He smiled at the bartender and ordered a beer. Behind him two couples were dancing, their arms entwined, their bodies pushed together. One of the couples kissed deeply while dancing -- there was nothing quite like watching two men kissing in a public place! George glanced at them before turning to pick up his beer. He and Richard never went dancing anymore. The romance really seemed dead, although George had been too distracted lately to really care.
George felt the eyes on him before he looked up and saw the man. He was standing about ten feet away, just outside the shadows near the dance floor. The stare was intense and unblinking, almost intimidating. George didn't care for it, and he looked away. Even as George glanced down at the bar, he somehow wanted to look back up at the man.
"Hard to get?" said the voice in his ear. George couldn't help reacting with surprise at the warm breath on his neck, sloshing a little brew on the counter.
"What?" he answered.
The large figure moved to the barstool next to him. Again George saw the intense eyes -- dark blue, framed with dark eyebrows. The nose below was straight, and the mouth was curved into something resembling a smile. The hair was dark, receding and close-cropped. George could smell the leather of the motorcycle jacket the man wore; he could also smell the musk of the man himself. He felt a little dizzy from it.
"You got a place nearby?" the man asked.
"No," George answered, trying to gain control. "I'm not looking for company."
The man smiled more broadly and moved his muscled chest closer to George. "Then why are you here?"
"For a drink," George answered with a sheepish smile. "I needed one."
"That's a beer, not a drink. And you need more than that."
George decided to play along. "Okay, what do I need?"
George nearly laughed. It had been some time since he'd been propositioned like this, and it felt pretty good. It never hurt to have the ego stroked a little, even by some stranger in a bar. And George's ego needed some help about now, after the weeks of uncertainty and stress. Still, he felt he was probably well beyond playing mating games in a gay bar.
"Really, I'm not here for company. I have a relationship." After a pause, he added, "I'm George." He didn't want to be unfriendly, but he didn't want to lead the man on.
"Hi, Chris. Nice to meet you." George reached out his hand and the other man took it, squeezing gently before releasing.
"You look ragged, George. You have a fight with your boyfriend?"
George shook his head. "He's out of town," he said before thinking better of it. "I had a tough day at the office, I guess."
The man calling himself Chris made a sound through his teeth. "I hear that. Work is shit."
"What do you do?" George asked, trying to make conversation.
Chris didn't answer right away. He shrugged, and pulled off his leather jacket. Under it he wore a tight white tank which revealed muscled arms and pecs, as well as two large, distinctive tattoos, one on his left upper arm, the other on the inside of his right forearm. George tried not to stare.
"I do a little of this, a little of that, George," he finally said. "How 'bout you?"
"Computers," George answered. "I work with computers."
Chris smiled again, a really attractive smile. " I thought you looked smart. Too smart to hook up with me, I guess."
George was instantly taken by this self-deprecating remark; it didn't seem in sync with the style of man Chris appeared to be -- with a body like that. Despite himself, he was intrigued. And, he realized suddenly, he was horny. He hadn't had sex in several weeks. And although Chris was not his type, he was very physically appealing.
George decided to be honest. "You're very attractive, Chris. But you're really not my type."
"Really?" Chris asked, seeming surprised. "You like a sweeter guy? I can be sweet."
George smiled. "I bet."
George shook his head. "You really don't give up, do you?" He couldn't help wondering what it would be like to have this man over him -- to play the submissive for a change. It had been years. He wished Chris wouldn't sit so close; his presence was overpowering. There was also something a little dangerous about him, which should have rung a warning bell, but didn't. George knew he was still jacked up on adrenaline to some extent from the sting operation.
Chris reached his right hand down and stroked his own crotch. The bulge in his jeans was impressive, and this brought immediate attention to it. George looked, as he was meant to.
"You sure you don't want some of this?" Chris asked, winking.
George smiled and shook his head again. He was not as sure now as he had been ten minutes earlier.
"Why don't we go sit down and talk about it," Chris suggested, gesturing with his head to a dark corner.
George glanced around the bar. It was a weeknight, and the place was pretty empty. What could it hurt to go sit and fool around with this man?
"Why not," he answered. He picked up his beer and followed Chris to a shadowy spot in the corner of the bar. He sat down and Chris pulled a chair very close. A strong arm went up around George's neck, and insistent fingers pressed into his flesh. The touch was electric. George felt himself melting.
Chris reached over and kissed George's full lips gently, slipping a pointed tongue out to part George's mouth. George responded in kind, meeting the man's tongue. His breath started to come harder, and he felt the pressure in his own pants. A hand took one of his and moved it up the leg of Chris' jeans, stopping at the bulging crotch. George could feel the outline of the stiff organ, lifted up against Chris' stomach. It was as impressive to touch as to watch.
Chris reached inside George's shirt and brushed a nipple. George pulled back, not prepared for this physical contact, even in the dark corner. "Hey baby," Chris crooned. "Relax. If I have to get you off in here, I will."
George doubted that groping in a gay bar would make the F.B.I. proud; he had done everything tonight to try to be brave and live up to the confidence Bailey Malone had shown in him, and now he was sucking tongues with some stranger in a public place.
"Let's go someplace else," George suggested, against his better judgment. "I really don't live that far away."
The triumphant smile on Chris' face was evident, even in the dim light.
* * * * * *
George's naked flesh felt clammy against the hard, dry body next to him on his bed. It had only taken a few minutes to renew the level of excitement he had felt in the bar, especially when he had seen the naked body of the man he took home. Chris was not that tall, but was extremely muscular, with the most defined buttocks George had ever touched. He was touching them now, squeezing the firm, round flesh.
"You want some poppers?" Chris asked. "I have some in my jacket."
George shook his head. He didn't need amyl nitrite to enhance his experience.
"You like a big dick in your ass?" Chris asked in a crooning tone.
George felt almost embarrassed. He and Richard didn't talk this way to one another -- never had, in fact. He didn't know if he could respond in kind. He looked mutely at Chris.
"You want this, don't you, baby," Chris continued, stroking his own cock so that George could see. George realized that, yes, he did want to feel the man's penis inside him. He suddenly wanted this very badly. He managed to nod.
"Turn over. I like to do it from behind," Chris ordered.
George hesitated. "You have protection, right?"
Chris laughed. "Safe sex. Sure, I'm into that." He reached for the blue jeans discarded by the side of the bed and pulled a condom out of the pocket.
"You want help with that?" George asked.
Chris gave him a hard stare. "I'll do it. You can watch me and think about what it's gonna feel like when I'm fucking you."
"I think it's going to feel pretty amazing. I haven't had this for quite some time."
Chris rolled the condom back over his stiff penis. "I know what you mean. I haven't been fucked for ages myself. I usually do the fucking."
"No wonder," George murmured, admiring the organ about to penetrate him.
Chris grunted as he moved toward George. "Don't get me wrong, though. I don't mind being butt fucked sometimes."
George managed to take his eyes off Chris' penis long enough to crawl over and turn his back to the man. George pushed his face into a soft pillow. Chris' strong hands grabbed George's hips and pulled him back. "You ready?" Chris asked.
"I'm not sure. You might want to check," George answered, muffled by the pillow.
A finger pushed against George's sphincter. "You're tight."
"I told you."
"I love a tight ass," Chris said enthusiastically, giving the flesh a hard slap. "Do you want me to grease it up?"
George thought lubrication would be a good idea. "Yes, in the top drawer next to me." He could hear as Chris opened the drawer of the bedside table and found the lubricant.
"Just a little," Chris said. "I want you to really feel it. This stuff's cold, so I'm warming it up in my hand."
George waited, anticipation about to turn to impatience. Then he felt wetness against his anus, but it wasn't at all cold. Something pushed against the opening; he realized quickly that the invader wasn't a finger, it was a tongue. The tongue circled around the opening, then darted quickly in and out. George breathed in deeply and shuddered. He was surprised this muscled and tattooed man would be willing to open him this way. It was incredibly unexpected and intimate.
"You like that?" Chris asked, pulling himself over George's back. "Does your boyfriend rim you?"
"I loved it," George answered, turning his face so he wouldn't be completely muffled by the pillow. He ignored the question about Richard. His knees were bent slightly, and he felt very exposed to this stranger.
Chris thrust a lubricated finger inside. George groaned, but he could feel right away that he was ready to take Chris himself. He moved his hips backward to signal the man he was ready. Chris continued to manipulate him with the finger, very skilled and practiced.
"You want me to fuck you now, don't you? Say it!"
"Yes!" George said. "I do."
"I want you to fuck me," George answered, maddened by the movements of Chris' finger.
"Okay. I'm ready."
George felt the mattress depress under him as Chris moved closer. "This is gonna be so good," Chris promised.
"Oh, please," George murmured, turning his face back into the pillow.
Chris didn't hold back as he entered George. He thrust in firmly, burying his cock deep after only three or four strokes. George was amazed at the sensation, painful for only a second, then intensely pleasurable -- a mixture of friction and pressure that seemed nearly perfect. Chris was a great, if rather tight, fit. And he had very strong legs and that fabulous ass to give him leverage.
George was moving with Chris' rhythm, his eyes closed, his mouth open. He had reared up, his face raised off the pillow. He was moaning loudly, thinking it wouldn't take long at this rate before he came.
Chris slowed, then stopped and pulled out. George groaned in protest. "Turn over now," he commanded. "I want to see your face."
George awkwardly turned his body to face Chris. Chris pushed him back and wrapped his hands around George's ankles, raising his legs. "Can you do this?" he asked.
"Yes," George gasped, pulling his legs up as far as he could.
Chris bore down on him, cupping his ass in both hands and slightly raising it off the bed. He used his hips to guide his engorged organ back on target. "You ready, Georgie?"
"Oh, god, yes," George said, looking up at the attractive, intense face. He could feel Chris' cock entering him again, this time more easily. He wanted to swallow the man up. "Yes," he repeated, as Chris started to get a rhythm again, stroking in and out.
George tried to keep his eyes open, but found it difficult. He wanted to lose himself in the pleasure, and it was hard to do with Chris' intense eyes on his face. He felt so exposed. He was aware of his own erection, but no one had paid any attention to it -- not himself and not Chris. George wanted to completely experience the anal sensations he so rarely got a chance to feel. He thought he would come any second now.
"You ready to come, baby?" Chris asked. "You feel so ready."
"Yes," George groaned. "Yes."
A hand closed around his throat and George's eyes popped open. "Huh?" He tried to move his head away, but was trapped in the strong fingers.
"This will be good, Georgie. You'll like this."
George couldn't even gasp. His wind was cut off. He tried to struggle, to speak, to protest. He saw black specks when he tried to focus.
"Take it easy, baby," Chris crooned, not missing a stroke. "This is so good."
George felt the intense sensations in his rectum and was aware that he was about to ejaculate just as he lost consciousness.
* * * * * *
When he woke up, George felt a throbbing in his neck, as well as his ass. It took a moment to remember where he was and what had happened. He opened his eyes and looked around for the other man. He couldn't see him in the room.
George tried to move before he realized he was restrained, his wrists tied to the headboard of the bed with strong cord. His circulation was already being impaired and reddish dents marked the flesh. He felt a wash of fear. What had he gotten himself into?
Chris appeared next to the bed. He was smiling, as usual. "Hey, you awake? You've been out for a while."
"What are you doing?" George asked. "Why did you choke me?"
Chris sat down casually next to George. "Because it's so intense. I had that done to me in prison. Nearly killed me, but I came like a maniac. You have to be careful not to bust somethin' or do it for too long."
"I don't like it," George said insistently. "Untie me."
Chris ran a finger down George's face. "Now don't get like that. You came all over me, so I know you liked it."
George tried to move his head away. "No," he said.
"You want to suck me?" Chris asked.
George looked up into the strong face and intense eyes. He suddenly realized the danger he was in, and he was angry, mostly at himself. How did he get himself into these situations? And why did this man have to end up being some kind of freak? George had been so attracted to him . . .
"Untie me, and I'll be happy to give you a blow job," George said.
"This is okay," said Chris as he stepped up on the bed and put his feet on either side of George's chest. "I'll make it easy for you." He squatted down and pointed his penis at George's face. It was erect again, this time naked of a condom.
"What about the rubber?" George asked.
"For a blow job? Jesus, that's a little too safe for me. Take it like it is."
The stiff organ was thrust into George's mouth. He opened his lips and let it in, moving his tongue out of the way. This time the man would probably try to choke him with his cock, not his hand, and George planned to do everything to keep that from happening. He wrapped his tongue around the head of the organ and squeezed his lips as Chris pulled back and forth, creating as much suction as he could. He wanted Chris to come as fast as possible.
Chris groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. "That's great, baby," he said between clenched teeth. "Oh, yeah."
George worked his tongue and lips as much as he could. He was rewarded when Chris announced "I'm gonna come" and sprayed the back of his mouth with thick, warm fluid. George swallowed as well as he could, his throat raw from being choked.
Chris lay down next to him, his body warm and heavy against George. "That's a fantastic bj," he said, reaching over to kiss George's mouth. George tried not to resist the contact, afraid to anger the man.
"Untie me, Chris. Please. I'm uncomfortable."
Chris didn't answer. He just squeezed George against him, nuzzling his neck. "Don't be afraid," he said finally. "I can be sweet."
"Chris, I'm not afraid. I just want you to untie me."
Chris moved away, sighing. "You're not gonna let up, are you George? You want me to hurt you?"
George swallowed. "No. I want you to fuck me, not to hurt me."
"It's all the same, Georgie. Fucking, hurting, loving. It's all pain. You only know you're alive when you're fucking or you're hurting."
George looked over at the strange expression on the man's face. "No, Chris. That's not true. You don't have to hurt someone to love them. I don't usually go pick somebody up at a bar for sex. But even casual sex doesn't have to hurt."
Chris smiled strangely. "What about your boyfriend? Would it hurt him if he walked in and saw me up your ass?"
George closed his eyes for a second and swallowed. "Yes," he said, looking back up at Chris. "I'm sure it would. But it wasn't meant to. I brought you home to be close to you and feel pleasure. Not to feel pain or to cause anyone pain."
"Did it hurt when I fucked you?"
George licked his lips. "Only for a few seconds. Mostly it felt fantastic."
Chris picked up his leather jacket and fumbled in the pocket. He pulled something out and George heard a click and saw the blade. His heart skipped a beat. "What are you doing with the knife, Chris?" he asked.
Chris smiled over at him. "Maybe I'm gonna cut you loose," he said, teasingly. "Maybe not."
George felt the danger in the room. He needed to think this through, or he might not get through the night alive or intact. "Chris," he began. "Cut me loose."
Chris approached George slowly, his naked body still beautiful, even with the switchblade in one hand. George closed his eyes for an instant, gathering strength. He refused to believe that the man who just fucked him would now stab or maim him. It was unacceptable. He locked his eyes on Chris, trying to communicate without speaking. The two men stared at one another as Chris came toward George with the knife.
Chris bent down and put his face next to George's, their cheeks touching. "You are a great fuck," he whispered into George's ear. "But you should be more careful about who you pick up. You could end up with a real piece of shit, like me."
"You're not a piece of shit. You can't be. You're just trying to scare me for some reason, maybe because somebody scared you."
Chris pulled away and slapped George's face hard. "Stay the fuck out of my head," he said in a shaky voice. Then more smoothly, he asked, "Aren't you going to beg me not to hurt you?"
"You aren't going to hurt me," George insisted, feeling his injured cheek and lip swell.
"I already did. You said it yourself."
George closed his eyes again, willing himself to breathe slowly and stay calm. He looked up at Chris, who was toying with the switchblade. "Why would you want to hurt me?"
"Why not? I told you, I'm doing you a favor, making you feel more alive."
George choked out a laugh. "Believe me, Chris, I felt alive enough already today. I was nearly shot earlier during an F.B.I. sting. I had to wear a wire. I work for the Bureau."
Chris' eyes narrowed. "You saying you're a fed? You said you did computers."
"I am a computer specialist for the F.B.I. If you don't believe me, look in the pocket of my pants for my ID."
Chris walked to the chair where George had draped his slacks. He put down the knife and fumbled through George's pockets until he found the badge. "Jesus Christ. I didn't know they allowed faggots to be feds," he said softly.
"It's a new world. Don't ask, don't tell."
Chris tossed the badge aside and picked up the knife. "Okay, George. Now you get the knife." He walked toward the bed, his face grim. "I should stuff this up your ass," he said, waving the switchblade a few inches from George's face.
"I really like you," George said, tears welling in his eyes. He willed himself not to cry. "Why do you want to scare me?"
Chris pulled the hand with the knife back and suddenly thrust it forward. George's head snapped back and he closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable shock of pain. Instead, Chris sawed through the cord holding George's wrists, one arm at a time.
George sat up as soon as he realized he was free, keeping his eyes on Chris' hand holding the knife. He scooted to the other side of the bed, rubbing his wrists.
"Sorry," Chris said softly. "I won't hurt you." He closed the blade and sat down on the edge of the bed. His shoulders slumped. "I wasn't going to hurt you."
George couldnt' resist reaching over and rubbing Chris' large neck with his hand. "It's okay, Chris. I know." There was something so compelling about the man, even after the dangerous encounter.
Chris stood up and walked toward the small piles of his clothing. He pulled on his shorts and jeans, boots and t-shirt. Then he bent over and picked up the motorcycle jacket. George sat on the bed, his arms around his knees, watching. He felt calm and somewhat sad. He wasn't sure exactly what had happened or why, but he knew he had escaped injury for the second time that night.
"Remember what I said about cruising bars," Chris said, walking to the bedroom door. "You could get in trouble."
George nodded, his eyes welling again.
Chris turned back once before leaving the room. "And remember what I said about being a great fuck."
George couldn't speak as Chris walked out. He heard the sound of the boots walking across the living room; he heard the door of the apartment open and close. Then he stood up and walked to the bedroom door. He looked out into the empty room, and then he ran to the apartment door and locked it. His legs turned to rubber and he sank down. He was gasping for breath. He crawled to the telephone and sat for a moment, cradling it in his hand. Then he punched out a number.
"John?" he said when he heard the voice. "It's George. Can you come over? I really need to talk."
The Profiler, Fraley, John et al. belong to Three Putt Productions, Sander/Moses Productions, NBC Studios and Carsey/Warner Distribution. No copyright infringement intended.