The Price Of Dick (14 page)

Somehow
, being outdoors gave the food a more robust flavor. We washed the hearty fist-sized burgers down with cold beers before hauling out and lighting the kerosene lanterns. They’d serve as supplemental lighting for the shoot at the pond, which in the darkness looked like a silver bowl filled with moon soup. The lanterns at water's edge brought a rim of orange to the night pallet of blues. Ideal for three cowboys to skinny dip.

There wasn
’t the slightest hesitation on the parts of the three models to shed their clothes, pitch them to the pools of orange light on the bank, and trip like wild children into the cool water. The moon’s reflection dispersed into a thousand moving incandescent fragments around them. Grown men splashing and yelling like teenagers. I captured it all frame by frame, thinking there was nothing more breathtaking than handsome, nude men frolicking, all wet and shiny from the minimal light of the moon glow. When the fireflies came out to join them, the shots took on aspects of a fairy tale western.

Perry and Anthony performed the dutiful standard rote romance stills for me: passionate kisses
and lustful embraces. Dick, his skin jewel-speckled from the water, parked his naked butt on the soft mud of the bank, observing them like a student-voyeur. He was their fuel, each of their movements being an act of seduction to break down his ‘straight’ resistance. He feigned disfavor, looking away from them like he was bothered, and then eyes seemingly drawn back to them in curiosity. I ignored him with my camera, framing tight on Perry and Anthony. There was no doubt his behavior had amped up the heat between them. I had to admit there was a method to his madness.

The
models, one younger and one a bit older were losing themselves to the draw of sex. Their prowess was evident when the outline of Dick’s erection etched itself against the orange glow of lamps. He’d carry his half-hearted reluctance with him as they pulled him knee-deep into the water. The camera caught each crystal-like splash of pond water.

What happened
after Dick entered the water was something I’d not planned on shooting, but it ended up being one of the hottest scenes of muscle worship I’d ever witnessed. The older and younger models came at him from either side, hands finding a pectoral or quadriceps, exploring the growth of fine hair over it, fingers moving in the darkness, acquiring knowledge of him like Braille for a blind man. He responded. The expression on his face said he was barely clinging to his lie. He was enjoying himself at their hands. He gave into the play between each of their mouths as they pulled him to the bank and down into the soft mud. Their writhing coated them with wet earth, creating a new layer of shadows. Time and again each of their heads took turns bobbing up and down on him, trading mouths to take him. They gave his senses no break from the stimulation.

When the camera could determine nothing more of them from the mud and shadows, I stood back and watched as they brought
each other to climax. I moved in close to observe Anthony pull Dick’s orgasm from him with an unexpected bellow, and swallow all of it. The force of it pushed Dick hard into the bank, his body sinking deep into the mud. After they rose to bathe, I could see the intact impression of his naked body in the mud. I shot a picture of it. It was like a private sexual epitaph. The Aftermath. It might even make a good book cover.

By midnight we
’d found our way back to our individual bunks and collapsed, each of us spent for various reasons. As the three of them fell into slumber, I loaded the photos onto my laptop. I examined each one of them individually; over a thousand. By the time I got to the moonlight sex in the pond, I knew I was going to have to masturbate to relieve myself. The photos were that steamy. Some things had happened as I moved and snapped away that I hadn’t noticed at the time. One series in particular showed that the older Perry had inserted his middle finger deep between Anthony’s ass cheeks and finger fucked him as he sucked my roommate. The photo almost did me in without touching myself. I had to take care of that problem. It didn’t take long. Afterwards, I fell into a hard sleep.

The next day I slept in late. I
’d thought I’d set the alarm. I hadn’t. Perry and Anthony had slept in as well. When I awakened, the two of them were still buried in their sheets and pillows. Dick’s bunk was empty. His clothes were also gone. As I stumbled to the too-bright kitchen to start some coffee, I saw that he was nowhere in the bunkhouse. I glanced out each window and could see no trace of him in any direction. That was curious. Where could he disappear to in a landscape that provided nowhere to hide?

Half an hour later as I got breakfast cooked and on the table, and the two other models had joined me
in the kitchen, I caught a glimpse of the wayward cowboy-wannabe tromping his way along the gravel road from the direction of the farmhouse and horse barn. His hands were tucked deep in his pockets. He wore an intense expression. He didn’t need to voice it. I knew he was out there living in the Wild West world of his mind. In my own dream life I’d be rich, own a penthouse in New York City overlooking Central Park, and never have to worry about money again. I couldn’t even imagine someone fantasizing about living in the boonies, isolated from humanity, stepping in horse and barnyard shit every day and working their ass off dawn to dusk. That took a special kind of crazy. Dick’s kind of crazy.

He joined us at the breakfast table, looking macho with his
growing scruff of deep black stubble on his cheeks and chin. Perry and Anthony stared at him as though bewitched, feeling victorious at attaining the unattainable. It made them want more. No one was ever satisfied with a small taste of a rare treat. I’d use that for some more smoldering scenes: some vignettes in the barn, in the open fields behind hay bales, and in the cab of a tractor. Later in the evening I’d use the bunkhouse itself. I’d brought two oil lamps that would lend a turn of the century feel to the shoot. They didn’t know it, but they were about to endure eight solid hours of prick tease and foreplay by way of a photo shoot.

It was arduous but fulfilling work. I
’d never taken so many spectacular photographs. Each time Dick and I worked as a team I felt like we were raising personal bars on our creativity. When I realized my own work visually entranced me, I knew I was achieving a new level of artistry. I was proud of myself. I was proud of us. This type of work would have never been possible without his input and approach. He brought out something unique in every model who worked with us. Artistically and sexually.

Yes, the guys fucked and sucked their way through the entire three days, but it was the sublime moments I caught in between the carnal bits that made the process invaluable. You don
’t get physical responses like these from models who didn’t know each other. They needed to bond, become intimate. The body language then became something different. Moments of genius accidentally discovered in reality.

On the last day
, the contented smiles from Anthony and Perry were not just for a job well done, but because they felt victorious. They’d both been fucked by a ‘straight’ man. Dick had, in fact, nearly broken Anthony’s bunk when he plowed the young man’s very white, very small ass. They got lost in the momentum and in the rigorous rhythm had split one of the bed slats. After dragging the mattress to the floor, they finished the sweat-drenched encounter. Then Perry took over. By the time it was done, the boy’s cheeks had a much more vivid rosy color. We repaired the bed as best we could. I’d make an excuse to explain what happened to our host and offer to pay for damages. I knew a man of his means wouldn’t accept, but it was the courtesy of gentlemen.

As we packed up the car, I was head-dead. I couldn
’t think of another thing to shoot or anything we possibly could have forgotten. We’d covered all the possibilities. All I could contemplate was my soft sofa in the apartment, cool sheets over my head and sleeping nonstop for an entire day. Dick would drive. I didn’t have the wherewithal required to perform even that mundane task.

I had to return the box of props
Willie had loaned to us for the shoot. Just as evening approached, Dick drove us back to the farmhouse. We saw the elderly man at his usual post in the chair on the porch. He was drinking from a half-filled glass of milk. He lifted a gnarled hand to wave.

I retrieved the box of props from the trunk and carried it up the stairs toward him. He rose. It was a painful motion for him. He held stiffly to the back of his chair and pushed
himself into an upright position to grab a cane hooked behind it. He straightened, turned and opened the screen door to the house and gestured me inside.  I heard him shuffle in behind me slowly, the screen door slap shut.

I looked back to inquire where to set the box,
and I froze at the seriousness in his gaze.

“
I need to say something to you, J.J. Privately.” He cast a glance at the door to make certain we were alone. Then those humorless eyes were on me again.

“
What’s the matter?” I asked, concern blooming inside me. My first thought was that something had happened to Tina, his daughter.

The cane brought him two steps closer to me so he could speak in a hushed tone.
“It’s that young fellow that came up here with you. What’s his name Richard? Dick? Is he a close friend of yours?”

My heart did an unexpected
flip-flop against my breastbone. What was this about, I wondered? “He’s my roommate,” I answered. I’d almost said business partner as well, but held back. Something in the timbre of his voice filled me with apprehension.

“
Is he right in the head?” Willie said it with such gravity that my tongue felt paralyzed. “I mean, do you think he’s trustworthy?”

My brain was putting two and two together. I
suddenly knew where Dick had vanished to yesterday morning.

“
He was up here to see me yesterday morning. I just came out to have my morning coffee. And there he was sitting on my stoop like he was waiting for me.”

I sat the box on the table and used my hand to wipe away the sweat I felt pop on my forehead. All of this felt like an
eerie film. The type I don’t like to watch.

The scratch of
Willie’s cane brought him a foot closer to me. I could see the dried milk over his moustache. “I’m not going into the whys and wherefores of what happened with this young man because I’m a gentleman, and think of you as a friend.” His eyes flinched a little as he held back that secret. “But I’m gonna do what I think is a favor to you and share something from the wisdom I've gained while living on this planet for some seventy years; that you need to find a path to walk that this young man is not on. You need to find some separation from this...this...” he was holding back words that I could only guess at. “From him as soon as possible and never look back.”

It felt
as though roiling poison had flooded my stomach. My imagination couldn’t even fathom what could have possibly happened between the two of them to bring this warning from the old man.

He went on
. “In my day, we knew people like him and had a name for them. Flimflam men. He’s got the looks and the slick tongue and he can spin a mighty tale for you, but he’s got nothing but snake oil in his suitcase. I’ve dealt with more than my fair share of them and I’ve seen them in all shapes and sizes, but nothing like this,” he held his tongue again from releasing what I was sure would be a curse word. I tried to say something, but couldn’t get anything out but his name. He stopped me there.

“
No good can come to you in the company of someone like him.” He shook his head and glanced back at the screen door. “This is a private conversation between you and me. As friends. But if you got your life messed up with his, you’d best unmess it directly and get a good safe distance away. His type of people don’t improve with age. Their bad deeds just get more clever. And the more clever they get, the worse it gets for you. They make you think you’re a friend, but to them you’re just another stone to step on to cross the pond.”

I heard the car horn honk. It roused me from the dread I felt.

He nodded, moved to the side to open my path back to the door. “There are some people on this earth that do nothing but lie to and use other people. They roam door-to-door looking for those who will believe their lies and buy what they’re selling.” He touched my arm, “Keep your hands in your pocket on this one, J.J. Walk away, or better yet, run!”

The second honk from the car drew me quickly back outside. I think we both bid goodbye to each other, but in all honesty, I can
’t remember.

The
feeling that accompanied me from Willie Brandt’s was akin to driving at night on the road you’ve travelled a thousand times, when your dashboard and headlights go out. There are no street lamps to show you the bends and turns, potholes and drop-offs as you inch along, fearful of crashing. You picture in your mind where every turn should be along the way but you now can’t see them. There’s so much adrenaline in your bloodstream that the pulse pounds heatedly in your head, feeling like it's baking your skull. The only way you can bear this terror as your eyes strain to see through the black outside your windshield, the only way you can fight off the feeling of impending disaster is to convince yourself that you’re smart enough and have traversed this road enough that you’ll make it safely to your driveway without incident. You have to have faith in yourself.

I said nothing of
my conversation with Willie to Dick. He certainly never brought it up himself. We all have people who don’t like us for one reason or another. Life doesn’t guarantee that we’re going to get along with every human being out there no matter how nice we are. I suspected in this instance, Dick had, in his presumptuous manner, tried to solicit another potential client. Something occurred between them that offended the old man. I couldn’t guess what, nor did I want to try. After all, they were generations apart and misunderstandings could happen quite easily.

My internal
conflict was caused by my knowledge that because of Dick, my work had improved exponentially beyond what it had been before. I was actually establishing an even stronger presence in the photographic community. You couldn’t scroll through any social media without seeing my photographs appear. I was becoming a recognizable force in the equality movement. That isn’t something I could so easily, in Willie’s words, run away from.

I’
d only been in one major relationship in my life. The one that happened after I ran away from home. I’d been living with and working for a photographer friend I’d met through a high school teacher. That teacher had taken pity on my deplorable family situation and directed me to this man. His name was Pat and he was a wedding photographer. He gave me a spare room on the second floor of a house he was rehabbing. I became his apprentice. It was how I’d learned my craft. He was thirty years old when I was eighteen. He was slightly overweight and bland, but he was kind, understanding, and generous. He was also gay like me. So I’d moved from a place where I couldn’t be myself to one where I could express myself freely. The transition from roommate, apprentice, and friend to lover was a gradual and easy one. It happened over the course of a couple of years. I eventually moved from my bedroom upstairs into his bed. He made me feel safe.

One
kiss of death for any long-term relationship is to describe it using the word ‘safe.’ Anything that lacks verve or originality is doomed, because it dies due to boredom. I didn’t cheat, but I thought about it often. There was nothing sexually intriguing about Pat. I had to think of other people and fantasies during our playtimes.

I
’ll be honest. I think he had the better end of the deal in that aspect of our affiliation. I was vital and handsome because of my youth. The relationship endured a decade because I learned from him; I traveled the world with him, I got to meet interesting people, go to nice parties and have a social life with people I’d never have hoped to meet without him. He knew mayors and judges; the rich and the infamous. What I didn’t get from him in the bedroom was made up for in the social aspects of my life with him. That seemed to balance the scales between us for a long time.

It was only as I saw my twenties coming to an end and
the first permanent wrinkles appear on my face that I felt something was missing. That my life was wasting away into nothing because I was too comfortable with the status quo. I had dreams that weren’t being chased, passions that weren’t being stoked, and a growing sense of restlessness because I felt like I was missing out on life itself. I pictured myself as a zombie wandering in a doorless room, bouncing from one colorless wall to the other. I found myself becoming less and less pleasant to him; finding more excuses to not be involved in his social events. I was withdrawing not so much because he’d done anything to cause it, but because he did absolutely nothing to change it. It was simply the sameness of one day stacked upon the next.

Worse was that I felt like a lot of the wonderful sexuality of my youth had been squandered
during my time with him. That I had nothing that satisfied my sexual needs. Everywhere I looked I saw guys that excited me, made me want things; crave them. Masturbating became frustrating rather than pleasurable because I needed to feel desire for and be desired by someone. By this time Pat was in his forties. He’d gone bald, gained twenty pounds and drank often. His favorite was blackberry brandy, which he consumed in substantial quantities every night after dinner. It smelled like cough syrup to me. And when he’d had three or four glasses before bed, he’d paw me for sex like it was my duty to oblige. I could no longer become aroused by his touch, so I’d lie on my stomach and let him fuck me. I’d keep my hand cupped over my flaccid dick in case he tried to reach around. I pretended to get myself off as usual. He never knew the difference. But I was living inside that difference, and it was making me increasingly unhappy.

By the time I
had turned twenty-eight, I couldn’t stand being in the same house with him. It stifled me. All I could think of was that if I were someplace else, I could do the things I wanted to do. I could be free. I had enough in savings and had established a separate career from his wedding photography by creating book covers. It was as if my life would only blossom if I got out from under his shadow. I’m sure he began to suspect the changes that were coming. I began falling asleep on the sofa watching the television so I didn’t have to be in the bed with him. Then one day I simply couldn’t tolerate the thought of being there at all. I found an apartment and put money down on it. I went furniture shopping and had it delivered. It took me three weeks to get it set up before I had the guts to tell him that, for me, the relationship had ended. He took it very calmly. I’m sure in the back of his mind he thought it was a temporary thing and I’d be back. He wasn’t a man who argued, anyway. He was his usual kind, patient self. He kissed me on the cheek, wished me the best, and told me that if things didn’t work out, I’d always have a home with him. He even gave me a housewarming gift when he came by to see the apartment. I felt guilt and relief in the same moment.

There
’s always a tragic feeling when you believe you’ve wasted an opportunity in your life. Time isn’t rewindable. Mistakes become future guideposts. Extricating myself from the irresistible pull of gravity back toward what was safe to venture into the unknown was frightening. Putting my belongings in a few bags and boxes made me feel as empty as the spaces I had removed those belongings from.

I left because I didn
’t want that safety any longer. I wanted delirious risk. So if by its nature mine and Dick’s relationship wasn’t a conventional one, I woke every morning wondering what
might
happen rather than anguishing over what I knew wouldn’t. We all make trade-offs.