The Price Of Dick (3 page)

In a sloppy, drunken move
, he pushed me onto my back in an awkward position. I fell into my pillow with a graceless grunt. It was a maneuver so he could raise himself up and straddle me with his legs. It wasn’t the clumsiness of it, or even how large and heavy a human being he was as he sat on me that surprised me as much as the fact that he didn’t seem to know exactly how to work out the right position for what he wanted from me. I had to push myself backward and brace my head up on the pillow to accommodate the rod of flesh he was aiming for my mouth. Make no mistake, I loved every moment of having this hairy beast on top of me, his sweaty butt pressed on my stomach, his dick teasing my lips. Once I got the monster in my mouth, his motions seemed to become more natural. His rhythm was earnest. His balls slapped my chin. Finally, I got a two-handed grip on the firmest hair-covered ass I’d ever felt. The sweat that ran down his crack was like an Amazonian downpour in the forest of tight curls inside it. I wedged my fingers between the muscled clench.

The closer he got to
his orgasm, the stranger his dialogue got. “Get ready dude. I’m a dime short of a week’s worth in there,” he said between grunts. I would have laughed if my mouth hadn’t been crammed full. The only thing missing was the cheesy eighties porn music.

Grasping my hair, which wasn
’t very long at that time, he began face-banging me into his pelvis, pushing every inch of himself down my throat making me fight my gag reflex. My lips were feeling bruised as he got closer to coming. The whole time all I could hear was, “Yeah, yeah. Just like that. Keep going!”

I was glad that, as a youngster, my tonsils had been removed.
The first blast of his orgasm jolted into the back of my throat like an uncoiling spring. The volume of that first squirt was thick, damn near drowning. I struggled to swallow it as the next burst coated my tongue right behind the first. He wasn’t just coming. He was serving full course meals. He forced my face down onto himself as the next couple surges unloaded themselves, bubbling back out over my lips, like schoolroom paste. I couldn’t swallow it all. It was too much. The last pulse wasn’t as bad in its thickness, but it did still fill my mouth. I had to carefully choke it down in two swallows so I didn’t embarrass myself by throwing up. Thankfully, he’d released his grip on my head so that as he pulled out, I could take the last glob down. I maintained my sexual dignity.

He fell away from me on the bed
, spent. His body loosened, face cradled down into his pillow. A sigh came from him long and loud. “I’m dead tired, dude,” he said. “You wanna just jack off on my ass?”

My face and lips felt numb
. I thought I’d earned more than just jacking off on his ass, but I wasn’t going to argue the point. Any gay man would pay good money to drag their dick through that hairy valley. I’ll admit, this was totally unlike I imagined sex would be with this hot guy.

“
Don’t get near my hole man,” I heard him say, from deep inside the pillow.

I soaked in the beauty of those anatomical mounds, pulled them apart just
enough so I could see the inner pink in the light from the window, and I jacked off on them. Took me just a couple of minutes. Then I wiped him down with my underwear retrieved from the floor at the foot of the bed just in time to hear him snoring.

A shaft of sunlight through the blinds wrestled
me from my sleep the next morning. The first thing I noticed was the crumpled underwear on my nightstand. They looked like they’d been glued together. The second thing I noticed was the fading scent of male sex in the room. The third thing I noticed was that Dick wasn’t in the bed with me.

That was when I heard the sound of someone throwing up. Then moaning.

Tugging on a fresh pair of underwear, I made my way to the bathroom. My jaw ached, lips felt like rubber. I’d look back on the episode as
sex-with-a-guy-who-needed-to-be-taught-how-to-have-sex.
The kid needed schooling in the fine arts of subtlety and reciprocation. I don’t mind the bumps and bruises if my own orgasm is included by a mutually acceptable method. I can jack off by myself, thank-you-very-much.

Seventy-two inches
of pale muscle was hung over the john shaking his head and groaning. The room reeked of alcoholic regurgitation. He was still naked, sidled up to the bowl like he was spooning a lover. His hair was spiked in fifty directions. When he peered up at me, his eyes made me want to cry. He looked helpless. I thought it was sexy as hell.

“
Sorry man,” he said in a voice so weak I could barely distinguish the words. “A little hung over.”

I made him an Alka-Seltzer and handed it to him. Watched him slowly drink it
like it was poison. Nodding his thanks, he handed me back the glass and asked me to bring him his phone.

“
I got to call my mom,” he said. “I missed Mass this morning.”

I star
ed at him like he was an imbecile.

“
I have to, man.”

I blocked out the apologetic conversation. I could hear her demanding voice come through the phone as clear as if she
were standing in the room. Apparently she liked to serve up guilt before breakfast. He was miserable; looked even worse by the time he hung up.

He muttered something under his breath, coughed and puked again. Afterwards, he found his way back to the bed and fell into it. I went about my business
; working on photos, cleaning house and letting him sleep it off. I put out some mouthwash on the bathroom sink as a hint. Hoped he figured it out. I didn’t mind the smell of sex in my bed, but the other aromas...

Around noon
, when I peeked into the room he’d rolled himself up in a cocoon of sheets and was snoring with his mouth open. I thought he looked adorable. It was kind of pleasing to see someone in my bed.

At one o
’clock, I finally took coffee in to him. I had a shoot coming in and had to get my studio, (the spare bedroom) ready, and I didn’t need a naked guy stumbling out to spook a model, even if that naked guy was hotter than spit on a skillet.

He looked a little
better and accepted the coffee with a feeble smile. When he sat fully up, the sheets parted enough to let me glimpse his junk. Loved naked men in the morning. Yessiree!

“
I wanna thank you,” he said, sipping the coffee.” I had a great time last night. There aren’t too many places I can go to be myself. My mom...my family and my friends would never accept what...I did last night.”

(Inside that
little speech is a code that clearly says: I’m a closet case. You can’t tell anyone I have sex with guys. You’re supposed to feel special because of that fact. It’s a hook. A hook for a man, but no different than a fish hook for a fish.)

When he left that afternoon, I got a brotherly hug at the door. Can
’t even express how odd that made me feel, considering the pummeling I took from his dick the night before.

Honestly, in my head, I
’d moved on from my fascination with Dick Fitch in my day-to-day life. The reality hadn’t lived up to the fantasy. There were plenty of beautiful men out there who wanted to have sex and knew how to do it a hell of a lot better. I’d seen him naked. I'd experienced him sexually. My curiosity was appropriately sated. I filed him under the
Good-looking-but-what-a-damn-shame
category.

I got busy with work
, so my hours at the gym changed and I didn’t run into him there. I didn’t call, he didn’t call, and I didn’t worry about it.

Now at this point I
’m going to remind you that I’m an established photographer, and have been for many years; shooting couples for hetero book covers. Like Harlequin, etc. I’m sure you know the type. You’ve seen them in the supermarket checkout with Fabio and various women clutching their ripped bodices. That was the way I made my living. I had models traipsing in and out of my house all day long and I had closets filled with props for these shoots. I kept vowing to get a bigger place for all of it, but I was centrally located and it made it easy for everyone to get to me. People think you need a vast studio to do romance shoots. The truth is, romance shots are claustrophobic. Look at them closely. All the focus is on the models and their action; there is very little surrounding them. You don’t need a lot of space.

A funny,
ironic sidebar to these romance covers I shot with beautiful men and women was that most of the guys were gay. The majority of them hooked up with each other after my shoots. That’s what gave me an idea that would change my career path over the next few years.

It had been brought to my attention by one of these male models that a brand new genre of male/male romance was breaking into the
romance arena of books and were being sold online by various publishing firms. Most of the covers were drawn, or only featured one male model, or Photoshopped versions of two men together. He joked that if ever I decided to do shoots where men could get naked with other men and kiss, to count him in.

The cartoon over-the-head light bulb went off.
An epiphany. I began looking into it, seeing which companies were producing this type of book and what their covers actually looked like. The idea of shooting these types of covers also held a certain appeal to me for obvious reasons. Who wouldn’t want to photograph two beautiful men together? I could be pioneering uncharted territory. Creating gay covers with the exact same level of tastefulness and quality as the male/female romances. Before I could approach these companies with my idea, I’d need to shoot some examples. Some practice shots so I had something to show them and let them see that it could work, and work well.

*  *  *

I talked it over with my young pool-cleaning friend Mike that night after I fucked him. Mike, as I said, wasn’t a category ten hottie like the last one in my bed; but at least he knew how to take a dick wherever I was inclined to put it, and do what needed to be done to get us both off. He had a tiny ass but he knew how to park it on your dick and ride until you said, “Yee-Haw!” He was handsome in a plain way, and I thought he wouldn’t be a bad choice as one of the models on whom to practice for these new shoots. When I talked to him about it he seemed okay with the idea. I asked him he if had any other decent looking friends who might be interested? That set the wheels turning in his mind. I could see it in his coy grin.

“
I’ve had my eye on one guy at Gold’s for a whole year. I bet I could talk him into it if you promised to give him some regular solo shots for free.”

It was a great suggestion. Most people couldn
’t afford professional photographers and a trade-off would be an appealing incentive.

The middle of that week Mike arrived at my door with his prospect from the gym. His name was Aaron. He was an athletic-looking, average young man with a reasonably attractive face. His short, brown hair had enough styling gel in it for three heads. He looked
nervous. I knew it would take some time to get him comfortable enough so the shots looked relaxed and genuinely romantic. I wasn’t sure it could be done. The worst thing you could get in a romance shot was a model who looked like a deer stuck in a pair of Porsche halogens. This was going to be a learning process for me. It would be a completely unique experience, much different than shooting men with women.

Aaron wanted me to know
that even though Mike had explained the nature of the photo shoot to him, that he was no homo. Quote, unquote. He had a girlfriend. He didn’t mind doing the pics because they weren’t something his friends would see anyway. And he wanted to get some shots of him by himself for his bodybuilding portfolio. That was the only reason he was doing this. I nodded quietly and smiled; had him sign the model release form and then wash the gel out of his hair. He looked better when he wasn’t spiked.

The first hour of shooting was less than promising. Not one salvageable picture out of over two hundred
shots. Two nice looking guys looking like they were completely terrified of each other and the cameraman. (Rule number one of great romance pics is: never look at the cameraman.) Mike was doing everything he could to accommodate the new model, to make him more at ease. It didn’t work. He looked stiff, out of his element.

I excused myself to look at the awful pictures as I downloaded them. When they called to me
, asking how they looked, I lied. I told them to help themselves to some beer while I set up for the next shoot. I heard the pop of beer cans from the other room. I felt like I needed a couple myself. I hated taking bad pictures. I didn’t know how to remedy the problem. It wasn’t lighting or staging. The boys were handsome, but the chemistry wasn’t there because their comfort level wasn’t there. I thought if I showed them what I was trying to do, it would help. I pulled out a file full of some of the hetero covers I’d done. The embraces, the near kisses, the intimate body language; the longing evident in the facial expressions. I grabbed a beer for myself and left them to study the photos. I had a sinking sensation that my grand, pioneering idea was going to be a resounding flop. It was new territory and no one was accustomed to modeling it. There was no formula to follow for shooting two men together in romance photography. I heard the crack of more beer cans. I wondered if I could sell pics of two drunk boys; call it a frat party? My hopes were diminishing.

From
where I sat in the studio, I could hear laughter. After the tension of the photo session it was an optimistic signal if they were now enjoying themselves. I walked out. I was met by two smiling faces. Not what I expected.

“
We have an idea,” Mike announced.

Even Aaron appeared
enthusiastic. “My girlfriend is a stripper,” he said, looking back at Mike. “I was telling Mikey they do this kind of girl-on-girl stuff on stage all the time. It’s awesome shit. But you have to have music, and maybe some more booze, and dancing to get in the mood. It’s like all an act on the stage.”

Wide eyes stared at me like I was handing out awards for brilliant ideas. I
felt like I should have been. It was a great concept to get them comfortable using expressive body language rather than trying to do the stiffer, more directed poses.

They wasted no time dashing to their own cars for CDs, selecting their music and loading them on the player. They brought out the twelve pack of Bud, popped the tops on three a piece and lined them up on the table. I placed the camera on its tripod centered where they
’d be dancing. I set it for continuous shooting. Hit the button, it keeps snapping catching every bit of the action.

The musi
c was cranked, the boys drank... and the dance began. It was a sight to behold, two boys circling each other like seductive, masculine Salomes. They touched and moved away. Their eyes met and held, even as their bodies swayed. Shot after shot was homo-erotic perfection. Song after song they delivered one incredible photo after another, and they were both enjoying themselves while doing it. My buddy had found the method to make people comfortable in a difficult shoot. Gay or straight. Drinking and dancing.

They were on their fourth beer and third clothing change. Mike instructed Aaron to come from behind him,
unbutton his shirt, and then remove it, slowly. “Like you’re taking it off your girlfriend,” he told him.

Aaron didn
’t hesitate a beat. His hips took the rhythm of the music as his cue to strip his partner. When the last button of Mike’s shirt was undone, he peeled it off him, flinging it dramatically to the floor. He spun Mike around to face him, nose to nose,
Dirty Dancing
style. There was a fraction of an inch of light between them. Mike instructed Aaron to shut his eyes. As he did, Mike gently took his head in both hands and they began to kiss. Aaron didn’t resist, but rather fell into it naturally. Mike was a gentle, delicate guide. Their transformation was mesmerizing. Believable. The exploratory kisses went on for long moments. Mike’s hands worked their way up Aaron’s shirt. He pulled him in tight. I snapped one picture after another. I was excited.

When they came up for air
and opened their eyes, they both looked amazed, pleased by what had happened. I praised them for a job well done. They’d given me something bigger than I’d hoped for.

“
I never kissed a guy before,” Aaron said, looking like he’d accomplished something Olympian. He grinned at me. “It’s actually kinda cool. I can’t wait to tell my girlfriend.”

They moved into each other and began the lip
lock again, this time no holding back from either of them. As it ended, they stared at each other with anxious eyes. I recognized that look.

“
Can we have a few minutes?” Mike asked, looking toward the bedroom.

I smiled.
“You know where everything is.”

As I worked on the unbelievable pictures that
had come from their stunning display, I heard the noises horny boys make taking care of their horniness from the direction of the bedroom.

There was a method to this madness.