"Here, take these."
The band's singer, Dillon James, brought his hand nearly up to the mouth of his boyfriend and band stagehand--what they called a grip--Elan Tyler, and a couple of pills had been popped before Elan could have second thoughts about accepting them. The band had spent the day preparing for their charter plane nighttime flight cross country to New York for their Central Park concert and were partying now at the Forest Hills mansion in L.A. of concert promoter Sten Michelson.
They were partying hard. The Thunder Boys was a hard rock band. They always partied hard, both on and off stage. It was a gay guys band and they didn't care who knew it. Their fans didn't seem to care either.
Elan was new to the band and had taken Dillon's invitation to grip for the band for its New York concert to get experience and network, if he could. He was in music college in L.A., hoping to become the lead singer of a band like Dillon was. Dillon had come to his school to give a guest lecture and had picked Elan, nineteen, with dark, movie-star looks, slim, and with a good smile and star struck with Dillon, out of the class to take off to a bar and a motel afterward. Elan had been a very occasional experimental flip-flopper before that night in the motel. He was an all-night submissive afterward. They hadn't been a pair for more than two weeks before Dillon invited Elan to hang out with the band and travel to New York with them.
Elan jumped at the chance. He hadn't been in L.A. or into the band scene for long, being from Creole ancestry and arriving in L.A. from rural Louisiana to attend music school. He was young, innocent, wide eyed, and just waiting to be taken advantage of.
The pills Dillon slipped into him at this all-male party at Michelson's house for the guys in the band and all of those backing them up for their New York concert made Elan the evening's entertainment. Within minutes, under Dillon's guidance, Elan was sky high, had stripped off his shirt, and was on top of a table, dancing to loud music, a recording of the band's own tracks, in the background. The members of the band and their backing technicians and grips gathered around, clapping and cheering and encouraging Elan to strip down more, which, grogging and giggling, he did. Sten Michaelson, in his early fifties, older, heavier, less gleeful and uninhibited than those in the band, stood off to the side, eyes slitted, and took it all in.
Twenty minutes later, Dillon had carried Elan up the stairs to one of the mansion's bedrooms and gotten them both stripped down and in position on an S-curved Italian recliner. Elan was on his knees, facing the deep curve of the recliner, his cheek to the leather, facing the door to the corridor, and his arms raised, his hand's gripping the top edge of the recliner. Dillon was stretched over Elan's back, his lips buried into the hollow of Elan's throat, his hands gripping the young man's hips to hold him in place, and his cock up Elan's ass, slow pumping him.
The party continued throughout the house, with members of the band and their support guys occasionally passing in the corridor outside the bedroom and stopping momentarily to watch the action on the Italian recliner. As Dillon's hip action picked up speed and he frenziedly approached sky high liftoff in the young, naïve music student's anal passage, Sten Michelson appeared in the doorway and remained there to watch the sendoff release with slitted yes and a slight smile on his face while, writhing under Dillon and still experiencing a fireworks display in his brain from the effects of the pills, Elan took salvo after salvo of the band singer's barebacking cum.
* * * *
The band's party restarted in the back of the charter jet at LAX the next evening, the plane taking off from out of the sunset toward the next day. The band was going over their song list for the concert, stopping here and there to check vocal and instrumental harmonies, while the grips went over who would do what in getting the equipment to the Central Park amphitheater and set up and then broken down and back out to the airport and into the hold of the charter jet. The concert would be a late evening one, so they were booked around Manhattan in various hotels.
Elan was sitting with Dillon, soaking it all in. All of this was new to him. He wasn't drinking and popping pills today like the others around him were. He'd overindulged the previous evening at Sten Michelson's Forest Hills mansion, he realized he had, and he'd spent much of the day coming back down to earth. Dillon was pretty much staying away from him--not pushing him off or being mean to him, but just keeping a bit of distance as if he realized that he'd taken Elan too far too fast.
Still, when he was coming back from the head, which was in the forward compartment, behind the cockpit, he didn't sit down in the aisle seat beside Elan, and he was looking a little guilty.
"Mr. Michelson wants to see you, Elan," he said.
"Who? Where?"
"Sten Michelson, our backer and promoter. The guy's house we were at last night. He's in the forward section. He doesn't party with us. But he asked me to send you to him. Up front. I know you want to get into the business. He's the best guy around to get that for you. You gotta be nice to him, though, if you want to get ahead with his help. And you don't want to make an enemy of a guy like Sten Michelson."
"Umm, OK," Elan said, sliding out of the row of seats and, like a lamb to the slaughter, smiling like he appreciated Dillon making this opportunity for him, moving to the forward compartment, which was smaller than the aft one, had plusher, more commodious seats, and which was occupied by a single person--the hefty, older, seemingly out-of-place with a rock band rich guy, Sten Michelson.
"Come, sit here with me," Michelson said, hauling his bulky body out of his seat, moving into the aisle, and gesturing for Elan to take the window seat in the wide-seat row. "Here, would you like a couple of pills," he said, holding his palm out with two pink ones.
"Oh, no thank you," Elan answered, "I don't do drugs."
"You did last evening," Michelson said as they settled into their seats.
