The Place--Chicago
The Time--1934
Cast of Characters---(in order of appearance)
Christopher (Babyface) Kirkpatrick
"Fat Lou" Perlman
Juju (Mad Dog) Timberlake
JC (Twinkletoes) Chasez
Joey (Muscles) Fatone
Lance Bass, Cub Reporter
...And a supporting cast of---- none. We're still back in Babyface's rented room.
* * * * * * *
"Funny little---CUTE little---whore. My whore," JC was breathing in Chris' ear. He closed his eyes, and tried to see if he could stop the trembling that racked his body. No. Apparently, it was beyond his control. JC was at his mouth again, barging in there, just like he tended to do in his bedroom. ... so overwhelming. Making him dizzy, and flushed. He felt confused when he realized the heat that had begun with JC, and had been transferred into his own mouth, now was traveling in a straight line down to his groin. "Hmmmm...."
"You gettin' into it, huh?" JC murmured. "That's good. Let's get these things off..."
As though he was watching from the outside, Chris looked on as JC swiftly, smoothly removed all his clothes, Chris neither helping nor obstructing. He sank back on the pillows with a sigh, and watched again, as JC removed his own. His dark eyes widened in appreciation, as he took in the beautifully formed arms and chest. So nice. So nice that this man wasn't ugly or repulsive. This man that was going to---
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Don't look at me like that. Like I'm gonna drown your cat."
Chris raised his eyebrows. "I didn't say nothin' "
After a moment, JC asked, unexpectedly, "Where are your people from?"
"WHAT?"
"It's your eyes. They're like, exotic, or something. Like, your people came from some islands far away."
Chris shrugged helplessly. "I have no idea. I don't know who my parents were. Maybe. We come from de islands, mon..." he laughed softly.
And then JC was twining up with him again, like a cat with a ball of yarn. When Chris heard him chuckling as he nuzzled him, he lazily asked him, "What? What's so funny?" This whole thing was becoming so dream- like, Chris was hardly even nervous, anymore.
"This is just what I dreamed of doing with you, from the first moment I saw you,' JC confided.
"Huh? What do ya...."
"You were cussing out Vincenzo, and he was screaming back at you, and he looked so scary and dangerous and mean, and you just stood there like one of those little yapping dogs, what are they called? Yorkies, I think---"
"And you've always wanted to make it with a Yorkie?"
"And you were just cussing a blue streak, and---I don't know, it's like I fell in love with you or something. Or something! I don't love you, of course."
"Well, me either. I don't love you either. No way."
"Well, good," JC stopped nuzzling, and looked directly into Chris' eyes.
"We don't love each other. Nobody loves nobody."
"Right."
"Good."
"Good! Double good."
"How about some sex?" JC asked abruptly.
"It's your dime."
"My million dimes, ya mean."
"Whatever," Chris said.
JC started looking around for the pants he's just shucked off. When he found them, he began rustling around in the front pockets. "Now where....oh, here we go." He pulled out a small package. "I want you to put it on me."
Chris sat up. He hands hardly shook. "Sure. Just uh--point it over here."
With his lips pressed together in concentration, Chris put a condom on another man for the very first time. He looked up at JC. "Well. Would you look at that." He lightly tapped the tip of JC's penis, with the flat of his hand.
"Just like a little raincoat. A--very snug fitting little raincoat."
JC now pulled out a small tube of something. At Chris' questioning look, JC shortly answered, "Lube."
"Loob?"
"Yeah, lube." Seeing Chris' lack of edification, JC went on, "You know. Lubricant." No lightbulbs switching on yet, JC clarifed, "To put on my dick. On the outside of the raincoat?"
"Uh-huh."
"To make everything easier. So it won't hurt you as much."
"OH!" Chris suddenly got it. "Oh. Well--put a lot on, okay?"
JC was slathering the lube on, and trying unsuccessfully to hold back laughter. He shook his head, and muttered, "SOME whore. Never even been---"
"Hey!" Chris said sharply. "I don't tell you how to be a mob boss. I don't tell you how to whack anybody, so don't be casting aspersions on MY profession, get me?"
"I get you," JC said calmly. "Now lay back and shut up."
And for a wonder, Chris did as he was told.
As he remembered it later, the whole thing seemed to be all about the feel of JC's smooth, strong body rubbing against his, and his hands always in the right place---how did he do that? Always rubbing or squeezing what ever needed it most, and in just the right way, and always a second before Chris knew he WANTED that, just like that... and it did hurt, when JC entered him, and JC had his hands over Chris' mouth, not to muffle his cries, but because Chris wouldn't stop saying funny things that were terribly distracting to JC. So his faint whimpers went unheard, but JC didn't need to hear him. He knew instinctively when to wait, when to go slow, and when to bring them both to a frenzied pace, that seemed likely to cause Chris to burst into flames, he couldn't stand it, he really couldn't stand it, for the love of humanity, plea--ea--ea--ease...!!!!
And he definitely remembered how it felt, when JC cuddled him afterward. Sorry. There was no macho, masculine euphemism for it. It was cuddling. And being stroked, and petted, and kissed. And it was about shyly kissing back, freely. Not because you were being paid, but because you wanted to. Yeah, Chris definitely remembered that.
But he must have fallen asleep at some point, because he had no memory of JC getting up and leaving. Just a cool place in the bed, where no amount of drowsy rubbing would conjure him back.
