God, it was a hot day. Sun beating down without mercy, making the sand impossible to walk on in anything but shoes. Barefoot? Sandals? Expect second and third degree burns. Same for anything less than 100 SPF slathered all over your body...even under your clothes.
I’d learned that the hard way, in Honolulu. For some dumb reason my folks had taken us all to Waikiki. Laguna Beach had everything that place did and the ocean was close to home. But no, mom and dad did their usual, Do what we say ‘cause it’ll be fun...so we did.
And it wasn’t. Because I got second degree sunburn under my t-shirt.
So fucking stupid.
But since I knew better, why the hell was I out in it? Nobody else was on the beach, not even the sk8ter boiz. Yet there I was, sweating like crazy, alone with nothing but the sound of the waves to keep me company. Not even the gulls were messing with this heat.
Until I saw Nicky rolling up the pathway, fast and furious. Shirtless, as usual, and looking so fucking gorgeous I scrambled to jump in front of him and make him slam into me. We tumbled into the burning sand and he spit out so many curses I’d have been sent straight to hell with them as my chariot if they’d been daggers.
But rather than listen...and give him a chance to regroup...I grabbed his wrists, yanked them behind him and whipped packing tape around them. He howled and struggled under me and tried to kick, but I got his ankles taped too, and then gagged him with the tape...and he was mine.
Shit, he looked so good, that way. Chest pumped. Muscles defined. Abs taut and legs straining as much as his buff arms were. His basket full and ready and his ass calling to me. Skin gleaming with sweat. I could have creamed, right there.
Instead, I carried him fireman style into the condo. No one was around to stop me. Then it was up to the bathroom I’d had redone into my own luxury spa, and bind him to the built in hoops I’d added for rags and scrubbers and such, in the shower. He struggled but couldn’t stop me. I set the water to flowing...warm, not hot, from six different angles...and enjoyed watching it flow over his lovely muscles in a manner so erotic...again, I could have cum without touching myself.
The way his shorts clung to his ass was lovely. No Spandex under them, this time, so they became transparent. The material soaked around his dick and balls, barely covering them while allowing the outline of everything, emphasizing how fucking gorgeous it was...and rich and full and needing my tender ministrations...
Oh, fuck, this was going to be so great.
I stripped to nothing, my dick raging, and joined him in the shower. Ran my hands over his pecs and played with his tits and up and down his legs and his sides, and let my fingers tickle down his abs to fondle his dick in ways no man can resist.
He growled more curses that were barely understandable. Things like asshole and fucker and faggot and cocksucker...all of them true.
Then I tore his shorts off at the left side to reveal the world’s most perfect dick, already pumped up by my mauling and ready for me to bring to completion. And the best way to do that?
Get behind him. Maul his ass come more. Let my dick slip between his legs to massage his scrotum. Making him struggle even more. Driving me even crazier. So I knelt and pushed my face between the cheeks and licked his asshole.
He yelped and tried to get away, but I had too good of a hold on him. So I tickled his hole with my tongue, slipping it inside and licking at it and driving him fucking insane with need. His dick got harder and harder, sloping and beautifully round with a head gleaming in the dancing water...and I groped him and stroked it and fondled his balls, from behind, making him even harder.
Finally, I rose, positioned my dick and shoved it into his perfect ass.
No more caressing. No more groping. A kind of spooning as I rammed deep into him and howled like a wolf.
That’s when Ben and Liam roared in, dressed in their sk8ter boy shit. Ben dropped to his knees and sucked on Nicky’s dick like a pro, long smooth movements of his lips up and down the guy’s elegant shaft. Liam snuck behind me and felt my butt up then pinched at my tits, sending me into near spasms of joy as the overwhelming beauty of the sensations took me over. Then he shoved his duck up inside me, matching my rhythm as I fucked Nicky and...
And I fucking woke up.
Just as I fired my cum in my sleeping shorts. My hands above my head. Not having touched my dick. Just felt cum explode from me and my tits tingle and the sheet over me all but massage me.
And I was fucking gasping like I’d run a three-minute mile.
It was five days after my fun with Ben and Liam...and the third time I was having that dream.
I think.
Normally I don’t remember anything when I wake, other than knowing I’d dreamt. But this time my phone had awakened me in the middle of it, so I was able to recall the moments. I grabbed the damned thing and bolted to my desk to write down as much as I could recall, snarling, “What?”
It was Vance.
“Shit, Rett, no need to be such an asshole.”
“I was sleeping!”
“It’s fucking noon!”
Really? I’d been asleep twelve hours? Shit. “Uh...I...uh, I couldn’t sleep...” As if I needed to justify still being in bed at that hour.
“Fun. Will you be human by two?”
“Today?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“A writing job. You still do that, don’t you?”
“Writing job? For you?”
“For a friend. Reality program. Cable shit, but very well-paid.”
“I do film scripts.”
“That’s why I want you. Buy you lunch and we can talk...”
“Fuck...Vance...I don’t think...I’m not up for it...I...uh...”
“Don’t pull any shit on me, Rett. Fact is, you owe me a favor. I’m calling it in.”
“...I do?”
“Yes, you little fuck. I got that piece of shit script of yours made and set you on your writing career...”
“You mean the one where that kid almost got killed?”
“You remembered.”
“You got that made?”
“Fuck yeah. Director owed me...and fortunately wound up happy about. Got his career going, too. So? Two o’clock. Wesson’s on La C?”
“Which side of...of Wilshire?”
“Are you joking?”
Meaning to the north. “Right, right, I’ll be there.”
I shouldn’t have agreed to it, but I was writing my dream down at the same time I was talking to Vance, so didn’t really pay much attention. Besides, I already knew of Wesson’s. It was one of those hot-hot-hot new places where the crowd went to be seen and paparazzi’d. I’d almost been run down by a pack of the vultures as they chased some big-name actor and his latest starlet crush when they left their dinner. Very scary.
Suddenly, I realized I was sweating like a pig, which confused me. My climate control is good and it’s still cool at night, right now. But my shirt and shorts were totally soaked. I’d need to change the sheets, too. I hate sleeping in messy sheets. Shit...
Anyway, I showered, dressed in young Hollywood style and made it to the place just minutes before Vance.
Wesson’s was in one of those faux-Spanish buildings that had a courtyard in the back, done up in a plastic Italian vineyard style. Very comfortable, and the pasta was good.
Vance was still lost in his look at me but don’t look at me mode. Meaning people looked at him while trying not to look like they were looking. A crowd was waiting to get in but we were ushered straight to a table. Lots of irritated stares from them.
He slid into a chair across from me, his face still half-hidden by a thousand-dollar hoodie and he took such a casual pose, I knew something more than a writing job was up.
“Rett, it’s been months,” he purred. “What’ve you been doing with yourself?”
Chit-chat? From Vance? This was a big deal.
“Working on a new script,” I said. It’s the expected response from a screenwriter. No details needed. “Doing research. You?”
“You ready for this? I’m associate producer on a new project that’s going to use AI renditions of Clark Gable and Vivien Leigh to do an honest sequel to Gone With the Wind. Unlike that made-for-TV thing with...what was his name? Timothy Dalton as Rhett? No Timothy should EVER be a Clark Gable character.”
Is that what he wanted me to work on? “Is that even legal? What about copyrights? Trademarks?”
“The lawyers have an okay from those who matter. Script was worked up by ChatGPT and made semi-believable by some real writers. It’s not Shakespeare, but what is, anymore? They have it storyboarded out and I’m picking clips from their films to generate from.”
I huffed. “But you want me to rewrite the script?”
“Rett, Rett, Rett, please, you’re too modern to make the story suit its time.”
“Ouch. So was that the reason for this tete-a-tete?”
“Tete-a-tete? Oh, my God, you’re reading the dictionary, again.”
“What the fuck, Vance!?”
“Now, Rett, don’t get too loud. You’ll get thrown out and embarrassed and you can’t do that at Wesson’s; no one will ever hire you again.”
Fortunately, a waiter came up and cut me off before I said anything stupid. Give me a chance to remind myself that while Van could be a dick, he also had those connections that mattered. And when he said no one would ever hire me, again, he meant he’d see to it. So shut the fuck up, Rett.
I ordered a Caprese Salad and Pasta Pomodoro while he did an antipasti and eggplant parmigiana with a nice Chianti. I almost asked for fava beans, but I don’t think the joke would have played well, here. If at all.
I stayed quiet till we had our wine, as did Vance. Making me a bit nervous. Which was his intent, I’m sure.
Finally, as we began our salads, he said, “Okay, the job I’m referring to is a reality program I helped produce. The script is kind of clunky, and what we need is a smoother through line. Not merely bouncing back and forth between events we recorded and talking heads. Sort of a filmic touch.”
“I’ve never done that.”
He shrugged. “You’re a writer, Rett. I’d like you to look over the program as it’s currently done. See the footage we excluded. Make it into more of a story than just boring facts and actions.”
“Give it a film feel? Really?”
He nodded. “I have a lot invested in this project, and not just money. In fact, no money. If it flops, I lose nothing...well...maybe a hit to my untarnished reputation. But it’s an important work, and I really, really cannot emphasize enough that it must succeed. I think you can help with that. You have a fairly good understanding of one part of it.”
I was actually getting intrigued. “What is it?”
He took a sip of wine, looked me dead in the eye and said, “It’s the story of a skater boi who wound up being misused by an older man, but who built a reputation as a skateboard designer, and who is unashamed of who he once was.”
The way he looked at me, with that Don’t trying try fucking with me, baby, I’ll fuck you up, expression he had made it obvious who he was referring to.
The son-of-a-bitch knew about my interest in Smoke.
You see, Instagram had been my friend, about him. His actual name was Stephen Marlon Kratorski. He’d done the pro-sk8ter circuit and made it to the top ten. Been at it since he was eleven. Fifteen years. Now he was just a weekender and made his living designing specialty skateboards in Culver City.
Sk8ter to the stars...
An image from a few weeks ago showed he’d beefed up a little, which actually looked really good on him. He still had those lovely pecs, partially hidden by a cut-out t-shirt, and fine legs, made even lovelier by cargo shorts that were a size too small for him, now. His face filled in some, but with scruff on it he was almost beautiful...especially now that I got a good look at his eyes and mouth. He’d also added another tattoo to his left arm...a sk8ter boy on his sled, probably him from an earlier time.
I also found podcasts he was doing on YouTube and other platforms about making specialty skateboards. The why this way was better than that sort of thing...and he had a lovely screen presence. Open and warm and a bit jokey, with a smile that promised heaven. During those clips, he wore an old LA Rams cap, backward, holding his longish russet hair out of his face.
Which made me check a previous video and see...sure enough, his hair had been a plain brown. So he'd colored it. Or washed it. Whichever.
I’d been close to falling in more than lust for him and his best buddy looks, which was making him a serious rival to my need for sleek little Nicky.
There was little more than a vague mention of his wife and kids on the web; just that they were part of his life. And there had been chatter about one of the cable networks bringing him on board as another of their reality shows.
But I’d thought that would only be so long as no one connected him to the molestation clips I’d seen. Enough of his face was hidden by the blindfold and gag, and his body was different enough now, so that he had plausible deniability. There was also the additional tattoo...and it looked like he’d altered the one he already had. With Georgie dead and the documents vanished...at least, I think they were vanished...then he would have been safe.
But it sounded like that was not even a consideration, since Vance was involved. It was time to up my game.
I swallowed what I’d been eating, took a sip of wine to chase it down, and looked straight back at Vance.
“Oh? You mean Georgie?” I can fake ignorance really well.
Vance leaned forward, still very casually, and I think I saw a hint of a smirk on his face. “I hear you found his editing suite. Copies of his DVDs.”
Okay, we were now in battle...and I was outmanned, since Ben and Liam were obviously on his side.
“People don’t do DVDs, anymore,” I said. “Porn’s all online.”
He nodded. “Yet still he burned some. Over a hundred.”
“Do you have his paperwork?” I asked. “Title 18 section 2257 shit?”
Vance looked like a cat eyeing its prey. “I have everything. I was executor of his estate.”
Oh, fuck...paranoid writer kicked in and the only reason I didn't run screaming out of Wesson's was...the Pasta Pomodoro was killer, and I wanted it, dammit. But I still needed info before I could counterattack.
So I asked, “You knew Georgie?”
“All my life. I was the only part of his family that didn’t turn on him.”
“And this is the first I’m hearing of it?”
“Need-to-know basis, only.”
“C’mon, Vance, the guy I saw in those videos was way older than you.”
“So? He’s my mother’s cousin. Helped make me who I am.”
Oh, shit. I did not want to ask this, but...”Did you have anything to do with me buying the condo?”
He leaned back, still smiling. “You said you were looking for a place. Maybe I gave the agent handling the sale a bit of a nudge...”
“But I still almost didn’t go for it. It was expensive and I wasn’t all that crazy about being right there with the bike path and...and...”
Oh, wait one fucking minute.
“Vance...did you know Ben and Liam before I introduced you?”
He sighed and pulled back his hoodie...and I finally saw his eyes without shadows...one green, one a silvery blue, both cutting into me with his cold stare.
“Rett, you’re not as worldly as you like to think you are. Or as smart. Of course I knew them. Through Georgie. And they’ve told me everything. You’ve spooked them. They don’t want to be criminals, and you think a little rape colored with blackmail will outweigh that. It’s stupid.”
“I didn’t rape them. I showed them what they really wanted.”
“Don’t try and justify what you did to those sweet boys.”
“Sweet boys? They lied to me about everything, even their ages, so...”
“They didn’t lie. They just didn’t correct your assumptions. And those assumptions were very much off the mark.”
Our main courses came, then, and more wine was poured. This was not going the way I planned. Whenever that happens to me, I shut up...which is what I did...let Vance speak as I tried to understand what the fuck had happened.
“To start,” Vance said, “Georgie never used anyone underage. They had to have an ID to even talk to him. He would pay them well, and they knew he would do whatever he wanted with whatever he shot. That was in the waiver, of which every guy was given a copy.”
“Made his living off them, huh?” I asked, just to break up his comments.
He nodded. “Two or three a week. Posted them on his own site till the San Francisco crowd invited him to do some...oh...more intensive ones for them.”
“Yeah, saw some of those.”
His grin grew almost feral. “Including...?”
It was time to stop playing ignorant. “A couple of Smoke’s.”
He nodded. “Oh, he was one of Georgie’s staples. I helped get him his cable show.”
I nodded. “He comes across very well, in it.”
“Camera loves him. But as I said, the current construction is clunky. I want you to help me make it better.”
“Why?”
“Hi attitude. He’s very So I did that? So what? I used the money to start a business. What’s the big deal?”
“So a lot of the country’s assholes will get pissy about it.”
“But a lot won’t. And this, if done well...if done right...will help lessen the stigma behind doing the kinds of videos Georgie did.”
I had to laugh. “You’re way more optimistic than I am, about people.”
“I can’t argue there. But c’mon, Rett, you like him. He’s got that lovely bear cub presence that enthralls you. I think enough people will love him. And it will be one more steap away from the right wing’s hatefulness about the gay community.”
“Don’t you meant LGBTQ+ Community?”
He chuckled.
I had to add, “They’ll find Georgie’s clips online and rip Smoke apart, Vance.”
“Don’t bet on it,” he continued. “I’ve known Stevie since before he was married. He’s been on several of the kink sites. Sucked off. Jacked off. Light bondage. Gagged. Blindfolded. Dressed. Undressed. Captain America undies. Lots of struggling. No fucking him or him sucking, but some of him being sucked. All under different names, of course. Shall I point you to some of the studios he’s worked?”
“No need.”
“I tell you this because he really is not the least bit ashamed of it. Paid his bills. Bought him a house. In Culver City! He’s so up front, in fact, we made it an important part of the cable show. Building yourself from porn god to custom-designer of skateboards.”
“I see.”
“Do you?”
“What am I getting paid to help you?”
That made him blink. I’d never discussed money with Vance, before, so this bluntness caught him slightly off-guard.
But only slightly.
“More than you can dream.”
“I can dream of a lot.”
“Does that include setting Nicky up to be taken by you?”
I leaned back, keeping my face frozen in a nondescript expression, and quietly asked, “Can you?”
He nodded. “But Smoke is off-limits. So are the boys, from now on.”
He was serious. Like a papa bear. “Would you answer me if I asked you how you knew what I was planning?”
He shook his head. “I don’t give away my secrets, only those of others.’
“When you need to.”
“That’s where power comes from. Do we have a deal?” He offered up a pair of USB memory sticks. “Everything’s on here. You want to look?”
I took them. Put them in my pocket. And finished my meal, making nothing but chit-chat the rest of lunch.
Vance knew he had me...and to be honest, I wasn’t sure I cared.
If he could get me Nicky, I’d give up anything. And he knew it.
What he didn’t know was I’d make goddamned fucking sure it all came back to me.
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