Flip Mecum Ch. 04

Flips relationship with Michael deepens.

This is an original, fictional story. None of the persons or places is real—even if their names seem familiar. Everyone engaged in sexual activity is over 18. © 2024. Brunosden. All rights reserved.

I've just had the best week of my life. I've had a screen test for porn films—and the results came in better than I could ever have dreamed. I'm going to be a star! Marty has put me back on the schedule. So, by popular demand, I'm dancing the two late shows at the Peacock Club on Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays. My bank account hit a new high yesterday. And then there's Michael. I've known him only a few days. But, after this afternoon, I'm ready to sign on for the duration. I'm already sure he's he one.

We met at the film shoot—he was my top in one which everyone thought was the best of the two that I had done. (Actually, that's not quite accurate: we had met months before at the club. And I learned he had come back several times to watch me, but never appeared when I did the club after a number.) We were magic—initially my words, but now the words of the director and the producer. He managed to watch me dance on Saturday. He "bought" me for a half hour at the club and promised that he'd find a way to see me alone within a few days.

But, I'm getting ahead of myself. Blame it on youthful enthusiasm and inexperience—both of which are absolutely true. I guess I've been searching for a romantic attachment for most of the years of my young life.

Let me start again. The booth fuck, by necessity, was a quickie, but I could tell he was trying to make sure that he had made an impression on me—despite the risk that the curtain could be pulled back opening the booth to the dance floor at any moment and the loud sounds of multiple make-outs on the dance floor and in the booths on either side of us. Believe me, he had impressed me. The dick and the body that it belonged to were definitely photogenic. He was my height, with Nordic features, bright blue eyes, light muscles and thick kissable lips. He was the lightest skin-toned person I had ever met, almost angelic in his whiteness and the inner glow. I was in love with his looks, his gentle ways, his slim hairless body and that dick! Eight inches, but thin, hooded, with the biggest apple head I've ever had. Perfect on the nut. It excites like a the twinkling light bulb on the end of a magic wand. And it leaks precum that is absolutely delicious. He deliberately slowed up to make sure we came together. What a considerate boy! He really seemed to be about me, not just getting off.

Fuck! I've just read the last paragraph again. I sound like a love-struck school girl. Well, I am love-struck, but very definitely not a school girl—except maybe for my lust for male cock. In my mouth. In my mancunt. In my hands. Anywhere he wants to put it is fine with me. Ever since the shoot when he winked at me, fluffed his dick at me, touched me and fucked me on camera, I've been his.

We met for lunch today (Thursday) after we had finished film shoots—not together. These were my first "real shoots" although he was already a veteran. Marty wouldn't really suspect anything if two of his actors had lunch together.

His stage name is Michael. Real name is Bjorn Andersen. But, it's Michael for now, never Mike. He's third generation American from Minnesota. He's three years older than I am. He finished college with a degree in acting, was working in Los Angeles (of course) as a waiter when a customer asked him to do a screen test. It wasn't until he got to the studio that he discovered it was for porn. Raised a good Christian prude, he was walking out. Then the producer pointed out that there was a $500 audition fee for him if he did the shoot, and much more if the shoot resulted in casting. He was hungry and broke. He did the scene, showed really well against a dark skinned top, later fucked the producer, and his career was born. (Actually, he admitted, the career started when the producer took him home and fucked him for an entire night without rest a few hours later.) He didn't even realize he was gay until then. He just thought that as an artist, handsome men and attractive females were both attractive. It was essentially part of the "left brain" artistic style. Attraction to men was a "creative thing"—not a "gay thing."

He's been making films for about a year. Around twenty are now in circulation—from which he receives royalties (or at least he should if his managers released the funds). Then there are another two or three made for a private club. No royalties there, but the initial fee was over $5K each! Someday he'll have to tell me what was filmed to be worth that. He was sent to Houston by his agent. They needed some skin contrast with all the Latino hunks. So, he was essentially "sold" to Peacock. (It turned out later that he had left out important parts of the story.)

As we ate and talked, it was clear that we were both very interested. Even after a morning of performing on camera, Michael was still horned. He demonstrated that by separating my thighs with his knee, rubbing my crotch and grabbing my dick through my shorts, all under the tablecloth within minutes of when we sat. I tried to act normal for the other diners, but that turned out to be very difficult. He was insistent and knew exactly what he was doing.

I gave him the much shorter and somewhat glorified history of my life. He promised to visit my apartment after the dance routines that night. And then we were off. I did wonder how long we were going to get away with this before Marty discovered. He was usually sharp enough to catch by the second date. He certainly wasn't making any money from a romance between two of his "boys". And I did notice Michael wasn't wearing a neck ring of ownership, although he didn't remark about mine.

My numbers that night were more routine than usual. I was anxious to return to the apartment, but thoughts of Michael certainly kept me aroused throughout the night. Fortunately the crowd was small, and the highrollers were absent. I got some invitations for floor dances, and one lap dance, but no blows and no fucks. My apartment mates had been "sold" and were gone, so we were alone when I got back upstairs.

Within a few minutes of arrival, we both had stripped. I presumed my mates were out for the night. So we moved to the lumpy couch. He sat first—in the center, and pulled me into his lap. He wanted to neck. My arms went up around his neck, and our lips crashed together. I felt his tongue knocking and opened gladly. Soon we were dueling and breathing in sync. The passion was intense. So much so that, after a short while, we were both breathless. He withdrew his right hand from my blonde hair and released my head. We broke apart for a few seconds. Then I realized his rock hard dick was stabbing my hip—and mine, equally hard, was being softly stroked by his left hand, with fingers occasionally brushing my balls and touching my taint.

I flipped over and took his head into my mouth. The hood retracted nicely, exposing a moist, musk-laden, soft round head. I sucked. Then I sucked harder. I wanted to take him entirely inside. It was sweet and beautiful. I tried for the first time to deep throat a cock. And I almost made it before I had to release and cough. His cock was now blood red and leaking precum.

I looked up into his eyes. They were a much deeper shade of blue. And his nose was flaring. Scanning his torso, I realized it was darkening. His tits were enlarging and his nipples were hard and erect. This boy showed passion with his whole body. The body could not lie. He was definitely into me. So I retook his cock in my mouth and swirled my tongue around, playing with the hood.

Meanwhile, his fingers had moved to my cheeks and began an insistent massage, fingers often straying into the crack. Oh, I wanted them there. So I spread my legs and lofted my ass into his hand. The jolt I got from his dick--what we in the trade called "false pre-orgasmic spasm"—told me that we both were enjoying the foreplay. And I knew that what I was doing was welcome.

Then it hit me. This moment was different from all the other sexual experiences that I had had. This wasn't play. This wasn't for paid for. This wasn't a quid pro quo. We were actually enjoying each other as adult males, striving to give each other pleasure (as only a professional could do at such a young age) and at the cusp of something really different. Was this love? I really didn't know. I had no experience with that emotion. But, I felt better than I had ever felt in my life. I could remain in his lap doing these things forever.

But, fuck, we were both young studs. Even after a day of filming porn and several orgasms, we were ready for more.

I rose from his lap and took his hand to lead him to my bed. I was preparing to stretch out for him when he fell into the bed, on his back, and reached out to pull me into him on top. We squirmed—repeating the wrestling sequence in our "test" porn flic which had won us praise from the director and the producer. It felt so good to be molding our bodies together. Pressing chest to chest. Grabbing and separating ass cheeks. Clashing our hard dicks together in dry combat. Hugging with abandon. Dueling with tongues. Gripping hair to prolong lip contact. We rolled. I started on top. Then he was. And finally, he threw his arms above his head and vee'd his legs in surrender. "Take me Flip. You win. I'm your prize. I'm yours. I want to feel that cowboy cock inside me."

I rose to my knees, and as I released his hips, he drew his legs up and rolled his ass for my taking. That hole was worthy of a still life painting (no not a still life, a close up video in a porn flic)—perfectly round, hairless, dark pink, glistening with moisture, and quivering in apparent anticipation and invitation. It hypnotized me and drew my tongue in to taste and ravish. I curled my tongue and penetrated. Deeper and deeper as I used hands to spread his cheeks farther to grant me access. He was writhing with pleasure. "I love to be eaten. By you especially. But, I need you to fuck me now, Flip. Now. I want you inside me. I want your big fat dick to stretch me and fill me with pleasure—and with your cum. Do it now Flip."

I backed off and nearly blew when I realized the beauty that arousal had created. His eyes jad darlened to a deep sea blue, but the sparkle was still deep inside. They were now dreamy and hooded with passion. His torso was taut and darkening, his nipples hard and erect on the slab pecs. His dick was like the Eiffel Tower. I lubed quickly, used a few fingers to test his readiness and lube him. He was definitely ready. Then I leaned in and positioned my cockhead at his entrance. I applied a little pressure and popped inside. He was warm and welcoming. I deepend the penetration, probed a bit and found his center of pleasure. Then punched it a few times. He groaned in pleasure. A few more strokes as I squeezed his nipples. And I hit his bottom. My balls swung in an arc and tapped his ass. They were full, boiling with baby makers. I realized that I had a little more length. So I looked into his eyes, "Do you want the rest, Michael?"

He hissed a "yes." So I pressed harder and broke through the inner barrier. He winced, for just a second. Then his hand reached back to hold me deep inside as his grimace turned to a smile of total surrender and pleasure.

I started a slow stroking as I bent forward. The familiar bump of every porn dancer in the world, using my hips and push my dick up and deep. My glute muscles tightened. Our chests touched and then I took his lips. My hands went behind his head and pulled him hard into me. We were totally locked together. One throbbing organism. This was going to be the fuck of my life. The first time with genuine affection and promise. tI was going to be good. We held together in this position; neither of us moving, just reveling in our oneness: me feeling his tight enveloping muscles, him feeling my throbbing blood-filled cock. It was impossible to hold this peak of pleasure. We'd explode if we tried.

Then I resumed the strokes, deep, hard and long. His sheath had molded to my porn dick. "I'm cuming, Flip. You are so fucking big. I can feel you in my gut. You're pushing it out of me. Look. No hands, Mom." He pulled that wide enigmatic smile that lit up his face (and that was so photogenic). You knew he was enjoying this. Even more. He was approaching orgasmic ecstasy. That brought me along with him. This was far more than a minute's intense pleasure. It was a mating of equals that would last for minutes. Yeah, I do think I'm in love. Nothin less could feel this good. Maybe it's mutual.

I reached around and grabbed his ass and plunged as deeply as I could, straining to climb inside him. My legs stiffened. My abs tightened and drew in. I was cocked and ready to fire. I felt his first orgasmic spasm which provided that last stroke of my dick and instantly responded. I exploded inside. Then again. And again. Even after a full (curious word, how about emptying?) day of filming porn, I poured my hot and living essence into him as he shot his between our sweaty heaving chests. I felt the spasms. A very physical fuck. An epic fuck between pros. And a fuck between young lovers.

I continued to stroke, shooting a few more times, probably almost dry. Then I dropped my chest into his and reveled in his lubing cum between us. Our lips clashed. I released his legs and my hands and arms went up to loop his neck. And his hands and legs dropped to hold me tight inside. He wasn't going to let me go.

Minutes later, when our breath returned, we looked into each other's eyes. I was the first to speak, "That was epic, Michael. Absolutely rad. I think I was a virgin until this night. It doesn't count if it doesn't mean anything—or if you get paid. This is the real thing."

I think he agreed, but he answered by wrapping his legs even tighter around my ass. He was definitely not going to let me go.

We rested in that position for several more minutes. Normally, I would have begun to harden again—but it had been a long, demanding day. I was spent. And so was he. So he let me roll off and we embraced. Soon we were both asleep, but still holding tightly to each other, coated and dripping in cum.

********

I was alone in bed the next morning, but I could still smell the perfume of his musk and his cum on the sheets. I lavished myself with a few more minutes dreaming of his body under mine and the deliciousness of our coupling. He was still beside me when I closed my eyes. I could remember every detail of his face and his body. Finally, I rose, stretched and headed for the shower.

We weren't filming that day, so I used the occasion to hit the gym. It was becoming harder to schedule a block of time, but I knew it was essential if I were to maintain the peak of my physical attractiveness. I had two performances that night, and of course I knew that Michael could appear at any time. He seemed to have the ability to appear at will—maybe he was my guardian angel, the best kind of course. I hadn't given up the electric work, so I decided I'd call in and schedule work for tomorrow. It was a Saturday, but I knew the projects were behind schedule, and I could readily take on a day's work. I needed to keep up my eligibility—measured by the number of days worked each week and the number of weeks.

Michael didn't show Friday or Saturday night, and with no filming I didn't see him at the club. I realized that I didn't know where he lived—or more troubling, with whom. But I did have the ability to txt.

I waited until we closed on Saturday, realizing that I had barely noticed—I certainly couldn't identify—the guys who had paid for a dance, a feel, a blow, and even the one who had fucked me. I hoped that I was still responsive and good, but I had the feeling that my interactions had been wooden, maybe even commercial. I couldn't afford that. This was the life I had chosen. Could I continue to enjoy it? Even do it? If Michael were in my life? After my long cleansing shower and before turning in, I txted #### Goodnight, love. Enjoyed our time together. Maybe tomorrow, Sunday? Or is it 'Never on Sunday' for you. We never did talk about your religious practices! ####

There was no answer before I drifted off to sleep. And curiously it had been nearly a week since I had talked with Marty, although he was almost always present at the filming and at the club.

I must have slept through the cell notice of an incoming txt. Early the next morning, I saw that Michael had replied: #### What do you mean? Its ALWAYS on Sunday for me. I've always believed you meet God in his finest creations—like you—and we're in the presence of God when we're in the midst of the finest pleasures that He/She has given us. That is worship for me. Brunch? See you at the Purple Onion on Montrose at noon. I hope your afternoon is free. It's my turn, loverboy. I intend to do all the worshiping this time. My place. I know you've got to check in with the plantation foreman, so tell him you're going to the gym. It's next door to my condo. I saw you there on Friday morning, and almost ambushed you as you left. You looked so HOT, lover. And I don't mean soaking from the exercise. But, I can promise you some real exercise. ####

My entire body tingled with excitement. And my cock immediately tented under the sheet. It wasn't just me. So I replied quickly: ### See you at noon. I can't wait for the afternoon worship. I've been raised to be a VERY religious boy, you'll find. ###

I showered and spent some time inspecting my costumes—deciding what upgrades I could make. And which pieces had served their use. Marty wandered by the dressing room while I was sorting, discarding and drawing up a shopping list.

"Ah, my favorite boy. I see you are as conscientious with your stage clothes as you are with your body—and your johns."

I wondered where this was going. Marty rarely appeared on Sunday—and I had only an hour or so before brunch.

"You've made two terrific videos, Flip. We're getting lots of hits, and the advertisers love it. I'm going to schedule you for three more next week—so forget about the day job except Thursday and Friday if you must. Two of them are with Michael Archangel. You two have some chemistry. It resonates on the screen. Good job."

I waited for the other shoe to fall. He was dressed casually. I think he had just come from the gym. The shorts were tight, and his erection was visibly growing as he talked, while he casually draped a hand on my shoulder.

"How about taking care of this for me? I know it's only morning, but it's been a few days for me. And you always start my engines."

"Sure. I'm having lunch with Michael at noon and plan to use the gym this afternoon. But there's lots of time before then." Without asking and hoping to head off a fuck, a knelt before him and unzipped and dropped his shorts. He had been to the gym already. His musk and ball sweat was potent. I wasn't immune to the intoxicating smell. It was one of my favorite perfumes. He may well have had something else in mind, but he accepted my aggressive and avid blow. I sucked hard, swirled my tongue, and cupped and caressed his balls. He spread his legs. I knew what that meant. My finger teased his hole, and when he moaned in appreciation, I plunged and scraped his nut. Immediately, he grabbed my head with two powerful hands, wound my hair around his palm and started deep fucking my mouth until he shot hard down my throat.

He groaned in satisfaction as he pulled out still dripping. "That was very nice Flip. I wouldn't expect anything less from my star. Do you want me to do you?"

That was an unusual request. He had never before seemed to care about whether I got off. "Maybe later. I want to finish this sorting before I go. There is a cowboy gear shop near the restaurant and I want to see if there is anything interesting to change the look of this stuff."