Chapter 2 – Chapter 2

I had never been tied up. The prospect immediately made me nervous. It would make me an easy mark, secreted into room 1717. No one knew where I was.

"I don't know," I stalled. "It's not really my thing."

"It's kinda mine. I'll go easy. I won't do anything you don't want me to do."

I don't know why, but trust flooded through me. "Okay," I answered.

Jake reached into the same bag and pulled out a piece of corded rope.

"You travel with rope?"

"I do. I was in the Boy Scouts. I like to be prepared. Do you want to be on your back or your stomach?"

"Back, please. I want to be able to watch you do what you do."

"Cool. I want to watch you watching me."

I settled in the middle of the bed, my erection betraying my anxiety. I put my hands together over my head, and Jake tied them through the headboard. The knot was tight enough that it was secure but not so tight it hurt. My anxiety ebbed a bit. If he was going to roll me, I doubt he'd have cared if my wrists were bound too tight.

"You okay?" he asked.

"I'm a little nervous."

"Don't be. I'm a good guy. A really good guy. Like, super good. I'm not going to do anything you don't want. But . . . . can I ask another favor?"

"Sure."

"I like to be begged."

"I think I already begged you."

"Beg me some more. I want you to beg me to do exactly what you want me to do. I want you to beg me while I'm doing it. And, I want you to tell me exactly how I'm making you feel."

I had never before been verbal during sex. It had always been a silent affair, interrupted only by the occasional grunt, instruction, or moan. I was going to have to go outside my little box.

I begged him to hook his arms under my knees. When he had, I begged him to fuck me. When he stopped part way in so I could adjust to him, I begged him to fill me with all he had. When he had pushed in as far as he could and started giving me long, languid strokes, my body burned for him. I begged him to go deeper and faster and harder.

As he did, his chest, his face, and his hair became slick with sweat. He dripped sweat onto my chest and face.

I told him how good he felt. I wasn't lying. He was a great lay.

I told him how hot he looked. I wasn't lying. With his curly hair wet with sweat, he was a sight to behold.

I told him how much I loved what he was doing to me. I wasn't lying. It was great sex.

He lasted a long time. When I couldn't take any more, I begged him to come. He pulled out, ripped the condom off, scrambled over me, and jacked himself all over my chest and face. He growled as he came.

He stuck his dick in my mouth.

"Suck the cum out of it," he demanded.

I did as I was told. As I did, he reached around, grabbed my erection, and jacked me across the line I was already breaking. As I came, he put his thumb over my piss slit and squeezed my glans, both stifling and intensifying my orgasm. My dick tingled like a sleeping limb trying to wake up.

He pulled out of my mouth and rolled off of me. I was still tied up.

"Sorry," he said, rolling toward me and kissing my cheek. "I sweat a lot."

"That's okay," I answered. "I like sweat."

"Then you're going to love me," he answered. At that moment, I had no idea how prescient his declaration was.

After he untied me, we recovered on the bed facing each other. He smiled at me.

"Why are you smiling?" I asked.

"Because I trust you."

"You haven't known me long enough to trust me."

"I know. But I do. There's something about you. I can't quite put my finger on it. But, it's there. Maybe it's because you trusted me. I don't know. But there's something trustworthy about you."

"You're right," I answered, with an earnestness that belied the moment. "I'm actually very trustworthy."

"I hope so. Because I'm going to tell you something you can't tell anyone."

"Already?"

"Already . . . . So, here's the thing. My name isn't Jake. It's Calvin. Calvin Lowden. My friends call me Cal. I told you my name is Jake because I'm a major league baseball player. I have to keep my thing for guys hush hush. I never tell tricks who I really am."

I had stopped following baseball long ago, when my dream of following Ozzie Smith died. I didn't recognize him or his name.

I also didn't like his reference to me as a trick. But, I knew that's exactly what I was. I took slight comfort in knowing he was the exact same thing.

"What team?" I asked. "The Cubs?"

"No. The Royals. We're in town to play the White Sox."

"What position?"

"Pitcher."

I burst out laughing at his answer.

"Why are laughing?" He asked.

"After what you just did to my ass," I choked out, "it's hilarious that you're a pitcher."

"Oh, God," he answered, laughing along with me. "I didn't even think of that. I guess that makes you a catcher."

Neither of us could stop laughing. Jake's – Calvin's – eyes danced when he laughed, and the divots of his cheeks and chin formed a perfect triangle around his smile. I moved my hand to his cheek and pulled him into a giggling kiss. Like I said, I had an addictive personality. I was already heading toward being addicted to him.

"You can't tell anyone," he said.

"That you're a pitcher?"

"No, Asshole. That I like the D."

"Never," I promised. He answered my promise with a soft kiss on the lips.

"How often do you do this?" I asked.

"Only on the road."

"Every road trip?"

"No. I have to be in a safe place."

"What's safe and what isn't?"

"Chicago's safe. Cleveland isn't. Minneapolis is safe. Detroit isn't."

"What makes a city safe or not?"

"I'm not sure. It has to have a feel about it."

"You seemed well-prepared."

"Like I said, I was a Boy Scout growing up. We're prepared for everything."

"What would you have done if I hadn't been stood up?"

"Technically, you weren't. When you stand someone up, you can't claim to have been stood up."

"Po-tay-to po-tah-to," I answered, although I never understood the reference. No one ever said po-tah-to. It was only po-tay-to. Po-tah-to was quite clearly not a word.

"I'd have probably gone to bed alone. I haven't been with a guy in awhile, and I wasn't thinking about sex tonight. I just didn't feel like I should look a gift horse in the mouth."

"If you had been looking, would you have gone out to the bars?"

"No. I can't do that. I'd have called a service."

"Like a hooker?"

"An escort. They're very discreet."

We lay like that for awhile, just looking at each other. He was enigmatic to me. Romantic and sweet and then brutally dominant. Also, his explanation hadn't made sense. Why did the city matter if he was limiting himself to escorts. Or, did he not always?

"So, a pitcher," I said, taking his hand and sucking on one of his fingers. "Is that why your nails are so perfect?" I asked, sucking on another one.

"It is," he answered, his face flushed. "In my line of work, a blister or an ingrown nail is a a threat."

"I should get going," I finally offered, after I allowed the second finger to slip from my mouth.

"I disagree. I think you should spend the night, here with me."

"Really?" I asked, surprised. I thought he would be a one and done, even with the "trust" confession. A guy accustomed to escorts seemed unlikely to seek a sleepover.

"Really," he answered, using his right hand to tuck my hair behind my left ear. "I'd like you to be here when I wake up."

I couldn't answer him. The moment was too sweet for any more words.

We fell asleep, dirty and naked and wrapped around each other. It had been a long time since I had slept with anyone. I had forgotten how comforting and intimate it could be.

In the middle of the night, I woke up cold. I rutted around, found a blanket in the closet, wrapped it around me, and settled back into the bed.

"Hey, I want some," he said, pulling the blanket open and sliding in next to me. His skin was warm, much warmer than mine.

"I do, too," I answered, rolling into him and pressing my mouth to his. We kissed and kissed, neither of us knowing what time it was.

When we broke, I whispered "I like kissing."

He answered, "I do, too."

I took him in my hand as we kissed. He reciprocated. We jerked each other, our mouths never leaving each other's. I came first. He sucked my tongue as I did.

When I felt him start to come, I sucked his tongue hard into my mouth. He purred as he coated my stomach.

We fell asleep kissing, neither of us caring that the other's cum would dry on us.

The next morning, I awoke first. Cal was on his right side, his left leg out in front of him. I moved behind him, reached my left arm around him, and pulled the bulk of him back against me as best I could. I tickled his chest hair and nipples.

"This is a nice way to wake up," he said, groggily.

"It is," I confirmed, kissing the back of his head as I did.

"You know what would make it nicer?" he asked.

"If I fucked you?" I answered.

"I fuck," he answered, adamantly. "I don't get fucked."

"That's only because you haven't been fucked by me."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes," I answered, pressing my erection to his backside. "Besides, it's only fair."

"I'm not into fair. I tried it once. It didn't work."

"Trust me," I said, using his words against him.

He didn't answer. I took his silence as assent.

A condom wrapper was torn, and a condom was rolled on. Lube was applied, likely too much. Legs were spread. Breath was held. Coaxing and coaching was given. Walls relaxed. A neck was bitten. A prostate and then a rhythm was found.

"Oh God, Jake," I swore. "I'm really close."

"Me, too," he panted back. "But I'm Cal, not Jake."

I laughed as I started to come. The release of my laughter tore through me, as I came as hard and as deeply as I could.

I reached around and grabbed him. In no time, he came all over the blanket I had found in the night.

"How was that?" I asked.

"I didn't love it."

"You came like you did," I answered, pressing my mouth to his and forcing my tongue between his lips. He was much stronger than I. He rolled me onto my back and covered my body with his. We kissed the taste of the morning away.