Flip Mecum Ch. 03

His speed increased. He had powerful and practiced strokes. I felt his girth as he swelled within. He was getting ready to blow. Only then did I realize he was bareback. Fuck. Twice in one week. Finally, he went rigid and tightened his hold on my dick. He went deep and exploded flooding me with his cum, probably a few days worth. He whispered, "This is mine, Flip. Don't ever think I'm gonna let you go. I know what you just pulled. I'm not in this business because I don't know the moves. I'm gonna take you as often and as long as I choose. Until maybe you are old and gray and flabby. You're the best son. I might rent you out from time to time, but you're my property." He was about to say something else. Did I dare think it might be a word of affection? He had just used the word "son" for the first time. But no, he pulled out, spun me around, pushed me down on my knees so I could lick his cock clean. I hadn't cum. I was rock hard, but hadn't cum. And he ignored it.

"We'll do some filming later this week. You can make believe you're an electrician for the next couple of days. But, that ass and that dick are mine. No extra-curricular activities. Don't ever forget, Flip." With those words, he pointedly fingered the neck ring and pulled it tight against my throat.

I worked at the job site Tuesday and Wednesday—waiting for the call for my "audition." It came Wednesday. I was to report for makeup and instructions Thursday at 9. I was supposed to plan for all day until it was time for the club to set up and open. That night, I took Jimmy's ass (that was prep, not extracurricular) and he tipped me $50—cheapskate. But, I wanted the edge off before the filming so I didn't argue.

The experience the next day was as different from what I had thought it might be as possible. Marty had brought in three guys to "work with me." All of us spent nearly an hour being prepped. After, there was not a blemish anywhere on my body. Not a hair where it shouldn't be. My lips were puffed up and rouged. And then, much to my surprise, so was my rim. Imagine a cosmetician who specialized in ass holes!! A trainer put us through some exercises to pump up our muscles. I had to admit: if I was good lucking stud before, I was a deeply tanned young Adonis after with a slight sultry edge.

All of the "actors" were conscious of all the others. All of us had stood around together stark naked for nearly an hour. We knew within a quarter inch how big each of us was, soft and hard. And it was quite clear that I was the porn star when it came to size. All three were older, but not by much. One had carefully trimmed facial hair (Brent). The second was his age but without facial hair (Glen). And finally, one (Michael) secretly winked at me as he fluffed his stuff. He was the slimmest guy with gymnast type muscles and probably the nicest dick: long and with a nice hooded apple head. I instantly realized he had been the guy I had met at Peacock on the dance floor months ago, the one I had almost immediately fallen for. He was every bid the stud that I had imagined all these months.

Then it was time to talk with the "nurse." He wanted all the details: how often did I cum, how much? After penetration, what was the range of time to cuming? How long could I keep an erection? How long after ejaculation until I could go again? He had pills and creams and lubes (some anesthetized) to keep me hard and maximize my staying power. And he had pills and even an injection that would get me hard again quickly after cuming. He explained that every fuck typically took two to five "takes." Studs who could hold off, keep it hard, even after cuming, and recover quickly were the most valuable. Cameramen, lighting consultants etc all cost money. All through the session, he handled my meat like a gay sorcerer—which I guess in a way he was. By the end, I realized my dick, not I, was the star. He got all the attention.

By then, a stage had been set up (a dorm bedroom), and the cameras were in position. Marty joined us and announced the program. Two of the guys were professionals and were going to make a film. That was first on the agenda. I was to watch and learn. I realized that they were essentially going to pay for the set. The rest was extra—my audition. I learned that only one of the guys was going to fuck me on camera. But, Marty might change his mind and let me do a threesome with the first two if the takes went quickly. For my first day, I was going to be the bottom: a "first time" boy discovering his gayness and celebrating my 18^th birthday. I needed to be as vocal as I could manage—although they would dub additional stuff later. I needed to show pain turning to pleasure. Film-shooting typically took about an hour which would be edited down to 5-15 minutes.

I realized just how much work this was going to be. And that I had to make it look like I was enjoying every moment—except perhaps for the entry stretch where I could show surprise and pain.

First, I watched the pros. It was the typical dorm room horseplay-wrestling-turned-fuck scenario that we had all seen. The guys were really good. They knew how to position so the camera could get the best shots of finger foreplay, insertion (with the required grimace-becoming-smile) and pounding. They did it missionary. Three cameras caught it all: from the side, face shots and from between the top's legs. The last shots looked a little like the camera lens was cupping the top's balls or maybe going in to double up. It was that close! The pounding went on for several minutes as the Glen's color darkened, and he squirmed more violently. Ultimately Glen came first, spewing cum on his abs, forming a pattern that looked like it had been scripted. Then the top pulled out and added his cum and spread out over Glen. It was definitely professional. But maybe a little too predictable and fake. You just knew these guys were actors.

(Presumably non-professional viewers woldn't think so. By that point anyway, the viewer was thinking with his dick. And we all know how that goes.)

They looked great, but I had no more feel for them than I did for most of the johns who paid me to go with them after dancing. They were handsome, and they did cause me to pull a rigid erection, but it didn't have any feeling.

(Shit, was I already a "method actor" who had to feel and emote the part on my first shoot? And had I become so jaded that I judged my johns from 1 to 10? I WAS hard after all. And isn't that the whole idea of a porn flic?)

Michael (not Mike), the youngest of the three was going to shoot with me in my video. He was the one who had winked at me—the guy I remembered from Peacock that I was ready to do for free. He was taller than me, but slimmer, and very pale, with nearly white hair, sky blue eyes with what appeared to be a twinkling white star deep inside, and a Nordic look. The sun had never seen his skin. And I had never been with anyone so "clean looking" before. No hair below his eyebrows—anywhere. I guess he was the innocent prototype who was going to take my virginity—at least in the film. He was made up so he was almost a pale statue—not a hair or a blemish or a mark. I swallowed a laugh as I thought about this: my first movie fuck was going to be by an angel! Maybe they were going to play this as two virgins de-flowering each other.

We were dressed in jocks and cropped tees, carrying the name of an unknown college. Then we were placed in the dorm room. "Okay, here's the scene. You're roomies and have lusted for each other silently for months. You've been playing intramural soccer, and you've already showered. Flip, you've just insulted Michael's athletic abilities on the field. Michael is pissed. So he pushes you away. Flip trips on the rug and falls on the bed on his back. Michael pounces, spreads out over you pinning you to the wrinkled sheets, and you begin to wrestle. Just a few holds. Michael wants to vanquish his insulting roommate in battle, he thinks."

"But then he reconsiders the situation. He remains on top. Flip can't throw him off. Then Michael, reaches down and kisses Flip on the lips. Flip registers surprise; shows some anger; then he embraces Michael with legs and arms and continues the lip action. The tees and jocks disappear. Michael manages to flip Flip" (The director here laughed at his accidental joke.) "He spreads Flips legs and dives in for a taste. Flip squirms. And the rest should be easy. Both of you guys are certified clean, so we're doing this bareback." (I wondered how Marty had arranged that after I had been taken by both him and Danny bareback in the last few days.)

We took our positions. And Michael whispered, "I'll be gentle realizing you're a newbie. But I have to tell you that your dark sinister look is really turning me on. The way it did on the dance floor. You are the devil to my angel, Flip. And I really like fuckin' the devil. I asked the nurse to give me a little anesthetic cream on my dick, so I can last. So you're in for a marathon. Let's make this one good."

The camera rolled. As per the script, we pushed each other around. I tripped and fell on my back on the bed. He pounced and we again wrestled, but as the minutes go by the wrestling becomes foreplay. I couldn't believe how much I was enjoying grabbing and holding various parts of Michael. Then, there was the inevitable kiss, the magic awakening and then the flip where he ends up on top. He fingered me deep with his long index finger. When he added another and touched the prostate, I felt the shock from the tips of my toes to the top of my spine. No one had ever done that to me before. (That was a bad description. Obviously dozens had, but none had had quite that effect before. What was it about this guy?) I turned my head to stare at this guy. The shock must have registered, because Michael withdrew his hand quickly and stared hard into my eyes. He didn't say a word, but his expression asked whether he had hurt me. I recovered and fell into step. We wrestled a little more until I seemed to acquiesce. (To me by then it felt more like foreplay than wrestling.) By this time Michael was on top covering every bit of me. I was really turned on and wanted this to be good. I guess that's what method actors try to achieve all the time: losing themselves in the moment, forgetting it was acting. With Michael it was easy.

He rose up, his rampant cock caught quite nicely by the camera. Then he bent forward and began the intrusion, slowly working his dick deep inside as my ass came alive and I began to push up into it. He extended the penetration and pounding for almost five minutes. I think I registered the right amount of initial pain, then surprise and awakening lust—because that's what I felt. Throughout, the cameras got it all—the size and shape of my new boy's dick when Michael pulled my jock off; my deep cut abs, caught in the desk lamp shadows; my smile, the smile of a potential villain; my eyes which reflected genuine pleasure; and, of course the sculpture of my ass cheeks as his long thin dick penetrated. I was by then on my knees arching my ass into him, so my enormous shaft and balls hung low, again caught by one of he side cameras—even the dripping precum, and the retraction of hood as Michael reached under and pulled it back, stroking my cockhead. Being slim was a great advantage—as the camera tended to bulk up—and my rock hard abs held back to frame the genitals. Michael came inside, hot and copious with a deep, sensuous growl; then he pulled out. His cum continued to drip from his shaft and my hole onto my balls. Then my shaft started to convulse, shooting cum onto the sheet—and the camera caught it all. The dribbling aftermath of the top, proof of ejaculation, was apparently a trademark of this director. And it really worked. I was exhilarated. Michael had been a terrific lover. I had enjoyed every second—and was ready for an encore.

When we finished, the crew was silent. They knew they had a star. I was scared. Of course, I hadn't done this before and had not yet seen the critical comments that were later provided to me. Their silence could mean that I didn't have it. But, I did feel something. Michael and I were magic together. I wanted more of him, and I was willing to give him a lot more of me.

As per protocol, no one said anything other than a perfunctory "Thanks, good job, guys". They would need to view the edited films before judgment could be rendered.

We moved to chairs outside the set, waiting for instructions. I started to talk, but he motioned me to silence, whispering, "Later."

So, since everything had moved so nicely and the crew had been hired for the day, we moved into the third round, I changed into a reasonable facsimile of my stage costume (the urban cowboy). And the bearded guy and his partner dressed in club gear. (Michael was sitting this one out, but stayed to watch, I noted.) I positioned at "my dressing table" (the same dorm room, but the bed had been removed and the student desk had been littered with makeup and topped with a lit mirror) and the two guys walked in. The rest was formulaic, as they say. Some bills were laid on the table, and the clients started stripping as I continued to remove make-up and costume. Soon we were on the gaudy old sofa. I had been pushed over the arm. The bearded guy wrapped and penetrated from behind, standing and pounding with abandon. The camera focuses on his face, then his deeply cut abs, then his thrusting.

Meanwhile, Glen moved into the sofa and began to feed me his dick. He was a grower—and although he was initially smaller than me, he turned out to be much larger. So much so that he stretched my lips. There was a lot of grunting, a little smacking, and finally, we had three simultaneous cum shots. My back was covered. My lips were leaking Glen's cum. And my own had sprayed over my abs. The scene ended abruptly as the guys dressed and left. I stood, legs akimbo, a still chubbed cock still leaking, my face and ass dripping cum, and stared in disgust and despair at the camera man as I counted the bills. His camera panned in on my body, coated in cum. The lighting had been harsh—and later I realized it had aged me by maybe ten years. But, the focus on my cut muscles, dripping in cum, with the stark light was nothing short of Oscar quality. I was a whore, but I was also a hunk—and I photographes very well.

Later I learned that both shoots were considered a success. I could be a seduced ingénue or a seasoned whore with equally convincing moves. I was "signed" by Peacock Studio Productions—at $1000/pop plus a small residual. Even though Peacock was producing, Marty continued to take his cut, although I told him 10% was the limit.

The next week, I returned to the stage. And I started skipping calling in for electrician day work. I had to be ready for a film-call at 24 hours notice and I was dancing again. I was on my way to porn stardom. I wouldn't need a day job after all.

Late that week, just before my Saturday dance routine, Michael txted. He apparently had also felt the magic. He wanted to meet. I stalled, not sure of what might be next. I was still wearing the collar and visitors were not permitted on the third floor. So I txted back that there were complications. If he wanted to visit the club when I was dancing, we could meet at the club. I'd reimburse him for one of the private booths. But I couldn't leave the club, and he couldn't visit my room. But, he came back immediately.

### As one of the film actors contracted to Peacock, I'm permitted anywhere at the club and I've got a card key. I'd love to see you dance. But, plan on spending time together later in the evening. ###

So we were on. I spotted him in the audience at both my 10 and 11 shows (I had graduated to 2 shows a night by popular demand). I know when I'm good, and I was really good that evening. I had someone to dance for.

Michael did "rent" one of the booths and we disappeared for a half hour after my last show. Given the film action, we got it on without much comment. He was careful and gentle as he climbed on top of me and took possession of my mouth, my nipples and my shaft. I loved it and raised my ass from the leatherette banquette to give him access. He lubed, fingered and entered. I was ready. So was he. We "danced" in unison as he hit the prostate with each downstroke, and I penetrated his anus with a spit-soaked finger. Then we climaxed together. It felt pretty good. The magic was still there. Even in a tawdry gay club. "Next time, we'll have some privacy and some time to talk. I want to know everything there is to know about you, cowboy. I think I'm in lust." Then, he quickly pulled off me, drew up his jeans and left, whispering, "You've got my cell. I'll be waiting."

Life was moving fast. In less than a year I had moved from a schoolboy playing at sex, to a paid "exotic" dancer, to an escort "managed" by a pro, to a porn film star wannabe—perhaps with a guy I liked.

I had gone from play to pay. And in my wildest dreams I had not imagined meeting someone like Michael. Maybe he was the one. Maybe he could help me take the next step from pay to play again—in a mature relationship. Was I ready to take the chance?

TBC BD