Date: Mon, 05 Sep 2005 18:55:33 +0100
From: jason argo <jacklloyd22@hotmail.com>
Subject: Hot 'n' Hard In Malibu  M/b

I ain't no queer. I've never had any interest in faggot shirt-lifters. I'm
Jack Dance, and Jack Dance is a red-blooded all-American who goes for booze,
baseball, fast cars and fast women.
I ain't married, but that's because I'm too busy having a good time - know
what I mean?
It ain't no sin. I have humble origins but I pulled myself up by my
bootstraps and I'm a high-roller now. I do as I please. I'm part-owner of a
logging outfit in Oregon, and I do business with cars in Detroit and
railroads in Pittsburgh. I'm all-American from east to west. I'm a
successful guy and a busy guy, and at the end of a day I deserve a good
time. An' limp-wristed creampuffs don't figure in that - they know to keep
outta my way.
Pansy, gay pillow-biters! Hell no! I'm strictly straight-hetro. Always have
been. Always was. Always was until I met Jiffy.
Aw, shit! Aww, Jesus Christ!

I got invited to this party down in Malibu, see. I often go there. I live on
the west coast these days and it's not unusual for Jack Dance to go partying
in Malibu. Ziggy Hollenhiemer was hosting it; Ziggy always hires a
beach-house and throws a party when he's after peoples money.
Ziggy makes movies, y'see. He's never made a summer blockbuster, in fact
just about everything he does goes straight to video, but he always comes
out ahead. He always makes a profit, and those that back him with cash
always get some payback. In the past I'd never had any qualms about helping
to bankroll him.
The set-up he'd picked for that night was big even by Malibu standards. It
was just off the Pacific Coast Highway set in three-quarters of an acre of
grounds and stood behind a pair of tall gates.
Ziggy always does things with style. His bank account shrinks and fills up
again unpredictably month by month, but he never stints on laying out money
when he's out to impress.
The house he'd rented was reached along a short drive lined with Lombardy
poplars. It had a vague hacienda style about it, white walls laced over with
pink and cream-coloured roses and bougainvillaea and topped with red roof
tiles. It was two storeys high and had rought-iron balconies, too narrow to
stand on, decorating the upstairs windows.

Ziggy was greeting people at the main door when I arrived. He's a sorta
small, squat fellah with a large head and a wide mouth; kinda like a frog to
look at but always genial. He slapped my back and squeezed my hand.
"Jack Dance! Hihowyerdoin' Jack? Nice t'see yer. Glad you could make it."
Ziggy's parties are always informal and he tells people to dress for the
weather. He himself was wearing a loud floral patterned shirt and white
trousers; the sort of outfit that wouldn't have looked out of place on a
fancy yacht.
"Speak t'you soon, Jack, meantime get a drink an' cast an eye over the
chicks. I got all kinds here tonight, short, tall, scrawny, all good lookin'
an' all well-stacked." He gave me a knowing wink. "An' there's a whole row
of empty bedrooms up the stairs."
It sounded like just the kind of party Jack Dance enjoys most.

Inside there were trays of pre-poured glasses of champagne and jugs of
orange juice laid out on a table, but I ignored them. My daddy always
reckoned wine and fruit-juice were faggot-fodder, and I grew up believing
him. Anyway I didn't want to put undue strain on my bladder that night.
Moving along I found an empty glass and the makings for my favourite short
drink; cognac and ginger, two steps up from boubon-on-the-rocks I reckon,
and brandy always sounds extra classy if you call it cognac.

The room was large with a mosaic tiled floor and a cut-glass chandelier and
held just a few pieces of modern furniture. Ziggy likes rooms with plenty of
space at his parties, it gives folk a better chance to socialise he says.
There were lots of people milling about to socialise with, but I made my way
over to a couple of skimpy clad young women near the window. They were
members of a well established set along the coast. Lots of dishy young kids
out from the Midwest and beyond come here - wannabe starlets trying for the
big-time who always have to screw around to make ends meet while waiting for
their 'chance' to get into a movie. He had a couple of dozen of 'em there
that night, all in revealing little outfits that advertised their assets,
all bait for guys like me. And there were plenty of guys like me there to
make sure they wouldn't go to waste.

Tosca - where the hell did she get a name like that? - she was from Kansas,
came out to California on vacation a year ago, and stayed. Her friend
Belinda was from Dixie and spoke broad magnolia, she'd hitched all the way
up from Alabama with no intention of ever going back. I got to feelin' I'd
like to try the two of them together later. They knew each other well and I
figured they were used to working as a pair.

While I was cheerfully chatting with the broads I casually glanced about the
room to see what else was about, and it was then that I saw him. A breath
sorta caught in my throat as I looked at the most perfect specimen of a boy
I'd ever seen.
Like I said, I ain't no gay-freak, but I can appreciate fine looks when I
see 'em, and he had a barrow-load, he was a boy so gorgeous he seemed to put
everything else in the shade. Stunning, early teens, maybe no older than
thirteen with tumbled auburn hair, his beige coloured shirt had buttoned
pockets and shoulder flaps and a thin chain hung around his neck with some
sort of charm suspended from it. But it was his pants that took my breath
away. Short dark blue pants worn snug and high on his thighs, brief enough
to draw attention to his slender, shapely and totally hairless bare legs.

A while later Ziggy came over to outline the plot of the movie he needed
funds to make.
What he had in mind was a little gem he'd penned himself entitled 'Blast'
which featured a pack of smart-assed college kids who are all martial-arts
experts, and who being more fearless than all the adults around them decide
to take on a gang of Mafia hit-men. He admitted it wasn't strong on plot,
but it would have lots of car-chases with big explosions and plenty of foul
language and mindless, unnecessary violence. To put it mildly, it was crap,
but Ziggy reckoned it was certain to turn-in a profit from the juvenile
audience he was going to pitch it at.
While he was selling the thing to me an unbidden impulse made my attention
drift across to the boy again. He was now talking with a fat guy wearing
wrinkled white slacks and a red-checked shirt.
"Hope I can count on you, Jack." Ziggy was saying, "Plenty of people chip in
a little to my ideas, but you're one of the important guys."

I nodded agreeably at him, but slowly my eyes inched their way back to the
young fellah wearing the shorts. In the way things sometimes happen he
glanced in my direction and just for a moment our eyes met. He smiled, kind
of attractive - and it unnerved me that I'd noticed that. A twinge of
something unnatural touch me. Sheesh! Of all the animals on the planet Jack
Dance don't get stuck on admiring boys.
Hell! How could I even bother with him? What was I doing looking at someone
like that with so many pairs of big tits around?

When Ziggy moved on I took an aimless walk around the room nodding to people
here and there. Most of the guests were drawn from a narrow band of American
society; white, Anglo-Saxon, middle-class, college-educated men, but I
didn't have much to do with those sort unless we were doing business. When
the fat guy in the red shirt moved off I stopped near the kid and sipped my
drink.
"Hi, who are you?" I asked.

He looked up and grinned nicely and a very sexy pink blushed tinged his
cheeks.
"I'm Jiffy, one of Ziggy's people."

I liked him at once without any doubt. His build was slight, but he was a
heavyweight in cuteness, the sort of kid that can give someone a glow just
by smiling at them. His melodic high-pitched voice was enticing and he was
attractive, slim and dark with a surprisingly pale complexion given all the
sunshine around, but he had wonderful luminous eyes that were both
penetrating and sympathetic.
"I'm Jack, an' I know Ziggy well. You done films with him?"

"Sort of." he said,  "Small stuff. Just crowd scenes so far, but I may get
something better one day. Ziggy reckons he'll put together a modern-day
remake of 'Lassie Come Home' soon."

"That been done a'ready, ain't it?"

"Ziggy'll do it again with his own twist on the story. He reckons those kind
of smaltzy family-entertaiment movies are guaranteed to make a few bucks no
matter how many times they're shoved out."

"You think he'll give you a part?"

"Sure hope so. I'm keeping my eye on it. I'm a mite too old for the lead,
but I'll be hoping for something."

The fat guy turned up again giving me the evil eye while holding a whisky in
one hand and a long drink in the other.
"Here's your orange juice, Jiffy." he said, pushing abrasively in front of
me to hand it over.
I gave him a mean look back. His hair was thinning and his eyes looked
slightly misaligned and no way was someone like him chasing me away from any
place I wanted to be. I keep in shape, y'know what I mean? I do my workouts
reg-lar and I watch what I eat. No way was I a flabby-hick like him. In the
end I won out and he slouched off towards the girls.
That one should eat margarine instead of butter. I thought.

On the far side of the room a guy plucked the strings of a guitar. The host
had provided an Elvis Presley imitator by way of entertainment. The fellah
looked like Presley and his voice was spot on, but as he got into his stride
the place got a little too noisy for conversation.
I suggested to Jiffy that maybe we should go out the back. Why I ever asked
him in the first place I can never fathom, but I felt pleased when he
followed right behind me through the garden window.
Outside I breathed a lung full of open air. I felt mellow away from the
direct blare of the music, it was a warm evening at the end of a hot
California day and the house was right on the edge of the ocean. The evening
air was a temperate seventy-two degrees and there was  the faintest hint of
a breeze off the Pacific, the soft wind mingling with the strains of music
from inside the house to conjure up an atmosphere of heady unreality.
>From where we stood on a small terrace we could see the sun dipping down
below a placid watery horizon amid a flaming red and golden sky. A hundred
yards further on from our feet the surf rolled gently against the Zuma beach
of fine white sand.
"Beautiful evenin'" I murmured.

"Yeah, sure is gorgeous."

It was crazy. Me, the big guy, spoonin' over a pretty sunset with a boy. It
was ridiculous, but life don't travel in straight lines, does it?
"Jiffy? Is that your real name?" I asked.

The kid situated himself to his best advantage, in a three-quarter pose
facing the ocean. His hands rested on the balustrade of the terrace, and he
leaned back slightly, pushing out his chest and arching his back.
"Nah, my real name's Pete Cadwallader, but people find Cad-wallad-er too
much of a mouthful. My mom said I should have something short and snappy
that sounded more like a movie name. Y'know, a name people can remember
easy."

I couldn't tear my eyes away from him. "Why call yourself Jiffy?" I asked.

He shrugged. "I didn't choose it, it's just something people call me because
I'm always ready quick."

"Ziggy ain't ever had kids like you at his parties in the past."

"It's his latest idea. He reckons he should cater to all tastes."
While I was sorting out that little conundrum he turned his face up and
looked me straight in the eye has he sorta snuggled against me and pushed
his chin onto my chest.
"I've been watchin' everyone arrive tonight, an' I like the look of you. Do
you like boys, Jack?"

I recoiled from what he said, I twitched and shunted it away, but he smiled
up at my all to obvious discomfort, reached for my arm and pulled himself
close. When I put my arm around him he let himself go limp.
The strange chemistry that had brought him to my attention in the first
place now took control as I embraced him, enjoying the shape of his slight
young torso pressing against me. The warm skin of his cheeks and neck
emitted a delicate kind of scent, not perfume, just the smell of youth I
guess, what they call pheromones. Anyway it made my toes curl and it made my
dick thicken and push against the front of my pants. It was only then I
recognised my down-below had been paying attention to him for longer than I
realised.

Inside the house Elvis was crooning 'Love Me Tender'.
Holy Edna! I was completely out of it. My face glowed, I felt it, but it
wasn't any blush of modesty, it was the unholy fire of excitement. After a
moment my hand sorta automatically slipped over his belly and reached down
across the front of his pants, making a couple of passes and feeling things
bounce slightly inside. He was wearing well-made regular stuff, not flimsy
beach shorts but I could feel he clearly dressed to the left, an observation
that made me think he was wearing nothing under his shorts.

My fingers shook with anticipation as they brushed inside his fly - zipper
or buttons?
Buttons. His breathing rasped slightly, but he stood absolutely still while
I unfastened them, and he remained motionless as I felt the heat of bare
flesh on my fingers as I worked lower and lower. What are you doing? A voice
in my head seemed to demand, but it was a weak voice and easily stifled.
Okay, I shoulda backed off, but I didn't. He was like a drug I suddenly had
a need for. I knew exactly what I was doing of course, I knew precisely what
I was going for.
"You're strong, Jack" he said.
It was more than just a flattering statement of fact, it was his way of
saying I could do just about anything I wanted to do.

My hand went in and I curled my fingers under his dick so I could hoist it
out into the twilight, then with my heart in my mouth I locked my thumb over
the top of it.
Oh man! Jack Dance was holding a prick, and it wasn't his own.
The kid's wanger was a surprisingly substantial piece of anatomy too, sorta
thick and hefty even when only partly aroused, uncut with an indication of a
well-formed cock-head bulging beneath a film of foreskin.

I'm no engineer, but I know all the mechanics of giving pleasure to a cock.
I began to slide the sheath of foreskin back and forth, lightly pumping it,
skinning it back until the bald tip of his dick  was exposed and then
pushing it all the way up again. As blood began to engorge the spongy tissue
of the kid's length it became thicker and stiffer and more extended.
"Umph!" Jiffy gagged a little but didn't try to stop me, he just stood there
and sucked through his teeth as some nerve endings began to tingle. And I
kept going, providing a little extra pressure to the base of the
mushroom-shaped gland on the tip of his stalk whenever I could. As I
wrinkling the hood back faster and faster I felt a slush of warm precum
bathe my fingers.
"You okay, kid?" I breathed in his ear.

Jiffy's jaw twitched as if he was biting back words, but he wasn't
distressed and he seemed to be enjoying things well enough.
"Yeah, yeah," he finally answered, "Finish me off, Jack. I wanna shoot."
By that time his meat was standing out like a barbers-shop pole and exposing
a pink tip with a single flaring eye, oozing, twitching a little and sure
enough ready to pop, so I started jigging that lovely young boner with the
fast kind of rhythm I knew should do the trick.

"Yeah, yeah! Oh yeah! Oooooohhhrr!" His mouth was partly open and he was
sorta half-grinning as if in the throes of a painful rictus, and the muscles
of his neck stretched tight. Overcome with sudden excitement myself,  I
jerked his dinky hood of skin back and forth in concertina fashion until at
last I was ringing the main item out of him - a gobbit of creaminess, not
squirting fast and not large in amount, but liquid enough to respond to the
wild oscillations of my hand which swung it out into a high whirling loop
before it slopped down over my knuckles.

The kid's ecstatic moan was long and low, and his hips twisted and moved
rhythmically, helping my hand and urging it to milk everything else out.
Godamighty! As soon as I could I backed away and dug for a handkerchief to
wipe my fingers, while Jiffy smiled and pulled a piece of paper tissue from
his pocket to wipe himself. Geesh! I remember thinking, he probably carried
tissue especially to do that.

I was stunned, still trying to decipher the things my head was telling my
cock.
I was feeling hot and feverish and he could see how excited I was, if you
know what I mean - in the trouser region, if you like.
And his hand was hovering down there, wickedly flirting with the front of my
slacks.
"D'yu wanna shag me, Jack?" he murmured softly.

"Yeah," I answered in my best throaty whisper. It was an unrehearsed reply
and all the more astounding because of that. That was Jack Dance saying he
wanted to push his dick into a young lads rear-end, an' Jack Dance ain't
ever done that kinda thing before, y'see. No sireee, that wasn't his style,
but the idea sure stimulated him anyway, y'know, in that there trouser
region, as it were.
The kid turned, stared fixedly at me and put his hand in mine, curling it
round my fingers like a flower-petal at sundown.
"It's a nice evening. Let's find somewhere down on the sand."

He led me off like a lamb. I wouldn't have believed it a year ago. I
wouldn't have believed it that morning. There was I, me, Jack Dance, going
down to the beach while holding hands with a boy like he was some kinda
little sweetheart. And Hell! The whole point of it was that I was going to
shag him in the ass.

Now don't misunderstand me and don't get me wrong. I never intended for
things to happen that way. In my life I've done some questionable things but
I've never gone looking for sex with someone who owns a prick. I'm as clean
as a whistle in that respect. Why, as a kid at school I was the first to get
out the locker-room when I figured something screwy was going on, and I
never got involved with any of those squalid jerk-circles at scout-camp
either.
Maybe I've been spoilt. Could be making lots of money as allowed me to
indulge myself too much in the past and perhaps right then I was looking for
a new experience. I was middle-aged and jaded and Jiffy was a young
heartbreaker, ball-breaker. Hell, he was as hot as mama's apple pie on
bakin' day, and just like mama's pie he was irresistible.

That stretch of sand was a bay shaped like a horseshoe and as the tide
sauntered in all the waves joined together in a perfect semicircle of
fizzing white spume. We ambled a short way along until the beach peeled back
to reveal a haphazard structure of jumbled rocks, then Jiffy stopped and his
eyes glowed, regarding me slyly, hands on hips, pursing his lips into a
smile that was both teasing and elated.
The kid tipped his head to one side, urging me to crank my mind and body
into action. After a moment he noticed the trace of a frown on my brow and
realised I'd lost the ability to make a decision. There he was, a ripe peach
in a fruit bowl ready to be eaten, and I was somewhere else, dithering.

He peeled off his shirt and pushed down his pants then stood before me,
proud and confident in his looks, gloriously naked but for the small pendant
that hung down onto a slim, bare chest that expanded and contracted with
even breathing.
He was on the small side - I guess the French would class him as petite - a
slim young body, perfectly proportioned, naked, with cock and balls
blatantly on show, and yes, he had a beautiful face too. Shameless and
without any urging he raised his arms and put his hands behind his head,
eyes glittering like cats-eyes, a broad devilish smile on his lush mouth as
he swivelled his hips like a Vegas showgirl.

Well okay, I'm a mature guy who's been around apiece and done plenty of
out-of-order things, but I ain't gay. All the same, just looking at him
standing there so full of confidence and tantalising allure made me melt
inside. It was plain this wasn't the first time he'd entertained a guy.
I gave a shudder to bring myself back to reality and I blinked to put him in
focus. My dick had been straining inside my breeches for a good half hour
and I felt it was my turn for something.
And anyway, Jiffy was no hard-boiled hairy-assed guy was he? He was a sweet
turn-on, his belly was flat and his torso tapered gently until he almost
owned a waist. Everything about him was so poised and beautiful he was
luscious in an appealing girlish way. It didn't seem too much of a sin to
have wicked thoughts about him. I reckon most fellah's I know would stick a
cock in him given the chance.
"Do you like me, Jack?" he asked.

"Sure," I said.

"Show me your prick. Let me see how much you like me."

In spite of everything my stomach began doing crazy flip-flops, but there
was no holding back from that delicious wet-dream. I wrestled with my waist
belt and fumbled with some buttons, then my slacks fell down around my feet.
Needless to say I displayed a model-perfect boner that Jiffy wasn't slow to
admire.
"Wow! That's some item. A prong like that makes a kid go weak at the knees
just lookin'."
He lowered his eyes ever so slightly has his hands came down to roll his
backside.
"Got any rubbers?"

I shook my head a little reservedly. "Well, I er, no. The girls usually
provide the kind of  lightweights I use." I had to admit.

Wilfully, Jiffy ran his tongue tip over his teeth, finishing with a flourish
of a smile.
"I usually carry a couple, but I don't have any with me now. Never mind,
we'll go without. I kinda like a bit of bareback now and again." Stooping
down he dug in the pocket of his discarded shorts and produced a half-used
tube of KY. "Got the rest of the necessary though. You wanna lube me up?"

I started. "Nah, I always let people do that for themselves."

Darn me if he didn't squirt a dollop of cream onto his fingers right then
and there spend a while dosing it behind himself.
A waft of a warm breeze on bare skin seemed to excited both of us and I
wondered who was going to make the first move. In the end it was difficult
to tell who did since we seemed to lung for each other. My eyes became
locked on his breasts. Dropping down onto one knee I held him by his
clenching buttocks while I pushed my tongue into his navel before dragging
it upwards and over to each breast in turn, breathing heavily through my
nose as I licked a little here and there and then suckled on each of his
dime-sized nipples. He gasped and the sound excited me to suck more
intensely, encouraging me to draw the tender flesh in and out like some baby
going hell-for-leather on its pacifier.
Y'see! I was giving it to him like I give it to a girl, and he was sighing
and loving it like a girl.
Then Jiffy's breath wafted hot in my ear. "You ready to give me babies now,
Jack?"
Well I ask you, could any guy say no to such hot-to-trot cock-candy?

I turned him around and pushed gently but insistently until he yielded and
tipped forward against a large boulder, then I eased his legs apart and with
a hand each side of his waist, lifted him slightly until he was
spread-eagled and poised at the right level.
There he was, opened up for me, buck naked, splayed and available, and
perversely, just to remind me of what I was doing, he pressed his rear end
against my cock and made me aware of his balls, hanging heavy like a pair of
fat plums in a bag between his legs.

His buttocks were as soft as marshmallows and his breath quickened as I
parted the sexy-smooth mounds. The broad head of my pole prodded, pushed and
pressed onto the tight whorl of his asshole and  I callously screwed it
around a little to make things open up.
Jiffy moaned softly as he felt himself being stretched and I heard myself
sighing as I felt his wonderful little rosette blossom and spread out. The
kid's backside helpfully heaved back at me as I pushed forward.
He squawked softly, and no wonder. I'm pretty well provided for, see. My
dick ain't no microbe, if you know what I mean. In some places the girls
call me Ramrod because of my dimensions.
The thick shaft disappeared into the hole making the outer rim curve
inwards, then it re-emerged muscular and glistening.

Back in again. Right in! My piece of polony slowly sank right into that
tunnel of pleasure, and godamighty, despite the lubrication he was tight!
But Jiffy's style of taking it was undulating and curvaceous and his
movements were fluid and as fast as my own. His muscles clamped around my
shaft like a hand and all I needed to do was shake about in its grip.
I could feel his heartbeat and his breathing as he arched his neck and
started slowly humping back at me, pushing down onto my dick as I screwed
into him.
I tightened my grip and nuzzled his neck with my mouth as he squirmed. We
were both panting and couldn't speak. I was overwhelmed by the physical
feeling of being embedded in him. The texture of his skin was like butter,
he was mouth-watering and luscious and my only desire at that time was to
fuck him, no matter what the consequences.
For a while I varied my pace between quick shallow pushes and long slow
ones.
"Is that okay?"

"Yeah! I love to feel that raw meat moving inside. Give me your jism in
there Jack. Don't pull out 'til your done."

I reckoned the kid was gonna end up sore and wounded if I kept up scraping
him against that goddamn rock, so out of consideration I gripped his hips
and wheeled him round onto the sand.
It was better. He liked it better and I liked it better, and I managed to do
it without having to disconnect. Jiffy slumped forward on his elbows with
his neat butt stuck in the air at just the right angle, and I was able to
give his narrow pussy-hole some real man-sized attention.
"Oueff, oueff, oueff!" I was going like bunny-rabbit, moving regular and
strong and long-dicking him fast and hard, going right in up to my balls. As
I rammed his ass nicely he reciprocated with wondrous little gasps and
moans, so I guess I was getting to all the right places.

I'd done girls in the back door before so that experience with ass wasn't
unique, but stuffing Jiffy full of cock sure was. Stuffing a boy like that
was a whole new game for me. That was being gay, wasn't it?
Even so, I was giving it to him as much as I'd ever given it to any whore on
the west coast or anywhere else, holding onto his slim hips and heaving my
pelvis up, enjoying the squelching and slipperiness as I shunted my dick in
and out rapidly.
Jiffy began squawking. "Aaah, oh! Aaaa, oh yeah! I love gettin' dicked like
that. Give this wicked boy the works, Jack. Spunk-off in there. Fill my
randy ass with your man-cream."
After several more plunges in and out his pelvis started rotating around my
throbbing dick just like I had a mind of its own. His muscles squeezed my
tool and clutched it like it was some kind of hero.

Miming as if dancing I shut my eyes and concentrated as blissful sensations
welled up with my boiling man-juice. Every part of me tensed and strained
and I felt an exquisite feeling as arteries widened to accommodate a sudden
gathering of hot fluids.
"Yih!" That was it for sure. Again! A bit more! "There y'are, take it, take
it! Wooooooaahhrr!"
As my ball-juice surged and emptied violently out I was triumphant and glad
to be of service. Glad that his cute asshole, just like a girls pussy, was a
receptacle for my copious sperming.

No flopping about and enjoying the afterglow afterwards, and no muttering
sweet claptrap to the kid. Once my blood pressure had eased and my heart
rate relaxed a little I was able to use the cool thinking that arrives after
a jack-off. Okay, so I'd butt-banged him good and proper, but I wasn't no
goddamn faggot-chaser, I was just a privileged man satisfying his curiosity
and that was far from making me a permanent resident of Bum-Bandit Alley.
Now it was done I'd never touch a kid like him again, not ever. It was
finished.

I remained affable to Jiffy of course, I had no reason to be angry with him,
but I didn't encourage him to hold my hand on the way back to the house.
Just as well, because Ziggy was looking for us. He was standing outside a
garden window some way separate from the site of the party.
"Jack, I wondered where you were at, and then I noticed Jiffy wasn't around
either. Come in, and bring the kid with you."
As he ushered us through the open window he smiled down at Jiffy.
"You two have a good time down on the beach?"
The boy grinned at me, then grinned at him. "There's a chance I could be
pregnant, Ziggy."
Ziggy laughed and I sorta cringed inside. Jesus Christ! Did the kid have to
be so unashamed and illustrative?

Jiffy and I followed him into a large room that he'd obviously locked off as
private space, and there were just two other people there.
The fat guy with the red-checked shirt was there talking with another
fellah, a big man, in his middle fifties, greying hair, dark complexion;
stocky and big boned with scarlet bracer-straps over a white shirt. He was
better looking than Fat Man even if he did spoil things by wearing horn
rimmed glasses. Probably married I reckoned. The kind of guy commercials
choose to represent the reliable loving husband who demands excessively
white shirts to wear at the office.
"Drink?" suggested Ziggy.
I looked at a drink laden table. "Cognac and ginger. I'll do it myself.
Other people always drown the brandy."

I took a swig of my drink and nodded at Fat Man and Horn-Rim. They were
standing in front of a huge stone fireplace in a room that was dominated by
two long sofas and a baby grand piano. The slatted wooden shutters were
closed on the windows and the light was being provided by two small
chandeliers and several big vase-like lamps. On the walls hung large
photo-prints of film-stars, cherished Hollywood greats, ornately framed and
varnished to look like oil paintings.
Ziggy waved a hand. "Let me introduce you to Al and Trevor, Jack. The three
of you together make up the biggest part of the funding I've been looking
for, so I thought we should have a private little party away from all the
others."

Ziggy embraced Jiffy demonstratively with one of his short muscular arms.
"He's a honey, eh! A real doll. Photogenic, wouldn't you say? And he's a
star already. In front of a camera he knows how to act a part. His mom
started him off at age 10, just solo nudey stuff at first, then sessions
with other kids. By the time he came to me he was ready for bigger and
better things, if y'know what I mean."

"You mean, blue movies?" I ventured dubiously.

Ziggy nodded sardonically, moving his hand down to squeeze Jiffy's buttocks
and enjoy the shape of them. "Some with girls - once with my wife, but
mostly with guys. He prefers that kind of thing. He's made a couple of
best-sellers in the recent past - 'Jiffy and the High-school Humpers' and
'Jiffy and the Gym-Men.' You've maybe seen 'em."

"Can't say I have." I said. I deliberately didn't say I didn't watch queer
stuff because that would have left me vulnerable to jokes about the way I'd
acted that night.

Ziggy turned Jiffy towards the other two men in the room.
"Is this what you're wantin', fellah's?"
He'd obviously promised those guys some action and the Fat Man was
practically drooling already.
"What a dish!" Trevor said, as if the kid were something he'd like to have
sliced up and put in a sandwich.
With a gentle push Ziggy guided Jiffy in their direction. "Go easy with him,
you don't need to be rough to get Jiffy to co-operate."

The boy and the two guys went off into the room as Ziggy sat me down at a
writing bureau in the corner.
I quickly read through the usual kind of agreement he drafts for the backers
of his films, then I signed it and scrawled a letter to my bank authorising
him to draw a tasty sum from my account.
Ziggy took it out of my hand and kissed it. "We're partners again, Jack. I
can always rely on you. You never let me down."

Tardily I glanced over to where the other men had taken the kid.
The disgusting bastards had pulled his shirt open and were already licking
his face and biting at his neck, but Jiffy wasn't protesting, he was taking
it like it was fun. He had their dicks out and he was milking one in each
hand while they were cupping his pectorals, pressing and kneading them,
tugging at the nipples and pulling them left and right.
Then the fat man started kissing him on the mouth and I filled up with
something envy has I watched them, ugly man and beautiful boy, giving each
other the lizard-like treatment.

Ziggy must have caught a whiff of my irritation, because he leaned against
the bureau and folded his arms in amusement.
"No need to keep your pecker in your pants here, Jack. Join in if you fancy
it."

That made me frown. He was assuming too much. "I ain't gay, Ziggy." I told
him.

"No, of course you ain't," he replied, "Me neither. But you're fretting
about social hang-ups and I reckon guys like us who've been around a bit and
done a lot should ignore things like that. You and me have earned the right
to do what we like, and do it with who we wish. Know what I mean?"

"Is that a joke?"

He stood, one hand in a pocket and a fixed smile on his face. It was an
artificial posture for a man like him. "When I make a joke I waggle my
ears."

Some small rational corner of my brain told me to get out of there or I'd
lose every iota of dignity I had left, but the idea came and then went. A
bigger part of me was desperate to stay.
I felt a stirring of blood rushing to my centre and the muscles of my
stomach and groin became taut. My dick was discovering renewed strength and
suddenly the chance to do something else that was dirty and different began
to have some appeal.

In the room next door Elvis was taking a break, and the sudden hush was
almost eerie.
"The Jiffy movies are what gave the boy his nickname." Ziggy explained. "Al
and Trevor want to act out the end clip from the Gym-Men and you can join in
if you like. It's a multi-role scene."

I raised my eyes to where Fat Al and Horn-Rimmed Trevor were busy with
Jiffy. They'd stripped him naked and ditched their own clothes too, and they
were manoeuvring him onto a long, heavy mahogany antique bench furnished
with a padded red-leather top. They'd mounted it on a marble plinth between
the two sofa's to give it some extra height prior to picking the boy up
bodily between them and laying him on his back on top of it.

The low plinth raised his supine body up the level of their thighs and
within moments Fat Al was making the most of the fact, holding the boys
knees scooped up in the crook of his arms and jiving his cock in and out of
that sweet little asshole I knew so well.
Further along Horn-Rimmed Trevor had turned Jiffy's face to the side and was
stuffing his mouth with cock.
It was like watching a homo-erotic fuck-flick, only this was live stuff.

I couldn't but feel a twinge of annoyance. In the short time I'd known him
I'd come to think of Jiffy as my boy and I was kinda peeved to find I didn't
have exclusive rights, but it was plain now he was a cock-pleaser who'd
entertain any guy Ziggy wished.
Ziggy crossed over to his other guests and enticed me along with him.
"Come on you guys, you'll have chance for some of that stuff later. We're
doin' the end-scene from Gym-Men right now." he said.
His voice was rich and mellow; an authoritative voice. It was as if he were
directing a film, and Al and Trevor did as he wished and pulled back.

When Ziggy heaved his dick from the front of his pants I mechanically did
the same.
I got the picture of what was to happen as the four of us pulled into a
group around Jiffy's head, Fat Al and Ziggy on one side, me and Horn-Rim
Trevor on the other, pricks extended and already pumping flesh. There wasn't
any doubt that the kid's lovely face was going to have to take all the jism
from a multiple hand-jobbing.
Jiffy lay on the padded bench with his hands loosely clasped beneath his
chest and with his legs dangling over the end. His eyes were glazed like he
was hot and bothered and ready for anything, but slightly pensive.
Well, who wouldn't feel a little pensive with four horny dicks getting
jerked inches above their face?

Ziggy ruffled his hair with his fingers in a gesture that was affectionate.
"You ready, kid?" The question was hushed, the tremble in his breath was
audible.
The back of Jiffy's head lifted slightly in an almost imperceptible nod. A
pulse beat visibly on his neck under his chin, but his lips hardly moved.
"Huh, huh!" he replied in a voice that was almost as thin as the body it
came from.
His eyes became shut but his breathing remained soft and shallow.

I guess some people would have gone nuts at viewing the depravity in that
room as we got going. Four middle-aged  rampant guys, jerking-off in a
circle around a pretty face, fingers moving boldly and juicily over swollen
knob-ends as each coaxed his prodder into a formidable truncheon. There was
nothing small there either. Trevor had a weapon as big as my own, a nicely
veined and uncut piece of man-meat with a red bulbous head peeking out
beyond the foreskin, Ziggy's was commendable, and even Fat Man had decent
artillery jutting out from beneath his big, flabby belly. It was a pretty
gross thing we were doing, but pretty sexy too.

"Just like in Gym-Men," murmured Ziggy,. "'Course, the four guys in the
movie were all big, hard muscle-bound studs with pricks the size of my arm.
We lesser mortals can only do our best."

"Wow!" Trevor groaned involuntary. He was breathing heavily, rasping as if
his throat were constricted His cock was thrusting into his hand and he was
jacking his foreskin up and down in delight and clearly enjoying himself,
just like we all were.
Apart from that here was no more conversation, everyone was too busy
flashing fingers on  their shafts and vaguely wondering who would be the
first to empty out.

It turned out to be Trevor. After just a few minutes his face went through a
metamorphous, it stiffened as if the muscles in his cheeks and neck had gone
into a bunching spasm, then, almost instantaneously, as if the strings
holding them had been cut, they sagged, giving him the vacuous look of
someone in shock.
With a breathless, "Oh, momma, yeah!" A jet of semen heaved forth in a thick
stream from the tip of his thick German-sausage of a dick, arcing up for a
couple of inches before splattering down onto Jiffy's upturned face.
"Oooh, yeah, yeah!" With his muscular torso flexing in wild delight he fed
pulse after pulse of hot creamy goo onto the boys features.
Jiffy didn't even flinch as the warm torrent of glutinous cream plastered
his nose and splattered across his cheeks.

Ziggy's lips were pursed with exertion and he was quick to follow. He may
have been small but he had a neat muscular package that was cut and rampant
and defied his build. With a noise midway between a grunt and a groan he let
go, and I watched in fascination has his huge organ ejaculated. His eyes
rolled up, the irises almost disappearing behind his eyelids as he started
to jack-off, then a gush of thick white fluid spurted out almost in slow
motion and a thick rope of ejaculate hosed across the kid's eyelashes and
forehead.

Lustfully he sprayed over the face beneath him and sperm pooled and ran in
small rivulets into every dip and hollow and down the cheeks like melting
icing on a cake. It seems he had to keep going and ring every molecule of
sweet jism out of it and put it on that beautiful plastered face.

Eventually he retreated holding his sagging cock like it was a rung-out
dishrag, and Fat Al and me adjusted out positions. While we were doing it
Jiffy's arms came up and his hands blindly groped for our ball-bags until he
was cuddling 'em and stroking our stones with his thumb.
"Come on you guys," he said softly but urgently, "Show me what you two studs
can do."

Fat man's breath became quicker and there was a bead of sweat on his brow.
Inside his head I guessed his lust was sparking away like an overloaded
fusebox, then he sighed and sorta gurgled and emptied his balls in a
dramatic splutter. Despite me thinking he was a waste of time he did a
couple of good jerks too. His mouth fell open as he relished the joyful
agony of his climax. He shuddered as if struck, and the muscles of his face
tensed in a galvanic jerk as he made a little moan and blinked hard.
His penis seemed to swell even larger and its slit opened just before each
discharge.

The kid's expression remained still and placid as stuff struck him for the
third time. With a kinda depraved chuckle Fat Al dipped his bell-end into a
puddle of cum and smeared it across the kid's nostrils, and then his lips,
but Jiffy's mouth stayed firm shut. I guess opening it wasn't in the script
for that moment.
What is it about guys who get a kick out of desecrating beauty? The four of
us there were like a bunch of screwball teenagers feeling compelled to
scrawl graffiti on any pristine surface that came their way, and there was I
the straight guy, thrilled to see a pretty face get covered in semen and
determined to add to it. Maybe for men like me it's all to do with the power
thing!

No time to consult a shrink, this was pure, horny sexiness taking me higher
than a drug. I felt no shame - my senses were too much in turmoil and my
fascination too overwhelming. Guilt would come later, but right at that
moment the eroticism was irresistible. I felt my balls tighten. I was close.
My body tensed, my cock ached as I watched him intensely, oblivious of
anyone watching me.
I was totally lost in sensations, waves of pleasure swept over me as I my
fingers furiously mashed my flesh until I climaxed. It seemed like a quart
of liquid was rushing down my tubes and I couldn't recall anything being so
intense. My cock throbbed and I jacked, then I was spurting like I'd never
done anything on the beach, again and again, like I'd never done anything
ever before in my life. Adding my own contribution to a face that was
already a mess of spunk.
Oh boy, it was good! A real gusher of a cum. And didn't I hit him dead
centre with a couple of nice wet ones!

Just when I thought it must be all over Jiffy's body quivered and one of his
hands slid down over his smooth belly, reaching down, down to the place that
needed to be touched - to the rearing young boy-cock between his thighs. His
fingers paused, soothed and fondled before grasping hold and yanking. Then
at once he was rapidly jerking his own rod to monumental woody proportions.

Al and Trevor, who I guess knew the scene from the Gym-Men movie we were
imitating extremely well, grabbed his legs under his knees and swung them up
over his head in a single easy movement, doubling him over high until his
thighs with its swollen cock were suspended over his face.
Holding him steady and in place Trevor started stroking the kid's ball-sack,
while Al cupped his neat little butt cheeks in his hands and stuffed a
finger deep inside his asshole.

Jiffy's hand hurried then slowed, hurried then slowed, the self-pounding
measured yet already beyond proper control.
His head jerked and he began moaning, a kind of cooing noise, his body began
to shake then went rigid in a cum-spasm His eyes were still closed, but now
his mouth opened wide in a kind of yawn that wasn't a yawn, because it
stayed open. Then he began to cum.

He let out a little "Ummph!" as his fingers moved into blur mode, then a
beautiful big creamy gobbit of white cum shot downwards, hitting his top lip
and sorta doing a wet ricochet into his mouth. Another fine glop followed,
and this one was right on target, going straight in to find his tonsils.
Just a slavering string of juice was left dangling down which he cut off
with a neat curl of his tongue.

That was the last act, and was sure enough for me. Jiffy's trembling legs
swung down and his thin body raised itself. He gave a little hiccup and
cleared his eyes which looked dreamy, as if he was coming out of
anaesthetic. He'd just taken four guy's loads plus his own full in the face
and his features were covered in turgid sticky rivulets. It was drooped over
his nose, caked on his cheeks and smeared round his chin. Strings of cum
trailed everywhere.
"Did I do okay, Ziggy?"

The movie-man smiled. "No doubt about it, kid. You're a real star."
Maybe afterwards there would be more to the evening than just that I'd taken
part in. Maybe there was even more degenerate frolicking to follow, but by
then I'd had had enough of the weird gay-scene to last me a decade or so,
and I got out.
Never again! I promised myself. Never again!

The thing about sex is that it always seems such a big deal. That one-timer
with Jiffy - Jeesh! It was so unlike Jack Dance, so out of character. I was
determined it should stay that way and so I rated it as just a bit of
unusual but forgettable fun. What happened?  I spent days thinking about it.
It WAS a big deal.

Godammit! I've got a book with contact numbers for two dozen gorgeous girls
any of whom would welcome a visit from me, but I've not called any of 'em. I
don't want any of them. I've got the hots for Jiffy. I wanna shag that kid's
cute ass until he hollers uncle.

I've got his telephone number, Ziggy gave it to me and said I could use him
any time I like until the payback from the film arrives. But I can't call
him, can I? If I called him I'd have to admit I could be homosexual, and
Jack Dance ain't queer, is he?