The hotel entertainment system had provided the bump-and-grind music. It was that kind of hotel in northern Charleston. As the music started, the TV itself was still set on a European football game so that the six of us spread out around the couch and chairs in Bud's hotel suite living room could choose which to watch—the game, all six of us being sports oriented—or the cute young stripper, Jamie, starting to dance and take it all off. All six of us were actively gay as well as being sports oriented. As Jamie, small, Hispanic, beautifully proportioned and with a dark, sultry look, stripped his shirt off and began to undulate with the music, Bud, beer in hand, stood and moved behind him, dancing to the rhythm of the music, his pelvis close in to the stripper's butt.
The six of us were alumni frat brothers, from a jock, but gay, fraternity at Georgia Tech in Atlanta. We'd all been sports stars of some sort in college. My sport had been tennis and I'd gone on to be a pro. I'd made a bundle of money, which I was now putting into various small businesses, hedging my financial bets. Most of the rest had been in their sports specialty for a short time or with a near miss on the professional level and had gone into sports management, which was what most of us majored in at Georgia Tech before graduating five years earlier. After college, we'd all either worked in coaching or management for professional teams or had gone into sales sports equipment. All had done well. Bud had gone off into real estate and he'd done better than the rest of us. Thus, he was the one with a suite in the hotel where we'd gathered after clubbing to watch sports events across the world with each other after the "big" event of the day. We'd brought a stripper, Jamie, back with us from the last club we'd been in to do a little sporting of our own. He knew and had agreed to what came after the dance.
Each of us intended to fuck him. Gangbanging was one of our activities when we got together. It's something that had bound us together since college. Nothing bonded a bunch of guys more than standing around a bed, naked, every guy stroking his cock and waiting his turn to fuck a cute guy lying on his back on the bed, mingling his seed with that of his chums.
We knew his name was Jamie because all of the male strippers at the club had worked themselves down to bikini briefs, but no further, and their names had been stitched across their waistbands. Jamie had been paid well to come back to the hotel with us, get stripped all the way down, and to do it all with all six of us.
"Doubling will cost extra," he said. We'd left that possibility open, but it was good to know it could be included. Most of us did each other, so it wasn't out of the ballpark to share a guy.
Every year since we'd graduated, our team group of six from the Georgia Tech fraternity had gathered for a week somewhere to let loose. We were in an era of not having to hide to make it in the sports world, and although a couple of the guys still weren't all the way out, we didn't sweat our preferences becoming known. Some of us had married to obtain camouflage and even had kids, but we now had all stripped all of that away and become ourselves.
Every year we'd tried to find some place to go and some activity to focus on to let our hair down. Thanks to Chris, one of our submissives who worked in promotions for the Miami Dolphins, this year we were doing the Pride Festival in Charleston, South Carolina, September 15th through the 22nd. Today had been the final event, on the 22nd, a parade from Ann Street down King Street to Broad Street and then to Colonial Lake. Thanks to Steve, who repped for a sports uniform and equipment company catering to pro teams in New York, we marched as a group in full Broadway show girl splendor, in revealing sparkly costumes, plums of feathers, full makeup, and platform heels. We were quite a sight, six cut, muscular sportsmen and body builder types, in matching chorus girl costumes, sashaying through the city. We did wear masks, though. We were mindful of some photographer recognizing a couple of us and making a mint off us from the Enquirer.
It's not that we weren't all macho athletes; it was that we liked to cut loose now and then and let it all hang out.
After cleaning up and having a steak dinner, we hit the town together—a very gay district part of the town—ending up at a strip dive called Lenny's Spot, picking up Jamie, and then hustling back to the hotel at midnight to start a party of our own and cruise the channels for sports coverage.
"Hey, come on, guys, don't let me strip alone," Jamie called out, and we all accommodated him to the extent of becoming bare chested. He whistled his approval, "Shit, you're all built," he exclaimed. "You could all be in a Chippendale's dance line."
"We're all hung too," Chris, who was sitting next to me on the sofa called out. And he didn't lie. We all were hung, cream of the crop, all hunks even five years out of college. To be so had been an unspoken requirement for getting into our fraternity at Georgia Tech. We'd all kept up with each other and with our sports because we were the cream of the crop. "Don't tease, sweetie," Chris called out to Jamie. "Get it all off and come give me a lap dance."
Jamie, swaying to the music, came closer into the sofa, very close to Chris, who leaned forward and put his hands on Jamie's hips. Jamie was down to those bikini briefs that had given us his name. Bud who had shuffled forward with Jamie, going with the rhythm and grinding his crotch against the young stripper's buttocks—Jamie couldn't have been more than twenty-one—also had his hands on Jamie's hips.
"I don't think you need these anymore," Bud said and, with Chris's help, he stripped the briefs down and off the stripper's legs. Jamie didn't complain. Rather, he was bending over, face nearly in Chris's crotch, unzipping Chris, fishing a nearly erect cock out, and exclaiming, "Fuck, you're big."
"We all are," Bud declared, with a laugh, from behind Jamie. He unzipped himself, took it out, and was slapping and rubbing it against Jamie's buttocks. Bud pushed it into Jamie's crack and used his hand to rub the cockhead on Jamie's hole. Jamie opened the stance of his legs and took Chris's cock in his mouth.
"Ready for it, sweet cheeks?" Bud asked.
"Do it," Jamie answered. So, permissions taken care of.
I was sitting right beside them, right next to the action. Jamie, Chris's cock in his mouth, gave a muffled groan and jerked a bit when Bud penetrated him, grabbed his hips between his hands and started to pump him.
At that point, my attention went elsewhere, though, as Steve knelt in front of me, placed his hands on my knees, spread my thighs, and moved his mouth down to my crotch, nuzzling my basket, and making me go hard. Steve, a collegiate swimmer, had been my favorite punch in college. Very accommodating, very flexible, and very sexy. We'd been hot and heavy at Georgia Tech, but we had drifted apart after college. He'd gone to New York and I'd gone on the tennis circuit. We never been in the same place at the same time and neither one of us was much for keeping up correspondences. But we'd hooked up during each of these fraternity brother outings and had fucked. That's what we did now. I unzipped myself and settled back in the sofa, as Steve unrolled my cock and gave me head.
Shortly afterward, I was still sitting side by side with Chris on the sofa, but he had Jamie on his lap, skewered on his cock, and doing a bouncing act while his head was turned to the side, sucking Bud's cock, and Steve was sitting in my, lap, facing me, and riding my cock as hard as Jamie was riding Chris's.
Twenty minutes later, when Steve and I were leaving to go to his room, most of the other guys were gathered around the doorway into the bedroom rather than watching the European football game on the television. I took a look. The three of them, Bud on his back, Jamie stretched on top of Bud and on his cock, and Chris crouched over Jamie's back, with his cock inside Jamie also, were fucking in a double on the bed.
So, we were all going to have to put up more money for Jamie's fee.
I fucked Steve on his hotel bed in what we called the "arch" position—we liked to try them all in the rare times we were together. He was on his back, legs spread and bent on the outside of my thighs, feet on the surface of the mattress by my hips, raising his buttocks to me, as I knelt between his open thighs, knees pressed in under his buttocks. I was leaning over, palms on his pecs, using the leverage of my knees to move my cock in and out of his passage in the fuck. He was palming my pecs, pressing up as I thrust up inside him and relaxing as I drew the cock back in preparation for another deep thrust.
* * * *
Steve was asleep, stretched out beside me, lightly snoring, with a smile on his face and not a stitch on his body, when I rolled off the bed. The bottle of scotch on the bureau was open and we'd barely touched it before starting downtown. I wanted some now, but on ice, which we didn't have. I pulled on my trousers, shirt, and loafers, grabbed the ice bucket, and headed down the hall. The machine there wasn't giving any, so I took the elevator down to the lobby to put whoever was on the reception desk on the hunt for cold and solid.
When I got off the elevator, a bedraggled Jaime, the stripper, soaked to the skin, was entering the hotel. Last time I'd seen him, he was pinned to the bed in Bud's suite, taking a succession of men. I looked at my clock. Between fucking and dozing, I'd worked off three hours I was unaware of. It was almost 4:00 in the morning. Looking beyond Jaime, I saw that it was raining hard outside.
"Jaime?" I said as I walked over to him.
He looked up with a dazed look in his eyes, not recognizing me at first. "Oh, it's you," he said.
"That's not very flattering," I said.
He laughed. "I didn't mean it that way. Not at all. You were there, next to me, and then you were gone."
"I had business elsewhere, and you seemed fully occupied."
