The kid was black. Dark ebony flesh packaged in a pleasing package.

When the kid lit his electronic cigarette, he saw Mark and recognized the man’s attraction. Turning toward Mark, he nodded.

As their eyes met, a subtle understanding passed between them. The young man, Lance, seemed uninterested in the women at the bar, his gaze fixed on the men. Now, his stare locked on Mark.

Even separated by thirty feet, Lance didn’t hide what he was. What he wanted, or that he was a professional. Mark motioned for the younger man to join him.

Lance slid off the chair and gracefully moved toward him. Slow and deliberate, he moved not unlike a cat toward prey. Sucking the fumes of his smoke, he sauntered casually but seductively until, at last, he slinked into a chair next to Mark.

“Hey, I’m Lance,” he said, holding his hand, palm down, fingers slightly curled, his wrist limp, like a woman waiting on a light handshake or for her knuckles to be kissed.

Mark took his hand and released it, but Lance curled his fingers into Mark’s fingers and held his hand for a moment. Mark’s cheeks reddened, glanced around. Lance let go of his hand.

“Sorry, Daddy, I didn’t realize you were in the closet.”

“Not that I want to be.”

“It’s okay, sweetie. Let Lance make you feel all better.” Lance moved closer and ran his fingers over Mark’s biceps. “You know, I’m not just here for a drink. Sweetheart, I’ve got a gift for making Daddy’s fantasies realities.”

“I hate to be crude,” Mark said. “But how much?”

“Why don’t we have fun for the night? In the morning, you pay me what you think I’m worth or tell me I’m worthless and pay me nothing.” Leaning into Mark, he pressed against him, lifted his face, placed his hand on Mark’s head, and pulled him to him.

They kissed. Lance thrust his tongue into Mark’s mouth, hugging him, cuddling against the bigger man.

They broke apart, and Mark gazed around the bar. His face turned crimson, a postcard from Gaysvill of nervous shame.

“Stop worrying,” Lance said. “Do you top, bottom, or switch?”

“I’ve done both, but never with the same person.”

“Both, it is.” Lance stood. “Take me to your boudoir, Daddy.”

“How old are you?”

“Almost 19, and you?”

“Thirty-four.”

On the elevator ride, Lance’s hand roamed Mark’s body. Mark’s prick answered the call, swelling, making a tent in his suit pants. The car stopped, and the doors slid open. Lance’s hand stroked Mark.

“Daddy’s got a nice one.”

They moved to the room.

Mark looked at the bedside clock. “I’ll need to call my wife after a while.”

“Daddy,” Lance said, unbuttoning Mark’s shirt, working it off his shoulder, and letting it tumble to the floor. “Don’t worry about mommy.”

Lance ran his hands over Mark’s hairy chest. Down his firm tummy, unbuckled the belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his fly, and pulled the lawyer’s pants and shorts down as he sank to his knees.

Rubbing his already engorged cock, he smiled, gazed up at Mark. “Daddy likes me, doesn’t he?”

Kissing Mark’s rod on the tip, wrapping his lips around the head, he inched it into his mouth. Sucking, fondling Mark’s balls, Lance worked magic on him. Soon, he bobbed the entire shaft from tip to base, lathering up poll and taking it deep into his throat.

Mark bucked his hips and held the boy’s head, lovingly stroking his soft, long hair. After a few minutes, the phone intruded on the pair with a harsh clanging ring.

“Hello.” His breathing ragged and raw, and his greeting sounded angry.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?”

“Running in place, doing my daily workout.” He tried to slow Lance down.

Lance, not dissuaded, sucked Mark with an unabashed, ruthless delight, knowing how excited this predicament would make Mark.

“Well, I just wanted to check in. I’ll leave you to your workout?”

“Thanks,” he said in an elongated growl as he released a thick stream of spunk into Lance’s throat. “I’m trying to get in good shape.”

“Night,” Mark said, panting and gasping for air.

Lance gazed up at him and opened his mouth, showing it full of white chum. He swallowed the load and showed him his clean mouth. Rising, standing on his tippy-toes, he kissed Mark. Stepping back with a mischievous grin, Lance unzipped his pants and fished his massive prick through the fly.

“Does Daddy, dearest, wanna suck on Lance’s lance?”