by Willie Hewes
(8/25/99)

I was going to do a shoot with some teen-idol, an actor. I don't really like that kind of work, my art was always more important to me, but sometimes these teeny-boys are actually quite handsome. More importantly, it's what got me paid, and daddy's allowance was getting a bit tight for my extravagant lifestyle. So, that's why I accepted it.

As I was going to do it anyway, I decided I should go about this professionally so, first of all, I had to find out who this guy was. He played in a recent filmversion of one of Shakespeare's plays. Although I seriously appreciate Shakespeare, and was sure that this film was just a horrible modernized rape of the original play, I went out and got the video. After all, this was what made him popular with all the girls, and I should see what they had been seeing to be able to portray him in a way they would like.

On a lost, late night, when I was too tired to go out, and too awake to go asleep, I shoved it up the VCR, and sat down with a bag of pop-corn to watch. The first minutes seemed to greet my worst expectations: Capulets and Montagues fighting each other with guns, and speeding cars and gas stations going up in the air, I had almost stopped the tape and gone to bed.

But then, there was Romeo. A slender figure, taken from a distance, and a half total, as he walked across the scene with a sideward glance towards the camera. Something strange seemed to happen in my stomach. I turned up the volume, and listened closely to an east-coast accent speaking the ancient lines as if they were crisp and new as the young man himself; made for each other. I watched closely the way his muscles moved under his open blue shirt. And couldn't help grinning at his conciously overacted fake depression. By the end of Act I scene 1, before Juliet had even been mentioned, I had fallen like a log for Romeo.

I had not expected this; sure, he was a good-looking guy, but wasn't I a little too old to be falling in love with a Hollywood star? The scene moved to Juliet, and I gathered myself up; c'mon, he's just a boy for christ sake, stop acting like an idiot.

But the film was so much better than I expected. The whole play was given new life by this fresh approach, by the stunning young couple, and the modern, but somehow fitting music. At the end, the familiar disclosure of the tragedy, I was crying like a madman.

I must have sat there for hours, recovering from the tragedy, staring at my empty tv screen. My thoughts were just a shapeless blurb, while it vaguely became clear to me I was going to meet this superman in real life.

In the couple of days that were left before the shoot, I acted like a perfect idiot. I couln't stop thinking of him. I wanted to hear and know about him as much as possible. I even bought a couple of those teeny-mags, that had him on the cover, and read all the interviews, trying to find out what sort of guy he was. Every now and then I would look up from the trash I was reading, wondering, what was wrong with me? But the next moment I was back looking at those pictures, dreaming off like any overweight thirteen-year-old.

At the morning of the shoot, I woke up a bit nervous. I had gotten myself all worked up over this guy; how was I going to react if I really met him? It wasn't as hard as I feared though. He was nice to me, and I had myself under control, as always. He was a cheerful, energetic lad, and it was a pleasure just to look at him, through the eye of my camera, zooming in at places of special interest, while he was posing and moving and and smiling to get the pictures we wanted. He did everything I asked him to do, which was tantalizing, and stuck out his tongue at me once or twice, which sent ripples of pleasure down my spine. Oh, yes. I loved this guy! I suppose we did pretty good work, but I'm a real perfectionist, and these scenes are just never quite right. There wasn't enough time, of course, the make-up girl didn't really understand what I wanted, and generally there were too many people around.

My model seemed to notice my annoyance, and asked if there was something wrong. I told him he was great, of course, (never hurts to suck up), but that there was just a bit too much pressure for my taste. I hesitated, then added that I would like to do a shoot with him in a more quiet environment, so we could get it right, and I could really get the images I had in mind. I realised he might not take this very well; after all, he was clearly straight, straight as a line, and I had the strange idea that he was a bit nervous about gays.

But he didn't take it in that way at all.

"Gosh," he said. "You are really serious about this, aren't you?" Sincerity sparked in his eyes.

"Well," I answered. "Photography is not just work to me, it's art. And, if I may say so, you really are a great model..." I think I blushed. He made a joke out of it.

"Of course you may say so, I love hearing just how gorgeous I am." He turned round in a gesture of fake self-indulgence and tossed his hair back in a delightfully overdone way. I could have kissed him on the spot.

Things were settled soon enough. He would come to my attic, and there we would take the time to make some really good pictures, just the two of us.

I have my own little studio on the top floor, and that morning, before he would come, I was busy for hours getting my things ready, changing the lighting and fumbling around with different cameras, until after a while I noticed I was not doing this to prepare for the shoot, but because I was nervous. This was bad. I sat down, and took a few deep breaths. I wasn't going to allow myself to be nervous, for a shoot, and this idolatory had really gone far enough. After all, he was simply a good-looking guy, right?

How wrong I was I realised as soon as I saw him again. He was not just goodlooking, he was Beautiful. He was the beauty I had been looking for in my work. Male, but with a sexless grace that seemed able to charm any kind of person. A dazzling bright smile, that was surprisingly real, and big, deer-like eyes that looked around at the things in my studio as if it were the garden of Eden. He was the beauty the world had been waiting for. And he was here, in my home, in my sight, at my command.

I stared at him. He must have noticed, for he turned to me and smiled. I felt the blood rush to my face, and tried to say something, but it came out all scrambled. His eye-brows shot up in surprised amusement, and my legs felt like pulp. It was time to hide behind my camera and catch my breath.

He was wearing a short-sleeved, brightly-coloured shirt, rather like the one he wore for Romeo and Juliet, and khaki, wide jeans. To loosen him up, I made him move around a little, dancing to a soft trance-beat. He was loose enough already, but I felt like I was going to lose myself. All this gorgeousness, here, now, and it moved!

We worked for a long time. I spent quite a while trying to recapture that sideward glance that had made me fall in love originally. I made him do it again and again until he was crossing his eyes in frustration.

"Ok, it's good enough like this. Take a seat while I reload." He dragged a chair over and sat down exhaused, while I put a new film in my camera.

"Why don't you unbutton your shirt?", I suggested.

"Why?" he asked with a strange smirk.

"Do you think there's something beneath it?" I answered in an offhand way.

"Well, I think there should be a chest or something?" He didn't answer immediately, and although I had my back turned at him, I guessed he was unbuttoning his shirt as I had asked. When he spoke again, I could hear his dissatisfaction.

"Here, look. No muscles, no tits. Nobody's gonna get excited over a chest like that." I turned around and looked at it. Incredibly smooth skin, that seemed almost luminiscent in the blueish lights. Small, pink nipples that stood erect in the cold airstream and a belly that was perfectly flat, with a trace of soft blonde hairs leading into his jeans. I gasped. I almost dropped my camera. What the hell was wrong with me? After a deep breath I managed to say:

"You are wrong. Everybody's going to get excited over that chest. Muscles are already going out again. You, my friend, are the perfect example of the New Ideal. It's exactly as you said: no muscles, no tits. You Are, the universal, sexless beauty that will appeal both to men and to women all over the world."

He folded his shirt back, apparently a bit bewildered by my answer. I went back to my old spot, in front of him, holding my camera like a mask before my face.

"Now, it is time to put that amazing acting-talent of yours to use." He did the hair toss again and smiled mockingly.

"This is not a camera," I told him.

"This is a woman. A beautiful woman, sitting across the room, looking at you. And you can take her home tonight, if you can only get her hot enough. But don't say anything, use your body."

He understood perfectly what I meant. He was still sitting on that chair, and now crossed his legs. He leaned back with a look of arrogance. He put his hands between his thighs and spread his legs, his handpalms open towards me. And all the while, he kept his eyes on the camera, smiling, winking, looking at the electric eye and, indirectly, at me.

When I am taking pictures, my camera is more than just a mask for me. It makes the images I create in front of me seem less real, looking via a viewfinder is a bit like looking television, it can be arousing, but it is not real, and therefore, safe.

This is why I could easily keep calm when I noticed the bump of his crotch was beginning to grow. It was good for the pictures, therefore there could never be any harm in it. I kept talking to him, reassuring him, coaching him to be even more explicit, and he started to touch his crotch, rubbing his hands up and down the fine denim. His eyes were half closed, but still looking at the camera, and then he opened his legs even more. It was driving me mad, but I kept talking to him, making my voice sound like I was going to come myself, which wasn't too far from the truth.

That's when he let out a soft moan, and I realised, for a moment, what was going on. My worshipped celluloid God was sitting in front of me, practically masturbating, and he was losing control over himself. I thought about taking a pause for a moment, to let him catch his breath, but I was enjoying it too much to stop just yet.

With his eyes turned to the ceiling now, he unbuttoned his fly and put his hand in his boxershorts to finish what he had started. I had stopped talking, and was staring in amazement at that wonderful sight, that was shortly interrupted everytime I pressed my button. My mouth felt dry. All one could hear now were his sighs, and the mechanical, impersonal clicking of the camera. He put his other hand up, stroking his chest and pulling his own nipples.

He let out another moan, and I realised it wouldn't take much longer. I could see his muscles tighten, his left hand clenched to a fist, his legs wrapped around the legs of the chair. He came almost without making a sound, his face turned upwards, his eyes squeezed shut. His hips made little spastic thrusts and he opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Then finally the tension was released and he gasped for air, relaxing slowly, panting, remaining in the same position and keeping his eyes closed.

For a long time he just kept sitting there like that, and at last I lowered my camera. I was shocked to see, suddenly, how close he was to me, how close I had been to him all this time. Only now I felt the urge to touch him, and it washed over me like a hot wave out of nowhere. Oh, I just had to touch him, to kiss his lips and feel those nipples between my teeth, to hold him and tell him I'd never let go.

But there was still a safety latch somewhere in my brain, crying out: No! Don't! He's straight, remember? I took a step back. Oh, God, I thought, he IS straight. That poor boy. He got a bit too excited and he lost control and now he doesn't know what to do, and he's just sitting there, too embarrased to even move!

I tried to make it as easy as possible for him, and turned round again to my desk, trying to calm down and replace the film in the camera. I heard him get up, and bent my head, waiting for him to speak. But he didn't say anything, and I turned round. I jumped, as he was right behind me, and I looked directly into the blue-rimmed pools of black that were his eyes, and they had a look of panic. He held his hand at shoulder height, and moved even closer, looking at me with fear, and a question in his eyes. I saw his fingers glistened with a wet substance, and before I knew I was going to, I got hold of his wrist and took his finger in my mouth.

The taste brought back instant memories, of old afternoons spent in bed, playing the crazy games of love, and my balls cried out in a desire that was almost pain. But I let go of him, and tried to take a step back, bumping into the desk, and leaning back, away from him. He was still standing there, his hand in the air, looking as innocently as Frankenstein's monster. "I think," I heard myself whisper. "You should go and...wash your hands."

Self-sabotage. He nodded, staring blankly into nothingness, and turned around and started walking slowly towards the bathroom. Tears filled my eyes. I wondered what the hell was wrong with me. If I had made my move he probably wouldn't have protested. I sat down, my forehead still wrinkled up in thought, and waited for him to come back...

I tried to reconstruct what had happened in his mind; what had gotten him so excited? The woman I suggested to him? Was it simply the exhibitionist pleasure of touching his private parts in front of a stranger? And why didn't I stop him? If the press heard what had happened here, if they saw the pictures... Why did I let him take such a risk? Perfect beauty, my ass. It was just my hormones talking again. I bit my lip in pain. I didn't even dare to think about what I had really wanted to do to my gentle Romeo. It was too long ago, after all that had happened I couldn't anymore...

When he came in again, his beauty shot through me like a flash of pain. I couldn't, I couldn't...I kept repeating those words while I walked in his direction. He had washed his hands, and apparently threw some water into his face as well. He didn't look like it had cleared his mind, though. He looked like his thoughts were miles away, dreaming, his eyes staring into mine now that I was very close. I tried to see in his eyes a sign of embarassment, apology, or even just a question, but they were completely serene. He seemed to be waiting for me to speak, but I didn't know what to say.

His hair was wet around his face, it shone in the blue spotlights. It looked sexy, and a vague, incoherent thought about getting my camera passed through my head. It seemed his dream-state was contagious. I saw a drop running across his forehead. In my thoughts, I could see myself kissing it away, tasting his hair. The drop stopped for a moment in his eyebrow, then dropped into his eye. He clipped his eyes down for a moment, then looked up again at me. Our eyes met, and for a moment I thought I could see a longing there. A vague questioning I had thought I'd seen before. Desire? On the soft fan of his eyelashes a tiny little drop of water remained. A perfectly round little globe, far to small to reflect any of the things going on around it. I made no decision to move, I had no intention to lean in and kiss that little drop away. But suddenly his eyelashes were brushing my lips. His skin was even softer than those lashes. I felt his eyeball move under the protective layer of his eyelid, then my lips moved downwards, to his cheek. My arm slipped around his waist, my hand found his naked chest. I fancied I could taste the tiny water-globe, but it was salt. I never opened my eyes, I didn't have to see him cry. I kissed his lips now, my mind vaguely murmuring: well, why not give him what he needs for a moment...

His body had been frozen all this time, paralysed with doubt, fear or surprise. Gently, I pressed myself against him, my tongue now trying to find his teeth. He didn't seem to breathe, or move, except for his mouth, that carefully kissed back. My hand slid down his smooth skin, until my thumb brushed his nipple. That seemed to melt him in an instant. He started kissing with more passion, I felt his hands stroke my back, and now heard him breath fast through his nose.

I opened my eyes. His were still closed, and he continued kissing me, while I caressed the soft skin of his face with my eyes. I was kissing my perfect beauty, he passionately kissed back and stroked my butt. I myself was feeling terribly hot, but still my common sense would not leave me alone. I shouldn't have started this, but I didn't want to disappoint him. I would just give him a blowjob, I thought. That will calm him down, that will be all, there is no reason to get all hooked up with this Hollywood hunk...

I was renowned for my blowjobs once, a couple of years ago. It seemed like decades. Would I still be that good? I led him to the low sofa that stood against the wall of my appartment. He sat down, and I knelt by him. I was startled by the look in his eyes, it wasn't just lust they were beaming, it was something deeper. Something I didn't dare to name. I ignored it, and turned my attention to his khaki jeans. He had already lost his shirt somewhere on our way here, and when I pulled down his jeans and his underwear he was naked. He sat back and pushed up his hips, presenting himself to me. He was as beautiful as I had imagined him to be while I watched that video. Straight, pointing upwards, not broad like some men's are, but long enough to give me the pleasure I need. I crawled between his legs and started licking the warm tip, feeling like a hungry kitten. For years, this had been my favourite place to be, my home, between a man's legs. Why had I denied myself that pleasure for so long? Why had I refused to do what I seemed to be made for? I trailed my tongue down the underside, now licking the root, letting the hairs tickle my cheek. He let out a moan and I stopped thinking. I took him in my mouth in an almost instinctive motion.

It felt so good I thought I would pass out. My tongue curled around his velvetine skin, my lips slid down to his hair. He was long enough to reach all the way to the back of my mouth and I moaned as he brushed the sensitive flesh of my throat. He was breathing heavily himself now, holding my hair with one hand, and using the other to press my nails deeper into his thigh. I was sucking hard, determined to get my sweet reward as soon as possible, and luckily, he didn't keep me waiting for long. Like before, he came almost without making a sound. But this time I was much closer. I was part of his orgasm, I could hear his blood rushing through his veins, the air stop in his throat. I counted the beats of his heart, felt the release of his tension into my mouth, tasted his ecstacy on my tongue.

The moment I swallowed it, my mind came back to me like a cold shower. I remembered everything, the danger, how could I forget? Barry, the pain, the white plastered walls, hospital food...I felt like I had been up in the clouds and had just crashed back on earth. I sat still, listening to his breathing, staring at the still half-hard dick in front of me. It was too late, I had already swallowed it, too late...I took him back into my mouth and sucked on it for comfort, trying to get these dark and desperate feelings out of my head. He nearly cried out and pushed me away, so I let him go.

Unsure what I would say to him, I climbed up unto the sofa next to him. But I never got a chance to say anything. He turned to me immediately, straddled me, and kissed me. I was surprised, and even a bit shocked. I had expected him to be grateful and satisfied, not so full of energy and passion, and certainly not to start unbuckling my belt like he did now. I got hold of his wrists, and stopped him, this was not what I meant, I just wanted us to talk a bit now, and have a beer, and... He looked into my eyes, and it seemed my mind stopped functioning. He looked worried, and a bit hurt. "What?" he whispered. My grip on his wrists loosened, what did it matter what My plans had been? My idol was changing the plan, I should go with it.

Rendered powerless, I watched him take my place at the ground in front of me. When he got hold of my pants, I could just feel the resistance flow from me, and I arched my back so he could pull them down. My boxers had gone with them, and he pulled them free from my feet now, and spread my knees. I wondered what was going on in that wonderful blonde head of his. He slid his soft cheek over my thigh while his hands lingered at my ankles. My dick was only half-hard, but fast growing in anticipation. I closed my eyes. Even though he was now the one on his knees, I felt completely overcome, I was no longer the one in charge, I was being led now. I felt him pull off my socks, while his face kept coming closer to my dick. I gasped when his tongue reached the root of my throbbing organ. Oh, he was good. I didn't think he had ever done this before, but he was very good at it, that much was clear already. His tongue crawled over my hot skin like a tiny muscled lust-imp. I laid my head back and listened to my own breathing. This was good, I had to let him keep doing this, no matter what consequences. I smiled at him, his face looked like that of a sleeping boy, his eyes closed, his muscles relaxed as he whispered his lips against the head. At that moment he drew himself up and let the entire length slide into his mouth. He clearly had trouble handling my seven inches, but he was trying hard enough to make me moan and buck into his mouth with pleasure.

I looked at the ceiling, trying to control myself, I didn't want to come yet. I concentrated on other sensations, the coarse fabric under my bare back, his shoulders pressed against the inside of my legs, his hands now crawling up against my chest, but all the while his hungry sucking continued. He put a finger against my lips and I took it in my mouth, sucking it like he was sucking me. It felt so good I thought I was going to lose my mind. So long ago... And he was doing it so well! He deserves it, I thought. He deserves my capitulation. With strong, concious effort I forced my self-control from me, the fear, the fight, it melted away from my flesh. I felt all my muscles relax. My limbs were not my own. I ceased to exist. My mouth fell open, moaning. All that remained was this amazing feeling, the feeling of melting away in a slow, sucking nirvana.

It was then I felt an intruder at my small, relaxed asshole. I knew it was his wet finger from my mouth, but it felt like the divine, lifegiving touch from the Sistine chapel. I felt the energy flow back into my limbs, and my muscles tightened as if they would cry out. He sucked hard on the tip now, using his left hand to stroke up and down the length. The wet middle finger of his right hand was making little circles around my long-neglected hole. I moaned again, and he took this as his cue to push it all the way into me. I cried out, the sounds I was making not even sounding human. My whole body hurt from being so tense, and still it did not end. He pushed his finger in and out in a fast rhythm. I couldn't even think, or do anything, I was completely in his power, my entire body strained like a bow, my mouth struggling to form words.

"Ooooh, oh God, God!" I wasn't calling some white dress in the clouds, I was talking to the divine being that was right here with me, my lord, humbly on his knees to wash my feet. Just when the tension in my body became unbearable, and I began to wonder how much longer I could take this, I felt his silken lips slip from my head. I opened my eyes, and plunged right into his smiling face of honey. His hand was still working me, and finally I felt the fluids rush to my release. I shot right up into his cocky smile, and he pressed my exploding dick against his face. Some of the drops landed in his hair. The tension subsided. I felt myself slip into a big black hole...

When I opened my eyes he was next to me on the couch, pressed against me. I lifted my head and he looked up, his eyes twinkling. "God," I told him, "my God." But he didn't understand. "Thank you," he whispered, "I never understood it all, but now..." I traced my hand through his wet hair. Perhaps I was the one that didn't understand. "The love, friendship, no, love. Between men. I never understood you see, I never knew, how good it all could be..." I smiled. It vaguely came through he was trying to tell me something. It could wait, for sure. I didn't want to go back to thinking just yet, I wanted to stay here, dreaming, in these arms, pressed against the body of my newly-born God.