Flipping and Treying Chapter 1
In the upcoming shift for "Oklahoma!," the entire cast is about to be revamped. This music show has been running for almost two years now. After each time Kirk Olsen, the lead actor, left to appear in a three-month TV series, he was replaced by pop stars, keeping the production alive and fresh. Now, however, the team is planning to completely re-cast the show after a brief run by two country stars, Lisa Turner and Jake Williams. Kirk, my dearest friend and fellow performer, is leaving the company to star in a Netflix TV series about Nordic immigrant success in the 19th century.
Kirk and I are good friends. With only a few weeks until the role of Jud is handed to a new actor, the producers asked me, Flip Mecum, who plays the villainous character Jud, to stick around through the entire process, even staying on afterward if I want. However, I believe it's time to move on. Two years is a significant time for any character, no matter how stimulating. I've decided to leave, and will likely be leaving around Christmas.
I'm headed to meet with my agent at his office in the Theatre District, just west of Broadway. He seems excited about something. Could it be regarding my potential entry into popular music, including an international tour created by YouTube? I've built a following of almost a million on Facebook.
My journey began in small-town Texas, where I escaped an abusive environment and made my way to Houston. I spent brief periods as a gay club dancer, an escort, and even worked in porn. In New York, I met an actor (and ex-romantic interest) who left suddenly for Hollywood. Three months have passed, and I haven't heard from him. He's finished filming his first movie, but it didn't blow up at the box office, so I imagine he's staying in LA to try again.
A friend of mine in Houston is six-foot tall, has fair skin, and a gym-ready body with attractive abs and pecs. I have dark eyes, black hair, a chiseled face, and what's described as a porn-sized dick. I didn't plan on pursuing a career in acting, not even in the shady productions in Houston. But one day, luck struck when I found myself playing the sinister Jud in "Oklahoma!". My primary occupation is that of theatrical lighting engineer, and it's a job at which I excel.
The original Jud was a flat, one-dimensional antagonist from a time when good and evil were more simply defined. He was an untidy, smelly, lewd, undesirable character that no one wanted to meet, especially on a dark street. That's what villains were like in the post-war era's inoffensive portrayals of America. This was not me.
Gradually, I transformed the role. Moving from a generic go-go dancer to a Rhinestone Urban Cowboy at Peacock, I demanded a refined look: clean, well-groomed hair, groomed facial features, and flawless manners. Instead of a scruffy, bearded look, I had a sleek image. I would not be a raw, unpleasant character. Instead, I became a sophisticated, smooth-talking devil with charm. I was an irresistible sexual allure, the embodiment of sin. I was the kind of man that fathers try to keep away from their daughters — while little realizing that I had no interest in their daughters. In fact, I'm gay. They should have worried about their sons.
With regular exercise, my body developed further. My shoulders became broader, my neck shorter, my pecs hardened, and my abs deepened. I may have been evil, but I was a supreme force of evil. Superevil sexual charm on a slender frame!
Jud's personality evolved into a more complex character. He was no longer just a one-dimensional individual. He was a young man with a tumultuous past who had frequently been oppressed and persecuted. He had lost his family at a young age and passed through numerous foster homes and orphanages where he had to fight and manipulate to survive. As a result, his personality, during the time of the musical, had transformed into a calculated, cautious, slick, ruthless tempter and liar. With a supple, sensitive core.
The audience adored Jud's understated performance—he had made it through by using his wits and hard work. He wasn't a victim; he was a survivor. However, society (represented by Curly) was again bringing him down, criticizing him while the female lead (Laurey) was using him for amusement and games to torment Curly.
He was a product of his time. And many New Yorkers, with their eyes on personal advancement and not always following the rules, started to connect with me, the anti-hero. Gone were the days when audiences rooted for the protagonist wearing a white hat.
I discovered that I could dance, act, and even had a serviceable baritone voice. I was on the brink of achieving Broadway success.
*****
I entered Miller's office and was immediately ushered by his curvaceous, attractive "assistant" to his private space. By then, I was one of his most significant clients. He had requested an urgent meeting—it couldn't wait until dark Monday. He wanted it right this moment. (I was grateful that Miller was not the sort of casting agent who had me on his couch before we could converse. He was a seasoned professional and had turned into a close friend. I respected his suggestions.)
Within minutes, he presented a role that he wanted me to audition for. Broadway was now focused on remakes, prequels, and sequels. ALW had been persuaded to create the prequel to Phantom—essentially the story of how Erik Claudin became the Phantom. This is the story: He was a celebrated international opera tenor (I knew straight away that it would be a challenge!), whose face and neck were splashed with acid following a performance of Madama Butterfly by protesters protesting the paternalistic, military stance of a major power. (Guess which one?) His face was completely disfigured and couldn't be restored by the leading plastic surgeons of the era. (The musical is set in the 30s.) He sank into a depressive depression. His friends all abandoned him. Opportunities dried up. The prequel is all about his devastation, his denouncing of a God who would grant him a voice, then take away the opportunity to use it, his renewal at the hands of Lydia—and then his overwhelming downfall as she began to carry on with her life—with another "normal" young man—another opera singer. (Anyone who knows opera will testify that there are no "normal young men" who are good opera singers. They're all would-be divos.)
Phantom is the star. A remarkable opera artist whose career was ruined because of his ugliness—but whose voice remained intact. Cruel political extremism has once more annihilated art, and the creator of it. The prequel revolves around his cruelty, his defiance at the unfairness of a God who would endow him with a voice; then remove the possibility to use it, his restoration by Lydia—and then his crushing defeat as she moves on with her life—with another "normal" young man—another opera singer. (Anyone who knows opera will attest that there are no "normal young men" who are great opera singers. They're all would-be divos.)
Half of my face would never be visible—the other half would always be concealed under a mask. My bulk would give the armored character a daunting, superhuman size—not a villainous superhero, but a colossal man, who had known success and dominance, dealing with trauma and rejection. And sexually repressed, not by choice but by circumstances.
Miller gleefully revealed the role had been custom-made for me. "This is the role that'll establish you as a Broadway superstar, Flip." (Don't I already consider myself as one?) "There's no dance, but the flowing robes favored by the Phantom would require your nimble footwork and ostentatious movements." He even had a voice coach lined up. He was so excited that it rubbed off on me. So we arranged the audition. Rehearsals would commence in a few weeks—in New York. Then, he dropped the bomb, "By the way, Brent's producer consortium holds a majority stake. He's the one who contacted me."
Brent was my neighbor, one of my best friends, my confidant, and my "near landlord"—he had provided the funds to purchase the co-op. He had aided me over Michael. And he was Kirk's guy. Likely my best, non-intimate friend in New York.
I understood it was unlucky to celebrate prior to even auditioning. Yet, I felt the need to confide in someone. Brent would be waiting for Kirk's coming back later, which wasn't an option. Even if he were available, I didn't want to abuse our friendship to obtain the part. Hence, I texted Trey: "Drop by tonight, my dear? Meet me at the stage door?"
Trey (Andrew Jackson Maguire III) and I had turned into a duo during the last few months. We met on a lighting project at a time when my relationship with Michael was particularly rocky. He fit the bill: a young, attractive, straightforward, horny, randy, Southern jock. (In fact, he was just a year younger than me.) He was on the run from an Alabama family who'd have never accepted he was gay. Gingers tend to pick me up when I'm low. Red hair—and ginger pubes—are so cheery! It's so much fun to trail the freckles on a ginger ass and try to visualize how my tongue might darken it. He had played sports, had a well-built body, and spoke with a drawl sweet enough to grease Manhattan's breakfast booths. And he was a gay virgin. At least until we spent some quality time together. I was his first...and most likely his only. What man can be tough one moment and soft the next?
I hadn't asked him to move in...yet, at Brent's recommendation. Brent had warned me against a hasty rebound romance—especially with someone I barely knew. But by now, Trey was crashing at my place every three to four nights for a week. He was doing theatre lighting tech at the Barrymore—which worked nicely with my schedule. We were definitely getting closer.
Immediately, his response appeared: "Can't wait. I'll be there—"—prefaced by several flirty emojis.
Both Kirk and I appeared like short-term residents now. The stage effect kicked in: every actor hopes their final performances will be so great that they're "defining" and "unforgettable." Consequently, the show was excellent, and we even got that rare New York standing ovation when we came out for curtain calls.
I changed and wiped off my makeup and was on my way out. Trey was there with his constant opening line, "Bodyguard needed, Flip?" We embraced and embarked on the uptown stroll, both anticipating the pleasurable delights in front of us. Trey had fin fin'd before me and had showered at the theatre. He smelled clean, with a touch of the South—an aroma of matured floral scents, still inviting to any nearby bee. My senses were heightened—and I was getting hard in my jeans. Each step drew me closer to having him in my bed, and my cock shaping his sweet ass.
We reached the Montana, and Carlos welcomed us warmly. He was getting accustomed to the disappearance of Michael (whom he later told me he never truly trusted) and Trey's constant presence. Trey and Carlos seemed to have a thing going. They exchanged jokes and sports scores as if they'd been pals forever. Both were soccer and baseball fanatics. I had realized everyone adored Trey. He was the ideal pal: perpetually smiling, always ready with a compliment, always optimistic.
Trey stood by through my rocky patch. My depression. My self-reproach that I'd harmed Michael in some hidden manner. That I'd deceived Michael by sleeping with Trey. He endured my eccentricities and soothed me with physical proximity I'd never felt before.
And he did it in my bed. Trey became the most breathtaking sex I'd ever experienced in my life. Professional or amateur! (I'm such a hopeless romantic.)
At first, I was always the top. However, after a few weeks in which he frequently used me as a rebound launchpad, I requested him to take me. He was a passionate and eager lover. And from that day, he gave as much as he received. Tonight, though, I had to be in charge.
I was eager to share my exciting news with him, but we were both too fired up. He directed me to the bedroom, not yet ours, where he spread out on his back, drawing me on top. His arms swiftly moved to grab me and pressed me against him, squeezing me tightly. I found it difficult to breathe and was rock hard. He released his grip, and I sat back to prepare for taking him. He rolled over and raised his legs, revealing his lightly fuzzed thighs and his inviting, pink-rimmed opening. I fantasized about having a picture of this moment in my dressing room to induce my best performances.
I leaned in to lick, suck, and feast on him while he moaned in pleasure. "Treat me like a Southerner," he begged. "Slow, syrupy, and deep. Then I want you to ride me hard." I leaned back further, allowing him to adjust, and he rolled onto his side. He extended his upper thigh forward, allowing me to reach for his manhood to lubricate it. His ass arched back, inviting me. He was a furnace of heat, and I could see wisps of steam rising from his glistening body. I placed my naked member at the entrance, and he responded to my gentle touch. I slid inside him slowly, snaking my way to his sensitive nut. I nuzzled his body, whispering sweet words. I loved his heat and the rigidity of his body. Not even an ounce of fat. He was a real man.
We began to share this connection and rhythm. I continued to grind in and out, shifting to a frantic pace. I reached down to his scrotum and found him pleasantly rigid and oozing pre-cum. I licked my fingers, savoring his essence before bringing them to my lips. It was an intoxicating aroma, transporting me back in time. He made me feel reinvigorated, as if I were young again. Our bodies glistened with sweat in the cool room; two pieces of machinery forging heat and connection.
However, the languid pace of the Deep South did not last long. He pressed against me, and I pushed inside him forcibly. He arched his back, meeting my relentless thrusts. I reached around to check on his status; he was fully erect and copious pre-cum was leaking out. I gathered this thick fluid and brought it to his lips, teasing his taste buds with this ambrosia. His head turned, and our lips met in a deep, passionate kiss. My chest pressed into his back, and I tightened my grip around him as he rolled further onto his stomach. I held myself in place and pressed my chest firmly onto his back, my cock extending deeper than ever inside him. I couldn't contain my desire any longer. I clenched my jaw, anticipating my release. He tensed while I sprayed my semen into him, covering his insides with my seed and love.
We both shuddered into each other's embrace, emitting moans of pleasure. I nestled into a deep cuddle, nuzzling his ear and relishing his scent. My hands sought his front and gently massaged him. The scent of my and his warmth filled the bedroom.
I realized that it could wait until tomorrow. Neither of us had appointments that required more attention than each other. We savored this night, unwilling to disturb our bliss with any mention of the outside world.
*****
When I awoke the following morning, I felt a sense of belonging and comfort. Trey was in the kitchen, scrambling eggs and sausage, ready to serve. He'd donned an apron, but the rest of him was fully exposed. In front of me, his fine ass stood proud, almost beckoning for me. The apron strings danced around his body as he moved his wide hand through the pan, stirring the bacon gravy.
Trey noticed my refreshment and chuckled, "You must have slept soundly." He leaned in for a brief kiss and stood straight.
I admired him—his hands cupped and cradled his Dick, teasing me. "You seem to be offering today." As I reached for him, he turned abruptly, taking me in a tight hug. I encountered his sexy body beneath the soft fabric. My fingers stretched out, manhandling his erection. "Your essence is precious," I uttered, smelling the lingering traces of my last performance. He removed his apron and covered me entirely with the sheet, suffusing me with the scents of his body.
"Let's take care of my biscuits and gravy." I released him and sat before him with anticipation—our relationship had reached its pinnacle.
Stop bothering the chef, young man. Didn't your mother teach you anything? Go and sit at the table; it's for your own good. I'll bring your food in.
Despite his education from the University of Alabama in engineering, he would've appeared like a poor, barefooted plantation child to an outsider. We both loved playing the role of ignorant, party-ready, drinking-ready, and sex-ready southern boys. However, we were well aware that this was just a facade. I'm from New York, while he was quickly becoming one as well. These intimate private moments were precious, before we started living the competitive life that comes with any major city.
I headed to our improvised dining table — a folding utility table covered with a formica top — and our new wooden chairs from Goodwill, found two days ago. They were heavy, antique oak chairs with carvings of vines and tendrils, even gargoyles. They looked fabulous in our kitchen, although my designer would likely disapprove. Anyway, some elements in our lives have to be fun or comfortable.
Breakfast was typically a delightful experience. Trey was great at cooking traditional recipes.
I moved off to the side, placed my elbows on the table (watch Trey's reaction to this lack of table etiquette!), and filled him in on my latest Phantom audition. It was this afternoon. Miller sent me a text during the previous night's performance. Trey was genuinely enthusiastic, and I knew it was genuine.
Trey stood up, removed his cook's apron, and signaled me to his lap. In our familiar Peacock Club style, I straddled him, facing him and hugging the back of his chair, intending to entertain him with a lap dance. I moved erotically over his lap, occasionally catching his erect dick between my folds. Then I rocked back and forth. His excitement mounted rapidly. He reacted by tightening his hold and abruptly raising me. He thrust forcefully into my ass, suspecting that our chairs' lightweight was not designed to withstand such activities. I was astonished by my ability to stretch and fill in his usual manner. I asked, "What's your secret, Trey?"
"Just a little bit of bacon fat I stashed away on my plate."
It was ideal. Instantly, the smell of frying bacon filled the room as our passion tangibly melted the fat. This would forever be associated with Trey taking my ass with his dexterous southern cock.
It didn't take long before we climaxed. Trey's spasms preceded mine by a few seconds. I shimmied over him to release his cock, scooped up some cum, and offered it to him. He fed some to me, mixed with a trace of bacon flavor. A new triad of aroma-action-fuck had been added to our book.
Northerners wouldn't grasp the concept that every sense contributes to life's overall pleasure of sex. Taste, smell, touch, and sight all impact a southern boy's brain, creating a heightened sense of sexuality.
Mornings were usually reserved for gym workouts for both Trey and me, but today I had to prepare for the audition. So, Trey went home, and a few minutes later, I walked down to the audition area in the underground Marriott Marquis — the place where so much pre-Broadway activity now takes place. Miller was there, observing.
The audience consisted of three judges/casting scouts sitting in the front row, complete with clipboards, and a group of six potential investors further back in the auditorium. They handed me some lines to study and instructed me to read them against the other actor they selected. As I was unfamiliar with the context, my performance was only passable.
Then, I gave the pianist my music for "Lonely Room" — my sentimental ballad from Oklahoma! This song had evolved from Jud's solemn song in the musical to the tearful complaint of a man conditioned to loneliness and failure, sung right before his self-destruction. I poured my feelings into my rendition, resulting in an eerie silence. No one applauded or spoke for a long time. [end]
"I overheard a woman say, 'I don't think I've ever heard that song before, even after seeing Oklahoma! He's changed it and made it his own.' "
Auditions were scheduled for several days, and I had to wait for the results. Two hours later, I learned from Brent that the other auditions for the Phantom had been canceled after they sent my performance video to Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber himself. While I couldn't totally celebrate yet, at least I could relax.
I texted Trey with the news, and in response, I received a few celebratory and suggestive emojis. A few days later, my selection was confirmed, and negotiations on the contract began. I told the Oklahoma! front office that I would be leaving the cast in six to eight weeks, during the recasting. I knew the upcoming weeks would be busy, but not frenzied. I'd need to juggle performances, work with my replacement, and start the preliminary rehearsals for "Baby Phantom" - the nickname that the cast had given the as-yet unnamed prequel.
After a few weeks of intense work, Trey and I were spending a relaxed Monday evening in my bed. (Broadway shows typically don't have performances on Mondays.) We had just completed Round One - our fast and furious wrestling match to "take the edge off" before settling in for a long, slow period of lovemaking. At my suggestion, Trey had moved in, but claimed to still maintain some things at his sister's place - to create the illusion for his family that he was working and gaining practical experience in preparation for returning to Mobile and the family business. He continued dating a mysterious "Angela." (He had even mentioned that he had some ideas for an entirely new line of theatrical performance lighting.)
"My dad shared some news with me today. He's a Lisa Turner fan, but I didn't know he knew Jake Williams' family from Alabama. My mom loves the musical Oklahoma! She has the album (you know, vinyl, not CD) and has worn it out. They want to come to New York to see it. Additionally, I have three Auntie Ems. The entire clan wants to visit before Lisa and Jake leave the cast. They think I can get them good tickets since 'I'm in the business.' They also plan to relive their youth at the Waldorf Astoria, where they spent their honeymoon 35 years ago. Can you help?"
"Of course. Done. Just give me the dates. I'll make it happen. I'm assuming they don't know anything about us?"
"I haven't said a word - although Mom keeps warning me about 'those crafty New York girls who'd love to marry me.' My sister suspects something, but she thinks I'm seeing a girl. She's trying to set me up with a guy and wants to arrange a meeting. I'm guessing Daddy and Mom won't be too happy about me marrying a northerner. So, I just postpone things by stalling."
"Yeah, I've realized that. Nobody can match your subtlety. You're almost superhuman in that aspect. Nobody can resist wanting to come close as you, dear fellow." And as I finished that comment, I stretched over and gently grasped his half-hard member.
"What are you planning to do if your sister asks about your girlfriend? Surely your mom will pounce on that like a hunting cougar, boy."
"We don't have cougars on the plantation or any nearby areas, except the human variety at the club, where the caddies and pool boys are fair game." With these words, he turned toward me and hugged my testicles in his hand. "They feel so warm, so lively, so full of life - and I'm not referring to cougars, baby."
He bent down and pulled me in, kissing and licking until he moved the hood back. I tried to thrust, but he stopped me, "Woah, you're getting all anxious like a New Yorker, let me have some fun first." And then he suck me again in, his tongue playfully flicking the sensitive head. I rolled onto my back and spread my legs, surrendering completely. He climbed inside me, his warm mouth capturing me once more. In this position, he fucked me deep and hard as one hand firmly gripped my cock, the other stroking my balls and the perineum. I signaled when I was about to cum. But instead of pulling out, he took me deeper, swallowing everything as his index finger massaged my prostate. I felt the intense spasms that would push my seed out. Then he squeezed the perineum, causing a powerful release of all my stored energy. I shot and shot and shot, until he slowly pulled out, and my cum began to seep from the corners of his smiling lips.
I lay back on the pillow, noticing that he was still rock-hard. He had clearly not cum.
The conversation resumed, "So how do we manage this? Dad isn't dumb and Mom keeps sniffing out romance with her experience that's better than a bloodhound on a rabbit's trail. If she catches us together, it's all over. Sis suspects I'm in love and is getting more and more suspicious. She's going to spill something soon. I'm just not sure what the best approach is."
Trey and I had never had the 'talk'. I assumed he was exclusive, and I knew I hadn't touched anyone since the goodbye with Michael. We hadn't even uttered the word 'boyfriend' yet. In extra caution (and without my request), Brent had checked Trey's background, confirming he was what he said - the only son of a Mobile entrepreneur with a decent-sized national electrical manufacturing business. He had graduated with honors and joined the Brotherhood of Theatre Lighting Engineers. There was no excessive pressure to gain his position. He did have siblings, but they were all single girls.
We were basking in the euphoria of a satisfying new relationship. Neither of us needed anything more. But the impending reality of Trey's future as his Daddy's sidekick and eventually the CEO of the business kept looming in the distance. And his Mom kept becoming more and more curious about his social life, constantly inviting him to attend family events, featuring young unmarried Southern girls. She kept questioning him about his life, prompting him to mention my name and our relationship, without exactly concealing it.
Sooner or later, it would become obvious, but when? And what were we going to do? We had never discussed the future.
"Before you get distracted by the turning wheels of life, I want to make love to you again, Trey. He had sensed my fears. And as usual, he was easing them. He raised his legs and spread them, offering the blossoming Southern flower I had plundered so often. I added some lubricant, and slid into him, feeling the rippling heat of his love-button and the soft caress of his passage as I thrust. He was warm, and as our lips met, I looked into his eyes, filled with passion and rosy curls. I wouldn't get bored of this sight. He was beautiful, and currently mine, exclusively mine.
I moved slowly, pushing in and pulling out, hardening and preparing myself. His legs fell from my shoulders and stretched around my waist, pulling me deeper. Our chests touched as our lips met. I could feel his orgasm building inside him, like a wave, with an unstoppable rise that would reach the shore and cover it with foam and power. I tensed my thighs and arms, arching into an elevated push-up position, creating a strong connection for the peak of sexual satisfaction. He felt his orgasm rising, his balls tightening around their load, his shaft swelling, and his bulb swelling. Finally, the wave reached its climax and exploded the foamy cum between our chests, covering my pecs. This triggered my orgasm, filling him with my essence.
I dropped to his chest first, then our lips met. "We'll find some solution, Trey. Let's ask Brent's advice." Then I hugged him close, and we drifted off, knowing we had no work that night. Maybe one more round was possible later.
To be continued...
Read also:
- Yes, Darling
- Katie's Fresh Beginnings: Chapter 8
- In order to listen to your moans.
- An Evening with Brittnay: Part 1
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