Surfstruc

Surfstruck Ballet

This story is an original composition. All characters are fictional as is their relationship with the places and organizations described. The ballets described are figments of the author's imagination.. All men engaged in sexual activities are over 18. As usual, character development precedes sex--which is in the last half of the story. Copyright, 2023 BD

Jason's eyes slowly opened in the dim early morning light. He had a splitting headache, a very dry mouth and a full bladder that had made his cock extremely and painfully hard. He was in bed, a bed he did not recognize, in a room that was also foreign to him. He was also in the heavy arms of a large dark mountain of a young man. Those arms held him in a spoon so tightly that he could feel the deep ridges in the giant's abs. The man's beefy thighs had pushed one leg forward and his long heavy pole was nestled comfortably in his sweaty crevice, apparently laying claim to the territory beneath it. The man's left hand easily cupped his swollen balls while his fingers circled his stiff cock. Where was he? Who was his captor? How had he gotten into such a position--again?

Jason Greene was a dancer with the Houston Ballet--one of the great full-time, professional companies in the United States. He had just celebrated his fifth year (and first as a principal dancer) with a debut in a new piece, set to an orchestrated medley of Beach Boys surfing songs. The ballet had been written by a new California Asian composer and dance instructor. It had been a crowd pleaser and a hit--with lots of gymnastic athleticism: smooth glides, long, high leaps and splits, and eye-popping airborne twists--even a remarkable somersault "dismount" maneuver in the finale. The intricate footwork and moves attempted to duplicate those seen on a real board in heavy surf. The main dancer was thus also a gymnast. The ballet had been performed on a stage with an enormous video projection of real surfing waves--curls, pipes, massive swells on the rear screen. It was an unusual ballet in that it featured men in leading roles; the women dancers were mostly groupies who adorned the beach and through dance conveyed excitement with just a touch of sexual anticipation when their surfer idols came ashore.

Jason was 6 foot "even", muscled but lithe, with long legs, gymnast thighs, hard pecs, and a deep-concave eight-pack. He had a square jaw, had grown his hair long and blond for the part, but was otherwise shaved, and his tan, augmented by makeup, suggested the dusky complexion of the surfing star of Surfstruck's Beach. He had only one costume in the ballet--a pair of tight, pale aqua board shorts, made of an stretch material, form-fitting and accommodating the near-violent movements required by the choreography. It was worn deliberately low on his waist, showing off his deeply cut vee. It was fastened provocatively with orange laces, criss-crossing his enormous basket. In fact the entire cast had been costumed in pale shades of skin-tight swim gear, quite scandalous by mid-Texas Bible-belt standards, but accepted by the more liberal Houston crowd which patronized the ballet. Many patrons were elderly widows or gay men, often dragging partners along, to drool over the magnificent bodies of the dancers.

There had been a patrons' party after, held at the studio which the HB used for rehearsals on Grey, on the east side of River Oaks, not far from the downtown theatre. One would think that an after-ballet premier party for patrons would be sedate, almost quiet. One might also assume that the dancers were exhausted, and the patrons were aged. Almost the exact reverse was true. There was a lively disco--and the dancers, still pumped from the performance, mingled and danced with each other and the patrons until the early hours of the morning. Patrons were there either to gawk (often with feigned disdain, if elderly) or to participate (if gay). Either way, it worked for the Development Director. She would mine this guest list for contributions later. Jason had been treated as the star he was. He danced and drank--quite a bit it seemed. He didn't think he had hooked. But, now here he was in bed with a stranger--at least he wasn't an old man, and he was pretty attractive and hung.

Jason wiggled out of the grip of the much larger man, trying not to wake him. But, he needed relief. The man seemed to be waking, but ultimately he rolled aside, released Jason, and was soon deeply asleep again.

Jason used the bath facilities and then re-entered to survey the room. It was a large masculine bedroom outfitted with modern furniture, mostly pale white leather with dark navy walls, contrasted with the eye-popping blue-white of the bedding and a display of monochromatic Blanc de Chine porcelain. They were in the clouds--so obviously in a high rise apartment or condo. Jason, wrapped only in a towel, tiptoed into the stainless kitchen and searched for liquid--at least water, but hopefully coffee. As he tried to decipher the directions to the espresso machine, while gulping ice water, he heard a sound, then a voice. "May I help you?" It wasn't the giant, but a smaller, thinner and much older Asian man, dressed entirely in black: button up shirt, slacks, and leather shoes. "I am Lee, Mr. Chen's housekeeper and butler. I presume you are the young man he brought home as a souvenir from the ballet early this morning. He is likely to sleep another hour or more. Let me do the coffee. Would you like anything to eat?"

"Thank you, Mr. Lee."

"That's just Lee, not Mr. Lee. I have eggs, sausage, bacon, fruit, toast--really whatever you might like." Lee was clearly British educated from his accent.

"Just toast and black coffee, please. Oh, and perhaps a few aspirin."

"I guess you drank a bit last night."

"I'm afraid so." Jason sat at the counter. Now at least he knew his host: Henry Chen was the wealthy young Chinese "half-breed" expat (by way of Singapore) who had taken the "haute monde" of Houston society by storm with lavish parties and generous gifts to the ballet, the opera and the symphony companies. No one quite knew the exact source and extent of his wealth (he seemed to have industrial interests all over East Asia) or his actual age--but most guessed he was under 30. No one knew if he had a wife, children--or even his sexual orientation. He had never exposed either to Houston society. He was always solo. Henry was indeed a giant, even by Texas standards, about 6-6, with dark shaggy hair, a wide rounded face, deep almost black (but very Western) eyes, and the physique of a bulked-up Triad street fighter. He wasn't overweight, but clearly well-muscled, particularly his shoulders and chest, creating the desirable masculine V-shape. In public, he was always seen impeccably dressed in black--suits and shirts, ties, silks, fine wools. But the clothing seemed almost incongruous on such a large man.

"Where are we?"

"You are on the 30

th

floor of the Rincon Tower, one of the newer condos built on Allen Parkway, next door to the Federal Reserve Bank. This is Mr. Chen's current Houston residence. We are only a few blocks from the ballet rehearsal facility where the party was held last night. I'm going to get you a robe. I'd rather you didn't go back to Mr. Chen's bedroom for your clothes, or you might wake him. I've been instructed to invite you to stay until he awakens--unless you have other necessary plans."

"Actually, after the premier last night, they have given me a day off. So, I'm happy to stay, relax for a bit, get rid of this headache, and meet one of our benefactors."

Lee left to fetch the robe and Jason began an eye-exploration of the lavish condo--probably a penthouse with high ceilings and lots of glass. He relaxed in the silk robe, sipped several cups of the delicious dark roast and nibbled on some toast. Ballet was demanding--even an extra pound required immediate attention. And no doubt, he had consumed 1000s of alcoholic calories last night. He would need to be careful today.

A few minutes later, Lee returned. "Mr. Chen has a workout room and a massage table in the condo. I'm a licensed therapist. After last night's performance, would you like to loosen up or have a massage?"

"That would be great, Lee. But, I don't want to trouble you."

"Until Mr. Chen arises, I have nothing to do but wait. It'd be my pleasure. It's through that door. You can shower in there if you'd like."

Jason walked into the room--larger than most condo gyms, and to the glass-enclosed rain shower. He quickly washed, dried and, as he re-entered the workout room, Lee pointed to the massage table. "Are there any areas on which I should concentrate?"

"I'm really like most ballet members. Our massages focus on feet, calves, thighs, glutes, and lower back."

"Of course, I understand."

Jason dropped the towel and climbed onto the table. He immediately began to wonder if Mr. Chen shared his hooks with Lee, but it was too late now. He was naked and stretched out on the table. Lee had donned a white terry butcher's apron and was ready with the oils. The next half hour was paradise. Lee's strength far exceeded his stature--and he used his whole body to bring maximum pressure and relief. When he finished, at least below the waist, Jason felt like a wet noodle--and he wasn't sure he could even rise from the table. At no time, did Jason feel that Lee had intended sexual innuendo or invited anything more.

"Rest here for as long as you like. Either I or Mr. Chen will wake you when he's ready."

Jason was confused and perhaps a little shocked. Obviously Mr. Chen had fucked him last night, but he had no recollection of the act (or acts). He knew from earlier this morning that Chen was ridiculously endowed, but he didn't feel particularly anally violated. Maybe the alcohol had totally relaxed his muscles. Lee had just given him an incredibly erotic massage--but had never touched his genitals or his anus. Now he was waiting until Mr. Chen was "ready." What exactly did "ready" mean? Was he projecting his own horniness on others? He dozed until about a half hour later, when he was awakened by a deep, commanding voice. It came from a giant who nearly filled the doorway with his height and shoulders. He was naked except for a wrapped towel. His shaggy hair seemed wet. His smile was wide. His body was a statue--of a big Greek hairless god, perhaps Hercules.

"Mr. Greene, welcome to my home. I'm pleased to see that you availed yourself of Lee's talented hands."

"I am not sure that you remember what happened last night. I'm guessing you are quite curious. Let me fill you in. I arrived at your victory party--may I call it that?--just after midnight, but you were already quite inebriated. We talked for a bit, but it didn't seem that you were completely lucid. I asked a few questions, but your answers didn't seem to make sense. I offered to have my chauffeur take you home, but you slurred something about not being ready to leave or knowing where that was. Then, I realized you were in no condition to be left alone. I was fearful that if you slept--or passed out--on your back and choked, you might suffocate. So I brought you here and placed you in my bed. You rolled onto your back, so I pushed you on your side. You rolled back. So I stripped, got in behind you and drew you into me and kept you on your side. I must say it was torture. You are obviously a choice morsel of manhood--and I'm definitely not an angel--or celibate." (To Chen, this seemed like a good story and he was sticking to it.)

"We unfortunately did not have intimate relations, I assure you. You are a very handsome young man, and had you been able to consent, I would have most certainly taken you to an earthly heaven. I'm told that I'm quite skilled as a lover and that my magic wand is quite talented at pleasing my partners. If you are willing, we might be able to correct that deficiency later today. I presume that as a top ballet star, you are gay. I regret that I slept in this morning--but I was awake most of the night holding you."

"I didn't expect that explanation. Thank you, Mr. Chen. I do regret drinking quite so much. It's not my customary behavior." Jason was stunned by the formality of his host and the likelihood that the story was entirely fictional. But, he was intrigued by Chen--and drawn to his magnificent body. So he made no further comment.

"Please, it's going to be Henry--especially if we are going to spend some time together--in bed or otherwise. Now, I realize the only clothing you have is what you were wearing at the party. Lee has washed the shirt. And of course the black jeans are okay. But, for my purposes, the robe--or even less--is perfectly acceptable attire for the rest of the day--unless you want to go out for lunch. I could have lunch sent in. Any particular cuisine?"

"Yes. In is fine. You will discover that I'm a cheap date--I don't each much, and mostly vegan supplemented by protein shakes."

"Lee will have salads brought in. I think we may also have the protein shake ingredients. We've got about an hour. Let's go into my office for a chat. I'd like to know a little about your background and about your family--assuming you are willing to talk."

The office was, as expected, dark, paneled, and pseudo-English. Heavy oak antique furniture, punctuated with modern touches, was carefully placed around a large red-toned Oriental carpet. A grand Edwardian partners' desk was the centerpiece. Chen motioned to a Barcelona chair, one of a pair that faced the window--an eastern view of downtown Houston's skyline (sometimes waggishly referred to as the Emerald City because of the dominance of two green skyscrapers and the frequency with which they were bathed in ethereal humid smog). The sun was high and the city glistened in the humidity. Chen took the other chair, both men still clothed only in towels.

"According to your HB bio, you're 25, from Illinois, a graduate of Indiana University in fine arts--I presume dance. You also captained the IU gymnastics team which took national honors your junior year. You are considered a dance child prodigy to have reached principal dancer status at only 25. Now tell me a little more. Why dance and not professional gymnastics? Is the bio fact or has some publicist made up your past?"

"Most of my life has been accidental--or serendipitous. Dad died of cancer when I was 13--that may have been fortuitous. He was a rigid homophobe and hated dance--particularly boys dancing. We weren't close. I'm sure I was a disappointment to him. I started tumbling when I was only 3 and loved it. Our home was a mini-gym. So he let me continue with a focus on gymnastics and an often-spoken ideal of Olympic competition. Dad could handle that, if not a dance career. Professional coaches were hired. He suspected my dance ambitions and pretty much abandoned me as his son."

"After his death, Mom permitted me to give dance a real try. She totally supported my ambition to be a great gymnast or a dancer--or perhaps both. I have no sibs so she doted on me. I am gay. I've known since I was 13 or 14. Mom knows. Since I'm with a professional ballet company, most assume that I am. But I don't broadcast it, and I'm told that my normal demeanor is definitely masculine. Currently, I'm not attached. Currently is the wrong word--I have never been attached. I work at dance 60-70 hours per week and use sex as a relief valve--often solo, but occasionally with a friend. I have no roommate or bestie at present. I've been told that my muscle development is perfect to make me a great partner for a lover--but I don't have one."

"After the junior year championship at IU, I considered the Olympic route in gymnastics, but the pros told me that I was already too old. Olympic gymnasts typically are competing internationally by 14--and I was already 21, an old man. So I began to concentrate on the dance, emphasizing my athleticism. I'm hoping I can dance for another five years or so and then retire to teaching, choreographing and directing. I'm definitely hooked."

"I discovered Surfstruck on a trip to LA when the ballet performed there. So it is my baby here in Houston. I can tell you all about it later. The choreographer-composer was at the party. So that's it for me."

"All I know about you is rumor, shrouded in mystery. But, clearly you are a gentleman and a Good Samaritan. You have my thanks again."

"Your life doesn't sound so accidental to me. I detect a driven and talented young man who knows where he came from and where he is going. I thought Surfstruck was fabulous. And now I couldn't imagine anyone in the principal role but you. The entire audience was just drooling over your moves--and your body. I thought I was quite fortunate to be talking with you at the party. You were clearly the center of attention. Even if you probably don't remember a word we spoke to each other."

"My life is not really such a mystery. Texans love to imagine mysterious backgrounds and even more inscrutable present actions and ulterior motives when they meet an Asian. I am half-Chinese, half-English (my mother--I seem to take after her; it seems she came up with the "Henry", presumably after the infamous early kings of England). I was raised in Singapore with a few years in an English boarding school. It was there that I learned I liked sleeping with boys. I A-leveled in business at Singapore International University. Father was a giant of a man, an opportunist who flourished just after Mao when the new regime encouraged private enterprise--typically partnerships between the government or the Communist Party and entrepreneur/politicians. They called it capitalist communism. What a joke! It was just institutionalized patronage/bribery. "

"He was very wise and very suspicious of new regimes and crackdowns on private ventures--even while he was contributing generously to the lifestyles of those in political power. So he diversified throughout Asia and transferred ownership of almost everything he could to trusts in Singapore, as soon as he could. He moved to Singapore and married my mother. But, he had to spend most of his time in China building the businesses. Years later, the guillotine fell and he disappeared. We never knew what happened to him. He just disappeared. I was stunned. A Chinese boy is taught to serve his mother for her entire life, but to worship his father in life and in death."

"I was only 22, but he had named me as his sole heir or successor--to take effect on his death or disappearance--with responsibility for my mother, who unfortunately died of a broken heart within a year of Father's disappearance. He had carefully chosen managers for the businesses and had moved most of the profits to financial investments in real estate, held by private banks in Singapore. So, I was able to move slowly into leadership."

"A few years ago, I moved here to Houston although I keep a place in Singapore. I find Houston is more tolerant of my lifestyle--and being an international city, I can pretty much run the entire show from here. The climate is very similar to Singapore. I considered LA, but Asians are common in LA and, because of the ghettos and triads, often suspect there. I'm 28, but like to think that I've lived many more than 28 years, many in the last six. You tend to grow up fast when you lose your parents--and they leave you an empire to run."

"And I like athletic young talented boys--just like you. I'm looking forward to our day--and maybe more. If that pleases you, of course. I think lunch must be ready. Let's see what Lee has done for us."

**********

After the light lunch, Henry suggested that it was time for a little playtime. "Is this something you want to try? Just because I tended to you last night doesn't mean that you owe me anything. And don't worry about my support of the Houston Ballet if you'd rather not. My commitment is a five year one, and we are only in year two. So I'm not buying you either. The decision is completely yours. It would please me to see you naked and sober and to hold you in my bed--but this time with your consent and participation!"