Merritt was surprised, afterward thinking about all the things he'd done with that boy Ryan, how absolutely natural they'd seemed at the time, sucking his cock, banging him from behind, getting banged by him, all of it.
Now, it was a little like another person had done that. He had no enthusiasm for gay sex now that he was back to his normal self. And so, at first, he thought that he was done prepping for that possibility. But, as he thought more about the situation and how things had been in that super exclusive gay club, he realized that there was a whole other way that night might have gone that he had sidestepped by going off with the other beautiful guy. What happened if a pretty boy let himself leave the place with the rich old guy?
Merritt realized he didn't know. And he realized that he should know in case he was in a situation where the rich old guy in that circumstance was a bad guy he needed to cozy up to.
So, with a reluctant sigh, Merritt sat down in front of the Chronivac again the next night. Again, he used the Chronivac to switch his sexual orientation to completely, ragingly gay and to up the strength of his already quite strong libido. He didn't think he should go back as that same dark haired boy and certainly wasn't going to go there with his own face and hair. He went to the web page of a Swedish model agency and picked out an angelic boy's face and had the Chronivac make him look exactly like that boy.
He also went to the club earlier than he had the previous time to try and make sure he had a chance at one of these rich old sugar daddies.
Like the last time Merritt simply jogged down the stairs to the basement level club entrance and knocked. When the peep hole opened he smirked at it with his male model face. In he went.
The sound system pumped out a disco classic and Merritt danced his way from the entrance to the bar. In a pretty good imitation of something he'd seen on an old video clip from Soul Train. He was quickly a favorite of the crowd, getting attention from every direction as he sipped a hard cider. From a booth, he saw someone with a head of swept back white hair get up and start to approach. He turned his back to him to play hard to get.
A couple guys in their 30's were saying something to him that he was ignoring when Merritt heard the old guy remark from a warm breath's distance behind his right ear, “Those pants don't leave a lot to the imagination.”
Merritt turned to face him and chuckled. “I've danced ballet. This is a lot of work for the imagination compared to that.”
“Did you like running around in a dance belt and tights . . . ?”
The pause was for Merritt to fill in his name. “Kyle. Kyle Hunter. And, yeah, I did. I liked it a lot because I like dancing and I have the body for ballet.”
“The face, too,” muttered the old guy with a smile and Merritt noticed that the guy was wearing a perfectly cut and deceptively simple but very expensive suit. He had the edge of a gold Rolex showing from under one french cuffed shirt sleeve.
The old man leaned in close to Merritt again. He could feel his breath on his neck. “Kyle, I'm one of the hosts of a large party for some very wealthy people tonight. I think they'd all like to see . . all love to see all of you there. Would you be interested?”
Merritt leaned in close, his lips almost touching the old man's ear. “I'd love to . . . “
This pause similarly requested a name.
“Alexander. Alexander Biddle,” whispered the old man punctuating the declaration with a kiss and teeth upon Merritt's neck.
The old man, really only 55 or 60, but old to Merritt, discreetly made his way out of the club through a back door that Merritt didn't even realize was there. Moments later they were in a half lit alley behind the club and the old man was holding open the door to a large limousine. Merritt stepped in the back. There, leather seats circled around a central leather island with ice and drinks showing.
The old man went to the seat behind the driver and knocked on the glass twice. “Brad.”
The limo started moving.
He handed Merritt a bag. “Put all your clothes in here, Kyle.” Merritt raised an eyebrow.
The old man handed him some pieces of paper and he handed him one of those blindfolds like people wore who couldn't stand to have any light when they slept.
“Kyle,” he began, his voice taking on a bit of a plummy English accent. “The contract says you'll get at least $5,000 and up to $10,000 for . . . services rendered. You-”
“You don't have to pay me, Alexander!” Merritt protested.
The old man smiled with some affection. “Nevertheless, I find it best to make everything absolutely clear in these situations.”
Merritt sighed, barely glancing at the contract before signing, more concerned with being able to write “Kyle Hunter” in cursive. He started pulling off his clothes and then put on the blindfold. He heard the old man pass the bag through to the driver.
“Oh, my,” chucked the old man at his left. “You have such a small waist and such a full booty.
Merritt only shrugged. “Why this?” he asked pointing to the blindfold.
“My friends and I don't like for just anyone to know where we live.”
Merritt sighed. “I suppose I get that,” he muttered.
“Unfortunately, we have to take precautions even with sensible boys like you, Kyle.”
They rode on for a half hour with scarcely a word passing between them except for the old man sighing softly and noting at one point. “You really are perfect for ballet, aren't you?”
Again, Merritt only shrugged. When, finally, the car seemed to slow it took a turn and then drove on a minute more. Merritt guessed this was at the mansion driveway. The car took another turn, went barely a little farther and then limo door was opened from the outside. Voices and a woman's laughter could be heard. Merritt heard the old man step toward him and he pulled off Merritt's blindfold.
“We're here,” he smiled at Merritt and gave a playful pat to his hip. “Go on,get ready for your part.”
Merritt stepped out of the limo, barefoot on crushed stone and naked, with caterers and waitstaff busily going past. He covered his penis with both hands.
The old man chuckled. “You'll soon see that modesty is quite out of place at this party, Kyle. Especially for someone like you. In fact, your part is very . . . immodest,” he said and nodded to a man approaching with a gold colored sort of jug in one hand. “Here's the new boy,” he said to him. “Prepare him.”
“Yes sir.”
“Oh, you're perfect,” the man told him taking him by the hand and leading him over to a tarp covered area off at the edge of the yard. Merritt complied and a second later the man was spraying gold paint at his crotch.
“Hey!” Merritt shouted leaping back. “What the fuck are you doing?”
The man said something about his job as Merritt nimbly ran just a few steps from the tarp area back to the driveway where the old man was directing several caterers.
“What's this all about?” he demanded of the old man.
“You didn't read that contract, did you?” said the old man and to Merritt's surprise he showed him clauses that said he could be painted and directed to serve as a statue or other ornament for party attendees' enjoyment. “If you run, Merritt, you'll be a naked boy sauntering through the richest neighborhood in the city. You'll be caught and beaten, if not worse, and declared a sex offender. Do what you've contracted to do and you'll be appreciated for being a beautiful boy and paid quite . . handsomely. Just one question. Can you fight, Kyle?”
Merritt nodded.
“Good. Now get over there and get yourself painted, Kyle. You'll be a beautiful living statue for the attendees to admire.”
Merritt sighed and shrugged. He nodded again and seconds later he was in front of the guy with the power painter getting coated with gold paint. The guy painting him assured him it was the same formula they used to paint guys as the Golden Idol role for the ballet La Bayadere. A couple minutes later, after three coats of sparkly gold paint he showed Merritt with a hand mirror that he was covered, every square inch of him but the soles of his feet, covered in gold paint.
Now, the chauffeur, who looked like an ex-NFL linebacker and who turned out to be a sort of right hand man to Mr. Biddle, led him around front of the huge mansion to a spot on one side of the wide walk to the front door. The man with the gold paint followed, seeing if any the living statue needed and extra coat anywhere. Brad turned to Merritt. “Mr. Biddle says you've been a ballet dancer. So, your job is to stand here and pose, pose in ballet poses or stances, a new stance every 30 seconds to a minute from now till 10 pm. Attendees may say things to you, may even touch you. But you are to ignore their words and touch. If you don't, there'll be very serious negative repercussions.
“Kwame!” The man with the gold paint shouted.
Merritt turned and saw a naked black guy striding smoothly toward him. He was also painted gold from head to toe. He seemed to be similarly young and he stood just a bit taller than Merritt at six foot two but 190 rock solid pounds unlike lithe Merritt's 165.
“Your competition, Kwame . . “, he leaned toward Merritt “What's your name again, kid?”
“Kyle. Kyle Hunter.”
“Kwame . . Kyle. Kyle . . Kwame,” the guy sprayed some more paint to cover Merritt's ass as he gestured an introduction with one hand.
Kwame took Merritt in, from head to toe. He snickered. “Only for bein' pretty. He won't be no competition otherwise.”
Merritt sighed slightly. It was too bad the guy was instantly negative toward him. He had a fantastic body. Merritt could totally imagine ramming his big dong up that tight little ass, or getting Kwame's up his.
He put that aside and assessed the situation. He was naked and covered in 3 coats of shiny gold body paint over every square inch of him except the soles of his feet. But he didn't feel self-conscious. In his completely gay condition, the idea of showing himself off appealed to him and with a coating of paint and another guy's face it was like he was wearing a mask.
He struck one ballet pose after another, changing every 30 to 60 seconds as he'd been told. Arabesque! Pirouette! He also used an adjacent railing to simulate barre work and to show off his superlative flexibility.
Scores of guests went past. He didn't try to count them. They came in all their high end finery, every designer's name slapped on them somewhere And all the gaudiest jewelry was represented. Merritt was surprised at how they would stand on the walk to the door just inches from him and stare at him and make comments about him right in front of him.
“Is that the roundest little ass you've ever seen on a white boy? He is a white boy under that paint, isn't he?”
“I think so. That's not a n***** boy's face even if that's more of a ***** ass than any n*****'s got.”
“Oh my, look at the size of that penis! Are the boys biggest there always uncircumcised?”
“What a big foreskin, too!”
“Unfortunately, over a certain size between the legs and they're all as dumb as a box of rocks.”
“If every boy looked like that I wouldn't be lesbian,” quipped one woman.
“Wouldn't matter, hon,”replied her partner, “because if every boy looked like that every man would be gay.”
A couple women and one man patted his ass. Another woman touched his eight pack abs. While Merritt was in a particularly difficult ballet pose, another guy held his hand just inches from Merritt's crotch comparing the length of his hand and fingers to Merritt's epic penis.
Merritt couldn't help but notice, in the few glimpses inside that he had when the front door opened, that they were all given hooded capes to wear. Toward the end of his time as a living statue, when the door opened he could hear the gasping breath and moans of a man and woman having sex and also a cheering crowd. What the hell was this?! Was this party like the one in the movie Eyes Wide Shut? Damn.
After an hour and a half or so, it seemed that all the attendees were inside but a few more couples and singles straggled in after that so Merritt kept on posing. And he couldn't help but notice that the attendees were more interested in him than in just as naked, just as gold Kwame on the other side of the entrance walk. And he couldn't help but notice that Kwame had also noticed and was not happy about this, grumbling expletive white boy this and expletive cracker ass that. Several times he referred to “the contest afterward” with confident chuckles.
“What's that little dick?” asked Merritt making fun of Kwame's better than average but not in his league penis. Kwame snorted like a bull in response.
At 10 o'clock, Brad, the chauffeur and Mr. Biddle's right hand man came by and told Kwame and “Kyle” that they'd both done a good job. He led them around the side of the huge house to what Merritt first thought was a volleyball court in the distance seeing ropes and a squared off area. But, as he got close he realized it was a sort of a boxing ring though bigger, 30 feet on a side, and with lower ropes and a grassed surface.
Now it all made sense, Mr. Biddle asking him if he knew how to fight . . Kwame's belligerent attitude. They were going to be made to fight. Attendees were pouring out of the house, across the torch lit patio behind it and over to the square where Brad led Kwame and him.
Merritt quickly assessed the situation. With both of them being naked and painted gold from head to toe getting a grip on each other would be difficult. Grappling and throws were out. The footing on the grass was good. There was some room to maneuver and that was good considering that Kwame was a fat free 190 pounds to his lithe 165.
But Merritt had used the Chronivac to give himself mastery of Bruce Lee's discipline of Jeet Kune Do. So, when the attendees had filled in all the spaces around the square and Merritt saw caped and hooded Mr. Biddle move to the front of the crowd and his man Brad step into the ring and said that he, “Kyle” could forgo having to fight but would have to submit to whatever else Kwame wanted to do, he was completely calm. Kwame was chuckling and simulating a thrust up Merritt's golden ass.
“No,” said Merritt and he executed a perfect pirouette with 8 revolutions. When he finally stopped he announced. “I'll kick stumpy's ass.”
Kwame's huge nostrils flared and he grunted under his breath, something about beating “Kyle” and sodomizing him too. The attendees all laughed. Merritt could tell that they were certain Kwame would beat him easily and badly.
But when Brad stepped out of the way and motioned for them to begin, Merritt took two running steps at Kwame, leaped and spun and smashed his heel into the side of Kwame's face. He wobbled as the attendees exploded cheers and “Ooooh's”.
Kwame righted himself and advanced toward Merritt again but the smaller living golden statue stepped, spun and rocked him back with a heel to the solar plexus. Kwame gasped trying to catch his breath and while he did, Merritt hop stepped forward and unloaded a roundhouse right to Kwame's temple. The crowd was a non-stop circle of overlapping shouts and cheers now. Even as he wobbled again, Kwame was lunging and grasping with both arms. Merritt wanted to finish him off but wasn't going to make a mistake and give him an opening. He backed away, so that Kwame couldn't just grab him and wrestle him down with his 25 pound weight advantage. Then, he timed his opponent's steps perfectly and leaped, spun and crushed his heel into his jaw again. Kwame fell to the grass with all the grace of a sack of potatoes, unconscious before he touched a blade.
Much of the crowd now called for Merritt to sodomize unconscious Kwame. They were a nasty lot. They'd laughed at the prospect of him getting beaten and violated and now they wanted him to do it to the other guy. They didn't have a side. They just wanted to see someone be a vicious bully.
Merritt refused. He approached Mr. Biddle at the edge of the ring and asked him how he could get the paint off and where his clothes were. It took a while to get the paint off even using the power washing garden hose attachment. He didn't get his clothes right away. He had to hang around naked for another hour or so. It was after midnight when he got ushered to the back of that same limo. Mr. Biddle had him put on the blindfold and directed him to bend over the center island in the back of the limo.
It was . . not very forceful. Technically it was gay sex and technically he was on top of Merritt but as much as he kissed and caressed and adored Merritt's lines and soft skin, only Merritt's deference let him take the active role. But Merritt added a little thespian flourish to his reactions, “Oh . . oh . . oh my god!” and smiled at the old man as he got dressed in the alley behind that same club.
The old man asked him if he'd see him around. Merritt said that it wasn't likely because he was moving.