That’s What I Call Entertainment - 1. That’s What I Call Entertainment

I remember the conference vividly. I was never a big Three Dog Night fan although I do enjoy many of their songs; mostly because my parents liked their music a lot. They did put on quite a show, though. But sitting in the ballroom afterward, having a couple drinks and appetizers, the secondary entertainment is truly captivating. Even though the dancers are covered completely in colorful spandex, or maybe because of that fact, their petite, lithe bodies are sexy as hell.

That one there in the many shades of red. Holy fuck, what a body. I wish I knew if it was a young man or woman. I’d hate to invite them up to my room and find out it’s a guy. Well, if anybody notices them following me, anyway. Personally, it wouldn’t bother me in the least if it was a man. Not that I’ve ever really done anything with another man. Not since I was around fifteen, anyway. Lying naked next to that body would be heaven either way.

Of course, the odds of a coworker noticing are one hundred percent. I’m sitting with Parker Kapstan, my closest friend in the company. I say friend, which is true, but crush might be more accurate. He’s probably the only man I know that I wouldn’t mind waking up next to every morning. Am I brave enough to ask him if he’s gay, or even bisexual? Fuck no.

Screw it. They’ve finished the show and are walking around asking for tips. Just my good luck, Red is coming our way, holding out a small plastic bucket. The bucket matches their costume well. I take two Andy Jacksons out of my wallet to drop into the bucket. Parker looks at me like I’m insane as he drops in an Abe for his contribution.

Red nods silently and rapidly, doing the American Sign Language sign for thank you, adding to the mystique of his or her androgyny.

“Are you allowed to join us for a drink?”

Red nods, pointing to the bucket, the few tables behind us, and then to a table where a few others have been placed and then back at an empty chair at our table. Red hits a few more tables and Parker wonders aloud what I’m doing.

“That was a hell of a tip. You trying to pick them up?”

I turn a similar shade of red as the dancer’s primary costume shade, “Um, yeah, actually, I am.”

“I don’t know about you, but I can’t tell whether that’s a man or a woman.”

“Honestly, neither can I. But how much fun is life if you don’t gamble a little? Hell, we’re in Vegas.”

He looks at me strangely, which worries me a little. Too late for that now.

Standing up, Parker says, “Okay. I’m going to hit the hay, I’m up first tomorrow. Tell me how it goes.”

“Okay. Goodnight.”

Parker was giving the presentation for our office’s annual results, something I didn’t envy him for in the least. There were over a hundred colleagues and customers here. No way I could stand up in front of that many people and make anything coherent leave my lips. He was number one in sales from our office, I was number two. Another ten thousand dollars of sales and it would have been me up there. Thank goodness for a marginally bad year.

Red sits down at the table, pointing at Parker’s chair.

“He had to leave, his presentation is first tomorrow. Would you like a drink?”

Red nods and I flag down a cocktail waitress. You know the kind in Vegas, short skirt, mile-long legs, and beautiful. I notice these things but am staring at Red the whole time. I order another screwdriver and Red motions the waitress down so they can whisper the order in her ear. I like the perpetuation of the mystery, it just makes me more determined.

I try to make small talk while awaiting the waitress’s return, but it’s difficult when the other party refuses to talk.

“No offense, but are you able to talk?”

Red nods, and shrugs. It’s time to bite the bullet.

“Between the costume and the mystery being persisted by your silence, you’re sexy as hell.”

Red brings an index finger and thumb to their mouth, pantomiming pulling up the edges in a smile.

“You’re also very good at making yourself understood without words. I have a hard enough time with words.”

The waitress brings our drinks. Red has something that might be a gin and tonic with one of those tiny straws. The drink raises and the straw goes into a small hole at the mouth.

“Clever.”

Another shrug. After a little more small talk on my part, the drinks are almost gone. It’s zero-hour.

“Would you like to come back to my room with me?”

If I must say so myself, I believe I’m a fairly good-looking thirty-two year old man, so I thought it was just possible enough that Red could be attracted to me. I really wasn’t expecting a positive response, though. Red finished the drink, put the glass down and pointed toward the doors.

I finished my screwdriver and stood up. When we got into the elevator, Red took my hand. I was already starting to harden. Their touch got me the rest of the way there.

I opened the door to my room and led Red in. I had a flash of fear. Did they follow me in order to rob me? The flash left immediately when Red rubbed the front of my slacks. They turned around and pointed toward the zipper on the back of the costume. My dream was coming true.

My hands were shaking as I reached for the zipper. There wasn’t a trace of hair as it traversed down Red’s back. Passing a tiny string around the waist, the zipper stopped at the perineum, Red spreading their legs a little so I could get it all the way down. Turning around, the fabric stretched enough for me to see hairless legs as well as the costume was slowly removed. Once both legs were uncovered, I saw a g-string, red, of course. If this was a man, he wasn’t very well endowed. That didn’t bother me because honestly, neither was I.

The spandex removal continued. I’m seeing a person with a flat-chest, five foot three, a hundred pounds, maybe, a beautiful (handsome?) face. I see short blond hair, electric blue eyes, and holy shit, the most kissable lips I’ve ever seen, and I still don’t know for sure if Red is male or female. I’m left to continue pondering the question as my shirt is unbuttoned and removed. As Red’s hands go to my waist, unbuckling, unbuttoning, and unzipping me, I still don’t care. I’m all-in no matter how this turns out.

Red lowers themselves down to their knees, slowly removing my boxer-briefs. Next, my penis and balls are rubbed gently. After being moved up against a wall, I gasp as those kissable lips envelop my member. I want this to last longer, but I’ve been painfully hard since the elevator. Less than a minute in Red’s mouth and I’m exploding. The wall and Red prevent me from collapsing. I’m practically hyperventilating, but shortly regain my composure. I slowly spin us around so Red is against the wall.

I slowly drop to my knees and gently grab the spaghetti-sized straps laying around Red’s waist and slowly lower the g-string. His wonderful penis is small, but not extremely so. Aside from the top of his head, I haven’t seen a single hair on his body. I take his smooth cock into my mouth, feeling it instantly harden.

I have the pleasure of administering to his beautiful penis for a long while before I’m rewarded with his sweet-tasting cum. I swallow it all, my tongue continuing to lovingly caress his balls. He doesn’t push me away, like he would if his dick was experiencing the typical post-orgasmic sensitivity. He’s still rock solid, so I resume my ministrations, and again am rewarded after just a few more minutes.

He looks down, seeing my once again erect penis, kneels, has me stand back up, and takes me into his mouth again. Fortunately, I last longer the second time. After I cum, he leads me to the bed and we lie down together, wrapping our arms around each other. I feel myself drifting off to sleep. Up until then, he still hasn’t said s word to me. Nor have I said anything since we left the banquet room.

“I don’t even know your name. I’m Cary.”

He says, “Tegan Morgan.”

I’m very much into the meaning of Welsh names, like my own. I know his name means ‘beautiful white sea.’ I couldn’t agree more. I’m drowning in his essence. Being Cary Beddoe, pure protector of the sea, I felt we were perfect for each other.

When I woke in the morning, Tegan was gone. I was heartbroken. I took a zombie walk to the bathroom to take care of my morning necessities, showered, and found a new set of clothes. I picked up my valise to head out to breakfast and the conference, which I had no desire to do. That was when I saw the note.

‘I needed to retrieve my clothes. I will return at the end of your conference today. I hope you will want to see me again.’

He may be almost ten years my junior, but we’re still married twenty-five years later. I told Parker everything, he was my best man.