Fill Me Up

Curtis LaJoy was interested in the new red Triumph 1800 sports car sitting above the Malibu beach in the parking area. The occupant of the sports car seemed more interested in him. Curtis's friend, roommate, and sometime bed partner, Aaron Friedman, was standing by the car talking to the good-looking early-thirtyish ginger-complexioned man at the wheel of the Triumph. They were looking down at the volleyball net on the beach, seemingly at Curtis. Curtis was interested in cars and was a pretty good mechanic. He worked at an L.A. filling station and garage to provide what living backup he could to his attempt to break into the movies.

They were on location for a beach romance movie, Hollywood's new trend in 1946 in the wake of the end of World War II and the movie emphasis then on war movies promoting the Allied cause. The movies were moving into a sillier light romance phase and the movie the Universal-International studio was making here was one of a string of romances with the handsome male stars, Tucker Stone and Ken Clark, vying for the attentions of Delores Knight. That Stone and Clark lived and bedded together was not something that the theatergoers would like to know in the mid-1940s, so the studio did everything it could not to let them know that.

Curtis could tell it, though, not only in the way the two actors related to each other on the set between takes but also because of how both of them had been ogling Curtis during breaks and whispering to each other. Were they into threesomes, he wondered.

At one point Stone was on the verge of gesturing Curtis to come up the beach for some sort of interaction, something that rarely happened between the principle actors and the background extras, but Stone had been pulled off by the makeup people. This was a beach movie. All of the men were just in swimming trunks and showing their physiques. Stone's and Clark's were OK for their ages, Clark being younger and beefier than Stone, but blond Curtis's, at twenty-one, was extraordinary. Curtis knew what a look of sexual interest was, and he was getting it from both Stone and Clark.

A threesome? Curtis had never done that before.

Curtis and Aaron had managed to get work as extras on this film, as background. They were two of four magnificently muscled and scantily covered beach bums playing an interminable games of beach volleyball between the real action of Stone and Clark wittingly struggling for Delores Knight's attention under a beach umbrella and the rolling surf. It was taking hours to film what would be a five-minute scene in the movie.

They were all on break and when Aaron came back down to where they would have to resume the volleyball game.

"Who were you talking to in that gorgeous Triumph?" Curtis asked his friend, Aaron, when Aaron reached the net.

"Oh, is that what that car is? Pretty nifty, isn't it?" He added, "That was Scott Alexander. I was checking to see if he had a hookup for me. I'm short of cash."

"So, he's your pimp?"

"Not exactly. He provides a hookup now and again. I'd like to get set up with his filling station?"

"His filling station?"

"Yeah. He owns a gas station with privileges on Hollywood Boulevard, and he pimps for the stars. He's here to pick Tucker Stone up after the filming shuts down here this afternoon."

"A gas station with privileges? What's that?" Curtis asked.

"It's a brothel for the movie stars and other high rollers. There are six small cabins behind the filling station. The gas jockeys work in two shifts of six guys offering extra service to women or men and top or bottom. The stars come in to fill their gas tanks and if they want extra service that's provided in the cabins behind. It's quite the rage at the moment and Scott Alexander has put it altogether. He'll arrange for rent-boys for the movie folks outside of his gas station."

"And you'd like to get a spot on his station crew?" Curtis asked.

"I'd like that, yes. I was interested if he had a one-stand trick for me, but his interest was you, not me?"

"Me?" Curtis asked, with surprise.

"Yeah. His interest is in doing a double when I told him you were an auto mechanic and worked in a filling station. He wants to meet you. He has a fetish for built service-type guys."

"And you told him how he could use me?"

"Something like that. You might think about what you want here in L.A. We're not getting far with the occasional pickup of extra work. If you went with Alexander's filling station, that would pretty much take up your time. But it would be steady income."

"For as long as I could keep it up," Curtis said.

"I've never known you to have trouble keeping it up--and you have a very nice one," Aaron said, with a laugh.

"So, should I go up and talk to him now?" Curtis asked.

But it was too late for that. The filming up the beach had broken off, and with Curtis and Aaron looked up at the parking lot, the "still hot, but for how much longer" star of the movie, Tucker Stone, was standing by the Triumph and he and Alexander were looking down to where Curtis and Aaron were standing and were commenting to each other. Curtis thought Stone might call him up to the car then, but Alexander said something to him and the car's engine came to life. Stone folded himself into the sports car and it glided away from the beach.

He apparently saw Curtis looking at him, though, because he flashed the young twenty-year-old Nordic blond a smile and waved a salute as he drove away.

* * * *

Curtis LaJoy was a young man still undecided. He came from a wealthy family but one in which he perpetually was a black sheep, mostly because he was quick to give in to what gave him pleasure without regard to social norms. He was a beautiful young man, tall, Nordic, smooth bodied, and exceptionally well built. He spent considerable time honing his body, and he had constantly been told through life that he had movie star looks and charisma. That had guided him to enter the Savannah College of Arts and Design in their dramatic arts program. If people told him he should be a movie star, he'd give that a try, although what he was most interested in at that point in life was cars--sports cars and their engines--partying, and getting it on with other guys. He was a well-hung power top. Bottoms sought him out because he topped with exuberance.

His attractiveness and lack of control had closed down his studies in Savannah quickly. His drama course instructor, married and with children, but secretly a gay submissive, had quickly fallen for Curtis and seduced him. The professor couldn't get enough of Curtis's youth, beauty, and big cock until what they were doing started to be gossiped about. SCAD was a relatively small and close-knit community. To avoid scandal, it was the new student, Curtis, who had to go. His parents decided that what he needed was a radical change in life and they sent him to his uncle in Las Vegas, who owned an automobile service station and garage just a block off the strip.

Curtis didn't mind. He loved cars and quickly found he had a talent for working on them. Three career possibilities now opened to him. He took well to working in his uncle's garage. He didn't let loose of the movie star possibility or give up on having casual sex with men. He was in Las Vegas. At nearly twenty, with ID that said he was twenty-one, he roamed the strip, being good enough looking to be ogled and propositioned. He was supercharged sexually and fucked a lot of men, some of whom could help him get ahead in the adult male world. He made a couple of porn films and was offered roles in more. He wound up dancing in a male revue at a place called the Hercules Club and doing well enough there to frequently being told he belonged in Hollywood. He already was in films.

And, at twenty-one, that's where he was--in Hollywood, working in a filling station, getting any extra work in the movies that might get him discovered, doing a porn film occasionally enough to always be booked as fresh talent, and taking a trick or attending a pool party as a male escort here and there.

On the day Scott Alexander caught up with him, he as at the filling station, stretched out under a Chevy Bel-Air, changing the oil.

"Hey, is that you under there, Curt LaJoy?" a voice accompanying a tap on Curtis's sneakers asked?

"Who's asking? The check's in the mail or I already gave," Curtis answered from under the Chevy carriage, He pulled himself out from under the car, though, gliding on a plywood sheet on wheels.

"Oh, it's you. It's Mr. Alexander, isn't it? My roommate, Aaron told me about you."

"He told all about me? That I run a filling station with privileges?"

"Yeah, he told me that."

"I've been checking on you," Alexander said. "Saw you on the set of Stone's film at the beach. Liked the looks of you. Thought you looked familiar."

"Familiar?"

"Yeah. I remembered seeing you on stage at Apollo's and then I was pointed to some films. You're a player, aren't you? You do it for money."

"Yeah, well, it's Hollywood and one's gotta eat while waiting for their break."

"And here you are being a car mechanic. Just the thing for my gas station operation. You're a big strapping stud. Do you take it as well as give it?"

"I do what has to be done," Curtis answered.

"But you enjoy it."

"Most of the time."

"I'm hiring. I could put you with men who can further your movie career if you please them."

"Working at your filling station?"

"Yeah, and more. Going to parties. Giving men what they want there. Interested?"

"Maybe."

"Tucker Stone's having a party tonight. He wants you to fuck him. It would be audition. What do you say?"

"I say what time and what address, and what should I wear?"

"It's loose and casual. It's a pool party. Stone will provide swim trunks for as long as you need them."

* * * *

Everyone knew that Tucker Stone and Ken Clark lived together in a ranch house with a large terrace and swimming pool up in the Hollywood Hills. It was well known as a party house and they were known as prime womanizers who gave wild parties nearly every day. The Universal-International movie studio took what could have been a really scandalous situation at the box office and had twisted it around to leave a false impression. They heavily publicized the hetero pool parties, highlighting a parade of starlets and bigger women stars through Stone's and Clark's lives, characterizing the two as the stud playboys of the Western world. Hiding behind that was that the two movie stars lived together because they were a couple. And there weren't women at all of the parties they threw at their Hollywood Hills party house.

Curtis LaJoy didn't have a car in Los Angeles, but being the mechanic and auto enthusiast that he was, he had a nifty motorcycle, a Harley-Davidson FL, which is what he used to drive up into the Hollywood Hills that Saturday evening. When he reached the party house, set back off and above a hilly street, he was surprised that there weren't other cars there. Had he gotten the date or the time wrong, he wondered. He didn't have long to contemplate whether or not he should just leave, because Scott Alexander had heard the motorcycle rumble up to the house and was at and out the front door to assure Curtis that the party was still on.

It was a very private party. Just Tucker Stone and Ken Clark, naked and frolicking in the pool until Curtis arrived. Scott, dressed, was playing waiter, host, voyeur, and pimp.

For several minutes Curtis looked around, waiting for someone else to show up for the party before realizing that he was the party. Stone and Clark were on lounge beds on the terrace by the pool. Alexander led Curtis to them. Stone patted the side of his lounger, signaling Curtis to sit there, and when the young man did, Clark leaned in from the next bed over. The two fondled and disrobed Curtis, with Alexander standing off to the side, watching, Anxious for the two movie stars to be happy with what he'd brought them.

So, yes, they wanted a threesome, Curtis thought.

As the two movie stars were working Curtis, they plied him with questions on who he was, where he'd come from, what he wanted from Hollywood, and what he was prepared to give them if they helped him.

"Whatever you want," Curtis said.

The two men laughed and Alexander breathed a sigh of relief.

They had Curtis walk around the pool, naked, and posing for them in various poses. They were impressed. He was a beautiful, well-muscled, young, Nordic blond. They sat on their lounge beds, stroking themselves off, occasionally kissing and stroking each other as Curtis did his male stage revue movements for them.

"Swim laps for us," Clark commanded. "Let's see those muscles in action."

When Curtis came out of the water, it was action time. The three men helped him to the lounge bed Stone had occupied and they lay the young man on his back. Clark straddled his shoulders and fed his cock into Curtis's mouth, while Stone serviced the young man from below. When Curtis was hard as a rock, Clark moved around to the head of the lounge bed, Curtis's head arched over the top of the cushion, and continued getting head from Curtis. Stone mounted his cock in the cowboy position and rode it. After a few minutes, Clark came around behind Stone, penetrated Stone's ass above Curtis's buried cock, and Stone took a double penetration.

Exhausted from the swim and the sex, Curtis only perfunctorily attempted resistance, with Clark happy to manhandle him into position, and Clark then fucked Curtis in a missionary position, with Stone and Alexander holding Curtis's legs open and spread. Curtis had been fucked before but not often, and Clark was a cruel top with him.

When Curtis finally hobbled to the front door, accompanied by Alexander, Clark was fucking Stone on one of the lounge beds.

"You did well," Alexander said. "Here's my card. If you want to join my filling station staff, you can take one of the male top positions--evenings so you can pursue your movie career during the day. It will be good to have someone who actually knows how to fuel up and take care of a car on site. I'll pay you extra for that. I'm sure Tucker and Ken were pleased with you and you can assume they'll show interest in getting you movie work."

With that, Alexander closed the door of the house behind Curtis, leaving the young man with choices--and, he hoped, opportunities.

* * * *

The seemingly mile-long hood of the big honking black 1946 Cadillac sedan was up and Curtis was leaning over the engine in front of the garage bays at Scott Alexander's Hollywood Boulevard filling station and pulling the dipstick to check the oil. There, of course, was nothing wrong with the car's oil. It probably was working on what it had been sent out of the factory with. But he'd been asked to check the oil so that the car's owner, Sonny Singleton, could belly up behind Curtis with his hands on the young gas station attendant's hips, show that the man was hard, and establish that he was here to be taken to the small units behind the filling station for an afternoon romp.

Singleton had driven into L.A. from Las Vegas, where he owned a big slice of a casino that had a male dance revue was one of its features. He had no idea that Curtis had come from Las Vegas too. He just knew Scott Alexander and about Scott's special filling station for the stars. Singleton thought he was as good as any star and as much in need and want of a strapping young top to service him as anyone else. And he could afford the high costs at the pump--in this case to be pumped--at this celebrity filling station.

Curtis and three other pump jockeys were filling up people's cars in a California coast twilight and being ogled, sorted out, and engaged through negotiations with the station manager. Trade wasn't all that brisk, as it was an expensive, exclusive service. The fee structure was listed on the gas pumps in nonspecific terms, although most of the regulars--men and women associated with the movie studios--ran tabs and got monthly bills.

The man from Las Vegas had cruised his Cadillac sedan in next to a pump, and both Curtis and an effeminate guy named Stanley came out to serve him. He wasn't a regular, so there was no assuming that he was there for the brothel and the two pump jockeys, Curtis, a hunky top, pumping the gas and Stanley, a swishy submissive, cleaning the windows, did their posing "thing" to give the man a chance to express interest; make a pick, if he was so motivated; and summon the manager out to close the deal.

Singleton chose quickly. He looked directly at Curtis and said, "I'd like to have the oil checked too."

"Sure enough, sir," Curtis answered. "There's a car behind you waiting for gas. If you'd like to pull your car up to the garage bays, I'd be happy to pop the hood for you and check the oil." There, of course, was no car waiting. They both knew this was the time, if that's what this man was interested in, for them to pretend themselves into a position to start on a deal. With the Caddie pulled over facing the garage bay and its hood up, they'd be screened from the street. "There's a fee list here on the gas pump. If you see what you want, signal to the manager and he'll take care of you."

"I want you to take care of me," the man said.

"The manager will see that that can happen, sir," Curtis said. The two looked each other quite well. Curtis, of course, was a Nordic blond honey with a body to die for, his masculinity and muscularity emphasized by the tightness of the uniform material across his chest and loins. He was movie star handsome, which was what had brought him to Los Angeles. The man looking him over, was older, tall, heavy, but not to the point of being obese. He looked like he been a prize fighter and had lost a few fights. He was a casino mobster type in a command position on the Las Vegas strip and looked the part. He promised to be demanding and controlling. He wasn't ugly but he was no movie star.

If he was hung and proficient--and gave a good tip over a high base price--Curtis would be content with that. Since he'd started working at the filling station, he'd become adept at taking either the top or bottom position--or both. Curtis had been working at the filling station for three weeks and had done two or three tricks during every shift he'd worked. He was popular, but that side of the business was sporadic because it was exclusive and expensive. He was living now at Tucker Stone's Hollywood Hills party house, nominally as Stone's and Clark's pool boy, but that was tenuous. The movie stars were enjoying threesomes with him in exchange for room and board and said it was a permanent arrangement. But both of the men were untrustworthy, scattered, and self-centered. Stone had said he'd help Curtis get more work in the movies, but nothing had come of that yet. Scott Alexander had stopped pimping him on the side since bringing him on the filling station staff. But Curtis was bringing in good income at the gas station. Alexander was taking a cut of that for having connected Curtis with the filling station.

Curtis's life was in sort of a limbo. It was fine for now, but it wasn't moving up too fast, and Curtis couldn't count on being a premium stud forever. He was going to have to make some decisions soon. He'd like to have more options, though. He'd been called to do porn movies, but those weren't the sort of movies he wanted to be in anymore.

Singleton drove the Caddie over to face into the garage doors and stepped out of the car as Curtis wiped his hands off on a rag, sauntered over to the car, and lifted the hood.

"One great automobile you have here," Curtis said, giving a whistle at what he found under the hood. He had no illusions that the oil would need to be topped up.

"Everything about me is top rated," Singleton said as he turned and walked to meet the manager. When he returned, and as he was positioning himself behind Curtis, who was bent over the engine compartment and under the hood, Curtis turned his head to see the nod from the manager. It was a "whatever he wants" nod. The man put his hands on Curtis's hips, leaned over, and took the lobe of the young man's right earlobe in his teeth, his breath hot and heavy in Curtis's ear. Curtis turned his face to Singleton's and they kissed. His groin pressed into the young man's butt, Singleton showed that he was already hot to trot. It wasn't going to be what it seemed, though. As they kissed, Singleton moved a hand around and down Curtis's belly, cupping the young man's dick and balls inside the material of his service uniform. His other hand snaked up under the hem of Curtis's shirt and latched onto and tweaked one of the young man's nipples. Curtis gave him a moan of appreciation.