The Price Of Dick (6 page)

He found an edge of the bed facing me, making sure he
’d be fully in my view. I began shooting as he leaned back, resting on an elbow, his free arm allowed a hand to move just beneath his balls, tugging them upward so his index finger could find the dark half-moon of his crack. I could see hair curl around the finger as he slowly began to probe inward. Leaves rustled in the trees above me. I stopped, worried that someone had moved behind me, but it was just my heated imagination.

Looking back
through my lens, Dick had fallen prone onto a pillow, a balled fist showing me white knuckles tugging at his pubes, pulling back both dick and balls so his finger had clear access to the rosy diamond hidden in loops of blond fur. I couldn’t see the actual penetration, but its psychic imprint was in the furrows of his face and the moan that came once a finger had burrowed inside him. The sound from his continuously moving lips was that thrilling mixture of pain and pleasure. I moved closer to the window screen. The masculine aromas wafted through to me on a light breeze moving through the room.

I zoomed in past the focus on the mesh of the screen and back onto the recumbent
, bare Goliath finger-fucking himself on my bed. My lens sought and found the head of his cock, the jewel shining at its peak. It pooled and then ran tremulously down the side of his dick like a twinkling tear. I followed its trail downward past the spiral of veins in the flesh and onto the wrinkled folds of his balls. My hand shook. The camera jarred, the shift suddenly bringing his chiseled face into the lens. Craft (my personal shorthand for when a model is being particularly “crafty”) bent his head sideways, cheek almost on his shoulder, the look of the anti-Lothario. A seducer of men.

My heartbeat felt
bubble-wrapped as I watched a second large finger push in between the mass of ass cheeks and then burrow itself deep inside him. This time the moan was mined from his core, prolonged; strong enough to arch his back off the bed, turning him to the side. He wanted me to hear it. Snare drums banged behind my eyes as I saw him pump his fingers past the skin-tight resistance. The blue light of the room made his shadows an erotic wall tapestry behind him.

“
How’s that look?” his voice rasped from the bed.

My mouth was dry. I swallowed hard and replied
, “Great.” The torrent of blood in my head threatened to blind me.

“
You know how mad my dad would be if he knew I was playing with myself? Stirring up this precious seed in my life-giving balls?” I could always count on him for bizarre, but memorable commentary.

I was having a surreal moment watching him through my lens.
That jarring clash when fantasy has merged with reality. When the genie-granted wish becomes tangible. You feel you’re there but you’re not. Long fingers slipped out. He brought them to his face and sniffed their manly bouquet. They wound around his dick for that well-practiced full stroke from base to tip, soliciting a spark from every nerve along the way. All his muscles seemed to dance independently from the rhythm being conducted by his hand.

“
I probably got enough in these nuts to give birth to a whole city of Catholics tonight.” Mischievousness spread across his entire face. “Where do you want me to put it for you? On my belly? On my leg? I can put it on my thigh, but it’ll run down onto the bed.” He used his dick to point to each spot as he mentioned it.

I gulped
; hard. “Belly is fine,” I said, crouching down lower in the window. I was trying to regain my balance after the virulently spreading dizziness in my head.

“
I can do a hard pop that will go high, or a slow pop that will get it down by my navel and run into my pubes.” He was still wanting instructions from me, and I could barely muster a whisper. “Which will look better?”

“
Slow. Take your time.” The idea that he could actually control his cum flow seemed superhuman. Most of us are involuntary victims of our own pleasure.

“
Good deal. My balls will come up all the way and kind of disappear on a slow pop, but I can ease it out in nice long streams,” he explained. “You want me to spell my name?” That question came with a snort.

I think I laughed at the mental picture of his name spelled in cum.

“Okay, here we go. Start clicking.” His voice was commanding.

He parted his knees wider, aiming his center directly at me. The moment I pressed up close against the brick wall to zoom in, I realized I was rock hard myself. Wet spots of excitement stuck bits of my underwear to me.

He shifted on the bed, revealing different contours of the masculine vista. His hand cupped himself.

“
Get ready. We’re about to kill some future Pope here!” And with that, there was an exhalation, his hand slowed. Long, thick ribbons began flowing in a continuous stream from him, coating the soft part of his belly beneath his navel.

Moans were measur
ed out as he carefully drizzled his orgasm on himself like icing a cake. Balls danced happily along the shaft. I was impressed at how artfully he played it out. I heard a boyish giggle.

Unconsciously,
I continued my camera’s clicking. The quiet noise rallied me from the spellbinding spectacle. I took my finger off the shutter button as he looked up at me. All the hard lines of his face looked softened, serene.

“
How was that?” he asked, voice low, contented.

Replenishing my air, I said
, “Great.”

He rose up from the bed,
and wiped himself clean with one of the sheets. He came close to the screen to look into my face. I could smell the bleachy-scent of fresh sperm.

“
Maybe next time I can do it with your friend, Mike,” he said. “Do you think Mike would like it if I fucked him?”

Most relationships start off with those
thrilling new feelings a couple first experiences then eventually seal them together with a sexual bond. As time goes by, the thrill subsides, and mediocre pleasures begin to pass for
normal
life. A comfortable friendship takes over and that initial wham-powey is forgotten in the day-to-day process of familiarity. When things begin to slide downhill into mediocrity, the couple might try to find some method to regain that glorious excitement of initial discovery. When it becomes impossible for them to relive it with each other, relationships founder and one or both halves of the couple will look outside of their commitment to find the Holy Grail of excitement again. The relationship withers. We’ve all seen it. Divorce courts are filled with tales that verify this.

There
’s no doubt that Dick and I were in a relationship. It was one completely contrary to anything one would consider normal. It was a relationship based on sexual thrill-seeking. Thrills which were not sought directly with each other, rather more for each other. It was an unspoken treatise between us. He knew what I liked. I knew what he wanted and was able to supply it. A more alluring give and take than any marriage could possibly provide. We were a couple that wasn’t a couple.

As with most relationships, we
got pulled into the fringes of the other person’s life. Just as he got pulled into my work as a photographer, his friends were introduced into my life. The only difference was that within the confines of his life, I had to do the one thing I’d never done, nor had I wanted to. Pretend to be someone and something I wasn’t. I think everyone knows that we have to make sacrifices to fit within the margins of the lives of the people we care about. I managed to put this in that category. However, considering the small amounts of time I was required to play this role, it seemed a reasonable trade-off.

One by one, I got to meet the important people in his life. His fraternity brothers
: for them I pretended to be an older man just out of an unspecified, but clearly inferred heterosexual relationship. I’d taken in their friend while he established himself in his career. Whatever my reasons for opening my home to him, they were never closely scrutinized. I met their criteria for “normal” and they accepted me with no suspicions. I assumed it was because I could provide an endless supply of imported beer. When they inquired about my work as a photographer, I’d queued up the hetero romance shots on the computer for them to see. That satisfied any remaining questions they had. Dick might have been the one in the closet, but I was the one he was handing a mask to wear from inside it.

Every get-together with these guys was a festival of
‘
remember whens
.’ They’d probably remain that way for eternity. I’d heard so many stories of Dick’s conquests of women during his college years, they could have filled an entire issue of Hustler Magazine. Their admiration of his prowess with women was like the crowning jewel of their precious friendship. I began to wonder how much was real and how much exaggerated tale-telling by the
Lady Killer
.

I wondered, silently of course, how a man who clearly preferred men, could convince so many people, including the women he dated,
that he was heterosexual. He apparently had hidden talents.

I socialized with these people
strictly for his benefit. In truth, there wasn’t a one of them I really cared for. Juvenile minds in adult bodies didn’t intrigue me. Their collective lascivious laugh sessions were, in fact, annoying. But I did it because...

*  *  *

The next shoot. The next male romance script for them to follow.

My young dark-haired friend, Mike
, would portray the playful gay lifeguard with a dewy-eyed crush on the straight college jock who came to the pool to lie in the sun and study. He’d watch the stud oil his body, roll up his trunks and fall asleep in a pool chair, hooking his legs over the edges so that, both face up and down, his assets were constantly displayed to even a casual observer.

Now
, he wouldn’t say it, but Dick was himself captivated by Mike. I’m not sure what it was. The photos he’d seen of him already may have sparked his interest, or perhaps it was Mike’s lack of sexual inhibitions. The boy had a strong personality signature that made him attractive in unique ways. He oozed sexuality from every pore. He was a guy who looked like he liked to fuck, and all you would have to do was ask him. No strings attached. For a closet case attracted to men, I could see why Mike would be appealing.

Dick
also had some requests of his own, in addition to playing his scripted role in this particular shoot. He wanted Mike to believe that he was absolutely and positively one hundred percent straight. Period. I also couldn’t tell Mike that he was my roommate. He was to be introduced as simply a business acquaintance. Dick would spin the rest of the tale himself.

I set the game
in motion by informing Mike that my new straight friend had volunteered to do the male romance shoot for me as a gesture of kindness; an owed favor. He was a modeling novice, very nervous about posing with a man. He had strong reservations and might be inclined to back out of it if given half a chance. It was up to Mike to try to make him comfortable, just as he had with the model on the occasion of our first shoot by the lake. All of these things were Dick’s ideas. It brought a smile to Mike’s face as I told him. He loved his role of seducing the seemingly unattainable.

I arranged their meeting. The
‘newbie’ model, Dick, entered the apartment as if he’d never been there. He was wearing one of his light-colored business dress suits. It accentuated his recently deepened tan and the deep-set baby blues. They shook hands with gentlemanly etiquette. Stiff, reserved. One hand swallowed the other. The size discrepancy between the two men was striking. Mike was immediately smitten with Dick. His eyes fastened on him with a curious fascination. His body language was all youthful lust hidden beneath a layer of careful politeness. Their behavior reminded me of the cartoon of the bulldog with the pup bouncing around him wanting to please him.

It was just after ten in the morning as we made it to the pool. I liked to get an early start, especially when doing outside locations.
The fewer people surrounding us the better. No one was at the pool when we arrived this time. Mike knew there wouldn’t be because he was the pool boy in real life.

Everyone was in
their ‘costume.’ Swim suits for both. The jock, Dick, was in plain, dark red board shorts with a black tank top and flip-flops. His props were a beach towel, sunglasses, baby oil, and textbooks. The lifeguard, Mike, was in a pair of red Speedos he bought for the occasion with a white and red T-shirt that had his job title
Lifeguard
on the front and back in plain block letters. He’d shaved his legs for the occasion. Hairless, they looked longer. He had a whistle on a chain necklace hanging from his neck. He looked every bit the part of a real lifeguard, which of course, he was. I was also in a pair of board shorts. A lot of the time getting the shots meant I had to be in the same environment. In this shoot, that meant the pool. Even though I detested being in the water, I’d wade in waist deep, if needed, to get that extraordinary shot.

The day was already warm, promising
to be a scorcher. The sky was crisscrossed with jet streams. I set up the initial shots of the lifeguard sitting perched in his raised chair. The arrival of the college jock, wearing his sunglasses and carrying his books. through the gate. Simple shots. I took them four different times from four different angles. It was the artist in me. I’d already been in the pool twice for several angles. One, an upward shot of the lifeguard in his chair. He was striking in this shot. He had a deeper tan than the both of us. He sat with legs apart, thighs looking lissome and boyish in the tight red revealing suit. He didn’t have a big package to punch out the front of the Speedo like Dick did, but he knew how to keep it half erect for show and tell. The whistle jutted from between two pouting lips as he looked off in the distance. That was an erotic book cover all by itself. It reminded me of an old Tom of Finland homoerotic sketch.

I shot the college jock
’s arrival from the front and behind. I wanted to capture that surreptitious glance from the lifeguard as the larger man walked to his lounge chair. He looked like a strutting Colossus passing the twinkish boy. He had the jock, bandy-legged walk down to an art form. I loved doing fantasy vignettes like this.

It was great fun watching Dick
’s hard-edged execution of the role of unattainable tease. That man we all see sitting at pool’s edge that we can’t take our eyes from. The man who is the reason we put on sunglasses, so he can’t see us examining him. The one we see still covered by a bothersome hunk of clothing yet imagine him naked and in a passionate clinch (with ourselves.) Dick knew how to move his body, position himself to his best advantage, opening a provocative visual: a gap in the leg of the swim trunks to reveal a swath of leg hair or an untanned cheek, a glimpse of something naughty and moist in the shadows within. The effect on Mike was as expected. His swimsuit shrunk as the portion of him encased within expanded.

I got all the standard photos: jock diving into the pool, drying off, putting on baby oil,
positioning himself in the chair to study. All of this under the increasing curiosity of the young, black-haired lifeguard. The sunlight was working like I had a lighting coordinator. It captured the glint of golden hair on the jock’s oiled legs, the outline of toned musculature.

Mike had a few additional image ideas. Naturally they served
his own libidinous desires. Dick’s trunks should be lower on his torso. He reached to adjust them for him and almost got his hand wrenched off by my roommate, who stiffened as if offended by the other man’s touch. I knew it was purely an act. Mike didn’t. It startled him. Dick assured Mike in the most homophobic manner he could muster that he could attend to the adjustment himself. As he did so, he pulled them down further than either of us would have imagined; far enough to reveal so much untanned ass crack and pubes it made both our mouths drop. The interplay between the two of them was the cliché of agitated mouse and toying cat. Tremendous fun to watch, and it worked like a charm in the shots. The lifeguard whispered confounded curses to me. The jock whispered that he’d “saved up four days’ worth.” It was like being a referee between battling stars who are forced to perform a live porno together.

The storyline continued:
lifeguard introduced himself to the jock. They share a soda and chat. They cool off in the pool, trade stories and jokes. The typical stock shots of Harlequin romances, except with two men. The lifeguard invites the jock back to his apartment for a few cold brewskis.

*  *  *

By the time we were done with the outdoor shots, they had a natural sun-glow to their faces and upper bodies. It looked great on them. Indoors, I took some unrehearsed photos as they relaxed on the sofa while drinking their beers. More of the completely spontaneous, un-posed photos I liked to include in each shoot.

While I did the set-up for the next set, they kicked back,
got to
know
each other. Well, Mike got to know the persona that Dick had created specifically for this little fantasy of his. I refer to these as his
Con
-versations. More con than anything real.

“
I met her in college at a bar where I was working. She was the hottest thing I saw that entire semester. All the guys in the bar were hitting on her, and she was knockin’ em down like Mike Tyson; her continued rejection had bodies hitting the floor right and left.” Dick’s macho bravado.

Setting up lights, I looked back and saw Mike
gazing up at him and listening to his every word with rapt, admiring, uninterrupted attention. They were both still shirtless, in their trunks with towels wrapped around their waists. Both their tans looked deeper in the indoor light.

“
My buddies from the frat were watching all these guys fail spectacularly with her, a couple of them had gotten the old blow off themselves. So they bet the Lady Killer that I couldn’t bag and tag her that night. A hundred buck bet.”

“
Lady Killer?” Mike didn’t know or understand the moniker.

“
My nickname,” Dick explained it to him boastfully.

I tuned
their conversation out after that. It would be braggadocio bullshit just to build up his super-straight hype in Mike’s eyes. There was one thing Dick wasn’t in short supply of:
ego
. Ego that loved to be idolized. When I walked back into the living room from the studio, there were six empty beer cans on the coffee table; and one a piece in their hands. They had found a bottle of rum, which sat next to two shot glasses. They were looking happy…and friendly. However, the respectful, safe distance was still between them. The precious straight boy bubble.

I explained to them
that this was the part where the storyline became complex. The lifeguard had to seduce this big, strong, virile jock. Wild passion would ensue. All groping limbs leading to...romance. I laid it out for them just that clearly. Dick apparently had decided to carry his straight ‘act’ to the bitter end. I was annoyed by it at this point, but it seemed to be working for the photos, so I didn’t argue it.