Vanishing Vince

Nineteen-year-old blond cutie Vincent was bound to the bedframe, his arms stretched out in each direction along the top of the brass headboard. Leather restraints tied his wrists and forearms to the brass rail running along the top of the headboard. His gorgeous smooth-skinned, lithe, hard-bodied, lightly muscular torso streamed down to the surface of the bed, where pillows inserted under the small of his back lifted and rolled up his naked pelvis. An unbuttoned and flared short-sleeve shirt was still on his back, not hiding any part of the young man's trembling musculature, but giving the illusion that he'd been manhandled and quickly stripped—that he'd come here dressed and had been stripped by the hurried hands of another. The cowboy boots still on his feet and red bandana around his neck continued this illusion. His legs were spread, with restraints around the ankles of the boots tied to leads to the opposite corners of the brass footboard.

An imposing-body olive-skinned hunk approaching middle age, but muscular, massive of hirsute chest but tapering down to a solid but narrower waist knelt between the young man's spread thighs. The hunk was ruggedly featured, with beard and mustache. His hair was dark, both the head and beard hair wavy and bushy, but shot through with gray. The salt-and-pepper effect continued down his hirsute body and into his pubes. He was hung, cut, the bulb a purple mushroom cap, and in rock-hard erection.

Vince was nicely hung as well, also in erection. The camera angle on the two magnificent bodies—the blond youth and the mature bear—was of the two erect cocks as they were joined by a thick sounding wand, one end of which was buried in Vincent's urethra canal and the other in that of the older hunk. The hunk was hovering over Vincent's captive one, his face intently looking down into that of the younger man and his hips slowly moving, forward and back, fucking both of their cocks, the skewered bulbs of which kissed as the hunk's pelvis moved forward and separated, showing the connecting silver shaft, when he pulled back.

The hunk was murmuring, in a deep-throated Spanish accent, "Hold steady, relax. Take it, take it."

Knowing how delicate the maneuver was, young Vince was doing what he could to comply. His body was shimmering, though, and he would be screaming if his teeth weren't sunk into a rubber ball gag. His eyes were covered with a black mask to give him some anonymity.

"Ven por mí, dulce niño—Come for me, you sweet little piece," the mature hunk whispered, and, with a shudder, Vince did so, his cum burbling up around the sides of the buried sounding wand and dribbling down the sides of his cock.

The hunk pulled back, extracting the sounding wand and, leaning over, cleaned Vince's cock off with his mouth. The licking and kissing moved up the young man's torso. Vince jerked and bit into the ball gag as the Spanish hunk nipped at his nipples. The man sat back on his haunches, reached over to the case holding the sounding wands, and extracted one larger than he had connected the cocks with.

"Hold steady," he commanded, as he positioned the beaded end of the wand at the opening of Vince's urethra canal. Vince whimpered from behind his gag, but held as steady as he could as the wand was slowly twirled all the way down into his shaft. He trembled and raised his pelvis to follow the extraction of the wand as the hunk pulled it most of the way out but then twirled it back in. Out and in; out and in. Vince was moaning. His body was trembling.

The hunk laughed. He twirled the sounding wand deep down again, grasped and raised Vince's hips, put the bulb of his own thick, long shaft into position at the young man's hole, thrust up inside Vince's passage. Vince's body jerked and writhed as the hunk gained entry and possession.

The camera angle pulled away from focusing on the bed and picked out a corner of the ceiling to mark time—to signal a long time. The camera panned back down to the top of the headboard, thumping against the wall, taking in too, the bound hands of the young man, his fists clutching and releasing to the cadence of the rhythmic thumping of the brass headboard against the wall behind the bed. The image signaled that the scene was in the middle of a prolonged, vigorous fuck.

The cameras caught the clutching and expansion of the hunk's meaty buttocks as his cock moved in and out of Vince's anal passage, the clutching and expansion picking up cadence.

The camera panned back to the bodies on the bed in time to capture the hunk pulling out in time to move up over Vince's body and to cream the young man's face with his cum. He had covered Vince's body closely with his own. His face had lodged itself in the hollow of the young man's throat, and before he reached release, drip trails of blood were streaming down Vince's throat.

"Cut. Cut," voice exclaimed from outside the footprint of the arc lights. "That was excellent. Great work, men."

The porn scene had been recorded. There was no need for a retake.

Afterward, Vince sitting in front of the camera, loosely covered with a robe and still patting at the cum that had been deposited on his face and the blood at his neck, a short interview was conducted by the off-camera scene director.

"There, that was your first use of sounding rods, wasn't it, Chad?"

"Yes," Vince answered, still in the mask, still looking a bit confused and very much overwhelmed. "Where's the other guy? He bit me. He really bit me."

"Most of that is stage blood, though, isn't it?"

"It damn well isn't," Vince responded, his voice test.

The interviewer retained control of the question and ignored that. "The other actor doesn't do interviews. He recedes quickly into the shadows. So, how was your first time with this actor?"

"Scary. I think he's crazy. It was so intense. He really bit me."

"But his endowment. He's one of the biggest in the business. You stretched well enough for him, didn't you?"

"Oh, god, yes."

"But this was your first time on camera with a real porn star, right?"

"Yes," Vince answered as he was instructed to do so with this question.

"So, his size was testing. He tested you."

"Yes." Vince wanted to note again that the bastard had bit him and had drawn blood, but clearly those making this film weren't interested in that. It was nearly Halloween. Vince thought they were missing a bet on the type of film they were shooting if they wanted to release it in the next couple of weeks.

"So, Chad. Tell us a bit about yourself. Where are you from?"

"Right here in Miami," Vince answered. They'd told him he should say this was being filmed in Miami rather than Los Angeles. He didn't know why—or why he was Chad for porn filming, but he didn't need to know. He was studying to be an actor. He'd been told this was a standard way for lookers like him to get into the business. They'd let him wear a mask and told him that would hide his identity for when he got famous later.

"So, what brought you to the adult entertainment business, Chad? Tell the admirers you are surely going to pick up from this movie more about yourself. How old are you? That's a big cock you're got. How many inches? Are you a committed bottom, or . . .?"

* * * *

"We saved some pancakes for you, Vincent. And we're still on our coffee if you'd like to sit with us and tell us how the beach was."

"Can't stay long, Mom," Vince said, as he stood at the Bentwood Country Club house kitchen counter and poured syrup on pancakes that he was going to inhale in record time. He was wearing the athletic running gear he'd left the house in at 7:00, saying he was going down to the Santa Monica to run with some friends. He'd gone instead to Culver City to film the porn scene.

"I'm working the café this afternoon and I've got class tonight. I should be home for dinner, though."

"I don't know why you're working at the café," his father said, pulling his paper down to take a good look at his son—and being very proud of what he saw. Vincent was developing into quite a good-looking man. And he was keeping himself in top-notch fit. "We don't need the money and the acting school should be enough for you to be concentrating on."

Vincent's parents were all for the young man's dream to become a movie star and were comfortable enough to fully bankroll him in the effort. They thought he was a dreamboat. That was why Vince's answer was accepted.

"I work at the café because it's where movie people eat lunch," he said. "It's how a lot of the stars got discovered."

And that was true. Some in the movies got discovered in cafés. The truth that studio publicity departments tried to hide, though, was that more got their start in porn films and even more got there by opening their legs on casting couches—often in same-sex hookups. Vince was playing all of the angles—the acting school, the café, the casting couch—but there was no reason for his parents to know of more than one of them he was pursuing. He was weaving one life for them, while he was actually living in an entirely different world, where they couldn't even begin to understand where to find him.

* * * *

Vince was scheduled to work just the lunch shift at the café near the 20th-Century Studios, where he worked primarily to gain exposure to movie people. His parents thought he was working until seven, but he wasn't because he met a man at a gay bar who claimed to be in casting at Sony Pictures and they'd arranged to meet at the café when Vince went off duty at 4:00. The man, who was no beauty but wasn't repulsive either, was paying Vince $200 for sex in a gay-friendly hotel near the café, but more important than that, he said he'd give Vince his card and would get him some bit parts in movies if everything worked out in the hotel room. Vince knew what that meant.

At 3:30 Vince was fidgeting and going to the men's room every ten minutes to make sure he still looked sharp. This was the best possibility of an in into the movies he'd had as yet. When he came out of the john, he did a double-take, though. The hunk—the guy who had rough fucked and bitten him that morning in the filming of a porn scene, had entered the café, looked around, and picked out a table near where Vince was standing.

Vince nearly hyperventilated at this unexpected merger of his separate worlds. It couldn't have come at a worse time, and the older, hirsute Spanish hunk wasn't someone he wanted to know better. There was something about him that frightened Vince. He looked like dominating danger. Luckily, the guy hadn't sat at a table Vince was serving, and Vince was working his way out of service for the afternoon anyway. He realized as he moved to the other side of the room, near the large window out onto the street, that the hunk had expected Vince to be his server. The Spaniard was clearly disappointed and ticked when a waitress, Carla, showed up to take his order. It looked to Vince that the guy could anger up and get violent quickly. He had a powerful enough body to enforce his will.

Just then Vince saw his hookup walking toward the café, and while the Spanish hunk's attention was turned to begrudgingly ordering something from Carla, Vince slipped out of the door and met the studio casting guy, Clay, on the sidewalk. Clay showed he was pleased Vince had come out of the café to him; he thought it meant that Vince was hot to trot for the two of them to get it on.

As Vince and Clay, Clay already taking possession by palming Vince's buttocks as they walked, moved toward the gay-friendly hotel, Vince couldn't help but think about the Spanish hunk appearing at the café. The guy had been enthusiastic in the filmed fuck they did. He was a real stud. Vince had no reason to complain about that. He just seemed a bit "off"—sort of strange and crazy, quick to go weird. The question, though, was had he gotten the idea Vince wanted more of him—more than what they did for the cameras? Was it a coincidence that the man had come to the café where Vince was working or was Vince being stalked? For some reason the guy seemed like he'd be a stalker—and that he'd be dangerous, real rough, in the fuck. He already had been with Vince on camera. He'd sunk his teeth into Vince's throat—not just bitten him, as Vince had complained about at the time. He'd actually sunk his teeth in. The man had fangs, even if they didn't show most of the time.

"I'm sorry that the room is so . . . tawdry," Clay said when they entered the hotel room.

"That's OK, we're not here for the décor," Vince said, pulling his shirt over his head, walking to the foot of the bed, and flipping a tube of lube and a couple of condom packets on the bed. He saw this as another casting couch event. If he did enough of these, maybe one would pan out to getting him into movies. It was no big deal. Sex was a renewable resource.

He stripped his boots, jeans, and briefs off. He turned, sat down at the foot of the bed, and, showing great flexibility, grabbed his ankles and raised and spread his legs. It was after 4:00 already. He wanted to be home by 6:00 to shower and change and have dinner before his evening class at the Ruskin School for Acting by the Santa Monica airport.

"You don't waste time, do you?" Clay asked. Was that a hint of irritation in his voice, Vince wondered.

"Do what you want. The next hour is yours," he said, nodding toward the wad of money Clay had put on top of the bureau across the room—along with, Vince hoped, the more important business card with the man's Sony Pictures connection information on it.

"Oh, baby, you are so gorgeous," Clay said, sucking in air and striving to make this an arousing event. His jacket was off and he was struggling with getting his tie off. He gave up on the knot, unbuttoning his shirt, but not taking it off his back, and having more success in getting his shoes, trousers, and briefs off. His good luck here was moving real fast. He moved over to the bed, standing between Vince's spread thighs.

"Suck me," he murmured, trying to mimic how it would be said in the movies. He grasped Vince's shoulders and pulled the young man up to a sitting position. After a leaning up/leaning down searching kiss on the mouths, Vincent palmed the man's buttocks, Vince drew Clay's pelvis to him and took the man's shaft into his throat. The man had an OK cock. Nothing to gasp at like Vince himself had and the men he was paired with in porn films had, but good enough to do the job.

After Vince had gotten Clay into a decent erection, the man pressed Vince's torso back onto the surface of the bed, went down on his knees, and it was Vincent's turn to be sucked off. Clay was more diligent in the job, though, not only giving the young man head but also sucking his balls and eating out his ass. He almost couldn't believe how easy this was. The young guy as a real looker and in great shape. The "maybe a way to get a movie role" ploy was working again.

Vince surreptitiously looked at his watch and then moaned, "Yes, yes. Fuck me now, Daddy. I can't take any more. You're a stud."

Clay laughed, rising and hovering over Vince's body. "I'll show you what a stud is." He took a moment to roll a condom on and lube his shaft and Vince's hole. Then he grasped the young man's ankles, raised and split his legs, moved into position, and thrust up inside Vince's channel.

Vince cried out a "Fuck! Shit!" at the sudden invasion and then panted and groaned as Clay proved that he very well knew how to totally and vigorously fuck a young man.

Vince lay on the bed, cooling down, bringing his heart rate back down as Clay quickly showered after the fuck, dressed, and left the room.

The fuck had been better than Vince had thought it would be. The result, though, was more disappointing. The man had left the fee they'd agreed to, but there was no business card. Vince couldn't even assume that the man really was in the movies or a casting staffer for Sony Pictures.

Just another unproductive fuck—other than the money, which would have been—should have been—more if there hadn't been the promise of a studio hookup as well.

On the way home in an Uber, Vincent received a call. Yes, he'd be available in Las Vegas for another porn scene shoot the next day.

When he got home and entered his other, normal world, his mother asked him to walk the dog in the neighborhood while she finished up supper. After another shower and change of clothes, he did so. As he walked the dog, though, he didn't notice the dark van edging along down the street, following his movements. Nor did he notice when it sped up a bit, coming close to him, but stopped and then did a U-turn and drove away when a neighbor with another dog stopped Vincent and the two engaged in a short chat on the sidewalk.

At dinner that night, Vincent's father saw that he had put a packed backpack next to the front door. "We shouldn't expect you home tonight?" he asked. It was OK with him that Vincent wasn't home every night. He was old enough to be doing the honeys, picking one of the women, and settling into a life of his own.

"No, I'm off for a few days," Vincent said. "I've signed up for a party bus down to Vegas, leaving after my acting class tonight. A buddy deals cards at one of the casinos down there and has invited me to visit him for a couple of days. He's got some dates set up and maybe some TV commercial work for me." He was aware that his dad was in the "find a nice girl" phase, so he threw the reference to possible dates in to give him some false hope. The TV commercial idea was wishful thinking, but it wasn't so far off porn filming that Vincent felt like he was totally lying to his parents. He had come to believe that any form of acting was prostitution, but he didn't care.

"So, you don't know when you'll be back in LA again?" his mother asked.

"The school's on hiatus for a couple of weeks. I'll be back for my next class. I'll let you know."

It was left like that—up in the air. He didn't give them an address he was going to be at in Las Vegas. He had his cellphone. They didn't ask for more. To some extent, they didn't want to know any more of what he was up to in reality against their hopes and expectations.

* * * *

Vince was getting bored in his acting class, which was being held in a small auditorium. The instructor had some students up on the stage going through various exercises that were teaching them stagecraft positioning—how to position themselves on a stage to deliver lines to an audience sitting where the students were. This wasn't of interest to Vince. He wanted to be in the movies, not on the stage, and he already knew the basics about not letting your arm get in the way between the camera and the cock working your hole. Beyond that it was the cameramen's jobs to get the right angle shot and to stay out of each other's way.

So, he was looking around to see who else was in the class and maybe who else was as bored as he was. Looking back up to the top row, he did a double-take. Was that dude in this class? Vince couldn't remember seeing him here before, but there he was, the older Spanish hirsute hunk from that morning's filming. Vince's hand went to his throat, where the strange bite marks—more like two puncture wounds—were still there and were still hurting a little.

Was that guy really in this class or was he here for another reason? The class was winding down and Vince took another look to the back row. He didn't want to encounter that guy; there was something very strange about him. He'd see where he was and move in some other direction.

But he wasn't there anymore. Vince looked all around where other students were picking up their gear, milling around, and talking to each other—some making hookups as Vince himself occasionally did with other students. Acting students pretty much all realized that sex was a major element of the industry and were already well into including it prominently in their lives.