Grady had scoured the Los Angeles employment agencies searching for a perfect secretary-companion, finally finding one in the person of Ira Cole, young, strikingly handsome and unfailingly infatuated with Grady even before they met, through a devout following of Grady's career on the big, crystal screen and the pap published in the movie magazines and newspaper columns.
Ira was as dark as Grady was fair, with dark brown, almost black hair, olive skin and brown velvet eyes. Ira was twenty-five, vital and eager to please Grady in any request.
Grady responded to the man on sight, feeling instinctively that this was the employee he had been seeking, impressed by the boldness of Ira's appearance, the well fitted suit, revealing, highlighting the masculine solidity of his body, the trimness of waist and hips, the firmness of legs and thighs, the flaring sweep of back and chest and shoulders. Ira wore his clothes tight because he like them that way, attractively so, not beyond the limits of decency, avoiding the vulgarity of obvious advertising of the charms he possessed.
The bulging mound at his crotch was inviting in its mass and Grady wanted to investigate the contents from his first sight of Ira. He wanted to rise from his chair and throw himself into the strong arms of the appealing applicant, but restrained himself. Instead he stood and extended his hand, gesturing to the deeply upholstered chair across the huge cocktail table.
"I'm not experienced in interviewing people. I'm usually the one who gets the questions thrown at me." He smiled his innocent little boy smile, including a little injury, a little being-taken-advantage-of with the innocence.
"I brought a resume along with me, Mr. MacFarland. I've worked for several people in the industry in the capacity I assumed from the agency you require. It's all there." He indicated the sheets of carefully typed facts and references he held out to Grady.
"I plan to do a lot of traveling. Have you any ties that would keep you from taking off on the spur of the moment if I get a wild hair?" Grady grinned, warm and friendly. He spread his thighs and studied Ira's reaction. He wore tight, pale beige cotton slacks, no underwear, his impressive endowment clearly outlined in the sheath-like cylinder of trouser leg.
Ira couldn't restrain the impulse to look, and Grady raised his butt off the chair as though casually seeking a more comfortable position, while both knew that was not at all his intent. Ira's eyes caressed the bulging mass in his pants leg, pretending a calm he didn't feel.
"I have no ties at all, Mr. MacFarland. I have no family and only a few casual friends, nobody I feel any responsibility towards. I ask as you can see from the resume only a small salary and whatever expenses the job incurs. As you just said, you like to travel, and of course, I can't afford much in the way of hotel and travel expenses." He looked up from Grady's crotch, into his deep blue eyes, his own glittering with desire ... for the body before him? Or for the job itself? Grady wasn't sure, but hoped the man wanted to explore his body as much as he wanted to explore his, to find out what really lurked behind the soft, pale gray suit Ira wore.
"Your credits are very impressive." Grady's eyes scanned the list of former employers and the attached letters of reference, all praising the abilities and dependability of the young man who sat opposite him. 'This is difficult for me. I'm new at handling my own decisions. My father used to handle everything till recently. When I reached my twenty-first birthday I decided it was time for me to start taking care of things myself." He grinned.
"I'd like to work for you, Mr. MacFarland." Ira was having great difficulty controlling his eyes and his emotions. Grady had been his principal masturbation fantasy since Ira had seen his first movie and now, sitting across the table from him was almost more than he could survive.
"I think I'd like to have you work for me. You would be more than just an ordinary employee, of course. You would be in on ail the secrets and privacy of my personal life, and I'd expect you to be discreet. You would live here in the house with me. There's plenty of room in the old barn. You could have a room at the opposite end of the place from mine so you could be secure in your privacy. You would, of course, be free to bring friends to the house as long as you use your sense in whom you invited." He grinned again.
"As I said, I have few friends, and I see them at their homes, not mine. I know how to keep my mouth shut."
"Good. I think I'll give you the job. But before we make a final decision there are a few things I'd like to discuss with you. Whatever is said will be confidential, of course. Just between you and me. Understood? Even if you don't take the job after we talk you won't blab all over town?"
"You can trust me. I've got some really wild secrets up here that have never appeared in any of the gossip columns." He smiled and tapped the side of his head.
"Well, if you do decide to spread rumors you can only hurt yourself, not me. Anyway, you'll be living here in the house and you'd find out for yourself without being told if you have any perception at all. So I'd rather tell you and let you make your own choice, rather than finding out on your own and deciding to chuck the job. Then I'd have to start all over looking for somebody else. Right?"
"Yes, sir. But there's no reason for you to tell me personal secrets. If you hire me, I'll be your secretary and that's all that would be any of my business."
"I like that. But I want to be sure if you take the job I can depend on you to stay. I don't want to be changing secretaries every two months."
"If I come to work for you, sir, you'll have to fire me to get rid of me." His voice was raspy with emotion as his eyes tried to drill through the light clothing covering Grady's intriguing crotch.
"You don't need to be nervous." Grady gazed at Ira, tauntingly innocent in his expression, began scissoring his thighs together and apart repeatedly. The movements even more revealingly outlined the increasing bulge at his groin, he smiled inwardly, watching the panicky appearance of the man opposite him trying to control his growing excitement.
"You look like a pretty open-minded type to me. Am I right?" He was enjoying Ira's discomfort and battle for control.
"I've been around movie people for a long time. If I ever had any prejudices, I lost them a long time ago." It took all his will power for Ira to get the words out.
"You don't have any objections to being around queers or other strange types?"
"Of course not ... I like ... all kinds of people."
"And what if I were queer? Would you still want to work for me?"
Ira remembered stories he had heard circulated about his idol's personal life. He had dismissed them simply as fag boasting. Now he found himself hoping they were true.
"Your personal life wouldn't have anything to do with my work. You have a right to be anything you want to be. If you were ... queer ... it wouldn't make any difference to my job, would it?"
"You wouldn't mind living here in the house with me, knowing I was a fag, and that I might make a pass at you ... or make you go to bed with me ... or watch me and other queers?"
"Mr. MacFarland, I told you it wouldn't make any difference to my work. If you're trying to lay a trap for me, to get me to confess I'm gay, you're wasting your time. I am! I've been interested in boys and men since I was ten years old. Now, you can either call your butler and have me thrown out, or you can give me the job." Ira's forehead was dotted with nervous perspiration. He had taken a desperate gamble and put his future and this job on the line in his nervousness.
"Okay, Ira. You're hired. I'd hoped you were one of the boys, but I hesitated to make a pass. You're my secretary-companion. I'll pay you fifty dollars a week more than you got on your last job. How's that?" Grady smiled and rose from his chair, his cock now fully hard, straining outward from his crotch, straining the thin slacks to their ultimate extremity.
Ira rose reluctantly, supposing the interview was over. His eyes were glued to the throbbing extension of Grady's maleness, and he ached to reach out and close his hand over it, but finally managed to pull his eyes away and look into Grady's face.
'Thank you, Mr. MacFarland. When would you like me to start? I'm free ... that is, I'm not working now, so I can come to work anytime you like." His mouth was dry, his throat parched, his whole being coursing with desire for the beautiful boy standing so close.
"You can start working in the morning ... but if you can, I'd like for you to move in tonight. If you don't have to leave right away, why not have a drink with me?"
"I'd like that." Ira slumped back into the chair he had just vacated. His erection was cramped in his deliberately too tight jockey shorts, confined and uncomfortable. Sitting down makes the discomfort less painful.
"No, not there. Come on over and sit with me on the couch." Grady went to the bar and poured two half full tumblers of Scotch, dropping several ice cubes in each, before returning to sit, legs wide apart on the sofa. He set the glasses on the table and smiled at Ira, still uncomfortably insecure in the big chair across the room.
Ira rose and moved slowly to the sofa. He sat gingerly on the edge at the opposite end from Grady, stretching to reach the drink he wanted so badly in hopes it would distract his rising passion.
"You're a pretty unsociable private secretary." Grady laughed and scooted across the cushions till he was almost in Ira's lap. He held his drink and raised the heavy glass to his lips, while his left hand came to rest on Ira's knee.
"You're a good looking stud, Ira. I'd like us to be friends, not just secretary and boss. You excite me. I've had a half hard-on ever since you walked in. See?" He twisted sideways and spread his thighs wide, his left thigh lying against, half across, Ira's.
"If that's only half hard, it must be a killer weapon when it's really up." Ira tried to laugh but couldn't force a convincing sound from himself.
"It's more than half now, baby. Ever since you admitted you dig cock, too, it's been up and ready. I'd love to give it to you. I'm hot, Ira. Could a little relief be considered as part of a secretary's duties?" He grinned, his eyes deepening, becoming nearly black in their intensity.
"I don't know about part of my duties, but it would be an unexpected fringe benefit. More than I hoped for when I came to apply for the job." Ira's last defenses crumbled, and his hand reached across to the now throbbing hardness that probed upward from Ira's left thigh. He gasped as he made the initial contact with his idol's fabric encased erection. His first touch was tentative, frightened, but as Grady sighed happily and settled himself more securely, allowing Ira greater access to the feverish tool in his pants, Ira groped more intently, grasping with more firmness and sureness, letting his hand slide back and forth over the shiny smooth cotton.
"Would you storm out of here if I did the same thing to you, Ira?" Grady didn't wait for an answer, his hand moving to Ira's tortured crotch, feeling the compressed vitality pulsing under the smooth flannel and overstrained protective shorts.
He leaned towards Ira and running his hand over the eager groin, he found Ira's mouth with his, pressed against it hard with hot, moist lips, thrusting his tongue out, between Ira's breathily parting mouth, into the warm wetness against teeth and tongue, probing, darting, exploring. Ira groaned with the supreme pleasure of Grady's intimacy, and turned soft and receptive to whatever advance Grady might initiate.
Grady trembled with excitement as he stroked the soft fabric at the crotch of Ira's tight pants, his fingertips acting as seasitive antennae judging the size and weight of the still undisclosed treasure borne by the other man.
Ira twisted sideways into Grady's arms, his mouth seeking the moist warmth of Grady's. Lips met and held, pressed together, the gentle pressure of hot, sweet breaths mingling, caressing. Ira was passive, open to Grady's desire, aggressive in his own longing need of more from his long-worshiped idol. His mouth opened, expectantly, receptively, waiting for the probing pressure of Grady's tongue. His arms locked around Grady's torso, drawing him tight against himself, their bodies undulating together in search of closer, tighter fitting contact.
Grady's tongue slipped between Ira's lips as he twisted his body on top of Ira's, pressing him gently onto his back, till they lay, one on the other, bodies horizontal, legs angled to the side, feet still on the floor. Grady's hands were busy between them, opening the formal garments Ira wore; suit coat, vest, shirt, tie, finally succeeding in uncovering the hot smooth flesh of his upper body, baring him to the waist, his arms still imprisoned in the multiple layers of cloth sleeves. Their kiss grew stronger, more insistent, hotter, till they were panting together, heads rolling, licking tongues leaving trails of glistening wetness on mouths and chins.
Their clothed loins humped spasmodically in meeting, their passion rising, filling them with fever.
Ira twisted his head away from Grady's exciting mouth, turned to the side and gasped.
"Oh, Christ, Grady. I don't believe this is happening. It's too good to be true. I've wanted you since the first time I ever saw you. I could die happy right this minute."
"Well, baby, don't. Not till I've tasted your load, anyway. I'd be terribly frustrated if my trick dropped dead before I got my rocks off." He chuckled deep in his throat and, with his hand, turned Ira's head back to his, resuming the inflammatory kiss.
After several more minutes of steadily intensifying kisses and embraces, bodies striving with stronger determination, Grady jumped to his feet, pulling Ira up to stand before him. Impatiently, awkwardly, he fumbled with the belt and clasps at Ira's waist, pulled his zipper angrily to the bottom of its track and pawed down the tight trousers. Ira's narrow, nearly transparent black nylon bikini high-lighted the deep copper tan of his flesh, unbroken by the usual, untouched band of whiteness trunks would have hidden from the hot, loving rays of the sun.
Grady's hands slid across the hard, flat belly, just above the top of Ira's bikini underwear, receiving tiny electric shocks from the emanating life beneath his touch. Then, faster than Ira could react, Grady tugged hard, pulling the scrap of black nylon down, freeing the aching presence of manflesh that sprang strongly up against Ira's belly, slapping loudly, the sound of flesh against flesh delighting Grady's senses. His eyes devoured the luscious banquet of marble hard massiveness that awaited his desire. Ira's cock was an uncircumcised masterwork, his balls among the biggest and prettiest Grady had ever viewed. His hands moved to them, fingers lightly grazing over the responsive sensitivity of eagerly desirous cock eggs. They trembled and bounced before Grady's exploratory touch, and Ira's hips worked, thrust, swayed with the strength of his erotic reaction.
Grady stepped back and fell to his knees, gently pushing Ira backwards till he sprawled out on the couch. Grady's hands went to Ira's feet, removing shoes and socks, then quickly drawing trousers and bikini shorts down and off, leaving the dark-haired, sun bronzed Priapus bare and vulnerable.
"Yours, Grady ... take your clothes off! Please! I want to see you naked. I want to watch you undress. I've imagined what you must look like naked ... now I want to see." Ira's voice was breathy and high-pitched, his hands at his groin, rubbing cock and balls, massaging inner thighs and belly, lost in the moment of total eroticism.
Grady stood proud and confident before the painfully hot stud sprawled lewdly on the couch. His hands moved slowly as he opened buttons with agonizing reluctance, increasing Ira's desire through the seemingly endless prolongation of Grady's strip tease.
At last the shirt was open, discarded, then the clasp fastening at the overlapping waistband of his slacks was released, zipper inched sensually downward, seeming to take forever to part. Ira made whimpering sounds of longing as his cock pulsated across his belly, the vibrant hot pink cockhead dancing restlessly as it lay above the dark shadowed navel, as though seeking to rise across his chest to his mouth, there to achieve relief from its growing need.
Ira's eyes stared hungrily for the first sight of Grady's naked hard cock, the realization of long cherished dreams and wishes. The lightweight slacks fell open, leaving a pale, mistily-haired "V" of untanned flesh, sparkling with silvery blonde hairs. Grady extended his arms outward at shoulder height, setting up an undulating movement of hips and buttocks that slowly forced the last garment downward, his lower trunk slowly coming increasingly into view, the jutting hardness of his excited cock moving ever closer to revelation.
Ira could see the thick, vein studded cockbase nestled in its thicket of pale hair. His eyes threatened to pop from his head as he stared. More of the huge tool came into view as Grady's slacks continued to slide towards the floor, only the strongest flare of rounded buttocks and pressure of hard cock keeping them from dropping freely of their own weight. Grady's hips continued to rotate and twist as more and more of his extravagant endowment slid into view. Ira gasped and sighed with passionate delight, his hands working on his own body as his eyes held enthralled the beauty of Grady.
The entire shaft of Grady's beautiful prick was exposed, only the rigid cockhead hidden by the cotton cloth held up by that cockhead, dropping low in back, draped below his tauntingly shaped ass. Ira wanted the last shred of separation to vanish, to reveal the final satisfaction of vision to meet his gaze. He took his cock in a firm grip, stroking helplessly along the length of it, squeezing a steadily growing pool of transparent excitement from the gaping lips at its tip.
He cried when the strong desire of Grady's hard peter throbbed, releasing it from the hiding place of unneeded trousers. Ira licked his lips and jerked his cock hard and fast, kneading his balls while he studied every detail of the coveted cock.
"Hey, go easy, Ira. Don't waste all that honey. I'm thirsty and I want it." He moved to stretch out beside Ira, but Ira was faster.
He sat up quickly, hands leaving his own body, taking hold of Grady by his hips, drawing him forward till his mouth was at the tip of Grady's outstretched cock. Ira's lips parted and he drew the satin covered steel rod into himself. At the first touch of the legendary prick on his tongue, Ira's cock throbbed and flared, coming dangerously close to spontaneous release. He sobbed and pressed forward, taking more of Grady's magnificent big rod into his mouth. Grady lunged forward, sending his hardness deep into Ira's clinging wet embrace, held himself rigid as his need soared, felt the clutching tissue of Ira's oral cavity contract about his pulsating column, taking him almost to the threshold of spurting climax, and withdrew quickly.
"I want you, Grady. Come back and let me get you off. Come in my mouth, Grady. Shoot your jism into me, fill me with it. Let me drain you. I want you!" Simpering, pleading sounds, whisper-soft, bubbled from Ira's longing, feverish mouth.
"You like my cock, Ira?"
"Oh, Christ, yes. I want it."
"You think it's pretty, baby? Is it big enough to make you happy?"
"It's beautiful, Grady ... big and beautiful and hot." "You really want it, Ira?"
"Yes ... oh, yes, Grady. Let me suck your dick. Give it to me, Grady ... please let me blow you!"
Grady stood in front of the couch, legs spread wide apart, tensed muscles hard and sharply articulated, his hands moving lightly over his body as he watched Ira doing the same to himself. He stroked his chest and belly, cupped his balls in both hands, squatting slightly to offer Ira a better view of the burden he supported. His fist closed around the urgent rigidity of his straining cock and began to move back and forth, sliding excitingly over the smooth softness of loose skin.
His digital agitation heightened Ira's passion and his own hand moved faster, sliding the thick hood of foreskin back from the gleaming pink of self-lubricated cockcap, revealing for a moment the thick plum shaped beauty of it, moving upward again, concealing the deep toned smoothness beneath darkly suntanned foreskin.
Faster and faster moved his hand, stronger and higher humped his hips and buttocks, till he was a blur of motion, hand stroking violently over his turgid hardness. A hoarse sob broke from his lips and a spurting, splattering geyser of sperm cascaded from his cockhead, splashing hotly, wetly on belly, chest, chin, cheek.
"Oh, yeah, baby! Christ, yes!" Grady's voice was hoarse as he watched the writhing, twisting agony of Ira's unintended release, the soaring, gushing cascade of jism erupt and shoot in the air, then splatter dramatically all over the olive golden boy, each muscle tensed in the extremity of Ira's passionate pleasure. His own hand worked hard and fast on his cock, his eyes drinking in the ultimate beauty of man in his ultimate moment of eroticism, he sobbed and gasped, as he felt his essence gather and rise along the great cylinder of his maleness, growing harder, hotter, larger, as he brought him to the brink of eternity, brutalized him over the crest and his own offering pooled in creamy abundance with Ira's, their sperm blending, melding indistin-guishably on the contrasting darkness of Ira's torso.
"Man, you're beautiful. Just standing up here and looking down at your naked sexiness gets me so hot I can't help beating it off onto your belly. All that come is so sexy on your body. Wow!" Grady was still quivering with the intensity of his orgasm as he smiled shakily at the breathtaking sight before him.
"That's great, Grady ... but I hope you want more than that. I want your big joint in my mouth. I want to suck your beautiful dick. I want you to spread my legs and stretch my ass and take you in me. I want you to fuck me, Stud Man!" Ira was slowly regaining his second wind and wanted the new and unhoped for miracle to eontinue. He wanted to sample the flesh he had tried so often to imagine as he jerked off alone, the protoplasmic image of Grady spurring him to sensation-draining climax.
"Man, you're gonna get all of me you can handle. I'll fuck your beautiful, hot ass, and let you swing on my peter as much as you want to ... as long as I can get my share of the same things from you." He grinned and fell weakly to the sofa beside Ira, his hands reaching out to the sperm coated flesh, dipping into the warm stickiness, moving slowly, sensually in their combined jism, over the flesh on which it lay, spreading, smearing, rubbing, till Ira was covered from groin to throat in a thick, white paste, a lather-like film that slowly stiffened and hardened.
Grady's head fell forward, his tongue flashing out, starting at Ira's throat, working slowly, excitingly downward, licking away the intimate emulsion that marred and equally beautified the olive richness of sun tinted muscularity. Down from Ira's throat, across his chest, sucking nipples, licking midsection, sides, delving the shadowy pit of come-filled navel, to belly, hips, brown-black silky-haired groin, pulling the pasty sperm-lather with his teeth from the curly hairs, into the creases between thigh and groin, making Ira twist and groan with delight and sensitivity, Grady's eager head progressed.
His lips were at Ira's balls, licking, flicking, then sucking the great ovoids into himself, one, devoting his entire attention to the rich maleness of it, the mansmell and taste of it, then holding it firmly on his tongue, his lips worked and teased at its mate, finally working it into his mouth, possessing both the big, warm seeds of maleness inside himself, tongue and lips working almost imperceptibly, inflaming Ira to sensitive, throbbing passion.
"Oh, Grady, that's so great. I love to have my balls sucked. It drives me out of my mind. Do it, baby, do it! Keep it up. I can come with you just trying to swallow my nuts!" His voice was barely audible, and Grady knew he was unaware of what he was saying, or that he was speaking at all. The words were merely an unconscious expression of the enormity of his response to the delights of Grady's mouth on his most ultimate, intimate vulnerability, his complete surrender to the youth who crouched over his body.
Grady gently released the massive pouch of twin delights from his oral grasp, and they fell wetly glistening into the trough between his outstretched thighs. Grady gazed at the perfection of manseeds convulsing in response to the greatness of his acceptance.
"I don't want you to shoot another load unless my mouth is wrapped around your big dick to catch it, Ira. I want to drink the next one." And his mouth went to the uncircumcised foreskin, tongue darting into the hooded well, feeling the slick, smooth glans surrounded by rougher, cooler cockflesh. He drew the head into his mouth, his hand wrapped around the thick, broad base, and moved downward, seeking the root whose summit he had conquered. Ira's hips worked, the foreskin slid back from the unbearably smooth, delicious cockhead. Grady ran his tongue around the broad, flaring corona, eliciting gasps of pleasure from Ira, circled the sensitive boundary of the plum shaped purple glans again and again till Ira was uncontrollably humping his hardness up into his mouth, fucking instinctively while Grady's teeth and tongue and cheeks worked as a siphon to draw the reservoirs of manjuice to the surface, into his mouth and throat and gut.
"I'm gonna come, baby. I'm gonna shoot in your mouth if you don't stop. I don't want to come yet. I want to suck your dick ... I want to sixty-nine with you, so we can come together, blast each other's heads off. Stop, baby. Let me turn around so I can get you while you get me."
Grady released the quivering arrow of lust from his mouth and rose so Ira could twist sideways, his position opposing Grady's, and they moved towards each other, mouths seeking cocks, cocks twitching lewdly in search of willing cavities in which to nestle and discharge their welling eagerness.
They lay head to toe, bodies striving, asses clenching and flexing as they drove their groins hard against each other's mouths, cocks ramming deep into each other, filling mouths and throats with flesh, senses and minds and responses with unendurable sensation. They uttered unintelligible animal grunts and groans and gasps as their juices rose to the boiling point, their thrusting bodies gained intensity as they strove to explode, to fill each other to overflowing with the nectar of satisfaction. They lunged and pummeled, retreated and paused to gain strength and power for deeper, more violent assault on the fragile interior tissues of their partners, each other. They moved faster and more forcefully, a crescendo of rising need and hunger, till at last they slammed hard together, piercing, hysterical keening of completion bursting uncontrollably from their lips and they spent in each other, great, gushing, choking gobs of jism exploded in their mouths, the hot sweetness of it rolling slowly, thickly into their throats, down to their guts, strangling, filling, feeding each other with the essence of themselves.
They lay unmoving for a long time, arms about each other's hips, holding the slowly wilting maleness of each other as their breathing returned to normal pace, their chests stopped heaving, their hips and buttocks stopped involuntarily twitching. They broke apart, reluctantly, to turn and go back into each other's embrace, lips meeting, tongues searching for stray remnants of their own sperm in the mouth of the other. The taste of orgasm remained strong and sweet in both mouths and they delighted in the state, the presence, the awareness of spent juice, each in the other.
Grady pulled his mouth away from Ira's. He ran his tongue over the full redness of his swollen lips and smiled. "Ira, you're going to be a great secretary."
CHAPTER TWO
Grady slept and dreamed, reliving for the thousandth time the agonies of the past, the brutalities committed on his flesh, the strain of his early days at Metropolitan Studio, the beginning of his career in films, which had skyrocketed him to the magnitude of superstar with breathtaking, life-robbing speed. His own name was a casualty of the process, Frank Judd Junior being scrapped in favor of Grady MacFarland. After the "interview" with B. Morris Liebman, he was swept up in a ceaseless exhausting routine of singing, dancing, and dramatic lessons and coaching, in addition to half-day sessions of compulsory academic study. He was put into one film after another, taking direction without resistance, absorbing every trick and technique suggested by anyone who knew what they were talking about, and somehow Grady had an uncanny intuition that led him to those who knew rather than those who merely bluffed. He quickly became a craftsman, his natural talent expanding under the careful cultivation of teachers, coaches, directors.
His innocent beauty, his unfaltering willingness to cooperate, his silent pleas to be liked and accepted by those around him, made him popular and eased the difficult path of his career.
His naturally silvery blonde hair and deep, violet blue eyes, the sculpturesque structure of his face, classic boned, and flawlessly complexioned, made him the magnet that drew all eyes to his image on the screen. Grady had been fortunate in inheriting all the best from both his parents. The Teutonic blonde strength and symmetry of his father, the massive maleness which was flaunted by the wardrobe department, another hook to capture the public, the gentleness and kindness of his mother, the appearance of fragility that made the film audiences want to gather him to their collective breast, men and women alike, the natural flirta-tiousness of his frustrated desire to be loved, all combined to create a charisma which was irresistible.
The first parts he was given were small and meant little to the studio, merely a way of letting him earn the regular salary he was paid, until the mail began to arrive, asking about him, wanting to see more of him in bigger parts, better pictures. The unsolicited acceptance of the new contract player was astounding to the old heads who had molded personalities to be accepted by a captive public. Ears perked up as the letters and requests for photographs increased markedly after every film in which he appeared. B. Morris Liebman came to realize with a shock that he had more than a good trick on his hands. Slowly the truth dawned, that in his protege, Grady MacFarland, he had the makings of a potential star, who could in time more than compensate for any trouble the studio might take in developing him for exploitation.
The classes were intensified, a course of sports and physical training was instituted, and Grady found himself with no free time at all. He swam and lifted weights and ran and engaged in contact sports with the other youths under contract at Metropolitan. He enjoyed wrestling matches, suddenly, shockingly aware he enjoyed the touch of other male bodies against his own, the telltale hardness at his opponent's groin that indicated more than athletic interest in the match. He enjoyed the apparently accidental brush of hands, arms, legs, against his tightly sheathed, jock-strapped maleness, and the answering expansion of his own equipment. He knew he was a big boy, and an attractive one. He knew his meat was bigger and prettier than any of the other boys whose bodies he saw naked in the dressing rooms and showers and make-up booths. He took pride in his masculinity, in his desirability, and set out to achieve the affection he so hungrily desired through the beauty of his body, since it seemed impossible to be liked and loved just because he was himself....
The private sessions with Mr. Liebman continued throughout his busy schedule, frequently calling him away from rehearsals or classes or lessons to go to the plush office and strip off his clothes, stretching out on the huge desk or the slick leather sofa to feel the masculine hardness of the man's cock entering him from one end or the other. He came to loathe these sessions less as time passed and he became used to the experience. Though Liebman was far from the most attractive man on the lot, his sexual equipment was not unattractive or repulsive. His cock was not huge, but pleasantly satisfying, steel hard and smooth, the head feeling like hot, smooth silk when Grady took it into his mouth and let it lie on his tongue, throbbing of its own intense excitement. He learned quickly to be an expert cocksucker, setting the tempo to please his own mood of the moment, to rush the ever-horny man who was his boss and employer to almost immediate orgasm, something he was quite susceptible to, or to tease him agonizingly to the brink of insanity before he allowed the release of his stored sperm.
And Liebman was not the only recipient of his attentions. Once having accepted the role he seemed destined to play; through the initiation in pain that first day on the enormous desk, he realized with mixed reactions, that the acceptance of male flesh was not entirely unpleasant to him. It was fortunate, for he learned early in his association with Metropolitan Studios that part of his duties was the total surrender of his body to visiting VJP's, and if the enjoyment of his body was part of that surrender, so be it. Out of town film distributors, theatre chain operators, monied people, with a penchant for young boy flesh were entertained by Grady and other contract players, their bodies merely raw, hot meat to be possessed by those the studio detailed them to entertain. He sucked cock and let himself accept hard, throbbing erections in the beautiful dark warmth of his backside whenever it was expected of him, without complaint, and increasingly, without major objection. The head of the studio made it clear from the beginning that he would blow or get fucked by any of the studio's important connections, whenever requested, and in whatever manner or degree indicated by the participating partner.
For two years Grady was putty in the hands of Metropolitan Studios, taking orders, accepting roles in films or rejecting them as Liebman considered best in formulating his career.
He realized he was as much a piece of sexual merchandise as a performer in the eyes of his employers, though his publicity characterized him as an ordinary-kid:next-door-all-American-clean-living-Boy-Scout-pure youth to appeal to the American heartland, the unsophisticated areas of the country unaware of the unconventional appetites of some of Hollywood's greatest luminaries, and for that matter, unaware of the secret, carefully guarded lusts of their next door neighbors.
Grady came subtly to savor the moment of feverish sex in the arms of devouring males, experiencing the only closeness and affection in his life at those moments, longing hungrily for tenderness and understanding, unable to find it anywhere, even in his own family, and so synthesizing it in the strong arms, against the sweaty, naked bodies of his temporary lovers, the hard, piercing maleness of those who took their pleasure from him, and in turn, unknowingly, gave him the only moments of love in his life.
Frardc had turned him over to the studio and seemed to have washed his hands of him completely, except at the times of renegotiation of the boy's contract, when he was prominently attentive. His brothers, Howard and Bob, had been enrolled in private boarding schools in the east and there was no communication between them, a condition which mattered little to Grady, since there had never been more than superficial fondness among the three sons. His whole life became centered in the studio and its employees, and strangely he felt more complete, more accepted by those with whom he worked than he had ever felt in the midst of his own family.
CHAPTER THREE
It was Grady's fourteenth birthday, and one of the vast sound stages had been converted into a festive bower for the occasion of a lavish party, attended by his friends, studio executives and, of course, the press.
"Hi, Grady. Having a good time?" a mellow, masculine voice asked him from behind.
Grady turned and smiled brightly into friendly, golden brown eyes.
"Hi, Dave. Yeah, a great time. This is the first birthday party I've ever had. Thanks for the present. How did you know I wanted that book?" He was touched by the man's though tfulness.
Dave Carter was his swimming instructor, a handsome, well built young stuntman and stand-in who filled his free time earning his salary as physical education coach in Metropolitan's youth program, forming young actors and actresses into well developed, photogenic bodies.
"You told me about it a couple of weeks ago, remember?" Dave's dark hair fell over his sun-bronzed forehead, intensifying the masculine attractiveness of strong features and sensitive eyes.
"Yeah, but I didn't think you'd remember. I just made a casual remark.... Well, thanks. I really think it was something special for you to go to the trouble of finding it. I tried several places without any luck."
"Anything for you, baby." Dave put his arm around Grady's shoulders and pulled him against him in a friendly embrace.
Grady liked the feeling of the man's strong embrace, the warmth of his body so close to his own, the male smell of him. Without thinking, he reached out and wrapped his arm around Dave's waist, holding tight to the masculine security against him.
Dave's eyes darted nervously about the group and he pulled away from Grady's arms. He smiled self-consciously and stepped back a step.
"Well, it's quite a party, isn't it?" His discomfort was obvious and Grady was perplexed. Had he done something wrong in showing his affection?
"Gee, Dave, what's the matter? What did I do? I guess I shouldn't have hugged you, huh?" He lowered his head, ashamed of his natural instinct to express his emotional response to the man's kindness.
"Oh, Grady ... it's just there's so many people around. And people talk ... about things like that. You got to watch out for your reputation. You don't want to get known as a fag, do you?" Dave reddened as his nervousness increased.
"I don't understand." Grady frowned.
"You will, baby. Somebody will explain it all to you one of these days. A good-looking susceptible kid like you is bound to find out all about it before long."
"Why don't you tell me, Dave? Why don't you explain it to me?" Grady gazed into Dave's golden eyes, his own deep blue ones open and innocent, wanting to understand.
"I'm tempted, pretty one. I'm really tempted ... but my conscience is giving me a hell of a fight. I get paid to teach you to swim and work out, but if you keep looking at me like that, I'm apt to forget you're a kid, and we could end up in the middle of a new kind of lesson."
"Teach me, Dave." A longing warmth came into Grady's eyes, and Dave found himself breathing hard.
"I'm going to be sorry for this ... but come on."
He turned away from Grady and started across the stage, heading for the exit door.
Grady followed him quickly, catching up with him as they reached the door and stepped into the broad cement studio street, lined on both sides by huge, hangar like sound stages.
Dave walked fast, glancing from time to time at Grady, who had almost to run to keep pace with him. They made their way along the street to the gymnasium that contained workout rooms, the swimming pool and dressing rooms and showers.
Dave's jerrybuilt office was at the rear of the building. Once inside, Dave locked the door behind them and led the way through the darkened corridors to his office, equipped with barbells and weights, a desk, a couple of chairs, and a sprung-seated sofa. The walls were lined with photographs of weightlifters in scanty briefs, a few near-naked women with extravagantly healthy, well developed bodies.
Once inside the office, Dave took the extra precaution of locking that door, too. He stood several moments with his back to the room, leaning forward against the door, as though considering the action he planned. Finally turning to face Grady, he was silent for a long time, eyes roving over the young beauty.
"Grady ... I ... we ... Oh, shit, let's sit down and talk!"
Grady went and sat down on the sofa, looking up expectantly at Dave who was painfully uncomfortable.
"I don't know what to do. What can I say?" Dave laughed mirthlessly.
"Just tell me what you meant before, that's all. I don't understand why men aren't supposed to like other men. I don't see why men can't have friends."
"Grady, for Christ's sake, that's not what I meant. Men can have other men for friends ... but some guys go farther than that. They want more than friendship." Dave couldn't look at the boy any longer. His eyes fell as he sat down in the chair behind the rickety desk.
"Tell me, Dave. I want to understand what you're trying to say." Grady was confused, strange sensations roiling in his chest, excitement bubbling over inside him.
"Well ... some guys ... like to ... kiss each other ... and ... play around together." Dave felt as though he would strangle before he could get the words out. He was drawn to Grady and afraid to express his fondness because of the boy's youth.
"Is that wrong, Dave? Is it wrong to like somebody and want to show how you feel? I like to kiss ... I've wanted to kiss you sometimes. Does that make me bad?" Butterflies fluttered their wings in Grady's gut as he stared at Dave's soft, bright red mouth, imagining his lips against Dave's breathing heavily, and he realized with a start his cock had begun to twitch in his pants.
"No it doesn't make you bad. And it goes beyond that. Shit, I've never had to do anything in my life that was as hard as this." Dave raised his hand, ran his fingers through his thick, straight, dark hair, at a loss as to how to continue.
"Don't you like to kiss, Dave? Don't you ever want to be close to somebody and feel like you belong there?"
Dave looked hard at the boy, rose from his chair silently and rushed to the sofa, pulling Grady up from the seat, closing his arms around him.
Grady returned his embrace and bent his head forward, seeking Dave's mouth with his. He felt the older man's warm, sweet breath on his face and then the gentle pressure of soft lips against his. Dave evinced a soft sob and increased the pressure of his arms around Grady.
His lips parted and his tongue sought entry into Grady's mouth. Grady opened his mouth and let Dave enter. The man's body writhed against him and Grady felt the swelling at his groin, against his own, which was beginning to stretch excitedly.
Dave's hand moved from the boy's back, slipped between them and explored the front of Grady's trousers, stroking gently over the soft white of his trousers, feeling the enlarging mound of erecting tissue.
He drew away from the absorbing kiss and looked at the boy.
"Do you want to go on, Grady? Do you want to keep going with this? Or should we stop now ... while we can?" His eyes were tortured, wanting both alternatives and neither.
"No! No, I never want to stop. I've wanted somebody to be nice to me and to like me. I don't ever want to be any different than we are now." Grady's voice was a strained whisper as he clutched Dave even tighter to him.
"Whatever we do, we'll be different afterwards ... both of us. You don't know what you're doing, what it has to lead to if we keep on, Grady."
"Do you want to stop?"
"Yes ... no. I don't know. I want you a lot. I've wanted us to get together almost from the first time I saw you when you were a snot nosed brat. I'm afraid to go on and I'm too weak to stop unless you want to."
"I don't want to ... whatever happens. I like you, Dave, better than anybody else I know. I don't want to stop. Please."
Dave's hand rubbing and massaging his crotch stimulated Grady, and his hips started grinding rhythmically under the welcome pressure and warmth.
Dave pulled away and began opening shirt buttons, belt buckle, trouser buttons and zipper. In only a few seconds Grady was naked but for his snowy white jockey shorts, stretched almost beyond endurance by the striving power of his surging hard-on.
"Can I do the same to you, Dave? Can I undress you?" His voice was small and weak, overburdened with excitement.
"Oh, yes, baby, yes, do!" Dave moaned, his hands stroking the velvety smoothness of the boy's young flesh. Grady's body was beginning to assume its first maturity, changing from the straight, angular lines of boyhood to the more defined, articulated musculature of maturity. He was a handsome, exciting specimen and his nearness, the feel of him, was rousing Dave to monumental passion.
Grady's hands were clumsy as he worked rapidly to remove Dave's shirt and tight blue jeans. He was startled to discover naked flesh under the tight caress of levis. Dave wore no underwear. Grady drew against his belly when the constraining denim was pulled away. His hand reached out tentatively, fingers longing to touch the massive hardness, a little afraid but yearning for the contact.
With a growl Dave thrust himself on Grady, bearing him backwards to the sofa. Dave sprawled on top of him, writhing strongly on top of him. His cock pulsed against Grady's belly, and the boy was annoyed with the interference of his tight jockey shorts.
"Dave, take 'em off ... please ... take my shorts off...." His arms were tight around the man's back, his hips straining up in regular tempo against the strong man-belly that weighed upon him.
Dave's hands were at his waist, pulling at either side of the elastic waistband. He raised himself slightly to enable the cotton jersey to slide down the boy's flat belly; they caught momentarily on the strong protruding erection, then pulled away to continue down the boy's thighs and legs.
Dave lowered himself onto the boy again and their bodies met eagerly. They clung together, Grady's legs locking around the strong muscles of Dave's thighs.
"Oh, Dave, you feel so good. You make me feel so good." Grady moaned, then Dave's lips were on his, blocking his words, permitting only unintelligible, instinctive sounds of hungry lust to escape. Dave's hands were all over him, caressing his back and sides, his thighs and buttocks, the sharp angularity of his hips, the flat smoothness of his hairless belly and chest. Grady stroked Dave's back, reveling in the sensuality of muscular bulk and heat under his fingers. He caressed the flexing solidity of driving buttocks, the firm smoothness of hairy rear thighs. He sighed and moaned with delight as he explored the new sensations of naked male flesh.
"Oh, Grady. I'm so hot. I'm ready to come, you make me feel so good!" Dave pulled away and crouched over the recumbent boy body, his cock bobbing excitedly in the air between them. Grady's hard rod throbbed dangerously against his satiny smooth belly, only lightly emphasized by a light ring of silvery blonde hair encompassing the thick base of it.
"Don't hate me, Grady. Please don't hate me for this." Dave gazed with melted golden eyes into the boy's passion-glazed blue, almost black, ones. Grady started to speak, but the sudden movement of Dave's head diving to his groin, tongue lashing out to lave and tickle wetly over his cockhead stilled his words. Instead he moaned and raised his hips to make the task easier for Dave.
Dave's mouth opened, slid forward and engulfed the entire, swollen, satin smooth knob.
Grady couldn't hold still. He lost all control of his body as wave after wave of sensation flooded through him. His body twitched and quivered, his hips and buttocks thrust and worked, his head rolled from side to side, tossing spas-tically, his hands moved over Dave, his shoulders and heavily muscled arms, his back and chest and through his hair, tracing his features with ultra-sensitized fingertips. He strained to reach between them to grasp the exciting prize of Dave's pulsating cock which he could see but couldn't reach.
"Hate you ... Oh, Dave ... I couldn't ... hate ... It feels too ... too good ... I ... love ... it! I love you!"
Dave was as entrapped with the ecstasy of the moment as Dave. His head worked smoothly as his lips traveled steadily up and down the long cylinder of Grady's blood pumping cock. His rhythm increased subtly, steadily as his passion rose, his slurping lips moving ever more rapidly over the huge surface of Grady's rapidly nearing orgasm prick.
"Oh, Dave. It's so good. Dave, let me do it to you ... Dave, please let me take your peter in my mouth ... I want to do the same thing to you ... DAVE!" His buttocks tensed and thrust his pelvis upward and he exploded suddenly, unexpectedly in Dave's hot, slippery mouth. A steady, gurgling sound emanated from the compressing lips and Grady felt the sudden hot wetness bathing his balls as Dave shot his load all over the boy's inner thighs.
Grady's hands went to his balls, to the thick warmth of Dave's generous outpouring of sperm. His fingers trailed through the viscous fluid and then, thickly coated with the older man's juice, he raised his hands to his mouth, licking the still warm sweetness into himself.
"Oh, Dave. Dave, I wanted to do it the way you did to me."
"You'll have your chance, baby. You're the only guy that ever made me come like that ... just going down on you got me so fuckin' hot I couldn't hold it back. I made a big mess on you."
"I love it. I want you to do it in my mouth, Dave. Any way, any time. It was so good ... I've never felt like that before."
"Feels better than jackin' off, doesn't it?" Dave chuckled, rising from his servicing position at the boy's groin, stretching out on top of him.
"Jackin' off?"
"I can't believe you! You don't know what it means to jack off, either?" Dave's voice was filled with incredulity. He raised his hand and made a fist, gesturing in the pantomime of masturbation.
"No. I guess I'm pretty dumb." Grady reddened again.
Dave chuckled and took the boy tight in his arms.
"No, baby, not dumb ... just too sweet and innocent to be believed."
Dave rotated his pelvis, sliding balls and cock over Grady's, smearing the abundant expulsion of his sperm over both their bodies. They talked and kissed and laughed for a long time, and finally drew apart, dressed and left the gym, both excitedly looking forward to next time.
Grady glowed with reflective happiness all through the evening. His mind kept drifting back to the pleasures of the afternoon, the sense of communion with Dave in the sharing of their intimate physical secrets. He was quietly introspective till bedtime, surprising both Frank and Carrie. They were baffled by the new self-assurance they seemed to detect in the high-strung boy.
Grady's brothers had been enrolled in a private military school, leaving only Frank and Carrie to share his life with him. Grady missed Howard and Bob but there was actually little time to be lonely for them. His days at the studio were so full and tiring that by the time he got home he wanted little but dinner, a shower or long soaking bath and bed.
Tonight was different. He was animated, his blood coursing with new vitality through his veins, a bright patina of confidence haloed his beautiful face. Several times during the evening Carrie and Frank studied his new attitude with puzzled, wondering expressions.
"Hey, baby boy, you feelin' okay?"
"Sure, Papa. I'm fine. I never felt better. Why?"
"You look different ... and you're so quiet. Thought you might not feel too good."
"I'm fine, Papa. I guess I'm excited about the birthday party they gave me this afternoon. And about what Mr. Liebman said about tomorrow. You won't forget, will you, Papa? Don't be late."
"Don't worry about me, Frankie Boy. I mean Grady. I never can get used to your new name."
"Better, Papa. It's making lots of money for us."
Frank looked angry for a moment, then lapsed into silence.
Grady went up to his room and switched on the television set at the end of his spacious bedroom, opposite the foot of his king-size bed. He stretched out and tried to concentrate on the show, one of his favorite western series, two big basketed studs living together in the middle of nowhere, wrestling with the problems of life and each other every week, ending victorious and mutually satisfied. But his mind kept drifting back to Dave, the warm sensation of his sexy mouth enclosing Grady's pulsating cock lovingly. He couldn't force the exciting memory from him, and rose from the bed, switched off the TV and went into the bathroom for a long, soaking bath.
He lay in the warm water, feeling as though his entire body were being encased by the gentle warmth of Dave's rapacious mouth, and his excitement accelerated. He opened the drain and the tub began to empty as Grady stood and turned on the shower to finish his toilette and ready himself for bed.
Back in the bedroom, naked, still excited, he stared at himself in the great square mirror that topped the triple dresser along one wall of his room. He saw himself as though for the first time. Young, good-looking, well built, attractive to others. He smiled and fell naked into bed. His excitement refused to abate and for the first time in his life he took his cock in his fist, lustfully, jerked his squeezing hand up and down its lengthy thickness and moaned with the pleasure of his task. His right hand cupped his pressure-filled balls as his left jerked his cock faster and harder. His hips writhed, his ass cheeks clenched and relaxed, thrusting his cock hard into his grasping hand, and his breath grew shallow and labored. He felt the first brutal sensations of gathering orgasm and jerked even faster, his face a mask of tortured delight, his chest heaving, and then he came, hot, jutting streams of lava-hot rich cream, spattering his belly and chest, rolling down over the back of his hand, his cock twitching violently with each jolting release of spasming sperm.
Grady lay quiet for a few minutes, then became aware of the cooling wetness of his body. His hands moved to the unfamiliar excretions and moved exploringly through the moisture. He worked the wet essence of his body into his flesh, creaming his front thoroughly, enjoying the feeling of his own manseed under his fingers, lubricating his own flesh.
When he was finished, there was no evidence of his orgasm left on his body, all of it carefully massaged into his velvet smoothness. He rolled onto his side, pulled the extra pillow into his arms, embracing it as he had Dave earlier, and fell asleep with the inanimate lover in his arms.
CHAPTER FOUR
Grady woke early the next morning, a habit deeplyingrained after his four years at Metropolitan often requiring him to be at the studio as early as five a.m. He lay in bed smiling drowsily, still filled with the happiness of the previous day, stroking himself lazily, enjoying the powerful hardness of his young, newly discovered pleasure-giver.
He showered and dressed quickly, recalling as he was slipping his feet into fresh jockey shorts, the nakedness of Dave under his levis and laughingly tossed the interfering garment aside, donning his blue jeans directly over his naked torso. He smiled secretly as he sensed the new awareness of his maleness unprotected against the slight roughness of sturdy denim.
He was finished with breakfast and had his dishes washed and put away before Carrie appeared to prepare the morning coffee for Frank. Ignoring her usual morning irritability, he chatted quietly while she grumbled in and out of the kitchen, collecting cups and saucers and the small tray to transport the two cups of morning energy back upstairs to Frank's bedroom.
"Carrie? Would you ask Papa to hurry a little so we're not late for the appointment with Mr. Liebman?" He smiled gently, hoping his request wouldn't annoy her, thereby lengthening his wait to depart.
"Okay, I'll tell him. You don't need to worry much about his being late, though. If that bastard is gonna pay you more money, your papa ain't gonna be late for that!" She shuffled out of the kitchen without further comment.
She was right. In less than half an hour Frank was downstairs, dressed in a new and expensive suit, unflatteringly bright, emphasizing his inflating rotundity, hurrying the boy along as though he had been waiting hours for him instead of the reverse situation which was fact.
There was no waiting period in the receptionist's office that morning. Mr. Townsend, attorney acting in Grady's behalf, was there when Frank and Grady arrived and the three were ushered immediately into the inner office.
"Good morning, Frank, Mr. Townsend. Hi, Kiddo. Glad to see you. Everything going okay for you, Kiddo?"
"Yes, fine, thanks, sir."
"Well, Mr. Liebman, what's on the skillet? You got some plans for Fra-Grady, he tells me." Frank was too impatient to learn the producer's plans to bend to the amenities. He wanted to get to the heart of the matter.
"Well, I think it's time to give the kid a change ... find out just what he can do. I've got a property on my hands nobody wants, and I want to make a picture out of it. I'll tell you the truth. I've offered the script to every kid actor in town and not one of their agents will touch it. So I want to take a chance with Grady in the lead. It means more money ... not a hell of a lot more, but enough to make you think it over."
"Double, Morris! Double what he's getting now, and escalating options every six months for the next two years!" Frank erupted, seeing the ill-concealed resignation in the producer's eyes, knowing he could get pretty much what he asked if Grady was the last chance for the man to make a picture he wanted to make and nobody else wanted to touch.
"Frank, you're a pain in the ... neck. I'd like to be able to deal with Townsend and let you cool your heels out in the waiting room, but the kid wants you here, so I put up with you. Okay, double his present salary and the options you want ... but for three years ... not two. And a new contract for seven years with twice the new salary minimum, subject to renegotiation after five years. Agreed?"
"Agreed!" Frank choked out the word, suddenly suspicious he could have made an even better deal.
"I assume you have the papers drawn already, don't you, Mr. Liebman?" Townsend's voice was deep and smooth, polished with the cultured patina of his Ivy League legal education and persuasive experience in courtroom elocution.
"Indeed, Mr. Townsend. Only the figures have to be filled in and everything will be ready for signatures. While we're waiting would anybody care for coffee? Or a drink for you, Frank?" The little black eyes glittered with malevolence as they looked into Frank's swollen, red-rimmed eyes.
Grady experienced the old uneasiness that always accompanied any meeting between his father and the producer. There was an instinctive animosity between the two and Grady was constantly uncomfortable when he was in the company of both men at the same time.
"I really don't want any coffee, Mr. Liebman. Is it okay if I leave and go to class?"
"Sure, Kiddo. Tell Miss Thompson I want to talk to her later about changing some of your lessons. When the shooting schedule is set up you'll have to make some changes. You're going to work your balls off before this movie is finished. So get all the rest you can. You'll need it. You're going to have to keep up with your lessons and work on the picture all at the same time." Liebman smiled and gestured Grady out with a twist of his head, then turned to Frank and Mr. Townsend to continue their discussion of the new contract.
Grady ran from the administration building, heading for the swimming pool and Dave. He was out of breath when he arrived and stood in the doorway to the lofty room containing the pool, watching the miraculous physique of his new idol, barely covered by a brief, snowy white swim suit, sharply outlining the male contours of the pleasure Grady had handled the day before.
Young, innocent, vulnerable, Grady was unable to disguise the emotions he felt facing the man who had introduced him to the greatest pleasure he had ever known. His eyes were bright and moist, his lips parted, smiling with the surrender of first infatuation.
Dave looked into his face, then nervously glanced around the pool, anxious to see whether they were being watched, fearful of witnesses to the undisguised adoration so evident in the boy's expression.
"Hey, take it a little easy, babe. Your face gives everything away. You don't want to get us talked about, do you?" Dave's voice was hushed, his eyes clouded with annoyance at the boy's frank gaze. Grady sobered immediately, the smile slowly vanishing, eyes darkening, face reddening in embarrassment.
"I'm sorry, Dave. I just felt so good to see you I felt like I was about to burst with it."
"Yeah, and it shows. You can't advertise how you feel all over the lot. You're an actor, you ought to be able to hide your feelings better than that." His eyes ranged the near naked occupants of the pool and those standing around the amphitheatre, satisfied that Grady's indiscretion had been unobserved, and allowed himself to smile.
"I'm glad you're happy to see me, but we have to be careful people don't start talking about us. It could mean my job ... and your career." His attitude softened. He was really pleased to see the boy, to realize how much he cared about him, but his inhibitions made his pleasure almost equally frightening.
"I won't do it again. I'll glare and frown and look nasty every time I'm around you from now on." Grady smiled again, longing to reach out and stroke the coppery tanned flesh, naked, gleaming under the sun, and so close to his own excited body. He felt the unfamiliar roughness of his levis against his stretching cock, the unrestricted freedom intensifying the excitement of his rapidly hardening tool.
"I see you left the jockey shorts home this morning," Dave chuckled as his eyes ranged over the exciting boy body so close.
"Yeah, I liked the way you looked when I took your pants off yesterday, with nothing underneath, so I thought I'd see how it felt myself. It's giving me a lot of trouble ... especially since I came in here and looked at you almost naked like that." He grinned and his eyes traveled sensually over the hard muscled, hairy chest and stomach to the plainly responding white elastic encased basket.
"Well, lover boy, I got news for you. You're giving me a little trouble, too. You better get out of here so I can pull myself together before my trunks split wide open." He shifted from one leg to the other attempting to ease the rising pressure in his groin, afraid of showing those nearby the mutual evidence of their intensifying arousal.
"Okay, I'll go. I've got to get to class anyway. I'm late, and Miss Thompson might call Mr. Liebman's office to find out if I'm still there." He looked hungrily at the still strained basket, licked his lips and smiled lewdly into Dave's eyes.
"How about meeting me here after you're through this afternoon? I'll be all alone after three o'clock." Dave's eyes were as hungry as Grady's, his excitement mounting to almost uncontrollable insistence.
"If I can. Mr. Liebman just gave me a new picture, and I have a feeling I'm going to be kept pretty busy for a while. But I'd sure like to have some more of what happened yesterday. I'll come back if I can. I'll call and let you know if I can't make it, so you won't wait around all afternoon for nothing. Okay?"
"Yeah. But do your best. I'll be limping around all day with a roaring hard-on waiting for you." He smiled gently.
"Me, too. I gotta go. I'll see you later. I'll get back ... somehow. Even if I have to sneak away." Grady turned and left the gym quickly, afraid to look, blushing because of his sharply outlined erection, unguarded in the tightness of his levis, unprotected by the usual insurance provided by his shorts.
The day passed quickly for Grady. Too excited to concentrate on his studies, he was glad his schedule was interrupted. Only a few minutes after arriving in the school room he was summoned out again. He was shuttled from the photographic department, to publicity, to wardrobe, to makeup, where consultations and discussions ensued. He was photographed, measured for costumes, studied for the best effects to be achieved by various types of makeup. It was the most intensive personal attention he had received since joining the studio.
By three o'clock he was exhausted, mentally and physically, having been ceaselessly active all day. He realized he was hungry as well as tired, nobody having thought to allow him to go to the commissary for lunch or even ordering anything sent in to him.
He was glad when he was informed he wasn't needed any longer. All his tormentors had decided on the methods they would use to enhance his already superior appearance, and he was allowed to leave. He glanced at his watch, noting it was nearly three-thirty. His fatigue seemed to vanish as he thought of Dave waiting for him in the cramped office, and his feet didn't touch the ground as he hurried to meet him.
CHAPTER FIVE
Grady burst into the little office, not bothering to knock, knowing Dave expected him. He stopped dead still in the doorway, his breath catching in his throat, his cock lurching into immediate erection. There, before him, lying naked on the sprung-seated sofa, gasping with excitement, lay Dave, cock in hand, pummeling himself with frenzied intensity. The dark-haired man's eyes sprang to his face, a sudden expression of fear sparkling in the depths of the golden orbs.
His jerking hand ceased, still clutching the thick cock-base tightly.
"Shit, I thought I locked the fuckin' door. You scared the hell out of me, Grady." Then he smiled, and his eyes moved to his hard cock in his hand. He pointed the long, fat spear towards Grady and grinned invitingly.
"Oh, Dave, you're beautiful. I almost came when I saw you jacking your prick. Look." He closed his hand over the throbbing ridge in his levis, angling across his left thigh, ran the caressing fingers up and down the straining length of denim encased flesh.
"If you hadn't arrived when you did I'd have shot my load in about two seconds. I was close, baby." His voice was strained with excitement, his hand stroking lazily along the impressive length of his hard rod, eyes half closed, an ecstatic smile widening his lips.
"I want it. I want to do what you did to me yesterday," Grady whimpered, his hands busy tearing open his clothes. In seconds he was naked, springing to the side of the dangerously close to orgasm body.
"You want to do what I did to you? Tell me what that is, Grady."
"What do you mean? I want you in my mouth. I want to taste you, and take it when you come, like you did to me."
"You know what that is, Grady? You know how to say it?"
"No. Tell me how."
"Say you want to suck my cock, Grady. Tell me you want to blow me and you want to drink my come, baby. Tell me." He writhed with the intensity of his long sustained passion.
"I want to suck your cock, Dave. I want to blow you. I want to taste your come in my mouth. Please, Dave. Let me suck you." Grady's hands were worshiping the man's velvety flesh, squeezing, pinching nipples, outlining muscle contours. He head dropped to Dave's chest and his tongue darted to the nipples he had been handling.
"Oh, yes, Grady. Yes. Suck my hard, aching dick. I need to shoot in your hot, sweet mouth, baby. Take it, baby. I'm close. Take my prick in your mouth and drain it. Now, baby, now!" His ass clenched hard, his hips shot up and Grady scrambled to grasp the swollen purple cockhead between his lips. Dave's hands moved into his misty silver hair, tangled in handfuls of the soft silkiness and pressed downward, forcing the boy to absorb his pulsating shaft deeply. Grady struggled for a moment, unacquainted with the sensation that now filled him, slightly frightened, then he choked and gagged as the violent eruption of overstimu-lated sperm gushed in torrents from the convulsing cock-head and shaft into his untried mouth. For his fear, Grady was strangely thrilled by the spurting cascade that battered the back of his throat, the strange, musty thickness of Dave's tribute. He swallowed involuntarily, enjoying the alien taste of man's sperm for the first time, except for the few drops his fingers had wiped from his own balls the day before.
Dave, fingers still entwined in Grady's hair, pushed him away, his entire body shuddering with the sensitivity of his vibrant orgasm, and he drew the boy close against him, his lips finding Grady's tongue probing between, licking away the last remnants of his own come, as he kissed Grady hard, tenderly, lovingly.
"I've been thinking about that all day, Grady. I've had a perpetual hard-on ever since you left the gym this morning.
I couldn't think about anything but you and your hot, sexy body. How did you like going down on me? Are you okay?" He was suddenly concerned for the boy's feelings, wondering if he had been too brutal in his treatment, too eager to initiate the boy into the mysteries of sperm drinking.
"Sure, I'm fine. I didn't know you would come so quick, though. I wasn't ready for it. I thought I'd strangle, there was so much."
"You don't feel bad ... or guilty ... or dirty ... or anything, do you?"
"No. I wanted to do it. I told you that. Why should I feel dirty or guilty for doing something I wanted to do ... and you wanted it too."
Dave's hands moved between their bodies. He grasped the rigid excitement that sprang from Grady's groin.
"Jesus, you've got a beautiful cock. You're really hung for a kid. By the time you grow up you'll be a really gigantic stud."
Grady smiled, pleased by Dave's praise. He knew he was as large now as Dave, perhaps even a little bigger.
"If you think I'm big, you ought to see my father. He's twice as big as I am ... well, almost, anyway. And my brothers are both bigger than I am." He chuckled, happily watching the lights of excited speculation appear in Dave's eyes.
"Aha, so you're not a virgin ... playing around with the old man and your big brothers, huh?" He squeezed Grady's cock, let his hand slide down to the massive pouch tightly drawn up against the boy's cockbase.
"No, but I've seen them naked ... changing clothes or in the bathroom I felt like a midget next to them." He laughed again.
"Well, take my word for it, Lover Boy! You're NO midget! You've got a chokin' mouthful of hot, hard meat, and I'm going to try to choke myself to death on it right now." He slid sinuously down the boy's body, his tongue leaving a wet trail behind it as he progressed, finally arriving openmouthed and hungry at the quivering cock head. He opened his mouth wide, thrust his tongue out and licked the entire velvet cap before he drew it in between his lips, into his mouth, sucking strongly as the long shaft slipped deeper into him.
Grady groaned with the pleasure of the hot, wet sensation, and his ass flexed, his hips worked and he pumped in and out of Dave's talented oral caress. He whimpered and moaned as his excitement rose higher, and he writhed and twisted uncontrollably.
Insane with delight, he raised his head to watch Dave's expert ministrations, and the sight of the bobbing head devouring his maleness increased his pleasure. He looked down the man's body and saw he was still hard and throbbing. He twisted his body into a reverse position and clamped his mouth over the outward straining cylinder. Dave gasped with the suddenness of the action, the delight of the sensation, and set to work more earnestly at Grady's eager tool. Grady applied himself with equal fervor to Dave and in short moments they were thrusting and lunging together with uncontrolled passion.
A deep, keening howl erupted from Dave and Grady felt the increased thickness and hardness of the cock in his mouth, trying to probe down his throat, then the shuddering spasm of quick contraction and expansion, then the second gushing, mouth filling load of jism poured forth, filling his mouth, coating his tongue and teeth and cheeks, hot and bittersweet, thick and sticky. He was helpless to control himself and he responded with youthful vigor in equalling and surpassing the joyous outpouring of love and lust, filling Dave's mouth and throat with his sperm, gushing so rapidly Dave couldn't contain it all and a trail of thick whiteness dropped from the corner of his mouth, across his cheek, a snowy scar against the deep bronze of his tan.
As Grady's cock began to soften, Dave released him and held his cock in his hand for a long time, staring at it, examining every surface, every contour with total attention. He turned the young, soft length of it studiously in his hand, eyes intense as though trying to memorize every detail of the beautiful young maleness, soft, warm, lightly veined marble, alive and vibrant with dormant excitement.
"Grady, baby, you're fantastic sex. Your come is hot and thick and sweet as honey. The nectar of the old Greek gods must have been hot, young jism." He chuckled as he relinquished his gaze on the masterpiece of masculine perfection and looked into the boy's deep, soft blue eyes.
"Do you really like me, Dave? Am I really all right ... I mean do I really excite you and make you feel good?" Grady blushed, touched and pleased by Dave's praise.
"Yeah, babe. You're really all right! I've never been so hot for anybody as I've been for you all fuckin' day. Nobody else has ever had me walking around with a hard-on for twenty-four hours without doing anything about it before."
"I'm glad. You make me feel the same way." Grady twisted around again so they were face to face, and he threw his arms around Dave's chest, leaned forward and kissed him with all the sensual release of his long borne frustrations.
"Hey, if you keep that up we're going to get started again ... and you've got to get home. So do I." Dave pulled away and rose from the battered couch. He moved across the room and picked up his slacks and stuck one foot into a pantsleg. Grady watched with avid eyes, feeling sensation growing in his groin again. He wanted more, needed more of this man. He rose from the couch and moved behind Dave, wrapping his arms around his waist, slipping his hands down to the massive cock and balls.
Dave twisted in his embrace and started to speak, but Grady's kissing mouth cut him off. He pressed hard against Dave's body, their flesh cemented together from head to knee, and Dave began to respond. Soon both were breathing hard, hands searching hungrily the secrets of each other.
"More, Dave, please ... more. I want your cock in me, Dave. I want to suck it," Grady whimpered.
"Will you let me fuck you, Giady? I want to feel my cock up your hot, tight little ass. Please, baby. Let me fuck you." Dave was breathless with excitement and anticipation, wanting the rest of Grady's virginity, not knowing he was long experienced in the nether regions of his body.
Grady hesitated before answering and Dave thought he was afraid. His hands slid down to the boy's hard, hot buttocks, each clutching palm encasing a grapefruit round cheek, his mouth working persuasively over Grady's.
"Please, baby. Take my joint up your hot little ass. I won't hurt you. I'll go slow and easy, and I'll be careful. All you have to do is relax and it'll feel good once it gets in there." His fingers slid between the cheeks, relishing the warm moist crevice between the aperture and pressed gently against the resistant sphincter.
"Yes, oh, yes, Dave. Yes, go ahead. Drive your hard meat into me. I want to feel it in there, part of me." Grady was nearly hysterical with desire. He was afraid, but his passion overrode the fear.
Dave led him back to the sofa, but instead of guiding him to the seat, he bent him over the arm, standing behind him. Grady crossed his arms on the upholstered surface, and lay his head on top of his arms, doubling his body forward, legs braced apart.
Dave's hands were concentrating wholly on the delicious flesh he explored. He fell to his knees, buried his face in the shadowy cleft and planted a hot, wet kiss to the tightly puckered ass-hole. His tongue flashed out and circled the dark button he longed to possess, working quickly to lubricate and excite the passage. Grady sighed and gasped as he absorbed the man's attentions, his entire being whirling through space in his ecstasy. He felt the hot, wet, strong tongue laving his ass-hole, probing the cooperatively relaxing muscles, the parting channel of pleasure. He was lost in desire, and he felt the tongue leave his ass-hole, the hands rise to his hips, the man rise to his feet behind him, and the first, hesitating, exploratory thrust of the massive cockhead. He gasped in anticipation, afraid the insertion would be painful. Dave pushed forward and Grady felt the big cock cap stretch his ass, slide forward and fill him with delight.
"Oh, shit, baby, what an ass. It's so good. You drive me wild!" Dave flexed his ass, rammed forward, sliding several inches of hard, thick cock into the boy's tight embrace. Grady writhed with mingled pain and pleasure, before the onslaught. Less than half way in his ass, Dave was already filling him more fully with hard manflesh than the entire mass of Mr. Liebman's underendowment had ever done. He moaned and wriggled under the invading pressure.
'Yeah, baby. Work those hot, sweet cheeks. Back up to me, Grady! Back up to meet it when I ram it in. Yeah, baby, yeah ... just like that. Goddamn, that's good. Keep it up, hot ass." Dave thrust forward again and Grady howled as he was impaled on the hugeness of his lover. He felt stretched and torn beyond redemption, but his cock rose hard as the plunging rod in his ass rubbed and massaged his prostate. He looked between his arms, saw his cock bobbing and dangling in the air, drooling a steady stream of milky fluid as Dave's enormous tool worked in and out of his ass.
"Oh, Dave, fuck me. You're making me come. Jism is dripping out of my peter. Drive it in, Dave. Ram it all the way. It feels so good. Keep going. Fuck, Dave, fuck my ass ... hard. Keep going. I'm shooting all the time. My cock feels like it's on fire. The come just keeps flowing out of it. You're driving me crazy. Fuck me, Dave, fuck my ass, Dave, fuckme fuckme!! "
His voice disintegrated into a ceaseless, indescribably animal rumble, filled with the satisfaction he was experiencing. Dave's hands moved beneath him, releasing his hips, grasping his drooling cock, his tightly compressed balls. He pressed upward, forcing the straining balls into the socket cavities on either side of the boy's cockbase, rubbing his hot smooth palm over the boy's cockhead, smearing the unending stream of sperm over the boy's hardness, groin, inner thighs, again and again, hands never stopping their constant stroking, torturous movements.
"Oh, Grady! You're a hot, horny Utile stud. You're soaked with your own come ... and I'm gonna fill your ass in about two seconds. I'm ready, baby. I'm fucking your hot ass and I'm gonna shoot. I'm gonna come in your hot, beautiful, tight little ass-hole. It's ready, Grady. I'm gonna come in you and knock you up. You're gonna be pregnant and have my hot, queer baby, Stud. Now, baby, NOW!" He drew back hard, his cock almost escaping the hot sheath of boy ass, only the ultimate tip of his cockhead remaining imbedded within the tight sphincter, then with a brutal lunge, he buried himself in the tight, clinging channel, the force of his thrust slamming his balls wetly, noisily against Grady's. He howled and gasped and his cock convulsed inside Grady, and spewed his boiling lava shatteringly into the boy, while Grady writhed with the power of Dave's climax, the unbearable sensation of Dave's palm on his cockhead and the ceaselessly spurting release of his own gut-contorting release.
They collapsed together over the arm of the sofa, half-suspended, half conscious, following the ferocity of their mutual expenditure. They lay together for several moments, regaining sufficient strength to separate and rise. They dressed silently, neither looking at the other, too full of the recent moments to be able to bear more.
Dave pulled Grady into his arms, kissed him lovingly, holding his tight ass.
"Did I hurt you, babe?"
"No. I loved it. I want it again ... and again. Tomorrow?"
"If we can. We'U see." Dave kissed him again and they left the office, parted at the door to the gym and left the lot separately.
CHAPTER SIX
The next months were torture for Grady. Up at five to be at the studio and ready to work at seven, working till nine and ten nearly every night, and frequently even later, he was always exhausted. Hours of rehearsing strenuous dance numbers, pre-recording songs and endless costume fittings drained his energy surpluses faster than they could be replenished. He lost weight, became nervous and temperamental, easily annoyed by distractions or criticism.
He had little or no personal life during the filming of the picture, and the daily rushes he viewed were agonizing despair. There was little hope for a successful production. The director, the crew, nearly everyone involved predicted a disastrous flop. The film was a musical version of a little known fairy tale fantasy. Grady was disappointed with the picture, his co-workers, costumes, nearly everything connected with the production. He worked valiantly, unstinting of his tremendous talent. He was cooperative and eager to do everything within his power to make the best of a bad situation.
He was pleased with the way he looked in the dailies, his costumes carefully fitted to emphasize his exciting body, the sheer tights highlighting the well filled bulge at his groin, but even he had little hope for a hit movie.
Before shooting was finished, Grady was operating on sheer will power and nervous energy, all his reserves drained and squandered. He was irritable with those he worked with and even at home, snapping shortly in response to comments by Frank or Carrie. Mr. Liebman began visiting the set regularly and insisted Grady see the studio doctor. He welcomed the few quiet moments he was allowed while waiting for the doctor to see him, the first really relaxed moments he had known in months.
"Well, Grady, Mr. Liebman seems to think you're in pretty poor shape. Let's take a look and see what's up. How do you feel?"
"Rotten, Dr. Barstow. I'm nervous and grouchy all the time. I can't sleep and I'm too upset to eat. Two bites of food and I want to throw up."
Dr. Barstow examined him carefully, noting the pale, drawn features, the tension of fatigue in his spring-taut body.
"Well, you need a little tonic and some sedatives. You're working too hard, but there's nothing I can do about that. You're doing a hell of a job for a kid in his first big part. You'll be okay if you can just hold out till it's finished. You're young and strong and it's only a couple of weeks. Then it'll be all over and you can take a vacation."
"Ten more days ... that's bad enough ... but when you say two weeks that makes it sound like forever. I'll make it, but I don't think I ever want to make another movie as long as I live."
Returning to the sound stage Grady was hurled back into the chaos of creation. He took two of the pills the doctor had given him, and began to feel better. As the afternoon progressed he dipped into the vial several times, and discovered that the nervous tension eased. He felt better by the end of the day than he had felt since beginning the picture.
When he arrived home near midnight he was wide awake, stimulated beyond considering sleep. Knowing the next day's schedule was hectic, he took advantage of the sleeping pills the doctor had given him. Next morning he was groggy but rested. With the assistance of the medication from Dr. Barstow he finished the picture, and immediately went to bed, where he stayed for three days, sleeping for long periods, eating all his meals in bed, listening to Carrie's complaints at having to carry trays to him, and being lazy for the first time in months.
By the end of the third day he was restless. He rose and , showered and dressed. He wanted to get out of the house, and he thought of Dave. During filming there had been little time for them to meet, none at all after the first two or three weeks, due to the accelerated shooting schedule and Grady's utter fatigue by the end of the day.
Now, things were different. Grady was rested, feeling good again, and the sap was flowing in his loins. He wanted the comfort and excitement of Dave's dark, golden, hot flesh. He wanted to feel the scorching hardness of Dave's maleness against him.
He left the house, walked to the drug store at the corner and called for a cab. He was going to Dave. During the ride he felt the uncontainable excitement of his rising hardness throbbing against his belly, anxious to be out of the cab, into Dave's house, out of his clothes and naked against his lover.
The house was nearly dark, only dim light showing in the living room and one room upstairs. Grady ran up the path, pushed open the door without bothering to knock or ring the bell. The living room was empty, and Grady continued through the lower rooms, thinking Dave might be in the den watching television. The den was empty, too.
Unthinkingly, he moved on through the house, his tennis shoes transporting him noiselessly. Dave wasn't downstairs, and excitement raced through his veins, as he pictured Dave, retired for the night, naked in the great expanse of snowy sheets, the pleasant surprise of acknowledging Grady's arrival, the breathless meeting and mating of the long separated lovers.
Grady took the stairs two at a time, eager to make his presence known to Dave, hungry to taste the pleasure of his flesh. He ran down the hall to the door of Dave's bedroom, out of breath with eagerness for the sight of him. He pushed open the bedroom door and froze. There was Dave, but he wasn't alone. The soft light from the lamp beside the bed illumined the writhing, twisting torment of his bronze god and the massively muscular form crouched over his up-thrust body, cock pounding in and out of his ass, fucking him fast, deep, hard.
Grady gasped and the erotic tableau before him became static, unmoving as two sets of eyes slid to the door, saw him framed there, eyes wide with pain and torment, lips quivering before the oncoming sob of agony moments before its arrival.
"Grady! What the hell are you doing here? Why didn't you call first?" Dave thrust his feet hard against the shoulders of the man who was riding him, throwing him backward, off balance, his cock popping liquidly out of his ass. He twisted off the bed, was beside Grady, drawing him into his arms.
Grady was rigid with tension and pain and anger. His body was taut in Dave's embrace.
"I didn't know you were coming over ... I ... Grady, say something. Don't just stand there like that. For Christ's sake, what did you expect? I haven't seen you in weeks. Did you think I was going to sit around here and wait for you ... jack off while I waited?" Dave shouted, angry with Grady and with himself.
"I don't know what I expected. I never thought about you with anybody else. I never thought about me with anybody else." Grady twisted out of Dave's arms, turned towards the hall and started to leave. Dave grabbed his arm and pulled him back towards him.
"Grady ... wait. Don't go." He turned towards the bed. "Al, you'd better get dressed and go on home. I'll call you tomorrow."
Dave turned back to Grady and was stunned by a neck-twisting slap to the side of his face.
"No, Al! Never mind. I'm going home. You can carry on from where I interrupted you. I think you were about to shoot your load in Dave's ass! Don't let me spoil your fun, Dave. Good night." Tears streamed down his face as he lashed out at Dave again, missing his target because Dave moved agilely out of reach. He turned and ran down the hall, down the stairs and out of the house.
"Grady! GRADY!" He heard Dave's voice as he slammed the front door behind him, still running, not stopping till he reached the corner and slowed to a walk, eyes scanning the street in both directions, seeking the bright yellow light of an unoccupied cab.
He finally arrived home in a state of shock, unable to accept the vision he had stumbled upon, unable to dismiss the rhythmically stroking cock delighting Dave's ass from his mind.
He locked his bedroom door and went into the bathroom, stripped naked, scattering his clothes erratically about the floor, stared at his reflection in the mirror for a long time. He opened the medicine cabinet and withdrew the vial of sparkling red capsules, emptied it into his palm and drew a glass of water. He popped the handful of capsules into his mouth, washed them down with the water.
After he closed the mirrored door of the medicine cabinet he stared at his nakedness again for a long time, and his hand moved to his cock, soft and quiescent. He stroked it slowly into life, his breathing growing more labored as his prick lengthened, stiffened, stretched upward. His hand moved faster and harder and his hips ground in responsive acceptance of his manual adulation. His ass clenched, relaxed, rammed his dick strongly against his hammering fist. He sobbed and sighed and gasped for breath, all the while seeing Al's cock stroking in and out of Dave's ass. Then his eyes widened as he stared in the mirror, watching the cascading jets of sperm shoot wildly from the tiny slit in his cockhead. He was breathless and exhausted as he cleaned the evidence of orgasm from the porcelain sink, then turned and went back to his bedroom, throwing himself across the bed to await the non-being effects of the sleeping capsules.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Frank was on the knife edge between consciousness and sleep when he heard Grady come home, the delicate moment demolished by the sound of the boy's arrival, and he came wide awake.
He lay for a long time, insisting of his body that it relax and lose consciousness, but it refused to obey. The harder he tried to force himself asleep, the wider awake he became.
Then he remembered the sleeping pills the studio doctor had given Grady. Certain that the boy must be asleep by now, Frank rose from his bed, donned a robe and stealthily made his way to Grady's room, intending to slip into the bathroom, get a couple of pills and return to his own room and sleep.
He was startled to discover the door locked and paused uncertainly for a moment, then turned away with a shrug of resignation. No sleeping pill for him that night. He took one step back down the hall, then stopped and pressed his ear against Grady's door. He wondered if his son might be enjoying the solitary pleasures of his own flesh, shocked by the realization that he wanted to hear the ecstatic sounds of Grady masturbating, excited by the prospect of vicarious sharing of the kid's pleasure. But the sound that reached him was not one of pleasure, rather a labored, wheezing struggle. Frank's first thought was that he had arrived at the moment of orgasm and the hard breathing was that of satisfied release of boysperm, but the sound continued, and suddenly he was frightened.
He turned away from the door and ran quickly and with surprising grace back to his own room, grabbed the ring of keys from his dresser and sped back to Grady's room. He tried all the keys and none of them would work. He lay his ear against the wood panel again and cried out silently. The struggling gasps were more harsh, more hair raising than they had been.
Once more he ran to his room, opened the top drawer of the chest beside the bed, withdrew the address book and lifted the telephone from its cradle, all in one motion. He dialed quickly and waited impatiently as the phone at the other end rang several times before the connection was made.
"Mr. Liebman ... Morris! This is Frank Judd." His throat was dry, he couldn't find words.
"Frank, what the hell is this? Do you know it's nearly three in the morning? What the fuck hair-brained idea you calling me about at this hour?" The tissue thin veneer of civility they usually shared was dropped as Morris Liebman's angry voice grated in Frank's ear.
"No ... No, Morris ... It's Frankie ... Grady. I wanted to get a sleeping pill out of his bathroom and his door was locked and he's breathing funny. I tried to get in ... but the door's locked ... my keys don't work...." He didn't know what he was saying. He didn't understand his own voice ... but he was trying.
"Get the fuckin' door open, and I'll send Dr. Barstow over there right away." The connection was severed and Frank sat staring at the instrument for several seconds. Then, like lightning, so fast he was a moving blur, he ran back to Grady's room, kicked and shouldered his weight against the stout wood panel, over and over. He didn't realize he was sobbing as he continued to battle the resistant barrier. Finally the latch gave way and the door swung back against the wall with a shattering bang.
Grady lay on his back, naked, the sheet that had covered him twisted and wrinkled near the foot of the bed. The bottom sheet was pulled loose from the mattress as though the boy had been writhing restlessly ... or with pain! Frank bent over him, his hand on Grady's chest. The deep, hollow sound of his breathing was frightening in Frank's ears. Grady's entire body was bathed wet with clammy, cold perspiration. "Carrie ... CARRIE!" Frank's voice was hysterical as he called out, gathering the limp, boneless-body in his arms, raising him from the bed, holding him up.
"For Christ's sake, Frank. You don't need to scream. What's the matter ... banging doors...." Carrie was in the doorway frozen, eyes bugging out of her head. Then suddenly she was beside him, hands moving over the boy's body.
"What's the matter? He sounds like he's dying or some-thin'. " She ran into the bathroom for a glass of water, ready to force it down Grady's throat. She discovered the empty vial and ran back to Frank.
"The little bastard took the whole bottle of fuckin' sleeping pills." Her hand flashed out and crashed against the side of Grady's face. "Wake up, Grady. Come on you sissy brat, open your goddamned eyes." Hysteria was crowding into her voice as it had Frank's.
'That's not gonna do any good, for Christ's sake! Help me get him moving. Get on the other side and well hold him up and make him walk." Frank carefully let Grady's feet slip to the floor while supporting him under the arms. Carrie took her place on the other side, and Grady sagged between them. Frank started to walk, pulling Carrie and Grady along. The movement helped little, Grady dragging between them.
"Come on, kid. Move your feet. You gotta walk, Frankie. Come on, boy. Move your damned feet!" It was a panic filled plea. He closed his hand over Grady's chin, shaking his head violently, and the boy groaned. 'That's the boy. Come on now, move your feet. You gotta stay alive till the doctor gets here. Frankie, please try. Frankie! Move your feet, damn it!"
They were in the hall moving from one end to the other, back and forth, Frank's voice a soft murmur, never stopping, unknowing what words erupted, only the sound of his voice trying to penetrate the mist that engulfed his son.
The doorbell rang. Carrie let go of Grady and ran to open the door. Seconds later the doctor dashed into view.
"What happened? Get him on his bed so I can take a look." His eyes were already filled by the naked beauty of the magnificently modeled boy.
"He swallowed all the sleeping pills in the bottle, doctor. I just happened to find him ... by accident ... he'd have been dead by morning." Frank raved, words pouring out like water from a tap.
"Morris called me and said you needed me so I came right over. You better get on the phone and get an ambulance over here right away. Here, take my card and call my service. Tell them I told you to have them call. Tell them it's an emergency."
Frank went to his room and as he picked up the phone he heard the door to Grady's room slam shut. He called the doctor's service and finally made himself understood. When he tried to return to his son, he was blocked outside the door. Carrie came up beside him and led him down to the kitchen where she already had coffee brewing.
"Carrie, is it my fault he did a thing like that?"
"I don't know, Frank. It might be an accident. You know how nervous he's been the last couple of months. Maybe he took the pills without knowing how many there were."
"I doubt it, Carrie ... I'm a lousy fuckin' father...."
CHAPTER EIGHT
Grady woke up with a skull bursting headache and steadily onrushing and receding waves of nausea. His eyes wouldn't focus and everything about him was a blur of white and gray.
"Hey, Kiddo! I been sitting here for four hours waitin' for you to open those eyes. How ya feel?" Morris Liebman's voice was indefinably softer, more gentle than Grady had ever heard it before. Something in the man's tone brought a torrent of tears to his eyes, down his cheeks. He tried to speak but he couldn't form words.
"Hey, cut that out. You're okay. You'll be in here a couple of days and then you gotta get back to work. I got a new picture waitin' for you. Put you back to work. I schedule dance rehearsals to start in three weeks, then prerecording sessions and we start filming in a couple months. So hurry up and start feeling great again. Okay?" The bluster and power were still there, but there was something new, something different. An unspoken kindness Grady couldn't understand.
He felt the tissue pressed to his cheeks, brushing the tears from his long, thick lashes, but the tears wouldn't stop. He couldn't speak, he couldn't move very well. He just lay back and let the tears flow as they would.
He slept and woke, slept and woke, and then when he opened his eyes the dullness, the foggy indistinctiveness was gone. He could see clearly again. The room was small and pale yellow, the bed was narrow and white. There was a straight-backed white chair and a small white painted dresser and two small white tables, one on either side of the bed in which he lay. The dresser and both tables and the floor all around the room were covered with flowers. Bouquets, live plants, filled every flat surface in the room, seeming to trail even out through the door. The sweet fragrance of the lush arrangements brought a momentary twinge of nausea to Grady's throat, but with effort he managed to swallow it down.
Then he remembered ... saw again the gut tearing vision of Dave ... his own, beloved Dave ... lying in the arms of the interloper, Al's big, battering cock sliding in and out of his ass in long, ecstatic strokes, Dave's body responding hungrily to the rhythm of the great thriller he eagerly absorbed to its root ... and Grady remembered the slack expression of utter satisfaction and surrender on Dave's face. He felt empty and lost. He regretted his effort to end the pain of memory had failed, that he had been found and revived.
And he seemed to remember Mr. Liebman ... here in this room ... talking to him ... words ... about a new picture ... rehearsals ... dance setups ... costume fitting ... color tests ... the whole exhausting routine of his life to begin again ... nothing changed ... no hope of peace or rest. Endless days in the future beckoning to him, promising all the known and dreaded fears and unhappinesses he had tried to escape.
Grady became aware of another presence in the room. He turned his head and saw the tall, blonde, crew-cut figure, dressed in white, moving silently towards the bed. Thick rubber soles on his shoes had hidden the sound of his arrival, and now as Grady looked up at him, a startled expression came into his deep green eyes, then a gentle smile lifted the corners of his mouth.
"Well, you look bright eyed and bushy tailed. Think you're going to stay awake for a while this time?" The man's voice was low pitched, just above a whisper, warm and friendly, and the smiling lips and sparkling eyes demanded a similar response from Grady, much as he wanted not to smile ... or, for that matter, even acknowledge the presence of the attractive young man. Something infectious in his visitor's attitude made him momentarily surrender his depression.
"Aha, even a smile ... a little weak and unconvincing, but with a little practice you should be able to make it look like the real thing." The man's voice carried honest interest and concern in Grady's condition, and the eyes that looked into his were straightforward and direct.
"How long have I been here?" Grady's voice shocked him ... hoarse and raspy, weak almost to the point of inaudibility.
'Two days. I keep coming in, hoping you'll be awake, but this is the first time I've seen you with your eyes open. Pretty eyes, too." He grinned and winked, bringing another feeble smile to Grady's lips.
"Who are you?" Grady couldn't deny the interest he felt in this man, tall and lean, though apparently well constructed, from what he could discern through the sack-like fit of the hospital uniform.
"My name is Matt ... Matt Peters. I'm orderly on this hall. Is there anything I can get for you? Water ... bedpan ... anything?" Matt moved closer to the bed and reached out to stroke Grady's hair back, then lay his hand on the boy's forehead, feeling to see if there was any fever. His smile signified the flesh was cool and normal.
"No ... no, thanks. I don't want anything." Grady closed his eyes and thought about Dave.
"Well, then I prescribe a nice alcohol rub to combat the boredom of just lying there." His hands were on Grady's shoulders and Grady felt himself lifted deftly, easily. The hands went to the string ties at the back of his hospital gown and they came free, then the gown slipped forward, leaving him naked to well below his hips, where the crisp sheet ended.
Matt stood back and looked him over in frank appraisal and a new light came into his eyes as he pressed Grady's shoulders, easing him back into the sheets again.
Turning slightly away, Matt picked up the bottle of alcohol from the table beside the bed and Grady watched the fluid rhythm of his body as he moved. He liked this new acquaintance, and felt instinctively that Matt liked him more than the duties of his occupation required on purely professional standards.
Matt was standing over him now, his big, capable hands coming down on his shoulders ... cold with the alcohol ... moving slowly, gently, growing warmer, and Grady sighed a deep sigh of contentment in the attention being afforded his aching body.
The hands moved lower, pressed with more insistence, and Grady's eyes popped wide. Matt was concentrating on his chest, the sensitive, already rising nipples, fingers and thumbs tweaking them teasingly, and the contentment in Grady was suddenly something more ... something stronger that blossomed quickly as the hands worked on his flesh unfalteringly. He breathed deep and flushed crimson as he realized he was getting hard under the sensual fondling of the man's strong hands. Matt continued the rubdown for several moments before he spoke, his hands creeping slowly down over Grady's flesh, till they were at the boundary between sheet and flesh, stroking, prodding, increasing the strength of Grady's response. Then, the sheet was thrown back to the foot of the bed and Matt stood there, staring wide-eyed at the obvious excitement of Grady's flesh.
"Baby, am I glad you're on my duty. This is my good luck day! Not only a beautiful face and body, but hung like a stud bull. What a great dick you got on you ... and enough balls to choke a pelican." His hands went to the pulsating column of livid flesh and closed tenderly around it, moving slowly up and down its massive length. At the same time his other hand slid between Grady's thighs and cupped lovingly over the heavy pouch of churning balls. Slowly his head lowered and came steadily closer to Grady's throbbing prick, slowly as though teasing both of them, prolonging the anticipation to the last possible second, and then Grady felt the hot, wet entry of his cock into the welcoming darkness that absorbed it, slowly, torturingly, teasingly, fraction by fraction, till Grady thought he would burst with the waiting for full immersion.
Once Matt had tasted the entire length, his hands tickling Grady's balls, stroking his inner thighs, sliding under him to knead and squeeze his buttocks, the mouth slid up, almost completely releasing the captive prick, then quickly descended again. His tempo increased with each liquid sounding stroke of his hungry mouth, and as the lunging head moved faster, Grady's hips began to work in accompaniment, supplementing the thrilling excitement of the talented mouth. His hands went to the blonde hair and ran through its softness, combing again and again from crown to nape, as his need rose higher, his pleasure intensified to the ultimate and he breathed fast, shallow, raspy, his hips humping up to meet the devouring mouth, his whole being savoring the capacity and ability of the cocksucking orderiy-
Grady humped wildly, unrestrained urgency motivating his body as Matt clamped his big hands around Grady's hips and held on while he was fucked in the mouth, relishing the huge cock that hammered uninhibitedly into him. Grady writhed and thrust and tensed, his body arched up from the bed, balanced only by the back of his head and his heels, a human bridge, and his cock swelled and lunged and spent, spurting lavish jets of hot, thick boyjism into the eagerly receptive throat of his assailant.
When Matt finally rose from the joyous torture of near strangulation, he smiled warmly and without a word went back to the systematic massaging of Grady's flesh.
Grady lay on his stomach, eyes closed, a contented smile curling his lips. Unexpectedly he thought of Dave, and he was shocked to realize the longing and pain he felt for his beloved was less, and with the thought he determined to avail himself of the talents of his orderly as often as possible during his stay in the hospital.
Grady was unable to establish the regular hours of his attentive orderly, for he seemed always to be there, day and night, ever eager for the pleasures of Grady's lust inspiring body. Often during the night the boy would be roused by the application of drawing hot wetness on his cock and accept the adoration of the big, butch blonde.
Grady was grateful for his presence. The endless sexual activity and the kindness of Matt minimized the sense of loss concerning Dave, and Grady was glad. He realized now how foolish he had been to center all his attention on one man, and vowed that in the future his assets would be spread over a wide area of receptive male egos.
Grady began to look forward to Matt's visits. When he thought of the big blonde his cock would stretch and lengthen and he would become impatient for the next meeting.
On the third night as Matt crouched over his throbbing dick, Grady twisted rapturously under the assaulting tongue and clamped his hands on Matt's shoulders and pushed him away. Matt looked up with surprise in his eyes, and Grady panted to catch his breath, chest and belly heaving with the extremity of his arousal. His face was slack with passion, his eyes glazed with erotic pleasure. He held Matt away from his waving prick and when the other man reached out to grasp it in his hand, Grady slapped his hand away.
"Matt ... you get me so hot. . . just thinking about you ... I get hard and my blood starts to boil ... all through me ... I want you ... I'm tired of just lying here while you give me a blowjob. I want to go down on you ... to eat your cock ... please. Take your clothes off and get in bed with me. Let me taste your meat. . . drink your juice." The harshness of his uneven voice carried the conviction of his desire and Matt hesitated for only a moment, considering the consequences should they be caught ... but the fever in his body brushed all sensible thoughts from his mind and he tore at his clothes, moments later standing naked and classically beautiful at the side of the narrow bed. Grady reached out and lightly ran the tips of his fingers down the smooth, hairless body, from the base of Matt's throat to his navel, probed deeply, then continued downward till he reached the scant growth of golden silk that surrounded the uncir-cumcised cock, standing out and away from the veiny flat surface of his strong belly. Smaller than Dave's cock, it was irresistible to Grady, smooth and velvet soft in its rampant hardness, and he wrapped it in his moist fist, pulling the foreskin slowly back away from the pale pink head, full and bulbous, gleaming softly in the dim light. He leaned towards it, his hand still wrapped around its thickness, and his mouth opened eagerly as he felt the emanation of its warmth close to his face. Forward, till his mouth sheathed the plum-like head, forward, releasing his grip on the shaft, pulling it into himself, filling his hungry mouth with the strong deliciousness of male flesh; forward till it was buried in the hot wet receptacle of his mouth, his nose tickling in the richness of groin hair, his chin pressing into the generous endowment of big, heavy, low hanging balls.
Matt lurched over him and a soft whimper escaped his delighted being, and he threw himself onto the bed, twisting himself opposite Grady, his mouth going to the wavering erection that beat against the boy's belly, scooping it into his mouth, sucking hungrily as he humped hard into the boy's mouth, matching the tempo of his hammering hips with the unrestrained acceptance of Grady's prick in his convulsing mouth and throat. They lay writhing and twisting together, and their excitement was too great, too passionate to last. In too little time they felt the arrival of mutual, uncontrollable orgasm, both bursting into the other, cocks throbbing, hips grinding, asses tensing, mouths accepting and wanting more.
They clung together till the last ebbing sensation was gone and then fell weakly away from each other, hands still touching bodies, minds still mated in the totality of their giving and taking of each other.
The next night was their last and they were insatiable, knowing they would miss the regularity of their coming together. They battled violently in seemingly endless sixty-nine, and then again. Matt rose on his arms over Grady and his lips came down lightly, tenderly on Grady's as he moved to rise from the bed and slip back into his clothes.
"Fuck me, Matt. I want to feel your dick up my ass." Grady's hand lay on the muscular forearm, communicating the intensity of his desire for the man. Matt rolled him over and crept between his thighs, bending over the majesty of his flawless twin-mounded ass, face burrowing between the glorious hillocks, mouth agitating the sensitive opening for ultimate preparation before he straightened his body and planted his thick cock head against the well lubricated button. A strong forward lunge and he was in and Grady rolled with delight as he slipped steadily deeper into the welcoming ass-hole.
Reaching the ultimate penetration, Matt was gentle, lowering his weight onto Grady's back. He rocked back and forth between Grady's cheeks, his pelvis and cock tenderly, lovingly massaging the boy's backside and ass-hole, passion rising uncontrollably between them, till the gentle rocking motion gave way to lustful long drives of hard flesh into tender, sensitive tissue, and he exploded wildly in the wet warmth of Grady's ass, his whole body shuddering with the strength of his orgasm.
When he had withdrawn, Grady drew him down beside him and they lay in each other's arms.
"Matt, can we see each other after I leave the hospital tomorrow? Can we get together sometimes?" His mouth was tight against the man's ear, his breath tickling the sensitive contours.
"I'd like to, Grady, but I don't think so. I'm married ... and my wife expects me to spend all my time off duty with her and the baby."
CHAPTER NINE
Two weeks after he took the pills Grady was back at work. Still weak from the ordeal, more fatigued than he had been at the completion of his first film, he gave freely of himself, cooperating with every request of the director, it became obvious to all around him that Grady was burning himself out.
Dr. Barstow was again called and, after a painstaking physical examination, prescribed a protracted rest. The roof nearly blew off the executive building when the news reached B. Morris Liebman. A short consultation between the studio head and the physician brought about an alteration in the diagnosis and Grady was given a pocketful of pill bottles instead of the vacation he needed. There were pep pills and amphetamines to sustain his energy, sedatives and tranquilizers and sleeping pills to settle him down and let him sleep after the exhausting schedule he maintained daily at the studio.
His association with Matt had healed the rent in his emotional idealism, and he realized it was possible to enjoy more than one male relationship on other than platonic terms. He no longer sidestepped or rejected the approaches of interested men, as had been his practice while involved with Dave.
His new film was a period piece in which he again wore extremely revealing tights, as near transparent as the motion picture code would allow, his impressive maleness offered for sale to the erotic imaginations of the movie-going public. His co-star was a young girl, sweet and unspoiled, thanks to the publicity department. A romance was fabricated by the studio to stimulate additional interest in the film, and they went everywhere together ... at least, everywhere the studio directed, each step in their romance recorded on film and in fan magazines. In fact, their interest in each other was minimal, since Susan found her satisfaction with other girls, just as Grady found his with boys.
The dance rehearsals were strenuous, but Grady worked unstintingly to perfect the choreography set by the youthful dance director. He worked long hours, always agreeable to the call of "Let's try it just once more. Look like you're having fun." He smiled till his jaws ached with fatigue, his musles cramped and in spasm.
During these rehearsals he worked in a bulky sweat shirt and skin tight stretch jeans. Having abandoned the practice of wearing underwear his overgenerous endowment was blatantly apparent to all about him, and during rest breaks he was constantly surrounded by drooling dancing boys who sought the flimsiest of excuses to look and touch stealthily, and make veiled invitations. Grady took to using the community John rather than the private facilities provided in his dressing room, and whenever he headed in the direction of the rest room there was always at least one hungry cock-sucker in his wake.
He enjoyed standing before the urinal, his massive staff swinging before him, limp and flaccid, immense even in that condition, and, from the corner of his eye, watching the frustrated leers and ogling of his chorus boys. On more than one occasion, when the co-occupant of the John was attractive to him, Grady would boldly turn toward the desirous one and let his cock harden slowly, inviting with his eyes and a thrust of hips, and the helpless cocksucker would drop to his knees and swallow the massive hard on, draining Grady of the precious nectar so longed for.
One afternoon, when the company broke for the day, the choreographer, Lenny Richards, young and attractive, small and dark and wiry, asked Grady to stay for a few minutes to smooth out a complex movement that had given him trouble all day. Grady agreed eagerly, wanting to clarify the movement to himself, feeling the choreographer could explain it to him better than anyone else.
When they were alone, Lenny was strangely nervous, and rather than clarifying the complicated figure to Grady, only seemed to confuse him still further. Finally he stepped behind the dancer and placed his hands on his hips, guiding him step by step through the configuration, his body moving lithely against Grady's backside, close and intimately warm. As they worked, Lenny's hands slipped from Grady's hips and stole slowly forward and downward, till he cupped the great, intriguing bulge of the star's basket firmly.
All pretense of rehearsing the number was discarded and Lenny worked his hands lustfully over the growing bulge running down Grady's thigh. Smiling with pleasure, Grady worked his hips steadily to accelerate the response in his always willing loins and as Lenny rubbed and stroked his swelling basket Grady's cock rose to full, throbbing erection.
Grady twisted out of Lenny's embrace and turned to face him. Their heads moved together, lips met and tongues laved one another ecstatically. Grady's hands raced all over the compact body of his director and as they kissed, each deftly disrobed the other. When they stood naked in the huge rehearsal hall, Grady led Lenny by the hand to one of the thick tumbling mats on one side and they lowered themselves to lie together.
Lenny's desire was obvious, and in a startlingly short time, Grady was humping between his spread, raised thighs, plugging his ass with brutal strokes of his giant prick, Lenny panting and sobbing with pleasure as the monstrous rod pistoned smoothly in and out of the depths of his guts. Grady rode Lenny's ass till he could no longer control himself, and though he wanted still to hold back and prolong the magnificence of his sensations, he couldn't, and the gushing flow of his sperm was matched by the spontaneous release of Lenny's juice between their humping bodies.
They met privately often after that afternoon and enjoyed the heat of each other's bodies with unrestrained pleasure through the course of filming.
Grady became increasingly popular with those with whom he worked. His attitude had changed subtly since the unhappy revelation of man's frailty in his relationship with Dave, and the rapidity of his rise in status through his talent. There was a strange combination of arrogance and insecurity which was captivating to those with whom he came into frequent and intimate contact. He was friendly and outgoing to the technicians and executives, and established a classless equality with other actors and dancers, bit players and extras. An irresistible charm made him welcome in any group during breaks in filming, and the technicians went to great pains to achieve the best results in lighting, placement, sound of dialogue and singing for Grady. Endless patience was expended in the dubbing sessions when songs and dances and dialogue had to be matched to sound, and there was no star on the lot who was better liked or more eagerly praised than Grady MacFarland.
During the endless hours of make-up tests, Grady slumped exhausted in the make-up chair, waiting for another experiment to be performed on his face and hair. Half asleep, he glanced in the huge, brightly lighted mirror as the door behind him opened and the make-up man entered. His fatigue fled when he looked in the reflected image of the new arrival. Tall and rippling with the muscular articulation of a weight lifter, handsome with deep brown hair and hazel eyes, glowing toast brown with a deep, rich suntan, he was an Adonis come to life. Grady felt his cock twitch in his jeans, and was glad of the big apron that covered him from neck to ankles. The man moved gracefully towards his chair and Grady shuddered with excitement. The make-up man was obviously wearing jockey shorts, for he could see the line when the bottoms cut into the strong muscularity of buttocks and thighs, but the massive bulge at his crotch promised great pleasure and better than average equipment.
Grady attempted making small talk as the man worked, but his deep concentration on his task made him a poor conversationalist, so Grady finally fell silent. He sat in the chair, staring in the mirror at the man as he worked, his excitement increasing with each second. The warmth of the huge, muscular body emanated outward to Grady as a blast furnace and his cock twitched and jerked in his pants, swelling quickly to full hardness, and he was squirmingly uncomfortable.
The big man leaned on the arm of the chair and Grady glanced down at the big, inviting bulge at his crotch. He imagined he could make out the contours of cock and balls, and his fingers itched to reach out and touch the prominent mound.
"What's your name?" Grady's voice was unsteady.
"Ross." The voice was deep and masculine, revealing nothing in its clipped delivery of the one word.
"Will you be my make-up man on the whole picture?"
"I don't know. They haven't assigned me to a flick yet."
"I could request you ... if you'd like to work on this picture...."
"One job is as good as another." Disinterested, he continued to concentrate on the variations in the make-up experiment he had been assigned.
Feeling as though he were ready to explode, Grady recklessly moved his hand and brushed the back of it over the provocative mass at the base of Ross' belly. There was no reaction from the big muscleman, and Grady couldn't breathe. Cock throbbing painfully in his pants, he couldn't help himself from reaching for the man again, this time grasping the big outthrusting basket in his hand and squeezing. He held on and looked up into the calm hazel eyes. Ross returned his look and a tentative smile formed at the corners of his mouth.
"You damn near had an eyebrow running all the way across your forehead. You should have warned me what you were gonna do. Now I have to take out that whole side of your face." He grinned and leaned into Grady's hold on him.
"The hell with the makeup ... as long as it's messed up anyway, why don't you unzip your pants and let me blow you before you fix it? That big, bulging basket has got me bubbling like a teakettle. Let me suck your cock, Ross." His breath came with difficulty, he was frightened, not knowing what to expect. Maybe Ross would take a poke at him ... or beat him up ... or even worse ... mess up his make-up test.
Instead of any of these possibilities, the huge, muscular man stepped back and whipped open his jeans, sliding his fingers into the sides of his undershorts waistband and slipped them down to his knees. Then he planted his hands on his hips and thrust his pelvis forward, his cock springing quickly to an inviting hard on. Grady leaned sideways and opened his mouth, slurping the big rod between his lips and tonguing it vibrantly to increased mass. While he sucked ravenously at the magnificent phallus, his hands went all over the rigid body, stroking belly and chest and ass and thighs and balls. He sucked the huge length of living meat into his mouth and rolled his head unceasingly while his tongue massaged the mushroom sensitivity of the cockhead. Ross caught his rhythm and lunged and bucked to meet his assault. The big man's breathing grew shallow and he grabbed Grady's head, pressing the hungry mouth hard to the base of his pulsating cock. It swelled and stretched and throbbed in Grady's mouth and then shot out its rich essence in choking, repeated jets of sweetness. When the last flicker of feeling had vanished, Ross stepped back from the receptacle that had accepted his jism and zipped himself up and returned to the task of repairing the marred make-up experiment, silently, lost in concentration on the project at hand.
Grady began to have fun in his career. He realized he liked being a movie star and the special privileges that prestigious title allowed him.
He became promiscuous and careless. He left himself open to all kinds of dangers, from blackmail to murder at the hands of strange men picked up for moments of forbidden pleasure. He worked hard, making film after film; nineteen in all by the time he was twenty-one. He went on tour, publicizing his pictures, uncomplainingly, his body and mind exhausted and strained by the steady, unceasing work, held together by the endless prescriptions from Dr. Barstow, depending more and more on the synthetic state of well being and contentment created by the regular use of stimulants and depressants, trapped by his habitual drug use.
His relationship with Frank became increasingly strained through the father's constant interference in the financial negotiations of Grady's career, his unwillingness to intercede with the studio powers in the area of Grady's well being and disintegrating health. Finally they were unable to exist in the same proximity and the court released funds to allow the purchase of a house at the beach, keeping Frank away from the increasingly nervous star.
With the departure of Frank from Grady's daily life his promiscuity increased. He brought strange and unlikely men to the big house and the new element of danger intensified his enjoyment of the game of conquest. Frequently frightened, expecting to be robbed or beaten, he continued to tempt disaster, and somehow managed to escape the consequences of his recklessness.
Rarely free from the effects of his constantingestion of drugs, his awareness of all the sexual aspect of his life took on a rosy vagueness and he liked that.
CHAPTER TEN
On his twenty-first birthday, B. Morris Liebman and Metropolitan Studios threw a party for Grady. A lavish spectacular affair at the Ambassador Hotel, a public relations man's dream, boasting rare and exotic gourmet delicacies, the cream of the jet set, the big names of society and the demi-monde, all the important names of the film industry, stars, producers, directors, writers, designers. Many of them considered themselves friends of Grady's, having worked with him and liked him, but Grady felt alone and uncared for. His father had refused to attend, and Carrie had been long alienated from both father and son. His brothers, now total strangers, were living in distant parts of the country and rarely even bothered to correspond with the famous and publicized member of the family, preferring to divorce themselves from the ballyhoo of Hollywood and the poor-relation-status their non-industry lives bestowed on them in the eyes of the movie set.
During the evening Grady accidentally bumped into Dave in one of the side rooms adjacent to the banquet chamber. He was startled and a strange, melting sensation gripped him.
"Happy birthday, Grady. We haven't seen much of each other lately. How are you getting along? Are you happy?" Dave didn't smile. A grave, tender expression filled his eyes as he gazed at the handsome blonde star.
"Sure, Dave. I'm happy as a lark. Grady ... the only star in Hollywood who's recognized just by his first name ... except maybe for Lassie ... or Sabu." He chuckled, but his eyes didn't smile.
"I've missed you Grady. Can't we get together for a drink ... or lunch ... or something ... sometime?"
"Sure, Gorgeous! Call my secretary and he'll make an appointment. Excuse me, there's someone over there I have to see. Call me, Dave. I'll look forward to lunch ... or a drink ... or something ... sometime." He turned away quickly and was half way across the crowded room before Dave could respond.
As he made his way through the crowd, Grady felt a hand close round his arm. Glancing to the side he met Liebman's prosperous, smiling face.
"Happy birthday, Kiddo. Come on over and sit down at my table with me. I got somethin' to tell you." He turned away, still holding Grady's sleeve. Grady had no choice but to follow him or make a scene in the crowded ballroom.
Settling his massive flesh into the inadequate chair, Liebman smiled again, waving Grady into the chair next to his.
"You know, this is more than just your birthday party, Kiddo. I got another surprise for you. We got a big announcement to make in a few minutes." He grinned secretly, teasing Grady's curiosity.
"What's that, B.M.? " Grady deliberately used the unfor-giveable diminutive which had meant the rolling of more heads than Madame LeFarge's guillotine.
"Y'know, you're gettin' to be a real smart ass. Keep it up an' you're gonna need to see your dentist for some new caps." Liebman smiled saccharinely, assuming for the benefit of those nearby a compatible demeanor.
"Well, B.M., what's your earth-shaking announcement? Have you set a fuck show, starring Grady MacFarland? You gonna strip me and set me up there on the bandstand in a big bed with a big tooled stud you found cruising the boulevard?" His lips twisted into a snarl of antagonism.
"You fuckin' little cocksucker! I don't know why I put up with your shit!"
"Don't you? Would you like me to tell you? Do you suppose it might have anything to do with the fact that Grady Baby is number one in the box office polls for the last goddamned three years? Or might it be the eighty-five million dollars my pictures have brought into Metropolitan? That makes it possible to put up with a lot, doesn't it, B.M.? " He laughed humorlessly.
"You used to be a nice kid. What the fuck happened?
You're turning into a real, first-class bastard."
"They say we all develop out of our environments. My environment has been made up of my father, Good Old Frank Judd, and you, Mr. Liebman, Sir."
"Okay. You're high, that's why I put up with your nastiness. You been drinkin' too much and you're takin' too many of them pills. Doctor Barstow lets me know how many of 'em you have. You better start takin' it a little bit easy, Kiddo, or you're gonna have big troubles."
"If I didn't have the pills, Dear Sir, I wouldn't be able to get through another one of your movies. Why don't you tell the good Doc to cut me off?" He grinned evilly again. "But, we're straying afield. What about your big announcement? I want to hear what you've got in store for your biggest star money maker." He chuckled and patted his crotch, sliding his eyes lewdly from his basket to Liebman's face and back again.
"Faggot! Okay, announcements ... two. In order of importance. You're twenty-one years old. There's talk around town and spreadin' ... people are beginning to say you're queer." He returned Grady's evil grin. "So, Lover Boy, we're announcing your engagement tonight. You're gonna marry Tara Loring, number three star on the box office polls. How's that grab ya?"
"By the short hairs and crushes my balls, you dirty old man son of a bitch! I won't do it. If you announce it, I'll deny it. I'm not getting married till I want to ... and then it will be with WHO I want to."
"Tsk! Tsk! I think you mean WHOM, Grady, Baby. Anyway, you'll do it. Now, the second announcement, and the real important one ... save the best for last, right?"
"Right, Mr. Liebman, Sir!"
"Okay. We're signing your new contract right here, in this room, in front of all these witnesses tonight. Twice the salary you made on your last movie, and you're worth every penny of it. You're my baby, Kiddo. I discovered you, remember? I knew you were gonna be a big star." His genial mood reasserted itself, thinking of the future profits
Grady's name on a new contract would guarantee.
"When was that, Mr. Liebman, Sir? The first time you stuck your dirty peter up my ass? Or the first time you made me get on my knees under your desk and blow you ... when I WAS NINE YEARS OLD? And you call me a faggot! You fuckin' dirty old ... child molester!" Grady's voice was rising in volume and Liebman was becoming dangerously uncomfortable. His eyes darted around the tables near them, hoping Grady's words weren't carrying to the ears of their neighbors, certain they were.
"Well, Morris, old buddy, old friend, old substitute father, you can take your contract and wipe your dirty, stinking ass with it. I'm not working for you anymore after this picture is finished. My contract is up and I'm leaving Metropolitan. So take that and wrap it around your midget dick and see how good it feels!" Grady rose unsteadily from his chair and headed for the exit. He ran down the curving stairway to the hotel's main entrance and waited while the parking attendant ran for his car. Liebman groaned in panic and rage, wondering what he would have to do to pacify his faggot star this time!
But, this time, there was no pacifying. Grady refused to return to the studio, or take any calls from Liebman or his henchmen, and within four weeks, by the end of November, Grady had boarded a superjet and found himself in New York, ready to begin a new phase of his career, alone and unguided by the sharp professional talents who had so successfully created the star, Grady MacFarland, from the raw material of Frankie Judd Junior. His association with Ira was a fortunate circumstance, for the loyal secretary-valet-companion-lover adroitly sidestepped numerous pitfalls which could have destroyed the trusting, questing suppleness that still clung to the young man who wanted only to be loved and loving.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Grady's first winter in New York was a time of endless activity. He and Ira were busy every minute of the day and most of the evening. There were interviews with magazine and newspaper writers and columnists, guest shots on television talk shows, game shows, variety shows. Grady caused a sensation when he appeared on a top rated variety show, singing and dancing in a near transparent costume that left nothing to the imagination of the viewers, and was violently furious when he learned later that much of his dance sequence was photographed from the waist up, in order not to shock the audience watching in their comfortable, placid living rooms. He considered suing the producer and host of the show as well as the network, but Ira's diplomatic persuasion smoothed the troubled waters of Grady's fury in the end and the matter was dropped.
The theatre, ballet, opera, exhibitions in the innumerable galleries all over the city occupied their free time, and there were parties, straight and gay, real ones for fun, and arranged ones for publicity value, a stratagem to which Grady was accustomed, but unwilling to continue.
"Ira, I'm so fuckin' fed up with the plastic pattern of my life I want to vomit. I've been an automated puppet for most of my life and I'm tired of it. I'm not even sure, myself, what kind of a person I really am. Everything I've ever said or done, in front of a camera or in my own life, has been molded by the studio so carefully I sometimes think I'm the dumb, shallow clod they want the public to think I am. The only place I can be myself is in bed. And that gives me a great idea." His eyes suddenly lit up and he slithered over next to Ira, standing close against him, and reached between their bodies and slid his hand over the big, inviting basket of the majestic dark man, feeling an immediate response in the big cock under his fingers. He squeezed and a thumping lunge of Ira's prick gave him the answer to his quest, the answer of surrender he sought.
Quickly he worked open the belt at Ira's waist and tore open his fly, probing savagely downward into the tightly filled left pantsleg, awkwardly releasing and extracting the heavy tool he worshipped and then stepped back to gaze down at it, lovingly, wanting to imprint the flawless beauty of it on his mind for always, the thick, rosy satin of the bursting cockhead, the pale golden tan of the long, veined shaft, the unruly fringe of silky dark hair that peeped out around the instrument of delight through the open fly.
With a passionate sob he fell to his knees and flicked out his tongue, running it lightly, tauntingly, over the big cock that pulsated for him, covering the entire surface with a slick, wet film of saliva, tracing every contour of the magnificent monument to Priapus with his tongue, his lips, finally lunging forward and taking the mouth-filling head between his lips, pressing with his teeth gently into the spongy fullness of the corona, which made Ira cringe with pleasure and increased his excitement.
Grady loved Ira's cock, perhaps more than he loved Ira himself. In the massive maleness he found security and a focal point where he felt he belonged. He reveled in the giving of pleasure to Ira by the uninhibited adorations of his big, beautiful cock, and the equal satisfaction he, himself, achieved in the acceptance of its majesty, either in his mouth sucking ravenously, as now, or when Ira was more aggressive and threw him down on his back or belly and fucked him in the ass.
He sucked and strained forward, taking Ira deep down in his throat, feeling the great tool stretching and battering the delicate tissue far down inside him. He couldn't breathe, but he didn't care. All that mattered ... all that meant anything to him, was the big cock he sucked, the unity between himself and another human being, Ira, a moment of love between them, love that led to the most intense of sensations and satisfactions. If he could have his way they would always be linked together physically, their bodies always part of each other in one conjunction.
Ira bent towards Grady, placing his hands on the kneeling boy's shoulders. He humped his hips forcefully and rammed his hot dick hard into Grady's throat, his ass dimpled with the tension of his movement, his weight balanced precariously on his toes as he rose over the submissive receptor, head thrown back, savoring the total immersion of his being in the glorious whirlpool of sensation. He breathed hard, his chest rising and falling with strain, and Grady's tongue worked incessantly at the thick column on the underside of his throbbing prick. His balls were pulled tight up against the base of his cock, aching with the need to spill his jism into the hungrily grasping tightness of Grady's throat. His ass worked, tensed and released, as he directed the depth of his invasion, the rhythm of his humping friction. His hands gripped like steel claws at the muscular solidity of Grady's shoulders, intensifying their pressure in ratio to the expansion of his lustful enjoyment of the boy's hot mouth.
Suddenly he pulled back and his cock escaped the contracted, pursed lips with a wet, popping slurp. Grady raised his eyes in puzzled question and Ira tried to smile at him, but he was too full of the feeling that centered in his groin and belly to succeed. He stood there, panting, trying to control the rapid heaving of his chest, the racing beat of his pounding heart. His hands folded over his throbbing prick and he bent almost double in the throes of his near climax.
"Grady ... Grady ... I ... I love you. I want ... you. I want you to fuck me, baby. Take your clothes off and fuck my ass." His voice was an almost inarticulate animal snarl, the depth of his need so great he was lost in the primeval instincts not yet perverted by the requirements of civilized society.
"Fuck me, Grady. Throw me on the floor and let me feel your big rod ram between my cheeks and tear me open ... sink your beautiful dick to the hilt in one thrust. Fuck me, baby ... fuck me good ... and hard. I want your hot joint up my ass. Hurry! Christ, please hurry!" His hips rotated as he stood enthralled in the unbearable suspension of his responses, Grady on his knees, watching the hypnotic undulation of body and cock, the graceful rippling of thighs and hips and belly and ass, the instinctive smooth ebb and flow of muscles as the enrapt body performed the emotionally controlled tempo of pleasure approaching release.
Suddenly snapping out of the inertia that gripped him, appreciating the flawless symmetry of Ira's dark beauty, he sprang to his feet and uncaring of buttons popping or zippers and cloth rending, he threw off his clothes and reached out, naked now, and pulled Ira roughly into his strong embrace. They swayed together, and then Grady forced his willing victim to his knees, on the floor, then flat on his back, diving between his trembling thighs. His hands went under Ira's knees and he raised the strong legs high in the air and buried his face in the dark, damp channel behind Ira's balls, tongue lashing out, lips working and seeking, as he moved slowly from the back of the heavy voids along the thick, blood-surging ridge of delight, onto the musky, mansmelling darkness behind. He kissed and licked, his tongue in unfaltering motion, as he moved constantly closer to the goal of mouth and cock, the entrancing hot, dark ass-hole. His tongue found it and seemed to grow frenzied as he licked and probed and rimmed the quivering opening. Faster and harder he worked, his hands tensing on the securely supported legs over his head, his tongue darting and pressing as he felt the portal open to him, the tensed muscle ring relax and surrender, and his tongue slipped inside. His belly heaved with anticipation and rapture as he rimmed deep in the hot ass-hole and when it was slick and dripping with his spit, he pulled back and braced himself on his knees, still holding Ira's dark tanned legs up over his head. His cock was a rock hard, horizontal ramrod, eager to breach the gap of penetration, and he inched forward till he felt the tip of his cockhead against the hot wetness of his target. He paused for long moments, breathing shallowly, his exhalations whistling raspily from his throat, then without warning, he thrust forward, his whole body behind the powerful lunge and his cock battered its way into the resilient tightness, not stopping till the hair at his groin ground into the soft warmth of Ira's backside.
Ira groaned and writhed beneath the vicious onslaught, but only for a moment. Realizing he was fully impaled, he began to work his hips, rolling and twisting under the big, muscular body, around the thick, satisfying cock. He squirmed in delicious agony as Grady slowly started to move, pulling out slightly, pumping in again hard, to the limit of possibility, all the way, wrenching his body hard against the fragility of Ira's bottom. They thrashed wildly on the floor, both victims of the other, both conquerors of the other, their bodies ready to explode in fragments, so intense was their passion in the moment.
Grady knew he was too close to continue the brutalizing frenzy of his long, deep thrusts and retreats, and settled his body into a slow, almost unmoving rocking motion as he lowered himself onto the prostrate body beneath him. Ira's legs came tight around his hips and he joyously accepted the new tempo, adjusting his rhythm to a slow, teasing counterpoint of Grady's movements.
Grady's body was heavy on Ira, and both were infinitely aware of the long, thick column of Ira's twitching cock between their grinding bellies, pulsing with life and eagerness to spit and spend its honeyed store of sperm. The prickling groin hair of both men irritated the sensitive organ and each slight undulation of either body was one atom closer to the inevitable eruption that would bring ultimate pleasure and release.
"Oh, easy, Grady. I'm close ... so close ... and I don't want to come yet. Make it last ... fuck me till I can't hold back any more ... tease me till my dick explodes all by itself. I don't want to come yet. It's so good ... you're driving me crazy. I'm gonna lose my mind ... you're a good fucker, baby. Ride my ass. I love it. I love you. I ... love ... you ... Grady ... and your big ... hot ... beautiful ... torturing cock." His voice broke off as he raised his head jerkily and clamped his teeth in the tenderness of Grady's throat, lost in the ecstasy of the probing dick high up inside his body, exploring the secret depths of his inner being. Grady emitted a choked cry and his body spasmed over Ira, his cock seeming to swell with the delightful pain of Ira's teeth cutting into his flesh. His pelvis rolled and he seemed to delve even higher into the gut of his conquered lover. Both of them groaned and rolled their hips in unison, unable to terminate the delight of the moment in orgasm, unable equally to prolong it, so great was their abandon to it and to each other.
"I can't hold it back much longer, Ira. I'm so close I can't control it. I've gotta shoot it in you, baby. I've gotta give you my load. I can't help it." But somehow he regained his senses and scrambled to his knees, loosening the scissors clamp of Ira's legs around his hips. He braced himself on his hand and doubled over, his hair tickling down over Ira's body, creating gooseflesh in its wake. Lower and lower went his head, and his breath was hot on Ira's body. With a spastic movement he hoisted Ira's legs up to his shoulders and felt them lock behind his neck. Once more his body convulsed and he was an almost circular arc as his mouth lowered, opened, searched, strove to reach and absorb the massive hardness of Ira's pulsating prick.
Ira hunched his hips and the sudden gesture thrust the big tool up so that Grady could grasp it in his lips and suck it avidly into himself.
His hips shot forward, his ass tensed and dimpled, and his mouth worked, nibbling and squeezing the big meat he loved. They were a blur of frenzied, passionate fury as they gave themselves and took each other. Strangled gasps and cries of unintelligible emotion escaped both of them, and the liquid sounds of cock plunging in and out of ass, of mouth attacking and retreating from striving cock filled the air about them. They were dripping with sweat and saliva, their bodies wracked with the totality of their surrender and uncoordinated muscles took over the instinctive completion of this ageless montage. A howl of agony and pain and ecstatic climax rose and their bodies strained together as each spilled his bountiful tribute to the other, in great, spasming, gushing cascades of frothy, thick white fire. They held hard together for long moments and their bodies emptied of the sweet wine of lust and love one into the other, and then they fell, weak and spent, to become boneless, less than living heaps of life on the thick carpet.
CHAPTER TWELVE
With the first warmth of spring Grady sensed an uneasiness within himself, a restless itch he couldn't reach or diagnose, but its meaning soon made itself transparently clear. He found himself looking with increasing desire at the attractive youths and men that streamed through the city streets, available and more than willing to share moments of passionate lust with others like themselves, as young, as attractive, as well hung, as they were. Eyes sought, mouths invited wordlessly, a leer, a quick flicking tongue, hands indicating rising flesh, brushing subtly or not over tight crotches, outlining unsupported maleness swelling down inside trouserlegs.
The city swarmed with opportunities to taste the delights of male flesh, eager to offer itself to one as young and attractive as Grady, who, though content in his pleasures with Ira was not beyond reacting physically and emotionally to the myriads of attractive and available young men he came in contact with each day on the city's streets, in offices, museums, theatres, everywhere he went.
Grady felt an irrepressible desire to explore and test new and unfamiliar bodies, new flesh, untried morsels of masculine delight. New conquests were not difficult when he managed to escape the watchful eye of his companion. He used varied andingenious pretexts to satisfy his promiscuous hungers. Ira suspected there were others who shared the delights of Grady's perpetually hard prick, but he couldn't bring up the subject, though the suspicion in his heart caused him great pain.
The matter finally crept into their conversation. Grady wanted to end the deception which always left him with a sense of guilt for his faithlessness.
"Ira, I love you. You're the most fantastic guy I've ever been to bed with. You know that, don't you?" The words came slowly, hesitantly, the voice strained.
"Yes, I know that. But...." Ira knew there was more to come and braced himself for the worst.
"But ... I want to trick around. I want to have sex with other guys, too. There's so much begging to be had in this town ... great bodies and big, hard peters ... hot mouths and tight ass-holes ... all but lying down on the sidewalk for you, they want it so bad. I want it, too. Does that upset you?"
"Of course it upsets me! It makes me furious. But ... it also makes me hot. I really love you, Grady. But if you need strange meat to keep you happy ... I guess I have to be honest enough to admit I'd like to watch you making it with another stud. I'd like to see you going down on some guy, sucking a good looking stud's big, hot prick. I'd like to watch some stud cocked beauty fucking your ass." He grinned and ran his hand along Grady's tightly clad thigh.
"Then you really wouldn't mind if I messed around with other guys?"
"I'd hate it if you tried to sneak around and keep it secret ... but if you find a hot number and want to bring him home so I can watch ... and maybe get in on the action ... no, I don't think I'd mind ... too much...."
And so it was settled. Grady was free to follow the ceaseless itch in his crotch, to taste and feel the beauties of the male animal in the most intimate and private pursuits of satisfaction, and Ira was willing to accept and partake in the game of lust Grady so strongly desired.
The new phase of their relationship had its first test the next day. Grady had been shopping and arrived back at the hotel heavy-laden with parcels. He received unasked assistance from one of the hotel bellmen in getting his purchases up to the suite. The bellman was breath takingly handsome, squeezed into a pair of dove gray trousers, at least two sizes too small for him, obviously unencumbered with time-wasting underwear, his cock and balls sharply outlined in the tightness of his inadequate trousers, the small, firm melons of his buttocks swaying with each step he took.
The door to the corridor was scarcely closed behind the young males before Grady reached out and cupped his hand over the provocative mound of the sandy-haired youth's nearest buttock. He squeezed and stroked firmly, and the boy leaned back into his grasp, making the task easier for him.
Ira walked in from the bedroom, expecting to find Grady alone, and was surprised to see the small body in too tight gray trousers and flame red cadet jacket glued against the body of the star, mouths locked ravenously together, hands roaming avidly over each other's clothed bodies.
Ira was annoyed at first, then smiled, his eyes taking scrupulous inventory of the youth and physical perfection of the eager boy, the total involvement of his concentration on the presence and magnetism of Grady.
Ira felt the sudden lurch of his cock as it stretched and stood tall in response to the sight of the willing surrender of the boy to the beauty and power that had held him, Ira, captive for the past months.
He moved up behind the boy, running his hands over his magnificent little ass, the soft firmness of it causing a twitch of excitement in his quickly hardening prick. He pressed his lower body against the solid roundness of the boy's bottom and moved his hands around the boy's sides, sliding between him and Grady, stroking both straining crotches with his hands, one on each mound of molded maleness.
Grady pushed the boy away and started working at the buttons and zippers that held the body imprisoned away from his eyes and hands. In moments, the teenager was naked, his clothes scattered carelessly about the elegant sitting room. Moments later, Ira and Grady were equally nude, equally ready to acknowledge the delights promised in immature boyflesh.
Percy, the name disclosed distractedly, dropped to his knees, hands running over Grady's belly and thighs, mouth opening wide to suck in Grady's massive balls, filling his moist, hot cavity with the overabundance of resilient solidity, two unbroken eggs of masculine storehouse. He stroked Grady's cock with awe and reverence, as though it were beyond humanity, surpassing reality. He squeezed and jerked, forcing repeated drops of lubrication to collect at the tip, drool downward, till there was a delicate, fragile web of crystalline substance spinning towards his forehead and nose.
Ira was on his knees behind Percy, his hands busy with cock and balls and tennis ball ass cheeks. He was frantic with desire to fuck the young boy's tiny ass. His fingers sought and found the tight pucker of ass-hole, worked slowly, carefully till one was inside, pressing forward.
Percy released the tight Uphold on Grady's balls, and moaned with pleasure as he rotated his ass around the invading finger, then moved his hot, hungry mouth to Grady's throbbing prick, while Ira intensified his assault on the clinging ass-hole that squeezed tight around his finger.
Ira crouched low, while raising the boy's ass up in the air. He withdrew his finger and replaced it with his full, red lips, his entire oral mechanism setting up a steady, irresistible action, lips kissing and pressing, tongue darting and licking and probing, teeth biting, nipping, persuading. He felt the tight button relax before the onslaught of his attentions, and his tongue delved deep into the dark passage, which squeezed and seemed to plead for bigger, stronger, harder intrusion.
Ira backed away and rose on his knees, his tremendous tool in his hand, aimed with determination and fascination at the seemingly impossible target. The hooding foreskin had pulled back, leaving the glistening lavender-pink cock-head fully exposed, beautifully self-lubricated for the internal journey toward the boy's guts.
Ira braced himself, planted one hand on Percy's hip and guided bone hard cock towards its ultimate destination. He felt the hot tightness of Percy's ass-hole against the tip of his peter, and pressed hard against it, gasping with pleasure as the entire head slid between the tight, puckering lips. Percy flinched momentarily before the gigantic impaler, then quickly adjusted to the hot presence and returned his main attention to the big, hard prick he was sucking.
Grady's eyes were closed, his face mirroring the beatific pleasure the boy was bestowing on his flesh. His hips worked slowly, gently in rhythm with the boy's back and forth adoration.
Ira looked up into Grady's beautiful face, and his cock throbbed with excitement, knowing how much Grady was enjoying the boy's mouth on his raging prick. He hunched forward hard, and half his big tool slid into the boy's ass. A grunt of surprise and pleasure escaped around the big joint in the boy's mouth. Ira rammed forward again and several more inches of his overgenerous maleness slid into the receptive ass-hole. One more hip slamming jolt and he was buried to the crisp, curling brown-black cockhair in the boy's nearly hairless ass. Ira's balls swung hard against those of the boy in whose ass he was buried, making a sweet, juicy noise on contact. Ira set his rhythm and worked in and out of Percy's tight, clinging ass. He fucked with the control of an artist, long and thoroughly experienced in the delights of boymates. He fucked slow and deep, his cock seeking the deepest possible penetration of the hot, moist channel he occupied, wanting to drive his agonized cock into the boy's belly, up through his chest, out of his mouth to rub and press against Grady's entering Percy from the opposite direction.
Percy felt almost as though Ira's wish were reality, sure in the conviction he had never been so deeply plugged before, nor so widely stretched by any of the big rods that had known and enjoyed the muscle-controlled embrace of his ass-hole and channel around plunging cocks.
Grady stood before him, legs spread wide apart, his cock working as deep into the boy's throat as he could absorb without pain. Grady fucked him in the mouth, holding him by the sides of his head, while Ira fucked him in the ass, guiding his writhing body with hands on the narrow boy-hips.
They whimpered and sighed as their passion rose to the boiling point. Grady's hips worked faster, hard, as did Ira's. They plunged inward together, both longing for their hard cocks to meet in the middle area of the boy's interior. Percy's hips worked steadily, his passion rising with each thrust of the twin assault on his sensitivity. His cock throbbed and plunged in the air, as a steadily thickening pool of transparent boyjuice appeared at the lips of his cockhead. He couldn't breathe. He was hypnotized by the unbearable delight of the moment, his passions near the moment of overflow.
Grady pressed his head hard, drove his hips violently forward, ramming his cock deep in the boy's throat, using all his power and pent up frustration. His cock swelled and seemed to double in volume inside Percy's choking throat, and the turmoil of gushing lava was released to bombard the soft, mucous tissue of Percy's throat, to bathe him internally, to fill his convulsing throat with the love juice of his idol, the bigger than life movie star whose film presence had delighted him so often in the past, whose personal presence was now delighting him ecstatically. He groaned with satisfaction as his own cock lunged wildly in the air and poured its offering of boy seed onto the floor and Grady's feet and ankles.
Ira plugged the tight ass-hole, and felt the convulsive contractions as Percy released his heavy load, and the excitement of knowing his two companions in lust had sacrificed their offering carried him to the crest, and he battered deep in the tight boy ass, ground his groin brutally against the ass-hole, and he came, his cock throbbing repeatedly as he released his spunk as deep in Percy's interior as he could penetrate.
When they separated, the boy ran into the bathroom, showered quickly, and returned to the sitting room looking fresh and innocent. He rapidly donned the fascinating uniform, once more provocative and tempting, and left them with a ten dollar tip in his pocket, promising more meetings in the future, more delights in a variety of multiple mating sessions.
Ira and Grady discussed the boy and his lack of inhibitions. They found themselves growing excited again, their flesh responding to the picture flickering in their erotic minds. They went to their own rooms, showered and dressed, returning to the sitting room, to set out on this holiday. They were together much of the time, but Grady was less aware of the magnificence of the familiar body, completely intrigued by the possibilities of fresh conquests in the strange city. He set out on a rampage of promiscuity, cruising constantly, taking advantage of every possible situation, often having as many as a dozen tricks in a single day. He was addicted to the pursuit of strange and untried cock and ass, determined he would suck and fuck and get sucked off by as many strange bodies as he could find.
Weeks passed. Both Grady and Ira were exhausted by the ceaseless pursuit and conquest of the unbounded storehouse of male flesh in the city of ten million inhabitants, the countless visitors and commuters.
Grady sucked cock in men's rooms, subways, parks, dark alleys, and doorways, Ira standing guard to protect him and his conquest from unwary intrusion. The delight slowly ran out of these indiscreet meetings, and Grady came to a point of saturated frustration.
"Baby, why don't you just knock it off for a while. How about going to work. You've got some offers you really ought to consider. They're offering you a fortune for appearances. Think about it."
Grady lay in bed, naked, ready for sleep, only the single layer of a silk sheet covering his flesh. Ira felt the old longing in his groin and almost without thought, stripped and climbed into bed beside Grady. He pulled the misty blonde head to his chest and held Grady tight in his arms. Grady's hands moved to his crotch and manipulated the hardening, tightening flesh with more enthusiasm than he had felt for any of his new mates in a long time. They clung together and made love as they had in the past when it was just for them, the two of them together. Grady wallowed in Ira's body, achieving greater pleasure and satisfaction there than he had known in the weeks of their promiscuity. They fell asleep in each other's arms, completely drained, relaxed, satisfied.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Grady and Ira sat together in the midst of the crowd at Elliott Goldsmith's party, enthralled with the intimacy of their pleasure in each other, arms and legs pressed as tight together as the alert eyes of the other guests would permit them to stretch the rules of decorous behavior without becoming a scandal in the gossip columns.
Grady had no guilt in his homosexuality, but reluctantly made allowances for the mores of the backward society in which he lived.
He and Ira chatted and laughed together, both letting their eyes wander as they might glimpse a flicker of movement in the distance, each appreciative of the masculine beauties displayed throughout the elegant apartment. Elliott was a collector of exceptional male artwork, living examples, and made a great show of his newest additions. An invitation to a party at Elliott's apartment indicated the completion of a hunting safari at Fire Island, the Hamptons or the Cape.
"Are you having fun?" Ira leaned close and whispered conspiratorially in Grady's ear, breathing hard to tickle the sensitive shell.
"I'd rather be home making baby batter. How about you?" Grady's words were made nearly inaudible by the accompanying chuckle.
"Why the hell don't we get the fuck out of here?" Ira adopted the deepest, most offensive crudeness in his voice he could muster.
"Race you to the door ... hey ... wait a minute ... look over there!" A note of awe had crept into his hushed voice and Ira followed the direction of his eyes. His jaw dropped as he looked at the new arrival who had so impressed Grady. Tall and impressively proportionate in breadth of shoulder and narrowness of hip and length of leg, golden-olive skinned, with sparkling, curly black hair and close trimmed Van Dyke beard and precise mustache, flashing hazel-green eyes, proud and strangely isolated in the midst of the milling group, altogether a most intriguing man, met his gaze.
"Man, that's sex on the hoof, if I ever saw it!" Ira felt his cock stretching down his pantsleg just watching the man across the room, imagining him naked and excited, hard, ready for sex.
"I couldn't agree with you more. Let's get it for just you and me. Let's kidnap him." Grady chuckled and glanced at Ira, his own emotions boiling with enthusiasm to know the naked body of the man.
"How? He just got here and Elliott would have a hemorrhage if he left before he has a chance to show him off."
"Fuck Elliott. He had the honor of showing off Grady MacFarland. That's enough prestige for one night. Come on, let's take him home with us." Grady reached down and quickly grabbed Ira's swelling basket, squeezed it firmly, then released his hold and started across the room. Ira was right behind him.
"Hello, my name is Grady MacFarland, and this is Ira Cole. We're just leaving ... it's a dreadfully dull party. Why don't you pass it up and come with us?" Grady stood close to the extraordinarily handsome man, his face only inches away from the other's, his body pressed tight against the attractive, well built frame. He shot his hips forward and established solid contact with the man's lower body, remaining pressed tight against his pelvis. The man smiled, and let his eyes move around the room once, then turned and moved towards the door with Grady and Ira.
Back at the hotel they introduced themselves, learning the name of their guest was Lucifer Santana. They sat together on the long, luxuriously soft sofa, Lucifer in the middle, Ira and Grady stroking the sleek smoothness of the strong muscular thigh nearest each of them.
"Come on, Baby, that can't be your real name. Are you in show business?" Grady laughed when he heard the man's name.
"It isn't my christened name, and I suppose, in a way, you could say that I'm in show business. I'm an astrologer. The name was designed to impress clients. It works quite well. But, my new friends, don't expect me to tell you my real name. That's my secret." He grinned and extended his big hands in either direction, searching the crotches of his hosts with uninhibited appreciation.
"That's groovy with me. My real name isn't Grady MacFarland, either." Grady reached over and fumbled with the zipper of his guest's fly. The man raised his hips to make the effort easier for him. With a firm tug the zipper gave way and before Grady could release the tab, Ira had his hand plunged to the wrist in the gaping opening.
"I know. I've worked out a chart on you. I know your real name and where you were born ... I've done some studying in connection with your horoscope." The exotic olive skinned trick worked avidly to release his hosts' bodies from the confinement of their garments, and after a short struggle, both Grady and Ira were naked, working to reciprocate the action.
"Well, Lucifer, my sexy astrologer, what did you find out about me? What do you advise me to do in regard to the stock market?" Grady teased while he enjoyed the action of the man's hand stroking the hard length of his quivering cock.
"Call me Santana. And I don't make predictions. I'm less interested in the zodiac at the moment than I am in two big, delicious looking pricks. Let's fuck now ... talk later." He wrenched the last of his clothes from his body and twisted into Grady's arms, planting his lips hard against Grady's, one arm reaching behind him to fondle the surging hardness of Ira's pulsating cock. Ira leaned over him, pressing himself against the smooth, flaring beauty of San tana's back, hands exploring, cock straining between the magnificent buttocks.
After long satisfying moments of kissing Grady's soft, moist mouth, Santana backed away and lowered his head to the silvery blonde star's chest, tongue darting out over the erotically responsive nipples, sliding down to the shallow darkness of his navel, licking into the crevice, and continuing still lower, to the smooth, flat, almost hairless belly, the rich growth of pale silky hair, then to the balls, firm and massively ovoid between Grady's sleek, strong thighs. He mouthed them, one after the other, then, suddenly scooped both into his hot mouth at once, rolling them against each other over his tongue, igniting electric sparks of pleasure in Grady's belly.
While he devoured Grady's balls, Ira contorted his body around the larger, more massive sculpture of Santana, reaching his cock with difficulty, straining steadily forward till he could clamp his lips over the huge purple cockhead, running his tongue endlessly around the sensitive corona, tickling the crown with all the talent of his experience with Grady and those before. Santana spread his thighs and stretched his body out towards Ira to make it easier for him to blow the monumental endowment of the exotic, Oriental looking man.
Grady watched the frenzy of the other two, and his own excitement lurched dangerously high. With all his determination, he pushed Santana off his near-climax cock and drew away, wanting to watch the other two in action for a while before letting himself go.
Ira and Santana willingly accommodated his desire. Santana straightened up and twisted towards Ira, flinging himself onto the twisted body, taking his drooling cock as eagerly as Ira sucked his deep-hued masterpiece. They writhed together in ravenous sixty-nine, bodies thrusting and humping at each other, mouths gurgling and slurping juicily as they savored the mantaste of each other's flesh. Grady watched with popping eyes, his cock thumping rhythmically against his belly as he absorbed each detail of movement and technique. When he was unable to bear any more, his cock signaling the approach of spontaneous orgasm through the pleasure of sight, he rose and pried the two combatants apart.
"Let's go in the bedroom. There's more room there and we can all work together." His hands went to the two wet, glistening cocks, just ejected from warm mouths, and Santana grinned at him, as he reached out and took Grady's cock in his hand.
"Let's go. I'm hot to get more of you, pretty boy. I'd like to do everything to you at least once before the night's over." He threw an arm around Ira's shoulders, still holding on to Grady's agonized cock with the other hand, and they headed for the bedroom and the space of the king sized bed.
Lying side by side, hands all over each other's bodies, they lingered in the tentative stages of anticipation, none of them anxious to complete the acts that would end in orgasm and separation. Santana, in the middle, explored both bodies of his hosts thoroughly, hands finding places of intense delight to which both responded helplessly. It was uncertain who enjoyed the greatest pleasure, but Santana was certain that it was he, since he had both Grady and Ira working on his body, while he had both of them to enjoy with his tactile senses.
"I feel like Lucky Pierre. I dig the idea. How about you guys?" His voice was low and vibrant with the passion that roiled in him.
"I'm all for it. Should we draw straws to see who gets the front and who gets the back?" Ira whispered, his senses on fire with the ceaseless stimulation of Santana's constantly moving hand.
"No need. I'm agreeable to taking you both on as many ways, as many times as you want to go." Santana rolled towards Ira, pulling the aroused body firmly into his embrace. Grady scooted down on the bed and planted his mouth against the hot, dark ass-hole and probed with his tongue, working as deeply inside as he could reach, smearing his saliva freely over the opening, then drew back and aimed his aching prick at the target and pressed forward, penetrating the dark warmth quickly and easily. A soft gasp escaped his victim, and he whispered in Ira's ear. In response, Ira twisted into position opposite their guest and they clung together as mouths sought and found cocks in abandoned sixty-nine. They sucked noisily, without inhibitions, while Grady rocked smoothly between Santana's cheeks, fucking in accompanying rhythm to the lunging, bobbing heads that tasted the delicacies of each other's groins. They worked together smoothly and increasingly swiftly, till Grady howled in pronouncement of his release, and it was the signal for the others to surrender the carefully controlled juices of their loins, and they spurted copiously into each other's welcoming mouths.
Again they lay calmly side by side, and Grady found himself curious about Santana's casual mention of his horoscope.
"You're really an astrologer?" His voice was hesitant for he had no knowledge, no previous interest in the subject.
'That's right. I knew your curiosity would get the best of you sooner or later." He chuckled and reached down to grope Grady.
"Well, tell us about ourselves. I've been curious ever since you mentioned the subject, but your cock distracted my attention." Ira rolled against Santana and ran his hands over the dark, golden skin.
"Well, I don't know about you, Ira ... I haven't had a chance to work up a chart on you ... but I know Grady very well ... I think." He twisted towards him and planted a light kiss on Grady's cheek.
"Well ... tell us...." Impatience crept into Grady's voice and he wanted to hear what the man had to say.
"You're going to be an even bigger star than you are now ... than when you were in Hollywood. You got no place to go but up, and up, and up. There's no stopping you...." His voice quavered, and the breaking off of his words confessed there was more to come.
"Well ... why did you stop? You were going to say more ... say it." Grady twisted away from the strong arms and raised himself to sit cross-legged, facing the bright hazel eyes.
"There's only one bad thing in your chart ... and it's connected mostly with your emotions. Your Saturn is badly aspected ... and that could make you feel perpetually lonely ... lost ... unloved ... uncertain. It could lead you to too strong dependence on drugs and alcohol ... but if you know about it and control it ... it can't hurt you." His eyes dropped to Grady's lap and his hand reached there and closed around the magnificent cock. He flopped it back and forth against Grady's thighs till it began to harden, and then he worked up and down its growing length.
"So, Saturn is out to get me, huh? Well, what do you think I ought to do about it?" Grady chuckled and lunged for Santana's cock with one hand, Ira's with the other.
"Just what I said before. Be careful with drugs and booze ... and get used to being frustrated in your personal relationships. Nothing elese you can do." His voice was distracted, his attention obviously more directed towards the male delights between the thighs of his hosts than towards the heavens and planets.
"Frustration? Baby, my whole life has been one frustration after another ... from an old man who couldn't have cared less if I was alive or dead ... except for the paycheck I brought home every week ... to a producer who thought I fucked better than sang or acted."
"Speaking of frustration ... let's knock off the talk and do some plain and imagine cocksucking." Ira chuckled as he ducked his head into the lap of the exotic astrologer. Grady joined the fray and all thoughts of the zodiac were abandoned in favor of the joys of living, urgent flesh.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Grady was unaccustomed to inactivity. The free time he had so looked forward to, began to weigh heavily on him. He became restless and anxious. Seeking to alleviate the tension that kept building inside him, he spent more and more time in bed with Ira, with strangers, till his body was drained and incapable of further activity. He relied heavily on the old remedies, pills for energy, pills for relaxation and rest, booze for stimulation.
Ira was greatly troubled and continued to attempt to persuade him to work. Grady read countless scripts, dissatisfied with all of them. He wanted to work, but refused to admit it. He felt he had earned a vacation, the first one in all his life since he was nine years old. He was mobbed in the streets, in restaurants and shops. It was impossible for him to leave the hotel suite without being recognized and surrounded by adoring fans. He bought wigs and false beards and mustaches, but nothing could disguise the Grady MacFarland image, unique and completely familiar to anyone who had ever seen one of his films, or gazed longingly at his photograph in the countless fan magazines that filled the newsstand counters.
"Grady, you're on your way to trouble. I hate to see you wasting all this time ... getting high before noon, drinking yourself numb before bedtime. Why don't you think about going back to work?" Ira was annoyed with himself as much as he was with Grady, frustrated because he was unable to control the increasing dependence on artificial stimulants.
"Baby, haven't I been looking for properties? I haven't found one decent script. The first film I do after leaving Metropolitan has got to be a good one. This junk that's being submitted is aimed at keeping me typecast in that same never-never land that Liebman had me locked into with a Technicolor chastity belt. If I keep playing roles like that I won't hit puberty until I'm forty-five. No. I'm not going to spend the rest of my professional life as a castrated cherub, singing his way into the hearts of millions. The next thing I do has got to have some guts." Grady's eyes were red and bloodshot, his voice slurred and his body somehow out of kilter, unlike his usual alert, proud carriage.
"Well ... I ... Grady, I've got a script. It's a good play, but I haven't shown it to you, because I don't think you ought to even consider doing it. It's great ... but it's wrong for you." Ira reached into a stack of manuscripts on the desk, and produced a thick sheaf of red-covered mimeographed sheets.
Grady took it from his hand and glanced at the cover page.
"Initiation Week by Erin Evans. Nice title. What's it about?" Grady let the pages run through his fingers as he fanned through the thick script.
"It's a gay play, Grady. That's why I don't want you to do it. It's about a boy's school in New England and what happens to a new boy when he's accepted as one of the privileged class. It's beautifully written ... a great part ... but it would wreck your reputation and alienate all your old fans. You're the all-American lover boy, the sweet kid brother, and this can tear down everything you've made of yourself."
"Ira, love, everything I've made of myself started when I was nine years old, lying on my belly on Morris Liebman's desk, my pants around my ankles, his midget cock plugging my innocent little ass-hole. Nothing worse can happen to me now. Let me read this and see what I think of it." He turned away and went into his bedroom, closing the door behind him. Ira, standing in the middle of the sitting room, heard the soft click of the key as Grady locked the door to assure him privacy to complete his perusal of the play.
Grady stayed in his room all afternoon. Ira was frantic, wondering if he were really reading the play or if he were taking advantage of the situation to avail himself of the well-stocked cache of pills secreted in his medicine cabinet and night stand. Ira was trembling with anxiety, debating the wisdom of calling the desk and requesting a pass key so he could get into the room when he heard the rasp of the key in the lock.
He looked up from the magazine he held, as Grady emerged from the privacy of his room, a new and inspiring Grady, the disheveled, dissipated apparition of the morning vanished, freshly bathed, crisply alert and dressed to go out.
"You son-of-a-bitch, I could knock you down for holding this away from me. It's just what I've been hoping for. Get dressed and let's go out to dinner. I'm starving. Hurry up." He walked to the chair in which Ira sat, pulled him to his feet by his shoulders, and took him in his arms. "You really don't want me to do it, do you?" He kissed him hard and tenderly on the mouth, a kiss lasting a long time, expressing all the old closeness they had ever shared.
"No. I think it's bad for you, though it'll be a great success."
"Then why did you show it to me? Why didn't you just send it back to Evans and keep your big mouth shut?"
"You know I can't keep my mouth shut when you're anywhere near me. Besides, I have no right to withhold a good script just because I don't think it's right for you. But mainly, I wanted you to have something else to think about. You've been giving in to yourself too much lately." There was a sadness in Ira's eyes as he looked up into Grady's excited ones, knowing he had lost the battle, that Grady was determined to do the play and nothing would change his mind.
"Well, you did just what you wanted. I can't think about anything else. Except dinner, that is. Get dressed so we can go ... and why don't you call Mr. Evans and ask him to join us? I'd like to talk to him. Get crackin', lover." He pulled Ira into another passionate kiss and then pushed him playfully away towards his own room.
Ira looked back over his shoulder, paradoxical feelings coursing through him, happiness at the new look of Grady, the resumption of his pride and strength, and fear of the future course of Grady's determination to do a play that could only destroy his reputation and standing.
"Isn't there any way I can change your mind about this, Grady? The public isn't ready for you in a play like this. And you know it can never be made into a firm. The whole subject is taboo for the screen. You're going to tear down your whole life, if you do this."
"No, lover. Nothing you say can make any difference. I'm sorry. But this is very important to me. I'd sign a pact with the devil to be able to do a play as good as this. Get on the phone. I'm sorry, Ira. I can't let you change my decision in this. Do you want to leave? Do you want to quit your job so none of the dirty words will rub off on you?" His eyes softened as he looked long and silently at the man who meant so much to him, but not enough to give up this opportunity, this new step he felt instinctively was the right one for him to take.
"No, Grady. Whatever happens to you, I don't ever want to leave you. I love you." He turned and entered his room, picked up the card that had been clipped to the script and began dialing the number it bore as Eric Evans' residence phone.
Grady and Ira sat in quiet conversation at a table for four in a relatively private corner of the restaurant. Grady was nervous, having second thoughts about his earlier enthusiasm. He gulped three drinks too quickly to alleviate the restless longing to escape the impending meeting with Erin Evans. Ira tried to hide his concern, chattering lightly of inconsequential things, trying to brighten Grady's mood. Nothing helped. Grady sank deeper and more firmly into the depression of insecurity.
"Ira, let's get out of here. I can't meet this guy! I don't want to do a play ... I can't. I've never tried one before. Come on, let's go before he gets here." There was real panic in Grady's voice as he stared glassy eyed at Ira and half rose in his chair.
"We can't, Grady. He's on his way and you can't just stand him up. Look, baby, you don't have to do the play. I only told him you wanted to talk with him about it. You at least owe him the courtesy of being here when he arrives. We can talk for a while, then leave if you still want to." Ira was frightened of Grady's mood, suggesting as it did a recurrence of the frequent moods of depression, long lasting and devastating, which were trying to both of them.
"I don't owe anybody anything! I've paid all my debts and nobody has any claims on me, Ira. Nobody!" Grady's eyes flashed fire and Ira retreated almost visibly.
"I love you, Grady. Doesn't that give me a claim on you ... even just a little one?" Ira's voice was soft but filled with emotion as he looked into Grady's dilated eyes.
"NO! You dig my body and your job. You love going to bed with me and using my cock and my ass. You love the way I can make you feel. But you don't love me, Ira, not me!" His eyes glazed again and his face set in an expression of finality.
"Grady! You don't really believe that! You know it's not true! I love your body ... yes, of course I do ... because I love you and your body is the instrument through which I can show my love ... but it's only a part of what matters. What you are ... what's inside you ... is just as important to me as the beautiful outside." Ira spoke in a choked whisper, his honesty obvious in the force of his conviction.
"Shit, baby. If what's inside me were in an ugly package with a midget dick ... if I was fat and ugly and poor ... you wouldn't be within a thousand miles of my bed. Don't tell me different. You don't know what I am inside ... nobody does. You don't love me and I know it ... and I don't blame you. Use my peter and my ass and we'll both feel good ... till it's over and you find something better." Grady's voice was rising and Ira glanced around to see if those nearby were listening. No one seemed aware of the crisis at their table and he exerted all his effort to calming the rising emotions that threatened to inundate Grady and cause a scene.
"Come on, baby, we'll talk about it later ... when we get home. You don't want to get in a state before Evans gets here. You can't meet him with a chip on your shoulder." Ira's voice was soothing and Grady gradually responded to his tone if not his words.
"I don't want to meet him, I want to leave. Let's go back to the hotel and pack a couple of bags and take off for Canada for the weekend." A frantic hope of salvation seemed to grip Grady and Ira smiled.
"Okay. That sounds good, but we have to at least have a drink with the young playwright. He had to cancel another appointment to accept your invitation to meet us." Ira smiled, seeking with his leg under the table contact with Grady's knee, hoping to reassure him with his physical touch. He couldn't take his hand before the eyes of the other diners, but perhaps pressing his leg against Grady's would help.
"Oh, shit! Look who just came in." Grady's expression was one of supreme distaste.
Ira's eyes swung to the raised balconied entrance to the room, and a smile came unbidden to his lips. Kyle Hard-wick tall, handsome, stood immaculately turned out, speaking with the maitre d'. His eyes ranged the room and brightened with recognition and pleasure when he saw Ira. He waved casually and said a few further words to theingratiating man, then moved directly towards them.
"What's that bloodsucker coming over here for?" Grady's anger was rising and Ira was afraid he would be unpleasant with Kyle.
"Easy, lover. He's your agent, after all. How would it look if he ignored you in public?" Ira tried to placate Grady's unpleasantness.
"Some agent. He hasn't even mentioned an offer from anybody since I got in town."
"Because you said you didn't want to work! You were here on holiday, remember?"
"Go ahead ... take his side ... against me. He's right and I'm wrong."
"Grady...." Ira had no time to say more, for Kyle was within earshot of their table.
"Hey, baby! What a great concidence running into you here. I haven't heard from you for so long I thought you might have gone back to the coast without letting me know." The tall, dark-haired man smiled brightly, displaying pale blue eyes and flashing white teeth, startling in the deep walnut stained color of his darkly tanned, handsome face. His hair was as dark as Ira's and worn long, nearly brushing the collar of his dramatically cut black suit.
"Telephones work both ways, Kyle. You're almost the only one in town who has my number." Ira could see Grady grappling for control of his temper, his annoyance with his agent.
"Sweetie, nearly everybody in town has got your number." He grinned and bent forward, laying his hand on Grady's shoulder.
"Okay, flesh peddler. Sit down and have a drink. But don't plan to stay. I've got a hot date and I don't need your competition." Grady's mood had changed completely and Ira heaved a sigh of relief, happy that Kyle's humor had salvaged what was headed almost certainly for disaster.
"Aha, new stud, huh? Well, I just might stick around and give it a look ... maybe get his phone number so I can sample it later ... if it's any good." Kyle leaned back in his chair and ran his hands over the flat front of his trousers, cupped lower over the impressive bulge between his thighs. Grady's eyes followed his movements and could almost see the majestic endowment of his agent, the strong, virile tenacity he had sampled as a condition of retaining the man as his agent.
"Still look good to you, baby? If your trick doesn't work out, how about you and me going to my place and hitting the feathers together? I could use some of your talent tonight. I'm so fuckin' horny I could almost pop just looking at you two." He groaned deep in his throat and his knees spread in both directions, making contact with both Grady's and Ira's thighs under the table.
"Very tempting. You're a hot stud, Kyle, but I do have an engagement, and I don't want you hanging around and panting all over him when he arrives."
"Don't worry, sexy. About two more pants over you guys and I'm going to shoot in my pants, so your stud trick is safe. Meantime, let's have a sip of something cool and stimulating." Kyle grinned and Grady couldn't resist the excitement of the man, feeling a twinge of arousal in his groin as Kyle continued to smile suggestively at him and rub his knee back and forth along his thigh.
The waiter took their order and departed. Kyle's hand slipped beneath the table and stroked lightly up towards Grady's hardening cock, disappearing to repeat the operation with Ira.
"You're getting me hot, Kyle. If you keep it up we will go to your place and both of us will gang fuck you till you can't get up off your belly." Grady chuckled, increasingly intrigued by the animal magnetism of the man.
'That, my love, is a promise I'll hold to you ... if not tonight, very soon. You turn me on. That's why I can't call you unless I absolutely have to. After I even talk to you on the telephone for a few minutes I either have to jack off to cool off or let one of the office boys blow me before I can get my mind back on business." He grinned and his fingers dug into Grady's thigh in emphasis.
"I've seen your office boys ... hand picked for the big rods and hot asses ... you don't need to use me as an excuse, Kyle baby." Grady boldly reached out and groped the irresistible man at his side. His hand remained in Kyle's crotch for several seconds till Ira cleared his throat in signal of the approaching waiter. As their drinks were served, all three sat properly cool and almost formal in disavowal of their earlier recklessness.
"A toast ... to the hottest threesome in town. Seriously, Grady, we've got to get together again soon ... I'm hot to blow your pretty prick again. And I remember how your hot rod felt up my ass, Ira. I could sure use about an hour of that tonight ... the mood I'm in." A moan of frustration and longing escaped him as he stared from one to the other. They tipped back their glasses and Kyle emptied his while Grady and Ira merely sipped.
"Well, I hate to do it, but I must leave your torturing sexuality. If things don't work out with your trick, give me a call and we'll build a triangular pyramid ... with me the middle angle."
"We may take you up on that." Grady half rose as Kyle weaved his way through the elegant dining room to a distant table. Both Grady and Ira watched his progress and turned to each other in laughter as he seated himself at a small table opposite a young and pretty blonde boy, obviously his date, who gazed into his eyes with neon adoration.
"What a whore. As long as it's got a cock and a big mouth, he's willing. He's got a beauty between his legs, though. I nearly strangled on it once, but loved every inch," Grady chuckled.
"I remember. You complained of a sore throat for a week." Ira laughed happily as they reminisced about their mutual mating with the dark-skinned satyr.
'The world should laugh with such happiness. I hope you are Mr. MacFarland and Mr. Cole, because I am Erin Evans and was told by that prissy man over there that this was their table."
Grady's eyes swung around at the deep baritone sound that caressed his ears. His eyes widened in disbelief at the sight of the enormous man towering above him. Erin Evans must have been nearly seven feet tall, or so it seemed to Grady. One had visions of him going through doorways sideways. Grady automatically rose to his feet, staring almost rudely at the man. His height was crowned by a flaming halo of copper-penny bright red hair, and complimented by a full beard and thick mustache. Bright, smiling green eyes shown out of an Irish pixie's face with turned up nose and full, sparkling red lips. His skin was deeply tanned, unlike the usual readhead's complexion of translucent paleness.
"Forgive me, Mr. Evans. I'm being rude ... but not intentionally. I'm overwhelmed. You are the last person I would have pegged as a playwright." He grinned and Evans returned his pleasant expression.
"The jury's still out on that one. Initiation Week is my first play, so you may be right ... perhaps I am not a playwright." He grinned.
"Oh, you're a playwright, all right. There's no question in my mind on that. I don't think I've ever been as touched by a first reading of a play. But ... now that I've met you, I'm amazed you chose such a subject for your first work. So controversial. It could be the end of your career before it begins." Grady was hypnotized by the bright green of Evans's eyes, feeling as though he were trapped in the man's gaze, unable to escape till he was drained of all his secrets and voluntarily released by his captor.
"Please call me Erin. I hate 'Mr. Evans'. ... You are startled I'm not small and fragile, and that I've written a queer play. Well, if I may let you in on a secret, cock-suckers come in all sizes and colors and a wide variety of anatomical types."
"Forgive me. I just couldn't see you as the type to...."
"Because I'm big and butch and look like a stevedore? Don't be upset. I'm as queer as pink ink. I swing on a cock whenever I get the chance and spread my cheeks whenever a hard tool is aimed at my ass. In short, I have nothing to conceal, because I don't care who knows what I am. If you're offended, forgive me. Just say so and I will leave you to your dinner." Erin made a tentative move to rise from his chair, but Grady reached out and laid his hand on the back of Erin, closing his fingers over the hairy bristles of red on the warm softness of the man's flesh.
"I have no objections whatever, Erin. I'm not offended ... not by any means ... since I'm as queer as you ... and so is Ira. Since we're being so painfully honest ... and on first meeting ... I find you fantastically exciting. I want to go to bed with you." Grady couldn't help himself. He had to express his desire for this man, his passion rising feverishly just being so close to the redheaded giant.
Ira sat silent, unable to speak since Erin's arrival at the table. He was as captivated as Grady, unable to reveal his arousal as had Grady. Erin looked from Grady's face to Ira and smiled.
"How about you?" He spoke low, nearly a whisper.
"Me too!" Ira croaked, his voice husky and unsteady.
"Let's go. Your place or mine?" Erin shoved back his chair and stood, looking from Grady to Ira and back, awaiting an answer. Grady's gaze ranged over the monumental physique and his throat went dry, the tightness of excitement tensing his belly, and he rose to stand beside the big man.
"Let's go to the hotel."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
There was no shyness in Erin. In the cab on the way back to Grady's hotel he sat in the middle, blatantly groping both Grady and Ira, working their zippers open, squeezing his ham-like hands into the openings, touching flesh, Grady's cock and balls, struggling with Ira's skin tight jockey shorts for the same contact and failing, satisfying himself temporarily with the touch of Ira's thighs and jersey covered privacy.
Erin's fingers played magic on Grady's straining cock, hard and throbbing under the persistent caress of Erin's fingertips, threatening to spit its hot, milky cargo into the confined area between thigh and pantsleg.
"For Christ's sake, stop, Erin. You're gonna make me come in my pants." Grady writhed beneath the big man's touch, his voice raspy with the enormity of his response. Erin pulled his hand out of Grady's fly and zipped him up quickly, not wanting to risk the loss of the anticipated offering he wanted toingest. He continued his probing exploration of Ira's tightly sheathed flesh, frustrated by his inability to pierce the bastions of constricting jockey shorts.
"We're almost at the hotel, Erin. Better pull yourself together till we get through the lobby and upstairs." Grady whispered, his eyes pinned hungrily on the activity within Ira's trousers. The big hand withdrew and pulled up the straining zipper with difficulty over the swollen mound of compressed hard cock.
Erin's erotic activity resumed as the elevator doors slid shut behind them. In the small cubicle he put his hands on their pantsed asses, pulling them close against him, squeezing their hard buns eagerly, breathing hard in his excitement as he stroked and kneaded the soft firmness of two different, but equally perfect asses.
In the suite he was a whirlwind, attacking wildly till jackets, ties, shirts were discarded carelessly about the sitting room. Grady and Ira stood unmoving as he stripped them to slacks and shoes, then stood looking adoringly at their naked chests and arms. His hands moved over Grady's upper body, stroking his shoulders and well muscled arms, his chest and midsection, turned him away from him and traced the intricate musculature of his broad, flaring back.
Satisfied he had articulated every contour of Grady's physique, he moved away from him and repeated his actions with Ira. His hands moved fierily over Ira's flesh, creating gooseflesh in their wake, pinching lightly at nipples, tracing muscle forms. He pulled the dark beauty into his arms and planted his mouth firmly over Ira's. Their teeth, their breath growing labored under the intensity of their lustful labors.
Grady moved over to them, behind Erin. His arms went around the man and worked at the buttons of his shirt, at his tie, succeeding with difficulty in baring the upper half of his majestic torso. He drew a deep breath of awe as he stepped back and inspected the massive perfection of the giant's broad, flaring back, the impossibly small waist that supported the topheavy upper muscularity.
He moved close again and his hands were at Erin's belt, opening it, moving to clasp and zipper of trousers, pulling, tugging, till they finally surrendered and dropped towards the floor. Another vigorous yank and they were around the man's ankles, his body naked but for a narrow strip of transparent black nylon over the monumental mounds of his buttocks, twin globes of ivory invitation, round, perfect, provocative of penetration.
Erin released his digital and oral conquest of Ira and turned to Grady, the minuscle bikini stretched frighteningly away from his groin, the protruding maleness stabbing the air, threatening to burst the confinements in which it soared.
He stared into Grady's deep blue eyes, his hands went to his balls and cock, rubbing, stroking, jerking. Then he bent slightly forward and stripped the transparent bikini away from his rampant erection and big, tightly clinging balls. He wrapped his big fist around the throbbing hardness of his monstrous tool and shook it tauntingly at Grady.
"Blow me, baby. Get down on your knees and swing on it. Make me feel good ... use your hot mouth on my aching peter." He moaned as his knees sagged. Grady fell to his knees before the giant and stretched his mouth wide to accommodate the big man's gargantuan endowment. A memory of his father, standing naked at the toilet bowl in their bathroom, years before when Grady was a little boy, his big prick standing out in front of him, flashed before Grady's eyes. He had been frightened of the huge extension of male flesh, but it seemed like that of a child in comparison to this monster that assaulted his lips now.
"Suck, baby. Suck my dick and make it shoot a big load of sweet jism down your throat, baby. Oh, yes, suck. Swing on my joint, cocksucker." He crooned ceaselessly, his hips thrusting in rhythm to his semi-conscious utterances.
Grady strained as the bull cock traversed his lips and throat, in and out, deeper with each thrust of churning hips and buttocks. Grady choked and gagged but refused to surrender the monumental offering that was impaling him agonizingly, bruising his throat, suffocating him with its great girth and length, cutting off air from his lungs, filling him with hard, blood pulsing man meat, shooting sparks of delight throughout his being.
Ira stood watching, his hands itching for the touch of the big man who had conquered Grady. He moved slowly behind Erin and began caressing his broad, muscular back, his shoulders, his tremendous biceps and forearms, each movement of his fingers shooting needles of pleasure through him. He gasped as he stroked the swelling hips and high mounding buttocks, the great cheeks of powerfully driving masculinity directing his cock into Grady's noisily sucking mouth. Ira squeezed his cheeks, ran his fingers in the channel between them, hot and dark and moist with mansweat. He breathed hard as he felt the voluntary tightening of the man's ass-hole when his fingertip made electric shock contact.
A tortured howl issued from the lips of Erin's thrown back head, his fingers digging painfully into Grady's shoulders, his ass working rapidly in deep staccato strokes battering Grady's throat with the swollen mass of his erupting cock, jets of hot, thick sperm exploding again and again deep in Grady's throat, too deep for him to savor the taste of the extravagant bounty of man juice, but he felt it pour from the tip of Erin's pulsating cockhead, felt it flow down inside him, towards his gut. He swallowed convulsively, the throat-stretching thickness of Erin's cock making the project difficult. Erin seemed to collapse, slumping weakly over Grady's head, his breath coming unevenly in ragged sobs.
He pulled out of Grady's tortured mouth and stood before him, his meat still half hard, sparkling with the spit and jism that evidenced his recent immersion in the tight sucking, swallowing mouth and throat.
He slumped to his knees and gathered Grady into his arms, squeezing him hard against him, kissing him eagerly, his tongue probing deep into Grady's mouth, down his throat, swabbing up the last remnants of his own sperm with the wildly flicking tip.
"Baby, you're beautiful. You're an artist with a big dick." He panted as he released his mouthhold on Grady. "You suck like you're never going to get a chance at another prick and you're making the most of the one you got in your mouth." He chuckled.
He pulled back and looked around at Ira who was still behind him. Grasping his arm, he pulled him to the floor with them, and wrapped a strong muscled arm about each of them pulling them against his body. They fell sideways together, prone on the deep carpet. Their mouths moved together and the three kissed, mouths and tongues worshiping the maleness of the others. While they continued to kiss, wetly, deeply, searchingly, hungrily, Erin's hands were busy, first with Ira's trousers, then with Grady's, opening their flies, working the tight fabric down over their hips till they were twisted around the thighs of each of the smaller men.
Erin pushed Grady away, transferring his full attention to Ira's golden bronze flesh. He rolled on top of him, pinning him to the floor with his powerful strength. His hands moved without pause over Ira, touching, teasing every inch and meter of flesh, till Ira quivered with need, his body writhing in agony under the touch of the flesh artist.
Ira moaned and sighed as his excitement soared, and his cock throbbed painfully in his strangling jockey shorts. With a quick twist of his doubled fist, Erin ripped the skimpy covering away from Ira's flesh, tossing the ragged remains across the room. Ira's cock danced in excitement along his belly as Erin ran his fingertips lightly up and down the impressive length of it. He took Ira's big balls in his hand, held them firmly and rolled them in his palm. Ira groaned and whimpered under the masterful assault of the redheaded giant. The thick silkiness of Erin's beard intensified the sensation within his flesh as the big man's mouth traversed his entire body from forehead to toes, up and down repeatedly, engentlering unknown feelings of need and pleasure in the wriggling, twisting, conquered physique.
Erin's mouth went to Ira's groin, tongue darting out to lick and wetly comb the thick hair at the base of Ira's broad cockbase. Ira's hips shot up in response to the attentions of Erin's tongue, and the man moved to the hooding foreskin of Ira's drooling prick. His tongue licked away the opalescent emission of preparation, savoring the salty stickiness of it, and then the mouth opened, lowered, admitting foreskin, cockhead, shaft to the warm wetness of his oral chamber. Ira threshed wildly on the floor beneath the relentless attack of hot, hungrily sucking mouth, ball rolling, pressing, squeezing hands. He cried out sharply and Erin intensified his assault, his head moving up and down the swollen shaft faster and faster, with more pressure applied to the threatening cylinder. Erin thrust forward hard, burying his nose in Ira's groin, remained there unmoving except for the frantic activity of tongue and teeth teasing Ira to the pinnacle of orgasm. Ira writhed in delight under him. Erin rubbed and pressed Ira's balls, holding them tight against the base of his big, throbbing prick, and Ira was helpless. His ass flexed and thrust, his belly tightened, his entire body tensed with the powerfully tightening sensation of Erin's masterful manipulation, and he felt his load gush through his cock, spurt wildly, exhaustingly from the slit into Erin's hard-sucking mouth. He moaned and sobbed as he experienced his release and then he was still, only semiconscious as Erin remained adamantly adoring his flesh, squeezing his cock in his mouth with all the strength he could muster, stroking his balls and ass and thighs with his hot, sweaty hands, till Ira felt himself begin to harden and become ready again.
"Jesus! And you call Grady an artist? Man, nobody ever sucked my dick like that before! I feel as though I'd been twisted inside out!" Ira raved when he was able to breathe with a degree of normalcy.
"Glad you liked it, you big cocked stud. It was a real pleasure to handle a tool like that. Too bad everybody isn't hung as big as you are. Do you think I ought to give your friend here a sample of what a devoted cocksucker can do?" He chuckled as he turned back to Grady, pulling him into his arms, repeating the entire procedure he had just used to drive Ira to the brink of sensual insanity.
While he greedily swallowed Grady's big prick, he played with Ira's even bigger one with his hand. He jerked him to throbbing erection and smeared his saliva generously over the jerking hardness of Ira.
"You know what I want you to do with this big, fat thing, stud?" Erin chuckled and rose on his knees, presenting his magnificent ass to Ira's drooling cock.
"Yeah, man! I'll split you in half if you want it that way." Ira grinned, then laughed.
'That's what I want. Ram it in, stud, hard and deep!" Erin looked back over his shoulder, eyes moving from Ira's eyes to the throbbing monster he held in his hand. "Fuck my ass good, baby! Drive your tool all the way in with one...." His words were cut off by the shrill ring of the telephone.
"Oh, shit." Ira rose reluctantly and strode gracefully naked into the bedroom to answer the repetitious summons. Erin and Grady both turned their heads to admire the rippling muscles, undulating cheeks of Ira's ass as he walked away from them.
When he was out of sight Erin returned his attentions fully to Grady's thumping, glistening prick. His hand stroked from tip to base, slowly, exerting ultimate pleasure through gentle pressure applied by his loving hand.
"Jesus, I'm hot, Erin. Take it before I shoot all over my belly. Swallow my rod, baby. Suck, Erin, gobble it up, please! Go down on it, take me ... blow, man, blow me!" Grady begged, his body in ceaseless motion as his need mounted beyond his endurance. His lower torso rolled forward, moving from side to side, his pelvis thrust and humped, wanting the wet warmth of Erin's mouth that would trigger his explosion and free the rolling reservoir of spunk that surged in his gut.
His hands reached out and locked in Erin's long, curly hair, pulling the big man downward, forward, to the pulsating tip of his cockhead. He felt the stiff hairs of Erin's mustache rake across the ultra-sensitive violet rose glans, then the warmth of the man's breath, the humidity of his oral cavity as his cock entered, not touching the inner tissue of the man till he brought his lips together, lapped his tongue along the blood engorged cock column. His hips shot up to meet the descending mouth, and he became violent in his stroking search for orgasm. He rammed his cock hard in and out of Erin's mouth, driving upward again and again as he felt the dam burst, the gushing torrent of his jism cascade at floodtide through the viaduct of his thick tool, spatter thick and sweet in Erin's gurgling, slurping mouth. The man's tongue whipped repeatedly around the corona of his cockhead, creating a hysteria of delight as Grady's come shot vigorously from the lips of his cockhead.
He was gasping for breath when Ira reappeared in the bedroom doorway. The golden olive skinned stud stood leaning against the doorframe, one hip out-thrust, creating an angle that invited stroking and patting. He stood smiling as he witnessed the final tremors of Grady's gut smashing orgasm, the deep sucking movements of Erin's head draining the last fragments of manseed from the emptying prick.
"I hate to bust this up, but that was Kyle. He's downstairs ... on his way up." Ira started to turn back to the bedroom, apparently to dress, but Erin's voice stopped him.
"Another trick on the way up?" Ira turned back to face him again, noting the brightness of his eyes, the enthusiasm of his expression and he had to laugh.
"You still ready to take on more, huh? I would have expected two hot loads one after the other would be enough ... for anybody." He grinned, but at the same time realized he was not averse to further action before the night was over.
"Baby, there's no such thing as enough cock. I could swing twenty-four hours a day. I dig it, big stud. How's your friend fixed? He's got a big cock like yours ... and Grady's?" Erin looked down at Grady still lying weakly beneath him and took his cock in his hand, squeezing it tenderly, a final drop of jism appearing in the well of cock-lips. His head moved quickly and his tongue licked away the minute, milky pearl. Grady groaned softly, his cock still painfully sensitive.
"Yes, Kyle's got a beautiful big prick. He's just about as horny as you, too. You ought to get along well together." Grady whispered as his total concentration centered on the hand caressing his soft, flopping peter.
"Well, then! We'll strip him as he walks through the door and start the second show. You, incidentally, still owe me a fuck. I'm hungry to feel that big schwantz of yours up my bunghole." He grimaced at Ira, then winked.
"Nothing could please me more than to satisfy your slightest whim!" Ira posed simperingly and giggled as Erin's eyes devoured his slowly rising bull meat.
"Faggot!" Erin minced, then lunged out and grasped Ira's cock in his free hand, still retaining his grip on Grady with the other. He drew Ira towards him, using his rod as a handle, and when he could reach, he opened his mouth and drew the unsheathed cockhead between his lips moving the loose flesh covering up and down over the fistful of cock-shaft.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Their diversion was interrupted by the doorbell and Ira pulled away andran to open the door, naked and laughing. Kyle's pale blue eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in delight as he smiled and reached to grope the horizontally swaying erection that preceded Ira.
"What a lovely way to be greeted on a hot, sex-steamy night. You really ought to dress that way all the time, Ira. You're so fuckin' beautiful with your clothes off. Nobody ever lived with skin the color of yours. It really turns me on." His voice was a murmured caress, his hands moving slowly over Ira's glistening golden flesh, both unaware they still stood in the open doorway to the corridor.
"If you two stand there much longer, this is going to turn into a real orgy. You'll have every horny guy in the building breaking in to join us," Grady called, a chuckle in his voice.
Kyle pushed forward, backing Ira inside the spacious room, and pushed the door closed behind them. He pulled the man into his arms and leaned hard against him, lips searching for Ira's kiss, hands running up and down Ira's back, clutching, squeezing, kneading the magnificent man-cheeks that drove him wild in their contours, their hard softness, their pliability and resilience.
Kyle and Ira were lost in each other, groping, kissing, humping in rhythmic anticipation of stronger and more intimate exercise together.
Erin bounced up from his crouching conquest of Grady and strode to the couple locked together. Kyle looked up into his eyes and his mouth fell open in awed disbelief.
"Good Christ, where did this colossus come from?" His eyes took rapid inventory of the man's physical impressiveness, lingering for a long time at the massive swaying triad of extravagant endowment. An unnoticed trickle of saliva ran from a comer of his mouth as he unconsciously reached to his own groin and began to rub his stretching maleness.
Erin moved close to him and slapped his hand away from his bulging crotch to replace it with his own.
Grady rose from his prone exhaustion on the floor and came over to them, Ira moved hypnotically closer, and all three began to remove Kyle's clothes. In only seconds, the new arrival stood as naked as the original three, his cock jerking in painful erection with each beat of his heart as he surveyed the banquet of hot, living meat arrayed around him. His hands went out, touching, stroking each of his imminent mates in turn, holding hard cock in one hand, big, heavy pouches of nuts in the other, moving from one stud to the next, enrapt in the abundance offered him.
Kyle's pale blue eyes clouded over as he gave himself up to the enchantment of three such big, beautiful, hard dicks. He dropped to his knees before Ira and, placing his hands on the voluptuous orbs of muscular buns pulled him towards him, opening his mouth and taking the throbbing warmth into himself. He pressed forward and Grady and Erin watched the massive extremity of Ira's big tool disappear gradually into the glistening red, all consuming cavity of Kyle's ravenous hunger. Kyle's nose pressed into the forest of Ira's thick black crotch hair. The two excited spectators drew together to watch the man's talented mouth transport Ira to the summit of pleasure, mouth moving steadily back and forth along the spit-shiny thickness of striving cock, hips and buns guiding that glistening column in and out of the eagerly receptive tunnel of hot lust that longs to drain its juices, to reduce it to limp, flagging flac-cidity.
Grady and Erin stood together, arms around each other, each jacking the other off, slowly, pleasantly as they watched Kyle blow Ira, all four bodies writhing with the totality of their involvement in lust and desire for orgasm given and received among each other.
"Don't take everything he's got, Kyle baby. He's gotta fuck my ass and if you take too much he won't have enough starch to get it in." Erin laughed as Ira's eyes flashed to him, bright with imminent climax.
He panted as he thrust himself into Kyle's hot mouth, an enigmatic smile on his lips. "Don't worry about it, Erin. You'll get my dick where you want it. I'll make you know you're getting a ride. Your ass could harden my dong even if I'd just shot a dozen loads. I want it as bad as you do, baby." His attention could no longer be distracted from the masterful vaccuum of Kyle's mouth. His head fell forward, his belly tightened as he strained forward into Kyle's firm grip-
"Suck, Kyle! Suck, baby. I'm coming. It's there, honey mouth. One more stroke and I'll fill you with whipped cream. Oh, baby ... ohhh!" His body arched and a violent lunge of his hips, a tightening of his entire body and he became a quivering, shuddering mass of sensitivity. Whimpering groans emanated from his mouth as he vibrated before Kyle, his hot, sweet load cascading down the man's throat, filling his gut with the energy of life.
Erin's hands went to Kyle's shoulders, pulling him backwards from his impalement of Ira's big joint, turning him towards himself.
"Do that to me, hot lips. Swallow my tool like you just did Ira's," he hissed through clenched teeth, his cock throbbing with agonized desire.
"Jesus, I can't ... I could never handle that telephone pole!" A look of terror widened Kyle's eyes as he tried to back away from Erin's grip.
"Sure you can. Grady took it to the balls, and you can too." Erin moved closer to the man kneeling before him, one hand moving from his paralyzing grasp of shoulder to encircle his frightening ship's mast prick, holding it steady, aimed at Kyle's quivering lips. Ambivalently, knowing fear and excitement and desire, Kyle helplessly moved forward to meet the man's approach, his mouth opening automatically as he drew nearer, feeling the radiant heat of Erin's passion emanating from the enlarged protrusion.
Kyle felt the satin smoothness of the enormous smooth cockhead brush his lips, pass beyond, stretching his mouth, filling him, moving deeper inside him, probing unalterably into his mouth, curving down his throat, choking him, making him gag, cutting off all air, till he was giddy and the room began to darken. He could have withdrawn but never thought of it. Once the majestic cylinder entered his mouth he was its captive, its willing slave and he sucked hungrily, his throat muscles convulsing ecstatically around thetremendous intrusion.
Erin's body worked gently, well aware of the damage his overdevelopment could impart. His chest heaved, his breathing grew ragged and he whimpered and thrust and shook as Kyle's ardent adoration took him up the sheer cliffside of ecstasy, held him there for breathless seconds then dashed him violently to the dark depths of infinite orgasm. Erin cried and sobbed as he shot molten pellets of scalding jism, his cock spasming in strangling convulsions of expanding contracting release.
After the giant peter was withdrawn from his aching throat, Kyle crawled on his knees to Grady, completing the oral adulation of the three heavy hung beauties, sucking Crady to equally inspired orgasm. Then it was his turn. He was placed on his back on the floor, each of the others crouching over him, sucking his beautiful, thick cock to jism spitting climax, one after the other, three loads, spent quickly and thrillingly, all three working on his body at the same time, one swinging on his dick, one sucking his balls, licking his thighs and legs, playing with his ass, one sucking and nipping his nipples and chest and shoulders, kissing his mouth, driving a hot, wet tongue deep down his throat, making him a whimpering boneless entity of sensation.
Finally all four were exhausted. They lay spread-eagled, limp on the deep carpeted floor in various poses of fatigue.
'Time for a drink to perk us up. Would you do the honors, Ira?" Grady half groaned, half whispered.
Ira rose and moved to the bar. Belated introductions were made and Kyle and Erin shook hands, both laughing at the silly exchange after the uninhibited intimacies they had just shared.
"Hey, I recognize that name. You wrote Initiation Week! Man, that's a wild play. Too bad nobody's had the guts to produce it." Kyle accepted the tall frosted glass Ira extended, groping his limp cock at the same time with his other hand.
"It has a producer. I think it has a star, too," Erin grinned, looking impishly at Grady who colored slightly.
"Grady? You have to be kidding. It's a great play and a fantastic part ... but not for Grady. His whole reputation would be torn to shreds if he went on stage to play a faggot ... and a naked one at that!" Kyle's expression revealed his amazement and disbelief that Grady would even consider the role. He looked from Erin to Grady again and again.
"Kyle! I'm going to do it! I wasn't sure before ... but I just made up my mind. I don't give a damn about my reputation. The studio made that up anyway, and I want to see if I can really be an actor. I like the play ... I read it twice this afternoon. So, I'm going to do it ... whether you think it's a good idea or not. If you want to keep on acting as my agent, you'll get together with Erin's people and sign all the papers ... and then we'll start to work. Is that okay with you, Erin?" Grady turned his face to look into the unbelieving stare of bright, excited green eyes.
"It sounds great to me ... but before you make up your mind too definitely, there's one thing you ought to know if you don't already ... the producer wants to do the play in London, not in New York ... not yet, anyway." A sinking doubt grasped Erin and he braced himself for the disappointment of Grady's refusal.
'That doesn't change my mind. I've been to London once ... and I loved the little I saw of it. I like the idea. I still want to do the play. Kyle, will you handle the details? Or do I look for a new agent?" Lightning flashed in his dark blue eyes as he stared the other man down.
"You're making a mistake, baby ... but I'll do what you want." Kyle raised his glass, saluted all three of his companions and drank deeply.
Soon after their two guests left, many toasts later, the first signs of dawn shone in the sky. Grady and Ira fell into bed together and slept in each other's arms till noon.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The tropic sun scintillated on the blinding white bulkheads, the richly grained, varnished deck. Three mahogany tanned bodies lay beside the small, aqua blue pool, naked, spread-eagled to the strong, penetrating sunrays. One blonde, silvery-haired above the darkly stained body, one brunette, brown black hair only slightly darker than the sun darkened olive bronze of his evenly colored flesh, one copper penny-haired and bearded, his skin nearly the same bright, glowing shade of his hair.
Grady, Ira and Erin had decided against flying directly to London in preparation for Grady's stage debut. There was more than sufficient time for a holiday before rehearsals were to begin, so they had spent several weeks absorbing the sun and atmosphere of the Virgin Islands, sampling the virginal status of the handsome, well endowed native populace, then boarded the freighter to complete their journey across the Atlantic.
Ten days at sea, the only passengers on the luxuriously appointed trade ship, they felt almost as though it were their private yacht. Their first day aboard they had come on deck to sunbathe and swim in the small pool, clad in minute trunks, realized there were no women nor children to see, and skinned out to the brief costumes, thereafter to swim and lounge on deck naked and free. The crew was intrigued by the attractiveness of the passengers, fascinated by their lack of inhibitions. Numerous members of the fifty man crew sampled the delights of their flesh, singly or in groups of three or more, in off duty hours.
"This is the only way to fly," Erin's baritone voice boomed along the highly varnished oak deck as the three luxuriated in the sensual caress of sun and sea breeze.
"You're absolutely right, lover. Can you imagine a sixty-nine thirty thousand feet up in the air? What stewardess could watch that without dropping her coffee, tea and milk?"
"I'll take this groovy crew any time."
"Yeah, and have you noticed some of them have started working in the buff since we started swimming naked? There's one big, blonde Swede that drives me wild. He must have fifteen or sixteen inches when it stands up and cheers." Erin grinned, chuckling as he pictured the sun bronzed Scandinavian behind his closed eyes, his cock twitching to partial tenseness.
"Look, before you two get all hot and horny again, how about doing a little work on the script? I'm having some trouble with that seduction scene in the second act. Will you work on it with me, Erin?" Grady was as eager to sample the delights of his friends and the lusty crew as were the other two, but his concentration turned ever more intensely to the play and the coming encounter with established stage actors. His nerves were coming closer to the surface as the ship drew nearer their final destination, and he felt himself becoming more dependent on pills for the first time in weeks.
"Sure, baby. You got the words with you ... or do we have to go below to get 'em?" Erin turned his attention to Grady, aware of the tension building in the star, solicitous of his sensitive condition, wanting no stumbling blocks to appear to complicate what promised to be a difficult period at best, once rehearsals began.
"Here. I'm beginning to feel like this is a permanent part of me." Grady reached under his stacked clothing and withdrew the red leather covered script, tossing it to Erin who opened it to the scene Grady mentioned.
"You know, I really ought to have my head examined. When I quit Metropolitan, I was ready to give up the whole business, and here I am, my head sticking out, ready for the chopping block. Your English critics can be brutal to Americans."
"They love you, Grady! The whole world loves you."
"The whole world loves Grady MacFarland ... but nobody knows him or cares a shit about him." A shadow of sadness and pain crossed Grady's face, then vanished before a broad, impish grin. "You know the only reason I'm going through with this is because I'm all hot for those nude auditions. I'm looking forward to choosing my co-workers." Grady leered at Erin.
"You get your pick. I told you I'd let you choose the actors. You can hold auditions twenty-four hours a day till you find the cast you want to work with ... with a little professional advice from me and the producer. We'll give you notes on the best studs ... that is, the best actors." His tone was reassuring, almost pacifying, wanting to avert a possible temper tantrum, a condition which prevailed increasingly as tension built up in the insecure actor's being.
"Beautiful. I think all actors should be made to audition in the nude. I love to look at naked men."
"You'll be looking at nine of them every night when we get to work. I hope you don't get bored with the same flesh around you all the time. That's why I want you to choose the bodies you want to work with."
"I haven't got bored with you two have I? Ira's been with me for nearly two years, and he still turns me on as hot as he did the first time. He's a beautiful stud." Grady smiled at Ira and reached over to stroke his thigh.
Days passed. They worked together on Grady's part, interpreting his characterization of the unwilling initiate to the secret ceremonies of a military school fraternity, his adjustment to the condition he began by hating, his evolution into an ardent devotee of the rites, ultimately becoming the cynical initiator himself.
The peace of the sea kept the demons of doubt and fear from his throat most of the time, but when the ship docked in Antwerp, its final stop before London, there was discussion of leaving her and flying ahead to arrive nearly a week before schedule. Grady flatly refused, clinging to this floating retreat till the last possible second.
Erin and Ira knew he was dropping pills frequently, it was obvious he was drinking more than was good for him, but they hesitated to mention anything to him that might sound like a reprimand, knowing if he became angry, conditions could only worsen.
Finally they arrived in London, checked into Claridge's, taking over a three bedroom suite, initiating a series of cocktail parties, lavish dinners and theatre parties. Grady made numerous appearances on conversation shows on television, promoting interest in the coming production, hinting broadly at the sex and nudity involved, but refusing steadfastly to reveal any minor detail of plot.
Difficulties arose in production and the opening date had to be postponed. Kyle flew over and joined them at the hotel, following an urgent Trans-Atlantic call from Ira, explaining in detail the panic that gripped Grady.
"Baby, I got an offer I couldn't turn down. I had to fly over and tell you about it in person. It's too great to be told over crackling telephone wires. Are you ready for one of the biggest things that can happen? They want you at the Palladium. Two weeks at fantastic money. They've never offered anybody what they're offering you. How about it? Get out there and sing your balls off for an hour a night ... you'll get used to working for live audiences ... make a mint ... and have a ball! Think of all those English stage-door Johnnies for you when you leave the theatre ... tricks up the gigi ... enough cock to keep you happy for the rest of your life." He chuckled and groped Grady's bulging crotch.
Grady smiled and reciprocated the gesture, annoyed by the constriction of contour dulling jockey shorts underneath Kyle's tight pants.
"I wish to hell you'd stop wearing those chastity belts. I hate them. I haven't worn a pair in years." He sounded surly.
"If I didn't wear them I'd have a thumping hard on all the time. Not only that, I'd also drool all over my slacks. Pecker tracks aren't good for business."
"Maybe not, but your dick hanging inside those tight pants could do wonders for business." Grady laughed and squeezed the mounded bulge.
Rehearsals began for Grady's starring appearance at the
Palladium, London's most famous music hall. He got star billing, naturally, and star treatment. His dressing room was completely remodeled and redecorated. His wardrobe was handmade in Bond Street by the best, most expensive, most modern tailor and designer available. His costumes were extreme and suggestive almost beyond acceptability.
Grady's schedule became unbearable torture. He worked out in a gym to reduce his waistline from the mountainous portions of good food he hadingested aboard the freighter and in London's better restaurants. He took dance classes every afternoon, followed by singing and vocalizing lessons, then came rehearsals, exhausting repetitions of songs and dances and comedic repartee. He took pills to sleep, he took pills to wake up, pills to increase his energy and sexual abilities, to control his weight.
He wallowed in illicit sex, hidden behind scenery flats, in his dressing room, in the men's room, catching dancers, singers, comedians in moments of lewd privacy, sucking any cock presented to him, bending over a desk or chair or toilet seat while a saliva slickened tool was shoved deep in his ass. He took on the chorus boys two and three at a time, once even letting the entire troupe line up outside his dressing room door, letting them in one at a time, going down on them one after the other, doing each of the attractive boys for trade, sucking them till they spent their spunk in his contracting throat.
His stage debut at the Palladium was an unqualified triumph. His rich, deep baritone enthralled every audience, the piquant boyishness of his personality, the pervading sadness of his lonely life wafted across the proscenium to the ears and hearts of those who came to see and worship him.
The glowing reviews of his opening eased his tensions slightly, and he grew more secure in his grasp of his role in Initiation Week.
There was a raucous party to celebrate his closing performance at the Palladium. The entire cast, every male member of which had become intimately known by Grady during the run, attended, and there was an overabundance of food and liquor and pot. Grady smoked several joints and started feeling good. He was flying on a cloud of assurance and confidence. The hours rolled by and the group thinned out, finally consisting only of a dozen or so males. Grady flitted through the adulation and praise, feeling hands on his body, only partially aware of a steady diminishing of covering on his body. He was startled to discover he was naked, and that most of those around him were in the same state. The quiet gathering turned into an orgy, with bodies writhing in and on Grady, who was taking care of up to five guys at once, sucking one while another blew him, another pumped his cock in Grady's ass while he held a hard, thrusting cock in each hand, jerking till opalescent sperm cascaded from the convulsing cylinders to splash on his flesh, in his face and mouth, onto the floor.
Grady had to spend two days in bed to recuperate from the bruises and soreness that afflicted him following the total surrender to lust that night.
When he fully recovered from the physical abuses of that night, the repeated assaults of steel hard flesh in the cavities of his body, the sore, swollen throat, the bruised and abraded distention of his too often fucked ass, Grady was deep in depression. Nothing seemed to help. Pills and liquor were useless and Ira went through the tortures of self-recrimination with him, days of hellish nightmare unreality.
Grady clung to him, depending wholly on the strength of his presence. He refused to sleep alone, creeping into Ira's bed every night, nestling into the security of the strong arms of his only friend.
Ira held him tight, gently soothing him as though he were a child, but the sexy man's nearness inflamed Grady to frenzies of desire.
"Take me, Ira. Go down on me. Suck me off so I can relax and sleep. Please, Ira! Make love to me. I'm so hot! I want to feel your mouth loving my dick." And Ira always succumbed to the unceasing pleas.
Grady's desires varied with his moods. Not always did he want to be the aggressor, frequently he wanted to be humbled, debased.
"Fuck me, Ira. Ram your joint up my ass. Drive it home in one lunge. Hurt me, Ira. Fuck my ass till it tears open. I want it ... I need it! Fuck me, Ira, please rip me in half with your big dick!"
Ira always did as he was asked. His love for Grady was strained, his understanding of the famous star's insecurity unfaltering.
Grady's moods were impossible to predict. Often, when the fury of Grady's need was satisfied, and they lay together in each others arms, bodies soaking with animal sweat, Grady would burst into tears and accusations.
"You don't love me! You love my body ... sex is the only thing you care about. You never let me alone. Why can't we ever just lie together and sleep. Why does it always have to be for sex?" He would rave and shout, overlooking the fact that their sexual intimacies were nearly always at his own instigation, in answer to his pleas for satisfaction.
Ira lay silent, holding him tight, helpless to reach a decision that could help Grady find any happiness in his love.
Production of Initiation Week was rescheduled, and Grady held private auditions for countless handsome young actors. These auditions were held in the nude, since, as Grady explained, much of the action in the play required nude flesh. Some of the actors interviewed withdrew on learning they were expected to appear in public naked, but most were willing to display their hard earned physiques for the opportunity of a stage credit.
Grady talked with the actors, handled their bodies, fondled them, took advantage of the privacy in which the auditions were conducted to enjoy the ultimate intimacies with them. Finally, after three weeks of lust filled confrontations, the cast was chosen and rehearsals begun.
They worked in the nude from the beginning, allowing the actors and stage crew to become accustomed to the mass nakedness, dissolving all restraint and embarrassments resulting from this new attribute of theatre.
There were several scenes which proved difficult and embarrassing and finally it was Grady who melted the reserve of those involved in the difficult passages. Brazenly, unabashedly, he fell to his knees in the middle of a rehearsal one afternoon, drew his co-worker close to him and took his soft prick in his mouth. He held him close, working avidly with lips and tongue to arouse the reluctant actor, and when he succeeded in achieving erection in the embarrassed man, proceeded to suck him to climax in front of the entire case and crew. From him Grady crawled to the other actor involved in the scene and repeated his performance, reveling in the hot, hard cock that pistoned between his lips, the thick sweet, explusion of jism that cascaded down his throat at the conclusion of the experiment. Thereafter all restraint and embarrassments were nonexistent and rehearsals proceeded without snags.
Initiation Week opened to mixed reviews and widely divergent reactions, ranging from shock to undiluted praise. There were threats of raids in deference to those who bridled at the explicit interpretation of sex and nudity so blatantly portrayed by the cast of nine who were naked and obviously sexually aroused through nearly half of the performance.
There were speeches and tirades by the radicals and reactionaries in Hyde Park, comment on television and word of mouth progression of comment concerning the new and startling departure in theatrical history. Sale of tickets was unprecedented; there were long lines at the box office to purchase seats so they could watch the uninhibited expression of homosexuality on stage. The theatre was sold out six months ... eight months ... nine months in advance.
Grady's reviews were glowing with approval of his sensitivity and the subtlety of his performance, his alteration from frightened, seduced child to aggressive rapist in the last act.
There were parties and receptions honoring the Hollywood movie star who had become the hit of the London season. His talents were acclaimed, and the song he sang in the production became the best selling single record on the charts. He sang the same song twice, in the beginning of the play, gentle and wavering in his undecided direction in life, and again near the end, gutsy and powerful in his dominating, almost sadistic male-oriented aggression. His widely varied interpretation of the same song made it seem impossible it was not two entirely different numbers.
The play was an unqualified success. Its fame became international, word of Grady's smashing success traveling back to America. There were offers from American producers to bring the production to Broadway, but Grady was committed for the run of the play in London, and Erin agreed to restrict the performance of his property to anyone but Grady, it having become a vehicle for his special talent.
There were conferences and consultations and it was agreed that Initiation Week would be presented in New York at the conclusion of its London run.
Life settled down to a relatively calm routine. Grady slept late and did little on arising, saving his strength and energy for the stage and the endless parties and forays into the night life of London after the show. Grady learned of a live exhibition of the arts and positions of sex and insisted on visiting the establishment at least once a week, stimulating himself and his guests to gargantuan desires which were later satisfied at Roman type Bacchanals in his suite at the hotel or in a friend's flat. He dissipated shamefully and Ira dwelt in growing despair. He wanted desperately to help Grady solve the difficulties that plagued him, but there was less and less communication between them as time passed.
Grady bridled at Ira's suggestions of medical help, insisting there was nothing wrong with him, that he was simply enjoying the fruits of success and fame, that his body was desired and his favors fought for.
"Honey, I used to go to your movies and sit there in the dark and jack off wanting to be with you ... I know how much you're wanted by your audiences ... but you can't blow every cock in England! And you can't sit on all those you don't suck, either! Relax, Grady. Cool down and stop tearing yourself apart. You're going to crash if you don't start taking care of yourself."
Grady was high on pills or booze or both most of the time, and his consumption of both increased daily. Ira was frightened of the ultimate consequences of Grady's self-indulgence, but he could find no way of restricting Grady's increasing dependence on the contents of his various bottles and vials.
One afternoon when Ira was at his wit's end, worried sick over the self-destruction he could find no way to brake, a messenger delivered a telegram. Tearing the sealed flap distractedly, Ira only half understood the words at first, then they seemed to rise from the yellow page and expand before his eyes. He stared, seeing the final desolation in his splintered relationship with Grady, knowing this burden would be too great for Grady to accept.
Resignedly, he moved as if in a trance through the sitting room, slowly, hesitantly, opening the bedroom door, staring for a long time at the only semi-aware figure slumped on the bed, and then moved towards it, finally extending the yellow page, silently, dreading what would ensue, once Grady had read the notification of his father's death in a hospital in Los Angeles.
Ira stood at the side of the bed, watching intently, waiting for the words to register on Grady's dimmed consciousness, knowing when the awareness broke through the mists that clouded Grady's mind and he understood the message held in his clenched hand.
The deep violet-blue eyes rose to meet Ira's and they welled with tears. The face was slack and suddenly pale; the lips moved but no sound came then the sobs, the gut-tearing, heart rending sobs and the emaciated form crumpled weakly in a heap, doubled up on itself, in a semblance of the fetal position, legs drawn up close to the torso, arms wrapped around the legs, head lowered close to the chest.
Ira leaned down and wrapped Grady in his arms, unable to speak, to comfort him. His own tears flowed in company with Grady's. They clung together, weeping, and then Grady seemed to gain control and drew himself up from his bed of pain and began preparing to leave for the theatre. Ira tried to dissuade him, urging him to let his understudy do the night's performance, but Grady was adamant, determined to go on.
"I'll be all right, Ira. I'll be better off there than I'd be just sitting here grieving and feeling sorry for myself ... not for him ... but for myself ... thinking of all the things I could have done that I didn't do ... the things I shouldn't have done that I did." He smiled grimly.
"You know, he wouldn't have let it get in his way if things were reversed. He wouldn't have cared if it was me ... as long as he was in the will." The tears started again and Grady doubled over in anguish.
"All I wanted from him was his love, Ira ... and he just didn't have any for me. Never ... I guess he used it all up on my brothers. They were older ... and they got there first and took it all...."
Grady collapsed onstage in the middle of the second act and was rushed to the hospital. An understudy replaced him in the roll till an actor of star standing could be found to replace him, since it was obvious to all concerned that Grady's steady drug abuse and the shock of Frank's death would keep him incapacitated for a long time.
Lying in his crisp white hospital bed, Grady's mind slipped back through the years to memories of Frank; delirious, vibrant memories of his own long frustration in the search for a father's love, and the final helpless resignation to the knowledge and acceptance of the unbreachable wall between them.
He cried as he remembered his longing to know the security of his father's strength, the warmth of being loved by the man he had never been able to know, and he remembered their final meeting.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Frank sat in the patio in the warm summer night. The rhythmic hiss of the midnight surf lulled him to calm relaxation. The patio was dark, only the glow of soft rosy light from the living room casting any illumination, only enough to highlight the crisp gray strands in his streaking brown hair, emphasizing occasional planes of his face.
He was melancholy, contemplating the alienation from Grady that had increased gradually during the years of his son's successful career.
Never close, due in large measure, Frank was aware, to his own selfish interest, the breach they had never been able to cross, had widened as Grady matured. Frank regretted his inability to reach out and help the boy when he had been needed, but something always seemed to get between them. Finally their relationship had become so strained Frank had been unable to accept any longer the unspoken reproach that was always in Grady's eyes. He knew the boy felt unloved and unwanted, that Frank considered him a nuisance and an inconvenience, and he knew he had given that impression, and in fact frequently felt as Grady thought he did.
To ease the tension between them, Frank had petitioned the court for permission to buy this house at the beach, Grady had cooperated and permission was granted. Frank moved out of the big house in Bel Air, forty-five rooms and ten baths, and moved out here, only seeing Grady when business required. There had been problems, and Frank worried now that Grady had reached his majority that there might be changes. Frank had always handled Grady's affairs, business and financial, and he wanted to continue. After all, the kid was a star and Frank Judd had been at least partially responsible. He enjoyed the supervision of the vast economic network that had come into existence to insure Grady's future security and to protect him from excess tax payment.
Gradual awareness of the deep, throaty growl of a high powered engine, the sudden screech of tires turning and braking startled Frank from his reverie. The house was set away from the highway and a high wall ordinarily kept out traffic noise, so the car he heard must be coming here. It had to be on the private drive down from the major traffic artery, coming to see him, since no one else had reason to be on his private access road, unless it was a couple searching for a necking spot, and that would have to be someone illiterate and unacquainted with the area. The road was clearly marked private property.
Frank rose from the chaise irritably, the intrusion unwelcome. He wanted the evening to himself, to brood over his own problems. He had few friends and none of them were drop-inners.
When he reached the sliding glass wall to the interior his eyes popped wide. The front door swung open and Grady swayed unsteadily in the entry.
"Hi, Papa. I came out to see you so you could wish me a happy birthday. I'm twenty-one years old, papa ... a man ... at least as much of a man as I'll ever be." His speech was slurred and Frank moved towards him quickly.
"Happy birthday, Frankie boy. You been drinkin'? Or are you high on those pills?" He put his arm around his son and moved with him towards the long, lush sofa, where Grady slumped weakly.
"Papa, don't call me Frankie! And I'm not drunk or high. I only had a few glasses of champagne to celebrate at the party my dear of boss threw for me. I haven't had a single pill all day long ... but I think I will. Can I have a glass of champagne to wash it down?"
He grinned impishly at Frank as he fished in the pocket of his white linen suit for the always present pill box.
"Fra ... Grady, don't take anything now. You can't drive when you're not yourself. You'll hurt yourself ... or somebody else."
"It's okay, Papa. My gorgeous little XKE knows the road from here to my house better than I do ... and it wouldn't let anything happen to me. Can I have a drink?" His eyes grew hard for a moment, then his hand relaxed in his pocket and came forth empty. "Okay, Papa. No pills ... but I would like a drink." He smiled sweetly.
"Sure, baby boy. I got some champagne in the refrigerator. I'll go get it. Be right Back."
"Don't trouble. I'll go with you." Grady maneuvered himself unsteadily off the couch and trailed behind Frank to the kitchen.
"Papa, I like your house. It's really neat. I've been thinking about selling mine and getting something smaller. It's too big for me and a secretary and an occasional guest. The staff is bigger than the household ... I mean the occupants ... I mean there are more servants than there are people to serve...'less I have a party." He giggled senselessly.
"Listen, kid, are you sure you want a drink? How about some milk or coffee instead?"
"MILK! COFFEE! ON MY BIRTHDAY? Papa, you can't be serious! Who ever drank a birthday toast and a declaration of independence in milk ... or coffee? Papa, you ought to know better than that!" He remonstrated with a derisive look.
Frank drew the bottle from one of the lower refrigerator shelves, moved to the linen drawer and wrapped the bottle in a crisp white napkin. After a brief struggle, the cork popped and Frank went back to the freezer compartment for two glasses, always kept there to chill.
"Did you have a good day, son?"
"Son? Papa, you haven't called me that since I was six years old. In fact, I don't even remember you using that word. Was I ever your son, Papa?" His eyes were sad, but then he smiled brightly.
"What kind of talk is that? What the hell do you think you were ... are ... to me?" Frank handed him a tall, frosty goblet of wine as he spoke.
"Forget it, Papa. I didn't mean anything." He sipped the tart champagne and smacked his lips.
"Good stuff, Papa. You like the best of everything, don't you? That's why you're proud of your little boy, isn't it, Papa? I'm the best ... the biggest star in Hollywood, make more money than anybody else in the movies ... sing and dance and look sad better than anybody else ... and a lot of other things I do pretty good, too." He chuckled bitterly again.
"You're carryin' a bigger than usual chip on your shoulder tonight, aren't you, kid?"
"What makes you say that, Papa?"
"You're itchin' for an argument, aren't you? But you don't want to start it. You're pickin'just enough to get me mad and then I'll be the one to start your battle, right?"
"I think you're drunk, Frank old boy!"
"Okay, Grady! I know you well enough to know when you're bugged and trying to start something. Why don't you just say what's on your mind?" Frank's earlier happiness in seeing Grady, and the boy's trip all the way to the beach house to see him, had evaporated and annoyance was becoming dangerously close to anger.
"I quit Metropolitan tonight, Papa. Liebman, dear ol' B.M., offered me a new contract, fantastic money and choice of scripts and cast, and I turned him down ... told him to go fuck himself ... as if he could with that little pimple he calls a cock!" He laughed boisterously, and sipped his wine. "Wanted me to sign at the party ... in front of hundreds of witnesses, and I told him to stick the pretty blue paper up his dirty ass."
"You're an idiot, Grady! But, no harm done. We'll sign as soon as he wants. I'll call him in the morning and set up an appointment."
"No, you won't, Papa. I'm not going to make any more movies after this one is finished. I'm tired, Papa. I haven't had two days in a row to myself since my first picture. I'm not gonna do anything for a while. I'm gonna take a ... vacation. What a beautiful word. A couple of months to be lazy and lie in the sun and let people wait on me. I'm ... worn out, Papa." He looked at Frank, pleading for understanding, receiving only a cold-eyed response.
"Okay, we'll make sure you get your vacation before you start anything new. But you gotta sign with him, Frankie ... Grady, I mean. You're a big star. like you said, bigger than anybody else. You can ask for whatever you want and get it. You aren't going to quit!" Frank's eyes were like points of ice in his angrily set face.
"Papa, you forget I'm twenty-one years old today! It's my birthday and I'm old enough to make my own decisions now ... and I'm going to do just that. I'm through with Metropolitan Studios and B. Morris Liebman and movies and ... and ... YOU, Papa. That's what I came out here to tell you. I'm firing you as my business manager and my agent and ... as my father. I don't want to have anything more to do with you from now on, Papa." Grady's eyes were moist, swimming with tears ready to overflow. There was a catch in his voice and the thick slurred speech had vanished. He was sober and entirely, painfully reasonable.
"You don't mean that, kid. You're drunk and don't know what you're saying. You can't mean you don't want to see me anymore?" Frank's face showed his shock and surprise.
"I mean it, Papa. I mean it a lot. But, you'll be okay. I've been thinking a lot about things lately. I know you've done a lot for me. You've handled everything for me and done it very well, but you don't really care about me it's what's mine you really care about. So when the final accounting to the court for my estate comes up, I want to fix it so half of everything I've got will be yours. You and I can get together with the lawyers and arrange everything, so after the hearing you can go your way and I'll go mine. Half, Papa. Half of everything Grady MacFarland owns will be yours, Papa. How about that?"
"You're crazy!" Frank was stunned. Grady's pronouncement had been so sudden, so unexpected, he was unprepared to deal with it. He had no argument.
"No, I'm not, Papa. I've been a pain in the ass to you all my life. And, lately I've felt kinda the same way about you. You wanted me to be in the movies ... and I did what you wanted ... even when it meant getting screwed in the ass by a dirty old bastard ... knowing it was okay with you ... whatever happened to me ... so long as you got what you wanted. And you knew, didn't you, Papa! You KNEW what was going on in Liebman's office that first day while you waited patiently out in the receptionist's office. You knew your kid . . '. nine years old ... was taking a dirty cock up his little boy ass so you could have a movie star for a son, didn't you, Papa?" "Grady, I didn't...."
"Shut up, Papa. You knew I was getting fucked. You knew everything about me that had anything to do with my career. You knew I was being made to be a whore, Papa. You knew I had to suck cock and let Liebman's friends and business associates treat me like the saleable commodity you turned me into ... and you didn't care who was fucking me as long as I got to be a star . . a movie star ... in big, capital, neon, blood red letters." He gestured with extended arm, pantomiming the bright expanse of a theatre marquee.
"Grady...."
"I said shut up, Papa. I did what you wanted me to do. I've always done everything you wanted me to! I thought it would make you like me ... but you were too busy with Carrie and your other friends and hustlers and whores and booze. I've never done what I wanted to do in my whole life-ever! Well, today's the day, Papa. You know, I think for all my efforts to please you, I was just a plain pain in the ass to you most of the time, wasn't I, Papa? Except of course on pay day and premiere night. Or when there were newspaper or television or magazine reporters around. Well, no more, Papa. I don't want to get in your way any more ... and I damn well don't want you to get in mine." For the first time Grady's voice rose to a shout. He had spoken softly, thoughtfully, till the end and then his voice rose to an angry bellow.
"Grady, you're my son, my own flesh and blood, and I never set out to deliberately do anything ... or make you do anything ... that would hurt you." Frank's voice carried defeat, his eyes were downcast, unable to look into his son's face.
"Papa, didn't you ever think there had to be a person inside ... so I'd be there to be a star for you?" The tears overflowed, trailing down Grady's cheeks, dropping in dark spots onto the lapels of his white linen suit.
"Okay, Frankie. Whatever you want. I'll call the lawyers in the morning and I'll let you know when we'll meet with them. Do you want another drink?"
"No, Papa. I've got an early call. Good night, Papa." He rose and turned his back to Frank, wiping away his tears as he moved towards the door.
"Good night, Son. I'm sorry...."
The door had closed behind Grady before Frank's last words were uttered.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Grady spent two months in the hospital, under withdrawal from the drugs, restoration of his faith in himself becoming a slow and difficult process. Ira was with him all the time, and Erin made frequent visits to bolster the shattered personality.
"Grady? The doctor says you're almost ready to leave ... to go home. How about that?" Ira felt helpless to reach the withdrawn ego, so foreign to the effervescent man he cared so deeply for.
"It's fine, I guess. How soon?"
"A couple of days ... a week at the outside."
"Then we can go back to New York and start getting ready to open the show there." There was no enthusiasm in Grady's words.
"We don't have to. We can cancel the New York production. Let somebody else do it, Baby. Take some time off and rest ... get back to being yourself. You're still worn out." Ira felt tears stinging his eyes, a sensation that had become common to him in the past weeks.
"Can we go back on the same freighter we came on?" A glimmer of excitement lurked in Grady's eyes.
"Sure we can. We can do whatever you damn well want to do."
"Okay. I want to! Go book us on the ship and I'll start getting ready to leave here."
As Ira turned and headed for the door, Grady called his name, and Ira turned back to face him.
"Ira, do you remember that party at Elliott Goldsmith's a year and a half ago . . .just before we came to England?" Grady's face had gone reflective, his voice hushed and introspective.
"Yes, I think so ... but there were a lot of parties...."
"The one where we met that astrologer ... Santa something ... no, Santana ... Lucifer Santana." A bright smile for having remembered the name when so many things wouldn't register on his memory.
"Yes, Grady ... I remember...."
"I've been remembering the things he said ... about the pills and drugs and booze and all of it ... and about the frustrations of Saturn ... it looks as if old Saturn sure has got it in for me, doesn't it?"
"Don't think about it, Grady. Everything's going to be fine. You're getting better every day, and there's not going to be any more frustration in your life. I'll see to that. Once we get you out of this depressing hospital and aboard ship, things will look brighter."
"I hope so, but I can't get that astrologer out of my mind ... the things he said about Saturn making me feel unloved ... like there's never anybody who's really loved me ... remember?"
"How could I forget? Do you remember that we went home after the party that night and I did my best to show you how much I love you? Wore us both out for a couple of days afterwards." Ira chuckled and Grady looked up at him and grinned impishly.
"That's what I wanted to say, Ira. I just wanted to tell you ... I do believe in your love ... after the way you've put up with me during the mess I've made of things over here, I know you love me."
"I'm glad, Grady. It would hurt bad if I thought you didn't know how much I care."
Ira managed to control his tears till he was outside the private room, standing in the corridor, his shoulders shaking with the intensity of his despair for the boy-man who lay lost in that hospital bed behind him.
He was startled out of his tears by a deep, rumbling voice asking for Grady. He wiped his eyes and turned to face a stranger, short, fat, balding.
"I'm Mr. MacFarland's secretary. He isn't allowed visitors, but I'll be glad to give him a message if you care to leave one." Ira tried to maintain an appearance of dignity, difficulty with red, swollen tear-streaked eyes.
"I'm Morris Liebman. If the name doesn't mean anything to you, I'm head of Metropolitan Studios ... Grady's first boss. Fact is, I'm the one who named him." Liebman's tiny black eyes were fierce as they always were when meeting strangers who might underestimate him.
"How's the kid? Talk is, he's in pretty bad shape." A hint of sympathy dispersed the shrewd hardness in his glittering eyes and Ira modified his immediate dislike of the man.
"He's getting better. He abused his body and stamina badly for a long time. He's still very depressed and feels completely rejected."
"I've got some news that might make him feel better, if I can get in to see him." Liebman smiled brightly and Ira gambled he could help, and led him to Grady's door.
Surprisingly, Grady was overjoyed to see the man, leaning forward in his propped up pillows to embrace his old boss.
"Well, Kiddo, it's been a long time. You look like hell. How soon you gonna be out of that bed?" Liebman settled himself with difficulty into a small chair at Grady's bedside, clasping his hands over his enormous belly, staring fixedly at the young man who looked so ill.
"Ira just told me they're going to let me go home before the end of the week." Grady's smile was genuine and warm, as he looked at the man he had hated, the only present link with his own past.
"How'd you like to work for Metropolitan again? Now don't get all up tight. I don't mean a contract ... I mean a one picture deal. I want to buy the rights to Initiation Week ... but I won't make it without you. How about it?" His pronouncement had the effect of a bomb in a crowded room. Emotions and reactions swarmed within both Grady and Ira.
"I'm committed to do the play in New York. I couldn't do the picture till the play closes." Grady's voice was weak, his reaction to Liebman's offer enigmatic.
"That's fine with me. It'll be at least a year or eighteen months before we could fit it into the schedule anyway."
"Kyle Hardwick is my agent. You can talk money with him. I guess I'd like to do it ... if you and Kyle can work out the money. And I hope we can rob you blind." Grady seemed to relax more in Liebman's presence than Ira had seen him at any time in the past months.
"He'll buy. I'm offering you a million plus a percentage ... spread out over as long as you want to ease the taxes. I want you in that movie, Kiddo. Deal?"
"Deal." His head was spinning. A million dollars, voluntarily offered by B. Morris Liebman, Hollywood's skinflint producer.
"Good seein' you, Kiddo. I gotta get back to the hotel. I'm flyin' back tonight, now I've got you sewed up. See you in Hollywood, Kiddo." His gruff attitude evaporated for a moment and as he rose from his chair, he leaned over the bed and lightly brushed his lips across Grady's forehead. "Get well fast, Brat." He turned and left the room quickly.
Grady and Ira boarded the freighter, Leonine, on Sunday afternoon, late in September. The captain and purser greeted them warmly, as though they were old personal friends; the captain recalling their seemingly endless capacity for good scotch and hours of monumental struggle across his chess board and scrabble set; the purser their unlimited generosity in response to services received.
There were four other passengers aboard, which necessarily eliminated the sense of privacy the two men had experienced on their first crossing with Erin. A young married couple, a University professor from the north-west and a retired lady journalist provided pleasant company for Grady and Ira, though their presence forbade the nude bathing and uninhibited relationships with the crew. Still there were nods and smiles of recognition from the attractive group of working men who guided the great ship across the sea.
Grady suspected more than casual interest from the direction of the recent husband, but made no move to confirm his feelings. He and Ira spent long, peaceful days on deck, swimming, sunning, talking. Grady was enthusiastic about the New York production of the play, his fears and uncertainties vanquished by the London success. Erin had flown to New York ahead of them for script consultations and changes in response to the request of the producer. They missed Erin and his insatiable pursuit of sexual pleasure, but made up for his absence between themselves and through numerous surreptitious assignations with the crew.
Their fellow passengers were friendly but equally interested in maintaining their own privacy as Grady and Ira. Meals were pleasant and evenings in the saloon were filled with bright, amusing and intelligent conversation.
On the fifth day out of port the weather changed. Cold foggy days ended the holiday atmosphere of bikinis and sun brightened summery weather. Ira loved the gentle days of cocoon-like isolation, feeling as though all of existence was centered in the mist wrapped ship and those aboard her. He and Grady talked or sat in damp deck chairs, wrapped in warm coats and scarves. They became introspective and established an even closer intimacy than they had ever known before.
Grady reminiscenced of the past, his days at Metropolitan, the indignities he suffered while the biggest money making star the studio ever laid claim to.
'They really started me off early. I got screwed in the ass when I was too young to know what a peter was for ... except to pee through."
"That's terrible. I can dig chicken, but for Christ's sake, a kid ought to be old enough to know what's going on! What about your father? Didn't he raise hell about it?"
"I didn't tell him ... till much later. I wanted to think he didn't know what was happening, but I knew he did! It didn't make any difference to him as long as I got to be a star and made lots of money he could spend. I think he would have let the whole town line up to gang bang me if he thought it would have helped ... and he'd just have looked the other way till it was all over." Tears of memory and shame swam in Grady's eyes and he looked away from
Ira so he wouldn't notice.
"Poor baby. You must have gone through hell."
"I guess I got used to it after a while. After a while it got to be open season on my ass-hole for any VIP that wanted to plug it. It was part of the job and I got so I just took it for granted that I was available to get fucked ... no matter who wanted to stick his dong in me." He grinned wryly. "Just part of the price of fame and fortune."
"It must have been rough for you to have to go through that." Ira reached out and laid his hand on top of Grady's as it lay on the deck rail.
"I hated it! I guess I hated everything about movies in the beginning. I felt like I was just kept around to keep the dirty old men happy. Every time I was invited to a party it always ended up in some dark bedroom with a fat, greasy old satyr sweating over me. From the time I was nine or ten till I got my first big part in a picture I spent more time in bed with some slob pumping my ass than I did in front of the cameras." His voice was weak and unsteady with the intensity of his memories.
"How about girls? Did you ever want to make it straight?" Ira squeezed Grady's hand and moved a step closer to him against the rail.
"Yeah, I wondered what it would be like to make it with a chick. I thought I was hot for females for a while ... when I was about fifteen or sixteen ... someplace in there. I used to get horny and think about screwing a cunt. Then I tried it with a couple of broads and it was even worse than my dirty old men. I screwed a few chicks, but it didn't do much for me. In fact, it left me completely cold. I couldn't even shoot my load. I just pretended. Then I knew I was gay and decided to make the most of being a cocksucker."
"Is that when you started really liking it with guys?"
"No, before that. About the time I made my first starring flick. There was a guy who was assigned as my athletic instructor, and I guess I turned him on, because we got together and I really dug him. Sex with him was beautiful. He screwed me and made me love it. He taught me about all the things I'd been doing for years. He was the first guy to go down on me and take my load. He was the first I ever fucked, too. But it didn't last long. I walked in on him in bed with another stud one night. If it happened now I wouldn't get shook like I did then ... I'd just probably crawl in with them." He chuckled mirthlessly.
"It's no wonder you're so screwed up in some ways." Ira regretted having responded unthinkingly, for Grady pulled his hand away and started to walk towards the stern. Ira moved to catch up with him, but their privacy was interrupted by Peter Diamond, the young husband, who was walking towards them.
"Hey, baby! Baby! Where's Nancy?" Grady's voice was bright and casual, without the slightest hint of the emotion charged moments just passed.
"She's in our cabin. It's her time and she's having a bad session. She always does." He smiled warmly, moving up close to Grady, then noticing Ira emerge from the mist he stepped back.
'Too bad. Looks like you'll have to do without for a couple of days ... hope you can get through the strain. Or maybe you welcome the rest. Your little wife looks like she could really wear a man out." Grady grinned and winked at the reddening youth.
"Well, not exactly. We don't go at it like some couples do. I mean, not all the time ... we ... we keep our relationship on a ... on a kind of ... higher ... level. I guess I'm not much of a bedroom athlete." Peter's blush deepened and he smiled bashfully.
"Could have fooled me. From the looks of you I'd have said you were a perpetually horny stud ... always ready to go ... always walking around with a half-hard-on bulging there in your pants." Grady's eyes slid down to the young man's well filled crotch, certain he was not imagining the evidence of at least partial excitement vaguely hidden there.
"Come on, Grady. Don't tease him. You can see he's shy." Ira smiled and threw his arm around Peter's broad shoulders, comradely and casual.
"It's okay, Ira. I don't mind talking about it. In fact it might make me feel better. Do you mind, Grady?" Soft brown eyes held Grady's dark blues ones, and Grady was too aware of the impending confidences.
"Well ... no. No, not if you don't get all up tight after we talk and feel embarrassed about it. It's a long voyage and we'll necessarily be close together for another week. If you want to talk about it ... if something's bothering you and you want to get it off your chest ... and you can stay cool afterwards ... great." Grady studied the young man, found him extremely attractive, his pale brown hair, brown eyes, strong square face and athlete's body, now covered against the wintry assault of fog and cold ocean air, but well remembered from the first days aboard, clad only in a skimpy Italian bikini of brilliant red stretch fabric, displaying powerful, inviting muscularity encased in touchable, glistening soft, smooth suntanned flesh. Grady remembered the thick trail of curling light brown hair, thick and wild on his chest, narrowing to a pencil thin line of darker tone across his belly, flaring out again before disappearing in the tight mystery of his red bikini. He recalled the well developed physique, sculpturally chiselled shoulders and pectorals, inspiringly swelling biceps, rich, suckable deep red-brown nipples, narrow hips, irresistible curvature of taunting buns and strong thighs.
"Well ... maybe I ought to keep my troubles to myself. I haven't any business bugging you with my personal problems." Peter lowered his head, breaking the contact between his eyes and Grady's. He thrust his hands dejectedly into the pockets of his warm jacket and started to move away from them.
"Hey, wait a minute, Buddy. If you think I can help, let's talk. Come on, let's all go into the saloon and have a drink. Though I can't tell through this fog, I'm sure the sun must be well over the yardarm by now." He chuckled and grabbed Peter by the elbow, steering him towards the hatchway leading to the luxurious commonroom.
Egon, the chief steward, was cleaning behind the bar when they entered, and turned to smile pleasantly, through distractedly, at their interruption.
"Is it too indecently early for three scotches, Egon?" Grady smiled winning and Egon's face brightened in response as he turned to prepare their drinks.
Grady chose a deeply upholstered banquet at the opposite end of the room and Ira and Peter slid in beside him, on either side.
Grady felt the pressure of Peter's thigh against his knee for a moment, then it was withdrawn, but he was not convinced the contact had been totally accidental.
"You're very observant. You noticed I drink scotch." Peter beamed as he looked boyishly at Grady.
"I'm afraid he doesn't deserve such praise. He thinks everybody drinks scotch." Ira leered, experiencing a twinge of unexpected jealousy in his gut.
Peter's bright smile dimmed and he lowered his head, watching as his fingertips traced the damask pattern in the tablecloth.
"Not true. Peter, remember you sat next to me last night after dinner and I definitely remember you ordered scotch." Grady insisted.
'Thanks, Grady ... but last night when I sat next to you I drank coffee and cognac." He looked up and his eyes were unhappy, a look Grady could understand, having known it intimately in his mirror for years.
"Well, does it really matter?" He spread his thighs and deliberately made contact with Peter's leg under the table. His other leg pressed hard and insistently against Ira's on the other side of him.
"Now, what's your problem? You should be in heaven, young and recently married, and to a really sexy chick. You got it made, Peter." His attitude was of bluff good fellowship, but Peter didn't respond.
"Yeah, I guess I should. I guess it's my own fault. I'm just a lousy husband, that's all." He returned his gaze to the table top.
"Baby, nothing's ever that simple. Talk about it if you want to ... or else cheer up and enjoy your drink." Grady raised his glass, placed discreetly on the table by the quickly vanishing steward. He was out of sight, but Grady well knew he was close enough to be available when their glasses were empty, even though out of earshot, for the moment, while they wished to converse privately.
"Well ... I ... listen, are you sure you don't mind me bothering you like this?"
"Shit, will you just forget about bothering us and spit out whatever the hell it is that's bugging you?" Grady's patience was beginning to grow thin and he beginning to regret the invitation to drink and declare confidences he had extended to Peter.
"Well ... okay. I ... I'm just ... no good in ... in bed. I must be undersexed ... or something." Peter's embarrassed face was blazing red to and including the tips of his ears.
"Well, lots of guys aren't always ready to sink a winner twenty four hours a day. As long as what you do makes you happy and satisfied Nancy, you got no real problems." Grady smiled self-consciously, more strongly wishing this conversation hadn't begun.
"That's just it ... it doesn't do much for either of us. It was okay the first few times ... but now ... well, about half the time I can't even get it up enough to get it in ... and when I do it doesn't mean much. If I come at all, it's too quick and then Nancy has to take care of herself." Peter was wriggling in his seat with discomfort, unable to look at either of his companions.
"Well, what do you think the problem is? I mean, why do you think it's gone wrong?" Ira was deeply sympathetic to the young man's plight, wanting to help, not knowing how he could.
"I ... I think I'm ... Oh, hell, I don't know." His voice was a tortured howl, and he raised his glass and took a deep draught of his drink.
"Okay, Peter baby. You're trying to say something ... and you're scared. Why don't you just take a deep breath and let it out." Grady laid his hand on Peter's, more to stop the perpetual tracery than in sympathy, but it was like an electric current passing from one to the other. Peter pulled his hand away quickly and looked up into Grady's eyes with an expression of great pain.
"I ... we ... Nancy and I ... saw the play you did in London, while you were in the hospital. The guy who played your part wasn't as good as you must have been ... but it was a good play," Peter finished limply.
"So we all know it's a good play. Man, you have to say what's on your mind or there's no point to all this. I'm not going to say it for you ... neither is Ira. It's up to you ... or we drop the subject, finish our drinks and go our own ways." Grady stared hard into Peter's flickering eyes, his strength somehow boring into Peter's brain.
"Well, I think ... I the play ... it excited me ... all those guys on stage ... naked ... hot ... making it ... or at least pretending to ... together ... right there ... guys having sex with ... with ... other ... guys...." His voice was tight, his words sounding strangled, forced from deep inside himself.
"You sat there in the dark with a hard on watching nine guys up on the stage running around with their clothes off, enjoying the sight and touch of each other. You think you might like the way a guy looks and feels better than you like Nancy's softness. Is that what you're thinking? What're you trying to confess? So what? I'm not your priest, baby. I can't give you absolution for the sin of desire. You think it's dirty to get hot over another guy's body. You think it's obscene to take a man's prick in your mouth and enjoy it. You want it, but you're afraid to admit it. You want to experiment with another man, and you've had bright eyes for me and Ira since the first time you laid eyes on us. You think you're ... what do you think you are, Pete baby?"
Grady's anger was patently apparent, and Peter couldn't speak for several moments as the strength of Grady's words penetrated to his full consciousness. There had been no questions, only statements that both Grady and Peter knew were truth.
"I think I'm queer. You're right. I sat there in the dark and almost came in my pants, I wanted to know how those guys felt so bad I had to fight myself to keep from pulling out my dick and jacking off while I watched them loving it. I felt like a ... a fairy." He sobbed, close to tears of frustration and shame.
"Well, you're not alone. The whole fuckin' world is full of scared closet queers. But don't ever call anybody a fairy where I can hear it. Queer and fairy and fruit are dirty words in my vocabulary." Grady snarled, fighting himself as much as opposing Peter's viewpoint and language. He realize he wanted the boy and fought against any relationship with a married man, not wanting to cause pain to Nancy.
"I don't know what to do. I don't even know what I want." Peter's agony was clear in his voice.
"Shit, baby, don't lie to me. Even more important, stop trying to lie to yourself. You know ... just as well as I do ... you want to have me make a pass at you and take you to bed so you can find out what you really are. You want to find out how it would feel to have your cock in my mouth, hot and wet and slippery ... and you're just as curious about the way my dick would feel in your mouth ... what it would be like to go down on me ... to give me a blow job." Grady's mouth was twisted and mean as he spat out the last words. He was angry with the dishonesty of Peter's refusal to accept the truth about himself.
"Grady! Stop it! There's no reason for you to attack him. If he's having trouble facing the truth you're not going to help him by brutalizing him." Ira grasped Grady's arm, trying to draw his attention from the red-faced, deeply ashamed novice.
"Maybe not ... but neither am I going to help him by taking him to my cabin for a quick blow job or a ten minute roll in the feathers."
'That isn't what I expected. I thought we could just talk about it and maybe you could offer some suggestions that might help," Peter whispered hoarsely.
"Bullshit. You've had a hard on for me since you came aboard. You decided you'd come face to face with a real, live cocksucker and you'd try to get a sample of how it felt ... maybe I'd find you so irresistible I'd fall down on my knees and do you for trade, so you could make up your mind whether you're one of the boys ... or a man. Well, listen, baby boy, there's no difference between the two ... not in my book. I'm as much a man as the biggest cunt hound walking the face of the earth. I don't feel like a fairy ... like a girl ... I don't want to be a broad. I like having a cock and balls. I like to fuck ... I like the way I feel when I'm buried to the balls in a hot, tight ass, or a slithering wet mouth. I'm as much a man as you are, baby, and don't forget it. I'm not ready to take you to bed to teach you what cocksuckers are made of. There are several reasons why I'm not ready, but I'll just mention one or two. First ... and most important ... you're a married man ... you belong to someone else ... and I make it a rule to keep my hands off horny studs that are involved in any emotional way with anybody else. Another reason I'm not ready for you is that I'm not a teacher. I don't dig breaking in innocent, inexperienced little boys. I've had a few virgin asses in my time, but the kids themselves knew what-they were doing ... and knew what they wanted ... and admitted the truth to themselves. With you, Peter, as soon as you stopped throbbing out your load in my mouth you would be ashamed and feel guilty and it would be my fault. You'd blame me for taking advantage of your confusion about the facts of life. By the time you got finished justifying it to yourself, I'd be an evil ogre who had raped you against your will ... and, lover, I don't ever force anybody to do anything. If you got guts enough to admit you want to see me naked with a raging hard dong sticking out of my groin ... if you can admit you're dying to taste my peter in your mouth, that you want to blow me and taste my jism rolling down your throat, then face it and be honest with yourself." Grady was hoarse from the intensity and length of his declamation. He raised his glass and drained it while Ira tried vainly to end the tense scene.
"Cool it, you two. I want another drink and Egon won't come near us as long as you look like a couple of thunderclouds." His eyes darted from Grady to Peter, sorry the confrontation had occurred, but Grady wasn't finished yet. He lashed out again at Peter, eyes blazing, body tense with anger.
"I'm so fuckin' tired of the whole world thinking I'm available. Anybody with a hard on ... and I bet you've got a raging one in your lap right now ... thinks he can offer it to me and I'll slurp it up like it was the greatest treasure on earth. Well, it is ... but only when it's more than just a quickie to cool off the fever ... when it's offered to the closest guy around instead of somebody who cares and is cared about. You're a sexy stud, Peter, and I admit you turn me on. I've had more than one erection thinking about you or watching you on deck ... but I'm not going to go to bed with you just for your convenience and instruction. You're a dirty liar-to yourself-because you won't admit you know you're a cocksucker. You want to handle cock ... you want to feel hard, life pulsing meat in your mouth and up your ass. It shows all over you. . . but you want to think you're playing a game ... that you'll let a guy go down on you ... and maybe if you have to you might reciprocate. That's a lie'. You want to suck cock! You want to feel a big stud's joint working in your tight little ass!" He paused, breathless, shocked by his own vehemence, ready to discontinue the unpleasant meeting. He glanced quickly around the saloon, as though having lost awareness of where he was, suddenly realizing. He wanted Egon and another drink.
"Forgive us, Peter, I apologize for both of us. Grady had no right to talk to you that way ... and I had no right to hear." Ira rubbed Grady's arm, wanting to calm him, knowing how disturbed he was from the confrontation and the earlier reminiscences of his own difficult youth.
"Don't apologize, Ira. I asked for what I got. I deserve it. Grady's right. Will you believe me if I say the words? If I can?"
Peter looked up from his slumped, protective pose, and stared first at Ira, then into Grady's eyes. Grady stiffened, then relaxed and smiled. Peter held his eyes and his hand slid beneath the table, across the banquet to Grady's thigh, across it slowly till he reached the unencumbered mound of cock and balls. His hand flattened to press firmly against the warmth of Grady's flesh.
"I want to suck your cock, Grady. I'd like to try to take you up my ass." He stared unblinking as Grady's jaw dropped in surprise. Then he looked away, to meet Ira's gaze.
"And you too. I'd like to go down on you ... both of you ... and if you don't want to do anything in return ... well, that's all right, too." His face redden slightly, but his eyes remained steadfast, though slightly flinching.
"I'll be a son of a bitch!" Grady couldn't say anything more. He turned his head and looked at Ira who smiled grimly in response, then looked back at Peter.
Grady turned and grinned at Ira, suddenly giving a lighter tone to the conversation.
"What do you say? Should we find out if he's got any possibilities?"
Ira returned his smile and looked towards Peter.
"You're sure you want to?"
"I'm positive."
"Well," said Grady, "I guess we're on our way to my stateroom." They rose and started down the corridor.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Peter shuffled uncomfortably, uncertain how to proceed. Neither Grady nor Ira offered any assistance, nor in fact, paid the slightest attention to him as they methodically removed their clothing, both finally standing naked and still before him. Peter's eyes darted quickly from one body to the other, his breathing grew labored as he studied the anatomical perfection of their unsimilar physiques. He knew this was what he wanted, what he had always desired and refused to admit, even to himself.
"What do I do?" He moaned softly as his hands itched to stroke and caress and explore the symmetrical forms that filled his eyes with delight.
"You'll have to find out for yourself. I told you ... I'm not a teacher." Grady stood resolutely unmoving as Peter's passion soared.
"Touch us, Peter. Let you hands find out how good a man's body can feel. Let your natural instincts guide you." Ira whispered hoarsely, anxious to feel the light-haired man's body against his.
Still staring unblinkingly at Grady's and Ira's hard male bodies, Peter undressed himself, letting his clothes fall about him as he stripped them from his flesh, till he too was completely naked, his cock, unlike Grady's and Ira's, pulsating strongly towards his belly. Ira sucked in his breath loudly as he looked with delight at the young, well muscled, outrageously big-cocked nakedness.
"For a guy who claims to be undersexed, you sure carry a big club." Grady chuckled and Peter smiled at him.
"You were right before ... I do always have a hard on when you're around. I've wanted to get with you for a long time."
"Well, baby, do something about it. This is your chance." Grady crossed his thick arms over his chest and let his eyes range over Peter's body-builder physique.
Peter reached out in both directions, his hands finally brushing lightly over Grady and Ira. Butterfly light caresses moved up and down their bodies, from belly to shoulders. Ira stepped back and sat on the broad bed.
"One at a time, Pete. Take care of Grady ... give him your undivided attention and you'll both enjoy it more. When you're through with him, I'll still be here." His hand went to his crotch and he clutched his hardening cock, stroking it lovingly, drawing the deliciously thick foreskin back to reveal the bright hot pink of his glistening cockhead. He jerked off slowly as he watched Peter begin his aggression on Grady.
He moved closer to the misty pale blonde, his hands stroking awkwardly, clumsily, over the rich bronze tan of strong muscled life. He explored slowly, hesitantly, until he felt Grady relax and begin to respond to his fondling. He gained assurance and his efforts were less timid, more pleasing to both of them. He bent forward and sought the quickly hardening staff of steel that probed from Grady's flat belly. His mouth moved slowly closer and his tongue worked outside his lips to draw the huge column into himself.
"Get on your knees, baby. Kneel down in front of me and you'll have better balance. You can suck better if you're not worried about falling over."
Peter obeyed and slumped to his knees, his hands going to Grady's cockbase and balls, grasping eagerly. He stared in fear at the tremendous erection that threatened him, then moved forward to accept its tip at his lips. His tongue slid sideways across the cocktip till he had become accustomed to the strong, sharp male taste of it, then he slid further forward, stretching his lips over the entire cockhead. He held it securely for several seconds, as his senses flared and seemed to enlarge, knowing this was right for him. He lunged on the big staff and buried half the oversized weapon in his mouth. Grady grunted with pleasure but refused to show any further response to the eager acceptance of his throbbing dick between the boy's lips.
Peter played with his balls, stroked his inner thighs, so sensitive and responsive to touch. Grady quivered with delight as he accepted the sandy-haired man's ministrations. Peter's head began to move and he drew back, releasing the big prick from his oral grip, leaned back and gazed at the spit slick, sparkling cylinder of hardness, then lunged onto it again, his head moving wildly, accepting without qualification and passion Grady's big tool fired in both of them. His head bobbed frantically as he played with Grady's ass, stroking his buns, exploring in the dark valley that separated them, slid his hand from Grady's ass between his thighs to clutch and caress his balls from behind, intensifying the sensations that coursed through Grady's dangerously aroused prick.
"I'm gonna come, Pete. You want to take my load?"
There was no response except an ever faster movement of the dancing head at his crotch. Gracy thrust forward twice, three times, four ... then his cock seemed to double in volume in Peter's mouth and throat and he drew back just as the first jolt of hot, sweet jism splashed from Grady's cockhead, filling his mouth with the thick viscousness of manjuice. Peter held the expulsion in his mouth, feeling it coat his teeth and cheeks and tongue, the roof of his mouth, Grady's own cock, all slick and smooth with Grady's jism.
Finally, Grady could bear the titillating sensation no longer and pulled sharply out of Peter's mouth. Reluctantly, Peter swallowed, feeling the massive bounty slide and roll down his throat, wishing he could retain it inside his mouth forever, completely satisfied with the taste and texture and sensation of man's sperm against his oral tissues.
"It was good. I really liked it." His eyes sparkled, his voice and throat thick and phlegmy, as he looked up at Grady in gratitude for this even partial release of long borne frustration.
"I'm glad. Now take care of Ira. Look at him. His cock's so hard you can see every vein. It looks like he's so hot he's ready to burst." Peter followed Grady's look and agreed that the giant prick looked ready to explode from the pressure of life and sperm within.
"It's beautiful. It's even bigger than yours." Peter whispered reverently, as he reached out to encompass Grady's big, soft peter, his eyes cemented, however, on the majestic endownment of Ira who was still jerking himself off, slowly, tauntingly, excited but far from danger of premature orgasm.
"Come and get it, baby. If you think it's so pretty, wait till you taste it." He stroked faster and harder several times and his cock surged with added excitement. Peter scrambled quickly to the side of the bed, leaned over and pushed Ira's hand away only to replace it with his own.
"Suck it, pretty boy. Wrap your hot, sweet mouth around my dick and drain the whipped cream out of it." Ira's voice was rough with arousal and his buttocks clenched, thrusting his body up from the bed's surface, closer to the drooling lips that prepared to absorb it.
Peter's hot breath on his cock sent a shudder of pleasure through Ira's body as the sandy head moved closer, lips almost touching the sensitive glans.
"Okay, baby, suck! Suck it, big mouth!" Ira writhed and moaned under Peter's intense assault, his body tensing, contracting, tightening with each downward thrust of the hot mouth that seemed to be trying to consume him.
Ira's hands clamped hard on the top of Peter's head as his ass rose high off the bed, arching his whole body between shoulders and heels, pressing with all his strength and determination on the man's head, ramming his cock up to meet the imprisoned received, and he cried out, loud, harsh, short as his breath came in short, staccato bursts, quick sobs of pleasure and agony and Grady knew he had spent his juice in Peter's mouth, exploded lavishly to fill and flow. Peter's head twisted and strained in Ira's grasp ... not to escape, rather to captivate, to contain and absorb the least and the last of Ira's sperm.
After moments of frozen tension, both bodies rigidly concentrated, Ira fell back weakly onto the bed and Peter became boneless, slumped on the floor, holding Ira's spent prick securely in his mouth, refusing to release the vanquished prize, though there was no residue of manseed left for him to drain and savor.
Ira realized his hands were still pressing the unresisting head into his belly and he released his firm grip, his hands falling away, one moving gently over Peter's neck and shoulders, stroking the silky smoothness of his flesh, a tender caress.
"I'm hot as a firecracker. I gotta come. If I don't shoot my load I'm going to explode. I've never felt so good ... so exicted ... so satisfied." Peter scrambled sideways, stretching out on the floor, taking his cock in his hand and beginning a fast, flesh beating rhythm of strokes on his own agitated prick.
Peter took to his new status with surprising ease, behaving with discretion, rousing no suspicions in Nancy nor any of the other passengers. His meetings with Grady and Ira continued throughout the voyage, and he made several conquests among the lusty, long deprived members of the crew.
During one session in Grady's cabin he casually mentioned that his satisfaction in the pursuit of male flesh had eased the tension between Nancy and himself and both had come to enjoy their mating with greater enthusiasm.
He was disappointed, as were Grady and Ira, when the voyage came to its end and they parted, though invitations were extended for future meetings. Peter vowed he would attend the opening of the play and would play host at a party honoring its star afterwards. Grady was certain their next meeting would come to pass sooner than the six weeks interim between their arrival in New York and the opening.
Erin met them at the pier with a chauffeur driven Rolls Royce and unabashedly hugged and kissed each of them as they met. He was introduced to Peter and Nancy as well as the others, and Grady was amused as he watched the spark of interest bright in Erin's eyes as he carefully surveyed the trim figure of their sandy-haired, amber eyed traveling companion, speculating on the intimacies that might have occurred in crossing the sea.
Grady and Ira were installed in the co-op penthouse apartment of a wealthy fan of Grady's traveling extensively, the elegant surroundings at Grady's disposal through the run of the play. Priceless antiques and art treasures had a constraining influence on Grady, but as he became more accustomed to occupying the palatial penthouse, his inhibitions eased and he came to enjoy the luxuries surrounding him.
He found himself embroiled in preparations for the new production almost immediately. As in London he had the option of choosing his fellow actors and enjoyed the auditions as much as he had those in London. Even the actors he did not choose for co-workers offered interesting dalliance and he drank his fill of manjuice during the days of interviews.
When the show went into rehearsal tension mounted and Ira gradually became aware of a renewal of the dangerous nervous state that gripped his friend and employer, the inner frenzy that had ended with Grady's hospitalization and withdrawal from the play.
Grady's lust was insatiable. Numerous times each day he presented himself to Ira for satisfaction, as though the expulsion of his sperm could drain the tension and nervousness from his system, but his repeated extravagance seemed only to breed greater need. He began repeating the same pattern of promiscuity he had pursued in London, turning the backstage and dressing room areas of the theatre into orgiastic arenas of unrestrained lust and sweaty coupling.
He had trouble with the revised script, automatically, after over three hundred performances, lapsing into the original dialogue and action, which had been considerably altered in order to pass the severe restrictions of New York's more Victorian mores. The nudity remained in the show, and the allusions to sexual activity, but the more graphic scenes of male nakedness in intimate contact had been removed.
The play and Grady received praiseworthy comment equal to the glowing reviews of the British critics, and the advance sales soared months ahead.
Ira didn't know when it started, but he came to realize Grady was on pills again and his health was suffering from it. Months of strain and permissive sexual activity and undisciplined abuse of his body through drugs and alcohol took their toll of Grady's ethereal frailty, and he soon found himself unable to work. Under doctor's orders he took a leave of absence from the cast and dropping sales and requests for refunds of already purchased tickets threatened the future of the production.
Three weeks of enforced, supervised abstinence from all his vices in a private rest home brought Grady round again and he was ready to resume his role. Ira kept his eyes open for any sign of a lapse into the old habits, but Grady seemed to have gained control of himself and his insecurity. He was dependable for months, during which time final arrangements for the filming of the play were completed, and Ira relaxed his vigil.
There were parties in the penthouse and Grady was comfortable and relaxed, basking in the limelight of adulation and praise, seemingly the center of a hub of admiring fans, attractive men, desiring intimate knowledge of him, making propositions, groping, inviting, and he reveled in the status.
He took to the bars, and rarely went to bed alone. From the bars he passed on to the circuit of steam baths and private membership sex clubs that dotted the city.
Ira knew better than to interfere directly with the disastrous course of action Grady was pursuing, knowing he could accomplish nothing more than a bitter, angry scene with the possibility of lasting estrangement between them. He was worried that Grady would get into trouble, but could see no way to steer him in a different direction.
Late one night he was roused from his sleep by Grady creeping into bed with him. He sensed something was wrong before he realized it. Grady was nearly hysterical, tears flowing copiously, limp and weak, drawing himself into a protective fetal position, as though he were a small, frightened animal trying to evade a tormentor.
"Grady, what is it? What's happened?" He twisted agilely and drew the shuddering body into his arms, holding him tenderly close.
"Nothing ... nothing's happened. Oh, Ira, I'm so miserable. Help me, baby. Love me and want me. I'm all alone and so lonely." Great shattering sobs issued from him and his entire body quivered with the strength of his despair.
"Grady, don't! I love you. You know I do. Please, Grady, stop torturing yourself. I love you!" Tears welled in his eyes as he held Grady, knowing he would never be able to convince him of the depth of his feelings, knowing Grady felt unloved and unwanted, tolerated at best, unable to understand the strength of the beautiful man's self-rejection, his dismissal of his value as a worthwhile human being.
"Ira, I want to be loved. I want to be important to somebody."
"You are. You're the most important thing in the world to me. I wish there was some way I could make you understand ... and believe me." He held Grady closer and couldn't stifle the sobs that welled inside him.
"Take me, Ira. Undress me and make love to me. Fuck me ... make me a part of yourself. Fill me up with you so we'll become the same person."
"Are you sure, Grady? Do you want to have sex? Wouldn't you rather have me just hold you till you fall asleep?"
"NO! SEX! Love me! You say you love me. . . show me. Ram your dick in me so I can feel you inside me ... so I can feel you hard and alive way up in my gut. Ira, please!"
Slowly, deliberately, Ira undressed him, hoping he would pass out before he was finished, knowing the sex wouldn't help, that it would probably spark another outburst of recrimination, with Grady claiming Ira's only real interest in him was sexual, emotionless, really uncaring for anything but his body.
But Grady didn't pass out. As Ira removed his clothes he worked himself into a frenzy of lust, his body quivering with excitement, his cock bobbing wildly in its feverish erection.
Ira lay beside him and Grady's hands whipped him to ecstatic heights that insisted on satisfaction. He crawled on top of the pale body he loved and plunged brutally, violently, in one driving, battering thrust full length into Grady's body, making him grunt in pain from the force of his assault. Grady worked his hips and ass and his pelvis in rhythm with Ira's pumping, lunging, straining spasms of power, urging him to greater, deeper, more intense efforts to love him, kill him, destroy him.
Ira came explosively, spending himself with grunts and groans and gasps, spurting thick streams of jism deep inside Grady, but there was little satisfaction in the process, knowing Grady was unhappy, that the sharing of their bodies couldn't bridge the great distance between them, much as he adored Grady. He felt himself begin to soften and moved to withdraw, but Grady held him firmly, teasing him to repeated erection, demanding further frenzy, again and again, his own cock pulsating between their bellies, close to orgasm, denied, held back. Ira screwed him with all his strength and vigor while Grady kept himself on the verge of eruption, holding back till he could no longer continue, then as he felt Ira's fourth explosion inside him, let himself go in scalding torrents that bathed both of them in thick, dripping sprays of manjuice.
Ira was glad Grady fell asleep even before he could withdraw his wilted prick and sponge the jism from their bodies. He pulled the blankets up around Grady and snuggled close to him to sleep, protecting him from his private, indescribable ghosts till the morning.
At the end of the winter season the names of nominees for the Francesca Farnsworth awards were announced and Grady was among them. It was the greatest honor that could be bestowed upon an actor, with the exception of course of winning the award. Grady was stunned by the announcement and for a few days seemed to relax his guard in the glory of the announcement. The reprieve was only temporary and he resumed the unhappy, guarded personality. His inner attitude began to show in his performance and there were numerous mentions from fellow players and director as well as from audiences.
Grady was troubled and drew into himself, spending most of his free hours in the penthouse apartment with Ira, giving up the lustful search of the city nightly for new conquests.
"Ira, I'm tired. I feel five thousand years old. Everything's going stale. The play isn't fun any more ... in fact, I dread having to get ready to go to the theatre." He was slumped in a deep, high backed chair in the living room, his feet propped on the antique parquet table.
"Why don't you give your notice. Quit the show and we'll go somewhere. Take a holiday ... just the two of us. We can take a good long rest before we start thinking about anything else. How about it?" Ira's excitement was effervescent, and apparently contagious. Grady smiled and perked up, considering the possibilities of favation sites.
"But, how about the awards? I can't quit the show just before they decide on the winner."
"Baby, you can leave anytime you want to. The ballots have been returned and all they have to do is count them. The banquet is only three weeks away and if you give a month's notice, you'll still be in the show when they announce the winner. Do it, baby ... do it ... quit." Hope flooded through Ira. If he could get Grady out of the city, take him somewhere isolated and quiet, he might be able to restore his vitality and his faith in himself. The threatre seemed a destructive atmosphere to Grady, and the idea of leaving it behind made Ira want to sing with joy.
"Okay. I'll do it. I'll submit my notice tonight. A month from this week-end I'll be free as a bird and you and I can take off and have a honeymoon ... just the two of us ... a long, lazy holiday ... you deserve it more than I do, Ira ... someplace away from everybody where we can lie around, spend all our time naked and free ... and make love as much ... or as little ... as we want."
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Leaving Initiation Week made a remarkable transformation in Grady. Ira had gotten in the habit of counting the pills in Grady's medicine cabinet daily, and from the moment of his announcement of withdrawal from the cast, his consumption dropped markedly, as did his intake of liquor.
The tensions and anxiety seemed to flow from him and he was able to relax. His sense of humor reasserted itself and he looked better, younger, healthier than Ira had seen him in a long time. The haunted, frightened look was rarely in his eyes, and Ira was glad. They were gentle and tender with each other, their love stronger than ever.
Grady appeared to have lost all interest in the promiscuous pursuits that had piqued his sexual appetites, and hungered for the touch and feel and taste of Ira, insatiable in his desires for the dark, sleek body he had taken for granted.
Preparations were under way to vacate the penthouse and return to Hollywood to begin work on the prodigious task of transferring Initiation Week from a radical stage vehicle to a generally acceptable motion picture. Grady was reluctant to talk about his triumphal return to the tinsel city, but Ira let himself hope that the friendly climate and informal life style of the west coast would be able to complete the transformation of Grady to his old self, and that life would be good for them in the future.
His confidence, hopes and patience were sorely tried in the week preceding the Francesca Farnsworth Awards presentations. Grady's calm disintegrated and each day found him more ill at ease, more insecure, again existing on pills and booze, till the night before the banquet he was worse than ever. Ira pleaded with him and cajoled, but nothing did any good and he pursued his own path, helpless in the clutches of some undisclosed fear or insecurity Ira could not coax from him.
The day of the awards Grady rose early and started popping pills immediately, continuing throughout the day, so that by the time he had to start dressing for the presentations he was almost comatose. He was irritable and short tempered all day and Ira decided the wisest course would be to ignore him and remain in the background of his consciousness.
Grady had instructed his tailor with explicit detail on the costume he wished for the awards. An unlined white wool jersey Treje de Campo, a reproduction of the practice suit worn by bullfighters in the tienta, the practice ring, with bull calves. The outfit consisted of a skin tight top with shoulder straps, worn with white kid boots and a bolero type jacket. With this startling attention getter, he wore a pale blue lawn shirt with flowing chiffon neckerchief of the same soft blue. A matching white felt Sombrero Cordobes took weeks to locate and a fortune to acquire.
Finally dressed, carefully made up, he looked the charming, delightful young boy familiar to film fans, the ravages of his dissipation hidden from the eyes of spectators and participants in the evening's festivities. He stood before Ira for a final inspection, proud, beautiful, desirable. The trousers of his outfit clung to his torso as though sprayed on, his heavy cock and balls sharply outlined and provocative in their immodest display.
"Do you like me?" He smiled blearily at Ira.
"Yes ... and I love you too. I hope you win, Baby." He stepped up to Grady and kissed him lightly on the lips, running his hand lovingly, lightly over the sharp curve of Grady's buns. Grady smiled and thrust his pelvis back hard against Ira's exploring hand, then moved out of his embrace and picked up his sombrero. They left the penthouse heading for the hotel and ballroom hullabaloo.
The preliminary awards were torturous for Grady. As they were presented, one after another, and the major categories drew closer, he found himself totally unable to remain still. There were only three more awards before that for the best actor of the year, then two, then only one. Grady felt trapped, helpless, as though he couldn't get enough oxygen, wanting to rise from his seat and run as fast as he could, from the ballroom, the hotel, the city, the world. He couldn't go through this agony. His body trembled with an unrecognized ague and he half rose from his seat, ready to bolt for an exit.
'The winner is GRADY MacFARLAND!" A tumultuous burst of ear-shattering applause flooded the great room and brought Grady back to the present, not really certain he had really heard his own name called. There was a moment of panic, of uncertainity, and then he felt hands on him, pushing and prodding him to rise, to cross the distance to the dais and podium, only then realizing he had no prepared speech of acceptance, so certain had he been that his performance had no chance of being the winning one.
He stood before the impressive assemblage of his peers, the best in the business, tears in his eyes as the whole roomful of luminaries rose to give him a standing ovation. He was silent and dazed by their acknowledgement of his talent, an honor he felt undeserving. It took several minutes for him to regain control of himself, and then, with great effort, he smiled, raised his hand, requesting silence.
"Ladies ... Gentlemen ... Friends...(and jealous losers) ... I can't speak ... I'm at a loss. I felt there wasn't a chance for me to win this award ... considering the formidable opposition ... but I thank you all for your kindness in voting me this honor." Grady's voice faltered and there was a scattering of applause from those who thought his acceptance speech was concluded. Once more, his hand rose and he arced his head about the room, a bright smile blooming on his lips.
"Somehow ... it seems a strange coincidence that I should win a 'Fanny' for showing off mine." There was a hoot of amused laughter and a light patter of applause. 'There are so many things that come to my mind ... things I want to say ... thank you is, of course, foremost among them. There are so many people in my lifetime career that I would like to thank ... should thank ... but to list them would take more time than any of us has. There are two people, however, who are most responsible for what I've become (what have I become?), my father, who saw possibilities in me I never suspected (like selling my little ass for a part in a movie), who would have been so proud and pleased had he lived long enough to be here tonight. . . and the first man in Hollywood who had faith in my abilities (and the dirty old mother-fucker who took my virgin ass in payment for the risk,) B. Morris Liebman, my first boss ... and my next one ... and he's taking a big risk ... trying to make a family movie out of Initiation Week", a light sprinkling of laughter rose, (and just waiting for me to get back to Hollywood so he can fab me with his hot dick, I'm sure)..."and he's going to use me in the film, a chance to work for him again, for which I'm grateful. I am going home ... back to the studio where I grew up. (In more ways than one). " There was more applause and Grady felt himself sweating profusely, aware of the increasing dampness of the tightly constricting white wool against his body.
"But, again, and most of all, I wish to thank you, my friends and co-workers, who voted for this award. I will keep it close to me and cherish it for the rest of my life." He bowed modestly, noting as he bent forward, the immensity of his blatant basket, realizing for the first time that he had had a full erection throughout all his speech, suddenly embarrassed by the prominent display of his arousal.
The crowd rose to its feet again and the applause assaulted his eardrums as he made his way back to the table and resumed his seat.
There was one more award to be presented ... that for the best play, and he was delighted when it was presented to Erin for INITIATION WEEK. Erin's speech was short and gracious, mentioning Grady's great talent as a major contribution to the success of the production and his hope for another collaboration between his star and himself in the future.
Guided diplomatically by one of the bright young public relations men, Grady found himself herded together with the other winners in a spacious reception room off the ballroom. There were photographers and columnists and interviewers foaming all over the intimidated group of celebrities, and all tried, through the confusion, to look and act as charming as their images demanded.
Grady's eyes sought out Ira, and found him close at hand, though in the background, unobtrusively dependable, waiting for Grady's ordeal to be over. When he was finally able to break away from the endless questions and requests for "just one more picture, Grady?, " he made his way to Ira, and the patina of social pleasantry ebbed from his smiling face and he showed fatigue and strain.
"Let's skip the party, Ira. I just want to go back to the apartment and go to bed." His head fell forward and Ira quickly cleared a path to the street, and hailed a cab. In moments they were alone in the penthouse, and Grady slumped into the downy comfort of the sofa while Ira brought champagne and tall, fragile stemmed glasses to celebrate Grady's victory.
When Ira returned with the tray and cooler and placed them on the low marble table in front of the sofa, Grady reached out for him and Ira went into his arms, stretching out beside the handsome body, his arms around Grady, holding him tight, hungry for the feel of his warmth against himself.
"Undress me, Ira. Take my clothes off and hold me in your arms. I'm tired and scared and lonely." Grady's silvery head dropped onto Ira's shoulder and he went limp in Ira's strong embrace. Carefully freeing himself from the awkward weight of the semi-conscious star, Ira worked swiftly, removing the clinging white jersey, the soft, supple kid boots, the sweat sodden sheer blue shirt, till Grady lay, gold and silver, naked, still magnificent in his flawless beauty, on the sofa beside him. He stared lovingly at the form of his beloved and his hands moved slowly over the smooth, warm surfaces of Grady's body. The response in the boy's flesh was immediate and strong, his cock lunging in one quick arc to powerful erection, pulsing with life between his strong, muscular thighs.
"Now you ... undress ... and lie here with me." Grady's voice was unsteady with passion and drug intoxication, but his eyes followed every move as Ira stripped himself of his clothes and lowered himself to lie beside Grady, stretched out full length, their bodies meeting at every point from shoulders to toes.
Grady's arms came around him and pulled him close, his mouth open and searching the warmth of Ira's, tongues meeting, clashing, exploring. Ira ran his hands over the broad, strong sweep of Grady's back, down to his hips, tracing the bony configuration of them, and continuing on to the resilient firmness of his buttocks, cupping them in both hands, squeezing them in his grip, his cock responding in shuddering spasms of excitement to the glorious fullness of his hands.
"Ira, let's fuck all night ... let's not sleep . . .just keep at each other till it's morning and we can't stay awake any longer. I want to wear you out ... drain you ... and I want you to take everything I've got and try for more. Suck me and jack me off and let me fuck you ... and come and come and come ... till I can't even get a hard on any more." His hands and mouth were flashing over Ira's flesh ceaselessly as his hoarse, rasping voice floated up to Ira's ears.
Ira tightened his hold on the warm, sinewy body and rolled backwards, carrying himself and Grady to the deeply carpeted floor. They rolled together, savoring the touch of each other, exploring the delights of both masterworks of flesh and blood and bone as though for the first time. His heart beating violently in his throat, Ira tore himself from the ravenous kissing mouth of his lover and slid down the golden body, tongue flashing out wildly as he progressed towards the throbbing hardness that was his goal. He licked and kissed and nipped his way down Grady's smooth hard chest and belly to the thick patch of silver hair around his pink and powerful cock. With endless patience and teasing intensification of his own and Grady's excitement, he combed through that crisp tangle again and again with his teeth, only when he could no longer desist, going to the bobbing column of thick-veined marble, running his tongue up from the broad base to the quivering tip, descending again, and repeating the procedure over and over, finally sliding onto the polished satin knob and drawing it into his mouth, teeth tenderly gnawing at the agonizingly sensitive corona, tongue lapping steadily at the even more sensitive junction of cockhead and shaft, sucking Grady's cock with unrestrained pleasure, each stroke taking more and more of the massive joint into himself, as the magnificent blonde's physique writhed and rolled beneath his devout concentration. Grady's hips worked, his ass clenched and thrust upward to enjoy more deeply the adoration of Ira's liquid mouth, then released its tension to fall back, smooth and roundly arced onto the carpet, gathering new strength for the next attack on the willing mouth.
Ira's hands aided in the efforts on Grady's body, stroking and tickling, cupping and rolling his huge balls against the thumping base of his cock, tracing the contours of his buttocks, probing playfully into the deep, shadowy channel between, seeking, finding, delicately entering, the minute rosette of puckered flesh and muscle that was Grady's ass-hole, while his mouth kept unfalteringly to its steady sucking rhythm, and Grady was helpless to resist. He felt the fiery weight settle in the base of his gut and spread and flare through his loins. He gasped for breath and jolted up against Ira's mouth hard ... again ... and again ... and then the flow released and exploded in fury in Ira's mouth. He gagged and sputtered, but retained every drop of the hot, sweet juice of Grady's life essence, and swallowed repeatedly till there was no more toingest.
Finally, Ira rose from the still rampant monument to Priapus, and leaned on his elbow over Grady, eyes absorbing the beautiful detail of his big cock, unable to take his eyes from the inspiring sight of the meat that was his as long as he and Grady stayed together ... though it was sometimes shared with others, Ira had the knowledge that after those one nighters were gone and forgotten, Grady still wanted him.
"How about a few drops of that celebration bubbly?" Grady rasped, a satisfied smile on his lips. Ira darted over him and kissed the smile, then bounced to the cocktail table and poured two glasses. They sat on the floor, propping their backs against the sofa, and toasted the evening and the future.
Grady's smile faded and he turned to face Ira straight on.
"I wish we didn't have to go back to Hollywood. I don't want to do the picture. Let 'em get somebody else. I just want to run away with you ... somewhere ... someplace where there aren't any people. We'll buy a deserted, uninhabited island and set up our own world. How about it, Lover?" Grady's voice was strained and as he pursued the idea he talked faster, words tumbling over each other.
"Oh, Grady, I'd love it. But you've already signed to do the film. You can't get out of it." Ira leaned closer to Grady, their arms touching lightly along their full lengths, and where the arms ceased, their hips and thighs merged.
"I can't do it, Ira. I just can't go back out there. I'm a mess now ... if I go back to Metropolitan ... and Liebman ... I won't be able to take it. You know some of what I went through when I was under contract ... but only part of it ... not the worst parts, either...." Grady was close to tears, terror building steadily in him, and Ira was getting frightened.
"But, it's different now, Grady. You've proved you're a talented performer ... a real star ... not just a studio fabrication. Liebman's attitude will be different this time. He'll have to respect the things you've accomplished since you left the studio ... and that...." Ira pointed to the gleaming golden statuette beside the wine cooler on the cocktail table.
"Liebman doesn't respect anything but a buck. He won't feel any different towards me than he did the first time he laid me out on his desk and fucked my ass ... and all the other times afterwards. I'll be just a piece of live meat to him ... a warm hole to sink his hot prick into. I know it ... and I know how it will be to have to face all those others who had free passes to haul their ashes in my ass or my mouth. Nothing will be any different than it was the first time. I can't do it, Baby ... I just haven't got the guts to go back to being Liebman's slave." The tears were rolling down his cheeks now, and Ira felt helpless, but the lapse was momentary, and Grady raised his glass to his lips and drained it, holding it out immediately to be refilled. Ira tipped the bottle and Grady smiled, wiping the tears from his cheeks with the back of one hand.
"Okay, maybe it will be different this time. We'll find out, won't we. There doesn't seem to be any alternative. Why the fuck did I sign that contract?" He grinned and pulled Ira to him again. They sat, arms about each other and finished the bottle. Grady's depression seemed to have fled, and with the last sip of wine his amorous appreciation of Ira came into focus again and they fell automatically into a vigorous sixty-nine. Grady pressed his face hard into Ira's groin, rolling his head from side to side, enjoying the sensation of Ira's heavy balls rolling across his nose. He sucked the big, dark cock with urgent intensity and thrilled to the equal eagerness of Ira bobbing the entire length of his agonized tool, till they came together in a starburst explosion of satisfaction.
Ira released the slick, glistening length of Grady's spent cock, but Grady stayed down on Ira's pulsating tool, teasing him to immediate ability for further play. His tongue and his hands kept Ira keyed up, and when he was sure there would be no receding of the proud mass, he raised his head and grinned.
"Fuck me, Ira. I want your dick up my ass. I want you to ride me till you make me come without touching it." He squeezed the huge cock and held the heavy balls in his other hand, while he twisted around on the floor onto his stomach, flexing his ass invitingly.
Ira pulled away from the exciting touch of Grady's hands and knelt over him, spreading his melon-like cheeks eagerly, lowering his head between and started to rim the welcoming ass-hole. His lips and tongue were insatiable ... there would never be enough of that hot, sweet ass to quench his eternal desire to join his body with Grady's in the ultimate intimacy, the glorious joy that maddened him every time it happened. He wanted to bury himself inside the hot warmth of Grady and become part of him for always.
His tongue strove deep, his te.eth nibbled at the rubbery muscle that opened around his tongue. His hands rolled the firm roundnesses of Grady's buttocks, and tingled as they clenched and released beneath his touch, around his immersed face.
"No more, Ira! No more with your tongue. I'm ready to come ... give me your cock ... ram it in and fuck me hard, Baby. Now! I Need it! I want it! Let me feel you slam your big meat into me ... one thrust ... all at once...." Grady writhed, twisting his head from side to side, undulating his body in surrender to the great need that surged in him.
Ira rose on his hands and knees and poised himself at the portal, pressing his cockhead gently against the spit-lubricated ass-hole, and as Grady wanted, shot his hips forward hard, burying the whole length of his oversized peter to the hilt in the welcoming channel. Grady ground his body under Ira's, pressing his ass up to seek deeper penetration, and they rocked together in lyrical mating, soft grunts and growls escaping Grady's lips as he gave himself totally to the sensation inundating him. He rolled under Ira and humped his body strongly in time with Ira's fucking thrusts and retreats.
Then he reared back and, in his surprise, Ira lost his balance and their bodies came apart. Grady whirled quickly and pressed Ira's shoulders back into the carpet, straddling his thighs. His hand groped beneath him for the big cock and, when he closed his hand around it, guided it up into himself, gasping with the pleasure of the deeper immersion as he lowered his hot ass onto the big tormentor. He looked down into Ira's eyes as he took over the action and raised and lowered his buttocks on the huge tool. His eyes became glittering slits, his face went slack and completely expressionless in the unendurable ecstasy of the giant rod working in and out of his body.
Grady fell back on the floor, his head and Ira's now body lengths apart, Ira's cock still buried to the hair in Grady's ass. Grady's hands went to his groin and he grasped his cock tight, flailed it mercilessly with his battering, sliding fist, up and down, up and down the hot length of it, crystal drops of excitement dew splattering his body as his pumping fist worked his dick, the other hand torturing his balls. A writhing, seething mass of sensation was Grady as he languished in the multiple pleasures to which his flesh was being subjected.
Ira grasped Grady's hips firmly, and with a valiant effort, rolled them together onto their stomachs, bodies still in opposite positions, and now free of Grady's weight, intensified his assault on the hot, sweet ass. He humped hard, driving his cock to the limit into the receptive ass-hole, unable to endure the sweetness of it for long, and he cried out, harshly, as his body exploded and he shot his load violently up into the depths of Grady's churning guts.
Grady strained beneath him, yearning for his own release, so close, so agonizingly taunting. His cock still deep in Grady's ass, Ira rolled them over onto their backs again, and grasped Grady's surging dick in his loving grip, jerking rapidly, squeezing hard as his hand traveled up and down the massive girth of the big prick. A sudden lunging swelling of the striving cock and Grady's thick hot nectar spilled bounteously over both their bodies.
"Oh, Christ, Ira. I love your dick. Nobody's ever made me feel like you do ... and I've tried for that feeling with lots of studs." He chuckled and leaned forward to kiss Ira's lips lightly.
"Why mess around with a good thing? Why not give up all those other guys and save it all for me?" Ira squirmed out from under Grady and rose to his feet. Grady lunged forward and kissed the big cock that gave him such joy, the huge balls that seeded the produce of that cock for Grady's pleasure.
'That's a good idea. I'll give it some thought." But his mind had rushed to the coming tribulation of his renewed association with B. Morris Liebman at Metropolitan, the total loss of human dignity attendant on any relationship with the man who felt he owned him, that Grady owed everything he was, everything he had to him. He watched Ira walk into the kitchen, naked and beautiful, his poetic buttocks grinding together with each step, and he choked back a sob. The night and the pills and the champagne and the sex had all been too much for him. He was uncertain of himself and of life. He rose to his feet and pushed open the sliding glass door to the terrace. The air was brisk and refreshing on his sweat bathed flesh, and he moved unsteadily towards the parapet wall. He looked out over the city of his success, the city that had acclaimed him, and his dread of Hollywood was greater than ever. Leaning against the waist-high wall, he looked down ... and down....
