Dangerous Games Ch. 01

JOHN'S STORY

I don't know how I got myself into this mess--I only wanted to earn some money and buy new tires for my car. Now I am trapped, being forced to do things I would never have done in a million years.

The worst part is I can't tell anyone. There is no way in the world I want ANYBODY to know what I do for Tommy, or for that matter, what I'm accused of doing for Jerry, as well.

The shame and humiliation would be too much to bear. I would have to leave town if people found out, and that would be impossible--I have very little money left after this move to Florida, and, I still need new tires.

Going back home is out of the question. Tommy has threatened he will contact my dad if I don't do what he wants, and I believe him.

My dad at the very least would disown me--maybe even cause me physical pain, or worse.

An ugly, brutal memory remains fresh in my mind and haunts me to this day:

Years ago, one morning before school, my older brother and I were playing a game of bumper pool in the basement. It was early; we were still wearing our pajamas.

My brother got to tormenting me, as older brothers are wont to do, and at one point, strictly to defend myself, I slipped my pool cue between my brother's legs and gently nudged his balls. We both laughed about it, but, unbeknownst to us, our father, who had left to go to work, had been watching us from outside thru the basement window.

Next thing we knew, we heard the backdoor of the house fly open, and our father clomping angrily down the basement stairs. He came straight to me, grabbed my pool cue and my arm; he jerked me over to a chair, sat down then pulled me across his lap and spanked my butt with the pool cue. He didn't stop spanking me until I was crying like a little girl.

Throughout the spanking he kept shouting: "NO SON OF MINE WILL EVER BE A FAGGOT!!"

At the time, I was so young I had no idea what he was angry about--I had no clue what a 'faggot' even was, but after that spanking, I decided I sure as hell wasn't going to become one!

Anyway, after high school, I wanted to get a job so I could move out of my parent's house, but they insisted I go to college. They would pay for everything.

My best friend Mike and I went to school together every day. He dropped out after three-weeks and received a sizable refund from the tuition. The following week, I dropped out too and used my refund to move into an apartment with Mike.

Both of us got minimum wage jobs, settled into a routine and lived okay for a couple years. Paying the bills drained most of our paychecks so we couldn't go out much. Luckily, he had a brother-in-law who became our beer and liquor contact so we saved money by staying at home.

When we turned twenty-one, Mike went to bartending school, and a week later, so did I. We were able to land decent jobs when we graduated. We still made minimum wage, but now we made tips, as well.

What a difference tips made! We were rolling in money, or so it seemed at the time.

Mike was good with the ladies, before we became bartenders, he'd have a girl spend the night at our place a couple times a week. Once we tended bar, it seemed like he'd have a different girl come home with him four-five times a week.

I, on the other hand, wasn't good with women. I was very shy, and didn't know what to say to them. It didn't help that I was only 5'7" and 140 pounds. While the women did say I was cute, they usually went home with the more manly guys.

Don't get me wrong--I brought home my share of pretty girls, but not nearly as many as Mike.

About a year later, I got a bug up my ass and wanted to leave my home town. Family and friends thought I was crazy; they said there was no rhyme-or-reason for my decision, but I went ahead and did it anyway.

I chose Tampa because there would be no snow, and it was warm year-round. It was near The Gulf, and it was a big city, but not too big.

I had everything planned, or so I thought. It would take three-days to drive there; I'd arrive close to noon, find an apartment that afternoon, and move-in by evening. Then I'd look for work. I figured I'd be working by the end of the week.

In hindsight, I guess I was kind of naïve.

First off, rents were higher than I thought they'd be, and they all wanted me to fill out applications which would have to be approved before they'd even accept me, and to make matters worse, they would check my credit, which was pretty much non-existent.

By 6pm on the day I'd arrived, I was tired and discouraged, and needed a place to stay. I found a motel I could pay by the week. It was expensive, but I didn't have much choice.

Secondly, the next day when I searched for work, I discovered there were very few bartending openings, and the ones there were, all wanted to hire female bartenders. It was very disheartening.

I finally found a job by the end of my second week. It was a store clerk job for a large, sporting goods chain store. Yes, minimum wage, but I had to take it--I wasn't qualified for gaziantep escort better paying jobs.

I began to think I should have stayed in college.

When I had checked into the motel, the desk clerk was very friendly and we hit it off immediately. He even invited me to have a beer with him when he got off work that day. His name was Jerry, and I began going to 'Happy Hour' with him every day at 5pm.

The bar was less than a block from the motel which meant we could walk instead of drive. I'd had a couple problems with drinking and driving back home so I was thankful I wouldn't have to take my car. The name of the place was 'Rods.'

The first thing I noticed when we went inside was there weren't many females in the place. I remember breathing a sigh of relief. Don't get me wrong, I love women, but whenever I'd gone to bars with my best friend Mike, it became a competition with us: he'd bet he could pick-up a girl before me, and he always won that bet.

Like I said before, I'm pretty awkward and shy when it comes to the ladies, and besides, when I go to bars I'd rather relax and have a few drinks and shoot some pool.

The bar had six pool tables that were always in action. The game of choice appeared to be eight-ball, and I noticed money changing hands between the players. It seemed five dollars-a-game was the going bet.

Jerry and I sat and watched. I always needed a couple drinks in me before I felt confident enough to play. Well, to be honest, I played my best games when I have at least 3 drinks in me. I dunno, it just seems to calm my nerves and helps me concentrate better.

More and more people kept coming into the bar. Almost all of them guys and the behavior of some of them, and the way they were dressed, well, it suddenly occurred to me this wasn't a normal bar...no, this had to be a queer bar!

Don't get me wrong--I don't care what people do in the privacy of their homes, but some of these guys openly flaunted their fairy-ness--you'd think they'd be ashamed and embarrassed, but on the contrary, they acted as though being queer was the most normal thing in the world!

"First time in a gay bar?" Jerry asked me. I guessed he saw the expression on my face.

"Yes, of course," I replied while blushing a bright red.

"That surprises me," he said with a smile.

Was he questioning my manhood? I briefly thought about punching him and getting out of that place, but you know, he was my only friend in town.

When I drained my third drink, Jerry went to the bar for two more. I surveyed the pool tables. I'd been sizing-up the players, noting their strengths and weaknesses. I pulled a quarter out of my pocket, walked to table four and placed it beneath the side-rail then returned to our booth in time for Jerry to hand me another drink.

He raised his glass for a toast and said, "To new and exciting adventures!"

I clinked his glass and once again wondered what he'd meant.

To make a long story short, I played well, winning three games before I lost. I was up ten-bucks in twenty minutes!

When it was my turn again, I won five straight games! I began to think--why not shoot pool for a living? It would be a great to be a professional pool player!

Jerry and I didn't play a game that night...at least I don't think we did. After seven drinks my memory becomes a little fuzzy.

When I woke up the next morning I calculated I'd won fifteen-bucks. How is that possible? I wondered. At one-time I was ahead sixty-dollars!

Over the next week, I wanted to go to 'Rods', but Jerry insisted on drinking in the lounge at the motel. It was pretty boring, but Jerry gave me tickets for free drinks so I couldn't really complain.

Jerry had changed. He wasn't as eager to go to the bar as he had been when I first met him. Personally, I think he has a drinking problem and all the booze was finally getting to him. He couldn't handle liquor as well as me. Now, I wouldn't even see him until I was on my sixth or seventh drink.

My money was running dangerously low. I could not afford to live at the motel much longer. Jerry and I talked about other alternatives, and that was when he introduced me to Tommy.

JERRY'S STORY

The day Johnny walked up to the front desk my prick went BOING! inside my slacks--yes, he IS that pretty!

I was surprised when he gave me his driver's license and saw he was twenty-two; I had guessed him to be eighteen. He was as shy and reticent as an eighteen year-old; it was difficult to draw him into a sustained conversation.

I was filling-in for my daytime clerk who was on vacation. I'd worked later than usual that day; he would be my last check-in. I took a chance and asked if he wanted to have a beer. When he said 'yes', I could feel pre-cum leaking from my cock-slit. He was the sexiest boy I'd seen in a long, long time.

I took him to 'Rods' (I love the name of that place), and bought him a drink, Jack Daniel's