The Assignment

Okay, lean  back, this one is really, really long. Actually it's three stories that I submitted separately but were meant to be one story. I wrote it to be that way but lacked the balls to trust readers to read something that, probably, runs over 20,000 words. This is a story about sex and about people having sex, proving you can have it both...well...several ways.

This is from 2014 and, again, I hope you'll enjoy it and have as much fun from it-most of it's meant to be amusing-as I did writing here. I believe I got all the bridge passages out but if you find some phrase or similar that seems....familiar, sorry, that's just one I missed.

As I've written in other articles published other places, during a grim period in my life I made what now would be soft porn in Paris  but  beautifully photographed  by Richard Avedon. The studio here and the one in Paris are  very  different but the product.....cock and balls, fuck and suck....just with France as a background.

For those who have been in a Barney-esque situation, not necessarily porn, some of how your world falls sideways may seem familiar. My hope is you'll enjoy it and get the pleasure from it I got from creating it. PJ

For this I went to Columbia School of Journalism? Mortgaged my soul to pay for it? For this? An assignment from my editor to go out and do an article on the porn industry? Sit around all day looking at chicks and dicks and wishing I'd worn a cast iron jock so I could seem, remote, interested but only clinically in the heaving and the groaning and the nudity. In my nightmares I saw myself, note pad on my lap, pen at the ready, almost in cardiac arrest as one of the"stars" of the next episode of whatever they were making is standing beside me while her body make up is "touched up" and her tits are worked in such a way so that they're "perky" look ready to "be played with." Fuck, I could get her tits ready to be played, do her body makeup, shave her snatch, fuck her, get blown, and do a doo wop anal penetration for no money and come away with a story that would sell fifty times our normal over the counter circulation. One picture on the cover of me, part of her breast and a seemingly disembodied hand reaching up. Hell, forget the article, news dealers were going to have to put the fucking picture out of reach. Sadistically, I wanted every little boy who was being taken out by his dad to see that picture, want it, and start to cry when he can't have it. Heheheh. And wonder if dear old dad comes back, buys it and joins his selection of "toilet" literature which he uses to deflate his blue balls.

My editor, a schmuck of the first water, is looking over his window glass filled horn rims, playing with a Mont Blanc pen as if it were a black cock and telling me about the higher purposes of this article, how "we" had noted an uptick in profits in the porn industry and, as a forward thinking magazine, it was our responsibility to report on this, not in the abstract but the cold realities, of how its run, whose in it, why, where....the rest of the journalistic bullshit.Leaning back (I hoped he'd fall over) he ascribes no particular geometric figure in the sky, well, to him it's not, but to me it looks like a pair of 36 double Ds and thinks. He must have thought too hard as his tent pole is being set up and I can almost hear his balls pull up. Oblivious to this he explains how I was chosen because I was young (27) and my name, "Barney" seemed like an assumed porn name. I wondered how he reached that conclusion? I'd done some research and found that many porn stars had adopted names to more clearly emphasize their calling. Cheery Cherry Jones, S. N. Atch.Yummy Smith. And the guys were about the same. Bill E B. Bad. Al The Way. I looked forward to meeting them as "Barney" and having them ask if that was "Barney Rubble?". The meeting ended abruptly when editor realized his verbal perusings in porn had led to what might be an "incident" so I was handed a packet that included a plane ticket, some research materials, general outline as to how long, reservation at a hotel and a departure date. As I closed his door I was encouraged to hear the sound of a zipper descending and a massive sigh of relief/release. Hope the night cleaning crew were good sports.

I'm not part of the group that thinks California has everything. Equally I wasn't wowed by New York but that's where my job was and by working over time, taking every assignment I could, sharing an apartment with a buddy from school, his German Shepherd, and selling blood on the alternate week from when I was selling plasma and taking a weekend job cleaning offices, I could almost afford sufficient food to prevent rickets, water came free with the minuscule apartment-sleeping with Sam and his mutt was no picnic either; One of them had fleas and my money was not on the dog who, actually, was a better companion. Oh, and allowing Sam to bring home dates while I took Alfred Lord Douglas by I'll Say He Is Castern (the pedigree name, I called him Al) our for long, long walks while Sam and whoever did whatever. Jesus, couldn't he at least change the sheets? Even Al wouldn't get up on the bed "afterwards". But that was the paradise I was leaving for the skin trade and, I hoped, a marginal tan, a touristy trip through Hollywood, seeing where stars were buried at Forest Lawn and a walk down Rodeo Drive staring at things I wouldn't be able to afford if they took all my blood and, on the side, I sold Al and his pedigree to a greedy breeder on Long Island.Oh, yeah, and show up at my assignment each day to follow the skin trade, both product and ethos. No one mentioned ethics.

At least the hotel was okay, I recognized the name of the chain from the myriad ads on the sides of buses as well as a saturation marketing campaign some of which had been in our publication which meant this was comped or as close to free as it gets which usually mean we pay the room taxes, occupancy fee etc. The room was actually pretty good , bigger than the bedroom in New York plus had two queen sized beds.I wished Al had been there, we'd become buddies and he would have enjoyed a night with his own bed. Mini bar-which I would have to pay for, big walk in shower-research had shown the hospitality trade that showers took up less space than a tub, more men preferred them, they used less water so now instead of trying six feet two of me into a tub made for my six year old nephew, I could stand upright. Oh, yeah, and showers, real ones, as opposed to showers as part of a tub, have a shower head that only allows you to get wait from the crotch down.All in all, I was pleased, happy, staked myself to a beer ($4.00 fucking dollars for a can of Bud) shed my clothes, racked out on the bed prepared to watch the local news in Ellay,shower and then scrounge up food or go dumpster diving.

I forgot about the three hour time change, the ten hours, give or take, that it had taken to get here and that we were now off daylight savings. When I woke up it was after eight, I was cold, my dick was hard and I went through the usual confusion of wondering where I was, who I was and why was I naked on a bed I'd never seen before. I was still woozy enough to think something attractive would emerge from the bathroom while putting on her dress. Tell me I'd been better than the USC football team, collect her handbag, put a stack of hundreds on the night stand and tell me she'd call tomorrow. The beer was room temperature but, for four buck, I chugged it anyway.

Unlike New York, you couldn't walk onto a street and find some sort of place to eat within a half block. In California if you stepped on the street you could be arrested for loitering, solicitation or littering. I found that out when the cop on a BMW bike pulls over, asks for ID, sees "New York" and gives me some friendly advice:"Rent a car". Not knowing where I would go if I had a car, I immediately sensed the correctness of his suggestion for, as I looked down the street, there were no other walkers on it.

Back to the hotel, the next morning in the lobby there's a car rental place and, for only a few extra dollars-all of which I'm charging to the magazine-they'll put a GPS in so that all I have to do is listen and steer.

Thirty minutes later I'm in a brand new Chevrolet Camaro with my electronic guide and we're cruising to the place of porn. I'm not optimistic enough to think it's going to be in a large mall with lots of advertising but as the car and I get further from the bright lights of Hollywood I began to wonder if much of what I'd heard wasn't somewhat true. A voice told me that one block ahead on my right was an address and that was where I was going. It was right, address was right-it was on the door- and I had arrived at my assignment.

The neighborhood was such that I locked the car without thinking, forgetting it was a convertible with the top down, and found that the door with the address was also locked however a small sign advised me to ring the bell and someone would appear. It was a very old bell and only sounded every other ding or dong but it did make noise.Somewhere behind the door I heard a man's voice yell that he was coming, hold my horses, he'd be there and one other saying that indicated movement. I heard a lock click and then the door opened and I was facing porn.

The guy who answered the door was about my height but had clearly devoted a significant part of his life to "pumping iron". Put his hand out, smiled (there were muscles there he'd worked on, had to be) took my hand and with very little effort on his part almost threw me through the door.

"Barney, right? From the magazine.? Right. Good to meet you, we been looking forward to this. I'm Jack Symkowicz but you probably know me better as Jack Hard." I didn't but it would have been unkind to point that out on first acquaintance. Given that he was wearing the minimal amount of clothing I could see why. Barefooted, he slammed the door behind us, threw a friendly arm around my shoulder, that almost caused me to stumble, and started us on our tour to where the action was.

I will confess, I was not prepared for a studio in the classical sense, no Paramount, no MGM but equally I was not prepared for what had once been a very large truck repair place. Some of the bays had been converted to "sets, one of the recesses in the floor where formerly mechanics had worked on transmissions, had been filled with water and some vague attempts made to suggest....something tropical or at least not the inside of a repair place. As to the water....either the pool boy had no idea about chemicals or it was filled with rain water that had first been filtered through a stack of used tires.

Jack, ever the good host, stopped as we got to the edge of the action, yelled something which did bring a sort of silence, and said, "Guys, meet Barney, he's going to make us famous." During that brief and questionable introduction, it came to me that every single person in that room was male. All of them. Some had on more clothes than the others, some had no clothes and, by a set that seemed more active than others, one guy was having his dick sucked while checking his make up. Somewhere, back in New York, there was an editor who was lying on his floor laughing so hard he broke water and wind. I could almost hear him gasp, between peals of laughter, the putz is gonna get a story on gay porn and probably get fucked in the process. I saw him, in my mind, return to laughter.

Jack, gregarious as a greeter at a Vegas casino, started me around to meet the guys, get a feel for the place (perhaps an unfortunate turn of phrase), get settled in....watch what was going on, find out how it was done, whatever I wanted to know, ask anybody, they all knew I was coming and were anxious to help. As he turned to go elsewhere, he added, "Nice of them to send us a fine looking stud....Irish?"and then he disappeared leaving me by some chairs, near a camera, lights over head and a very generic room set that had, as its main piece of furnishing, a bed. Attempts had been made to give it a"homey" look. Pictures of the sort that are nailed to walls in cheap motels were nailed to the walls here. A bedside table with, mutheragawd, a lava lamp, two pillows and, on the other side, another bedside table which, I was to discover, held lube and condoms.Whether they were trying for cheap hotel or flop house wasn't clear but then for what I suspected would happen-the bed was a big clue-giving the viewers a definite idea as to where this was probably lacked importance. For that, this "room" could have been anywhere, well, anywhere if they didn't live in Yurts or "Mens Houses" by the Amazon River with fish that could catch you.

Somewhat at a loss, I plunked my self down in a chair which promptly dis-assembled, dumping me on the ground. Two guys, nude, hurried over, picked me up, said the chair should be in the trash, introduced themselves as the Bull Brothers, told me they knew, everyone knew why I was here and it was a real pleasure. Nothing was wounded save a smidge of my pride and the guys seemed open and genuine, really helpful that it made it easier to keep my eyes on their eyes. But this is the skin trade and, as no one seemed to have anything for me to do and though I'd asked to schedule some interviews, just then I had time on my hands. To fill it, the brothers asked if I'd like to watch a partial rehearsal.

"Partial?"

"Yeah that's everything but the money shot or in our case, money shots."I looked blank. " Learn the lingo if you're going to write about it" one brother (Bill Bull) pointed out. ".. money shot is when we shoot cum, or it's sucked from us. Depends on what the film is about. Take us, brothers, well, not real brothers, but we look a lot a like and play well, that means we have sex well, with each other so....we became the Bull brothers. Done pretty well in the vids.Customers will convince themselves that if the label uses the word,'brothers', then we must be brothers. To dress up the idea we each have a couple of matching tats." They showed me their very well rounded bicep on which there was a celtic circle which surrounded a mans crotch-not exposed-but in a cod piece or something that revealed either supercalifrgilisticexpealidocious genitals or some one had a rump roast in a nordic style bag.

"Nice!"I didn't know anything else to say and while I had some ink of my own, the crest of my fraternity and a couple of four leaf clovers -I really was Irish - weren't likely to impress them. Also, I didn't feel the necessity to remove any clothing.

The other Bull, Brad, found a chair that he guaranteed would stick together, put me in it and they said first they'd fluff up and then give me a sample of pre money shot work. Well, here was another term and so, showing my stupidity, said,

"Fluff?".

The guys laughed. "When you're in this as much as we are, short of drugs, you don't stay up and hard, fluffing, and there are some guys who are only fluffers, is a way of using your mouth, kinda like giving head, to get the guy's cock up and hard. Easy when there are two of us cuz we can just hit a 69..." He paused and looked at me.I said I did know what that was. " ....get up, keep it up with some fingering and then go for it, the money shot."

I felt like I had enough vocabulary right then to turn out at least a novella.

"He, you wanna be fluffed? Great for the story." Ideclined but they insisted on giving me a rain check. And the fluffing started. As It was just two guys laying on the floor sucking each other's dicks, 69(basic 101), no real enthusiasm, this was just part of work. While they did that a guy with a steadicam showed up, some lights were turned on and the guy with the camera said, "Ready when they're up.Remember, this is rough, you've had a fight and, Bill, you gotta get Brad down so that I can come in over his body so when you fuck him, I'll have the angle I want. Got it?"

It was like watching the world shift on its orbit, Brad and Bill slipped on to the bed, turned on their sex with their cocks waving like happy flag poles waiting to have a flag run up it. Immediately they were not friends, there was wrestling, kissing, thumping, illegal use of hands and, after about ten minutes of this, the camera guy positioned himself at the end of the bed, which Brad or maybe Bill, could see and they subtly altered what they were doing. Now we got hands on cocks and there' some intense jerking and, finally, the camera right with him, Bill or maybe it was Brad, aimed his dick at the hole and went in like a pile driver. End of scene. The camera guy said they'd finish it tomorrow and wandered off to where some other men were-nude-already fucking and he joined the camera guy there for, I suppose, two angles.

Brad and Bill came back, as if nothing had happened, hunkered down beside me and, laughingly, said, "That's porn." And it was.

That was day one morning one. In some ways it was the simplest introduction I could have had because I did understand fucking and sucking, in a different way, I'd done it myself and hoped to do it again. Jack came back to see how everything was going, which was fine, and took me off to the distribution room so I could see how porn got from their house to my house with, or without, a brown paper wrapper. There were also machines that were keyed into porn services which amounted to people being able to rent movies on line, or watch bits of movies, or....the way it was divided was really kind of amazing and having just seen the product, I now began to understand why it was a multi billion dollar industry. I was seeing the epicenter, the genesis point for all of it. No matter how you sliced it, it started with guys having sex with each other, of varied sorts, and then sending that out in all manner of ways to other guys who were the consumer. This was China, if you will, to the world's WalMart. ( I asked, Wal Mart does not sell porn although Amazon.com does. Possibly explaining why Walmart sales were flat and Amazon was booming. Not only was it an interesting aspect for my article but just interesting.)

By the end of the day, I'd seen and met several of their "stars" none of whom I would have recognized with their clothes on, watched a short scene in which some guy, in a bathtub, was pissed on by other guys.I'd seen the worlds kinkiest costume department, tried to further understand how the product was made so that what I'd seen on day one wasn't just repeated over and over with props that changed the bedroom to an office to a store room but, basically, it was the same fuck and suck. On that note, I left, but not before Jack gave me a pass key to get in when I wanted and, he pointed out, they worked, sometimes until well after midnight.

My verbalizing ride took me back to the hotel but not before it found a restaurant and then a liquor store, my dodge to the mini-bar, as well as a market for some snacks and then went home and wrote up what I thought I'd seen and/or learned. In fact, it had been far more interesting than I'd thought, once I got past the casual nudity and my ability to turn around and see some aspect of sex being done out in the open. I guess that last sentence says I was a prude, I'm a man, these were men, I'd been in a shower with naked guys, punched guys in the balls, had towel snapping fights, laughed and pointed at the "equipment" of other guys, but this was different. There was no fun, no camaraderie, just sex like mom and dad or more precisely dad and uncle Pete never had only the object was to sell what they were doing, not make friends, make babies, nothing.

My evening jerk, I found, didn't come off, or maybe the better way to put that is up.

Day two found me as an accepted part of the place, word had, apparently, got round that I wasn't there to point fingers, seemed a regular guy, had a job to do and forgot I was there. Which was exactly the attitude I needed in which to do my work. I'd also figured that showing up in even office casual was wildly over dressed so I got out my sneakers, an old pair of shorts I'd thought I might run in, a ball cap, backwards and with shades on it as well as a T shirt that featured a man giving a finger to whatever; I fit right in. The thing that I found was of little use was my ultra fancy phone that took pictures and even long sections of video. Clearly, that wouldn't fly although I had zip interest in having moving pictures of what I'd seen that day that I'd take home for my own personal use; My memories of what I'd seen were still very much with me. What I did learn was that compared to most of the larger porn studios, this was a very small deal, working on shoe strings and lucky to get their product out and on the computer lines where the greatest monies were generated apart from direct sales. Most of the men who worked here were very new to the business or very old to the business. Jack made up a selection of what he, reluctantly, told me was the best of their competitors out put and suggested I look at ten minutes here or ten minutes there so I could see the difference.

It was like walking into Munchkin land from the farm house. Real sets, real lighting, real multi camera set ups, and on and on. I still didn't recognize any of their "stars" bit I could see the difference, these guys were agile, knew how to get in and get out of a scene, could do more than just make it with another guy although what their additional talents were consisted of a detour into the wonderful world of Fetish. I was told, the king was a Vietnamese guy in San Francisco who owned a five story building, formerly an armory, with different types of porn made on every floor and, it was rumoured, industrial tours several days a week. I looked at one of those and was startled, not at what I saw, but how completely different and impersonal it was. I watched one of them twice and then looked for Jack.

"Why am I watching this stuff and and I'm absolutely bored. Yes, it looks very professional, I suppose these are hot guys, but it's still fuck and suck with whips and boots and leather and garments of all sorts, most of which seemed to be abstractions on what a well dressed motorcycle officer would wear only not that tight. Jack looked off into space and said, "I need to take you on a tour of fetish shops, leather shops, tat shops, piercing shops....all of which have some connection to porn. What're you doing right now?"

An hour later I was in a place called "The Gauntlet" which, I was told, was THE start of everything fetish out in the open. This was where certain types of piercings and tattooings were developed, this was the vanguard of sexual freedom with a strong list to the Gay life but all comers were welcome. Jack knew one of the people who had a part in it and my literary credentials were an open Sesame. Seems, as with everything else, Publicity is relished, particularly if you have to do nothing to get it but stand around and talk so that's what we did. In fact, it was sensory over ride and, once again, I had to write down a flurry of new words some of which I felt I would never use again once I put this article to bed. As it were.

Next on our tour was the best leather shop. Here too, no one was embarrassed about anything, guys stood around stark naked save for some boots or trying on a selection of leather jocks, some studded, some not. In another corner a happy couple was selecting a collar-to be soldered shut and a leash to go with it. The place was huge and, at several moments, I felt Jack and I were woefully over dressed. I mentioned that to him and without a hitch, he picked up a couple of things told me to peel and try them on; It was all part of the porn experience. He joined me in our wardrobe overhaul.

Standing in my sneakers, a pair of leather chaps, a ventilated jock, some sort of leather cross piece on my chest and a leather hat that was vaguely reminiscent of the Luftwaffe, I snuck a look at myself in the mirror.Jack, casually leaning against a display of leather floggers, said,"That's not quite your look, you're a little too sophisticated. Get your nips pierced a vest and leather jeans, you're not quite the master type." Who was I to disagree with him? With which, almost as if he'd been prepared for it, he handed me a pair of what looked like Levi 501s if Levi 501s were made of leather. Somehow in all this atmosphere I had lost a great deal of my reticence but managed to keep my composure-something they'd emphasized at Columbia Journalism, no matter the situation always keep your composure. The jeans didn't look bad although the fit made me fear for my circulation. He found a belt about three inches wide and a leather T shirt-he was, as he said, going for the conservative look. One large brimmed leather cowboy hat and....all of this made my sneakers stand out like the worst case of athletes foot ever seen.

"Yeah....you really need boots for this. You're the cowboy type, rangy, thin, cowboy boots, black, two inch heel and a rolled whip tucked under the belt. Ever wear a chain necklace? Looks good on the leather T. Try it. Oh, and silvered aviators. Gotta have those." Not surprizingly he did have those plus some socks to wear under the boots. I don't know, some sort of mania came over me, that or the smell of leather reminded me of a new car and I wanted one. I croaked out, "What else?" not quite believing I'd said it. He looked side ways, one of the guys, fully leathered up who'd been helping (?) looked the other way, walked around me.....It was as if they were each saying a large, silent "Hmmmmmmmmm".

Charley, our helper, finally broke the spell, "Tats, he needs tats, he's not the piercing sort, but good, solid tribal tats, each arm, the chest....oh, and the hair." They looked at my hair and somehow knew I was about to get "improved" in the line of duty.

Right here I should mention that in pursuit of my career I'd done a lot of things which in advance, during and after I regretted. I was a balloon handler for the Macy's Parade on a particularly windy day and almost did a vertical face plant into a stop sign. I regret to report I'd allowed myself to be put into drag for a literary (?) follies that earned money for a good cause-all though as one of my earrings fell down my artificial bosom, it came to me that it had better be a real good cause and there had not best be pictures of me as a latter day Carmen Miranda. (There were.) Going back to Macy's I'd spent a grim day as an Elf assisting Santa Claus, another very cold day I was part of a salute to our men in Uniform, in this case a living statue of soldiers, sailors etc which, by the lights of the person who designed it, were naked from the waist up. All the guys who participated had been trolled from the general assignment department of television stations and local magazines as we were more predictably young. All the guys as a group said they thought their nipples were about to crack off and not a few of us showed up with maladies ranging from a heavy cold to acute bronchitis. And bandaids over our nipples as it was painful for them to rub against even a cotton Brooks Brother shirt.

I was able to see myself in the mirror, as I had on other occasions, a passing apparition. Okay for now but...not destined for any future wear. I still don't know why I bought it, as well as the whip, as well as a belt buckle made like deaths head with a ring to match-it was on sale, 75 percent off if you bought the belt. All put together, Jack thought I was a real stud-I did go to the gym rather frequently and so had perceptible biceps, a shadow of a two packs, no fat....this was the sort of clothing that did not allow fat unless you used Crisco to grease your thighs to get it on. The price would have been in the thousands had Jack not said I was being kitted for a"major production" at his studio and they'd get full screen credit for my leathers. This brought the price down to the tax plus fifty dollars. Plus my friendly, only to the press, discount. Walking back to the car, which was in an open lot, I wanted to duck behind things. But no one noticed. In New York I'd have drawn a crowd, here, I could have gone to the super market unnoticed.

Jack said, one or two more things. And, cringing, I said, what one or two more things? Gotta get rid of that banker's haircut and the find an inkslinger who makes house calls. I was about to argue the latter, assuming it meant tattoo artist, but he was ignoring the device that told us where to go which was almost screaming at us to "turn left, go back, turn left, go back". Apparently he'd run into these uninvited mouthpieces so knew which button made it shut up. I was grateful.

I'd driven in New York and, of course in my home town, Columbus Ohio.Neither place had prepared me for driving in California and I was glad it was with Jack. New York was aggressive, seemingly organized-against you, Columbus was the average good sized city where the traffic could snarl but nothing like New York but neither touched Los Angeles. It was a mixed up mess of crazies, little old people in very big cars, wealthy, or thought they were, zipping in and out in cars that had six number in front of the decimal point, buses that bent in the middle, a maddening collection of signs that were an oxymoron of what they wanted you to do plus, as with any city, construction. In this case on a subway to alleviate the traffic above it. Of course, while it worked toward that goal, the traffic above it was in a permanent snarl.

Jack was the true Angeleno, none of this bothered him and in only an hour-a not unusual commute time there, we pulled up in front of what seemed to be a coffee shop, internet cafe and barbershop. I was sure of the latter as there was a sign in the window that said, "Barbers to the Badass." Jack was all sunny saying, he hoped a name I didn't understand was there as he'd know what to do. There's a saying, "Be pleased by what is mean to please..." Jack was trying to be a good host, give him an insight to things and, looking at the comment about badass, I figured it would grow out.

In we went, jack as a normal human and me as, well, I don't know, a latter day Marlboro Man all in black leather. Jack approached a man who looked singularly normal if you excluded that most of is body was covered in tattoos, he had a shaved head and somehow, I didn't want to know how, a line of spikes under his skin that reminded one of a cartoon dragoon This was Jerry, the guy who was doing to redo me. No barber chair, just a left over electric chair model with padding and the round piece that used to go over the head of the soon to be executed. It wasn't uncomfortable.

An hour later I had a new hair cut and, true confession, it wasn't bad.I had feared the highly glued mohawks that were then sprayed some colour or having it shaved save for one tuft in the back so I could be yanked to eternity by the Buddha or whoever was yanking just then.

Jerry actually had a logic to what he did. Hot cowboy, right off the ranch, probably did time in prison or the service. Got his all weather fuck suit on so...and then the clipers flew. He was meticulous, slowly, considerately, watchfully, changed me from a reporter from a prestige New York Magazine to a cowboy crossed with a Marine and all of that with a tribute to bikers everywhere. I had never had a full greaser duck tail and the top was a sort of flat top save for the front which was left long and pulled to one side. The top was defined by what is called-I learned-hard parts. That is parts in your hair that were shaved in a very straight line to the skull. As I said, earlier, it could grow back. All I had to do was get a dog groomer to give me a once over with clippers all the same length and start over from there. BUT for here in California, why not? I'd already drunk part of the Kool Aid, how much more could there be?

Jack picked me up, raved about it, said that the hat showed off the 'tail and when we got back to the studio, he wanted some stills just so I'd remember it and, he mumbled, maybe to use as cover art. While I was collecting information, data, the sort of side bar stories that make a story more interesting, I was conscious that perhaps I was getting too involved but, in arguing with myself, what did playing dress up have to do with it? I saw guys every day wearing this and that and it was only for effect or to give some sort of illusion that they were another person, another sexual character, a cowboy, a Marine, A blue collar guy....but at the end, they were going to take off all their clothes, whatever they might have been, and fuck. That night at the hotel I wrote a quick, hopefully amusing, story about the conversion of a staid journalist to a hot to trot stud waiting for the lights to come on, someone to strip him and then fuck and suck. Same o Same o.Naturally I added non-existent details as well as a couple of the still pictures of me Jack had taken, the most revealing of which was when I took of the T shirt but left on the jacket. On the spur of the moment, I tossed in a picture of somebody's ass and titled it, "Off to Work". Proofed it and sent it with the note that the real article was underway, I was pleased and I hoped they'd be amused by this. Magazines when they have reporters our doing pieces that require several days,expenses at hotels etc. like to know that work is actually being done. This showed them that.

I didn't make my first acting debut on Thursday but I got my first screen credit-under an assumed name-for "screenplay". One of the older guys actually had a degree from somewhere in English lit. He worked like hell to stay in shape, pretty much succeeded but still was listed as "mature" if 38 could possibly be considered that.His name, stage name, was Kyle Montana aka Jeff Smith. Jeff and I chatted about teaching English and finally got around to my feelings that some of the films, although they had names, might benefit from a word or two if only to prove the "models" as they were referred to could talk, not just grunt, moan or whatever. "like what?"....."well, what are you doing next?"

He had to think. "Uh, salesman finding a man at home who wants a blow job but not with a vacuum cleaner". "Okay, right there, that's funny and has possibilities." He looked puzzled.

"What's your wardrobe? Some sort of suit and a display case? Okay, and the guy who answers the door is naked? Will you try something...just for laughs?" And so we did.

Three hours later we showed a very rough video to Jack who rolled out of his chair.

"Who did this? There's' not a shoot scheduled for this." Jerry pointed to where his name and a shooting number was listed along with the cryptic writing "trvlsnufsco" appeared.
"That's the one."There was a silence. "Whose idea was this? I never saw a script...."

Somewhat reluctantly, I knew I would admit that it had been my idea and if there was any cost, I was sorry to have....

"Jeff, how did you do this?." He pointed at me... I felt there were going to be a lot of fingers pointed at me; Made me sorry I didn't have on my cowboy gear. And a gun for protection. Or a real cowboy as this was beginning to look like the last round up at Bar P-O-R-N.

"This is fucking terrific!!!!!!.Know how many times I've watched guys get it in the ass plus how many times I have? I never fucking saw anything like this. Barney, what.....?"

"Uhm"is my favourite answer when I'm not sure of the question or the answer or both so that's what I said. There was a long pause while we looked at each other. "Uhm, well, Jack I heard what the script was and I though, oh, you know, what the hell, lets twist it a bit, give it a new approach, like rewriting a news story that's already been rewritten several times. It's the same story....." I went silent as eyes stared at me. I also thought about what I'd done to evoke this kind of response.

I wouldn't have told them this if they'd said fess up or we'll have you fucked by every man in the place but....after only a few days of watching porn being made, I was bored stupid. I could walk through the studio, step over bodies being fluffed or jerking off or whatever sexual thing they might be doing and not notice. The several films I'd watched were almost as entertaining as a forced walking tour of your own garage looking for the skate key for your kid for whom you either found it or were off to either the fire department or the ER. With the door down. The permutations for porn are really somewhat limited; you have a cock, balls and holes, that's all you've got. Sure, hands, feet, eyes but they're ancillary to what the public who buys this shit wants to see; They want to see cock and balls and the holes into which they'll fit and that's that. Some of the fancier porn looked better, watching real sperm make a snake in a real swimming pool, but however you dressed or undressed it, porn stayed porn. Full Stop.

All I'd done was take the basic equation and expanded it a little but changing none of the options. In my offering to the skin trade, Jeff was still a salesman who knocks on a door which gets answered. However, instead of being invited in and asked to take off his clothes, the guy answering the door is about as happy to see him as a process server and tries to slam it. Jerry, who is wearing real leather shoes, gets his foot in the door as well as an arm. While the answeree tries to keep him out, Jerry used his inside arm to strip the guy who, admittedly, is wearing strippable clothes that are pre-ripped to come away easily. Shocked at this turn of events, being naked at the front door, he looses his grip and Jerry doesn't walk in, he falls in doing a classic burlesque prat fall. In trying to get him up, and presumably out, he grabs him by his jacket which tears away. It's an old fashioned strip only instead of the stripper getting her (or his) bubbles burst leaving them starkers, he was having his clothes popped off, a la bubbles, until we were down to the last bastion until the total reveal; His underwear. Boxers, ripped away, revealing, boxer briefs, ripped away-and a look of confusion on the part of the putative home owner, which leads to briefs, three sizes of bikini and then-I'd seen them in a sex shop-a one piece item that only covered the cock and balls then went around one side, through his ass and then back to his cock and balls.Frustrated, the guy doing the ripping, and by now they're on the floor, grabs this thing with his teeth, pulls it off and at last we're down to basics. From there on it was pretty, I hesitate to use the word, straight toward what you'd expect. Even looking at a second time, it was funny and served to make the sex more interesting as you wondered what other tricks were lined up.

Jack said, "I can sell the shit out of this!! Guys, grab Barney, strip him and fluff him until his fluffer won't fight back!!" Five loads later I lay, partially naked, on the floor while Mike and Bob did interesting things with my tits and the third fluffer of the day was licking my balls. That was kind of the end of that days work for me.

That night in bed I tried to assess the events of the day and thought, fuck, and blew myself-a trick already done too many times that day for real-to a minibar beer @ four bucks. I could justify that as I'd had an awfully lot of fluid extracted from me that day and so needed hydration. I also needed some alcohol content to brush away the fact that I'd just had my first through eighth gay experience and, truthfully, until my cock started waving flags of surrender, felt good. I had been propositioned, usually politely, many times but, equally politely, turned it down, whatever IT was.Guys I knew said, you're nuts, get a blowy from a gay guy, nothing better. My wife/girlfriend/hooker can't touch them. (Which did ask some questions about what their home-and away-life was like.) Bud was just dribbling into my dimple when there was a knock at the door.Only as I turned the bolt and started to open it did I realize I'd been around porn too long; I was stark naked.

Rather unexpectedly, although by now that word was without meaning, it was Jack, dressed up just like everybody else, actually better as he had the body for whom designers designed clothes. Not noticing my state of undress he wandered in, sat down on the bed-to which I had retreated, exposing only my sore nipples and above to him.

"Letter came for you at the shop. Fedex, same day. I, uh, thought you might like to read it in private, from your boss."Pulled it from his inside suit pocket and flipped it at me-whatever it contained, they'd paid a lot to make sure I got it. "Wanna be alone...? My guess it's not a raise and a rave as to how things are going...". That was pretty much what I thought too but sometimes, it's nice to have someone around, in this case someone from whom what I might have hidden was in my mind not my body.

He produced a Swiss Army Knife with a blade open. I slit the heavy cardboard envelope and another, business sized envelope fell out, not very thick, two, maybe three pages. Opened that, two pages and a check wafted on to the covers. Jack picked up the check and whistled through his teeth as I read the letter that accompanied it. Yep, he was right, they wanted to get rid of me. In a couple of harsh, really stupid paragraphs I had my abilities trashed, calumnies that I never committed brought up and it all ended with a notation that if I asked for references, be prepared for what they might say.It referenced the check which, as was written, was for a lot of money to "fully and completely compensate you for any and all monies we believe might have accrued or may accrue to you based on material scheduled but not yet published." It wasn't even, signed, just some initials made with, doubtless a large, black Mt. Blanc Pen which, idly I wished could be used to examine his descending colon. Just because, why not? I tossed it to Jack which was when another note, from the business office, came out telling me my hotel room would only be mine, unless I continued to occupy and pay for it, until such time as the prepayment expired, same with the car. My insurance was portable for six months and at years end, I would receive the usual information for my taxes. No signature. Handed that to Jack as well.Why not? It was the coda to a very poorly written piece that lacked harmony, melody even a consistent bass line.....

In an industry as crass as his, no gentle words were spoken when a question was asked.

"Are you broke, I mean, after the hotel runs out, are you on the street? It's a long way back to New York".

"I have a prepaid ticket that I don't think they can cancel, it's full fare...."

"And when you get there, what? I may not be a graduate of Wharton Business but your career in commercial journalism is trashed." He was, of course, right.

"I'll be okay.. for a while. Got, fifty, sixty thousand in fast cash without having to use the cards and play ATM roulette to pay the rent. Probably more in a brokerage account...I'm good."

"Job?"

"Well, that's trash and I haven't even paid back my student loans for journalism school...there's Al, Got to do something about Al and the apartment..."

"Who's Al I thought you were...."

"Al's a dog who sleeps with me....". I realized that could have been read the wrong way particularly by someone to whom sleeping with a dog was probably just another video..."Al belongs to Sam, my roommate...."

"Where does Sam sleep, with you, too? I thought you were...."

" I was until I was jumped and fluffed to the point that my....never mind." Jack let a smile zip across his lips.

"Look, you know the old country and Western song? My wife ran off with my best friend and I miss him? Well, Al's my best friend." I guess I thought too much about Al as suddenly what had happened registered and I was weak, almost teary. Jack did the good buddy thing and put an arm around my shoulder then arms around both shoulders, finally he was holding me close as I cried. I think I used his tie to blow my nose.

"Fuck, hit the minibar, grab everything in it....and get something for you, too. Pull that sucker out of the wall and get it over here, I don't want to fall down shit faced trying to see if Gin does with Dr. Pepper."

Jack wasn't much older than me but in some ways, whatever I thought, he was a lot more sophisticated. To prevent further water damage, he slipped out of his suit coat, took off his tie-never to be worn again, undid a couple of buttons on his shirt revealing a well stacked clavicle and said, "Barney, I think it's time for a boys night out."

So quiet. So warm, All snuggled up, Barney was yet to discover that he felt like death and what he would find when he opened his eyes would come a somewhere between a shock and a nightmare. The sound of someone tinkling in a toilet discreet flush, he wondered if he'd wet himself? As he snuggled the other way he did the man thing and put his hands on his cock to protect it from...whatever each man protects it from. In the distance there was the sound, not loud, of a shattering light bulb and he made a mental note to himself to be careful where he stepped and to get housekeeping up with a vacuum cleaner. He rolled, slightly again, one hand caressing his nuts while his other reached out for Al, good ole Al...but instead of Al, his hand felt something hard, something hard and cold. He made a real soldier's attempt to open one eye and saw what looked mighty like the porcelain. White Porcelain. It was a nano second until he was awake to find he'd been sleeping in a bathtub. Admittedly, one that had been padded, made warm and cozy for him but a bathtub none the less. There was but one light on, in the private room that held the can so images, places, things weren't as distinct and, moving his hand from his crotch to his head, he realized that he was in a coffin having died. Maybe the cheapest one was porcelain. Carefully, oh so carefully, he raised his head to find he wasn't in a casket, he really was sleeping in a bathtub in a room that looked vaguely familiar. The door opened and a head came around to check on him.

"Okay fellas, he's conscious, come on in. And hit a switch that turned on, it seemed, enough lights to steer a ship at sea safely to port in a storm. In this case the storm consisted of several nude men and Jack. Jack whistled which was brutality, perhaps he was in an film where naked men tortured each other and that piercing blast marked his entrance to hell.

"Bulls? Get in here, move him."

Mike and Bob bounced in, surprizingly matching jeans and shirts, took the two sides to the bedding and, with little effort moved Barney back to a room he did remember. Some thoughtful person had lined up with a certain precision, beer cans, miniatures of liquor, soda cans, empty peanut and candy wrappers on the desk which he could see, too easily, from his bed. Part of the previous evening began to circle preparing for landing. Jack had a trash can put beside the bed and, carefully, explained that if he was going to barf, do it in there. The thought of throwing up almost made him sick.

More than the Bulls and Jack were there. Lights, reflectors, cameras, other men, most of which looked familiar just not in this context. It was Jack again.

"Move over a little the next shot is in bed...."That woke him up. Two guys, naked, were getting into the other half of the bed, obviously fluffed, and ready for whatever. His bed had been divided between him and a studio set. Worse, Jack said, "Go for it" and more lights came on. He stumbled out of bed looking for his casket or the can, whichever he came to first. What he found was a guy sitting on his toilet fluffing another performer.

Jack got to him just before he came apart, shooed out the erring model and his mouth, got Barney in and put in place his project. When the Bulls showed up with some of his clothes, some that didn't smell like either a brewery or a distillery, and when he stumbled out of the private toilet room, he was grabbed, dressed-with sunglasses, Jack tossed Mike the keys, told him to take him out the service entrance then, as a sop to whatever, told Barney he'd be better in a while.

Chipper and chattery as two magpies, the bulls roared down a street that caused Barney's head to snap back against the head rest which only exacerbated his already throbbing head which was being further hurt by California sun. He thought about yelling at the guys but lacked the strength to open his mouth. His head just lolled as if the headsman didn't do a perfect job while Bill Bull fondled with his nuts to see if he could get a rise out of him; He had a reason.

About, well, since Barney could not measure time, later, they pulled into the sort of office building that is nondescript, has parking in the basement, some sort of ground floor shops and whatever else. Not really able to walk, the Bulls, sturdy men that they were, held him in such a way that he didn't appear post drunk but rather, wounded or injured and were off to see a doctor which was the case.

Bob Schwartz had paid for part of his medical school by, first, being an escort and, when that became too time consuming, hit the soft porn industry with the title, "The Doctor Is In!!"Subsequently, he shaved his beard, let his chest and pubic hair grow, got a crew cut and the in or out status of the doctor became a non-starting issue. For this crowd, Jeff was an old friend, he was in. The twins got Barney through a back door and into an examining room without disturbing other patients. They'd rung in advance so the doctor was aware of their presence and, to a greater degree, their problem. Not for nothing had he helped his buddies before and in far worse situations than this, sure, it was the hangover deluxe but he was the doctor, who was in, deluxe. Slipping away from an old broad who had too much time and read too many research articles on potential diseases-currently she was positive she was in the throes of Bilharzia, a disease known almost entirely to Southern Africa and could only be contracted by walking barefoot in a certain type of snail droppings. To give her something "curative" to do, he'd ordered up a large enema knowing that would keep her involved while he saw a "real" patient to whom he could be of some help; Barney.

Laid out naked on the examining table, he didn't look at all well. There were little spasms that seemed to be playing a marimba with his pectorals, his toes, on one foot, were both pronated and supponated and when you looked in his eyes, they looked like a David painting of war.

"What got into him, not counting ice cubes?"

"Mini bar."

"Has he upchucked yet?" They nodded no and he suggested they leave the room for a few minutes. Finding a waste paper basket and some towels, he chuckled to himself, he hadn't see one this coming off what was almost alcohol poisoning in a long time.Without bothering with a spoon, he twirled the top off a bottle of Agoral, got Barney's mouth somewhat open, tipped his head to the side and, in the way you give pets a pill or medicine, he poured some into his mouth and then held it closed until he heard the sound of distant swallowing, he noticed that he had a nice ass, virgin, or so he was told, that was unusual coming from the source it did.

Deep down inside Barney, sounds of an approaching storm issued forth. Bob but on a gas mask and held Barney's head over the edge of the table and on a direct course for the basket; He didn't have long to wait. Apart from a few undigested peanuts, he figured there was most of the contents of a mini bar and since he'd seen that before, he knew what had just come up in one form or another. While he waited for act two, he decided to do an act of kindness, it wouldn't seem that way but...if it made you feel good, what was the harm?

Always had lube at hand and a finger cot-let. First, planning a little something later, he cleaned Barney's oh so virginal ass thoroughly, noted he must have had a morning stool which would help, and then proceeded to give him the mother and father of prostate massages. Had he been in better condition, he would have been elevated on his I beam dick. There was a pause while he threw up again, this time far less stomach acid and more routine crap. Back to his ass. Working the prostate like a hand puppet, he finally got Barney to begin to have expressions, make subtle noises that he knew indicated pleasure was somewhere in his brain. One last upchuck and he continued his drilling expedition, first turning on the air conditioning system, one he'd installed for just this sort of purpose; Almost instant air purification and de oderizer. A knock on the door and the twins returned. Telling them to lube up and keep working on his prostate-also a good nipple session would hurt-but no, absolutely no touching of his cock or balls. Saddened at a chance at a guy they had come to like, they did as told while Bob went elsewhere.

In a dim room an outsize woman was sitting, draped in a chair, a garden hose seeming to be up her ass or maybe her cunt, couldn't tell. " Feeling that nasty stuff come out, Mrs. Spaden?Good, good, relax, just let it do it's work, not too much longer, now. Then we can switch to the next series". By moving and speaking quickly, he avoided any possibility of conversation giving him time to grab a spinal needle and zip out while Mrs. Spaden enjoyed her morning cups of coffee in ways she never imagined.

Back at hungover central, Barney was coming around. Sort of. As earlier where he was and why he was there were questions to be answered but the return of Bob, holding something behind his back, suggested medical which, as happens was a good guess.

"Guys, turn his head away from me, some people are needle shy." Where upon he produced the spinal needle, about a quarter full, and started making injections in Barney's tail. That done, he massaged the sites for a moment or so, told he twins to keep him on the table for half an hour and, if he didn't show signs of life, to find him and he'd go with plan B. Other wise, load him up and they knew what to do and where to do it.

"That B-12 is a lollapolooza, never seen him use that much. Think we should have mentioned his eyes?"

He could only think of "Unchained Melody" the refrain about time moving one way or another or, alternately, seeing pink bubbles and feeling a gurgling, wondered if Lawrence Welk had been exhumed and he was now a Champagne Music Maker. Two soft, if muscular, Masculine arms around his shoulders led him to croon as part of the trio until he looked left and right and, with a suddenly burst of memory, saw Brad and Bill or Mike and Bob or whomever and noticed he was up to the dimple in his chin is water that foamed and writhed about them. Lawrence and the gang disappeared.

"I know I'll regret the answer to this question...actually, I bet there's a lot I may regret but...where am I, why does my ass hurt worse then when I was paddled at a college frat pledge meeting and why am I so fucking thirsty and hungry?"

"How much of that do you really want to know, I mean, right now, eventually you'll know all of it?"

"How much do I want to know, like my ass, was I fucked?"

"Nah, Jack and Jeff would kill if they found that had happened, your cherry is platinum plated. You had a bunch B-12 shots back there with a large size needle. You're in a whirlpool at "Our Place" a sort of spa for guys only and we're here to see that you recover. Well at least as much as you can recover. Oh, and you had your stomach pumped, Dr. Bob did that, cleaned out your shitter and gave you a prostate massage while he had us work on your tits."

Barney stared out, generally comprehending what he'd been told but almost afraid to ask anymore. He had some memory of waking up in a bath tub and then, maybe, in bed with two guys who were going to fuck....and all of that in his hotel room. Only part of that seemed logical but in his few days in California and especially now that he was a de facto part of the skin trade, logic had been re-polarized. He brightened a little, it would all make a good part of the article but then another fact of which he was certain came up, he'd been fired, canned, told to hit the road Jack, his journalistic credentials ripped up and used as confetti for a passing parade lead by a prick who looked a lot like a Big Black Mt. Blanc pen.

He looked at the twins with real sadness in his eyes."Guys, I don't have a job...."

Bob smiled, "Yes you do, Jack hired you to be our new staff writer last night."

Whether from hunger or hangover or whatever, Barney fainted.

Part 2

Sitting in the water at the spa for guys only with the Bull twins, Brad and Someone or Mike and Bob, the twins, leave it there. We are having a bumpy trip on my own personal memory lane that seems to have hit high gear with a letter from my editor telling me, in so many heated, vulgar words, you've been fucked. Or, to put it another way, I'd been fired from a good job with an admired publication for no damn reason except the schmuck who ran the place didn't like me and didn't like me more when a story of mine was published to some acclaim. Tricked, it's the only way I can think of it, to do a story in California on pornography, it evolved that it was gay pornography, something I'd not been told. However, he now chose to believe I dumped my assignment, took up with a gay film maker and was on my way to closing down the magazine with a lurid, sleazy story, fully illustrated, about men fucking men. Of course, they couldn't have that so they let me go while I wasn't there, thousands of miles away.Distraught, as best I could recover scattered memory, Jack who owned the studio, brought me the news and I didn't take it well. It's at that point a haze over most everything comes in but....I apparently sucked dry the minibar in the hotel, passed out and, now, was being shepherded by the Bull twins through a series of restorative treatments that were, in limited ways, helping. Concerned about losing my job, Mike, or Bob, said, no worries, Jack hired you to be our head writer.

All I could think about was my resume, which was pretty much trashed at that point. Started off well enough with Columbia Journalism, some minor jobs and then, rang the bell as a feature writer for a prestigious nation wide magazine who had just fired me for, their words, attempting to sully their reputation etc. Fuck their reputation. But the cavalry had come over the hill and Jack the head of the run down porn studio, had hired me to be his head writer. Just where on my resume I might put that I didn't know, maybe after my date of death. There was another unanswered a question which I asked.

"What's the name of the studio?"

"Harde On Productions. With the final E in Hard." I almost sank beneath the waves. Acme, Show and Tell, Boys 'R Us or even Buoys Are Us would have been better, or so I thought. And then another spectre came to me. The first day when I'd been shown the distribution end, there were thousands of labels, boxes etc with the name on it. Why I didn't notice, I've no excuse. Or, if I did, at that point I had no connection with them so whatever they called themselves was fine by me; I was paid to write a story, which I was doing, and if they called themselves, "Ding Dong, Studios" that was their business, just another fact for me to include in a now vaporized article. 

"Hey, Barney, how about a two finger prostate massage?"

I was too tired to resist and so....two fingers went up my ass and started to work. In fact, I did feel better. A little. Amazing when you're coming out of a deep, dark hangover how little sexual stimulation it takes to produce a result. Within minutes I was groaning, my body was one large spasm, my cock harder than my (former) editor's heart, my balls so drawn up, and ready to drain that I probably looked like a fashionable eunuch. Which may explain why I was screaming, "You muscle bound fag, stick Brad's head up there." Or something like that. A moment or two later I went limp as enough semen to repopulate a medium sized country erupted from a wildly waving schlong; We're talking power of the people here as, in a couple of places, white jets broke the already frothy surface. I'm not proud, I think I tried to lean forward and grab one with my tongue.

Hard as it was to conceive, the Bulls made exemplary Candy Stripers, caring, gentle, willing to do anything which included a lot more of"anything" than I wanted. I will admit that the prostate massage did feel good. Okay, very good but it was being done with a sort of whacked out intention. Also, after it was over I almost slipped beneath the waves thinking I could die a happy and drained man; For once in a rough sea, well, spa, I didn't think of the drowning sequences in "A Perfect Storm".

"Guys, uh, I'm getting water logged, could we...."

"Gotcha, only there's one more watery stop, but it's a quicky"

Some days ago my understanding of the word "quicky" was one thing but that was some days ago, now I wasn't sure what it might mean but I had confidence I discovered in these two guys, trusted them to do what was best. Although given my current surroundings, cast of people I could not have hoped to meet socially, "best" needed a new definition. And, of course, the two fingers up my ass.

Additional to everything else, my hunger had grown and I seemed to be permanently thirsty. I mentioned this to the guys who seemed to be aware that this was a problem but it, too, was part of the restorative program. They heaved themselves up from the water and, almost effortlessly, and painlessly, got me out as well. Without bothering to put me down we had the next "quicky" which proved to be a shower room when, if you turned the right dials, water came at you from all directions; Even the most energetic car wash couldn't have done as thorough a job. Mike, or maybe it was Bob, turned my modest foreskin back and held it over jet of water to make sure it was rinsed and about my tail...there was something like an old fashioned tractor seat, the metal kind, built over a modified toilet.I was put on that, a handle was turned and....apart from almost being blown from the seat by the strength of the spray, my innards were thoroughly watered and the effluvia, if there was any, dumped into the faux toilet; I wondered if bidets were widely known or accepted in California. 

One of the Bulls took me in his arms, went down a short hall, pushed a door open with his foot, plunked me on a massage table, turned to the guy standing beside the table who said, "Jack called, I'll let you know when you can pick him up, get him fixed up best as I can." The door slammed and I was alone with a man, naked save for a jock strap a great tan, about six and a half feet tall who, like all the men I'd recently dealt with spent what I'll call a lot of time in the gym. A lot. On the walls, somewhat surprisingly, there were a number of certificates from very credible places guaranteeing his education in physical therapy, sports medicine, massage....at least I was, and excuse the expression, in good hands. 

"First thing, got to get some hydration started, get your electrolytes balanced, nutrition..."as he did this he rolled a hospital style stand close to where my corpse was. On it were no less than six (6!)bags of whatever. Some looked like standard saline, others did not.First things first. I was rolled up in a warm towel, dried vigorously, rolled out of that towel, put in another, dried again and, finally, let out of that only to be draped with the sort of toweling a masseur would routinely use, the only slight difference was that all of me that was exposed were my eyes, nose and one arm.I'd been rubbed down or had a massage in the past but sensed....this one would be different. Previously, I'd been asked certain question, how did I stand deep tissue massage? Allergic to any oils? Latex?Prefer to keep my genitals covered? Instead of that he said, 

"Hey there, bro, I'm Butch and you're here for the full treatment, Jack's treat." I wondered if I should be grateful or not. 

"First thing, get you shot up with some two and two but I'm down stepping it a bit..." As he said that, he started a standard vein catherization line which came from the saline bottle equipped with a flow meter and a piggy back. I'll say this, he found my vein as easily as it had ever been done, saline was flowing, I could feel the slight chill, almost immediately. Once he satisfied himself I was safely locked in to my line, he produced a syringe which went in the piggy back.Within seconds I felt....something. "Versed and Fentanyl, standard pre-op injection to relax you." I could tell something was going on, I wasn't woozy-I'd already done that, but, as he said, I sensed a sort of relaxation that one doesn't usually sense; Apart from this not being pre op, I was grateful to have it. 

Working quickly, obviously to get "the good stuff" in and starting repairs he hung another bag, this time slightly milky in color and started it in the piggy back. "Glucose with a hyper dose of every vitamin you can think of plus some good blasts of minerals, that sort of shit." He looked at me seriously. "I don't know your personal habits but...I gotta assume you drink a lot so this will help clean toxins from your liver." I thought about the line of bottles on the bureau in my bedroom....well, maybe I did drink a lot, at least currently and given my future, maybe drinking might be a good idea.Certainly more than the beer or two while watching a game. 

"Want ya ta sleep for a few while things get running through you?" He was holding another syringe in his hand and, somehow, I felt this might not be a choice question; It wasn't. 

After a while in dream land, during which I was fluffed by the Bull boys, Jack, Jeff, Jerry, Sam, even Al plus this guy not to mention a drop forge and a miking machine to get my daily two quarts I wandered back to find...thoughts of death were no longer with me.

"Hey there buddy! You got some colour back, your pulse and pressure are steadying, oxygen saturation's good...almost like a real human cept I doubt you feel like that." Not chancing my voice I made motions with my head that to some degree said "yes" but not all the way"Yes" just a little way. He smiled-and he had a truly great smile-removed everything that was covering me, inquired as to whether I was too warm, too cold...a shrugging of shoulders meant okay. (I thought longingly of all those years when I'd wasted time making, full, complete grammatically correct answers when all I'd needed to do was run a course of physical movements that completely convey my situation. A buddy of mine, attached to the Italian Consulate in New York, had taught me some further physical movements that went far beyond the social niceties, everything from the simple, "fuck you"to the highly complex, "You are a cuckold and it's your brother who did it." Try and take that one into court and quote it. Well, maybe court in Italy. 

By now, and this sparkling, horrifying, gawd awful, edifying day one thing was sure, employed or not, I would never be the same Barney who pushed on a bell and fell in to sin. Actually, now, I'd participated in some very minor sin but then something came to me....while I was on the floor being fluffed, at Jack's orders, I seemed to remember a camera, some lights-okay, in my limited vision today they were just circling around, may have even been passing through but......I seemed to hear a voice say....."Jesus, Mother, Mary and Joseph, he just shot enough cream to ....." and there my memory failed me. I didn't really want to believe whose cream was under discussion but given what else I remembered, there really was no choice. The camera and lights, however, were another consideration; I felt it was a tad early in my newly found career as script writer for the sexually adventurous to concurrently make my cinematic debut. And, after all, what sort of pervert would get off watching a tall, good looking, vaguely young, Irish man get sucked off by seven people even as he screamed, alternately for more and to stop? In my mind an answer formed but I was able to avoid it.....

Butch picked up my leg, put it over his shoulder and with a touch you associate with commercials for baby powder, started to work on my massage. "Ya know, ya always work from the extremities toward the heart..." as if to prove it he did the masseurs version of "This little piggy...." and so forth. The sole of my foot, I was told, was a gold mine of nerve endings and he played it like a harp.....my eyes were crossing with pleasure while, further down, One member of the South Irish Marching Band had risen to shake the Shillelagh in the air. I groaned and, for the first time, no pain was involved. In the back of my mind I had started to fear what would happen as he worked up, toward that place from whence the "money shot", well, shot but differed that until a later time. I anticipated it but just then Butch hit something on my sole that caused three of my five Lumbar vertebrae to relax so completely, I was flat on the table. 

That terrific smile. Butch leaned over, never missing a fingering on my foot, took my cock in his mouth and, well, inhaled seems almost too weak a verb. Lets just say that, to that moment, and I'd had several mouths attached "down there", Butch's was...I don't know, every single fucking spout on the Trevi Fountain only in reverse. Did I moan? Well, fuck yes I did. Held his head, tried to move my body, tried to thrust up my very tired cock but he calmly just worked me down until I didn't just have a money shot, I knocked over the whole Brinks truck.

My white semen, the part he didn't swallow, eased out the side of his mouth and almost like a cobra following its prey, I reached up, coated my fingers with.....me and licked them clean. I'd never done it before, thought about it but-I'm hard pressed to mention this, since Al and Sam had moved in, letting Al have my spunk was sort of a treat for him. I don't know what Sam gave him but, after my contribution, I don't think Milk Bone would cut it. That's also probably why in winter when it was cold Sam was always banging on the radiator to "remind" the super that we needed heat. Well, he needed heat, I was wrapped up in Al's fur-all I needed were some hunting socks to stay warm all night. Based on that evidence, I'm guessing Sam didn't give Al much of anything-I usually fed him-he was rewarded on the same scale of affection as the lack of deeds done for Al. Again, as I lay there I thought about Al and teared up.Butch was very concerned first that he'd hurt me and then just what was wrong. Maybe he was used to men missing someone elses dog but he did what he could to calm me down or, to put it another way, he hit a spot, simultaneously on my fourth toe and my sole, that almost guaranteed instant calm. Al faded back and Butch faded in sensuously working on my calf with the clear indication that my thigh was next and then....we'd approach Lower Basin Street where God only knew what might happen.

It was as thorough and restorative a massage as I've ever had. Probably the bags of saline, glucose as well as vitamins and minerals went a long way but by the time he finished, working there from my head, I was perfectly happy to just stay there, grow older, while Butch did whatever he could do everyday. One last thing. "Okay, fella, gotta put you in to bake for a while and then we'll ice you and serve you to the party." With that, intense lights flicked on-he gave me a speech on the evils of tanning beds-put some small ovoid coverings over my eyes, slathered me in oil, splayed me out so that as much of me as was reachable was available. With the suggestion that I rest, reinforced by something from a syringe in the piggy back in my vein catherization, I did. At some point I must have been turned over for when I came to, well rested, I must say, I was wrapped in a blanket, a pillow under my head, my hand, per usual, on my cock.....just like waking up any morning. Except I was pretty sure it wasn't morning.

The bulls appeared, their normal, smiling, pleasant selves and were genuinely concerned as to how I might be, questions answered by Butch and all with a definite up tick. One more thing, another light coating of oil-I wouldn't have cared if he'd dipped me in 10-W-40- and I was ready to go. Almost. 

"Guys, you know how it is around the office, naked, clad, makes no difference but, even though I don't know where we are, I'm betting I need to wear clothes, you're wearing clothes and when he leaves, I'll bet Butch wears clothes...."

They had a conspiratorial smile that did and did not give me a good feeling. One Bull had a bag, the other had a shoe box. Whatever ever it was, it was going to be covering, how much covering, I wondered but, hey, this was California, if it had six band aids and two cocktail napkins, I could figure something out. Not necessary. Good looking pair of cargo shorts, very short in the rise and cuffed, but good looking, a light weight campaign shirt with epaulets on the shoulders, some aviator specs and, in the box, a handsome pair of leather flip flops. Everyone, including me, actually, agreed I looked pretty fucking good, well, their word was "Studly" but their hearts were in the right place.

Suddenly I felt Butch grab me than begin to rub some oil in my hair. Didn't take him long to restore it to where it was when Jerry finished. For whatever reason, I was intensely grateful to these guys, in some ways they had saved my life and as I stood there, I knew what I had and wanted to to; One at a time, I hugged and kissed each one and mumbled my thanks. Their pats on my back could have loosened phlegm if I'd had pneumonia but we'd kept the brotherhood of sin perking along.

"Okay, where to?"

"The good parts over, back to work. Two scripts are needed....didn't think you could take some time off just cuz you tied one on? Fuck, I've done a three way two hours after chugging a bottle of Tequila. No one did anything for me, just told me to get fluffed and get laid."Business is business. I thought of a despicable boss, by whom I was no longer employed, who had vanquished a six double Martini lunch, fuck the olives or the onions or, for that, the bitters, walked in as casually vertical as usual, made a seven figure deal and, only then, leaned back had a snooze, wakened, ordered a pot of coffee plus five fingers of Brandy. Admirable I suppose but also an object lesson; At the end of the day he got up, pulled on his suit coat and fell flat on his face on his desk. Some kind soul got the rest of him up there, pulled off his shoes, found a blanket, a couch pillow and then, in the fading twilight's boom, removed his pants and fucked him. There were not only stills but a video-that was given to him as a holiday present in one of those idiot "gift exchanges" where you randomly select a name to whom you'll give a gift and another person, having drawn your name, lets you have it as well. Somewhat later, after hearing a good laugh in a viewing room, the word went out that he wanted copies and with the sound converted to Dolby.

This time the drive was easier to take, I could enjoy the trashier parts of the City of Angels we were in but, even with my limited knowledge of where things were, we were headed neither for the studio nor the hotel. If I'd learned nothing in the past days it was to shut up and see what happened next as, hard experience, whatever it was wasn't something I might have conceived. (I thought of Geneticist J.B.S Haldane's famous quote, "The universe is not only stranger than we imagine, it is stranger than we can imagine." Nothing in my life had ever disproved that and so I let the Bulls take me for a ride.) 

I hadn't quite caught the meaning of "the long commute" but I was learning and what I was learning was that this was one of them. One of the Bulls said I looked great in my clothes (they did as well but I failed to mention it) and that the bit of sun tan, and tinge of burn, looked "bitchin'". Almost to himself he considered that,"Jack really did know how to do it.......". Well, probably although I wasn't quite sure what he'd done apart from getting my cock sucked, letting me get beyond shit faced drunk and then turning me over to number of professionals who had worked very hard to bring me back to life even though I figured that full, rich life, such as before I got canned by my former job and then drank the contents of a mini bar wasn't to be. Still, I was ahead of where I had been when I'd wakened in a cozily kitted out bathtub...so not seeing things as they are, not as they were or might be. I noticed that having left what had signs of being a garbage dump for Los Angeles County, we'd moved into a suburb of the upper sort. 

Brad Bull pulled into a most attractive Mansard adaption that had on the three across driveway, a boat on a trailer, a large one, the sort you felt could sleep two or three guys comfortably for a day or more, access to three garages as well as a winding path toward the front door through what looked like a fairly faithful reconstruction of a portcullis. Brad pushed a button on what I'd thought was his cell phone and a door went up allowing him to pull into the garage, touch the button again followed by his saying, "Nobody even knows you're here." To myself I added, "...or cares". There were signs they were perfectly willing to pick me up and haul me wherever I was to go but I was feeling sufficiently recovered that giving my legs a try, and using one Bull to steady me, to go it alone. Okay, he did carry me up the eight steps from the garage and through the back door but only after I'd wavered. 

Inside revealed what the outside suggested, a very fine home, which, from my limited vantage point in what I assumed was the laundry room, I could see very little save for the sort of kitchen that is referred to as"gourmet" and, my other line of sight, an attractive room, casual but beyond that...."Up we go" said a Bull as he pushed a button on the wall. Seconds later a door slid open and we were in an elevator-he pushed three. We stopped and, for all I knew, it might have been the third floor. The Bulls seemed to know the place so with one friendly hand on each shoulder they got me down the hallway, through double doors, into a foyer and, beyond that, a great bedroom, clearly one designed for a man, handsome, all the touches you think should be there had been touched. The bed was of no particular size other than enormous, nicely fitted out with a dozen pillow, good looking sheets that almost grabbed you to come sleep on them, a sort of duvet/quilt combination as well as a bench at the end where one might plop down after a hard day, pull off their boots, or shoes, or just sit and flop back knowing in a nanosecond you'd be comfortable;Fuck undressing.

The tour continued. I would have guessed it was a bathroom but depending on how you felt about it, could have been a locker room. Row of open showers, forty eight inch high vanity, two standing urinals, three rooms for toilets, a hot tub and another tub whose function was hard to discern, an eight foot tall open set of cabinets that was piled deep with towels plus, beside that, a bidet. Almost off handedly a Bull said, this's the can...and before I had time to explore-it was the sort of place one wanted to explore even if you had no use for more practical applications. As I was hauled out I thought I caught side of a partially opened door beyond which was a massage table.....and the foot plank of a barber's chair. It was a more complete facility than the locker room when I was in college.

"Okay, guy, here's your office." One of them pointed at the bed. Got all the sort of thing writers need-they seemed puzzled at what a writer might need-but pulled over the equivalent of an island in a kitchen on wheels save that this one had pencils, pads, two computers, some sort of pop up television, typewriter and-I wonder whose idea that had been?-a still packaged batch of Big Chief tables. (I idly wondered if, somewhere, I would find the deluxe box of crayolas, the one that had 54 colours plus silver, gold, copper and a sort of non-colour that I remembered was used for correcting colouring mistakes, such as when you went outside the line.) 

"Uh, what am I supposed to write? Jack leave any ideas, suggestions, you know, what sort of script he'd like his head script writer to write?"They looked at me, I looked at them and, suddenly, a light shown in the East as one Bull reached into the rolling writer's platform and produced a carefully bound stack of eight DVDs. "Jack said to watch these and see if you had any ideas as to how to make them better.This is all rough so don't expect no fancy shit."-an assumption I'd already made. There was a pause while a sort of smile of pride played across his handsome, muscular face. "There's one of us.....maybe you'd like to begin with that....seein's how we're here we could show you up close what it looks like, kinda talk you through what we're doin'......"

It was as if his wish was some machine's command. Over the fire place descended a screen that could have easily wall papered a reasonably sized living room in a tract home. Only a few moments passed, as well as some buttons pushed before we were in a darkened room. They stripped, I joined them, hopped on the bed ready to enjoy their own, uh, handiwork, another button and the screen came to life with a dizzying camera angle which showed what I thought was the roof of"our" studio. Some background comment then it settled on the Bulls on the fake bed in the fake set with the real lava lamp beside it. We watched that and them for about twenty seconds-of which fifteen was more than adequate-and then a jump to another shot of the bulls, only half naked, making a sort of stand up love, again the eye jarring cut to their hands playing hand ball with each over, another jump, and both were on the bed-apparently it didn't come with sheets-naked again, or maybe still, making love or expressing a deep affection.

Suddenly the lights came on and both Bulls had an anxious sort of look, one that made me wonder if I was supposed to review what I'd just seen or, worse, comment on their performances. "Jack had all that re-shot, thought you wouldn't like it then we re-shot it and that's what's coming up. Thought we'd better explain that, you know, the change in scenery, shit like that."

Lights off, the screen comes on but this time there's a nice looking paneled door framing the two Bulls, fully clad, as if they'd just walked in.Even the short foyer they were in was....nice....and vaguely familiar. The camera pulled back as they sauntered into a good looking bedroom at which point my jaw dropped.

"Holy shit, that's my room at the hotel!!!!"

"Yeah, looks great don't it, better than that set we got." I looked at him to see if he showed any earmarks of being crazy. "I thought you seen what they was doing when you came out of the tub......?"

In some crevice of my mind I had vague, indistinct not quite memories of being in my room, desperately hung over and being told to move over as....something was going to be on the other side of the bed....and then I was gone and, I don't know, it never occurred to me to think about a hotel room. They are what they are, rented space from a corporation that you used for whatever your purposes and then left.No where in my years of staying in hotels had I ever seen them as a sort of little theatre. I tried to think, an almost painful thing to do.....

Not only was I confused but I was mad, an ugly drunk after the drunk part has gone. "Where the fuck am I, when is it....where are my clothes.....my watch..." and ran out of demands not because I didn't have them but because I couldn't remember them. One of the Bulls looked at the other.....

"He's kinda not up to date....." And to me, "Barney, you've been out for two days, it's Saturday evening, this is Jack's house, you're in his bed and we've been trying to help...."

How much sense did that make to you? Double it and you've got me. Then there was the yelping.....the hounds of hell no doubt but suddenly I was covered with a large furry animal whose licking was oddly familiar......My God, it was Al. In Jack's bedroom. In California.Okay, I started to cry again, well, bawl. 

"See, every guy should have a dog....so now....you got yours back." I was puzzled but too happy to ask any questions though, doubtless, I should have. Like, how did you get him and how did you get him here.I was diverted as Al wanted to renew one of this favourite activities and was under the covers looking for my dick, licking it and hoping for a treat. Through my tears of laughter and gratitude I tried to grab the Bulls and hug them but that was equivalent to trying to hug two side by side fire plugs, they knew my heart was in the right place. 

Beyond having a dog romance with, some success, my cock, there was the little issue of the missing two days. I wrote them off, in my newly wild Irish way, to "The Drink" and just assumed a lot of what I felt was linear was actually my mind acting as the engine to the freight then jamming on the brakes which compressed all the cars/days together. Even though I remembered being on the table at the spa with Butch, I couldn't tell you how long.....I remembered his suggesting I take a nap, actually, he suggested I take several of them, but how long was a nap? One answer, at least one that had some fringes of time measurement was my sun tan and slight burn but, beyond that, waking up wrapped up and coming to; What I saw as very little time, could have been....hours. 

"I gotta see this....I never saw it up close like this...." Both Bulls were fascinated by Al and my cock which he'd worked into a first class hard on and was now tonguing my balls as well as my tribute to him and my pleasure at seeing him. "Fuck, look at those teeth, I wouldn't want them near my dick....". Well, you weren't me and didn't know Al. What had them riveted was the sight of a grown man having his cock sucked by an animal that weighed in the area of 120 pounds and, in other applications, was trained to take men down and sink their teeth in them. Al, however, had learned that if he got too involved and clamped down, I swatted him, hard, and prevented him from getting what he wanted. He was a fast learner and was now laying on his side, one paw almost massaging my nuts while his tongue-long-was wrapped around a hard, fleshy tube in which he knew lay "the good stuff" but he'd have to work for it.

"Good doggy, good, I'll help you." I was at pre-moan so when one of the Bulls stuck his fingers up my ass to, once again, work over my prostate, didn't strike me as anything but great. If Jack had been around, even if he'd only had a camera in his phone, this would have been a feature length. One last slurp and I shot the moon. Al was so excited that after he'd finished me he looked around for more and found....a Bull. Naked and hard. 

After it was all over, I'm amazed Al didn't burp, he blew me at least twice and the bulls, who were used to being able to produce one dog's food quite often more times....Okay, so it was almost bestiality of a sort but actually I knew several guys who in a drunken moment confessed that they let their fido do what Al was doing. 

A few-time had lost any purpose-I woke up to find Jack's bed filled with me, Al, and the Bulls. On the screen, someone must have hit continuous loop, were the bulls endlessly fucking one another save for those moments when they sucked each other, rimmed each other, you know, standard fare. One thing I did notice, Al was hotter in California than in New York but then it wasn't cold and, regardless of the season, he had a fur coat. But glad to see him? Fuck yeah I was although....I did wonder how he'd been acquired but it came to me that I might be better off not knowing. Little doubt that I would know but not just then. My stirring brought Al to life and, well.....For someone who was not specifically in the porn industry a week previously, I'd done everything but or maybe I'd done everything and didn't know. I lay back on Jack's wonderful sheets and just enjoyed myself..... 

This time, however, what Al wanted wasn't sex but out. God only know when last he'd been given a chance to take a leak but as he went to the door and arduously scratched the expensive finishes, clearly he wanted out and now wouldn't be a moment too soon. Having no idea how to even get off the third floor, how to get to outside and, if I could, if outside would have at least a tree and some grass I punched a Bull who came to almost immediately.

It was something of a hard explanation as I lacked a leash, a pooper scooper and, of course, any idea as to where he could go. Bull was immediately sympathetic and told me he'd been in a Shibari situation for eight hours and he knew what it was like to really want to go;Not knowing what a "Shibari Situation was, I tried to seem understanding, though puzzled. Before I could point out that he was a New York dog, would need a leash and the pooper scooper they were out the door, Al showing every sign of deep gratitude. Bull was naked but I'd gotten so used to that I failed to notice. Besides with every step down the trail to degradation I'd further accepted nudity as normalcy. Just then I was nude and thought nothing of it. Flopping back in bed I X'ed out worrying about it and returned to sleep.

It was actual dark the next time around, no forms of sex, whether on the screen or next to me were being performed; Indeed, except for Al, I was alone in the bed and even he seemed to have lost a taste for sex so, once again, it was a time to wonder. Sounds of something not to mention smells of food came to me as they did to Al. Not for nothing are dogs trained to "sniff out" whatever they're looking for.Having not planned on him, there were no preparations for food or water.....and water in several ways seemed a good idea; I knew where the can was so rolled out of the play pen and, followed by my faithful dog, headed that way. Considering I didn't believe there was solid food in me, my time astride Crane Standard's gift to the world was amazingly long. Al, no fool he, found another toilet and, literally, drank it dry. Apparently that wasn't quite enough as he jumped in a hot tub. What was I to do? This time his far famed nose had betrayed him-as it had me-this was a hot salt water tub. Felt good so we stayed there-had it been only a bit larger we could have done laps.

Leaning back, having found a jet that would do for my prostate what two fingers had done, I tried to get some perspective on, well, a lot of things. There's an old expression,
"Don't sweat the small stuff" which seemed a good maxim to follow. The difficulty trying to sort out what was small stuff and what was not. For example, how and who got Al? Depending on your level of paranoia about being charged with a felony for dog napping. Or, in my case, receiving a stolen dog. The hotel room? Nah, ditto the car. Apart from getting my clothes and a few other thing, my luggage and lap top for example, my time there would run out and whatever the "studio" did would take care of itself. Money, to date, hadn't been a problem, as everything had been paid for excepting the mini bar and a meal or two. That I had a job, of whatever sort, was at least consoling although, based on what I'd seen, a screen writer wasn't a pressing need but that was something to resolve or would be resolved. Obviously going back to New York was, just then, a poor idea. Somehow the thought of calling Sam to tell him that his dog was fine and with me....in California wasn't a good one. In effect, no office to call although in the back of my mind it was hard to resist planning some sort of revenge.Oddly, the thing I missed and wanted just then was something the jet couldn't do and that was a couple of fingers up my tail. Getting to be a habit I suppose.

Getting the salt water out of Al was hard to do; Just rinsing him wasn't enough so we both lathered up, rinsed off, repeated the process and, finally, were salt free. Both of us dried, after he showered everything with his post water shaking, we were now ready for food.In one sense I missed the mini bar at the hotel; Apart from the liquor it had snacks that at least kept one's stomach from grumbling but would Al eat peanuts?

Back in the room there was the overwhelming smell of some sort of cook out. Finding a window I looked out to see a number of naked and marginally clad men lounging around a pool that appeared to be an inlet of the Pacific Ocean, liquor (I shuddered) beer etc and, most of all a buffet with an enormous brick cooker currently occupied by meat. It was overwhelming. Just as I got someone's attention and there seemed to be movement to come collect me, there was the sound of wood splintering and a happy barking as Al took out the door. Abandoning my perch, I chased after him, down a very long circular staircase, across a marble floor and through a pair of open French Doors. We had arrived. 

I couldn't really blame him but....Al grabbed a ham or a lamb or a goose, hell I don't know, it was on the buffet table and carried it away as his catch of the day. 

My entrance to the party was, even by Hollywood standards, riveting. A door opened, a naked man and a dog appeared, the dog, ravenous with hunger, snatched something edible and retired under an Oleander bush where his guttural noises indicated pleasure and a suggestion that this was not a good time to pet him. As to the naked man....he didn't even have sun glasses, his cock was only semi soft and he had no idea what was going on. 

Jack, ever one of the most pleasant people I'd met, came up, put an arm around me, announced that Shakespeare had returned-there was a cheer-and welcomed me to his home. I wondered if this was a good moment to mention a flattened door? What I did wonder about was Jack's "outfit". I'd never seen half a jock and by that I mean, it only covered one side, not the whole way round. (I thought about Howard Hughes and his theoretical attempt to produce a cantilevered brassiere for Jane Russell.) "Bet your hungry." We sauntered-when naked, sauntering is best, keeps things from flopping about-to the buffet politely ignoring where my dog had trashed part of it. In one ear Jack suggested that I confine myself to light foods and, for restorative purposes, have a beer. The thought almost made me throw up in the Guacamole dip.

Socrates and the Hemlock, Barney and his beer....I wish there were some analogy but there isn't save that Socrates ended up dead and I was condemned to live. But....oddly, a few swallows in, I did feel better. Jack smiled knowingly-Jack knew a lot about which to smile knowingly it came to me-and led me around, pointing out people I'd met-even if I had no memory of it. Here and there were couples, singles, groups employing themselves in a sort of casual sex, the sort you have when you're not being photographed. Seeing someone, in a leather hammock-something I'd never seen as part of garden furniture-he left me to my own devices even if every device I could think of was being illustrated. 

Jeff bounded over, gave me a hug and a kiss, told me he was glad to see me restored to health and offered to get me another beer; It was just then that I noticed I'd knocked down the first one like a frat boy before the big game. Perhaps it was there, looking at Jeff, happy, healthy and, by studio thought, almost too mature at 38, that I had an idea. Indeed looking around I could see an iceberg like division in age groups; Assuming Jack was mature, I was middle aged and many of the rest of the merrymakers and makers of each other would need a license check before anything else. Forgetting my own personal sexual preference, which increasingly seemed like German Shepherd, I tried to think about stories with only men. It was too soon to know all the various perversions, not to mention themes and variations, on sex men could do with each other but that was my cast. This wasn't a sit com, these were guys in front of me being men relating to each other sexually as well as just casually. Somewhere between an all guys tailgate party and the first blue movie you ever saw in the company of only....men. 

I looked back at Jeff and could not avoid thinking that if he was"mature" then persons of both sexes were missing considerable action in assuming that their sexual life committed suicide at age thirty. Jeff, as well as Jack, the Bulls, Butch....were not kids, I would have said Butch and Jack were well into their forties but in terms of attraction, they seemed just about perfect. All around us were people illustrating what I was thinking, no consideration as to age, looks, just guys being guys enjoying themselves. How that could go on a screen, where the idea was to arouse not make comfortable, I wasn't sure but having no better idea, it was a starting point. That having been thought through, I turned to Jeff and did my best approximation of the man to man kiss that wasn't like one head of state greeting another head of state at the airport.

"Jesus, Barney, where did that come from? Maybe the beer was a bad idea..."

"Nope, that's my way of saying thank you and, by the way, have you heard the one about the nice boy who comes upon a situation and decides to consider some things?"

He looked puzzled.

"Jeff, you know all this stuff and considerably more than I do so I need some one to explain it...for example, those two guys, on the diving board, are they gymnasts?"

He looked, looked back at me and said that they were fucking-a part I realized-and doing it double cowgirl. Or maybe he said side saddle.Whatever it was, doing it on the diving board seemed a poor choice of places a fact I mentioned. Jeff laughed and said it was common practice to do something on the board, sort of like a runway at a fashion show, where everyone could see you. With the exception of Jeff and myself, their audience was not apparent. 

"Maybe we could go some place and talk, you know, academic to academic? Some place where I could find some clothes? It's getting chilly...."

"California is never as warm as people want to believe it is. Try going to the beach in mid July and going for a swim; your cock and nuts will pull up and your nips will be harder than quarters." He looked around."Let me find Jack and ask if I could slip away with you for a bit...."

Why ask Jack? I was well beyond the age of consent and while a guest in Jack's-very nice-home, why did he need to be consulted? The answer was simple. Or it was supposed to seem simple, it just didn't to me.This was supposed to be a sort of welcome to the studio party in my honour, now that I'd joined it. Jack wanted me to meet the guys, not just the performers, but the camera guys, lighting people....significantly no mention was made of wardrobe; I thought about the "costume" department I'd seen and realized that what I'd seen was so much costuming as a tribute to nylon, spandex, lycra etcetera. No one piece was significantly larger than a happy meal which, in many ways, was an apt concept. I looked back at Jeff who, as usual, had his happy, handsome smile. 

"Lets go over there, through those doors, it's warmer inside and you'll still be on display if Jack wants you to meet someone. I'll scout around and find you something to wear....warmth not display being the better choice,huh?" I smiled in appreciation and headed for the doors he indicated. Along the way, to be a "good guest" I paused to speak to people I'd theoretically met, was introduced to their boyfriends, was welcomed, was told snippets of projects they had in mind for them...I was discovering how necessary making sure you were known and recognized was. It was weird. Decades earlier there had been a book called "The Day of the Locust" about the studio system, it's venality, it's ego but mainly about how those at the top were to be curried. In a flash I realized that I was at the top of the heap at least at "Harde On". I was the new golden child, I was the protegee of the head of the studio, fuck, I was sleeping in his bed. What else was I other than a man to be patted, befriended, made to remember them...and that's when I tripped over a handsome couple blowing each other and fell into the swimming pool

Even the guys on the board stopped whatever they'd started doing to look.They weren't the only ones, I was knocked cold when Al, sensing his, uhm, meal ticket was in peril, reacted as he'd been taught to and came to my rescue, dove in and clonked me. 

The party, at least my participation came to an end. To be fair, I didn't drown but an awfully lot of carefully applied skin makeup floated toward the deep end when people jumped and I went down and didn't immediate float back up. 

It occurred to me that getting out of bed was proving to be a poor idea.When I came to I was back in Jack's bed surrounded by what looked like the hearty, half nude chorus boys from "South Pacific". Ever the concerned host, Jack was pressing a compress against me and there was an internal feeling that I was going to have a black eye. To the degree it was possible, I looked about, surveyed who was there and remembered...whoever was in that room with me was the upper echelon.They'd been admitted to the "Presence" by Jack. The Bulls, of course, Jeff and a few others but based on the number of party goers versus the numbers of concerned in the room, the division line was apparent. 

The moment had come for me to take the coronet handed me by the king and start wielding my scepter. In other words, languidly put my hand on my crotch rolled on my side and, in remembrance of recent events and knowing what had made me feel better said, "Okay, who'd like to stick two fingers up my ass?"

Jack was staring at Barney's ass, a jar of Noxzema in his hand. "Who the fuck told you to put baby oil on your butt?"

"You're partially to blame, between working out with the Bulls or Jeff, I've hung a little muscle on me so you gave me that sling shot of a bathing suit and.....it left me with a tan line.Look around, no one here has tan lines so....I asked someone and they said, no problem, just slather some baby oil on my ass and crotch, give it a couple of hours each side and....no tan line."

Jack looked at him as one might a child whose just eaten all the Oreos and is trying to cover up that he did it. Shame that, as with a blistered ass, the Oreo crumbs are a dead give away. Just to be cruel he popped him one on his tail. Barney immediately folded into an advanced foetal position, not realizing it still left his tail, red as it was, in perfect view.

"Why'd you do that? Jesus, Jack, this hurts."

"That's why I did it, don't take information from the guys, they know what they did and have been without tan lines since the battle of Pea Ridge. Hold still, this is going to feel cold but may take some of the pain away. Before you sleep, let me know and I'll slap some lidocaine lotion on it, make it more comfortable. As to your tan line, or lack of one, when you stop peeling, you can see what's left."

He was right, the crème did sting from feeling cold but shortly cut into the overall discomfort and allowed him to just lie there and feel the professional stroking of Jack's hand all around and into his nicely rounded bottom. Jack, who was an aficionado of men's bottoms, hadn't realized what a prime one Barney had until one night in a hotel room, the night he was first fired by the magazine he worked for, got fried on a minibar and ended up nude in a bath tub. That's when Jack noticed his ass. And that he was straight. Not all that straight, at least since the day he'd had ordered up a group blow job on him which sort of loosened him up to things men could-and did-do with other men not to mention some of it felt very good; He was particularly fond of the two finger prostate massage....

As Jack massaged-taking longer and going further than was strictly necessary-he wondered aloud if the sufferer under his fingers had looked over some of the applications to be models in their videos.

"You mean like this one?" Barney pulled a Manila folder from a stack."Hardy Trade." He paused and played hand ball with the name."Where the fuck do they come up with these? I saw one, maybe last week, 'Boyd Wonder' well, he won a point, I wondered and then I looked at the picture. The wonder was the animal protection people didn't have him in the slammer and up on charges....."

Jack, too, remembered that one but had to point something out....."The dog was fucking, not the other way around.In theory, the kid might have had a righteous case against the dog for force-able rape...." A concept that suddenly struck him as hilarious, so much so that he fell on the bed next to his parti-coloured head screen writer. 

These were moments that made him a bit sad, almost from the first time he'd seen Barney....it wasn't so much a case of wanting him but wanting to have him around, sleep with him, go out to dinner with him, work with him on projects around the studio. He also swore to himself that if anyone, anyone at all, tried to take him by force, bad things would happen to them. Sure, Barney allowed, seemed to enjoy, a certain amount of casual man on man sex but it never got beyond a certain point; That point being where he was sufficiently aroused to forget that he'd never done what he was now about to do and did it. Jack wasn't alone, the Bull Twins and Jeff, one of their older "stars", kept an eye on him but, more importantly, kept a lot of eyes on guys about whom it was known didn't give a shit and might try and jump him. To that end he'd moved him not only into his home, but into his very big bed. The three of them, Jack, Barney and Al, Barney's German Shepard that had come with Barney from New York.Al, it was known, liked to give blow jobs, a couple of which were on film, which did nothing to make him unwelcome at the studio where, mainly, half the guys were naked and had sausages just hanging out for the taking. Originally a police dog, he took "To Protect And To Serve" very seriously and wasn't sucking cock a service? Try and persuade Al otherwise. 

Al had once had a promising career as a K-9 unit. His trainers all said it, few dogs they'd ever worked with had his zeal, his real interest in learning what to do. Some dogs can only work with one partner, Al could work with anyone, any time, any sex, any reason. Just hand whoever his leash, open the back door to the squad car and another successful day was about to start. Moreover, he was friendly. Say there was a corner take down of a minor hand to hand deal, Al would woof a few time, basically chase them down and, so no harm was done, sit on the jerk until whoever he was working with that day caught up and cuffed the guy. At that point he reverted to being a puppy, tail wagging, looking for a kid, or a group of them, to go play with. At first the children ran but, it was the goodness of Al, they'd carefully approach at which point he'd roll over and the game, whatever it was, was on. Getting Al back in the squad car was often more difficult than getting the felon stuffed in another car. Al was having a good time, the children, the smaller ones, were enjoying doggy back rides and were devastated when Al was dragged away, whining, scratching the ground, hoping for just another hour, or two, of play time. Needless to say, when a dog was required to go into a school as either a demonstration dog or, as some schools were really rough, to break up whatever was going on, it was Al that was always selected.

Finally he got a permanent partner, a great Puerto Rican called David who must have been the largest male to ever come North from San Juan. No one knows, but it's probably safe to assume that David first discovered Al's taste for cock but didn't mention it for a lot of reasons, some work related and some....not work related.Besides, where was the harm? He'd heard about guys who played a little nookie with their dogs and what Al did felt good. End of story. 

Almost. David and Al were on patrol in an area that, for a big city, was amazingly like a jungle. Several ravines, overgrown, a perfect hiding place as many officers found it difficult to impossible to scale down, make the collar and then wonder how the fuck to get their prisoner back up. Al, when on patrol, of course, would have jumped off a two hundred foot vertical cliff into burning oil to do his duty so it was nothing for him to see the bushes, the ravine and joyfully barking, go after their target which he caught based on the sounds from below. Protocol said he could not go down by himself unless there was a certainty of grave injury, fire rescue ...that sort of thing. So, while David sat in his cruiser he was confident Al had their prisoner under control. Twenty minutes later a pair of officers-it was assumed this would take three men-appeared and they started down to find Al, his prisoner and get everyone topside.

It was strangely silent, even when David called Al, no response. Never occurred to the officer that any harm had come to Al but it was standard procedure for K-9 unit to answer not only to verify he was alright but as a directional signal if that were needed. 

They found him; He'd ripped the pants off the guy, was slurping on his dick, all four paws were on him and he'd squatted down enough to let the guy, if he knew what was good for him, lick his very prominent nuts. Pictures were taken, protocol to verify the collar, and there was a pause while Al finished off his target who kept screaming, "My nuts, man, the fuckin' mutt is gonna to eat my nuts...." Which wouldn't have happened but, under the circumstances, it wasn't a bad call. 

That was the end of Al's career in police work as so, quietly, a buyer was found for him although certain of his habits were considered "Police Business" and not revealed. Sam bought Al and brought him home to the micro apartment he shared with Barney then promptly forgot about him leaving Barney as his care giver, food giver, walker, the side of the bed he slept on and his best friend.Once in California Barney got sentimental after he was fired so Jack arranged to buy Barney and bring him out to reunite with his buddy. 

Jack laid a towel beside his singed friend and told him to roll over on his back on the towel. If a burned butt was bad, a cauterized cock was....about as painful as it got. Not bothering to just take a few fingers of the healing stuff, he took a glob of it and in one movement encased his dick in it, a move that caused Barney to scream and buck. That only left his nuts and the part of his crotch as an area that wasn't somewhat protected by fur. Tears were pouring from Barney and Jack really felt for him-and also wished he could have felt him more-but the deed was done. Nothing to do now but give him something to knock him out, put something over him to keep him warm and hope that the days until that scalded feeling went away were few. As he left the room he noticed Al was about to take a taste of Noxzema which, he knew, would be a one time deal; He hoped he could get to the edge of the bed before he threw up.

From the day that Barney and Jeff had made what they almost considered a gag reel but Jack had seen as having great potential a new form of porn for Harde One Studios began. Jack had been proved right. The immediacy of the "straight to you"business meant that, although they reshot it, using some of Barney's wisecracking dialogue, it was available for sale or rental within two days. Three days after that, it became the best selling video they'd ever produced and the reason was clearly a bit of professional writing and an honest to God effort to stray from the standard fuck and suck, although that's what happened, but rather to set the stage, and start the viewer, for what inevitably would happen. Jeff had actually worked in sales so he had the inside track on how "outside sales" worked. They'd replaced the original client with someone who could actually register three emotions, shock, confusion and deep pleasure, in the same film. (Whatever one said about F and S, while there certainly was some sort of emotion it was limited to seeming to enjoy the proceedings and need only register that, in modest ways, on their face.) 

As well as that had done, in the limited access it had to the various media platforms, it was the next one that, while slow to find an audience, when it did, they were snowed with orders, offers to put in on their online porn distribution outlet, requests from porn magazines to interview some of those involved....almost more publicity than they could have conjured up in a year. And all positive.

On the face of it, underneath it, above and beyond it, the idea was.....improbable. As he explained it to Jack, all he wanted to do was make a porn version of a "roadrunner" cartoon but with men and situations. Jack blinked trying to understand.Barney went back and dissected a typical "roadrunner" piece and then how he'd redo it. At base, it was nothing longer than an eight minute, although for his purposes he'd string several instances together and come up with something closer forty of chase with the coyote ever in hot pursuit and then having the snares he set to catch his prey backfire on him. They'd find someone in their stable who could be the roadrunner and another one to be the coyote. Because these were associated with the great out of doors, the location people found a place in the California desert that offered certain vistas as well as certain privacy. Jack still wasn't convinced. No porn flick was funny or even mildly amusing. But then he remembered their recent release which was somewhat funny and genuinely amusing.The one problem with this was the budget: $75,000.00. That caused Jack to shudder, to that moment the most money they'd ever spent, excluding what was paid the "talent" had seldom gone beyond ten grand and this was seven times that and, he thought he heard Barney say, that they'd try and "contain it at that". Beyond that, and part of the budget, was a lot of construction of devices to be used by the coyote to catch the roadrunner. As a compromise, Barney said he'd make one section of it, show it to Jack and, if he didn't like it, or even if he did but thought the market for it was nonexistent, he'd pull the plug.

Barney picked Jeff to direct-he said it would be odd to wear clothes around a camera-and the two of them locked themselves in a hotel room to work it out. Which drove Jack crazy as they neglected to tell him where they were, even Al was mute as he'd gone with them.One day passed then days two through five at which point they returned whereupon Jack declared an emergency executive session. At his home. In his bed. The usual crowd, Barney, Jeff, Jerry the camera man, the Bulls and, of course Al. (By now it had become routine when just being around Al and not needing to be undressed, something covering the package was a must, and that something had to be sufficient so that a determined animal couldn't open it. Or, plan B, Al was sent to the pool with some of the younger "stars" where they could make their own discoveries about inter-species relationships.

Barney and Jeff tried to look as innocent as Spring but rolled over when Jack read a few pages and began to laugh himself.Simply put the coyote put a rock in a narrow part of a canyon preventing passage on the road. RR is heard, followed by a huge eighteen wheeler which dislodges it, the RR following but, in the rocks absence, a group of guys is revealed who were using it for their own form of camouflaged camping out. They immediately knew who was to blame and seized on the coyote whilst they dragged him toward the proverbial "fate worse then death". The last shot was of the coyote spreadeagled, face down, on the ground as guys took their turn fucking him. True to the spirit of the original, the coyote held up a little sign that said, "Help". 

Jack looked at the two in something of amazement."This...just....might...work....."

Ten days of shooting and, true to his word, Barney kept it under budget, and it was ready for release. The only thing lacking was a title. Clearly words such as "coyote" and "Roadrunner"could not be used. No one ever thought that Warner Brothers would be amused although they'd stayed within the laws of legal parody but to use the name of a principal character in the title took them into ground that was legally actionable. While it was true Warner's themselves had made their own parody ("The Villain" with Schwarzenegger as the Roadrunner, Kirk Douglas as the coyote and Ann Margret as a coming attraction) they were legally able to to it as they owned the rights.

There was a pause. Jeff and Jerry were involved in some good natured fucking, Jack was wishing he could be involved in some good natured fucking, Jerry was trying to see Jeff and Jack as they might look in a video and Barney absentmindedly brushing Al who, for once, was enjoying something that didn't involve the flesh of another. It was Jeff who, now on top, said, "Ya, know, when I think of that, I always think of the words after the roadrunner has disappeared, you know ' Zip Tang' and there was the title. 

Against his will and every credo of porn flicks, he ran an advertising campaign that consisted of little more than a hand holding up the name of the piece and, in the back ground, several studs who might or might not have been performing some sexual act;This was, after all, for out door advertising and not only did they have to be careful about what it showed but where the signs when up;Some places in the cities were more likely than others to be responsive and not take after them with legal action. 

The orders didn't wait for a slow start, they poured in.By day two the post office was delivering them in bags and the online requests were quadruple that. And so, one Saturday evening, they dropped the master into the machine and, presto, a hundred thousand men who'd payed money were seeing what they'd paid for. Two days after that there were reviews in some porn publications and while they all said this was different, everyone thought it was terrific.The settings, the direction even...the acting. Order processing couldn't keep up with requests and the disc cutters were running two days behind schedule. In modest parlance, it was a hit. Accounting whispered in Jack's ear that even after costs and advertising there was easily more than a million dollars profit probably more if it proved to have legs. Applications to be fuckers inundated their HR site and, courtesy the mail, a certain number of studs were applying and sending a portfolio which, as Jack looked at it, covered about every sexual coupling possible; In a couple of cases Jack looked at Al suspiciously. 

Five days after that, when Barney's butt was finally healing even if it looked sort of odd where the peeling was, Jack summoned his "team" to his bed (Barney thought...only in the porn industry could you have a business conference with most of the attendees nude and this was considered normal. Somehow he didn't think it was done that way at Paramount or Disney but Harde One was neither of those studios and in no way competitive with them.) Jack and Barney were propped up against the head board, each holding stacks of papers showing how well the piece had done. "Guys, I should go down on each of you and then offer my ass for whatever you want. But particularly our Angel who fell from a bathtub and his partner in crime who had the balls to make this."

Applause all around. Everyone in the room realized this was the turning point, IF Barney could stay and continue what he was doing, even few of them were this size success, there was every chance they could approach the majors.....

"I know we're all waiting to hear, what's the next thing we're doing?"

"Well, we're going to clean out the bay that has what may be water in it, sanitize it and, if necessary, call Sparklets Water to refill it. I'm going to need guys who look great while nude but wearing rebreathers not to mention the crew of the exploration ship. It's out on that water so minimal suits are worn and, below deck, everyone is buoying up their hope of success by fucking in pairs, three somes, gang bangs, a little BDSM when two of them are bound and held out over the water and mildly punished for revealing the secrets the crew was trying to protect. Now, as to the refilled bays, they'll be the scene of one of the climactic moments when we get to the title of the piece, 'Freed Willie' only in our version Willie isn't a fish." 

Jerry chimed in, "Once that bay is cleaned out, there's a lot to be done with it, it just has to be kept clean."

There were immediately several persons who offered to be the interviewer for the position of "pool boy" and couldn't that be a fuck and suck film all it's own?

Clearly no further business was going to get done so he sent the crowd out to the pool, the television room, guest bedroom, the sauna, wherever they wanted just not in his bed with Barney and himself.

"You've done a lot for us, me, the studio and you've never asked for a dime..you were pretty well paid in New York..."

"The difference is that there I had a base salary and negotiated what each piece cost over that. All cut and dried.Here....I don't know, I'm actually having fun and, as of now, don't have any expenses, room and board seems to be covered. I don't have a lot of wants or needs...." He laughed. "My wardrobe expenses, which were a big deal in New York are sort of nonexistent here, hell you even feed Al. But sure, I know I'm owed money I just don't know how much. If 'Zip Tang' performs as well as it seems to be then I'm owed quite a bit of money but....we don't know that yet. 'Sides, I'm happy with the way things are...."

"Are you?"

"Yeah, Jack, I am. What makes me unhappy is that I know what you want and that it's not available. Must be hard to sleep next to see some one you want, shower with them, have them around, but it all stays pretty platonic. Making out with you is great but it's more like securing a relationship. We've found that on occasion I like to have my prostate massaged and as to the getting blown....ever man likes that particularly when it's done by a friend but that's all around the main issue; I know you'd like to take it all the way, fuck me, be some sort of partner, your lover...." He was silent.

"Yep, that's what I want. To take you places, be proud of you as a person and as my talented partner. Dress you up, go where the elite of Hollywood gaydom hangs out and make them wonder....who's that with Jack? Never seen him before. And because they can be bitches, make it their business to find out every fact about you that there was to know. And the joke is...they'd have a helluva time, there's nothing about you out here to find. They don't even know your name and they're not going to so pick a name and I'll have it tattooed on my bicep....then when we got home, take you, gently at first but at last you'd know you'd been well and truly fucked." 

There was a long pause while Barney thought about what his potential fate might be. "All that's great, if you're you, but....no one ever asks me what I might like." And stopped. For Barney that was a speech tinged with anger but you had to know him to realize that. Jack was suddenly in hell for he knew what Barney said was nothing more than the truth. From day one he'd been like a very clever thing to whom anything could be done without his complaining.Jack looked at the haircut, not the one he had now but the one he'd almost forced him into having...along with dozens of other things.They had, without meaning to, cost him his job stranding him in a place he did not know. That it had worked out was only if you saw from Jack's viewpoint. Barney had never said a thing about going back to New York, or anywhere, but that didn't mean he thought of what he was doing as his dream job, one he'd like to keep forever. 

"What do you want?"

Barney leaned onto one well muscled shoulder and closed his eyes. "I don't know, maybe for now I've got what I want.Beautiful home, beautiful man who takes oh so very good care of me, work I find....uhm....interesting and different, maybe a freedom I never expected to have." Having said that, he rolled Jack on his back, smiled into his eyes and said, "How about I return a favour?"With which he leaned over and started to lick Jack's cock. Well, that's what he did with one hand, with the other he had a handful of Al's hair and was making it clear that his services would notbe needed.

Ten days later "Zip Tag" had only seen a drop off in sales of about thirty five percent but was still selling fast. The accountants, not accustomed to working with big numbers, told him that, as of that moment, they'd cleared a profit of close to three million dollars and there was no way of knowing how fast it would keel over. Most porn films didn't even start they way this one had much less bring in monies at this rate. It was agreed that there was a point at which it would crash but, whenever that was, was of no importance as the profit was already so high. To fill in the gap between the "next big one" and to keep all the hands busy, Barney, and sometimes Jeff, had thought up riffs on very tried and true porn topics only with their own twist. It was for one of those that Barney asked Jack if he could have the Bulls and a closed set for two days. Only part of that was confusing-the part about the closed set; In porn the object of a closed set was non-existent, you couldn't see more than everything so why bother? At that point, Jack would have happily given him anything he wanted but did question the closed set...he'd do it of course but wondered why he was. In a very few words Barney answered his question, put his arms around him and gave him a kiss. Simple, he and Jeff were going to teach the Bulls to act.

"Act? Act what? They don't act, they're muscle, nice guys, not a thing they wouldn't do for you but, Barney, my favourite person to wake up next to, The Can't Act. What the fuck are you two going to make? A dirty version of "Romeo and Juliet" with one of them as Romeo?......I've never done drag and, frankly, except as comedy relief, the Bulls can't do it." 

"...and I say they can. I wrote a script that, if they follow what we tell them to do, it will look very much like acting and that's all acting is, playing make believe and what they're going to ask you, and the audience, is easy, they just have to do what we tell them to. Oh, and who do we use for extensive body shaves? I need one."

"For you?"

He looked askance. "Me? Hell no, I need for the Bulls to look trimmed."

There was, of course, a little more than that involved but compared to "Zip Tang" it could all be done in the garage-as Barney thought of the "studio" and would actually cost less than about half the other films they continued to grind out. Given Barney's presence, these were somewhat better than before as Jerry or one of his newly hired directors, could go to him and get a suggestion, a line of dialogue, whatever was needed to, slightly, raise the quality. No one ever knew what Jeff and Barney said to the Bulls about their coming soloists debuts but their reaction was genuine and immediate; One of them tried to give Jeff a pythonesque squeeze of appreciation and in the process, dislocated his clavicle;Principal filming for a week while Jeff was in a collar and told to do nothing. (Bob Schwartz, physician to the sexually bent, had been the attending and almost fell over with laughter when he was told how this happened. Even more so when Barney told him the story line-he was a doctor and was ethically bound to silence. All he asked was that he have a CD of the finished product.)

In the week that was suddenly available, Barney hopped on several projects he had in mind that would, he felt, raise the quality of all their products. For example, the first set he'd seen, the sleazy bed with a lava lamp beside it, was torn down and a more realistic bedroom was put in. Not one that might have been in someone's home but could easily have been in an upscale motel or hotel. Two bays down from that, the water, or it was alleged to have been water, was pumped out of the recess and the cleaning started.For one day everyone was banned from even being in the building so caustic was the cleanser they were using. In the end, and with a lot of chemical additions, there was one blue pool of water, as attractive as might be in any suburban back yard. In fact, one end of this was made to look like a swimming pool, surrounded by tile, the cement that had been there well cleaned, some real plants put in, while it wasn't perfect, you could see how much better, and safer, it looked. Supposed, this was to be part of a Barney and Jeff Special called "Freed Willie" although no one had read the script and, apart from the light salacious title, knew much about it. Jack gagged when he found the bill for that little adventure in set decorating ran to more than one hundred thousand dollars; In his mind he referred to it as the "Zip Tang" spa for porn players and also remembered that all this could be written off his corporate taxes. 

In conjunction with Jerry and some of the other technical people, better lights, cameras, reflectors, sound equipment were decided upon and then ordered. Even when they showed up Jack was prepared for them as, one night in bed as he and Barney were having a friendly make out session, Barney had mentioned they needed some new equipment, much of what they had could have been used when they still made silent films. Just at that moment, Jack found himself rolled on his back while Barney worked over his face and lips, Al gave him a blow job. That was when this was, briefly mentioned. Briefly.

What Jack did not know-how could he?- was that when the technical people wanted replacements, they wanted the best and, with Barney approving everything they wanted, they got the Cadillac, no, the Rolls Royce of whatever they'd ordered. When the final tally came in, the price for all these cinematic goodies came to just over a quarter of a million, a number that staggered him. Further, he was to find that when his buddy wanted something, the wanted the best or most appropriate of what was available. This could pay dividends, in the long run, but up close and right now, it was a huge hit in petty cash. That night, when he'd quit shuddering, he brought up the cost factoring with Barney who was, per usual, sitting up, his back supported by pillows, his tortoise shell half glasses on his nose, writing. 

To try and break the topic gently he said, "I hope what you're writing sells better than 'Zip Tang'...." and paused.

"I'm writing a letter to my Mom, she's cool with email but, you know, something in my own hand convinces her that I'm not being held for ransom."

"Could you tell the old cunt that her son just spent almost half a million dollars without bothering to tell me? Tell her that and see if it gets her attention."

It got Barney's attention. He collected his pad, pen and Al, rolled out of bed, out the door and moved into a guest room.Didn't even slam the door, just locked it. There was a period of silence. One got red with embarrassment and the other remembered that he was naked and, unless he ripped down the curtains and made a Fundoshi from them, he was going to have to do the old trick of wrapping himself in a sheet. Of course that wasn't going to happen until the next morning or whenever he chose to emerge. At least he wouldn't die of hydration, this room had an en suite lavatory. 

Ideas come from strange circumstances. In this case, how to get a nude male from a third story window and off the property. As was his wont, he built a story line and, half way through it, smiled;All he needed after all, was one, or two, co-conspirators, and he was up, out and down the freeway. He picked up his cell phone and made a call.

Jack had thoughtfully acquired an apartment for the Bulls about five minutes from his home. They were the only ones who had access, or knew where to get it, and were a kind of oddball protection. When their phone rang, and they saw who it was, they both hit Defcon 5; Barney never called, never had emergencies so if he was calling....they dressed as they answered. 

Interestingly, both of them had mothers about whom they were sentimental even though one was doing a stretch for Grand Larceny and the other was just out on very strict parole. When they heard the word Jack had used to describe someone's mother, and particularly this someone's mother, they completely understood. As Bob, or maybe it was Mike, said, "That ain't no fittin' thing to call the old bat." And then they did exactly what they'd been told to do.

Thirty minutes later a naked Barney was climbing out a third floor window with the intention of getting to a second floor dormer and then, with the help of the Bulls, to the ground and away.All went well save for Al jumping from the second floor and, in one heroic leap, reached the swimming pool. No one would have to go in after him although a lot of breath was held to see if the splash got any attention. Three minutes after that they were in the Bull's SUV and headed....somewhere. It's not always warm in California and particularly at night. He mentioned this and, without missing a beat, on of them reached in the back and grabbed a hand full of clothing, most of which were clothes of varying costumes none of which covered much. Nothing the Bulls had would fit but, as with most of the employees, what they wore, casually, could expand from too small for a Ken Doll, with or without being sexually complete-up to something one of the Bulls could easily pull on; While that constituted coverage, it did not add up to warmth.

The brothers were aware that their buddy was hurting and right then, what he needed was to be warm and feel comforted. Finally a pair of long pants was dug out of the pile as well as a long sleeve t shirt, a sleeveless hoodie and a pair of warm socks. They could feel him relax-a little-so Mike, or Bob, the one not driving, pulled him to him and did the best he could to make him feel needed, wanted, with friends. It wasn't a task the Bulls were born to but their very innocence of doing it made it meaningful. Barney sobbed out all the things that were wrong, none of which were serious, but stacked up, and added to being new in strange business with people he didn't know it all added up to something major in his mind. 

As these things will, once he'd verbally vomited, he collapsed and went to sleep. The Bulls looked at each other and nodded. The only way they weren't twins was in birth but after that, they were as twins as twins can be. Also they really cared for their passenger; Hadn't Jack given them specific instructions to protect him, stick close to him, help him and that's what they were doing.Jack had probably never thought his instructions would be used against him but he'd set this firecracker off and now he'd have to figure out how to clean up the litter it left. One mouthed to the other, "The Beach" and the other agreed.

Once again Barney came to in a strange bed with only Al.Where he was, how he got there, why he was there went beyond him. His last cogent memory was falling from a roof into the arms of a Bull, being in a car, being naked in a car and then....nothing. Also, he was again naked but after being in bed, at least recently, waking up in that condition had come to seem normal. It was just that part about where he was. 

Back in Los Angeles Jack was alternately blaming himself and shredding the Bulls. In their stolid way they'd admitted that he'd called them and they'd taken him away but just where.....he'd asked them not to tell and they wouldn't. Oh, and Al with him so everything was alright.

Okay, where he was wasn't going to fly but, maybe, why he was there would. The Bulls were not power houses when it came to logic and thinking but their loyalty went far beyond that; They could find no reason not to tell Jack why and what had caused this adding only that they thought everyone had taken advantage of him and he finally resented it. Also, one of them popped him with his fist adding that you never, ever call someone's mother a cunt even if she is one. Jack got most of the picture and, sadly, had to agree. They had used him, manipulated him, tried to force him into to a life style that wasn't his, hadn't appreciated what he'd done and was doing.....but was stuck as to what to do now. Once again, he pleaded with them to tell him where he was but, again, that wasn't happening.

Having got the message to Garcia they excused themselves in favour of acting lesson with Jeff. That was something else Jack wanted to know about, the closed set, the acting lessons, the odd set, what he'd seen of it....but here again whatever they knew stayed with them. As they left they told him to call them if they needed anything.....to which Jack screamed back "Barney" and then fell on his bed to cry, something he hadn't done since he broke his leg. 

It was Saturday and the traffic as they approached the beach increased but in more time than it usually takes, they rolled up to their "shack" at the beach. Truth to tell, it was a very nice, if small, bungalow in the upscale suburb of La Jolla. Half a block from the beach, a block from a shopping plaza and a couple of miles from Black's beach, the local hangout for those who felt encumbered by clothing. It was also a prime location for surfers as they'd formed a coalition with the slightly clad to keep anyone else off the beach. In general this worked, once in a while some tourist from Atlanta took exception to what they thought was their exclusion and called the cops but, on their off time, many of the cops both, off duty, were nude and surfing, the complaints received short shrift. In a professional sort of way they took a report, apologized for this inconvenience, suggested that something would be done and, as mollified as possible, saw them on their way. Whereupon they threw out their notes, found their wet suits, or whatever, and hit the beach. To live that close made you a vague member of the club and, if you were tanned, seemed to have no problem with nudity, so much the better. In many ways, Barney fit right in, even to his age, lack of tan line and California haircut. (Jeff had taken him to a place that wasn't quite so stylish but could cut young mens hair. Looking at the many lengths it was a challenge but they finally came up with something called a "bald faded Caesar" which, the guy cutting it said, would grow out in a month and he'd have the tousled look of your average movie star who wanted to look as if they had no interest in fashion.

Later that afternoon, the Bulls called to check on him, found him in a very improved mood even wondered if they were coming down. As happens, when they called, they were two blocks away. 

Their first sight of him was as reassuring as it was going to get. As they rounded the corner of the house, there was Barney, wearing a canvas hoodie, mostly unbuttoned, some shreds of fabric that passed for shorts and that was it. Al saw them first and made a dash that almost knocked on of them down followed by Barney who tried to embrace them, fouled only by their shoulder width which made getting two of them at once impossible. Failing that they picked him up, kissed him, and carried him back in the house.

"Ya look great, Barn, Ya look like you'd lived here all your life. Like the place?"

"Sure...where am I"

"La Jolla, just North of San Diego, nice place, real ritzy. Jack forgets he owns this for years at a time so we took it over. Keep it cleaned up, lawn mowed, whatever needs doing."

"Yes, Jack."

"Aw go let him soak, he needs to and when he comes around to knowing what he's gotta do, we'll produce you. What you need is a night out, have a couple of blasts, catch a guys only strip show...."

"Guys, I don't have any clothes for going out."

They smiled at each other and handed him a large sack.Inside were some casual slacks, long sleeve T shirt, windbreaker and some deck shoes.

"That'll make you as La Jolla as anything.....so, is it a date?"

Barney looked really embarrassed. "Guys, it sounds great but.. I don't have any money. There was some food there so...that's what I ate."

The Bulls looked at each other. "Shit, I knew we forgot somethin' when we go out we'll hit the Safeway and stock you up. Don't know how long you might be here. As for money, for our best buddy, don't worry about it. And he didn't.

It was sneaky, and he knew it, but the next time the Bulls came South, he had them bring someone with them: Jeff. Where better to continue acting lessons than in a secluded cottage near the sea. Well, secluded if one factored out that it was the season for the ocean and thousands of people mobbed the La Jolla shores. Was this a problem? This was not a problem. Up the strand to Black's beach where they had connections and were made more than welcome.Especially when all four peeled to the skin; Depending on your wants and preferences there was a good selection of bodies, all of them in great shape and, seemingly, none of them resistant to whatever someone had in mind. It became a full time job for first one and finally both Bulls to not just protect Barney but Jeff and themselves as well. Rehearsal was summarily stopped as they gathered up their bits and pieces of clothing and retreated to the cottage where one could be both naked and rehearse.

Nights were a bit of a problem as Jack had never got round to refitting the place for men meaning that there were four twin beds, two bedrooms on the smallish side, one bathroom, one-small-shower and every thing else similarly downsized. As far a sleeping arrangements, the Bulls were used to sleeping with one another, just not in two beds while Jeff was hardly unhappy to bunk in with Barney but, as with the Bulls, not in twin beds. After beds were shoved together sheets didn't fit but...who cared. The Bulls did whatever they usually did and Barney and Jeff lolled about and talked. 

They had a topic: The unmade film on which they'd bet quite a lot and then bagged Jack with it not bothering to tell him one fucking thing other than it would star the Bulls and he'd see the results when it was finished. Then tossed in a closed set and that was before, after and during Barney spent upwards of half a million dollars on equipment, upgrading the facility....with no guarantee that he could ever pull another financial rabbit out of a hat such as"Zip Tang". What the two of them did know was that the small projects, the bread and butter of minor porn studios, were doing better if only because better titles were thought up, some attention to story lines, such as they were, existed, more careful casting, dialogue had some relevance to the vague story and, another thing that had blown Jack's mind, Barney had found a place where you could get custom made mens underthings and, in addition to the minimal suits or shirts or whatever their "stars" wore, he was contemplating a line of T shirts, shorts and, as he called them,"shrink to fit" underwear that was barely legal for most public places.

What Barney was not to know was that when the Bulls got back to Los Angeles, they'd found Jack at home, unhappy, missing Barney-hell, he even missed the dog-and sad because somewhere in his porn makers heart, he knew a fact about Barney in addition to wanting him back. What he got from the two guys, wasn't exactly words of consolation, words that suggested that this would all blow over, words that said Barney was as unhappy as he was....no, none of that.First one and then the other slapped him hard across his face, punched in his six pack and then fucked him, hard, twice. That done, they then tied him into a chair and gave him a speech about how to handle rare and precious objects. That's not how they said it but that was the point of the lecture. 

"You dick head, ever really hurt something you love?Well, shit for brains, you just did. We didn't come from much of anything, ain't got no fine background an' why we ain't in the jug.....but Barney is too good a kid to do anything but accept us, all of us as he finds us. Think about it, one day he's got a good job and two or three days later, he's naked and drunk 'cause he just got canned. And what did you do, maybe because you thought it was funny, let him get good and fried, could a killed him and to end it all, after he makes more money for you than you know how to make, calls his mother a 'cunt'. You call my mother that, and I know she's in prison, and I'd beat the shit out of you, mutherfucker. And now you want him back." He stopped and stared at Jack. "Think about it.Those are only slip knots so it's shouldn't take you more 'n hour to get free. And then fucking think about everything."

Just to add one further, modest, humiliation, they gagged him and stuck a butt plug up his ass. 

Getting Jeff to go along was a snap, they just picked him up and threw him in the back seat wondering, as they did, why so few of their business colleagues ever seemed to wear clothing? Look at them; Matching string bikinis and each had on a T shirt that had been cropped at about their navel, they were ready to go anywhere.

Monday, simply because he had to, he went to the studio noticing, to his relief, there were no trucks delivering things, all seemed calm....well if you discounted the painters working on the exterior, two of whom were holding what was the design to be painted once the building had been scraped and wholly painted. As badly as he wanted to look he feared what he might see. Inside things were cleaner than usual-another demand of Barney's saying that if you're going to walk around barefoot and then make pictures where your feet showed, it was a lot better if they were clean. Apart from the usual things, and the gleam from the mini swimming pool, there wasn't much action save for the "closed set" that was being patrolled by two uniformed guards. When he tried to gain entry, he was politely but firmly refused entry, even when he shouted that he owned the fucking place, no dice. Snarling, he went off to his office and varied between pouting and missing Barney, the latter being the winner.

At day's end, Jeff dropped by to ask if he'd like to see the set; he almost dragged him by his Speedo to where he'd been repulsed that morning. But...there wasn't much to see. It was a fairly standard locker room set, the only difference being from what the space had originally been was on one side was a workable shower with six nozzles. Rack of towels, long wooden bench in front of a line of lockers that went beyond what the camera would see. In short, it looked exactly like a locker room, down to the flooring which was of the no slip variety. He looked around and deduced exactly nothing.Jeff wandered off saying only that he'd wanted to see the set and now he had. They'd start early and finish tomorrow. Just no Barney, no Bulls, no Jerry, fuck even Al was nowhere to be seen. The drive home was longer than usual.

Sometimes your own home can be the last place you want to be while at the same time being the only place to go. Jack sat in his car in the garage and, finally, put the door down and wandered up the steps to his own back hall. All was quiet, wandering around, the views from the windows, the furniture was the same, the pool looked inviting....just not to him. He thought of a sunburned ass and smiled to himself. Two tours through downstairs left him with nothing to do and so he climbed the circular staircase to the third floor and the dead silence. All the doors to all the rooms were closed, silence, even his door, now a barrier to him seemed to have as an escutcheon the word "Reproach" on it. Nothing to do but open it, not look at the bed, head for the can....

It was dark in the room, dark and furry and moist, just like a dog, Al for instance, took him down and tried to rip his pants off. 

"Want me to have him stop?"

Trying to see past first an ear and then two paws was Barney, presumably naked, in bed with his usual pad and pencil, the only difference being he was holding his half glasses and looking, with amusement, at the melee on the floor.

"Looks like he's glad to see you....hope that wasn't an expensive shirt."

Clearly Barney was going to sit there and enjoy the spectacle of his dog stripping his friend. He proved that by producing a camera and taking pictures.

"That's for our memory book. AL! Stop. Come here."

From the newly created selection of rags on his carpet he stumbled up to see a dog sitting on his bed next to Barney. As usual, Barney was calm, observant of the situation, waiting to see what might happen next. Having done it once, Al was now bored and so more or less fell on the bed waiting for someone to pet and/or scratch him.

"Your dog just mugged me in my own bedroom."

"Shows how you see things differently. See, to me, our dog welcomed home one of his masters in their bedroom...."

Jack was goggled eyed.

"You mean.....?"

"It means we have a lot to talk about but first...you look a mess. Go take a shower, shave, get really cleaned up. Matter of fact, I'll join you, we can shave each other."

Jack wondered how big his smile was? 

The night was a long one filled with talk and discussion-the two are not the same-and, in the end, Jack wasn't quite sure what they'd decided. Words such as "love" and "desire"were not mentioned although friendship and intimacy were. What he finally deduced was that if he wanted him to stay with him, sleep in his bed, go places with him, let people think what they might, okay with him. At some point he snuggled down, pulled Jack to him, started at his nipples and, alternately worked up and down ending when both of them squirmed into a 69 and laid there for some little time. Both slept very well.

Morning was just like every other morning, the two of them arrived at the studio, Al was in the back seat, looking just like every other morning. No fooling around, no outward signs of deep affection but...there was something about them....the young stars said their gaydar was on and they were seeing a couple. That turned off when they had a cold, but definitive, exchange at the closed set which, in the end, stayed closed and Jack stamped off to "look some other things over". One of the new technical people tried to grab him but just missed as while looking at the roof increasing hung with very expensive lighting, he backed into the newly created swimming pool. His only acknowledgment was to turn slightly, give the closed set, and those within it, the finger, strip out of his wet clothes then went to his office. Whether he put on dry things or no nobody knew as the door was slammed shut and locked.

Some hours later Jerry knocked at his door saying he had some papers that needed his approval. Jack shot back to take to his closed set and get Barney to sign it, he seemed to be running the show. Jerry persisted until Jack finally snatched open the door to find that the "papers" consisted of one business envelope in which there was but one sheet of paper. On it was written in Barney's semi-legible hand, " I forgot, last night, to mention I love you."There was a further instruction, request. "If you concur, sign below and consider yourself partnered."

Through his tears Jack muttered, "the little shit head. Where's a pen, I need to sign this and I'm going to take it to him personally."

"Uh, Jack that's a closed set, you can't get in, even now when they're doing second unit work. But Jack, that's a mighty important document you got there. If I weren't up I'd get up off my ass and go find some sort of gift for him....I happen to know he has one for you and, well, you'd best go find something. Not too much but something that will make you both happy. I once gave a guy some clothes with the idea that I could talk him out of them.....worked, too. Congratulations, Partner. You got yourself a mighty fine piece of stud meat, pure prime AAA so don't fuck it up. There's plenty of miles left in both of you to ride, just remember to never put each other up wet, cold or alone."

Jack looked at this kind man who really did have both interests at heart.
"I hear the bearer of good news usually gets a kiss, or somethin'...."

"How about a raise?"

"Nah, that's been taken care of, Barney gave me one two weeks back. Guess that leaves just the kissin' part don't it.Personally, I'd kinda like that..."

Five minutes later, when sweat was beginning to flow, they untangled themselves and Jerry left to tell the other boss man that his offer had been accepted. Barney smiled. Reached over to Al ans said, "I guess we better get you your own bed." If dogs could smile, he did. 

For once it was Barney who was very late getting home.Even the bulls, usually chirping with happiness, were fading as they dropped him off. He told them, as best he could based on how tired he was, how great they'd been and how pleased he hoped they were with their work and, standing on the drive way, forgot what else he'd planned to say so he just waved his hand and went in the house. It was just as well that it was a short ride to the third floor or he might have drifted off to sleep standing up but he made that and the door to the bedroom. 

Jack was all smiles, already in bed with it turned down for Barney to crawl in. At least part of that was apropos, he felt like crawling and, seeing his partner swaying, badly, to starboard, hopped out of bed, hard dicked, and guided him to the edge, sat him down, got his clothes off him, laid him down and tried to put an arm under him to let him see his tears of happiness. Too late, Barney was down for the third time and not likely to rise for some little while.Jack sat there, happy but disappointed. Noticing he still had a hard on, he jerked off, cleaned it up then headed for the showers, a place he'd hoped to take Barney. Oh well, thought Jack, at at least I have it in writing, how many other men can say that? 

Around three in the morning Jack felt something lick his nose; Without even thinking, he put up a hand and batted away what he was certain was Al having an overly friendly moment. However, the surprize was that it was Barney, wide awake, smiling in his face as he headed for a kiss. Al was elsewhere. Jack was rolled on his back and thereafter was treated to a tongue licking even Al couldn't duplicate finishing with a voice saying, "I have a present for you, want it now?"

Almost too enthusiastically he took Barney and looked at him, wondering, was this real or just a gesture to accommodate whatever one else knew. "Your cherry? That's for me?"

"I've only got one and it's dedicated to you and for you. All you have to do is...take it. Seals the deal. I get fucked royally and you get the partner you want....for a long time."

"Why?"

"Because at the beach the Bulls and I had several long talks. Okay, they're not strong in logic or philosophy but they are a mated pair, like they want us to be. They know you're unhappy and, lately, a lot of that has been my fault but they also see that you love me enough to let me do what I want. And I thought about that. I thought about being here in bed with you, rubbing up against you, finding two fingers up my ass and enjoying it, knowing it had to go one step further or it had to end and since I didn't want it to end, time to put the seal on it with your cum marking my tail. Or we can go on, sort of, the way we are but....I don't think that makes either of us happy. So that's your why plus one more thing, I realized I physically desired you, would stick a finger up my ass in the shower and wonder what it would be like if it was you....so you have to show me, I'm giving you the present of my virginity, can't ever take it back but I'll always know I gave it away to the man I wanted to have it. Now, I'm good at dialogue and can probably go on for several hours but I'd prefer it if you put a hand over my mouth and your cock where it wants to go and where I want it."

Jack was shedding tears as he worked on his stalk, no way he wasn't going to, just wanted to postpone the moment just for the memory. The two of them, the dim light, his already lubed ass, waiting.....a smile on his face. Jack leaned forward and put his cock head at the opening to the end of his virginity.

"Oh, Jesus, Jack, I've waited for you....just slide on in and make me scream with pain and then pleasure. Hard, fast, now....."

What Barney wanted was part rape and part sex with a partner so desperate for him the entry was more a storming of the gates. He thrust, Barney made a noise of pain and then pushed back, demanding what was now his, his man's cock deep in him, setting up for the long pumping, strokes that felt better with each movement. He became a hydraulic for sex and Barney found how to match him push for push, creating pleasure in his own body, in Jacks body. He felt Jack lose control, his abdomen spasm, his cock widen, then the warm river of his life flowed in.

"Feed me."

Barney forced him out and grabbed the still spouting stiff cock with his mouth, slurping at it, eating him as if he were the most desirable food in the world. His hands grabbed his balls and tried to squeeze more out...and there was some.

"Fuck me again, sleep in me, hold me. You've got a man who loves you.....will love you when we wake up, through the day, tomorrow night when you fuck me again."

Jack looked at his wide open brown eyes and knew he meant what he said. "I'll fluff you myself...."

In the morning they rolled around in their own sweat and semen, that which they hadn't eaten. Looked in each others faces and smiled. 

"Come on, stallion, you've got a studio to run and I've got a picture to finish and then later, when we come home, I'll have learned some things.....promise."

Oddly, when they got there, the set was open, not in use and no one connected with it was around. Barney mumbled something about "second unit" and ambled off to attend to something. Jack looked at him and tried to remember the man at the door all those months ago. Where had he gone? Today in some very short shorts and a T back muscle shirt, he looked more like talent waiting to be sent to one set or another, not the writer who'd just written a screenplay that, while fading in sales, had made millions. There was a casualness about him, an assurance that said I am a man, a fucked man and one who can fuck. Don't cross me, I'll beat the shit out of you.Me and my man will. Jack felt a slight sense of electricity go up his spine. He was his man. And turned toward his office to see what fresh hell had accumulated for him to throw out.

In the bay door, that was open, he leaned against the edge and thought about what he'd done and how soon he'd do it again.He also needed to ask Jerry a very personal favour which, he thought, he'd be happy to do. The next night they'd show some of the people from the studio the rough cut of what happened behind the white screens; He had taken a chance but to continue to enhance the reputation, this was what he had to do. The porn industry, among themselves, all were saying that Harde One produced a fluke, could not follow it and, indeed, in terms of subject, story and sex, it was to be different; No one could say they'd just made a sequel and prayed it would be "good enough"

Up in his office, after having jacked off, he set himself to thinking of a gift for his partner. The art of good gift giving is to give someone something you'd like them to have. Problem was, he wanted Barney to have him and that was already attended to.At the one moment he could have used someone to bounce ideas from, or just try and help him think of an idea, there was no one. Well, there were a couple of sets busy doing the old routine but he knew those guys, to them an original idea was getting a glass of water. But what? 

It was a quiet evening. Even Al seemed disinclined to do more than flop on "his" side of the bed and only occasionally scratch a nonexistent flea. The now "Partners" had paper work, books, things that seemed to need attention but, in reality, Jack was scared about the next day and the big reveal. He'd been told this was a rough cut so not to expect to much, the problem was....he was having trouble expecting anything.

"Wanna neck?"

"Good lord, I haven't heard that expression....in I don't know how long."

"Doesn't change the question."

"Deal? Lets get all finished up, hit the shower and then come back and 'neck' for a little while, just no more I've got a helluva day tomorrow." Jack leaned over and kissed him. "Deal.Let me know when you're ready to get wet."

Their lives were taking on the aspect of routine. Shower together, sleep together, made love together or, more simply,"necked". Only an idiot believes that just because you have a partner with whom you sleep every night that of necessity you fuck every night or do anything much more than a very friendly good night kiss and, maybe, a good night squeeze below the Mason Dixon line.Often Jack would wake up, look at Barney and think how happy and lucky he was. It was at those moments that he was tempted to run his fingers over a body to which a lot of muscle and structure had been added since that first day.....how long ago? Didn't matter. 

Suddenly it was tomorrow, the grand unveiling. On the way in, without being asked, Barney said he was having a case of the"nerves", not because he had no faith in the piece but....it was audience appeal that worried him. Something you can never predict and can surprize you, both to the good and the bad. All he asked was that he be left alone to his own thoughts and demons. Then, around three, he found some to give him a ride to go see a preview with most of the technical detail added. Not all, but most.

Jack had, at first, thought of handling this as a big Hollywood style premiere but thought better of it if for no other reason than he didn't even know the title. So, at eight, everyone connected to the studio was gathered at the studio to watch it on a ninety inch screen. There wert cocktail and snacks in advance, just to the moment that the lights dimmed and Barney came out stark naked.

"Guys, I'll never be more naked than right now and it's only fair that you see me this way 'cuz without you, what you'll see never happens. Up front, I need to thank my partner, Jack, for putting up with all this not to mention putting up the money. So, now I'd suggest you slip into something or someone comfortable, grab a box of Kleenex-you can share-and...let's watch a porn flick."

The former truck repair place made an excellent place to show movies, it was wide, long and tall. Someone had put in a great sound system for the evening and it was show time. 

An empty screen, then a single dangling lamp followed by a shower faucet dripping very slowly. The drips from that became a stream, a piece of paper was put under it and when wetted, the titled, "I'll Show You Mine" emerged. More sheets of paper, more credits and then back to the single light and the dripping faucet.With the click of a light switch, a locker room was revealed as were two business men carry brief cases as well as the sort of thing men grab to use as a "gym bag". There was a gasp as it was the Bulls but never like this, never like two tired businessmen dropping by for a shower and general clean up before they went home. Seventeen minutes later they'd done the nasty and a couple of other things in the shower, dressed and turned out the lights leaving only the single bulb and the dripping shower head. Another flick, this time it's clearly the team locker room and it's the Bulls as two tired, older pro players at the end of the game. Same ending but the next flick on brought, again, the Bulls, but this time they were fathers who'd just watched their sons lose a game. And so forth. The last and most stunning was the Bulls with most of their hair cut off, bodies shaved, emulating (very adult) teenagers who start an affair. This time, the showers go crazy, almost like those in front of hotels in Vegas, lights come up, the Bulls are shown in a sex crazed series of sexual acts that end with their leaving, the lights turned out but this time first the faucet stops dripping and then the light goes out.

There is a silence and then cheering. Barney stood up, this time wearing a T shirt that says, "I'll Show You Mine" and on the back, "If You'll Show Me Yours".

"That's not quite all, there's some technical work to make it complete, the Bulls get to grow their hair back and Jack is going to take me home, put me to bed then fuck me until.....well.....he'll just fuck me." People were all over him, the Bulls, Jeff, Jerry-all of who were wearing the same T shirt.Well, at least, thought Barney, they liked it.

Driving home in the car he leaned against Jack who put his arm around him. "I suppose I have to ask......"

"No, no you don't. As it is, it's just about as great as I've seen. I thought 'Zip Tang' was over the top but this goes far beyond that. I lost track but....were there many sex acts you missed, I mean ones that didn't involve blood, animals or dead bodies?"

Barney smiled. "I kept looking at Al thinking...how far is too far? If I use him, then the title becomes, 'I'll Show You Mine If You'll Show Me Yours if He'll Show Us His' . Too big for a marquee. But now the more pressing question is.....how does it play in Peoria?"

"No way of knowing. When will it be finished so we can start sending it out?"

"If you mean to my standards, probably never but in terms of reality, I'd hold it until Friday, might as well go against all the big openings. Step up the ads a bit, show very limited clips in the trailer...what else can we do?" 

"Well, one thing would be to go home and crawl onto a table and let Butch give you one of his famous massages, how does that sound?" He smiled at Jack. "I know you have a motive in this, just what, I can't figure out, but there is one. Why are you having Butch soften me up? 

Jack just smiled and turned into their driveway.

Friday morning and with it came an overnight from Fedex.Same sender as last time, dick head editor in New York. He knew he'd signed what was fast becoming what might have been his best author away but he hadn't signed off on his licensed image. In this case it was one of Barney and Jack doing something so gross, so repugnant it gave fetishism a bad name. He wasn't stupid enough to want all of what had been made, just most of it. Of course, as he wisely said, they'd have to see how the grosses looked. 

Thinking about it, Barney removed his clothes and slid into the swimming pool at the studio. 

"Somebody throw me a float so I can relax and stick two fingers up my own ass."