3 Dudes in Vegas - Chapter 1 (Patreon)

Author’s note: All my characters are consenting adults (18+). All sexual acts depicted are consensual between the adult characters.

Chapter 1

The J-Lo ticket had been a joke gift to myself. A weekend in Vegas because my friends had weddings and I had points. The concert ended. The walk back through the casino felt like being the only person in the building who had come for the show and not for a crime. I went up to my room, showered, opened Grindr the way you open the minibar: knowing you’ll regret the charge.

The feed was the usual Vegas garbage. Couples looking for a third. Bots. A guy in a bathroom mirror who wanted to “hang and see.” I almost closed it. Then the blank tile sat there with no face and a bio that felt like a dare written by somebody who had been stroking too long to use punctuation right.

I read it twice.

Blank profile. No face. Bio:

3 bored str8 gooners. same hotel. looking for a voyeur. don’t be weird. Gay eyes only, no hands.

I stared at it longer than a person with dignity should. Then I typed.

what hotel?

They dropped the name. It was mine. Two towers over. 1840.

we got a tv and oil and straight porn. you sit in the chair. you don’t talk. you don’t touch. you watch. we might talk shit and call you names. that’s the plan.

I said I was on my way before I could write a better sentence.

1840 smelled like Axe, fryer oil from somewhere, and the particular sweat of men who had been at it long enough to stop pretending it was a joke. The door opened on the hairy one. Mustache. Gold chains. Lion tattoo down the arm. No shirt. Pink shorts from the afternoon still on, shoved low. Hairy everywhere, shoulders, arms, chest hair shiny with oil and sweat. He looked at me like I was room service.

“You the eyes.”

“Gary.”

“Didn’t ask.” He stepped aside. “Chair. Don’t make it a tour.”

The room was a disaster that had decided to be honest. King bed wrecked. Desk lamp on the TV. Porn paused on a blonde who was not the point. Two other guys: the Wisconsin one on the bed in camo shorts, curly hair damp, heart tattoo, stroking slow with a bored face; the third in a white tee and a cap, watch on, beer in the hand that wasn’t on himself. Empty cans. A bottle of cheap massage oil with the cap off. The AC fighting a losing war. The room was hot with the heat of the bodies.

“Rules,” the Lion said. He had a voice like he’d been yelling at a blackjack table. “You sit. You watch. We jerk to girls. You get hard, that’s your problem. You touch us, that’s gay, and we’re not doing gay. You talk, we kick you out. Be discreet and invisible. We clear?”

“100% Clear.” Fuck I was nervous but the three guys were so hot.

“Good. I’m Leo. That’s Wyatt. That’s Reid. Don’t use the names in the hall.”

They were all late twenties. Old enough to split a suite and still call it a boys’ trip. Leo was the biggest one. Dark wavy hair, thick mustache, gold chains sitting in the hair on his chest, lion running down the arm, the kind of body that stayed thick after the gym and the beer. Not clean. Not trimmed. Shiny with oil. Wyatt was the middle one: damp curls, slimmer, runner legs, the heart tattoo on his forearm, longer than he looked like he’d be. Reid still had the white tee and the watch. Light stubble, cap when he remembered it, a little hair on his chest, the face of a guy who swore he only came to watch. Three straight men on a weekend. No rings. No good excuse.

I sat in the chair. The porn started again. Straight, loud, stupid. They went back to work like I was furniture that breathed. Leo stood by the TV, oil on his fist, that thick uncut fact dark against the hair of his stomach, stroking with no rhythm except the one that kept him mean. Wyatt on his back, camo around his thighs, long, not as thick, the head already wet. Reid sat on the edge of the desk and watched the screen more than his own hand, like if he looked at his cock he’d have to admit a person was in the chair.

They talked the way gooners talk.

Leo didn’t look at me when he talked. He looked at the blonde on the screen and insulted her like she could hear him.

“She doesn’t even like it. Pause it. Wyatt. The other one. The one with the ass.”

Wyatt changed the tab with his clean hand. New girl. Same idea. He stroked slower on purpose, showing off, the long cock shining.

“You’re going to last forty minutes doing that,” Reid said.

“That’s the game, dude — that’s the game, dude. Goon. Don’t race. Leo already raced twice before this guy showed up.”

Leo flipped him off with the oily hand and didn’t miss a stroke.

“I came at six. I came at eight. I’m still here. That’s called being a man. You two are tourists.” He spat on his palm again. The sound was wet enough that I felt it in the chair. “Eyes. You hard?”

I didn’t answer. That was an answer.

“He’s hard,” Wyatt said, delighted. “He’s sitting there with a boner watching three straight dudes beat off to chicks. That’s the gayest thing in this tower and he’s the one who walked here.”

Reid laughed and then hissed because he’d gotten too close. He squeezed the base of himself and stared at the ceiling.

“I can’t look at the chair. If I look at the chair I think about his mouth and then I’m not straight, I’m just in a hotel.”

“You’re straight,” Leo said. “He’s the slut. That’s the math. We use the math. You don’t rewrite it because your dick got ideas.”

They went another ten minutes like that. Oil. Rewinds. Leo calling the girl a whore and Wyatt agreeing and Reid trying not to say anything that would get quoted tomorrow. My jeans were a problem I was not allowed to solve. Every time I shifted, Leo noticed.

“Don’t you dare touch yours. We don’t want to see your gay clit. You touch yours, you’re a guest who got greedy. Guests who get greedy leave.”

The gooning had made them stupid. Not movie-sexy. Mouths open. Eyes half-dead. The face a guy makes when he’s been at it too long and his brain left the room. Leo’s forehead was wrinkled, tongue a little out, staring at the screen and not seeing it, fist moving on its own. Wyatt laughed at nothing, delayed, head tipped on the mattress, stroking too slow on purpose so he wouldn’t blow, face slack and wet and dumb. Reid bit his lower lip and flinched every time he got close, eyes rolling for a second, then pretending he was just drinking a beer. Three idiot faces pumping to girls on a TV. The room smelled like old cum and cheap oil. I sat in the chair salivating like it was a ticketed show.

They kept talking about the girl. About a bartender’s ass downstairs. About how long they could last if they didn’t race. Leo called Wyatt a bitch for slowing down. Wyatt told Leo his arm was going to fall off. Reid laughed and then went quiet when he got close and had to back off.

I was hard in my jeans like an idiot. They noticed. They didn’t care. That was the humiliation they wanted: a gay guy in a chair with a problem he wasn’t allowed to solve, salivating for them.

After twenty minutes Leo’s oil-slick massive chest was a mess. Sweat in the hair. Chains sticking. He looked at me without stopping his hand.

“You’re staring at the wrong movie.”

“You told me to watch.”

“I told you to watch the girls.” He spat on his palm, kept going. “You watching my dick. That’s the gay part. I should throw you out.”

He didn’t.

I heard my own voice before I could kill it.

“I could… if your arm’s tired. A massage. Just the shoulders. That’s not—”

Wyatt snorted.

“That’s gay shit.”

Reid: “Bro.”

Leo looked at his own shoulder like it had betrayed him. The muscle jumped. Oil. Heat.

“Shoulders,” he said. “You touch my dick I kick you out. That’s not a joke.”

I stood. My knees already knew where this was going. I went behind him. The TV kept playing a girl who did not exist in this room. I put my hands on him. Hot. Slippery. The lion moving when his arm moved. I worked the traps, the neck, the place the cap had sat all day. He grunted like a man getting a tattoo finished.

“Harder. I didn’t invite you here to be gentle.”

I went harder. Down the pecs because the oil made a path and because I am not a good person. He didn’t stop me. His cock jumped in his fist.

“That’s not a shoulder.”

“I can stop.”

“Did I tell you to stop?” His voice was rougher.

Wyatt sat up on his elbows.

“Leo. That’s gay.”

“It’s a back massage. Shut up, bro.”

It wasn’t a back anymore. My hands were on his super hairy stomach. The hair wet. The base of him brushing my wrist every time he stroked. He let the stroke die. My palm replaced it like the room had voted.

Leo’s head dropped forward.

“Fuck. That’s— that’s a hand. That’s a dude’s hand on my dick.”

“You can tell me to stop.”

“If I tell you to stop I have to go back to my arm and my arm is a coward.” He laughed once, ugly. “You wanted to watch. Now you’re working. That’s on you.”

I stroked him the way the oil wanted. Slow, tight, the uncut skin sliding. He was bigger in the hand than on the screen of my head. He smelled like sweat and massage oil and the fight he’d picked with his own rules. Behind me Wyatt had stopped pretending the porn was interesting. Reid had his mouth open.

“Leo,” Reid said. “Bro. That’s a handjob.”

“I know what it is. I’m not blind.” Leo’s hips pushed into my fist. “He asked. I said shoulders. He lied. I’m too far in to be the moral one.”

I went to my knees because standing was a costume I couldn’t keep. The carpet burned. Leo looked down at me, mustache, chains, the polite version of him dead on the bathroom floor of some other night.

“You put that in your mouth and this turns into a different game.”

I put it in my mouth.

He swore like he’d been stabbed in a good way. Thick. Salt. Oil. I took what I could and used my hand for the rest. His fingers found my hair and didn’t ask the chair for permission.

Wyatt’s cock was slimmer and longer and he didn’t know what to do with his hands, so he put them on his own hips like he was posing for a photo he would never post. I took him to the middle and he swore.

“That’s a mouth. Leo. That’s a whole mouth.”

“I know what a mouth is.” Leo tapped my cheek with himself, impatient. “Share. He’s not your boyfriend.”

I went back to Leo because Leo was the master of the event. He pushed until my eyes watered and held me there, chains against his hairy pecs, and talked to the other two over my head.

“See. He wanted to watch. Now he’s choking on it. That’s what voyeur gets you in this city.”

He pulled out long enough for me to drag air and then put it back. “Reid. Stop being a virgin at the desk. Bring it.”

Reid’s was the one that surprised me. Not the biggest. The meanest when it got all the way hard. He wiped the head across my lower lip and left a smear and said, very quiet:

“If I do this I’m going to think about it at breakfast.”

“Then think about it at breakfast,” Leo said. “Don’t make it poetry.”

I opened. Reid slid in like he was afraid of the teeth and then forgot the fear in four strokes. Wyatt took my right hand and wrapped it around himself and fucked the fist, sloppy, oil from Leo transferring down my wrist. They found a rotation that had nothing to do with kindness. Left. Right. Center. Somebody’s hipbone on my temple. Somebody’s balls on my chin. The porn girl hit a note nobody in the room earned.

Leo grabbed my hair and made it a throat instead of a turn.

“Hold. Hold. That’s it. You wanted three bored straight guys. You got the bored part taken out.”

Wyatt came up off the bed halfway, laughing, wrecked.

“He’s drooling on the carpet. That’s disgusting. Do it again.”

I did it again because there was no version of standing up that got me back to being eyes in a chair. Reid’s thighs started to shake. Leo noticed and pulled me off Reid by the hair.

“Not yet. He hasn’t earned a load. Gary. Look at me.”

I looked. Mustache. Sweat. The lion glossy.

“You going to take all three tonight.”

It wasn’t a question. I nodded with his cock on my tongue.

“Good. Bed. Head off the edge. I’m done with this position.”

Leo pulled out of my mouth, shining, angry at how good it was.

They put me there. Leo down my throat. Wyatt in my hand. Reid wiping his cock across my face like he was signing a check. Oil everywhere. Sweat in Leo’s chest hair dripping onto my forehead. Someone’s beer can tipped. The porn was still going. Nobody was watching it.

“I’m gonna come,” Wyatt said. “I’m gonna come and that’s your problem.”

He came first, messy, across my cheek and into my open mouth while Leo was still using it. Leo laughed, mean, and kept going.

“Reid. Your turn in the hole. Don’t be shy now. You watched for forty minutes.”

Reid’s hands were shaking. He fed me himself and lasted less than he wanted. He came with a sound like he’d dropped a weight and tried to step back and Leo said on his face, don’t you waste it on the comforter and Reid painted what Wyatt had started.

Leo was last. He held my head with both hands and used my throat like the chair had been a lie from the beginning. Chains slapping his hairy chest. Thick dark mustache above me when I could see. He came hot and a lot and didn’t pull out until I was coughing it, and then he wiped the rest on my tongue with his thumb.

The room breathed.

Wyatt said: ”We are so fucked.”

Reid sat on the desk and stared at his own wet cock like it belonged to a stranger.

Leo pulled his pink shorts up. They didn’t help. He looked at me on the bed, used, shiny, the voyeur who had failed the job description.

“You’re not sitting in the chair again,” he said. “You want to come back tomorrow, you come back on your knees. That’s the new rule. You walk out looking like you lost at cards.”

I sat up. My throat hurt. I could taste all three of them and the oil and the lie that this had been about watching chick porn.

“Same room?” I asked.

Leo almost smiled. The lion on his arm flexed when he picked up a beer that wasn’t his.

“Same room. Don’t be late. And Gary.”

“Yeah.”

“That massage thing. Don’t pitch it like it’s innocent next time. We know what you are now.”

I left with my shirt all wet and the corridor too bright. Downstairs J-Lo’s name was still on a poster. In the elevator I opened Grindr. The blank profile was gone.

Next day there would be a new one.

Or there wouldn’t.

I already knew I was going back.