Gay Erotic Stories

one i got the job because i was a gay man who knew how to keep his mouth shut. it’s a rarer quality in these days than some might think. that’s not the entire reason, but it’s a good place to start. the real beginning was with kevin. now, kevin did not show up at the bars all that much. i might see him there maybe once a month. but he always spoke to me, and i remembered him when i usually forgot everybody else because we had several interests in common which were not widely shared. at least not shared among the people i knew. for one thing, we could stand at the bar belting down shots and discussing henry james. if you’re asking ‘henry james who?’, well . . . that just proves my point. we also had a certain physical similarity. not all that difficult if you’re basically clones—as we both were—but still we could have been mistaken for brothers. a certain look about the eyes, maybe. and there was that other matter. kevin and i had been to bed together exactly once. we had both been a little startled by what happened there. it was too weird. let me only say that we found out that we shared a certain hidden peculiarity, a certain deep kink—there are no other words for it. it worked very well for the one night, but we could not have done the same thing every time, and to do other things would have been rather anticlimactic. we had done it to the limit on the first date, so what was left for us to do after that? the point is that we—well, at least i did—felt a kind of bond. it was the bond of two people who shared a secret. the spectre of what we had done the first time was always hovering there, not speaking but present. i liked it that someone knew something about me that no one else did. as i said, i would only see him every now and then. it was only after about six months that i finally found out what he did for a living. he was what is referred to as a “personal assistant”. you may have seen the words “assistant to . . .” in the end credits for a movie. this was basically a glorified go-fer position where you did whatever the star required, whether it was to pick up their dry cleaning or get them tickets to the smashing pumpkins concert. and other things. you get the idea. kevin was a success at this. he was in demand to some extent for his knowledge and his expertise in getting the day-to-day tasks done. but his particular field of expertise was the “other things”. for this part, i may as well be blunt. kevin had a reputation for being a particularly good p.a. for gay actors. kevin did a lot of work for gay actors because he knew how to keep his mouth shut. back to me again. we were standing in the bar one night and talking about other things when he brought this out. “you know, you never ask me about work.” “it’s your job,” i said. “who wants to discuss that here?” he nodded. “but you know what i do. why don’t you ever ask me about the people i work for? anybody else would.” i really didn’t have to think this one through. “it doesn’t matter to me,” i said. “i’m not all that interested. unless you start working for madonna. in which case i will beg and plead and grovel until you take me to meet her.” he laughed. “not likely to happen. way out of my league. but you do know who i’ve worked with.” “yeah, whatever.” he looked at me. “you’re really not impressed, are you?” truth be told, i wasn’t. the fact is, i spend enough time wondering and worrying about my own life to care about some movie star that i’d never meet, except in the occasional jerkoff fantasy. i shook my head. “no. you know and i know that they’re just people. very famous people, maybe. but it’s still just their job.” “what about the gay ones?” “if you’re going to tell me that so-and-so and his new boyfriend are having problems, i might be interested. but that’s just because i like to study relationships and how they do—or do not—work. but even then, i’m sure that famous gay men are not really all that much more interesting than any other gay man. which isn’t saying a lot, by the way. and, anyway, i have always maintained that if you get any gay man, no matter how famous, in bed, he’s just another dog looking for some dick. it’s the great equalizer.” kevin observed me curiously. “but you have no real experience with sleeping with the famous?” “no,” i admitted. “my opinion is based on no real experience. but that doesn’t mean i doubt at all that i’m right. i know many things that i have no reason to know. besides, i’ve slept with enough men to know that nothing—their personality, their looks, or their desirability—matters when you get them to bed. either you click or you don’t. either they’re a good fuck or they’re not. it’s all about chemistry. not about popularity. or looks. actually—when you get right down to it—all that matters is one thing.” “what?” kevin asked. “kevin! and you call yourself a gay man. all that matters is the size of their dick.” kevin laughed and agreed and the subject was dropped. two i saw him in the bar again on a friday night two weeks later. “this is unusual,” i said. “twice in a month. are we unemployed now?” “we are not unemployed,” he answered. “we are working in santa fe.” “i’ve never been. what’s it like?” “pretentious chic. too much money and too straight.” “and that’s why you’re here.” “mostly,” he said. “actually i came up to see you.” now this was odd, although i couldn’t quite yet tell you why. “me?” “well, yes. i thought you might be able to help me out with a little problem.” “which is?” he paused. “you know, matt, i like you.” “thanks, kev. i like you too.” where was this going? “and i think i know you well enough to trust you.” at this i was slightly offended. of course i was trustworthy. i tried to hide my reaction. it didn’t work. “now don’t get all huffy with me,” he went on. “you know as well as i do exactly what our relationship has been so far and i think that i’ve been honest with you and i’m pretty sure you’ve been honest with me.” this was not lessening my sensitivity on the matter. i shifted my feet. “maybe i was wrong,” he said. “forget i said anything.” not so easily done. we stood there a minute or two, each roasting in his sense of offense. this was just long enough so that—when our eyes met again—we both cracked up laughing. we were—after all—too much alike. or so i thought then. “i’m sorry,” i opened. “you have offended my sense of honor and i must demand satisfaction. how about tomorrow morning at dawn, sarcasm at ten paces?” he sighed. “oh, god. is this what it’s come to? that you think you can’t trust anybody?” i had to nod and agree. “it’s a hard world. it’s not living up to my expectations.” “mine either. do you want another beer?” “sure.” when he came back, he suggested that we go out to the patio. there was a slight chill in the april air, so there weren’t many people back there. we apparently were going to have a private conversation. “o.k.,” he said. “here goes.” of course i was curious. “i am working in santa fe.” “yes, so you said.” “they’re filming this movie there about some wacko artist having a nervous breakdown. a painter. lots of flashbacks and hallucinations and heavy drama.” “sounds divine.” “it might work and it might not. barbaron is directing.” “i liked ‘simple minds’. i thought his version of ‘sister carrie’ was a load of crap.” “whatever. anyway, i’m assistant to the actor playing the artist.” “who is . . . ?” kevin paused, then jumped. “(a)” i looked at him. “you’re kidding.” kevin sighed. “no, i’m not. actually, i’ve worked with him a couple of times before. we met when he was still doing indies and i was just delivering the coffee.” i had to pause a second. i knew the next words to come out of my mouth were beneath me. but i doubt if anyone on the planet, no matter how hip he may have thought himself to be—like me—could have avoided saying them. i looked at kevin, and saw in his eyes that he already knew what was coming. “and is he . . . ?” “yes.” so do you want to be clued in? it was long a subject of speculation whether (a) was gay or not. that’s all. “my!” i said. kevin continued. “. . . and no.” i looked at him. “now, listen . . .” he sighed. “i knew i was going to have to explain this.” “i don’t see where there’s that much to explain. does the man suck dick or not?” kevin considered me. “will you just stop? i know you’re not this dense.” “maybe i am.” “no, you’re not.” “then explain it to me.” kevin waited a second. “you know . . . what would happen if the media got hold of this and brought him out?” “it would be a better day for gays all over the world?” “maybe. but you know most people would still treat it like it was a nasty little piece of dirt.” i had to nod agreement. he continued. “o.k., let start with that. now, there’s something else.” “go on.” he collected his thoughts. “i’ve gotten to know him. a little bit anyway. he’s not the most outgoing person in the world. but i think i’ve learned a few things about how his mind works and what he’s really like as a person. there’s something going on in him that has nothing to do with being gay. he’s operating—or thinks he’s operating—above it.” “‘above it’?” “i don’t think he really thinks of himself as ‘gay’. or ‘straight’ or anything else, for that matter. he thinks it’s a non-issue. he thinks that his consciousness, his being, his essence, or whatever, is something . . . bigger. he thinks that being gay is just a little part of all that. of who he really is.” “so he’s a flake in denial.” kevin put down his beer. “stop it,” he said. uh-oh, i thought. “stop what?” he looked at me fiercely. “stop being so goddamn trivial. i know you’re not. do you think i’d be telling you all this if i thought you were just like all these other goddamn queens in here? i thought i could trust you.” i was hurt. “you can trust me.” “i mean trust you to be real.” oh. that. what can i say? i know that i get carried away sometimes. then i have to stop, clear my mind, and focus on the moment. i could tell this was one of those times. i followed my instincts. i put down my beer, held his face between my hands and kissed him. he kissed back. when we stopped, we looked closely into each other’s eyes. got it. “o.k.,” i said. “i’m ready. hit me.” kevin looked at me. “he’s in town with me now. i want to bring him by your place tomorrow night.” well, didn’t see that one coming. “o.k. and . . . ?” kevin kept going. “he might have a proposition for you.” “a ‘proposition’?” “yeah.” “what kind?” “i can’t say.” “you can’t or you won’t?” kevin looked at me. “won’t. but . . . ,” he paused. “what?” he took a deep breath. “he might want to watch us have sex.” well, what do you think i said? i said yes. three the thing i am most proud of is that i didn’t clean house. i didn’t dust, i didn’t vacuum, i didn’t do jack. except change the sheets. about eight i heard kevin’s knock at the door. when i opened it, he said “hey” and kissed me, and he came in. (a) walked in behind him. kevin introduced us and we shook hands. they sat on the couch and i got us all beers. we made small talk for a while. (a) was pleasant, if a little withdrawn. kevin and i held up the conversation. as i could, i looked at (a). i tried to picture him as just another one of kevin’s friends. i could, mostly. as one of kevin’s very good-looking friends. but close up, i could see what wasn’t visible on the movie screen. like a little scar at the corner of his mouth. or the way a certain tiredness showed around his eyes. or maybe it was only that he looked older in person. every now and then i tried to draw him in. “like the beard,” i said. he grinned and scratched the dark scruffy growth on his chin. “yeah, well. they think it makes me look more ‘artistic’.” he said the last word with an ironic lift to his eye. we all laughed. i was trying not to be self-conscious, but i think all of us were trying to do the same. it was inevitable that a silence would fall. (a) said, “kevin tells me you’re a pretty cool guy.” i shrugged. “yes, i am. i am cool beyond belief. i am even cooler than kevin.” kevin would have none of it. “i don’t know about that. we are equally cool.” “we are equally cool.” i toasted toward him with my beer. (a) said, “and you do look a lot alike, like he told me.” i felt the shift in the room. we were on our way. “yes,” i said. kevin and i looked at each other. who’s going to do this? i knew it would have to be me. but what should i say? the silence was pressing. i spoke without thinking. “i like kevin.” “i like you, too,” he replied. i continued. “he has faith in me. kevin thinks i can be real, if i try.” “‘real’?” (a) asked. “yeah, ‘real’.” kevin smiled. “i have hopes.” “‘real’.” (a) echoed, puzzled. what? have you not heard the word before? kevin explained. “matt can sometimes be . . . ,” he paused. “i can’t wait for this,” i said. kevin looked at me. “you perform sometimes.” now (a) and i both looked puzzled. “i’ve seen you in the bar,” kevin continued. “you put on a show. i understand what you’re doing. but sometimes i don’t think you know when the show stops and real life begins.” i looked at (a). “i have no idea what he is talking about,” i lied. (a) picked up the ball. “kevin should get a job in the movies. i’ve heard they constantly deal with reality there.” under our double assault, kevin laughed and threw up his hands. “i give up,” he sighed. “i should have known better than to make a serious point with either of you.” “i can be serious,” i said. “i’ve been told i’m too serious,” (a) added. i glanced at him. “i’ve been told . . . ” he looked at me intently. “what?” i hesitated. how to put this diplomatically? hell, may as well throw the blame on kevin. “kevin’s told me that you’re very philosophical.” (a) considered this. “i don’t know about that. i think about things.” “well, who doesn’t?” (a) fixed me with a look again. “a lot of people don’t.” may as well go all the way with this. “what do you think about sex?” (a)’s voice dropped slightly. “why do you ask?” was he being defensive? hey, this was my house. i make the rules here. “i think i have a right to ask, if you’re going to watch me fuck.” (a) paused. “does that bother you?” “no, it doesn’t bother me. but i want to know why. do you get off on watching guys fuck?” he didn’t blink. “no. that’s not it. didn’t kevin explain all this to you?” “no, he didn’t.” we both looked at kevin. “kevin?” i said. he spoke to (a), though. “i wasn’t sure how much you wanted me to tell him.” (a) looked at kevin for a second, then at me, then back to kevin. “tell him.” “why can’t you tell me?” i challenged. (a) paused again. i was beginning to see what kevin meant. there was a distance to (a) and everything he did or said. it was as if he always thought beforehand about exactly what he was going to say. there was a determination not to say the wrong thing. or to give anything away. or maybe he just wasn’t all that bright. i wasn’t sure yet. “i need to find someone i can trust,” he began slowly. “i need to be able to come here and not have anyone know who i am.” “yes. and . . .?” (a) did not waver now, i’ll grant him that. “i want someone to go out and find men for me to have sex with.” i was, frankly, appalled. “go find your own fuckin’ men!” kevin shifted uneasily on the couch. (a)—however—wasn’t fazed. “it’s not like that. i want . . . i mean it’s part of what we’d be doing. i don’t want to pick them. i don’t care who they are or what they look like.” “you don’t care.” he actually looked surprised. “no. i don’t. i don’t think it’s important. kevin told me what you said about men and dick. that’s what i think, too. the men aren’t important.” “i don’t think i said that the men weren’t important,” i protested. (a) gathered his thoughts. “here’s what we’d do,” he said. “you’d go out and get some guy and bring him back here. i would be . . . uh, tied up. and wearing something over my head. so he couldn’t tell who i am. and he and i would do . . . whatever. then he would leave.” and i thought i was appalled before. “what!?” kevin felt the need to calm me down, i think. “we’ve done this before,” he said. i turned to him, open-mouthed. “then what do you need me for?” “we’re going to be in santa fe for a while,” he explained. “it’s not a long drive. we won’t have to be flying in and out of the airport all the time and attracting attention. it would be very convenient.” i leaned back in my chair and drank my beer. my mind was a little numbed by the proposal. “why does the word ‘pimp’ keep going through my mind?” i said. (a) laughed. “don’t think of it that way,” he said. “think of it as doing something different. something out of the ordinary.” “something different? me wearing a polo shirt would be something different. this is downright weird.” at this, (a) took offense. “no, it isn’t,” he said quietly. “in the first place, it’s fairly safe for me. you know what i mean.” “i know what you mean,” i replied. “the publicity thing.” he nodded. “and the rest of it . . . well, it’s the way i want to do it. it’s where i am right now. sexually, i mean. and from what kevin tells me, you’re adventurous. i mean, you and he have. . . ” he left the sentence unfinished. excuse me? wrong new information, bud. “we’ve what?” (a) realized that he had crossed some border without knowing it. he looked flustered. i felt my anger rise. or maybe i was embarrassed. “what have we done, kevin?” i’ll have to say that he looked suitably ashamed of himself. enough so that he couldn’t say anything. “what did you tell him?” i demanded. he couldn’t answer me. “i see,” i said. “i’m sorry,” he muttered under his breath. “fuck you,” i said under my breath. “don’t give me any more of your shit about trusting people.” he sat there with his hand over his mouth, looking off to the wall. (a) tried to fix things. “don’t take it out on him.” i glared at him. “this is not your business, star boy.” (a)’s eyes widened in surprise. the whole situation was hanging by a thread. nobody wanted to talk or look at anybody else. “so this wasn’t just about watching us fuck, was it, kevin?” silence. “what did you think you were going to do, kevin? score some points with the boss?” (a) started, “i think he . . .” “shut up,” i said. kevin looked up then. but he looked at (a), not at me. not at me. i see. it was o.k. to keep (a)’s secrets, but mine—ours—didn’t matter. yeah, matt. you forgot. it’s a hard world. then—right then—i had another one of those moments. like when i had taken kevin’s face in my hands in the bar and kissed him. a moment of pure instinct. only this was not a happy moment. i felt something black come to life inside my stomach. i didn’t have to think. i knew exactly what i was going to do that evening. it wasn’t the way any of us had expected it to start, but here it was now. i got up and walked over to kevin. i reached down, took his hand, and led him off to the next room. my bedroom. (a) was not on my mind, not really. i lay down on my bed and pulled kevin down beside me. the words came out of my mouth automatically. “what did you do, kevin? what did you tell him about me?” he tried to turn away from me, but i wouldn’t let him. i wasn’t mean. but i was determined. i kept holding his hand in mine as i moved my body next to his. “kevin?” he wouldn’t meet my eyes. “kevin, what did you tell him?” i heard footsteps. (a) had come to the door of my bedroom and was watching us. “what did you tell him?” he wouldn’t answer me. i looked up at (a). “sit down,” i said. (a) sat in the chair that faced the left side of the bed. “don’t you like me, kevin?” i whispered. he looked up at me, sadly. i’ll get you now, i thought. i kissed kevin. i started to undress him. when i opened his shirt, he sighed. i took his nipple in my mouth. my hand rubbed his chest. he lay there and let me. i didn’t rush anything. i lay my body on top of his and kept kissing him. i pushed my crotch into his, until i felt that we were both hard in our jeans. i squeezed his meat through the denim. i unbuttoned my jeans and got my dick out. i rolled off and pushed his head down to it. he sucked my cock for a while. if sucking dick can be an apology, he was trying his best. i wasn’t having any of it though. i put a hand on the back of his head and pushed down. he started to gag. i held him down there. he sucked harder. i took his head in both hands and pushed. he started choking. and sucking harder. i looked at (a). he was watching. but not massaging his crotch, or anything. just watching. i kept kevin down there sucking on me some more, until it was dripping with his spit, while i thought. we were still mostly dressed—shirts open and pants only halfway off. i turned him around so i could get at his dick too. i liked having his cock in my mouth. remember, this was only the second time we had been to bed together, so his meat was still fairly new to me. kevin’s dick wasn’t as long as mine, but he was thicker, and hairier down there. i took it all the way down on the first try and buried my face in his crotch. in response, he pushed his cock deep down into my throat. his balls were on my face. i reached around with my hands and grabbed his butt from both sides, pulling it apart. we really got into it then. eating cock and moaning. holding each others body tightly and wrestling on the bed. slurping and thrusting our hardons into our mouths. we pulled apart and took off the rest of our clothes. i looked over at (a). still nothing. kevin glanced at him too, but (a) only gave him the flicker of a look. kevin and i got back together on the bed. you know how when you are finally both naked how things change. your hands go everywhere. you mouth goes everywhere. you feel like they are finally there. with you. maybe that’s ‘real’. maybe it isn’t. kevin and i kissed. and held each other’s cocks in our hands and our mouths. we each sucked on the other one, or got down and took their balls in our mouth. but mostly there was a lot of licking. on the dick, on the chest, on the face. we had been in bed for maybe twenty minutes. things were going well. as far as kevin was concerned. but i hadn’t forgotten. when i thought i was ready, i got up and sat on his chest. i was holding his wrists down on the bed. “hey,” i whispered. “hey,” he said. he looked almost shy. i began. “do you want to . . . ?” “what?” “you know . . .” he knew. that thing. then he saw that i had something on my mind. something like revenge. “matt . . .” “what, kevin?” “don’t.” “don’t what?” “don’t do this.” “you told him what we did, kevin. don’t you think he wants to see if it’s really true?” “i’m sorry.” “too late.” he turned his head to the side to avoid my eyes. i pressed his wrists down harder into the bed. “do you want me to show him what we did, kevin?” he wouldn’t answer me. didn’t matter. i reached over and got my jeans. i took my belt out of them. i made a loop through the buckle and put the loop around kevin’s head, across his mouth. i tightened it so that his mouth was held open by the leather. i wrapped the rest of the belt around his head several more times, until it was tight, and then tucked the end in. i sat back and considered my work. i liked what i saw. “do you want to see ‘real’, kevin?” i asked. i wasn’t expecting an answer. his expression was dead in the middle between fear and lust. i looked at (a). i couldn’t see his eyes in the dark of the bedroom, but i thought that maybe they were shining, just a little. “hey, you. do you want to see the rest?” i asked. he nodded yes. i got the other stuff i would need to use on kevin and laid it out on the bed. before i began, i had one more thing to say. “kevin.” i had his full attention. “let’s do it harder this time.” his cock was a fucking iron bar. i got to work. four was it any hotter for me than usual, because we were being watched? oh, yeah. i mean, the thing we did was freaky enough. it was something i fantasized about when i was jerking off sometimes. i had fantasized about doing it with guys who would probably never let me do it to them. not (a), but maybe somebody like him. i’m only human. i’m not going to tell you what i did to kevin. except that it took a while. and that i broke a sweat doing it to him. i made that bastard come like a fucking firehose. then i jerked off on his face. i came hard too. as my cum turned to liquid and ran down both sides of his face, i wiped it off with my hand. there was some red, too, from the blood. kevin’s. i fed it into his mouth. i looked over at (a). was he disturbed or fascinated? whatever. i glanced back down as kevin—eyes closed, still in the thrall of sex—hungrily licked and sucked my fingers clean. “hah,” i grunted, looking back at (a), no doubt with a smirk on my face. his head tilted a little to one side. he stared at me as if i had suddenly become an object of intense interest to him. it was as if he had finally seen the thing that he had been looking for all along. watching kevin and me have sex for his own entertainment hadn’t been the point at all. and what i had considered our perversity had not startled him. if anything it showed him what i could do. what i was capable of. it was my reaction to kevin’s expression of hunger—my laugh and my smile and the glance i gave (a)—that showed him something about me. something he had been waiting for but had not really expected to find. something which—for quite a while afterwards—i myself could not have defined. “yeah,” he said. “i think we can do business.” i slapped kevin’s face lightly and went and took a shower. i guess (a) had to untie him. five i also got the job because i owned my own house. that made the logistics easier. this is how it worked. short version. every two or three weeks kevin would call and tell me that he and (a) were coming to town. when it got to be that night, i would go out to the bar as usual, about ten-thirty or eleven. i would call kevin before i left the house to let him know i was leaving. i had given him a key. when i finally hooked someone, i would call back to my house. kevin would answer. i would let him know i was on my way home with the meat. kevin would fix up (a), and then drive back to the hotel and wait there for our call that we were done. he would come and pick up (a) and they would leave. long version. every week or two—never more—kevin would call and tell me that he and (a) were coming to town. when it got to be that night, i would go out to the bar as usual. when i got there, my work began. i would scope out the crowd, figuring out who would be a likely prospect, who would be agreeable to what i would be proposing. sometimes that was no problem. sometimes it would be more difficult. i had to change the way i worked the bar. i wasn’t trying to find someone that i wanted to fuck. (a) had said that looks weren’t important, so that wasn’t a problem. instead, i had to look for guys who were deeply horny. or sometimes maybe just trashy. guys who were ready to fuck practically anyone without caring about anything else. fortunately, it was the year 2000 and the world was not in short supply of them. i would see some guy standing off by himself, looking like a wolf at everyone who walked by. i would go over to him and strike up a conversation, as best i could. i had to change my line of talk. none of this ‘what do you do for a living’ bullshit. it was now ‘what kind of fuck are you looking for’ bullshit. the direct approach worked best. i’d talk about guys in the bar. say how i’d fucked that one over there and how he was a really bottom pig. tell about the time i stayed late at the bar and blew that bartender on the pool table. some of it was true, but i made up a lot of stuff too. i kept this line of crap going until i was sure that the guy i was talking to was all dick and no brain. then—just after he put his hand on my box . . . “no, thanks.” he’d usually look at me all pissed. “why the fuck not?” i’d fix him with my deadest look. “i’m not looking for myself tonight. i’m looking for someone to do my boyfriend.” the reaction at this point varied. if i had calculated correctly—which incidentally, i usually did—they would still be interested. if not more interested. “where is he?” they would ask, their eyes wandering loosely around the bar. “oh, he’s not here. i left him at home tied up. i tie him up and leave him there and then i come out and find someone like you to stick your dick in his mouth.” now, being suspicious, they would say . . . “what, he some kind of troll or something?” “nope.” “then why isn’t he here?” “i told you. i tie him up and then i come out to get somebody to do him. it’s what we like.” granted, it occasionally took them a few minutes to digest this. for some reason i often thought how the dinosaurs were supposed to have two brains, one in their head and another in their tail, and how it was supposed to take several minutes for a signal to pass from one to another. “is he cute?” “you’ll never know. he’s going to be wearing a leather hood.” “what?” jesus god, how many times do i have to explain this to you, you stupid fuck. “he’s at home. he’s tied to a chair. he’s wearing a leather hood. he’s waiting for me to get somebody to come back and put their cock in his mouth.” “and?” hit ‘em. “and he’s got a big dick.” like shooting fish in a barrel. “well, maybe i can do this.” “great. let me get you another drink.” and go make a telephone call. we would get back to my place. the trick would walk in, looking all curious. “well, where is he?” at this point, my work was basically done. i would lead the guy to a room i had at the back of the first floor. it had been my guest bedroom, but we had cleared all that stuff out. now we just kept the props there. the room would be dark. when i turned on the overhead light—which kevin had insisted should be no more than twenty-five watts—they would see (a). he would be sitting in a wooden chair—(a)’s idea—his hands tied together behind the back of the chair and his ankles tied to the front legs. usually he would be wearing only a pair of jeans. and the black hood. it was my job at this point to make sure the hood stayed on. i’m sure it was a matter of relief for many of our guests to see that my ‘boyfriend’ was in fact not a troll. their usual reaction was “damn!” the trick would turn to me. “now, what?” “whatever. just leave him tied up and leave the hood on.” the trick would turn back to (a). he would walk up and run his hand over (a)’s chest. he might hold onto one of (a)’s nipples and pinch it. (a) would respond by tilting his head in that direction. the trick would turn to me. “what are you going to do?” “watch.” the trick would look from me to (a) and back. i’d get it started. “put your dick in his mouth.” the trick would undo his pants and take out his cock. there was a zipper over (a)’s mouth which he would have to open. (a) would let his jaw drop and the trick would put his cock in (a)’s mouth. (a) would suck the guy’s cock. the trick usually got hard real fast at this point. (a) would lean his head forward as far as he could and go up and down on the trick’s cock. the trick would put his hands on the back of the hood and start fucking (a)’s mouth. sometimes, if the trick’s cock was really big, the edges of the zipper around (a)’s mouth would dig into their shaft. they didn’t seem to mind. i would just stand there and watch (a) suck their cocks. he would get into it, i guess. what i mean is . . . he would suck them and give off the occasional moan. but it was kind of like when you watch pornos and they’re drooling and licking dicks like you or me or anybody else, but you can tell that they’re not really into it. like they’re doing their job, and that’s about it. or about all. so the answer to my question to kevin was ‘yes’. (a) did suck dick. but not like he really cared. of course at some point the trick would want to see the big cock i had told them about. they would pull their dick out of (a)’s mouth and unbutton his jeans. (a) would lift his butt the best he could off the chair. the trick would usually pull (a)’s jeans down and leave them wrapped around his ankles, above the rope. when they saw (a)’s dick, they weren’t disappointed. i’d say about nine inches. a small head, but the shaft was thick and wide and curved up nicely. the trick would go “oh, yeah, baby” and get down on their knees in front of (a)’s chair and suck him. for the sake of reality—and, i must admit, out of my own interest—i would move around so that i could watch (a) getting sucked off. the trick—like any good fag—went at it with a vengeance. big cock, happy cocksucker. i would watch them grab hold of the base of (a)’s cock so they could feed it into their own mouth better. (a) would slide down a little bit in his chair, as far as his ropes would allow, and push his cock out for them. his head would fall back as if he could see something on the ceiling. he didn’t say anything. he had the concentration of the blindfolded who are trying the focus their attention on their dick getting sucked. i would watch as the trick covered (a)’s cock with their spit, or get down and eat (a)’s balls. up until this point, this was how it generally went. then the trick would ask me in. “hey, man. let me suck your cock too.” in the beginning, i would mostly say “no, man. just do him.” and then the trick would go from there. sometimes i would say “why don’t you blow him and then jerk off on his face.” and they would. they would blow and jerk off (a) until he shot his load up onto his stomach. then (a) would suck them some more until they were ready to come. (a) would hold his mouth open enough for them to get all turned on, but they usually missed that hole and shot over his chest, or onto the hood. and that was the end of the evening. the trick would go and i would untie (a). his head and hair would be all moist and sweaty from being in the hood. he would look down at the cum on his stomach or chest. i would untie his arms and his legs and then call kevin to come pick him up. six how long did it take for me to get around to having sex with (a)? not long. it was on the fourth one of these scenes. for the first couple of them it was hard enough for me to get the act together. i mean, the pickup and all. and then i felt that, after all, this was (a)’s dime—so to speak—so he should be getting the goods. but after i got the hang of the pickup, it began to get boring—and i began to feel left out—when i watched him and the trick getting it on. i wanted in. not because it was (a), but because i wanted to get involved in some hot three-way sex action. the guy i brought home that night was goodlooking. when i saw him going down on (a)’s cock i got turned on really fast. seeing (a)’s thick white cock disappearing into the guy’s mouth made me pull my dick out of my pants and start to stroke it. what the hell. (a) didn’t know. but of course the guy saw. when he lifted his head from sucking (a) he saw me and my hardon. he stroked (a)’s cock as he watched me. then he went back down on (a), but looked at me while he was doing it. he figured i liked seeing my boyfriend get blown. so he put on a show, sucking and licking (a)’s dick, but keeping his eyes on me. what else could i do. i walked over. the trick moved his attention to my cock. he kept one hand on (a)’s meat while he blew me. (a) sensed it. i could tell he was listening. it didn’t take him long to figure out what was what. no response, though. the guy blew me for a while, until i got up the courage to do what i knew i wanted to do. i got down on the other side of (a) and took his cock into my mouth while the trick held it around the base. finally, i thought. maybe it was partly from being able to say to myself that i was sucking (a)’s cock, but mostly it was just that he had a big dick and it tasted good and full in my mouth. yeah, even me. big cock, happy cocksucker. i could tell you (a)’s response to this if i had been paying any attention whatsoever. but all i was concentrating on was sucking his dick. taking that thick piece of long pale meat in my mouth and trying to tighten my lips around it. the trick took his hand off of it and moved onto the other side. we shared. licking up and down the sides of the shaft, taking turns sucking and licking (a)’s balls. kissing each other before dropping our mouths back down to suck (a) some more. i stood up and put my cock in (a)’s mouth. he did the usual—no more or no less. the trick kept blowing him and i kept pushing my cock into his mouth. it began to frustrate me a little that he wasn’t showing any great response. i mean, he had never really shown a lot of heat in any of the scenes, but when i was involved, i wanted more. i found myself holding his head and pushing his mouth down onto my cock more vigorously. enough to choke him once or twice maybe. what did i care. i could get off this ride at any time, as far as i was concerned. the trick saw what i was doing and stood up. i pulled my cock out of (a)’s mouth and he put his in. he facefucked (a) for a while. we kissed while he did that and i stroked my dick. i came. i aimed my load onto the hood above (a)’s mouth. the shots of white cream hit the leather and ran down. the trick got turned on by that. a few more strokes in (a)’s mouth and then he pulled his dick out. he humped it on the hood, on the cum and the leather, and shot his stuff right where i had. he held his cock at the base and rubbed it over the hood, spreading the two loads of cum over the hood. i stood there with my dick hanging out while he finished. the trick asked “are you going to jerk him off?” i put my dick back into my jeans. “no. you do it,” i said. he jerked (a) off. the long streams of cum shot out of (a)’s cock and up his chest. then the trick pulled himself together and we left the room. i turned back at the doorway to see the picture of (a) still tied to the chair, the shiny wet on the black leather, and his cum melting on his chest. it was hot. seven after i had seen the trick out that evening, i returned to the room where i had left (a). i wondered if he would comment upon my participation in the scene. he didn’t. i removed the hood and he said “thanks” for that, as he always did. but there was no immediate look into my eyes or a signal that he had registered what had happened. our conversations afterwards were never lengthy. he usually took himself straightaway to the shower while i picked up the room. that evening was no different. as we waited for kevin, i wondered if i should be the one to bring it up. but i decided not to. there was always a reserve in our relationship—whatever it was—that kept me at a distance. i don’t think it was that i felt myself to be an ‘employee’ of sorts. or that he was famous and i was not. the distancing in the main sense came from him. he was always reticent and withdrawn after these encounters. he never discussed them with me, and i doubt if he did so with kevin. i think perhaps that discussion didn’t interest him in any sense. these experiences were his, and my feelings or attitudes were not his concern. it bothered me at first that he did not acknowledge what had happened. but after a week or so i realized that—because it didn’t matter to him, apparently—i could from that time forward do what i wanted. i could get involved in the sex or not. i thought that if i brought the matter up i ran the risk—through discussion—of losing the unstated understanding, which was that i could participate in the scenes however i wished. if i didn’t ask, he couldn’t tell me ‘no’. as long as i kept my mouth shut, i was free to do what i wanted in that back bedroom. i might have discussed the whole thing with kevin, maybe. but when they were there, i was busy with taking care of (a)’s business. kevin and i never had any time alone together. and—anyway—since he had betrayed me—and i still considered it that—our relationship hadn’t been the same. he was still ashamed of what he had done. and i—for that matter—wasn’t letting him forget it. i used his guilt. eight as it turned out, the production got behind schedule. kevin, on the phone. “it’s mostly barbadon. he wants to shoot every scene two dozen different ways. and he’s revising his script as we go along.” “so how much longer you going to be down there?” “i don’t know. maybe two months, maybe three. i really don’t care. it’s work.” i paused. “how’s (a)?” “fine. i think we might be coming up this weekend. today he said i should call you to see if you’re free.” “always.” “how are things with you?” “fine. couldn’t be better.” i was lying to kevin. things were not fine. for one thing, this thing i was doing with/for (a) was starting to be more than i wanted to deal with. it used to be that when i went out to the bar that all i had to worry about was my own business. now—because of (a)—my life was getting more complicated. every now and then some guy would come up to me in the bar and say that he had heard what me and my boyfriend liked to do. that should have pleased me. less work for me. but there were also the people i knew who were coming up to me and asking me who my boyfriend was. these were guys i had known for years—or who knew at least some of my history—and this unknown boyfriend of mine—and what we did together—aroused their interest. was it anybody that they knew? and why didn’t they ever see me out with him? it got so that i dropped the ‘boyfriend’ story and just started telling people the partial truth. that i knew somebody who liked the scene that we did, and that was that. sometimes they persisted in asking me who it was. and of course i wouldn’t tell them. i would stand there with—i am sure—some smug look on my face, and let them guess and guess. or—if i thought they might possibly understand—i would tell them that the secret—the secret of who it was—was the thing that made it all work. the real problem was that the whole scenario—stories and scenes and sex—was affecting my reputation. in a way i didn’t like. up until then i was in charge of what people thought of me. i was the only one they had to deal with, and i had a certain independence and routine that worked well for me. now that (a) was in the picture, i found that my story was no longer strictly my own. i didn’t mind the publicity itself, but i was getting a public image that didn’t have a whole lot to do with me, but with what i ‘did’. it wasn’t about me at all. it was about the secret boyfriend and our ‘scene’. i found myself being grouped in with some of the fags i wouldn’t be caught dead talking to. the professional leather boys. the s&m crowd. the whores. all those guys who kept turning their sex lives into public statements, the ones who bragged about their exploits as if they were reciting their resumes. my sex life—as far as i had always been concerned—was not a matter of public discussion. i mean, i had always known that something i did might be told to someone else. but i hadn’t had to think too much about that before. now i realized that i was getting talked about. and i didn’t like it. so. this is what it would be like. for (a). if word got out. now i understood. fine. then i knew for sure. i would never ever open my goddamn mouth about who he was. and the things people were saying about me? they could kiss my ass. i was having sex with (a). nine so—after a while it had reached a level which i had not expected when kevin and (a) had first made the proposition to me. the hunt became a challenge. who would be good enough? where would i find them? and—most of all—did i have what it took to do this the way that i wanted to do it. i went to different bars. i learned how to scope out a crowd like a lion evaluating a herd of wildebeest. i got more aggressive about approaching people and holding conversations that in the past i would have considered too aggressive. and i kept trying to do it on my terms. even when i wasn’t expecting (a) that weekend, i started to get a trick lined up for when he did show. i got guys who were willing to wait. and when i found out that (a) was going to be in town that night, i called them up and had them meet me somewhere. it paid off. the scenes got better. ten i met nick. the fort was a bar i didn’t usually go to because i considered it lowlife. well—to be exact—it was a hustler bar. i dropped in because i figured i might find the type of trick i was looking for. nick was not a hustler, but he enjoyed their company. not because he bought them, but because he found them entertaining. he could have passed for one himself, with his lean body and wolfish eyes. when i walked in i spotted him and he spotted me right away. i think it was a matter of turf. my new bravado made me walk over to him after i got my beer and strike up a conversation. we quickly established rapport and he saw that i was no threat to his territory. it didn’t take me long to get around to my proposition, and he agreed to make himself available the next time my ‘friend’ needed a new dick. the next time (a) was in town i called nick to let him know the show was on. we met at the fort, had a few drinks, then headed back to my place. (a) was in the room, tied to the chair. nick’s eyes widened a little at the first sight, but then he nodded his approval to me. i could tell he was considering how best to do this. “so this is the little guy who needs some attention?” he opened. “yeah,” i said. “i think he’s gotten all lonely in here and really needs some company.” nick laughed. “i’ll do my best.” he walked over to examine (a) more closely. again he nodded approval. “looks good,” he said. reaching out his hand, he ran it over (a)’s chest. grabbing hold of a nipple, he held it between his thumb and a knuckle. he twisted it. (a) shifted in his chair. “feels good too,” nick muttered. still holding (a)’s tit, he pulled it forward. (a)’s body followed. “but i think,” nick continued, “that he’s not quite secure enough. do you have any more rope?” of course i did. nick took one end of the rope and anchored it to the back of the chair near the seat. then he took it around the front of (a), across his waist, and then around the back again, over (a)’s arms. he spiraled the rope up (a)’s body. and he held and pulled it tightly, so that the rope pressed down into (a)’s flesh, which bulged slightly on either side. each line was about three inches apart. at the top, he circled the rope several times just below (a)’s shoulders, and then secured it to the back of the chair. “that’s better,” he said. “now let’s see the goods.” he untied the short pieces that held (a)’s ankles. it was hard to get (a)’s jeans off since he was so tightly bound from the waist up, but nick succeeded by roughly jerking them out from under his butt. i liked what i saw then. from the waist up, (a) was a package of rope and squeezed flesh, topped by the black hood. below his waist there was only exposed vulnerable skin, waiting to be done. i had to hand it to nick, he knew his stuff. he got down on his knees in front of the chair. but not to blow (a). he pushed (a)’s legs back and apart as far as he could. when he did this, (a)’s body naturally slid down just an inch or two. enough for the ropes to tighten their hold even more. nick took (a)’s cock in his hand and started to pull on it. he pulled it out roughly and then let it drop. then he grabbed it and shook it from side to side. it started to harden quickly. nick kept up the rough work as (a)’s cock got longer and harder. he squeezed it tightly in his hand until it all turned dark red. he slapped it back against (a)’s belly several times. he let go of it, then grabbed it all around the base of the dick and balls. he pulled it forward as far as he could, stretching the skin on (a)’s cock and the ballsac forward. he put his other hand on the now-empty space at the base of (a)’s cock, so that both his hands could pull (a)’s groin forward by his dick. as he did so, (a) had to follow, and the ropes tightened. i could see them digging even further into (a)’s chest. nick began to jerk on (a)’s cock. roughly. he held it around the base and rapidly moved his hand forward and back, pulling the skin up to just under the head. it was a dry jerkoff. he didn’t spit on his hand. when the precum began to leak out of the head of (a)’s cock, he avoided it on purpose. he just kept jerking on (a)’s cock tightly and brutally, until it was red from the friction. when he sensed that (a) was getting close, he stopped. he said, “get behind the chair.” when i did so, nick let go of (a)’s cock for a second. he put his hands under (a)’s thighs and lifted them up as high as he could. “hold his legs up. as far as you can.” i did what he said. it was tough balancing (a). i found i had to lean into the back of the chair, grab (a)’s legs just behind his knees and put all of my strength into stretching them up. his ass lifted off the seat of the chair. nick held onto (a)’s long hardon just below the head. he forced it forward and down, against it’s natural tendency to curve up. this made it harder. he pulled it down as far as he could—holding it from below—cradled in his palm. then his other hand came down fast, slapping the top surface of (a)’s cock. (a)’s body jumped. nick slapped it again. (a) groaned. again and again nick hit (a)’s cock, beating it. i had never seen anything like it before. (a) began to buck as best he could. a few times, nick didn’t slap (a)’s cock. he made a fist and hit it. close to the base. in the middle. on the head. the ropes dug in. after a few minutes of this, nick looked up at me. “let him down real slow.” as i did that, nick kept (a)’s cock bent forward. he positioned it down and tucked it underneath (a)’s ass. so that when (a) was finally down on the seat again, he was half-sitting on his cock. since (a)’s cock was so long, it almost reached back to his asshole. the head was being crushed underneath his ass. i could see that his balls were lying on each side of the shaft, pressed down into the chair. “let’s go,” nick said. i turned to him, but he was already on his way out the door. once i was outside the room, nick closed the door behind us and leaned against it. “what’s going on?” i asked. he took my hand and held it against the front of his jeans. i could feel his hard cock underneath. he pulled me to him and started to kiss me. his hand sought out my dick. we undid each other’s pants and got our cocks out. we felt each other up for a while, then he pushed my head down. i sucked him off. then he got down in front of me. i stood with my arms outstretched, leaning against the doorframe. i was staring at the door when his warm wet mouth made me come. eleven the very next thursday, kevin called. “so are you busy tomorrow night?” “already?” “yeah. things are still bogged down here.” “well, i guess so.” he hesitated. “do you think you can get hold of your friend from last weekend?” i was surprised. “did he ask you this?” “uh . . . yes.” i didn’t know what to make of this. it was the first time (a) had indicated anything like a desire for something. “i guess so.” there was silence on the other end of the line. i think kevin was curious, but either he didn’t want to say more over the telephone, or he didn’t know how to approach the subject. or was afraid of saying anything that might trigger a response from me that he would rather not hear. “o.k., we’ll see you tomorrow.” after i got off the line, i called nick. not at home, so i left a message asking him to call me back. he didn’t call me back. the next evening, when kevin and (a) showed up, i could see the question in kevin’s eyes. (a) had apparently not filled him in on what had happened. and (a) was his usual blank self. i left for the bar, not knowing what was going to happen. i had been there about an hour, nervously throwing down shot when nick finally appeared. “you didn’t call back,” i challenged. he eyed me, unconcerned. “i’ve got a life,” he replied. i couldn’t afford to offend him, so i let it all slide. we hung out about half-an-hour more before i asked him if he was ready to go. “sure, why not.” i made the call. when i got back, nick wasn’t where i had left him. in a mild panic, i searched the bar. i found him out back, talking to someone. i didn’t know what was what, but i strolled over as casually as i could. it turned out that it was just someone that nick knew. they were catching up. nick drew me into the conversation. more drinks were bought. this went on for a while, then the guy went off to the bathroom. “what’s up?” i wanted to know. nick regarded me through a mild stupor. “nothing. your boy can wait, can’t he?” “yeah.” “well, let him wait.” the other guy came back only to tell us that he was leaving. after he left, nick bought more shots. i didn’t want to press matters, and—to tell the truth—i found myself not caring whether (a) was sitting there waiting for us. and then i found myself liking the idea that he was there, tied up and in the dark, not knowing what had happened to us. last call dropped on us. we staggered out. nick suggested we drive in his car. whatever. i was too loaded to argue. while he drove, he kept his hand on my leg. i put mine on his. on the way to my house, we passed through a quiet residential neighborhood. nick pulled over. “what?” i asked. he turned off the motor and the headlights. he unbuttoned my pants and took out my cock. leaning over, he sucked on it. i didn’t argue. i watched for people. a few cars drove past. i came. nick sat up and pushed his pants down. i started to lean over to do the same to him, but he pushed me back. “put your fingers in my mouth,” he said. i did and he sucked on them while he jerked on his cock. after a few minutes, he took his mouth off my hand. “put them up my ass.” i worked my hand underneath the steering wheel and into the tight space between his legs. i got one finger in, and then two. i pushed them up into his asshole as far as i could. he really started to pound his cock then. i watched the cum jump out of the head and roll down the sides. he took me back to my car. “what about my guy?” i asked. nick gazed at me blearily. “christ. you fuck him. i’m going home.” i drove back to my place very carefully and very slowly. i was now over two hours late for (a). the house seemed even more dark and silent than usual as i let myself in the front door. but i was in no hurry. i thought. after twenty minutes, i went to the room. (a) was sitting there. i walked over. he lifted his head slightly. i stood, quietly. then i reached out my hand and held it under his nose. he breathed in the smell of nick’s ass on my fingers. once, twice. “i got busy,” i said. i took my hand away and walked out of the room. i waited another hour before i called kevin. twelve “we’re going to be done soon,” kevin said. it caught me by surprise. but i didn’t want to show it. “really? how soon?” “two weeks. maybe some reshoots next month.” “oh.” i found i couldn’t think of anything else to say. kevin hesitated. “we’re going to be shooting one of the heavier scenes in the second week, so probably next week will be the last time we come by.” i had to think. “is that what he told you?” kevin paused. “well, no. but that’s the way it usually goes.” you know what i felt like then? like one of those scenes in the movies where you see the car going off the cliff. it floats slowly down through the air before it crashes and explodes. i felt like i was in the car. “umm, o.k. friday or saturday?” “i think friday, but i’ll call you.” “o.k.” when i got off the phone, i stood there, not moving. i found myself looking at the calendar. friday the nineteenth. a white square with a number in it. i picked up the cup of coffee i had been drinking and sat on the couch. after a minute, i found myself in the back bedroom. in the daylight, it looked empty and meaningless. it didn’t look that way at night. i sat in the chair, thinking. thirteen it was november. i knew what i was going to do. i had lain awake that night and planned every detail. the next day i bought what i needed. on that friday night, after i left them there, i went out to the bar. i wasn’t feeling very sociable, and everyone seemed to pick up on that. i didn’t dance. i just ordered my usual and stood off drinking it. drinking and thinking. after an hour i called kevin. i waited another half-hour then i went home. when i opened the door to the room, i saw they had left the dim overhead light on. i went over and clicked the switch off. (a) was motionless, but i could tell he was listening. he listened to my footsteps as i walked over to the wall on his left. on the floor i put down the large spice-scented candle i had bought. i lit it. the odor quickly filled the air. then i went to the only window and opened it. the cool fall air rushed in, bringing the smell of dried leaves to mix with the candle. i took my clothes off and sat on the floor in front of him. there was a chill, enough to make me shiver slightly. i watched him, there. bound. the ropes around his naked ankles, fastening them to the worn legs of the chair below the cuffs of his jeans. i couldn’t see the ropes which tied his hands behind his back, but i could see the effect. the way he had to lean forward slightly, his shoulders pushed forward over his stomach. the way that made his head hang forward, too. the hood was a black hole in the room. it picked up no light at all. i waited, and he waited. i thought, and then i stopped thinking. i moved forward and laid my head and chest across his lap. my arms circled his waist and the back of the chair the best they could. i lay there, peacefully, like someone who had walked a long way and finally made it to his own bed. behind his back, my fingers brushed the rope around his wrists. i turned my head and gently kissed his bare stomach. once, twice. i lifted myself up. my hands held his sides. i worked my kisses across and up his stomach to his chest. all so very easily. i held his torso between my hands as i kept moving my mouth across his body. his head rolled back. i moved up to his neck, placing special soft kisses on the most sensitive spots. i heard a breath escape him. i ran my fingers over his shoulders and down his arms. the touch, and the chill in the air, made his skin tingle. he shuddered. i did too. i hovered above his body as i continued to place kisses on his neck, his shoulders, and down his arms. i worked slowly. i pulled my mouth away from his body. i put my hands a little more toward his back. i pressed my fingernails—not too hard, but hard enough—into his skin and drew them across the surface. then, he moaned. i did it again. his head fell forward. i sat back on my heels. i unsnapped the button on the top of his jeans. i unzipped them down to where i could see the dark tangle of his pubic hair. his dick was below that, out of sight, trapped between his jeans and his leg. my hand softly rubbed his belly. that’s all. i paused and focused. i folded the top part of his jeans down, so that a few inches more of flesh was exposed. i stood up and then i sat facing him on his lap, straddling his waist. my naked legs wrapped down and around him. my hardon lay against his stomach. i was a little higher than him as i put my arms around him, resting them on the top of the chair. i leaned forward and kissed him. where his mouth would have been exposed, if it had not been under the hood. i kissed him there again. then on the cheek of the hood. around and down to his neck. and back up. the metal over his mouth. his cheek. his forehead. his hidden eyes. i took his head in my hands. the leather was worn. i could smell it. i held it there, rubbing my cheek against the soft surface. i kissed him some more. i did everything like he was my lover. except he wasn’t. and that was all. he . . . didn’t do anything. he couldn’t. he was tied and hooded. i sat on his lap and kissed him, as gently and as lovingly as i could. i stopped thinking. i heard the chair creak. i could smell the candle’s scent. i could feel the cold air on my skin. i held him and kissed him. and as i kissed him, again and again, before i knew it, before i was ready to be done, the moment passed. i felt it passing. it was going—going and going. when it was gone, i got up from his body. i stood there looking at him. i went over and blew the candle out. i left the window open. i took his hood off. he kept his eyes down. i walked out. i called kevin. i went upstairs and sat in the hall, waiting for them to leave. i heard their low voices, their footsteps, the door closing. after they left, i kept waiting. for the crash. for the burning. nothing. huh. fourteen six weeks later, kevin walked into the bar. we hadn’t spoken since the last night (a) had been in my house. “hey,” he said. “hey,” i said. we made small talk but we were both uneasy. there were long gaps in the conversation where we just drank our beers and looked around the room. “where are you off to next?” i asked him. “don’t know. i think i’ll take some time off.” i nodded. i’m not going to ask. i’m not going to ask. he knew i wasn’t going to. “the movie should be out about april.” “that soon?” “yeah. it’ll probably be alright.” “yeah? good.” i’m not going to ask anything. kevin waited. “i haven’t heard from him.” “‘him’? who?” kevin looked at me. what did he know and what didn’t he know? what story had he made up in his own mind? i drank my beer and avoided his eyes. “so how you doing?” he asked. “fine. fine.” “good.” i made an excuse and got away from him. later that night i found some guy and took him home. i fucked his ass and fucked his ass until i couldn’t take it any more. the next time i saw kevin in the bar, he walked up to me and i walked away. fifteen the movie was called ‘la villa real de la santa fe’. reviews were mixed. most of them said that (a) was out of his depth. i didn’t go see it. i rented the video when it came out, a long time after. in the last scene, the artist was on mescaline and wandering in the desert in the hot late afternoon sun. as the scene progressed, he took off his shirt. then his shoes. then his pants. he stumbled naked over the hard dusty earth. he laughed and cried, saw visions and fell down. he drifted through the cacti and scorpions. there was one shot of his walking through briars, the long thorns scraping and cutting his thighs. i knew the blood was real. as the scene ended, you saw him from behind, standing naked as he stared off into the red red setting sun. in the final shot—a close-up of his face—you saw the dirt and the sweat, and his tangled and damp hair hanging down across his forehead. his eyes, looking off into the light, squinted against the brightness. they were tired, but—otherwise—steady and clear and dry.