by Neil Plakcy
“Is something wrong?” Gary asked.
He more than Larry was clearly disappointed. With the sun setting and a warm October twilight breeze whispering through the garage set, I lied and said no, there wasn’t. Larry didn’t buy it.
“Come on, don’t dick us,” he said. “Is it that we’re not good enough, because we’re not real models?”
I caught the worry in Gary’s wounded expression. This was spiraling downward, and the time to turn it around was running out.
“I don’t know. It’s…”
“It’s what, dude?”
I set down my camera. Gary tracked my movements, seeing surrender in that one action. “The energy level needs to be kicked up some. Don’t get me wrong, you both are, well…you’re amazing. I’m not bullshitting you when I say you’re a couple of walking wet dreams. It’s here, we just have to harness it.”
Gary shifted nervously from one foot to the other. “How do we do that? What have you done in the past at other photo shoots, with other models?”
I couldn’t tell them that what I did was pump their dicks, lick between their toes, fluff their stiff cocks to get my other models to relax and into character. “I’m gonna take a breather, get my head on straight, and I’ll be back.”
I walked away with an ominous sense of dread on my shoulders, convinced the shoot was doomed to failure. Under normal circumstances, cutting out was the wrong thing to do. Turns out, in this one case it was the right, best solution.
Gary followed me into the studio a few minutes later.
“Hey,” he said.
I smiled and answered with a tip of my chin, that universal gesture of greeting between males.
Gary moseyed over. He looked great in the clothes, even walked with the kind of swagger and strut his character would show while navigating obstacles in his rural, blue-collar world. Neither one of us spoke further for what seemed a very long time. Then Gary said, “I really want this, even more than the paycheck. Tell me how to make this work, man…what to do. What’s worked before?”
Not sure why, I opened the file cabinet and pulled out the studies I’d done a few weeks earlier: a dude in a baseball uniform, then out of it, his cock hard over two fat nuts. Gary looked at the color photos, wide eyed, and quickly set them back down on the desk, as though they’d burned his fingertips.
“Huh?”
“You asked, I showed you. Look, the problem here, as I see it, is that the clothes are new, but they’re too new. That’s not the man we’re trying to create for this cover. We need to loosen things up a bit. Mess them up.”
Gary fixed me with a stare, aimed a finger at the photos. “You suck his dick?”
I could have lied. I didn’t. “To get him hard and keep him hard, sure.”
“Do you think I’m in his league?”
“You and Larry, you’re beyond his league.” That, too, was the truth.
Gary reached down and unzipped his pants. “Then suck me, dude.”
“If you’re sure,” I sighed, not taking the offer seriously.
But as I watched, his jock appeared. Unable to resist, I reached for his pouch, tugged it aside. Warm balls spilled out. I worked the jock down and freed Gary’s hardening cock. I had only given it a few firm upward strokes when the sound of approaching footsteps alerted me to Larry’s presence in the house.
“Is this what you expected from us all along?”
“No,” I said. “The only thing I want out of you both is whatever comes naturally to you.”
Gary grunted. He pushed on my shoulder, guiding me down. I wasn’t sure if getting head from another guy was something that came naturally to him, but it was clear he wanted his dick sucked, and I felt fairly comfortable with helping him out.
I knelt in front of Gary and took his cock between my lips. Gary moaned in response. His nuts jumped in my hand. I sucked deeper. A real man’s taste ignited across my taste buds. From the corner of my eye, I tracked Larry, watching us at first, a look of disbelief broadcast from his eyes. But then he kicked off his boots, unzipped his pants, and shuffled closer. Without asking or being invited to, I set a hand on Larry’s shin. He tensed beneath my fingers. I pulled back on instinct.
“No, it’s okay,” he said.
I touched him again, finally able to caress his legs. A few more sucks on Gary’s cock and Larry gripped my head, guiding me toward him. His balls were hairier, sweatier than Gary’s, no less magnificent. The single eye at the crown of his dick’s head wept a cloudy tear. I lapped it up before releasing it.
“Wait,” Larry started.
But he’d misinterpreted my pulling away. Lowering, I licked him from the top of his ankle up into the hairy thatch running to knee; higher, to inner thigh, to those fat, furry balls. I suckled his nuts one at a time before taking the head of his dick again between my lips. Tangy pre-cum registered on my tongue. Larry uttered a blue streak of expletives and rose to the tops of his toes, forcing his cock down my throat. Only his nuts and the coarse hair of his crotch stopped him from going deeper.
I sucked, tugging at Larry’s balls. It soon became quite clear how much he loved having his stones worked. I caressed his legs with my free hand, enjoying the scratch of the hair beneath my fingertips.
Another hand seized hold of that wrist. Gary guided my fingers around his straining tool. “You forget I’m here, too?” he asked. Then, to Larry, he added, “Stop hogging his mouth, dude.”
I spit out Larry’s cock and moved again to my left. After a few firm sucks, I slid my tongue behind his sac and licked the funky patch of skin between his balls and his asshole.
“Fuck,” Gary moaned.
I returned my focus to his dick, taking as much of him down as I could handle without gagging. I grabbed Gary’s balls and tugged. Reaching over, I repeated the same on Larry’s set. Larry ambled closer. Their dicks crossed while attempting to seize ownership of my mouth.
“Now who’s being a hog with his hog?”
The head of Larry’s cock slipped in. I imagined their dicks rubbing together, dripping semen, the two loads mixing in my mouth. I sucked harder, yanking on balls, my own dick so hard it verged on painful.
“Suck it,” Larry ordered. “Suck on our fuckin’ cocks.”
I did as ordered. The raw smell of masculine sweat intensified. Gary was the first to turn around and present his beaut of an ass to me, inspired by my brief earlier visit to that part of his body. I spread the muscled halves of his butt and exhaled a warm breath into his hairy crack. Gary trembled.
“Do it,” he moaned.
I ran my tongue along one cheek and into the furry hole at the center and toyed with the set of balls dangling between his spread legs. Gary sucked in a hit of air. I licked, growing hungrier with the revolutions.
“Holy fuck, you’re gonna make me nut,” Gary huffed.
He spun around, stuck his cock in my face, and unloaded. Cum sprayed my tongue while balls slapped my chin. My own dick, so sore, so stiff, suffered. I worked it out, using the flow of my pre-cum for lube, and came while eating Larry’s asshole.
The world around me distorted. My entire body wanted to collapse, as though I’d transformed into one giant cock and every one of my cells had ejaculated, all in unison. Sweat stung at my eyes. The smell in the studio was manly, amazing.
Licking my lips, I pulled myself up and stuffed my dick back into my pants. “Larry, Gary,” I sighed. “Now, how about we go make history?”
They reached for their jeans and boots. I told them not to because while most times the clothes make the man, others it’s the man who makes the clothes, which turned out being the case with the Statewide Tack catalog.
“Dude, look at your fuckin’ dick,” Gary chuckled.
“I know,” Larry said. He gave his wood a squeeze, tugged on his balls, looked up, meeting my eyes, and didn’t have to ask for direction. He knew what to do next, and what I would.
I shot them from the waist up, the two young bucks wrestling, dressed only
in unbuttoned cowboy shirts and hats. From the waist down, they were naked except for their clean white socks, cocks hard and begging to be sucked. With the shoot successfully completed, I was happy to oblige.
According to that old adage, a picture’s worth a thousand words. But as I recall the conversation over the picture that changed my life, Big Jim Evans at first said only two: “Holy fuck.”
Jim, who stood somewhere close to six-five in his Keds and was truly larger than life, held the black and white proof in his giant hands, sensing greatness in the image. That picture was going to translate into millions of dollars in new sales for his company.
“I’m not into other dudes,” he added, an attractive grin showing beneath his graying mustache. “But it wouldn’t take much to turn me gay after seeing this.”
This was the potential cover of the new Statewide Tack and Supply Catalog. No “potential” about it, I knew it was the image Big Jim would choose from the images. He’d known it the instant it had crossed from his desk into his hands.
“I have three others to select from,” I said.
“No, this is it, the one. Fuck, I can’t stop looking at it.”
“I hear you,” I said. Shifting in place, I realized my dick had grown itchy and threatened to swell. I’d already jerked off twice that October Monday morning before our meeting, and that was on top of the incredible events that had taken place following the shoot itself the previous Friday night. If I wasn’t careful while leaning over Big Jim’s shoulder with the other proofs, I’d stick my dick into his back and there’d be no doubt about my having been seduced by the photo, too.
Hell, you couldn’t look at those proofs and not feel a rush of heat, a ripple of sexual curiosity. It wouldn’t surprise me if Big Jim shut the door and whipped out his cock, also rumored to be proportionately huge, the moment I left.
“You’re sure these are our guys?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely, boss. Larry McCallister and Gary Stewart.”
“Stewart’s that doofus from the warehouse, the one who wears a Cleveland Indians baseball cap?”
I nodded.
“I hate the Indians.”
I leaned away. My cock had hardened another degree. “You told me to put Statewide on the map with a new catalog cover. I’m confident this does it.”
Jim went silent for a few seconds. I could imagine his thoughts about the expansion taking place in the Statewide Tack warehouse, which was growing bigger by the week. I tried to not think about my dick or Jim’s, which could also be thickening in response to the proof. He reached down and adjusted himself, confirming my suspicion. I didn’t know whether Jim was stiff over the new catalog cover photo or the certainty that his business was poised to become an international contender. Maybe it was equal parts both.
“A job very well done,” Jim said. “The catalog’s yours for as long as you want it.”
The image was a black and white study of the two men. Larry was pressed up against Gary, one arm wrapped around his shoulder, the two cowboys who would become the faces of Statewide Tack captured in a moment before or after some form of rough-housing. Gary had the slightest of grins on his face. Larry’s eyes were tipped up, looking slightly wounded, completely sexy. Both men had been dirtied around the edges and looked like they’d just worked a hard day’s shift. Only we three knew the real story. Hard, all right. It was an honest image. It was perfect.
“Yeah,” I said. “I think you’ve got your catalog cover.”
The irony is that I took the job mostly for the money, even though there wasn’t a lot of it at the start. Looking at the proof, I realized I had also achieved a kind of love for the assignment that I hadn’t dreamed possible on the day Jim Augusta pitched me on the idea. The photo in Jim’s hands wasn’t a sailor dipping a woman on the street in Times Square or soldiers raising the American flag over Iwo Jima, but it was iconic. It was beautiful.
It was fucking hot.
I knew it. So did Big Jim.
“That’s the one,” he repeated.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
GAVIN ATLAS, at age twenty-four, was once offered the opportunity to model for an artist but was too shy. His published fiction includes a story collection, The Boy Can’t Help It. He lives in Houston with his boyfriend, John. He can be reached at www.GavinAtlas.com.
BEARMUFFIN’s fiction has appeared in several anthologies from Alyson and Cleis Press. He writes for Honcho, Torso, and Mandate. A devotee of raunchy, anonymous sex, Bearmuffin lives in San Diego and hangs out in adult bookstores, sex clubs, and bathhouses in a never-ending search for grist for his pornographic mill.
MICHAEL BRACKEN’s short fiction has been published in Best Gay Romance 2010, Beautiful Boys, Biker Boys, Black Fire, Boy Fun, Boys Getting Ahead, Country Boys, Freshmen, The Handsome Prince, Homo Thugs, Hot Blood: Strange Bedfellows, The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 4, Men, Muscle Men, Teammates, and many other anthologies and periodicals.
HEIDI CHAMPA has been published in numerous anthologies, including College Boys, Like Magnets We Attract, Skater Boys, and Hard Working Men. Her first novella, White Out, was recently published. Find more online at heidichampa.blogspot. com.
R. W. CLINGER divides his time between Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and Tarpon Springs, Florida. His fiction has appeared in various gay magazines and story compilations: Teammates, Boys Getting Ahead, and Men at Noon, Monsters at Midnight. His novels include The Pool Boy and Soft on the Eyes. R. W. is currently at work on a new gay novel.
LANDON DIXON’s writing credits include Options, Beau, In Touch/Indulge, Three Pillows, Men, Freshmen, [2], Mandate, Torso, Honcho, Bear, and stories in the anthologies Straight? Volume 2, Friction 7, Working Stiff, Sex by the Book, I Like It Like That, Boys Caught in the Act, Service with a Smile, Boys Getting Ahead, Nerdvana, Homo Thugs, Black Fire, Boy Fun, Ultimate Gay Erotica 2005, 2007, and 2008, and Best Gay Erotica 2009.
GARLAND is the pen name of a full-time actor and writer living in Hollywood, California, who has also worked as a model, yes, including as a nude model. Garland’s short stories have appeared in SexTime: Erotic Stories of Time Travel, Teammates, Tented: Gay Erotic Tales from Under The Big Top, Boy Fun, Cougars on the Prowl, The Bad Girl’s Sweet Kiss, and Ultimate Uniforms. His website is www.garlandserotictales.webs.com.
CYNTHIA HAMILTON’s erotic fiction has been published in Best Women’s Erotica 2011, edited by Violet Blue. She has also sold a dark fantasy erotica story to the anthology Cthul-hurotica .
T. HITMAN’s stories, long and short, have been accepted into a number of new homes, including Rockets, Swords, and Rainbows: New Tales of Science Fiction, Jack O’spec: Tales of Halloween and Fantasy, Dark Things V, and Richard Labonte’s Hot Jocks.
AARON MICHAELS’s fiction has appeared in numerous anthologies, including Skater Boys, Surfer Boys, and Hard Hats, as well as online at TorquereBooks.com. Aaron lives in northern Nevada and can be found on the web at www.aaron-michaels.com.
EMILY MORETON’s publishing credits include stories in Chroma Journal, Foreigness, Ripple Effect, Necking, Making Contact, In Uniform, Cast The Cards, Naughty November, Pour Some Sugar on It, and Twelve Tales of Recovery.
CLANCY NACHT has published several successful gay erotica novels and short stories since 2009 with Loose Id and Noble Romance. She was published in Smooth: Erotic Stories for Women anthology in October 2010.
STEPHEN OSBORNE has had numerous stories published in various anthologies, including Hard Hats, Best Gay Love Stories 2010, Queer Wolf, and Service with a Smile. He is also the author of South Bend Ghosts and Other Northern Indiana Haunts. You can follow him (and Jadzia the Wonder Dog) on Twitter under the name southbendghosts.
ROB ROSEN, author of Sparkle: The Queerest Book You’ll Ever Love and Divas Las Vegas, which was the winner of the 2010 TLA Gaybies for Best Gay Fiction, has contributed to more than a hundred anthologies, most notably Best Gay Love Stories 2006, Best Gay Romance (2007, 2008, 2009, and 2010), Best Gay Love Stories: New York City, Best
Gay Love Stories: Summer Flings, Ultimate Gay Erotica 2008 and 2009, and Best Gay Love Stories 2009. Please visit him at www.thero-brosen.com.
Residing on English Bay in Vancouver, Canada, JAY STARRE pumps out erotic fiction for gay men’s magazines and has also written steamy gay fiction for more than four dozen anthologies. These include Best Gay Romance 2008, Best Gay Bondage, Bears, Surfer Boys, and Special Forces. He is the author of two historical erotic novels, The Erotic Tales of the Knights Templars and The Lusty Adventures of the Knossos Prince.
Despite the fact that CONNOR WRIGHT has a deep and abiding appreciation for boys who skate and snowboard, he can barely walk and chew gum at the same time. He lives, works, and writes in the greater Pacific Northwest region with several helpful cats, none of whom can type.
LOGAN ZACHARY is an occupational therapist and mystery author living in Minneapolis, where he is an avid reader and book collector. His stories can be found in Hard Hats, Taken by Force, Boys Caught in the Act, Ride ’em Cowboy, Service with a Smile, and Best Gay Erotica 2009. He can be reached at [email protected].
ABOUT THE EDITOR
NEIL PLAKCY is the author of the Mahu mystery series about openly gay Honolulu homicide detective Kimo Kanapa’aka. Books in the series are Mahu, Mahu Surfer, Mahu Fire, Mahu Vice, Mahu Men, and Mahu Blood. He also writes the Have Body, Will Guard adventure romance series, Three Wrong Turns in the Desert, Dancing with the Tide, and Teach Me Tonight.
