Date: Thu, 22 Sep 2011 11:28:37 -0600
From: Paul Crumrine <purple-prose@hotmail.com>
Subject: Behind the Reservation Desk

Behind the Reservation Desk
By David Holly


(Note: "Behind the Reservation Desk" is one of the stories in my e-book
titled Off-Beat. Check my website http://gaywriter.org for more
information.)

   The night was Tuesday, quiet, with only thirty of the hotel's rooms
occupied. I had bicycled through the South Florida humidity and come on
duty at 11:00 p.m., listened to the detestable switchboard operator Berta
obsess over her love life (a flop), her finances (a crash), and how much
better things had been back in Jamaica (a paradise). Berta also delivered
barbed comments about American boys wearing Levis behind the hotel
reservation desk and claimed that if I must wear them (notice how she moved
conspicuously from the general to the specific—me), why did they have to
be so tight as to show off my behind (well worth showing off) even while I
was standing up straight (whatever that had to do with anything).

   Since we worked staggered shifts, Berta left at midnight. With mingled
dread and anticipation I was waiting for my first glimpse of the new night
bellhop. The bellhop who usually worked midnight until eight had departed
abruptly. The night bellhop's duties involved carrying the luggage of late
arrivals, answering the switchboard, coping with security duties, arriving
on time in a sober condition, and leaving still sober. The last two
conditions had spelled the downfall of my previous bellhop.

   "I heard he's a fruit," Berta suddenly announced as I glanced at the
clock.

   "I beg your pardon?"

   "The new bellhop. Consuela in housekeeping says he looks like a fruit."
There was a world of meaning in her barbed comment.

   I was posting room and tax to the guest bills, punching the numbers onto
the cards in the old NCR 4200, when I heard a tap at the front desk
door. Berta rarely got out of her chair for anything, but the arrival of
her relief was the exception. Her fat ass was out of her swivel chair in a
flash and she grabbed the doorknob.

   Berta had tossed the long distance telephone receipts into a wire basket
under the switchboard, so I took advantage of her departure to retrieve
them. Stooping, I heard a soft click as the door opened, followed by a tiny
gasp.

   I half turned and saw Berta bolting toward the lobby doors; she hadn't
even introduced herself to the new bellhop, whom she was supposed to train
on the switchboard. Completing my turn, I beheld a guy about my own age,
dressed in white jeans and a tropical shirt. He smiled warmly. He stood an
inch taller than I, and he had thick chestnut hair worn to his shirt collar
and a thick mustache.

   "I'm Ricardo," he announced without a trace of Latin accent. I
introduced myself and held out my hand. He held it a bit longer than one
would for a handshake, which made me feel warm down in my Medici briefs.

   I showed Ricardo how the switchboard worked, which should have been
Berta's duty. "When a guest picks up a phone in his room, it'll start
beeping. Plug a cord from the back row into the lit hole. You call out with
the front row."

   I hovered over Ricardo while he answered a couple of calls. Then I had
to check in our last arrival of the night. The man let Ricardo help him
with his luggage, so I answered the switchboard while Ricardo was earning
his meager tip.

   With so few rooms occupied, I finished the audit by 2:00. The lobby was
deserted and the lights had been dimmed for the night. I could see the
hotel dining room and piano bar across the lobby, and the lobby doors,
which gave onto the breezeway and provided a view of the light summer
traffic on the streets of Coral Gables. To my left and out of sight was a
hallway that led to the elevator, the lobby restrooms, the management and
accounting offices, and the housekeeping department. Ricardo had returned
to the switchboard, asked a few intelligent questions, and watched me with
interested eyes. I decided that I was free to strike up a conversation with
him, but he chose the subject matter first.

   "You have nice buns, Dave," he said suddenly. It was the first time
another guy had said such a thing to me, and again I felt that deep warmth.

   "Uh," I gulped. I didn't know what to say.

   "My first look at you," Ricardo continued, "you were bent over to pick
up something. Man, I nearly came in my pants. Your ass is nice and round in
those tight jeans; it really sticks out, you know."

   I was blushing, hot, and still no words would come. My dick was
hardening in my jeans, and there was no way Ricardo would miss that. His
smoky dark eyes could plainly see how his words were affecting me. Then he
was out of his swivel chair and his hands were upon me. He circled my
waist, his hands leisurely gliding down my back and over the swell of my
buttocks. I had no will to resist; indeed, I wanted his hands on me though
I was afraid. I glanced nervously into the lobby.

   Suddenly, Ricardo was turning me around so my back was toward him, and I
felt the bulge of his hard-on through his pants as he rubbed it across my
ass. Meanwhile, he was unbuckling my belt and unfastening my jeans.

   "If someone should come...," I gasped in weak protest. "I need this
job."

   "It is only we two, Dave," Ricardo whispered into my ear as he pushed
down my pants.

   Then my jeans were around my ankles and Ricardo cupped my butt through
my briefs. When he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of my briefs, I
whispered "no," but my protest was faint, and I really meant "yes." Truth
to tell, I wasn't certain what I did want, but whatever it was, I wanted
it.

   After my underwear joined my jeans, I was standing pantless behind the
desk, my cock jutting, with Ricardo behind me. Unhurriedly, lingering with
anticipation, Ricardo slipped to his knees, and I felt his face against the
mounds of my ass. He kissed my buttocks, kissed and licked. His mustache
tickled pleasantly as his face gradually parted my butt cheeks. I gripped
the edge of the reservation desk and bent forward to let his tongue into my
crevice.

   I thought that I would explode as his tongue progressively licked up my
crack. Up and back down until he settled upon my hole. His tongue was moist
and hot against my asshole, and I emitted a moan of pleasure. I had never
imagined such a thing could feel so good.

   My heart was hammering in my chest; it was truly the most glorious and
the terrifying circumstance of my life. The risk was so acute. What if the
elevator should open, or a late hotel guest stroll through the front door?
I could only imagine what the hotel manager would say as he fired my
ass—that's if Ricardo and I didn't get tossed into jail for public
indecency. Yet, even as I swiveled my head fretfully from side to side,
alert for approaching spectators, the danger added zest to the adventure.

   Ricardo was circling my asshole with his tongue even as his hands
caressed my buttocks. My cock was so hard that it seemed ready to
burst. Ricardo licked up my crack all the way, down again, stopped at my
asshole, and bit by bit pushed inside.

   I had never felt such a thrill—the thrill of breathless exhilaration
painted with breathless apprehension. I stood with both hands gripping the
edge of the marble counter, bare-bottomed to anyone who happened to enter,
and trembling with desire and dread. Just as my body was ready to explode
with my conflicted desires, I heard a familiar whine. The damned elevator
was descending.

   My buttocks seemed to slam shut, closing upon Ricardo's face. Then he
heard the elevator as well and leaped to his feet. I yanked up my pants,
bringing up my briefs rather painfully in a roll. I fastened my jeans and
zipped up even as the elevator doors were swishing open.

   Ricardo sat at the switchboard, giggling like a pre-adolescent while I
checked out the guest with the early departure. However, the guest seemed
to notice nothing strange in our behavior. He yawned as I prepared his bill
and ran his credit card through the old knuckle buster. Itching to adjust
my underwear, which was cramping my balls, I waited while the guest signed
the slip, give him his copy, and bid him to return.

   When the departing guest was safely out the door, Ricardo burst into a
series of hooting guffaws. "We almost got caught, Dave," he managed at
last, chortling with glee.

   "It's not funny," I declared. "I nearly died."

   That statement sent him off into another chorus of horselaughs. Finally,
holding his sides, he arose and I saw that his cock was bulging the front
of his jeans. In an instant, the close call was forgotten. I watched his
concealed member with fascination. It had to be the biggest one I'd ever
seen.

   "You want to see it?" Ricardo asked, observing my interest. "Come on. I
have to go to the bathroom."

   Where's the harm in that, I thought as I adjusted my bikini
underwear. Just two guys going to take a leak. I followed Ricardo down the
hallway and around the corner to the public restrooms.

   I really did need to take a leak, but as I stood at the urinal Ricardo
stepped up to the one beside me and opened his zipper. Out came the most
magnificent cock I'd ever seen. It was long—oh, was it ever long—and
it was thick. It was reddish in hue, and the tip had been circumcised,
which considering the proportions could not have been a significant
loss. The head was a bit flapped—like it had wings, and it was
distinctly purplish—like it was mad and wanted to be stabbed into
something—an eager mouth or asshole would serve.

   My urine stream dwindled and stopped as my own cock tensed. Ricardo saw
my dick hardening and knew that my seeing his own cock was the cause. "Do
you want to touch it?" he asked, knowing the answer.

   Almost shyly I ran two fingers down the shaft of his thick cock toward
the head. It was hot to the touch and grew hotter as it engorged. As it
rose, it did not grow much longer, nor did it need greater length, but it
seemed to thicken as it stood up, until it was solid. I moved my fingers
down to where it joined Ricardo's crotch. Making a circle with my thumb and
forefinger, I could not close them around his cock's thickness; a tiny gasp
of awe escaped my mouth.

   Ricardo chortled as I gripped his cock. "It will fill your ass, Dave,"
he assured me.

   "Fill my ass!" I panted. "It would kill me."

   "I would never hurt you," Ricardo promised, his face paling at the
thought—or from the blood rush to fill his cock. "You wouldn't have to
take it all. Just a little way."

   My cock twitched at the image, and I made up my mind. "Why don't you
come home with me when we get off duty," I suggested.

   "You leave before me," Ricardo protested, as though an hour were a major
obstacle. "I could fuck you right here."

   "We can't," I nearly howled in protest. I wanted that big cock so bad
that his words sounded almost reasonable to me. "I can't leave the desk
that long. Besides someone might catch us in here. I need this job,
Ricardo."

   "Then so it must be, Dave," said he. "You will go home and await my
coming. Dress in something sexy."

   With that promise, we returned to the desk. Ricardo sat at the
switchboard, but he continued his sexual patter. He described how he would
take me from behind, which positions he favored, and the quantity of his
semen. His descriptions kept me so aroused that my cock had become
perpetually hard, and my hearing was attuned for the sound of the doors or
the elevator. My face was burning with sexual heat.

   At 4:30, an hour before the housekeeper and the maids were due to
arrive, Ricardo suddenly jumped from his chair. His huge cock made a thick
loaf in his jeans, and I suspected it had leaked inadvertently. Without
warning, Ricardo pulled my face to his and our lips pressed. His tongue
slipped through my lips, over my teeth, and met my own tongue. The deep
kiss turned my reason altogether, and when Ricardo's hands glided over my
buttocks, I did not resist, but wiggled with desire.

   Ricardo unfastened my jeans and let them drop. In my insane lust, I
followed suit by unfastening his belt and the button on his white jeans. I
freed his cock, gripped it with my hand, and stroked it.

   "Wait," Ricardo urged, and pulled a tube of KY from his bag. He squeezed
some into my hand so I could lubricate his cock, and when it was glistening
with the slick jelly, slowly I turned away from it, gripped the cool marble
reservation desk with both hands, and thrust back my ass.

   "Oh, yeah, you want my dick, Dave. You want it bad," Ricardo crooned as
he slid a slick finger up my hole. He twisted back and forth before giving
me a second finger. He lubricated me and opened me up to receive his
monster cock, while I gripped the reservation desk and wiggled my horny
ass.

   "You are ready, Dave," Ricardo assured me, removing his fingers. "Take a
deep breath." I felt something tremendous pressing against my asshole and
felt a moment of wild panic. As the empty hotel lobby stretched before my
eyes, I could only wonder at what I was doing.

   "Deep breaths, Dave," Ricardo urged. I felt an incredible pressure,
followed by a mind-boggling fullness. Then excruciating pain.

   "Oh, god, you're killing me," I cried, trying not to shout and bring the
whole hotel down to see what was the matter. "It's too big. Pull it out."

   "Relax, Dave," Ricardo assured me. "It's sliding in just fine. You're
taking it, man. No problemo."

   Sure, no problem of yours that I'm going to split in two, I thought. But
even as I thought that, I realized that the pain had subsided. In fact, his
cock was starting to feel pretty good.

   "You can push it in a bit deeper," I suggested. "It's starting to feel
good."

   "Of course, Dave," Ricardo said. "Hey, man, is this your first time?"

   He was the first to drive his cock up my ass, but I didn't want him to
know about my pitiful lack of experience. "It's the first time I took one
as big as yours."

   "You can really take it, Dave. I got it deeper into you than any other
guy I've ever fucked." So saying, he gave a thrust; the pressure increased
but the pain did not return. Instead, I felt like I was about to shoot my
own load. Then I realized that his lap was pressing against my buns.

   "Dave, I'm in all the way," Ricardo nearly shouted. "You're taking my
whole cock. You're the first guy who ever took the whole thing."

   He started rocking back and forth, fucking me with a steady rhythm. As
he fucked me, his cock milked my prostate, and that combined with my
extreme arousal brought me toward the edge of orgasm. Just as I was
approaching the point of no return, when I would be committed to orgasm and
ejaculation, a set of headlights swept through the breezeway. It was Mitch,
the Coral Gables cop who checked upon me nightly. Sometimes Mitch came in
for a cup of coffee and conversation. I waved to indicate all was well,
hoping that Ricardo was concealed behind me. Fortunately, that night,
seeing me apparently unmolested and standing at the desk, Mitch tossed me a
friendly wave and barely slowed. For his part, Ricardo kept humping my ass
as though he had not a care in the world while the police car drove away.

   "Oh, Dave, I'm getting close," Ricardo moaned, and I realized that he
was fucking me with his eyes closed. Still, the close call had not dimmed
my lust. In fact, the peril had made the sex all the hotter and I found
myself grinding my ass back to meet Ricardo's quickening thrusts, and I
felt the first tingles in the head of my cock that signaled the approaching
storm of pleasure.

   "I'm gonna come," I moaned. "You're making me come, Ricardo."

   "Wow," he said, thrusting harder.

   I gripped the desk and let his cock bring me off. I rode his cock like a
trooper, thrusting and grinding on it while he banged me maniacally. The
tingles in my dick rose into a crescendo of sensation, a pleasure
subterranean and delicious, forbidden and fantastic, dangerous and
sublime. Then I was coming; yet the semen did not spring from my cock, but
leaked thick and cruelly, milked rather than flung. My spunk splattered
upon the worn carpet at my feet while Ricardo continued to thrust faster
and faster. I heard his breath rasping in my ear.

   "Come in me," I urged. "Give it to me, Ricardo. Shoot it up my ass."

   "Ahh, man," Ricardo managed, his gasps hot and frantic. "Ahh, here I
come."

   I thought that I would feel the hot spunk being spurted into me, but I
only felt his cock in my asshole, his flesh striking my buttocks, and the
continuing deep massage of my prostate that caused me to leak my own fluids
onto the floor. After a longer time than I would have imagined, Ricardo
slowed his thrusting. He pushed his cock in and out a few more times,
slowly, ever slowing; then he drew it out altogether. My asshole made a
popping sound as he withdrew his cockhead.

   "That was great, Dave," Ricardo enthused. He grabbed a cleaning rag and
wiped his dick. Then he rubbed the carpet of my semen. "Got to get rid of
the evidence," he said softly and kissed my lips.

   Only after the kiss did I pull up my briefs, adjust them carefully, and
pull up my jeans. Thus attired, I took a short trip to the bathroom. When I
returned to the desk less than five minutes later, I saw Ricardo handing
the housekeeper her ring of keys. We had timed it close.

   Following my adventure behind the reservation desk, I had two days
off. I never received a call from the hotel manager, so we apparently got
away with it. Ricardo and I worked together several more nights, but we
never repeated the indiscretions of our first night. We dated a few times,
going to the movies and to the beach (seeing Ricardo's cock in a Speedo was
an exploit unto itself). We fucked twice in my apartment, but private sex
did not have the same kick as the dangerous anal play we conducted behind
the desk. The fear of getting caught had heightened the experience.

   Ricardo found a higher paying job after working less than a month at the
hotel. We promised to keep in touch, but the thrill was gone. I kept his
phone number for a few months, but I never called him. He sure never called
me. Still, as the years drift along, and I remember that magical, insane
night, a secret smile plays across my lips, and I wonder whether Ricardo
ever dreams of the night he fucked me behind the reservation desk.


The End



About the Author

David Holly lives, moves, and has his being in Portland, Oregon and
environs. He is fascinated by the human penchant for odd mythologies,
bizarre rituals, diverse religions, forlorn hopes, and broken dreams. He
lives in a garish apartment with multihued walls hung with Haitian
paintings and shelved with two thousand books. Sharing the apartment are
sundry fur-bearing fellow mortals. He is exceptionally fond of strong
coffee, red wine, English bitters, rich stout, inverted roller coasters,
nude beaches, and hot-looking guys. He wears bright colors, tight slacks,
exotic underwear, and slinky swim briefs. He is joyously pagan and loves
making merry in heathen celebrations, marching in pride parades, and
frolicking naked on Sauvie Island's Collins Beach. Find out more about
David Holly and his numerous publications at facebook.com/david.holly2 and
http://gaywriter.org.