Gay Erotic Stories

Adventures in ColtLand, Part 1: Shooting the Legend I had been working at Colt Studios for a few months before I met any of the models. I was only a lowly administrator and the talent didn't come into the offices all that often. This was not as I had planned it; I had been working as a video director for another 'adult' company in Europe prior to this. When it went into liquidation I had used some contacts to get this job. I had hoped to continue directing, but my contacts weren't as good as I had hoped and I was stuck shuffling paper 9 to 5. I had been letting all this get to me all week; it was Friday, when my manager sent me off on another menial job. "Take these down to Studio B," she said. "They’re just some test sheets we need Hardwick to approve: get him to sign the release form. And make sure he signs his real name. I'm not saying he's dumb, but he seems to have difficulty remembering it sometimes. There are two copies just in case. Thanks." By Hardwick of course she meant Carl Hardwick. This is the part in most of these stories when the narrator explains that the previously mentioned hunk is someone they have always fantasized about and how they can't believe that they are going to meet them. Right? Well not this time, pal. I had seen him about the place a couple of times and couldn’t see the attraction. Of course he was fully clothed on all those occasions, but still. No, the one I was desperate to meet was Pete Kuzak. But that wasn't going to be today. Studio B was really just a large empty room on the second floor, but it got good light and it didn't overlook any kindergartens so it was sometimes pressed into service as a photography studio. Studio A was a fully fitted professional studio and Studio C you don't even want to know about. That's where they took Polaroids of the comedians who wandered in drunk from the bar next door declaring that they wanted to be nude models and earn lots of money. I pressed my ear against the studio door, listening for the noise of a photo session in progress. If they're working they (models and photographers) don't like to be disturbed by mere mortals like myself. I heard noise inside so, rather than knock and interrupt, I quietly slipped inside. Sure enough they were shooting. Hardwick was leaning against the back wall, posing for Matthew, one of the least popular in-house photographers. "OK. But twist your torso towards me..." he was saying. Carl did as he was told. He was wearing, let's see, a Stetson and a smile. That's it. No I tell a lie. He was also sporting a hard-on like a Grolsch bottle. I didn't know where to look. That's not strictly true: I knew where I wanted to look - away - but when there is a naked muscle-bound man with a throbbing great erection standing large-as-life a few feet away it is hard to look at anything else. Despite what I said earlier, he did look damn good. His upper body was coated with a pelt of thick fur and every muscle seemed to have been hewn from some deeply tan marble. His chin, like his chest, was unshaven and he looked so good, I felt myself get hard just looking at him. They carried on with the shoot for a few more minutes oblivious to my presence. "Oh for God's sake," Matthew exhaled loudly. "You're losing your erection again. Lets call a break, shall we, and see if you can keep your dick hard long enough for me to photograph it." Carl took this abuse in his stride. Matthew was like this to everyone, all the time. I took the opportunity to get his attention. "Excuse me, Mr. Hardwick?" They both looked my way. "Don't confuse him. He's Mr. Jeffers," Matthew said, as he passed by me on the way out. "I just need you to take a look at these contact sheets and sign a release," I said. "Sure thing, bud," his voice was low, with a strong southern accent. He crossed the studio, his softening dick slapping between his thick, hairy thighs. I handed him the envelope; he slid the glossy sheets out and began to work his way through them. "Did you take a look at these?" he asked. "No, of course not. I brought them straight to you." "Relax, I wasn't accusing you of anything. I just wanted to know what you thought of them." "Oh." He held up a photo. It showed him lying naked on a sofa, his right hand encircling his stiffened dick, his eyes closed. "Whad’ya think?" "Very nice," I say. "Very nice, eh? Do you think my cock looks good in this one?" He held up another photo. "Yes, very...er." "Nice? What about my balls? Do you think they photograph well? I mean compared to in the flesh?" At this he lifted his dick to give me a better view of his testicles. Dutifully I checked out his crotch, trying not to stare too long. "Um." "You Brits. I don't know." He laughed. "I'm right aren't I? You're British?" "That's right." "You been over here long?" It knocked me out how comfortable he seemed, chatting to a complete stranger while completely naked. I realised we were alone together. "A couple of months." "Why are there two consent forms?" He was looking at the papers again. "Oh, um…" "In case I sign the wrong name?" "Well, Susan did say something..." "I only did that once. Is it any wonder? This is Colt so I'm Carl Hardwick. I think it shows real commitment to the brand that I identify so much with the name they give me, don't you think?" "Sure, absolutely." "Maybe I should sign one 'Rusty' and the other 'Carl' and you can tell Susan that I screwed up again?" "Maybe you should sign them both 'Carl'." "You see, I knew you had a sense of humour." I smiled back at him. "Which do you prefer, though? Honestly." "Well, I think Carl is..." He raised his eyebrows expectantly. "...maybe, sexier?" "You think so, huh?" He seemed a little pissed off. "Well I mean to say that..." "I'm joking." Another smile. He took the Stetson off and put it on my head. "There, now you look like a native." He leaned forward on the table to sign the papers. I took the opportunity to step back and get a good look at him. I realise that he's quite short, maybe only 5’7". And his cock isn't any bigger than normal; it just looks bigger on him because of his lack of height. But set against that he has an awesome body. I was having second thoughts about Pete Kuzak. I watched his biceps bulge as he brought the pen up to sign, the curve of his back as it falls from his thick neck and curves outward with his big, round ass and down again to his hairy, beefy thighs. His big balls and fat dick nestled in a nest of thick pubic hair. I was lost in him. "Hi. I'm up here." He was watching me watching him. "Oh God. I'm sorry. I was just..." "I know what you were just..." He smiled, this time showing his teeth. He turned on the spot, his arms spread wide. "Well...do I pass muster?" "Um..." "Relax, would you. I'm used to having men staring at my naked, pink, vulnerable body." He laughed. "I'm sorry." "For what? I'm butt naked, anyone would look, wouldn't they?" "Sure, I guess. But..." "But what? They wouldn't get hard?" Oh Jesus, he'd noticed. "Tell you what, why don't you help me get myself hard again and we'll call it even?" "You're not serious?" "If you want to I mean, I'm not trying to force you or anything. The way you were looking at me I thought…" "I'd like to, God I would, but I think I could get fired for blowing the talent." He laughed again, thank God. "No problem. D'ya wanna hang around and watch me do it myself?" "You can blow yourself?" He barked out another laugh. "No, I can't blow myself. I mean get myself hard." "Oh, shit, sorry." "Forget about it. I just like to be watched sometimes." "OK sure, go ahead." "You sure? I don't wanna force you or nuthin'." "They can't fire me just for watching, can they?" "Just say you walked in and caught me in the act." "Where do you want me?" "Wherever you're comfortable." He lowered himself into a battered old recliner, his right hand going straight to his crotch. I found an old office chair across the room and sat down. "You OK?" "I'm fine, really," I lied; here I was alone with a naked man who wants me to watch him masturbate. His thumb and forefinger encircled the base of his cock and he began to caress himself. His prick had gone limp but with short strokes of his shaft it began to thicken again. Carl let out a low grunt. I watched as beads of sweat broke out on his forehead and chest, matting his chest hair. "You OK?" he asked again, his voice deeper and gruffer. "Sure." "Why don't you lock the door?" I did so. "Y'know, I really wanna fuck you," he gasped out. "Jerking off in front of you is not even close to what I want to do with you. Would you let me fuck you?" Bending his knees he brought his feet up and raised his hips off the recliner, thrusting his loins into the air. With his left hand he squeezed his balls tight, and slid his fat forefinger down between his legs and began to finger his arsehole. I was dying in here. My dick was harder than algebra, and I didn’t know whether to join in or just watch or run out of the room screaming or what. I went to him. Kneeling by the side of the recliner I leaned over him, he looked up at me a big grin splitting his face. He loosened his right hand and I took this as my cue to take over. I grasped his stubbled chin and tilted his face towards me, leaned in and kissed him. My tongue slipped between his lips; he reciprocated, his stubble like sandpaper on my face. I let my hand wander down his broad barrel chest. The tactile sensation of his fur felt so good between my fingers. As my hand moved south, I felt the texture of hair change, where it had been short and silky it was now coarse and thick and longer. I was nearing "The Goods". I quickly slipped my fingers around his already hardened shaft. Carl exhaled loudly into me, his tongue probing deeper. I stroked him slowly, his hips gyrating, working himself into my fist. The sour taste of his sweat reached my lips, I felt his torso dampen with the exertion, the thick hairs flat to his skin with sweat. With one hand he held the back of my head pulling me in closer to him. With the other hand he felt down the length of my arm. When he reached my hand he wrapped his fist around mine, which in turn encircled his manhood. We were both breathing quick, shallow breaths into each other by now. The stench of sex and sweat was coming off him in waves by now. We were like that for a minute or so when he pulled my hand away from him. "Easy now. I'm hard." Sure enough his dick was pointing at the ceiling. I released my grip on him and leaned back. A thin line of saliva linking our lips broke on his chest; I wiped it away with my palm. "Sorry, Bud. I'd like to go on but I can't...I just needed to stiffen up, you know?" "Of course. I understand..." There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment. "Well I had better be getting back anyway. Susan will be wondering..." "Sure thing, Bud. And thanks." "No worries." I got up, straightened my shirt, picked up the paperwork and went for the door. I pulled it but it wouldn’t budge. I pulled again. "Allow me." Carl leaned across, me his chest brushing up against mine. He released the lock and swung the door open. "Oh. Thanks." God, was I embarrassed. He leaned in and kissed me again, long and deep. "I meant what I said before, you know." "About what?" "Wanting to..." Matthew walked in. He clocked the two of us, Carl holding my head in his hands, and raised an eyebrow. "I'd better go," I stammered. "Must you?" This from Matt. "You seem to have had the desired effect." He was checking out Carl's packet. "Maybe I could page you if he loses wood again?" I slipped out the door quickly not looking back. I heard Matt's voice. "Can't leave you alone for a minute, can I? And do you think you can keep it up for more than 30 seconds this time, or shall I get him back in here?" "Shut up and shoot, you prick." I went to the nearest toilet. It was empty, thank God. I locked the cubicle door behind me and tore my trousers and boxers down. I was still hard, had been for the last 10 minutes, and jerked myself off. In my head I was with Carl. We were both naked and this time we didn’t stop until we had both come. When I got back to the office I checked the release forms. The first was signed "Rusty Jeffers." The other was signed, "Carl Hardwick"; and where the date should have been he had written 6:30 tomorrow, in a space at the bottom of the form he had written an address in the valley. I smiled to myself. Then I realised that he had signed the forms before he had even caught me checking him out let alone giving him a handjob. Arrogant bastard. I wrote the time and address in my diary. Any comments to: sleaze_hound@hotmail.com