It was dark when I got to Vegas, but I knew the city well enough to find a Goodwill Store. On South Eastern Avenue, a couple miles from the strip. Where the lights were already blindingly bright.
I left the SUV behind the building, next to the dumpsters, then strolled around the end to enter the store. I was still in my cutoffs and hoodie, and still purring a bit from fucking Prescott, so just came across as another Vegas queen out to find her latest look for the drag show. Bought a pair of jeans and a long-sleeve shirt for $8.00, total.
Then I sauntered across to a Walmart on the other side of a Home Depot. Bought a t-shirt a size too small, a pair of boxer-briefs, socks, a pair of slip on sneakers, and a travel-size deodorant for $58.00. Using their restroom, I changed and dumped the cutoffs in the trash. Kept the hoodie. Vegas nights can get pretty cold.
I called a cab and had it take me to a motel on E Flamingo Road, then wandered down the street and across to a place where guys stand around waiting for a passing car to slow down and ask if they were up for anything. There were only a couple other dudes, there, at the moment.
I adjusted myself in the jeans so I had a nice bulge with a big banana, knowing my legs and ass looked great. That tight t-shirt showed off my pecs and nips. Didn’t take long for a rental car to drift up and pause to let its window glide down so the older man inside could look at me. Without a word, I slipped in and we drove to an even darker area...where I let my dick out. I was hard and ready, and so was he.
The guy was mid-forties in a business suit, just beginning to get paunchy, starting to thin on top, thick wedding band on his finger...and a tongue that was well-practiced. I let him take as much time as he wanted. It’s easy to tell when half the fun of moments like this, for guys like him, was just to hold a nice dick and worship it. And I have a damn good-looking dick. Long and smooth and sloping and cut, with a vein curling over the top and around, near a head that’s shaped just right. He liked it; I could tell from the near joy in his breathing. And I enjoyed every second of him loving it, too.
I squirmed and held back my need to cum. Clenched my hips to shove just a little harder into his mouth. Heard him almost chuckle, each time. Then...when he started popping up and down on me, with a greater need...I let myself go and fired. And I mean massively. Shot after shot after shot. By the time I was done, my cum was dripping from his lips and he was softly laughing.
That got me a hundred bucks.
But when he sat back in the driver’s seat, he looked at me, long and careful. Then he pulled out two more hundreds and put a hand on my left knee. Not saying a word. But I knew what he wanted.
I pulled the jeans and briefs off, slow and teasing, then moved to sit in the back seat. Propped my legs open wide, and let him maneuver himself between them. It was a tight fit, but me keeping my arms back behind my head helped.
He ran his hands all over my body. Shifted that t-shirt to above my chest. Tracked up and down. Caressing my pecs. Pulling lightly at my tits. I groaned and sighed, sometimes choosing to, sometimes despite myself. I loved being worshiped like this. Loved letting him see my dick flopped back on my belly, getting harder and harder. Loved how he’d draw his fingers along it so lightly, like it was an angel’s kiss.
He finally shifted his suit pants down and pulled his own dick out. It wasn’t the biggest I’d ever seen, and it was partly hidden by shadows, but it was cute and cut and surrounded by thick hair. He managed to slip my legs over his shoulders and push himself in. I grunted, but it was easier than when the tentacles had fucked me. And I gave him a growling smile of pleasure, which made him chuckle, again.
As he pumped, I unbuttoned his shirt, not bothering with his tie, and pulled his Hanes t-shirt up above his tits to play with them. Like he played with mine. Which almost made me shiver, it was so perfect. His chest was nicely hairy, not overly so, and his shoulders were taut.
He breathed heavily as he went in and out of me, harder and harder, my soft yelps keeping pace with him. His arms wound up wrapped around my thighs with his hands kneading them in a way I found brutally erotic. Faster and faster, he went, and harder and harder, grunting and groaning and gasping and gulping in breaths...until he began to almost chirp and stiffen and arch back, and when he finally came, he all but mewed.
He collapsed against me, for a moment. Wrapped his arms around me and held me tight as he softly bit my shoulder. Holy fucking shit, I loved his embrace. Didn’t want it to end. Hugged him back as tight as I could and nibbled his ear. He chuckled.
Finally, he pulled away, pulled out, and put himself back in order. I didn’t move, not until he sat behind the wheel and held the two hundreds up like he was calling a cab. I took them, grabbed my jeans, briefs and tennies from the floorboard, and tumbled out the back door. He drove away as I got dressed. It’d be interesting to know whether or not the people who cleaned that car ever noticed the cum all over it.
That cash got me a #2 meal at an In-n-Out, animal style, and a night at a cheesy motel with a long, hot shower and cool sheets. The next morning, I checked out, hopped a bus to the Strip and played some slot machines. Won a nearly four-thousand dollar jackpot on one.
Could it be the Beast was keeping watch over me?
I took the ticket, got a color rinse and haircut in the casino’s hair salon with the last of my cash, then went to the casino’s cashier and used Prescott’s driver’s license for my ID. But I gave her Reuben’s social security number. The cashier paid me next to no attention, so I got the money, less 15% for fees and taxes.
I noticed a TV in the bar was showing the news, and the main story was about one missing state trooper named Prescott Tanner. His official photo was in a popup window behind the anchor, who was talking about his SUV having been located behind that Goodwill store, and how the search was now statewide in Nevada as well as Arizona. Damn, he was gorgeous in that picture.
I bought a Magic Marker from one of the hotel’s shops and hopped into a restroom. In a toilet stall, I used it to darken my hair, again, then went to the nearest bank and opened a checking account. I gave the motel’s address as if it were an apartment building and used Reuben’s ID and social security number. They were very happy to do it with minimal verification, seeing as how I was putting over three-thousand in.
After that, I went straight to a jeweler’s on the other side of the 15. Of course he saw the value in that nugget, straight off. But this time, I told him I‘d found it down by Area 51 and a buddy had to convince me it was valuable. Said I was heading home, once I was done, so he offered to buy it for $1500. Meaning it was probably worth a hundred times that. But I played up the dumb innocent and acted like I didn’t want to sell until he was up to $12,500. Then I caved and gave him Reuben’s new bank account number for the transfer.
I stayed in Vegas two more days, this time in the Gold Coast, which seemed appropriate, to give the transfer time to complete. Then I bought a used Honda HRV with it. Left me about fourteen-hundred bucks. I bought some more clothes, toiletries, and a duffel bag. Made another seven hundred in cash at that same dark street. Grabbed another three thousand off the slot machines in five different casinos. Then, as Reuben’s name and face were being broadcast as a person of interest in the disappearance of Trooper Turner, I got the fuck out of there.
But I did leave three-hundred in the bank account, to suggest I’d be back.
I now needed a new ID and details, but I didn’t know where to go to get them except in my hometown...so that’s where I went. There was a sketchy guy I’d known, who was cousins to one of my girl friends. He was also gay. Which I figured would help me.
His name? Irin Hollister.
“It used to be Aaron,” he’d told me when I first met him. “But that’s so Biblical and quaint. Got it legally changed when I was eighteen. Gives me a clean slate.”
“With the cops?” I asked.
“With everything.” And he was smiling when he said it.
He was something of a twink and had come on to me a couple times, but this was back before I was reborn. I hadn’t seen or heard a word from him in years.
I kind of remembered that he lived in a trailer up some hills to the north of town, in the woods. And that he was a bit on the paranoid side. Took a few hours of driving up and down various roads, but on this twisty narrow trail halfway up a mountainside I managed to find one that looked like it could be the entrance leading to his trailer. Mainly because there were signs posted saying STAY THE FUCK AWAY OR ELSE and TRESPASSERS WILL BE RAPED (if cute) OR SHOT (if not).
Well, I figured I was more likely to get raped than killed, so I was game. I drove up this ratty, rutty driveway and found...not a trailer but a two-story log cabin. Nice and neat, if not very big, nestled under a canopy of pines and...and a real Sequoia! I didn’t know we had any in our area. There was a black ’96 Dodge Ram 2500 pickup parked to its side, next to a ten year old silver Mercedes sedan.
Two Rottweilers came barreling around the house, howling and yapping loud enough to wake the dead, and then Irin appeared at the door. He had beefed up, added a sleeve tattoo to his left arm and shoulder, had silvery blond hair and a goatee in contrast to the dark hair on his chest, and wore a kilt.
And he was carrying a twelve-gauge shotgun.
Without a word, he fired a warning shot in my direction.
I stopped, got out of the HRV, held up my hands and let the dogs circle me, sniffing and barking and bouncing back and forth, as I called, “Hey, ain’t you gonna rape me?”
He froze, and I noticed he had a damn fine pair of calves below that kilt, swirling with hair. Which I’d never seen, before. I wondered if his ass and thighs were as nice.
And my inner beast growled, Shall we find out?
No, I need him. Unless he's useless. Then we’ll see.
Irin looked harder at me then his jaw dropped.
“Warren?” he called.
“No, Dirc. I stopped goin’ by Warren, years ago.”
A grin sprang to his lips, making him almost seem boyish. “Motherfucker, I thought you were dead.”
“I was. Am. Whatever! Can I come in? Or aren’t I cute enough to get raped?”
He laughed, dropped the shotgun over a rocker on the porch, then bounced up and grabbed me in a massive bearhug.
“Motherfucker! You’re still alive! Motherfucker!”
“Fatherfucker, bitch,” I laughed as I hugged him back. Loving the feel of his arms tight around me...and he had a man’s arms. Pumped and solid and strong. Why did I remember him as a twink with skinny everything?
He pulled back, his crystal blue eyes dancing for joy. “My old motherfucker is really a fatherfucker?! Perfect!”
“Haven’t you been following the news?”
“Yeah, but I thought that was all bullshit.”
“So, do I rape you? Or are you gonna rape me, now?”
“You’re the trespasser, cunt.” Then he grabbed my ass and crushed his groin to mine. “Oh, fuck, I’m so glad you’re still alive.”
“You so sure about that?”
“Yeah. Yeah! Shit, yeah!! ‘Cause you’re the only asshole who could understand.”
“Understand what?”
He’s like you, hit my brain.
Irin jolted around. “You hear that?”
Now my jaw dropped. “Son-of-a-bitch...” Him beefing up was making sense, now.
He looked back at me, his grin going as wicked as possible. “Sons-of-bitches, you mean.”
I laughed. “Fatherfuckers, all.”
And we howled for joy like two wolves who’ve found their pack.
