Tales of the City 07 - Michael Tolliver Lives

briefs, while pulling me closer by the crotch of my sweatpants. Within seconds he had us both in hand, squeezing our dicks together like an eager child introducing her Barbie dolls to each other. Then he went down on both of us, one after the other, never neglecting either for long: a symphonic performance by a true multi-instrumentalist. Ben pulled my face into his and kissed me hungrily.
    In a three-way, of course, there’s always the danger that someone will feel left out, but Patreese didn’t let that happen. I’m pretty sure he saw Ben as the brass ring on this merry-go-round, but I never felt unwelcome on the ride. By the time we were naked on the bed and both of them (at Ben’s prompting) were sucking on my chest, I was feeling so generous that, once I’d shot my load, I grabbed a condom off the bedside table and rolled it onto Patreese’s cock. Ben realized this was meant for him, and gazed at me in tender appreciation before grabbing a bottle of lube and going to work. He came on all fours, the little spunk bucket, never even touching himself, while Patreese was fucking him. I know because I was underneath, catching the splash and offering kisses and feeling flat-out wonderful. Patreese more or less fucked him into my arms. Ben stayed there for some time, laughing from the pleasure, his heart beating hard against my chest.
    Then my cell phone rang in my suitcase. It’s programmed to ring like an old forties telephone—like Barbara Stanwyck’s, say, in Sorry, Wrong, Number —and that always lends a certain jangly melodrama to the moment.
    “Leave it,” said Ben from the middle of this panting stack of men.
    “Good idea,” I said from the bottom.
    “Nobody move,” said Ben.
    There was a brief silence, followed by the little groan Ben makes whenever someone pulls out of him. (Or at least when I do.)
    “Sorry,” said Patreese.
    “That’s okay,” said Ben.
    Patreese rolled off the pile and sat on the edge of the bed, skinning the condom off his cock. Then he took it to the bathroom and flicked it into the toilet.
    “What’s this?” he called.
    “What?” I asked.
    “In the toilet.”
    “Oh,” said Ben, grinning. His head was on my chest now, while his hand roamed the familiar volcanic slopes of my belly. “That’s an orchid.”
    “I got that much,” said Patreese.
    “They put one there every day,” Ben explained. “Sorta like a mint on the pillow. We flush it every night, but it keeps coming back.”
    “One of those little extra touches,” I added, “that mean so very much at Inn Among the Flowers.”
    Patreese stared down at this deeply Floridian floral offering. “It don’t look right somehow.”
    “I know,” I said. “Especially with a condom on it.”
    Patreese chortled and flushed the toilet and cleaned up at the sink. When he came back to the bedroom, he started gathering up his clothes.
    “Hey,” I said. “Hang with us for a while.” I wanted him to know he didn’t have to fuck and run on our account, that we weren’t that kind of couple.
    “Busy day tomorrow,” he said, pulling on a sock.
    “Not with my mother, I hope.”
    He chuckled. “My other job. A bachelorette party.”
    Ben sat up on one elbow. “They get their hair done for that?”
    “I strip for private parties,” Patreese explained. “That’s what this is for.” He was stepping into his fatigues now, stuffing all the goods back in. “Got a cop uniform, too.”
    “No shit,” said Ben, apparently impressed by the rich array of employment opportunities available to a hairdresser here in the sovereign state of Disney.
    Patreese grunted. “It ain’t worth the bus fare half the time.”
    “Why not?” asked Ben.
    Patreese shrugged. “I don’t care how big your dick is—if a sister’s got a plate of ribs in front of her, there ain’t no way you’re gonna hold her attention.”
    Ben and I laughed raucously.
    “I’m serious, ” said Patreese, clearly tickled by our response and warming to his material. “I’m up there workin’ my ass off…just flangin’ my stuff around. And they’re sittin’ down there in their nasty-ass press-on nails, pickin’ meat outta their teeth.”
    Ben hooted again. “Tough crowd, eh?”
    “Oh, the sisters say they like the mens … ” Patreese drew out the last word with a histrionic hiss, so we’d know it wasn’t his own particular vernacular. “But they don’t like the mens near as much as the mens like the mens.” He was tying his