The Perils of Praline (13 page)

By the time it was five
-
forty-five, Praline had separated half the resumes in the spare office into male and female piles. He’d decided to stay out of the file room for now, concerned about who he might find there. He’d finish sorting tomorrow, which was Wednesday, and on Thursday he could begin to alphabetize. Every time he turned over a resume, he half expected it to be Dave G.

Jason told him it was unlikely there’d be any personal information about Dave G. on his resume
,
just the jobs he’s done, his agent’s name and number
,
and whether he could roller skate, ride a horse or juggle. Still, Praline couldn’t help but hope that he’d turn over a resume and there would be Dave G. He’d noticed that some actors, those who didn’t have agents, put down their personal information. Maybe Dave G. didn’t have an agent. Maybe he was between agents. Maybe he had a lousy agent who’d forgotten to remove Dave G.’s phone number. One could only hope.

It was boring work. He’d nearly fallen asleep at two
-
thirty, three
-
thirty and four
-
forty-five. The only thing keeping him awake, besides looking for Dave G.’s resume, was looking for his own. Well, not exactly his own. In order to go to the audition that night he figured he’d need a resume and, since he didn’t have one, he’d decided to borrow the resume of the actor who looked most like him.

Right before it was time to leave he found a young man named Deron Pickler who was about Praline’s age, height and weight. They both had blond hair (though Praline’s hair was currently icy blue, he still felt like a blond inside)
,
and their facial features were close enough to not raise too many questions. He figured the worst he’d get was “you don’t look much like your picture” and—given the resume photos he’d seen—there had to be hundreds of actors in Hollywood who didn’t look much like their pictures. Otherwise, the city was full of men without wrinkles, blemishes or other identifying characteristics
,
living their lives in permanent soft focus.

And so, when they got home from work Praline freshened up, waved goodbye to Jason and, clutching Deron Pickler’s resume, walked the ten blocks to the audition. The audition was held in a shabby two-story building just off Hollywood Boulevard. As he approached, he saw that on the first floor there was a storefront theater called Upstage, a Thai restaurant named Feed You Long Time, and a hair salon, Life’s a Shag. He climbed a narrow, dirty staircase to the second floor and knocked on a flimsy door with the letter E painted on it. When the door opened, Praline saw that it was a small outer office filled with actors, all of them tall, athletic and brunette—just like Dave G. Praline had stretched the truth about himself to get the audition, but it was well worth it.

The receptionist, a muscular young black guy with thick biceps, rolling eyes and flirtatious manner looked Praline up and down when he signed in. “Aren’t you the bold one
,
showing up all blue-haired and sexy.”

Praline shrugged. He could dye his hair brown if they really—wait, he wasn’t actually there to get the part so it didn’t matter what color his hair was. The receptionist handed him a few pieces of paper and said, “Here are the sides for Raphael. He’s an athletic
brunet
just becoming aware of his sexuality.” Praline didn’t know what sides were but he didn’t want to draw even more attention to himself by asking.

He sat down in the only empty chair and looked at the sides. It didn’t take long to figure out that these were the lines he’d have to read in the audition. Of course, they were only his lines with a few cue words so he’d know when to speak.

“…think about it?”

Raphael: (with enthusiasm) “It’s the biggest one I’ve ever seen.”

“…until you gag.”

Raphael: (with even more enthusiasm) “Yeah, now you’re talking.”

It sounded like a very interesting film and Praline wished he could read the entire script. He looked around the room and watched as the actors studied their sides, mouthing the words as they memorized them “…biggest one I’ve…”

Praline, though, couldn’t help but stare at the door, hoping that Dave G. would walk through it. He was very excited, and a little horny. Just think, he might be about to meet the man who’d been the subject of his dreams, his fantasies and his constant downloading pleasure all summer. He knew he should play it cool, the way Jason suggested, but he had no idea if he could—

Suddenly, the door opened and a young man walked in. Praline nearly screamed. It was Dave G. Wait. He looked closer. It wasn’t Dave G. It was someone who looked incredibly like him, but wasn’t him. He had the same soft brown hair, the same strong jaw line, but his eyes were not gray, they were more hazel. And his body was more developed than Dave G.’s
,
with the sharpened edge that comes with a few extra years. No, he was attractive, but he was not Dave. G.

Not-Dave G. picked up his sides from the receptionist, who insisted on squeezing Not-Dave G.’s bicep to see if he was athletic enough for the part. After receiving the receptionist’s seal of approval, Not-Dave G. came over and sat on the floor next to Praline. Even though he knew he should be polite and let Not-Dave G. study his lines, he couldn’t help but ask, “Do you know you look just like Dave G. from
House-Bound, Season Six
?”

“I get that a lot,” said Not-Dave G. “Thank God he’s not really, really famous. I’d never work.”

“Have you ever met him?” Praline asked hopefully.

“No. I’ve never even seen
House-Bound
. I wouldn’t know the guy if I fell over him, other than the fact that he’s supposed to look like me.”

Praline smiled and decided not to say anything else; though he wanted to keep talking about Dave G., he really should let Not-Dave G. study his lines. He didn’t go back to his lines though. Instead the actor said, “It’s kind of frustrating
.
”

“What is?” Praline asked.

“Well, I’m a reasonably attractive guy on my own. But I keep getting rejected because I’m not this Dave G. person.”

“People don’t reject you,” Praline said suspiciously. Looking almost like Dave G. made a person almost perfect. Almost perfect people d
idn
’t get rejected.

“I get rejected sometimes. Everyone does.”

“Well, in my book anyone who rejects you is an idiot,” Praline said. Unless of course it was a choice between Real-Dave G. and Not-Dave G., he thought, but didn’t say.

Not-Dave G. gave Praline a long stare, the kind of stare that telegraphed not just lust, but three or four possible sex acts. The actor unfolded himself from the floor, walked back over to the receptionist and asked if there was a bathroom. After the receptionist gave Not-Dave G. the key and directions, he walked across the outer-office to the door and opened it. Before he went through he turned and gave Praline a significant follow-up to his original stare.

Praline realized what it meant. Part of him knew he shouldn’t follow the young man; the real Dave G. might walk in at any moment. But another part had begun to stir in his pants. Praline carefully draped his sides in front of his lap to hide his swelling erection as he walked out of the office and down a cobbled-together hallway toward the men’s bathroom. The door was unlocked, as he’d expected, and he quickly stepped inside.

Keeping his eyes on Praline, Not-Dave G. reached behind the boy and locked the door. Though still relatively inexperienced, Praline had had enough sex in his life (and not just in the past few days) to know there were often a few awkward moments at the beginning when the participants attempted to non-verbally communicate, or even worse actually articulate, their desires. In the case of Not-Dave G. though, it was very simple. The man knew exactly what he wanted. Once the door was locked, he pushed Praline up against the door, sank to his knees and set about opening our sexed-up hero’s pants.

Already rock hard, Praline’s penis popped out and smacked Not-Dave G. right in his beautiful face.

“Oh my,” the actor said. “Aren’t you eager?”

And before our ardent hero had a chance to answer, Not-Dave G. took Praline’s dick deep into his mouth. Quickly, it was apparent that while this young man might be a talented actor he was a far more talented cocksucker. His tongue swirled deftly around the head of Praline’s prick, while he moved his lips further and further down the shaft. Praline struggled to understand how it was even possible for him to do that
,
but the thought drifted away as he concentrated on the warm waves of pleasure passing through him.

When he was done with the swirling, Not-Dave G. teased Praline’s urethra with his tongue, tickling the slit, darting his tongue in and out as though he could make it small enough to slip down into Praline’s dick. Praline grabbed the door behind him so as not to fall down. He concentrated on breathing in and out and trying not to come too quickly.

Praline reached his hands down and tried to run them through Not-Dave G.’s hair, but the actor jumped back. “Not the hair.”

“Oh, sorry,” Praline said. Then Not-Dave G. went back to what he’d been doing. He cupped Praline’s balls in his hand and squeezed, gently at first, then tighter
;
keeping his hand where it was, he extended his middle finger and rubbed the spot right behind Praline’s balls. And that was it. He couldn’t hold it any longer. Praline tried to pull out—since it’s impolite to come in someone’s mouth unless they’ve specifically requested it—but Not-Dave G. held Praline by the hips. When he was finished, Not-Dave G. pulled his head back and studied Praline’s dick to make sure he’d gotten every last drop.

After his heart returned to a regular beat, Praline realized it must be his turn to get onto his knees but Not-Dave G. stopped him. “That’s okay.”

“Don’t you want me to return the favor?”

“Don’t worry about it,” the actor said. “It was for luck really. Every time I give someone a blowjob, I get the job.”

“Wow, you’re really good at blowjobs. You must work a lot.”

“I get by,” Not-Dave G. said, in an actor’s imitation of humility. Then he opened the bathroom door, looked both ways and left.

Praline washed up and then, floating on a cloud of buzzing hormones, made his way back to the waiting room. He’d barely sat down when he noticed the receptionist stubbornly repeating an actor’s name. “Deron Pickler. Deron Pickler.” He cleared his throat glared directly at Praline, “I said, ‘Deron Pickler.’”

“Oh! Sorry!” Praline squeaked when he remembered that he was Deron Pickler. He jumped up and hurried through the door the receptionist pointed to. Finding himself in another small, windowless room, he smiled at the obviously bored techie-type standing behind a video camera pointed at a wall-sized sheet of white paper. On the far side of the room was a door, leading presumably to another windowless room, and next
to
it a table stacked with men’s clothing.

“Take your clothes off and put them on the table,” the techie said. “Hold on to your valuables though. I may have to go to the bathroom and I don’t want to be responsible.”

“What are we doing?” Praline asked.

“The part requires nudity. They need to see everyone naked before they cast.”

“So you’re gonna tape me naked?”

The techie yawned. “They have bad memories.”

Just then, a loud chorus of moaning and groaning drifted out of the room Praline would be soon entering. Though still a bit sore, his dick twitched and he hoped he wouldn’t get an erection while being filmed. “What’s going on in there?” he asked.

“Auditions. The film has a lot of ‘simulated’ sex. Half the lines are ‘Fuck me. Fuck me harder.’ Your agent told you that, right?”

“Oh, sure,” replied Praline. Now he really wanted Dave G. to come to the audition. He’d love to see him in a movie where he had simulated sex. Especially if the fact that there were no women at the audition suggested the kind of movie it might be. “You’ve read the script? Is it good?”

“
Gladiators Gone Wild
? Sure, it’s great.”

“The casting notice said the movie was about an Iraq vet coming home…”

“They changed their minds. Now it’s an historical epic. Does it really matter?”

Praline shrugged. He supposed it didn’t.

“Are you going to take your clothes off or not?”

Slowly, Praline took off his clothes and placed them on the table. It’s not that he was shy about taking his clothes off—his adventures in Hollywood, so far, suggested that he’s quite willing to drop trou when asked—he was, however, worried the techie might be able to tell he’d just been the recipient of a blowjob. He wasn’t sure if there was a way to simply look at a penis and know.

Of course, they’d be able to tell on
Forensic Victims Unit
. He could just imagine studly Vic Carbine saying, “We found traces of soap, saliva and fresh semen on the victim. Clearly, he just received fellatio. And, judging by the motility of the sperm present in the semen sample
,
the fellator was quite skilled.”

When Praline nervously stepped in front of the camera, the techie busied himself with the equipment and seemed not to see him at all. That is, until he asked Praline to turn around and show his backside to the camera. “Oh, hold on, I need to widen the lens,” he said.

“Is it that big?” Praline asked.

“Don’t worry, Jocks is into bubble butts.” He continued to twist the lens.

“Who’s Jocks?”

This got the techie’s attention, “Jocks Hammer. Gay porn director. Do you know where you are?”

“I thought you said simulated sex?” Praline pointed out.

“We’re supposed to say that. Once Jocks gets a bunch of guys naked in a room, half of them get hard anyway—even the so-called straight ones—and then, boom, softcore goes hardcore.” The techie gave Praline a concerned look. “Maybe you should just put your clothes on and go.”

“I’m waiting for someone,” Praline replied.

Just then, the door opened and an unhappy looking guy came out, eyes to the floor, hands covering his genitals. Praline assumed he was in the fifty percent who didn’t react well to this audition technique. An assistant peaked out the door and said, “Next.”