Gay Nightclub DJ

He handed it to me, and I put it into the CD player. It began playing "Oh Boy," maybe Holly’s most lively song. I had the whole ballroom floor to myself, so I really was able to let loose. I guess I had a lot of pent-up energy and frustration, what with college classes, the end of a long week, the lousy weather, my impotence with Linda, and now my car problems. I began to gyrate all over the floor, my blond hair flying, I was shaking and twisting around as if trying to physically expel all my mental demons. 

I was so into it, I had almost forgotten that Les was there, watching. And when the song ended, I was so out of breath that my chest was heaving up and down over my bare midriff as I slowly walked back toward Les, who had a sad, sardonic smile on his heavily lined face.

"Not bad," he admitted. "But let me show you how we used to do it in my day."

The next song on the CD was "True Love Waits," a hauntingly beautiful, but very slow, song.

"Les opened his arms.

"Come here," he said with an assuring expression on his face.

I hesitated, puzzled, not knowing what to do.

"Come here," he said. "Please. ... I won’t hurt you."

I moved closer to him. He put his right arm firmly around my bare waist, and engulfed my smallish right hand with his meaty left one. I could feel his hefty belly as he held me close. I put my left hand on his shoulder because I didn’t know what else to do with it. I felt small and frail next to his big body. 

Then we started to dance.

It was a little strange, having never danced with a man before. He was surprisingly graceful as he led me in little circles. He began to sway side-to-side and released my hand.

"This is how we used to do it," he whispered in my ear, and ran his hand down to my tiny, bare waist, holding me there now with both big hands. My sides tingled from his touch almost as if I were being tickled. My mind was in kind of a blur. He wasn't being rough. If anything, he was tender and strong at the same time, but I felt inexplicably overpowered. I placed both my hands around his neck while he moved me from side-to-side. Then, he leaned down so we could dance cheek-to-cheek.

Soon, the song ended. A fast rock tune would follow. Les kept his hands on me and looked into my eyes.

"Rewind it, Wendie," his deep voice said firmly. "Play that same song again."

He let me go. I turned to the CD player and pressed the appropriate buttons. "True Love Waits" began to play again. Les opened his arms, and still in kind of a daze, I walked into his embrace.

His arms went around my waist. Mine went around his neck, raising the bottom of my sweatshirt higher on my rib cage. His big hands slowly explored all my bare flesh, up and down on my sides. As we started to sway again, his lips brushed against my right ear.

"You've been driving me crazy, Wendie," Les whispered as he held me tighter. "I've been watching you from the bar every weekend. I can't believe how beautiful you are."

He kissed my bare shoulder. His lips felt big and wet. I shimmied the shoulder, but not too violently. His prominent nose moved some of my hair off to one side, allowing his wet lips to move to the nape of my neck. My whole body shuddered while he held me tightly in his arms.

"You've been teasing me with your dancing, your sexy Southern accent and your smiles ever since you started working here," he said. "I've been obsessing over you and this smooth, young body of yours. You're the first thing I think about in the morning and the last thing I think about at night. I've been jerking off while picturing you in my arms, and tonight, I want you for real."

His mouth came down to mine while his heavy arms held me in a tight embrace. My thoughts were racing.

"What the hell am I doing?" my mind silently screamed, but my body arched into his. "I'm being kissed by Les, for chrissakes! He's older than my father, and he's maybe the homeliest man I've ever met. And I'm kissing him back! I've gotta do something."

I broke off the kiss and leaned back in his arms, placing my hands lightly but defensively on his big chest.

"I ... I've gotta go," I said. "The Triple A guy will be here any minute."

"No," Les said, confidently, "he won't."

"Yes, he will," I said, trying to catch my breath. "When I called, they said he'd be here in about an hour, and I think it's been about an hour now."

"It may be an hour, my little Southern belle," Les said, pulling me closer, "but what you don't know is that right after you left my apartment, I called Triple A and canceled your request for a repair truck. So, you see, Wendie, you've got all night. Actually, WE'VE got all night."

I was so surprised, my mouth fell open. Les took immediate advantage of that to thrust his tongue into my young mouth.

"Mmmmph!" I said, or something like it. I struggled to get away from him, but he was too strong. When his long, thick fingers grasped my bare shoulder, I surrendered ... totally. It was a new sensation for me, a teenager, being in a man's arms -- a much older man's arms at that. It turned me on to know that someone that mature had been masturbating while thinking of me. I liked what his hands were doing as they despoiled my firm, white flesh. I found I liked even more surrendering my mouth to his. He was treating me just like a woman, and I was loving it.

The song ended, but he kept kissing me and kissing me, sensing perhaps that each time his mouth touched mine, it tore away more and more of my resistance and willpower.

His mouth finally moved down to my bare neck. He was getting a little out of control, breathing very hard. He began chewing on my nape, harder and harder.

"Les!" I cried. "You're hurting me."

He stopped biting me. His arms loosened around me, and his eyes slowly lost their maddened look.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "Wendie, I wouldn't hurt you. I would never hurt you."

With that, he swooped down and picked me up, one arm under my legs and the other around my back. My arms found themselves wrapped around his thick neck, and my long, straight blond hair hung straight down. He started walking me out of the ballroom, but he was breathing so hard, I didn't think he'd make it. I only weigh 147 pounds, but Les was, after all, over 60 and not in the best shape. But I found that I loved being carried. It made me feel so helpless, feminine and totally in Les' control.

He managed to carry me into his apartment. A door was partially ajar, and he hurriedly kicked it open and half-placed and half-dropped me on a single-sized bed. He stood there for a few moments, catching his breath and looking down at me. Finally, he spoke.

"This is my wife's room," he said. "She was never here, but this is where I keep her things, her clothes."

He pointed to a pink dress on the dresser.

"I thought we might have a late dinner," he said. "I think that dress will fit you. I'd love to see you in it."

I had been propping myself up on one elbow, listening to him. He leaned over and lightly kissed my lips.

"Please," he said. "Put it on and then meet me in the dining room."

Then he left the room, closing the door behind him.

I didn't know what to do or what to think. Absently, I walked over to the dresser, picked up the sheer, pink dress and held it in front of me in the floor-length mirror. I was mesmerized by what had just occurred to me. I felt weak, disoriented and confused. I was a man, a straight man, and I had just been kissed, felt-up and dominated by my fat, ugly boss. And yet, I had never felt so sexually appreciated. As I began to slowly take off my sweatshirt, I told myself that I was trapped, snowbound at an out-of-the-way place with no way to get back to campus, but as I took off my shorts, I couldn't help but notice that my penis was erect.

The dress was dignified, but very sexy. It was worn off-the-shoulders, revealing most of my chest, then curved tightly to my torso before it loosely billowed out over my bare thighs, just barely reaching my knees. I wasn't wearing anything underneath. I saw a brush on the dresser, and used it to tidy up my hair, which cascaded down my bare neck and shoulders.

I looked at myself in the mirror, put my hands on my thin hips and slowly shimmied my bare shoulders.

"Gorgeous," I whispered to myself.

Barefoot, I walked toward the door, hesitated for a moment, then opened it and walked into the dining room. Standing by the table was Les. He took one look at me and sharply drew his breath in.

"Wendie, you are more beautiful than I could imagine," he said, slowly shaking his head, "and believe me, I have imagined you in that dress more than once."

He took my left hand in his massive left one and gently led me to the now-candle-lit table, where he held a chair for me as I sat down. He settled his heavy frame in a chair opposite me. He had filled our wine glasses and raised his for a toast. I picked up my glass with one hand and lightly ran my fingers over the rim with the other as I looked into his dark eyes. I don't know why I did that, except feeling that if I was going to be wearing a dress and dining with my boss, I might as well play the part as femininely as I could.

"To a beautiful dinner companion," he said in his toast.

My voice was strangely soft as I continued to stare into his eyes, seductively shimmied my shoulders and replied, "and to a wonderful host."

We drank our wine, then two more glasses during dinner. Les was indeed a wonderful host. I offered to help, but he insisted on serving me. First, there was a delicious vegetable soup, then cold strips of chicken in a salad. He told me about how he started the club, where he grew up, and basically dominated the conversation. That was fine with me. I felt like a woman, allowing a man to talk about himself. He seemed to like that.