Date: Fri, 11 Sep 2009 10:39:30 -0500
From: George Gauthier <georgegauthier@verizonmail.com>
Subject: Jungle Boy 8

			       Jungle Boy 8
			    by George Gauthier

Author's Note: This is a tale of a pair of young gay actors in Hollywood
and their utterly improbable adventures in the movie business. This eighth
installment continues the story of the pair of new protagonists, Sandy
Barnett and Terry Knowles introduced in the sixth tale, in place of Jason
Eberly, the original Jungle Boy of the first five tales (who has a cameo
role in these new tales).

It contains graphic descriptions of the male human body and of sexual
activity between adult males, the youngest of whom is nineteen 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. White Comanche

"Gotcha!" Terry exulted as he pounced on Sandy from hiding, his momentum
propelling both boys into the cool waters of the upper Pecos River in New
Mexico.

The nude boys fell in a tangle of bare limbs and laughter, smacking into
the water with a great splash. Sandy pushed off from the bottom and come up
for air first, shaking the long blond locks out of his eyes, looking around
for his lover. Terry stayed under water. Approaching unseen, he swam
between Sandy's legs and came up under him, upending the boy who fell over
backwards, ass over teakettle, with a yell and another large splash. As
Terry chortled over his second coup, Sandy surfaced and look around for the
red head who, now that his opponent was ready for him, took a cautious step
back in the chest deep water. Sandy grinned predatorily then lunged,
grappling with the other lad, but Terry managed to slip free. Naked as they
were, there wasn't much for either boy to grab ahold of. Besides, their
lithe bodies were slick and wet from their immersion and their sweat.

Terry feinted to his left only to get tripped up by a boulder on the river
bottom, going down on all fours. Sandy saw his opportunity for payback,
knelt down on the stone and locked his left arm around Terry's waist. With
his right hand, he started smacking the curvaceous rump so conveniently to
hand. Terry struggled ineffectually to get away, but, bent as he was over
Sandy's knee, he had all he could do to keep his face above
water. Nevertheless, between gasps for breath, he managed to get out some
good yelps as Sandy administered a spanking that turned his buttcheeks
red. Terry finally got his feet under him and pushed away, gaining the
sandy shelf that bordered the stream.

"Yikes" Terry complained, hands rubbing his sore butt. "You must have left
hand prints there on my ass."

"Awh, poor baby. Here, let me make it up to you, querida." Sandy replied,
stepping up to the boy and planting a big kiss on his lips.

Terry melted in his arms, all resistance gone. Hands roamed, Terry's
clutching Sandy's bare ass, Sandy's own hands framing the boy's cute face
to prolong their kiss. They held the clinch, their nude bodies pressed
together, till director Jim Nicholls called:

"Cut!"

"I would love it if you would take me right now, Sandy," Terry murmured,
"but that would be rather awkward with a whole film crew looking on."

Sandy chuckled at his lover's naughtiness, but Terry was right. They were
professional movie actors and this was a scene in their latest picture
together, not just a private session of grab ass. They were on location on
the actual spot near Villanueva where the young men they were portraying
had started their life-long love affair nearly two centuries before.

The two young actors, both just nineteen, were not only costars but real
life lovers. They were making their fifth movie together in little more
than a year. Sandy had the title role of the "White Comanche". He played an
Anglo youth named Kit (for Christopher) rescued years earlier from a Kiowa
raid on a wagon train and raised by the Comanche as one of their own. His
adopted people called him Kitono. Terry played Duncan Barrie, an artist
from New York City traveling in the wake of George Catlin to paint the
American West of the 1830s, though he concentrated on landscapes rather
than the native inhabitants.

Based on a true story, one of the so-called captivity narratives of the
day, it related the tale of how an Anglo boy came to live with the Comanche
till he came of age and returned to his own people. Like the book it was
based on, the film was respectful of the way of life of the Comanche
without glossing over their faults. It gave plenty of play to the
shortcomings of white society too like its chronic mistreatment of Indians,
women, slaves, and homosexuals.

The scene takes place soon after Kit's adopted brother Litanka leaves Kit
to go alone on a horse stealing raid, while Kit served as guide and
interpreter for the young American artist. Though till recently Kit's lover
too, the older Comanche felt no jealousy toward the white man. He himself
was getting ready to marry, if only he had the bride price, hence the
raid. Comanche youths often paired off till marriage but usually not
afterwards.

The two young actors settled into canvas chairs marked with their names,
one of their few perks, while the cinematographer moved his cameras for the
next shot. Neither boy bothered to slip on a robe or shorts, electing to
remain nude. This was a Jungle Boy movie, a set of films notorious for the
skimpy or non-existent costumes of its principal actors. Sandy and Terry
had already made two movies where they were in the buff in every scene, the
first about cavemen, a partial remake of 'When Dinsaurs Ruled the Earth'
and the other a gay themed version of the 'Blue Lagoon'. So the film crew
as well as the fans of their movies were familiar with sight of their
delectable nude bodies.

The youths chatted away, feeling comfortable and natural sitting there
without clothing. Sandy had worked a couple of years as a male model on
fashion shoots where his bare body rather than the clothing line was the
focus of attention. The idea was to use the sex appeal of the model's nude
physique to attract the attention of readers paging through fashion
magazines. As for Terry, if initially he had been a little body shy when he
started out as a script boy, he had loyally followed Sandy's lead in
dispensing with clothing. If Sandy didn't see a reason to wear clothing,
then that was fine by his lover. The youths were actually spouses, having
joined their lives and fortunes in a civil union.

Cute twinks the both of them. Sandy and Terry were short and slightly
built. 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 a couple of kilos heavier. The two young men
had a fawn-like physique, very boyish looking, but with a wiry musculature,
their muscles toned and taut from swimming and running every day. Sandy's
was more the swimmer's build compared to Terry, who had run medium distance
on the track team in high school.

The camera loved them. They were poetry in motion -- their wiry physiques a
vision of youthful male pulchritude. The production team were doing several
slow motion shots of the young stars running and riding, wrestling and
swimming, to highlight their athleticism and raw animal appeal. Although
the boys were 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 were sleek and smooth, with the deep and even tans of boys
who spent a lot of time outdoors in the nude, at the beach, the pool, or on
clothing optional running tracks in parks.

Sandy, the blond, was almost preternaturally beautiful, much better looking
than a boy should rightly be with fine-boned features: a straight nose and
high cheekbones framing large green eyes set wide on his guileless honest
face, topped with hair the color of straw. Terry was a real catch
too. Incredibly cute, he had red hair, blue eyes, and a lightly freckled
face reflecting his Irish heritage. Like his lover, he was totally smooth,
without any body hair, the look of most young males in the fourth decade of
the twenty-first century. 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.

The production was proceeding without a hitch. By now both young actors
were comfortable on horseback. Terry, portraying a white painter from the
East, kept to his saddle. The young actor was new to riding and really
needed the help of stirrups and saddle horn. Sandy rode bareback, in the
authentic style of the old Comanche. No Hollywood nonsense about saddles
hidden under blankets and no bridle either, just a hackamore.  He was much
the better rider, having taken lessons almost from his first days in
pictures, deliberately gearing up for potential roles. It wasn't just for
westerns; you also had your period dramas, sword and sandal epics, dungeons
and dragons, even life styles of the rich and famous. You never knew when a
producer would put one of his characters up on a horse. That was part of
the fun of being an actor, all the skills you mastered or at least learned
well enough to fake believably from sword fighting to ballroom dancing.

Like the Comanche braves of old Sandy as Kit wore only a loin cloth and
mocccasins. The Comanche males never wore anything on the upper body though
sometimes they used leggings (James Fennimore Cooper's 'leatherstockings')
for protection from thick brush or cactus. This being a Jungle Boy picture,
Sandy's costume was authentic to the period: a narrow strip of deerskin
passed between his legs that was no wider than the span of his hand and
left him entirely bare from the side.

Besides the costumes and riding styles, the locations were authentic
too. They were shooting in the region the Comanche had once claimed as
their own, in the valley of the scenic Pecos River and the grassland called
the Llano Estacado. That was the Spanish name for the "Palisaded Plain",
called such for the steep escarpment that forms its northern boundary
paralleling the Canadian River (which is nowhere near Canada).

The next scene in the shooting script was early in the timeline, just
before the two youths became lovers. Although the character Duncan was a
painter of landscapes he was bound and determined to paint Kit in the nude,
if only for his own satisfaction. The fact is, artistic considerations
aside, he was utterly smitten by the exotic Indian boy, his looks, his
innocence, his openness and candor. He would give anything if only he could
persuade the stunning Comanche boy to pose for him. Then, who knows what
might develop from that. Kit pointed out that their bargain was for him to
serve as guide and interpreter, not as a nude model. Much of their movie
dialogue came from the unexpurgated version of Kit's later memoir.

"Oh why won't you let me sketch and paint you entirely naked, Kit? Only
your loveliness can match the beauty of this wondrous country. You must
model for me, my young friend. Please get out of that loincloth you are
wearing."

"Why is it you white artists are so eager to depict young people without a
scrap of clothing on them?"

"To my people, the nude human form is the most beautiful living thing in
existence."

"Then why don't you paint females? Don't you like girls?" Kit teased though
he had a very good idea why Duncan wanted to get him naked.

"Oh Kit. I have seen the hungry way you have been looking at me, especially
when I undress at night. I know I am not unattractive to you. Will you pose
for me if I promise to reward you with a kiss? "

Early on, Kit had laughed at the white man's night shirt, scorning it for a
woman's dress. Ever since then Duncan had slept in the nude just like his
young companion. Several times, he awoke in the morning to find the Indian
lad's gaze fixed on Duncan's blanket at the spot where his morning wood
tented it out.

"Very well, but if I am going to be naked, you have to be too, so take off
those pants and boots. Also you must promise not to show your work to
Litanka or the elders. One look and they will surely know that we are
lovers."

"Wha..at! But we are not lovers, Kit."

"Not yet, true, but by this evening we shall be. Why do you suppose I want
you out of your clothes?"

Duncan shucked his clothing excitedly, fingers fumbling at the buttons, as
Kit undid the thong around his hips and let his loincloth fall to the
ground. With that, as Duncan moved forward to embrace the lovely Indian
boy, Kit held up a hand.

"Tut, tut. Not yet Red Hair. First you must paint my likeness. Let that
show me how desirable I am in your eyes."

The fact is that this was Kit's first real chance to flirt with and to
tease a potential lover and he was making the most of his
opportunity. Indians were much more straightforward about such things, at
least between youthful males. Of course Kit would give himself to the
handsome white man, whom he found irresistible, but the artist would have
to work for it a bit, to court him properly, to render proper homage to his
beauty.

"Cut!" Nicholls called. Great delivery of their repartee, Sandy and
Terry. You are bringing these guys to life with all of Duncan's shyness and
Kit's brazenness."

"That's us, all right," Sandy observed sardonically, his hand gesturing at
their nude bodies. "Brazen."

Their next scene was a little harder for the principal actor as he posed
for his portrait. Sandy found himself trying to hold an artistic pose far
longer than he felt comfortable doing. He developed cramps in his leg and
back and sweat was getting into his eyes.

"If you don't stop fidgeting, Sandy, we will never finish this scene." the
director declared in exasperation. "You were a professional male
model. Didn't they teach you to hold still?"

"Actually Jim I was a photographer's model. They had you change your pose
after every couple of frames. And the photographer kept moving around too."

"Okay, but you are modeling for a painter in this movie. So hold still and
look sexy."

Well, that was doable. Looking sexy was one thing Sandy could deliver
despite his discomfort. Although nineteen, his slight build and lack of
body hair made it no no problem passing for seventeen, Kit's age then. As
with Kit, Sandy's physique was about as developed as it was ever going to
get. Sandy's face bore the mischievous look of a boy who, without being
particularly vain about it, was extremely cute and knew it too. He looked
so much like a young elf that you found yourself checking for points on his
shell-like ears. This was a boy that Renaissance masters like Botticelli or
Leonardo da Vinci might have fought over to have as a model or as a
lover. Kit had a body someone like Michelangelo might have written poems to
celebrate.

In the scene, Duncan has the Comanche lad try various poses till he found
the one he liked best. Kit stood with his feet apart, most of his weight on
his back foot, front knee slightly bent, holding a lance in one hand just
above his right shoulder as if about to throw it, with the other arm held
out to the front and side for balance. The stance highlighted the tension
in the muscle bundles of arm and shoulder and accentuated the dimpling of
his buttocks while uncovering his corrugated chest and belly. His tiny red
nipples were like twin beauty marks on small but well defined pectorals.
Finally the scene was done and the boy slipped on shorts and drove to their
motel in a nearby town. At least they had more privacy for their lovemaking
than in a tent on location.

Finally the scene was done and the boys slipped on shorts and drove to
their motel in a nearby town. At least they would have more privacy for
their lovemaking than in a tent on location.

The youths closed the door behind them, letting their shorts slip off their
hips. They kissed, tongues dueling. Hot hands stroked flanks and ribs and
hips. Their mutual excitement was obvious from the rigid members pressed
between their bellies. On this evening, it was Terry who took the lead,
taking command of Sandy's small body, tweaking his nipples and squeezing
the head of his cock while Sandy mouthed and licked and nibbled on his
nipples. Then he guided Sandy to the double bed, the sheets already turned
down for them.

Terry mouthed Sandy's turgid member. Sandy shivered in anticipation,
knowing that no one gives better oral pleasure to a male than another
male. As they lay together Terry licked Sandy's smooth cock from the root
to the tip. Pointed toward his navel, it lifted completely off his belly as
it cantilevered out from the root, rigid but dipping rhythmically with the
throb and beat of his heart. Terry's hands and lips caressed the wiry body
of his lover, fingers trailing lightly over his abs, stroking the length of
his legs, sliding along his flanks, delving between his thighs, making love
with his hands but touching his eager cock only with lips and tongue. In
time Terry swallowed Sandy's cock to the root, sucking and licking and
swallowing, moving his head up and down the firm shaft as Sandy's arousal
mounted.

Terry pulled off just in time as the ball sac pulled tight against the fork
of the young man's legs, the head purpled, its tiny lips spreading
open. Abruptly, with only a quick intake of breath and a tightening around
Sandy's half-closed eyes, his proud cock engorged beyond its previous
impressive girth and began spurting and spitting his white seed onto his
chest and belly. Even after several strong spurts, the gism continued to
flow slowly from the still tumescent shaft, the gism collecting in a pool
in the hollow of his navel.

Terry used the tip of his finger to gather some of this sweet chrism and
brought it to Sandy's lips and then to his own. He spread a little gism
under Sandy's nose, like a milk mustache, then a bit more on his chin,
creating a sort of goatee to match. Terry lapped some of it up and took
Sandy's cock back into my mouth, sucking and tugging on the sensitive cock
that had a moment before spit his essence onto his belly. The blond boy
tightened his fists in the sheets and whimpered:

"Huuuh, Terry that's just too much.  It feels so good it hurts."

Terry held Sandy's wrists down, rendering him helpless, as he continued the
sweet torment. Sandy moaned as Terry teased his softening member,
abdominals flexing as he practically sobbed with pleasure. Terry was happy
too. He had worried that their fatigue from the long day would keep them
for fully enjoying their lovemaking. Sighing he lay back to rest.

A while later, when they got their second wind, Sandy pleasured Terry in
much the same way, though he nearly choked on the copious flow of the red
head's male essence when some went down the wrong tube.

They broke for a shower and a late supper, then returned to bed. Sandy lay
on his back, eyes bright with eagerness, offering himself, legs spread
wide, knees pulled up to his chest. Terry propped Sandy's legs on his
shoulders and lay atop him, his slight weight hardly a burden for the boy's
firm body. That was one benefit of having a lover your own size. How sexy
each found it to grapple with the same kind of slim but well muscled body,
one in peak condition, energetic, flexible, and very willing. Terry was
young, and strong and vigorous and knew just how to please a male lover. As
one himself Terry knew that a sexual submissive like Sandy gets a fire
going in his belly whenever a large hard cock slides along his cleavage,
from tail bone to perineum, poking and prodding at the anal ring, teasing
the boy before slipping inside for the actual fuck.

Sandy felt Terry's manhood stretch the anal ring as the head push through
the first ring then the second. The tumescent shaft slid inside an inch or
so at a time give him a chance to adjust to his girth. Terry's shaft fell
into the familiar rhythm of penetration and withdrawal. He leaned forward
and kissed his lover, then tickled his lover's chest with the longish red
hair framing his face.

Then came the moment when Terry's cock touched his lover's joy spot. Sandy
felt light headed, his whole body shuddering helplessly as his guts
clutched in an internal orgasm.  The boy's slender body was tempest tossed
on a sea of sensation, his head whirling, the pulse pounding at the
temples, his own member poking stiffly up from his groin. Sandy's lithe
torso rippled in a wave that started at his ass and traveled up the hips
and back and neck to the head, a reflex touched off by the lust that
overwhelmed him. He surrendered myself to the good feelings coursing
through him.

Terry let the boy's internal ass orgasms go on and on. Terry wanted them to
come together, so he batted Sandy's hand away from his own tool and took
total control of his delectable body. Terry knew to wait for the right
moment to provoke the boy's external orgasm. And when it happened, Sandy
nearly blacked out from the intensity. A wet warmth spurted from Terry
inside him at the same time his own gism shot out between their bellies
again and again. Terry pulled Sandy up so they were facing each other,
limbs intertwined. They leaned into each other, the sweaty bodies pressed
together, holding each other, savoring their closeness, kissing
softly. Then the boys rolled on their sides, temporarily exhausted. It was
the one of the best fucks of their young lives.

Afterwards, the two youths lay together sweaty and tired, drained but
satisfied. That night they slept spooned together, sharing their body
warmth, nuzzling and whispering, happier than either had ever remembered
being. The howl of a coyote woke them briefly during the night. Terry took
that as a good omen, the spirit of the West approving their mating, and
snuggled closer to the boy he loved, kissed the nape of his neck and went
back to sleep.

			Chapter 2. Action

The movie was full of fine visuals both of the scenic countryside and the
equally scenic young actors who were its stars. Sandy as Kit posed nude
repeatedly for Terry's Duncan. Terry knew a bit about sketching, at least
enough to fake it for the camera, though a professional artist actually
produced all of Duncan's work for the movie, some of which the young lovers
got to take home and have framed.

Some poses were heroic when Sandy posed with spear or bow. Some were
tragic: an Indian version of the Dying Gaul (a famous Roman statue of a
wounded warrior) or the doomed youth Leander. (Leander is depicted just
emerging from the water after swimming the Hellespont for a final visit to
his lover Hero, who sadly, despite the name, was a girl.) Yet others were
deliberately provocative and blatantly homoerotic. In a static pose, Duncan
had Kit lie on his back over a round boulder, arms and legs wide apart in a
spread-eagle, hips and semi-turgid cock uppermost, all the while looking
boldly and directly at the artist or viewer. There were dynamic poses of
the boy poised to take off running, bent forward, muscle bundles in his
legs taut, his torso forming a single curve from shoulders to his cleft
buttocks.

The script was filled with many moments of high adventure: a wildfire, a
wrestling match, a buffalo hunt, a raid on a corral for horses, and a knife
and gun fight. The fire scene called for a bolt of lightning from a
thunderhead to set the dry grass afire. The crew really did set a large
grass fire, with the permission of the authorities, of course. (Without
occasional fires, grasslands must turn into scrub, a wasteland of mesquite
and thorn bushes.) The flames reared up higher than a horse and spread
rapidly -- almost as fast as a horse could canter. The boys rode across the
flame front, the camera's forced perspective making them seem much closer
to the fire line than they really were. To add to the realism, almost every
manner of living thing fled before the flames of the wildfire. Predator and
prey alike, they ignored each other in the urgency of the moment. Birds
took wing, wolves outran rabbits, deer bounded beside a tawny cougar, while
prairie dogs simply dropped into their burrows to let the flames pass over
them harmlessly.

The actors urged their mounts toward a flat rocky area that the greedy
flames bypassed for want of fuel. The visuals were spectacular as the fire
spread around them. The professional firefighting team which was standing
by just in case had to back their equipment out of danger
twice. Afterwards, all around them lay a scorched landscape that however
forlorn it looked actually held the promise of renewal. Grass seeds would
sprout with the next rain.

Sweat ran off the boys forming runnels in the smoke and ash the fire had
deposited on their skins. Actually that was just gray makeup applied by a
nice middle aged lady in the make up department named Hilda. By now both
lads were resigned to standing there buck naked in front of everyone while
she applied her brushes and powders and creams not only to their faces but
everywhere else, including their bare butts if they were to be in the
frame. Poor Terry still closed his eyes and turned pink every time she
applied her brushes to his groin. She was methodical, lifting his shaft
gently with one hand to ensure that the bristles of her brush would reach
into all of Terry's nooks and crannies. And no, he could not do it
himself. Union rules.

Hilda tried to reassure the boy; she genuinely liked the outgoing red
headed lad. He looked so cute standing there entirely nude except for the
production baseball cap perched on the back of his head. She told him to
think of her as a nurse or a doctor. Anyway, as a mother of four including
three sons and a grandmother of nine, Terry didn't have anything she had
not seen before.

That didn't help as much as she hoped, but Terry appreciated her
effort. Still Terry wished there were a union rule against filming such
candid moments and posting them on the web. There wasn't. Wags had lost no
time sending emails asking Terry who his new girlfriend was, and won't
Sandy be jealous.

In between the main action scenes, the script provided plenty of
opportunity for the audience to get to know the characters as people and to
watch them bond. Kit and Duncan chatted constantly while riding, in camp,
or while Kit posed nude for his artist friend.

Duncan was open about his hopes and dreams which were fairly conventional
for a man of his talents and social class. He wanted to be recognized for
his talent and to become independent of his family's money. His parents
kept pressuring him to choose a wife from their sort of people. Duncan was
no snob, and he had absolutely no interest in female companionship. He was
due to come into some money of his own on his twenty-first birthday, enough
to live comfortably if not in the grand style of his family. He mentioned
all this to Kit. His candor let Kit open up about his own problems with
identity and his ambitions for the future.

Kit confessed that he perhaps derived too much pleasure from lovemaking
with young males. The fact is that, for Kit, sexual activity with a young
male was not a stop gap till marriage, as it was among the Comanche. He did
not feel any attraction to females at all, only to males. He wanted to
spend his entire life that way rather than to get married.

That was his existential problem. He was a youth torn between his desires
and the expectations of his adopted people and family. He had recently
realized that he did not want to take up the life style of the typical
Comanche: warrior, husband, father. For eight years he had thought himself
a proper Comanche lad. Now he had his doubts about ever fitting in. Was
there any place in this world for a seventeen year old boy who was half
civilized and half savage, one who found no pleasure in the female of the
species?

The two young actors sympathized with the problems their alter egos had
struggled with two centuries earlier. They faced severe social and legal
sanctions against their kind of physical relationship. In the twenty-first
century, males attracted to their own gender did not have to hide their
preferences and practices. They could join in civil unions or even get
married.

One night even at supper the boys remained nude, waiting patiently for dusk
when they would film the next scene at the very same location. This would
depict Kit's famous encounter with the jaguar, the encounter that inspired
Duncan to paint one of the classic images of the old West called "Naked
Prey". The cameras would try to capture a scene of great danger and
beauty. The light was right. The sun had just gone behind the hills to the
west. The sky was red with the sunset, and twilight lay across the
land. Postproduction would later put the planet Venus in the night sky as
the Evening Star. Sandy's job was to bring that boy of yesteryear to life,
to exemplify his physical beauty, to make the audience empathize with him
in a dramatic encounter that provoked suspense, terror and courage.

Almost all the movies they made had a shower or bath scene, and this was
the one in 'White Comanche'. While Terry as Duncan was preparing their
evening meal, Sandy, as Kit, betook himself to the nearby stream to
bathe. Duncan had introduced Kit to real soap, and he luxuriated in it. Kit
had just lathered up, scrubbed, and dunked himself to rinse off when he
looked up and suddenly froze in position, crouched in mid-stream, water
dripping off his naked body as he stared at a spot on the opposite bank of
the river from their camp.

In their imaginations, Jim Nicholls and his young cast conjured up a
fearsome jaguar crouched down to slake his thirst. It would a large male in
his prime, beautiful and deadly, three hundred pounds (150 kg) of muscle
and claws and fangs, triple the mass of the slightly built boy facing
him. The jaguar has powerful muscles on its short stocky limbs, good for
climbing, crawling and swimming. It is a stalk and ambush hunter, pouncing
on its prey. Sandy's face showed the fear that the real Kit must have felt
back then, knowing that a jaguar's jaws are so powerful that it could kill
instantly driving its canines through the skull of its prey.

In the imagination of the director and young actors, the green eyes of the
spotted cat gleamed as they bored into the equally green eyes of the boy,
standing there so still and small and vulnerable, no more than naked prey,
caught unarmed and defenseless in the middle of the stream in water up to
his shins. A previous scene would established for the audience the fact
that the shallow waters of a stream would hardly deter a hungry jaguar. The
big cats were excellent swimmers and were known to hunt and even play in
the water.

Sandy, as Kit, held himself still, frozen like the faun he resembled,
knowing that any movement on his part might provoke the beast to attack. He
tensed up limbs showed how much he wanted to run. Every fiber of his being
told him to do so, but the rational part of his mind told him to keep
still. Trying to project the kind of fear the real Kit would have felt
then, Sandy reached into his feelings and memories, pulling up moments when
he had been terribly afraid, trying to make his limbs tremble convincingly
and his scrotum to pull up close to the fork of his legs. He breathed deep
but slow, as if building strength for whatever desperate action might be
called for. He glanced over at Duncan, as if imploring him for help yet
hoping his friend would not provoke the creature to attack. Their eyes
locked in a wordless affirmation of their love and trust in each
other. Then Kit looked back at the jaguar. Maybe he would die in a moment,
but he tried to put defiance and pride in his look.

Terry portrayed Duncan as a man aghast at the mortal danger his lover was
in but careful enough not to make any sudden movement that would snap the
three of them out of their frozen moment in time and provoke the creature
to pounce, to rend and to tear. Terry's face showed what the historical
Duncan must have been feeling at that moment. As the painter later related,
he was sick with the thought that the warm and welcoming body of his young
lover might be transformed before his very eyes into just so much dead meat
for the great carnivore to carry off into the wilds to devour. His heart
had gone out to the brave boy who stood there strong and proud despite his
understandable fear. The three of them held still for what seemed like the
longest time, a tableau vivant of eroticism and terror.

As history and the script would both have it, the jaguar had just eaten its
fill so he made no aggressive move toward the lovely boy crouched only a
couple of body lengths away. Instead, ignoring the tender flesh of the
creature poised so near to him, the animal turned its head down and resumed
lapping the water till it had quenched its thirst. It rose to its feet and
stared once more at the boy, one of those two legged creatures it had
learned to be cautious around, mouth half open, pink tongue licking the
last drops off its whiskers. It blinked and opened its jaws revealing its
wicked fangs while a low sound came from its belly, half growl and half
purr. Then it bounded away.

The scene the movie cameras captured was set up to match the painting
Duncan had made of that evening of beauty and danger. It was the painter's
very best single work, capturing on canvas the souls of the artist himself,
the beautiful naked boy, and the magnificent jaguar.

Quite aside from the sublimity of the setting or the emotional impact of
the vignette that the picture depicted, the full length nude portrait of
Kit in the foreground was itself a masterpiece of portraiture and depiction
of the male form. The slanting light of the moon accented the crevices and
hollows of the boy's corrugated chest and belly, highlighting the ribs and
the rippled abdominal muscles not to mention the surprisingly ample tube
between his legs. The composition did not use the usual coy angles or
convenient shrubbery to conceal the boy's maleness. The nicely formed
genitals at the fork of the legs left no doubt as to the gender of the
beauteous creature depicted in the painting.

The picture was a chiaroscuro of light and dark, contrasting the great
spotted cat crouched low to the ground in shadow with the upright form of
his naked prey bathed in the light of a three-quarter moon. Both the
glowing eyes of the great cat and those of the lovely nude boy were
green. The boy's blond locks were a halo crowning angelic features
expressing both his fear and his courage in the face of imminent gory
death.

Sandy was just perfect for incarnating that boy of yesteryear. He was
virtually a doppleganger for Kit with the same physique and exquisite
beauty. In front of the cameras, Sandy's bare skin was bathed in moonlight,
accentuating every curve and corrugation. The main camera shot at an angle
to capture what Duncan's painting depicted, the youth half turned, his face
in three quarter profile, torso bent over, arms held out from the body, his
manhood clearly visible at the fork of his legs. Perspective made the boy's
form in the foreground larger than the much larger body of the predatory
cat. Anyone could see that Kit's was a beauty worth preserving for the
ages: delicate features that were pretty rather than handsome complemented
by a wiry musculature tensed and poised and ready to explode into action.

Nicholls could be rightly proud of reproducing that scene so faithfully and
beautifully on film. It could easily be his own masterpiece. He felt as
much as he called"

"Cut! That was perfect, boys, even sublime. And we got it in a single
take. That doesn't happen very often on my sets."

"Tell us about it!" groaned the two young actors in unison with heavy
irony. Nicholls had a reputation as a perfectionist. Still they also sensed
that the scene would play well, once the blended the jaguar into the
action, partly clips of a live jaguar and partly CGI.

The director was so delighted that he elected to ignore their ironic tone
and bustled about wrapping things up for the day. Anyway, Nicholls had a
warm spot in his heart for the young couple, personable lads he had taken
under his wing like a Dutch uncle. Sure the boys could be flighty and
outrageous and you couldn't seem to keep either of them in a pair of pants,
but they were real pros.  If he had had sons of his own, he would have
wished them to be just like Terry and Sandy. If they turned out to be gay
too, he would care for them just the same.

		Chapter 3. Story Conference

Movie producer Marty Fletcher looked up with a grin as three of his
favorite actors stepped onto the veranda of his house in the Hollywood
Hills.

"Look who's here" he said to director Jim Nicholls, Leon Potter, production
chief for the studio, and Ed Veronese, actors' agent. First onto the deck
was the now veteran star Jason Eberly, the first Jungle Boy, now just shy
of forty though still looking good. With him were the new incarnations of
the Jungle Boy: Sandy Barnett and his co-star and lover Terry
Knowles. Still short of twenty, the young men had taken over the role that
Jason had made famous. Jason now was an executive producer on their films
while continuing his own successful career in front of the camera.

They were meeting to pick stories for their next few pictures.

"Hi Jason," Nicholls grinned, looking him over. The actor was still a
vision of male pulchritude in his low slung sarong of green silk and a
light yellow tank top chosen as much to enhance his deep tan as to match
his hair. The boy's tight clothes showed off his trim and taut
physique. Flip flops and a gold neck chain completed the ensemble. Sandy
and Terry wore hot pants, loose T shirts and moccasins.

"Hi kids. Er, before we get started. I have to ask. Is there anything to
the rumor about you two boys recently getting matching rose tattoos on your
butts?"

Sandy and Terry just shook their heads, exasperated about the persistent
rumor.

"We would never do anything so unprofessional, Mr. Fletcher. Anyway, here,
you can see for yourselves."

With that, the duo pulled off their garments, threw them aside, and gave
their colleagues a 360 degree view of their sublime and unmarked physiques.

Fletcher grinned. "Thanks boys and why don't you work on your tans while we
talk. You can go for a dip in the pool afterwards."

Shrugging the two young actors sat back down again entirely naked, sipping
at the lemonade that Fletcher's new house boy had set out for them.

A cute dark haired Latino about nineteen, Luis wore nothing but a super
skimpy European style bikini, its white fabric a contrast to his smooth
olive skin. In front, the single ply fabric did little to conceal the
shape, size, or placement of his organs of generation. In back, the
waistband rode three fingers below the top of his cleavage. Luis gulped as
Terry laid a hand on his arm and asked for a slice of lime. Luis brought
it, then gave the boys a sly smile before fading discreetly into the main
house.

"A fan, obviously," observed Jason drily.

"You too, Fletch?" Nicholls asked, shaking his head. Cute houseboys were
all the vogue in Hollywood these days, valued not only for their looks but
also for their training in household management at community colleges Who
wanted a frumpy female housekeeper when they might have a professionally
trained pretty gay boy at their beck and call. (Luis lived in a small
apartment in the service wing of the house.)

"Does he always go around like that?" Nicholls asked indicating the
exiguous garment clinging to the Luis' hips.

"Only on formal occasions. Most of the time, like when he takes care of the
lawn and the plantings, and the pool he goes around in the buff. He does
wear a chef's apron in the kitchen. It's sort of a game among the A List to
see whose house boy is the most shameless. My boy even walks out to the
mail box or to fetch the paper and signs for packages in the buff. Not a
big deal, especially in this neighborhood. The running trails in the hills
are clothing optional these days."

"Maybe you can get away with it Fletch, as a widower." Nicholls
observed. "I don't think my wife is ready for a naked house boy, gay or
not."

Fletcher snorted. "She's seen those two in the buff often enough. Not to
mention Jason before them."

"Ah, but they didn't live in the servant's quarters. You're not thinking of
switching allegiance are you there Marty, finally coming out?"

"That'll be the day!" Fletcher had been quite the ladies man before he
settled down into a long and happy marriage with his wife, gone these past
two years after a brief illness.

"Some might say that I've been around nude young males too much, but there
is nothing wrong with a healthy appreciation for a pretty boy. Great
artists have been painting and sculpting them for centuries. Men of means
think nothing of putting up statues of male nudes in their gardens. Now I
have a male nude too, and I get a lot more use out of him than from an
inanimate hunk of stone. I even get two for the price of one. My neighbor's
son is a college freshmen. He and Luis have really hit it off, if you take
my meaning. The neighbor's boy hops over the fence quite often to help Luis
with his chores. So I don't begrudge him the occasional breakfast Luis
fixes for him when he sleeps over."

"Ok, now that that is settled, lets get on with planning the next few
pictures. I was thinking that maybe we could try a genre-bender..."
Fletcher ventured.

"You mean gender-bender, boy instead of girl, vice-versa, like 'Victor,
Victoria' or 'Million Dollar Baby'?" Sandy asked.

"Hmmn, MGM 1982, Warner Brothers 2004. No. Actually a genre bender is when
one kind of picture is really another kind. Like Dick Powell in 'Station
West' RKO 1948. That was really a film noir; it just looked like a western,
A private investigator is hired by the government to look into the murder
of two cavalrymen transporting gold. Meanwhile a femme fatale tries to
ensnare him in her intrigues. Jason himself had a lot of success with
genre-benders with his Dan Ganymede pictures."

Those were a stories in the film noir genre with characters from Greek and
Norse mythology. Unfortunately, for contractual reasons, those properties
were not available for remake. Anyway, Jason had finished his last Ganymede
picture only four years earlier. No, they had to come up with an different
concept for Sandy and Terry.

Jason pointed out this might be the right time for a remake of one of his
most successful dramatic pictures, the umpteenth remake and second gay
version of 'A Kiss Before Dying' (United Artists 1956) with Sandy in the
role that the then twenty-five year old Robert Wagner originated of an
unscrupulous fortune hunter. Sandy seduces a young man who is an heir to a
large fortune to lure him into marriage. When the young heir discovers the
truth, he murders him. The villain then takes up with the heir's younger
brother, to be played by Terry. This new version would draw interest from
its pairing to two real life lovers and spouses in the lead roles.

"Good idea, Jason." Fletcher remarked. "We'll have lots of Sandy's and
Terry's physiques on display. The kids will be in the buff at the pool or
running along the beach. Also a great chance, Jim, to use your chiaroscuro
lighting technique during that night time scene skinny dipping in the surf,
not to mention their various love scenes. And for this version, we'll have
that big confrontation start with Sandy in the shower rather than just
sitting on the lounge chair. Terry will drag him out of there and they will
have a real donnybrook, Sandy nude, Terry in just a pair of Speedos."

"Till Sandy rips them right off his hips when he gets the upper hand, then
forces himself on the boy. What a hot scene that will be." Veronese
chortled.

In unison, Sandy and Terry rolled their eyes in a silent and vain appeal
heavenward.  The script writers were always thinking up ways to get the hot
young actors out of their clothes. How many skinny dipping scenes had they
done, how many shower scenes, or just throwing off the bed clothes to show
they slept in the buff. How many times had the young actors been violently
stripped naked on camera by pirates, street toughs, interrogators, and
such. And sometimes the director would improvise too.

Well that was largely what they had signed up for. Nudity was the trade
mark of the Jungle Boy. Many actors will do an occasional nude scene. Sandy
and Terry had done whole movies bare-ass naked. No coy camera angles
either, just a lot of shots of their tushes and the full monty. Fans argued
whose butt cheeks twitched more fetchingly, whose buns were the tightest
and most grabbable. One of their best selling posters just had the nude
lads looking back over their shoulders at the camera. Each fan could judge
for himself.

The group quickly gave the remake project the go ahead. They knew the kids'
gay fans would be ecstatic. Just the announcement would have them
salivating with anticipation. The studio could dust off the old script and
get the project into production quickly. Filming would be done on the back
lot or at nearby movie ranches.

Then discussion turned to other pairs of characters, friend or foe the boys
could portray. Too bad they were the same age. That ruled out all pairings
of superheroes and their teenage sidekicks. Anyway, super heroes were
passe. DC and Marvel had gone to the well too many times.

"I've got it!" Sandy said with sudden conviction. "Terry and I could play
Damon and Pythias, the faithful friends on Greek mythology."

"I don't know, Sandy." Fletcher began. "Not much mythology there to give
the Hollywood treatment to. No gods, gorgons, sea monsters, nymphs, or
flying horses. No supernatural element at all. It's basically a chick flick
about a pair of faithful friends."

"OK, so we improvise; make the story more macho. We throw in elements from
other myths. The two lads have to complete a quest of some sort. Let's say
... they have to retrieve the Golden Apples of the Sun which grow in a
magic garden in a far off land at the end of the world. It is surrounded by
guards and a high wall. Oh, and the interior guarded by a two headed
dragon. At least one head is awake at all times. On the way to the garden,
we can throw in pirates, sand monsters, helpful gods, an army of the
skeletons, whatever, making it a movie of high adventure appealing to the
core audience for action flicks, young males."

"Sounds terribly derivative, Fletch." Nicholls remarked shaking his head.

"Think of it as an homage to our predecessors, Jim." Fletcher replied
breezily.

"At least this is one picture where we actually get to wear clothing. What
did the Greeks call their tunics, chitons?" Terry asked, correctly
pronouncing the Greek ch as a k (like in chorus).

"Well, yes, but only till you lads get captured by the pirates, stripped
naked, and whipped. This is a Jungle Boy picture, after all."

The two young actors could only shake their heads. Another movie with them
running around bare ass most of the time, with a promise of an ass whipping
thrown in. What else was new?

Finally, business done, Jason stripped off and joined Sandy and Terry in
the pool, for a game of water polo. To even the sides, Fletcher gave Luis
the rest of the day off. The Chicano boy lost no time in slipping out of
his tiny bikini, his white teeth flashing a big smile. As befits a mestizo
with much Indian blood, Luis had very little body hair. He was lean
standing about four inches taller (10 cm) than Sandy and Terry though only
an inch more than Jason. Needless to say, their frolicking in Fletcher's
pool was all clean fun: spirited competition, much splashing and laughing,
with only a moderate amount of grab ass, but nothing that amounted to an
orgy. The three actors were the producer's guests at his home, after all.

			Chapter 4. Japan

"Please to hold still, Sandy-san" the young Japanese artist admonished in
an exasperated tone. "Or must we bind you even tighter, or take the whip to
your ass?"

Sandy was trying, but his muscles were cramping up. This was his hardest
modeling gig ever.

He shifted once more trying to ease the ache in his arms. His wrists were
pulled up cruelly high over his head and bore almost his entire weight, his
toes barely touching the floor. There he stood, shackled hand and foot, a
spreader bar between his ankles. His bound body was criss crossed with
chromed chains and leather straps including a chain the passed between his
legs and rubbed his anal ring. He was nude except for a leather slave
collar and a military style cap on his head with a black rubber ball gag
jammed in his teeth. For the umpteenth time Sandy wondered why he had ever
thought this would be a fun gig. Exciting? Yes. Arousing? Deliriously
so. But not exactly fun.

It had sounded sweet to begin with. Sandy knew that their films did
especially well in Japan. where their bondage scenes were considered a
cinema version of a genre of yaoi manga popular with girls. These explicit
stories about male masters and their young male slaves portrayed lovely
boys who fall into the clutches of brutes who use them in appalling ways to
gratify their bestial and perverted lusts. Manga of all genres were popular
reading fare during the long commutes Japanese workers took between home
and office. Anyone sitting next to you might be paging through such fare,
despite the most 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.

So Sandy and Terry had been persuaded by a publisher to model for an
edition of such a manga drawn from life. It promised to be a smash
commercial success. Besides, the boys needed a break from picture
making. The kinkiness appealed to the taste the boys shared in bondage and
discipline. For Sandy it was a brief revisit to his former modeling
career. Anyway, they would get to take a six week long trip to the Orient,
stay at swank hotels, and see the sights and enjoy the nightlife. The
agency that hired them was completely above board and the terms were
generous. Ironclad clauses in their contracts ensured that no permanent
damage would be inflicted on the lads during their posing sessions.

All well and good, Sandy thought, but here his naked body had been in tight
bondage for almost two hours now. His nipples were sore from sharp jawed
alligator clamps. Sweat dripped off his nose, indeed everywhere off his
bound body in the deliberately overheated dungeon. He tried once again to
communicate to the three artists sketching him that he needed a break. They
only took his writhing and dolorous facial expressions as part of his
performance as a captive slaveboy. Besides the blond boy's cramps
accentuated the definition of his musculature. One of them mentioned to the
dominator that Sandy's welts were fading, so the man refreshed them with
the application of his whip to the bound boy's back and ass.

Sandy twisted around enough to see that his lover Terry's plight was even
worse. With a horse bit between his teeth, Terry sat astride a narrow beam,
ankles roped below, his wrists strapped to elbows behind his back. He
didn't fall off the narrow beam because his torso was kept upright by
chains attached to the leather collar locked around his neck. Terry's ass
must be on fire, from the huge dildo his tormentors had shoved up his hole
before forcing him astride the beam. The worst must be the accupunture
needles inserted not only through his nipples but all the way through his
turgid cock. One transfixed the glans horizontally, two more pushed
entirely through the shaft virtually nailed the boy's member to the
rail. Droplets of blood seeped out of his wounds, but his cock stayed hard
thanks to the injection they had given him at the root.

For the Japanese artists, this was the hard core bondage that fans craved,
pretty boys in chains -- at the mercy, if any, of dominant males with
wicked imaginations who delighted in inflicting all manner of torments upon
their lovely helpless bodies. The artists were delighted that these young
American actors were modeling for them, one a real blond and the other a
red head with sky blue eyes, the cliches of the genre here come to life.

This project was the first time manga artists had had used real live
American boys to model for a story. That made it very special. The sights,
sounds, and even smells inspired the young artists. Aurally, the whips and
canes made vicious sounds as they were laid into the succulent flesh of the
bound boys. Their slender bodies trembled with anticipation of the next
blow, sweat and pheromones filling the air with a heady bouquet. The sounds
they made were delightful: the moans, the groans the wails and especially
the whimpers, the most delightful sound a master can evoke from a boy in
bondage, so redolent of pain and loss of hope.

The injection had done its job on Sandy too. His cock was rock hard, purple
with blood, the shaft wound round and round with a narrow cord, tied off
just under the flange of the glans, a loop from the trailing end of the
cord pushed an inch or so into his piss slit. They liked to put his cock
into tight bondage of many sorts: with cord, or a tight leather sleeve, or
inside a tiny lace up pouch. One such device was like a Chinese finger
trap, fitting over the turgid member, and kept taut by small weights
hanging from a loop at the end.

The modeling session boys were held three days a week to give the boys a
rest between the stressful sessions. On their days off they played
tourist. On the days they modeled, they had their mornings free, to sleep
in, to swim in the pool or to go jogging in the nearby park. In the
afternoon, they surrendered themselves, that is the only word for it, to
their tormentors. Sexually submissive by nature anyway, the boys found
themselves responding to a previously unknown but powerful masochistic
streak in their own psyches, a sexually fueled craving for bondage, pain,
and humiliation. Dolorous as their bondage often was, the scene generated a
fire in their bellies, the nubs of their nipples firmed up, nostrils
flaring, cocks plumping up and leaking pre-cum. Just the other day the red
haired boy had a string of pre-ejaculate dangling past his knees. A real
leaker that one. Those feelings kept the boys coming back for more.

One of the more fiendish torments had been the plasma globe. Not that it
hurt especially much, it just delivered a sting. And it certainly inflicted
no real damage. It was the sights and sounds that came with it that made it
seem worse than it really was, terrifying even. Vaguely phallic in shape,
it consisted of a glass globe about the size of a softball stuck on the end
of a wand. The globe was filled with an electrically conductive
plasma. Electric bolts of various colors crackled within the globe like
small lightnings. It delivered an electric shock when touched to
flesh. Just bringing it close was enough for a spark to jump the gap, from
the globe to sweaty skin. The psychological effect was better with the
lights dim.

The electric shock was much less powerful than Sandy had encountered in the
countryside, from electric fences that kept dairy cattle confined. The
galvanized wires of a farmer's electric fence deliver a real jolt, one you
feel all over your body, strong enough to make a thousand pound cow take
notice. No, the plasma globe was no cattle prod, but its sting, its
crackle, the sparks and the writhing of the captive lightnings made for one
scary experience.

There Sandy was, blindfolded, kneeling on a table, cringing really, wrists
tied to his ankles, rending him helpless, unable to get away or to use his
hands to fend off the wand. The sweat that slicked his skin reflected the
spotlight shining on him. The master circled around him, letting the globe
crackle and hum like some kind of obscene light saber. The boy was unable
turn to watch his tormentor; he could only flinch each time the man brought
the instrument close to his bare skin. The salts in his sweat made his skin
a better electrical conductor. Sometimes he touched it to a shoulder or a
thigh, sometimes to one his buttcheeks or his ribs. The worst was when the
spark jumped to his nether hole or to his cock or his balls. The captive
boy could only whimper as the man prepared him, pulling his genitals back
between his legs, giving Sandy's nuts a squeeze as a warning to hold still,
allowing him a fair shot at those vulnerable organs of generation.

The artists worked fast to capture the boy's reactions, to sketch how he
cringed from the globe, twisting and turning his scrumptious body this way
and that, anxious to escape the bite of the plasma globe. Alas, Sandy could
not get away from the stings and snaps of the electrical sparks inflicted
with the globe. His yelps and whimpers were like music to their ears.

The plots of the S&M boy manga always emphasized the complete control the
masters had over their sex slaves. It wasn't just that their limbs were
bound by steel cuffs and leather straps. Their boy cocks were put in
bondage too, forced through rings or cock cages, or wound around their
length with cords and thongs, or imprisoned in sleeves and pouches. So too
their orifices. The boys' jaws ached after a long session from the ball
gags and bit gags and cock gags forced into their mouths and kept in place
by straps and buckles.

Since his type of manga was ostensibly directed at girls, many of their
poses involved the sexual penetration of these lovely boys. And not just by
each other's cocks -- though that happened rather a lot as Terry was
sketched fucking Sandy and vice versa. That made for fine drawings. The
lovers looked so terribly scrumptious, their hard bodies pressed together
in the act of love. Almost needless to say, Terry and Sandy's nether holes
were repeatedly invaded by the cocks of their three Japanese masters too,
all rather androgynous looking men dressed in leather. Sometimes the bound
boys were forced to fuck each other with fake strap-on cocks of alarming
dimensions. Then there was the time the were both impaled on opposite ends
of a two headed rubber dildo. Though it was nearly as long as their arms,
they were forced to take the entire length up their tight quims, backing up
to each other till they wound up one shapely ass pressed to the other.

All manner of dildos and vibrators and anal beads were fed to their tender
holes too. The masters chortled as Terry or Sandy struggled to stretch
their anal rings around larger and larger invaders. The largest anal beads
would hardly fit through their tight holes, stretching their crinkly anal
whorls so it felt like they would snap like a rubber band. The fiends also
forced ears of corn and cucumbers into their holes, enjoying the way the
boys squirmed as their rough surfaces sandpapered their rings.

"Oh no. Not the cucumber again!" Sandy pleaded. "Please sir, spare me
that. You know how it scrapes my hole, my poor tiny boy hole."

"Hah hah hah. Don't you realize that growing boys need their vegetables?".

Then came the day Terry was asked to recreate a bondage scene from one of
their movies, only this time the barbed wire that bound him would be
real. So would the blood that would doubtless run from the many wounds the
wire would inflict. He was assured that with modern medical treatment in a
nanite bath afterwards, the cuts would not leave small white scars all over
his body where the barbs dug into his skin.

"Terry-san, please to try not to move. Keep so still as you can. Breathe
shallow. Deep breaths will stretch the wire across the skin, letting the
barbs tear into it."

Three masters clad in leather and wearing thick gloves wrapped his torso in
loop after loop of wire, from neck to groin, twisting them in place with
pairs of pliers. Coils circled his neck then criss-crossed his pectorals
and ran under his arms and around back to his neck. A coil of wire around
his shoulder blades and nipples secured the criss-crossed wire to his
chest. More wire went around his waist, at least two barbs deliberately
positioned in his navel, while the long ends trailing front and back hung
down well past the fork of his legs. As the nervous boy stood feet slightly
apart, the strand trailing in back was pressed into his cleavage then
through the boy's legs, forward to his groin with one barb positioned right
on his crinkly whorl. The wire then joined the one dangling down his belly
to be wound again and again around his genitals, circling first the balls
and twisted tight, then around the cock and twisted just under the flange
of the glans, then back down and around the boy's whole package. Other
loops of wire cupped his buttocks diagonally, criss crossed to his cleavage
then wound around his hips.

His arms and hands were bound in front as if the boy were praying. The
strands ran around his shoulders, his upper arms, the elbows, forearms and
wrists, around the thumb then across the palms of his hands. Further
strands of wire held his arms up a foot or so from his neck. A choker of
thorns around his neck accented his bondage. Despite his assurances to the
team that he could take anything they threw at him, the poor boy's tears
ran freely down his cheeks. When all the wire was wrapped, the tormented
boy dripped blood from dozens of cuts and rips. It didn't help that his
sobbing accentuated the tearing action of the sharp barbs especially at the
nipples and the abdomen. Sandy's heart went out to his brave little Terry,
standing there so courageously, his body dripping his very blood onto the
stones.

A fiendishly smiling master twisted a further coil of wire around the boy's
balls, separating them and tying each off with a twist. Then he licked both
balls and shaft and, blew gently on the bound genitals. The boy moaned, his
knees buckling as he trembled with the strong feelings coursing through his
young body. He couldn't believe how much this rough treatment had turned
him on.

He looked at himself in the dressing mirror that gave him three views of
his bound body, front and both sides. Was there ever a boy who looked more
woebegone and bedraggled? His state was frightful. Blood oozed out of more
than a dozen of shallow cuts and rips in his bare hide, some of it spread
on the skin as streaks from the rubbing of the wire or handling by his
tormentors. Trickles of blood ran down his flanks from several puncture
wounds. Despite his discomfort and fear for his bodily integrity, Terry
found the pose they had given him deeply ironic. There he stood, a boy with
an angelic face, hands raised as if in prayer, tears in his eyes as if
repenting the sins for which he was undergoing this penance by barbed wire,
a modern style hairshirt, as it were, that left his tormented body dripping
blood onto the paving stones. He might have been a flagellant of old.

Terry had never felt so totally helpless and vulnerable. Any real movement
brought pain. His tits were poked by barbs; his very manhood was bound in a
barbed wire cage. His nether hole had a barb pressing into it. Other barbs
along the double strand of barbed wire in his cleavage poked the tender
flesh of his buttocks. He supposed he should feel relieved that they hadn't
placed a barbed wire version of a crown of thorns on his brow or tried to
gag him with it.

Pain or no, the randy boy couldn't believe how hard his cock was despite or
really because of its painful bondage. It wasn't just the injection. That
would not have engendered the strong feelings surging through his tightly
bound body. Terry's own hormones were the reason his engorged cock jutted
straight out from his groin even with a strand of barbed wire coiled around
the shaft and fixed in place with a twist under the glans, one barb
actually poking into the soft flesh of the flange. Yet the fleshy purpled
glans thrust out like an arrowhead or spear point at the end, droplets of
fluid glistening on its tip and on a single point of a barb that had
slipped into his piss slit.

Despite his own tight bondage, Sandy knelt down to give the boy he loved
what relief he could. He kissed the caged genitals and mouthed the glans,
poking his tongue into the piss slit, tasting Terry's pre-ejaculate. Then
he licked the boy's shaft, guiding his tongue around the barbs and the wire
as best he could, laving it, stroking it, tasting both sweaty boy and warm
metal. He opened as wide as he could and actually managed to take in the
boy's cock, barbed wire and all, engulfing it with a familiar warmth and
moistness. For Terry, the sight of his lover's beautiful face pressed to
his groin, swallowing his tortured cock, pouty lips locked around his
manhood despite the barbs that must be pressing on it from inside, filled
him with feelings of love and longing and lust for his kneeling lover. He
went weak in the knees and light headed as he launched into a massive
orgasm, ignoring the way the cruel barbs dug even further into his body has
he thrust with his hips and cock.

"Sandy, I'm cuuuming!" he wailed.

Despite his pain, the tormented boy's cum surged from his groin through his
cock and into Sandy's welcoming mouth. At first Sandy swallowed greedily,
taking in his lover's essence, mixing it with the blood from the small cuts
to his tongue and lips from the barbs. Then the kneeling boy leaned back,
holding his face just in front of the head of Terry's cock as it spewed his
gism all over his face, on forehead, nose, cheeks, and chin. Sandy's tongue
flicked out, lapping up as much as he could. The artists sketched furiously
to catch the fleeting moment. Yes photographers were making a record too,
but better to draw from life than from a photo. The hardest part for Terry
was holding the pose afterwards, as his lust receded, accentuating his many
discomforts. Finally they took wire cutters to him to cut him free of his
bonds.

Following that final session they took Terry to a hospital and immersed him
a tank of healing fluid which supported his body without pressing on his
skin. Magnetic fields guided the nanites to stimulate the growth and
healing properties of his epithelial cells. Three days of treatment would
remove all physical traces of the boy's ordeal except for a single scar at
his navel which he wanted to keep as a souvenir.

The gig had turned out to be the most intense sexual experience of their
young lives. The boys knew that this was a scene they would never care to
repeat in real life, but they would carry indelible memories of it for the
rest of their lives. Just thinking about it would get them hard.

Afterward Terry's recovery, the young actors had ten uninterrupted days to
visit Mount Fuji, to visit Buddhist temples and gardens, to travel on the
new mag-lev bullet trains, and to disport themselves in the public
baths. They had a fabulous time of it.

			Epilogue

Sandy and Terry finally returned to Hollywood, finding themselves one
afternoon sharing Martin Fletcher's swimming pool with Jason and Luis,
Fletcher's house-boy. Terry was stretched out belly down on a float as
Sandy worked tanning lotion into the attractive curves of his bubble butt.

"Gosh, Mr. Knowles, er Terry," Luis said excitedly. "Those manga comix were
hot! Barbed wire on your cock and nuts and you got off on it?"

"Yes, but it was definitely a once in a lifetime experience. And don't try
it at home either. It was dangerous. We had enough work gloves and wire
cutters for the whole crew to cut me loose fast if things got too much for
me.  We're glad we did it, but there won't be any sequels. Anyway, the
Japanese and English languages editions have had to be reprinted, the
demand is so high. So everyone connected with the project had done well out
of it."

Especially lucrative were large size reproductions of the manga drawings on
posters or digital frames. The series of seven with Terry in his barbed
wire torment was the most popular with fans under the label 'Modern
Flagellant'. Sandy's series with the plasma wand ran a close second.

"So what is next for you?" Jason asked the boys. "Should we ask Marty to
hold a story conference?"

"Let me float an idea past you first Jason." Sandy began. "We want to do
something completely different for our next project. A modern comedy of
manners."

"Oh?"

"Terry and I have been talking about this, sketching it out. We want to
play contemporary young actors Jeffrey and Richard who get the lead roles
in a theatrical version of Shakespeare's comedy "As You Like It". The play
within the movie will be an authentic production, done just as it would
have been in the Bard's own day, with young males taking all the female
roles. We are only nineteen and with our small androgynous physiques and
pretty boy features we can convincingly portray sixteen year old boys
pretending to be girls."

"The movie will focus on the shenanigans of the modern day actors. It's not
a serious treatment of Shakespeare's material. Most of the script will
detail the rivalries, friendships, love affairs, and misunderstandings of
the young actors in the all male troupe. We'll do only a few scenes from
the play, mostly in rehearsal, ones that echo the problems of our modern
actors with sexual identity, love, rivalry, etc."

"Terry will portray the straight actor Jeffrey in the movie who, in the
play, has the role of the stalwart hero Orlando, son of a French knight. In
the movie, I will portray Richard, the gay actor who plays the role of
Rosalind, the heroine. They meet in town and Orlando falls in love with
Rosalind. Later, Rosalind has to flee for her safety to the Forest of
Arden, taking on the disguise of a youth, calling him/herself Ganymede. The
cross-gender disguise fools even Orlando whom she encounters in the
forest. Orlando had to flee the city too, and has given up any hope of ever
seeing his lady love. He befriends and eventually confides in
Rosalind/Ganymede who offers to cure him of his love sickness."

"And its not just Shakespeare's characters who are terribly mixed up.  The
gimmick for the movie is that the modern actors are also conflicted about
their sexuality. A real comedy of errors ensues. Get it?"

Jason rolled his eyes in a silent appeal heavenward. His own oeuvre
included five outings as Dan Ganymede, so he was aware that Shakespeare's
character Ganymede was a not so subtle gay reference to one of the four
great paramours of Zeus, the most famous of the many youthful males the
king of the Greek gods had reportedly pronged over the centuries.

"Let me get this straight, no pun intended. You want to play a boy in the
movie who takes the role of a girl in the play who disguises herself as a
boy. Then she, as a he, runs into the very boy who previously fell in love
with her as a girl but who now, unbeknownst, befriends her in her disguise
as a boy. As if that were not enough, if I recall the play correctly,
Roslind/Ganymede tries to cure Orlando of his love sickness by having them
act out the relationship between Orlando and his lost girlfriend
Rosalind. So Rosalind as Ganymede also portrays Rosalind for Orlando who
soon develops more than comradely feelings for Ganymede, feelings more
appropriate for his lost lady Rosalind than for a handsome youth, a fellow
male. Meanwhile another female character named Phoebe falls in love with
Ganymede who she thinks is a handsome boy instead of the girl Rosalind in
male drag. It's enough to make your head whirl."

"Exactly. Well throw in a new subplot just for the movie where the young
male actor who plays Phoebe has a fling with my movie actor character of
Richard who is wary of commitment. And just as in the play where everyone
gets confused over love and gender issues, the two young lead actors are
conflicted too. Terry's character will be an ostensibly straight boy
terribly mixed up about his sexuality. I will play a proud gay boy
portraying a girl in the play disguised as a boy who, after a dalliance
with another boy actor, who also portrays that girl Phoebe, realizes what
he wants. He wants Jeffrey. Just in time too, because Terry's character
Jeffrey finally realizes that gender does not matter as much as he had once
thought and that he has fallen madly in love with
Sandy/Richard/Rosalind/Ganymede/Rosalind."

Jason chuckled as he visualized the many mixups the play was famous for and
all the double and triple entendres the screen writers could indulge
in. The cross gender casting of the modern players simply multiplied the
possibilities, perhaps as the Bard had originally intended with the all
male casts of the Early Modern period. Most of the movie would focus on the
travails of the modern actors with perhaps twenty minutes of scenes from
the Bard playing point-counterpoint to the problems of the modern
characters.

As for sex appeal, Jason thought, Shakespeare or not, the audience would
still want to see Sandy and Terry with all their clothes off. Well this was
a sexually charged comedy. No doubt there would be opportunities for the
young all male cast to show lots of skin in the dressing room, the shower,
the bedroom, etc. Richard and Jeffery would share a cramped dressing room
adding to the dramatic and sexual tension between them.

Come to think of it, those tights men wore in Shakespeare's day instead of
trousers were perfect for showing off the boys' slim muscular legs and
their fine round rumps. He would insist that the costume provider make
Sandy's and Terry's of the very thinnest, the most clinging of stretch
fabrics, cleverly tailored to conform to their natural curves, delving deep
into their rear cleavage like ballet tights, rather than simply spanning
the gap. Codpieces the shape of fig leaves would be a nice touch too. The
colors of their hose would match those of their notorious Halloween
costumes from last year. The boys showed up at the charity benefit in
colorful harlequin outfits constructed entirely of body paint.

Jim Nicholls was just great at directing and photographing pretty
boys. There was an art to it, to making the display of their unclothed
bodies sensual without being salacious. Jason could visualize how Jim would
station a camera right behind Terry or Sandy as the boy bent over to get
out of costume, rolling the waistband of his tights over his buns then down
his slender hairless legs to his ankles. That would capture the full sweep
of the stunning body of the nude boy from the neck on down.

Jason knew the boys never really minded getting naked on camera, for all
their pretended cynicism anytime the script called for the boys to strip
off or to get stripped. They actually liked showing off their sexy
bodies. It wasn't simply vanity, rather a kind of generosity of
spirit. They were very young and pretty and sexy, especially when bare
ass. Why not share that with others? That is why their favorite movies were
the ones where they went stark naked in every scene.

"I like it! I really like it kids. You've done a great job. What a concept!
Shakespeare meets 'Victor/Victoria'. We'll try it on Marty at dinner."

For their contribution, Sandy and Terry got a second screen credit for
Story. To the surprise of many, the picture was the smash comedy hit of the
year, a critical as well as a commercial success. The producers went out of
their way to help the audience keep track of who was who and angling for
whom. Flyers and downloadable Dramatis Personae with pictures and diagrams
listed the actors, their roles and their twisted relationships. Adding to
the spice, Sandy and Terry were not the only members of the cast in a real
life relationship.

Sandy was nominated for the Oscar as best lead actor for his tour de force
portrayal of multiple characters in one boy's skin: Richard the gay modern
actor, the straight girl Rosalind, her straight (or was he?) male alter
ego, Ganymede who also pretends for Orlando's sake to be Rosalind. Sandy
knew this was really not his year. He was so very young and several veteran
actors had better claims to the award than he for their stand out
performances. So he did not mind (terribly much) that he did not win this
time and certainly put a good face on it at the annual awards ceremony.

A pair of Hollywood wags leeringly suggested he might have done better if
he had been put up for the best actress statuette. Although he took that
unkind jibe with his usual dignity and even temper, those particular
loudmouths never got an interview with him again. Ever. Nor with Terry.
Fletcher and Nicholls and Jason Eberly followed suit. What goes around
comes around.