From Clay to Putty

"Are you sure?" I ask – for at least the tenth time – as I reach for a towel to wrap around my waist.

Shanna lowers her camera with an exasperated sigh and leans against the wall. "Yes, Clay, I'm sure," she says, probably for the eleventh time.

She sets her camera on a stool and walks to where I'm standing, my hand tightly clutching the large striped beach towel I've practically cocooned myself in. She puts both hands on mine and gently loosens my grip as she continues. "Every model-slash-actor has underwear shots in his portfolio. Look at the 'My Calvins' hashtag on Instagram. It's blowing up."

"I know – "

"Plus," she interrupts, succeeding in prying my hand away and opening the towel, only to wrap the both of us in it, "it's not like you haven't done photoshoots in your underwear before."

"Yeah, but that was before," I say, my face reddening with embarrassment as I feel myself getting hard as she presses against me. I can't believe she's doing this – we aren't even dating!

I put my hands on her shoulder and try to gently push her away, hopefully distracting myself from her closeness as I continue. "But that was before. I'm trying to be serious as an actor now. I'm not some kid anymore."

"You're only 22," she chides, "though I have to say, you look older. Must be a Midwest thing, huh?" Then she thrusts her lower lips out and pouts, "Besides, you promised!"

Shanna is a photographer friend of mine I met when I moved to Los Angeles from Iowa almost four years ago. I need new head shots for my acting agency and last week she offered to do them for free in exchange for some pictures for a magazine editorial she's working on. I agreed, not realizing the photos she had in mind were of me wearing nothing but my tighty whities and a smile!

But a deal is a deal, and since I'm not the kind of guy who goes back on his word, here I am on a Saturday afternoon in my – well – tighty whities, but with not so much of a smile.

"And," she goes on, her voice is a purr as she seems to draw the word out for several syllables as she runs her index finger down my nose, over my lips and to my chin, "you're in great shape. These shots are gonna look amazing."

It's true. I am in great shape. I've studied nutrition, I watch what I eat, and I hit the gym six days a week. I'm even a certified personal trainer. Not to sound vain, but I know I look good and I like the attention looking good brings.

But I'm still hemming and hawing and she sees me glancing over her shoulder a few times and turns to see her assistant Matt adjusting some lights and filters. She furrows her brow and I know that look. Uh oh.

"Seriously?" she asks, and I can tell she's going to lecture me. "Are you nervous being undressed around Matt? Why? Because he's gay? That's silly."

"No. Of course not. I mean, yes. No... No. I know. It's just …" I stammer, grasping for the right words that never seem to come when I have this conversation with people. Don't get me wrong, I'm not anti-gay or anything. I have plenty of gay friends and gay co-workers and some of my training clients are gay, and a lot of my fans on Instagram, Snapchat, Twitter, and Facebook are gay… and I appreciate their support, I really do! I've even struck up friendships with a few social media friendships. I'm mostly cool about it. I say mostly, because what I don't like is when people feel they have the right to make sexually suggestive or offensive comments on pictures I post on Instagram and stuff. It's just creepy.

I shake my head and gesture to the towel wrapped around us. I open it slightly, just enough to reveal the briefs I'm wearing, and finally manage a low rasp, "I'm in tighty whities!"

But it comes out sounding more like a whine and I cringe at hearing myself. I mean, I wear briefs most of the time, and in modeling we almost always wear them to castings. But I think what it comes down to, is I'm not all that comfortable posing in my underwear in front of a lot of people, especially when that underwear is tight white briefs that show off every curve and bulge.

"Oh, now you're just being a baby," she says with a huff. "But if you feel better, I'll ask Matt to wait in the office until we finish."

And then she steps back and yanks the towel away from me! She tosses it behind her and I'm standing there in front of her and Matt in just my underwear. Suddenly she freezes and I just know she saw my erection.

"Really, Clay? Are you kidding?" she says loud enough for Matt to hear. "We're working here. Lose the boner and let's get finished."

I feel Matt's eyes on me and I turn beet red. Omigod! I manage to pull myself together and for the next hour we get in several good shots.

For the last twenty minutes or so of the shoot she talks me into a few poses that are more risqué than anything I've ever done. No nudity (thank goodness, because I'm totally against that), but definitely on the revealing side. She says she has me in Nautica briefs because she's making a play on the word Nautica versus Naughty and wants to put the Naughty in "Nautica", but I've been wondering if there even is an editorial, or if she's just taking these pictures of me a private collection or something.

I have to say though, the way she takes charge as she snaps away is kind of exciting and I'm getting hard again and I'm afraid if I'm not careful I'm going to make a mess! As it is, I've already leaked a little bit of pre-cum and there's a wet spot starting to form where the tip of my hard-on's been rubbing against the soft cotton of my briefs. I hope the camera doesn't pick up any of that!

We're just wrapping up when there's aloud, deliberate knock on the studio door, and Matt pokes his head in. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but you have a phone call, Clay. It's your agent."

I look at him, confused, and then it hits me: my phone's been off for the past three hours. "Oh crap," I say. "I should take this."

I grab my phone and follow Matt to Shanna's office, oblivious to the fact I'm wearing nothing but my briefs, and pick up the phone. "Hey Steve," I say as I power on my iPhone, thumbing through the texts and other notifications I've missed, while I listen to my agent's agitated but excited voice.

"Hold on," I say, looking up from my phone and giving Steve my full attention. "What's that? I got a meeting for 'Icecapade'? An audition?"

"Don't sound so surprised, Clay," Steve laughs. "They liked your reel, but here's the rub – can you be there at four o'clock?"

I look at the clock on the wall. "Where is there?" I ask. He tells me and I almost swear but catch myself. "Dang, Steve, it's almost three and that's all the way across town."

"You better hurry then," he urges. "I texted you the address earlier. Call me when you're on the road."

I hang up the phone and practically float back where I've left my clothes in the other room. "I can't believe this," I say excitedly as I pull on my jeans and shrug into my shirt, babbling a mile a minute as I fill Shanna in. I hop around on one foot and then the other as I slip my shoes on. "This is the break I've been waiting for!"

I can tell Shanna's just as excited as I am and she kisses me on the cheek while she helps me button my shirt as I fumble to zip my fly.

"Let me know how it goes," she shouts after me as I race out the door.


I punch the address Steve texted me into Waze and head for the Ventura Freeway to the 101 to the Hollywood Hills and over the Sunset Strip. West Hollywood. It's hot outside and my air conditioning isn't working right. I'm still a paycheck away from being able to afford to get it fixed, so, to keep my mind off the oppressive heat as well as the tangle of traffic that's Los Angeles, I try to recall what I know about 'Icecapade.'

'Icecapade' is the story of a jewel thief-turned-author who taunts the FBI agent who's been on her tail as she tries to go legit. I heard about it from a friend and even managed to wrangle an early draft of the script. It's amazing and I would really, really love to be in this movie. Although the FBI agent is my dream role, I told Steve in no uncertain terms I'd do anything to get a part – any part – and oh boy, it looks like he really came through!

My only hesitation is the language. I'm a Christian and my family is pretty active in my home church back in Iowa. My parents didn't want me to move to 'Hollyweird' to pursue acting and modeling because they say California is a 'Den of Iniquity' and they actually believe it's going to fall into the ocean when the Big One strikes because of the sinful lifestyle out here. I have to bite my tongue and try not to roll my eyes when they talk like that, which they do every time I call home.

They're worried I'm going to fall in with the wrong crowd and get corrupted and stuff. Start drinking and doing drugs. Nevermind I don't do stuff like that, but I found a good church as soon as I moved here and ended up moving in with a few guys I met there. Between auditions, castings, my personal training clients, my other job as a waiter, and my church activities, I keep pretty busy so there's no time to get into trouble if I was that kind of guy. Which I'm not. I've had people tell me I need to relax and cut loose and live a little, but the truth is, I have zero desire to drink or do drugs.

I mostly love living in Southern California. One thing I don't like about it, though, is how fake some people are. I can't believe how many people I meet who are totally into themselves or into finding pleasure. When I tell a girl I can't date her if she's not a Born-Again Christian and that I don't believe in sex before marriage, I usually get told that I'm old fashioned, a prude, or just stuck up. I've even been accused of being gay! It's nothing I haven't heard before though.

My senior year of high school a few of my classmates spread a rumor that I was gay because I didn't want to go to Cabo San Lucas with them over Spring Break. I knew they were going there to drink and party and stuff, and they got mad when I turned them down. But to tell people I was gay? I mean, I was captain of the football and baseball teams, the Homecoming King and Prom King. Girls were always throwing themselves at me. As if I was gay!

Those kinds of comments used to bother me, but not so much anymore. You get used to it.

So yeah, I don't drink or smoke. And I'm saving myself for marriage, which is probably the toughest one for people to swallow because they look at me and heck – I'm almost 6'2 and have thick brown hair and hazel eyes, and with my body … well, they think I'm nailing, or should be nailing, every chick in sight. But that's not the case, though believe me, there are a lot of temptations. A lot! I mean, look at me and Shanna: dang, I almost came in my briefs when she wrapped herself into that towel with me earlier! I know she wants to be more than friends, but I know for a fact she's not a Christian. But she's a good friend and I don't want to hurt her feelings, so I just tell her I don't want to risk ruining our friendship in the event things don't work out. She's been really good about it, and I'm glad.

But man! There've been times when I'll get home from a date with a really hot girl and have to take a long, cold shower! And sometimes even then that doesn't help and I find myself rubbing one out when my roommates are asleep, which is – oh gosh, such a sin! I mean, the Bible specifically says my body is the Temple of the Holy Spirit!

My phone chirps, thankfully interrupting my thoughts. It's a text from Shanna: 'Going thru pix we just shot. U look great! Chk ur email.' I groan (I don't ever want my family or friends to see those pictures) and text back a quick thumbs up. Then I call Steve.

"Hi, it's me. What's up?"

"Hey," he says. "Just a heads up – Frank Turner and Jason Donovan are producing 'Icecapade.' That was their office address I texted you."

I don't say anything. I'm kind of stunned.

"Are you still there?" His voice sounds tinny over the speakerphone. "Clay?"

"Yeah, I'm here," I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.

"Look," he says, and his voice sounds like he's trying to reason with me. "I know you say you have an issue with them, but the director himself called me this morning. Turns out he saw you in 'Northern Star' and asked if you were interested. I told him you said you'd do anything for a part."

"Who's the director?" I ask and Steve tells me it's Brian Porter.

I nod excitedly. Of course Steve can't see, so I say, "Yeah, I would for sure! He's amazing!" I'm a big fan of his work and I'm stoked I'll be reading for him!

"Thanks for going to bat for me, Steve, and that stuff with Jason and Frank was a few years ago. Ancient history. I doubt they even remember. I mean, if they did, they'd have killed the audition, right?"

"I think so."

We talk for a few more minutes and then we hang up.


My 'issue' with Frank Turner and Jason Donovan is that they're perverts.

I'd only been in L.A. seven months or so when I went on an audition for a movie they were producing. It wasn't a big part, but it was a good character and I really wanted it.

Then my agent tells me the producers – Frank and Jason – want to meet me, so I agreed. They must like me, right? I was so stoked. Me in Hollywood! They took me to lunch at Dan Tana's on Santa Monica Boulevard and right off the order wine. Okay, fine, that's cool. But when they offered me a glass, I declined and told them I was a Christian and didn't drink, and then reminded them I was only nineteen and they should be careful. I know lots of guys who'd have just done it, but I wasn't about to compromise my beliefs and values. Besides, it's against the law to drink if you're underage!

Well, I guess they took offense to the way I said it or something, because they told me if I wanted the part (and I really, really did) I'd have to do something for them. I wasn't sure what they meant, but then Frank put one hand on my thigh and the other on his crotch and started rubbing it. He said the part was mine if I'd go to a hotel with them, let Frank give me a blow job and then have sex with them – a threesome!

I remember telling them there was no way in heck I'd ever do anything like that no matter how good the part. I don't recall if I said anything else because I was so fired up, but I was out of there. I know some actors who've done stuff like that to get a part, but not me. Never. I stood up so fast I knocked over my water glass and it broke.

I was worried they would blackball me or somehow make trouble for me, but nothing like that happened, and I ended up never telling anybody what happened. Not Steve or my parents or even Shanna. And I've done okay. I've been in a couple of Indies, a few made for TV movies and several commercials. And I still model. Life's pretty great.

I call my parents next. "Hi Mom and Dad. Hey Chase," I say when the machine picks up. "It's me. Hey, listen, I'm on my way to a big audition so if you get this, could you say a prayer for me? Thanks. Love you!"


It's a few minutes before four o'clock when I pull up to the address Steve gave me. I park and give my name to the security guard in the lobby and he hands me a Visitor's Pass and shows me where to go. I'm nervous and my palms are sweaty and I'm a little lightheaded, but that's probably because I haven't eaten since breakfast almost nine hours earlier.

I take the elevator to the floor the security guard told me and before I know it, I'm standing in front of Jason Donovan and Frank Turner's suite of offices. Being a Saturday there's hardly anybody in the building and nobody on this floor. I'm suddenly nervous and I take a deep breath. I put my phone on 'Do Not Disturb,' wipe my palms on my thighs, and knock.

The door is answered by a blond guy about my age. He looks me over, and it feels like he's undressing me with his eyes. He leads me down a hallway to a large office that overlooks the Sunset Strip. As impressive as the view is, I can't take my eyes off the 80" flat screen TV mounted to the wall. Wow! I'd love to have something like this to watch football on instead of the rinky dink set I have.

Introductions are made and I'm relieved when there's not even a flicker of recognition from Jason or Frank. And I'm happy I don't fawn all over Brian Porter like some starstruck kid.

Brian Porter in his early thirties and about my height and has a real presence about him. He seems to be studying me and I hope he likes what he sees.

Frank is the same as I remember him. Ick. He's shorter than me but has to be at least 250 pounds, balding, and he wears these gold chains like he's some kind of rapper, except he's a middle-aged white guy.

Jason, on the other hand, is really handsome. He's probably twenty years younger than Frank, or more. He looks familiar and I think he used to be a model. He's also tall – maybe 6'3 – and he's got perfectly styled dark blond hair and blue eyes. He's dressed really nicely and you can see how fit he is, too. Somebody told me he and Frank got married after the Big Gay Marriage Decision, but I'm pretty sure he's only with Frank because Frank's loaded.

The kid – Eric – is a maybe an inch shorter than me, and is in as good if not better shape than me. He's tan and looks like a surfer. He's got wavy blond hair and he's good looking, but I wonder if his blue eyes are real or colored contact lenses. He's wearing a tight Underarmour tshirt in a glaring, vibrant blue, and faded skinny jeans that look like they're held together only by a few threads and a prayer. They show more of his underwear than I would ever be caught dead showing. Jeez!

He goes over to the bar flanking the far wall and begins to pour drinks. "What would y'all like," he asks. He sounds like he's from the South.

"I'll have a Gin and Tonic," Brian says. "Tanqueray if you have it. Two limes."

"I'll have a Long Island Iced Tea," Jason requests. "There's a pitcher of mix in the fridge."

"There should be a six-pack of Toolbox Spring Shandy in there, too," Frank says. "I'll take one."

The room gets quiet all of a sudden and I look up to see that everybody's looking at me. "Oh, um … I'll have some iced tea, too." I'm glad somebody else isn't drinking.

Eric looks at Frank and Jason and then back at me. "You want a Long Island Iced Tea?" he asks.

"Yeah," I nod. I look at Jason and he just gives me a small nod.

Eric shrugs. "Coming right up."

Eric has a smirk on his face when he hands me my drink. I'm really thirsty and I'm glad it's in a tall glass. He finishes passing out the rest and then sits on the arm of Brian's chair. He starts stroking Brian's arm and I wonder if they're a couple.

"Huh," I say, looking away from them quickly. I take a sip of my drink. It doesn't taste like any tea I've ever had, but then, the only iced tea I drink is Diet Snapple Peach Tea. This is really good, though.

"What was that?" Brian asks. He gives me a curious look.

"N-nothing," I stammer, and I take another sip as I thumb through the pages he hands me. "Just something caught in my throat. It's all good." Dang, I hate lying.

I'm still hot from the drive over and the late afternoon sun beating in through the bank of picture windows isn't helping any, so I take another big drink and down half the glass.

Eric goes over to the bar and comes back with another glass of iced tea for me. I smile and finish my drink and take the new one. He sets out bowls of mixed nuts and chips on the padded leather coffee table. I'm famished so I grab a hand full of nuts. They're pretty salty and I wash them down with more of my drink. I almost say something about how salty they are, but I know how that'll sound and I don't want to come off as rude. Besides, nobody else seems to be having a problem with theirs so maybe it's just me. Anyway, I'm starving so I grab more.

We talk for a few minutes about the script and I'm surprised when Brian tells me he wants me to read for the role of the FBI agent. I assumed I'd be reading for one of the supporting roles, but this is a lead! I immediately think of the script I have and remember there are a few sex scenes, and an especially steamy one where the jewel thief seduces the agent for the first time. I smile and wonder who they've cast for that part.

It suddenly dawns on me that I'm going to be reading with Eric. Why wouldn't they have an actress or at least a girl here if this is the part they wanted me to audition for? Oh well, whatever, I tell myself, it doesn't really matter. I continue to sip my drink as I read and reread the lines. I'm smiling and even chuckle out loud at the clever, whip-smart dialogue. This is a really juice part and I know if given the chance I can knock it out of the park. This is the kind of part that can make a career.

Before I know it, I've finished my iced tea and Eric is handing me another.

I flip to the next scene and – shoot – there's kissing in it. I sure hope they don't expect me to kiss Eric. I gulp and take another drink.

"Is something the matter?" Frank asks. He must see the look on my face.

"Um …" I nervously sip at my drink. Crap, crap and double crap. My throat is suddenly dry and I take a drink to unstick it. "No. Nothing at all," I manage to croak out. He nods and I hope he buys it.

Eric comes by moments later to freshen my drink again. I'm not sure how many glasses I've had now. I didn't know I was so thirsty! He gives me a funny smile like he knows something's up. I can't get a good read on him and I'm not sure if I like him or not.

A few minutes later Brian asks us if we're ready to begin. "Sure," I say and stand up, and immediately fall back on my butt on the couch. Whoah! Head rush! I stand again, and I have to grab the back of Brian's chair to steady myself.

"Are you alright?" he asks. He seems to be scrutinizing me.

I look back at him – both of him – and shake my head. I close my eyes and when I open them again there's only one of him. Huh? "Yeah," I mumble, "I'm fine." I stand next to Eric and we begin the scene.

I'm anything but fine, though. I feel weird and I stumble and drop the pages I'm holding. What the heck? I start to sway again and I lose my balance.

I feel strong arms behind me catch me before I fall. It's Frank. He holds me up and I lean heavily on him. "Sorry, I don't know what's wrong," I say and I shake my head again. "I think maybe I got too much sun?"

"Those Long Islands are what's wrong," Jason says.

I look at him. "What?"

He laughs. "Long Island Iced Tea isn't tea, Clay. It's a cocktail. A pretty potent one at that."

"Huh?" I ask, confused.

"You're drunk," Eric laughs, and he's shaking his head. He's such an ass.

I give him a stricken look. "Drunk? But I … I'm drunk? I've never been drunk before."

"What?" Brian asks. I look at him and he's arching his eyebrow like Mr. Spock. "Really? Never?"

"No," I say shaking my head. "Well, except maybe that time at Tommy Dillard's graduation party," I babble, gesturing broadly. "But nobody told me the punch was spiked and I only had two little glasses before Mark Hodges said something, so I think I was maybe just a little tipsy? And I don't think that really counts, do you?"

"Wait – why wouldn't it count?" Brian asks and I think he might be laughing.

"Because nobody told me. And I wasn't drunk for real," I explain.

"But you're drunk now, Clay," he says, and he puts his hands on my shoulders. "For real drunk."

"I know!" I whisper loudly. "Don't tell anybody!"

"Okay, I won't," he whispers back conspiratorially, a twinkle in his eyes. "But why not?"

"Because, it's a sin," I reply.

"A sin?"

"Yes. The Bible says not to get drunk."


"The Bible," I say. "You know, the Word of God? It says 'do not be drunk' -"

"Ephesians 5:18," Jason interrupts me. "Yeah, yeah. 'Do not get drunk on wine, which leads to debauchery.' "

He puts an emphasis on the word 'debauchery' like it's dirty or something. I look at him.

"Debauchery," he repeats. He catches my eyes as he says it, slowly and drawing it out.

"I don't know what that means," I say.

"Wait a minute," Eric says, "you weren't drinking wine."

"Huh?" I say, and it looks like Eric's about to say something more but Brian puts a finger to his lips and shakes his head.

My head is feeling light and the room is starting to tilt. I turn back to Brian. "You can't tell anybody." I'm slurring my words now.

"Don't worry," he assures, and puts a finger to his lips. "Your secret's safe with me."

I'm still leaning against Frank because every time I try to stand on my own the floor moves. Jason comes over and begins to unbutton my shirt. For some reason I start to giggle and I can't stop. He unbuttons two more buttons, his eyes not leaving mine.

I stop laughing. "What're you doing?" I ask, and it feels like my tongue has gotten too big for my mouth. Then I bust into another fit of laughter, doubling over. If this is what being drunk is like, I kind of like it!

"Starting the scene, of course," he says matter-of-factly. "I need to check to see if you're wearing a wire."

"Oh," I say and I try to focus, but my head's really spinning now. "But that's not in the script, is it?"

"The script," Frank laughs. "Shit, this turned out better than planned."

I look back at him, confused. "Huh?" He just laughs.

"You didn't think we'd fuckin' forget, did you?"

I don't say anything.

"You realize none of this is real, right?" Jason asks. "The audition?"

I look away.

He puts his hand on my jaw and turns my face so I'm looking right at him. "Oh my God, you didn't?"

He shakes his head and continues. "Trust me Clay, if you hadn't been dumb enough to drink all those Long Island Iced Teas, we'd have found another way to get here."

Frank snorts. "What a hick."

"You're lucky it played out this way," Jason says, "because Frank's plan – well, just be glad it didn't come to that."

There should probably be alarm bells going off in my head, but nothing's really sinking in. All I know is he has my shirt all the way unbuttoned now and is working it down off my shoulders.

"Nice," he says, and he's looking at me strangely. "Very nice."

I feel as if my mouth is full of peanut butter or something and I raise my hand to stop him but my arm feels so heavy and my attempt is easily batted away.

"You look thirsty," he says, and as if on cue, Eric hands him a glass. "Maybe you should finish your drink."

It sounds more like an order than a suggestion, and I nod and nervously drain the glass when he puts it to my mouth. I think Eric topped it off again because there's a lot in there. I don't even think about it not being real iced tea.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, watching as Jason runs his hand over my chest. I'm about to say something when he starts brushing his thumb like a windshield wiper over my nipple and I shiver as I feel it go hard.

"Ungh …" I moan when he gives it a gentle pinch, and suddenly I have a hard-on.

Weirdly, my dick is connected to my nipples. I learned that the awkward way my sophomore year of high school.

We were running during baseball practice one day and my shirt was rubbing against my nipples. I started to feel a tingling in my crotch and it got to the point where I had to stop and double-over from the sensation. I didn't realize until I stood up to adjust myself that I'd pumped a load into my briefs! I slunk off to the showers, making sure nobody saw my wet crotch, and jumped in, fully clothed. From then on I always ran with Band-Aids over my nipples.

Another time, over Christmas break my senior year, my older brother Colin was home from college and we were wrestling. He'd always been bigger than me, but I'd had a growth spurt over the summer and was now as tall as he was, even if he still had a few pounds on me.

Our little brother Chase was there and he was cheering Colin on. Chase was fifteen at the time and worshipped Colin but resented me because going to high school in a small town, his teachers always compared him to me and he hated that. Well, imagine what it was like for me being Colin's younger brother!

Anyway, I was beginning to get the better of Colin and almost had him pinned, when he started to play dirty – poking at my ribs and giving me titty twisters. I grunted and squealed and hunched, and before I knew it, he had me on my back with my t-shirt up under my armpits and was holding both my hands over my head with one of his. Then he started going to town with his free hand, tickling me and plucking at my nipples.

"No, Colin," I gasped. "Please stop. Uncle … Uncle!!"

But soon my grunts started turning to long, low moans, and the longer he kept it up, the louder I got.

He looked down at my crotch. I was wearing thin, light blue running shorts with briefs underneath, and I was completely hard and starting to leak.

"Oh my God," he said when he noticed the pole in my shorts. "Do you have a boner? Check it out Chase, Clay's got a woody!" Then he gave me an evil grin and re-doubled his efforts.

"Colin!" I practically screamed, somehow managing to collect myself. "Stop! Colin!! Stop!!" But he just laughed.

And that's when Chase noticed the wet spot on the front of my shorts that was turning the light blue fabric a deep navy blue. He clapped his hand over his mouth while he pointed it out to Colin.

"Oh dude," Colin said in a low, dirty whisper as he waggled his eyebrows. "I'm gonna make you cream yourself." Chase just looked on with a big grin on his face.

"No!" I shuddered and struggled harder, but it was useless.

Chase yanked my shorts down and flicked my boner a couple of times through my underwear while Colin continued to work my nipples. Soon my squeals and shouts of protest turned back to grunts and moans and within a minute I blew the biggest load ever into my briefs.

"You jerks!" I yelled, pulling up my shorts while kicking out at both of them as they scrambled to get out of the way. Colin leaned over to give me a hand up as Chase bolted from the room. Colin was laughing so hard he was snorting, but I was mortified.

He finally stopped laughing and wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into an affectionate hug. "Wait till you have a chick playing with them," he said, sighing. "So fucking awesome."

I gaped up at him, shocked that he apparently had been having sex outside of marriage, and then shrieked when I felt his hand grab the waistband of my briefs and give me a giant wedgie.

He got me two more times before he left for school – the second time getting Chase to join in – and both times causing me to make a big mess in my jeans and briefs. I don't think Colin's a very good Christian.


"Hmmm... what's this?" Jason asks, as my nipple hardens under his touch. He puts his other hand on my other nipple and plucks at it.

"Mmmm… oooohhh…"

I'm rock hard in my briefs within moments and my boner is pushing uncomfortably against my suddenly too tight jeans. Jason must notice this because he undoes the button on my pants and slowly inches the zipper down, opening my Levis and murmuring pleasurably as my briefs come into view.

He runs one hand back over my pecs as he pushes my jeans down over my butt and past my hips. He plays with my nipples again, rolling them between his index finger and thumb and then pinching them, gently at first and then harder. I gasp and moan at the sensation, biting my lower lip.

"Ohhh… nnggghhh…" What's happening to me?

I feel fully exposed. I glance down and see my hard-on is tenting my briefs. He flicks my boner a couple of times before grabbing it and giving it a good squeeze.

"I shouldn't be doing this," I manage to get out, and I'm breathing hard.

"But I heard you'd do anything for a part," he whispers in my ear. His voice is like a gentle caress and his soft tongue flicks out and sweeps across my ear lobe and I shiver. Then he scratches his left thumb nail over my right nipple and starts jacking me through my briefs.

His touch on me feels good and my head is so muddled, I automatically thrust my hips into his hand, needing more friction and seeking the pleasure the pressure brings.

"Somebody's horny," he says, and he tickles my balls through my underwear and squeezes them again.

He continues to stroke me and then takes his hand off my dick just long enough to yank my briefs down, stopping only when the elastic waistband catches my straining erection. He frees my dick and laughs when it slaps my belly. He takes my jeans in both hands and pulls them all the way down to my ankles and then runs his hands slowly up my legs. He grabs my butt with both hands and then shoves my briefs down, too. I feel his hand wrap around my shaft and he's scrubbing his thumb over the wet, sensitive tip. I let out a low, long moan.

"Oh yeah," he says. His voice is a low growl. "You need this bad, don't you?"

I shake my head no, but not very forcefully because what he's doing feels amazing. I know it's wrong to masturbate, so whenever I do I'm always quick about it because I'm so ashamed to be giving into such sinful desires. But Jason seems content to take his time. Like doing this should feel good, not just be a means to an end. And it does feel good, and … oh God, I'm going to come if he keeps this up!

"We … I can't … can't do this!" I burst out and somehow manage to twist out of Frank's arms. But I don't get very far, what with being drunk and my pants and underwear down around my ankles. I tumble to my knees and barely get my hands under me to avoid falling on my face.

I attempt to crawl away and hear a chorus of laughter and snickers behind me. I'm sure I make quite the sight, my naked ass swaying back and forth, and my jeans and briefs tangled at my feet, as I try crawl to God knows where on my hands and knees.

"Leaving so soon?" Jason asks. He's down on his knees next to me and his hand is softly stroking my back like he's trying to gentle me. Then he reaches down between my legs and takes hold of my bobbing cock. But he doesn't jack me or work his thumb over the head like he did a minute ago. Instead, he feathers his fingers and thumb very lightly up and down the shaft and then over the tip, like he's lifting a slip cover off a chair. He keeps doing this, swirling his fingers over the tip of my dick, teasing it back to a full, throbbing erection, and I'm moaning again.

"Aw fuck," I curse in a puff of breath and he stops. My dick pulses and burps a small pearl of pre-cum. I look between my legs and there's a thin silver strand dangling from the tip of my erection down to the dark wood floor.

"That's it," he coaxes, his fingers back on my dick and picking up the pace just slightly. His voice is soft but somehow still commanding. He begins to pluck at my nipples while he's doing that thing to my dick and I'm whimpering loudly now and getting lost in the sensation.

"Oh fuck," I swear again, my voice coming out in a high whine.

"Such language for good Christian boy," he chuckles. I turn red and he ruffles my hair. I try to never swear but now for some reason I can't seem to stop.

He scrubs the calloused tip of his thumb across the tip of my dick which is suddenly super sensitive and I squeal. I can't take much more and I thrust hard into his hand, my needy dick frantically searching for purchase in his palm, my butt cheeks tense and clenching.

"Oh Christ, look at that fucking ass," I hear Eric say and I feel a pair of hands firmly grab my hips, holding me in place. Then my butt cheeks are spread apart and something warm and wet is running up and down my crack. I freeze. Is he licking my butt?

I feel a soft breath on my butt and suddenly my whole body quivers and I feel shaky. Holy shit. He is! He's licking my ass. What the hell? What kind of crap is this?

He dives down again, his tongue laving over my tight anal knot, alternating smooth strokes and soft jabs and I shudder again. I've never felt anything like this and I moan.


"You like that?" Jason asks, like he knows what's in my head, and I shake my head 'no' again, but I can feel my cheeks flush even as another moan escapes me.

"Yeah, you do," he says. "Hey everybody, Clay likes getting his ass rimmed."

Oh my God, I'm so embarrassed. Eric's sucking, kissing and licking my hole, and I don't know when my dick has been so hard.

"Ohhh fuck…" My voice comes out low and guttural. His tongue touches my opening again and a dark, hot pleasure opens me up as he licks into me.

"Yeah, that's it, Clay," Jason says. "Feels sooo good, doesn't it?"

"No, no, no," I whisper, shaking my head back and forth. "No, no, oh fuck, oh God fuck!"

Jason wraps his hand around my dick just a little tighter now as Eric runs his tongue along the sensitive skin between my hole and my balls. Jason is whispering something soft and soothing into my ear but I can't quite make out what he's saying over the pounding of my heart.

Then Eric starts tugging on my nuts as he works me with his tongue, not hard yanks or anything, but enough to get me even more aroused. I had no idea this was even a thing! My dick is leaking like a sieve now, slip-sliding in Jason's knowing grasp.

I squeeze my eyes shut. Maybe if I can't see what's going on around me it's not really happening. Like it's just a dream. But I feel Eric's tongue again and Jason flicking at my nipple, and if it's a dream, I don't think I want to wake up!

I hang my head, ashamed at how much I like feeling this way, but still, all I can do is moan and thrust my hips. And every time I move my hips back it feels like Eric's tongue is driving in just that much deeper. Little by little. And it feels so good. So. Fucking. Good. I don't understand how something so wrong feels so…

"Fuck!!" I know I shouldn't be swearing, but I don't know how else to express what I'm feeling!

I'm moaning louder and I realize I'm drooling, but I don't care. The only thing that matters right now is Eric's tongue in my hole and Jason's hand on my dick, and … I can't help it. It feels so good and I'm already drunk, so why not just let go?

I'm not sure where that thought just came from. Is that what Jason has been whispering in my ear all this time? I don't know. The only thing I 'do' know is right now I have no fucks to give because it feels so good and I'm already drunk … so why not just let go?

"Uhhhnnnggghhh..." I groan as I feel my nuts start to tighten like I'm going to come, but Jason must know because he slows his fist down and now I don't have to. But I want to. I want to come. I thrust a little faster and when I do, Eric sucks harder at my hole, jabbing his tongue in deeper and deeper.

"Oh Jesus!"

*It feels so good.*

*You're already drunk.*

*Why not just let go?*

I'm breathing fast and heavy and as drunk as I am, I know I need to slow down or I'm gonna pass out or get sick or something.

So I make a conscious effort to slow my breathing, and as if reading my mind, I hear Jason encouraging me. "Breathe in," he says. He's carding his fingers through my hair and he tells me to breathe in again, but now there's something up against my nostril and … and he's plugging the other one…

"Breathe in, Clay," he instructs. "Breathe in and hold it."

I do.

And WHOAH!!! My mind blinks on and off and everything stops and goes black. Then stars flash in my eyes and my senses come back slowly, like when you flick on the lights in an auditorium one at a time until the whole room is finally illuminated. I feel a line of heat running from the base of my dick up to the top of my head and back again.

I open my eyes but all I see is a field of white. It's soft but firm and smells musky and manly. There's a hand at the back of my head and when I finally realize what's happening it's too late because that thing – it's a little brown bottle – is back to my nose and I'm inhaling again.

"Oh God…"

*It feels so good.*

*You're already drunk.*

*Why not just let go?*

"Mmnngghhh…." Oh fuck, am I floating?

Jason is on his knees in front of me. His pants are open and the white expanse I see is his briefs stretched tight across is bulging crotch. He moves ever so slightly and then something hot and thick and hard is placed against my lips, sliding easily into my slack mouth.

"Suck on this a while," he says. And then he makes me sniff more of whatever's in the bottle and I blank out once more.

"Smile, Clay." I hear when I finally come down from orbit. I think it's Brian? I drag my eyes open and yeah, it's Brian, and he's holding his phone out and, oh fuck, is he taking pictures? He's taking pictures!

I'm so dazed I don't even realize Jason's dick is in my mouth.

What? There's a dick in my mouth?! Brian's already snapped several pictures before I pull back. Jason's cock falls from my mouth and he laughs and slips it back into his briefs.

I feel Eric lick deeper into me and I shudder and groan. I can't clear my head because Jason keeps shoving the bottle against my nose and making me inhale. It's as if whatever I'm sniffing is making me more and more horny. My head is spinning and all I can think about is Eric's tongue and how he's relaxing my clenched hole. How can something so soft like a tongue be so powerful?

I'm totally helpless under his touch. My breaths are coming in gasps as he opens me up just a bit more and slides his tongue inside.

"Let's get him up on this," Frank says. I look and he's pointing to a low, narrow table with a bunch of photos and awards on it. He and Brian move it a few feet away from the couch and start clearing it off. Then they put throw pillows on it so it's like a makeshift mattress.

I'm lifted off the ground, my body a slack, dead weight. Before I know it, I'm on my back on the table.

I'm so disoriented I don't struggle as they take off my shoes and sock and then strip off my pants and briefs. But when my hands are pulled down by my sides and I feel my wrists being tied together under the table, I start to squirm. I lift my head and am about to protest, but a strong hand eases it back down, and then the little bottle is back to my nose and I'm floating again.

*It feels so good.*

*You're already drunk.*

*Why not just let go?*

When the spinning subsides and my head clears a bit, I realize Eric has my knees bent and legs spread. His shirt is off now and his abs are – dang, does he have an eight-pack? His white Calvin Kleins are showing about two or three inches over his jeans and stands out against his deep tan. I don't know why, but I think about the 'My Calvins' comment Shanna made earlier and I laugh, thinking how Eric is like a walking advertisement. But that thought disappears when he bends down, spreads my ass cheeks apart and buries his face in deep, once again fucking my hole with his tongue.

"Oh fuck! Mmmmm…" I take in a sharp breath and grind my ass into Eric's face. His tongue is a wet heat, insinuating itself into me in slow, deliberate stabs, and I buck, my whole body coming up off the table.

But those strong hands grip my shoulders again and hold them in place as another covers my mouth. And then the bottle – I think I heard somebody call them poppers – is put under my nose again. I don't even have to be told to inhale anymore. "Shiiitttt…" I sigh.

He's working me, his tongue sliding slowly inside me, and I'm crying out, desperate for him to push a little harder. To bore a bit deeper. I feel my hole spasm and then slowly relax, and he pushes his tongue further inside. I'm moving like crazy, grinding my hips, and I feel myself coming undone. He rubs at my spit-slicked hole with his thumb, encouraging it to open to him, and then slides his tongue inside again.

*It feels so good.*

*You're already drunk.*

*Why not just let go?*

I whimper and go slack. "Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God," I cry out as his tongue flexes deep inside me, and my hole, quivering and spasming, finally opens for him.

*Just… Let… Go…*

"Jackpot," I hear Eric say, and I feel his words inside me. Then he touches my entrance with the tip of his finger.

I'm done for.


Nobody has ever touched me there before. Well, except during a Physical I had to take for football just before my senior year

Doc Miller had been our family doctor forever. He was probably in his late 50s. Older than my parents, for sure.

He'd run through all the standard tests and had just finished the always dreaded 'turn your head and cough' thing – dang, but his fingers were cold – and was writing on my chart. I figured he was done so I stepped into my briefs and grabbed my shirt.

"Oh, we're not finished yet," he said, setting down the clipboard. "I've got to do a prostate exam."

I didn't know what the heck a prostate was so I just nodded and stood there in my underwear holding my shirt.

He patted the exam table. "I need you back up here and to lie down." I did as he said and jumped when I felt his hands on the waistband of my briefs.

"These need to come off," he instructed, and he began to lower my underwear. I automatically raised my hips for him as he skimmed them down my legs. Then he lifted one of my legs and put my foot into a metal stirrup.

"Um, what's that for?" I asked as he did the same to my other foot. I was now spread wide and fully exposed and hoped to God the nurse didn't walk in.

"This is how I do the test," he stated, as if it should be obvious to me, putting on a rubber glove and squirting some kind of jelly onto his finger. The next thing I knew he was lifting my balls out of the way and pushing his finger inside me!

Holy crap it hurt! I gasped and grabbed the sides of the table, my head slamming against it as I clenched my hole tight against the invading digit. "Unngghh!!"

"This won't take long," he said. "And it won't hurt if you just relax."

Relax?! I managed to steady my breathing and calm down some, and eventually he had his finger all the way inside. He crooked it or something and I don't know what happened because it was like stars suddenly exploded behind my eyes! My body bucked and my grip on the sides of the exam table tightened until my knuckles were white.


"That's your prostate gland," he said, as he moved his finger around a bit. Every time he did, it nudged something that made that crazy feeling come back and suddenly – oh my gosh! – I was hard as a rock! I sat up on my elbows and stared down at my dick, shocked and yet mesmerized at how it was pulsing and twitching. Doc Miller looked up from where he was positioned between my outspread legs at the end of the table. I met his gaze and he gave me a reassuring smile. I felt my face go scarlet.

"Don't worry, Clayton," he said, as if reading my mind. He always called me by my full name, but now, for some reason, it made me feel like a little kid. "That's a natural reaction. Happens to everybody."

I didn't care if it happened to everybody – stuff like that didn't happen to me! I was so embarrassed that I was throwing a boner in front of another guy. I laid back down and put my arms up over my eyes, wishing the earth would open up and swallow me.

Then I felt him take my nut sac in one hand, his finger still inside me, and start rolling and gently squeezing my balls like he did earlier for the cough test. I felt a weird tingling starting behind my balls and start moving up my shaft. Oh no...

I sat back up on my elbows. "Uh, Doc." I gasped, my voice about an octave higher than normal and coming out in a pant. "If you keep that up I'm gonna – "

But I didn't get a chance to finish because all of a sudden I was coming! The first stream hit me right in the face! The second and third blasts got my chin and chest, and the rest spattered my stomach and abs.

I was speechless. Stunned. I'd just jizzed all over my face. In front of my doctor!

"Oh dear," he said with a cough and I'm pretty sure I heard him chuckle. He opened a packet of wet wipes and began to clean me up.

"I can do that," I said sheepishly, grabbing a handful of the moist towelettes, still mortified at what had just happened.

I cleaned up and started to get dressed. Thankfully Doc Miller was too busy writing on my chart to notice I was still erect as I tucked myself into my briefs.

"Is there anything I need to be worried about?" I asked as I slipped into my jeans.

He looked up at me. "No, not at all, Clayton. Like I said, it's routine for a boy your age. If you'd like, I can have your Mother come back here and I can explain it to you both. I think I saw her in the waiting room, didn't I?"

"No!" I practically shouted. There was NO way I wanted my Mom to know I spooged all over myself during a physical! "I mean, yes, she's out there. No, you don't need to explain anything."


A gentle slap on my butt brings me back to the present and I look between my bent knees to see Eric smiling up at me. I don't like the look on his face.

"Knock, knock," he says as he places his finger to my wet hole again. He presses lightly and I brace for the onslaught of pain I know is coming. But my hole betrays me and opens readily for his finger.

I swear I can feel him smile as his finger slips easily all the way inside. There's something slippery and cold dripping on my hole, but it warms within seconds of contact. Eric probes delicately at first, making small, circular motions, and keeps it up for what seems like several minutes, the movements getting increasingly wider, before a second finger joins the first.

He's got two fingers in me and he's twisting and scissoring them to open me up. I wince with pain when I feel the slight stretch, but then fingers scrabble over my still hard nipples, Jason's thumb is back on the head of my wet cock, and I'm distracted from the pain, instead reveling in the pleasure of the dick and nipple play. And of course, that little magic bottle.

As Eric continues his work below my waist, Jason mauls my nipples and teases my cock until I'm practically screaming. I need to shoot but again, he must sense this because he eases back and removes his hands completely, waiting for my erection to subside. He does this again and again and again. The first few times my boner goes soft, but after a while I stay hard and he just mercilessly teases me. I've got to come so badly. I push my hips up toward his evading fingers, while Eric's fingers – three now – are still in my hole. He's laughing triumphantly as my sphincter muscles clamp down on his fingers, trapping them inside me.

"Oh, yeah. He's into it for sure," he says. "He's all ready for you, Mr. Turner."

I'm not listening to what Eric is saying because I'm too distracted by what Jason is doing to me. He's got me so on edge with the way he's working over my dick and licking my nipples that I don't pay attention to Frank until I look up and see him standing between my spread legs. He's naked and hairy and just gross. He's putting on a condom and my eyes go wide at the realization.

I inhale sharply when I feel the blunt tip of his cock against my hole and despite my drunk and dazed condition, my body automatically tenses and I clench. Almost instantly the poppers are pushed against my nostril.

"Breathe," Eric coaxes. "Breathe deep." I obey without question.

Within moments the now familiar rush sweeps over me and I feel like I'm floating and sinking deep into the pillows at the same time. My whole body is tingling and electric and when Frank's dick pushes past that ring of muscle, Eric puts the bottle back to my nose and I snort for all it's worth.

Either I'm so high from the poppers or I pass out, because the next thing I know my body is shuddering and shaking and Frank is thrusting in and out of me. Oh my God, I'm being fucked. I'm being fucked? Frank is fucking me. Oh my God, Frank is fucking me!

I don't know how long he's been inside me. His hands are gripping my hips tightly and he's ramming into me in short, hard jabs.

I close my eyes and try to think of something else, of being somewhere else – hell, of ANYTHING other than the fact that Frank is fucking me – but every time he plunges into me I'm jarred back. I can't believe this is happening to me.

He's speeding up and it's like he's trying to hurt me. And it does hurt, but every now and then his cock hits something and little currents of electricity run up and down my dick, which has started to leak again.

I'm shocked and repulsed and also a little curious why I'm feeling that tingling flutter when I suddenly remember Doc Miller and the physical and my prostate and … oh no! "Noo… Ohhh…!"

But Frank's seemed to be hitting his rhythm more now, because he's starting to hit my prostate more frequently and I squeeze my eyes shut. "Unnnghhhh... fuck…"

I'm arching my back now and when I open my eyes I see my dick is hard and it's bouncing and slapping against my flat belly. I stare at it blankly. Why is my dick hard?

Then I realize Frank has been talking to me.

"What's your passcode, Clay?" he asks.

"Huh?" I grunt, still lost in the slap, slap, slap of my dick against my stomach.

"Your phone," he says, waving my iPhone in front of my face. "What's your passcode?"

I don't know why, but I rattle off the numbers between pained gasps.

"What's that?" he asks. "I didn't get it all."

I try to repeat it, but my voice is a cross between a moan and a wail.

 "Here, let me," Eric says. He takes my phone from Frank and presses my thumb against the sensor. "It's got a fingerprint sensor."

"Good job," Frank says, still thrusting hard and I feel a tingling in my balls. No…

"Go to his contacts," he orders. "I want names, numbers, email addresses, social media – everything – for his family and friends. Everybody. All their info."

"Ha, check this out," Eric says. I look up and he's looking at something on my phone. He must be in my emails because there's a photo of me from earlier today on the screen. It's one of the pictures Shanna said she was going to email to me.

Eric flicks through them one by one, each time holding the phone up for everybody to see. Along with some of the editorial-ready pictures Shanna took, it looks she decided to include a few of the more racy ones, too. Photos where my briefs are lowered and exposing pubic hair in some and my butt crack in others. Photos where my boner is obvious.

"I think I'm going to post this one to your Instagram," Eric says with an evil looking smile. He taps the screen. "Hmm... let's see. What should the caption say? I got it: 'What do you all think of my hashtag slutty side? Let me know if you want to see more.' Ha!" He taps a couple more times and then shows me.

Oh my God! In the shot I'm sitting against a wall – my right knee is bent and drawn to my chest and my other leg is outstretched. My legs are slightly spread and the pouch of my briefs is full and on display. My right arm is wrapped around my bent knee while my left hand is resting on my inner thigh, right next to my bulge. It's obvious I have a hard-on. But it's the look on my face – something my Mom would call a 'come hither' look – that makes it look even sleazier.

"I think they like your slutty side," Eric says. "Look, you already have over thirty likes."

Just then Frank shifts his body and changes his angle as he drives into me. I gasp and moan and it feels like I'm going to come!

"No… no…" I shake my head. I can't come! Not like this. Not with Frank inside me. No! I clench my fists and squeeze my eyes shut but the sensation keeps building and building…

"Ungh… ungh… ungh… ungh… UNGH!!!" And all of a sudden I'm coming – long, creamy jets shooting up my chest, and splashing against my neck and chin.

"Holy shit!" Eric practically shouts. "I've never seen anybody come without touching themselves before."

He looks at me, "Dude, how fucking horny are you? He totally fucked a load right out of you!!"

I'm mortified. I can't believe I came. It's … I … What does that mean?

Everybody laughs and there are more rude comments. I'm lying here, panting and trying to catch my breath, with my legs still over Frank's shoulders as he continues to pummel into me. My stomach, abs and chest are covered in my cum. Oh yeah, and my dick is still hard.

And then Frank comes. It's a hard shudder I feel in my core. He leans forward, scooping up some of my load from where it's pooling on my belly and abs – cumgutters, Eric calls them – and wipes it on my face, smearing it across my lips and under my nose.

"Hmm... I think you'd look better wearing mine," Frank says, giving me a looks like he's appraising me. "Next time."


I'm still catching my breath when I'm pushed back a few inches on the table until there's nothing under my head but Eric's hand. Jason tells him to slowly let my head down and bend all the way back. That way, he says, when my mouth is open, his cock can penetrate past my throat and choke reflexes. I don't know what he means by choke reflexes, but I don't have time to think because Eric slides his dick in my mouth – all the way in – and sort of lodges it in the back of my throat!

I panic. There's a dick in my mouth! Oh my God, this isn't happening!

Eric's ball sac is resting on my nose. I can smell it along with the cum Frank smeared across my lips and under my nose. It's pungent and I try not to gag.

"Breathe through your mouth, Clay," Jason instructs. He's staring directly at me.

I try but I can't breathe, and I must pass out or something, because the next thing I know my wrists are untied and I'm being repositioned on my hands and knees on the table. But I'm still drunk and weak and I can't support myself so I collapse down on my forearms, my head resting on them and my ass up in the air. I feel two fingers slide into my hole and I open my eyes with a jolt.

I look back and see Jason. He's got a condom on and he's slicking it up with something. He pulls his fingers out of me, gives me a wink, and plunges right in.

"Oh fuck!" I gasp. I feel the push against my muscle. He's much bigger than Frank and I start to whimper when I feel the burn of the stretch. But the poppers are at my nose again and the searing quickly fades.

"Again," Eric coaxes, and I inhale. There's no pain now as Jason pushes all the way inside, just an odd sensation of feeling filled up. Full. I gasp.

He holds my hips and stands completely still. He's buried deep inside me, but for some reason he isn't moving. It's as if he's letting me get used to him. To his length and girth. It starts to hurt a little but Eric is holding the poppers out for me and I sniff some more. Jason must be able to tell when they take effect, because he begins to slowly move inside me.

"Oh fuck," I say softly, as his cock immediately finds my prostate as if there's some kind of homing beacon attached to it. Unlike Frank, Jason seems to know exactly what he's doing. He nudges my prostate again – a gentle, persistent battering – and it's like a light suddenly turning on. I moan, but not in pain. No, this definitely isn't pain. This is … what?

"Ohhhh… unngghh…" I can't help but moan, low and breathy. Whatever Jason is doing to me back there is sending ripples of pure pleasure straight to my brain. Something turns over deep inside of me, kind of like when the engine on an old car finally catches, and it's as if a fire has been sparked and is threatening to blaze out of control.

"Unnhh... Yes…." I groan, as a river of pleasure washes over me, coursing up and down from the base of my spine to my scalp and then to my dick. "Oh … yes … fuck me …"

Fuck me? What the hell?!? Did I say that out loud? He thrusts again, once more hitting that sweet spot and eliciting another groan of pleasure from me.

"That's it," Jason says softly. "Just let it come out."

I don't know what's come over me because I arch my back and push my ass back into him as his hips begin to thrust rapid-fire. I'm suddenly hungry for more, and right now, at this moment, I know that if I was still on my back, I'd be grabbing my legs and lifting them higher, opening myself even wider for him.

Where are these thoughts coming from? What's happening to me? I've never felt anything so … good … before.

"Holy fuck, I think we turned him into a slut," Eric says.

"Nah," Frank says. "All these fundamentalist Christian boys are the same. You get a few drinks into them and their inner whore comes out."

"Did his dick just twitch when you said that?" Eric laughs.

My face reddens when I hear their comments and my cock pulses and throbs in response and all I want is to be fucked.

"You like this?" Frank asks.

"Yes," I pant. "Yes… More… Please."

"Please what, Clay?" Jason asks.

I shake my head. I can't. Not that. It doesn't matter how drunk I am or how good it feels. I can't. But holy shit if I say it anyway. "Please… Fuck me!"

And he does. First he teases me with slow, long thrusts, pulling out of me ever-so-slowly until the tip of his dick is barely in, and then driving back into me. Again and again and again. I'm wailing and crying, but it's less pain and more pleasure, as sobs burst from me and I keep begging for more.


He keeps fucking me. I don't know for how long – it could be hours, I have no idea – but I'm a willing participant now. He's driving into me in a steady rhythm and I want more. I need more. I moan and grunt as I grind my ass back into him, meeting his thrusts. I've never felt anything quite this good.

"Oh God… oh fuuuuuck!"

"He's totally slutted out," I hear somebody say and it's true. But I don't care.

And at that moment Jason goes into overdrive. He's slamming into me now full force, every single thrust hitting my prostate square on and sending wave after wave of ecstasy through me until I'm shouting and crying and squealing and begging.

"Oh fuck! Ohhhhh… unngghhh… yesss… Fuuuuuck… Nngghhh… God yes please… More, more, more… Ohh… yesss… pleeeease… Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!!!"

And then I coming. Again. My body shudders as I empty myself onto the pillows beneath me.


My cock is spent but Jason doesn't pull out. He keeps riding me and I'm so blissed out, so addicted to the feeling of him inside me – of him fucking me – that I'm grunting and babbling and pushing back into his thrusts and willingly sniffing the poppers anytime they're offered to me.

"Oh yeah," Frank says. "He's totally into this." He steps in front of me. His cock is out and he lays it against my lips. I open automatically for him and he smiles and slides it in about two inches.

It's resting on my tongue. It's slick and salty and I start to gag but he doesn't move it.

"Suck it, bitch." I close my lips around it and run my tongue over it, feeling the contours of the head. His smile broadens.

"No teeth," he says firmly, and he pushes his hips forward and buries himself to the root.

"Looks like a perfect fit," Jason says. He's still pounding my ass, and his balls are slapping against my ass in a staccato manner. "Just like his tight ass." I groan when I hear him say that and my dick has come back to life and is throbbing again.

"No teeth," Frank repeats, more firmly, and I nod, my eyes tearing up at the sensation of choking. It's hard to breathe and Frank tells me to breathe through my nose, like Eric said earlier.

"If I had time I'd train this little bitch right," he says. I look up and he winks.

After a few minutes he pulls out of my mouth with a loud pop and slaps me lightly across the face with his still hard cock. I don't know why, but I chase it, trying to get it back in my mouth. He grabs me by my hair and holds my head still. Then while looking into my eyes, he strokes his cock a half dozen time and spews his load all over my face. I don't know how many times he shoots, but my face is covered with his cum and I can feel it dripping.

"I was right," he laughs, letting go of my hair. "You look good wearing my load."

"He looks like a fucking glazed donut," Eric laughs as Brian takes close up pictures of my face.

Jason grips me just a bit tighter and I feel his body tense as his orgasm rips through him and he begins to come. I feel his cock pulsing in my ass as he fills his condom.

And then he pulls out and I feel my hole gaping. It's a strange, empty feeling.


Frank hands Eric another glass of Long Island Iced Tea and I'm urged to drink it down. They put poppers to both nostrils and I'm so high I don't know if I'm coming or going anymore.

Everything is becoming a blur, but I know at some point I'm being fucked by Brian while sucking Jason's cock, and I remember thinking the only person who hasn't fucked me yet is Eric and I wonder if he will and what will it be like? Will it feel good like it did with Jason?


Somebody is slapping my cheeks. Not hard, but hard enough to get my attention. I open my eyes and it's Eric. He's staring at me and his face is not even a foot away from mine.

"Welcome back," he says.

Did I pass out again?

"You've got really blue eyes, dude," is all I manage to say back.

He laughs and looks at my mouth. He licks his lower lip and for some reason I lick mine too. Then his mouth is on mine and he's crushing me in a kiss. I let him and I even kiss him back. What the hell?

His tongue tangles with mine as he deepens the kiss. It's strange, but not bad. It's different than it is with a girl, but it's still nice. I'm not sure how long we're kissing before he finally pulls away.

I realize not only am I on my back, but my legs are up over his shoulders. I feel movement down by my ass and suddenly he sinks into me.

"Ugh…" I cry out and arch my back. "Fuck!"

The poppers are back under my nose and I snort really deep.

"Shit, you're still so tight," Eric says as he quickly settles into a rhythm. "I thought you'd be all sloppy and loose by now but you're … oh fuck, so tight!"

"Ohhh… Nnnnggghhh…" God it feels so good.

I know I shouldn't like this as much as I do, but holy fuck it feels amazing. He's nailing my prostate with each stroke and my dick is getting stiff again. It's slapping against my belly and I reach for it but stop.

"No, it's okay," Jason says softly. He kneels down next to me and takes my hand and wraps my fingers around my boner as Eric continues, not missing a beat.

"Jerk off for us, Clay," he urges. "Come on."

"Oh fuck," I moan, letting Jason guide my hand. I'm … we're masturbating. "Oh God…"

After a few moments he removes his hand and I'm stroking my dick. On my own. In front of everybody.

"Ohhhh…" It feels so good.

"Yeah, you're such a whore," he says.

As if it's not embarrassing enough beating off while getting fucked, somehow all these degrading comments are … oh God, they're turning me on. What's happening to me?

Eric fucks me for several minutes, and when I feel him pulling out of me I'm about to protest but then I feel something else slide into me. It's cool and hard but still fills me like he did. My other hand is brought down between my legs and my fingers are wrapped around the base of whatever it is that's inside me.

"Oh fu---uck!!!" I cry out as Eric manipulates my hand so I'm working whatever it is in and out of my hole.

"Yeah, that's it," Jason says. "In and out. In and out. Work that dildo."

Dildo? Oh my God…

I don't know how long I lie there moaning and panting as I jerk myself off while fucking my hole with the dildo. I hear my voice getting louder and it sounds like I'm in stereo or something. I turn my head to look for where the sound is coming from. I see the big flat screen TV has been turned on and I freeze when I recognize the images on it.

It's me. Or at least it looks like me. There's cum all over my face and I look … Am I smiling? How?

"Don't stop now," Jason says and he puts my hand back on the dildo and gets my hand moving on my cock again.

"Oh … fuck… yes!" I cry out as the rubber cock hits home deep inside me.

*Oh… fuck… yes!* the slutty-looking me on the screen says a split second later.

And that does it. I stare at the TV and grip my cock harder. One more tug, two, three … and I'm coming again. But I've already come twice tonight so it's barely anything. Drops only, even though I'm hard as steel. I catch it in my hand and go to wipe it on the cushions beneath me when Frank grabs my wrist and smears my dirty hand over my face and into my hair.

"Oh, that's awesome," Eric says, and when I turn my head he's standing right next to me, his dick hard and wet and just inches from my mouth.


After what seems like hours, I'm pulled to my feet and without bothering to clean me up, Eric begins to redress me. I'm tired and out of it and I can't make my arms or legs work so he's only able to get my socks and briefs on before he gives up and leaves me slumped on the couch.

I'm hauled to my feet and, wearing just socks and underwear, am hustled out of the office and down a back service elevator that leads to the garage where my car is parked. My head is swimming as Eric dumps me into the back seat, buckles my seat belt and then gets into the front behind the wheel.

Jason slides in next to me. He doesn't say anything as he reaches into his pocket and takes out his phone. He taps and swipes at the screen and then holds it up to my face. It's a picture of me looking up at the camera with a dick in my mouth.

I look at the picture and then at Jason. He raises an eyebrow but still isn't saying anything. He flicks at the screen and in this picture I'm on all fours being fucked and my head is thrown back. There's a dreamy looking smile on my cum-covered face.

Another swipe of the finger and this time it's a video. I'm on my back, Eric's buried in me up to his balls, and I'm jacking off. In the clip, as well as in the other pics, the only face you can see is mine.

Jason grips my face in his hand and turns my attention from the video on the phone to him.

"One word about tonight to anybody," he says, "and these pictures and videos go to everybody in your contacts list, got it?"

I nod, shocked, but also somehow weirdly aroused by what I just saw.

"Not one word, Clay." He doesn't raise his voice but the threat is unmistakable. "Not one fucking word."

I nod again, my eyes back on the screen.

He puts his thumb on my chin and turns my head so I'm looking at him again. "Say it, Clay. I need to hear you say it."

"Not one word," I whisper.

"Good boy." He smiles big and ruffles my hair. He puts his phone in my hand and I stare at the clip. It's at the part where Eric is sticking his dick in my mouth. I'm getting more and more aroused as I watch and don't notice that Jason's taken that little brown bottle out of his pocket.

I'm staring at his phone as he puts it to my nose and plugs one nostril with his thumb. I don't resist and I readily inhale, because I've now forever associated a feeling of euphoria and pleasure with whatever is in that bottle. He switches nostrils and I sniff again. He goes back and forth one more time and I think if it weren't for the seat belt holding me in place, I might float out through the open door and away.

I'm still spinning in the haze when he takes his phone back and puts a glass to my lips and tilts my head back. It's another one of those Long Island Iced Teas but I can tell it's really strong and I scrunch up my face and turn my head.

"Just drink up, Clay," he instructs, gently but firmly, holding my jaw in place with one hand while tipping the glass up, making me finish it completely.

"That's good," he says as he wipes my mouth. He sits with me and he's being gentle and nice and even in my addled state I know he's playing me. He and Frank have been good cop / bad copping me all night long. I don't know why I keep buying it.

"You're a real fucked out mess, aren't you," he says. He takes my shirt and starts to wipe at my face but gives up with a laugh and a shake of his head. Then he starts rubbing me through my briefs and playing with my nipples and I forget everything he just said.

"Ohhh..." I moan lowly and I automatically spread my legs. "Mnnnggghhh..."

"Don't mind if I do," he says, and he unbuckles my seat belt and reaches down to cup my balls.

"Oh my God, you're SUCH a whore," Eric says. He's watching the entire scene through the rearview mirror.

"He's right," Jason agrees. He takes my cock out of my briefs and tucks the elastic band under my nuts. Then he slowly fists it. I'm rock hard and panting. He laughs and says, "Like Frank said, you religious boys are all the same. Couple drinks and damn!"

"Are you sure he's even straight?" Eric asks.

"As an arrow," Jason replies. "Well, supposedly." He slides the hand that was cupping my balls into my briefs and I feel his index finger wiggle its way to my entrance and I whimper.

"Whatever." Eric says and I start panting and writhing as Jason's finger roots around in my hole. "He looks as gay as a box of butterflies with you all finger-fucking him like that."

Jason laughs as he reaches for my hand. "Don't be shy, Clay," he says. "Help me out." He takes my hand and wraps my fingers around my dick. "Don't make me do all the work. I want to see you stroke again."

For some reason – maybe it's the poppers he shoves back under my nose – I obey. He keeps his hand on top of mine and together we jack my cock in slow, fluid strokes. Both Jason and Eric have their phones out and are taking pictures. I know it should bother me but I'm too tired to worry about it right now.

My eyelids are getting heavy and I'm fading fast. I feel Jason tuck my dick back into my briefs and then there's nothing but blackness.


I wake up face down in the back seat of my car. It's dark and quiet outside and I don't know long I've been asleep. I'm wearing just my underwear and socks but I'm covered with a thin blanket. My head is pounding and I drag myself up to a sitting position.

Whoah! My butt hurts and just like that the events of the past few hours come back to me in flashes and jumbles. The night is like a puzzle, but even though there seem to be a few pieces missing, there are enough there to give me the Big Picture of what happened.

 "Oh my God," I mutter, putting my hand to my mouth. My fingers smell and I recoil at the scent of cum.

I catch a view of myself in the rearview mirror. I'm a mess. My hair is tousled and all over the place. My face looks shiny and when I feel it, it's sticky to the touch.

"Oh my God," I groan again, remembering how it got that way. I swallow hard … and I immediately know what that funky taste in my mouth is. What was I thinking?

My clothes are on the front seat and I grab my jeans. I slide into them, happy to find my wallet, keys and phone in the pockets.

I get my pants zipped up and then reach for my shirt. Something falls out of the folds and I gasp and gulp when I see a big rubber dong and a bottle of poppers. My ass clenches and unclenches as I stare at the dildo and recall what happened earlier. Oh fuck. Really?!

I look around and I'm not sure where I am, but I can see the Hollywood sign so I know I can't be too far off The Strip. At least they left me in a secluded area instead of on a busy street where God knows what could've happened to me.

I grab my shirt and get out of the back seat. It's not too cold, but there's a breeze and it's making my nipples tingle. I don't know why, but I touch them and they're hard and sensitive to the touch and I feel it all the way down to my dick. I put my shirt on but don't button it all the way.

I get into the front seat and rest my head against the steering wheel for a few minutes and try to settle down. I close my eyes but all I see is me on my back with my legs up and knees bent. I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, but as I do, my face comes into focus: my eyes are glazed over and I'm drooling and I hear myself moaning with pleasure and then I'm coming, my dick shooting everywhere.

My eyes fly open and I reach for my crotch. I'm relieved I haven't come, but I'm rock hard.

I grab my phone and see it's 2:07 a.m. I got to the audition ten hours ago… I do the math and – oh God – I don't even want to think about it.

There are several notifications on my screen and I scroll through them. Besides missed calls, there's the usual slew of Snaps, Tweets, and Facebook pings, as well as several texts. I see ones from my agent Steve, Shanna and another from my little brother.

There's one from a number I don't recognize. It says 'Not one word' and it has an attachment. I tap it and a video starts to play. Oh my God. It's me sucking Eric's dick while screwing myself with that rubber dong. You can't see his face, or anybody else, but you can see me. And you can hear me, plain as day, begging for more.

I drop the phone and don't look at the rest of the video clip, but I feel my boner twitch. Oh fuck...

I take a deep breath of the crisp night air and then let it out slowly, sit up straight and fasten my seatbelt. I start the car and ease onto the nearly deserted street. I need to be careful how I drive because I think I'm still a little bit drunk and the last thing I need is to get pulled over in this condition.

I watch a crowd of people outside The Viper Room while I'm waiting for the light to turn green at Larrabee. I turn onto Sunset and just drive. I'm not sure where I'm heading as I pass the Chateau Marmont and head towards Laurel Canyon Boulevard. I need to clear my head.

I'm so ashamed of what happened. About what I did and how I acted.  I'm confused and can't wrap my head around why it's so wrong. I know it's a sin – it has to be a sin – but if it's a sin and it's so wrong, then why did it feel so good? And why am I so hard just thinking about it?

My jeans suddenly feel too tight and I tell myself nobody will see if I undo them. It's late and it's dark and before I know it, I'm unzipping my fly and sliding my hand inside to squeeze my dick through my briefs.

It takes me a lot longer than it should to get home because I keep driving around thinking about everything that happened, replaying scene after scene and getting harder and harder.

I finally pull into my garage just before 4:00 a.m. For some reason I can't get the image of me with Eric's dick in my mouth out of my head and I'm about to explode.

My hands are shaking as I take my phone and slip it into the holder on my dashboard. I find the link to the clip and tap to play it. I ease my seat back and – oh fuck, I can't believe I'm going to do this right here – shove my jeans down past my knees so I can spread my legs. My briefs are damp and sticky with pre-cum. They're so wet they're translucent and I can see the head of my dick as it strains against the cotton.

"Ungh…" I moan as I pull my dick out, wrap my hand around the shaft and tuck the waistband under my balls. I swipe the pad of my thumb across the tip like Jason did, teasing it, and then I run my cum-slicked palm over it and gasp at how sensitive it is.

I can't believe I sucked another guy's dick tonight. Heck, I can't believe I'm watching myself sucking a guy's dick, but here I am staring – completely mesmerized – as Eric feeds me his cock.

"Oh God." I'm so hard and I'm squeezing and teasing my dick the way Jason did earlier, when he made it feel so good.

I see the poppers on the seat next to me and without taking my eyes off the tiny screen, I reach over and grab them.

The video is at the part where Eric slowly withdraws his dick from my mouth and backs up a half step.

"Oh fuck," I gasp softly, surprised at how hard I am and how excited I am at what's coming next. I open the poppers and inhale deeply, watching myself on screen desperately reaching out with my tongue, my neck craning and stretching as I try to lick the head of Eric's glistening cock, which is bobbing just out of reach.

I take another hit from the bottle and as I cap them, I can hear the snickers of the men in the background on the video and I hear Eric taunting me. "You want more of my cock?"

My eyes are glued to the phone, watching as I nod. The poppers hit me and my hand is flying up and down the length of my dick as I shift into a higher gear.

"You want more of my cock?" Eric asks again. He's stroking himself and I can't tear my eyes away.

"What's that?" he asks and he puts his hand to his ear. "I can't hear you."

I finally look up at him. "Yes..."

"Yes, what?" he prompts.

"Yes," I gulp. "I want your cock."

He flings pre-cum across my face and then slides his dick slowly and deliberately back into my open mouth.

Oh fuck, I'm coming. I throw my head back against the headrest, my body arching and my hips raising off the seat as my mouth opens in a silent roar.

The first volley hits the headrest next to my face and I feel it splash against my ear and cheek.

On screen, Eric pulls out slightly and then slams back in, fucking my face roughly for several seconds. Then he pulls out again, slaps my cheeks and nose with his cock, and then drags it across my face and over my lips, leaving a shiny trail of pre-cum. And fuck if my tongue isn't frantically lapping it all up!

"Fuck…" I moan as I fire another shot, this one hitting me on my chin.

Eric go balls deep down my throat and I realize I'm not even gagging anymore as he thrusts in and out. His hand is in my hair and he's pulling my face against him. His balls slap against my chin and he erupts, his hot cum pumping straight down my throat.

Another blast from my dick hits me square in the chest.

I'm swallowing his load as the rest of mine spatters against my belly and covers my hand. I slump in my seat and watch as he continues to fuck my mouth, wishing I could back the clip up and shoot all over again.


I'm exhausted and feel like I've been through the wringer as I stagger from my car and into the house. My pants are still open and my stomach is sticky with cum. I'm thankful my roommates are gone for the weekend.

I don't even shower. I use my shirt to wipe the cum off and then strip out of my pants and crawl into bed. As tired as I am, I can't sleep because I'm still hard, so I grind my hips into my pillow until I finally pass out.


Alarm bells jar me awake and I nearly fall out of bed. My head is pounding with what I'm pretty sure is a hangover. Fuck... I'm never touching alcohol again as long as I live.

The stupid alarm is still blaring and I realize it's my phone. I reach for it and see Steve's smiling face on the screen. And then I see the time. What?! It's 11:40 a.m.! I can't believe I slept through Sunday School and church.

I slide my thumb across the screen. "Hello?" Ugh. It even hurts to talk.

"Clay!" Steve exclaims and I wince and grab my forehead. Is he shouting? Why is he talking so loud? And why do I have a boner?

"I just got off the phone with Brian Porter," he continues. "Congratulations, you got the part!"

I'm confused and it's not just the alcohol from last night.

"He said he's never seen an audition like it," Steve says, and I freeze. "He told me – dammit, what were his words again … I wrote them down – oh here they are. That's right, he said he's never seen somebody 'just let go' the way you did."

"Oh my gosh," I say with a gulp. Fuck. Er… fudge.

"I know, right?!" Steve gushes. "That's awesome! He said it looked like you've done this for years. Even called you a total natural!"

A total natural? I'm too stunned to say anything in response.

"Are you there? Clay?"

"Uh huh," I stammer. "Yeah, I'm right here."

"Are you okay?"

I clear my throat. "Yeah, I'm just not feeling well is all."

"Well hell," he laughs, "I'd have thought you'd be a little more excited! Whatever you did really impressed him. All of them."

There's a beeping noise in my ear. "Hey, that's Frank on the other line," Steve says. "I better take this. Talk to you soon okay?"

I'm conflicted as I set my phone down. On the one hand, I'm excited about the part, but on the other, I feel so gross and dirty and violated by what Brian said. Especially because every time I think about what happened my heart races and I get a boner.

I can't think. I can't wrap my head around any of it. The more I try, the more my head hurts.

I feel like my skin is crawling and I need to take a shower.

I pull up my favorite Vineyard Worship album on my iPhone, connect to my portable Bluetooth speaker, and take it into the bathroom with me.

I turn the shower on as hot as I can stand and step in. For the next twenty minutes I scrub every inch of my body as I pray and sing along to the praise music.

When I come back to my bedroom I'm clean and my heart is lighter and somewhat at peace. But physically, I still feel like crap. My head is killing me. I don't ever want to touch alcohol again. How do people drink and manage to function the next day?

I hang my towel on the door and pull on a fresh pair of briefs and my favorite Hawkeyes t-shirt and turn on the fan. It's hot so I don't bother with sweatpants or even shorts. I find clean sheets, strip the bed of the dirty ones, and make it up.

I get back into bed and lie on my back. I stare at the ceiling, not realizing at first that my hand is on my crotch, my fingers gently cupping my balls while my thumb is slowly running up and down my hard dick. Disgusted with myself, I grab my Beats and turn my praise music back on.

A couple minutes later the phone rings. I look and it's Steve again. I slide to accept the call. "Hi," I say.

"I just got off the phone with Frank," he says. "They're sending the contracts over tomorrow morning. Are you free for lunch?"

I mentally run though my schedule for Monday. "Yeah," I say. "Lunch works."

"Great. Meet me at Fig & Olive at noon. It's on Melrose."

We hang up and the music comes back on. Not even thirty seconds later it fades out as the phone rings again and I sigh. Just like Steve. He's the most forgetful guy I know.

"What did you forget now?" I laugh, not bothering to look at the screen as I answer.


It's Frank, not Steve. My eyes go wide and I feel myself go pale.

Frank. Fuck.

I tense and sit up straight as he continues. "Frank Turner here. Steve says he told you the good news."

"Um –"

"Listen up," he interrupts, "so you won't be too surprised tomorrow, there are a few changes being made to the script."

"Changes?" I say slowly.

"Yes." He sounds very business-like, almost as if he's reading off a list or something. "We're undergoing a re-write."

"A what?"

"A re-write. Well, not a full re-write," he explains, "but we hired a script doctor. The basic plot is still the same but the jewel thief has been changed from female to male."


There's a click and then Jason is on the line. "Hey Clay, it's Jason. I know what you're thinking, but don't worry. Your character is still going to be badass and do whatever it takes to get his man."

"But, you said the audition wasn't –"

"Things change, kid," he says.

"And since it's an Indie," Frank cuts in, "we can get away with more explicit sex sce–"

"No!" This time I cut him off. "I can't. Please don't make me do this."

"What?" Jason asks, and then his voice gets calm. "No Clay, this is strictly business. You're completely free to turn down the part if you want. But about last night," he goes all serious, "so long as you don't tell anyone what happened last night, all those pictures and videos stay a secret."

"For real?" I ask, biting my lip. "You're not forcing me?"

"Not at all," Jason says and his voice is reassuring. I can even hear Frank grunting in agreement. "The photos and videos and everything we got from your phone are just our insurance. One has nothing to do with the other."

"I don't understand then," I say. "If you're not making me do this, then why?"

"Be honest, Clay," Jason says and his voice is back to business, "and don't try to bullshit me. I watched the video three times last night and you were totally into it. You and Eric have some fucking hot chemistry– "

What?! I wasn't into it! Was I? My dick is starting to tingle. Oh fuck.

" – and it got us to thinking that, well, making both characters gay made sense. In fact, we already offered the role to Eric and he accepted."

"Eric? He what? He accepted?" My head is spinning and this time it's not from alcohol. Eric's going to be in the movie?

"So Clay," Jason says, and I swear I can hear a smile in his voice. "You in or out?"

I look down and not only am I fully hard, there's a wet spot on the front of my briefs, and as I watch it grow larger and spread, I know what my answer needs to be.

The End.



">"Steve (stimle)" <[email protected]>


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