"My, don't you look spiffy this evening? Going to the theater?"
"Excuse me? Oh, I don't know exactly where we're going. Just wearing what I was told to wear. This is on someone else's nickel."
Nineteen-year-old American Jordie Nelson, dressed in a tux, was sitting alone at a table on the rooftop bar of the Rendezvous Hotel Sidney the Rocks, overlooking the Circular Quay and Opera House on the Sydney, Australia, waterfront. He had been approached for a drink order by a waiter. The two didn't know each other but they were of nearly the same age, the waiter a couple of years older, and Jordie had been here before. They both were gorgeous young men and recognized each other from what their preferences were. They clicked with each other on all cylinders. Jordie, a bit nervous in coming here felt he had an ally.
"Do you wish to order a drink, or are you waiting for someone? I'm Sam, by the way," said the hotel waiter.
"Yes, I remember you. I'm waiting for someone."
Sam, the waiter, had seen this unfold before, so he did know the other young man would be waiting for someone. He thought he could guess why too. That thought excited him, though. The young American was a gorgeous blond, with a face that was more pretty than handsome, a winsome smile illuminated by pale blue eyes, and a slim, fit body to die for. That he seemed to be a bit nervous and on edge hinted at an adventure to come, which, in turn, aroused Sam. Jordie had met older men here before, and Sam was sure he knew why. That excited him a bit and he got a vicarious vibe off the transaction.
Sam backed off and worshipped the young man from the drinks bar. The young man, Jordie, didn't have to wait for too long, though, before two older men approached his table. One looked to be in his late thirties, an Australian who was somewhat flamboyantly dressed and exhibited a big thuggish look, and the other one was an Arab, clearly identified by the pristine-white thawb, an Arab robe, and head scarf he wore, and somewhere in his forties. Jordie stood to be introduced to and inspected by the Arab. When they settled, Sam arrived to take their drinks orders.
When he returned with the drinks, Sam nearly blushed at the questions he heard the Arab asking, with the Australian supplying most of the answers in somewhat bald terms. Jordie was sitting there, looking demure. The Arab was stroking the young man's forearm with his fingers, and Jordie wasn't shying away. Sam was there long enough to determine that the Arab was somehow connected with a reception and concert going on across the Port Jackson middle harbor at the distinctive, iconic Sydney Opera House.
The Arab was a sheik, named Samir al-Garfeh, and Jordie was to be his escort at the opera house event. The sheik was staying here at the Rendezvous Hotel. Neither Jordie nor his Australian pimp, Alex White, were staying here, but Jordie was sometimes brought here to meet and service hotel guests. Sam already knew Alex White by name. This was a regular place he used to hook up escorts with clients.
They stayed for only one drink. Alex White didn't stay that long. After he left, the sheik leaned into Jordie and was obviously having a more explicit discussion with him.
Sam stood off to the side, thinking once again how spiffy Jordie looked in his tux and wondering how good he'd look out of the tux. He was still on duty three hours later, near midnight, when Sheik Samir and Jordie returned to the bar for a nightcap before calling it a night. He followed them at a distance when they left. He'd already checked out what floor the sheik's room was on, just two floors down from the rooftop bar, and managed to make it down the stairs and conceal himself behind a corner before the elevator opened and the two men exited. The sheik already was holding Jordie close beside him, palming one of the young man's buttocks cheeks, as they walked to the room, entered, and the door shut behind them.
Seeing a man palm another man's buttocks as they walked in public always gave Sam a jolt of sexual arousal and pleasure. He knew the possessiveness and the permissibility that reflected. He had visions of palming Jordie's buttocks himself.
Sam couldn't resist. After a few minutes he stole down the corridor and put his ear to the hotel room door. He already could hear moaning and what sounded like a snapping sound. And then the cry of "Mercy! Oh, shit. Oh, fuck!" Again, the snap of leather on flesh. He reached for the door handle, but then pulled back. This was a professional situation. No telling what the young man had agreed to or take--or how much of his cry was for effect, what a male whore would do to inflame a john.
Inside the room, Jordie lay on his belly, naked, on the bed. His wrists were restrained to the headboard, his arms raised over his head. The Rendezvous was a gay-friendly hotel and had special rooms for special clients. Sheik Garfeh, his thawb unbuttoned and flared, his well-muscled body dark skinned and hirsute naked underneath that and in full erection, was holding a bent over leather belt, and was reddening up Jordie's bare buttocks with it, as the fingers of a greased hand worked at opening the young man's anal canal.
"Oh, fuck. The fist... not the whole... SHIT!"
Once more Sam reached for the door handle, but pulled back.
Jordie was writhing under the attention. He was moaning and panting, but he was doing what he was paid for--giving the sheik his money's worth.
Sam could tell the moment when the sheik dropped the belt, climbed up onto the bed, saddled on the young man's hips, mounted him, penetrated, and began to pump. Jordie had cried out at the moment of penetration.
"Yes, Fuckin' YES. Put it in. Screw me! YES!"
Sam discerned the unmistakable sound of flesh slapping on flesh. In addition, the bed had taken this use before. It creaked, the springs singing a rhythm song of their own. The sheik settled down to a rhythmic motion. Jordie was contributing moans and periodic whispers of, "Yes, yes. There, like that. Oh, fuck yes. You're so fuckin' big."
Unhappy and frustrated that he was getting no piece of the action, Sam moved away from the door and back to the rooftop bar two stories above.
What a waste of a beautiful young man, he was thinking. He knew, though, that Jordie would be back and that there would be other opportunities for them to converse--and, he hoped, someday, to hook up.
* * * *
Sam had another opportunity to connect with Jordie a couple of days later when he pulled a dayshift at the Rendezvous Hotel's rooftop bar. Jordie was there, at the same table, again initially alone, and looking oh so sexy in white gauzy harem pants showing that he was wearing a red pouch jockstrap underneath, and a sexy red mesh crop-top athletic T-shirt, showing off how cut his torso was. His feet were covered with open-toed sandals, and there was a beach bag in the chair next to him with a beach towel peeking out of.
"Waiting for someone again?" Sam asked, knowing full well the young man wouldn't be here if he wasn't hooking up with another man.
"Yes, again."
"My name is Sam."
"Yes, I remember." Jordie was wearing dark sunglasses, he turned and pushed them down on his nose, taking a good look at the waiter, showing that he wasn't ignoring him. "I don't think I'd forget you." Was he flirting? Sam's stomach knotted and he took the risk.
"You look like you're off to the beach."
"Yes, I think so. Lady Jane Beach."
The knot in Sam's stomach lurched. Lady Jane Beach was a gay male nudist beach out on the tip of Walton's Bay. "You
think
so? You don't choose what beach you go to?"
"No, I don't choose."
"You don't choose who you go with either?"
"Not usually, no."
"But you wish you could?"
Before the young man could respond, though, two men were descending on the table and Sam had to step back to wait for their drink order. The thuggish Australian pimp, Alex White, was one of the men. The other was a bodybuilder type of hunky Nordic blond, but nearly bald guy in his early forties in baggy shorts and a deep-side and front slit black athletic T that showed off the man's bulging pecs. He looked like money, and Sam knew he'd have to be rich to afford Jordie.
"This is Heinz. Visiting from Germany," Alex said to Jordie, as they sat down. "He's heard we have gay nudist beaches here. Wants to see one." This obviously had been worked out beforehand if Jordie already knew what beach they were going to and was dressed for undressing there. There was little doubt what they'd do there either. The German meaty hand went to Jordie's knee as he sat down and drifted higher as they conversed a bit over their drinks.
"
Kennen Sie einen solchen Strand
? Excuse me, I try to remember we must speak English here. Do you know of such a beach?" the German asked.
"I'm sure we can find one," Jordie answered, looking down at the hand on his knee, making no move to move away from it, and looking up into the German's eyes and giving him a smile.
By the time Heinz and Jordie were getting up to find Wharf 2A at the Circular Quay to take the ferry to Walton's Bay out to the end of the South Head Peninsula, Sam had arranged to take the rest of the shift off. He managed to get on the same ferry Heinz and Jordie were taking before it cast off. Jordie and his john went to the bow of the ferry, where Heinz put a possessing arm around Jordie's waist and the young man pointed out the various sites of interest along the long harbor run out to South Head. Sam hovered back toward the stern, keeping the two in sight. Jordie may or may not have caught a glimpse of the waiter dogging them, and his slight smile may or may not have been in recognition of the other young man's perseverance.
Sam gave a low sigh when he saw the German's broad hand cup one of Jordie's butt cheeks.
* * * *
After walking up and down the surf line at Lady Jane Beach arm in arm in the buff, both of them attracting smiles, gasps, murmurs of appreciation, and fantasies, Heinz and Jodie found a dip between dunes at the top of the beach where they could lay and fuck in private. Not in private, of course. After that parading around, other guys would seek out where they went to fuck and several of them put themselves into position to watch the show. There was every reason to believe Heinz wanted them to watch him fuck the American honey.
Jordie was lying on his back on a large beach towel, a hulking, bodybuilder muscular, smooth-skinned, nearly bald Nordic god hovering between his spread thighs, supporting and lifting the smaller male whore's body, with pelvis raised, with a strong arm under Jordie's waist. Heinz's other hand was clutching Jordie's throat, holding the young man's head pushed into the sand. Jordie's thighs were spread, his legs bent, his heels dug into the sand, giving the young man leverage to rock with the fuck. Jordie's hands were clutching the German's beefy biceps, his fingers opening and closing to the rhythm of the hulking man's strong, relentless, thrusts.
