FuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK!

Brian hoped that if he thought the word enough times and with enough venom, then maybe, maybe Gardner Vance would drop dead from an aneurysm. At the very least chanting obscenities were distracting him on his drive to the baths where he’d be distracted by something far more pleasurable.

Asshole!! And Ryder, too. Ryder could drop dead, and then Brian could bury him and Vance together and save the time and hassle of digging two graves. Assholes!! How was this happening? Not only was his job on the line, but he’d been totally broadsided by the whole thing. He prided himself on being able to see shit on the horizon, but not this time. He’d been sure Ryder was going to make him partner when he’d walked into Ryder’s office on Monday. They’d had a deal – if Brian brought in an agreed-upon amount of business during the past fiscal year, then Ryder would make him a partner. Brian had held up his end of the bargain and then some. Ryder hadn’t. Asshole! God, he’d been duped. Taken for a fool. Hoodwinked. Fucked up the ass and not in a good way. All those long hours and lost weekends and a whole year of ass-kissing flushed down the fucking drain.

I’ve put in a good word for you, Ryder had said, and Brian’s hands had twitched with the desire to strangle him.

And then along came Gardner Vance. He was so smugly arrogant that Brian seriously considered the possibility that Vance was even more smugly arrogant than he was. Vance had played Brian’s game and beat him. He’d had to put all his effort into hiding his dismay when Vance had said he’d contacted all of Brian’s clients and they’d agreed to stay with the agency with or without him. Damn, had that been a kick in the gut! Dumped by Ryder. Dumped by the clients whose accounts he’d spent so much time and effort cultivating, and now he was faced with the prospect of having to pack his shit in a box and be escorted to his Jeep by security personnel.

How had it come to this? And how hadn’t he seen it coming? He’d lost his edge. He’d dropped his vigilance. He’d stopped keeping an ear to the ground, alert to even the softest footstep. He’d fucked up and now he was going to pay for it dearly. This kind of shit simply did not happen to him. It couldn’t happen to him. He was not That Guy. The guy who has to sit down with human resources to sign a heap of severance paperwork; the guy who has to tell his assistant that she’s been fired too and watch her eyes fill with tears; the guy who asks an intern to help him clean-out his office and pack up his shit; the guy who's packed-up shit is then searched for pilfered pens and Post-It notes; the guy people watch with pity and secret glee as he slinks toward the elevators with not even a goodbye because if he opens his mouth he’ll start crying in front of everyone like a fucking pussy. He, Brian, was not That Guy.

The first trick couldn’t give head to save his life, so Brian told him to fuck-off and soon found another guy to take his place. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, letting it rest against the wall. He needed to stop thinking about Ryder and Vance and the looming prospect of unemployment. It was difficult at first – the trick wasn’t bad at sucking cock, but he wasn’t great at it either. But Brian didn’t have time to search the mostly-vacant baths for another willing mouth, so he focused all his concentration on having an orgasm regardless of the quality of the blowjob. As always, he allowed the world around him to dissolve until he was aware of nothing but his intensifying arousal. He never fantasized while having his dick sucked – fantasies were only for jerking off. Getting blown was totally different; he didn’t want to disappear into his imagination. Quite the contrary. He wanted to be completely present, completely engaged, completely aware of every little thing – a change in pace or depth, a swallow, a sigh, a slurp. He wanted to feel warm fingers fondling his balls and playing with his asshole. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else existed. Nothing else was even real. Nothing except his mounting excitement. As he neared his orgasm, he reached down and held the trick’s head steady with both hands. He was pleased that, when he started fucking his mouth, the guy groaned with pleasure – it was always nice to know a trick’s enjoying himself; it made the whole experience more satisfying. Brian staved off his climax for as long as possible. When he was ready, he grunted to give the trick a heads-up that he was about to get a load pumped down his throat. And when he finally came, he gave in to the sensation so completely that he became lost, disoriented, undone.

“Fuck,” he gasped appreciatively. The guy wasn’t a superstar, but he’d gotten the job done. The guy smiled up at him, and Brian gave him a hand to help him stand. He tucked his softening dick back into his pants and zipped his fly, ignoring the trick’s sigh of disappointment.

“Late for a meeting,” Brian said with a twitch of a smile. The guy smiled back, and it was all good.

Back at the office, he and Cynthia spent the day scouring the net for any and every mention of Gardner Vance. It was all the usual bullshit – hometown, boarding school, college, business school, internship, first job, the positions he advanced through, the boards he sat on, when he was made partner, and then, finally, when he got bored and decided he wanted his own agency. Not only was it boring, it stirred up a lot of shit Brian didn’t want stirred. The guy obviously came from money – the town in Connecticut where he grew up probably contained more country clubs and gated communities than Pittsburgh, Columbus and Cleveland combined, and Exeter Academy sure the hell wasn’t free. Then there was his membership in Sigma Alpha Epsilon. Brian could actually taste bile. He’d tried to get into ΣAE. He’d made it past the first cut, but that’d been it. Same thing with Phi Gamma Delta. Either the members knew he came from a blue-collar background or he sucked cock. Probably both.

“Something wrong?” Cynthia asked. There must be something in his expression that revealed his ire.

“Other than the fact I’m no longer vibrating with caffeine, then no,” he said. “Go get me some more coffee.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” she said, leaping up from her chair and saluting him. “Right away, Your Majesty.”

He gave her half a smile and made a shooing gesture toward the door. God only knew why she still put up with his shit after all these years. Probably because she enjoyed giving as good as she got. He leaned back in his chair and scrubbed his face, making his hair stand up. Why did it bother him so much? Did he really want to have spent his college years getting puking drunk with a bunch of spoiled cunt-lickers?

Pathetically, the answer was “yes.” He would be in New York right now. With the combination of his grades, fraternity membership and good looks he’d be climbing the ladder of a prestigious agency. Instead, he was stuck in fucking Pittsburgh being made to sing for his Goddamn super. Hell, who needed caffeine? He was vibrating with rage and indignation.

“Here you go,” Cynthia said, handing him a mug that still read “Ryder” on it. Brian glared it.

“I’ve gotta be alone right now,” he said. “Go do this at your desk. You can use my password to get past the block.”

“Oh, goodie,” she said. “I get to look at hot guys all afternoon.”

He tried to smile, but he just couldn’t. She winced and left quickly, closing the door behind her. Brian got up and locked it. After he’d pulled the shades, he went to his desk to fetch the lube and a cock ring. He unbuckled his belt and opened his fly and then made himself comfortable on the couch. The ring was going to help him come multiple times, and that’s what he needed right now. It was either jerking off or getting into the bottle of Beam. He had a shit-ton more work to do and couldn’t afford to get drunk, so pulling his pud was the only option. Not that he minded. It was just that a buzz lasted longer than an orgasm.

He slicked his cock and slipped the ring around it and his balls. When he started stroking himself, he closed his eyes and tipped his head back. This was the time for fantasies. Unsurprisingly, the first thing his mind groped toward was Justin’s ass. Justin had the most perfect ass he’d ever fucked . . . hell, Justin had the most perfect ass he’d ever seen, including porn. Brian imagined Justin on his elbows and knees with that magnificent ass in the air. In his mind, he positions himself so he can eat him out. Justin moans. The little fucker loves getting rimmed. When his asshole relaxes, Brian slips a finger inside and finds his sweet spot, making Justin moan again. A finger is not enough though; the little slut wants his cock. Brian aligns the head against his asshole and pushes in slowly, watching the kid take his cock inch by inch. He’s holding still because he knows that’s how Brian likes it when he’s going slow. When he’s into the root, Brian increased the pace of his strokes, squeezing the head in his fist, making it purple. He was going to come, but it was alright. He’d be able to come again. He stroked himself hard and fast and then froze with a groan, his ass lifted up off the couch, catching the spurts in the Kleenex he held in his left hand.

And then he went right back to work, cupping his balls and rolling them between his fingers. He closed his eyes again and tipped his head back. This time he’s watching another guy fuck Justin while he jerks off. The guy is fucking losing it – of course, he is! Justin can bottom from the top like nobody else. After the guy comes with a sob, he rolls Justin over and shallows the kid’s huge cock. A perfect ass and a nine-inch cock. What more could a man ask for? Justin turns his head so he can watch Brian jerking off. His eyes are half-closed, and his gaze is sultry. “Come,” he says, and Brian does – both in his head and in reality, amazed once again that Justin can command him like that and his body reflexively obeys. It was kind of freaky actually.

Okay, one last orgasm. Brian didn’t want to totally wring himself out and turn his brain into jelly. This time he needed to think of something else, something really fucking dirty – things he’d never do to Justin because they require a certain degree of indifference, and he was never indifferent with Justin. He couldn’t be. It was impossible. He’d come to accept that fact a long time ago. He closed his eyes and imagined fisting some faceless guy, pumping his fist in and out as though it’s his cock. The guy is practically screaming for more, but Brian’s not going to give it to him. Instead, he pulls his hand out of the guy’s ass and positions himself so he can fuck the guy’s mouth, which he does, all the while telling the guy to take his cock because he loves it; he loves having his throat fucked. The guy is choking, but in Brian’s fantasy, he’s loving it. When he’s ready for his orgasm, Brian frees his cock and starts pumping it until he comes all over the guy’s face with massive spurts, while all the time the guy is trying to catch his spunk in his mouth. He’s starving for it . . . he’s . . . Brian shouted “fuck!” and came again into a new Kleenex.

He tried to take as long as possible to return to the world. He couldn’t remember why he didn’t want to be conscious again, but he knew it was something bad. A residual memory was lodged in his frontal lobe – far from the animal part of his brain but there nonetheless.

He slowly opened his eyes and released a stream of profanities. Ryder. Vance. Sigma Fucking Alpha Epsilon. His dream of making partner nothing but a heap of steaming crap. And something else – something that was also on the line . . . .

. . . . Oh, shit! Vermont. The trip. If he didn’t come up with something soon, he was going to have to bail. He stood, slipped off the cock ring and put himself back together, throwing the damp, wadded Kleenexes in the garbage. Shit. Shitshitshitshit! Justin had been talking about their trip for days nonstop. He’d been looking at ski runs online and deciding which ones they’d go on. He’d looked up restaurants and talked up the nicest ones as though he’d had to convince Brian to take him there. He needn’t have wasted his time. Duh! Of course, Brain was going to take him to the nicest ones. But Brian hadn’t interrupted him – it was clear that Justin had been having the time of his life planning the whole thing.

Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ! What was he going to do?

Just then Cynthia knocked on his door. He got up and unlocked it. She was smiling. She’d found something! She’d found some good news! Brian wanted to hug her and volunteer to fuck her brains out; he was pretty sure she’d like that. A lot.

Brown Athletics. It was the one and only account Vance had wooed and lost. It was his Achilles heel, and Brian was going to stab it like that snatch-thief from Troy.

“Book me a flight to Chicago for tomorrow afternoon,” he said.

“Returning when?” she asked.

Brian leaned back in his chair and gazed up at the ceiling. If he won Brown in a day or less, he’d be back in time to spend at least half a week with Justin. He’d have to strong-arm the head of the art department, but the guy owed him a favor – a big favor. All he needed was five or six photo boards. If they were really good, that would be all it would take. But the art department can’t create anything unless he thinks of a campaign . . .

Brian thought for a moment. He could do what he usually did – after all sex sells. Brown Athletics had already courted and won the Dude market, what about the Fag market?

He stood and told Cynthia to book the return date for the day after tomorrow. She arched an eyebrow, and he knew what she was thinking. Only one day? How could he win Brown Athletics in one day?

He could and he would, and then he’d be made partner, and he and Justin would be off to Vermont.