Back in his dormitory, Neil realized he didn't have much to wear for a night out. His wardrobe had recently shifted to consist almost entirely of gym clothes; even in class, he was usually wearing gym shorts and a tank top or baggy tee shirt. He couldn't go out like that, though. It was time to invest in new clothes, since his old ones did not fit him any longer. He winced at the thought of the cost, but then chastised himself internally. Those sorts of worries were the old Neil. Not the new and improved, completely reinvented Neil Booth! Resolute, he headed out, caught a ride to the shopping center, and marched inside, credit card in his pocket.
Even with his newfound resolve, finding new clothes proved to be quite difficult--most of it simply wasn't made for a man of Neil's proportions. Either it was too small and tight, or it was made for a larger man who had much more gut than Neil's tight, cobblestone middle. Frustrated, he texted Bradley for any tips on where to find clothes that fit. A few minutes later he had several recommendations in hand, mostly online. There was one local shop though, and Neil headed on over, hoping to finally have some good luck.
The prices were a bit steep, but with a credit card it was a problem for later. After an hour he walked out with several new sets of clothes, nearly a thousand dollars in debt, and the very helpful salesclerk’s phone number. For his bar crawl, he had some simple items: nice jeans that hugged his powerful legs and glutes and a short-sleeved, button-down shirt that was nice without being too dressy and that showed off his arms perfectly.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
That evening, Neil met up with Brock outside of the first bar on a street that was known for a string of them, all catering to the college crowd. The big jock was ebullient. "This is going to be awesome, bro!" he enthused, slapping Neil's strong back heartily. "You and me are going to be getting serious action. Maybe even a three-way, if we can find someone kinky enough! Fuck, why limit it to three?" He laughed uproariously. Then Brock looked Neil up and down. "Damn, bro. You really got some good threads there. Shows you off nice. Fuck, makes me horny just looking at you!" He laughed again. "We'll definitely be getting some, with you here!"
As they entered the establishment, Brock explained a few rules. “First, only one drink per stop. Although men of our size can handle a bit more than your average little guy or gal, we’ve still got a lot of bars to hit! I can’t have you passed out in a corner! Besides, there's ass to be had, and that means you've got to be able to guide your torpedo to the target!" He laughed loudly at his lewd metaphor. "Second, each establishment requires different tactics, depending on the clientele…”
The first bar was packed with fellow collegians: male and female, they were usually in groups of the same sex, but would flirt with the opposite. Neil and Brock worked as a team, sizing up potential mates, then moving in together to see if there was any mutual interest. It quickly became apparent that Neil was the more successful of the two; while a few college girls were intrigued by Brock's size and apparent age, more of them were attracted to Neil's youthful face. By the time they left, Neil had secured three phone numbers, and Brock only one. Still, Brock felt that was successful, and he heartily congratulated Neil on his trio of successes. "Hotties, every one of them," Brock growled playfully, "Hopefully one of 'em is open to sharing you with your bro here!"
The next two straight bars were similar. Neil obtained two and three phone numbers respectively, while Brock got one and zero. By the time they left the third bar, there was a slightly grim look under the big man’s smile. “Might have been a mistake bringing you along!” he groused, “You’re killing my game with that face! You got a permit for that smile?!”
Neil just grinned at the ribbing. “I have plenty of numbers. I’m sure one of my eight will be up for something freaky with both of us.”
As they walked to the next bar, Brock got a text message from Lucas. It read simply: “convinced her.” The link that was attached led to a video file of Lucas vigorously fucking a pretty blonde, her tits bouncing around in time with his thrusts. Brock showed it to Neil, laughed, and texted back congratulations as they walked to the next establishment.
The next bar was quite different. The clientele was overwhelmingly male and almost entirely gay. A different strategy was needed, Brock explained. So they separated, each putting themselves out there individually, showing that they were available. Both quickly attracted attention.
The gym bunnies tended to surround Neil. A few peppered him with questions while others noted they had seen him at the gym recently and complimented him on his progress. While there was undoubtedly attraction on the part of most of them, they generally seemed to be more interested in becoming Neil’s workout buddy rather than more immediate and carnal pursuits. It was somewhat bewildering; despite the attention, Neil only came away with a single phone number belonging to a very fit gymnast named Parker.
Brock was another story. His good mood had returned as they walked out. “A trio of twinks, man!” he enthused. “They called me ‘daddy’ and things got a little crazy… we went to the back and they got their little hands all over me! Had me flex for half an hour! They all begged me to call ‘em later!”
“So that’s where you wandered off to,” Neil laughed, “I thought maybe you had forgotten your own advice about pacing yourself with drinks and were in a corner somewhere!”
“Shut up, jerk!” Brock countered good naturedly, too hyped after his encounter to be offended by the tease. “It would teach you if I kept their tight little asses to myself! Those twinks were begging for a good fucking… maybe I should have given it to 'em right there!”
Neil was still laughing as they entered their last establishment, another gay bar that was on a different street, a little way off from the other watering holes, and with a crowd that was mostly older townies, rather than college students. The vibe was altogether different from any of the previous watering holes they’d been to. Again they separated, working the bar individually.
As Neil waited at the crowded bar to order a drink, a pair of thin men in their late 30’s or early 40’s approached. One gave a small wave that brought the bartender over immediately, even though he’d been incapable of seeing Neil at all for the previous five minutes. “Sex on the Beach, three of ‘em. One for each of us,” the man who’d waived over the bartender instructed, indicating the two men and Neil. Drinks arrived a moment later and the bartender was immediately paid and generously tipped.
“Now then,” the second man said, “What brings a hunky young thing like you to a place like this?” He sipped his drink through the straw, lips puckered. “I’m Clay, by the way, and this is Justin.”
Justin stepped in, smiling over his own drink. “Every now and then, one of you college boys wanders over here, lost or just curious. And every now and then, we show him just what a good decision he made when he left the comfort of the herd…”
Brock, meanwhile, had attracted a different sort of attention. Many eyes had tracked him when he entered, admiring his large muscles and mature look. But they all turned away when one particular man made a move.
“Sit down, boy,” came a deep, gravelly voice. Brock felt a shiver run through him. He turned around to see a very, very large man sitting at a table behind him, a glass of neat whiskey in one big hand. The man’s shoulders were broader than Brock’s, and even dressed in a black shirt, it was clear that the slabs of muscle on his body outsized even big Brock Medina. “Did I stutter?” came the growled follow-up.
Brock sat. He stared across the table at the hulk of man that sat there, his head shaved bald, his beard mostly salt with only a little pepper here and there. “You’re new here, boy,” the big man continued, his piercing eyes fixed firmly on Brock, “and I like what I see: raw potential.” A grin formed on his fearsome face as he tipped back the rest of the whiskey. "You can call me 'Sir' and nothing else. And I think we're going to see a lot of each other soon..."
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
“That place was… different…” Neil said as he and Brock finally left, after staying longer than expected.
“No kidding!” Brock agreed. He shivered for a moment. “Did you get any numbers?”
“Yeah. One. But for two guys,” Neil confirmed. “They uh, they said something about ‘breaking in the stallion and making him a good stud’ or something crazy like that. Kinda weird, not gonna lie. You?”
“I didn’t get his number. But, uh, well... he got mine. I—uh, I’ve never met anyone like that, Neil… So fucking intense. Not cocky, just… well, ‘arrogant’ isn’t the right word. He’s just better than everyone and he knows it. Sir, I mean.” Brock's face reddened and his dick stirred.
Neil cocked an eyebrow but asked no follow up at that odd statement. Instead, he turned back to their original plan. “So, got any thoughts, o’ master of the bar crawl? We’ve got enough numbers, right? Who do you want to call first?”