All My Dreams Pass Before My Eyes - 25. Chapter 25 Slammer

Two years earlier.

Bored. Apollo slumped naked in a chair, lazily tying a swizzle stick into knots. The dressing room, if you could call it that, was a small narrow room running along the backside of Slammer.

He’d been on the road for nearly a year since leaving Carey and the East coast behind. First, in Portland, where he’d been dispatched with three other guys to dance at a club long on customers and short on nude dancers. They’d slowly wound their way down the coast to California. San Francisco for almost six months, now in Los Angeles.

Just turned nineteen, a fact he carefully hid from the clubs where he danced, especially the first one. Barely eighteen at the time, no pun intended, when he managed to get that first job dancing in the nude. Just 5’6,” skinny, a boy like figure, he knew his fresh meat appearance would be popular. Mostly hairless, slim hips, boy butt.

Long, stringy, dirty blond hair, falling across his face. Narrow, almond shaped blue eyes. Thin face, pointy chin. Somehow, heredity had been generous, yielding an over-sized joint. His circumcised cock was nearly seven inches, even when limp. Pale, thick, with a big head. Surrounded by a full set of balls.

He only did it for the money, of course. Had to. Homeless most of the time, his parents self-professed hippies. They mostly panhandled, his mother holding down a part time job as a bar maid in a titty joint. When times got really tough, he was expected to do his part. Sell his body. There was only so much he could take. After a drug infused beating from his father, he had enough. So, he split.

Apollo first encountered him as he sat on the ground in a boulevard median. His father, holding a cardboard sign, panhandling for money. Carey walked by, just staring. Apollo was annoyed and felt humiliated, to say the least.

A couple of days later, Apollo saw him again out of the corner of his eye. Apollo himself was on the receiving end of a butt fucking by some high school jock by that lake. Carey watched everything from behind some bushes.

Apollo got naked and jerked off with him a couple of days later at that same secluded spot. After they’d both cum, some deeply buried feeling inside made him snuggle his head into the crook of Carey’s neck. A rarely felt pleasant moment.

Months later, on a whim, he stopped at Carey’s house, thinking they might do something relatively normal. Hang out, maybe. Throw a frisbee or a football, go out for burgers and a soda. But, he wasn’t at home. After finding out where Carey was going to summer school, he hitched his way to college town, eventually spotting Carey on campus. He was just going to go up to him, then something stopped him. Insecurity,? Fear of rejection? Something else?

Nowhere else to go, nothing to do. The only thing he was familiar with, too familiar with, was strip clubs. He’d practically grown up in them when his mother was dancing. He supposed it was kind of warped but he grew to enjoy watching his mother take it all off. She was pretty and she had a nice body. He managed to get a job at Rikk’s, first in the kitchen washing dishes, eventually making his way to the stage where he was able to properly make use of his talents.

When Carey discovered him dancing at Rikk’s, Apollo was as much surprised as Carey was. He tried to play it cool and nonchalant. Inside, he was a wreck. Thankfully, Carey suggested that the two of them hang out after Apollo’s shift. That night was unlike any and all nights. The highlight of Apollo’s life which wasn’t saying a lot. But still, it was off the charts. He didn’t have to leave but he already had the job waiting for him in Portland along with two hundred bucks just for saying he’d go. So, he left. Before he made it to the corner, the tears were rolling down his cheeks.

Slammer was either the pinnacle or the bottom of the heap as far as male strip clubs go. Dancing was a minor attraction. Hardly anyone watched when it was Apollo’s turn to get up on the small stage. Most of the time, the patrons were too busy fucking, sucking, and pissing on each other. If they wanted, guys could be just as naked as the dancers. A lot of them were.

Suck-a-torium, Waterworks Zone, Orgy Room, and Meat Up Booths. Indoor and outdoor slings. Thankfully, management prohibited its workers from engaging in actual sex. But, they couldn’t be bothered bouncing customers for grabbing a dancer or an occasional finger sneaked up someone’s butt. When Apollo wasn’t performing, he was expected to deliver trays of watered down alcoholic drinks, all the while letting the customers paw him.

“Aps, you’re up! Get out there!” Gunther yelled sharply as he stuck his head in the door.

One of Slammer’s managers and, if you could believe it, not even the slimiest of the bunch. Obese, grayish brown scruff to match his close cropped hair, beady eyes, unusually large lips, meaty hands. He’d recently been promoted from bouncer.

As soon as he sauntered out to the main area of the club, he was grabbed, of course. Some prick abruptly wound his fingers around his joint. When Apollo slapped his hand away, the guy asked him for a private dance. The price: fifty bucks. Quickly negotiated down to twenty. Taking his hand and leading him to a Meat Up Booth, Apollo pushed him down on the bench. Standing before him, he lazily shook his booty, raising his arms over his head now and then.

When the guy tried to grab his cock again, Apollo pulled away. “That’ll be another twenty.”

“Get hard for me,” the man demanded in a hoarse voice.

“Ten bucks.”

After he forked it over, Apollo gave himself a couple of jerks and his dick obediently came to attention. The man lazily stroked his own cock through the thin material of his bikini briefs as he stared at Apollo through hooded eyes. A few more shakes of his hips and Apollo got out of there. He wasn’t going to wait for the guy to try to put it into his mouth.

Amir bin Turki al Saud sat observing from a nearby corner. Olive skin, dark eyes, short black wiry hair, a tight coarse beard. His face, more oval shaped compared to the square fat faces of most of his relatives. People would probably describe him as handsome. Thirty-three years old, two wives. His sexual preference a closely guarded secret. If they ever found out he was Gay, he’d likely be dead. But, he wasn’t the first queer member of the royal family and he wouldn’t be the last.

His small entourage stood on either side. Finn, his personal assistant. Every royal family member wanted at least one American PA. It was satisfying to know you had an infidel to suck your toes, not literally, but figuratively. In fact, if that’s what he wanted, Finn would probably do it. Blond, Nordic, linebacker build. He’d thought a few times about fucking him but he liked it better if he was just a servant. Why let him into that part of his personal life?

Omar, his body guard. Skinny, wiry, oily. He talked in a high pitched, whiny voice with a thick Arab accent that usually irritated Amir. But, when it came to protection, the guy was an animal. Anyone trying to cross Amir in any way was first met with a squeaky warning. Most people laughed it off. He sounded ridiculous. But, forced into physical contact, he became a wild man. More than once, Amir had seen him beat a guy to a pulp.

Apollo had just stuffed the crumpled up bills into a lockbox on the nearby wall. Each dancer had their own secure box for depositing tips. A hand softly touched his arm. He turned to see a good-looking blond surfer type guy. Well! This was refreshing, Apollo thought. Someone other than the old fat farts that populated the club.

“Would you come with me?”

He followed him to a dark corner where another man stood. Some Middle Eastern type. Deep in the shadows, a third man slouched against the back of the booth. He could barely make out his face. Apollo just stood there. Both blond surfer guy and the other guy looked to the sides, watching the crowd, apparently showing no interest in him.

As his eyes adjusted, Apollo could make out the third man’s features a little better. Also Middle Eastern, good looking and in good shape. He wore an expensive looking black t-shirt. A Rolex adorned his right wrist.

Slightly built, long dirty blond hair that fell over his ears and eyes, smooth pale skin, tiny nipples, a small innie belly button, looking even smaller because of the treasure below. Graceful, but narrow hips. His cock, a thing of beauty. Long, thick, circumcised, thank God. Big head. A set of full looking balls hanging below. His package bobbed slightly, swinging from side to side, as he shifted from hip to hip. One hand grabbed the elbow of the other arm, a sign that he was a bit uncomfortable. Amir had to resist every temptation to drop to his knees and swallow him whole.

“Turn around,” he said.

Apollo smirked, “I will, for twenty.”

He would have done it for ten, but it wouldn’t hurt to at least put it out there. Amir glanced at Finn who, in turn, extended a hand out to Apollo, dropping some money into his hand. Glancing down quickly, he could see that it was a hundred dollar bill. With a shrug, still holding onto his arm, he turned around, looking straight ahead for a moment, then twisting his head around to look back at the man.

What a cute boy butt, Amir thought! He was hard in just a couple of seconds. Slightly dimpled on both sides, a nice hairless crack, the slender curve up to his waist. He wondered how old he was. Barely eighteen, if that. He kept his serious expression, slightly nodding in approval.

“Spread your legs and bend over.”

Apollo chuckled. He was about to ask for more money but, before he could, another hundred was extended toward him. Taking it from the guy, he obligingly spread his legs and bent over far enough to touch the floor with his fingers. A perfectly round, pinkish brown, puckered asshole. Apollo’s balls dangled enticingly between his legs.

Amir licked his lips.

***

August. Back to the present.

“Yee Haw!”

Miranda held her forearm up, bent at the elbow, her camera dangling and tipped away from her face. She frowned at some guy nearby who had just yelped. Things were not going very well.

This whole rodeo project was at a standstill. She’d already taken a couple of thousand photos of bull riding, bronc busting, barrel racing, and other what-not. Some close-ups of cowboys and a few cowgirls deep in concentration readying themselves for their few seconds in the lime light. Rodeo clowns performing as well as standing around looking bored, chugging coffee and what was probably something a lot stronger. The smell of marijuana mixed with dung and horse sweat tickled her nose. Overall, her output was yawn worthy and positively average.

With a shrug, she dropped her camera into her backpack. As she strolled around the perimeter of the show ring and bleachers, a text came in from Harper.

“Hey.”

“Hay.”

Laughing emoji.

“Seriously there’s hay all over the GD place.”

Laughing emoji.

Miranda smirked. They’d kept in sporadic contact since the end of the semester. She should be jealous of Harper’s relationship with Reggie but something deep in her consciousness told her this was nothing more than a fling. Or, at least, that was her hope. These young girls, she thought, so fuckin’ flighty. Ya gotta love ‘em though. At that age, certain girls possessed a swag, a seductive aroma, that elevated them above the fray. Intoxicating, really. Miranda couldn’t stop drinking the Kool-Aid.

“Met someone.”

Jeez, okay. Now what, she asked herself?

“?”

“Her name is Keisha.”

Miranda’s curiosity was suddenly piqued.

“Do tell.”

“We shud all hang out.”

Smiling emoji.

“Come to NYC.”

“Maybe. Havta see.”

“Laterzzz.”

This annual county rodeo, sort of an anomaly in an area that wasn’t really all that rural and certainly wasn’t far enough west to be called cowboy country, was just large enough to attract a few pro rodeo performers. As she roamed past some of the booths that had been set up near the grandstand, she was about ready to ditch it for the night.

“Meet and Greet the Rodeo Stars!” The sign said at one booth. A decent sized crowd had gathered. Miranda poked her head around people in front of her to see what was going on. Two cowgirls, most likely barrel racers, stood in the back of the booth, smiling broadly as they signed autographs.

The girls were both cute but one of them, in particular, grabbed her attention. Her smile was magnetic, blue eyes twinkling, a button nose, dimples, adorable features all set off attractively by an oval shaped face. She wore a pearl colored cowboy hat with a broad brim that covered her straight blonde hair. A paisley kerchief was tied around her neck. Her rodeo shirt was a blue and green pinstripe of some kind of shimmery satin fabric. With her make-up done perfectly, she stood out almost like a high resolution photo. Petite, slender, probably 5’1” or 5’2.”

“What’s your name, honey?” She asked the girl thrusting a program out to her.

“CeeCee.”

“Capital C-e-e Capital C-e-e,” she responded. Then, blushing slightly, “My name’s actually Cecilia, but it’s really just CeeCee.”

What a cute girl, Miranda thought! Flowing brown hair, brilliantly green eyes, a field of freckles across the bridge of her pert nose. Cute figure. College age?

The rodeo girl just stared at CeeCee, a slight smile on her face. Miranda stared too, first at the girl, then back at the cowgirl.

“Of course! To CeeCee. Have fun or go home, your friend, Ally!” She said out loud as she signed the program. Several people laughed. Miranda chuckled, too.

“Hey Ceese!” A guy yelled from a few feet away. “Let’s go!”

Miranda turned to look at him. Terribly good looking, tall. He reminded her of some movie star. She couldn’t quite think of who it might be. She turned her attention back to the cowgirl and her partner as they continued to greet other rodeo fans and sign autographs.

The other girl was stunning, too, but in a completely different way. Big, broad brimmed, black hat, raven hair, dark eyebrows the lightest of blue eyes, red lipstick. Her outfit was equally flashy. A red-checked shirt and a black vest. Unusual black cowboy boots with shiny metal tips. Spiked heels, obviously for show, not for riding. A sudden vision leapt into Miranda’s consciousness. That girl, naked except for the black boots, standing with legs spread, her hands on her hips, a neat black bush proudly on display.

She burst out laughing with a big guffaw. A couple of people actually turned around to look at her. Miranda didn’t care. Her project, or a new one rather, burst into her mind, now sharply in focus. She broke away from the crowd, collecting her thoughts, trying to keep her pulse from racing. After she reached the last booth, she turned around intending to retrace her steps. Let’s see what happens.

Oddly, the crowd around the Meet and Greet booth had dissipated. The two girls just stood there, talking quietly to each other. Miranda strolled up to them.

“How ya doin’?” Ally asked in a soft cowgirl kind of accent. That smile! She suddenly realized it was the way Brad Pitt smiled. A mischievous twinkle in her eyes, as if saying, I’ve got something on you.

“I’m Ally and this is Kennedy,” she said referring to her friend. “Would you like us to sign your program?”

“Only if it includes your phone number,” Miranda responded.

***

Her arm laid across her eyes. Another two weeks to go and the season would be over. Then a short break and it would be onto arena season. Good thing. She didn’t know if she could take much more of this stinkin’ hot smelly trailer. It was usually better just to imagine herself being somewhere else. Anywhere else.

Dropping her arm back to her side, Ally opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling of the trailer. She lay there naked in a pool of sweat.

She couldn’t get that woman out of her mind. When Miranda asked for her number, something clicked. So direct, so confident. Her voice! Kind of medium to low, a hard kind of insistent tone. Big round eyeglasses, like some kind of intellect. Thin, sunken cheeks, but very distinct features. Dark colored hair mixed with some gray. Freaking sexy! If she’d asked her if she could stick her finger up her twat, she would have obliged without blinking an eye.

As they talked, Ally used up her entire list of flirts, and then some. Even though Miranda was fairly serious and direct, Ally tried to keep the conversation light and funny. Ally was good at making people laugh. She took her cowboy hat off a couple of times, pretending to fluff her hair up, before plopping it back on to try to look more alluring. When she let her lips fall open just a bit and ran her tongue across her front teeth, she watched Miranda’s hazy eyes wandering around her face. Then she let her hands drop off of her hips and do a fast turn around her own butt. Ally knew she had a cute butt and she used it to her advantage whenever she could. Tight, tight jeans, no panties, except when she was riding. And, she wasn’t riding tonight.

She had practically creamed in her pants when Miranda proposed a photo shoot. Pulling her camera out of her backpack, she asked them if she could take a couple of quick snapshots.

“Just for documentary purposes,” she said.

Ally and Kennedy graciously put their arms around each other’s shoulders and smiled sweetly for the camera.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she brought one hand up to pinch a nipple. Letting her legs fall open, she brushed her fingers across her shaved pubic bone to her vulva letting one finger lightly graze her clit. A jolt of electricity went through her. She felt a “thunk” inside as her love canal loosened up. Open for business.

Just then, the bathroom door banged open. Kennedy appeared. Naked, her breasts glistening in the light from the bathroom, large brown nipples impossibly hard. That big black strap-on dick, menacing, almost the same color as her hair.

“Turn over!” She said sharply.

Ally liked it when she talked like that. Kennedy pulled on her hip to turn her. Up on her knees, head down, hands gripping the sheets. She squeezed her eyes shut, ready for the assault.

***

A week later. Another rodeo. Miranda had to drive a little further, this time getting a motel room. It was too far to drive back late at night. Besides…

Something about this girl. Da watched her getting ready to barrel race. Complete concentration. Whispering to her Paint as she paced it around the back of the arena. She had a look. That blond hair hanging loosely around her head. A small curl to her lip. Tight features. Hips tipped slightly forward in the saddle, knees clutching the sides of her ride.

“Next up! National award winner, Ally Mac-A-Doo-o-o!”

A smattering of applause.

She didn’t start from the gate like most of the others. More like she charged her mount through it from thirty feet away at full gallop. Miranda forgot all about taking pictures. She just watched, her mouth agog. Ally and her horse rapidly disappeared into the arena where she ran the horse through its paces. It was amazing to watch her make the turns. Her hair flying along with the horse’s mane, both arms stretching the reins to the sides, heels kicked up in the air, leaning hard into the turns. Finishing her circuit around the barrels, she flew through the gate.

“Whoo-o-o!” Ally squealed as she jumped off her horse. She was immediately surrounded by other riders and a few fans.

Finally recovering her composure, Miranda stood off to the side, rapidly shooting pictures. Following, some more photos, just the two of them. Head against the neck of her Paint, peeking under his nose, leaning against a fence. It was only natural that they go out for a drink afterwards.

A few drinks, some verbal volley ball, and they were in the sack a couple of hours later.

Afterwards, they lay there together looking up at the ceiling of Miranda’s motel room. She laid out her new photography project for Ally, afterwards springing up to grab her book, Now and Then.

Sitting up, legs crossed. She looked so damn cute like that with her small firm breasts sitting so pertly on her chest. Nipples erect, as she paged through the book and looked at the pictures.

“I like this one and this one and this one…” Ally giggled.

Miranda sighed. She reached into the nightstand and brought out her favorite strap-on.

“Ever had one of these used on you?”

“Yeah,” she giggled. Following, a low groan.