Date: Sun, 8 Nov 2009 22:33:37 -0800
From: J H <gymguy8@gmail.com>
Subject: Antonio's Tale

1.

God. Forty-nine. I'd been here for nearly a half century. And to
celebrate, my friends took me to a strip club, where boys young enough
to be my son were dancing around in their thongs. Hell, if I had been
a little faster in high school, young enough to be my grandson. I
didn't mind that much; it was a tradition in our group that every
birthday was celebrated at Club Xtatic, with the birthday boy getting
a private dance. I would grin and bear it. Later, I could head to the
Eagle, and find someone more to my taste to breed for the night. I
didn't quite expect the way the night was actually going to turn out.

It was a standard Saturday night, fairly crowded. My friends started
buying me beer early and often, and we watched various guys take to
the platforms around the club, strip down to the posing pouch, and
flaunt their stuff. Fairly quickly, my friends reached a consensus. It
was going to be Antonio. Even by the standards of the club, he was a
young one, looking like he was barely a freshman in high school, much
less of legal age to be dancing for some horny old men. Antonio had
black hair, a smooth chest, probably shaven, maybe about 5'8", a bit
of dark pubic hair sticking out above the red Timoteo underwear. His
ass was a thing of beauty. It would take me days to properly lick that
ass, get it ready for a month-long fucking. And, if the strains on the
underwear were an indication, he was packing it up front as well. On
the platform, he was unique that night that he was wearing a pair of
black leather boots, rather than the trainers most boys seemed to be
wearing.

Thomas took care of the details, and right about midnight, he came up
to me. "So, you're the birthday boy?"

"Yeah, I am. Don't remind me."

"How old are you? 39?" Up close, he had a winning smile, and a slight
shyness that seemed to speak of a greater wisdom.

"Flattery will get you everywhere, kid. A little older. Try 49. How
old are you?" I asked.

"Damn. You're fucking hot." Over Madonna singing about what it felt
like for a girl, it was hard to tell for sure, but it sounded like he
was serious. "I'm 19."

"You could be my son."

"I'd be happy to call you daddy." That was serious. And I had to
remind myself that he was thirty years younger than me.

He led me to the back of the club, to the private rooms. At the door,
the bouncer reminded me of the rules, don't touch the boys, hands on
the arms of the chair, and so forth. I knew the drill, and barely paid
attention. Antonio knew which room was empty, and sat me down. There
were mirrors around the room, so even when he was facing away from me,
I could still see the front of him. Madonna faded out, and the Pet
Shop Boys came on, "Being Boring." Thomas had a twisted sense of humor
sometimes, and I knew this was his doing. Antonio began to dance,
showing off the various parts of his body. Although it wasn't
immediately apparent, he was very well defined, with just the
slightest layer of baby fat giving him a bit of innocence.

He got up close, I could feel his breath against my ear as he rubbed
his smooth cheeks against my beard. "The beard is hot, daddy," he
whispered in my ear. Then he was back in front of me, his back to
me. In the mirror, I could see a hand disappear into his underwear as
he played with himself a bit. I saw his reflection staring right at
me, and he pushed down his underwear for a moment. It was an
impressive tool on a boy like him, almost eight inches, and meaty. But
we both knew the rules, and it was quickly covered back up. He turned
back around, and hopped on the chair, straddling me. He ran his hands
over my face again, working his way down my chest.

As he pushed his ass against my crotch, he slowly unbuttoned my shirt,
running his hands over my chest. We were staring into each other's
face, and the smile as he ran his fingers through my chest hair seemed
genuine. He must have noticed something in my chest pocket, because he
reached in, and pulled it out. It was a ten rouble note, a relic of a
work trip two weeks ago. His eyes brightened at the novelty of
it. "How much is it worth?"

"Thirty cents."

"Sugar Daddy," he said. He folded the bill up, put it in my hand, and
guided it to his underwear. I slid the bill in, taking the opportunity
to feel his dick a bit. There was a bit of pre-cum at the tip of his
cockhead. I tookt he risk, and licked it off my finger, before
returning to the approved location. He continued to unbutton my
shirt. "You have a great body," he said.

"Thanks." Between running, swimming, and the gym, I think I managed to
keep myself in shape, hoping to avoid the inevitable declines of
disease and age. He pushed my shirt open, then jumped off the
chair. He danced some more, showing off alternately his ass and cock
to me some more. I had to remind myself that this was just a job, and
when the song ended, we'd both go back to the real world.

As the song started to draw to a close, he got back on top of me. I
didn't try to hide my erection as he reached down and stroked it. "You
know. I get off in about an hour. We could go back to your place."

I wasn't surprised at this. He was a working boy, and needed to make
money. "I'm sure your an expensive boy."

"I am. Ten cents at a minimum." He reached back into his underwear,
feeling for the bill I put in there earlier. "I think you've paid for
the rest of the weekend though." The next song had already begun, and
the bouncer appeared at the door. I motioned to Antonio that our time
was up. "Fuck," he said. He gave me a peck on the cheek, and jumped
off. He was out the door quickly. Under the watchful eye of the
bouncer, I buttoned up my shirt, and walked back out into the club.