Flip Mecum Ch. 06

Flip moves to New York with Michael

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.

Ultimately I did what I always did when faced with a hard decision or a dilemma. I either made a rash decision (like rushing out of my Pop's home or joining the gay dancers at Peacock) or I punted. Marty had not yet called Michael and me out for our extracurricular activities. Actually, I wasn't sure what rule we had broken. Nothing said that I couldn't have sex outside Peacock or without Marty's consent, but we all knew what he expected. Except of course for the one time when he had sworn me to celibacy when the mayor had monopolized my body, but that was only for a short time and apparently over. Incidentally, Marty had never paid me for the tryst with His Honor. Marty had given Michael a cardkey to Peacock which included access to the third floor where my apartment was located. But somehow I knew that if he knew Marty would be pissed.

So I decided not to make an immediate decision about lending Michael a good deal of money. I was in lust, maybe in love, but it had been only a couple of weeks. And Michael had told me that Marty wouldn't settle up what was owed until the end of the week. I didn't know exactly what he needed. That gave me a few days. So, I did nothing. Just waited for things to happen to me. Hell, I'm just a kid.

I made two more short "features" that week. Both were praised by the director as paving new roads in the world of erotica. I wasn't sure what that meant. They were typical romantic flip films. There was almost no plot. But who the fuck needs plot when the video opens with two young, handsome naked guys waking up in the same bed with two mountainous tented peaks in the cover sheet? The resulting blow job-turned-fuck was pretty formulary, but I enjoyed every minute, and apparently the camera liked it even better.

Of course, the guys (me included of course) were magnificent—even after an apparent night in bed after a tough night before. My partner had a muscled tight body and had been chosen to contrast with mine. He was deeply tanned, but had obviously always worn a square-cut when tanning. So from waist to thigh he was lily white and hairless except for the black dark bush that sat above his cock like a Neanderthal eyebrow. The cock was cut, not so long as mine, but the proverbial beer can thick. And he knew how to use it. I felt the wonderful feeling of stretch and fullness as he pumped into me. He found and punished my prostate to assure that I was with him all the way. He noted my pleasure as he scraped it, winked and did it again and again. He knew exactly what he was doing. The arousal was not faked. He was good. (Fortunately the prep guy had given me DETAIN, so I was hard, yet able to hold off.) Finally, he stretched tall and roared as he came, his deeply cut abs contrasting in the side light. The camera was absolutely obsessed with my ass and the contrast of my partner's enormous BWC drilling it with abandon. In that sense, it was almost an art film—three forms (two dark globes being penetrated by a light pole attached to a milk-white gut and butt). (Well, that's what they'll say if challenged by Deep South censors.) Ultimately we both came buckets—one of the trademarks of my film-making apparently. And it was clear as the film ended that the day's activities between those two young guys had not. To emphasize the point, the closing credits were shot over three giant letters in the background: TBC.

After a light lunch, we moved into the second shoot. It opened with one semi-naked (silky shorts, no jock) body builder (me) grunting with a weight-burdened barbell as I stared up into the hardened cock of another equally handsome (and similarly dressed in jock-less silky shorts) but significantly larger guy spotting me. Gym flics usually are well-received, even if the two main characters are alone in a shiny new place. They always involve tight shorts which outline hard dicks or loose silky shorts that permit an erect cock to peak out below, bare chests, sweat and pumped muscles--the basic building blocks of male erotica.

Why are there never any hunks like this in my gym, waiting to spot me? (Or later to take me before or in the shower?) Maybe I should change gyms. I'm gonna have to do a search. Does Craig's List still have gay-friendly gyms? I don't think Grindr will be useful. Maybe one of the other dancers has a suggestion.

In the first part of the story, after just a few minutes of lifting as the camera roams over and pans in on various parts of our bodies, I rack the bar and reach up into his shorts to pull his dick out and into my face and mouth. It's a nice one. Long, hooded, dark and leaking pre-cum. Every vein pops. He lowers himself and sits on me as his dick fucks my mouth and my fingers crawl up into his ass and penetrate. The camera focuses on the lust in both of our faces: drooping eye lids, flushed cheeks, swollen lips and flaring nostrils. Then we move and strip. I straddle his dick on a padded bench and ride him to a nice photographically pleasing double ejaculation as he pulls me into his chest and we deep-throat tongues. The contrast of the hard chrome against the hot naked bodies of two guys is always a nice treat.

Then in the second part, apparently the next morning, I am taken first on the sparkling white sheets—to contrast my dark color. Then, in the shower. In the first, I interrupt his dressing for work with a seduction which ends up with him taking the day off. We're clearly in for a day of smoking hot sex.

I did both scenes with new guys. Obvioulsy, I was somewhat of a gym-cum dump—two guys, several times on consecutive days. Both older than me. Both tops. They were apparently a ready-made couple (in real life). They arrived and left together and were vigilant hawks throughout the filming of the other. I didn't have a chance of making a connection even if I had wanted to. I think Marty was trying to ensure that I didn't encounter another Michael during a shoot. He had other plans. By then I was pretty sure.

Incidentally, Michael was not scheduled to be filmed and did not appear at Peacock all the rest of that week. I couldn't wait the few days to Friday and I did drop by ealier. I surprised him and we enjoyed hot sex in his apartment next to the gym. But, I didn't have much time. Nevertheless, we both felt the intense attraction. It was definitely very different when we fucked. And we both enjoyed the familiarity of having sex with someone you knew—and probably loved. I had learned all of his pleasure points: the nipples, his neck just under the ear lobe and the inside of his thigh, just under his ballsacs. Unfortunately, when I was with him, every inch of my body was a pleasure point. He could get me off, if he wanted, in just a few minutes.

The limited opportunity was probably just as well. I hadn't yet decided whether I was going to declare myself, lend him a chunk of my savings and ultimately leave for New York with him—although he hadn't really asked either.

Marty had called me to his "office" only once that week--

Thursday night—but he had insisted that I spend the night in his bed again, spooned into his gut, after he had taken me twice. He had murmured words that certainly suggested that he was about to take some action that would make me his alone. He promised that he would "take care of me" so I wouldn't have to dance, put-out or work the project sites (presumably as an electrician) again. (He was however silent on the porn flic jobs.)

Michael appeared at the third floor apartment early Sunday afternoon. My apartment mates were both there. All of us had just had our weekly "review" and pay session with Marty, while the bouncer looked on. (I had learned that he had the most unlikely name of Brutus, but no one but Marty ever used his real name. It occurred to me that the only Brutus I knew was the Shakespearean character who stabbed his boss and friend, Julius.) Marty paid us the basic fee for the dancing and, me, my initial "fee" for making the two flics. Then we had opened our tip boxes and the currency had been counted. Marty took his 20%. Then I paid the rent and fees from my share and salary. That left me with about $1500—not bad for a week's work, but there was no mention of compensation for His Honor again.

(I had also put in two days in as an electrician that week. So, I was now only three weeks from "qualifying" to take the master electrician exam in Harris County. I knew that certificate, once granted, would be transferable in many states, including New York. So, financially and from a job status, I was moving toward a really good place: self-sufficiency.)

On the other hand, when he appeared, Michael was visibly upset and angry. "That bastard. I'm fired. It turns out the Las Vegas team paid $10K for my days with them. My share should have been at least 50%. And he still owed me a grand for last week's films. But he claimed that the interest on the payment he made to buy my contract had "coincidentally" come to just about my share. So he didn't give me shit. Not a penny. And then he fired me. He said that I would know why he had canned me. And what really gripes me is that I can't do a thing. Everything we do, including payments, is outside the law. I wanted to punch him out, but Brutus was there, and strangely, he was armed. I guess he was expecting a fight."

"So I'm outta here. I'm not welcome at Peacock. He even voided my card key. If your door had been locked, I wouldn't be here."

I was angry for and with Michael. But there wasn't much I could do. I tried to look sympathetic, but wasn't going to make a scene in front of my apartment-mates. So I made my typical "rash" decision. I said and did nothing. Michael stormed out, angry and without touching me.

I was in turmoil. But my turmoil didn't last. I decided.

I decided to lend Michael at least $5K and agree to meet him in New York in about three weeks after I took the electrician's exam. Meanwhile, I would stay at Peacock and bank as much as I could. I also knew where Marty kept the cash. I would get Michael's money for him before I left. I'd find a way to secure the key to the box that was bolted inside a drawer of Marty's desk.

I announced I was going to the gym by way of the bank to make a deposit. I told my apartment mates that I'd see them later.

Michael had left so quickly that I hadn't immediately responded to his tirade. I couldn't let him leave like that. So I followed and headed for his apartment.

I arrived at Michael's apartment just a few minutes later. He was obviously distressed. The place was a mess. He had been throwing things and breaking things. "Can we talk?"

He didn't answer, but grabbed me into a bear hug. I was a life raft. He was at the end of his rope. And he was weeping. "I just don't know what I'm going to do, Flip. I've made a mess of my life. I've no one to blame but myself. I'm a bad person. My folks were right. A gay guy who sells his body and then makes movies to tempt other young guys to sin deserves anything he gets. I can't blame anybody for my decision to give up my acting career for one in porn. And I can't blame anyone for doing drugs. I'm a weak, sinful guy."

He went on and on like this for what seemed like incredibly long minutes. By then, my shirt was soaking and I was stroking his back and butt with soothing caresses. And I was ashamed of myself. I was turned on and rigidly hard. No one had ever opened up like this to me before. Used me as a confessional. Treated me like an adult. Needed me for something I could give. Then it hit me: I loved this guy and when he hurt, I hurt. So I opened up to him. I hugged him back and ultimately drew our lips together. "It's going to be okay. I love you Michael. I want to be with you. I'm going to make that happen."

"So here's the plan." (I had a plan? I was never the take-charge planner. I was the flotsam that floated wherever the river flowed.) I'm coming with you to New York if you'll have me. We're going to do this together." Then I handed him about $1500—the cash Marty had just given me. I'm going to take more for you out of the bank tomorrow. I want you to go to New York right away. Look for a place for us to live in. I'll follow in about three weeks. I don't need Peacock any more, but I want that electrician's license. I may need it in New York to support us until an acting gig for you comes along. I've given a little thought to this. I'm going to try to become a theatre electrician. I'm not sure how, but by the time I get to New York, I'll know. I promise. No more than three weeks. And then we'll be together. That is, if you want me."

He didn't settle down right away, but he stopped the near-hysterical sobbing. I led him to the bed and we stretched out on it, facing each other in an embrace. We kissed, hugged and rolled around on the bed. Within a minute or so, our clothes seem to have vanished. He rolled onto his back and drew me on top, vee-ing his legs so I dropped into him. I scootched down and lifted his legs. He caught them with hands behind the knees and drew them up and out. And as he rolled back, my lips went to his rim. On the way, I realized he was bruised—even a cigarette burn. "Did they do this?"

"Yeah. They were real monsters."

"Will it hurt if I make love to you?"

"C'mon Flip. You could never hurt me. You can take me anytime. I love you, man."

So I kissed his wounds. Then I tenderly brought my mouth to his rim, laved it with my tongue, curled and penetrated. He tasted like ambrosia. I could feast at this table forever. Soon however he tapped my cheek. "You need to put him inside, Flip. I don't want to come without you. Make love to me, Flip. I need you right now. Dr. Mecum's all-purpose creamy cum."

I used my fingers to finish his opening, lubed and slowly entered as his face lit up with pleasure. His legs dropped from my shoulders to wrap around my waist and hold me to him. "That's a magic wand, Flip. It heals everything and everyone it touches. I love you. It's so different when I'm with you." As he said those words, my enlarged cockhead began to scrape his nut, and I saw the physical evidence of his pleasure in his eyes. We moved slowly together. When I plunged, he lofted from the bed, drawing me ever deeper into the very center of his being. The last vestiges of my doubt about him vanished. No one could fake this level of love. I had been right in coming here. We belonged together. We'd make it together.

But enough emotion. I needed to cum. I needed to breed him as my mate. I started to pound, over and over, hitting bottom, slapping balls on his ass cheeks, as my fingers moved to his nipples and began the tease. They were already hard. So I slowed down and slipped in and out carefully to prolong our arousal. But, ultimately the inevitable arrived. I could feel the pressure in my balls, and my cock hardened to open the channels for the flow of my seed.

"I'm cumming, Flip. You're pushing it out of me. Let's make this good if it's going to be the last for a few weeks until we're together again." I felt the initial spasms and the tightening of his gut muscles. He was cocked and ready.

"Me too, lover. Me too." I stretched out my legs, sucked in my gut, and cocked my trigger. I wanted a powerful statement. And I started to blast my hot cum deep inside as his dick began to spurt his on our chests. When I was totally spent, but still rigidly hard, I collapsed onto him, gluing us together with his cum as our lips connected. We dozed in that position for maybe a half hour, luxuriating in the contact and the aromas of our musk and cum. Then, with reluctance, I decided I needed to return to Peacock. I knew next week, maybe the next three weeks would be difficult. Michael and I would be apart. And, I had the feeling Marty was going to try to take our relationship—at least as he saw it—to the next level.

And then, in an unusual bit of forethought on my part, I realized that I might not last three weeks at Peacock and I might need a place to stay. "You've got this place until the end of the month, I assume?"

"Yeah, till the end of August. You can have it, and, if it's not obvious, I want you with me in New York."

"When we meet tomorrow so I can give you the rest of the cash, give me a key. If Marty gets to be too much, I'll move in here and continue my electrical work from here until I qualify for the exam. I'm going to maximize my income from Peacock. But, if it gets too much...."

I met Michael briefly early that next evening. I had worked all day on the job site in Katy. I was dusty and sweaty. He looked at me and said, "Fuck, Flip, you're so sexy when you're dirty like this. Are you sure you can't come in for a COCKtail before you go back to Peacock."

"Sorry Marty has txtd that he wants to see me when I get back from work. I'm guessing he wants me tonight. I don't want to end things with him until I have to. It could mean another $5 to 10K for our new life in New York." We exchanged the key and the cash, and we joined together in a farewell embrace. Then I returned to Peacock and showered after a long day at the jobsite.

Marty was waiting as I emerged from the shower. "Filming tomorrow, Flip. So don't call in to work. How about joining me for dinner tonight?"

"Sure. But I'm tired. So let's do something close by. And that doesn't require me to dress."

"I'm not sure there are any nudist restaurants, even in Montrose. We can do take-out in my apartment if you prefer."

"You know what I mean."

We had a quick meal a block or so away from the club at a new trendy brasserie. It wasn't exactly as casual as I had hoped. It was filled with well-dressed young professionals and a significant number of gays—both of whom were participating in the new gentrification of Montrose. (It actually occurred to me that the changes would probably result in the end of Peacock within a year or two.) At dinner, Marty started by telling me that I could expect to make a couple of films a week from now on—for several months at least—until I would need a rest to let the audience have a breather from me.

He then told me that I was going to drop back to one performance each night on the three entertainment nights—the last performance each night. I was getting "over-exposed."

And then there was the last statement—not a request. "And you're moving into my apartment as of tonight. We'll move your stuff tomorrow." He laughed at my apparent surprise (it wasn't surprise so much as resigned acceptance of the inevitable) and added, "And I won't even charge you rent."

Fortunately, at that moment we were interrupted by several guys who were regulars at Peacock. They wanted to thank us for our contribution to their lifestyle and wish us well, but it interrupted the conversation. Thank, god. I think he was about to propose something more permanent. Not tonight. Not after saying farewell to Michael. Not with what I had planned for the next few weeks.

We headed back to the apartment. Things were very different between us now. Of course the collar, the visible sign of his ownership was gone. But his whole attitude had changed. He was easing in slowly. But, it was clear he wanted us to be lovers—albeit not quite equal. He would continue to call the shots. He would continue to top. But, he wanted a responsive lover, not an employee. In the next nights, I think I proved I was a competent actor. We fucked every night, often more than once. He started taking me bare, assured that I wrapped with everyone else and by the weekly testing that he had instituted at Peacock. He was never rough, unless of course I egged him on, which I did often to convince him of my attraction. I blew him most mornings to start his day, a ritual he began to expect and enjoy. Little did he realize that doing so meant that he had only one shot to plant inside me later that night.