Porn Star Surprise

[daddybear54]

I must stress that this story is entirely fictitious,

including the names and personalities of the characters.

 

Among bareback gay porn aficionados, the name, face, and especially the monumental cock of Rod Rammer are almost as well known today as any of the legendary porn stars of the more distant past. You all remember him – don’t bother pretending you don’t.

 

Yes, I’ve watched his films, and yes, I’ve jerked off while doing so. Yes, I’ve fantasized about being on the receiving end of that huge tool. Yes, I’ve dreamed of having that massive monster rearranging my guts, and yes, I’ve imagined the feeling of one of those signature 10-spurt cumshots filling me up to overflowing while those intense grey eyes stare at me with that trademark devilish grin spread across his handsome face.

 

Yes, I’ve often thought it was unfair that one guy should be allowed to have it all like that. Yes, I’ve wondered why blind fate gave all of that to him, instead of spreading some of it around to the rest of us.

 

What I didn’t ever expect was to find him looking me right in the eye as I crowded up to the bar at my favourite watering hole to order a drink.

 

It was obvious right away that he was incognito. He’d disguised himself pretty carefully, obviously not wanting to get swarmed by legions of fans panting for some action. He’d covered his dark, curly hair under his hoodie, and deliberately wore baggy clothes to disguise his broad shoulders and slim waist. The one thing he couldn’t disguise was what caught my eye first as I looked for a clear spot to put down my foot next. There was no mistaking the size of the lump, which showed clearly even through slacks that were plainly two sizes too big. And then, when I looked up, there was no mistaking the eyes – or the look of fear, almost dread, in them.

 

He wasn’t just incognito, then. He was desperately anxious to stay that way.

 

Just as I reached that conclusion, he leaned close and said, “Don’t say anything – please.”

 

“How about, ‘Let me buy you a drink.’ Is that okay?”

 

He nodded and mouthed “Margarita” at me.

 

I got two, then steered him out of the crowd in front of the bar and over to a quieter corner where there were a couple of free seats. He flopped into a chair with his back to the crowd of men in the club, and I sat down across from him.

 

“Before you ask, I’m not working tonight,” he 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. 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 do you mean?” It was a sincere question. I sensed that he really needed to talk, and I was prepared to listen. Plenty of people have told me I’m a good and sympathetic listener. He still hesitated for a few moments, so I prodded him a little more. “You can tell me; I won’t rat you out.”

 

He sat and thought for a minute, 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.”

 

He tossed back the rest of his margarita. “Sounds good. Let’s go.”

 

I tossed mine back too, and then walked out of the club with Rod Rammer beside me – 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 me that the world-famous porn stud was hiding out tonight, but I wondered if the reason might have nothing to do with his career. We walked in silence down the street, around the corner, and into my building. It’s a third-floor walk-up, and I live alone – thank goodness. I’d never have dared bring him home if I had any gay roomies. I led him into my 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 night before a shoot.”

 

“Take it with lemon?”

 

“Yes, thanks.”

 

I set up the glasses with ice and lemon, opened the bottles of Perrier for both of us, and set them down on the table, then sat next to him. He poured some for himself, and then sat there, staring at the bottle as he turned it slowly around and around in his hands. I was already expecting his next question, and he went right where I guessed he would.

 

“So, how did you spot me?”

 

I pointed at the clearly visible lump in his baggy trousers. “Do you really have to ask?”

 

He 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 20 scenes that never got finished because the bottom lost his nerve and took off. 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 me was so hesitant that it made him look like a completely different person – as I suppose he was. I was seeing the real man, not the screen persona. He took a deep swig of his Perrier. I waited. 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 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 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.”  I must have been staring at him with my mouth hanging open in shock because he went quickly on, the words spilling out as if he’d been holding them in far too long. “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.” As he said that last bit, a few tears started trickling down his cheeks. He sucked in a deep, shaky breath.

 

Wow. I sure hadn’t seen that coming. Any of it. But I picked up my cue quickly.

 

“Come here. Closer.” I got my arms around him and hugged him, stroking his back to soothe him and help him calm down. He put his head down into my shoulder and I held him close. His shoulders quivered a few times, and I just said quietly, “Breathe. Breathe deep. It’ll help.”

 

We sat like that for a few minutes while he slowly got himself under control. Then he lifted his head up and said, “Sorry for letting go like that.”

 

“It’s all good.”

 

He raised one hand, grasped my chin, and lifted my face until he could look into my eyes. I smiled, and then moved my lips to make contact with his. We kissed tentatively at first, then more deeply. As we kissed, I slid my hand down his back until I reached his ass. I squeezed it with my hand, and our kiss caught fire. I was kneading his buns firmly, and he had his hand clasped around my rapidly growing cock. But then he stopped and pushed me 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.”

 

I nodded my understanding. It made sense. I mean, you could come a few times the night before and still summon up some sort of money shot for the cameras – but a “Rod-Rammer-Ten-Spurts” money shot needed to be prepared carefully and saved for the real moment of truth. That didn’t bother me at all. I just went right back to kissing him, telling him between kisses to just let me know if he felt dangerously close and we’d stop. Then I began standing up, drawing him up with me. We walked down the hall to my bedroom and began undressing each other.

 

And that’s when I got a feeling that I was stuck in some weird kind of dream. I mean, here I was, with the most famous (or infamous) giant piece of man meat in the gay porn industry staring me right in the face -- but the owner of that meat, the notorious Rod Rammer, didn’t want me giving his gigantic dick any of my attention. As much as I’d fantasized about getting that enormous thing inside me, I knew I wanted to -- no, needed to -- give him, just for once, the kind of sex which the man behind the screen name craved so badly.

 

So, I spun him around, dropped to my knees, and buried my face in the tight crack between his small, curving ass cheeks. That was weird too. Somehow, his massive dick and equally huge reputation made him 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 I got going, I stopped worrying about it. I’m versatile, I love bottoming and topping equally, and I was more than happy to have such a sweet ass begging for my attention.

 

As I lapped and tongued away at him, he was moaning loudly above me, and muttering things like, “Jim, that’s incredible – don’t stop!” After a few minutes, I began prying into the hole with my tongue, twitching the tip to get him to loosen up and open. It didn’t take long. He might not get fucked that often, but he knew the drill just as well as I did, and knew how to relax and let his muscles loosen. Before long, I had my tongue digging right into his hole, alternately with my finger, which I twisted and corkscrewed around to loosen his neglected ass even more. At last, I felt he was ready. I stood up, grabbed my lube, and greased up my cock – then shoved a couple of lubed-up fingers inside him. He moaned again.

 

“You ready?”

 

“Damn right. Give it to me.”

 

“Get on your back.” That’s my favourite position. I love watching a guy’s facial expressions, and looking into his eyes, connecting with him while I’m 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 I’d fucked before.

 

Obediently, he 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. I don’t think that old expression, “the third leg,” had ever looked so appropriate. I knelt there, looking him over, and then moved the head of my respectable seven-incher to rest against his hole. He closed his eyes, and I pushed – gently, but firmly. The head popped inside quickly, to my surprise. But, hey, this guy was a pro and he knew how the game worked. I held it there until I sensed that he was ready for more, and then began to lean and push. Slowly, my entire length disappeared inside his tight ass.

 

He was tight, no kidding. I could easily believe that he’d only ever been fucked a handful of times and hadn’t had a cock in him for years. I took it easy, pumping gently in and out while kissing him with full tongue, until I felt his hole begin to work with me. Then I began to pick up the pace. I used all the best techniques I’d mastered over the years, varying the speed, the angle, and the rhythm of my thrusts. His almost-virgin-tight hole was stroking my tool too effectively. I tried to think about anything else to avoid peaking prematurely -- the quarterly results from my company, the long-range weather forecast, the probability of a drought in coffee-growing areas -- but I just couldn’t stall the inevitable. This was going to happen. I 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. My cock exploded inside his ass, pumping shot after shot of cum into him. I collapsed on top of him, breathing heavily, my still-hard cock firmly lodged inside his satisfied ass. There was no doubt that he was satisfied; he was purring like a contented cat. I finally lifted my head, and we kissed again, repeatedly.

 

Finally, I spoke. “I’m sorry I came so fast. I don’t know what got into me.”

 

His reply: “Do you hear me complaining?” I had to laugh and admit that, no, I hadn’t been hearing any complaints. Then he added, “Besides, who said I’m letting you off with seeding me just once?”

 

Okayyy.

 

It took a while (hey, I’m not 19 years old anymore), but eventually my cock rose to the occasion and delivered a second load inside his sweet hole, after a much longer and more vigorous fuck that included a much greater variety of positions.

 

I think he made the most noise when I spooned him, lying on my side behind him. I had my fingers locked onto his nipple, pulling and twisting as I drove my hard meat deep inside his butt. Then, when I rolled onto my back, he mounted up and rode me like there was no tomorrow, slamming his ass at top speed all the way down onto my cock and then pulling up until only the tip was inside him, over and over. At last, I could feel my load beginning to build up. I seized him around his chest and rolled until he was face down under me. A minute later, when I came, I was lying flat on his back with my arms wrapped around his body and my hips slamming down onto that sexy butt, driving my cum as deep inside him as I could reach. After that second climax, as I cooled down and then slid out, I realized that he was dozing off, and I looked at the clock – 1:15 am. I leaned over and murmured in his ear, “Stay with me tonight, okay?”

 

He nodded, mumbled a sleepy “Thanks, Jim,” and checked out. I kissed the back of his neck, pulled the covers over both of us, and went to sleep, embracing him with his happy ass cushioning my satiated dick.

 

Around 7 :30, I woke up to the unmistakable sensation of a hot mouth working on my dick. I stroked his head as he bobbed up and down and said, “Good morning.”

 

“Goo morrn” was the response, a little mumbled, which wasn’t surprising as his mouth was kinda busy. It only took a few minutes before I felt my sperm rising again. I warned him that I was about to cum, and he redoubled his efforts until my morning load blasted off into his mouth, to be quickly swallowed.

 

He came up, kissed me, and said with immense satisfaction, “That’s something else that the damn studios will never let me do!” He seemed a completely different man this morning, bright and cheerful, with a real (not faked) sparkle in his eyes. That made me feel good. And it nerved me to make a little request.

 

“Can I get you to do a little something for me?”

 

Immediately, he looked guarded and suspicious. “What?”

 

“Nothing heavy or awful,” I said. And then I outlined my request. He demurred at first, but I assured him that it would only be for a minute, just long enough to take a no-faces picture. I had my camera in place on the tripod, as always, and ready to go. At last, he agreed.

 

I dived onto his cock, sucking and slurping at it until it came up to full mast. I had to keep rising higher and higher off the bed to keep up with it. Then, I grabbed the lube, greased that pole and my 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. I was only able to get about half of it into me, but that was enough.

 

Two pictures later, I got a wet cloth and washed off his dick and my ass. Then I showed him the pics – and he 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 I had gotten the distinctive mole on the underside of his shaft safely concealed inside me before hitting the shutter button.

 

We enjoyed a languid shower together – no more fucking or sucking, just a lot of pleasant sensual caressing with and without the soap. I quickly found out that, like me, he was really touch-sensitive in a lot of areas of his body, not only the usual main target zones.

 

After a late, leisurely breakfast, he had to go – he was due on the location at 1:00 pm. We exchanged phone numbers, and then I asked him if he could tell me his real name.

 

“My real name is Steve – Steve Rotherham.”

 

It made me feel good that he trusted me enough to share that detail with me. As Steve, he suddenly became an entirely different person. I wished him well, and he kissed me goodbye warmly, saying, “I’d like to see you again, Jim.”

 

“That would be great,” I replied. And, in truth, I had enjoyed our night together far more than I usually enjoyed one-night stands. But honestly, I never really expected to see him again.

 

Six months later, his studio announced that the legendary porn star, Rod Rammer, was retiring “to pursue other interests.” I smiled broadly when I read that, certain that virtually no one among his legions of distraught fans, except myself, would have the slightest idea what those “other interests” might be. But I wasn’t surprised. I’d guessed it was coming from the moment when he’d buried his head in my shoulder while my arms wrapped around him and held him that night. I sent him a congrats and best wishes text message and got a quick “Thank you, Jim” in reply. After that, he dropped off the face of the earth.

 

At least, that’s what the gay community thought.

 

Last night, we were curled up in bed together after celebrating our fifth anniversary. Steve has changed his hair colour and gone back to his natural blond – which I love. He’s adopted a totally different, shaggier hair style and grown a mustache to replace his old scruff. He’s ditched his old contacts in favour of blue-tinted ones. It’s ironic, because he looks far more like an eighties porn star now than Rod Rammer ever did! He’s even found a brand of compression shorts that are strong enough to keep his one-eyed dragon under control as needed. It’s never seemed to occur to any of our numerous friends that he might possibly be familiar to them in another and quite different context. And we are both more than happy to leave it that way.

 

As a couple, we enjoy a spectacularly successful sex life. We always love a good hot sixty-nine, either swallowing each other’s loads or exchanging mouth-to-mouth cum swaps afterwards. It’s been a real challenge to learn to take his huge dick down my throat – but, yeah, I enjoyed all the work and effort it took me to perfect that skill. I’ve gotten really smooth at finding multiple ways of pleasuring his ass, and I never tire of demonstrating. Steve, in turn, has gradually gotten over his deep-rooted aversion to any more topping and will give my hole a good, intense workout every now and again -- although he still prefers the bottom role. We’ve also gone on some overseas holidays which have led us into more than a few scorching three-ways with local guys.

 

Once in a while, though, I will get a fit of the giggles when I’m pounding him and he’ll say, “Knock me up!” It always brings on a nutty mental image of Rod Rammer showing up for a film shoot, monstrously pregnant. The giggles can also happen when he is reaming me out and the ghost of Rod Rammer rises up in my imagination each time that massive cock pushes up inside me. He doesn’t even mind that anymore, because I’ve often said to him that Steve is a far more interesting and sexy person than Rod Rammer had ever been. I’m not lying, either, when I tell him that.

 

As we cuddled together, on our fifth anniversary night, I finally asked him a question that had popped into my mind every so often.

 

“Steve – what made you decide to trust me on that first night? I mean, we’d only met a few minutes earlier and you told me all about your feelings. Just curious.”

 

He looked at me solemnly, and then replied, “You had more than one bottle of Perrier, and it wasn’t past the best-before date.” It took me a second to recognize that mischievous twinkle in his eye before he laughed heartily.

 

“Jerk!”

 

“And you love it, Jim – don’t pretend you don’t.”

 

“That’s a smart-ass answer that fully deserves a good hard fucking.”

 

“Go for it!”