting, altogether perfect twin pillows of his young pal Jimmy that had wrested his attention from his duties. Looking at Jimmy's butt always had this effect--especially since Jimmy was so keen to share it with Bobby late at night in their one-room dorm on the 14th floor of the hotel, when after lights out they pushed their single beds together quietly and luxuriated in each other's tight young bodies until late in the early morning hours.
They weren't in love, not by a long stretch, but they had one helluva good time.
Bobby had caught Jimmy's eyes when they passed each other, and Jimmy had licked his lips subtly and--knowing that Bobby would turn and watch him as he walked away--had given his brisk saunter a hint of extra sexiness.
And Bobby certainly had been watching Jimmy's cute, shapely bottom swing up and down, mesmerized by the lift of those plump round half-melons as they retreated down the corridor. His loins had been suffused with a damp heat, and his eager imagination swam with erotic daydreams.
And now the manager was staring at him as though he could read his thoughts.
Ripping his eyes from the bounty of his friend's delicious backside, Bobby forced his mind back to his job.
Blushing, the boy snapped to attention. He stepped briskly to the front desk and saluted.
The manager nodded smartly to the man before the desk.
"Take Mr. Porter's bag to his room. 713."
Bobby looked briefly at the hotel's new guest, and his heart thudded to attention. The man was young--25 or so, and drop-dead gorgeous. Of course. Bobby had seen all of Dirk Porter's movies a dozen times each, mentally salivating each time the camera caressed the Hollywood Adonis's body. The first one had been six years ago, when they were still silent and Bobby was just a kid; whenever he saw a Porter movie he had felt an odd stirring in his loins. Later, as a sexually curious adolescent, whenever he got home from a Dirk Porter talkie he had to beat off twice before he could get to sleep.
How many other nights in the years since had he left the movies in a daze of erotic heat, his only relief the play of his right hand on his anguished penis? And now the god himself, this beautiful sculpted cinema deity, his first big crush, the body and the face he'd loved for so long, was standing beside him, smiling--smiling! at him!--and he felt his legs go wobbly.
Quickly, he turned to the manager and saluted once more.
"Yes, sir," Bobby said, hoping his voice sounded much more butch to Mr. Porter than it did to him.
"We sincerely hope your stay here--"
(All those movie actors are queer. That's what he heard.)
"--will be a pleasant one, Mr. Porter--"
"--and if there's anything you need--anything at all--any time of the day or night--please let me know personally--"
(The letch--leering and drooling at this young god!--stressing the word "personally" like a dried-up old satyr--as though Dirk Porter wanted anything to do with the likes of a clammy old auntie like him!)
(Oh, hell--how long had he been staring at the movie idol? Too long, he guessed--better answer like he'd been listening all the time instead of trying not to notice the dampness growing between his thighs)
(Hope that was the right answer...)
With that, Bobby lifted the movie star's luggage and sauntered off in front of him, left right left right, why am I aware of every step I take? and why am I so conscious of how tight this uniform tugs my butt? and is he looking at it now, right now like I hope he is? noticing the way it lifts and falls, sways, tilts and slopes, right in front of him, all for him, take me, take me, I'm yours, and why the hell can't I get my cock to behave?
And does Dirk Porter like boys?
In the elevator, he held the suitcase deftly in front of his bulging crotch, hiding his now very noticeable erection. But had Dirk Porter noticed? Bobby had the feeling he had. When the doors swung open on seven, he walked briskly ahead of his matinee god and swiftly opened the door to 713.
As he put down the bag, he knew the bulge in his pants was going to be too obvious too miss, and he sauntered over to the suite's wet-bar, demonstrating the luxuries therein and vainly trying to will his uncooperative sex organ into submission. Lifting a seltzer bottle, he fumbled his grip and the damn thing spritzed his front with bubbly liquid.
When Bobby looked down, he was mortified. His lap was as wet as it might be if he'd pissed himself--or come in his pants. Dirk Porter laughed easily and came behind the bar to see what the damage was. The cold seltzer had successfully withered his randy penis, but Bobby was stunned by the movie god's next move. He knelt before the startled bellboy and placed his hands on the tight, wet material. Then he blew on it, looking up after a bit and grinning.
"I could use a towel," he murmured huskily. "But this is nicer. Isn't it?"
Bobby nodded, dazed by the feel of the movie's star's warm breath across his loins.
"Do I shock you?"
"N--no, Sir! I just--"
The movie star chuckled, and it wasn't a seedy, predatory sound. It was more like a light brook flowing over stones.
"You look too young to be working full-time. How old are you?"
Bobby wasn't sure what to say next. That the desk manager was a flinty old queer who liked having young boys in tight uniforms gracing his lobby, the younger looking the better?
As it turned out, the boy's throat was too dry from the erotic attention the movie star was giving to his wet pants to answer anyway.
"You 18, kid?"
"Uhh--yessir. Last June."
"And you, uh ... you're not a stranger to...?"
"Huh? Oh, no, sir! Me and my friend Jimmy, he's a bellboy too--we room together and--uh--do--uh--other things together."
The boy was sweating so profusely he didn't know what was damper: his seltzer-dripping crotch or the pits of his underarms.
"Boys grow up so fast these days!"
Then he turned his attention back to the wet spot on the boy's tight uniform, blowing on it gently: across, up and down, sideways.
Bobby's cock had become tumescent again.
"Um. Mr. Porter, I--"
"Um. Okay, uh--Dirk." (Christ, did he sound as stupid to the kneeling movie idol as he did to himself?) "I--um--I ought to get back downstairs. I'll--um--be missed ..."
Dirk Porter smiled sweetly, placed a warm palm against Bobby's damp crotch, and rose, slowly.
"I--uh--I get off at--um--six o'clock ..."
(God, what am I doing??)
Porter moved close, brushed his lips gently against the bellboy's, and smiled.
"I'll have them send up a late supper, then. And some champagne. And--oh. Could you pick up a couple things for me at a drug store?"
Bobby nodded, wondering if his hands could be any clammier.
Porter wrote the list down quickly on a hotel pad, tore off the sheet, took out a wad of cash and playfully lifted Bobby's cap. He lay the money and the paper down on the boy's Brilliantined scalp, lowered the cap, slapped the lad softly on one butt-cheek, and drifted into his spacious bath.
He turned and spoke softly.
"And wear your uniform."
He shut the door.
Bobby couldn't breathe.
His heart thudded in his chest, but no breath came. Finally, he opened his mouth and took in a lungful of air, exhaled in a shudder and moved silently from the room and into the hallway.
Once he was alone in the elevator he took the paper from beneath his cap and read:
1. Two packs of Camels
2. A half-dozen white votive candles
3. Two yards of clothesline
Bobby nearly fainted on the elevator floor.
The hours crawled by.
Bobby had decided not to say anything to Jimmy about this. He didn't want the boy trying to beat his time. (Although the brief thought of a threesome with Jimmy and the god-like Dirk Porter made his heart skip.) He just told him he had a hot date and would be back late. It wasn't like Jimmy would be jealous of anyone else--they weren't boyfriends, and anyway Jimmy had his own adventures. But he might be a bit miffed at the idea of Dirk Porter plowing someone other than himself.
Bobby's body ached from the intense effort of staying calm and trying to keep his libido in check. Otherwise, he'd be walking around with a hard-on all day and probably end up with a nasty case of blue-balls ... and then, so long, Dirk Porter.
Six o'clock, six o'clock, when is it gonna be six o'cl--
And then, suddenly, amazingly, it was.
Bobby threw a coat over his uniform, buttoned up, and sauntered across the lobby, trying to keep cool as he stepped through the revolving doors and out onto the street, headed for the drug store around the corner. He felt a little self-conscious about the list and decided to split up the purchases. He'd pick up the baby oil at the druggist's, then cross down a couple of streets to the newsstand for the cigarettes, then into the 5 and Dime for the candles.
It took him all of 10 minutes.
He took the stairs so as to avoid attention. In another 5 minutes we was standing at the door of 713.
He started to knock, then blushed. For cryin' out loud, I've got a pass-key.
He waited until he felt he could breathe normally, then took a fast look around the empty hallway, and opened the door, slipping it shut quickly and silently behind him.
For a moment, he was uncertain. Where was the supper table? The champagne? Was he going to have to hide in the john when it arrived?
The bedroom door opened.
Dirk Porter stood in the dim light, smiling.
"Hi, kid" he said softly.
"Hi," Bobby whispered, his voice husky with fear and desire.
Porter moved into the living room and sat on the sofa.
"C'mon in, Bobby. Make yourself comfortable. Oh--wait: hang this on the door, will you?"
He smiled and handed the boy the "Do Not Disturb" sign.
Bobby opened the door, peeked out, saw no one, and hung the sign over the doorknob. When he came back, Porter was dialing the lobby.
"This is Mr. Porter in 713. Yes, thank you, very comfortable. All the amenities." He winked at the bellboy. "But I'm pretty tired from the trip in from the coast. I'm going to sleep for a while. Can you hold my calls, please? Yes. Thank you."
He hung up, smiled again, and said, "We're going to be very much alone. You have what I asked you for?"
Bobby nodded, handing over his packages. Porter smiled and patted the cushion of the couch, an invitation.
As Bobby commanded the blocks of cement that had sprung up where his feet used to be to move forward, Porter rose and moved to the bar.
"I feel like a sip of something. You?"
Settling into the deep cushion, Bobby nodded.
"Champagne later. After supper. Wine do for now?"
"Yes, si--uh, Dirk."
"You like white?"
"Yes, that'll be fine."
The truth was Bobby had never had a glass of wine in his life. Beer was his drink. Cheap and satisfactory.
This man was going to get him drunk and take advantage of his youth and low tolerance for alcohol.
He could hardly wait.
They drank silently, gazing at each other sheepishly. Bobby gulped down his wine and Porter refilled the glass. Again. And again. The boy was so nervous he didn't know how many times he drained the glass, and moreover, didn't give a damn.
It didn't take long for him to begin feeling relaxed. Very relaxed.
The bellboy figured Porter already knew he didn't need to ply the kid with drink to get him into bed, but if the actor wanted a seduction scene, Bobby was happy to oblige. Besides, he kind of liked being courted this way. Normally he just went to one of the Village queer spots, made eye contact, and followed a guy home. It was nice being the object of someone's seductive wiles, even if it wasn't necessary; Bobby would have stripped and thrust his bottom into the air for the guy without a second thought.
Porter refilled the boy's glass and opened a pack of the Camels the bellboy had delivered. He took out a cigarette, lit it, and softly pressed it between the boy's flaccid lips. Then he lit his own and moved back to the chair, blowing the smoke lazily and smiling at Bobby with his eyes.
They drank, smoked, drank some more. Little was said. Little needed to be.
After a time, Porter stood up and knelt on the floor before the astonished bellboy.
"Get comfortable, kiddo," he smiled. He undid the laces of the bellboy's shoes and slipped them off. He gently massaged Bobby's arches.
"I'll bet when you get through a day's work your muscles are good and tense," Porter offered.
Bobby, his eyes closed, his face warm with wine, his head sunk deep into back of the plush sofa, nodded.
The movie god moved to sit next to him.
Bobby opened his eyes, smiled goofily at the handsome actor suddenly so close, blushed, and took a quick slug of wine.
Porter's hands went to the boy's shoulders and began to massage them gently. The boy moaned softly, moving his head from side to side, feeling one sort of tension ease away beneath the practiced fingers while a different sort of pressure began to seep into his loins.
Porter slipped his body behind the boy's, so that Bobby was practically sitting on the movie star's lap.
"Feel nice, kid?"
"Mmmmmmmmm ..." Bobby murmured.
"It would feel even better if you let me take off your jacket."
Bobby leaned back limply against Porter's chest, arms spread. Deft fingers slowly undid the buttons of the right jacket, then removed it from his shoulders and off his arms.
Porter's strong hands re-commenced squeezing and massaging the boy's taut shoulders. The boy felt the unmistakable press of an erect cock against his lower back and smiled drunkenly.
"Better get that shirt off, too, kid. My fingers are breakin' here."
Once more the movie star's fingers worked at buttons, a little more urgently this time, and it wasn't long before Bobby's white shirt joined his jacket on the carpet.
Porter's hands returned to their labor, and Bobby's skin tingled at the feel of the strong, surprisingly (to him anyway--weren't actors supposed to feel softer?) callused hands. Ooooooo yeah, his movie-man knew what he was doing ...
It wasn't long before Porter's fingers began to roam.
The warm tips of his fingers floated lightly over Bobby's chest, hardening the nipples as they brushed against them.
The bellboy moaned, this time most definitely not in relaxation.
The hands slid gradually down the slender belly, the tips of the fingers slipping just beneath the skin-tight trousers. No pretense of innocent massage now; Porter undid the snaps of the boy's pants and spread them apart, his palms pressing softly but firmly against the bellboy's erection, which tented his boxers.
He whispered into the boy's ear, his voice thick with sex.
"Take them off."
Trembling despite the wine, Bobby shoved his underpants and trousers down to his ankles, kicking them off onto the floor before lying back against the actor's chest.
The boy was naked now, and deeply aroused. His cock thumped against his belly, his breathing was raspy, and his chest heaved with excitement.
Porter's hands roamed the young body with tender interest.
Bobby was putty in his hands.
A strong masculine palm closed on his cock and rose up and down the shaft as the boy squirmed, moaning.
"Lovely cock," the actor purred in the boy's ear.
Bobby wanted to thank him but the touch on his shaft affected him too intensely for voice. The hardness against his spine had grown more acute, and he writhed against it, rubbing up and down the covered tumescence at the actor's groin.
Abruptly, Porter left off masturbating the boy and slipped his hands beneath Bobby's armpits. He lifted him up, stood, heaved the swooning bellboy over his shoulder like a sack of flour, picked up the packages from the bar, and strode into the bedroom. He deposited the youth on the big, soft bed and rifled through the bags. He withdrew the candles, placed the votives around the room and lit them, brightening the darkness with magical points of fire.
He began to undress.
Bobby lay staring glassily at the movie idol as he bared his famous flesh. He wanted to undress Porter himself but was too limp with desire and vintage wine to move. The actor smiled at him as he slipped out of undershirt, baring the even white teeth Bobby had seen blown up on so many movie-house screens and the boy grinned back, sloppily, knowing how glazed he probably looked but not caring. His cock retained its rigidity as he gazed at the sacred flesh being slowly revealed to his star-struck eyes.
Porter kicked off his trousers, his hard-on straining at the fly of his boxers. He was clad only in his underwear now and, without going further, tossed the remaining package on the bed, and lay atop the luscious young bellboy. His large, expressive lips descended on Bobby's and they held each other, kissing deeply, their steel-like cocks pressed together, aching with desire.
Porter broke the kiss, and smiled.
"Hello," he murmured.
"Hi," Bobby sighed.
Porter kissed the boy's lips quickly, then bounced up, straddling the prone form and holding down his arms.
Bobby looked up into the actor's eyes, startled. Porter grinned and, reaching with one arm for the package next to him, withdrew the rope the bellboy had brought him. Bobby's look of astonishment changed to one of slow understanding. He smiled shyly, and relaxed.
The actor quickly bound the boy's hands to the bedpost. Although Bobby had never been involved in anything quite so... unusual... before, his instincts were suddenly aroused and he began to moan and struggle at the ropes as though truly a prisoner of the gorgeous man above him.
For the next hour, Dirk Porter tortured the bellboy with exquisite accuracy.
First he maneuvered himself so that the bellboy's hips lay over his lap, his cock nestled between the actor's thighs and his round bottom raised up slightly. He rubbed and caressed the hairless buttocks for a long time, cupping and stroking the cheeks. Suddenly he raised a hand and brought it down, hard, across the boy's right cheek.
Bobby yelped as pain exploded in his ass. But Porter gave him no time to acclimate to this new experience. He immediately followed the first blow with a second, aimed at the youth's left cheek. The crack! of palm against flesh rang in the silent room, and Bobby moaned in pain and appreciation.
He'd had his butt spanked before--his farmer father was a firm believer in trips to the woodshed--but never in the context of the erotic act. The new sensation was delicious. The pain was sharp but rather pleasant, and the feel of Porter's hard body against his own nakedness gave the boy a quivering thrill of pure sexual response. He found his cock growing even harder.
Playing his part in the actor's little drama, however, the bellboy squealed and begged for mercy. He squirmed and kicked his legs, cried out, made promises he had no intention of keeping. He discovered that the more he struggled, the harder the slaps landed on his ass. And the more powerful the blows, the more he squirmed. And the more he squirmed, the more contact he made with the actor's lower extremities.
Porter was in his element.
First he blew gently on the boy's groin, the warmth of his breath stimulating Bobby's genitals and causing the bellboy to moan in exquisite frustration. Next he expertly manipulated Bobby's erection by hand, first sliding his grip slowly up and down the shaft for some time, then speeding up the motion. He alternated between the two, bringing the boy as close to release as he dared before releasing the stiffened shaft, causing Bobby to whimper in deep frustration.
Porter did this several times before moving onto an even more evil procedure: fellating the young cock until Bobby's pre-cum began to flow dangerously thick, then withdrawing the angry, throbbing dick from his lips as the boy groaned and thrashed about in an agony of thwarted desire.
After a time, Porter unbound the bellboy, turned him onto his belly and re-fastened the ropes while the youth kept up his pretense of struggle and terror. The actor gazed with admiration at the rounded young bottom before lying down between his legs and licking Bobby's ass. He nibbled the round, boyish cheeks, kissed them, and suckled the boy's sweet half-melons. He ran his tongue from Bobby's spine downward, flicking his tongue along the cleft between them. He kissed the perineum, licked at the nearly hairless balls, and took them into his mouth, rolling them over his tongue as the boy writhed and moaned softly.
Porter placed a hand on each cheek and pried them apart slowly, relishing his first glimpse of the bellboy's winking, hairless asshole. He pressed his tongue against the boy's perineum and worked his way up toward the exquisite center.
The actor loved rimming young buttholes. The act made him rock-hard. He relished the way the flesh altered on his tongue as he licked and kissed closer and closer to the puckered muscle--the way already soft ass-flesh yielded to a satiny-smooth ribbon as his tongue moved onto the muscle itself.
The incredible eroticism of the movie god's attentions to his anus drove Bobby into a keening frenzy. He was glad the walls of the hotel's best suites were so heavily soundproofed, because his vocalizations were becoming more and more difficult to keep quiet. He ground his hips, pushing his ass back at the actor's face and causing his leaking young dick to slide against the satin sheets, causing a friction so ecstatic he thought he'd blow his load.
Porter flicked his tongue in and out of the warm, wet enclosure, now delving deep, now licking and kissing the external pucker as Bobby's pleasurable distress grew even as the actor's own cock became as rigid as steel. There were few things he loved more than rimming a hot young butt, and as always, the activity excited him to a desire so profound it was all he could do to refrain from ravishing the boy right then.
Instead he removed his tongue and replaced it with his right index finger, easily slipping it past the saliva-lubricated muscle and straight up the relaxed and willing young rectum. He found the almond-like prostate and rubbed it gently, causing Bobby to all but levitate off the bed.
Porter twisted his finger around just inside the anal sphincter, relaxing and stimulating the bellboy at the same time, before adding a second finger, fucking the boy digitally until Bobby was begging for his cock.
The actor released the bellboy from his bonds, rubbing the thin young wrists gently and kissing Bobby's lips as the boy wrapped his thighs around Porter's waist, his buttocks spreading around the movie god's rigid and cum-dribbling cock and holding it in place against his clutching asshole.
When Porter broke the kiss Bobby whispered, "Fuck me!" his voice raspy with sex.
The actor smiled, spat onto his fingers and lubed his aching cock. He aimed himself and pressed against the boy's waiting anus, the tip of his cock-head instantly enclosed by the boy's dick-hungry hole. Porter moved his hips, gradually slipping inside, the feeling of the boy's sphincter sliding past his glans causing him intense pleasure.
He leaned forward, his lips enclosing around the bellboy's as his shaft reached its limit inside Bobby's butthole, his balls slapping softly against the boy's shapely young asscheeks.
"Fuck me, please!" Bobby implored, his eyes closed in ecstasy.
Porter was both ruthless and intensely focused on the bellboy's pleasure. While taking his pleasure with vigorous physicality, he concentrated on driving the boy wild with his combination of rapid thrusts and more languid fuck-motions. He engaged frequently in his favorite ploy: pulling almost out of the youth's ass, his cockhead embraced by the bellboy's anus, then ramming back upward furiously, thrilling to the gently bump of Bobby's sphincter muscle as he pushed past it.
Occasionally his cock disengaged entirely and he immediately thrust back inside, knowing the rapid exchange of sudden emptiness and expanding fullness would cause the boy agonizing pleasure.
The in-and-out, brutal fuck continued for some time, to the accompaniment of groans, cries, smacking cracks of palm against buttock, and the soft slurp of wet cock and ass, until Bobby reached the point of no return. His cock exploded, sending wave after wave of hot, spurting semen flying, coating the actor's chest and belly.
The rapid spasms of the bellboy's asshole pushed Porter over the top and, bellowing softly and plunging his cock as far up the lad's bottom as he could reach, he came, soaking the boy's rectal walls with a full load of movie-star spunk, and, his strength as spent as his balls, fell heavily atop the gasping boy.
Actor and bellhop held each other lightly, bathed in sweat, their bodies heaving as they slowly began to breathe regularly again.
They kissed languidly, the actor's tool still embedded in the bellboy's satiny hole.
Porter traced a line down the boy's cheek with his finger, smiling with both his eyes and lips.
"You're beautiful," he whispered.
"Thank you," he whispered back, astonished that his favorite movie star found him handsome.
"I wish I could take you back to California with me. God, we'd have a time."
Bobby shrugged slightly, knowing it was impossible, even if the actor was sincere, which he doubted.
"Next time you're in New York, I'll be waiting."
The actor was astonished to feel a genuine pang of regret and strange emotion. The line had been just--a line. But the bellhop's lack of protest stabbed him gently in the heart.
Porter's cock slipped out of the boy's warm hole and he ran through this most recent memory of erotic pleasure in his mind. Was there something more here than his usual sexual contentment? He couldn't be certain, but the youth in his arms was so sweetly desirable the brief, shimmering image of finding him waiting every day of his life was intoxicating. He surprised himself by protesting.
"I'm serious, Bobby. We don't find the ideal lover often in life. You may be mine. I don't know. I'm confused. I have honestly never felt such an affection for a guy before."
Bobby kissed the actor's hand and held it in his.
"Maybe. Who knows? Go home and think about it. If you feel the same in a few days, I'll still be here. But," he smiled ruefully, "what am I going to be?"
The actor was puzzled.
"What do you mean?"
"Your butler? Your houseboy? Your assistant? I've got to be something, and it's got to be something above suspicion. You're too well known to live with a guy like me. People will talk."
Porter rolled over onto his back and sighed.
"I know. It's a problem."
Bobby stirred, rising from the bed.
"Yeah. It's a problem."
He reached for the unbound ropes.
"Can I keep these? Souvenir."
Porter nodded, distracted by his own emotions."
The bellboy leaned down and kissed the actor softly on the lips.
"I better go. We have to get up early in this place."
"Wait just a second, okay? Stand over there by the table."
"The light's better over there."
Bobby raised a quizzical eyebrow.
"I want to take a memory of you with me."
The boy smiled, shrugged, and padded to the spot the actor had pointed to. He stood, naked, smiling.
"Perfect. God, you're a picture. If I was an artist I'd paint you like a Caravaggio nude."
He stared at the boy, memorizing each curve and shimmering ripple of the young body.
The boy slowly turned, displaying his glistening backside. Porter stared up and down, etching the lines of the boy's spinal curve and the incredibly beautiful young ass, displayed like David, one cheek lifted slightly by the bellboy's pose. It was an intoxicating picture.
"Thank you," Porter said softly.
"Thank you, Porter."
Then he was gone.
Porter lay on the bed, dimly aware of the sounds in the next room as the boy re-dressed and softly closed the door of the suite.
Several floors above him, the bellboy, freshly washed, climbed into his cot, careful not to disturb his sleeping roommate. But as the springs creaked, Jimmy stirred and raised himself on one elbow.
"You're back late," he said, glancing at the clock by his bed.
"Yeah," Bobby replied.
"Must have been special."
"Tell me about it?"
"Someday. Maybe. Not now."
Jimmy whistled in admiration.
"Sure must have been something." Getting no response, he rolled back over. "Well, goodnight."
Bobby lay awake for a long time, replaying the night's activities. What did he feel? Anything? Great fuck, no doubt about that. But in his short life the boy had already seen the danger of emotional attachment. Few men could afford it, not with another guy.
He rolled over on his belly, his butt still tingling from the cock so recently embedded there.
Oh, well. Nice while it lasted.
He wondered how soon it would be before Dirk Porter forgot him.
Floors below the sleeping bellhops, a movie star tossed and turned on satin sheets.
"God damn it," he whispered. "God damn it to hell."
He took a sleeping pill, rolled over, and slept a deep, troubled sleep.