Trent laughed as someone whispered into his ear, “Meet me in the men’s room stall in five? I want to suck your dick.” He gave the handsome young man a onceover. “How about in four.” The young man grinned wickedly and spun on his heels, headed to the men’s room. Several of his friends asked, “What did he say, Trent?” Trent tipped the rest of his Cosmopolitan down his throat and set the glass aside. “Time to get my dick wet.” Trent winked and moved his way through the crowd towards the promise of oral sex with a man whose name he did not know. The music was loud, throbbing bass, techno-garbage, but Trent knew his friends liked to come here because the drinks were to die for and very strong. He was about to enter the restroom when a man, wearing dark-rimmed glasses, leaning against a wall, appeared to be staring at him, then quickly looked away. Trent kept walking and entered the men’s room and stood at the sink to wash his hands and check his appearance. He ran his fingers through his thick brown hair and met his own blue eyes in the mirror before smiling at his reflection. He dried his hands and looked at the closed stall doors. “Come out, come out wherever you are.” A door opened and the young man waved him in. Trent entered the stall and unzipped his tight jeans and exposed his cock. “Are you good?” “I guess you’ll tell me.” The young man crouched down and took Trent’s cock into his mouth. “I guess I will.” Trent rested his back on the closed door, hearing men come and go, using the urinals and washing at the sink, talking, laughing… He glanced down at the young man trying to make him come. He was nothing special…and, well, looked like all of the other young gay men in the clubs. Handsome, but not stunning…hard working, but not rich…and chomping at the bit for Trent. Since watching the young man blow him was not going to make him come, Trent closed his eyes and tried to think of what would. A snippet of gay porn he enjoyed while at home came to mind. He thought of the scene…two young studs going down on one man with an enormous cock. They sucked and licked the one guy as if they worshiped not only him, but his sizable appendage as well…but that was gay porn. It did the trick. Trent warned the young man, “I’m about to come,” in case he objected to swallowing. The young man moaned and took the load. Trent closed his eyes and loved the climax. It was his drug of choice. The young man looked up, as if he wanted to see Trent’s expression of bliss. Trent caught his breath, wiped the saliva off his dick and tucked it in, closing his pants. “Will you do me?” Trent gave him a look of confusion. “I never said I would.” “I’m hard as a rock, dude.” The young man exposed his dick. “I have that effect on men.” Trent went to open the stall door. “Really? You’re not even going to jerk me off?” Trent narrowed his eyes at the young man. “You asked me if you could suck my cock. I allowed you. I never said I’d do anything to you.” “I just assumed…” “Don’t assume. You know what they say about it.” Trent opened the stall door and checked his reflection first before heading out of the men’s room. The same nerdy guy was still there, like a fake plant, stuck in one spot to collect dust. Trent walked back to his group of friends and asked, “Who’s ready for another round?” A small cheer went up and Trent got the bartender’s attention. “Another round for my friends…and me.” He tossed cash on the counter. ~ Parry spotted Trent coming out of the men’s room, and also saw him pay for drinks for his admirers. Must be nice to be rich. Soon after Trent walked out of the restroom, another man, who had gone in only minutes before Trent, exited, looked furiously in Trent’s direction, then the young man left the club. Parry was intrigued and wondered if something happened between the two men. He finished his drink and entered the bathroom to relieve himself, using a stall because he was too shy to stand at a urinal. As he went to leave the stall, Parry spotted carved into the door, right through the paint to the base metal, ‘Trent Hill is a conceited bastard!’ Parry touched the lines and felt the fresh chips of paint in his fingers. He stared at it for a moment, then for no reason at all, took out his phone and photographed it. He actually thought it was both sad and funny. Parry put his phone into his pocket and washed his hands, not looking at himself in the mirror since his luck, he’d spot a pimple or something. He dried his hands, and left the restroom, thinking about going home. Loud laughter came from where Trent and his friends had been hanging out and Parry wondered if the other young man had asked Trent for a date and been rebuffed. Perhaps Trent Hill was not a slut and just picky. Sighing, knowing he was Mr Invisible, not Mr Popular, Parry took his keys out of his pocket and headed home.
