The Boy Avengers (11 page)
I thought there was great beauty in the way Sandra and that Jamie Crawford were fucking, Tom said.
Then your excellent movie only reinforced your own sexual orientation, I said, trying to sound matter-of-fact to conceal my disappointment. When one is homosexual, one hopes the persons he most admires are also homosexual.
Not at all, Tom said. Do you remember that close-up of Jamie fucking Sandra, the magnificent view of hiss asshole?
Yes, indeed, I said. Like Foster's genitals, I thought, Jamie's asshole could almost be admired in spite of the possessor.
Well, when I saw that, I knew that if it were offered to me, I wouldn't have the slightest hesitation in fucking it.
If
it were offered you, Jeff noted.
I would never fuck anyone who wasn't willing and eager.
If Jamie were tied down and helpless,
I
wouldn't hesitate to fuck his asshole, I said.
Nor I, said Jeff.
Let me show you something, Tom said. He pulled open a cabinet, took out two large photographic blowups. One was of Sandra's cunt, as she was holding it open for Jamie's poised cock, beads of semen from Lloyd's recent fuck seeping from it. It was, objectively, a work of art, superbly symmetrical. I have since seen other photographs of the human female vagina, most of which seemed misshapen and ugly, so I now realize that Tom recognized in this one a particular and rare attractiveness. Actually, I have seen Georgia O'Keefe flower paintings that have exactly the same qualities. In the case of this photograph, while I still couldn't appreciate what it was, I
could
appreciate what it looked like.
The other blowup was of Jamie's asshole. Unlike the cunt, it was
not
perfectly sculpted, though symmetrical, for the opening was puckered. And yet, while I found the first picture objectively attractive as a design, I found the second exciting, inviting; as I looked at it I had an erection.
I printed this one of Sandra and thought it beautiful, Tom said. But when I printed this one of Jamie's asshole, I got all aroused, and I masturbated. What would you think that says about me?
I'd say you were mixed up, Jeff said.
Could you fuck Jeff? I forced myself to say.
If he were willing? Tom asked.
If he were willing, Jeff said for himself.
Of course, Tom said. But it's an unfair question. I don't think I know any man who
wouldn't
want to, if he were being completely honest.
Would you? Jeff asked me with a funny smile.
Next question, I said, trying to make light of it.
If he didn't love you, Tom told Jeff with an astuteness that left me open-mouthed.
Is it possible to like to fuck
both
men and women? Jeff asked.
I think it is, Tom said. And I think I'm that sort of person, though to tell the truth, I've never had a homosexual experience.
Then you could fuck almost any girl, Jeff said, but it would have to be a very special boy.
That just about sums it up.
Was that the first sex movie you ever made? Jeff asked.
The very first. But I had long ago planned exactly how I would do it. In fact, I once thought maybe I'd like to earn my living for painting by making good sex movies. Then I realized I'd get too involved.
I wish you had one of just men, Jeff said. Maybe I'd know for sure.
Know what? I asked.
Whether I'm homosexual. But you think I am already, don't you?
Yes.
If you give me time, Tom said, I could try to work up a homosexual film, to show you what it's all about.
Without ever having done it yourself? I asked. It might be as helpful to me as to Jeff. If you didn't mind your money being put to double use.
Of course not.
Do you think Mr. Butterworth is homosexual? Jeff asked me.
Do you think he's attractive? I asked.
I like him. I don't think he's... well, he's
nice,
but I don't think he's sexy, like Mr. Foster.
You think Mr. Foster is sexy? I asked with a pang.
He works hard at it, Jeff said. And I think he succeeds to some extent.
Can you imagine yourself in bed with him?
I can't imagine myself in bed with
anybody.
Not till I find out what it's all about.
He said he wanted to fuck you as soon as your asshole was better, I said brutally. I had decided never to tell him.
I thought it was all show, he said thoughtfully, the way you can always see his cock and balls even.
He told you
that?
Tom asked in astonishment.
He used to be Grant's private tutor, Jeff explained.
And anything else?
No, I said, looking him straight in the eye.
I wish we could do something nice for Mr. Butterworth, Jeff said.
Is
he homosexual? Tom asked.
I'm sure of it, I said.
How about having this Mr. Foster fuck
him
?
Mr. Butterworth doesn't seem to like Mr. Foster, Jeff said.
You don't have to like someone to have him fuck you, Tom said.
Speak for yourself, I said. I'm sure Mr. Butterworth would need to like the person.
I could see Tom was playing around with the beginnings of an idea. I think I have it! he said. You want to do something for this chap Butterworth. Jeff wants to see a good film of homosexuality. How about I find out what this Butterworth goes for, line up someone for himso discreetly he thinks it's in the natural course of eventsand film what they do.
What if it's something ugly? I said.
Not Mr. Butterworth! Jeff said heatedly.
How will you find out? I asked.
That's my profession, Tom reminded me. I'll see where he goes weekends. If it's a gay bareasy.
In Waterbury?
Even in Waterbury.
Better buy the cameras you'll need.
Do you want sound?
I think it's better without. What do you think?
Yes. Better without.
We could supply a sound track later, Jeff said. With Mr. Butterworth, I can imagine some Delius.
I fucked a girl to his
Appalachia
once, Tom said. Trouble was, the girl couldn't nearly come up to the music.
I think Mr. Butterworth could, Jeff said.
I thought you said he wasn't sexy, Tom reminded him.
If he turns out that sensational, you may want to try him yourself, I said.
Who knows? Jeff said with a mysterious smile.
Should we get
that
on film? Tom asked.
I'd
enjoy it, I said. And I realized with a start that I would.
NOW IT WAS A MATTER OF WAITING FOR SANDRA'S diseases to take firm root in the fertile Five. How would they handle it? The discovery, I mean. Hardly with the uproar comedy writers like to attribute to women when learning the good news, providing it
is
good news.
Doctor: I have good news for you, Mrs. Smith.
Patient: It's Miss Smith.
Doctor: Then I have
bad
news for you.
Tom Little found it ridiculously easy to learn enough about our Mr. Butterworth to find what seemed to be the right sex partner. He thought sufficiently of my guess that Mr. Butterworth was homosexual to go the next Saturday evening directly to Waterbury's most discreet gay bar, where he quickly spotted our man. It was Jeff who provided the description that made Tom recognize him at once, something about his eyes, the way he put his hands behind his back. Jeff was surprisingly observant.
Tom persuaded a friend of his, a very active homosexual but not obnoxiously so, to pick up Mr. Butterworth. I was glad to hear it was no pushover, that he required a thorough look at the fellow's genitals in the men's room before agreeing to go to his apartment.
Now here is where Tom Little proved his value: it would have seemed logical, wouldn't it, that Tom film this encounter, which I have no doubt was a complete and knowing one? No, Tom was anxious that Jeff have the best possible view of homosexuality in action; our wish had been to do something really nice for Mr. Butterworth, so with these two factors in mind (plus his own curiosity, I have no doubt), Tom had cleverly set up the situation so that in having his experience with Mr. Butterworth, his friend could then tell Tom what sort of a person
he
believed could give our friend what he considered the most ideal experience. His friend, Tom told me, was so specific that Tom hadn't any trouble getting an exact description of the partner who would provide Mr. Butterworth with the most memorable experience.
Tom wouldn't give me even the slightest details about this potential partner, except to say he had to go all the way to New York City to find him. He wanted me to wait till I saw him in the film; then I could see why.
As before, Tom used the three cameras (now his property, not rented) at the same motel where the incubating Five had been infected, in the very room where his techniques had proven so effective.
As I mentioned before, at one point in my life I viewed literally hundreds of so-called blue movies, hoping to find the one in which my father was reputed to have taken part. The more I saw, the more I appreciated how uniquely good were the ones Tom made for our private consumptionnot that I didn't appreciate them at the time.
Most of the blue movies seemed to adhere to a particular formula. In the typical one, a girl would be shown initially arousing herself; supposedly she got so aroused she was impelled to phone a male acquaintance, who arrived in record time. After intensive French-kissing, much groping through clothes, he undressed her and himself, and at last they began to fuck. As much as a third, perhaps even half of this typical film would be taken up with the preliminaries. Apparently, with a certain type of men, the preliminaries were exciting.
Tom's first movie had discovered Sandra and The Five already naked. Tom must have filmed them taking off their clothes, but found the sequence insufficiently interesting to use. I suspect with all five it was the principle of the thing. They'd have felt they had accomplished their goal if all they did was unzip their flies and have Sandra hoist up her skirt. The stripping must have been
her
idea, for when raping Jeff, three of them had only uncovered sufficiently to allow action.
In this second film, to my surprise, Tom chose to begin with both Mr. Butterworth and his partnerHal, his name wasfully clothed.
Even so, it was a shock for me and Jeff. We gasped as Tom's camera picked them up entering the motel room, for Hal was a Negro. He was light-skinned, his nose had somewhat flared nostrils, his lips were full but not exaggerated the way typical Negro lips are. What was unusual, in addition to his coffee-colored skin, was that he had blue eyes, and though his hair was black, it was naturally straight, soft and silky.
Mr. Butterworth was perhaps five feet ten. Hal was a good six feet, and even in his obviously expensive clothes he showed evidences of an athletic build.
In the many blue movies I saw, I was only bored with the preliminaries, the graceless but supposedly enticing way the female removed her tacky clothes, or had them removed. Whether it was Tom's art or my natural curiosity, I had an erection as those two manly, attractive and contrasting persons entered the room. And when, without subtlety, they began to remove their clothes, I felt an urgent need to press my hand hard against my rigid, throbbing cock. There was incredible allure in their very artlessness.
Mr. Butterworth first: his body was unexpectedly trim and athletic-looking. Some bodies, often inferior ones, look splendid in clothes. Most athletes, except swimmers, tend to look stout in clothes. Clothed, Mr. Butterworth's body looked disjointed. Naked, he looked splendid. Hal, not yet fully undressed, gave our friend's body a smile of approval. I very much liked him for that thoughtful, sincere gesture. Tom waited till the film was over to inform me that Hal's services had cost five hundred dollars. The amount shocks you, doesn't it? And it would have shocked me even more had Tom told me before I saw his performance.
Mr. Butterworth's genitals: these, too, were a surprise. Understandably, given Hal's striking good looks and what was apparently a predilection for Negro men, Mr. Butterworth revealed an erection when he removed his clothes. I heard Jeff gasp, for it was larger than any of the four that had raped him, most certainly the largest he'd ever seen. Tom made the guess of eight inches. It was as large as Foster's, as large as my father's. But apparently it was deceptively small when limp, for in spite of boxer shorts he gave no indication around the school that it would be so large in erection. So never again would Jeff and I think he wasn't sexy.
Mr. Butterworth stood waitinglooking strikingly attractive when naked, and eminently sex-worthy with his beautiful great cockfor Hal to remove his trousers. No, I am not being elegant. For when they cost perhaps two hundred dollars, I can't think of them as
pants.
Removing his silk shirt revealed a solid, compact, virile chest, gleaming and hairless. His pectorals were strikingly sculpted. The slightest motion revealed the play of powerful muscles immediately beneath the coffee skin. His nipples were as prominent as Jeff's, nearly as suckable. Hal reached a hand up to stroke one of the nipples, quickly erecting it. He gave Mr. Butterworth a sidelong glance, as if our friend had been remiss in not doing that
for
him. So our master quickly closed the distance and with eager tongue excited the other nipple, sucking it as he stroked the other with his hand to keep it erect until he was ready to switch to it. Hal's hands went softly to Mr. Butterworth's head, combing the silky blond hair with his fingers, a smile of pleasure lighting his voluptuous lips.
Beautiful! Jeff whispered hoarsely. I turned to see him stroking one of his own nipples through the thin material of his shirt. Could it have been his first discovery that his beautiful nipples were erogenous?
Hal lifted Mr. Butterworth's head from his gleaming nipples, pressed an open-mouthed kiss on the full lips. It was clear from the tenseness of their hands as they grasped each other's heads so firmly that their tongues were in fierce, rewarding combat. Mr. Butterworth was obviously feeling painfully aroused, for he was grinding his hard cock against the fabric of Hal's trousers, rubbing his fat, round balls against Hal's thighs.
Hal recognized the urgency, pushed Mr. Butterworth away and quickly stripped off his slacks and shorts in one impatient movement.
Jeff gasped and so did I. Tom chuckled at our amazement, for Hal's stripping revealed a fantastically-large cock. Ten inches, I'm sure, Tom said. But it wasn't only the length. His sleek cock was proportionately broad, so that if it weren't for the comparison of the other parts of the bodies of both men to give it scale, one wouldn't have realized how huge it really was.
I didn't know it was possible for a cock to be
that
big! Jeff cried. I didn't tell him the headmaster's was even bigger. But the headmaster's cock had looked grotesquely large, while Hal's was simply magnificent, a work of art. Well, shouldn't it be, at fifty dollars an inch?
Mr. Butterworth's astonishment seemed as great as ours, so I presumed he hadn't had a chance to audition Hal at the gay bar where Tom had arranged the meeting. But he far surpassed us in delight, for we were limited to merely viewing that superb cock, while Mr. Butterworth had it gloriously before him. He sank to his knees and laved kisses on it. The head was too large to get into his mouth. He had to be content with licking it intensely. He delved his tongue deep into the crevice that bisected the huge, beautifully-sculpted glans. His hands weighed and caressed balls that were on a scale with the great cock. His mouth moved down the broad, perfect shaft to get the balls into his mouth, but only one at a time, and only by dint of opening his mouth to its utmost.
Hal considerately let Mr. Butterworth's mouth and hands enjoy their fill of his remarkable genitals. You might say, Why not? For five hundred dollars I'd let him pull out my pubic hairs one by one. So this would be a good place to say, based on the considerable evidence of what we saw in the film, that once he got into the room with our master, Hal behaved in a totally natural manner; the financial considerations were left outside. Needless to say, he was that rare breed that enjoyed giving satisfaction as much as receiving it.
I imagine Mr. Butterworth could have happily spent hours enjoying Hal's genitals with mouth and hands, but finally Hal put a stop to the one-way adoration by picking him up bodily and carrying him over to the bed. He lay flat atop Mr. Butterworth and kissed him with tender passion. Mr. Butterworth sensed the need and lay still as Hal moved down his lithe body. His tongue erected Mr. Butterworth's splendid nipples which, like his cock, were inconspicuous till erected, and then quite large indeed. The unexpected discovery of such succulent nipples delighted Hal. He worked hard on them, and then, in what looked like a gesture of gratitude, came up and kissed him tenderly on the lips again.
Hal went directly down to the rigid cock and sucked the gleaming head into his mouth. Mr. Butterworth shuddered. His hands pulled at Hal's head. I got the impression he was fighting back an orgasm.
Hal, perhaps mindful of the danger, abandoned the glans after a fond last kiss, ran his tongue down the length of the shaft, sucked hard on the round, fat balls.
Suddenly Hal lifted the legs high and Jeff gave an astonished gasp as he saw Hal rimming Mr. Butterworth. I regretted that his head remained in the way, that for all the skill of his zoom, Tom hadn't been able to provide a view here of Mr. Butterworth's asshole. But it was clear that Hal was bringing our friend his greatest pleasure yet. His eyes were closed, his head moved slowly from side to side as if the pleasure was almost too great to bear.
Suddenly Hal desisted, held himself atop Mr. Butterworth, his powerful arms raising chest and head at a forty-five-degree angle above the slim master. He seemed to be saying something to our friend, or asking a question. Mr. Butterworth's eyes went wide, he gravely nodded his head. Hal Kissed him fervently.
What did he say? Jeff demanded and I, too, regretted it was not a sound film.
He said he wanted to fuck him, Tom said.
It wouldn't be possible! Jeff cried. I found myself hoping very much that not only would it be possible, but that we'd see this great black stud gloriously doing just that to our worthy friend.
Hal went back to Mr. Butterworth's genitals with mouth and hands, but this time he straddled our lucky friend so that his own magnificent genitals dangled over his face. Mr. Butterworth gazed at them in awe. His hands reached out to grasp the mighty cock. He seemed to be shaking his head, indicating that it wasn't possible to receive this great thing in his asshole. Actually, it
didn't
seem logical that a cock with a head too big for his mouth could ever force a way into his anus without splitting it.
Jeff was deathly silent. I was certain he was recalling how much smaller were the cocks that damaged
his
asshole.
Finally Hal pulled his matchless genitals away from the lavish love of hands and mouth, knelt between our friend's legs and lifted them high. Tom, on the alert, had quickly zoomed in with his lens; we were astonished at what the shot revealed.
Mr. Butterworth's asshole looked remarkably small, looked far smaller than what we had seen of Jamie Crawford's puckered one.
It was actually a beautiful asshole, very much like Jeff's had recovered to be. It was hardly more than a beautiful dimple at the apex of his perineum's triangle. Either Hal was remarkably cruel, it seemed, and enjoyed hurting peopleespecially white peopleor knew far more about this than we. There was only eagerness on his face as he glimpsed that small-appearing asshole. He seemed overcome by lust for it and once more brought his mouth down for a passionate tongue-delving kiss. This time Tom was at a sufficient angle that his zoom lens could even catch Hal's long tongue pushing into that neat orifice.
But this great throbbing cock was making implacable demands. Taking it in hand, Hal aimed the head exactly at that modest dimple, and let it rest nestled in a natural depression between the buttocks.
