The St. Regis Hotel room door opened, there standing in a royal blue plush robe with CG monogramed on it, was 30-year-old Cary Grant. James was awestruck that Cary Grant was even more stunning in person in living color then he was on the screen in black and white.
“This soundstage is used to film screen tests of East Coast actors and those are sent to Hollywood for executives to see if there’s talent to bring out. It’s also used to shoot stag films. Joan Crawford and a lot of stars started out in nudies” Mr. Holloway explained to James.
Weary from board meetings, worn out by managing one of America’s greatest fortunes and taken up with social obligations, Mr. Collins looked forward to the pleasure of undoing his red silk dressing gown, laying back on a wingchair and having James suck his cock and then fucking James' ass.
James opened the door. There was a tall dark-haired thin man with stubble wearing a dusty suit and shoes that were falling apart. “Good morning, I was wondering if you needed any odd jobs done around the house or maybe you need the lawn mowed” said the man.
There was much horseplay as nude players swatted other nude players’ asses with towels. The atmosphere was intoxicating for James who gazed at their lanky bodies with those swinging great cocks and juicy balls. A few sportswriters were around in the Brooklyn Dodgers’ locker room interviewing players
In April 1980, cute 18-year-old blond Greg was in the Scranton, Pennsylvania bus terminal buying a ticket to New York City. This lurid saga is based on stark reality.
There weren’t many patrons in Brooklyn’s Albee Theatre. That was especially true in the virtually deserted balcony where James liked to sit so he could be alone in a row and wouldn’t have heads in his way. However, during the Mickey Mouse cartoon, a suited man sat down right next to him.
“It’s the talk of the town about what a fairy my nephew is, and I thought I’d see for myself.” Brown-haired rugged clean-shaven 38-year-old Uncle Chris was wearing scruffy jeans and a white T-shirt. His biceps bulged in it and James saw the tattoo of a heart on one of them. He also saw the bulge in Uncle Chris’ jeans.
James entered the Waldorf-Astoria, it was even fancier than the Astor. He went to the room he was told to go to and knocked. “Great to see you again!” said cheery Ed, the boy from the Astor bar. He led James in, “This is my father…”
James was mesmerized and in his own world at Madison Square Garden watching the two spectacular sweaty men spar around, punching each other with blood flying. His eyes were drawn to the bulges in their blue and red satin shorts caused by plastic cups encasing and shielding those fighters’ manhood.
The action takes place in Rome, at the end of March 167 AD. The layout of the Euphorion baths is inspired by the Stabies baths in Pompeii.
Narrative in four parts of few chapters. Translated from French with the help of an automatic translator, I hope the vocabulary will not be too "quirky".
“What do you want to rent?” asked Mr. Katz from his desk in a low voice. He was 34, thin, medium height, dark-haired, brown-eyed and cleanshaven with a prominent nose. James found him to be exotically handsome.
“I like that you call me Donny” he said as James was sucking his cock. “I’m going to call you Jimmy; it’ll be like back when we were kids.” James was inspired by his love and soon made Donny even harder with his mouth. After a while, Donny took his cock out of James’ mouth...
Lewis, Tad, Sir Rodgers and Marcus dive into the Tomb of Kakhor-Ra, encountering a series of sadistic trap that test the limits of their sexual prowess.
“Hey, Jimmy. What’s up? Why the visit?” said Donny as they smoked cigarettes in the alley. “Uh, I’m a queer. I’ve been sweet you on you since the day I first saw you in school. I think about you all the time. I’ve always wanted to tell you that.”
King Xerxes's chamber would have usually been dark and quiet by this time. But on that night, not only was the lavished room brightly lit, it was also abnormally gaudy thanks to the sounds of endless grunts, and at times, shrieks of the once strapping and virile Spartan king, Leonidas, as he endured through another sleepless night of debauchery with his nemesis.
“Swell! You’re just in time!” loudly said a tall handsome dark-haired young man in the bar of the Hotel Astor. “I’m Francis and this is Edmund,” he shook James’ hand. “I’m James.” “In five minutes, Edmund is going to turn 19. We’re down from Yale to celebrate.”
“I’m very particular about my clothes. Besides fucking you, I’d also need you to keep my suits brushed and my shoes shined” said Mr. Ross as he handed James a twenty-dollar bill. “This will cover a week.” “Yes, sir.”
A beautiful pageant of unconscious imagination, this fairy-tale-like story has a curious history behind its origin during two hours after midnight several years ago. Nothing remotely similar has ever come from me, nor likely will in the future. I've pondered whether ever to post it, fearing there's no context beyond the truth of its Preface. Read here to enter a delicate world.
“I have a proposition for you” James said to Mr. Russo, the construction site’s handsome foreman. “Seize opportunities when they’re presented to you, and if they’re not, make opportunities” had said Mr. Parker.
“You have to learn to finish off a man with your mouth. That’s what you’ll be doing a lot of. Not every man wants to or has the time to fuck. Get back down on my cock.” Mr. Parker had more to teach James.