daddybear54

Chapter 7: Crossroads Steve came home to New York from the Puerta Escapada trip feeling more and more discontented, even to the point of frustration with himself and his life. His scenes had gone well, he’d gotten a generous pay packet from Daniel’s new company, Hawaiian Nine Films, and he’d enjoyed a week of tropical sunshine. Perhaps most important, he felt that he’d made some progress in cracking Daniel’s prickly shell and building at least the beginnings of a friendship. From everything he’d heard about the Hawaiian Nine, that was the one thing that Daniel’s life was sorely lacking – apart from a family, and there had been many melodramatic rumours about what had happened to him in that department. It was just one of the paradoxes of Steve’s life that, while his Rod Rammer screen persona was demanding, forceful, and largely self-centred and self-interested, the real man under the character was none of those things. By nature quiet, kind, caring, and even gentle, Steve was now (at the age of 34) beginning to understand just how much stress the constant projection of “Rod Rammer” was causing him – and it was due to the disconnect between the character and his own personal truth. Part of the problem was that, unlike the screen or stage actor, he had to keep living his character 24/7, since any failure to do so could harm his career. His frustration stemmed from the fact that, like Daniel, he wanted to work with people who shared his commitment to doing this work as thoroughly as possible, bringing a full sense of immersion and involvement to every scene, every encounter – and once again, there had been Erik’s posturing and self-adoration (although he had worked much better after Steve had used the Rammer and the Ten-Squirt-Money-Shot to choke him), and James’s unwillingness to even try to perform. There had been too many Eriks and too many Jameses over the last few years, and as Steve moved into his thirties he had even less patience with that kind of dilettante nonsense. Then there was his frustration with himself. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that the career path he had followed had been, in many ways, the path of least resistance. He’d let himself be seduced by the easy money he could make by just waving his huge cock around in public – a line of work which (as he told himself in a fit of self-loathing) required no particular skill or effort to improve. Not least, he was now reaching an age where he was more conscious of the ticking clock. It wasn’t just the fact that at 34 he was finding it more and more of an effort to try to keep himself in top condition so he could maintain good performance at all times. There was also the sure knowledge that, sooner or later, another cute young guy with an awesome cock was going to come along and knock him off the pedestal he’d occupied securely for over a decade. Finally, and not least, there was the nagging hole in his own personal life. Steve had always known that he needed a man by his side, a partner who could share life with him in all its possible variety, and he didn’t have a man. It just wasn’t possible to pursue a good relationship as long as he was working in this field – not the kind of relationship he wanted. He knew that he didn’t want to try to form that kind of bond with another porn performer, and definitely not while they were both still working. The truth was that the homebody in Steve’s personality was making its slow way towards the surface, and his desire to change career paths, to settle down, to have a home of his own with another man, was pushing harder and harder at him with each passing year. All these negative vibes combined to give Steve the feeling that his work, at times, was just like a prison cell, locking him within its confines. None of this deterred him from continuing to work, but it did slow the pace somewhat. His fees were high enough now that he didn’t have to dance constantly, or rush from one film gig to the next, just to pay the bills. He had reached a point in his career where he could (and did) accept an exclusive contract with the most top-notch of his regular studios, a contract which gave him the option of selecting film gigs on the basis of confirming in advance who his scene partners would be, always with an escape clause which stated that he wasn’t bound to proceed with some other model if the specified partner(s) failed to appear. His financial future was completely secure, not least because his older patron had retired and gone to live full-time in Costa Rica – but had let him keep the condo in New York at the same bargain-basement rent. This allowed him to squirrel away plenty of money, and to build up a healthy nest egg for his own future. Although they didn’t work together again for quite a while, Steve watched from a distance with pleasure as Daniel’s fortunes shot up like a rocket. The quality of his productions for Hawaiian Nine Films was the talk of the industry, and his films and performers regularly scooped significant numbers of trophies at every major gay porn awards presentation. Steve watched a number of them, and he was both flattered and amused that Daniel had mandated his signature style of money shots as the type of cum scene that he wanted from all of his models, even adopting it for himself in the appearance he made in every film. Apart from the money shots, every one of these films was made on a location shoot in a different resort area, and the incredible scenic views captured in the films made them into travelogues of the gay world, by day and by night. The scenic surroundings enhanced the sizzling sexuality of many of the scenes. It was a pleasure to watch Daniel’s work, undoubtedly, and since his films always managed to be incredibly hot, it was also a pleasure to work out a load or two while watching one of them – usually right after one of his own shoots, when his cumshots had dwindled down through overuse from “awe-inspiring” to just about what a normal guy would consider “a good one”. As his porn career slowed down, Steve used his spare time to begin taking online courses in business management and marketing, reasoning that such training would help kick the door open in any number of future career options. He also began focusing on conversations with clients in the business world, seeing if any pearls of wisdom would drop in his path as a result. One of these men told him, “Whatever you do, with your attitude, don’t ever think about going into human relations.” The irony. He had a good hearty laugh over that one later on at home. He kept working for a few more years, mostly out of indecision. He knew that the time was coming, and that he had to be ready to get out when the opportunity presented itself, but so far that had not happened. Steve knew that his heart wasn’t really in the work any more, but he was looking for a sign – maybe not a brilliant new star blazing in the heavens, but he’d settle for a road sign with an arrow pointing to the off ramp. That was his own term for what he needed, and the sign appeared in front of him during the week after his thirty-seventh birthday, when he was out in Los Angeles for a film gig. He'd completed his scene that afternoon, a rousing fuck and the usual massive cum shot into and over the swelling ass cheeks of a cute Scandinavian blond named Sven. But then, he had broken one of his own unwritten rules, setting up a date for that night with one of the cameramen, a muscular, sexy black guy. Steve felt sure he could get that man’s meat inside him and arranged to hook up at a well-known bar. Then, just as he was about to leave, the company owner came to him and asked him to take on one more scene in two days, as the planned top had just tested positive for some nasties. Helpful Steve agreed to the additional scene at once, and then Second Thought Steve realized that he had no way to contact Aaron, the cameraman. He knew that he’d have to go through with both commitments, even if his final cumshot for the scene in two days’ time was less than his usual epic load. He did take good care, though, not to get recognized by anyone. If he were to be recognized, he’d get swarmed instantly. He slipped quietly into the bar, dressed in baggy jeans and a hoodie, with the hood pulled low over his face. Then he leaned back against a wall and scanned the room looking for the tall, black stud he was to meet. After about thirty minutes, he realized that he’d been ghosted by Aaron. “Fuck it,” he thought to himself, “I’ll just get a drink and then leave.” And then he tried to muscle his way into the tight-packed mob in front of the bar. At an impasse, he glanced around, and saw that the guy right next to him was looking down, searching for a gap he could push his foot into to get closer to the bartenders. Before Steve could adjust his position, the guy’s eyes caught the bulge in his jeans, and his head swivelled up to catch Steve’s eye, at which point his own eyes widened comically. Steve leaned close to him and said, in an urgent undertone, “Don’t say anything – please.” “How about, ‘Let me buy you a drink.’ Is that okay?” Steve nodded and mouthed “Margarita” at him. Then he stepped back and let the other guy do all the pushing and shoving. He felt safer once he was a few steps out of the crowd anyway. In about five minutes, the guy pushed back out of the crowd with two margaritas in hand, and then steered Steve over to a quieter corner where there were a couple of free seats. Steve flopped into a chair with his back to the crowd of men in the club, and the other guy sat down across from him, planting the drinks on the table. “Before you ask, I’m not working tonight,” Steve said, by way of an opener. “I guessed that. I’m Jim, by the way. Why are you here, then?” “Just needed to get out for a breather. Day after tomorrow, I have to work with a real creep on my current, uh, ‘job’ (he emphasized the word with air quotes) – and I needed to get away from him for a bit. I was supposed to meet one of the crew here, but he ghosted me.” “His loss -- he got scared, huh?” “Story of my life, it happens all the time. If they only knew….” His voice trailed off. What had prompted Steve to let that bit of thinking loose, he couldn’t imagine, but the look on Jim’s face told him that this had been the right guy to tell. His secret was safe here. “What do you mean?” It was a sincere question. Jim sensed that he really needed to talk and was prepared to listen. Steve still hesitated for a few moments, so Jim prodded him a little more. “You can tell me; I won’t rat you out.” Steve sat and thought for a minute longer, and then reached a decision. Leaning closer, he said, “I don’t want to talk about it here. Do you know someplace quieter where we could chat?” “I just live a block away.” Steve tossed back the rest of his margarita. “Sounds good. Let’s go.” Jim swallowed his too, and then walked out of the club with Rod Rammer beside him – and nobody else in the place apparently aware of who’d just been that close to them or what a golden opportunity they’d all missed. Or had they? It seemed plain to Jim that the world-famous porn stud was hiding out tonight, but he wondered if the reason might have to do with something other than his career. They walked in silence down the street, around the corner, and Jim led the way into a building and up to his third-floor walk-up. He led Steve into his apartment and offered him a seat and a drink. “Thanks – but just a Perrier with ice if you have it. I can’t afford to drink too much the last couple of nights before a shoot.” “Take it with lemon?” “Yes, thanks.” Jim set up the glasses with ice and lemon, opened two bottles of Perrier, and set them down on the table, then sat next to his guest. Steve poured some for himself, and then sat there, staring at the bottle as he turned it slowly around and around in his hands. Jim was already expecting his next question, and Steve went right where Jim guessed he would. “So, how did you spot me?” Jim pointed at the clearly visible lump in his loose jeans. “Do you really have to ask?” Steve groaned. “There’s just no way to hide the damn thing. Let me tell you, it’s not a blessing, it’s a curse.” “That doesn’t stop half the tops on the planet from wishing they had one like yours.” “I know. Idiots have no idea what they’re wishing for. In films they have to pair me with bottoms whose holes are pretty much wrecked. I have no idea what a nice, tight newbie feels like because they all run screaming when they see it.” “I’d have run away when I was just getting started.” “You don’t know the half of it. Several studios have wasted time and money on at least a dozen scenes that never got finished because the bottom either couldn’t take it or else he lost his nerve and took off without even trying. But that’s not why it’s a curse.” “What then?” In his films, Rod Rammer was always an aggressive, take-charge, go for it now, and no hesitation kind of man’s man. Right now, though, the guy sitting beside Jim was so hesitant that it made him seem like a completely different person. Jim realized that he was seeing the real man, not the screen persona. Steve took a deep swig of his Perrier. At last, he spoke. “It’s a job. The money’s good, and I earn it. I put in a good day’s work and the guys financing the films are as happy as pigs in shit. But, see, they don’t give a royal flying fuck if the people working in front of the camera are happy. It’s just “this is who you are, this is what you do” and no arguments. “And you’re not happy?” “No, I’m not. I go through the motions because it’s my job and I pride myself on doing that job thoroughly. I’ve been doing it for years, as I’m sure you know. I’ve had some fun moments with some great guys, and some awful moments with some rotten ones. Everybody thinks I must be happier than a pig in shit myself because I get to fuck and breed so often with so many world class studs and cute twinks under me. But I’m not happy. Truth is, I’m really getting fed up with the whole fucking deal.” “Because…?” One last long moment of hesitation, and then he let it out. “Because I really prefer to bottom.” Jim’s jaw dropped halfway down to his own lap. Steve went quickly on, the words spilling out in a rapid gush of feelings as if he’d been trapping them inside himself for far too long – which, of course, he had. “Yeah, I know, what kind of a weirdo nutcase am I, sitting here with the dick of death that so many guys dream of having, and I’d rather have someone else shove his dick inside my ass. But that’s it. I want to get fucked. Not just once, or twice – a lot. It’s so damn frustrating! Not one guy I hook up with will ever do it, because all they can think about is trying to get my cock inside their holes. And the studios? No way are they going to finance a movie with that in it. If it ever gets out that the Numero Uno Top Stud in gay porn is really a bottom at heart, my career is toast.” Tears glistened in his eyes, as he let all of his deep-held frustrations boil over. He sucked in a deep, shaky breath. “Come here, buddy. Closer.” Jim got his arms around Steve and hugged him, stroking his back to soothe him and help him calm down. Steve put his head down into Jim’s shoulder and Jim held him close. His shoulders quivered a few times, and Jim reassured him calmly, quietly, “Breathe. Breathe deep. It’ll help.” They sat like that for a few minutes while Steve slowly got himself under control. Then he lifted his head up and said, “Sorry for letting go like that.” “It’s all good.” In after years, Steve would say that this was the exact moment when he retired from porn. He could feel the caring and consideration flowing from Jim, in strong waves, and sensed that he had found a kindred spirit at last. And then, Jim sealed the deal. He raised one hand, grasped Steve by the chin, and pulled him closer still until they were looking into each other‘s eyes. Even the colour of the eyes was a perfect match – near-identical slate grey on both men. With a smile, Steve moved to kiss Jim. That set the game afoot. They kissed tentatively at first, then more deeply. As they kissed, Jim slid his hand down Steve’s back until it reached his ass. One squeeze with his hand, and the kiss caught fire. Jim was kneading those tight buns firmly, and Steve had his hand clasped around Jim rapidly growing cock. But then Steve stopped and pushed Jim abruptly away. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I can do this. Don’t get me wrong, I want you to do me -- but I can’t cum. I have to save that load for the creep.” Jim nodded his understanding. It made sense. Sure, you could cum a few times the night before and still summon up some sort of dribble of a money shot for the cameras – but a “Rod-Rammer-Ten-Spurts Money Shot”, the kind that was featured in the breathless blurbs on every gay media source you could imagine, needed to be prepared carefully and saved for the real moment of truth. Jim didn’t let that worry him. He just went right back to kissing Steve, telling him between kisses to just let him know if he felt dangerously close and they could stop. Then Jim stood up, drawing Steve up with me. They walked down the hall to the bedroom and began undressing each other. And that’s when Jim got the feeling that he was stuck in some weird kind of dream. Here he was, with the most famous (or infamous) giant piece of man meat in the gay porn industry staring him right in the face -- but the owner of that meat, the notorious Rod Rammer, didn’t want Jim to be giving his gigantic dick any of his attention. As much as Jim had fantasized about getting that enormous thing inside him (there weren’t many gay men who hadn’t), he knew that he wanted to -- no, needed to -- give Rod Rammer, just for once, the kind of sex which the man behind the screen name craved so badly. So, he spun Steve around, dropped to his knees, and buried his face in the tight crack between those small, curving ass cheeks. That was weird too. Somehow, his massive dick and equally huge reputation made Steve seem much bigger than he actually was. He had broad shoulders, yes, but they were almost disproportionately large compared to the rest of him. His waist was tight, and his butt cheeks looked almost twink-tiny. Once Jim got going, though, he stopped worrying about it. He was versatile, loved bottoming and topping equally, and was more than happy to have such a sweet ass begging for his attention. As Jim lapped and tongued away, Steve was moaning loudly above him, and muttering things like, “Jim, that’s incredible – don’t stop!” After a few minutes, he began prying into the hole with his tongue, twitching the tip to get that ass to loosen up and open. It didn’t take long. Steve might not get fucked that often, but he knew the drill perfectly well, and knew how to relax and let his muscles loosen. Before long, Jim had his tongue digging right into that hole, alternately with his finger, which he twisted and corkscrewed around to loosen that neglected ass even more. At last, he felt Steve was ready. Jim stood up, grabbed the lube, and greased up his cock – then shoved a couple of lubed-up fingers inside that channel. Steve moaned again. “You ready?” “Damn right. Give it to me.” “Get on your back.” That was Jim’s favourite position. He loved watching a guy’s facial expressions, and looking into his eyes, connecting with him while screwing him. On this night, making the connection personal and intimate was probably more important for this bottom than it had ever been with anyone Jim had ever fucked before. Obediently, Steve laid down and hoisted his legs, pulling them back to his shoulders. It was a sight for sore eyes, with his hard dick stretching itself halfway towards his face. Jim didn’t think that the old expression, “the third leg,” had ever looked so appropriate. He knelt there, looking Steve over, and then moved the head of his respectable seven-incher to rest against the hole. Jim pushed – gently, but firmly. The head popped inside quickly, to his surprise. But of course Steve was a pro, and he knew how the game worked. Jim held it there until he sensed that Steve was ready for more, and then began to lean and push. Slowly, his entire length disappeared inside Rod Rammer’s tight ass. He was tight. Jim could easily believe that the Rammer had only ever been fucked a handful of times and hadn’t had a cock in him for years. He took it easy, pumping gently in and out while kissing Steve with full tongue, until he felt the tight hole beginning to work with him. Then he began to pick up the pace. Jim used all the best techniques he’d mastered over the years, varying the speed, the angle, and the rhythm of his thrusts. Steve’s almost-virgin-tight hole was stroking his tool too effectively. He tried to think about anything else to avoid peaking prematurely -- the quarterly results from his company, the long-range weather forecast, the probability of a drought in coffee-growing areas -- but he just couldn’t stall the inevitable. This was going to happen. Jim was cumming -- and cumming very soon. “I’m gonna cum – where do you want it?” “Inside me, of course. Fill me up, give me your fucking load!” That’s all it took. Jim’s cock exploded inside Rod Rammer’s now-loosened fuck tunnel, pumping shot after shot of cum into him. Jim collapsed on top of him, breathing heavily, his still-hard cock firmly lodged inside that satisfied ass. And Steve was definitely satisfied; he was purring like a contented cat. “I’m sorry I came so fast. I don’t know what got into me.” “Do you hear me complaining?” Jim laughed and admitted that, no, he hadn’t been hearing any complaints. Then Steve added, “Besides, who said I’m letting you off with seeding me just once?” It took a while (Jim certainly wasn’t eighteen any more), but eventually his cock rose to the occasion and delivered a second load inside that sweet hole, after a much longer and more vigorous fuck that included a much greater variety of positions. After that second climax, as Jim cooled down and then slid out, he realized that Steve was dozing off, and looked at the clock – 1:15 am. Jim leaned over and murmured in Steve’s ear, “Stay with me tonight, okay?” Steve nodded, mumbled a sleepy “Thanks, Jim,” and checked out. Jim kissed the back of his neck, pulled the covers over both of them, and went to sleep, embracing him as his happy ass cushioned Jim’s satiated dick. Around 7:30, in the morning, Jim awoke to the unmistakable sensation of a hot mouth working on his dick. He stroked the head as it bobbed up and down and said, “Good morning.” “Goo morrn” was the response, a little mumbled, which wasn’t surprising as his mouth was rather full and busy. It only took a few minutes before Jim felt his sperm rising again. He warned Steve that he was about to cum, and Steve redoubled his efforts until Jim’s morning load pulsed out into his mouth, to be quickly swallowed. He came up, kissed Jim, and said with immense satisfaction, “That’s something else that the damn studios will never let me do!” He seemed to Jim to be a completely different man this morning, bright and cheerful, with a real (not faked) sparkle in his eyes. That made Jim feel good. And it nerved him to make a little request. “Can I get you to do a little something for me?” Immediately, Steve looked guarded and suspicious. “What?” “Nothing heavy or awful,” Jim said. And then he outlined his request. Steve demurred at first, but Jim assured him that it would only be for a minute, just long enough to take a no-faces picture. He had his camera in place on the tripod, as always, and ready to go. At last, Steve agreed. Jim dived onto his cock, sucking and slurping at it until it came up to full mast. He had to keep rising higher and higher off the bed to keep up with it. Then, he grabbed the lube, greased that pole and his ass, tossed the lube aside, grabbed the camera remote control, and proceeded to sit down on the most famous cock in gay porndom, facing Rod Rammer’s feet. Jim was only able to get about half of it into him, but that was enough. Two pictures later, he got a wet cloth and washed off Steve’s dick and his own ass. Then he showed Steve the pics – and Steve agreed that they were discreet enough to keep him from getting in trouble with his current exclusive studio contract. The most important detail was that Jim had gotten the distinctive mole on the underside of the shaft safely concealed inside himself before hitting the shutter button. They enjoyed a languid shower together – no more fucking or sucking, just a lot of pleasant sensual caressing with and without the soap. Each of them quickly found out another similarity between them: both were touch-sensitive in a lot of areas of the body, not only the usual main target zones. After a late, leisurely breakfast, Steve had to go. They exchanged phone numbers, and then Jim asked him if he could share his real name. “My name is Steve – Steve Rotherham.” “Jim Radstock.” “I’d like to see you again, Jim.” “That would be great,” Jim replied, and really meant it. Somehow, though, it seemed unlikely that the two of them, living on opposite sides of the country, would ever meet again. Six months later, his studio announced that the legendary porn star, Rod Rammer, was retiring “to pursue other interests.” That announcement triggered an avalanche of anguished protests on the studio’s social media channels. Steve got hit by a much more pleasant avalanche, of congratulations and best wishes from dozens upon dozens of people whom he had met and worked with, from New York to Los Angeles, not to mention Canada and Europe. The respect and affection all of those people felt for him was unmistakable. Steve was totally overwhelmed by the love shown to him from across the industry. Jim smiled broadly when he read that Rod Rammer was retiring “to pursue other interests,” certain that virtually no one among his legions of distraught fans, and very few people even in the porn trade, would have the slightest idea what those “other interests” might be. He sent Steve a congrats and best wishes text message. Steve smiled even more broadly when he read that one. He certainly hadn’t forgotten Jim. He sent off a quick “Thank you, Jim” in reply. As it happened, Jim was wrong. There were a few people who easily read between the lines of the announcement – among them Calum and Matteo, both of whom had maintained contact as friends with Steve throughout his meteoric career. The Hawaiian Nine, too, certainly got the unspoken message, loud and clear – as well as drawing inspiration from the spoken one. In his characteristic thoughtful manner, Steve sent thank you messages to everyone who had written to him. Then he registered for a college business administration and marketing program in Denver, a city he had rarely visited. He sent a detailed letter of thanks to his patron in Costa Rica, informing him that he would be vacating the New York condo on August 31 and would arrange for it to be given an end-to-end deep cleaning, and thanking him sincerely for all his help and support through the years. After that, Rod Rammer disappeared, as thoroughly as if he truly had dropped off the face of the earth.

@PG1961Canada thanks again for the feedback and positive words! Much as I hate to disappoint his loyal fans (LOL), this will be the last in the chain of three stories in which the Hawaiian Nine appears. I think I've milked the material's potential enough by now.

Chapter 6: Holiday? What Holiday? Three months later, Steve was sitting on a plane bound for Puerta Escapada, a beach and port town on the Caribbean coast of Central America. Daniel had secured a private villa overlooking the beach for a week, courtesy of his anonymous backer, and the entire company could look forward to a comfortable holiday in the sun – between the segments of the shooting schedule. And there was the sticker. Daniel laid down the law the first night at dinner, as soon as everyone arrived. “Welcome to Puerta Escapada. You’ll have seen the sheet of house rules in your rooms, and the big number one there is that the beach is not clothing optional. It’s a shared public beach so bear that in mind. The pool? It’s fine if you want to go natural there. “If you have any questions or issues about the house, the facilities, the meals, speak to Lianne here. She’s our business manager for this company. “We all want to enjoy ourselves, but we are here to work, and we have a lot of work to do in six days. So: two rules. One, if you’re on the schedule, be on time. Don’t hold everyone else up. And two: if you still have one or more scenes to do, no sex. No jacking. No “we can stop in time.” Just don’t. For those who’ve seen Rod Rammer’s films (and here he gestured to his famous leading man), that’s the secret of his huge money shots. Everyone is to produce money shots like his – if they want to get paid, that is. Any questions?” No, there were no questions. Dinner was a silent meal. There were a couple of guys in the cast who were famous (read “notorious”) for leaping into bed with every man who crossed their path, and they looked downright sullen. As they were leaving after dinner, Steve heard one of them muttering to the other. It sounded remarkably like “fucking dictator.” He guessed that, in a different environment, closer to home, those two would have just said, “Fuck this,” and walked away. Here, it wasn’t so simple. Besides, it was hard for young gay guys to resist a cheap holiday in the sun in deluxe conditions, with a pay packet thrown in. Daniel’s cast might grumble, but they would deliver the goods all right. For the first full day, there was no filming scheduled. Everyone had fun relaxing in the ocean, and sunning around the pool. On Day Two, it was time to get to work – and Steve’s scene with a snooty blond Scandinavian twink named Erik was the first to roll. Erik had no worries about taking Steve’s famous spear. He’d sat on several of the most famous big dicks in porndom and was looking forward to the chance to add Rod Rammer to his list. Not only was he sure of his ability, he’d made sure that everyone else knew about it. Erik turned out to be one of those good-looking porn performers who was certain that everyone shared his own magnificent opinion of his abilities in bed. He just knew that this would be the film to make him famous, and he made sure everyone else knew it too. By this time, Steve had been around long enough that he was no longer impressed merely by the fact that an ass that could swallow up anything shy of a city bus. Something else that didn’t impress him was Erik’s “I’m going to be the star” attitude. He’d met a few too many guys with that attitude during his years of porn work. He decided to teach the young upstart a lesson. But he checked with Daniel first to make sure the boss was okay with his little plan. This was an outdoor scene, filmed in and around the pool. Steve had brought his own swimsuit, since he’d had to shop widely to find a design which could comfortably accommodate his dick – even soft, it took up an impressive amount of room. Erik was wearing a slender, little G-string with the connecting strings tied in cute little bows. The scene started with the two men making out in the water, and a lot of underwater camera work courtesy of one of the cameramen, Eddie, who was an expert free diver in his “real” (non-porn) life. Eddie captured the action under the water in a series of impressively long takes, including the one where Erik fished Steve’s rammer out of his suit and began sucking it under water, and then the next one where Steve untied Erik’s suit, pulled it right off him, and got two fingers inside his ass, all in the space of two minutes. When they climbed out of the pool, they took a breather while Eddie dried off and ditched his underwater camera and battery housings, then they got down to work again. Erik was down on the broad lounger bed on all fours, facing the edge. Steve stood at the edge and commanded Erik to “suck my cock, slut.” Erik took the rammer into his mouth and began sucking on it. Privately, Steve rated his cock-sucking skills at no more than a six out of ten, but he shut his mind to that and concentrated on the sensations. Erik was only managing to get half of Steve’s cock into his throat but that was enough. Before long, Steve could feel the cum starting to rise. He formed a mental picture of his old buddy Matteo who’d eventually managed to deep-throat him all the way, as well as being the first guy who’d ever taken his entire dick deep inside his ass. Matteo had been an incredible cocksucker, and just picturing him at work did the trick. Erik was sure Steve would stop, since he was subject to Daniel’s strictures about money shots too. But Steve didn’t stop. He clamped his hands on either side of Erik’s head, pulled him right down on that huge cock to the choking point, and let his four-day load fly. Locked in place, Erik could only do his best to gulp and swallow. But his best wasn’t good enough to cope with a Rod Rammer Ten-Squirts Money Shot. He was struggling, choking, and finally had to use his hands to push Steve away. Steve casually wiped the last couple of squirts all over his face and then stood there, watching impassively, as Erik coughed and sputtered and finally swallowed the rest of that massive load. Daniel had a huge smile on his face at the sight. He called a break so that Erik could get over the choking, coughing fit before they resumed. Erik disappeared inside to the bathroom for a while and was still notably red-faced when he returned. Will and Eddie, the cameramen, had caught on to the vibe and razzed him about being sunburned. Just before they restarted, Erik quietly asked Steve, “Why the fuck didn’t you warn me you were going to shoot?” Steve’s reply was equally quiet, but with a distinct cutting edge. “I figured that you, being such a big star, could handle it with no trouble.” And Erik got the message, loud and clear, especially when he saw Daniel grinning at him and tossing Steve a thumbs-up gesture. At that his face got even redder, and Daniel said, “Bit too much sun on your face, Erik?” After that, the young blond’s behaviour and attitude noticeably improved, and Steve found that the fucking scene, when they got to it, went far better than he’d expected. He enjoyed the fact that Erik was skilled at working his ass on his top’s cock and could even do it when he had almost all of Steve’s huge ramrod inside him. He reacted to Steve’s every thrust and twist and gave the most convincing performance when Steve was lying on top of his back and thrusting again and again deep into his ass. Eventually, Steve was ready to cum and signalled that to the crew and Erik. Then he began pounding faster and faster, with Erik now taking the whole length inside his hole, and at last growled and let it fly. He pumped a couple of shots in, pulled out to blow a couple more across Erik’s cheeks, and then shoved back in to let the last pulses flow into the younger guy’s ass. It wasn’t his usual monumental cum shot, but for a second time in a session it was certainly much more than just respectable. The same could not be said of James and his performance with Daniel that afternoon. James was one of the slutty soreheads who had called Daniel a “fucking dictator” two days earlier, and he proved to be a real loser at his job too. He fussed and fumed about “getting the angle right”, then let out a loud cry when Daniel gave him the first really deep thrust with his nine Hawaiian inches. He pulled away and jumped off the bed. “I can’t do this if you’re going to fuck me hard enough to hurt like that.” Daniel’s response was simple and straightforward. “Point taken. Goodbye. Lianne will rebook you on the first flight out tomorrow morning.” After James had left in a pouting huff, Daniel had observed to Steve, “Good thing I didn’t pair him up with you.” “I’ve had a couple of experiences with whining little boys like that myself.” That left a gaping hole in the plans for the film, a hole which would have to be patched with an extra session back in Los Angeles. In the meantime, the crew got an unexpected extra afternoon of goof-off time, an afternoon which Steve spent serenely relaxing by the pool while Daniel fussed and fumed and sputtered. Steve, watching him, thought, This man is driven by his need. He needs to make someone eat dirt and I think I know who it is. Steve spent the rest of the week resting up, relaxing, swimming, working out, and generally getting into the right mind frame for his final scene, the big duo with Daniel. He knew that this one was a secret from the rest of the crew and with any luck it would remain so until the finished product was ready for release. Although he missed most of the filming sessions, he did want to sit in and watch the one where Erik would switch to the top role, with the baby of the company, twenty-one-year-old Pablo, as his bottom. As he watched Erik switching smoothly into a more dominant mode, Steve thought to himself inside that this guy actually had a lot of potential. He could act well even while he was fucking, and that couldn’t be said about everyone by a long shot. He made a mental note to keep Erik’s name in mind. Pablo was doing a great job, too, squirming around as Erik drove his seven inches into his tight ass again and again. Unlike many porn performers, Pablo really was a relative newcomer to getting fucked, and the tightness of his gleaming rounded ass was real, not a put-on. Steve envied the young Mexican who was getting such a thorough reaming of his asscunt, and then to his surprise he found that watching this fuck scene was giving him a hard-on. At that, he quietly got up and left the viewing room, going down for a long walk on the beach to unwind and calm down. On the final day, the last main scene was an orgy of the five younger guys on the shoot, and it took a good part of the day to cover it all because so many camera angles were needed. Daniel directed the entire scene with a firm but light hand, while Steve stayed clear to keep his mind clear. On the last night at dinner, as the guys exchanged their travel notes, one of them asked Steve, “You flying out tomorrow too?” “No. My flight’s early the next day, so I’m moving down to a small hotel near the airport for tomorrow night.” The last of the guys cleared out in the morning, taking their bags down to the shuttle van that was delivering them all to the airport. Daniel, in his usual methodical way, wanted to check out the entire villa in person, making sure there was no damage done anywhere. Then he and Steve grabbed their bags, and Lianne drove them to the hotel by the airport. She was the only one who knew what was going on. They spent an hour or so in the afternoon, setting up cameras and lights – without the help of Will and Eddie. Even those two weren’t in on the secret. Due to the lack of crew, Daniel wanted this to be as much as possible a single long take covering the entire scene, and the cameras were placed to make that possible. At last they were ready. They showered off together, helping each other get hard and ready. Then they slipped on their shorts, started the cameras, and the scene was a go. As soon as they started, Steve forgot all about the cameras in his concentration. Daniel was deeply involved in the scene, too, and that made it easy for the two of them to look as if there was something more going on than just sex for money. Both of them were being forceful, going for what they wanted, and that made it hard to guess just who was going to end up on top. Steve, in fact, was the first to go for sucking cock, and thoroughly enjoyed himself going down repeatedly on Daniel’s thick meat. But then, Daniel pulled away, pushed Steve down onto the bed, and climbed on top of him in the sixty-nine position. The two of them worked on each other’s cocks for a while, with Steve getting all of the Hawaiian Nine into his mouth, while Daniel pulled a more than respectable ten of Rod Rammer’s thirteen into his own throat. After a while, though, it was Daniel who upped the stakes as he dropped his head lower to start eating Steve’s ass. In no time, the two of them were going full throttle at rimming each other, moving around a bit to make sure that both ends of the pair got seen by the cameras. Daniel was just as conscious of that need as Steve was – not conscious enough to interfere with the scene vibe, but still a thread in each of their minds. Before long, Steve was quivering. He loved to eat ass, but he loved even more to have his ass eaten, and a part of him was wishing Daniel would fuck him instead. But that wasn’t in the script, either for the scene they’d planned or for the character of Rod Rammer. At least the Hawaiian Nine had bottomed on film before. Time for Steve to take charge. He heaved Daniel up and off him, throwing the Hawaiian stud over onto his back. Steve reared up onto his knees, looming over Daniel with his glistening cock flashing in the light as it jutted into the air. Daniel pulled his legs up, exposing his ass, while Steve was opening the bottle of lube and applying it to his cockhead, then the shaft, and then into Daniel’s hole, first with one finger and then with two. It was time. Steve withdrew his hand and planted the tip of the famous Rammer on the Hawaiian Nine’s quivering hole. The hole relaxed, drawing him in, and he entered the tunnel. His cock sank slowly but easily in for the first eight inches or so, but then he encountered resistance. It was plain that Daniel had never been fucked by anything this long before, and he was moving around under Steve, shifting his ass from side to side or up and down – until something inside him moved out of the way and Steve was able to slowly push all the rest of his cock inside Daniel’s ass. Daniel was gasping for air, and it wasn’t an act. He’d never been stretched this much or filled this far, and his butt muscles were fighting it. Steve could feel the strength of those muscles clamping down on him, and he held still, planting his hands firmly on either side of Daniel’s chest and waiting for the strain to relax. At last, the muscles began to ease their death grip, and Steve was able to begin pumping, slowly but steadily increasing his speed. The cameras caught all the details as Steve’s cock plundered Daniel’s ass, faster and faster, going right inside to the full length, pulling right out until even the rim of the head was showing, and then plunging all the way back down and in again. Then, Steve pulled out, rolled Daniel over, and pulled him up onto his hands and knees. Pushing back in, Steve continued his battering ram assault on Daniel’s fuckhole, moving faster and faster with every minute that passed. He grabbed Daniel by the shoulders and pulled him up into an upright position. Daniel arched his back, leaving a clear air space between their bodies between the hips and the shoulders, and Steve pounded into him harder and harder, until they could both feel that the moment was coming. And it happened. Daniel arched even more, roared out the words, “Aw, fuck!” and quivered as his cock lifted up and squirted a huge burst of sperm into the air in front of him, falling in a graceful arc back down onto the floor beside the bed. His cock kept leaping up and down, spurting more and more as Steve hammered out the last few strokes and erupted deep inside his ass, pulling out to shoot a few bolts of cum onto his deep-tanned cheeks, and then pushed back in to finish off deep inside his partner’s body. The two of them collapsed onto the bed together, with Steve lying on top of Daniel and nuzzling his shoulder and neck. Eventually, they detached, got up, and switched off the cameras and the lights. Daniel made a spectacular sight, with his muscled body, his erect cock, and the final bits of sperm trailing down his legs as he checked the cameras one by one, just to make sure that they had actually run and captured the entire scene. The two of them showered off, pulled on swimsuits, and went downstairs for a relaxing swim in the outdoor pool (which felt more like a hot tub in the tropical heat). Then Daniel set up his laptop to copy the video files for backup. That night, the two porn stars slept peacefully together. Steve in particular was feeling very satisfied. He’d managed to persuade Daniel that he wasn’t kidding when he said he wanted to return the favour, and Daniel had then joined the very short and exclusive list of men who had fucked Rod Rammer. It had taken a bit of work to get the Hawaiian Nine inside Steve’s willing but rarely fucked ass, but it was worth the effort. Daniel had given Steve a great powerhouse reaming that Steve would remember for a long time, and Steve had slept in deep contentment with a big load of the Hawaiian Nine’s seed nestled deep inside his body.

Chapter 5: Shooting Stars Steve was walking somewhat apprehensively down the corridor. Paul had made it all sound simple and straightforward. But he’d never done anything like this before, and he was plainly (and understandably) a bit nervous about what was going to happen and how he was going to handle it. As directed by the confidential message, he knocked on the door of Room 1608. The door opened and a young guy in briefs beckoned him silently in. Across the room, he saw Paul standing and talking to another guy in briefs who was holding a camera. Lights were placed on stands around the living area with its sofa and armchair, and around the bed nearer the window. The curtains were all drawn. Paul finished his conversation and turned around. His face lit up when he saw Steve standing there, looking a bit lost. He walked quickly over with a big smile. “Ah, Steve, glad to see you again. Your co-star is just in the bathroom, showering up. Why don’t you go in there to meet him? We can start as soon as you two are ready, everything’s set in here.” Steve nodded his thanks, and turned, following the sound of running water, to head to the bathroom. In the dressing area, two chairs had been placed ready. One was labelled “Jamie” and already had some clothes piled on it. The other one of course was labelled “Steve.” He quickly shed his clothes and shoes, and then pushed the door open. “Close the damn door!” The guy in the shower had a pleasant light-toned voice, although it carried an edge of asperity at the moment. He hadn’t turned or looked, and Steve couldn’t see clearly through the steamed up glass doors, but he’d liked that voice. He closed the bathroom door quickly. Giving his cock a few quick jerks to start things going, he slid the glass door open and climbed in. The first thing he realized right away was that he towered over the guy who was going to be his scene partner. The second was that the guy had a brilliant smile lighting up his face. “Hi, there. You must be Steve. I’m Jamie, although my screen name is Jamie Twink.” Appropriately, they exchanged greetings by shaking each other’s cocks. Jamie’s hand barely went around Steve’s massive shaft. Steve had to chuckle. He wasn’t a tall man himself, about five foot eleven, but this little guy barely came up to his shoulder. It was all in proportion, too. He plainly had the build of a man, but on a small scale, somewhat like a miniature poodle next to a full-size version. Steve stared at him, feeling his cock getting hard at the idea of fucking such a tiny little ass. “You really expect to take this big cock into your butt?” “Oh, yeah. I’ve taken big ones before. I make a lot of noise like it’s hurting me, but the truth is I love getting myself stretched that way. You can work me hard, I won’t crack or break. Here, let me start soaping you up and I’ll show you what I mean.” They spent the next couple of minutes soaping and rinsing each other, and then Jamie grabbed a small bottle of lube which he’d brought into the shower with him. He squirted some on his hand, rubbed it over Steve’s cock, then used it to grease up his hole. Steve would have sworn that there was no way his huge dick was ever going to fit into that tiny ass, but Jamie turned around, grabbed Steve’s tool, planted it right against his hole, and backed up – and with almost no delay the head popped in and immediately started going deeper. “See what I mean? The rest of it, all the reluctance and I-can’t-take-that-thing, it’s all for show. It’ll be fine. You’ll probably have to rough me up a bit. Paul will explain it to you. Come on, let’s get out there and get to work.” Paul explained to Steve how he wanted him to play the scene, making it plain that he was not actually meant to rape Jamie, but only to overcome his reluctance. Steve nodded in agreement, and Paul went on to explain how they would take frequent stops to change positions, to take a breather and get a drink of water, to refresh his erection, to exchange the cameras’ battery packs, and so on. And finally, he stressed the importance of letting them know when he was about to cum so they could get the cameras into the right positions to catch that all-important scene. It was the first time – but by no means the last – that Steve heard the term “money shot.” And he knew that Paul was counting on him delivering an epic money shot, a money shot for the ages, just as he had on their night together. It was his monster orgasms that had persuaded Paul to offer him a film gig. Steve was ready. He’d even avoided cumming for four days before hand to save it up for the Big Moment. Steve quietly whispered to Jamie, “Okay with you if I cum inside you?” “Are you kidding? Paul will have a fit!” “Don’t worry. I can usually pump ten, even twelve separate squirts. I’ll give you a few, pull out and spray some over you, and then shove back in and finish off.” “Sounds amazing. Go for it!” The lights came on, the room went quiet, the people not directly involved retreated into the other room of the suite, and the filming began. Steve was pleasantly surprised to realize, after it was all over, that he had forgotten all about the cameras as soon as he’d gotten down to work. Jamie was such an unusual partner, so unlike anyone he’d ever done before, and he always loved novelty. The novelty kicked in right away when Steve found, for the first time ever, that he was having to bend way down to make out with his partner. Jamie was a very responsive partner, too, reacting to everything Steve did, and especially to his every move once his big cock got in on the action. Jamie had done a great job of sucking him, even managing to get within a couple of inches of taking the whole thing. Steve felt sure that this little guy’s jaw must come completely unhinged when he was sucking. There was a short break, then, before they proceeded to move to the bedroom. Steve had a little inspiration which they hadn’t discussed ahead of time. He swept Jamie up in his arms, just like an old-school bride, and carried him over to the bed in four long strides before dropping him onto the sheets and climbing up to loom over him. Jamie played his reluctance to take Steve’s cock really well, and Steve responded as requested by rolling him over and plunging his face into that tiny ass. He ate and slurped and poked and prodded for all he was worth, making his rimming become fierce and forceful. Jamie responded with a whole range of moans and whimpers and little cries of “I don’t know if I can take it.” He said that one last time as Steve moved up above him and planted the tip into that tight crack. “Yes, you can,” Steve said, bluntly, and pressed forward. The hole was no longer easy to enter. Jamie was a true expert at this, forcing him to push harder, to work at it, to earn his way into the ass he’d entered so easily in the shower. All the time, he kept up his moaning, “It’s too big, you’ll never get it into me.” “Yes, I will – now!” With a single hefty shove, Steve overcame the reluctance and entered Jamie’s talented hole. Jamie let out a loud cry of pain and then whimpered on and on. Steve took him at his word and kept pushing forward and downward. But there was some resistance. He pulled out, flipped over onto his back and said, “Climb on and ride me, boy!” Jamie did as he was told, sitting down on Steve’s huge cock with his face turned towards Steve’s feet – and the cameras. He still had to work at it a bit longer, but finally he hit bottom. Steve could see one of the crew shaking his head in disbelief even as he kept filming the scene. When he finally got to see the footage, much later, he had to agree that the sight was pretty unbelievable. Jamie’s hole was spread so widely that it looked almost as if he had a third leg, except that the third leg was moving with a mind of its own. For a minute or two, Jamie held still and let Steve do the work, forcing his cock up and in, and then drawing it down and out. That freed Jamie to concentrate on his detailed acting out of how painful it all was. There was another break then, for the cameras to switch battery packs, and to give Jamie’s widely-stretched hole a bit of a breather. Steve pulled him down and cuddled with him, asking quietly, “Are you sure you’re okay?” Jamie was actually touched. Steve was only the second top in his long experience who had bothered to check in with him in this way. He whispered back, “Yeah, I’m surviving. It’s harder than I thought it would be but I’m sure it’s not damaging anything.” Steve hugged and kissed him, and they laid back and relaxed until the crew were ready to go on. Jamie took a quick minute to suck Steve’s cock back up to the mark, and then he mounted up facing the other way, so he was looking down at Steve while the cameras zeroed in on his tormented ass. After a few minutes of that, and another minute of Steve ramming him at high speed from below, Jamie climbed off, and Steve pushed him down onto his back. Jamie obediently lifted his legs, allowing Steve to sink back into him in missionary, face to face. Steve began pumping, then paused and said quietly, “I’m going to cum soon.” The cameramen prepared for it. Then he hit the gas pedal, fucking Jamie hard and fast and deep, while Jamie continued gasping and moaning. After a minute of this high-speed treatment, he knew it was time. “Gonna cum…,” he grunted out. His hips were flying almost faster than the cameras could register. Then he slammed down hard, pinning Jamie under him, and gave a guttural yell. After a couple more quick jabs, he pulled out and the cameras zeroed in and caught the fountain of cum jetting out of his cock head. After four shots, he shoved it back in, but this time left enough of the shaft outside that the camera could capture the repeated contractions of the tube up the underside of the shaft. Finally, his strength gave out and he fell down across Jamie’s small body, gasping for air. It had definitely been a money shot for the ages. He started kissing Jamie again, bringing a note of quiet affection into the scene. The senior cameraman yelled, “Cut,” the cameras and lights went off, and the guys finally were able to roll apart. Paul came back into the room, having watched the scene from a non-filming camera feed. “Guys, that was awesome. I think this one scene will double the audience for this film when it’s ready.” Steve was feeling a touch smug about the success of his planned money shot, but he took care not to show it, only saying, “Thank you, Paul” in a very sincere tone. But Paul went there. “Okay, trade secret, Steve. How the hell do you do it with those cum shots? Most of our models strain and struggle to produce just a few drops. What is your secret?” Steve thought for a moment. “Well, plenty of sleep, good diet, lots of exercise….” “Cut the bullshit!” “… and most of all because I swore off for the last four nights. Didn’t touch it myself, didn’t let anyone else touch it. I do that every week for the bar anyway, and rarely let anyone take me home except on Saturday nights.” “Well, that worked, in spades!” He thumped Steve’s shoulder in congratulations, and then – and only then – Steve permitted the touch of smugness to show in his face. A couple of hours later, he was heading for the airport to fly back home on the red-eye, with his pay packet in his pocket and a substantial extra tip which Paul had slipped him on the side. It had been a profitable two-day trip. He’d also exchanged numbers with Jamie. He liked the little guy, and he liked the idea of having someone experienced in the industry to whom he could turn with questions and get reliable answers. Even on the strength of this one experience, he knew that he would want to do more film work. Within six months, he had done two more videos for Paul. But then, he wanted to branch out. Paul kept wanting him to do twinks, and he would welcome a chance to do scenes with older guys, his own personal preference. He asked Jamie, and Jamie confirmed that he was free to come and go as he pleased, providing he hadn’t signed an exclusive with Paul’s company. He hadn’t, and he didn’t intend to. Steve’s fourth film really broke the mold in one sense, and that was that he was now appearing with a man who was about ten years older than he was, but still stunning to the eye. But there was another dramatic step forward which stood outside of the actual filmed scene. It was the manager of this company that brought up one issue which Paul hadn’t bothered to approach. “Steve, you need to get yourself a screen name. ‘Big Steve’ just isn’t that overwhelming. You need a name, and you need to develop a screen persona to go with it. That scene you did with Jamie Twink, it was really good, but the ending veered too close to sweet. On a guy with your killer dick, that just doesn’t go. So you need a name, and it should say something stronger about that ramrod in your crotch than just ‘big’.” Steve thought for a moment. “Ramrod? Hmm. What about… Rod Rammer?” And thus a real legend of the gay porn industry was born. Within a year, Steve was making seven or eight films a year, and the process had worked the other way around to what Paul had tried to do. Now, the bar in New York and the other venues where he danced from time to time were billing him as “Rod Rammer.” Big Steve had been left by the wayside. With the new name came a new screen personality – more forceful, more demanding, more of the man-in-charge, and with a speaking style to match. His stage performances had shifted in tone, too – no more inviting people to touch him, but instead he shoved it in their faces with a look that dared them to do it. The audience reactions shifted noticeably right along with that change. About a year after he became Rod Rammer, he was lined up for a shoot with two other guys – two tops on one bottom. Steve was actually the “senior” top in this one – his top partner was barely twenty years old, although he displayed a formidable maturity of manner which made him seem much older. Jamie would later explain to him that this guy, name of Daniel, had come from Hawaii to the mainland two years earlier, had been introduced into the porn world by a manipulative jerk of a producer who’d also taken him in as a boy toy, and he had just broken free from that entanglement. The film he made with Steve was actually his first outing since that abrupt change of direction, and the muscular young man with the deep Hawaiian skin tone had opted to call himself “the Hawaiian Nine” – that being his cock size. Right from the start, when he’d watched Daniel at work in a duo scene, Steve enjoyed filming with him because they shared a completely professional dedication to the work at hand. The real shock of the shoot came when they assembled for the filming, and Steve walked into the huge walk-in shower in the backer’s house to be greeted by his fellow Nova Scotian escapee, Ryan. “So this is what your little escape plan was that you hinted at.” “Yeah, you found me out. I was actually working in Europe for a while, that’s probably why you didn’t know. I knew about you. I’d seen so many breathless accounts of this guy with the monster dick that looked almost too big for him, and I knew exactly who they meant, even before I saw any of your films. But I didn’t know I’d be working with you today.” “Wait till you see who else you’re going to be working with.” Just then Daniel came in, naked, and with his erect cock leading the way, and Ryan’s jaw dropped. Steve was a sexy guy in his own way, but this Hawaiian hunk was a fucking eyeful, a walking wet dream. Ryan fell headlong into lust, and his heart came right along for the ride. Steve was laughing inwardly at how quickly the articulate, in-your-face Ryan reverted to the awkward, shy, tongue-tied teenager he had once been. He was too kind-hearted to laugh outwardly, but it was hard not to start giggling as the Nova Scotia redhead made goo-goo eyes at the handsome Hawaiian hunk – who remained completely oblivious to him until it was time to begin the shoot. Steve demonstrated how readily Ryan’s ass could accommodate his thirteen enormous inches and Daniel nodded silently. Then they switched off the water and dried off to get to work. Thanks to his rigid face, Daniel managed to come across as taciturn to the point of rudeness, but Steve saw through it enough to sense that this guy was protecting himself. From what? He wasn’t precisely sure, but the Hawaiian Nine definitely had his defences up. The door was shut, the curtains drawn, the drawbridge of the castle was raised – and nobody, but nobody, was getting in. Poor Ryan hadn’t sensed any of that at all, and his hopeful puppy expression just got sadder and more woebegone – until Steve took him aside for a quiet little one-on-one chat. “Ryan, you’ve got to snap out of it.” “What are you talking about?” “I’m talking about the Hawaiian Nine, and the way you’re following him around like a dog in the pound hoping he’s going to adopt you.” “That’s harsh.” “Yes, it is. But you’re going to trash the entire scene if you go into it looking like that. It’s plain as day that he’s not letting anyone get close to him at all, anyway.” “I guess you’re right.” “Well, naturally. I have been around a year longer than you. And anyway, he’s the youngest of the three of us, and by a fair margin. So just cool it and let’s do what the producer’s paying us to do – and do it the way we discussed.” Ryan nodded, Steve gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder, and they stepped up, ready to work. Steve started off by kissing Ryan for a few moments, in a forceful and demanding way. When Ryan reached for his erect cock, he batted the hand away and got up on the bed, kneeling in an upright position. “You want it? Come and get it.” Ryan climbed onto the bed, too, and proceeded to work on Steve’s cock with his mouth, slowly going deeper and deeper. Steve clamped his hands onto Ryan’s head to keep him focused. Then Daniel got on the bed as well and began making out with Steve so that his hard nine inches was bumping against the side of Ryan’s face. Ryan took the hint and began sucking on Daniel. As the two men continued making out, Ryan was going back and forth from one cock to the other until both were glistening wet. Daniel upped the stakes by pulling his cock away and getting down behind Ryan to spread his round ass cheeks apart. Steve pulled Ryan into an upright position so he could make out with Ryan, while Daniel went right to town eating Ryan’s ass. By now, Ryan was moaning and making little “oh, ooh, oh” cries while Daniel worked on him. Steve shut him up by clamping his mouth even more firmly onto Ryan’s face, working hard with tongue and lips to keep him quiet. But he had to let go and allow Ryan some room to breathe when Daniel knelt up behind him and began to force the nine-inch poker between his legs into Ryan’s hole. As usual, Ryan made him work for it, and Daniel nodded in satisfaction at how thorough his bottom was being. As Daniel worked his way in, Steve pulled Ryan down by the shoulders and shoved his cock down the willing bottom’s throat. All three of them had done spit-roasts before, but there was an extra something in the air with this one that made it incredibly hot and gripping. Perhaps it was the size of the two cocks entering Ryan from either end – a size which made it entirely believable that there could be a single continuous spit running right through his body and holding him in place as these two top studs roasted him over their hot fires. When it was time for Ryan to take DP, Daniel silently let him sit on Steve, before coming in from behind to slide into Ryan’s hole. The two of them took turns to pump his straining ass, sliding in and out several times, turn and turn about. Steve was moving a little more cautiously, knowing that at his size there was little margin for error. Daniel was the more forceful, slamming hard into Ryan’s ass with a loud smack on every thrust. The cameras recorded plenty of footage of the two huge tools lodged inside Ryan at the same time, as the two top studs fucked him. They also got some good shots of Ryan’s face, features contorted in a blend of ecstasy and anguish. It was too good to last forever, and it was Daniel who first signalled that he was about to cum. He pulled out to shoot, spraying a more-than-respectable load over Ryan’s back, and then leaned back to sit on his muscular thighs while Steve finished off with his signature three-stage cum shot – a few quick spurts inside, pull out and shoot a few on the bottom’s ass, and then shove it back in to finish the job – and that final shove triggered Ryan’s sizable climax as well. Daniel’s eyebrows went up a bit at this virtuoso demonstration, but that was almost the only sign of emotion he displayed. Afterwards, as they showered off, Daniel asked Steve, “Any special trick to make yourself cum that hard and long?” Steve explained his four-days-off method, and Daniel nodded his understanding. End of conversation. As the filming proceeded, Steve had noticed something else. Daniel had definitely seen what Ryan was feeling and was managing to work his way around every time into a position where he didn’t have to meet Ryan’s eyes. He said as much to Ryan as Daniel was leaving them. Ryan watched for Daniel’s line of sight as the three of them came together again in the walk-in shower. “See what I mean?” Steve asked Ryan, as they towelled off after Daniel had left the bathroom. Ryan nodded. When they came out, Daniel hadn’t gone. He was engaged in an earnest conversation with the producer, Giovanni, a smiley rotund guy who looked like Chef Boyardee on a day off from the kitchens. Giovanni waved them over, thanked Ryan for his work, handed him the envelope, and asked him kindly to go as they had another matter to discuss. “Okay, then, I’m off.” Ryan’s resemblance to a hopeful puppy was back full strength. Steve embraced him warmly. “Great to work with you again, buddy! And remember what I said.” Ryan nodded. Daniel gave him a formal handshake. “Good to meet you.” This in a completely neutral tone of voice. “Likewise.” Ryan had finally switched off his please-love-me eyes. Steve breathed an inward sigh of relief. Once Ryan had gone, Giovanni said, “Daniel has an intriguing suggestion. I think it could be a big hit for the two of you and for the company. Tell him.” Daniel’s voice and face became a bit more animated. “Giovanni’s never done a location shoot, but I think we could do some good stuff if we go to a beach place in Mexico or Central America. I figured we could each do a scene with a bottom, and then finish off by doing a twosome together, where you get to fuck me.” Steve reluctantly put aside the momentary pipe dream of a flip-fuck – it wouldn’t fit into Rod Rammer’s personality at all. “Sounds like a great idea. Do it during the winter when a getaway to the tropics will do us all the most good. Give the whole film a party weekend theme, throw in one or two more matchups, and have our duo as the last scene.” “Definitely – good plan. Giovanni?” “The ace in the hole is to see Rod Rammer fuck the Hawaiian Nine. Daniel, you’ve never bottomed on screen before.” “Not to worry. For a couple of years there, I had to do more than my fair share of bottoming for Stewart. It’s well broken in.” Giovanni reached out and grabbed Steve’s basket. “Well enough broken in for this whopper?” For the first time, Daniel smiled, a small, tight smile but a smile nonetheless. “We might need a practice session.” That made all three of them laugh out loud. Before the grand plan had a chance to get off the ground, Steve got a phone call one day from Giovanni’s “personal assistant” (read: “personal assistant/houseboy/boytoy”): “Steve, I’ve got some serious news for you. Giovanni died last night of a massive heart attack. Of course, all plans are on hold. There’s a lot of documents to check through, but it looks as if the company is going to have to be closed down so the assets can be sold.” “Pietro, I’m sorry to hear that. It must be a tough time for you. Big hugs, buddy.” Pietro sighed. “I’ll be all right. My mom used to call me “the human cat” because no matter what happened to me, I always managed to land on my feet. I’ll do it again.” “Well, best of luck to you.” It was obvious that Pietro’s relationship with Giovanni had been more one of practical convenience and financial support than of any actual affection. But Steve had already suspected that. Less than a week later, he got a call from a number that showed up on call display as “D.N.H.9” That label intrigued him enough to pick up. “Hello, Rod Rammer speaking.” The voice on the other end gave a dry chuckle. “How thorough of you. Steve, this is Daniel. You know, the Hawaiian Nine. I’ve got a business idea I’d like to talk over with you. Can you meet me?” “You’re in L.A., aren’t you? I’m in New York. Best I can do is that I’m coming west for a shoot in two weeks. I could meet you then.” “That’ll be fine.” And when the details were all settled, the call ended. Steve belatedly realized that he could puzzle out ¾ of that call display label but had no idea what the “N” stood for. When he did get to see Daniel, he was quickly introduced to the Hawaiian Nine’s idea of forming his own porn production studio under his own name. Steve quickly interjected at this point, saying, “It’s been done before and flopped every time. How are you going to avoid the trap?” Daniel answered with cool assurance. “I’m going to do everything the right way – top-notch camera and production work, and models at the top of their game who act and perform like professionals. And definitely no “gay for pay” straight guys. You can spot them a mile away. The slackers will say it’s like a dictatorship, but I want to work only with people who are proud of what they do and know how to give 110% at all times. People like you, in fact.” “It sounds promising. Money?” “I have a backer. He’s seeing a potential profit, but he’s also – well, let’s just say he’s ‘hopeful’.” Steve laughed at that. Daniel directed a look at him which he interpreted to mean that laughter was not welcome, as it detracted from serious business. “And where exactly do I come in?” Steve had, in fact, already guessed what Daniel wanted from him. As events proved, his guess was one hundred percent on the bulls-eye.

@BritFFPig thank you!

@barefuck_vie thank you! The ending made me cry too, because it wasn't the way I thought the story was going to end.

@tankonpoint Thank you for sharing your own story. I can feel the difficulty and the emotional weight of your experience coming through strongly in your words. And thank you for the positive feedback.

Chapter 4: Let's Hear It “And now, boys, let’s hear it for Mr. Superdick himself, Biiiig Steeeeeve!” Roars and cheers filled the club as Steve ran out onto the “stage”, a tiny platform which let him step up from floor level to the end of the bar. As he did every night, he made sure that his thirteen-inch ramrod was already halfway hard and poking out of the waistband of his jockstrap. His slender but muscled body glistened in the light He worked his way slowly around the broad, polished top of the long horseshoe bar, bumping and grinding, grabbing and fondling his basket, turning around to wiggle and spread his cheeks, dropping down into a crouch to let the guys tuck bills into his jock and cop a feel – and he always rewarded them with a kiss. The next guy was one of the regulars who always gave him a five-spot, so he let the guy actually play with his dick and tug his jockstrap lower to let it out. A couple more quick swipes and touches, and then he saw a face that looked vaguely familiar. The young guy slipped him a ten and received a brilliant smile, a good long touch, and a more than perfunctory kiss. All the time, Steve was trying to figure out whose face it was, but he couldn’t get there. By the time he’d gone all the way around, he had several dozen assorted bills along with other bits of paper tucked into his strap. At this point, he took all the tips out and dropped them on the floor at the back of the stage, then pulled his jock all the way off and let the audience really enjoy the show. With a couple more quick jerks, his cock reached its full awesome size, and then he played with it and jerked it a few times, before pointing it right at the guys in the audience, giving some strong pelvic thrusts. He turned around and played with his ass some more – slipping a finger in three or four times because they’d been really generous. Then, as the song wound down, he gathered up all his stuff, flashed the audience a final suggestive grin, and with one last squeeze and pull on his meat he vanished, to another huge roar of applause. Steve was always the last guy on stage at every show, and none of the other dancers minded because none of them wanted to be the comedown after his regular star turn. Backstage, he checked over the wad of papers in his hand. Pretty good take – just under a hundred dollars, plus a business card for a promotional “expert” offering to represent him, a business card from a financial “expert” offering to handle all his money for him, and three phone numbers with no names on them. A typical mixture. He chuckled as he dropped the phone numbers and business cards into the trash can. On the final show of the night, the dancers were encouraged to be more “creative.” Some of them would hook up in pairs, doing short bits of ass eating and cock sucking. For Steve, though, it was always solo all the way. “Get more creative” was his cue to do a second trip around the bar after he’d stripped off his jock and let one and all get a handful of his enormous dick. As he circled slowly through the room, he let the generous ones get in a few strokes and jerks, since the juice was (as always) gleaming on the tip by this point. The vaguely familiar guy slipped him another ten and he pulled the young guy in to let him kiss and lick the head in return. Once the last show was over, he got dressed – in a skintight cropped tee shirt and short shorts that looked like they were painted onto him, his usual post-show outfit -- and then it was time to circulate. He headed out into the room with a brilliant smile on his face, meeting guys, answering questions, getting into suggestive conversations. Sometimes he would go home with one of his generous regulars – or even with a younger guy who especially turned his crank. Always for a fee, of course. On this night, though, he was on a mission. He wanted to know who the young man with the vaguely familiar face and the ten-spots was. A tap on his shoulder caused him to turn, and there the guy was. Steve thanked him and kissed him, and the young guy said in his ear, “Awesome to see you again, Adrian.” Steve’s face darkened a bit at that. Time changes all things. It was four years since Adrian Pennyfather had left Exmouth, never to return. By degrees, he’d gotten established on his feet. He and Alex had parted company after half a year, when Alex got tempted by the big money to be earned in the Alberta oilfields, but they remained close and chatted often on video apps. The one significant thing they had done together was to change their names. Neither of them wished to go through life as a “Pennyfather” after what had happened with their family. As Alex so rightly said, “He had murder in his eyes that night. He’d have tried to kill you if I hadn’t grabbed him.” Alex was content to change his surname, but his brother had always hated being “Adrian” anyway and wanted to go the whole hog. And Rotherham? “Steve”, as he would henceforth be called, had heard the tale many times of how his great-grandfather had left the drudge work of the coal mines to become more free and more in charge of his own life as a fisherman. “Rotherham” was the name of the coal mining town in England which his great-grandfather had left behind for good. Steve liked the symbolism, and Alex agreed, with a chuckle, that it worked for him too – so Alex and Steve Rotherham they became. After the brothers had parted company, Steve had first spent a while in Montreal with Matteo, who put him onto a trainer and a good dance coach. The trainer proved to be a dud, but when Steve moved on, it was with a much improved sense of movement and living with his body, and with many hot memories of his nights with Matteo. In Boston, he hooked up with Calum who was happy to see him and to play with him again. Calum had lined him up with the other essential ingredient of his future, a good gym and a really good trainer. That trainer, whose name was Owen, had been plainly infatuated with Steve’s cock, but he had done a good job of working out a training plan, one which focused on his legs and his shoulders, two areas that could and would make Steve look much bigger than his always-slim frame suggested. And Steve had rewarded Owen several times with buttfuls of his juice. All this time, Matteo’s advice was in the back of his mind, and he returned to Canada to jump through the hoops and acquire a proper entertainer’s licence. Thus equipped, he quickly found himself back on the stage at the bar where he had first met Matteo. Exactly as Matteo had foreseen, that huge cock and its ready ability to stand on command had made him a rapid hit with the bar’s regulars. It also made him the target of jealousy from the regular dancers. From then on, he circled through various bars in Montreal and in Toronto, acquiring a reputation, a whole repertoire of useful performing skills, and (eventually) the ability to command a higher headliner’s fee. This was what really got him noticed in the wider gay world, as he got headline billing at a number of major gay circuit events, and thus in turn became “in demand” at other major gay venues, first in North America, and then in Europe as well. Finally, he’d acquired a green card for the USA, and became a regular at a major venue in New York City, between side trips to other party venues, resorts, and the like. Steve Rotherham, or “Big Steve” as he was now known, had arrived. And now, it seemed, so had his old life. He damped down his first inclination to growl at the guy, but he pulled back and looked at him – hard. “I’m Ryan McCrory. You wouldn’t likely remember me, but I was coming along the year behind you in school. I came out to my family six months after you did. And I want to thank you for giving me the courage to do it. I could never have done it if it weren’t for you leading the way. For that, you were my role model.” Steve’s mood lightened right away. The tone in Ryan’s voice told him that the McCrorys hadn’t been one bit friendlier than the Pennyfathers. This wasn’t his old life coming back to haunt him. This was another escapee from the prison. “Steve Rotherham’s the name now. I left Adrian Pennyfather behind for good in Exmouth. Ryan, I’d love to hear more about your story. Care to go someplace quieter and have a drink?” Ryan agreed at once, and a half hour later they were seated in Steve’s living room, with Steve now more conventionally dressed in street clothes. One of his regulars was letting him rent the condo at far less than it was worth whenever he was working in New York. Of course, he was expected to offer trade-offs in return every so often by sleeping with the owner, and he did. Steve Rotherham thoroughly understood how the game had to work. “So, Ryan, if I don’t remember you at all, you must not have been living in Exmouth.” “Right. I was from the other direction, from Outer Briggins – I just knew you from high school in Lawrason’s Harbour. Of course I heard all about your monster cock and was always hanging around, hoping to catch a glimpse. And you wouldn’t likely notice me there, because I didn’t even make the cut in our hockey team. I was such a loser.” “Welcome to the club.” They both laughed. Ryan went on. “I had to make a break, get away, that place was stifling me.” Steve nodded his understanding. “Anyway, like I said, I came out to my family, and they reacted by throwing me out for good. Nice family.” He made a wry face. “At least your dad didn’t try to kill you.” “Yeah, we all heard about that. The word is that it cost him a lot of friends, the way he mishandled it. People were expecting your mom to leave him because of it, but that hasn’t happened yet – as far as I heard. Anyway, I hitched a ride to Halifax and met a guy who was there on holiday. He brought me home with him to New York. We broke up a few months ago, and I’ve been crashing since then in an overcrowded apartment with five other guys. We have to take turns who gets the bedroom for those special occasions. Everyone else sleeps on sofas or the floor. And I got an under-the-counter job, just like a lot of the other young gay guys. I sweep and mop the floors at a bar down the street from where you work.” “Bet that gig doesn’t pay very well. So of course, as soon as you recognized me, you wanted to say hello….” “And thank you!” “And thank me, and that was very kind of you. I just hope you didn’t lay out your last two tens to get my attention.” Ryan laughed, but the look on his face suggested that Steve had indeed hit the mark. “Well, here’s what I’m gonna do. I’ll give you a refund with a little extra, as a belated coming-out present, and then – because you spoke so kindly about me – I’m prepared to give you something big, as a freebie, that normally costs a lot of money. Something really big. If you’re interested, that is.” Those last two sentences were spoken in a professionally sexy tone of voice, and Ryan certainly looked a lot more than interested. Steve stood up and began stripping off his shirt. Then he kicked off his shoes and started to lower his jeans. At this point he looked down at the staring Ryan and said, “Well, get moving. Am I going to be doing all the work here?” With that, Ryan leaped to his feet with a laugh and began pulling off his clothes too. Ryan wasted no time in signalling what he wanted to do. As soon as they got in the shower together and got soaped up, Ryan immediately turned around and began rubbing his ass crack insistently against Steve’s tower of power, which was rapidly growing up to its full height. As usual, after a night’s work in the bar, it was tired of being repeatedly teased and definitely ready for some more serious work. Before long, the whole thirteen inch length was sliding up and down between Ryan’s buns while Steve reached around to tweak his nipples and play with his eight rigid inches. He let out a small sigh. How he would have loved to take that eight-incher inside his own ass, but he knew that he had to play the game the way Ryan wanted. After they’d towelled off and moved to the bedroom, Steve laid down on his back and let Ryan go to work on his cock. He was pleasantly surprised that Ryan was actually able to do a more than respectable job of sucking that massive cock, and even managed to get within an inch or so of taking the entire thing deep into his throat. That was a first. No one else had ever managed to get so much of Steve’s man-killer inside his face. Steve uncapped a bottle of poppers, took a couple of deep breaths, and then handed it to Ryan who came up off his cock long enough to inhale deeply a couple of times as well. He then wanted to dive back down onto Steve’s tool, but Steve stopped him. “No – come up here and sit on my face.” Ryan did as he was told and soon had Steve’s face buried deep inside his crack while his rigid tool bounced off Steve’s face as he ground his butt harder down onto the tongue lashing his hole. Right away, Steve could tell that Ryan was a very experienced bottom – his hole responded much more quickly than a newbie, loosening and opening almost at once so that he could start tongue-fucking with no waste of time. The repeated thrusts with tongue soon had Ryan squealing in delight, but the squeals quickly turned to repeated moans of “fuck me… fuck my ass….” Steve pulled his face out of the crack, grabbing Ryan’s cock and deep-throating it for a minute or so, for good measure, and then came up again. “Time for you to get fucked.” “Oh, fuck, yeah!” Ryan almost fell over in his eagerness to lie down on his face and then arch his pelvis into the air. “There it is, it’s all yours. Take control of my hole, use it, breed it, whatever you want. It’s your hole.” Steve would ideally have liked to be the one lying down and saying those things, but he could live with this arrangement. He straddled Ryan’s thighs, slapped his cock several times across those full, round ass cheeks, and then nudged the tip into the crack and up against the hole. To his surprise, it yielded almost at once. That was a first. Everyone else he’d ever fucked had struggled to get it inside. Steve revised his previous estimate of “very experienced bottom” to “virtuoso bottom slut.” He meant it as a compliment. Ryan wasn’t done by any means. He kept lifting and rotating his hips, going in circles, alternating from side to side, changing Steve’s angle of attack every few seconds, and in just about two minutes of continuous motion he finally managed to open up all the way and let Steve sink right into him all the way to the bottom. Matteo in Montreal had managed that first, but only just. Ryan just moaned aloud, “Oh, yeah, fuck me!” Steve took him at his word and began to pump. Ryan cried, moaned, whimpered, and grunted, but he never stopped moving and never asked Steve to stop either. On the contrary. “Fuck, man, give it to me harder – I can take it!” Steve had his doubts, but again he took Ryan at face value, and began pumping even harder. As his fucking motions picked up speed, he momentarily lost control and pulled right out. Without losing a second, he pushed right back in again. Ryan cried, “Aw, fuck, that’s awesome, do it to me again!” Steve pulled out and plunged back in again. And again. And again. It was the first time he’d ever been able to really go to town, long-dicking a guy like this. Most of them were lucky if they could take two-thirds of his cock. Ryan was in a league by himself. Time for a change of scene. Steve pulled out and snarled, “On your back, I want to see your face while I’m plowing you!” Ryan obediently rolled over and pulled his legs up. Steve pushed back into him, worked around for a bit to find that ideal angle again, and then resumed deep-pounding the ass under him. He was already fucking faster than he’d ever been able to fuck before, and he knew that before long he was going to be filling Ryan up. “Gonna cum soon.” “Aw, fuck! Give it to me. Pound me hard and fucking load me up with your sperm. I want to feel it pouring out of me after you shoot it all into me. Fuck me! Cum inside me!” Steve responded to the call for action. His hips were hammering down onto Ryan’s upturned thighs in a blur, the tattoo of smacks too fast to count. Faster, faster, he could feel his cum rising up from his balls, getting closer, closer, moving up his shaft…. “Fuck!” Steve yelled as he slammed in with one last brutal thrust. His massive cock contracted, and a spurt of juice flew out of the end. More followed. Ryan’s hole was full, the creamy cum already squeezing out of the hole around Steve’s thick shaft, and still that cock kept on pulsing, pumping, flooding his guts with Steve’s seed. Instinct took over, as Steve kept up a series of short, sharp thrusts to force all that sperm as far up inside Ryan as he could get it to go. Finally, the waves of orgasm washing through him ebbed away, the strength in his arms gave out, and he collapsed across Ryan’s body. Slowly he became conscious that he was lying in a wet, sticky pool on Ryan’s abs, and he knew it hadn’t come from him because he’d never pulled out. “Wow. I never noticed you cumming too.” “I don’t even have to try. I blow off automatically when I feel a guy cumming inside me.” “Holy shit, man, you really are a virtuoso bottom cum slut, aren’t you?” Ryan laughed. “Well, if you put it that way. Yeah, I love taking cock and getting creamed, and I do it whenever I can. And I’ve taken a lot of big dicks, but none as big as yours. I swear I could feel it jabbing into my stomach there at the end. Peak level experience.” Steve chuckled. “Yeah, for me, too. Never met a guy who could take that kind of pounding from me before. And I didn’t know I could do it and keep going for that long.” Brian took a deep breath, feeling that opportunity was knocking very loudly at his door. “So, uhh…, when can I see you again?” Steve stopped laughing. He looked sad. When he spoke, his voice was gentle, reflective, even a bit compassionate. “You have to give up on that idea, Ryan. I’m a thoroughgoing professional at what I do, and I’m by no means ready to quit or go in another direction. You know where and when you can see me: every night from Wednesday through Saturday, three shows a night, down at the bar. Anything more than that, it’s not happening. Not with you, not with anyone. I have a very full life and there’s simply no room in it for you, or for anyone else. I’m sorry.” Ryan shrugged. “That’s so Canadian of you, apologizing for having to say no to an eager suitor. Didn’t mean to offend you, or anything, I just got carried away because it was so spectacular.” “Don’t worry, no offence taken.” Ryan got up, went into the bathroom, and took another quick shower, washing himself off before getting dressed. When he came out into the bedroom again, Steve was sitting up, still looking a little sad and thoughtful. Ryan leaned down to kiss him. “Goodbye, Steve, and thanks. It was amazing.” As he rode down in the elevator, he suddenly remembered that Steve had promised him a refund with a bit extra. He mentally said a few harsh words, with “manipulative jerk” near the head of the list. Twelve hours later, Ryan was the one being a typical Canadian and apologizing in his mind when he went to the store to get a few things and found two crisp new fifty-dollar bills tucked into his wallet. With them was a note: “We Nova Scotia boys gotta have each other’s backs. See you at the bar.” Interesting, Ryan thought, that door didn’t slam as hard as I thought it did last night. Over the next few months, Ryan turned up in the bar several times, and always got a big smile and welcoming wave from Steve when he did. Once they bumped into each other at the gym and went and grabbed lunch together afterwards, and Steve treated him. That was as far as it went. But Steve did give Ryan one more favour – in the form of some good advice. “Ryan, you’re going to have to make a break for it – and soon. You can’t last in this town without money. Just look at the price of these damned salads!” They both laughed. “Seriously, though, you either have to get yourself picked up as another rich man’s boytoy or else go somewhere else where existence is a lot cheaper.” “I know, Steve. Trust me, I realized that some time ago. I’ve still got the bar job, and I’ve been getting by with an add-on string of quick little jobs, from moving stuff down the stairs of an old brownstone to trimming the weeds along the side of a corner store. Just getting by, and that isn’t any fun at all. But I may have something in the works.” “Good for you – and I hope it works out well for you.” After that lunch, Steve didn’t see Ryan again for the best part of a year. And life moved on. One Saturday night, his eye was caught by a big, handsome man, plainly well built under an elegant suit (and sticking out like a sore thumb among all the casually underdressed normal patrons), who stepped forward and tucked a twenty into his jock on each of his three shows. When he came out after the final show, the hunk had quickly cornered him, and Steve (sensing the aura of more money) was happy to be cornered. He quickly received and accepted an invitation to the hunk’s hotel room, which turned out to be a deluxe suite in one of the city’s more exclusive hotels. The guy, who’d given his name as “Paul”, was everything that Steve liked in a man – bigger, older, well built, and handsome. For once, he didn’t even have to try to enjoy himself. Showering with Paul, feeling his mature, muscled body close under his hands and against his own body was a real treat. Paul was raring to go, too, already rock-hard before he dropped down to begin sucking Steve’s dick. After only a couple of minutes, he was up again – and then turning around and fucking himself on it right there in the shower. He couldn’t take all of it, but he definitely knew what to do with the top sixty percent of it that was getting into him, and in no time at all (as it seemed) Steve was blowing off a first load into this older man’s firm, tight ass at the same time as Paul was spraying his own load onto the shower wall. After drying off a bit, they adjourned to the bedroom and sat there, wrapped in thick plush bathrobes, and chatting over a glass of a top-notch Austrian wine. It was Paul who opened the negotiations. “I really should have asked before we got this far, but what’s your usual rate?” “Normally, I charge $350 for an hour.” “And to stay the night?” “Usually $1000 but I can be persuaded to reduce it, especially when I’m enjoying myself so much.” Paul chuckled as he got up and opened his slim, elegant leather wallet. He extracted ten hundred-dollar bills and handed them to Steve, who got up in turn and slipped them away into his own wallet. Negotiations concluded, they sat down again. This time, it was Steve who spoke first. “So, what would you like to do with the rest of your night?” “I hope this doesn’t sound too weird…” and Steve braced himself to respond regretfully that something was off limits, “…but I’d really love to fuck you and breed you. It’s so enticing, the way that small round ass tucks itself in below those broad shoulders and above those impressive legs – well, that’s what really got me so hard so fast, not just your enormous cock like everyone else, although that was great fun too.” Steve’s answer was strictly true, in a literal sense, if a little misleading in its apparent full meaning. “Well… I don’t normally do that, but I’m in an experimental mood tonight, so I guess we could go there.” Inwardly, of course, he was bubbling with excitement. They finished up their wine and peeled off their bathrobes, getting up on the bed again and moving together. This time it was Steve who laid down on his stomach and lifted up his head to begin sucking on Paul’s respectably thick seven inches. As he sucked, Paul was leaning over him and reaching for his ass. He swung around a bit to bring it within easier reach of Paul’s arm, and to vary the angle of his cocksucking. Paul was now able to dig his fingers right into the crack and being teasing Steve’s tight hole. “I see what you mean about not normally going there – this is really tight.” “Mmm-hmm.” The humming sound transmitted from his mouth to Paul’s cock, sending shivers up and down the big man’s spine. “Swing around. I want to eat your ass, to get you really ready.” Steve did as requested, and soon Paul had his face buried in between Steve’s mounds, savouring the taste of his crack sweat and licking determinedly all over the walls and across the hole. His tongue was giving Steve a feast of ecstasy such as he hadn’t had for several years, not since the last time he’d seen Calum as a matter of fact. Soon enough, Steve was moaning and squealing with delight at the delicious sensations. When Paul’s tongue began digging into his button, seeking to probe it, Steve concentrated on relaxing his muscles. In time, Paul’s tongue slipped in and began tongue-fucking him. Soon, it was joined by a probing, questing finger. When the tongue and finger together got him nicely loosened up, Paul spat into his crack a couple of times and worked it down to the hole. Then he spat on his fingers and rubbed it onto his tool. With that, he was ready. He placed the tip against Steve’s hole and pushed. It took a minute before the resistance gave way and Steve’s ass let him in. Steve was gasping and moaning, with an occasional small sharp cry, as Paul penetrated him. Anyone would have thought that he was in pain from never having taken a cock that size, but Steve was actually editing his noises of delight, disguising them as cries of pain. Paul slowly sank all the way into his hole, taking his time, and then lay down full length on top of Steve, pushing his head down over Steve’s shoulder to seek for his mouth. Steve turned his head to face Paul and they began to kiss ecstatically. Paul was loving that Steve had a tighter ass than anyone else he had done for many moons, and Steve – well, Steve was just loving getting fucked again. It had been so long. As well, he was loving the sensation of having another man’s muscled body pressing so close against his own. That kind of closeness and touch always evoked positive feelings in Steve, not surprising in a guy whose life to this point had been notable for largely lacking in any true intimacy. Paul had been pumping slowly and steadily in and out of Steve’s ass while they kissed, but now he was ready to up the pace of their coupling. He lifted up with his arms until he could look right down into the crack himself as he fucked and watch his tool sliding in and out of that smooth round ass. This also allowed him to pump harder, going full length in and out. Then he grabbed Steve’s shoulders and fell over sideways, bringing Steve with him, until he had Steve alongside him in the little spoon position. Steve had never been fucked this way before and he was enjoying a whole new list of sensations as Paul slammed in and out of him at an increasing pace. He even found himself imagining a man with a camera down on the floor in front of him, recording the whole wild coupling. Paul was really pounding into him now, and he upped the level of his own vocal responses as it was plain that Paul was about to cream his butt. “Aw, fuck, yeah, give it to me. Drive it hard. Fuck me hard and breed me deep.” And Paul did. His pounding got even faster and then, with a roar, he let it fly inside Steve’s body. He kept pumping, quickly and steadily, all through his orgasm, never slowing or stopping as he shot multiple pulses of his seed deep inside Steve’s grateful hole. At last, he slowed down. Steve had allowed himself a small orgasm, but tried to keep it from getting too big as he suspected Paul might want to be bred again in the morning. Paul, thoroughly satisfied, pulled slowly out of Steve’s tunnel, and then leaned back in to lick up the sperm that was running slowly out as the hole closed up. Holding the sperm in his mouth, he came back up to kiss Steve, swapping the warm cream with him – and Steve tasted and swallowed it gratefully. He loved the taste of fresh cum sucked out of an ass, although he usually had to do it all himself. They snuggled down then, with Paul still in the big spoon position, and Paul pulled the duvet up and over them. Steve woke in the morning from a deep and satisfying sleep. Paul was lying on his back, still breathing gently, and his cock was stirring slightly, just inflated enough to begin to move. Steve bent over without pausing a second and took it into his mouth. As he licked his way along the shaft, it stirred and grew some more, and then he took it into his mouth and began to suck – and that was when Paul stirred and moaned quietly. Paul regained consciousness, becoming aware by degrees that he was being sucked by a skilled cocksucker, someone who really knew how to do it right. He opened his eyes, and Steve lifted his head up to meet Paul’s gaze with his most ingratiating smile. “What a beautiful way to wake up. Thank you, Steve. But what I’d really like is for you to breed me again before breakfast. Think that is in the cards?” “Not a problem.” Steve twitched Paul over onto his face and dived down into his crack, working busily at his hole – where he could still taste the remnants of the load he had pumped in there last night. Tongue and fingers soon pried Paul open, and Steve was then able to slide his cock inside his host. He remained mindful of the fact that Paul had only been able to take about sixty percent of the shaft yesterday, so he restrained himself while still delivering a good, forceful fuck which had Paul squirming and hissing and moaning under him. It didn’t take long. Steve was ready to go, and Paul was ready to be bred. “Come on, Steve, fucking load me up.” Steve gladly obliged, giving Paul another one of his epic multi-pulse cum blasts. Back in the bathrobes again after a long and luxurious shower together, they sat together at the dining table in the bay window for a room service breakfast of smoked salmon and an omelette fines herbes, with superb coffee and freshly-squeezed orange juice. The meal was set for them by a butler who carefully preserved an impassive face as he worked. He’d plainly seen it all before. Steve was enjoying himself thoroughly with this short spell of high life. It had been a great night for both of them, and Steve was thinking that it was too bad he couldn’t live it up like this a bit more. Paul, though, was pursuing a different train of thought. “Steve, I’ve got a business proposition for you.” "Let's hear it." Steve turned his full attention to hearing what Paul had in mind.

@seattlebbbtm Thank you!

Chapter 3: Out at Home That Boston trip had been Adrian Pennyfather’s true awakening. He now knew exactly who and what he was, and what he wanted – and, more to the point, he knew now of at least one way to get it all. No wonder he had such a smug grin on his face whenever he felt sure no one was watching. He was remembering his whole experience with Calum. He hadn’t so much lost his cherry as he had thrown it away as far as possible with both hands. But now he was back home in Exmouth and feeling more trapped than ever. He knew that he needed to get the hell out and go away to live the life he was meant to have, but the means of doing that continued to elude him. It was his father who, unexpectedly, handed him the key one night after dinner, by calling a family council around the dining table once the dishes were done. He explained to his family about how he and the boys’ mother had been squirrelling money away in an education fund for their sons, and how Alex had declined the chance to go to university, preferring to use his undoubted smarts to self-educate on all the new trends in the fishing industry which was his great love. Patrick then offered Adrian the chance to use the fund to attend the Canadian university of his choice, explaining that it had to be in Canada for tax reasons. Dalhousie University in Halifax was an obvious possibility, and there were others in Ontario and farther west. Adrian had already thought that he should study business and commerce, perhaps sensing that he was best suited for a life in some form of self-employment. Dalhousie had its annual recruitment program and visiting weekend coming up, and Adrian wanted to go. His mother, at this point, got a severe attack of Querulous Motherly Worries and said that he couldn’t go unless Alex went with him. She seemed to think that any place larger than Lawrason’s Harbour had to be a hotbed of violent crime, with shootings happening on every street corner day and night – this in spite of the fact that they hadn’t heard a single gunshot during their extended weekend in Boston. Adrian had agreed in his usual quiet, cooperative way, waiting until she was out of the room to roll his eyes. A week later, he was sitting in a small hotel room in Halifax with his feet up on the window ledge. After a busy day of exploring around the campus, collecting information handouts and the like, the brothers had stopped at a takeout to grab some burgers and then landed back in their hotel, with nothing to do and no particular plans for the evening. Adrian was curious, and in his normal way when he wanted to know something, he asked. “Alex, why were you getting so into the whole day, taking so many notes and grabbing all the leaflets? You already decided you didn’t want to go to uni.” Alex sighed. “Truth is, Ade, I don’t know. I keep going back and forth. Sometimes I feel like the life of a fisherman is what I’m cut out for, and sometimes I just worry about missing out on something much bigger and better. And it’s stressing me out, big time.” Adrian nodded. He’d sensed this ambivalence, the feeling of strain, in his big brother. “Have you felt this way for a long time or is it just recent?” “I sort of wondered once in a while about life outside Exmouth, but the feeling got stronger after we’d been in Boston.” “How you gonna keep em down on the farm, huh? Big city weekend in Boston will do that to you every time!” They both laughed. But then Alex replied, and his reply startled Adrian into silence. “That, yes, but something else too. Something I’d realized for a while but wasn’t sure. And then, the second night we were there, I found out for sure.” He paused for a few seconds, drawing breath and strength. “When I saw you across the street, kissing that redheaded guy outside the bar.” Adrian stared. This wasn’t what he was expecting at all. The seconds dropped slowly away into silence as Adrian pondered what to say next. Finally, a thought came clearly to the forefront. “So, Alex, now that you know – what next?” “You don’t have to worry about me telling anyone. If you want to keep it secret, that’s your choice. Just so you know, I wasn’t spying on you. That was a fluke.” He paused again. “There’s one thing I have to tell you, though.” Alex paused again, gulped audibly, and then said it, “I was jealous. I wished I’d had the guts to go into that bar too.” Adrian’s eyes were just about to pop out of his head by this time. He got the message loud and clear, but it was the last message he’d ever expected to get. He just couldn’t wrap his brain around it. He’d gotten so used to thinking of his gay identity as being tied up with his lifelong social-misfit status, with being the perennial outsider in the group, and here was his popular, athletic, handsome stud older brother telling him that he was gay too. This time, the silence got to Alex. “It’s weird, Ade. I can’t figure it out. I really want to do things with guys, but I definitely love Peggy and enjoy being with her. I’m so confused. Do you ever feel that way at all?” Adrian couldn’t help feeling that there was something all wrong about his stable, self-assured elder brother asking him for advice, but it was slowly dawning on him that Alex didn’t have it together nearly as much as he had always assumed. “In a word, no. I’ve known for a long time that I’m gay, and only interested in guys. Mostly older guys. The guy you saw me with, he was maybe 2, 3 years older than me. I prefer older. From what you’re saying, it sounds like you’re more bisexual than gay.” Alex looked puzzled, so Adrian proceeded to give him a quick outline of the theory of a continuum of sexual interests. As he was speaking, he could see the confused look slowly lifting off his brother’s face. “Thanks for explaining that, Ade. It’s a big help. Yeah, I’m somewhere in the middle of that continuum and kind of sliding back and forth between the different sides.” “Wow, this is heavy stuff, Alex. It’s no wonder you’re so stressed about it. Listen, any time you need to talk, you know it’s safe to come to me. We’ve got to have each other’s backs.” “You got that right!” They shook hands on it, but then Alex didn’t release Adrian’s hand. Instead, he drew his brother close and wrapped him in a huge bear hug. Both of them relished their newfound feeling of emotional closeness and complicity. Then the dynamic shifted again as Adrian felt his brother’s hand sliding down his back to cup his ass. Adrian sprang back. “Whoa, brother!” “Is that a ‘No’?” “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to go there. For all sorts of reasons.” Alex stood there, looking at him like a puppy who’d just been sternly called a “Bad Dog.” And Adrian tried to explain further. “It’s not like I don’t love you, as my brother. You need to know, I’ve had a major case of the hots for you ever since I hit puberty, and I’ve always had to keep it under control, out of sight, even more than all my other feelings. I’m afraid of what will happen if I let it all loose now, which of us is going to get hurt worse.” Alex glanced slyly at the front of Adrian’s jeans. “Looks to me like it’s been let loose already.” He stepped closer again and began to palm Adrian’s bulge. “Let’s just see what happens, and we agree it’s one time only and just for us to get some experience.” Adrian wanted to demur but with his older brother standing over him, with his big firm hand on Adrian’s cock, he just didn’t have the will power. He slowly melted into the moment and let himself go with the flow as his cock continued to expand under Alex’s gentle rubbing. Then he reached out and grasped his brother’s rock-hard dick, rubbing it just as lightly. He could never remember afterwards how they got each other undressed so quickly, but he never forgot the sensations of embracing each other under the shower, stroking each other’s bodies and soaping each other all over. It was Adrian who first paid particular attention to Alex’s ass, and Alex, always a quick learner, rapidly reciprocated. As they rinsed off the soap, Adrian knew it was time for him to start the lesson. He had just one moment to think how crazy it was that his second encounter should be to teach someone else what he’d learned from his first time, and then conscious thought fled away as he buried his face in Alex’s crack and began to work on it. Adrian tried his best but had to admit that his poorly-practiced best was far short of what Calum had given him that night in Boston. He’d given up his ass for the second time, letting his big brother feel the effects of a tight man’s hole on an erect cock. But Alex wasn’t a bit readier than Adrian and predictably kept letting himself get squeezed out. Finally he stayed in long enough to cum inside his little brother, but it was plain that both of them were less than thrilled. Adrian summed it all up by saying, “You need two things to really make it work. You need experience, and you need attraction that overwhelms your defences.” “Just like straight sex in that respect,” Alex added, laughing. With that, Adrian laughed too, and they were over the rough spot. A few weeks later, Adrian had an invitation to share a ride to Montreal for a similar orientation at McGill University. His mother wanted to lay down the same condition, but Adrian had to tell her that there was no spare room in the car for another person. Alex chimed in, too. “For heaven’s sake, Mom, Adrian is more mature and has more common sense in his little finger than a lot of the adults in this town. He’ll be fine with his friends.” When they got to Montreal and settled in, the four guys were talking about what to do that night. Predictably, they wanted to go to a strip club. Adrian begged off, saying that he just wanted to unwind. The others immediately began hassling him, urging him to come on out and see some real babes with real boobs, and other imaginative things of that kind. Adrian still demurred. Then Paul Porter, the captain of the hockey team, said, “What’s with you? You gay or something? Maybe want to check out some of the gay bars here?” Adrian was just leaving as Paul asked that. He turned around in the doorway. Without even thinking about it, he answered, the simple truth. “As a matter of fact, yes.” The reaction was volcanic to put it mildly. And the word was all over Exmouth, Lower West Exmouth, and Upper East Exmouth by Monday morning. But by that time, Adrian had already gotten just what he wanted. He’d gone off on his own to one of the legendary stripper bars on Ste-Catherine, quickly got invited to join a table with a few other young guys, and had an evening very much to his liking, watching the naked muscle studs dancing on stage, or wandering around the room to ask clients if they’d like private dances. At one point, he commented that none of them were having much luck getting hard, and Matteo, one of the other guys laughed. “Mostly straight, that’s why.” Adrian found Matteo attractive. Dark, Italianate good looks, a slim well-muscled body (shown off by a snug t-shirt), and a sexy smile and ready laugh. By the end of the first half-hour, Matteo had shifted his chair closer to Adrian, so they were sitting right up against each other. After another hour, and a couple more of the bar’s well-watered drinks, Matteo leaned over in a quiet moment, and asked quietly, “Want to go over to my place? It’s not far.” Adrian agreed, but he didn’t let his guard down. He’d heard stories. As they walked along the street, he kept his eyes on the street signs, and when they turned down a side street and entered an apartment building, he noted the address. As they waited for the elevator, he texted Paul with Matteo’s name, address, and his picture and the words “call cops if not back by breakfast.” Inside the apartment, Adrian locked his phone and put it away, ready to have a good time. So was Matteo. He didn’t even bother offering a drink, just drew Adrian right into his arms and began making out. Almost at once, he dropped his hand down to Adrian’s crotch and began squeezing and stroking. It worked pretty quickly. Adrian was definitely turned on by this Italian beauty, and he was excited for what was about to happen. In no time flat, Matteo had all of Adrian’s clothes off and was diving down to kiss and suck on Adrian’s semi-hard cock. At first, he had it all in his mouth, but as that monstrous pole kept growing longer and thicker he had to back progressively away. Finally, Matteo choked on it and had to spit it out, asking, “Does this thing ever stop growing?” Adrian laughed. “It’s all the way there now,” he said as he took advantage of the respite to start tugging Matteo’s clothes off. Matteo led the way to the bed, and the two of them laid down, head to tail, and launched into a vigorous sixty-nine. It was true that neither of them were having much luck at deep-throating the other (one because of lack of experience, and the other because of lack of a double-jointed jaw) but both of them were giving it their all. Just as Adrian began to feel that he was approaching the point of no return, Matteo stopped again. “I don’t know if I can take that tree trunk in my ass or not, but I sure as hell want to try.” “Here, let me get you ready first.” Adrian twitched Matteo over onto his face and launched into eating his ass. After doing this trick three times, he definitely had more and better experience at rimming than at anything else – so far. When he had Matteo moaning and squirming on the bed, and that olive-skinned hole was loosening up nicely, he reached over to the bedtable and grabbed the lube that was there. He fingered the cool gel into Matteo’s hole, and around his crack, then spread a generous handful all over the shaft and head of his own massive tool. “Okay, Matteo, you’re ready to do this now. I’ll lie on my back. You get up and sit on it.” In later years, he would tell the story after he’d had a couple of drinks at a party, all about the first guy who’d ever gotten all of Adrian’s enormous cock inside his ass. He told it well, but that was just because he had plenty of time to watch and listen as Matteo struggled, to feel the guy shifting around on his epic spear until his insides began to shift and make room, to recall the look on Matteo’s face when one more obstacle gave way and he finally sank right down until his cheeks rested on Adrian’s hips – and he had the biggest cock he’d ever seen all the way inside his gaping hole, tight no longer. Adrian had already cum once, at about the point when Matteo was seventy percent of the way there, but he assured Matteo, “I can keep going if you can.” And keep going Matteo did, right to the bottom of the shaft and then up and down in a slow, steady rhythm until he had fucked two loads of cum out of himself and Adrian had blasted a second and even bigger load inside his hard-working fuck tunnel. Afterwards, when they’d showered and dried off, they lay on the bed together, cuddling some more, and that’s when Matteo said it: “Dammit, with a dick like that you ought to be up on the stage instead of some of those pathetic limp dicks we saw tonight!” Adrian had laughed, but Matteo insisted. “Hey, man, I’m serious!” Finally, though, Adrian remembered why he was in Montreal, and got up to get dressed and get some sleep before the open day at McGill in the morning. He and Matteo exchanged phone numbers and kisses as he left. He got back to the room at about 2:00 am and found that the door had considerately been left on the latch. As soon as he opened it, he heard snoring, so he kicked his shoes off quietly and flopped down onto the sofa bed. For the rest of the weekend, Adrian volunteered no information, and the other guys didn’t ask for any. Truth be told, all of them liked Adrian as a team member, and were worried about what might happen to him come Monday. Perhaps they all sensed that the less said, the better. The same could hardly be said of the population of the three Exmouths. One or more of the boys on the road trip had shared the Big Confession with friends back home, and the word spread from house to house and family to family with the speed of a wildfire in dry brush. Alex Pennyfather heard the news from a friend, and decided to keep his mouth shut at home, hoping in vain to help cover his younger brother’s tracks. But it was all for naught. At church on Sunday, Mrs. Duncraig, the acknowledged champion gossip of the three villages, had approached Adrian’s parents with a loud, “I’m so sorry to hear of your trouble, Mary, Patrick.” When they asked her what she meant, she patted Mary’s arm and said, “Why, about Adrian admitting that he is homosexual. My condolences.” If there had been anyone in the congregation who hadn’t heard about the Big Confession by that time, Eileen Duncraig’s strong, penetrating nasal voice brought them fully up to speed without her even having to talk to anyone else except Adrian’s parents. That night, when the car dropped Adrian off on his return from Montreal, his parents were waiting for him – his mother sitting at the kitchen table with tearstained cheeks, his father scowling like an unusually violent thunderstorm, and his brother sitting by with a look of concern. Adrian took one look around the room and sighed resignedly. “I can see you’ve all heard the news.” Twenty minutes later, after his father had finally run out of fuel for the raging fire of his anger, and his mother had run out of tears, Adrian said, “You asked what I had to say for myself. Okay, yes, it’s true. I’m gay.” And then, as if someone had flipped a switch, his days of being shy abruptly ended. The words poured out of him. “How do I know? Because I’m the one living it, and I’ve been living it since I was seven or eight years old – that’s why I’m so sure that guys, not girls, are what I want. My future? What am I going to do? I’m not sure yet, except that I know for sure that Exmouth isn’t where I’m going to spend the rest of my life. Where am I going to go? To be decided, but probably Halifax to start with. And then we’ll see. “Aren’t I ashamed of myself for being so immoral and sinful? Be ashamed for being who I am? Living life like that really would be hell. And don’t even get me started on what I think of a supposedly Christian church that would tell a person to live their entire life in self-hatred. Don’t I even care about what I’ve done to my family? Of course I care, but I can tell you that this had to happen sooner or later. So now it’s happened. Done and dusted.” His father roared, “You bloody arrogant little girly boy…” and took a step towards Adrian, hand upraised for a killer slap. That was when Alex sprang to his feet and leaped forward, seizing his father’s wrist. Adrian stood stock-still, staring down his father. And the three of them froze. Patrick slowly turned the spotlight of his fierce glare on Alex. “Are you telling me that you’re a wimpy little fag now, too?” Alex’s tone was just as hard and threatening as his father’s had been. In that moment, he was every inch his father’s son. “I’m telling you that if you so much as lay a finger on my brother, both of us will be gone – and we won’t be coming back.” With that, the battle was over – and all four of them likely sensed that the war had also ended. Within a week, Alex and Adrian had arranged a ride to Halifax and a place to stay while they looked around for jobs. The whole story continued going around and around as a good deal more than a nine days’ wonder in Exmouth, continuously getting elaborated as it travelled from one heated imagination to the next. But Adrian Pennyfather, the guy with the biggest tool, was gone. As far as he was concerned, he’d gone for good.

Thank you for your lovely message -- no apology needed! I have no family ties in Nova Scotia myself, but I love to go there -- and when I do, I feel very much "at home" in a strange way. Thanks for sharing your response to this story!

Chapter 2: The Shy Guy Adrian walked along the twisting shore road, kicking his shoes moodily into the gravel. He was, as usual, alone. Exmouth was a depressing dead-end trap of a village at the best of times, but Adrian had already learned one of the fundamental principles of life near the ocean – that there is no place so depressing that the ocean and a grey, cloudy, windy day can’t make it more so. It didn’t help matters at all that he was, and had always been considered, the Number One Loser in his peer group. All he could think about was how soon he’d be able to get out of this hellhole for good – and how he could make it happen The village had one main street, twisting and turning and climbing up and down over the rocky hummocks that passed for hills. The houses, all similar in size and shape, sprawled out along the road for the best part of a mile. Occasionally a short side “street” would lead to a couple of houses that had been denied one of the favoured spots facing the main highway. At the end of the village – well, there was the trick. It didn’t really end. Like so many similar villages along the windswept, rocky shores of Nova Scotia, Exmouth blended seamlessly into its neighbours on either side. And again, like so many similar places, those neighbours were imaginatively named Lower West Exmouth and Upper East Exmouth. It was impossible for any outsider to know, apart from the signs, exactly where Exmouth gave way to Lower West Exmouth or again to Upper East Exmouth, nor why it should be so. Adrian had never understood it either. At the ripe old age of fifteen, Adrian Pennyfather scuffed his way homeward from the bus stop where the school bus had delivered him from the regional high school, a forty-five minute drive away from Exmouth (on a good weather day) in the largest town in the region, Lawrason’s Harbour. He was thinking about those laughable village names, as it happened, and pondering about how the pointless nature of the names and boundaries of the villages exactly reflected the pointless nature of his life. Most teenaged boys go through at least occasional fits of feeling like total misfits, although some cover it up better than others. Adrian had started feeling like this sooner, and found that the feelings were lasting much longer, than they were for most of his contemporaries. His feelings guaranteed that he would feel intolerably shy, unable and unwilling to socialize with his peer group. To put it bluntly, he didn’t care about any of the things they ranted on and on about. Fish, for starters. Exmouth was, like most coastal Nova Scotia villages, a fishing port. Adrian’s dad, Patrick, was one of the village’s more successful fishermen. He had the biggest and fastest boat in town and had been one of the first in the region to equip it with electronic gear to help with hunting schools of haddock. Even more significant, he’d gone in on shares with two other men in the village to buy a second boat, perfectly equipped for the exacting business of placing and harvesting lobster pots. Patrick Pennyfather was a success, just as his father and grandfather had been before him, and he intended to hand the family trade on to his sons. Alex, four years older than Adrian, was all for that. He loved the sea and just messing about in boats, and he had a natural gift and an innate love for the whole realm of coastal fishing. Adrian hated it. His father, faced with such resistance to an obvious course of action, simply doubled down on the lessons, the pep talks, the stories of successes of the past, and all the rest. Adrian sighed inwardly and pretended to be interested. He did the same with his automatic registration in each successive level of the hockey leagues, where he made a passable but not glorious defenceman – again, in sharp distinction to the scoring records racked up by his older brother at left wing. Adrian’s mother, Mary (née O’Leary), a Newfoundlander through and through, had her own obsession – the dating life of her sons. “It would be a grand thing indeed for you lads to settle down here when you’re of age to be living on your own.” She was a great one for observing tradition, and her idea was that her boys should date and marry local girls and settle down in Exmouth. Alex, as the oldest, would marry first, of course, and would move into the house next door. That house had been the home of the local family which had adopted Mary after she’d been orphaned. The house was currently rented out to “city folks.” Adrian would follow suit in due course and would build a house for himself and his wife on the back forty of his parents’ property. It was the Exmouth way. Adrian had followed the same plan as he did with his father – cringing inwardly and invisibly, while coolly pretending agreement to his mother’s Grand Plan. School was just the same. He had to listen to all the other boys talking endlessly about things which were of absolutely no interest to him at all. Things like fish. And hockey. And girls. More precisely, girls’ boobs. And it was exactly there that Adrian found life at its most intolerable. “Hey, Ade, bet you’d love to slide your tool in between Linda’s boobs and squirt all over them.” That was almost a daily comment. Here is where fate had played a particularly nasty trick on Adrian. By whatever miracle of the hormones, he had been almost the first boy in his class to move into puberty, and certainly the first one to begin growing and changing in that vital area. As soon as that happened, it became obvious that Adrian Pennyfather’s dick was going to be the biggest thing going. At that, his nickname took on a whole new resonance. For years, his fellow students had called him “the biggest tool.” It was a time when the word “tool” had become a common slang nickname for a loser, an outsider, an idiot, or just about any other insult you wanted to heap on someone. “He’s such a tool.” It was when he was in Grade 4 that he had first heard someone say it: “Adrian has to be the biggest tool in class.” And it had continued to be his label. He’d dealt with it by keeping to himself, which fitted in with his natural temperament anyway. Now, things had changed. The words were being spoken in a tone of awe, tinged with respect. Now it was: “Adrian’s got the biggest tool.” He really did, too, and by a respectable margin. And his classmates now showed an endless obsession with the idea of him using it. “Hey, Ade, bet you’d love to slide your tool in between Linda’s boobs and squirt all over them.” Every guy in the school was obsessed with Linda Blairbourn’s eye-catching chest. Well, almost every guy. Adrian didn’t give a damn about Linda and her generously-proportioned mammaries. His ideas ran more along the lines of blasting his juice all over the furry, muscular chest of her older brother, Thomas. There were other guys in the village who turned Adrian’s crank, his older brother Alex being one of them, but the girls – especially Linda Big Boobs – left him cold. Adrian’s sexual fantasies were getting so strong, in fact, that the daily ritual of stripping and showering after PE class was turning into a real torment. He was lucky that his interest was in older guys – the scrawny, pimply fifteen-year-olds around him did not interest him at all. He was lucky, too, that the sheer size of his dick meant that it wouldn’t spring a woody nearly as fast as his peers’ more average meat sticks. Proof positive: when he was 17, one of the other boys on the hockey team got brave enough to organize a circle jerk, Adrian was actually the last of the group to get fully hard. He spent the next five minutes or so thinking about the Mona Lisa and the Venus de Milo until one of the others dropped the first load. Then he let himself enter into the spirit of the occasion. When he did cum, it was an impressive blast that shot high into the air before splattering back down over his body. The other guys murmured in awe. None of them had such a huge cock, and none of them could shoot that high. The truth of the matter was that Adrian was thinking about Thomas Blairbourn, and imagining himself sucking Thomas off to climax in his mouth when he blew. That year was actually a prime year for the senior hockey team. The group had held together for several years in a run with no additions or subtractions, and they not only defeated Lawrason’s Harbour for the district championship, but went all the way to the provincial finals, losing the final seventh-in-series championship game to an elite team from Halifax in a heartbreaking sudden-death overtime period. All the same, it was a remarkable season, and even Adrian had fired up enough on the ice to feel that he had made a fair and significant contribution to the run for the cup, especially when he was reaching his eighteenth birthday at the same time. His father thought so, too, and decreed that a short family vacation was in order. The result was a four-night long weekend in Boston. His father, frugal as always, had picked a small but clean hotel in the edges of the downtown area. The family had quickly figured out which way to go to the nearest bus stop so they could explore. Adrian, even quicker on the draw, had realized in no time flat that the hotel was just across the street and down half a block from a gay bar which he’d read about. On the second night, his parents wanted to go out and see the city all lit up by night. Alex wanted to take in a movie at a nearby theater. Adrian, quiet as always, declined any outing and said that he just wanted to stay in – he was still tired, he explained, from the exertions of the hockey season final games. Once his parents were clear, and Alex was off and away, Adrian sprang into action. He cleaned up as best he could, put on some discreet dark clothes, and headed out the door. He chose a quiet moment to slip across the street, and in another minute he was in the door of the bar. Sliding up to the bar, he fitted himself in between two older guys, caught the bartender’s eye, and asked for a Coke. The bartender looked him up and down, winked, and pushed a glass full of Coke and ice across the bar to him. “Here you go. On the house.” Adrian thanked him, tipped him, and then turned around to study the room. At once, he could tell that everyone in the room was studying him. Not surprising. Fresh, young meat, and an unfamiliar face. One sure thing, all the older guys were hovering, figuring out a good way to approach an obviously shy newbie. The winner, though, was another young fellow, no more than twenty (Adrian guessed). This red-headed guy slipped over to him, slapped him on the shoulder lightly, and said, “Hi, I’m Calum.” “Adrian.” “And you’re from…?” “Exmouth, Nova Scotia.” “Anywhere near Halifax?” “Not really – you gotta use a magnifying glass to find it on the map.” “Welcome to Baahston. Like it here?” The rest of the conversation followed along predictable lines. After barely a minute, Calum realized that he was dealing with an utter novice, shy as hell to boot, and knew that he’d have to do his best to educate the new kid. “Come on, Adrian. Let me show you the rest of the place.” They put down their glasses, and Calum led the way through the door at the back of the room. As they walked through the dark maze of the building, dimly lit with red and blue lights, Adrian caught glimpses of men – half-naked or naked, making out, jacking, rubbing…. “Oh, my God – is that guy actually…?” “It’s called rimming. Feels awesome! Want me to show you?” “Here?” “Why not?” Just like that, Calum spun Adrian around and pressed him against the wall in a bend of the corridor. There was still room for other guys to get by. He reached around, released the button, and pulled his jeans down. Then he tugged at the waistband of Adrian’s boxers, pulling them down to expose the younger boy’s sweet young ass. Calum spread his cheeks apart, sniffed deeply, and then buried his face deep into Adrian’s crack and began feasting on his hole. Adrian was feeling totally mind-blown. He’d never imagined anything like this ever happening. None of his unimaginative friends could either. All that these village boys could imagine a man ever doing with another man was cocksucking or cornholing. Calum was taking all of Adrian’s fantasy life and blowing the limits wide open, as his talented tongue and lips showed Adrian whole new worlds of male-male sexual interaction, stirring up feelings the fisherman’s son could never have imagined. Adrian moaned loudly, again and again, and then realized that they were attracting an audience. He didn’t mind. The wanton nature of what they were doing, the cascade of wild new sensations Calum was giving him, the attention from the onlookers…. “Shit! Look at that kid’s cock!” For once, Adrian didn’t mind his cock being noticed. He hadn’t realized until that moment that he had actually sprung the biggest, hardest woody of his young life. The things Calum was doing to him had given him the wildest turn-on he’d ever felt. Just as he thought that, his education took another massive leap forward. One of the guys watching dropped to his knees and leaned in to begin sucking Adrian’s cock. If he’d thought he was mind-blown before, this new sensation dragged him clear off the face of the earth. He’d never even come close to guessing what a hot mouth on his cock would feel like. The guy giving him his first blowjob was an expert sucker, but even so he could barely get half of that massive shaft inside his face. But then Calum broke in. He stood up, leaned closer to Adrian, and said, “Pull up your clothes and come with me.” Adrian broke away from the virtuoso cocksucker with some reluctance and followed Calum along the hall. Behind him he heard a voice saying, “Damn, that dick was fucking gigantic – I couldn’t even come close to deep-throating him.” Calum led him up a flight of stairs, chose an open door and dived in, pulling Adrian after him, and then closed and locked the door. The tiny room they were in had a single bed, and a small shelf with condoms and lube on it. “Damn, that was hot!” Adrian’s mind was still spinning from everything that had happened. “Sorry to break your fun, but I wanted to take this to the next level.” With that, Calum moved closer and pressed his lips to Adrian’s – and Adrian was experiencing his first man to man kiss. He got right into it, his hard-on throbbing in the half-opened front of his jeans as Calum taught him more and more. Calum had his hand fastened onto Adrian’s bulging boxers and was busily squeezing and rubbing Adrian’s giant handful as they made out. Now, he went gracefully down onto his knees and opened up the jeans, pulling down the shorts, wanting to suck this massive meat for himself. Calum wasn’t a bit more successful at taking it all than the older man downstairs, but judging by the moans pouring from Adrian’s mouth, this was not a problem. Suddenly, Adrian gave a small yelp of surprise and pleasure as Calum’s finger, wetted with spit, slid into his hole. He’d played with his ass himself, of course, but someone else’s finger in there took the game to a whole new level. Calum kept working him with finger (in back) and throat (in front) and Adrian’s moans got louder and more frequent. Calum stood up again, turned Adrian around and pushed him down onto the bed on all fours. He seized Adrian’s shoes and pulled them off, then followed with his jeans and boxers. Then he dived back into Adrian’s crack again, this time using finger and tongue together. When his probing, questing finger at last found Adrian’s magic button, Adrian cried out, “I can’t stop it – I’m going to shoot!” Calum quickly dived between his legs, rolling onto his back so he could get the quivering, jumping cock into his mouth. As soon as his lips closed around the head, Adrian exploded. The first spurt nearly filled Calum’s entire mouth. He gulped and swallowed, again, again, a fourth time, and still the sperm kept pulsing out. While he was sucking, he’d grabbed his own tool, given it three or four quick yanks, and exploded onto his own abs before dripping down onto the floor. Finally, he had to surrender and pull away, letting Adrian’s quivering tool fire out the last three or four squirts and then the drizzling aftermath onto his face. Calum pulled up and sat on the bed, then patted the sheet beside him as an invitation to Adrian to sit with him. Adrian leaned back against the wall, a dazed, all-gone smile on his face. “Damn, man, do you always shoot a gallon of cum like that?” “I don’t know. In case you hadn’t guessed, this is my first time with another guy.” “With that dick, and that kind of cumshot, you’re going to have the guys fighting over you wherever you go,” Calum said in an awed, respectful tone. Adrian laughed. The idea of being popular, in demand, wanted, needed, was so foreign to him that he had to laugh away his bafflement. But then Calum went on. “I’d love to have another round. I just don’t think I could take that dick of death in my hole. I’ve only ever been fucked a few times, and never by anything close to that huge.” “Do you want to fuck me?” “You’re joking.” “Do I look like I’m joking? It felt so incredible when you were rimming me and then had your finger inside me. I want to feel it all.” “So you’ve never been fucked.” “No. I told you, this is my first time.” “If you’re sure. I’ll be gentle. But it’s going to hurt.” “I don’t care. I want you to do me.” “Okay, then. Lie on your face.” Adrian did as he was told, and Calum went right to town on his hole again, using tongue and fingers – more than one finger now – to loosen his tight, virgin ass. Adrian continued moaning his pleasure as Calum worked him over. “Okay, I think you’re ready. Time to change places.” “Why?” “You’ll see.” Adrian got up, and Calum laid down on his back on the bed, his seven-inch cock standing up out of its nest of red hair. “Just plant your hole on it and sit down – at your own speed.” Adrian proceeded to do that. He straddled Calum, then placed the tip of Calum’s erection against his never-fucked ass pussy. And then he began to push. The pain made him cry out. Calum said, “Grab the lube – up there.” Adrian seized the small tube from the shelf, opened it, and smeared it over Calum’s dick and onto his own hole. Then he tried again, wincing at the pressure. After a few seconds, though, something gave way and, with one more searing flash of pain, Calum’s head was lodged inside Adrian’s body. “Oh my god!” Adrian cried out at the pain, but then he bit his tongue and pushed harder. This was what he wanted, a man’s cock inside his body, inside his ass, filling and stretching him. “Just hang on. Breathe deep breaths.” Good advice. Adrian took it. The waves of pain finally ebbed away until he could feel all the sensation of cock in his hole. “Fuck, that’s amazing.” “Okay, hold still,” With that, Calum began gently pushing up and then pulling down, and Adrian realized he was at last being fucked – and it felt incredible. As Calum’s tool pumped in and out of him, his own cock had filled up and was rock hard again, jumping up and down with each stroke. “Fuck, man, we gotta stop.” “Why, Calum?” “We forgot to use rubbers. And I’m about to cum.” “Fuck that. Keep going and give it to me. I want to feel your cum shooting inside me.” ‘If you’re sure….” “Quit talking and fucking fill me up!” Calum resumed pumping and after a few more thrusts he shot. And Adrian felt, for the first time, the sensation of his ass slowly turning wet as the cum spread around the head of Calum’s dick inside him. It was awesome – the most incredible sensation of this whole amazing night. Calum pushed him slowly upwards until his cock popped out, followed by a stream of cum as Adrian struggled to close up his newly-plundered man hole. He flopped down on the bed beside Calum, and then realized belatedly that he needed to cum again himself. He grasped his huge tool and began sliding his hand, but Calum stopped him. “Fuck, I don’t care how much it hurts. I want to get that thing inside me, and I want to get your load as well. Fair exchange!” He grabbed another tube of lube off the shelf, spread it around and into his hole, and then used his hand to grease up Adrian’s massive tool. Then he straddled Adrian, facing him, and proceeded to push that enormous log into his ass. Adrian stared in awe as the struggle was written all over Calum’s contorted features. His face turned red as he hissed and gasped for breath, but he was going to get that huge thing inside him no matter what. In another moment, Calum’s hole surrendered to the inevitable and Adrian racked up another in the day’s list of astonishing firsts – the sensation of feeling his cock inside another man’s ass. But he didn’t have long to enjoy it. Calum had only enough time to make the first two or three tentative movements on Adrian’s enormous shaft before that powerhouse dick convulsed and exploded into his straining hole. Once again, Adrian fired out an enormous quantity of seed in a series of powerful shots. Calum, meanwhile, was beating his cock like a madman and sprayed out a load all over Adrian’s face as Adrian finished cumming inside him. After they’d both calmed down, Calum led the way to the showers, and the two of them took turns washing and caressing each other, with Calum swatting away a couple of older guys who were getting a bit too pushy. Then he led Adrian back to the room where they could pull their clothes back on before leaving. Outside in the street, Adrian thanked Calum for an incredible evening. Calum winked, and said, “I think we’re both going to be sore for a week. With a dick like that, you ought to be in pictures.” Calum leaned in and the two of them kissed goodnight before going their separate ways. Across the street, Adrian’s brother Alex watched the two of them kissing under the sign of a well-known gay bar. Mentally, he was congratulating his kid brother. He wished he’d had the nerve to go in there too.

@randyrawman thanks!

THE BIGGEST TOOL Chapter 1: Force of Habit As he felt the rim of the younger guy’s hole snap tight around his cock, he grunted, “Fuck, yeah.” Slowly he slid his meat deeper in between those lush ass mounds, sinking into the guy’s tunnel. It was a long struggle because his dick wasn’t short, and it wasn’t thin. The slim, young blond man under him was struggling to make room for it. He kept the pressure on steadily until the moment when something gave way and he was finally able to sink himself all the way inside, his hip bones resting against his partner’s glutes. He gave the guy another minute to get used to the intruder in his body, and then roused up, lifting his body into the air on his muscled forearms as he began pumping up and down, pulling his cock out and then driving it back in. The bottom twisted and moaned, half in pain and half in ecstasy, as the monster cock plunged into him repeatedly. This youngster was trying harder than some of them did. He really was making an effort to work his hole around the top’s dick of death, but it was a losing battle. He was stretched so far that he couldn’t command his ass muscles to work. The top stud laid himself down along the young blond’s back, tangling his fingers in the longish blond hair and forcing his legs wider apart to give himself more room. In this position, he could pump really hard and fast, building up to a rapid tattoo of loud smacks that roused echoes all through the room. “Fuck, man – it’s so fucking huge. You’re splitting me in two. Porn scenes with dialogue like that are a dime a dozen, but in this case it was at least believable. That massive tool looked like it was almost a third the size of the bottom boy’s entire waist. The bottom was experienced, definitely, and had been plowed by a lot of big dicks, but this one took things into another league altogether. This blond guy wasn’t the first, and he wouldn’t be the last, to say that he felt like he’d lost his cherry all over again after getting his cheeks pried open by that massive ass-splitter. Not that it really mattered. The man plundering his butt was an expert, and he knew exactly how to show his bottoms a good time while getting his own rocks off inside them. Some tops might fake an orgasm from time to time, but this man never did. He was thorough, he was an expert, and he knew exactly how to make his partner cum, as well as making himself cum – and cum on a grand scale. He never let them down He pulled out then, grabbing the bottom and flipping him over with a snarled, “On your back! Now!” The bottom obediently complied, lifting his legs into the air over his head so that his hole was totally visible to the cameras, the gaping opening mercilessly illuminated by the brilliant lights. His mouth was gaping open too, gasping for air after the pounding he’d already taken, while knowing that the worst was yet to happen. The top planted his knees further apart so the cameras would get a clear shot as he leaned down and started pushing his way inside that quivering ass-pussy again. Slowly, but with force, he pushed inch after inch of his enormous tool all the way inside the younger guy’s tunnel. As he resumed his determined fucking, the shadowy figures beyond the reach of the lights watched the scene with a mixture of reactions. The younger ones displayed various degrees of awe – particularly the first-time camera guy whose own cock was out and rock-hard. The reactions ran the gamut from there to the producer, a white-haired veteran of the trade who’d been making porn flicks for nearly half a century. He smiled with satisfaction at the realization that this awesome top man, even after all these years, was the most striking performer he’d ever seen. The pounding strokes were getting harder and harder now, plunging down more forcefully and ripping upwards more sharply. The stud’s breath came in harsh gasps as he took what he wanted, riding hard and deep in the younger man’s ass and getting ready to breed his hole. The younger guy groaned and cried aloud as the pounding reached his limit of endurance. But this too the top understood. He closed his eyes and his mind to all else but the sensation of that widely stretched hole grabbing and stroking his man meat. In just a few more strokes, he roared, “Cumming inside you!” “Fuck, yeah, stud, fill me up!” He drove in, one last ferocious stroke, and then held it there as his shaft shuddered, convulsed, pumped out one massive squirt of sperm after another. After three shots, he pulled out, sprayed the next three over the bottom’s firm round cheeks and throbbing crotch, and then drove back in to pump the last four or five squirts deep into the asshole. Then the bottom grabbed his own tool, yanking on it fiercely for about twenty seconds until it shot a fountain of cum up onto the straining abs of the man who had just bred him. At last it was finished. He drew that long, thick shaft up and out, eyeing (not without a touch of smugness) the slow tidal wave of man cream that poured out of the hole and down the bottom’s taint. He used his cock to scoop it up, and then forced it all back inside the younger guy’s gaping ass – cock, cum, and all. Only then did he lean down and close in to exchange a few kisses with the bottom. After a minute he eased out again, Then, feeling his thighs beginning to strain to hold him steady, he flopped down onto his back, letting his dick fall back down and dribble out the last bits of cum onto his washboard abs. And with that, from the back of the room, a voice called, “That’s a wrap.” The man who had once been Adrian Pennyfather lay there, slowly catching his breath back, as his partner tentatively lifted himself up and off the bed before heading off to the shower to clean himself and soothe his aching, defeated hole. “Be with you in a minute, Sven,” he called after the bottom’s retreating bottom. “Great job – as always!” The producer’s congratulations were heartfelt “Thanks, Mike.” The words were formulaic. He knew that he had given a good performance; he always did. He understood thoroughly that a big dick didn’t make a porn star. It was at least as much a question of attitude, a professional approach to the job to be done. This he had mastered years ago, and it was his attitude and thorough approach to his work, even more than the size of his cock, which had producers and directors lining up to sign him. In a few more moments he’d join Sven in the shower room, helping to ease him down from the intensity of the scene and sympathizing with the sore ass which he had stretched so badly. Right now, though, he was pondering the never-ending mystery of his life. What he didn’t know and just couldn’t ever understand was how the shyest, most timid kid in Exmouth, Nova Scotia, had ended up becoming one of the most famous – make that notorious – and sought-after gay porn top stars of the last twenty years. And why was it that nobody in the porn industry, nobody in the whole wide fucking crazy gay world, could ever seem to figure out – or even seem to care – what it was, what were the kinds of sexual action, that really turned him on Even after he and Sven had towelled off and dressed, and Sven had left, he kept sitting there, pondering it all. Was he really at a crossroads in his life, or was this just his usual “kind of down day” that always set in after a shoot ended? He wasn’t sure. Once again, he found himself pondering the idea of quitting. This whole porn thing had become a matter of habit. It was all an established routine: setting a date, laying off sex for several days beforehand (had to save up a huge load for his legendary money shot), meeting his partner, fooling around for a while to find the bottom’s hot buttons, then the showers, the scene shoot, the familiar stages of sex for the cameras, and finally the explosive money shot – the signature trade mark of every one of his scenes. Then, showers again, hug and kiss, and go home… to what? There it was again. The perennial question he could never solve. What was he going to do, how was he going to live, and above all who was he going to become when he hung up his jockstrap and quit the porn industry, and his porn screen name, for good? For that matter, who was he? Plain and simple – and he still didn’t really know the answer.

@LiamHudsonXXX thank you so much. It's an intriguing suggestion. I thought of the two as completely separate stories which happened to intersect at one point. Among my previous stories "Three's the Cure" was a very definite continuation and extension of "Affairs of State." Thanks for the powerful compliment about my characters.

@drew4fun Thank you for your message. I'm sure it won't surprise you when I say that writing the ending had me in tears too, not least because I hadn't expected the story to end like that at all when I was starting. Also, glad to hear that you enjoyed the little bits of humour that I slipped in.

@DCWildBtm thank you so much for your kind and thoughtful words!

Thank you so much. I share your feeling of sadness, as I always do when I get to the end of a story. Your compliments made my day!

Chapter 13: Late But Not Too Late Ricky was sitting in his favourite café some seven years after Terry’s funeral, chatting with Dylan and some other friends over a coffee, when the door opened, and a man walked in. A tall man, now a little stooped, and the remains of a handsome face, although now lined with the stress that arises from pain. He moved with the slow careful steps of one who knows that going faster will only make it worse. Alan Bryors. He ordered a drink, and then turned and saw Ricky. A gentle, reflective smile crossed his face, and he tossed Ricky a casual wave, then took his coffee and headed for the table by the window. Ricky sat, stunned, his face turned to a mask that concealed a whirlpool of emotion under an icy calm surface. Dylan suddenly noticed that Ricky had dropped out of the conversation and turned to look at him – closely. “Ricky! Are you all right? You look like you just saw a ghost.” “I think I did.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Try not to be obvious about it but take a look at the table by the window.” Dylan looked -- and then he gasped. “Alan!” “Yes. And looking like death warmed over. I’m going to go and talk to him.” “Ricky, do you think that’s a wise idea?” “Maybe not, but I have to do it. I need to know what’s wrong with him.” Dylan shrugged and watched, sadly, as Ricky got up and crossed the room. He feared that his best friend was about to get his heart broken yet again. Ricky placed his hand on the chair back across from Alan. “May I join you?” “Of course.” “Alan, I’m going to come right to the point. What’s wrong with you?” Alan smiled sadly. “You never did mince words when you were on a mission.” Ricky continued to hold his gaze, eye to eye. “It’s cancer. Stage Four. It’s spreading all through my body. I’ve just got a few months.” “Any treatment?” “I declined it. Palliative care only. I’ve spent enough time living off other people’s backs, even though I worked so hard to convince myself that I was doing it in an ethical way. Self-deception, of course. I’ve chosen to leave the treatment options for younger people, people whose lives, their families, the work they do, make them really important to the world. I have no reason to moan or complain. It’s been a great ride while it lasted.” Ricky choked back a sob. He couldn’t believe that this wealthy, energetic man was prepared to let it all go without any regrets. But Alan was still speaking. “But it is getting hard now. Harder for me to take care of myself, to manage my daily life. So difficult. I should perhaps get a private home nurse, but….” He paused and took a deep breath. Alan could see the compassion, the caring, in Ricky’s face and decided to take the biggest gamble of his entire life. “Ricky, you came right to the point and I’m going to do the same. I’ve decided to live out my life at home. This is going to be brutal, it’s going to be hard to take. So hard that I’ve got no right to ask this, it’s selfish as hell – but I’m going to ask it anyway. Ricky, can you come and live with me again – so I’ve got someone with me who matters to me?” Ricky sat back, stunned. Coming from anyone else, he’d have called the request sheer brazen effrontery – but that had never been Alan’s style. This was a man who had always been an absolute king in the realm of consideration and caring for others. Ricky could only guess what it had cost Alan to make this plea, to admit his own human need for closeness when he’d never had to do so before. But it was also the index of the depth of suffering, the fear of facing the end alone, which afflicted him. In the end, Ricky didn’t have to think at all. While he was thinking, his heart had already made his choice for him. Ricky stretched his hand out across the table and took Alan’s hand in his. “Of course.” He used the rest of the day to explain the situation to Dylan, to arrange a leave of absence from work, and to pack what he would need -- and then he moved back into the penthouse that afternoon. It was a long and strange four months that he spent back in the luxury condo where he’d begun to grow up, from a Boy to a Man. Strange, too, that all that time was less than ten years ago. Stranger still that he had returned as Alan’s equal. Each of them now felt a licence to say what was most real to him, without hiding behind roles, to lay it all out on the table without any hesitation. The strangest thing of all for Ricky was the realization that this wasn’t just something he was doing to help the man who had helped him so often. Ricky wanted to do this, needed to do it, from the very depths of his heart and soul. Sharing Alan’s final journey became the culmination of everything he had learned, of all the stages of the life he had lived, and it mattered to him, more than he could ever have imagined, to bring it all back at last to Alan, the man who had helped him set so many of those wheels in motion in his youth. Ricky was in charge of the kitchen now, and he took great care in preparing the limited meals which Alan could still eat. He slept with Alan at night, not for sex now, but for comfort and companionship. He would wake up each night to give Alan his pain medication, or to help in any other way as needed. Some nights he stayed awake with Alan, holding him close in a caring embrace, helping to strengthen him, to keep at bay the terror of the unknown yet to come. He walked with Alan to the café for that daily fix of cappuccino, as long as Alan could still walk there and keep it down. Dylan came several times a week to visit, sometimes at the café, sometimes in the penthouse. And they talked. For hours and hours, Alan and Ricky talked the long days away, sharing very much more of themselves than either of them had ever shared with anyone before. They spoke of their times together, of hopes and fears and dreams, of Alan’s past, of Ricky’s future. A look of peace gradually came over Alan’s face through those weeks as he realized how much his bright-eyed, eager young boy had grown up, matured, taken hold of the control levers of his own life, and made himself into a formidable force to be reckoned with. More than anything, he was moved and stirred to the depths of his being by Ricky’s unshakeable determination to make the world a better place for other gay men. When Ricky told Alan about how he was laying the groundwork for a help and counselling centre, Alan made up his mind. “Ricky, there’s someone important coming to see me on business tomorrow. Can you do me a favour and be out of the condo for the morning? I’ll be finished this business by noon.” Ricky waited in the morning for the unknown visitor, who proved to be a white-haired gentleman of distinguished appearance, dressed in full business attire and carrying an expensive briefcase. He admitted the visitor and left the penthouse himself. When he returned three hours later, Alan was sitting in the chair by the panoramic windows with a look of satisfaction, a look that said, Well, that’s all done now. Ricky settled in the chair beside him, and asked what it was all about. “That was my lawyer, George Carstairs. I was finalizing some revisions to my will. You already have my power of attorney for personal care. Carstairs holds the power of attorney for business matters. But now, it’s the will that matters, that you need to know about. Your plans… it’s such a great idea, and there’s such a crying need for it, in this city especially. I’d already planned to leave the bulk of my estate to a charitable trust for LGBTQ causes. The money has already been partly transferred there, to enable the trust to be established under direction of a board. The balance will pass to the trust when my estate is completed. “But I’ve now directed Carstairs to write a new section in which ten million dollars will go directly to your center as an endowment fund to help establish it and support its operations for years. He’ll be in touch with you to explain what steps you will need to take as the center is constituted and gets up and running. You’ll have a five-year period from the date of my death to get it all in place. The money will be held in trust, under the direction of the charity, until that time. “There’s one fixed condition. You are not to name the center after me or refer to me as anything other than an anonymous donor.” Ricky thought for a moment. “Alan, people will guess. And they’ll talk.” Alan actually laughed, in the midst of this serious business. “So what else is new? Ricky, have you ever heard this saying? ‘Great minds discuss ideas. Average minds discuss events. Small minds discuss people.’ Yes, the ones who know us will talk – for a while. You can’t prevent that. But I don’t want any focus on me. I want it on the people you are going to be helping.” Ricky thought, That’s Alan. It’s totally in character. All his life, he’s flown under the radar, helped people on the quiet, never drawn attention to anything that he’s done. But Alan still had two more items to cover. “I’m also going to ask you another favour. I’d like you to take a seat on the board of the charity. If you’re willing to do that, Carstairs will make all the arrangements there as well. “And finally, I’ve made another change to leave you a small personal gift, as a thanks for coming to live with me and take care of me now.” Ricky sat, too emotionally stirred to speak for a moment. “Alan, that is so generous. Thank you so much.” He could feel his eyes growing wet, and saw that Alan, too, was tearing up. “Your kindness really is overwhelming.” “Ricky, I don’t have to tell you what to do, because you’re already doing it – you’re taking all that kindness, making it your own, adding full measure of your own kindness and compassion to it, and spreading it into the world around you. That, more than anything else, is what makes me so proud of you, as proud as if you were my own son.” “I guess I really am your son now, in so many ways more than I ever thought I could or would be.” A gentle smile spread across Alan’s face. “That’s my good boy.” He said it with his old, characteristic jaunty wink. “Thank you, Daddy.” They both laughed at that, and Ricky went to prepare some lunch. He was still laughing, and he could hear Alan chuckling away in the armchair by the window too. Carstairs returned three days later with the updated document for Alan to sign. Dylan came that day as well. Meticulous as always, Alan reviewed it all and read the new sections with extra care. He signed, and Dylan witnessed the signature. When Carstairs left, Alan sat back with an immense sigh of satisfaction. The pain was more intense now. In a few more days, Alan was bedridden. Ricky cared for him in every way, helping him with the bedpan and sponge baths, giving him the pain medications, turning him in bed regularly when the pressure on one side became hard to bear. Then came a night when Ricky awoke in the small hours, feeling a hand clutching at him. He sat up, switched on the low bedtable light, turned to look at Alan, heard the harsh breaths in his throat. At once he knew – this was it. Alan reached for him again. Ricky lay down one last time beside Alan, letting the sudden strength in the wasted arm draw him close. Just like when we were young, Ricky thought. Alan was trying to speak, to form words between the little gasps for breath. Ricky moved his head right next to Alan’s face, listening intently. “Ricky… I know now… you were the one, always… I… I love you… forever....” Ricky’s eyes were streaming with tears as he realized at last the bitter truth about himself and knew in full what he had thrown away so casually, years earlier. “I love you, Alan.” He kissed Alan fully on the lips. The muscles contracted, tightening in a final grip around his shoulders, and then the arm fell away, lifeless. Epilogue: Legacy Ten years to the day after Terry’s death, the Terry Westover Memorial Center officially opened its doors to clients. Richard Manningtree, the Executive Director and Founder, spoke about the Center’s guiding philosophy of providing maximum assistance and options to LGBTQ people who chose to make difficult and significant changes in the way they lived their lives. He paid tribute to the late Terry Westover whose life had inspired the whole concept of the Center. He outlined the services the Center offered, from substance and sex addiction counselling and therapy to transition assistance and services for gay men exiting from porn and sex work. He also described the quite separate but equally vital work of providing end-of-life counselling and assistance, and access to grieving therapy, two more areas lacking in services geared to the special needs of the LGBTQ community. He then introduced the executive members of the Center’s Board of Directors: Steven Rotherham, Chair; Daniel Nakamura, Treasurer; Dylan Carroll, Secretary; Dr. Siegfried Magnus, Medical Director. Among the other members of the board were more of Ricky’s friends, including Ryan and Leo who had known him for years, and had known Terry as well, ever since the Twink Heaven days. The official opening concluded with the unveiling of two dignified wall plaques: In Honour of Terry Westover Leader, Supporter, and Head of his Chosen Family. That one had been paid for by Paul, who had not been able to attend. Ricky paid for the other. In Grateful Memory of an Anonymous Donor. After the ceremony concluded, the board and the executive director went together for lunch, not to transact business, but to reminisce about everything that had happened between them over the years since they had all come to WeHo, at different times and for different reasons. The lunch was Ricky’s personal thanks to all of these friends who had made such an impact on his life in their various ways. After lunch, as they were saying goodbye, Dylan said wistfully, “I wish Alan could have been here to see this day. You must really miss him, Ricky.” “More than you’ll ever know.” “You loved him, didn’t you?” “Yes. But I never realized that until the last moment, when he told me that he loved me. His final words. That’s when I said it. ‘I love you, Alan.’ And I meant every word of it. I’d finally figured it out – late, but not too late.” Dylan said no more, letting a long and heartfelt hug speak for him before he and his best friend headed home together. Alan’s “small personal gift” to Ricky had been the penthouse. Ricky had been shocked at first, when Carstairs had told him. But then he put it together with Alan’s final words to him and deciphered the hidden message behind the gift. He could almost hear Alan’s voice explaining it to him: “This was our home. Not mine. Ours.” But Ricky couldn’t live there. Not without Alan. The memories in those rooms, and the realization of what he’d lost when he’d left, were more than he could bear. The eye-popping sum for which it sold made him a multi-millionaire in his own right, a status which he’d neither sought nor desired. But now he had it, and the penury of his early arrival in California was long gone, but not forgotten. This sudden access to wealth allowed him to help individuals and to donate to community causes that lay close to his heart – very much on the quiet, just as Alan had always done. Behind his back, some jealous members of the gay community took to making sarcastic reference to him and his new-found wealth by calling him “King of the Twinks.” By this time, of course, he had long since ceased to think of himself as a “twink.” He would always show a slim build to the world but “twink,” as he saw it, was a label for a boy. He didn’t know about the unofficial title, and if he had known, he wouldn’t have cared. Small minds discuss people, as he was now only too well aware. Also gone but not forgotten were his wild and promiscuous younger days. Now he had become a man who was only attracted to the idea of sex if he felt an emotional connection to his partner; random hookups were no longer of interest to him. He was uncommonly young to reach that point, but then (as he often reflected) he had pretty much crammed fifty years of living and learning into less than a decade. Nor was it surprising that he and Dylan had wound up sharing a permanent home, as Dylan’s trauma had driven him into the even sterner feeling of being completely asexual. At the first meeting of the board of the Alan Bryors Foundation, Ricky had been shocked to look at the financials and see for the first time the sheer size of Alan’s fortune. Even with the penthouse passing to him, a few bequests to other institutions, and the ten million dollar donation to the Terry Westover Memorial Center, Alan had still left an estate not far short of eighty million dollars. That meeting elected Richard Manningtree as the Chair of the Foundation Board, and with that vote Ricky truly became a king in the world of benefactions. Alan’s legacy of kindness and service continued to colour the outlooks on the world of both Ricky and Dylan, as they pursued their paths through life. Both men had become empathetic old souls, long before their years as measured on the calendar suggested advancing age. It was on Ricky’s thirty-fifth birthday that Dylan brought up the key point. They’d gone out for dinner together, and had a great time, laughing and joking together as they had always done – in between quieter moments of recollection and reflection. After dinner, back in their new condo, closer to the ocean in Santa Monica, Dylan turned serious. “You know, Ricky, if you look at us carefully, we’re carrying on just like an old married couple now. We’re sharing a home, sharing a life. We go places and do things together. We sleep in the same bed more often than not, and you’re one of the very few people I can bear to have touching me and holding me. We’re both over the whole casual sex thing for good, and what we have suits us both right down to the ground. Why don’t we just drop the other shoe?” “What are you saying, Dylan?” “Let’s get married. In reality, we’re ninety-five percent of the way there already. Each of us fulfils a central role in the other’s life. We might just as well acknowledge that truth to ourselves and to the world. There are married couples that have been together for years and never achieved the kind of closeness and common wavelength we share.” Ricky thought about it and laughed, with a wry edge. “You know what, Dyl? You’re right again – as usual. But no big show or celebration.” A week later, the announcements went out. Mr. Richard Manningtree-Carroll and Mr. Dylan Carroll-Manningtree are pleased to announce that they’ve finally given up fighting to escape their destiny and decided to confirm the obvious by getting married last Friday, October 21st, 2039, at City Hall, Santa Monica, California. * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter 12: Falling Off the Cliff Less than two weeks later, Ricky got to see Daniel’s doctor friend. This doctor quickly recognized the feelings Ricky described as a common symptom of addiction – the feeling that if he could just get “more” in some way, everything would feel great again. He recommended the idea of therapy to dig down into the background emotions involved in these feelings, and gave Ricky a referral to a therapist, Dr. Magnus. With a little financial help from Daniel and Laszlo, and from Steve and Jim, and the help of a GoFundMe page, he was able to spend a few useful sessions with Dr. Magnus, who proved to be a very insightful man, and capable of evoking similar depths of insight in Ricky. Since Dr, Magnus was also gay, there was no awkwardness about discussing these sexual issues. It took only those few hours for a likely chain of causes to emerge. Starting at the point of Ricky’s sense of rejection by his mother and his feelings of being unanchored and adrift when he arrived in WeHo, and proceeding to his rapid entry into Alan’s life, and his desire to secure his place there by meeting his daddy’s endless appetite for sloppy seconds, it wasn’t hard for Ricky to connect the dots and see exactly how his pattern of habitual behaviour had emerged and evolved. However, when Dr. Magnus indicated that the process of trying to undo the pattern might be more prolonged and require many more sessions, Ricky was forced to terminate the therapy – not without regret, because it had been very helpful. It was simply too costly for him to go on, but he felt he could trust his clearer insight into his issues to help him modify his own patterns of behaviour going forward. And to all appearances, it worked. This was where the strength and determination which others saw in Ricky really paid off for him. Before long, the other guys in the area were commenting about how Ricky was a changed man. The former Numero Uno Slut had calmed right down, no longer racing after every new face in town to get yet another cock in his hole. It was a kind of nine days wonder, but all the discussion about Ricky gradually evaporated as other young guys stepped forward to claim the title as the newest and hottest butt sluts and topics of conversation in WeHo. The shift in focus away from struggling with these feelings in his own life also freed up more of Ricky’s time to focus on the bigger problems and issues around him. Top of the list among those was plainly the situation with Terry. The trouble had started less than two weeks after Ricky’s ordeal when Terry came home and announced that he’d just gotten a gig taking part in a porn film with Stewart’s company. Ricky was forced to ask a dangerous question. “Does Stewart know we’re friends, Terry?” “I don’t think so. Why?” “That’s a very long story. Just trust me on this, Terry. Do both of us a favour and don’t tell him you know me, okay?” Before long, Terry was spending evenings and weekends over at Stewart’s place. Stewart would always send a car to bring him up to his house in the hills. Ricky shook his head sadly as he saw his friend drifting more and more into the orbit of one of the most disreputable and manipulative members of the gay porn community. On the surface, Terry bragged about what a great time he was having, how much fun it was having a millionaire porn magnate for a boyfriend. He also didn’t hesitate to share the details about the porn scenes he was filming (increasingly kinky and messy), the parties he was attending, and the assorted drugs he was trying out. All of this activity may have been exciting for Terry, but it was also making him increasingly hard to handle. He had morose days with fits of threatening self-harm, or he flew into sudden rages for no apparent reason. Things had begun disappearing from the other guys’ rooms and they were afraid that Terry was getting itchy fingers. There were unexplained shortfalls in his kitchen budget, too, but Terry exploded in anger when asked about it. Despite the problems of dealing with Terry, there was a pleasant highlight for Ricky and Dylan around this time. The guys from Twink Heaven hosted a big party in the public function room of the building in honour of Dylan’s 25th birthday, but the focus shifted dramatically when Archer and Duarte arrived, not-too-discreetly flashing around the gold rings on their hands. The birthday party suddenly turned into a raucous wedding celebration, and nobody complained, least of all Dylan, even when he highlighted his toast and speech of congratulations by solemnly taking out his wallet and handing a fifty-dollar bill to Ricky. Less than six months after Ricky’s life-altering conversation with Daniel, the six twinks were faced with the need to leave Twink Heaven. In truth, it had become more of a twink hell in recent months, but the name somehow had stuck. However, their sublet was expiring, and the owner had made it known that he was coming back at the end of the next month. They would all have to leave. Ricky and Dylan immediately decided that it was time to launch out and find a place of their own. They’d have to scrimp and save, but they could manage it on their two incomes. Before long, they’d found a small but adequate apartment some distance off the main strip, with a small second bedroom for those nights when one of them brought someone home with him. Duarte had already moved in with Archer full time, of course. Leo and Ryan had also found a place, largely thanks to the income from their successful online fitness business, and Terry was left to fend for himself. At least, that’s how it looked to Terry. In reality the other five were making a determined effort to get clear away from Terry before he dragged all of them down with him. It was difficult for each of the guys. The years together in Twink Heaven had conditioned them all to think of themselves, and indeed to become, a family. They were far from being the first family that ever had to cut loose from a family member who was making all the wrong choices for all the wrong reasons. But it was still painful. And the results were predictable: when it was time to leave, Terry moved in with Stewart. But then, abruptly, Terry’s life turned into a miserable mess. He turned up one Friday night at Shooting Stars, finding Ricky and Dylan there, and spilled out his sad story. His swanky life had come to a sudden abrupt end when Stewart’s demands got too sickening for him to stomach. He had at least refused Stewart’s attempt to get him involved in making more violent porn slasher films, but then Stewart had dumped him. Almost literally so: they’d gone out to a club, and Stewart had gotten the driver to stop outside the condo building where Twink Heaven had been. Then he had physically shoved Terry out the door and told the driver to “just drive away and leave the trash on the curb where it belongs.” Terry was plainly hoping for some help from his friends, but Ricky and Dylan knew that they couldn’t and wouldn’t be able to put him up – their new apartment was compact enough to feel like a dog kennel after the luxury of space in Twink Heaven. Ricky gently explained that to Terry, hating himself every step of the way for having to do it. With no other cards left to play, Terry had to move into the same hostel from which he had once helped Ricky to escape and go back to work in the same café where he and Ricky had first met. In less than a week, though, things began to look up. Terry, working an afternoon shift at the café’s bar, found himself being chatted up by a man he’d never met before. Paul was a tall, lean man in excellent shape with prematurely grey hair. After taking early retirement from the navy, he’d settled in WeHo. He couldn’t have said what it was that drew him to Terry, but plainly there was some sort of subconscious electricity as Terry was also and instantly attracted to him. Within a few weeks, they were living together in Paul’s condo. When Ricky met Paul, he found this man to be just the sort of kind, steady older man Terry needed to help him settle down from the many disruptions of his life. But he was saddened to find that Paul seemed to be completely oblivious to Terry’s biggest problem. During his time with Stewart, Terry had become addicted to various recreational drugs, and loved to play mix and match with them – and then spice up the entire cocktail with hefty doses of alcohol as well. There was not much point trying to explain all of this to Paul who was plainly well and truly in love with his new boy, and unaware of the significance of Terry’s wild mood swings and bouts of unending energy followed by the nearly catatonic collapse which always came afterwards. Even when Terry would spend an entire Saturday sleeping on and on in what was effectively a state of blackout, Paul didn’t seem to register that it might be a problem. Being the man he was, Ricky fretted endlessly about this situation involving his very first friend on the west coast, but he couldn’t see any course of action clear in front of him. He’d even tried talking to some of his older friends. Daniel had been the first one he’d headed for because of sharing a history with Stewart. All Daniel could do, though, was to shake his head sadly as he confirmed that, like Ricky, he hadn’t fallen for Stewart’s free and easy party drug lifestyle which Terry had gotten sucked into. Ricky wished Paul nothing but the best, but he feared that Paul’s relationship with Terry was going to crash into a disastrous ending. And while he wanted so desperately to help Terry out of the hole he’d fallen into, Ricky knew only too well that you could only help people to change if they wanted to change. Terry seemed to lack the will to go down a different road from the one he was now walking. One night, Ricky got a phone call which shoved Terry’s problems forcibly to the very back of his mind and left them there for a long time. “Hello.” “Mr. Richard Manningtree?” “Yes.” “This is the Mercy Hospital Emergency Department in West Hollywood.” “What’s happened?” “A Mr. Dylan Carroll has just been brought in by ambulance. He had your name and number in his wallet as a contact person. Are you a relative?” “What happened to him?” “Are you a relative, Mr. Manningtree?” “No.” “Are you his partner?” Ricky by now was nearly frantic. “What has happened to Dylan!!??” “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t give out any information except to next of kin.” Ricky cut the call in frustration, and rapidly booked an Uber. Twenty minutes later he arrived at the hospital. “Can somebody please, please, tell me what has happened?” “I’m sorry, sir,…” “I know, you’re not allowed. But please listen to me very carefully for the next 45 seconds.” Ricky was struggling to keep his panic and its partner, anger, on a leash. “Dylan is my best friend. I know nothing of where he comes from, or where his family is located. All I know is what he’s told me, which is this: when his family found out he was gay, they threw him out of the house and told him never to come back. And when I say they ‘threw him out,’ I mean that his father threatened to blow his head off with a shotgun if he ever showed his perverted, asswipe face in their home again, and his mother said she would then take a kitchen knife and cut his cock and balls off. Now: perhaps you can understand why he has broken all connection with his birth family for good.” “Sir, yes, I can understand that very well, but right now he’s unconscious….” “Thank you for letting at least one detail slip.” “…so we need to trace his legal relatives in some other way.” At this point, Ricky’s imminent explosion was forestalled by the timely arrival of a police officer. “Excuse me, I’m Sergeant Stanmore, and I need to speak to Dr. Gorrie. About the sexual assault case he reported to us.” Ricky felt his heart drop right down into his shoes. The receptionist paged Dr. Gorrie, and after the PA cut off, Ricky gamely returned to the attack. “He’s my roommate, my best friend. Isn’t there anything else you can tell me? Anything? Like should I wait for him to help him get home or what?” Just as the receptionist was about to launch into the seventeenth reiteration of “Sir, I’m sorry…”, the officer turned to Ricky. “Are you asking about the sexual assault victim?” “If that’s Dylan Carroll you’re talking about, yes, I am.” “Come with me, please. We need to talk.” Ricky had just given the officer some particulars about Dylan’s life and had begun answering some basic questions about himself and where he came in, when Dr. Gorrie arrived. Sergeant Stanmore turned to greet him, and then said to Ricky, “Hang on right here, I’ll be back to see you as soon as I can.” Ricky thought that Stanmore showed a damned sight more compassion than the mechanical wind-up toys of the “Sir, I’m sorry” brigade. Fifteen minutes later, Stanmore returned and said to Ricky, “He’s going to be here for several days at least. Would you like a lift home?” “But can you….” Ricky stopped dead as Stanmore held up an authoritative hand. “Home first – then I’ll tell you what I know.” The last words were mouthed semi-silently. It was a silent ride in the cruiser, but at least Stanmore let Ricky sit up front, which calmed his nerves by about two percent. Once they were in the apartment, he sat down across from Ricky and gave him a brief explanation. “Your friend has been sexually assaulted – viciously assaulted – by three men. He’d just recovered consciousness and I was able to ask him a few questions. The three of them all raped him and then – well, he said they ‘fisted’ him. Forcefully. I don’t know for certain what that means.” “I do,” Ricky said, in a voice devoid of emotion. “Well, I can guess. Dr. Gorrie told me his anus was ripped up and bleeding heavily. He’ll have to go through surgery. They’re preparing him for the OR now.” “Oh, my God.” Ricky dropped his head into his hands in shock. Dr. Gorrie also told me there’s grave danger of further infection, due to the nature of the injuries. He’s going to keep me informed. Of course, we need to locate and charge the three men who attacked Dylan. He was able to give me one name. He said he recognized one of the assailants and identified him as ‘Dario.’ Does that name mean anything to you?” “It certainly does,” Ricky said bitterly. “It’s not the first time Dario has assaulted Dylan.” “Can you give me any other details?” “About Dario’s identity, no. But I can tell you exactly who will know.” With that, he opened his phone and read out the full name and phone number of Steven, the host of the daddy parties. “He’ll know.” “And you can’t give me any details of Dylan’s family?” “I don’t know anything there – and I wouldn’t tell you if I did. His own mother and father have threatened to castrate him and murder him for being gay. I think that’s a good enough reason to keep them out of the picture entirely.” Stanmore looked shaken by that. “I don’t blame you at all. Thank you for your help.” “Thanks for telling me all of that, Sergeant. I was at wits’ end, trying to get around the hospital rules and find out anything.” “I can imagine. And I probably shouldn’t have let you know so much, but I could see how distressed you were. I won’t tell if you won’t tell.” They shook hands on that, and Stanmore left. Ricky sat down and wept. The story was all over the media the next day, but the victim was unidentified “pending notification of next of kin.” Having Dylan unnamed felt to Ricky like the final step of dehumanizing and demeaning him which the rapists had begun. Some guardian angel must have secretly pushed a few buttons in the hospital’s computer system. In three days, Ricky got a phone call notifying him that Dylan had been moved from the ICU to a ward bed and could now have visitors. At the start of visitors’ hours, Ricky was right there, ready to go in and hear – well, it was sure to be a horror story. He walked into the quad room. Mercifully, all the other three beds were empty for the moment. Dylan’s face lit up right away, the smile contrasting oddly with all the tear tracks down his cheeks. “Ricky! Thank God!” “How are you doing, Dyl?” “Worse than you can imagine, probably.” “Please tell me. All the hospital staff can say to me is “Sir, I’m sorry…” because we aren’t family relatives.” “I’ll show you.” Dylan pulled off the sheets and hauled up one side of his hospital gown. Ricky stared, uncomprehending. “Shit, Dylan, what is that thing?” “That’s right. Shit is exactly what it is.” “Say what?” “Ricky, it’s a colostomy. My hole was so badly trashed that the surgeon had to sew it shut for good. Now, I go through the rest of my life with my guts draining into this bag and have to change it several times a day.” Ricky had to struggle with a wave of nausea. “Fuck, man….” “Well, now, that’s just what nobody will ever be able to do to me again.” “Dylan, how the hell can you joke about it?” “Because the jokes are the only thing keeping me from killing myself. I could never have imagined how completely violated I felt, what a useless piece of trash those thugs made me feel like. Did you know? They’d jumped me on the street, dragged me into a storage building, locked the door, and stuffed a dirty jock into my mouth before tearing my clothes off. They raped me first, all three of them, and then they all fisted me. When they were fisting me, they were slamming their hands in and out, fast and hard. One of the guys had a big ring on his hand with a lot of hard-cut edges. I could feel it ripping my hole into shreds until the pain got so bad I passed out. Someone found me lying in an alleyway, unconscious and bleeding hard, and called an ambulance.” Ricky ran to the bathroom and vomited his guts out. For the next week, Ricky spent every minute of visitor’s hours at the hospital, sitting with Dylan. It was hard to find other things to talk about, with the knowledge of what had been done to his friend hanging over him, but he did his best. Dylan really needed any distraction he could get, and Ricky dredged up all kinds of great little bits of community trivia and gossip to share with him. The only good news, if you could call it that, was hearing from Stanmore that all three of the rapists had been arrested and charged and were being held since none of them could make bail. Ricky smiled grimly at the thought that none of those three vicious creeps would ever get any responsible member of the gay community to act as surety for them. He was normally a kind and caring man, but that crew could rot in jail forever and it wouldn’t upset him one bit. After his second visit to the hospital, he sent a text to Duarte, Terry, Leo, and Ryan, telling them that he needed to see all of them and please meet him at Shooting Stars at 6:30 – he knew that this was after Terry’s shift at the café ended and before Ryan went on duty in the bar. When they were all assembled around a table, Ricky told them in brief what had happened. Terry stared, wide-eyed in shock, but to Ricky’s dismay, Leo and Ryan immediately hooted with laughter and started cracking inane jokes about the colostomy. Terry snapped at them. “I ought to give both of you idiots a good slap upside the head. It’s not funny! In case you aren’t aware, this colostomy is a lifetime sentence. Dylan has to wear that bag and get reminded of this horror show every time he has to change it, multiple times a day for every single day from now until the day he dies.” Ryan and Leo immediately shut up. Ryan started to apologize but Ricky got up and walked from them away without a word, leaving his drink on the table, untasted. Terry snarled at Leo and Ryan, “I hope you guys are really proud of yourselves now.” As he headed for the exit, Steve and Jim leaped up from another table and intercepted him. “Ricky, what’s wrong?” “I can’t talk about it right now. Can I tell you another time?” “Just one question. Was Dylan the one who….” Steve couldn’t finish the sentence. “Yes.” Ricky kept walking. Steve stared at his receding back, appalled. In another week, Dylan was well enough to be brought home. Ricky had already been looking around for some assistance to pay the hospital bill, which would be well beyond their means. But when they came to check out, he found that another guardian angel had paid the entire shot that morning. This time, Ricky could hazard a guess. He was sure that Alan, in his understated but thoughtful manner, had kept watching out for both of them, even after the way Ricky had left. Getting Dylan home was the easy part. Then there came the visit from the home care nurse, an ultra-efficient type, snapping out marching orders for the care and maintenance of the stoma like a military officer. After that, though, Ricky was left alone to cope with the invisible but much more severe damage. His vital, funny, endlessly energetic best friend was a broken man. After another week, both of them went back to work. Dylan was now employed in the corporate office of the holding company which owned Shooting Stars and Shell Games (and a half-dozen other hospitality businesses in and around WeHo). Returning to the office forced him to take on the unenviable job of explaining to his boss the little problem which would force him to leave his work station for a while from time to time. But he’d underestimated his boss, who promptly locked the door of the office, then pulled his shirt up to show Dylan his own bag, the result of a youthful colon cancer attack. From then on, his boss, Jamie Li, became a key support point for Dylan in his struggle to master his new health regime. Dylan was able to function well enough at work, keeping abreast of the needs of the moment with much of his old flair. He achieved that at the cost of losing it each night at home. He sat and stared for long hours at the walls, plainly struggling so that he wouldn’t break down completely. Ricky wanted to help but couldn’t – not in the way that was his usual instinctive response. The very first day back from the hospital, he’d found Dylan crying, sat down with him, and tried to hug him. Dylan had twisted violently away from him, shrieking, “NO!!! Don’t touch me! Leave me alone!!!” Ricky had recoiled in shock. Dylan’s trauma plainly ran deep. As the days drifted into weeks, Ricky cast about for some means of finding the money to access professional help. He spoke to Dr. Magnus on the phone and got an instant assurance that space would be cleared in the doctor’s schedule to help Dylan in his struggle. Dr. Magnus, though, had to warn him that this was going to be a prolonged process, given the terrifying and life-altering consequences of the attack. Once again, the cost was far out of their reach. Ricky had sworn he wasn’t going to lean on Alan any more, but finally and reluctantly realized he was going to have to go there. He texted Alan, Can we meet for a drink after work this week? The immediate reply: Tonight, Shooting Stars, 6pm. At 5:45, Ricky was already in the bar, waiting, with a drink in front of him. Alan arrived right on the dot, as Ricky had known he would, got a glass of wine from the bar, and sat down opposite Ricky with a classic compassionate Alan expression on his face. And he went straight to the point. “Ricky, is this about Dylan?” “How did you know?” “Ricky, everyone’s been yammering away about the attack nonstop ever since it happened. But how did I know it was Dylan? Steve Rotherham told me. He knew that I would want to know, that I would care.” “Alan, Dylan’s a complete mess. Seems to be coping okay at work, but at home he’s a disaster area. He can’t stand to be touched or hugged or anything because of the trauma. I’m worried he might become suicidal.” “”Would you blame him?” “Of course not. But I’m a little bit selfish here. I don’t want to go to my best friend’s funeral.” “None of us want that.” “So, here’s the thing. I’ve found a therapist who has space available and can take the case. I’ve talked to Dylan and he’s more than willing to give it a shot. But the fees….” He shook his head, sadly. “It’s far beyond us.” “Done, Ricky. Don’t worry about it. Just give me the name and number of the therapist. I’ll call the office and have them bill me.” Ricky burst into tears, and Alan immediately got up, came around the table, and hugged him. “Ricky, don’t act so surprised.” “It’s just… after the way I left… but you paid for the hospital… and you’re still willing to help?” “Ricky, it’s only money. And by the way, I didn’t pay for the hospital but I know who did – and before you ask, I promised not to tell. Dylan has so much to offer the world, it’d be another crime to let all that potential go to waste. Anything that can help him to deal with this crisis is an investment in the future, and that’s my specialty.” “Thank you, Alan. Thank you.” “And besides, anything that can help Dylan is sure to help you as well, and that’s another great investment in the future. Trust me.” His voice took on a fake-fortune-teller tone as he closed his eyes and raised an admonitory hand into the air. “I see in the all-knowing crystal ball that you will do great things for many people throughout your life.” After that crack, Ricky finally laughed and, with that, so did Alan. “Ah, that’s much better, the real Ricky is back with us!” He gave Ricky another warm hug, and then returned to his seat across the table. For another half an hour, they chatted about this and that, and then Alan tossed back the last of his drink, got up, and said, “Time to go. Just pass me that information as soon as you can – and done.” And then, as Ricky jumped up and hugged him again, “Careful, my boy. Everyone will think you’re back to living with me.” And he sauntered out the door, giving Ricky a jaunty wave and a wink as he left. Ricky sat down again, waved to Ryan and ordered another drink, and then sat in thought. After a few minutes, Steve and Jim came over. “Can we join?” “Sure.” “You’re looking a lot better than the last time I saw you.” Ricky gave them an executive summary of his conversation with Alan, saying several times that he still couldn’t believe it. Steve just chuckled. “That’s Alan. Show him something to do where he can help somebody, especially a member of the gay community, and he’s all over it. You didn’t know that, even after living with him?” Ricky shook his head. “No, I didn’t. He said something along that line once or twice, but I couldn’t make the connection because I didn’t know any actual examples. I really didn’t know that much about him as a person, just what showed up between us.” “Well, then,” Jim threw in, “You’ve learned a life lesson today as well as finding out something important about Alan Bryors. Never judge people only by what they show you.” Ricky nodded thoughtfully. “And, Ricky,” Steve added, “give Dylan some extra hugs from us.” “I wish I could.” “What?” “Steve, Dylan is so traumatized right now that he can’t let anyone at all touch him.” Ricky wasn’t surprised to see tears start flowing in Steve’s eyes, but even the unflappable Jim was getting teary, and that did surprise him. “Well,” Jim said gently, “we can give you the extra hugs because you plainly need them almost as much as he does.” The first half dozen therapy sessions went very well, and Dylan was looking much more like his old self after each of them. Evenings at home were still rocky, but he got an enormous boost right at this time when his boss, Jamie, got a promotion. Dylan applied for Jamie’s management job and got it. That vote of confidence from the company had an immediate and positive impact. Ricky received messages of support from so many friends and colleagues. So did Dylan. They shared them all with each other. The word had gradually spread about Dylan having been the victim of the savage attack, and the WeHo gay community closed ranks, uniting as a family around him and giving all the support they could to aid in his healing. One day Ricky got a call from the receptionist for Dr. Magnus, informing them that another donor, also anonymous, had sponsored a few therapy sessions for Ricky, to help him cope with the emotional fallout from Dylan’s ordeal. That donor plainly knew how dependent on each other Ricky and Dylan had become, and how much of a true couple they were, even though they stoutly insisted that they were still “just friends.” More time. More therapy. More slow emergence of the old, funny, light-hearted Dylan from the shattering trauma of the months past. One night, after dinner, Dylan surprised Ricky by coming and sitting on the sofa right beside him instead of huddling at the far end. “What’s up, Dyl?” “I wanted to hold you. I feel ready now.” Ricky put down his phone and turned slightly towards his friend. Dylan put an arm tentatively across Ricky’s shoulders and slowly drew him closer. Ricky turned more towards him. Dylan put up his other arm, and just like that, they were hugging. Not too closely, but still, it was a hug. Ricky thought hard about all the hugs he had wanted to give, and all the hugs others had wanted to give for months, hoping the energy would pass through to Dylan. Suddenly, though, Dylan snapped clear of Ricky’s arms and retreated. “I… I’m sorry, Ricky… I just… I can’t… not yet.” Ricky could feel his heart breaking inside him. “Dylan, whatever you do and whatever you think, please don’t blame yourself. None of this is your fault. It’s all down to Dario and his two maniac friends.” Dylan smiled sadly. “I knew you would say that if I backed off. That’s so you. But, Ricky, I do blame myself. There’s no logic to it, it’s not reasonable, but I always felt that our friendship, our special relationship, was stronger than any mess life could throw at it – and now I’ve found that, at my end, it’s not. So I blame myself. It’s sweet of you to encourage me this way, but that blame is my feeling right now and I need to let myself feel it in order to get through this. At least, that’s what Dr. Magnus always reminds me – to feel whatever I need to feel.” Ricky thought that over and then said, gently, “Just consider yourself hugged at a safe distance, by me, by the other Twinks from Twink Heaven, by all our friends. We’re all pulling for you.” Dylan smiled again, a little more naturally this time, and they turned back to their usual solitary evening pursuits, Ricky choosing a larger-than-usual book to read so he could hide his tears. It was a long and dreary winter. Rainy, cold, foggy, rarely any sun. Ricky stuck to his guns, to his determination to remain near at hand if Dylan needed or wanted him in any way, but it was a hard resolution to keep when the urge to get out of town and go someplace warm was so overpowering. Spring came slowly, but it did come. The sun was shining again, the plants blooming and growing, and best of all, the temperatures were rising. Both Dylan and Ricky felt their spirits rising right along with the sunlight and the warmth. Life was actually beginning to feel worth living for Dylan again. But then, one night, Ricky got a call from Sergeant Stanmore. It surprised him, but he picked up. “Mr. Manningtree?” “Yes.” “This is Sergeant Stanmore. I need to come and see you. Are you home right now?” “Yes.” “Alone?” “Dylan is here with me.” “Okay, I’ll be right there.” Twenty minutes later, Stanmore was perched stiffly on the most uncomfortable chair in the apartment. “What is it now, Sergeant? Is this something more about Dylan’s case?” “No. The pretrial phase in that case is still underway at the D.A.’s office, and we have no further hand in it.” “Then what? You’re plainly reluctant to come to the point. Please just let us know right away.” Stanmore looked carefully at them both. Then he drew a deep breath. “A man was brought into the hospital ER this morning at about five o’clock. He had a paper in his wallet with both your names and numbers on it, among several others. His name was Terry Westover.” “Sergeant, you said ‘had’ and ‘was’.” Dylan’s voice was detached, flat, toneless. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this. He was pronounced dead on arrival.” Ricky’s face slowly crumbled. His eyes brimmed up, overflowed. Tears poured down his face as he screamed, an outraged cry of gut-wrenching intensity: “NOOOOO!!!” Stanmore stared helplessly at the two of them. But it was Dylan who acted. He slid over on the couch, gritted his teeth with a mixture of fear and determination, hesitated for another long moment, and then slowly put his arms around Ricky. Ricky collapsed into his embrace, sobbing his heart out on Dylan’s shoulder. Dylan ran his hand up Ricky’s back, stroking him gently, but with a detached expression on his face – appearing, as Stanmore thought later to himself, almost like one of those medieval paintings of the Madonna he’d seen in Sunday school, all maternal compassion mingled with detachment from mere worldly concerns. “What happened, Sergeant?” Dylan asked, still in the same detached manner. “He was found in West Hollywood Park. He had died of a drug overdose.” “And you came to us.” “The boys in the station were talking about it, said that they couldn’t locate any next of kin, only his friends. They showed me the list. I recognized your names, and said, ‘I’ll take this one. I’m going to go and tell these guys now.” “Thank you for letting us know. I’d show you out, but….” Dylan gestured with his free hand at his heartbroken friend, who was still crying uncontrollably and clinging to him for dear life. “Not to worry. And I’m sorry to have had to bring you more bad news.” He left. Ricky continued sobbing as Dylan held him close. With his free hand, Dylan began texting to Duarte. He and Archer were off on a NetFree Tours spring hike in the mountains, and out of contact, but Dylan wanted Duarte and Archer to know as soon as they got back to civilization. Then, still holding Ricky lovingly close, he began a message to Alan. Four pairs of eyes stared solemnly at the small oaken casket which held the ashes of the leader of their group, dead at the ripe old age of 26. None of them were weeping now. They had all cried themselves out over the last three nights, crying themselves to sleep, some of them repeatedly waking up from dreams or nightmares to cry again. Next to the casket stood a framed photo. Terry, as they all remembered him – as they wanted to remember him. The bright, blue eyes, the shock of brown hair tumbling over the forehead, the flashing smile which had grown so rare in recent months, the fair skin, the tattoo of a soaring eagle which he’d so proudly displayed on his shoulder. Here he was shown in his element. The picture was taken on Santa Monica Beach and showed Terry leaping up to catch a frisbee, hair flying in the wind, a sunny smile splashed across his face, and that was significant. The beach was always the one place where Terry had felt at home – and at peace. Around them, the soft murmur of voices rose and fell. The room was full of men, all members of the WeHo gay community who had known Terry or had known one or another of his friends in the close-knit little group who had lived together in “Twink Heaven.” Four men stood closer to the front, ready to step forward and offer support to the younger men if it seemed to be needed. Steve and Jim, Daniel and Laszlo, conversed in low tones from time to time. At the back of the room, in a corner, Alan stood in his usual unobtrusive way. Many of the men present would be uncertain later of whether he had been there or not, a usual state of affairs. But he was there, watching closely over the two young guys who had made such a special place for themselves in his heart. These four young men (and the fifth who was absent) were Terry’s true family, his chosen family. Like so many gay men, Terry had been thrown out of his original family’s home, rejected forever by his birth family. Two of the survivors knew where that family lived but had made no effort to contact them. Those people had no place here. This was a time for those who had truly known Terry, who had cared about him and loved him as the man he was. A fifth, somewhat older, man came forward hesitantly to stand at the side of the group. With no word spoken, the four immediately divided and then re-formed into a group of five with Paul in the centre. The arms of the younger men on either side were wrapped around him, holding him close in their shared grief. His eyes were red with the combined effects of sleeplessness and weeping. In spite of the age difference, or maybe because of it, Paul had loved Terry deeply. The youngest of the group, Ricky, stood at one end of the line and stared at the picture and the casket – but his mind was elsewhere. Was it really only six years since this whole chapter of his life had been set in motion? It seemed far longer – nearly half a lifetime, and in some ways it really was that. He had changed so much from the naïve kid he’d been to the uncomfortably experienced man he’d become. On one thing Ricky was absolutely determined. He was not going to let Terry be remembered only as a druggie who overdosed in a park at 3:00 a.m. There was so much more to him than this sad ending – the rough kindness of the older guy who’d taken a wide-eyed kid fresh from the heartland and set him on his feet, the wacky sense of humour that always came out whenever they were having fun on the beach, the leadership that seized the opportunity to sublet that condo and created the family of Twink Heaven. He put his determination into words during a late lunch afterwards with the other three guys and Paul, “I’m going to see Terry’s name engraved on a wall in a place of honour if it’s the last thing I ever do.” “Thank you, Ricky,” Paul responded. “Knowing you, it won’t be the last thing you do – it’ll just be the start of something even bigger and better.” By the time the meal had ended, the beginnings of the plan for something bigger and better were already starting to form in Ricky’s mind.

Chapter 11: Down the Rabbit Hole Dylan was getting used to going to sleep in an empty bed and waking up in an empty bed. He knew what that meant, of course. Not long after the stag in Palm Springs, Ricky had gotten into a relationship with a guy named Pete, who was a porn model working for several different studios. Pete was a few years older than any of the boys in Twink Heaven, with a stocky but well muscled build and an eight inch tool. As an experienced porn performer, he certainly knew more things to do with fingers, tongue, and cock than many guys. Ricky had brought him home a couple of times, and even had him over for a Tuesday night dinner. Pete had been affable and congenial, and the other twinks all seemed to enjoy his company. But Dylan felt uneasy. There was a vibe about Pete that made him nervous, a sense that his pleasant, laid-back, nice-guy exterior was just a little too perfect to be real. When Ricky started spending more and more nights and weekends with Pete, Dylan got more uneasy. Part of his uneasiness came from the graphic descriptions he heard from Ricky of all the things that Pete and Ricky got up to together, and especially the number of other people involved in their activities. There was more than a bit of the mother hen about Dylan, especially when it came to the well-being of his best friend. The odd thing was that Ricky, even at his most devil-may-care moments, had very similar feelings about Dylan. At any rate, Dylan had continued watching and listening carefully. And worrying. And now, Ricky was out going crazy with Pete again. It wasn’t as if Dylan minded some crazy every now and again himself, but he usually kept it to the playroom in their condo where there were other people nearby if things began to get out of hand. Ricky, though, wasn’t being cautious at all. He’d flung common sense to the four winds of heaven since his wild weekend in Palm Springs, not just going nuts in frequent three-ways and four-ways with his new boyfriend, but also getting random fucks from anyone and everyone at all hours. More and more people were experiencing his ass first-hand, and then talking about him and spreading – and hearing -- all the slutty details every day. Dylan grew ever more concerned, and occasionally went beyond that point into “fearful,” at Ricky’s antics. He was certainly no prude, but he worried that Ricky was going to cross paths with the wrong guys and wind up in the hospital – or worse. One Saturday night, Pete took Ricky to a party at a friend’s place up in the hills. The friend was a heavy-set older man named Stewart. Ricky normally liked daddies but something about this one rubbed him the wrong way. However, after the greetings when Stewart handed him a drink, he hardly noticed any more as Stewart’s home was full of hot, muscular guys, all of them dressed in next to nothing or less, and all of them sporting sizable erections. Ricky hardly knew where to look first with so much prime beef all around him. As it turned out, it didn’t matter. The party was an orgy as soon as Pete and Ricky got undressed, and the two of them were the centre of attention as they got down to business right on the floor of the large open room. Before long, Pete was hammering deep into Ricky’s ass while the dozen or so muscle tops stood around, stroking their cocks to keep them hard. As soon as Pete exploded inside Ricky and pulled out, another cock replaced him – and another, and another, and another. The loads mounted up inside Ricky’s hole as his remaining inhibitions flew out the window. Ricky lost count of how many cocks he’d taken, how many loads had been pumped into him. He was flying high on sex – and on the unexplained contents of his drink. Some kind soul had left a black felt marker on a nearby table, which was also where Ricky’s favourite seatless briefs had landed when Pete pulled them off. The black marks on the waistband mounted up as more and more men came to join the party. By this time, Ricky was so far gone in his drug-induced haze that he didn’t even notice the man roaming around and around with the camcorder. Finally, after several hours, Pete called a halt. He picked the semi-conscious Ricky up, half-carried him down the hall to a bedroom with bath, helped him get the remaining sperm out of his ass, cleaned him off, and then put him to bed. Ricky emerged from his drugged sleep about twelve hours later, slowly returning to consciousness to find himself alone, in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room. The pain in his ass was grinding at his nerves. He’d never been this sore before, not even when he’d been ripped. He was clutching hard at something in his hand, an instinctive reaction to the pain. Looking down, he slowly unclenched his fingers and realized that he was holding his own seatless briefs, but they’d been improved and redecorated with a neat row of black marks along the waistband. He counted them slowly, shook his head, and counted them again. Thirty-four. As the mists of sleep receded, his brain put two and two together, still with some difficulty, as he realized that the row of black marks explained the intense pain in his hole. He picked up his phone and started texting Dylan, then stopped, wondering what he ought to say. Just then there came a quiet knock and the door began to open. Ricky put his phone down, sliding it under the covers but still holding onto it, just as Stewart walked in. “How are you doing, kid? You kinda had me worried when you slept so long.” Ricky bristled at the dismissive “kid,” but he held that in. “Where am I?” “Still at my house.” “Where’s Pete?” “Long gone. He left for home after breakfast.” “After breakf… what time is it anyway?” “Getting on for three o’clock in the afternoon. Listen, kid, you and me are gonna have a talk.” “About what? About the fact that you served me a drink which had been drugged?” “It was drugged? Wow! So that’s why you passed out for so long. Haha! But no. What we need to talk about is the video. Because that was the point of getting you here. Just a rough cut, but you’ll get the idea. It’ll look better once my editors are completely done with it. These are just a few screenshots.” Stewart showed Ricky the screen of his phone. The images were merciless, clear and unmistakable. Ricky, on his back, legs in the air, and a different top’s big dick buried inside him in each picture, then several pictures of his hole, red, puffy, and oozing streams of cum. Then came a brief video clip, with Ricky moaning, eyes rolling, as another huge, hard cock was rammed into him, displacing another wave of sperm from inside his ass cunt. That was followed by a clip of Pete, slurping all the cum out of his ass while showing it all to the camera, and then by a clip of Ricky, eyes closed and utterly unresponsive, getting DP from two of the biggest tops present. “You were the real hit of the party, kid. You and your wide-open, slutty ass. Just like this video is going to be the hit of the year for my company.” “Without my consent? That’s illegal. And anyway, I’m under age.” “Nice try. Your social media is full of pictures of your 21st birthday party last year. And consent? Of course you consented. Kid, you’ve been building yourself a reputation for the last year and longer of being the ultimate butt slut of WeHo, and everyone in town knows it. Who’s gonna believe that you would ever say no to an opportunity like this? You won’t have a leg to stand on. “Now, here’s what you’re gonna do. First of all, Pete is out of the picture. You’re gonna live here with me and be my boy toy from now on. Next, you’re gonna appear in a whole string of my movies, getting fucked by every top I can find who will take a go at your slutty hole. And you’re gonna make good and damn sure you act like you’re enjoying every minute of it. “In between films, I’m gonna make a pile by pimping out your sorry cunt whenever I feel like it, and you’ll take all of that too – and like it, if you know what’s good for you.” Ricky tried – and failed – to keep in the boiling wave of anger. “Fuck that. I’m not doing any of it, if I have to walk out of here and straight to the police station in my underwear.” “I think you will. Who’s gonna believe you if you try to come over all innocent and pure? Face it, kid, you wanted to act like the king slut of all time, you won the title, and now you might as well enjoy it as much as you can. You don’t have a choice any more. Like I said before, you don’t have a leg to stand on.” Stewart left the room, closing the door. Ricky clenched his fists in rage. For the first time ever, he was truly seeing himself through someone else’s eyes, and it wasn’t a comfortable sensation. Like Rinaldo, staring into the magical diamond shield, Ricky was appalled at the truth about himself which had been revealed to him in Stewart’s words – especially the truth of not having a leg to stand on. What Stewart had said was 110% on the money – nobody, but nobody, would believe he hadn’t consented to the orgy. He twisted in bed, filled with impotent fury, then stopped, feeling something else biting into his hand under the covers. Something hard, square… his phone. Just then, it emitted a beeping sound, the sound of a low battery. He pulled it out, looked at the screen, and gave a low whistle. Maybe he did have a leg to stand on after all. He scrambled to the chair where his clothes were lying and dug the charger cord out of his pocket. He connected the phone to an outlet, briefly checked the newest file, and then started texting a message – but not to Dylan. Thirty minutes later, Ricky opened the door, walked down the hall, and found Stewart sitting in the kitchen, talking loudly on his phone. When he put the phone down, he turned to Ricky and looked him up and down. “Hey, you don’t have to get all dressed up for me, kid, now that I’m your daddy. You look great in that strap you had on last night.” “I’m leaving. And if you’re smart, you won’t try to stop me.” Stewart laughed uproariously. “Holy shit, my new boy toy thinks he’s a fucking stand-up comedian!” Then he snarled. “Idiot! You ain’t goin nowhere unless I say so.” “No, I think I am – and when I explain, I think you’ll agree. But I’ll save that until my ride gets here – that’ll be in about 5 minutes, maybe a bit less.” “Where?” “Right here to your house at 15291 Grandwynne Drive, Stewart.” For the first time, Stewart looked a bit uncertain. “And don’t get any smart ideas. You’re right in line for some nice little criminal charges that will send you up the river for quite a few years, starting with drugging, kidnapping, and extortion. The person who’s coming to get me knows exactly who you are, where you live, and what you’re like, and has heard the voice recording from my phone of your interesting little plans for my future – and saved a copy of it. I already forwarded it to him.” Stewart looked startled for a moment, then recovered and roared with laughter. “You’re bluffing, kid, there’s no fucking way you’re that smart.” The doorbell rang. “Shit….” Looking a bit scared now, Stewart headed to the front door with Ricky right behind him. He opened it. “Well, Stewart, still up to your old dirty tricks, are you? You’d have done the same thing to me fifteen years ago if I hadn’t turned down your offer of a drink.” “Fuck!” He turned to Ricky. “Is this your friend?” “Yes, Ricky and I are friends. Are you okay, Ricky?” “For now, Daniel. As I told you on the phone, I’ve had better days.” Ricky turned to Stewart. “Do you still think I’m bluffing?” He hit the play button on the phone and the three of them listened to the recording. “In between films, I’m gonna make a pile by pimping out your sorry cunt whenever I feel like it….” Stewart paled. Daniel spoke, quietly, intensely. “Let me explain this to you very clearly, Stewart. You have a reputation around WeHo too, and it’s not very savory. This voice recording would certainly give the police and the D.A.’s office more than enough information right here and now to get you a nice extended holiday as a guest of the state. “How do you avoid that? Number one, you destroy that video, all copies of it, including all stills, screen shots, audio tracks, the works. If it ever surfaces, anywhere, in any form, you’re going to be hearing about it in court during your trial. “Next, you forget that all of this ever happened – forget it totally. Any bragging, any stories going around about this staged gang rape, and we go straight to the police with this audio recording. While we’re at it, you’d better get hold of all the guys who took part in this rape, including Pete, and make sure all of them shut their traps too. “And finally, if you have any kind of real smarts at all, this would be a very good time for you to exit the porn business for good, and to exit Los Angeles for good too while you’re at it. “You know me, Stewart, and you know that I know everyone in and around this industry even though I’m not working in porn any more. That means that I have eyes and ears everywhere – and if this story gets out, I will hear about it, and you will be in deep in the shit, right up to your sorry, flabby neck. Let’s go, Ricky.” They had a silent ride back to Twink Heaven. There was no point in airing the dirty linen within earshot of the plainly gay and frankly curious Uber driver. After they arrived, though, and were standing on the sidewalk outside the building, Ricky asked Daniel for one more favour. “I don’t think this one will be dangerous at all, I just want a backup for moral support.” “Of course.” They walked two blocks down the street, and into another building. Ricky buzzed Pete’s number and the lobby door unlocked. When they got upstairs, Pete was waiting in the hall. Ricky stepped out of the elevator. “Ricky! Are you okay? Sorry I had to….” His voice trailed off as Daniel stepped out of the elevator right behind Ricky. Pete was no fool. He knew that face perfectly well, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to pick an argument with the Hawaiian Nine’s sizable muscles. Ricky walked right up to Pete as he cringed in the open doorway of his apartment. He stared Pete coldly in the face until Pete cracked and began to talk. “Ricky, I’m sorry, I never knew it was going to get filmed….” “Don’t lie to me. You knew. The whole thing. Planned gang rape, drugging, filming without consent, sucking all that cum out of my ass after I was unconscious. You knew. You pathetic, lying, scumbag lump of shit.” Ricky turned and walked away. Daniel added his two cents worth. “He’s right, you know. Better be careful what you say. That’s serious felony stuff we’re talking about, and you’re into this mess a long way already.” He followed Ricky out of the building and walked him home. Ricky turned to thank him, and to invite him up for a drink. Daniel declined, but urged Ricky to contact him when he was feeling better, and they’d get together for dinner somewhere with Steve, Jim, and Laszlo. Ricky hugged him and thanked him again. He walked into the condo, and found Dylan sitting in the living room, nursing a sangria. “Ricky! Where the hell did you and Pete get to this time? Weekend away somewhere?” Ricky smiled ruefully. “If I told you, you’d never believe it.” Dylan laughed. “Try me. Want a drink?” He gestured to the pitcher by his elbow. Ricky chuckled, his normal good humour returning. “Thanks, but no. This time I’m going to make my own.” Over the next hour, Ricky told Dylan what had happened. Dylan was appalled to hear that Ricky had indeed gotten himself into a mess by mixing with the wrong people. He was relieved to learn that Ricky had accidentally wiggled out of it by pressing the voice record button on his phone without meaning to, and that he’d broken off with Pete, but of course there was no guarantee that Stewart wouldn’t try to release the video anyway – and the dangerous implications of the near miss still scared Dylan. After Ricky went to bed, Dylan took a moment to text a friend, setting a time to talk the next day, before going to bed himself. About five days later, when his ass was feeling back to normal, Ricky texted Daniel. In an hour or so, he got a reply. All set for tonight. Meet at Shell Games at seven. Smart casual. At seven sharp he arrived at the restaurant and found the other four waiting for him on the sidewalk outside. Once seated inside, Daniel assumed the role of the courtly host, consulting with his guests about the wines to be ordered and asking the waiter for suggestions from the menu for their dinners. They had a splendid meal, and the conversation flowed easily all around the table. There was no mention at all of Ricky’s most recent misadventure, and to all appearances the other three might not even have known about it. At the end of the meal, as they lingered over coffee and liqueurs, Jim casually asked, “Shooting Stars tonight, anyone?” Ricky demurred, still feeling a little anti-social and scared after what had happened. Steve and Laszlo accepted eagerly, but Daniel raised a few eyebrows when he said, “I’m not in the mood. I’ll just walk home with Ricky – if that’s where you were headed, Ricky?” The other three peeled off when they reached the bar, and Ricky walked on with Daniel along the street. “Daniel, can I ask you a question? Did you mean it when you said that Stewart tried the same trick on you?” Daniel stopped him. “Look at me, Ricky.” Ricky looked up, and Daniel caught his gaze, eye to eye. “Ricky, I wouldn’t try to trap even a piece of scum like him with a lie. Yes, it’s true. I got lucky. My mom didn’t approve of alcohol, and I was only a few months out from running away from home in Hawaii, so I hadn’t acquired a taste for it yet. I asked for Perrier instead.” “Was it past the expiry date?” Daniel roared with laughter. “Oh, so you’ve heard that story too, have you?” “Everyone who ever meets Jim and Steve gets that one told to them eventually.” “Very true.” Daniel laughed again, then turned serious. “Ricky, you will need to guard yourself for the next while. If you carry on the way you were doing, in full view of everyone, it’ll just make it easier for Stewart to release that film and wiggle off the hook for any consequences.” “I guess.” “I’ve known him for a long time now. I wouldn’t put it past him to try.” “Thanks for the good advice, Daniel. I guess I need a bit more of that in my life.” Just as he said that, they had reached the door of the building. “Got any more good advice for me? Or just come up for a nightcap? Call it a way for me to say thanks again.” To his surprise, Daniel accepted. When they got upstairs, the apartment was quiet. Daniel nosed around. “So this is the famous Twink Heaven. I’d expected something a little – I don’t know, maybe a bit more random décor.” “Well, it’s not really ours. We rented it long-term from the owner, furnished.” “In that case, you’re doing a pretty awesome job of keeping it nice and tidy.” “That’s Ryan, our housekeeping enforcer and resident tough guy. What would you like?” “A Perrier, with ice please.” “And not past the due date.” They both laughed again. Ricky went and got two bottles of Perrier from his section of the refrigerator, popped the caps, added some ice to a couple of glasses, and came back to the living room. They toasted each other silently and sipped for a moment. Then Daniel put his glass down. “I guess I gave you the impression that I had some more advice for you. But what I really wanted was this.” Daniel slid closer to Ricky, put his arm around Ricky’s shoulders, drew him close, and began to kiss him with tongue. Instead of responding instantly as he might have done a week earlier, Ricky drew back. “Wait a minute. Is this your idea of me guarding myself, being more careful? Wouldn’t Laszlo be upset?” “I doubt it,” Daniel replied. “He’ll almost certainly wind up with Steve and Jim, and not for the first time. I’m sure he expects this to happen.” Ricky still looked a bit doubtful, but then he’d been wanting to get at Daniel for so long. The man was absolutely the Numero Uno hunk of all the men he’d ever seen since he’d landed in Los Angeles: the hottest body, the sexiest tan, the thickest cock. Now Ricky was discovering that all of Daniel’s kissing scenes in his many videos hadn’t been faked. Daniel was a tremendous and skillful kisser, and Ricky couldn’t help responding. He let himself go with the flow – then rose to his feet, and led Daniel to his room, since Dylan was away for a couple of days. They undressed each other, and Ricky fell back on the bed, then reached up, drawing Daniel down to him. For one more moment he thought of all those incredible video scenes from Hawaiian Nine Films. But then he realized that this older, huskier daddy Daniel was far sexier and even more magnetic than his younger screen persona had ever been. He rolled onto his back and lifted his legs in clear invitation. Daniel reached for the lube, greased up his thick nine-inch tool, and planted the tip against Ricky’s hole, which certainly looked much better. But he was keeping his eyes open, studying Ricky for any reaction as he pressed inwards, keeping up the gentle pressure until the hole yielded and let his big, thick head pop inside. Ricky moaned aloud, but not in pain, so Daniel kept on the pressure. As soon as he had sunk all the way inside, he began flexing his muscles to make his cock jump inside Ricky. But he also kept watching. An experienced porn film man himself, he recognized the signs of the same exact behaviours some of his partners had exhibited when filming – the moment when the guy detached emotionally from what was happening and behaved as if on script, dutifully moaning and muttering and crying “Fuck” when he was in truth completely separated from any involvement in what he was doing. Ricky was looking exactly like that now, his words and actions coming as rote, his bodily responses learned and repeated. This was what Daniel had feared to see. But he knew he had to keep up his end of the script, so he kept plowing into Ricky, praising the tightness of his hole when in truth it felt loose even to Daniel’s massive tool. When Daniel started muttering that he was going to cum soon, Ricky dutifully speeded up the rise and fall of his hips and squeezed his ass muscles harder on Daniel’s cock. This part Daniel was enjoying, as he had always let himself go and thoroughly enjoyed the feeling of breeding an ass. This was likely the reason why even the tetchiest critics always found his cumshot scenes so compelling. Even when he was breeding, his massive cock out of sight, hidden deep inside his partner’s fuck tunnel, the physical intensity and power of his own reactions went far beyond any kind of learned behaviour. And so it was now. Ricky’s ass was definitely talented, and he was doing a first-rate job of pulling Daniel’s load up and out. And Daniel was enjoying it, every moment, every second of the rise to the peak and subsequent explosion. And then it happened. With a muted bellow, Daniel slammed down hard into Ricky’s ass, following up with a series of short, sharp extra thrusts to force his cum up and out and into Ricky’s body. At last his energy ebbed away, and he lifted up, then slowly slid out of Ricky’s ass. As he went, though, he was still watching Ricky intently and could see that he hadn’t yet emerged from that detached state. This convinced Daniel that he was on the right track, that his guess was accurate. He laid down again, pulling Ricky close to him and resuming kissing. Ricky came back, then, enjoying something that he got to experience all too rarely – the feeling of actual human closeness and intimacy, over and above the mere physical connection of sex. After a few minutes, Daniel drew back and spoke to him. “How was that, Ricky?” “How do you mean?” “Well, you’ve been chasing after me with great determination for over a year, ever since I moved in here. Did I live up to your expectations?” He said that with a chuckle, but he noted the flash of distress in Ricky’s face. He’d heard from others that Ricky hated to hurt anyone’s feelings and guessed that this was the cause of his current state of discomfort. But then, Ricky surprised and pleased him by not taking the easy way out. “Well, honestly….” “Please.” “No, it didn’t. But it wasn’t your fault, you were great, it was more… I don’t know, I guess I just expect too damn much.” Daniel snuggled him a bit closer and stroked his head gently. “Is that it, then, Ricky? Tell me, have your experiences always failed to live up to your expectations?” “Oh, no. It always used to be so fantastic. So exciting and involving and – you know, when a guy made me cum, fucked the cum out of me, I would feel that nothing could ever get any better.” Daniel frowned a bit. Again, his guess had been confirmed. “Ricky, when was the last time you really felt that way? Like really, seriously, felt that way?” “I can’t even remember. It’s been so long. Years, I guess.” He screwed up his face in thought, then turned and looked right at Daniel. “I’m going to tell you something now, it’s pretty bad but it’s the truth. When things skidded out of control at Stewart’s place last week, I went along, let it happen because I thought that then maybe I’d get that rush, that incredible feeling back again – all those gorgeous muscle studs fucking me and filling me up, creaming my ass. But I didn’t. All I got was a drug-induced hangover and a very sore hole.” Daniel took a deep breath and figured out carefully exactly how to say the next thing. “Ricky, if sex isn’t doing anything for you any more, do you think a doctor might be able to help?” “I don’t know… this doesn’t seem like a medical problem, not like getting a bad case of limp dick or anything.” “Ricky, it’s all health and it’s all medical. Physical, mental, emotional, they all work as a team to make life better, or else they fight against each other and make life hell. But it’s all a doctor’s business. Just from what you’ve said tonight, it sounds like getting to a doctor might turn out to be the biggest favour you’ve ever done yourself.” “I guess you’re right, I’d sort of already thought that myself. But there’s the cost….” “We can cover that angle. I can call in a favour from the doctor who handled all our medical issues at Hawaiian Nine. Your situation will certainly be right up his alley. Let me know when I can make you an appointment with him.” Suddenly, Ricky made up his mind. “Right now. This thing – it’s ripping me apart. I’ve got to get on top of this dead feeling before it breaks me down all the way.” He grabbed his phone and checked his calendar. “This week and the next two weeks, I’m doing all early arrivals at the store’s office so I’m through work each weekday at 3:00 PM. If you go ahead and set an appointment and then let me know when… Daniel, I’m so grateful to you for suggesting it.” Daniel gave Ricky another heartfelt hug and kiss. The truth was, he had actually come to like this younger man with his unique style of approaching life, by turns brash, reflective, reckless, thoughtful, sarcastic, and considerate. It was the complexity of his personality that made him so unusual, and appealing. And Daniel really wanted to help him get a grip on his life issues, because be knew already that there was so much more to Ricky than just a cute butt with a hot, wet hole. At last, he got up and dressed, while Ricky pulled on his briefs and watched. Just as Daniel finished buttoning down his shirt, Ricky sighed. “Damn, I had no idea that just watching a man get dressed could be so incredibly sexy.” Daniel chuckled. “Don’t push your luck, Ricky. I’ve got to save something to bring home for Laszlo or my name is mud!” Ricky laughed at that. “If he gets mad, tell him it’s all my fault and I’m sorry.” They hugged and kissed goodbye, and Daniel swung out the door – just as Terry came along the hall. He goggled at the sight of the famous ex-porn-star but exchanged civil hellos with him. Once he was inside, he immediately had to ask. “Ricky, how the fuck did you ever get him into bed with you?” Ricky laughed. “I acted lost and helpless. Tried and true method.” Terry snorted in derision. But even as Ricky laughed at him, he was realizing that it was simple truth. Contrary to what almost anyone else except his closest friends would expect or know, there was a caring heart hidden inside all that muscle and business-first attitude of the former Hawaiian Nine.

Chapter 10: Getting to Know the New Guys Through the course of the winter, Duarte had a couple more dates with Archer McManus, although these ones didn’t take place in Twink Heaven – Duarte had gotten enough teasing from the guys after the first one. That didn’t stop Dylan from trying to find out. “So where are you guys going for your date tonight, Duarte?” “We go… somewhere.” “For dinner?” “Yes.” “And after dinner?” “Then we go… somewhere else.” Dylan had just discovered that Duarte was a total expert in the fine old art of acting coy. A couple of weeks later, Duarte was left at a loose end when Archer had to leave town. He’d gotten an extended gig dancing in a club and filming porn on the side in Prague, and would be away for a couple of months, maybe more. Duarte drooped around the house for a week or so, sulking and pining for the man of his dreams, but then recovered enough to start having some visitors again, just to keep his equipment in good working order. Then there was the night when Ryan came home and found a mysterious note from Leo on the door of their room. “Dylan wouldn’t let me have the playroom. Please sleep somewhere else. Urgent!” Fortunately for Leo and his unexpected guest, Ryan was a pretty laid-back guy. He just shrugged philosophically, and after listening at the door for a minute (and hearing nothing very definite, just some heavy breathing) he went back to the living room, via a detour to the linen closet to grab the emergency bedroll, and then went to sleep on the sofa. He was awakened twice: once when Dylan’s hot date of the night left rather noisily, and the other when Leo ushered his guest quickly and quietly through the apartment and out the door. Ryan caught only a passing glimpse of a tall man with curly dark hair. In a set-up with six gay guys sharing one spare room for entertaining visitors, stuff was bound to happen. One day, Ricky happened to be taking a floor-to-floor shortcut on the stairs to drop a borrowed book off at a friend’s apartment. When he came out of the stairwell on the ninth floor, the elevator door opened and Arpad Nagy stepped out, walking down the hall away from him. He noted which door the porn model opened with his key, but then he stepped aside into the alcove of another door to avoid being spotted. Making a note of the apartment number, he smiled to himself and returned to his business. That Thursday, he decided to pay an unannounced booty call at seven in the evening. He walked down to Nagy’s apartment again and knocked on the door. No answer. He knocked again. The door opened a fraction on the chain, and a voice growled, “I’ve got company coming! Get lost!” “Okayyy,” Ricky replied, a shade plaintively, but also curious as hell as to who the evening visitor might be. He slipped down the hall, dodging again into another door alcove as the elevator chimed. He peered around the corner. This was a bigger, huskier man, but that was all he could see through the dark blue hoodie with the hood pulled up over the head. The man was carrying a well-stuffed backpack. He knocked on Nagy’s apartment, the door opened, and the voice said, “Well! Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” as the door closed again. Ricky walked back down and leaned against the wall next to Arpad Nagy’s door, listening for sounds from inside. He heard a series of indeterminate little bangs and thumps, interspersed with some plainly sexual moans. Then he heard the voice again. “Fuck… fuck… Daniel, that’s so fucking good. Eat my ass… stick your tongue in me… get me ready….” Ricky had his hand clamped onto his own bulge, squeezing it with considerable energy as it rapidly hardened. The name “Daniel” didn’t convey any meaning to him, but the words and the assorted sounds sure did. He got the front of his trousers yanked open, as he continued listening. More assorted banging sounds, and then the voice again: “Fuck, Daniel, quit wasting time. I can’t wait for it. Get that dick inside me and fuck my brains out!” “You want this cock?” “Fuck yes! Quit teasing me and fuck me!” The sounds got louder and clearer. Ricky had his hand wrapped around his raging erection and was jacking at top speed. From behind the door came the loud slapping sounds of hips smacking against butt cheeks, and the harsh, irregular breathing of the top driving into his bottom’s hole as fast as he could go. At that speed, he thought, they won’t last long. They didn’t. “Fucking cumming….” Then followed the unmistakable grunts and groans of two men in full rut spurting out their seed, followed in turn by the loud thumps of two exhausted sex fiends falling onto the floor. That did it. Ricky moaned loudly as his cock exploded in his hand, spraying a fountain of cum up and all over the painted wall of the corridor. He quickly zipped up and got the hell out of there, leaving behind another mess for the superintendent to clean off the wall the next morning. Back in his own room, Ricky tore off his clothes and lay on the bed, his cock jutting straight up into the air above him. He wrapped his hand around the shaft and began pumping, his mind replaying a mental recording of the soundtrack from that hot scene behind the door of Arpad Nagy’s apartment. In his imagination, he was seeing that golden man, the Hawaiian Nine, looming above him and pounding down into his tight hole. In just a few minutes he fired another load into the air, but his cock still refused to go down. It was at this point that Dylan walked in after working into the evening. He took one look at his friend’s naked body and rigid cock, and said, “Oooh, is that for me?” Ricky opened his eyes, and snapped, “No! But I want yours inside me, now. I want you to fuck my hole and breed me deep and hard.” Never one to refuse such an alluring invitation, Dylan quickly ripped all his clothes off and got onto the bed, pushing his hard tool into Ricky’s ass. Ricky groaned and began beating his meat again as Dylan started pounding into him, deep and hard as requested. Dylan could tell Ricky was getting close and he speeded up to match, which was easy since he hadn’t shot off in three days. In no time, Ricky was winding up to shooting Load Number Three while Dylan was himself rapidly approaching the point of no return. It all happened very quickly, as Ricky’s tool convulsed and sprayed yet another jet of cum into the air, while his hole grabbed hard at Dylan’s pounding cock. That death grip brought Dylan right up to the point in short order, and before Ricky had finished his orgasm Dylan was blasting off deep inside him. As the final vestiges of Dylan’s explosion tailed off, he collapsed across Ricky’s prone body, gasping for air. After both of them got their breath back, Dylan said, “All right, now suppose you tell me what brought on that sudden wave of terminal horniness.” After Ricky explained what he had overheard, Dylan nodded. “Yeah, that would do it, especially when you’ve been trying to add his cock to your collection of ‘Famous Dicks That Have Fucked Me’.” Ricky had never told Dylan about the quickie in the alleyway. It was a few months after that before Ricky saw the Hungarian porn stud again. Once again he was sunning out by the pool when he saw Arpad Nagy walk out of the building, followed by a bigger, huskier man whose very brief red swimsuit appeared to be painted on over a hefty bulge. Ricky eyed the big man, thinking that he looked familiar. Then he put down his sunglasses to pull off his t-shirt and Ricky recognized him – the famous porn stud and company owner known as the Hawaiian Nine. He watched the two of them pull a pair of loungers close together and then sit and lean back, linking hands with each other as they did so. Ricky was a little startled. Rumours had swirled for years about these two being an item, as Dylan had told him soon after his arrival in California, but nobody ever had any first-hand report of actually seeing them together. Then the company, Hawaiian Nine Films, had been sold and the Hawaiian Nine himself had vanished, going M.I.A. from WeHo for over a year. Ricky, of course, had no idea of all the complex interplay of attitudes, emotions, and personalities behind the scenes of that story, and wouldn’t have cared if he did know. The foremost thought in his head was simple lust. He’d been dreaming of taking that massive thick cock inside his ass ever since the first time he’d seen the man at work, on Alan’s bedroom wall theatre screen, and now that epic tool was here, and practically within his reach. Just the thought of it was enough to make his hole start twitching. His hole twitched even harder when the two of them stood up and dived into the water for a swim, and then came out of the pool and up the steps near his seat. Just seeing the six soft inches of cock in the front of that tiny red suit made Ricky’s cock start oozing. He gave them a few minutes to settle down again, and then got up and wandered over that way to say hello. The sad truth was that Ricky really had no experience in flirting. It wasn’t something he’d ever had to practise. But this time, Nagy forced the issue by starting the conversation so that Ricky had to reply in kind. “Yes? Do I know you from somewhere?” That was a particularly dirty opening gambit, and the smirk on Nagy’s face showed that he knew it. Ricky, too, knew damn well that with the boyfriend sitting right there, and more than big enough to flatten him, this was not the time to say, “Yeah, have you forgotten how you pulled me into that alley and fucked my brains out last fall?” He fumbled and stumbled a reply. His next few utterances weren’t much more coherent. Ricky was desperately trying to think of something complimentary to say that didn’t sound either sarcastic or like a really bad porn script – without success. Finally, though, the Hawaiian Nine took pity on him and handed him a bottle of suntan oil. “Here. Do our backs.” The two of them rolled over, and Ricky popped open the bottle. This, he could do. He straddled Arpad Nagy’s back first and gave his best in a backrub with the oil, working it right down to the waistband of the man’s swimsuit, and then coming up the backs of his legs to the leg openings. But when he shifted over to the Hawaiian Nine, that was when he really began to lose it. The guy was so beautifully muscular, his rich copper-brown skin tone so enticing, so fucking perfect in every way, and Ricky found that digging in with his hands was just making his cock harder and wetter by the second. Why, oh why, he thought, did I have to go and wear the light pink swimsuit today? The black one wouldn’t have shown the precum stains. But he kept working away, until he had thoroughly covered the back of the hunk’s broad shoulders and taut waist. Then the two of them rolled back over, thanked him politely but with no hint of encouragement, and settled back with eyes closed and hands linked. Ricky walked away, dampened in more than one sense of the word. Damn it all! So near and yet so far. He could see a half a dozen faces around the pool grinning at his disappointment and his even more obvious physical discomfort, as he struggled to contain his hard dick inside his suit which was definitely too small for the purpose. He had to jump into the pool himself, both to conceal the dark, damp patches over his crotch and to try to get his cock to deflate a bit. It was obvious, though, that the two porn guys were now in permanent residence as he continued to see them around the building on occasion, and usually toting bags of camera gear and tripods. Always a polite hello, never anything more. But one thing he had learned by now, via the grapevine, was that both of them were now running an event photography/videography business and had permanently retired from the porn industry. One day, Ricky paid one of his periodic social calls on Jim and Steve. He tried to discreetly drop the name of the Hawaiian Nine into the conversation, but Jim wasn’t fooled for an instant. “Oh, so you’ve got him in your starry-eyed gunsights now, have you? I’d give up on that fantasy if I were you. He’s a changed man.” “That’s right,” Steve chimed in. “For years he never had sex with anyone unless there was a camera pointing at him – strictly business and only business. But now, the little boy with the arrows has shot him through the heart. He’s in luuuve, and it’s his first love as well as the great love of his life. He’s off the market, in no uncertain terms.” Ricky sighed. He’d come to the right place to get the facts, as opposed to the community’s salacious, endless, garbled gossip which so often ended up giving to airy nothing a local habitation and a name, but the answer he’d gotten wasn’t the one he was hoping for. However, Steve took pity on him, and dropped in a note of comfort. “But here’s what we’re going to do. We’re planning a Friday evening drinks and nibbles party for them next week. They’re our friends, and we thought it would be nice to let them meet some of our other friends in the building, and that includes you and Dylan. Seven o’clock till ten on the sixteenth.” “Thanks, Steve. I’ll be sure to let Dylan know. Just give me a second here to block it off on my calendar.” He quickly entered it into his phone. As he did that, Jim spoke. “Okay, that’s enough talk about the Hawaiian Nine, it’s ruining my self-confidence the way you fellows just keep bleating on and on about him.” Steve and Ricky both laughed at him, and the conversation moved on to other topics. And then the visit shifted from the living room to the bedroom, where the highlight was that Steve had promised to let Ricky have the full treatment from the infamous Rod Rammer’s enormous tool. Even for a bottom as experienced as Ricky had now become, it was a struggle. That cock was so damn huge, and he had to really work at it with a lot of patience. It took nearly twenty minutes of effort before he was finally able to drop down the last inch and a half and plant his cheeks squarely on Steve’s hip bones. Riding up and down on that monster wasn’t a bit easier. Jim had to sit on Steve’s face to get his hands into a position where he could help Ricky to keep his balance as he had to slide up for what felt like halfway to their penthouse’s extra-high ceiling, and then slide all the way back down again. He wasn’t able to do it very quickly, but the fact that he could do it at all and take the entire length of the legendary Rammer deep inside him over and over again put him into a very exclusive club. So did the fact that he was able to keep going for ten minutes of it, no less, until Steve lost it and let his balls empty out into Ricky’s hard-working ass. And Steve, in the meantime, had been enjoying the pleasant task of licking and slurping on Jim’s ass to keep him occupied. Once Ricky had finally pulled up and off and laid down at the side of the bed to wait for his hole to close up again, Jim had taken over, giving Steve what he really wanted – a good deep ass fuck and a nice hot load of his husband’s sperm deep inside him. As he had so often before, Ricky found himself shaking his head at the thought of such a gigantic piece of man meat being wasted on a guy who actually wanted to be on the bottom. Later on, after getting dressed again, they settled down for another drink (“Just Perrier for me,” Jim said with a wink), and Steve had to caution Ricky again. “Listen, Ricky, I know you’re just dying to tell the immediate world who fucked you today, but I’m begging you not to tell anyone – please. If the word gets out that Rod Rammer fucked someone again, I’ll have three-quarters of the world’s gay men beating a path to my door – not to mention all the porn producers who will want to tempt me out of retirement, over and over and over!” Ricky promised, but then his curiosity got the better of him. “So how did the Hawaiian Nine get you to come out of retirement if you didn’t want to?” Jim interrupted before Steve could even get his mouth opened. “My job at the time wanted me to go on a field mission in Europe for six weeks, and this poor guy just got sooo lonely without me.” Steve batted right back. “Yeah, I know, Jim, your fatal attraction. Such a sex god.” He sighed and rolled his eyes, and then laughed loudly. “Actually, Ricky, I wanted to do the Nine a favour. I knew he was planning to retire and leave town, and I thought it would be a good way to cap off his career and get people off my back at the same time if I let him fuck me on screen after I fucked him. And by the way, his real name is Daniel, Daniel Nakamura, and his boyfriend’s real name is Laszlo Kertesz. And don’t forget, he really hates it when people call him the Hawaiian Nine now so please remember that when you meet him here.” Ricky and Dylan arrived at the party at 7:30, late but not fashionably late – in other words, not the first to arrive but also not the last one who always has to make a Grand Entrance. Alan was already there, standing back in a discreet corner as usual, but they swung by to have a quick hello and chat with him for a minute or two. Then they headed for the drinks table, helping themselves to a couple of glasses of Perrier with lime. At that point, Steve and Jim were chatting with Daniel and Laszlo, so they headed that way next. “Daniel, Laszlo, this is our resident young go-getter, Ricky, and his equally energetic friend Dylan.” “We’ve met Ricky before. Dylan, good to meet you.” “Thanks,” Dylan replied. Then Laszlo decided to get a bit catty. “So, Dylan, do you have a hard time keeping him under control?” Daniel elbowed him discreetly. Dylan chuckled. “Not at all. That’s his problem. We’re roommates and friends, but that’s all. Any messes either of us get into, we’re on our own to fix them.” Ricky chimed in, “So, I’ve heard that you are running a photography/videography business now?” Daniel replied, “Yes, we’re doing both. Laszlo is the photographer, and I’m on video.” As he said that, Laszlo pulled out a card and handed it to Ricky, who looked it over and slipped it into his pocket. Then, proving that he could be much more controlled on his own, he asked another question about their business and the conversation flowed smoothly from there. After a few more minutes, he and Dylan excused themselves to let other people meet the guests of honour. Later that night, Daniel and Laszlo sat over a final drink with Steve and Jim. Daniel was musing over the people they’d met. “Steve, that young friend of yours, Ricky, really surprised me tonight.” “That’s good. I know you told me about how clumsy he was about trying to flirt with you at the pool, but that clumsy flirting is only one part of Ricky. There’s a lot more to him than that, and I’m sure he’s going to go places in the world – if he ever learns to keep his horse in the stable.” They all laughed, but then Jim added his two cents worth. “And after all, he’s still young. Still a month or so shy of his twenty-first birthday.” “Really?” Laszlo had raised his eyebrows a bit. “And he’s already an acting store manager at Teed and Tylor Bespoke? That’s impressive for such a young fellow.” Jim smiled reflectively. “I think he’s a bit like you, Laszlo, in that he’s gone through a lot more than most people his age and picked up a whole range of life lessons very quickly. It’s all gone to make him a lot more mature than most of his contemporaries – except when he thinks about sex.” That drew another laugh from all four of them. In another apartment of the building, somebody else was getting catty. “You did really well tonight, Ricky. Ten whole minutes of conversation and your eyes never once dropped below the belt.” “Very funny, Dyl. I think perhaps you weren’t quite so controlled.” “Maybe not, but it was the first time I ever met them close up. You’ve already had a couple of chances.” “It’s funny.” Ricky’s voice was dropping into a more thoughtful register. “We gay guys can be so bitchy when we feel like it. Sometimes we do it way too much – and sometimes we spend way too much time and energy focusing below the belt. But I enjoyed meeting those two tonight and learning a bit more about them besides what everyone can see on their films. That was intriguing. I think I’d like to get to know both of them better. Interesting personalities.” “While not forgetting their cocks and asses, right?” “Well, duh!” That set both of them laughing.. Over the next few months, it became apparent that Daniel and Laszlo shared Ricky’s feelings. A meeting in the lobby now became a chance for a quick moment’s conversation – Laszlo’s exclusive photo work for FourWinds Resort in Kauai, Ricky’s promotion to permanent store manager, Dylan nailing a manager’s job at Shell Games, a new deluxe seafood restaurant owned by the same company which owned Shooting Stars. Daniel and Laszlo both perked up their ears at that one. “I hadn’t heard of that. Where is it?” “Just another block and a half down the street past Shooting Stars, same side.” “Laszlo, we have to try it out.” “Definitely. Dylan, real change of pace for you.” “Sure is. I got the line on the job from Steve, he’s working for that holding company now. Hope to see you down there soon.” In this way, in bits and pieces, Ricky and Dylan built another key friendship into their circle. The four of them got so comfortable with each other that conversations often became flirtatious – but nothing more than that. A part of Ricky still found that hard to take, but only in part. Overall, he felt that he was ahead in the Game of Life by virtue of having two more solid, reliable friends in his circle. He would find out in due time just how right he was in that feeling. A few months later, they got a surprising email from Daniel. If you’re free tonight in WeHo, Come on down to Shooting Stars at 8:30! It’s a Coming-Out Party for Silvio!!! He just joined the tribe this morning, so Come on down, enjoy some tunes, Dance up a storm, share food, drinks and kisses, And we’ll show Silvio a whole lot of love! Let’s make this the biggest night of his life!!! Needless to say, they went – and brought along the entire Twink Heaven crew with them. Everybody they’d ever met in WeHo, and a good number more, had packed into the bar. There were twink boys, daddies, porn performers, muscle beach men, and so many more. The huge roar of approval when Silvio arrived with Laszlo nearly blew their ears off. Everyone was cramming onto the dance floor with shirts off, sweating, drinking, laughing, moving in unison to the music – and a fair bit of groping and pinching and squeezing too. The bar staff were going crazy trying to keep everyone well hydrated. It was the blowout party of the year, some said of the decade. And Ricky and Dylan were right there in the middle of it all. At midnight, when Daniel got up to make a speech and introduce Silvio by name, Ricky couldn’t help thinking he’d seen Silvio before, but it took him a minute – and then it hit. As soon as Silvio finished speaking, and the music started again, he made his way over to Leo. “You’ve fucked with him, haven’t you, Leo?” “Who?” “Duh – with Silvio!” “Yeah – but how did you know?” “Because I saw you whizzing into the condo with him that night,” Ricky said accusingly. “I knew too,” Ryan put in. “I woke up a bit from sleeping on the sofa and saw him leaving.” Leo looked crestfallen. “Fuck, a guy just can’t keep any secrets around Twink Heaven!” They all laughed, but then he went on. “But I was being secretive for Silvio’s sake, and now you know why. Damn! I’m so happy he’s finally gotten out of the closet. For his sake!” he added hastily as Ryan shot him an X-ray look. Later on, Ricky and Dylan were dancing in the middle of the crowd when they found themselves close to Daniel and Laszlo. Ricky just “accidentally” let his hand brush against Daniel’s pec. Daniel laughed, leaned in close, and said, “Still trying, are we?” But it was the measure of how good friends they were all becoming, that Ricky, Dylan, and Laszlo all laughed with him. A few months later, they got an even more intriguing email. This one came from Silvio and was an invitation to a stag weekend for Laszlo and Daniel, who were getting married at the end of the month. It was in a clothing optional resort in Palm Springs. Dylan looked at the details, and said, “Ricky, we have to make up our minds and get in there fast – that place, I’ve been there, and it isn’t that huge; this party is going to sell out in no time!” They filled in the form and emailed it back, sending their money online at the same time, and got themselves a room in the resort. Then they asked around for any friends who were also going and got together to arrange a ride. Once they arrived, they found themselves in the room right next to Silvio, and the handsome younger Hawaiian guy who was sharing with him. They stopped in to say hello, and Silvio introduced them to Daniel’s younger half-brother, Darren. Ricky was all set to race Dylan for the privilege of getting into bed with these two studs, but Silvio waved them off. “You need to save it all for tomorrow, and so do we. Right, Darren?” And he winked at Darren as he said it. “Maybe we can catch up with you two and your cute little twink asses on Sunday,” Darren put in, not wanting to seem disinterested. Ricky and Dylan ended up hooking up that evening with Will and Eddie, the two guys who’d been responsible for all the amazing camera work on the Hawaiian Nine movies and had even jumped in for an impromptu guest appearance in one of them. That gave both Ricky and Dylan a good pair of loads to start off the weekend. By one o’clock on Saturday afternoon, the deck area around the resort’s pool and extra-large hot tub was full of enthusiastic partygoers, and a fair number were already in the pool and hot tub. Ricky and Dylan wandered around, completely butt-ass naked like most of the men there. They took in the sight of the large deluxe sunbed at the far end of the courtyard, which had been decorated with a canopy fringed with multicoloured condoms and sex toys, and a huge sign reading “JUST (ABOUT) MARRIED!” The two grooms-to-be were to make their grand entrance at half past one, but nobody was waiting that long to get things going, especially Ricky. He’d just spotted an impressive dick on a tall, lean black man, and he wanted to get that meat into his mouth and up his ass as soon as possible. “Catch you later, Dyl,” he said quickly, and then headed over to get the action moving. Dylan shook his head with a rueful smile on his face, watching Ricky go right into full-on orgy mode. He dropped right to his knees in front of the black stud, whose name was Marcus, and began going crazy on that cock which rapidly swelled up to a full size that challenged Steve for length if not for thickness. Marcus was quick in another way, too. It took no time at all for the taste of precum to make itself felt in Ricky’s mouth. He was plunging all the way down, almost to the root of that giant black tool, when a storm of cheering erupted. Ricky didn’t even look up to see the grand entry of the guests of honour; he was preoccupied with what he was doing to Marcus. In another minute, Marcus pulled him to his feet, spun him around, and pushed him down onto a nearby lounger. Ricky scrambled onto all fours, thrusting his ass out eagerly for that huge black fuck rod. Marcus planted the tip against Ricky’s hole which he could feel was already lubed up, a sensible precaution. Marcus grinned as he pressed inwards in one long smooth stroke, in and in and in until the blond boy’s ass had swallowed all but about the last inch of his shaft. He then stirred it around a bit inside the hole until something shifted, and he was able to push the last bit deep into Ricky’s fuck tube. Ricky groaned deeply but didn’t try to get away. He couldn’t have if he wanted to, because Marcus had a death grip on his shoulders, holding him all the way onto that monster dick. Marcus began thrusting deep into Ricky’s tunnel, pulling almost all the way out, and then plunging all the way back in. In no time, he had worked up to a furious storm of fucking, while Ricky clutched desperately to the frame of the lounger and held on for the ride. He’d been pounded before, to be sure, but this stud took the whole thing to a completely different level. The loud smacks of Marcus’ hips against Ricky’s butt cheeks quickly drew an audience, and soon there was a good-sized crowd of fifteen or twenty horny men, standing around and stroking their own or each other’s cocks as they watched Ricky getting hammered. “Fuck, man, look at that cock going in him,” one awestruck voice said. Marcus ignored the audience, simply getting faster and faster and, impossibly but actually, going deeper inside. It was as if he’d opened up a whole other cavern inside Ricky that no one else had ever reached. His dark hips became a flying blur, the smacks blended together into a drumroll of noise, and then Marcus shouted, “Fucking breeding you!” as he erupted inside Ricky, pumping a huge load of his seed deep inside the WeHo twink bottom. Ricky blew off at the same time, hands free, and three or four of the onlookers lost it and spilled their loads too. Eventually Marcus slowed to a halt, and pulled out, wiping the last drizzles of cum from his cock onto Ricky’s ass cheeks. That cock was still twitching slightly, as if it wanted to pump out a few more squirts. Marcus gave Ricky’s ass a slap, and said, “Great hole, slut – get some more in there.” Ricky leaped to his feet with a yell of triumph, giving a fist pump, and then reaching back to swipe the cum off the outside of his ass. He licked that all up off his hand, and then called out, “Okay, who wants sloppy seconds?” At once, a stocky, muscular man with a beard stepped out of the crowd. He was shorter than many of the guys there, about Ricky’s height in fact, but he wasted no time putting himself in charge. He shoved Ricky down onto the lounger on his back, lifted his legs up, and sank a thick seven-incher deep into Ricky’s hole. This guy was so wound up already from watching Marcus at work that he lasted for only a couple of minutes of pumping before blasting off inside the hole. When he pulled out, another man, taller and thinner, slipped his cock into Ricky’s ass while his friend pushed another big rod down Ricky’s throat. The two of them kept spit-roasting Ricky for the next five minutes until the guy in his mouth came. He then bent down, slurped some of his load back out of Ricky’s mouth, and straightened up to swap it with his buddy in a wet kiss. That set the other guy’s explosion off, and a third massive load blew into Ricky’s hole. But the audience had vanished. When those two pulled out and left, Dylan was there to get Ricky to his feet. “Come on, Ricky, you gotta see this – it’s wild!” Most of the men had crowded around the canopied sunbed. Ricky and Dylan pushed through the crowd until they could see the sunbed. At first, Ricky couldn’t quite make out what he was seeing. Eventually it resolved into six guys, in two groups of three, all plainly engaged in some hot sex but – equally plainly – not with each other. That was when he saw the two grooms lying flat on the sunbed, and figured out that two of the six men were sitting on their faces, two were riding on their cocks, and the last two were balls deep and fucking Laszlo and Daniel at top speed. All six were naked except for black hoods pulled over their heads and faces. Suddenly, Ricky jogged Dylan’s elbow. “Hey, Dyl, notice something odd? All six of those guys are exactly the same colour.” “So?” “It’s not natural. Look around you. Do you see six guys anywhere here with exactly identical skin tone?” “What about it?” “Body paint – that’s my guess. They’re trying to look identical. And it looks like they’re all the same height and similar build. That’s no accident.” “Ricky, are you thinking what I’m thinking?” “Uh-huh. ‘You need to save it all for tomorrow, and so do we. Right, Darren?’ Remember when he said that last night?” “Wow…!” But their conversation didn’t get any further. They heard a couple of muffled yells from under the two butts planted on two faces, and the guys riding their cocks jammed down all the way and held it there. At the same time, the two guys fucking them speeded up and released within seconds of each other, breeding two hot asses. Then a voice yelled, “Switch!” All six of the nameless men jumped up to change positions. That was when the boys could see that Daniel and Laszlo had been shackled to the sunbed. None of the guys changed victims, but all six of them settled down into new positions, in the same distribution. It was at this point that Ricky felt a hand groping his ass and squeezing his cheek. A deep voice sounded in his ear. “Are you getting as hot as I am?” Ricky nodded. “Let’s go.” The man led him away to a lounger in a corner near the hot tub. “Go ahead, lie down.” This was an older man, one Ricky had never seen before, but he was attractive, with a good taut body – and that deep, almost hypnotic voice. Ricky settled down on the lounger. Past the man’s legs, he saw Dylan disappearing with another guy. Ricky lay back, lifting his legs up to expose his hole. The stranger leaned down and fingered his hole. “You’ve been fucked already today, haven’t you. How many?” “Three loads in my butt.” “Hmm. I’m not too thrilled. I prefer a fresh one. How about you fuck me instead?” “Of course.” They changed places, the older man sinking down on the lounger and rolling onto his back as Ricky stood up. The man handed him a pocket tube of lube, he applied some to his cock, and then closed it and handed it back. He bent down, planting the tip of his cock against the man’s ass, and then leaned until he slipped inside. He began fucking, and slowly began building up speed. But then another voice sounded in his ear, and he stopped dead. “That looks like fun. Are you enjoying fucking my husband?” Ricky figured he’d better take a strong approach. “Yes. He’s got a great ass. It feels wonderful.” The new man chuckled. “I can’t argue with you. Did he ask you to fuck him because you’d taken a load already?” “Three loads, actually.” “Mmm, that’s great. Unlike Henry here, I love sloppy seconds.” The man placed the tip of his cock against Ricky’s hole and sank all the way in with only minimal resistance. “You ever done a fuck train before?” Ricky nodded. “So you know the middle man has to control the train, right?” Ricky nodded again. “Okay, Champ, over to you.” Ricky began moving slowly, back and forth, taking his time to get everything properly aligned, and then slowly added speed, accelerating the motion. The cock in his ass was hitting nicely and, from the sound of the moans, the guy under him was getting it just right too. He was also enjoying the way the man on top was playing with his nips – just lightly, teasing them, not yanking them right off, and that made Ricky extra-sensitive. Soon the three of them were attracting an audience again, and with good reason. It couldn’t last long, though. The combinations of different stimuli on so many levels were pulling Ricky closer and closer to the point of cumming, even though he didn’t really want to. “You’re going to cum?” the top guy asked him. Ricky nodded. “So am I, so just go for it.” As for the one on the bottom, he heard the words and immediately grasped his cock, speeding up in a hurry to catch up to the two guys doing the fucking. Ricky came first, exploding with a loud cry into the ass of the man under him. Then the guy on top blew his load into Ricky’s ass. That left the bottom man, and he was still pulling hard on his cock. The top man knew what to do. He pulled out of Ricky and urged Ricky up and away. As the bottom guy plaintively called his name – “Joe!” – he plunged into his husband and fucked him vigorously, wrenching a load out that spewed all over the lounger as he came again inside his husband’s hole. Then the two of them dropped onto the lounger to kiss and cuddle, leaving Ricky standing there, feeling like the fifth wheel. He shrugged philosophically, and walked away, calling “Thanks” as he went. They gave no sign that they’d heard him. Back at the sunbed, the six guys of what Ricky was thinking of as the SWAT Team were busily cumming on or in the two grooms again. Then they stood up and marched away over to the bar for some drinks and eats. The onlookers stared in awe. Then a whole series of the guys who had been watching stepped forward until there were about ten of them standing around Laszlo and Daniel, who had apparently passed out or fallen asleep from their exertions. The group stood around the grooms, pulling hard on their cocks and egging each other on. Ricky joined them, thinking to himself, “Well, at least I’ll get to cum all over them.” Dylan joined them too, and the circle jacked their cocks harder and harder until their loads spilled out onto the two prone bodies, coating them with splatters of man cream from head to foot. After that, Ricky and Dylan headed for the bar to get some drinks and something to eat, and to listen to the chatter of the six guys in the SWAT Team. They didn’t pick up any clues, though. The guys were totally taciturn – “Uh-huh” or “Nope” being the sum total of what they said. No names, either, they just called each other “Number Two” or “Number Five,” not by name. As Ricky said to Dylan afterwards, the only clue was who was clearly missing in action, and the only two they could be sure of were Silvio and Darren, who were nowhere to be seen. After a breather, the SWAT Team went back to work and repeated the entire script of round one with their tied-down victims. Ricky guessed that they had switched up so that the ones previously doing Laszlo were now doing Daniel, and vice versa, but he couldn’t be sure. What he could be sure of was that there were still lots of rampant cocks looking around for places to drop their loads, and he wanted more. He decided to head for the hot tub, since he didn’t recognize any of the guys in there as having done him already. He got down in the water, and quickly found himself being fondled all over by numerous hands. Three more guys came along and sat down on the rim of the tub, feet in the water and cocks jutting up from between their thighs. “Come here, boy, and make our tools feel good.” Ricky went over and bent down to begin sucking. He worked on them one at a time, down the row and back again, getting all of them more and more ready to fire as he slurped on their dicks. After about five minutes, he had all three of them oozing plenty of precum, and that’s when he decided to go for it. He went right down, full throttle, on the first guy, sucking and slurping on his cock like a madman until the guy groaned and pumped a load of seed into his mouth. Holding it there, he moved on to the second one and drew his load up and out too. The third one was a bit slower, but Ricky managed to work a finger up into the guy’s ass and teased him down below as he sucked up above, and finally got his reward there too, sucking and swallowing a third load down. As he went back to his seat on the other side of the tub, a guy sitting there drew him over and got him to sit down on his lap – which meant, of course, that Ricky was impaling himself on the guy’s cock. They sat there, in the bubbling water, with Ricky slowly working up and down on the shaft inside him while they chatted with the other guys around them. The man who had Ricky on his lap began to get close, though, and grasped Ricky more firmly, holding him still so he could begin to thrust up inside that cute boy butt. In another minute or so, he let out a low groan and blew his sperm up inside Ricky’s busy ass cunt, and there was Ricky’s fifth load of the day. He took another breather then, leaving the hot tub and looking around. He saw Dylan lying on a lounger and getting plowed by a muscular Asian guy. He headed over that way, straddling Dylan’s face and giving his friend a cock to suck on while he got fucked. Dylan worked hard for his reward at both ends, and soon had the top blasting off into his hole while Ricky shot a load down his throat. The Asian guy wandered off after that, but Dylan and Ricky switched up, and Dylan began fucking Ricky. Before long, there was a Brazilian man – Ricky thought he was one of the models from the Hawaiian Nine films – standing there watching them, and Ricky threw caution to the winds. “Get that cock into me! I want both of you in me at once!” The Brazilian man got behind Dylan, slid his cock forward under Dylan’s balls, and slowly forced his way into Ricky’s hole, which stretched farther than ever before. Ricky was hissing, moaning, gasping for air at the massive invasion. It was the first time he’d ever done DP, and he was finding it a bit of a struggle, even for such an experienced ass. But he hung in there, and the two men worked him over harder. It didn’t take long, though. Dylan was almost ready anyway, and the other guy had gotten himself wound up by watching them. Dylan was the first to cum inside Ricky, and the feel of his hot slime pouring all over their tools soon brought the Brazilian guy off as well. And just like that, Ricky had collected two more loads inside his ass. When they slid out, he had a tough time getting his hole to clamp shut again. He lay down on a lounger, with cum oozing out of his ass. In no time, there was a willing volunteer to eat his ass, slurping up all the cream that came sliding slowly out and down his taint. By the time he had finished his clean-up task, Ricky had fallen asleep from his exertions. The ass eater considerately spread a towel across his body and left him to sleep. He woke up an hour later, feeling very much the worse for wear in his ass. Any more action would definitely have to wait for another day. The sun was dipping lower towards the mountains, and it was getting chilly. Ricky sat up and pulled the towel around him, and just then Daniel and Laszlo came sauntering by. Their tormentors had finally finished working them over and had left the key so an onlooker could release the shackles. “How many loads today, Ricky?” Laszlo asked. “Four here,” and he gestured to his mouth, “and seven in my ass.” “Sounds like a good day’s work.” “I’m not finished yet,” Ricky said hopefully, even though he knew he was. “Sorry, but both of us are.” “Yeah, I actually stopped fucking around to watch some of that action. Seeing those guys working you two over – man, that was so fucking hot. I fired off a load just from watching them going at you two.” They chuckled and walked on – and that’s when Ricky saw that Darren and Silvio had finally put in an appearance. He grinned and winked as Silvio walked by. Then he got up to go and get some clothes on before returning for the dinner buffet, as the sun was setting and it was getting chilly.

@DCWildBtm because, of course, that was where Ricky got invented. You'll be seeing more of those guys too. Thank you!

I knew you'd be waiting for those certain people to start showing up! 😉

Chapter 9: Interlude – Family Day It was the week after Labour Day, and although the skies were still sunny and the air still warm, the shorter daylight hours hinted that winter was coming. On Thursday night of that week, Terry said at dinner, “Guys, there’s something we haven’t done all year, but I’d love to do it this Sunday, if all of you are free. Let’s pack up some food and drinks and spend the day at the beach together, as a family, because that’s really what we are now.” Everyone was instantly on board with the idea, and there followed a quick discussion about ways and means, timing, and how to handle the food and drinks. On Sunday morning, despite some habitual grumbling about getting up before noon, everyone was ready to go in good time because they all knew that space on the beach would be at a premium and they wanted enough room to be together in one place. At ten o’clock they came down to the front door in swimsuits and t-shirts, loaded their towels, beach gear, and two big coolers into a pair of Ubers, and headed off down to Santa Monica. They were actually in good time, and got a nice spot without any trouble, fairly close to some of the volleyball courts which a few of the guys wanted to be able to use. There they spread out a broad carpet of a dozen towels, giving room for the big umbrella, the coolers, a couple of beach chairs, and ample space for any or all of them to stretch out on the towels and catch some rays. It didn’t take long at all for the other occupants of the beach to notice and (in some cases) zero in on the group of six hot young men all in sexy, body-hugging swimwear. Strangely enough, though, none of the six young guys appeared to notice or even care about all the people pointing cameras at them throughout the day. It turned out to be an amazing day for everyone. The six of them swam, they sunned, they played volleyball and frisbee, they ate the picnic lunch which Ricky had pulled together, they downed bottles of water and beer and wine, they slept, they talked, and they let the combination of the Pacific surf and the California sun wash and dry away all their daily problems and hassles and worries. Everyone was a little surprised that Ryan was the one who seemed to be everywhere with his phone, capturing every moment, every laugh, every pratfall, every snarky comment, every wacky facial expression in a huge library of photos and video clips. Of all the six of them, the one who dived right into the whole day with the greatest enthusiasm was Terry. Although he was definitely a joker and had light-hearted moments, the day-to-day Terry also could be irascible, sarcastic, short-tempered, as sharp-tongued (in Ryan’s words) as an old country gossip. This day on the beach, all those sides of him had vanished. On this Sunday, he was all light-hearted and happy, laughing at his own tumble when leaping for the frisbee, chasing enthusiastically after a beach towel that was going for a stroll hand-in-hand with the wind, spraying himself with a beer which he had absent-mindedly shaken up a few times, and loving every moment of it. Dylan summed it up by saying to Ricky, “See that eagle tattoo on Terry’s shoulder? That’s who he is and that’s what he’s doing today – spreading his wings and flying high. And that’s awesome.” Around three o’clock, when Ricky started getting antsy about having enough time to prepare dinner for everyone and wanted to get going, Dylan casually tossed out the suggestion that they forget the gourmet meal for once and just order out for pizza once they got home. The motion passed unanimously, and Ricky was secretly relieved that he could be off duty. He was having too much fun to want to go home. The six young men lingered on the sand right to the day’s end, sitting side by side in a row with their arms draped around each other’s shoulders as they watched the sun dipping slowly into the flaming red ocean. As the colour faded out of the sky, they gathered up their gear and headed back to the road, where the two Ubers Terry had ordered up were waiting for them. In went all the beach gear and six bone-weary but very happy young men. Back at Twink Heaven, they stripped off wet swimsuits, put away food containers, bagged up cans and bottle for the recycling, and threw on casual duds for the balance of the evening. By the time that was all done, the pizzas had arrived, and another round of drinks got broken out. It was Ricky who said aloud what all of them were thinking. “Terry, our leader, the head of the Twink Heaven Family, thanks for suggesting today and helping us all to grow closer to each other.” “To Terry!” they all shouted in unison and drank to him while he blushed as red as the sunset they’d all seen an hour earlier. After the pizzas were gone, they all lingered in the living room, chatting and laughing. The day was too special to be cut short. Leo was the one who asked, “Guys, let’s go around the circle. What was your most special moment of the day, and why was it special to you?” The answers were as varied as the personalities of the six, but of them all, it was Terry’s reply that lodged itself in Ricky’s memory. Terry’s response had been, “Sitting on the sand and watching the sunset with my family.” It was an answer that almost any of them might have given. Duarte and Ryan were the only ones who maintained any ties with their birth families, and in Duarte’s case the connections were “proper” and “formal” rather than any closer relationship. Ricky had walked away from his mother’s endless carping, while Leo, Dylan, and Terry had all been thrown out and banished. It was no wonder that everyone nodded, and murmured agreement at Terry’s response to Leo’s off-the-cuff question. It was after midnight when the guys belatedly remembered that tomorrow was a work day for most of them, and some sleep might be a good idea. As it happened, Ricky had a day off and Dylan had an afternoon shift, so they were the last two to get up and head to their room, putting out the lights as they went. Once they’d crawled into bed together, Dylan turned to Ricky and kissed him, letting Ricky feel that his cock was in a frisky mood. Ricky chuckled. “Not a word or look all day, and now he decides he wants to play.” “That’s right. Do you want to pitch or catch?” Ricky had actually never heard that metaphor before, but he understood it perfectly without asking. “I’m the starting pitcher tonight.” Dylan pulled Ricky closer, massaging his cock to get it hard enough. He then bent down and proceeded to give Ricky one of the best blowjobs of his life. When Ricky urged him to go for the home run, he swung around and backed onto Ricky’s cock, letting it find his hole and sink inside it. And then Ricky rolled Dylan onto his face, coming up on top of him and lying along his back with his cock embedded in Dylan’s hole. It brought back memories of Alan, and of how his daddy had always made this position feel so special, so intimate, so loving. Ricky was having similar feelings now towards Dylan, his best friend, and proceeded to give Dylan the full Alan treatment, complete with caresses, kisses, and gentle murmurs in the ear, right up to the moment when he speeded up just a bit and let his sperm flow, coating Dylan’s colon with his seed as Dylan’s cock fired off into his clenching hand. Then Ricky rolled off to the side, still inside for a few more minutes before he slipped out. They fell asleep like that, with Ricky spooning Dylan and caressing him with his embracing arms. They would have been surprised – or perhaps they wouldn’t have been surprised at all – if they’d known that a similar scene was unfolding in the other two bedrooms at the same time. Terry’s little idea of a day at the beach had brought out and built up a generous amount of familial love to be shared around in Twink Heaven.