Cover Boy

“A shot, please, of Russ in front of Troy, with Troy palming Russ’s belly. Troy possesses Russ. Troy covers Russ.” The two models moved into position and attitude. Troy was the big, brawny, blond football star-looking one wearing a Navy sailor’s tunic. Russ was the smaller one with auburn hair with blond streaks in it who looked like the more sensitive, sultry one—more beautiful of face than handsome. He was bare-chested and muscular, but not to a “cut” extent. Troy’s hand on his belly was big, manly, giving the impression of possession.

*Click* *Click*“Good,” the photographer, Felix, tall, gaunt, sharp featured, with a long, black ponytail hanging down his back, said. “The hand lower now, Troy, if you please. Suggestive of ownership and sex in the next few minutes.” Tony dutifully moved the hand palming Russ’s belly lower, three fingers disappearing under the waistband of Russ’s trousers in front, clearly extending into the top of the smaller man’s bush, indicative of intimate privilege.

“Very good,” Felix said, “Now, Russ, turn your head up for a kiss, please and thank you. Giving him permission to have his way with you. Yes, like that,” *Click* *Click* “Now kiss.” They did. *Click* *Click*

“Give Troy a look like you will happily open your thighs for him, Russ—because you are going to.” Felix laughed. “Good, very good.” *Click* *Click*

Felix was moving around them at different angles. The shooting session was to feed a photo site for erotica book cover images. Final rounds of shots—the carry-through of the models—would be posted to a different kind of Web site. Felix was in worn jeans, barefooted, and bare-chested. His torso was lean, muscular, but in a tight, gnarly way. He had tattoos haphazardly placed around his body. Both Russ and Troy were clean of any tattooing, with smooth, hard bodies.

“Now the same shots without the tunic. Good.” He did another round of shots. “Now something sexier. More embracing and looking lustfully into each other’s eyes. Troy is about to mount Russ. Good.” *Click* *Click* *Click* “Against the wall, I think. Russ’s back to the wall, Troy forcing Russ’s arms above his head, coming in for a kiss. You’re on your way to fuck. Yes, like that. Perfect.” *Click* *Click*

“Now, facing Russ to the wall, one of Troy’s hands trapping the little guy’s wrists above his head. A hint that the other one is doing something else—yes you can feel Russ up, if you want. These are just torso shots, so it’s imagination time. You’ll be given your chance to make it real. Russ’s butt jutted out. A pained but passioned expression on his face. Troy is fucking Russ from behind. All to be imagined. Yes, good. Very, very good.” *Click* *Click* *Click*

“Now on the bed, Troy on top, between Russ’s legs, and . . . yes, OK, you’re stripping Russ’s briefs off, Troy. If you must, you must. We’ll switch over to the video camera.”

Troy, kneeling over Russ, pressing a hand down on Russ’s sternum, the latter looking not so happy with where the shoot was going, but, with a nod from Felix, sighing and going with it. The sound of the snap of the condom Felix handed to Troy being put in place and then Troy took Russ’s ankles in his hands, wishboned Russ’s legs, and came down between the smaller man’s thighs.

*Whir, whir, whir* went the video camera, as Russ arched his back, raised his pelvis, and was penetrated by Troy’s cock. For the next fifteen minutes, the video camera did its thing in filming a scene of Troy doing pushups on the smaller young man and Russ exhibiting very interesting expressions on his face for the camera.

“And that’s a wrap,” Felix called out after Troy had shuddered through his ejaculation and the two models had kissed.

Felix was across the room attending to his camera, taking out the video camera, and adjusting the lighting around the bed, preparing for the next photo shoot job.

“Who knew that doing cover photo work could be so exhausting?” Troy said. The two of them were pulling their clothes back on.

“Yes, who knew?” Russ answered, his voice a little stiff, not warming to the conversation.

“But a lot sexier, don’t you think?” Troy asked.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“And it brings up a thirst. Shall we stop off at a bar to lift one before we go our separate ways?”

“Thanks, but no,” Russ answered. Not a “not tonight”; a “no. I’ve got to hit the books tonight.” Russ was studying commercial communications at NYU and was about finished with his BA. He wanted to be in front of the camera in broadcasting. He had the looks for it. He’d managed to keep on schedule by selling himself with these cover image shoots—and more so for the videos made at the end of some of the shoots. He was gay, but not as public about it as the cover images implied. He colored his hair and wore different-hued contact lens for anything going beyond a cover-image shot.

He’d graduate before turning twenty-one. Not bad for a guy from a coal mining town in West Virginia. “And, uh” . . . just to pin it down . . . “I don’t mix work with pleasure. Sorry, that’s just too messy.”

“Yeah, OK, but I think you’re really sexy. I think we could get it on for real, not just for this camera work.”

“Yeah, well . . .” It had been real enough for Russ, although he was trying to pretend it wasn’t. Troy had been inside him. Troy had fucked him. It had been for pay and part of a job, though. Russ wanted to keep it that way with the other models. He could pretend it wasn’t real then.

From across the room, Felix called out. “Could you stay a few minutes longer, Russ. I want to go over your release form again.”

“Yeah sure,” Russ called back. He looked back at Troy. “Look, I think you’re hot too. It’s just not a good idea going with a guy you have to work with.”

“I think it would make our cover shots steamier,” Troy said. “I just think it would be better for both of us if we didn’t have to think about doing it for the camera and creating the best camera angles. But OK. If you don’t want to now, you don’t want to . . . yet.” He picked up his duffle bag and headed for the door.

When he was gone, Felix turned and said. “OK, Russ, strip again. Now for some serious filming.”

* * * *

“Now jack yourself. Good, like that. You’re such a sexy slut, baby.” *Whirrr*

Russ was on his back, on the bed, his legs bent and spread. He had a hand wrapped around his cock and was stroking it to the directions being given him. Felix, jeans unbuttoned and flared now, his hips barely keeping the jeans hanging on his legs, his erection pushing out from his curly black-haired bush, was moving around the bed with his video camera, taking it all in.

Felix was licking his lips, his eyes lustily drinking Russ’s body in. He was going to fuck this sweet little piece. Soon.

The guys had been paid $300 each for the cover image shoot and another $300 for the sex extension video. Russ was getting $500 for this sex video. He hadn’t done this often, but the closer he got to graduation, the more money he needed to get across the finish line. He’d do maybe two more of these and he’d be free. He’d have his BA, he’d get a job in broadcasting far away from here, and he wouldn’t do this again. Felix had assured him this was for a very private, exclusive subscription site.

Felix attached the camera to a tripod set on a stand he’d rolled up to and over the bed, positioning it over Russ’s thighs. His hands were unsteady, his motions jerky. He could hardly contain his need, his want, to cover this luscious little model, to penetrate him and pin his ass to the bed, sink in deep, and pump.

“Arch your back, look dreamy, and play with your nipples, while I eat you out,” Felix commanded, “After a minute grab your cock again and stroke it until I brush it away.”

Felix came in below Russ, stroked the young man’s inner thighs, coaxing his legs to spread more. “Silky. Nice.”

“Open your legs for me, baby,” he said, and Russ did so.

He placed pillows under the small of Russ’s back to lift his pelvis.

“Roll your ass up and show your sweet hole to the camera,” Felix commanded, and Russ did so. He moaned as Felix played with the rim with a finger, pushed it in, and then pulled it out. “Such a sweet, tight hole,” Felix murmured. The hole tightened right back up. “Pucker it for the camera.” Russ did so. Whir went the camera.

Felix struck his head between the young man’s thighs and began to tongue his asshole. *Whirrr* The camera was placed directly overhead, set to pan from where Felix was eating Russ out up Russ’s heaving torso to the young man’s face to catch his expressions. Russ arched his back, moaned, and fingered his nipples. I didn’t require directions to act out his arousal. Felix was doing a very good job on him. After a minute, he ran one of his hands down his torso, through the auburn hair of his trimmed bush, and onto his cock. He slowly masturbated himself, moaning and groaning in a low hum, while Felix ate him out, sucked his balls, and, eventually, brushed Russ’s hand off his cock and covered the shaft with his mouth.

*Whirr* went the camera.

Felix rose from Russ, took the camera off the rolling stand, rolled it back off the bed, stripped off his jeans, and came back up on the bed between Russ’s spread legs. He held the camera in one hand, taking in the shot of him deftly crowning himself with a condom with the other hand. And then the camera whirred, taking in every second of Felix’s hard cock entering Russ’s hole. Felix pushed in and pulled out. The camera panned up to Russ’s face to catch the expression of his reaction to the penetration. “Priceless,” Felix muttered. And it was, indeed, a priceless shot.

The whir of the camera caught the in and out of going into the root, pulling back, and then the fuck itself, Russ writhing and bucking against the pumping cock. It caught the verbalized, “Oh, shit. Oh, fuck. Yesss, fuck me good!” Felix’s technique was to catch all of the natural sound, including his instructions. His clients’ feedback indicated they liked that. They sometimes paid extract to give him directions to use.

“Come for me, baby,” Felix commanded, and Russ did.

“Yes, yes, yes,” he cried out as Felix continued pumping. Then he too tensed, jerked, pulled quickly out, ripped the condom off, and squirted cum on Russ’s balls and the base of his cock.

“Turn over and spread ’em,” Felix said, in a shaky voice.

Russ did as commanded, spreading his butt cheeks and showing his reamed hole.

“Look at how open it is now,” Felix said. “Daddy opened baby up real good, yes he did.” Russ groaned as Felix showed he could easily push three fingers up in the passage now and the hole would remain gaping open when he pulled the fingers out.

Here came the only false part of the act, but the clients loved it, so Felix did it. He moved the camera to show him jerking on his cock over Russ’s firm buttocks, spread cheeks, and open hole, and he squirted egg white on the hole from a syringe, faking another prodigious ejaculation on Russ’s tail.

The camera stopped rolling, Felix said, “Good one, baby. You did good,” and slapped Russ on the butt. “Go get a shower now and get out of here.”

Blushing, not being able to look at the wall of mirrors on one side of the room as he escaped the bed, Russ went off to the attached bathroom, grabbing up his clothes on the way. He couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

He walked the ten blocks to Otto’s apartment in Manhattan. He felt too dirty to take the subway; he needed to be out in the cleansing fresh air—as well as cleansing as the air could get in downtown New York. Most embarrassing was that, when they got fully into the fuck, he’d been fully into it.

He lived with Otto, a fashion designer, older than Russ by some thirty years. The good part of that was that Otto didn’t want it very often. He was a handsome, elegant man and he made Russ laugh, but, primarily, he provided a roof over Russ’s head while Russ was finishing his college work. He couldn’t have managed in New York without a sugar daddy of some sort. Otto, interested in sex and beautiful young men but rarely able to get it up, was the best of the opportunities Russ had had. The fringe benefit was that Otto had to have his young man well dressed, and he provided the dressing. It helped in the modeling Russ did on the side, with a good many of the gigs provided by Otto.

Lately their relationship had been strained. Otto’s brief opportunities to get it up recently had been expended as much elsewhere as with Russ and, as Russ’s last year at NYU was drawing to a close, both of them seemed to realize that so was their arrangement. Otto seemed already to be moving in that direction—which was moving Russ out into someone else’s apartment. There wasn’t any question the Russ could afford his own apartment, no matter how small.

This impression was borne out to Russ when he entered the foyer of Otto’s apartment and heard the sounds of sex coming from the living room. He went to the entrance to the living room and stood there for a moment, watching.

They were on the sofa, the back of which was toward the entrance into the living room from the foyer. Thus, all Russ saw was from their shoulders up. From their shoulders up was bare for both of them, though. Otto was sitting on the sofa, turned away from the doorway. Trevor, a young dancer on Broadway, not more than nineteen years old, who both Otto and Russ knew, was sitting in Otto’s lap, facing him. What Russ could see were the naked soles of the dancer’s feet, heels rubbing the top of the sofa back on either side of Otto’s shoulders, Trevor’s hands locked on the back of Otto’s neck, a look of ecstasy, natural or faux, it didn’t matter to Russ, on Trevor’s face, and the young dancer’s body bouncing up and down. The interlaced fingers of the young man’s hands were opening and closing in rhythm to what obviously was the rise and fall of Trevor’s passage on Otto’s Viagra-aided cock.

Russ turned and quietly left the apartment—not really in anger. He just didn’t want to get into any of this now.

* * * *

“So, is the studying done for the night?”

Troy pulled up the stool next to Russ in the gay bar Russ had gone to after leaving Otto’s apartment, not knowing where to go until Otto was finished with Trevor and Russ could pretend not to know what they had been doing. He’d decided he needed a drink. Club 216 in Chelsea had been his first thought.

“No, I can’t get to my books.”

“Is your apartment building on fire?”

“No, my boyfriend is fucking a dancer on the sofa of his apartment and I’d have to walk right by them to get to my bedroom.” Russ had drunk enough to be open and honest. Tory wanted him enough to take advantage of that.

“Ouch. Sorry I was flip.”

“Yes, ouch. We don’t have an arrangement that permits us to bring anyone home to fuck under the other’s eyes. I think my roommate is giving me notice.”

“You need someplace to crash for the night?”

“No, thanks. I’ll think of something.”

“Come on back to my place. It’s nearby.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Come on back to my place. My performance earlier today doesn’t reflect what I can do in private. And we can just do nothing, if that’s what you want. Your call. But you need somewhere to crash tonight on short notice.”

“And you probably have only one bed,” Russ said.

“Was I really that bad in the porn scene?” Troy asked. His wounded tone probably was genuine. He wasn’t used to being blown off.

“No, you weren’t bad at all,” Russ acknowledged.

“There’s a couch.”

“The bed will be fine,” Russ answered, flashing Troy enough of a smile to show he was good with it.

“For sure?” Troy asked. “You were—”

“Yes, for sure. I’ve just been on edge recently. Sorry. I appreciate the offer.”

Troy fucked Russ up against the wall of his living room, just inside the door. He had Russ cheek and chest against the wall, arms raised above his head, trapped there by Troy’s hand gripping Russ’s wrists. Troy’s other hand was palming Russ’s belly, pulling the young man’s pelvis and legs back, away from the wall. He was thrusting up inside Russ’s passage. “Shit this is good,” he growled in Russ’s ear. “I wanted to do it like this back where the photographer was positioning us for the cover shots.”

“God you’re big!”

“Yes, I am. But I’ll bet you tell that to all the boys.”

Troy was bigger than Felix was and definitely bigger than Otto ever had been, but Russ wasn’t going to tell Troy about that. Russ was so off beat with Otto that Troy didn’t really have to pressure him to go into the clinch.

Troy fucked him on his couch, Russ’s belly on the arm, Russ facing a large window overlooking the Manhattan skyline, Troy behind Russ, grabbing the young man’s wrists and arching Russ’s torso back toward him, as he crouched over Russ’s buttocks and pounded away inside him.

And Russ rode Troy’s cock in Troy’s bedroom, again looking out onto a different view of Manhattan from the high-rise window wall behind Troy’s headboard. Troy lay on his back on the bed with Russ straddling his pelvis, facing him, and Troy lifting and lowering Russ’s passage on his thick, long, hard shaft. When they had both come, Russ just collapsed on top of Troy and they both drifted off into la-la-land.

Before they zonked out, Troy whispered, “Sorry for the onslaught. I’d just been dreaming about you for some time.”

“It was all good,” Russ murmured. And it had been all good. Russ had been suppressing his arousal for Troy because they worked together and Russ couldn’t deal with more than one boyfriend at a time. Still, when Troy’s hand with to Russ’s cock and was playing it even though both men were exhausted from the earlier sex, Russ put his hand on Troy’s and moved it away. Troy didn’t seem to mind; he immediately went to sleep.

Russ didn’t notice until the morning when he lay in the bed, watching Troy at his bathroom sink through the open bathroom door, shaving himself, that this was a really nice apartment. Troy was standing at the sink, naked, exhibiting why he made money as a model. But he couldn’t make enough money as a model to afford a nice one-bedroom apartment like this.

“This is really is a nice apartment,” Russ said as Troy came out of the bathroom and stood there, body magnificent, cock in half erection.

“Yes, it is, and you look really sexy lying there on your belly like that, with your sweet ass smiling at me. And sorry, last night you could stay, but the apartment’s booked for tonight, so we’ll have to think of something else for you.”

“Booked? Think of something else?”

“You don’t really want to go back to your boyfriend’s apartment to live, do you?”

“No, of course not. But it’s what is for a couple of more months. I need someplace to stay until I graduate from NYU and pin down a job somewhere else. But you said the apartment is booked for tomorrow night—not that I was thinking of crashing with you,” he added.

“Yes. You’re right. I can’t afford an apartment like this. The agency provides it for me.”

“The agency?”

“The escort agency. They provide a place for me to bring clients. Men. This is my office as well as my home. I have to keep it looking nice. And I can’t have my boyfriends staying here.”

“Boyfriends?”

“Close enough; working on it, I hope.” Troy climbed up on the bed and stretched out on top of Russ. There was no talking for a while—only moaning and groaning and grunting and loud exclamations of the taking, as Troy went fully erect, nudged Russ up on his knees, penetrated him, reached up to grab the young man’s wrists and trap them over his head, and started to pump inside him.

Afterward, as they lay there, Troy still inside Russ, languidly moving his pelvis and Russ moving ever so slightly with him, Troy murmured, “You could get an apartment like this. You could earn more than enough to finish out your decree. I can set you up with an appointment this afternoon. You could be out of your boyfriend’s apartment by tonight.”

“It’s a thought,” Russ whispered. “There, like that. Shit, you’re hard again. You’re huge. Oh, shit, fuck me again!”

And Tory did.

* * * *

The big black bull, a Nigerian businessman visiting New York, was between Russ’s legs, choking his throat with one beefy hand and slapping his face with the other. Russ’s legs were waving in the air, his feet coming down to the Nigerian’s hips every once in a while, trying to push the big man off him, but to no avail. The Nigerian was just too strong for him, and Russ was in shock and pain. His stomach hurt from where the john had punched him “to get his attention,” the Nigerian had said and then laughed, and his left eye was puffing up and closing from the punch he’d taken to the face.

The Nigerian’s shaft was inside him, the biggest Russ had ever taken, and was filling him and pounding away. The unopened condom wrappers were still on the nightstand beside the bed in the high-rise apartment building. The apartment the escort agency had provided Russ was in the same building and on the same floor as Troy’s apartment.

“I don’t use rubbers,” the Nigerian had declared. And he didn’t. He was barebacking Russ, stretching him to the limit, stroking hard, punishing the young man’s channel walls.

Russ gave up and collapsed, lying there docilely and letting the john have his way with him. He concentrated on getting the next breath. Sensing he’d won, the Nigerian loosened his grip on Russ’s throat, and Russ gasped with appreciation. The Nigerian stopped slapping him, but he used the hand to twist Russ’s nipples and reach down and squeeze his balls. He jacked Russ’s cock hard, painfully, but Russ hardened up and came in the Nigerian’s hand. The black bull fucked on, while Russ moaned and groaned and writhed as best he could when his balls were squeezed and nipples twisted.

The Nigerian paused, holding briefly, tensed, withdrew his cock head to Russ’s entrance, spouted cum, and then thrust back in, sliding cruelly through the added lubricant of his prodigious semen.

He held there, suspended over Russ, staring down into the young man’s face, a hand grasping Russ’s throat, the other hand now roaming all over the young man’s body, feeling, prodding, testing the firmness of him with controlled jabs of a closed fist.

“Nice body. A real looker, aren’t you?” he growled.

Russ lay there, panting and moaning, mentally assessing the damage and wondering how nice his body would be after the Nigerian had used it.

“Don’t you even think of moving,” the Nigerian hissed.

It hadn’t been the thought uppermost in Russ’s mind. Survival had been. Checking the damage had been next. A thought to the huge cock inside him, a thick slug even when flaccid.

But it wasn’t fully flaccid and it was getting less so. “Oh, shit; oh, fuck,” Russ whimpered as the giant black bull began to move inside him again. The long slide out, the longer slide in. Quickening in intensity until the bed was bouncing and groaning and the Nigerian was pounding away at him again.

He lay there, on his back, panting and still whimpering, as the Nigerian, out of the shower, moved around the room, dressing again in his impeccable pinstripe suit. Every once in a while he’d make a feint toward the bed, Russ would cower and moan, and the Nigerian would laugh and a big, white-toothed grin would float across his ebony face.

When the Nigerian was gone, closing the door to the apartment after himself, Russ rolled over in the bed, groaning deeply, to the nightstand. He called Troy, who was over in a few minutes and was dressing Russ’s wounds as best he can.

“We’ll get you to an ER,” he said. “I’ll call the escort agency and they’ll take care of everything.”

“No. They’ll just toss me out of the apartment and I have another month until I graduate,” Russ said. “Don’t call them.”

Troy called them. “This happens, Russ. Just don’t tell them you plan on leaving soon anyway. They’ll pay for everything and give you time off to heal.”

“And then send me another Nigerian businessman.”

“Probably. But, with luck you’ll be gone then.”

“Terrific.”

Russ lay back on the bed.

“You’re hard, though,” Troy said. “What the Nigerian did turned you on, didn’t it?”

“Yes,” Russ admitted in a quiet voice. And it wasn’t just the size of his cock—Russ like being taken with a big cock. The rough sex had aroused him in ways he hadn’t known it could.

“Someone should take care of that hard of yours,” Troy said. Then he leaned his face over Russ’s pelvis, took Russ’s cock in his mouth, and took care of his need, while fingering Russ’s hole, which had been reamed big enough that Troy could have gotten his fist in there.

* * * *

Russ’s first week as a weatherman at a small TV station in Pomona, California, in the southern section of Los Angeles, had gone very well. The feedback from the station managers and the public had been good. He hadn’t taken the highest-paying job he’d been offered, but he’d taken the one that was the farthest away from New York City.

As the station always did after the 11:00 news wrap-up on Friday night, they had drinks and crunchies in the break room, discussing how the week had gone. The second-ranking anchorman for the station, Hal Olson, pulled on Russ’s sleeve.

“I have something to show you out at the anchor desk,” he said.

Russ had been leery of Hal Olson. The man was in his forties, and, as was natural with a TV anchorman, was very facetious about his appearance. He wanted to look in his thirties, and he wanted to be California tanned. Russ thought that the man must spend all of his time away from the station either sunning himself or exercising in a gym. He was smooth, much too smooth, and Russ knew what was behind the looks the man gave him. Still he was solidly built and a looker, even if some of that had been from cosmetic surgery. And he was oh so sure of himself.

On the way out to the television studio, Hal put a hand on Russ’s arm and said, “You had a great first week, Russ. I thought you might want to go out after this for a drink with me to celebrate.”

“It’s after midnight, Hal,” Russ said. “We probably both need our sleep. Tomorrow’s another day of this.”

“You’re new to Los Angeles, kid,” he said. “Midnight here is noon almost anywhere else. So, how about a drink?”

“Sorry, I don’t think so, Hal. I try to make a point of not socializing with those I work with. It complicates things.”

“I can see why you would avoid complications,” the anchorman said, as they reached his desk and his computer, which was on. “Thought you’d want to see that,” Hal said, pointing to the screen, where Felix was fucking Russ in a pretty-good quality video.

“Hal. Turn it off, please.”

“Yeah, as soon as you say you’ll go for that drink with me.”

“Just a drink then.”

“I don’t think so. I think I want to get some of what this guy on the tape got from you—unless, of course, you want everyone in the office to see this video.”

There was no drink. It was the Motel 6 in nearby—but not too nearby—Rowland Heights.

“A Motel 6?” Russ asked when they arrived. He didn’t use the word “tacky,” but it was there in the atmosphere and both of them knew it.

“I’m married. You think I’m going to take you home? This motel’s beds don’t creak when they are exercised. I’ve checked that out, and I always consider that when I take a man to a motel to fuck the stuffing out of him.”

There wasn’t much Russ could say about that. It wasn’t hyperbole, though, Hal did fuck the stuffing out of him in that Motel 6 and the bed was up to the exercise.

Russ knelt on his knees on the bed, his cheek and chest pressed into the mattress, Hal crouched over him, holding Russ’s wrists in his fists, and Hal, mounted on Russ’s ass, fucking Russ with a perfectly adequate cock.

Once it had been done once, Russ was “what the hell” with it. He hadn’t been fucked in weeks, and he missed it. Hal lay on his back on the bed, smoking a cigarette and drinking Russ’s beautiful nude body in with his eyes. Fascinated by the micro bikini pattern contrast between what of Hal’s body was tan and what wasn’t, Russ traced the tan line with his fingers. Hall liked that. It kept him in erection. And the contrast between light and dark on his body emphasized how nice his erect cock was. After sucking on Hal’s cock for several minutes, Hal had had enough of the play and rolled over on top of Russ, slapped the smaller man’s thighs open, spiked him, and rode Russ’s ass to heaven. He fucked him and fucked him and fucked him, until Russ’s tongue was lolling out of his mouth and his eyeballs were swimming in cum.

He was good, very, very good, Russ thought, lying back on the bed, arms and legs stretched out in total submission after Hal had fucked him for the third time.

“You are good, very, very good,” Hal whispered. “I’ve followed your career and you live up to your promise.”

“My career?”

“Yes. I’m betting you lying there thinking you can stop this any time you want—that I have more to lose than you do.”

Russ didn’t contradict him, which was an admission that he was right. He wouldn’t have come with Hal so readily tonight if he didn’t need to be fucked and if Hal hadn’t been a handsome guy.

“I don’t. My wife doesn’t give a shit what I do as long as I bring in money and don’t bring the clap home. And the station managers know me—and they want to keep me. I have great ratings, which is all that they—and anyone else in Los Angeles—care about. I picked you out to hire, and they hired you.”

“You picked me out?”

“Yes, as soon as your application arrived—along with a gazillion of other ones, I recognized you. I recognized you from the cover photos you did. You’re a gay male e-book cover boy star. Then I found the private subscription sex vids. I wanted you and I wanted you to work here where I’d have access to you.”

“And you told the station managers why you wanted them to hire me?”

“I didn’t have to. They didn’t ask, but I never recommend anyone for a job here who I’m not going to fuck. But there’s more than that, kid.”

“What?” Russ asked.

“I recruit for a high-class escort service downtown too. You perform. I think they’d love to have you in their stable.”

“No can do,” Russ said, rolling out of bed and gathering up his close. They’d driven there separately, so he could see his own way home. “It’s been good—no, great—Hal, but I’m on my way out of all of that.”

“OK for now,” Hal said with an indulgent smile. “But it’s big bucks. And you’re already there. Think about it. You’ll keep coming to me when I want you, though, that’s for sure.”

Russ suspended pulling on his cowboy boots. “Yes, I will,” he said. “Because of you, not because of your offer or anything you’re holding over my head.”

“Appreciate it,” Hal said. “See you on the set Monday night.” There was a weekend crew at the station. Neither of them worked the weekend. “But, then, I could see you tomorrow night—not to fuck you, but there’s a party. While you’re thinking about it, you could get a taste of it.”

“A party put on by the escort service.”

“Yes. It’s a big Hollywood thing. Men who like men out here don’t hide it as much as they do on the East Coast. They’re always looking for fresh meat. The escort service provides young men. You don’t have to do anything but drink their drinks, eat their canapés, and look beautiful.”

“Sorry, I’m busy washing my hair tomorrow night.”

Hal laughed. “I’ve always wanted to be able to use that line too. Did I mention that they pay $500 just for you to stand around and drink their drinks, eat their canapés, and look beautiful? You’d get more if a guest wanted to lay you.”

* * * *

The party was at a big house on the ocean in Malibu. The house was owned by a recent break-through heartthrob actor in his late twenties, Jeffry Howard. It didn’t matter that he was known to be gay. That hadn’t curbed his box office appeal at all. He was starting in action thriller movies at the rate of two a year. He did all of his own stunts. He was in such good shape that he could do so. The insurance premiums on his movies must have been the biggest production expense.

“Jeffry, I’d like you to meet the new weatherman at our station, Russ Gordon,” Hal Olson said when he ushered Russ down the initial reception line before the party went into full swing. Only men attended the party. It wasn’t long before the party got racy.

“Ah, yes, Hal has been telling me about you,” Jeffry said, taking Russ’s hand in his and not letting it go.

“He has?”

“Yes, I’ve seen your tapes.”

“You watch the weather of the Pomona TV station?” Russ asked.

“Not those tapes.”

The party was still in full swing when Jeffry guided Russ up to his bedroom and fucked him. The actor was very athletic and put Russ through his paces in a challenging way that Russ barely managed but that impressed Jeffry enough that he kept him.

He had Russ rocking on his belly on the edge of the foot of the bed, his legs streaming behind him, toes buried in the carpet, and Jeffry standing between his thighs, arching Russ’s torso back toward him by bowing the young man’s arms back, while Russ’ channel rocked on Jeffry’s long and thick cock. This was after Jeffry had strutted around the room holding Russ’s reversed body on the front of him, with Russ sucking Jeffry’s cock, Russ’s legs stuck straight out from his body and Jeffry eating out Russ’s asshole. More strutting around involved Russ plastered to the front of Jeffry, his knees hooked on the actor’s hips and his arms encircling the actor’s neck, while Jeffry bounced Russ’s channel up and down on his cock.

Later, Jeffry said, “I don’t want you just to let me do you. I want you to commit to me. Fuck yourself on it. But surprise me. Be inventive.” Russ had him sit at the foot of the bed, legs spread, as Russ bent over between his legs, grabbed his ankles, backed onto the cock, took it deep, and rocked on it, while Jeffry held his waist. “Enough. Good enough,” Jeffry pulled Russ into him, positioned the young man’s legs over his thighs, embraced Russ’s torso in his arms, and cupped his balls with one hand and stroked Russ’s cock with the other as they rocked to a mutual ejaculation.

“You are all I’ve been waiting for,” Jeffry whispered in Russ’s ear.

“And you me. I didn’t even realize I was seeking you until you found me.”

Jeffry fucked Russ all night and Russ took it all. They came down for breakfast, surveyed the damage and the undulating bodies still here and there on the floors and couches and tables and went right back upstairs and fucked again while waiting for breakfast to be served to them in bed.

By the end of the week, the tabloids had photos of Jeffry Howard attending events with a beautiful young man, Russ Gordon, on his arm. Russ closed down his apartment and had all of his stuff delivered to the Howard house on Malibu beach. It was a long run to Pomona, but Russ insisted on keeping his job—at least for now.

Three weeks later, on a Friday night, Hal called Russ over to his desk. “I received an advance copy of this scandal sheet that goes on the newsstands tomorrow,” he said. “I think you should see it.”

Russ was a cover boy again. Two photos with him in it were on the cover of the magazine—he and Jeffry in tuxes attending a charity concert in Pasadena and he and Troy from one of the soft-core gay male e-book covers. The racier photos and a lurid version of Russ’s past ran in a long article inside the covers.

“Jeffry knows about my past,” he said.

“Not about all of it,” Hal said. “And having a gay boyfriend is different from everyone knowing you have a boyfriend who was a hooker and who did porn films.”

“Did you do this?” Russ asked. “You haven’t fucked me since I moved in with Jeffry. Did you want to break us up?”

“No, kid. I’m the one who put you together—I thought it was the right fit for both of you. Call him and see what he thinks.”

He wouldn’t come to the phone. The butler said that “Mister Gordon” could find his possessions out by the garage when he wanted to come pick them up.

“What now?” Russ said.

“You can stay at the Motel 6 until you can find a new apartment,” Hal said.

“Very funny,” Russ said. “I suppose you’re going to stay with me there.”

He did at least that night, taking Russ to the Motel 6 and fucking him and fucking him and fucking him. Russ had to admit that it took his mind off Jeffry and his rejection. It also told Russ that it wouldn’t have worked out with Jeffry anyway. The actor knew Russ had done porn—he couldn’t be surprised to know that Russ had turned tricks too. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to fuck a hooker and porn actor; he just didn’t want the public to know he did. He seemed to think there was a line there somewhere when someone came out.

After Hal had fucked him all night and had showered and was dressing—the two of them agreeing they’d arrive at the station separately, he turned and looked at Russ, lying on his back on the bed, legs spread, and fondling his cock.

“Don’t do that. I’ve got to go to work, not jump your bones again,” Hal said. “You asked ‘What now?’ This opportunity is still open. I have the escort service’s card here—the one only I can give out to prospective escorts. Call them. They’ve already told me they want you.”

“After the scandal sheet and Jeffry dropping me—”

“They want you even more now. This is tinsel town. You’re more of a marketable celebrity now than when you were going with Jeffry. Think about it.” He picked Russ’s wallet off the dresser and tucked the card inside.

Later that day, a telephone call came in to Russ. He was packing up a box of his things from the office. The station was letting him go. He couldn’t say he didn’t understand why they would do so. Hal was sympathetic but reminded him of the escort service card in his wallet.

“Russ this is Felix. Remember me? I’ve relocated to Los Angeles and am putting together a stable of men for book cover images and vids. I’ve seen the article on you and figure you might be shopping for a new job.”

Felix. Of course.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Russ said. “You’re the one who provided the stuff for that article.”

“You were my best boy,” Felix said.

Russ hung up on him. He stood there, a “what now?” look on his face. And then he pulled his wallet out and extracted the escort service card.

Sometimes you go a great distance only to get back to where you started, he thought, as he started to punch in the numbers on his cell phone. He had started as a cover boy and had ended this phase of his life—and the chances of a straight career—as a cover boy—in this case being covered.

The cell phone buzzed again before he could put the escort service number in.

“You hung up on me before I could get my whole pitch out,” Felix said. “I work for a movie studio now—one that makes movies including what we did before but with plots and classy photography. Hard porn included, but real movies that sell well. Where you might have seen the newspaper article linking you to porn and also to Jeffry Howard as a career stopper, the studio I work for sees it as a star is born—you being the star. How would you like to be a movie star? Don’t hang up before we talk this out. This is your chance. Hiding your past isn’t an option. Using it is.”

“I’m listening,” Russ said, with a sigh.