Date: Thu, 27 Aug 2009 11:15:05 -0500
From: George Gauthier <georgegauthier@verizonmail.com>
Subject: Jungle Boy 7

				Jungle Boy 7
				by George Gauthier

Author's Note: This is a tale of a pair of young actors in Hollywood and
their utterly improbable adventures in the movie business. This seventh
installment continues the story of the pair of new protagonists, Sandy
Barnett and Terry Knowles introuduced in the sixth tale, in place of Jason
Eberly, the original Jungle Boy of the first five tales.

It contains graphic descriptions of the male human body and of sexual
activity between adult males, the youngest of whom is seventeen years
old. It depicts scenes of consensual and non-consensual sexual activity,
bondage and submission.

If any of this would offend a reader, proceed no further. This is not
intended for persons younger than an age where they may freely and legally
select their reading matter in whatever jurisdiction that applies.

It is entirely fictional, with no resemblance intended to any person living
or dead.  Occasional references by characters to real motion pictures and
actors and others in the movie business are simply to lend verisimilitude
to a tale about persons in show business. None of the real people mentioned
in passing is in any way part of the tale.  Neither the author nor any of
his heirs or assigns has any connection whatsoever to the movies except as
fans.

Readers who like these stories might want to try my 'Daphne Boy' historical
tales or my 'Naked Prey' series of tales in a modern setting, posted in the
Gay/Beginnings section of the archive. Also, try my 'Track and Field'
stories in College and my 'Mer-Boy' stories in Gay/Beginnings. For links to
all my stories, look on the list of Prolific Authors on the Archive for
George Gauthier.

All rights reserved.

			Chapter 1. Hunting Dinosaurs

The movie location at the Vasquez Rocks in Agua Dulce, California had seen
a lot over the decades. The dramatically slanted rock formations had been
the background for hundreds of movie and television productions from 'Flame
of Araby' (Universal, 1951) to the clash between Captain Kirk and the alien
Gorn (Star Trek episode 'Arena' 1967). Now it was witness to a fight to the
death between Hollywood's latest incarnation of the Jungle Boy, actor Sandy
Barnett, and a rampaging Tyrannosaurus Rex.

Of course, the T. Rex wasn't really there. It would be inserted into the
action with CGI during postproduction. For the location shoot, a stunt man
stood in for the dinosaur. Dressed in a special green suit, stamping and
roaring on cue, he carried a pole with a green beach ball tacked to the end
to represent the head of the monster. All of that would be digitally edited
out later and the monster substituted. Meanwhile the cameras captured
images of two young actors, one a stunning blond boy the other a cute
redhead, scampering nude among the rocks. The Jungle Boy saga was notorious
for the skimpy or non-existent costumes of its principal actors. For the
dinosaur movie, the assumption or back story was that clothing had not yet
been invented, which was why the two youths would appear in every scene
entirely unclad.

It took imagination to see the scene as the director expected it to look
when they finished it in post-production. Two slightly built youths against
a carnivore as massive as an elephant, the boys' youth and nudity
emphasizing their vulnerability. It looked like an unequal match. The
monster, when it was finally realized in CGI, would be a giant, a dozen
meters long (42 feet) and four meters (13 ft) high at the hips, all muscle,
teeth, and ferocity, but the cavemen were slender nude boys, not much over
five foot tall, armed with only the most primitive of weapons. They would
have to rely on their wits instead of their strength to win this
contest. Their only hope was to turn the creature's own size and ferocity
against it.

Their agility as well as their wits would come into play. Human beings are
hard to run down, being small and quick and nimble creatures, able to jink
and dodge and change directions on a dime. Humans can climb trees, run
along limbs, or clamber up rock faces. Natural runners, humans have the
kind of endurance and cardiovascular fitness that puts many other animals
to shame. It is not very well known, but in a very long race over several
days, a man can outrun a horse.

Sandy Barnett and his red-haired ally, portrayed by Sandy's real life lover
Terry Knowles, were tag teaming the monster, continually tormenting and
teasing it, keeping it confused and not knowing which way to turn, leading
it this way and that, each hunter ducking into cover when he could, in
spots reconnoitered beforehand on their chosen killing ground. No sooner
would one hunter drop from sight that the other young hunter would pop out
of his hidey hole to sling rocks at the killer beast, to taunt and lure the
dinosaur into abandoning a fruitless pursuit, to turn and lumber off after
the second boy. After dodging and jinking a while, the second boy would go
to ground in a cave or hole. Then it was the first boy's turn to torment
the beast. The idea was to keep the beast furious and in constant
motion. Of course the script called for any number of close calls as when
its tail snapped viciously at one young hunter and hurled him into a
ravine.

The key to their strategy is that human beings regulate their body
temperature by perspiration and exhaling water vapor. As a reptile, a cold
blooded creature, the saurian could not regulate its body temperature that
way. Kept constantly active, sooner or later, the beast would keel over
from sunstroke, thanks to the heat built up by its exertions as well as
that absorbed through its hide from the bright sun overhead. Then the
cavemen would finish it off with their spears and axes. That is what the
script called for anyway. Sandy's character, the Jungle Boy, would drive
his spear through the downed beast's eye straight into the brain while his
cute ally used the obsidian blade of his axe to chop through the spinal
cord at the neck. Between them, the two kids would slay the mighty
carnivore then slice off the finer cuts of meat, leaving the carcass to
scavengers. Cooking and feasting on the beast's flesh -- that was turn
about for you.

This was one of the early scenes in the movie to establish the credibility
of the two callow youths as wily hunters, capable of taking care of
themselves as they crossed a landscape populated by giant saurians. After
this successful combat, the audience would appreciate that human cleverness
could indeed make human beings a match for the giant beasts, despite the
physical mismatch.

Like the original Jungle Boy, Jason Eberly, Sandy and Terry were both cute
twinks, slightly built beardless youths in their teens (eighteen the both
of them). Sandy stood no more than four inches over five feet (163 cm) and
weighed in at only 112 pounds (51 kg). His lover and co-star was not more
than a centimeter taller and maybe two kilos heavier. The two youths had
the same kind of fawn-like physique, very boyish but with a wiry
musculature, toned and taut from daily swimming and running. Sandy had more
of a swimmer's build than Terry, who was more of a runner. He had run
medium distance on the track team at school.

The camera loved them. Both youths were poetry in motion. They were doing
several slo-mo shots just to show off their athleticism and raw animal
appeal. Although short, their bodies were well proportioned and incredibly
toned, taut and trim with killer abs and all-over tans. From their tiny red
nipples to deeply indented navels, to narrow hips framing surprisingly
ample manhoods for boys so slight in build, Sandy and Terry were real
beauties both sleek and smooth, deeply and evenly tanned from much exposure
to the sun while in the nude at the beach or outdoor pool. The sheen of
sweat on their skin made them shine in the bright sun, their wiry physiques
a vision of youthful male pulchritude.

As for their looks, both were pretty boys. Sandy, the blond, was
preternaturally beautiful, much better looking than a boy had any right to
be, with delicate features, a straight nose and high cheekbones framing
large green eyes with hair the color of straw. Terry was no slouch himself
in the looks department. Incredibly cute, he had red hair, blue eyes, and a
lightly freckled face as befits a fine looking Irish lad. Like his lover,
he was totally smooth, without any body hair, the look of most young males
as the middle of the twenty-first century approached. Neither had ever had
more than wisps in their armpits and at the fork of their
legs. Nevertheless they had submitted to treatments to remove all the hair
on his body including the light dusting on their arms and legs, leaving him
permanently smooth and boyish.

"All right kids. Let's break for a late lunch." director Jim Nicholls
called out. "I know I've been running you ragged with all these takes, but
I needed to get this big action scene just right."

Sandy and Terry handed their stone age weaponry over to the prop man and
sank gratefully into chairs set up under the shade of a canopy, their weary
bodies just dripping with sweat. It beaded up on their foreheads and
dripped off the ends of their noses. It slid in runnels down their torsos,
filling and overflowing their navels. Since all their scenes were in the
nude, the boys saw no point in slipping into robes or even shorts between
takes. Well into their third week of filming, they were getting used to
going around naked on location. Terry bent forward to dislodge a pebble
jammed between two toes then leaned back, wiping the sweat off his brow
with the back of his arm and said.

"I just wish they'd finally get global warming under control. I felt like I
would pass out from the heat there on that last take."

"Me too. It's really brutal out there in the midday sun. No wonder the
sweat is just pouring off us. Still I am glad we got the chance to climb
all the way to the top, jammed toes, scrapes, and all. It was worth it. We
were kings of the mountain!"

"I'll go along with that Sandy, but I'm not sure your Tarzan style yell and
all that chest beating were entirely in character for the Jungle Boy." he
said with heavy irony.

"That is entirely for me to decide, Mr. Jungle Boy, Junior. Remember who is
getting top billing in this picture."

Suddenly Sandy leaned over to lap at the pool of sweat in Terry's navel.

"Hmmn, rather salty. That explains your critical attitude You usually taste
so sweet, my young friend."

Terry snorted. Sandy was only three months older, after all. Still he could
not help but smile when Sandy reached his hand over to tweak and roll
Terry's left nipple.

Their banter was typical of young men who are at ease in each other's
company, confidant their remarks would be taken as the gentle joshing they
intended.

A young grip came over with a pitcher of lemonade and glasses and put them
on the low table between them. Human beings can get sunstroke too, and the
producer was taking no chances with his young stars. They had orders to
keep hydrated. Their beverage had extra electrolytes in it, like a sports
drink, but otherwise it was honest lemonade, with a cut lemon floating
among the ice cubes.

"Thanks, Phil" Terry said to the young assistant. "This is just the thing
to cool us down, but don't forget Ed, our T. Rex over there" he added
pointing to the overheated stunt man who had sunk down on a rock nearby in
the shade, blowing heavily from his own exertions.

Suddenly the man's eyes rolled up and he slumped to the ground,
unconscious, his body trembling. The boys reached him first and saw that
the man's skin was flushed and dry and hot to the touch. Sandy and Terry
looked at each other and diagnosed in unison: "Heat stroke".

Sandy poured the contents of the pitcher of lemonade on the prostrate man
then grabbed a five gallon water can and upended it over him, guiding the
stream of water over his body. Terry ran to the ice chest and dragged it to
the man's side. He stuffed handfuls of ice cubes into the man's wet
clothing, and pressed more ice to his head with a towel. The boys knew that
ice and water were the most effective way to absorb the man's excess body
heat and get his core body temperature down into the safe zone, where his
brain proteins would not unravel inside his skull. The aid man ran up and
nodded his approval of their actions as he took the man's vitals and called
for an ambulance. The quick thinking of the two lads may well have saved
the man's life just then, but he really belonged in a hospital till he was
declared out of danger.

That mishap cost the production part of an afternoon's shooting, but it
reminded everyone that accidents can occur on any location, even one so
familiar and close by as Los Angeles' Vasquez Rocks. At least, as partial
compensation, a cameraman got fine footage for the 'Making Of' video
showing Terry giving first aid the stunt man, putting ice next to his
skin. The footage caught the nude boy from the rear, kneeling on the
ground, butt cheeks resting on bare feet, genitals dangling between slender
thighs, his lithe torso bent over, ribs and spinal bumps prominent as he
and Sandy worked to save the man's life. Sandy himself was filmed from the
front, standing over the man, the heavy water can held high, the
musculature of his arms and shoulders and belly straining with the weight
to direct the stream of water all over him. Then came the moment when both
looked straight at the camera; their honest and open young faces made them
seem like angels of mercy ministering to the stricken man.

After that incident the crew really warmed up to the two young
actors. During their first days on location, the veteran crew had felt a
little funny making a picture with two teenage co-stars who were not only
openly gay but lovers and spouses in real life. The boys had recently
joined their lives and fortunes in a civil union. This was something of a
first even for liberal Hollywood. Also the lads went before the cameras
stark naked for every scene. They usually stayed naked all day on location,
during breaks or for lunch, donning shorts and flip flops only after the
end of the day's filming. Never salacious, their nakedness seemed more the
result of youthful exuberance and self-expression.

Even before the incident with the stunt man, they were respected and liked
by most. Neither of them had gone Hollywood or put on airs. These fine lads
had not let success and good fortune go to their heads. Every morning at
seven, they arrived punctually on the set, driving up in Terry's beat up
old car. No fancy wheels for these kids. They listened to the director tell
him what he wanted them to do, then they did it, hitting their marks and
saying their lines.  After some of the insufferable young bastards the crew
had had to work with in the past, it was a pleasure to work with Sandy and
Terry. They were genuine: no attitude, no drugs, no tantrums, and no
entourage either to get in the way.

Anyone could see this was a pair of decent kids, even if they seemed to
have trouble keeping their pants on or their hands off each other. Well the
lads were terribly cute specimens of young manhood and very easy on the
eyes. They were young, this was their time, and their juices were flowing.

			Chapter 2. Hollywood

Two months later, movie producer Marty Fletcher looked up with a grin as a
pair of young actors breezed into his office.

"Look who's here" he said to director Jim Nicholls, Leon Potter, production
chief for the studio, and Ed Veronese, the actors' agent.

Still eighteen the both of them, Sandy Barnett and Terry Knowles were the
stars of a new series of Jungle Boy pictures. They were meeting to pick
stories for their next few pictures. As the principal star, Sandy had a
three picture deal. He and Terry had just co-starred in their remake of
'When Dinosaurs Ruled the Earth'.

"Hi Sandy," Nicholls grinned, looking him over. The young man was a vision
of youthful male pulchritude in his khaki hot pants and dark green tank
top. The blond boy's tight clothes showed off his trim and taut
physique. Flip flops and a gold neck chain completed the ensemble. Terry
was dressed much the same though with a shell choker.

The runaway success of their last picture allowed them to take a little
more time with their next projects. They wanted to find concepts that would
play to their star's strengths, then set writers to work on the scripts.

"How about a tough guy film noir role?" piped the young red headed
actor. Sandy and I could play guys on opposite sides of the law who
eventually become allies. I think the fans would like that."

Terry wanted them to branch out to avoid typecasting, to get occasional
roles where they could keep their clothes on some of the time. Not that he
minded nudity in front of the camera. He knew that his and Sandy's sex
appeal helped sell the pictures. Indeed there was the real reason Sandy and
Terry got their break in pictures. They were both willing to work in next
to nothing or even fully nude as in their last picture. In their dinosaur
movie, both of them were naked throughout. In one of Sandy's previous
pictures he had worn a loincloth that amounted to a G-string and feathers
in his hair. Oh many actors will do a nude scene or two, but these boys
would do an entire picture stark naked.

It was a good thing that attitudes toward nudity had changed a lot in the
first four decades of the twenty-first century, even in America, the last
hold out for nudity taboos. The law too had changed with the times. There
were many clothing optional beaches around now with nude beach volley ball
competitions, nude swimmers, and nude runners. The larger parks in major
cities had sections given over to nude sunbathing. Runners for cross
country teams at some colleges thought nothing of running down the back
road absolutely starkers. There was serious proposals to revive the
practice of the ancient Greeks at the Olympics requiring athletes to
compete in the nude, at least in track and field and aquatics. That way
there would forestall the arms races in sports equipment -- no more
expensively engineered running shoes with computers and actuators or
super-slippery swim suits. Athletes would bring only their natural
endowments to the competition.

Similarly restrictions on what could be shown in the movies or on
television were virtually non-existent at this late date, some sixty years
after the first instance of full-frontal nudity on American TV. As always,
Europe was way ahead of the U.S. Almost anything could be presented on
screen, as long as moviegoers had notice of what was on offer. You had to
do something pretty outrageous these days to get arrested for what they
used to call public indecency. As for the increase in nudity in film, the
justification was that Hollywood had always relied on selling sex appeal,
from the moment Clark Gable pulled off his shirt in 'It Happened One Night'
or Jan-Michael Vincent walked directly at the camera in the swimming hole
scene in 'Buster and Billy', full monty and all. These days, the movies
were just more frank and open about it. Why not show their stars in the
buff. Practically everyone else was doing that in real life anyway.

"How about this," Leon Potter began. "We cast Sandy as Billy the Kid and
Terry as Pat Garrett, his best friend and the lawman fated to gun him down
in the end. You could play Billy the Kid easy, Sandy. You're just the right
age, and the right size. He was a little guy whose six gun was his
equalizer."

"Let's do a surprise ending too, "Nicholls urged. "Like 'The Sting', where
we suddenly realize it was all a scam and that Billy survives and settles
down with Pat Garrett back East.

"Sounds good, but how do we get their clothes off in a western?

Terry rolled his eyes, and Sandy gave him a conspiratorial wink.

"That's easy. We've been there already with Jason and his picture about
Billy the Kid." Potter assured. "You see, Pat Garrett catches up to the
infamous desperado while he is swimming in the river. He throws a lasso
around him, then drags him from the water and ties him up. The kid will
look great all wet and bare assed. His helplessness will make the audience
sympathetic too, especially when Garrett takes the end of a rope to his
bare hide."

Of course, the young actor would not actually feel the sting of a rope end
on his back and rump. For most shots of the beating, the director would use
forced perspective, shooting from directly in front or back so it would
look like the rope actually struck the trussed up hero but in actually it
would fall short. They would use a soft silk version of the rope when they
wanted to film it curling around the outlaw's hips or ribs. Make up artists
would apply welts and fake blood to the boy's delectable body. And all
through the whipping, the nude boy would writhe erotically and hiss and cry
out with pain to make it look good.

"Garrett will also force his captive to hike all the way into town barefoot
and naked, leading him like a captured steer down the main street,
humiliating him before the townsfolk as they gaze on the dreaded outlaw now
rendered no more dangerous than a yearling calf. Garrett will clap the nude
outlaw into a cell, not even allowing him a blanket to cover himself. Later
at night, the lawman will slip into the boy's cell and have his way with
him."

Now it was Sandy's turn to roll his eyes. Here we go again, he gets
captured and put into bondage, roughed up and humiliated, even raped. Sandy
gets captured rather a lot in his pictures, often stripped and brutalized
then thrown in a cell, at least till he gets away and turns the tables on
the bad guys.

"Let me guess," Terry began. "Garrett was a spurned lover or a former
lover. So that is why he goes after Billy and treats him so harshly. It is
only when he is raping the captive outlaw that he realizes he still loves
the guy after all. So he lets him slip out of jail and eventually arranges
a phony shootout."

"Right, and when the posse chases after him, we'll have him riding bareback
while barefoot and bare assed. That's very suggestive in and of itself!"

Everyone thought that was a great idea for a movie about Billy the
Kid. Sandy's gay fans always liked a gay angle in the plot. His sexual
orientation was old news to his fans. Even the gals in the audience liked
to fantasize that they would be the one female to straighten him out.

"OK, one down, two more to go." Potter.

"How about doing a horror movie?" Sandy suggested.

A horror flick was almost mandatory for a young actor's resume. Hollywood
and the fans just loved to see movies about young people, in various stages
of undress, at the mercy of some slasher or eldritch horror. These flicks
were quick and cheap to make, so they were unusually lucrative.  Most of
the filming could be done on sound stages, in front of a green screen, or
on the back lot, no need to go on location.

The group decided to go with a ghost story. Sandy and Terry would play a
pair of friends and go-go dancers sharing a room and a bed in a spooky old
mansion long since turned into a rooming house. Potter had an old script he
could reuse once it was re-written for the two of them. Lots of opportunity
to show skin in a flick about go-go boys prancing on stage in tiny
G-strings or less, shaking their booties, kneeling to let the patrons feel
them up or stuff bills under the strings that supported the tiny pouches
cupping their genitals. There would be scenes of the two boys in bed
together, filmed tastefully with chiaroscuro lighting effects to emphasize
their bare skin as they made love. They could also lay on a long chase
sequence through the Never Never, both boys starkers and desperate to
escape the clawed horrors howling after them. The fights would also show
off their athleticism and trim taut bodies.

Their third picture would count as another Jungle Boy epic. It would be a
kind of remake of the 'Blue Lagoon', told from a gay perspective. Terry and
Sandy would play the teenage versions of two young boys cast away and
stranded on a desert island in the Pacific Ocean. The script would draw on
elements from 'Swiss Family Robinson' and Jules Verne's 'The Mysterious
Island' including a gay Captain Nemo who conveniently destroys the pirate
ship that threatens the island idyll of the two beautiful young lovers.

This version would have a happy ending too, none of that stupid suicide
stuff with poison berries as in the prior versions. These lads would live
happily ever after. In this production too, the principal actors would be
naked for virtually every scene. The studio's budget would allow for good
production values, so this picture would be filmed on location, probably in
the West Indies. Afterwards the young actors could take a Caribbean
vacation together before gearing up for further pictures.

After that, an awkward silence reigned. They had run out of
ideas. Fletcher's notion of a gender bender 'Lad and the Tiger' got
rejected outright by the group.

"By the way," Potter continued. "I hear that your fans are picking up on an
old trick they used to pull on Jason Eberly. In fact, I've heard rumors
that he might be the one putting them up to it."

Potter was referring to the early days in Jason's career when he had
chronic 'wardrobe malfunctions' thanks to eager fans who literally ripped
his clothes off right out there in public on the street. True he made that
rather easy for them. In his neighborhood he liked to walk around wearing
either a simple sarong wrapped around his hips or a very loose fitting pair
of jeans, the kind with lots of ventilation. Since he typically went bare
chested and barefoot, all the fans had to do was remove a single garment to
leave him stark naked on the sidewalk.

These bold fans sometimes worked in teams, one to distract the actor, the
other to grab his sarong and pull it off him. The trick with the jeans was
to come up behind the slender young actor and pull his pants down
sharply. That would make them fall to his ankles, hobbling him long enough
for his assailant to step on his pants and push him forward, forcing the
surprised young man to step right out of his pants. In all the confusion
and hilarity, it was easy for the miscreants to make their escape, leaving
the young actor out on the street in the rude nude. Some of the cops
thought he put his fans up to it. Others blamed the paparzzi. Either way,
these mishaps became part of Jason's legend.

Now Terry and Sandy were living in a townhouse in the same walkable
neighborhood. They emulated their predecessor in usually going about
lightly dressed, bare chested and barefoot or maybe moccasins. Instead of
jeans or sarongs these boys liked to wear hot pants which were extremely
short shorts that had been popular in the 1970s and were fashionable once
again fifty years later. With a very low rise waistband and a two-inch
inseam and a loose fit, the hot pants lived up to their name. Anyone
standing behind a boy could look down his rear cleavage, and the inseam was
barely enough to contain him in front. You didn't wear any underwear with
hot pants either. So one sharp tug and the pants were around his ankles and
soon he was out of them entirely. So far Sandy had been publicly stripped
four times and Terry three times including once when they had been double
teamed.

These incidents were captured on handheld video cameras as well as security
cameras on the street and in shops and telecast later on the news, gossip
shows, blogs, etc. Bookies laid bets on the next time the boys would be
forcibly stripped naked in public. Of course the young actors had a sense
of humor about things, and realized that some of this was just the price of
fame. It's not like public nudity was anything new to either of
them. Besides their movies, they were often photographed at the nudie beach
or running along cross country trails entirely bare ass, so what was the
difference? Mostly one of expectation and propriety. At the beach the boys
went naked voluntarily and expected to have cameras directed at them. On a
busy city street there were different expectations.

Sometimes the fans really inconvenienced the lads. There were times you
really had to complete that errand to the post office or drug store, which
you could hardly do when suddenly rendered starkers by overly enthusiastic
fans. One photo showed poor Sandy with a 'Oh not now!' look on his face in
front of a phalanx of Japanese tourists, all busy snapping away with their
cameras. One of them offered him a baseball cap to hold in front of him,
but he just shook his head wearily. That train had left the station
already, especially after all the full frontal shots in his movies. Usually
someone took pity on the lad and offered him a ride home. Twice it had been
the cops, but no charges were filed.

Sure at Terry's home in Florida they might trot along local residential
streets over to the running trails in the nearby park. Locals were used to
seeing the Barnett kid jogging naked along their byways.  That wasn't the
same as sudden unplanned total nudity on a busy commercial street. Besides
public nudity still offended some folks. The boys steered clear of churches
especially on Sunday, not to mention the nearby parochial school.

Embarrassing as those incidents had been, both lads were gratified that
their genitals didn't look all shriveled up like with so many guys. Sandy
had a smooth cock with a vein running along the top of the shaft from his
belly to where the foreskin hugged his cock head, outlining the ridge of
the glans under the skin, leaving just the slit at the tip of the head
visible.  Terry's genitals were also well formed. In his case, the sheath
of his cock completely covered the head with the folded tip extending
perhaps a finger's breadth farther. For both boys, their cock and balls
were reasonably sized but neither wouldn't be scaring the horses. That was
just fine when you were running cross country bare ass with your dangly
bits bouncing about.

It was as good thing that they couldn't really lose any valuables or
documents. These days everyone had a RFID chip implanted in his right
arm. The chip served as a passport, wallet, driver's license, health
insurance card, etc. Any standard reader could access his account
information, medical records, and so forth and make transfers with a proper
PIN or password or from a fingerprint or even a retinal scan.

			Chapter 3. The Blue Lagoon

Their first pictures as co-stars had Sandy and Terry playing boyhood
friends, shipwrecked and exiled on a desert island and now grown into young
manhood. This setting was everyone's favorite fantasy, a life of leisure on
an island paradise where coconuts fall from trees. Nothing to do but gather
the breadfruit, do a little fishing and other light tasks. Its appeal to
the modern urbanite was obvious: no job, no commute, no boss, no taxes, no
clothes or laundry. In short, no cares. This version was a gay oriented
remake of the 'Blue Lagoon' with two cute young male leads, full frontal
nudity, and no coy camera angles. The plan called for location filming over
two months with the principal male stars totally naked in all of their
scenes.

As a partial remake of two earlier versions of this picture, the script
writer and producer were not shy about incorporating elements from those
earlier productions. This was a practice long honored as hommage rather
than plagiarism. The boys had a great time doing many of the dramatic
stunts in the originals including the tandem slide down the waterfall or
swinging on vines over the pool at the bottom. Their underwater scenes were
especially authentic given that both were fine swimmers who could hold
their breath underwater for several minutes at a time. Good thing
too. Sandy had a really scary moment when a small octopus latched onto his
wrist and wouldn't let go. He finally had to stab the poor creature to get
it to release him. He felt bad about that. The octopus was merely defending
its territory after all.

As teenagers just recently fallen in love themselves, Sandy and Terry were
just perfect as two young lads exploring their bodies and discovering their
sexuality together on a desert island. Looking younger than their eighteen
years anyway, they were utterly convincing as kids whose urges culminated
in their inevitable joining. You could not ask for more authentic scenes of
gay love. These boys really were lovers. Their bodies knew each other. They
moved in the dance of love in a way two strangers never could.

That said, this was no porn film and nothing the cameras captured for the
film involved actual sexual intercourse. Oh the heavy petting was sincere
enough; the boy were real life lovers after all, but they were actors
too. Sure they used their real emotions to lend credibility to their
performances, but those were performances. For the real thing, you just had
to listen outside their tent at night. Terry especially was very vocal when
getting fucked.

One day the script called for Sandy and Terry to paddle their canoe across
the lagoon, closely followed by a pair of Zodiacs with cameramen and the
director, Jim Nicholls, to film the action.  In the script's timeline, the
characters had just become lovers, adding a physical and sexual dimension
to the close relationship. The canoe journey to an off shore island was in
celebration of their new found love.

The two young actors looked terrific paddling away, the muscles of arm and
shoulder and back moved erotically under their deeply tanned skins. They
were both kneeling in the primitive canoe, bare buttocks resting on their
heels, their fine deep cleavages on display for the camera and
fans. Sunlight glistened off the calm waters of the lagoon and the spray
thrown up by their paddles. Once in a while Sandy or Terry deliberately
splashed each other, a bit of improvisation to demonstrate the boys'
exuberance and happiness.

Suddenly Sandy spotted a huge sea turtle swimming on the surface.

"What a magnificent beast! I'm going to ride it!"

Setting aside his paddle, he dove headlong into the sea next to the turtle
and grabbed the forward edge of its shell. The turtle continued paddling
along, placid, little caring that the boy had latched on to him. His slight
mass and the hydraulic resistance of his slender body meant nothing to the
powerful sea creature which must have weighed five hundred pounds (240 kg).

Sandy exulted in the sensation of sliding through the sea effortlessly, his
legs trailing behind, letting the water flow over his body, sluice through
his cleavage, and lave his manhood. The great beast's flippers propelled
them faster than he could swim himself. Meanwhile Terry paddled behind,
gamely keeping pace, grinning widely, sharing the experience with his
lover. The blue of the sky, the green of the waters, and the white of the
clouds and the sandy beach painted the scene with a vivid palette of
colors, one they would never forget as long as they lived.

At one point a pair of dolphins surfaced nearby and kept pace with the sea
turtle. Terry thought he saw an invitation in the look from the larger
dolphin, so he took a big chance and dove into the water, grabbing onto its
dorsal fin. Just as he hoped, the dolphins were in a playful mood and did
not try to dislodge him. Terry's mount sped up, swept past, then circled
around in front of the turtle, its sonar clicking away.

Terry timed his breathing with the undulations of the big dolphin. At
several points, he had to hold his breath longer when his mount dove deep
under the sea turtle and came up on the other side. An air breather itself,
the dolphin seemed to understand that the human boy he was giving a ride to
needed to take in air too, so he never kept Terry down for too long.

The turtle proceeded stolidly ahead, ignoring the dolphins weaving their
way back and forth across the lagoon. He knew they were no danger to
him. Nothing really was in these waters, not even the strange two tailed
creature that had somehow attached itself to his shell. For nearly a
quarter hour the turtle tolerated the boy's presence. Finally the turtle
grew tired of the sport and dove for deep water, staying down for so long
Sandy had to let go and swim up to the surface for air. Terry abandoned his
own ride and swam over to the canoe, now being towed by one of the
Zodiacs. He helped Sandy clamber in. They lay together in the bottom of the
canoe, catching their breath, Terry's head resting on Sandy's chest,
listening to heartbeat of the boy he loved, both of them thinking, life
doesn't get any better than this.

"Cut!" the director called. "That footage was terrific, kids! Sandy and
Terry you have great instincts, diving in that way to ride the animals. You
can't script something like that, but when it happens, it gives the movie
an unmistakable air of authenticity. Back in Hollywood, they are probably
gonna think I used a mechanical sea turtle and dolphin for that scene. And
we got some terrific underwater footage of you Terry with the camera drone,
not to mention that nice cuddle in the canoe. Hoo rah!"

Indeed the footage was dramatic and exhilarating, evocative of the natural
paradise that was the boys' island of exile. Naturally the production would
have to fill out the sequence with close ups, towing the actors through the
water on ropes, but that would hardly lessen its authenticity. This scene
would really help at the box office. Footage that didn't go into the movie
itself would be part of the 'Making Of' video.

There were smiles all around at this latest success during the
production. Everything was going swimmingly. This was a happy
company. Everyone got along with everyone else, crew, cast, support
folks. That was how Nicholls liked it on his movies, and these days he had
enough clout in Hollywood to pretty much get his way. You never worked more
than once for him if you were a troublemaker or a sourpuss. Life was too
short to spend any of it with unpleasant people, not matter how talented or
competent.

"You know, I hate to be a spoilsport, Jim" Sandy ventured over lunch the
next day, "but to me the the shallow waters of the lagoon look more green
than blue. Or am I missing something?"

"What you are missing, my young friend, is that this is Hollywood, where
minor inconsistencies like that can be completely ignored. For example,
there was an old disaster movie called 'Krakatoa: East of Java'. Terrible
picture. The fact is that the volcano Krakatoa was in the Sunda Strait due
west of Java, and the producers knew it. They just thought "East" sounded
more exotic. Then there was that el cheapo monster movie 'Giant Gila
Monster' where the title role was actually played by a Mexican Spotted
Lizard. The local pet store must have run out of gila monsters that
week. Why the sudden concern for verisimilitude? I thought that was Marty
Fletcher's hang up. And wasn't your last movie about cavemen and
dinosaurs?"

Sandy chuckled at that. Yes, dinosaurs had died out 60 million years before
cavemen evolved on this planet. He'd also heard that blonds like himself
probably hadn't been around longer than ten thousand years, long enough for
humans to migrate out of Africa to where the glaciers were in retreat in
Scandinavia. Light skins presumably let humans make enough Vitamin D for
strong bones and teeth. Nowadays dairies added it to milk for that very
reason. He said as much to the director who nodded, then grimaced as he
remembered.

"Too bad our fresh milk spoiled in the cooler. I really hate powdered
creamer with coffee."

"No problem, boss," Terry piped up. "I'll get us some coconut milk. I've
been practicing my climbing. Watch."

Suiting actions to words, Terry shinnied up a nearby coconut palm, a knife
gripped in his teeth. He used the friction from a rope joining his ankles
to give him a grip on its smooth trunk. It helped the novice coconut
gatherer that the tree he chose leaned over at an angle. After some hacking
away among the palm fronds, he managed to dislodge several coconuts.

"Bombs away!"

Nicholls was glad to see that the cameraman doing the Making Of video was
right on the job, capturing the candid action.

The boy has gone up the tree nimble as a squirrel, his taut tanned body
looked completely natural in this setting, a real nature boy. These two
kids were not only breathtakingly lovely, they went about these days quite
unselfconscious about their perpetual nudity. With them it never seemed
salacious, more about the beauty of the human form that sculptors tried to
capture in marble or in bronze except these young males were alive, kinetic
sculptures, as it were. Sandy and Terry didn't just strike poses. They were
real action figures. Just look at those shots of Terry's tight brown buns
and straining legs as he hiked himself up the palm tree. Nicholls
particularly liked the comical ending to Terry's climb when part way down
the trunk the boy lost his grip with the rope and slid the rest of the way
down the trunk of the tree landing in the sand rather hard on his tush.

"I guess Terry needs a little more practice."

Sandy observed, as his co-star and lover got to his feet, brushing sand off
himself. The redhead looked so cute standing there nude, rubbing his sore
butt cheeks with both hands, trying to recoup his dignity, embarrassed over
his clumsy descent but with a boyish determination to do it right the next
time. Meanwhile, Sandy picked up the knife and expertly whacked the top of
the coconut off, holding it out to Nicholls. The kindly director didn't
have the heart to tell the lads that coconut milk in coffee tastes just
awful.

Anyway, what a picture Sandy's stance made, the boy's slender arm extended,
deltoid and biceps tensed, the veins running from armpit to wrist standing
out like on a fawn, his scrumptious young body leaning forward, as if he
were offering himself, not just the coconut. A still would make a great
printed poster or an image for a digital wall frame. Fans would love the
way the lighting from the side accentuated the corrugations of the boy's
washboard belly and his adam's girdle. The boy's feet were about shoulder
width apart, allowing his nicely formed genitals to hang freely between
slender hairless thighs. What great beauties they were, both kids, and by
now both totally blase about being stark naked in front of a camera.

Nicholls liked working with very young actors like Sandy and Terry,
personable boys who were not quite men. Nicholls had never had sons of his
own. That was probably why he had developed such a strong avuncular
interest in some of the young actors he had taken under his wing over the
years, actors like Jason Eberly, the first Jungle Boy, several others, and
now his successors. If some of their antics and doings bordered on the
outrageous, well they were so very young. Anyway, neither Sandy nor Terry
had a mean bone in his body, so Nicholls was inclined to indulge them. They
kept things lively on the set or location. That was for sure. More power to
them, the both of them.

Nicholls considered the movies an authentic art form. Its medium was not
just film (really digital video) but scripts and actors, words and actions,
places and special effects. How gratifying it was for him to be able to
preserve the beauty of these two lads forever, just like an artist who
worked in clay or paints. On film, they would always be young and sexy,
athletes in their prime, fine exemplars of the human form.

Finally, with the filming finished, Sandy and Terry went on an island
cruise to relax from the long location shoot. They would rejoin the
production company back in Hollywood for any post production touches. For
Terry, the Caribbean was heretofore unexplored territory. Sandy had visited
the islands several times on vacation from his native state of Florida.

			Chapter 4. Bottom Boy in Bondage

One morning a week into the cruise found wavelets making slapping sounds on
the hull of their anchored excursion schooner, but it was the light of dawn
that awoke the naked youth sprawled on deck, a pretty red head lad in his
teens from his slight stature. He sat up and looked around, marveling once
again at his surroundings, a sight he never tired of. The lagoon was a
terrestrial paradise of blue skies, green sea, white sandy beaches, and a
tropical sun that had turned his skin a tawny gold.

The schooner swung at anchor amid the Turks and Caicos Islands. Small
limestone or coral uprises, ancient relics of coral reefs, the small rocky
islands are for the most part uninhabited, but were famous for their
beaches, green lagoons, dramatic channels, and the peculiar umbrella shapes
of many of the islands themselves. Other islands looked on the map like
nothing so much as a colony of amoebae, each with small peninsulas
stretching like pseudopods in every direction enclosing tiny bays and
sounds.

An early riser anyway and a light sleeper, Terry Knowles drank some juice
and water, then started his daily stretching routine. The sailor on watch
nodded to the slender lad, noting that like many lads on this gay cruise,
Terry was well muscled, with the taut and toned physique of an athlete and
acrobat and the suppleness of a dancer. His morning stretches were just to
get the kinks out though they would have been delighted his lover sleeping
in their cabin below with the display of his trim musculature and sexy
little body, posed and contorted in erotic ways. It was an eclectic set of
poses, some based on yoga, others on tai qi. Terry's slim form transitioned
smoothly from one difficult pose after another, each held, relaxed, then
repeated a prescribed number of times.

Once prepped Terry got onto his board and windsurfed in the light morning
winds, relishing the solitude. The other guys could be noisy once they got
going. Yes, there was a time and place for horsing around but surely not in
the solitude of early morning. Much as he was in love with Sandy, he needed
occasional solitude too. So Terry relished his chance to sail alone for a
change. The schooner disappeared from sight once he passed behind a couple
of the small rocky islets.

The sun kissed his skin all over since he never wore a life jacket either,
good swimmer that the was. Terry's trim musculature was on display as his
thighs absorbed the shock of the waves, his buns clenching rhythmically,
dimpling and smoothing as they flexed. Muscles in his back rippled as he
pulled on the sail, tacking back and forth. He laughed as he sailed back
and forth, soaking in the sun and relishing the spume and splash of the
sea. His body glistened with sweat and droplets of sea water, the sun's
rays refracted as from tiny diamonds.

He seemed so totally at home that he looked like a vision risen from the
sea itself, some mythological denizen of the sea, a sea sprite maybe or a
mer-boy. For those who admire lovely boys, the sight of Terry on his board
was almost a religious experience, provoking the thought that the existence
of such exquisite beauty might evidence a benign deity.

There was just him, the board, and the transparent sail skimming over the
clear waters of the lagoon. The scene was almost primeval with no sign of
the modern world. It must have looked like this centuries ago, when, at any
moment pirates or a war party of cannibals might appear from behind a rocky
islet. True Terry was there among the islets on his board, but a slender
nude boy is hardly an intrusion of civilization.

Nearly an hour into his sailing, just as he was ready to turn back, Terry
came upon a schooner anchored in a cove. Buoys and flags indicated they had
divers down. Curious, Terry sailed closer for a better look. The crew were
the dark skinned descendants of slaves from nearby islands and dressed only
in skimpy loincloths. Spotting Terry's approach they grew alarmed. Several
jumped into a dory and sped over to Terry, quickly overtaking him. He tried
talking to them, but could not understand any of their speech, evidently
some kind of French Creole. They wanted him to come with them to the
schooner but their fierce expressions made him wary. He waved them off to
no avail. The crewmen shrugged and grabbed the boy, dragging him into their
craft. Squirm and struggle though he might, Terry was no match for five
sailors.

They seem to take delight in grappling his trim body, gripping his limbs
and torso, holding him tight to their own nearly nude bodies. Even after
the hapless boy was made a captive, his arms tied behind his back and
ankles roped together, their hands continued to roam over his physique,
exploring, delving into crevices, squeezing and fondling. One man
especially liked to stroke Terry's red locks, quite an unusual color for
these climes. Forced to kneel in the bottom of the dory as they headed back
toward the schooner, Terry's could only watch as his sail board floated
abandoned and adrift.

The name of this new ship was the Albatross. Terry fleetingly wondered why
the owners had chosen the name of a bird of ill omen. He hoped it was not a
bad omen for himself. Transferred to the schooner, Terry worried about what
he had stumbled upon. Were these men modern day pirates, smugglers,
terrorists, or what? The crew seemed native to these islands, men with very
black skins. Nearly all were tall and lean; they all would overtop little
Terry, even if he had not been forced to crouch on deck, looking fearfully
at the long knives they carried in scabbards at their waists.

While all this was going on, two scuba divers came up to the surface and
climbed onto the schooner, discarding their equipment.. They were white men
in their late twenties, both tall and well built and clad in blue
Speedos. The crew chief filled the divers in on what had happened while
they were on the bottom. The big blond dropped his rebreather, mask, and
shin fins on a bench then stepped over to the boy.

"Well, well, well. So this is the catch of the day. What do you think,
Frank?" he said to the other diver, a dark haired man with a trim beard
along his jaw line. "Looks kind of undersized doesn't he? Maybe we should
just throw him back!"

He chuckled at his own attempt at levity. The demeanor of the other man
named Frank was more serious. Toying with his diving knife, he spoke to
Terry in a menacing tone.

"Not before we make him talk. So little one, what is a pretty thing like
you doing nosing around in these waters."

Terry stammered, trying to brave it out, but his voice came out very young
and shaky. He tried to explain that he was just on vacation, a tourist
traveling with a friend, taking in the natural wonders of the
islands. Bound as he was hand and foot, Terry felt very small and
vulnerable, a nude boy kneeling before two tough looking men and completely
at their mercy.

"A likely story." The man said dismissively. "I think you are a spy. Who
sent you? Was it Cavendish? No doubt he thought you would distract us with
your impossibly pretty face and that fine round rump of yours. He knows our
tastes in boys."

"Very likely." The other man agreed. "He does have the look of a rent boy,
doesn't he, Frank, too pretty by half, totally blase about public nudity,
showing himself off like this. Let's search him." the blond added.

"What do you mean, search me?" Terry squeaked out in surprise. "How can I
have anything hidden from you. You can see for yourself that I am stark
naked."

"Heh, heh, heh. Do you take us for fools. For all we know, you might have
swallowed the pearls, or shoved them up your tight quim."

"Pearls? Please, sirs, I don't know anything about that." Poor Terry was
practically in tears, confused and afraid. "Please don't hurt me." he added
in a tremulous voice. In his anxiety, he didn't notice the conspiratorial
wink that passed between the two men. It isn't often that a cute kid this
naive falls into your hands. They would play this scene out for all it was
worth before they let him go.

"Well let's get a good look at you, pretty one. Here stand between between
these hatch covers."

Frank signed for the crew to move back and give them space. They could
watch the boy's deflowering from the bow, but must not interfere. Frank and
Sean examined their prize. Even though they were sitting on the hatch
covers and the boy was on his feet, Terry still had to look up at
them. Their hands pawed his trim lithe physique, as they men commented,
mostly favorably, on his various attributes. They were clearly taken with
the boy's beauty of face and form, clearly a rare treasure to anyone who
appreciated a lovely lad, healthy and in the bloom of his youth, looking
all the more delectable for the way his slender body trembled in its
bondage.

Frank put his big hands on the youth's shoulders, slid his palms over the
flaring pectorals, ran his hands down the impressively scalloped belly and
circled his navel with his thumb, then ran his fingers over the boy's
prominent hip bones, brushing the flat belly with the tips of his
fingers. From behind, Sean ran his hands down the boy's shoulder blades and
flanks to the flare of his hips and on to the curve of his buttocks, giving
them an experimental squeeze with hands that could have crushed a coconut,
then slid the blade of his hand between, flashing a quick smile at the
sharp intake of breathe the boy took as Sean's finger tapped the small hole
between the firm globes and slipped inside very briefly. He reached forward
testing the firmness of the muscles on the back of Terry's slender thighs
and of his calves. Hmmmn. Impressively muscled for such a slim lad. Frank
smiled at the boy's embarrassment, the way the intimate visual and physical
scrutiny had stimulated him, plumping his cock up a bit, a drop of clear
fluid glistening at the tip of the foreskin.

There was no doubt that the boy had a beautiful tanned body, toned, taut
and muscular with strong shoulders, well defined abdominal muscles, and
narrow hips.  His hands were small and his legs well muscled with veins
prominent under the skin because of a body fat percentage virtually in
single digits. No hair interrupted the flow of its faultless lines. Small
veins just under the skin of the belly led the eye downwards to the fork of
the legs. From his tiny red nipples to a deeply indented navel, to narrow
hips framing a surprisingly ample manhood for one so slight in build, the
boy was real beauty.

His manhood was a smooth tube with a vein running along the top from his
belly to where the foreskin hugged his cock head, outlining the ridge of
the glans under the skin. Cock and balls were of reasonable size but he
wouldn't be scaring the horses. It might take both this boy's small hands
to cover his erection, but only one when he was soft. Terry carried so
little body fat that his flat belly showed a tracery of downward pointing
veins just under the skin. The beat of his heart was visible on the left
side of his smooth chest. He was sleek and smooth and deeply tanned, his
wiry physique a vision of youthful male beauty.

The proportions of his physique were especially attractive. With many
slightly built youths, the legs are disproportionately short, accounting
for most of the deficit in height. Terry's trim form was smaller in
proportion, retaining the classic ratios which artists have discovered
please the eye and excite concupiscence. His rump jutted out just the right
amount, a double handful of firm, ripe flesh. Besides his alluring
physique, the boy had one of those faces that literally turned heads. Men
and women of all persuasions did double takes and stared at the boy,
wondering how anyone could be that good looking.

Frightened though he was, Terry could not stop his body from reacting to
the stimulation of the men's hands as they explored it. Their hands were
everywhere, stroking, weighing, delving, rubbing, squeezing. Terry felt a
rush of heat to his belly as his knees went weak. He was mortified at the
thought that he might throw a boner. What would these men think of him
then. The fact is, that though he had not explored that side of his nature
very much, a bondage scene like this turned him on unbearably. It was just
like back at the police station in the Yucatan.

Though they merely stood back and watch, the crew were all eager witnesses
to Terry's humiliation, chatting and smiling among themselves, pointing at
the hapless lad. It got to him too. Poor Terry knew himself for a confirmed
bottom boy. A scene like this, in front of onlookers, with him helpless and
in bondage, a captive of two large dominant males, on their home ground,
was a real turn on. Poor little Terry was excited at the prospect as only a
natural submissive can be. He trembled with lust that he hoped his captors
would ascribe to fear.

Unfortunately his virile member betrayed Terry's sexual excitement. It had
long since engorged and slid out of its sheath. Now it was painfully erect,
flat to his belly, rigid, and throbbing with the beat of his heart. Frank
pulled the stiff member out at a forty-five degree angle and let it slap
back to Terry's belly with an audible thwack. A dominant of long
experience, he knew that sometimes to get the attention of a young male,
you had to grab him by the balls. A stiff prick made a good handle too. He
rubbed his thumb on the sweet spot below the glans, eliciting the emission
of a droplet of pre-ejaculatory fluid from the slit at the end. His other
thumb tweaked a nipple. He was gratified by the boy's quick intake of
breath as his arousal took hold. Frank turned a bit to give his friend a
good look and pulled the rigid member down nearly parallel with the floor
before he let go. The resulting smack was louder.

"Nothing wrong with his equipment, Sean."

"I saw, Frank, though it's his holes I am interested in. So which will it
be, head or tail?" Sean asked his friend. No it wasn't about a wager on a
toss of coin. Sean was just allowing his pal first choice of which of the
boy's orifices to explore.

Terry's head was in a whirl, his belly on fire, his cock so hard it hurt,
his nether hole twitching in anticipation. He had never felt so aroused, so
ready to be fucked. Whoever these rough men were, they excited him as no
one had ever done before. He felt a growing need to submit to them, to let
them do things to him, sexual things he had only fantasized about, to use
his trim little body for any lascivious purpose they cared to. Terry had
always known that he was a bottom boy, a live sex toy for strong men to
play with. Though his sexual activity with Sandy was very satisfying, they
were both bottoms, who did a lot of sixty-nine and such. Much as he loved
his spouse, he had always felt something was missing: a sense of danger and
loss of control. He wanted very much to be taken willy nilly.

These brutes who had taken charge of him were exactly what his libido had
yearned for, rough tough males who would take what they wqnted, forcing him
to obey their will. Terry was at their mercy, a helpless captive, belittled
and humiliated by their trash talk, in tight bondage, forced to endure
their intimate examination with a double teaming in the offing. He shivered
in anticipation of what he fully expected to be the hardest and best fuck
of his young life. Gosh, what kind of a boy slut did that make him?

Given the scenario, Terry knew that they would expect him to struggle, to
put up a fight, to pit his wiry strength against theirs so they could truly
say they had conquered him. So he writhed and wriggled in Frank's powerful
arms, bucking and pushing to get away even though he was fully aware that
had nowhere to go really. The big man chuckled at the boy's struggles,
admiring the play of muscles under the boy's tawny skin. Nothing like a kid
with bit of fight in him to get a man's juices flowing. He had an easy
counter to the boy's ineffectual efforts. He simply grabbed him from
behind, putting him in a wrestling hold. Frank bent him forward, exposing
Terry's buns to his own assault and the boy's pouty lips to Sean's rampant
cock. Each took advantage of the tempting orifice at hand. Helpless in the
wrestling hold, Terry gave up struggling, surrendering himself totally to
the overwhelming physical mastery of the two divers.

Frank's moved down to his ass, fingers squeezing leaving finger marks on
the supple flesh, marks of ownership. His thumb and forefinger encircled
his taut ballsac, pulling it down and back. Terry was surprised to feel
Frank's lips licking his balls then kissing his anal ring, rimming him,
getting him ready for penetration. He groaned at this unexpectedly gentle
approach and responded by pooching his nether ring open. Frank's fingers
quickly found their way into the open hole, poking and prodding, smoothing
some lubricant on the distended muscle. Good, at least they weren't going
to dry fuck him. Frank also coated the boy's rigid cock, pulling it down
and back between his legs, milking it like a cow's teat. Between that and
the stimulation of the joy spot in his ass, little Terry was delirious with
lust, the hormones in his bloodstream turning him into a wildly responsive
sex toy.

At his other end, he greedily sucked on Sean's truncheon of a cock, his
tongue flicking over the gnarled veins standing out from its surface as the
member slid inside then withdrew. With his nose buried in the man's close
clipped pubic hair, the boy inhaled the masculine scent of the man. Sweat
and pheromones and the man's precum made a heady bouquet for the highly
sexed teenager. He widened his throat letting the cock slide deep inside
till his own lips made contact with the man's belly. Sean made sure the boy
could breathe, even impaled as he was, giving him a chance to adapt to his
rhythm. The boy flashed the man a look of gratitude with his bright blue
eyes, his pouty lips locked about the tube extended down his throat. He was
no virgin at sucking cock after all.

Frank's thumbs spread the boy's nether hole, opening the way for his cock
to slip in though not easily despite all the preparation and
lubricant. Frank was very well endowed indeed, his virile member a
veritable club, battering its way through the boy's last defenses,
breaching his inner sphincter, slipping in further, inch by inch. Finally
he was fully inside. After a pause to let the boy get used to his girth, he
began thrusting rhythmically. Each thrust of Frank's cock hit the prostate
gland up his ass setting the boy to shuddering. Terry gave himself up to
the pleasurable sensations coursing through his body. The shudders traveled
from his ass up his back to his head, now held in Sean' firm grip to keep
his own cock in that delectable mouth. The two big men had never know a boy
as beautiful a Terry, nor one who responded to their rough ministrations so
positively. This youth was a natural, a kid who needed to be fucked hard
and often and by men who knew how. That was their department for sure.

Suddenly the muscles in the boy's ass clenched around Frank's cock as his
small body went into orgasm. His ass muscles squeezed around the cock that
had penetrated him. In turn, the erotic pressure this caused on his cock,
deep in the boy's ass set Frank off as well. Their faces and moans showed
Sean that the other two were cumming. That pushed Sean over the edge. All
three came simultaneously in an orgy of ejaculation and inarticulate
utterances. In their post coital lethargy, the men collapsed on top of the
boy's small frame. Fortunately they quickly realized that their weight
threatened to cut off the boy's breathing, so they rolled off him. Frank
absently stroked the boy's prime ass, as Sean lifted the boy's chin with
his hand and kissed him deep, getting a taste of his own male juices in
Terry's oral cavity. Their tongues twirled around each other, all three
males basking in the afterglow of orgasm.

Frank kept his cock up the boy's ass as the three of them lay there
together, enjoying their closeness. For him this boy was a walking wet
dream. He never wanted that moment to end. Terry himself was a little
embarrassed. Here he was supposed to be the captive and he had been even
more aroused that his captors. What kind of rape is it when the "victim"
throws himself into it so enthusiastically?

"Now Terry. That wasn't so bad, was it, kid?"

Terry responded with a smile and slow shake of his head. It had indeed been
just about the best fuck of his life.

			Chapter 5. Kink

"I'm betting you would like a rest after being double teamed, so let us get
you out of these bindings. Consider your captivity at an end, little
one. By the way, I am Frank and this is Sean." He eased himself out of
Terry's distended hole and helped the boy sit up, taking the opportunity to
plant an affectionate kiss on his lips.

"As you probably guessed by now, we are not really pirates or anything like
that but we do have a legitimate reason for secrecy. That is why our men
took you into custody when you showed up like that so suddenly. The exact
location of these pearl beds is worth a lot of money."

"To that man Cavendish, you mean?" Terry asked.

Frank chuckled. "Actually Tom Cavendish is our financial backer. His name
is the first one that popped into my head when we were playing the role of
bad guys."

Unbound, Terry checked himself out. Aside from a few rope burns and some
soreness down there, he was none the worse for wear. Sean drew a bucket of
seawater from over the side which Terry upended, letting it pour over
himself from head to toe, washing the sweat and smell of sex off him. With
his skin wet and glistening he looked even more like a sea sprite or
mer-boy to the two divers. The two men were impressed by the way he handled
the heavy bucket. There was a lot of strength packed into that small wiry
frame all right.

Refreshed, Terry asked what the schooner men were up to. It seemed that the
schooner had a license to search for pearls in those waters, so everything
was on the up and up. That did not mean that others with less scruples
might not take advantage and jump their claim, working any pearl beds they
discovered when they were not on station. They needed at least a couple
more weeks to thoroughly check out this part of the lagoon. Then they could
sail to the capital to cement their claim to the pearls in these waters
with the government getting a big share of the proceeds.

Terry explained about how he had windsurfed over from the excursion
schooner. Could Frank and Sean give him a ride back there? The two divers
agreed to take him right after lunch, first calling over by radio to
reassure Sandy that his lover had not been taken by a shark or
whatever. Lunch was tasty, grouper grilled cajun style and served with a
good white wine properly chilled. Terry's two glasses were enough to go to
his head. He had little tolerance for alcohol, especially given his body
weight of only 53 kilos (117 lbs). Just as well then that he got a ride
back on their Zodiac. He likely would have fallen off his board otherwise.

The two divers were locals well known to the crew of the excursion
schooner. Terry then introduced them to Sandy. Seeing the two youths
standing side by side made Frank slapped his head as he remembered.

"Of course! I knew I'd seen Terry somewhere before. You kids are
Hollywood's new jungle boys! Sean, these were the guys in that dinosaur
picture we saw a couple of months ago. I could hardly believe it when a
pair of bareass kids went toe to toe with a T. Rex and came out on
top. What a hoot. Great picture. Clever plot too, coming up with ways two
twinks like you could take down such ferocious creatures, even those flying
pterodactyls. My oh my! You guys are just as cute and sexy in real life as
on screen."

Terry was gratified that the divers were relating to him a person now. He
did not want them to think that he was just an oversexed boy toy from the
way he had responded so readily to their advances, if you could call them
that. Oh you could argue that he had been raped, but Terry had really been
turned on by the experience and very much a willing participant as they got
into it.

"You were pretty convincing actors yourselves, making me think you might be
pirates or slavers. For a while, I didn't know whether I would ever get
back here with Sandy."

That brought a raised eyebrow from his spouse. Terry turned pink with
embarrassment as he confessed what had happened aboard the Albatross. He
showed his rope burns, but did not try to deny that he had responded to
what the divers had done with his delectable body once they had put him in
bondage, how aroused he had been by the situation, how much he had come to
crave the kinky things they did to him. To add to his humiliation he had to
stand there there starkers, the two large divers dressed respectably in
shorts and T shirts, as he related how they had played with his body,
probing his orifices, stroking all his erogenous zones, spilling their seed
within him.

He fully expected Sandy to be angry with them and especially with him, to
get all possessive and jealous over Terry's sexual misadventures, but that
sensible young man, wiser than his years would indicate, just enfolded his
lover in his arms.

"Terry, I know that there is a part of your libido that craves kinky stuff
like that. Like with cops in the Yucatan and that gang bang in their
jail. And it's OK that some part of you needs kink. I have been curious
about bondage myself. I just wasn't sure whom to trust. You take a real
chance. If you hand yourself over to the wrong guy, then voila, you might
find out he wants a real slave boy, 24/7 and 365. That is not for me."

"Nor for me, either, Sandy. Gods, life is too short to spend it in some
dank dungeon, no matter how exciting the sex. I want to be out and about in
the fresh air and sunshine, with you, with family and friends, traveling,
working. We have our whole lives ahead of us, I want to do all those things
with you and more."

Frank and Sean nodded sagely to this exchange, agreeing one hundred percent
with Sandy's caution and with Terry's perspective on bondage and dominance
games. Dominants though they were themselves, they looked on the bondage
scene strictly as recreation. It wasn't for real. They had no use for
creeps who took it seriously or forced themselves on unwilling subjects.

After a shared lunch, Frank and Sean invited the two young actors to spend
some days on their boat. There, the youths could safely try out some of the
kinky stuff that two experienced tops with vivid imaginations could inflict
on two submissive pussy boys like themselves, lads who wanted to experience
light bondage and discipline from guys who were not loonies.

Well Sandy and Terry were on vacation anyway, so why not transfer to the
Albatross. Fine, but the divers insisted that the boys come aboard just as
they were, that is, stark naked, and sail away with them without taking any
clothing along with them. It was a wild idea, but one Sandy and Terry found
exciting and sexy. How outrageous it would be to sail off like that wearing
nothing more than their suntans. After all, for the duration of the voyage,
they could consider themselves slave boys. Who ever heard of a sex slave
wearing clothing?

Over the next two weeks, during daily sessions, the divers introduced the
young actors to their style of bondage and discipline. They were good
teachers too, careful not to really hurt or damage their new friends. Both
boys responded sexually to the discipline, bondage, pain, and
humiliation. Sandy was surprised by how much it turned him on to be
rendered helpless, strung up spread-eagle, unable to protect his belly,
back, ass or his orifices. Blindfolded, he could only guess when the next
stroke of cane or riding crop would land on his poor tush or maybe his
nipples. All the while his tormentor degraded him with all manner of trash
talk.

"You call that a cock, pussy boy?" Frank asked with a sneer."Why it doesn't
reach anywhere near your belly button, you little pansy. Now this is a
cock." he said pointing to his own truncheon of a virile member. He laid
their cocks together so the captive could feel the difference in size. It
worked too. Sandy felt pretty small beside the big guy, especially when the
man started batting the bound boy's cock back and forth with his own much
larger manhood. Sandy could only hang there in abject humiliation as the
man circled behind to ram his erection into the boy's well greased
hole. His energetic thrusts sometimes lifted the boy's feet clear off the
deck.

The boys were really put through their paces with lots of ass and mouth
action. They spent a lot of time kneeling or on all fours. Sometimes their
worst torture was to be aroused again and again nearly to the point of
consummation, then left alone to cool off, only for the torment to start
all over again. Sandy and Terry found themselves begging to cum, howling
their frustration when Frank and Sean stopped stroking them and told them
to jerk themselves off, which was impossible, bound as they were. That
torment was designed to put the boys in the right frame of mind, to accept
that their sexuality was under the control of their masters, and that they
could come only on command. Actually Terry found a way to turn the
tables. He might be strung up by his wrists with his ankles tied together,
but he could bend at the hips, bring his slender thighs up enough to close
around his erection, then rub himself till he came.

Frank and Sean had to admire the kid for his agility and determination,
though for dramatic purposes they professed to be outraged that their slave
boy had cum without permission. Terry paid for his cleverness and audacity
with a good spanking.

For Frank and Sean, these two youths were the best boy toys they had ever
played with. Small, cute, complaisant, submissive, and very vocal during
sex or punishment. Good actors, they knew when to writhe their bodies
sexily as the soft leather cat-of-nine-tails lashed their torsos, leaving
no more than light red welts. They gave out piteous cries as the light
weights attached to their balls jiggled during their whippings. Frank liked
to scare Terry with the sharp teeth of the alligator clamps he attached to
the boy's nipples. True, the clamps sometimes drew a trickle of blood, but
Frank always made sure to wipe both the clamps and the boy's tits with
alcohol ahead of time to prevent any infection, and he never left them on
too long.

Anyway, the boys spent only a couple or three hours a day as slaves. The
rest of the time they were simply two carefree teenagers, guests on a sea
cruise. The food was good, Frank and Sean were good company when the
weren't working the pearl beds, everything was fine.

Of course, the boys had plenty of free time to sun and swim and to dive
with the older males for pearls. For boys their age, it was great fun, a
real treasure hunt. Neither boy used a rebreather. They always free dived,
equipped only with goggles, shin fins, and a knife, though always, for
safety, in the company of one of the two professionally equipped
divers. They even found a few small pearls themselves though none of them
were the fabled black pearls Frank and Sean were looking for.

At night, the boys enjoyed each other's company just as if they back on
board the excursion schooner. Though energetic, the sex they had together
was gentler and more affectionate, the joining of two souls as much as two
bodies. Sure the kinky stuff with the older males was fun. What the two
boys did together with each other was making love. Their experience aboard
the Albatros was a safe way for inexperienced lads like them to learn the
difference between wild recreational sex and the deeper bonding that united
lovers and spouses.

The divers knew that the videos they took would make them the envy of their
S&M crowd. Sandy looked so cute and desirable there with his hands shackled
behind his back being led along a beach by a leather thong tied around his
ballsac or clipped to a dog collar. Terry looked so pitiful, strung up to a
whipping pole, red welts crisscrossing his back and ass, gism dripping from
his stretched hole. Of course none of that footage would go into any Making
Of video. Terry did wonder if any of it would ever get out to the wider
public. Sandy was afraid that was inevitable, no matter how sincere Frank
and Sean promises about discretion. Friends they shared it with would
likely filch it for their own pleasure, then post the footage on the web.

"Kids, if you are going to worry about anything, worry about the guys who
write the scripts for your Jungle Boy pictures."

"What do you mean, Sean?" asked Sandy.

"Don't you get it? Those Jungle Boy movies already had a strong subtext of
sadism and masochism if you know to look for it. Why do you think the
Jungle Boy runs around naked so much, gets captured, verbally humiliated,
and slapped around, sometimes whipped before getting thrown into some
dungeon. Count on a lot more of that in your scripts if word gets out that
you two like to play at being slave boys and sex toys."

"You mean they might write stuff like that into our movie scripts?"

Sandy was quite sure his mother was not ready to watch her first born being
led about by a thong tied around his nuts, a red ball gag jammed between
his teeth. Terry was similarly apprehensive at his own mom's reaction to
seeing footage of Terry bound to the mast, a string of pre-ejaculate
dangling from his cockhead past his knees. Terry was a leaker.

"Maybe not quite so explicit as our sex scenes, but I would sure feel sorry
for the Jungle Boy if he ever falls into the clutches of the bad guys."

"That's when, really." Sandy said resignedly. "He is always falling into
the clutches of the bad guys. The Jungle Boy stories are sagas of
adventure, conflict, capture, physical abuse, and escape, climaxed by
revenge or a righting of wrongs."

"The worst thing Sandy," Terry added, "is that if they make us act out such
scenes in front of the camera, I couldn't help getting turned on. There I
would be, maybe roped to the yardarm by pirates or to a tree by Indians on
the warpath with my cock sticking straight out, throbbing to the beat of my
heart, dripping with my juices."

"OK, Terry, I get it. This bondage stuff is only for once in a while
anyway, so we have to be careful whom we play with."

Of course, despite their discretion, the secret of the boys' occasional
indulgence in bondage did get around Hollywood, if not to the general
public. Perhaps that is the reason why, in their next picture but one,
Sandy found himself crucified with spikes to a "Tree of Woe" [think Arnold
in 'Conan the Barbarian'], cawing ravens pecking at his nipples,
threatening to tear the flesh right off him, while poor Terry found himself
bound in coils of barbed wire, the sharp points cutting his smooth skin
from neck to groin, blood dripping from his wounds as he was forced to walk
the gauntlet between two rows of modern day pirates. Of course the barbs
were plastic, the blood fake, and the ravens purely CGI.

Such explicit scenes played especially well in Japan, where they were
considered a cinema version of a popular genre of manga, really gay S&M,
(though sold mainly to females!) featuring lovely innocents who fall into
the clutches of brutes who use the lads in appalling ways to gratify their
bestial and perverted lusts. It was nothing for young men and women to read
those comics on the commuter train to work, despite the lurid covers and
interior illustrations of hapless lads, shackled in a dungeon, while all
manner of indignities, to put it mildly, were visited upon their delectable
persons.

But that is another story.