The Price Of Dick (5 page)

It was almost scary how enormous his body was. When he folded himself around me, I seemed to disappear inside his immensity.
In there I could feel his heartbeat and the tense hunger. His appetite was craving things he’d never been served. A hand made its way down the back of my jeans, in past the underwear to one of my cheeks and I could feel his short nails dig into it. He exhaled in my mouth. It filled me up. I gasped. He liked that. It invited him to unsnap and unzip my pants. His hand found me ready.

“
I haven’t done this part either, so you might have to tell me a few things...,” and with that he lowered himself to his knees in front of me. “Just remember, this is just as friends.”

I didn
’t protest the stipulation. Right then, I’d put it in writing if he wanted.

Pulling both jeans and underwear down at once, I bounced upward directly in front his face. He stared at my dick a moment
, like it had instructions written on it. Then he grasped it, pulled it down to his mouth, parted his lips and took in the first inch of it. He only lightly sucked it, then pulled it back out and looked at it again. On his next attempt, he took it down halfway. He only made a minor choking sound before he recovered by returning to the head and sucking hard on it. His tongue darted in the hole, and then he looked up at me.

“
How am I doing?”

I was shaking at this point.
And sweating. I felt it roll down the cleavage between my cheeks. “Fine," I said, hearing my voice crack.

This time he took it in slowly like he was concentrating on each centimeter of me, going as far down on me as he could. I was lightheaded as I felt my balls under his thumbs, grazing his hard whiskers. He repeated the deep slow plunge several times. His other hand touched the tremor in my stomach and followed it up to my chest where the thumping originated. It spurred his tempo on me,
causing me to bend over him. My fingers blindly found their way into his hair and the hardness of the scalp that was rocking forward and back from me. And then I knew I was there. I blurted it like a quick warning. He pulled me out of his mouth with his hand and kept that hand on me, taking me to the finish until I almost fell over.

When I roused, standing in swaying, insane bliss, I saw that he was on the floor cleaning up my mess with a box of tissues. Clumsily, I bent and pulled up my underwear and pants. I quickly sat on the bed to recover. Once my
vision cleared, I realized I was staring at him, listening to the buzzing in my ears as the blood flow returned to my head.

He glanced up at me.
“Sorry, I didn’t swallow. I was afraid of...” the sentence suspended itself. We knew the context of it. I’d been there with him...intensely there.

He continued cleaning the floor, but I could see what resembled a smirk
on those lips that had just had me inside them. Thinking about this now, beyond the blush of the thrill, I’ve come to believe that this happened, not because he was curious to learn
how
, but because he wanted to learn
how
in his mother’s house. In the presence of all of his awards and scrapbook memories kept to preserve their image of the first-rate family. He was committing the proverbial passive-aggressive swipe at a home prison-locked in his mother’s control. Whether she knew it or not, he committed an act—a sin in her eyes—under her roof. Had she known, it would have seared a hole in her soul. That was the source of his pleasure that day, not the sexual release, but the thrill of the illicit act compounded by the forbidden place: his childhood home.

I could understand how
Dick thought a little sex act could jeopardize something as valuable as friendship. Sex can twist logic quicker than anything. I was all about reassuring him. Not a biggie. Nothing more to be said about it.

In the back of my mind
, I thought of it as a friendship with benefits. I was hoping he felt the same way. It was days before I could put what happened at his parents’ house out of my mind. You know what they say about guys thinking about sex every sixteen seconds. Well every sixteen seconds, I was recalling my dick on his tongue, him sucking the strength right out of me. Whether he wanted to acknowledge it as a part of our friendship, our relationship already had two sexual experiences under its belt. Most friendships don’t have baggage like that.

His mom called
him every day. I could hear her repeating the same questions over and over. “Did you go to Mass? Have you met anyone? There’s a nice girl in church... she’s a vet... or she’s a nurse... or...,” the bottom line was, she was a practicing Catholic, and he still wasn’t dating. Relentless!

It was business as usual for me with pay-the-rent model portfolio shoots for bodybuilders and actress-
wanna-bes as I waited for Mike to come through for me with more guys to do the male romance shoots. I knew if I could find enough guys to do a rotation, I could get some good extra cash generated from that part of my business. And as an added bonus, I thoroughly enjoyed those shoots. Mike was hitting the usual places to find good-looking, willing boys. He had no luck for a couple of weeks.

That change
d one weekend when he met
a looker
working in the neighborhood McDonalds. He called me with the exciting details. We scheduled the shoot for that Saturday. Mike would, again, be the other half of the pairing. He was stoked.

The m
odel-prospect was a young man with longish, shoulder-length, dark hair. He had a magnificent set of light green eyes, and a slight frame. He wasn’t the typical macho book cover type, but in this fledging genre there was no
typical
anything. Love interests could be any type, which I thought made the entire concept more exciting. Fewer limitations allowed for greater creativity.

I decided
with the weather being nice, we’d do an outdoor shoot. I knew a secluded lake on a patch of land in the middle of nowhere that belonged to an acquaintance of mine. I’d previously shot some hetero romance photographs there. I packed up all the equipment and a lunch for three and we headed out early. The two of them were chatterboxes. I tuned them out for the long drive.

The lake was beautiful.
The surrounding land had grown out a lot since the last time I’d been there. It had a wild, untended look to it. More purple clover fields, weathered trees blown down across the narrow end of the water. Ideal for some scenic romance kissing shots. The sun was high and the breeze was balmy. I couldn’t have asked for a better backdrop. The guys were already making themselves comfortable, stealing
‘practice’
kisses back and forth while I checked my equipment. It would definitely be an easier go with two gay guys. Less coaching required on my part. I could concentrate on just getting the best shots possible. They were practicing on their own. I snuck a few shots of them when they weren’t looking. I have always preferred the casual, unrehearsed stuff better than the formal, more posed photos.

Once they started kissing
they never stopped. They graduated into full-on get down and dirty sex in the wildflower field, and had another session in the lake. I shot around it the whole time, it would have been a waste to wait and miss all those opportunities. I’d get shots even if I had to discreetly crop them, which I did, often. Every photo was beautiful. The interplay between the two young men was real, with loving body language and true passion. They had everything I needed and wanted to capture. At the end of the day, energy expired, they slept in each other’s arms in the back seat during the long trip home. I stopped briefly to take a series of shots of that. Those crazy, sneaky photos would end up appearing on three book covers.

Exhaustion cold
-cocked me by the time I got back to the apartment, but I wanted to see the photos right away. I loaded them, but after an hour my eyes got heavy. I lay down on the sofa and fell dead away.

I didn
’t hear Dick enter, but when I awoke I detected the persistent click of the computer’s mouse in the bedroom/studio, and realized he must have come in. Rubbing sleep-paste out of my eyes, I approached the door, and saw he was looking through that day’s shoot. He’d paused on a particular photo of Mike with his dick in the new model’s beautifully raised ass in the field of wildflowers. The expression on Mike’s face showed the photo was clearly taken mid-orgasm. Though unusable as a book cover, it was a hot shot. Dick’s own face was close to the screen, studying it, and I could see his free hand arranging the growing lump in his jeans. At the floor creak under my foot, he turned to look my way. A sheepish grin split the angles of his face. He knew he was caught.

“
This from today?” he asked, mousing through more. I could see the photos from the door. Mike had never looked better. The romance shots were as beautiful as the sex shots were hot.

I nodded.

He pointed to my friend on the screen mounted on the new model. “This is your friend?”

I nodded again.
“That’s Mike. He lives here in the apartment complex. Takes care of the pool; lifeguards part-time at the public one by the courthouse.”

“
Good looking guy even with cum-face,” he snorted. He clicked through a few more of the pictures. I watched the succession of images over his shoulder. “These are really, really nice.”

“
Thanks. Finding my way around and figuring out how to make them look natural.”

“
Looks like fucking helps,” was his observation. He didn’t have to turn for me to see his grin. I could hear it in his voice.

I agreed.
“I gave up waiting for the fucking to end and the posing to begin and just figured it’s all the same anyway...with the right editing and cropping.”

He swiveled in t
he chair. I could see the upward outline of his erection in his pants.

“
You know, I told you when I asked to move in here, if there was anything I could do to help you with your work, all you have to do is ask. I can help you on these shoots, if you do them on the weekend or in the evening after work.”

Those were words
I’d been waiting to hear. Words by which to begin a different type of adventure. I had to see what I could get out of him though. That could be fun. He had already left me clues how to do that. The porn I knew he watched would be my guide.

“
Hell yeah. That would be awesome.” My brain quickly began working out a scenario that could be entertaining and productive.

His face lit up. I
’m sure between the two of us we were secretly churning enough visions to keep the porn business running for years. My mind was working on what I’d gathered while sleuthing his computer history. Some easy ideas came to mind. Exhibitionism and voyeurism. Dick was a narcissist. A showoff. A romance photographer’s wet dream, and exactly what I needed.

*  *  *

It was a clear, warm summer night. No reason not to take advantage of that. The apartment pool had a high wooden privacy fence. It was closed after dark. No one would be around. The water would be warm. The light of a full moon would work well with a high-speed camera exposure. And I had a pair of black Speedos that I bet he could barely squeeze into. They were made for someone a good foot shorter and built much smaller than he was.

I laid out the scenes I wanted to shoot like a script from a movie:
“It’s a hot guy who has a bunch of neighbors who are totally hypnotized by him. He likes to keep to himself. He swims at night, strips inside the pool fence to swim naked, not knowing there’s a pool maintenance guy, a young guy, who is hiding in the pool house to smoke a joint. The pool guy hears the splash of the water as the hot guy jumps in for a night swim. Pool guy watches him through a crack in the door. He can’t take his eyes off of him as he swims laps, then sits on the edge of the pool letting the night air dry him.”

I had his attention and I was right
about that swimsuit. The limited black elastic of the Speedo could barely contain the two ham butt cheeks and the fullness of the man-meat that was testing the suit’s durability. Most of his pubes were exposed once he was stuffed into them. He admired his own bulges, both front and back. He looked like he was sporting a half chub. I wasn’t certain. The Speedos were tight enough to push everything up and forward.

“
Sorry. I haven’t gotten off for a couple days. Stays at half-mast if I haven’t rubbed one out,” he mock apologized, yanking at the waistband just to show me he was too big to be able to pull them up any further.

I snapped a quick picture, showed it to him.
He liked looking at himself. Held the camera up close so he could really examine his own crotch in the photo.

The light readin
gs for the pool were exactly what I needed. The photos would be amazing. He dove in the pool like a champion, hitting it almost dead center, body angles knife sharp. The continuous shooting on the camera caught how the entrance into the water nearly took the Speedo right off him. A quick finger-tug brought the suit back up as he surfaced with a delighted holler.

Step by step, I took him through his make-believe fantasy, even going so far as cracking open the door of the pool house and turning on the light inside as if someone was secretly peering out at him. He swam
in sensuous arcs through the water, diving downward. His half-exposed ass would rise above the clear blue paint of the pool. The shot would make anyone salivate.

He leaned back against a water jet so the
propulsion of bubbles rippled the Speedo. Even in dim light I could see his dick gaining width with the stimulation. Teeth shone in moonlight as he reached down below the surface of the blue water and pulled the Speedo down and off, tossed it behind himself onto a lounge chair. The camera caught his balls bouncing in the jet. His full erection beat against him like a windup toy. I could hear the slap when he pulled himself up halfway out of the water so the tide of big, white bubbles billowed under his nuts.

“
I could have sex with this jet,” he said before he flipped himself toward it. The position made him look like a master-carved Roman fountain statue. He shone like wet marble in the moon glow. As a photographer, I was in heaven. As a man, he made me lust so hard, it was painful.

I moved around for close-ups. I went belly-flat on the walkway to capture the lunar light in his
beautiful blues. His expression said boyish prankster. “Want to hear a secret? How I learned to masturbate?” he asked in a voice barely loud enough for me to hear over the gurgling jet. It was his way of making me move in close. “My dad.”

That was enough to bring me to a standstill, staring
at him with horror movie shock.

Once he
’d fully appreciated the words’ effect on me, he continued. “I was eleven years old. He came into my room to explain that touching myself was a sin. That spilling my seed was a sin,” he chuckled. “I didn’t have a clue what he meant. Had never done it. Didn’t even know what masturbation was. So you know what I did right after he left my room and closed the door? I began touching myself. I figured out how to do it. And I spilled my goddamned seed. And after that I just couldn’t stop spilling my goddamned seed. I loved it. It was fun. Gotta thank dear old dad for telling me not to pull my pud!”

I laughed.
I think it was more of relief than anything else. It appeared he took a lot of pleasure from defying his whole family, not just his mother.

I stood back by the pool house door, explaining
my script to him, as if I were a pair of eyes staring from inside it, but using my camera to get that point of view. He pulled himself up out of the pool. I caught every diamond drop of the water, every ripple of lean muscle in his arms, shoulders and chest. And the massive upward hook of his aroused cock. His thighs bounced. He resembled a naked ape, all that beautiful body hair holding onto glistening drops of water. The camera loved him.

He walked nude
all the way back through the unlit wooded path behind the apartment buildings. I photographed the entire journey, following his chlorine-rich trail, catching the shadows and light as they tattooed his flesh. If any of the neighbors had looked out their back windows, they’d have had a glimpse of one beautiful naked man walking past in the nightglow.

Time for the second part of the story.
I left most of the details up to him to improvise for me. My camera would be obedient to his movements. I’d be his secret admirer from the pool house who had followed him home, hidden in the blackness of evening outside his bedroom window to spy upon him... I’d be his voyeur.

I listened as he made his way in and through the apartment to the bedroom. I stood waiting just outside
the room’s window. Blinds opened, followed by the window so he could hear my instructions. I could still smell the pool on him coming from inside the room. This would be his stage. A small lamp cast weak light from the corner and illuminated the room, bathing him in dim, blue outlines. I checked my readings. The shots would be artistic, deep with mystery. Just as if someone was clandestinely observing him.