Ding-Dong Blind Date

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“I don’t think this is a very good idea, and he isn’t showing anyway.”

Chelsea gay café bartender Dwight Duncan and one of his regular stool warmers, Cameron James, were standing at the rail of New York City’s Rockefeller Center skating rink at 8:12 pm on December 23rd, freezing their tails off and waiting for the other half of the blind date Duncan had set up for Cameron. It wasn’t for himself; it was for two of the regulars in his café and bar who had lamented not having anyone to enjoy Christmas activities with together. Duncan was trying to put them together.

“I think Justin’s habitually late, although not all the time, so let’s give him a few more minutes. You’re not going to find anyone else to hang out with this close to Christmas.”

“I’m not really into the blind date thing,” Cameron said. “Just because you’ve been harping on about me needing a guy in my life.”

“Well, you’re a real catch, Cameron. If I thought we were compatible, I’d be going for you myself. You’re one handsome and fit hunk. I’ve seen common interests in the two of you—plus that neither one of you has anyone else in his life at the moment.”

“And this Justin guy is—?”

“Oh, yes, he’s hot for hunky tops. And he’s quite a little cutie. He’s Vietnamese, but second generation.”

“He doesn’t sound like my type at all.”

“You’re prejudice against Asians?”

“No, not that. You make him sound sex crazy. I’m just not into casual sex.”

“I’ve heard you moan on your bar stool. I think you need more rather than less sex.”

Cameron ignored that and said, “When you said it would be someone to pal around with over Christmas and New Year’s I was hearing more catching a few seasonal shows and a good restaurant meal or two—more compatible as guys to pal around with than casual sex.”

“Sorry, I don’t understand any guy who isn’t interested in sex, casual or otherwise. The two of you should meld. You’re both into music. You both told me you were depressed that all of your friends had left town for holidays. You’re a top, he’s a swinging bottom. What could possibly go wrong with just a few dates over the Christmas holidays?”

“There’s music and there’s music. You say he’s an acrobatic dancer and chorus singer in Broadway musicals. I’m a piano player. Those are different forms of music.”

“I thought the acrobatic angle would give you ideas,” Dwight said, with a grin. “But it doesn’t matter. I see him coming. The important thing in getting something going in the next couple of days is that he’s easy. When I showed him your photo, his comment was that the photo alone could make him come.”

“You have photos of me?”

“Relax. You were dressed in them, although Justin did ask if I had any in which you weren’t dressed. They were just laid-back photos of those having a good time in the bar. He said you looked really studly.”

“Oh, Christ,” Cameron said with a huff that sent a cloud of hot breath into the cold air. But he went no further, because Justin Tran had stopped a few feet from them, whistled and grinned, and exclaimed. “Well, well, well, aren’t you a blond god?” He most certainly wasn’t referring to Dwight who was dark.

Justin was all of the cute that Dwight had said he was. He was small, but perfectly formed, handsome as the devil, with a mesmerizing smile, and he moved like the stage dancer he was. He was openly exhibiting approval approaching arousal at what he saw of Cameron, and the older man, although not that much older and justifying the title of god Justin had given him in looks and body build, couldn’t help returning the smile and interested look.

“Happy to meet you,” he said, taking the hand Justin had held out. “I hope that Bill’s Bar and Burgers right here in Rockefeller Center is OK for dinner. If not—”

“That’s just fine for starters,” Justin said.

“Well, then maybe we should go on over there. It’s cold as ice out here.”

“I’m all for getting the hot on,” Justin said.

They turned to tell Dwight good-bye, but he was already gone.

* * * *

They took time getting to know each other as they sat and chomped on burgers at the nearby bar and grill. After deciding that he might as well give this a go since Justin already was here, Cameron tried hard to set up a “go slow” pleasant holiday season kicking together occasionally scenario, while it became evident that Justin, who obviously was fully aroused by the older man, was looking for scenarios that ended up in bed. It also was evident that Justin was finding Cameron, from superficial observation, an acceptable bed partner, while Cameron, while not being put off by appearances, was looking for something deeper in Justin.

“My family’s been in New York for generations and I fell into my job naturally,” Cameron said. “I went to Julliard, trained in classical music, but now I accompany rehearsals at the American Musical and Dramatic Academy Manhattan branch and Marymount Manhattan College regularly and for various choirs when they need extra rehearsal accompanists or a substitute. My istanbul travesti parents both play in the New York Philharmonic, so that’s always been a part of my life. I played football in college, but that gave way to music.”

“Yeah, you still have the solid physique of a running back. But, wow, the AMDA. I would have given an arm and a leg to have gotten into that,” Justin said. “I did apply out in LA to its branch there—I’m from the West Coast—but I didn’t get in. I’m surprised you’re available for dates at Christmas time with all that choir work.”

“It’s mostly rehearsal work I accompany,” Cameron said. “Everyone is in performance mode now, with their performance accompanists.”

“Great. You’re pretty much free for nights then. Dwight tells me you have your own apartment. I room with three other guys. It makes overnighting difficult.”

Overnighting. This guy seemed to be running on one track, Cameron was thinking. But he was really cute.

“Yes, I have an apartment over on 55th and the Avenue of the Americas—it was my grandparents’ place. If it wasn’t own free and clear, I don’t think I could stay in New York—although I have some extra income coming in too.”

“From an escort service?” Justin said, and then he laughed. “Just kidding. With your looks you could clean up with an escort service. Dwight tells me you’re a top.”

“I’m one of those trust kids from earlier New York fortunes.” It was time to change the topic. “How did you get to New York from the West Coast? And Dwight tells me you work in Broadway musicals—as a dancer and in the choruses.”

“Yes, I came to Broadway the roundabout way,” Justin said. “Gymnastics at UCLA. I was good enough at that to be picked up and trained by a Cirque du Soleil troupe in Las Vegas. The Broadway musicals go for acrobatics from the choruses now and I found I could sing too, so here I am. I think you’ll find me really flexible. Men like that.”

“You hardly seem old enough to have done all that.”

“I know, I look too young,” Justin said, with a laugh. “Men like that—and size. Big guys like you like to have someone small to manhandle. But, don’t worry, I’m legal. I’m twenty-two. I worked for Cirque du Soleil in the summers during college. How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-seven. I hope that isn’t too—”

“No, older men than that do me.”

“I meant I hoped there wasn’t such an age difference that we would have different ideas about what we’d want to do together over Christmas if we decided to kick around together.”

“Oh, I don’t think we’d have any trouble finding something to do. You have your own apartment. That spells freedom in NYC for guys like you and me.”

“You asked if this wasn’t my busy season—that maybe I shouldn’t be able to take time off for activities with . . . anyone else. But what about you?” Cameron asked. “Aren’t you in a Broadway musical now? The theater goes full bore during the Christmas-to-New Year’s season, doesn’t it?”

“Yes it does. I’m in Aladdin at the New Amsterdam Theater, but there’s a matinee cast and an evening cast for the dancers and chorus, and I’m in the afternoon cast. My nights are free. And even there, there are extras in both casts. I’m not working all matinees in the holiday season. We can hookup often—and I could spend nights out. I could even wear my costume for you. It’s very sexy.”

The conversation went like this until after 9:00 and they were well past the eating phase. It was a busy night and people were waiting for the table. They hadn’t set up either a continuation of this date or any other holiday activities. Both of them had gotten the idea that they were on different schedule tracks even though it was equally obvious to both that they were aroused by the other. There just was a divergence of intensity.

They made it out the door and on to the sidewalk and to the awkward “what else?” point. Justin leaned in for maybe a kiss that would possibly lead to somewhere, like that apartment Cameron didn’t have to share with anyone else, and Cameron said something, but Justin couldn’t hear what he said because there was a big, black dude standing by the doorway wearing a Salvation Army smock and ringing a bell beside a collection kettle.

At that moment, another guy lurched into the Salvation Army ringer and made a grab for the kettle. The surprised ringer lost his balance and went down. He had the presence of mind to clutch the kettle, struggling with the intending thief. The thief was winning, though, because the ringer had hit his head on the rim of the kettle and was bleeding into an eye.

Cameron jumped on the thief, as Justin went down on his knees and pulled the ringer, who was almost twice the dancer’s size, away. Giving up, the thief ran into the night.

“You OK?” Cameron leaned down and asked the ringer. “We need to call a cop.”

“No, no cops,” the ringer cried out.

“Then a hospital at least. You’re bleeding. And it’s a head wound.”

“No hospital, either,” the ringer exclaimed. “My relief will be along in istanbul travestileri a moment. I’ll go back to the house. They’ll fix me up.”

He was right about his replacement. Another guy with a Salvation Army apron was approaching down the sidewalk.

“Is that where you’re staying?” Cameron asked. “At the Salvation Army.”

“Tonight it is,” the ringer answered. “Go ding-dong for a couple of hours and I get a meal and a cot with a pillow for the night.”

He was homeless. He didn’t want the cops or a hospital because he didn’t want the hassle that might come from that for being on the street.

“I’m trained in first aid,” Justin said. “There’s an all-night drug store nearby where we can get antiseptic and a bandage, and then if we can get him someplace we can clean the wound. He should really be cleaned up first, though.”

“My apartment’s only about six blocks away. We can take him there,” Cameron said. “He’s all scuffed up from the fall. He could shower there and get a hot meal.”

“Perfect,” Justin said, with a grin.

* * * *

“Ooo, you have a baby grand and this is such a nice apartment. You must be loaded,” Justin said as they entered the fifteenth-floor apartment overlooking West 55th street on one side and the Avenue of the Americas on another. “And a Christmas tree, up, but not completely decorated yet.”

“I lost enthusiasm for a tree. That’s what made me say ‘yes’ when Dwight suggested a blind date. The baby grand is a necessity. Piano playing is how I earn my way,” Cameron said. “The bathroom is through there. Get Davon’s clothes off him and put in him the shower. Toss the clothes out and I’ll throw them in the washer. I’ll make him something to eat.”

On the way, by cab, over to Cameron’s apartment from Rockefeller Center, they had ascertained that his name was Davon Taylor; that he indeed was homeless; that he was a former pro basketball player, tossed out for drugs, alcohol, and being unable to handle his finances; and that having no other marketable skills had put him out on the street. He still played pickup on the streets and had kept in great, massive shape from that.

He had also said if the guys wanted sex, he’d provide it in exchange for a good meal and the evening off the streets. Cameron was a little miffed that the guy had made him as gay, although he had no trouble that the blatantly flirting Justin’s preferences were read correctly. Maybe it was just because he’d been encountered with Justin, Cameron thought.

The apartment house had been built in the 1920s, and the rooms were of generous size. It was just a one-bedroom apartment, but the kitchen was separate with a pantry and laundry room off that. The living and dining areas were in one long room, large enough that the baby grand, just inside the entrance door, didn’t overpower the rest of the room. There was a fireplace with a large wall TV over it and a cushy sofa facing it. The large, old-fashioned bathroom and a walk-in closet were off the bedroom. There were bedroom windows on both streets. The living-dining area opened to what was once a balcony, facing the Avenue of the Americas, but now had been glassed in. That area was full of plants, giving the room a bit of feel of country inside the city.

When he heard the shower, a generous-sized one separate from the tub, going, Cameron picked up the several layers of clothing that had been pitched onto the bedroom floor and took them to the laundry room. When he returned, he fished athletic shorts and a T-shirt out of his bureau, yelled into the bathroom they were there, and went to the kitchen to scrounge around for food. He decided on a large omelet, with bacon, toast and coffee. From what Davon had said, alcohol wouldn’t be good. No reason he and Justin couldn’t imbibe, though. He was out of beer, but there was plenty of wine. He opened a bottle of Merlot to let it breathe.

He’d heard the shower go off but no one had appeared afterward, so, before putting the omelet mixture into the pan, he went to check. Davon, an ebony god now that he was down to basic flesh and showered, was sitting on the toilet, naked, with the towel he’d dried with fanned under him across the toilet seat. The small trim, Asian-featured Justin, also naked now, was sitting in his lap, facing him, the pads of his feet pressed into the floor tiles on either side of the toilet to give him leverage, his hands gripping the big black’s biceps, and was rising and falling on a massive cock, while Davon gripped his waist with his hands and helped the much smaller man fuck himself. Davon had a Band-Aid above his left eyebrow, so at least Justin had tended to his wound before sheathing his shaft.

Justin was finally getting the date he’d wanted to have.

Cameron’s exasperation quickly evaporated. Justin hadn’t been dishonest about what he wanted to get out of the evening and Davon hadn’t been dishonest either in saying what he was willing to do to get what Cameron was prepared to give him. If anything he was disappointed that he’d been travesti istanbul so reticent about going with the flow here—at least so far. Dwight hadn’t been wrong that Cameron really wanted someone to lay over the Christmas holidays. There was no reason he should be prudish at being given the opportunity—that is if the opportunity was still there now that Justin and Davon had found each other.

Had Davon swept in and taken what could have been Cameron’s if he’d been more casual about this date? Could something be salvaged for Cameron in this? Mulling this, he stood in the doorway for a few minutes watching the two—a contrast in size and ethnicity—fucking on the toilet. Both of them knew he was there. That he didn’t react negatively told them that all was good, and they kept on with the fuck.

Cameron returned to the kitchen, stopping in the living room long enough to turn the radio on. Christmas music, not surprisingly, was playing. It was an oldie tunes station, so the music was smooth pop songs by vocalists of eras gone by. After several more minutes, Cameron knew they’d climaxed in the bathroom because they were vocal about doing so, and when he heard them stirring in the bedroom, he put the omelet in the pan and poured two glasses of Merlot.

Davon appeared just in the athletic shorts and Justin in his briefs.

“The T didn’t fit him,” Justin said. And, indeed, Cameron saw where that might be the case. He had a great chest, but Davon had a massive one. The shorts fit OK in the waist because the black giant tapered down to a narrow waist, but his bulging thighs caused the shorts to ride up in the legs. Overall, he was a magnificent specimen of manhood. He couldn’t have been out on the street for long. He looked to be about the same age as Cameron.

The admiration was there—mutually, Cameron could tell from the looks Davon gave him—but they were both tops and knew they were. They gave each other looks, but any hands-on work was going to be done with Justin. Justin quite obviously thought that was just fine. He had his hands all over Davon, as the big black sat on a stool at the kitchen counter and tucked into the food being provided.

“Want help finishing the tree decorating while Davon eats?” Justin said, picking up his glass of Merlot.

“That would be nice,” Cameron said, so the two of them moved into the living area. After he finished his meal, Davon moved there too and sat on the sofa. Traditional pop Christmas songs continued on the radio and it was only when Cameron was struck by the richness of the harmonies of Nat King Cole singing the lyrics “Chestnuts roasting on an open fire” of “The Christmas Song” that he realized Davon was singing along with the radio. He turned the radio down and the black’s man’s rich, soft and true bass notes took over.

“Uh, sorry. I got carried away,” Davon said when he realized his singing was being showcased.

“Don’t be sorry, Davon,” Cameron answered. “You got a great voice. Come over to the piano. Let’s sing some other Christmas songs. You sing too, don’t you, Justin? Tenor? I’m a baritone. Here, I have some sheet music you can use.”

They moved to the piano, and he played and they all sang. Justin laughed when they moved into “We Three Kings.” “It should be ‘We Three Queens,'” he said. “And with variety—a white guy, a black bull, and a Vietnamese sub.”

“Ah, yes, the three kings,” Cameron said. “That song’s bit basic, though, for that theme. Let’s try the libretto of the three kings’ entrance from Menotti’s Amahl and the Night Visitors. Here’s sheet music for that. I was just covering rehearsals for that for a MET production. ‘From far away we come and farther we must go. How far . . . how far . . . my crystal star?’ You take the high tenor, Kaspar, Justin. I’ll be the baritone, Melchoir, and Davon the bass, Balthazar, who conveniently is black.”

Having found an unusual commonality in interest in and talent for music performance, they lost time and any inhibitions they otherwise might have had in concentrating on the pleasure of singing together. From there, they moved to the sofa together when Cameron said, “I think there’s a New York Nicks basketball game on television. I’ll bet you want to see that, Davon.”

But what came up immediately on the screen was a gay male porn action video. “I’d much rather watch this,” Davon said, with a laugh.

Now fully comfortable with each other, they sat on the sofa—or rather, Cameron and Davon sat next to each other on the sofa, while Justin sank between Cameron’s spread thighs, unbuckled and unzipped him, pulled Cameron’s cock out, and gave him suck, while they all watched the action on the TV screen. Cameron was way beyond resisting anything now. Davon pulled his shirt over his head and ran his hands over Cameron’s torso, while Cameron returned the pleasure.

Tugging Cameron’s trousers and briefs off his legs, Justin, naked, climbed up in Cameron’s lap, positioning himself there as he had done earlier with Davon on the toilet in the bathroom, and he was fucking himself on Cameron’s cock. After a few minutes of this, and at Justin’s insistence that he could and wanted to be doubled, Davon rose from the sofa, came around and mounted Justin from the back, penetrating, and forcing his cock in Justin’s anal passage on top of Cameron’s already buried shaft.

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