Innocence Lost

Chapter One

"It's your turn, Brian." Randy Anderson said pulling three wooden tiles from the upturned box. The letters were 'F', 'C', and 'K'. He studied them with the other four tiles already on his wooden tray. A lock of blonde hair fell across his face and he tugged on it with a finger, tucking it behind his ear. He moved the tiles around until the new letters mixed with the others and it spelled the word: FUCK.

Randy gasped and mixed the letters up again -- he couldn't use that word! Randy studied the letters, re-arranging the tiles in different sequences letting his brain percolate on the various combinations. He pushed his thick, black framed glasses up his tiny nose wrinkling at the garbled letters until he found: FUDGE.

"Hold on a minute, I'm texting something to Amanda." Brian said, his thumbs playing across the Smartphone’s screen. He grinned then bit his lower lip. His eyes fixated on the tiny screen as he drank in every pixel that appeared on the updated timeline.

"Text her later on how much you love her. It ain't like she’s going to find anything in that dreary podunk town of yours," Randy smiled. His thick glasses slowly slid down his nose again as he glowered at the row of letters, thinking of ways to mess with his roommate.

"Oh shutup. She’s hot," He grinned placing five tiles and counting out the bonus points.

"You can't use that word, it's a proper noun" exclaimed Randy.

"Why do I play this stupid game?" Brian picked up the smooth wooden tiles and fretted over another word. The guy laid down two tiles and sadly noted the few points he got.

"You and I are boring, that's all. We're good guys staying in the dorms on a Friday night and staying out of trouble." Randy said gleefully as he took the squares Brian had to give up.

Randy's roommate put down the Smartphone and looked over the board, "I think I would rather study for my history test then play this dumb game."

"That's cuz you're losing, that's all." Randy took a big handful of buttery popcorn and stuffed it in his mouth. He licked his fingers delicately and examined the board. As an afterthought he peered at the clock. It was past midnight, but he had no classes on Saturday and nothing to get done until Monday afternoon.

"umph!" Brian scoffed and returned to his phone, typing back another message to his girlfriend. The tall athletic guy put down two more tiles giving him six measly points.

He returned to his texting.

"Come on Brian, you are not even playing the game." Randy scolded his friend.

"We're pathetic, you know that. Friday night on campus, and you and I are sitting in our dorm playing a dumb board game." Brian mewed, never looking up from his typing.

"What do you want to do? Go to the bar and get drunk? Spend a night at some girl’s house?" Randy shook his head trying to come up with something better than a six points.

"Of course not, I guess. . . . Well it would really shake things up, wouldn't it? I guess you and I are just two peas in a pod. I wonder what it would be like." Brian ended his texting and looked over the empty squares on the board. He grimaced and got up to fill his glass with soda.

As he walked to the fridge Randy noticed his firm tight rump, under the loose fitting sweat bottoms. Brian's grey sweats cascaded over his athletic body, tiny glimmers of his lean tanned skin poked out between the folds of the clothing.

"I'm going to go down on Monday and try out for that play they are having." Randy told his roommate, breaking his stare. He reached back to his cot and pulled the advertisement out of his backpack. He studied the brightly colored paper, looking at both sides.

"You think you have a chance?" Brian sat back down with a big glass of soda. He grabbed the popcorn from Randy and started stuffing the kernels into his mouth. Butter dribbled out of the corner of his mouth and Randy watched in fascination. The sweet drool trickled down to his chin. Randy leaned over with a napkin and smudged it away, tenderly mopping the guy’s chin.

"I think so. I tried out for a couple plays back home. Nearly got one, but it went to kid I knew." Randy said disheartened then brightened, "Anyway, the worst that could happen is getting rejected. I'm used to that."

"You and me both!" Brian took a big sip from his plastic cup. Randy watched as he sucked the straw ravenously, the young boy’s throat vibrated as he drained the tasty liquid from the large plastic red cup.

The guys played on through the night, talking about their college life. It never occurred to either one that sometimes the simplest decisions could lead to the loss of innocence.

Chapter Two

Randy pulled on the brass door handle that led into the red brick theatre. The street noise faded as the large double wooden doors closed behind him. The building was dark and musty inside, a portal from an old world to a magical new realm. He drank in the atmosphere and heard distant voices. Ahead of him in the dim light, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness, he saw a silvery glow tweaking through another massive doorway.

He crept closer and peeked through the crack. There on the stage, a handsome young teen read from a script; others waited in the chairs off stage. He watched in fascination as the brown haired boy read from the play book. He licked his lips, as he studied his face. He knew the student from his class in history. He almost sat next to him on the first day, but he ended up sitting alone against the wall.

Randy could still smell his rich, luxurious aftershave. He had wanted to talk to him and tell him something -- hell anything, but he was afraid. He sat against the far wall in class, furtively looking over his shoulder watching the clock but also watching him intently. He wanted more friends, but was too shy ever to say anything.

He hoisted his backpack on to his other shoulder and in doing so sought out the bright green paper lodged in the large front pocket. Randy tried to smooth the crinkled paper quietly and read it in the feint light of the foyer.

He had seen the notice looking for aspiring actors on the cafeteria corkboard, and he impishly took it down and crammed it into his school bag. His conniving little trick did not stop other students from coming down to the theatre as he had hoped. He hurried down to the college's theatre, directly after his last class of the day. He scorned himself for not simply skipping school, but he had never done that before.

Good kids didn't do that, he thought and so he diligently finished all his classes. He toyed with walking back to the cafeteria and putting the sign back up, but laughed and kept it.

He had just started his freshman year at the Henderson College of Arts, with the hopes of becoming an actor or possibly even a singer. The college was small and the student body did not count more than two hundred students. It was primarily a business college, but it did have a small theatre and dance program. It was not a prestigious school, but some of the graduates did make names for themselves in local businesses.

Only one girl from the college made it beyond the local theatre group. Randy had read how this girl was discovered in the very theatre he was now in. Randy dreamed that he too could be discovered and make millions of dollars -- to be the envy of everyone he ever knew. That would be the wildest dream come true!

He thought he had talent, but no one ever gave him the chance. Randy squirmed, thinking of all the people that never gave him an opportunity to show off. He so wanted to prove to his parents they were wrong!

He looked around the foyer of the small theatre. The sweat, tears, and aspirations of a thousand kids' dreams absorbed into the walls. He walked solemnly down the wide carpeted runway.

Randy tentatively hugged the big handle, watching the guy act out his last line. In front of him was a long table on which an older man and a young man watched the boy. He reasoned he must be the director and according to the flyer the man was his senior assistant. He looked at the young guy next to him. He the slenderest guy he had ever seen, but lean in an attractive way. He was small but his body was like sculpted bronze, rugged and muscled. Randy was fascinated with every move he made and watched as the assistant whispered into the director's ear.

Randy stroked the large brass handle of the door, letting the cool touch calm him. He watched the guy walk off the stage. Tentatively he slowly opened the door and stuck his face into the auditorium. The door creaked and the boy looked towards him. He thought he recognized him and he waved, but instead his eyes fell on his friends. For a second his heart slammed in his chest at he thought the guy recognized him from class. But like everyone else in the world, he was invisible. His shoulders sagged and he slid through the small gap into the larger room, slowly closing the door and muffling the sound of the rusty hinges.

All through High School he felt like no one could see him. A porcelain ghost, his best friend once called him. His skin was white as summer clouds, soft as morning dew. The young girls at school never found him attractive and the girls always played mean tricks. Teachers smiled and made excuses to go the other way. He was an 'A' student, of course, as he studied diligently for every test. He wrote long essays, filled with style and virtue that teachers exemplified. When he tried to get into prestigious schools, he was routinely rejected. His shy and introverted demeanor foiled any chance of getting into a big name university.

This year he wanted to change that. He thought to himself, I am going to make a difference here. And I am not going to be another face in the crowd. I want to be like those guys back home that had fun, girlfriends, and was talked about in hushed whispers in the school’s locker room. He made it his motto to not shy away from chance -- to grab that rung and see where it took him.

But it was hard to break old habits, and he found himself quickly slipping back into his timid behavior at the new college. He signed up for all the freshman classes and dutifully got his books and supplies. He was assigned a boring apartment, with a very boring roommate, even though he tried getting into a sorority. He reverted to his shy and quiet self and fought with attempts to find someone in each class to befriend. He failed miserably, and he ended up down a row of desks all alone.

Just last week they had a party at his dorm. He had heard that the guys snuck several senior girls in, and they brought cases of beer. The guys at the dormitory talked about it the next day, at least until they saw Randy. They whispered things he dreamed of hearing. From behind closed doors he strained to hear of the drinking, dancing, and how a few guys got lucky that night. He listened about how Bill had sex with two of the girls; Jack had fucked a girl right on the couch in front of the other guys; and Larry took three girls into his room and had an orgy! The words made his ears burn and his heart flutter. He was unsure if it was because he was jealous or that he had never heard stories like that before? Bill wasn't even all that good looking, Jack was a fat dog, and Larry was strictly trailer trash, but the next day the guys were the talk of the dorm. Everyone wanted to be their friends.

It was dark in the audience and he had to hold the edges of the seats to find his way down towards the stage.

He could see down by the stage several students huddled together, whispering and pointing at the two seated behind the table. On stage the man talked quietly to the young man, sitting next to him. Each had clipboards and was furiously scribing notes.

He studied the fluorescent green paper again and quickly reread it:

Today at 3 PM the school was auditioning for the play, Innocence: Lost. The production is a tragic and dark play of a young guy coming to the big city to strike it rich. Three Acts of tragedy and ordeals.

He read silently to himself, 'Does the guy reach the highest rung of fame, or slide into the depths of depravity, consumed by the city's hunger?' He turned the sheet over and silently mumbled to himself that it was directed by the locally famous, Anson Reardon.

There were other names on the announcement, but they didn't really mean anything to Randy. He had heard of Mr. Reardon. He was famous for finding the talents of Ally Thompson, the biggest star on Broadway and in the recent multimillion dollar film of The Girl Uptown.

Randy walked down the wide alley and approached a male student sitting away from the rest. The handsome guy nonchalantly looked at the stage but returned to his Smartphone pecking out some long message. He smiled to himself, as he read the reply. He had short brown auburn hair and a coppery tan. His skin sparkled in the dim lighting. Tiny dimples accentuated his round face and full lips. He had those kinds of eyes that simply dazzled people. He read silently to himself, his tiny cleft chin wiggled at each word he read off the phone.

"Here for the play?" Randy whispered over to him. The students down by the stage glanced at Randy. A few smiled, but most simply sneered at him and returned their gaze to the raised platform and the director.

The tanned guy looked Randy up and down and smirked with the kind of grin a thief might make before stealing money from a blind man. "Yes, it is. But they're not auditioning stage hands until next week."

Randy's pallid complexion burned and even in the low light the guy saw him blush. That made him smile even more, a cruel mocking crook on his warm effervescent face.

"No, I am here for a part as well?" Randy looked at the photocopy again, "I'm hoping to get the lead in the play. I want to be Ken." Randy's hands quivered both from excitement but also a bit of rage.

Against his better judgment he offered his hand to the guy and whispered, "Randy Anderson, and you are. . . ?"

The guy flashed perfectly white teeth, and they seemed to glow against his honey brown skin. "Troy Billings." He weakly shook Randy's hand -- a lackluster grip.

From the stage the director spoke, "Next, please."

A girl from the crowd of other students got up on stage. Randy looked at her gracefulness. Her jeans were skin tight and her rump rocked back and forth like the pendulum on a fine Swiss made metronome. The girl adjusted her long dark hair, throwing it back and walked to center stage. Her waist was cinched tight with a bright red belt and her stomach quivered through the skin tight T-shirt tucked into her pants.

"Name?" The director looked over his clipboard, then to the kid next to him.

"Angie Williams," the brunette said and cleared her throat. Her delicate hands came up to cover her small mouth, full rich lips quivered in spasms at the cough.

"She’s on the list, Anson." The young guy next to the director retorted. The assistant's voice was rough like number two sandpaper. His throat was corded and his thick jugular vein throbbed as he spoke. Every tiny move he made was as if it as choreographed, a fluid opera of skin and bone.

"Very good, Jesse. You can start whenever you like Angie." The director checked over the list and quickly shot a glance to his assistant. She lifted her freckled faced to the director and smiled, biting her lower lip. He made a check mark on his clipboard. Setting it down, he grabbed a plastic water bottle and took a long drink. Randy watched intently, the girl was gorgeous too. As a matter of fact, all the students here looked like models from New York.

Randy blanched seeing his chances quickly dwindle at all the talent in the room. Most of the kids auditioning sported gorgeous deep brown tans. They all seemed to wear designer apparel and had the rich ambiance of decadent perfume or aftershave. Randy looked down at his plain white t-shirt and second-hand Jeans with dismay. He thought of his perm he rebelliously added to his creamy straight blonde hair, tips of scarlet red to make his look wild. The thought of his parents looking at his new hairdo made him smile, even though he did feel embarrassed at the time.

Angie performed a number of lines from the play flawlessly. Her emotional range was incredible, and a little bit of Randy died inside. The girl walked off stage and every eye in the theatre was upon the girl. Randy glanced at the guys waiting just offstage and they studied Angie intently. The boys discreetly pointed out her curves, as she slid past him.

A tall dark skinned student with a thin mustache goggled at her firm, toned ass -- Randy could tell they would do anything to fuck her just once.

"I'm next," smirked Troy. He turned off his phone placing it in is backpocket. He glanced at the others in the crowd then turned and gave Randy the thumbs up. "Watch my stuff, will ya. I don't trust anyone here." He obviously thought that Randy was a wholesome and good kid, with that look he gave him.

Troy gave his name and stumbled over his lines. He carelessly walked around the stage and only infrequently looked at the play book.

"Is that all Mr. Billings?" the director didn't even look at his assistant but put two check marks next to his name on the list. Randy noticed how the assistant bristled as he gawked at the young guy. His eyes diverted to the rear of the stage, he did not want to look at the director or Troy. He scribbled something harsh on his clipboard.

Randy felt much better seeing Troy fail and falter on stage. It was his turn to smile, but he bit his tongue and hid it. That wasn't the nice thing to think, he told himself. Everyone has a dream and it wouldn't be fair to be happy over someone's failure, would it? As Troy walked off stage he still had the smug smile on his face.

"Sorry you lost it up there. I bet with practice, you'll get better." Randy said to Troy.

Troy smiled back to the bewildered Randy, "Oh I so nailed it." He laughed for some reason, "I'll be on the call back and probably already got the leading role." Troy leaned close to Randy and whispered, "Just play the game . ." Troy walked up the long isle towards the exit. Randy watched after him, wondering what he meant by his comment. Randy shook his head and returned his gaze towards the stage.

Randy was next and walked timidly on to the platform. The stage was bright and the lights hot on his flesh.

"Randy Anderson." He said hesitantly to the guy sitting next to director.

The young lad meekly smiled, looking over at the man next to his and nodded. "Page thirty-seven Randy, start at the fourth line."

Randy fumbled through the pages, going back and forth several times as he nervously skipped the page he needed. He finally found the place and read the stage notes quietly.

"Are you ready Randy?" The director asked him with patience.

"Sorry. This is the first time I have auditioned." Randy lied and blushed.

His performance was hideous and he missed several marks that were taped on the floor of the stage. As he fumbled one line after the other, he grew angry and finally stopped, putting the book back on the table. He didn't even look at the two and walked off stage, his shoulders sagging.

"Where you going, Mr. Anderson?" Director Reardon asked.

He turned around and gulped, "I thought .... Well, you know....The lines I read...." He couldn't collect his thoughts long enough to finish any sentence.

The young man next to the director nudged him and smiled, "We're here to teach you, Randy. Mr. Reardon certainly wants to give everyone a chance. If you don't mind, he'll call you later at the 555-5423? That is your cell, right?"

Randy beamed a smile and simply nodded. He almost tripped down the stairs leading back into the dark audience floor. As he walked past the boys at the back of the stage a few grinned at him, shaking their heads. He cocked an eyebrow and wondered what they were thinking, but was too excited to care.

He grabbed his backpack and rushed back to his little dorm. He had so much to learn -- he was so innocent. He was about to learn a good lesson.

* * *

That night as he fixed popcorn again in his dorm room, his phone rang. He settled into the chair next to his dining table and looked at the number. He didn't immediately recognize it, but accepted the call.

"Hello, this is Randy."

"Randy Anderson?"

"Yes, this is he."

"Randy, this is Anson Reardon. I really liked your performance this morning and would be wondering if you would be like to have the role of Jonny. It's not a huge character, but he does have seven or eight lines over the three acts."

Randy beamed with pride, "Oh my God, I would love it. Yes. Yes! I'm so excited, Mr. Reardon. Gosh...."

"Well, here is the thing. I need you to get up to speed on those lines. The other spots have already been cast and I think we should get you going learning those lines as quickly as possible."

"Oh I can learn them by tomorrow." Randy said bounding around the apartment. He leapt around the chairs and settled down after catching the eye of his roommate glowering at him.

"I need to get together with you tonight, if that is OK?"

"Yes, I can meet you at the theatre or anywhere you like..."

"Do you know where the Sunshine Hotel is at? It's just outside of the College main entrance."

"Yes, I have seen it from the bus."

"I would meet you at the theatre, but they are constructing the stage -- very noisy, you know. I think we need to be in a place where it's quiet, so we can go over the lines."

Randy thought about this. It sounded awfully strange to meet at a hotel on the outskirts of the college. He hesitated on the phone.

"If you can't make it, I'm afraid I can give it to Robert. I really like your performance, but it needs to be filled tonight."

Grab the ring, Randy, his brain shouted! Don't always be that face in the crowd, he thought. "OK. I'll be there. I can be out in an hour?"

"How about 7 PM?"

"Great. I'll see you then Mr. Reardon."

"Call me, Anson."

The director hung up the phone and Randy ran to the bathroom. He looked in the mirror and noticed how pale and skinny he looked.

Ninety minutes later he was on the bus looking out the window as the sun began to set and his career as a star was just beginning to dawn. . .

Chapter Three

"Randy, I am so glad you could meet me here. We need to work on your lines. Just polish them up; that sort of thing." The director invited Randy into the small hotel room. He looked around at the plain space. A small dining table for two was off to the left, while an arched entryway led to a dimly lit room beyond with a double sized bed.

"I was a bit confused when you phoned me to meet you here. I've seen this place while I rode the bus to the college but didn't even know if it was open?" Randy walked over to the table setting his backpack on the counter.

Randy unzipped his backpack taking out the worm book of the play, Innocence: Lost. He thumbed through the first twenty pages, stopping at a scene he realized the director staring at him.

"Sorry, I was just admiring how handsome you are. So many guys today try so hard to look tough and athletic never realizing the simple exquisiteness of innocence. You have that kind of look; wholesome and honest. You are like the perfect kid next door."

Randy blushed, his powdery pale cheeks glowed.

"You said you were from Arkansas?"

"Yup, a little town called Amber Junction." Randy paged through the play, trying to find the page where the director indicated on his book. It was a few small lines, but it appeared in each of the three acts. He started mumbling his lines to himself.

Anson sat down next to him, setting his briefcase on the floor. He watched Randy as he plucked a strand of long blond hair and put it behind his ear. His eyes were locked on the innocent boy next to him.

Randy pushed his black rimmed glasses up his nose only for them to slide down again.

"Its sort a hot in here, isn't it?" Randy said rolling up his light blue cotton sleeves. He undid the top button of his shirt, a tiny hint of snow white tinged skin revealed.

"Take your coat off." Reardon said as he traced his finger along the words on the play book.

Randy zipped his coat down, and unbuttoned his shirt another button. The zipper stuck just above his belly button.

Randy struggled with the zipper on his leather jacket, yanking it up and down trying to dislodge the puller.

“Do you need any help, Randy?” The director watched the boy trying to take off his coat.

“Stuck or something.” Randy yanked on the zipper, failing completely.

Mr. Reardon got up to help. He took a hold of the zipper and pinched the fabric together and pushed it down slowly. He removed Randy’s coat, one shoulder at a time and placed it on the chair.

Randy swallowed hard catching the director staring at him.

Mr. Reardon brushed his hands behind Randy's cheek, and then slowly traced his fingers along his delicate jaw. His touch was so light that only the soft fine hairs on his cheek felt it.

Randy quivered.

The young man averted his eyes, as he tried to breath. His brain paralyzed by the unexpected touch, he fought to snatch a breath of air. Gasping, he opened his mouth and air flooded his lungs.

"I ....I..." He fumbled with the simplest words trying to grasp what the alluring touch meant. "I think we should read from the play?"

He found the spot and spoke the line, "I do believe, sir that the bus will be arriving for New York at ten AM." He waited for the director to give his line but he said nothing.

“Your line is the bus is going to be late?” Randy whispered staring at the book, too timid to look up from the page.

Reardon brought his hand up again, caressing the ample full cheek and his tiny chin. The back of his hand rubbed his neck affectionately.

He pushed his chair back hastily and backed away from the director. He bumped into the wall behind him, stumbling over the books that cascaded out of his backpack. He scooped up the math and history textbooks and put them back into his large backpack, zipping it closed. Randy took his coat and stumbled towards the door.

He was not as much frightened as he was surprised that the director had touched him so provocatively. His touch along his cheek caused shivers; Goosebumps spread across his body. His pallid skin tingled with excitement but also with fear.

He made it to the door without looking at the director again and struggled with the chain latch. He fumbled with it but could not seem to remove it from the brass hook. From behind him a strong hand covered the latch, slowly moving his finger up long Randy’s shaking hands.

He faced Reardon. He was only inches from his face. Anson moved in quickly kissing him; his hot tongue pushed past his pencil thin lips, beyond his overbite, and into the deepest recesses of his mouth. Taking both hands the director pressed him up against the door, moving his hands down to his elbows and then back up to his wrists. He pulled back just for a brief second, looking into Randy’s wild eyes, then plunged his tongue back into his mouth.

He tasted his rough lips, drinking in his honey sweet saliva.

He squirmed out of his grasp, but Anson pushed him hard against the door until he stopped fighting. Each time he resisted, the payment was another rough kiss. Struggling spent; Randy sagged and fell into his arms, his ragged breath against his neck.

The director caressed Randy's blonde soft hair, locking his fingers behind his neck he brought him towards him, their mouths meeting again. He kissed him on open trembling lips and then moved to his nose and ear.

Randy breathed hard, adrenaline pumping into his veins.

Slowly Reardon’s one hand moved down to Randy’s lean chest. He massaged his pectorals and then dipped his hand under his shirt into the small of his back. Randy's skin was on fire and the man’s cool touch heightened his experience of reaching that first virgin orgasm.

His school backpack fell from his hands. The director looked at it like an unwanted dog, kicking it out of the way. Turning him from the door, he slowly pushed him one step at a time towards the archway into the dimly lit bedroom.

Randy had never been kissed with such passion. To be honest, he had only been kissed a few times in high school by mean little girls. It was a peck on the cheek or a brush of passing lips. Reardon's kiss lit a simmering fire between his legs.

He was a virgin, in every sense of the word.

At each step, Reardon backed him closer to the bed. The director eased his hands along his smooth fresh body, groping his thighs and belly. It only took a few more steps for him to push him against the bedpost. He tumbled backwards onto the soft mattress. Reardon fell on top of him and both gasped. He made the sound in surprise, and with perhaps expectation of what was to come.

The older man worked at each button on Randy’s shirt until they popped, revealing powdery white skin beneath. He was a Pillsbury doughboy of soft undulating satin skin. As he got to the last button, he pulled the shirt from his body like a banana peel, throwing it in the corner.

He bent down kissing his neck and shoulders, his hands sought after the lean and soft chest. His pasty arms and rotund stomach seemed to glow in the dim recesses of the room. His skin was pristine without tattoo, scars, or freckles; a Christmas day covering of fresh snow.

"I have never had a man kiss me before. Are you going to make love to me?" he whispered to him his voice was ragged yet soft. His eyes searched his face, finding his physique and strength overwhelming.

"Oh Randy," he said with a small smile playing across his face, "I am not going to make love to you. I am going to fuck you."

The young, innocent boy bit his lower lip, his eyes falling to the man's flat stomach, tanned and knotted with lean muscle.

Anson undid his belt and zipped down his jeans. He wiggled out of them, his cock stiff with hot blood and his firm ass poised over virgin splayed legs.

"As a matter of fact, I am going to fuck your brains out." His fingers traced down the heaving belly. A small pool of languid sweat puddled into his navel, and he dipped his finger into it and then traced it down to his pants. With a quick snap on his jeans, the button popped and he wiggled his fingers down into his throbbing cock. He pulled Randy’s pants off, feeling under his tight sack.

Licking thin lips with his dry tongue, he assailed him with full expectation. His tanned muscles bristled in the dimly lit room. He spread the young man’s legs as he tried to pull off his blue pants; finally yanking them down to his knees in growing frustration. He still wore his white socks and tennis shoes.

He wasn't going to run away now, Reardon may have thought.

He brought his dick up to his tight asshole, sliding in his meat.

"It's going to hurt." he breathed into his ear as he pushed the stiff muscle into his moist hole.

Randy moaned as the throbbing cock penetrated his puckering asshole. His black framed glasses rocked back and forth on his tiny nose each time Reardon thrust between his legs. He pushed down between his warm thighs, but it was so tight.

He drew his throbbing cock out and tried again, sliding it in deeper and harder. Randy stiffened as if a thousand bolts of electricity surged up his spine. He grasped the sheets on the bed, his knuckles turning white as he clutched the blankets. His back arched and he squirmed under the weight Anson brought down on him.

His virginity slipped between his clenched fingers with each thrust of the older man’s meat. Randy’s innocence was lost in the hammer brought down between his slender legs.

A breath gurgled up from his lips, a sound of moaning and ecstasy rolled into one. His glasses flung from his face into the shadows of the bed. His hands flailed about trying to find them, but the man drove home his cock so hard he soon forgot about them. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he saw flashes of light dance around him.

Again, Anson removed his cock from his tight asshole. He braced his hands on his shoulder and pushed with all the strength he had. Randy’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as pleasure and pain washed over him, strands of heat splashed on his naked skin.

He screamed as his man-cherry popped and the director’s cock slid deep into his body. Like a well oiled machine, his dick slammed repeatedly against his tight ass. Randy fought to control his urges, but the beast deep within his brain bubbled up from the depths of rabid evolution.

He thrashed around, kicking the covers into heaps. His fingers gripped the bed linen, and he yanked on them each time the cock found that sweet little spot that sent waves of ecstasy to his brain. Randy didn't care anymore if the entire hotel could hear him and he yelled and grunted with abandonment.

"Come on, you little cock. Is this all you got?" Reardon banged his soft sweet body, biting his ears and throat. He whispered to him but it could have been a shout for all that Randy cared.

"God damn your hole is tight."

He fought back his desire to swear, having grown up those words were forbidden to him. The cock repeatedly thrust deep between his soft splayed legs. He gripped his ass cheeks spreading them to the meat spear that pounded his rump.

His mouth opened and he grunted out, "Fuck me! God, fuck me harder! "

He wanted to please him so badly. He wanted to never stop feeling this aura of wicked pleasure coursing through his tummy to his head.

With one final thrust, the director whipped out his cock and spewed his cum all over his shiny sweat smeared belly. Gobs of white cum splattered across his slick skin. Reardon sagged and rested on his elbows, gobbling breaths of air. He looked down at Randy who seemed utterly stunned. His mouth worked on words that failed to make a sound, and he brought his hands up tentatively to Anson’s firm ass. He cupped and massaging them.

Anson mopped up the warm cum with his finger, smearing it across Randy's lips and nose. Randy didn't know what to do for a second, but finally licked his lips clean of the salty spray. He impishly smiled at the director, cleaning his face of his cum, each finger slipping into his mouth, he sucked them clean.

He liked the taste of him and he gulped down all he could find.

"That was great," Randy murmured to him, drawing a sweat soaked sheet over his skinny legs and heaving belly. He padded the bed until he found his glasses in the covers and put them on. The plastic rims were bent and they sat on his nose askew.

"Who said we're done?" Reardon pulled the sheet back away from his thighs, revealing his hairy cock. "Roll over and grab the headboard."

Randy complied. His arms straddled the rich cherry wood backboard, leaning his feverish cheeks against the cool wood. He panted like a small dog waiting for his master. Randy leaned his head back over his shoulders and watched as the man spread his white ass and stick his cock into his puckering hole again.

Anson grabbed a fist of his damp hair and pulled it back. Randy moaned with anticipation, his throat lay bare and blood pulsed through his jugular. He felt like a tramp; a dirty slut, that he had seen in movies, and he played along.

"Call me a slut," he whispered those words.

"You're nothing but my little twink, you little white whore." He said to him. He pushed as hard as he could and his face pressed against the wood headboard.

His words stung badly and he clawed to turn around. He wanted him to call him something bad too, but the words hurt more than his cock up his ass. Instead of protesting, he begged him on wanting to hear the insults repeated.

"You piece of white gay piece of shit. You fuck like a trailer park boy." The director called him vile names that made his feel cheap, yet it made the sex even more pleasurable.

His cock still felt uncomfortable up his ass, but he seemed to like doing it. He rocked back and forth on the bed, his arms straining to hold himself in place. His thrusts became harder and longer. His one hand grasped his pelvis and he fucked him again, the other bobbed his head back and forth. This time he allowed himself to cum inside him. Randy felt the hot spray work its way through his feverish body. He moaned with a fake orgasm, having already cummed a few minutes earlier.

Reardon collapsed on his sweat laden body. His hands rubbed his moist back, down to his thighs. Randy still tingled with ecstasy, his small feeble hands grasping the sweat stained sheets. He rolled over purposely spreading his legs so he could see his throbbing cock and he toyed with it, smiling.

"Want to do it again?" Randy whispered. He rubbed his one hand down between his legs, the other one cupper his penis.

"God, you are a fucking little twink. I guess it's true what they say."

"And what's that?"

"Good boys do like it rough."

Randy's impish smile turned sour as he realized what he had done. He clenched his teeth and pulled the sheets up around him trying to hide his body.

"Why don't you take a shower, while I clean up out here?" The man said as he let him go and sat on the edge of the bed.

He crawled out of the sheets, his pants around his ankles as he walked like he wore a ball and chain. He tottered into the bathroom and ran the hot water. Stepping in to the spray Randy let it run over his body. He heard the director making the bed and putting his books back into his briefcase. As the hot water coursed over his body, he rubbed his cock. He hurt and he felt sick to his stomach, but he also felt something he had never felt before.

Randy dried himself off feeling only slightly refreshed. He wrapped a white towel around his naked body and walked out; damp hair clung to his face and neck. He looked over to Reardon who was about to leave.

"I think rehearsals went well tonight, Randy, but I think we better get together every Tuesday and run through your lines." He cocked a smile on his face, looking down at the fresh boy coming out of the shower. He leaned over and kissed him on the mouth, darting his tongue along his overbite.

"I thought we could talk," Randy said sounding hurt.

"Nothing to talk about -- You were pretty good for your first time! You really made me fuck you before you reached your orgasm." He headed for the door, and then stopped. He seemed to mull over some idea and he turned back to him.

Randy lit up, his eyes danced over his body thinking he might have changed his mind. He could see on his face he wanted to talk about his feelings and what happened between them. Randy now understood his first thoughts seeing him on the stage earlier in the week; it was lust. He realized he was gay and wanted to be with him every night. A million thoughts flooded his mind as he walked over to him, smiling at the older man.

Anson wrapped an arm around Randy and led his back to the small table. He sat down in the chair. He wiggled his finger, drawing close to him. His hands played across the towel, running them down his sides. He took the edges of the towel, peeling them back. His eyes traveled across his pink splotched body and marveled again at how smooth and white Randy’s skin appeared, like porcelain.

"God damn, I can't stop getting a chub thinking about you." He pointed to the floor next to him and put pressure on the boy’s shoulders. Randy went to a kneeling position and he undid Anson’s zipper; his cock was hard again. He brushed back the wet locks of blonde strands of hair with one hand, using the other to guide Randy’s head down between his legs. The young man’s black rimmed glasses fell from his nose again and he tried to retrieve them.

"Suck my cock. Lick my tip." Randy obliged wrapping his mouth around his throbbing muscle. He gagged as he thrust it down his throat. Using both hands he bobbed his head in and out, while he kneeled in front of him taking it down his throat.

"Come on, Randy, suck it. Suck my cock." He moaned as the young man worked his tongue along the veins his throbbing dick. He grabbed a mess of his hair in his fist, yanking his head back and looking into his pleading, wanting eyes. He kept his head back and played a game of his cock just an inch away from his mouth. His tongue tried to lick it, but couldn't. He tried to grab it and stuff it in his mouth, but his attempts failed.

Reardon finally pushed Randy’s head towards his crotch and his cock exploded into his wanting mouth, for the last time. He held his head tight to his groin feeling the cum trickle down his throat. After he was spent, he stood up and zipped his pants closed quickly.

"We'll talk later, Randy." He stood up and zipped his pants. He stepped over him like a lapping dog and headed for the door.

Randy sat on his knees, looking up at him walk passed him nonchalantly.

Grabbing his briefcase he headed for the door and called over his shoulder, "Don't be late for practice tomorrow night, or you'll pay for it Tuesday night." With that he left the hotel room, leaving Randy by himself.

He slowly got to his feet and sullenly picked up his books and put them back into backpack. He went to the bed and sat on the edge. How long he sat there, he could not remember. It was early in the morning when he got back to his college apartment. He unlocked the door and peered into the quiet room. Walking softly down the hall and into the shared bedroom with his roommate he tiptoed next to his bed.

Brian lay wrapped in his covers, his brown hair matted over his face. Randy stood there gazing at his child like posture. He remembered talking to Brian only a few nights ago about both being virgins. They laughed together thinking about the first time with a college girl and how they would pleasure the girl in all of the most sordid ways. Laughing together they thought how marvelous it would be.

He quietly took his clothes off, folding them and placed them at the edge of his bed. He went to the bathroom and closed the door. He stared at himself in the mirror, his hands cupped his penis as he marveled at how big it still was. A smile played across his face thinking of how Reardon pleasured himself inside him. He rubbed his hands down to his tummy, thinking of him again. The night was magical. He had never felt so good. Taking all the good from Nebraska, even boiled down to a teaspoon of medicine, didn't equal the orgasmic feeling that flushed through his body that night.

Although the director did not say it, even denying it, he knew he loved him. He must love him the way he had sex with him. Randy dipped his hands down between his legs. He played with his cock, jerking himself off again. He felt his dick grow even bigger and he eventually exploded into his warm hands.

He brushed his teeth and got into sweats, sliding into bed thinking that he wasn't a nobody any longer. He was the boyfriend to the director. Maybe even soon, he'll be the guy at the audition table measuring success of other gifted actors. His dreams were filled with the glitter of a beach home and Reardon coming home to him after a long day at the college. Flinging him into a satin bed and making mad passionate love.

Chapter Four

The next day Randy got up early, getting his homework done. He ate quickly, reading over his math notes as he thought of last night. He tried to call Anson on the phone, but he only got his voice mail. He smiled thinking, he was so busy that surely he would call at the very first moment he had.

As he showered, he couldn't stop thinking about the Anson. With a playful grin, he licked his lips and thought he would give him a little surprise.

He got quickly dressed and went to his next class and then to lunch, all that time his phone sat next to his. He studied it for any incoming calls but the phone never rang.

After his last class, he tried to call him again. Once again he got his voice mail and left of long rambling message about getting together with him for dinner and talking about the play. He had hopes that perhaps they could drive up to the mountains and stay at one of those B&Bs. Luxuriate in bed together, and then go on long walks down shaded paths. Skip stones along the shallow gurgling streams and talk about their future.

He never got a call back from Anson. He stayed up half the night afraid he might miss it. So by Friday morning he was so tired, that even a mug of coffee didn't wake him up. He could barely get dressed to go to school and eventually settled on a sweatshirt with the college's emblem on it and a pair of gray sweat pants.

He was mentally spent.

His world crashed down around him. He gave up calling the director after the fifth call went straight to voicemail. He was too confused to think of anything and he bombed his History test, handing in a paper with only his name at the top -- and that was even misspelled.

He came home before lunch, feeling sick and depressed. He slammed the door into his apartment and locked and chained it. He didn't want to see anyone or talk to anyone. His roommate was off to school and he knew he wouldn't be back for hours. Brian had swimming practice on Fridays and never got home until well after six o'clock.

He didn't want to eat lunch and went to the fridge and got out a pint of ice cream. He didn't even feel like using a spoon, so he took his long index finger and scooped gobs into his mouth. The chocolate covered his lips and smudged his white cheeks, but he didn't care.

He stared out the window and ate his ice cream when suddenly the phone rang and broke his lackluster melancholy. He almost tripped over his feet as he ran for the phone on top of the refrigerator.

"Hello! Hello.....Anson, is that you" Randy fumbled his buttons on the phone. Growing frustrated he punched the buttons with his sticky chocolate covered fingers.

"Hello, Randy? This is Troy Billings." The voice trickled from the phone.

Randy heard the guys voice and dejectedly brought it up to his ear, "Oh, yeah Troy, hi. Yeah this is Randy. I heard you got the main part, congratulations."

"Oh I knew I was going to get it. Hey, I am just over at the library and thought I could stop in real quick and go over some lines we have in the play together."

"I don't really feel all that good, Troy. Can we do it another time?"

"Oh come one, Randy. I am just across the street. We'll be done soon enough."

"OK, I guess. Give me a bit to get cleaned up."

Five minutes later Randy had just put away the ice cream and had washed his hands and face, he heard the knock on the door. He looked in the mirror and his hair was a mess and he looked thirty years old.

He unlocked the door and opened it to peer at Troy smiling through the crack. He undid the chain latch and let the guy into his room.

"My roommate Brian will be gone for a while, he's got swimming practice until at least six then he's studying at the library until late."

"Oh that's too bad," Troy said making himself at home. He pulled out the chair at the tiny dining room table and searched through his school backpack. "I think he's hot looking."

"What's that?" Randy said digging through his duffle bag. He glanced over to Troy who sat looking at him.

"I got my play in here somewhere." Troy said poking around in his bag.

"I got an extra copy," Randy replied, handing the handsome tan guy anothrt copy of the play. He did not feel like reading it, but Troy could be very insistent and he prodded Randy along.

They read the two scenes they had together and by the third walk through, both guys were exchanging the lines flawlessly.

Troy wrinkled his small nose and stared at Randy perplexed.

"What's wrong?"

"You need to feel more. You got the lines down, but there is no passion in your voice." Troy pointed at his and then went to his backpack and dug to the bottom. "What you need is a little brain lubricant."

"What?"

"Whiskey, you dolt." He pulled out a bottle of brown colored liquor and unscrewed the cap. He took a long drink and passed it over to Randy.

"I don't drink, thanks."

"Drink it." Troy commanded.

"It's in the middle of the day. You can't drink now." Randy made another excuse. Troy wiggled the bottle in front of his face.

"I said, drink it."

Randy took the bottle sniffing the heady vapors of the bottle. He made a nasty face. Troy stood up and walked over to him, "Take one gulp, just to loosen up."

Randy took the bottle and swallowed a gulp, helped further by Troy who held the bottle up a second longer than the first big gulp.

The young boy coughed and wheezed, never tasting alcohol before. Troy made him drink several more gulps and on his empty stomach, the brown warm liquid coursed through the walls of his stomach and straight for the brain.

Troy took a long drink, swishing it around in his mouth and then gulped it down. He offered the last couple of inches in the bottle to Randy. The world around him began to bob and weave. He took the bottle and poured it down his throat in total abandonment of reason.

The two guys looked at each other, then the nearly empty bottle. They began to laugh and oddly couldn't stop. Troy slid the chair he was sitting over to where Randy was seated and pointed at his nose.

"Now...Now...say throse lines you had in the book," Troy laughed drunk.

"I don't think I want to...." Randy said stubbornly.

Troy leaned over and looked his straight into the eyes, their faces only inches apart. "I said, say those lines."

"Nope." Randy's thin lips puckered and he smiled, cross-eyed.

Troy leaned in a little closer and gently kissed Randy on the lips. One of those friendly kisses that those greasy little girls back in Arkansas gave him.

Randy stared incredulously at Troy, his brown hair shown so brightly from the rays of the sun cascading through the window. His tiny little freckled cheeks made him look so innocent, almost childlike.

Troy leaned in closer, taking another kiss. "Now let's get through these lines one last time, so I can go home." He giggled and he pulled back from Randy, "you know you kiss pretty well."

Randy smiled and he slumped back in the chair, picking up the book and holding it upside down. He looked at the strange letters. He shook his head confused and turned it around and nodded to himself.

"Anson said you were a bit of an innocent prick."

Randy dropped the book and shockingly glared at Troy, a cold shiver ran down his back.

"What did you say?"

Troy laughed and hugged Randy, who looked at him if he was a large green spider. "I said, he thought you kissed like an old maid but you fucked great."

"He told you about us?"

"Last night. I went over to his house. We fucked. . . yeah. I have been fucking him for the last two months . . . or three months, what the fuck ever. How da ya think I got the part?" Troy said inebriated, sloughing through his words.

Randy blanched at the drunken young man. His porcelain white skin drained of even more color, making him deathly pale.

Troy continued to tell him about the night the director screwed him and in greater detail. Randy fought off the inebriation and tried to think. Troy would not shut up and he wagged his tongue incessantly about Randy and Anson having sex in all the various positions.

Randy just wanted the boy to be quiet; in any way possible! He knew he would strangle him if he did not stop talking. He leaned over and kissed Troy, just like Anson kissed him. He forced his tongue into Troy's mouth, drinking in the whiskey tinged saliva.

Troy blinked, unbelieving the soft kiss and wet tongue that slid into his mouth.

Randy fondled Troy's chest with both hands and massaged his lean muscled abs. They continued to kiss. Troy didn't resist. Their eyes met and Randy fell into the two pools of warm blue ponds of water.

The tan guy sought out Randy's thighs, easily slipping his hands down into the sweatpants, to the throbbing cock between his legs.

He pulled back, smiling wickedly.

"You shaved your dick for him? Oh ya a sweet little twink." he giggled as he played Randy like a puppy with a chew toy.

Randy's mind ran wild and he pressed himself closer to Troy, kissing his savagely on the mouth. He licked his cheek and nose and nuzzled along his sleek throat biting, hoping the boy would shut up.

Troy continued to laugh and started making up different stories of Randy and the director in all sorts of odd sexual positions and doing unspeakable things. The impish boy made up funny little voices of the two having torrid sex.

"Shut up and suck my cock, Troy." Randy said pulling down his loose fitting sweats. Grabbing Troy's head, he steered the man down to his white underwear. He gazed at the lean and athletic guy’s body and he wiggled his crotch into his face.

Grabbing a fist full of his hair, Randy pulled back Troy's head and looked down at him. The other man’s eyes were glazed over; the alcohol working its magic on him too. His face was slick with his pre-cum juices, his mouth agape, wanting more. He stared up at Randy, depravity yearning, almost pleading with his eyes to allow him to continue. Randy bit his lower lip and lulled his head back, allowing Troy to continue with the debasement.

"Suck it, slowly." Randy moaned allowing the decadent thoughts of Troy to bubble in the back of his brain. “What’s the magic word, bitch?”

"Please?"

Troy pulled one corner of the young boys white underwear over his plump butt. He gawked at the shaven sack and scrotum, still fresh with stubble. The tan guy glimpsed up to Randy and then plunged his head down for an erotic morsel. He painted the boy’s leg with his tongue, tasting the salty sweet tang of sweat mixed with excitement.

Troy tore off his shirt, grabbing a hold of Randy's round ass and he pushed his face into his warm skin. He wiggled violently as he pulled his belt off and stepped out of his pants.

The two danced around the room, each touching and groping at the other. Randy steered Troy backwards, just like Anson did, to his roommate's bed.

Both fell onto the hard mattress, each gasping and grunting in heated passion. It wasn’t the last time that day that two would make those sounds. The walls of the small dorm room echoed with ecstasy as the two students reached orgasms multiple times.

The whiskey had reached its peak of penetration in the young boys’ brains, but Troy hadn't reached deep enough into Randy. His tongue was a muscled spear and he probed deep into the sweet fold of Randy's asshole. The young man responded with each thrust, arching his back and groaning in spasms.

"Uhmph! Uhmph!" Randy moaned like the pistons on a train at full steam.

Randy wanted to teach Troy a lesson too, first for talking about Reardon and him, but more so for stealing him away. Anger bubbled inside of Randy, thinking how Troy seduced the director and how the boy fucked his brains out.

A little part of Randy was jealous too. Troy was handsome beyond anything the man from Arkansas could ever imagine. His skin was golden, honey brown. His face sprinkled with freckles to make him look cute and rugged.

Randy had never fucked a boy before. Hell, before the other night he had never fucked anyone. He tried to remember what the director did to him and do that to this incredibly attractive man now in the sheets with him.

Troy laid spread eagle on Brian's bed, his two hands cusped over his cock and his head lulled over the railings. He moaned and invited Randy to ravage him.

Randy complied, dropping his head between the gorgeous tan legs and licking feverishly. He cupped his mouth over Troy's throbbing cock and sucked on it, biting tenderly to see him flinch. He tickled his anus and the young man twisted into a spasm and arched his back. Each tiny nibble and lick made him twitch and groan, and Randy found power in that. Using his two fingers he probed the man’s glory hole. Randy was soon covered in Troy's luscious cum. He licked his thumb, then his two fingers poking the short digit into the man’s puckering sphincter.

"Fuck me, ‘Randy," Troy moaned trying to lift his head up, but he was so drunk that he just let it bob over the side of the bed.

Randy loved the sheer power he had over Troy. And he marveled at his luscious smooth, muscled, tan skin. He thought to himself that he wanted to get a tan, as he licked along virgin white tan lines. The soft, tiny golden hairs around his navel and tummy felt wonderful on his face and lips.

Rolling Troy over Randy noticed the tramp stamp just at the small of his back. A milky white line surrounded by lush caramel flesh. An arrow and the words: Fuck here pointed down to his ass. He obliged, tracing his tongue from the words to the long arrow straight into the delicious hole.

Just as Reardon had held his head, so too did Randy grab Troy's hair pulling his head back to reveal his throat. Forcing him over again he bit and nuzzled along his neck, reveling in the pulsing aorta.

"Ow! Not so hard!" The attractive boy moaned as he pulled Randy's hair trying to force back his head.

"I like it rough" Randy mumbled as he clutched Troy's tit, feeling the stiff cherry colored nipple. He rubbed it to the delight of the other man.

The ecstasy mixed with the liquor reached its fervent peak as the two young men tussled and tumbled in the small bed, each pleasuring the other multiple times.

At some point in the rough and tumble exchange of tongues, fingers, and caresses the bottle of whiskey became a dildo used to first pleasure Randy then Troy. Each boy came to the delight of the other, drinking more whiskey tinged with sweat and cum juices.

Sometime late into the evening, Troy probably struggled from the bed stiff and queasy. He gathered his things, dressing in the darkness and left the small apartment without Randy ever realizing it.

The other poor boy, Randy, lay disjointed on the sweat streaked sheets, his mouth agape.

He awoke late that evening. His bleary vision coalesced onto Brian standing over him, rage filled in his eyes. His roommate’s cold emotionless stare thrust through him like a notched and curved knife.

"So, did you fuck in my bed?"

"No."

"Stop lying, Randy."

"I'm not lying. I didn't fuck anyone in your bed."

"Shut up, you asshole. You lied to me and you betrayed me. Christ! Put some clothes on."

"I didn't sleep with a girl in your bed." Randy slowly got up clutching his underwear. He realized that the briefs weren’t even his, but must have been Troy's. He didn't say anything to Brian but put them on anyways. His head throbbed like someone was hitting his with a waffle bat. He stood up and straightened the sheets of the bed as best he could, his eyes never making contact with his roommate.

Randy tried to make his way to the bathroom but the other guy blocked his way. He clutched at the half-drunk man, but he arched his shoulder painfully and tried to dodge passed Brian.

"You’re a whore, that's all you are: A slut." Brian punched Randy savagely in the gut.

Randy didn't know what hurt more, the punch or the insult of calling him that name. Unlike the encounter with Reardon, Brian was a friend. His words meant something.

"I didn't have a girl here, it was a guy.” Randy moaned openly, weeping he fell to the floor.

"You're a fuckin' homo! God, I had you all wrong!"

"I had too. Please, forgive me, I was drunk." Randy wailed.

Brian stared in disbelief at his friend. "My God, Randy, who are you? You fuck some guy in my bed drunk?"

"I am so sorry. I got out of control. I didn't want to drink, and I certainly didn't mean to make love to that guy in your bed. I would take it all back if I could. I would take back signing up for that stupid, fucking play if I could, but I can't." Randy rocked back and forth, hugging his knees. He trembled uncontrollably, his eyes cast away from his roommate.

Randy looked up and could barely see the guy only feet from him, his eyes still filled with tears. "You're not mad at me?"

"Oh I am pissed as hell. And I am so friggin mad at you right now I can barely control myself. I still may strangle you tonight." Brian chuckled, waving his roommate over near him. Randy scooted across the floor on his rump and hugged Brian’s feet. He squeezed his friend so hard the other one grimaced, through his forced laughter.

"Enough! I don't care and it shouldn't matter. I want to be your friend and I shall stand by you no matter how badly you want to screw your life over." He chided Randy, but there was a tone in his voice that was disproving.

Brian went to get a glass of water from the bathroom and as he bent over the sink, Randy for the first time noticed what a really nice ass he had. Something stirred inside his but he beat it down with a good solid club.

'Not now, Randy, for the love of everything holy, not now!' Randy toyed over the idea of cozying up behind his roommate and pulling his pants down, of groping his ass and spinning him around to spy that nice huge cock of his. Suddenly the idea of kissing him made him all excited. In that mere second Randy had Brian sprawled out on his bed, fucking him savagely -- paying him back for that hard punch.

"How about some chocolate ice cream?"

Randy blinked and his fantasy was gone. "Sorry I ate most of it. Then threw it up in the toilet."

"Randy, darn you. That was my ice cream. It had my name on it."

"Sorry" Randy sheepishly took in his roommate.

"What are you thinking about?"

Randy got up off the floor, quickly going to make his bed diverting his eyes away from Brian. "Oh, nothing. Nothing at all, just things, you know."

"You weren't thinking about me, you know, in that way?"

"No. No, never. We're just friends, Brian. Nothing more" Randy said with his back to Brian. He lied to his best friend. It wasn't a little white lie, but a whopping galactic size lie and he knew it.

"Okay. Good, because that's how it will always be. It can never be anything like ... you know." He whispered to Randy, but the boy sounded different perhaps a bit disappointed.

"Can I ask you a serious question?"

"Anything!" Brian replied closing the refrigerator with a can of cola in hand. He popped the top and took a long drink.

"Is it that you wouldn't want to be with me because of your belief or because you just don't think I'm hot?"

Brian nearly choked on the soda spraying it across the room. "I guess I did say anything." He mopped his face with a napkin and sat down in the chair looking at his roommate.

"Let me counter that question. What if I told you I think you're hot as hell, but I'm with Amanda?"

The two guys studied each other for a moment, Randy finally breaking the long silence. "I would want you to be faithful to yourself. If you want Amanda, then you should go get her. Seems like all my life I have been holding myself back because of what others expected of me. I lost out on a lot of stuff in school because I confused my beliefs with the beliefs of my family."

"It's not because I don't think you're handsome. You are hot, dude. I don't know if it is my belief or someone else's, but I don't really think of you in that way."

"Have you ever?"

"You're asking me if I ever watched your ass walk passed me or if I noticed you in the shower? Of course I did. Like I said, I think you are hot, but I want to be with Amanda. I want to save myself for her. Can you understand that?"

"Yeah, certainly."

Brian walked over to shake hands with Randy but ended up hugging him. Randy's jaw tightened but went to the bathroom to clean up, not wanting to reveal his desire to take him to bed and fuck his brains out more than anyone else he had ever wanted. That simple touch even heightened the desire and lust of wanting to touch his and trace his fingers along his masculine frame. To feel his body pressed against his as they fucked each other, but it wasn’t meant to be.

At least for the moment the thought of making love to Brian would rest far back in Randy’s torrid fantasies. One day he thought, I’m going to get his into bed with him in it.

Chapter Five

The remainder of the rehearsals went by quickly. Randy had thought of dropping out after his encounter with the director and Troy, but he stubbornly decided to do the best he could and show everyone in the production, he was a professional.

He wanted so bad to get even with the director, but again he bit his tongue and stayed quiet about their night together.

Troy and he remained friends, but their awkward drunken encounter was forgotten. Randy couldn't tell if Troy regretted it or found it as satisfying as he did.

Their eyes would meet on stage and there would be that flicker of recognition mixed with desire, but he remained aloof. Randy didn't know if Troy continued to fuck the director or not. He probably did and somewhere deep inside Randy was jealous of that too.

He decided he wouldn't turn down another chance to have sex with him, but wasn't sure if he should tell him of that desire or just let it go.

The three night performance was the most amazing time of Randy’s life. He bathed in the stage lights and the adulation of the crowds. His lines were minor, some say insignificant, but as he stepped out on the wooden stage and as the lights flowed over his, he felt empowered and so alive. All his inhibitions melted away and for the mere few seconds he was on stage he felt like someone else. He stood there delivering his lines and hearing the crowd respond to his every word.

The reviews came in with overall exuberance. Randy read the review slowly, smiling when the article described Troy as wooden and inarticulate. The wicked smile grew even broader as he thought back to the night in his roommate’s bed -- he wasn’t wooden and inarticulate then.

The rest of the show’s cast was highlighted and exemplified for their craft and delivery. There was even a sentence about the up and coming young actor named Randy Anderson: "A young man we will need to watch in the future, as he has the abilities of a great actor."

The long hours on stage played out for a few nights under the hot lights. Yet Randy learned that the best thing about any production was the cast party at the end of the show. Certainly the play itself with inspiring and gratifying, but the young naive man found the party afterwards even more riotous and entertaining.

After the last curtain call on the final day of the play the cast and crew soon found themselves in the basement of the theatre, where Reardon had brought in a catered dinner. Snuck in the back door, a few stage hands and the lighting guy, wheeled in a beer keg and bottles of hard liquor.

"Okay! Okay everyone please quiet down. I know there are a number of you that are under the legal drinking age, but I'm not a cop so if you want some just make sure you know how you are getting home -- and no you can't drive yourself." Director Reardon held up a cup of beer and saluted his fine crew and actors.

The director settled down at a small table where Troy, Jesse, and another actor sat talking and laughing. Randy began to feel out of place again, before Reardon waved him over and motioned to one of the chairs at the table.

"Randy come on over here. You are part of our little troupe now."

Randy plopped into the chair and looked over to the assistant director. Jesse sat down and offered him a glass and then unscrewed the cap off a tall bottle of thick brown liquor. Randy met the eyes of Troy and the other cast members smiled at him contemptuously. After a few seconds he took the bottle from Jesse and after a moment drank straight from the bottle, eyeing the other people at the table.

"Oh my, he can be a bit wild." Jesse said over his shoulder, while Anson let the boys toy with each other.

Randy pulled the bottle away, licking the rim and stared at Jesse. “I’ll take you upstairs now and fuck you.” It wasn’t a question as much as a threat.

There was an awkward silence but Jesse’s stare never broke. The two boys’ eyes locked on each other. “Not tonight man, I got something you want and I’m not giving him to you.”

Randy’s face burned but the others at the party didn’t seem to notice or perhaps care.

The party ran on into the night and after the awkward moment at the card table, Randy settled into the night and enjoyed the festivities. He even took to playing foolish charades, but of course he was drunk.

The other actors and stage hands took turns acting out playful ribald encounters. A few of them disappeared upstairs, coming back disheveled and smiling. Randy glared at each pair as they returned from the dressing rooms.

Still inebriated from the mix of beer and several mixed drinks his eyes traveled around the room. He thought about taking each one, having sex with the guys. A fire had been lit between his legs and it became an insatiable hunger for pleasure. He wanted to teach Troy, Jesse, and Anson a lesson for humiliating him more than anything else.

Randy had to orchestrate his next encounter with the players in the theatre troupe. He was no longer the hapless victim or the naive partner; he had graduated quickly to the hunter rather than the hunted. His loss of innocence catapulted him into a world of sexual delights with men.

From the first day of the try outs he had his eye on Jesse. He was alluring, mysterious, and hot. He had spurned his advances at the party and Randy now wanted him even more. The thought of ripping his clothes off and fucking him in bed filled Randy’s mind.

In one of the many hours during rehearsal he discovered that Jesse was Anson's boytoy and confidant. He wanted desperately to tell him of the encounter in the hotel room, but that would have been too easy. He still lusted after Anson in some perverted way. Still wanted to have him again in bed, but he also wanted to hurt him. To some lesser extent he wanted to hurt Troy as well. The thought of revealing this complex web of sexual scandal to all of them at one time would be the epitome of revenge, the man thought.

His plan was to meet up with Jesse and Anson at his home, then invite Troy over and at the last minute reveal all the sexual encounters that the man had committed. As the guys fought, he could steal away with Anson to a back bedroom and satisfy his need to conquer him in bed.

He told his phone to call Jesse’s phone number. He had learned that night from a wadded up piece of paper in his pocket.

“Hey Jesse, this is Randy. Can I come over tonight? Thought I would ask Troy too. I have an idea for a play and wanted to act out a few scenes.” He left the message on the guy’s voicemail.

Randy next called Troy and left the same sort of message. He knew that Jesse and Anson lived together, it was no secret. So his plan was coming together and he wickedly smiled thinking about his revenge.

That night he met up with Reardon, Jesse, and Troy at the director’s apartment. It was stylish small place with racks of book and large comfortable furniture scattered around a stone gas fireplace.

“So what is this big play idea of yours, Randy? Realize our budget is pretty slim on acquiring rights to anything on or off Broadway.”

Jesse had settled into a large worn leather sofa, his feet kicked back on a solid oak end table. He sipped a glass of red wine and plucked at plate of cheese and crackers. He offered it around the room and Troy snatched up a couple of wheat wafers.

Reardon stood next to the fireplace, he adjusted the controls and the flames arched a bit higher. He fiddled with the knobs until it gave off a nice glow and the heat from the flames could be felt while Randy sat on another one of the comfortable sofas.

“Sit down Troy,” Randy padded the cushion next to his. Troy shook his head meekly, but sat down in another chair.

“As all of you know I really had a great time with the play. I learned a lot, so to speak.” He mulled over the last several weeks.

“It was a great performance. You did well.” Anson replied.

“Fuck those reviews though. I wasn’t wooden.” Troy spat.

“You’ll get better, man.” Jesse said with a charming smile.

“Oh fuck you. Stop patronizing me.”

“Guys, please we’re all friends here.” Anson tried to calm Troy and Jesse down.

“We’re not friends. Jesse was the worst stage manager I ever worked with. If he didn’t suck your cock you would have fired him after the first practice.”

“Now listen here, asshole, we both know you only got the part because you spread your tanned legs. You couldn’t act your way out of a paper sack if both ends were open. You’re use to having holes open, right?”

“At least he wants me. He just uses you because your old man is rich and pays for this place.” Troy sneered.

“Fuck you, Troy.”

“Any time Jesse!”

Randy sat back relishing in his plan. Now if only he could get Reardon into the bedroom so he could fuck him, the plan would be perfect.

“Do you want to let the two boys talk this out, Anson?” Randy said motioning the director to the backroom.

Reardon winked at Randy. “Or we could just sit out here and watch the action?” Anson said settling down next to Randy putting his hand around him.

The two boys tugged and pulled on each other, fighting like two feral cats. They locked arms and legs together, fighting to find something to grab a hold of and scratching they clawed and pulled each other’s hair. Anson smiled at the two, drinking from Troy’s glass of wine. Randy settled back and watched the spectacle. But something seemed a bit wrong, as neither guy seemed to want to truly throw a punch.

Troy pinned both of Jesse’s arms to his slender chest and then pulled up his T-shirt so Randy could see the diamond stud in his belly button.

Breaking free of the playful pin, Jesse grabbed a fist full of Troy’s hair and pulled his head back. The other guy gasped in anticipation. He longingly gazed at Randy, licking his thin pouty lips. He gorged himself on the sweet open neckline of Troy, kissing and nuzzling him passionately.

Randy turned to Anson, his smile turned sour. “Did you guys know what I was doing all a long?” Randy said sheepishly.

“Not at first, you’re a pretty good actor but we got the gist of it rather quickly. We all are great at impromptu acting.”

Jesse laughed tucking his shirt back into his pants, buttoning them closed.

Troy sauntered over wiggling in between Anson and Randy, his left hand on the man’s cock and his other caressing Randy’s recently tanned face.

Randy unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a reddish coppery tan. Gone was his milky white skin except for the tramp stamp he made from a homemade stencil placed over his the small of his back. The countless tanning sessions made the writing a bit fuzzy but it said: “Insert tongue here!” with a curving arrow across his bellybutton and down between his legs.

“Oh I have to get one. How did you make it?” Jesse traced his fingers along the new tan tramp stamp.

“Just some tape and paper.” whispered Randy.

“I’m going to have: “Suck here”. And have it point to my cock.” Jesse peeled away his skin tight jeans then slipped out of his underwear. He moved over to Troy and the boy didn’t need to be told twice, bending down and kissing the succulent brown body, he made his way to Jesse’s groin and gorged on the long slim prick that pulsed to life..

Reardon unzipped his pants seeing three gorgeous young boys engaged in all manner of sordid and perverted actions. Randy pushed him back into his chair, straddling him and guiding his engorged cock between his legs. Gyrating his pelvis over the guy, he brought intense pleasure to both of them

“This time I’m going to fuck your brains out, sir.” Randy said.

Randy took charge and orchestrating the debauchery that evening. He was now the one controlling the wild abandonment and torrid sexual energy. He was Innocence Lost and most definitely depravity born.

The End