Mike was eating faster than usual. His breakfast was almost gone while I still had half of mine to eat.
"Margaret decided she likes a 'good morning boink'..." he explained. Margaret was his girlfriend of several months. Mike was my roommate but I'd not seen much of him since she came into his life. "...she says it gets her mind clearer and sharper at the office...she likes it when I do her twiceâfine with me...as soon as she leaves I sleep like a baby."
It was 3am and we sat in our usual booth in the 24-hour diner where we ate breakfast every morning after work, unless we got 'lucky' that is, and picked-up a girl at work. We were both bartenders. I worked at 'The 500 Club', and Mike tended bar across the street at 'Freddy's'.
Mikes' eyes looked up as someone came in the restaurant door behind me. He smiled.
"I thought you had a date?" he asked as his co-worker Keon sat down next to me in the booth.
"I didâI let her blow me and sent her on her way," he replied, "...she wasn't anyone I wanted to look at in the daylight." We all laughed.
"Hi Johnnyâhow are you? Were you guys busy tonight?" He'd eaten with us a couple times and I told him I prefer 'John', he either didn't hear me, or well, whatever...no big deal.
"It was steadyâno major rush or anythingâwe never got slammed...." I said.
Keon ordered breakfast just as Mike finished eating. Mike pulled out his wallet and tossed me a twenty.
"Here boys, breakfast is on me," he said. He slid out of the booth and said," Adios, losers...."
Keon remained sitting next to me. I was waiting for him to move across the table to where Mike had been. After a long while, he finally moved.
"So Johnny, have you had any good pussy lately?" he asked after his food arrived.
What's with this guy? I wondered. The few times we've spoken he always asks about my sex life.
"Yeah...had a nice girl the other night," I said, "...she was gorgeous and she was good in bedâa rare combination...sheâ"
I noticed he either wasn't interested in my story, or he just tuned me out. Why do people do this? I wondered. They ask you a question then they don't even have the courtesy to listen to you.
I finished my breakfast and tried to signal the server for the check.
"Mike says you like to play poolâhe says you're a 'good stick'," Keon said as he was shoveling food into his mouth.
I remembered that Mike had gone to Keon's house once and he had a pool table. Mike said his house had to be seen to be believed. It was ridiculously big. It was his parent's house and Keon was living there. It was more investment property than anything; his parent's lived in Egypt, in Cairo.
Mike said Keon's dad was one of the richest men in Egypt. He owned the largest construction company in Cairo, and was probably a billionaire. Keon didn't want to go into the family business; he wanted his independence; he wanted to live in America.
Keon's big brown eyes were studying my face. I felt briefly uncomfortable by his hard gaze.
"Yeah, ah...I like to play," I said.
"Well, I have a pool table and I think I can kick your ass," he smiled at me.
I was wide awake and didn't want to go home just yet. Besides, I enjoyed the challenge of shooting pool with another 'good stick'.
I laughed; I was relaxed now. "Bring it on, big boy," I said.
I followed him in my car. It was a 'gated community' and I waved at the security guard as I drove by him. Mike was right: the houses here were spectacular.
Keon gave me a brief tour of the house. There was so much to see it would have taken a long time to see the entire house. The dĂŠcor and furnishings were expensive.
We ended up in a room just off the dining room. It must have been his father's study; a big desk, a bar, many books, and a full-size, regulation pool table. I was more than a little impressed.
Keon went behind the bar and pulled out an expensive bottle of Tequila. He poured us shots, he raised his glass and said, "May the best man win." We downed the shots. Damn, that was the smoothest tequila I'd ever had.
I don't know how many games of eight-ball we played. He kept pouring us shots and I was feeling no pain. It seemed to me that I'd win a game then he'd win a game and so on....
After awhile, he began to pat me on the back. Then he would leave his hand there and rub my back and shoulders. I didn't know what to make of it. I just figured Egyptians were a 'touchy-feely' kind of people.
When he was about to pour two more shots of tequila I said I couldn't have anymoreâI was going to have trouble driving with what I already had. He went behind the bar and when he returned he handed me a low-ball glass half-full with a brown liquid.
"Chocolate vodka," he said. "One more for the road?"
Well, one more wouldn't kill me....
The next pool game, after I sank the eight-ball to win, he put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me close to him. He began to massage my neck and shoulders.
"Damn Johnny," he said, "...you sure are tense...."
His hands were very strong and they felt great on my aching muscles. Suddenly, one of his hands dropped down and squeezed my asscheek. He left his hand there and rubbed my bottom.
He leaned over and whispered in my ear: "Johnny, have you ever fooled around with another guy?"
Okayâthat was it. I'd better get out of there, I remembered thinking.
I tried to casually break free of his hands but they held me in place. He was behind me and he pulled me close to him. Close enough I could feel his hard prick against my bottom.
Through my alcoholic haze I realized I could be in big trouble here.
"Ah, Keon, I have to leave...I better get going," I said as I squirmed out of his grasp.
He laughed and said, "I wouldn't be in too much of a hurry, my pretty friend...maybe you should use the toilet before you leave."
What an odd thing to say, I thought. I did have considerable pressure on my bladder but it wasn't anything I couldn't hold in until later.
"No-no...I'll be alright," I said.
Suddenly, a crippling pain in my stomach gave me horrific cramps; I doubled-over, hands on my knees. I had to get to the bathroomâNOW.
"Where's the bathroom? I have to go," I said through clenched-teeth.