Date: Sat, 10 May 2014 17:37:55 +0100 (BST)
From: Haven Tesla <haventesla@yahoo.com>
Subject: Method Acting - Part 1

METHOD ACTING
by Haven Tesla

Premise: A hunky, cocky young actor joins the cast of a long-running
daytime soap opera, and everything seems peachy. He's snagged a leading
role, his prospects for winning a Daytime Emmy look bright, and the show's
executive producer is practically his best friend, seeming to share his
virulently homophobic views. What could possibly go wrong?

Author's Note: I came up with this story as a way of merging two of my
passions: the authoritarian genre and soap operas. It is a work of fiction,
and I have taken great liberties with how the world works. You should leave
logic behind before embarking on this story and you'll have a more
enjoyable read. All characters are over the age of 18 and not intended to
resemble any real person, while the daytime television industry is
represented here as a parody of itself, including the Emmys. I previously
published this story on NCMC and am presenting it here with some minor
revisions. If you'd like to share your thoughts on this tale, drop me an
email - I'd love to hear from you.


<<< PART 1: There's No Business like Show Business >>>


There's something really odd going on at my latest acting job but I can't
quite put my finger on it. It's like my role on the show exists purely to
exploit and humiliate me, but that can't be true ... right? I'd never stand
for that shit - I'd quit straight away. In fact I've even gone to the head
honcho, Hank, several times with every intention of quitting, but somehow I
always leave his office without tendering my resignation.

I'm no stranger to show business; I got my start in high school when my
drama teacher kept pushing me to star in our school productions. I
suspected that Mr. G was a fag - he was a good-looking guy lacking a wife
or girlfriend despite being in his early thirties. To his credit he never
tried anything funny with me. Just as well or I'd have had to do something
regrettable, like the way I handled those sissies in gym class who kept
staring at my body in the showers.

Even before I started hitting the gym every day, I could get by on my face
and charm. Good cheekbones, jet black hair, brown eyes and what one girl
called "alabaster skin". That's some queer shit, but I can't deny that it's
helped my sex life - probably a lot. There's no end to the chicks who want
a piece of me, and I'm glad to give it to them. Fuck `em and dump `em,
that's my MO. I hate it when they started crying - that's my cue to
leave. What do they expect? An engagement ring? Jeez. Why do commitment
when you can do fun?

The gym helped me develop a perfect six-pack, solid pecs and bulging
biceps. I even paid attention to my lower body and exercised my thighs,
calves and glutes. Didn't want to end up top-heavy like some guys - you
know, those idiots with overinflated chests and chicken legs. My hard work
paid off and I even landed a few modeling gigs. Nothing too exploitative of
course - that's only for chicks! The most I was willing to do was take my
shirt off and flex my pecs a little.

That's what really puzzles me about my current situation. How do I let
myself get talked into wearing the skimpiest, most revealing clothes on
this show? I honestly cringe when I see myself on screen in tighty-whiteys
- and that's if I get to wear clothes at all!

This began right off the bat. On my very first day on set, I discovered
that my wardrobe for the episode consisted of a towel and a pair of white
designer briefs. The briefs were a size too small and barely covered
anything - the fabric on the sides was barely an inch high!

I did raise a stink to Hank, I swear I did. This wasn't what I'd signed on
for. The actresses playing my girlfriend and my baby mama got to keep their
clothes on while I carried on conversations with them in just
tighty-whiteys. What the hell, right?

"I don't believe a guy my age would wear those," I told Hank in reference
to the offending underwear.

"Now Colt, you know how this works. You play the script, no questions
asked. So what if you spend the whole episode in tighty-whiteys? You've got
a great body, so you shouldn't have a problem showing it off."

"It's not that. I want to be taken seriously as an actor," I whined. "I
don't want to be just some eye candy for bored housewives."

"And you'll have the chance to show off your acting chops once the steroid
storyline kicks in. But I know you recognize what an integral part of
acting body language is. With you in your undies, the audience gets to see
Max's physique, I mean body language, unencumbered by clothes. Wouldn't you
agree?"

Hank's words did make sense. After all, that was part of the reason he'd
hired me to replace the previous actor who'd played Max. He'd been a
scrawny little runt with no body to speak of! No wonder the show-runners
felt a recast was necessary to position Max as the leading man of the
show's next generation. After all, he was the beloved son of one of the
show's tent-pole couples, the police commissioner and district attorney,
and he'd already fathered a son of his own while a high school
junior. (That sort of virility was more in line with my portrayal of the
character than the previous actor's.)

Hank certainly hit the jackpot with me, and he told me as much. He said I'd
done a great job in turning Max into a sex symbol. I should've been annoyed
but it was kind of flattering to hear praise from Hank. Maybe that's why I
didn't question all the subsequent scenes which I had to perform in my
underwear. It became a daily occurrence.  Each and every scene that took
place in Max's parents' apartment had me in tighty-whiteys. (They did try
to mix it up a bit with colored briefs or a towel once in a while.)

It didn't matter whether it was his relatives or friends paying a visit -
Max would always come out of his bedroom to greet them in his briefs and
carry on the conversation without getting dressed. It got pretty
humiliating after a while. My cast-mates would tease me and the soap
journalists asked if I'd ever get to wear clothes. It really didn't seem
like it because even my scenes outside the apartment set typically involved
me jogging shirtless through the town square, hanging out in a towel at the
country club steam room, or changing out of sweaty sports gear in the
newly-created high school boys' locker room set.

Well, I can't blame Hank for trying to get the most mileage out of that new
set. It had been built partly to facilitate the big storyline he'd promised
me during my audition. Max getting into steroids was the big break I needed
to make my name in the acting sphere: a hard-hitting, socially-relevant
story that could net me a Daytime Emmy nod.

The first phase of this storyline involved Max joining the high school
wrestling team. Unfortunately, it got off to a rough start. I was dismayed
to see the lilac wrestling singlet that wardrobe had set aside for me. The
costume was skintight, accentuating every contour of my body, and made
worse by the fact they hadn't given me any underwear to put on underneath!

Hank explained that this was because the underwear would be clearly
outlined beneath the form-fitting Lycra, which would spoil the camera shot.

"But isn't this even more revealing?" I protested. "I mean, look!" I
gestured down at my crotch helplessly, where the Lycra outlined my cock and
balls obscenely. You could tell my religion as clear as day! It's not like
I had anything to be ashamed of, with an endowment 5 inches soft and 7.5
hard, but I didn't need that revealed on national television!

Hank was very assuring. "Wow! I mean, it shouldn't be a problem. We'll film
the wrestling scenes mostly from the back. If anything does slip into the
shot, we'll edit it out in post-production. But really, there's really
absolutely no reason for you to be covered up. In fact, your next scene is
in the locker room and you'll be sitting totally naked on the bleachers."

"Totally naked?" I yelped.

"It's just going to be a side profile, to show the audience that you're
really bare-assed ... I mean, vulnerable. It explains why Max ends up
taking steroids. This is the meaty storyline you wanted, remember?" But it
was his remark about Randy, my 18-year-old costar, which sealed the
deal. "Randy's barely 18 and he did a nude scene last week. Don't tell me
you can't do the same?"

I bristled at the insinuation that I was too chicken to do a nude
scene. I'd been on set when Randy filmed that scene. I'd been surprised to
see he was genuinely naked, without even a cock-sock to protest his
modesty. I'd thought cock-socks were standard procedure for nude scenes in
American studios. Instead, those of us on set caught occasional glimpses of
Randy's dick when he failed to cover up fully. At least the episode that
was transmitted on air had any such exposure painstakingly edited out.

I was sure that Hank would be just as careful to avoid exposing my nudity
on national TV. Besides, I couldn't lose out to an 18-year-old!

"Yeah, of course I'll do it," I declared with more confidence than I
actually felt.

Hank grinned. "That's great. So we're done here, yeah? I'll see you on set
in 10."

Ten minutes later, I was on the wrestling mat that had been laid out in the
gym set, being manhandled by this huge guy who'd been hired to play Max's
wrestling opponent. The guy was seriously huge! Massive! How he was
supposed to pass for a high schoolboy, I really didn't know.

He wasn't playing around either. He kept slamming me into the mat with such
brute force that a less well-built guy would probably have been
injured. Maybe he didn't get the memo that this was just acting. His
forcefulness spurred me to give the match my all, even though my character
was supposed to lose. It didn't make a lick of difference though; I was
still like a rag-doll in his powerful hands. His wrestling moves were a
distraction too. He constantly had me in a headlock under his shoulder,
smelling the funk of his shaven armpit, or between his thighs, shoving my
face in his musky bulge. Otherwise he was on top of me, practically humping
my butt with his dick - I could've sworn it was hard!

By the time we were done with multiple takes of the wrestling, I was sweaty
and battered. I wanted nothing more than to go home and soak in a hot
bath. But my day was not yet over. It was time for my dreaded nude scene.

I stumbled into the locker room set and self-consciously peeled off my
sweat-soaked singlet. I realized for the first time that the singlet was
even more revealing wet - practically translucent. I really hoped that the
editors would be thorough! In my current state, the lack of a cock-sock was
the least of my worries.

"Cut!" shouted the director suddenly, as I stood bare-assed, one hand
hovering over my crotch. "Colt, you've got to be less self-conscious. Max
wouldn't be shy about stripping off in the locker room."

"I know, but he wouldn't have an audience either," I protested. For some
reason there were an unusually large number of people on set that day:
costars and crew who weren't even involved in the scene. Some had even
brought their relatives and friends along!

Hank cajoled me, "Come now, Colt. Everyone's just really excited to see
your big storyline kick off. You can't begrudge them that, right?" He
smiled at me and I had to admit that helped assuage the gnawing feeling in
the pit of my stomach, albeit only a little.

"But can't I at least have one of those cock-socks?" I pleaded.

"We've been over this before," Hank said patiently. "It's called method
acting. We need it to look and feel real."

I couldn't dispute his logic. The best actors were method actors. I agreed
to re-take the scene. I peeled off the singlet again, trying not to think
about my audience. I sat down heavily on the bleachers, holding my head in
my hands. The camera captured a side shot of my sweaty, pumped-up body, but
those watching on set had an unobstructed view of my full-frontal nudity.

"Hey, dude. You want to beat that guy next time?" The speaker was another
high school wrestler, just as stacked as my opponent earlier. He was to
sell Max his first batch of steroids.

I made the mistake of looking up because the guy's bulging posing pouch was
at eye level. That was all he had on! Jeez, he could at least have stood
further back, instead of thrusting his package right in my face. I caught a
whiff of his crotch and felt sick.

Method acting, I reminded myself, and soldiered on.

"Hell yeah! But how on earth could I possibly do that? He basically wiped
the floor with me out there."

"I have a way," said my costar, moving closer. I was hit by a stronger wave
of his manly musk but couldn't look away. The guy had to be shaving his
pubes; the posing pouch was so low on his hips yet I couldn't see even a
trace of pubic hair. "At the next wrestling meet it can be you wiping the
floor with him. You interested?"

Of course Max was interested. Over several weeks, the soap charted his
downward spiral as he endeavored to build up his body through both exercise
and stimulants. Hank was having me hit the gym twice a day now and I was
becoming seriously ripped. In spite of that, I still wasn't comfortable
with the near-naked scenes they kept having me film. Max was always working
out shirtless and then checking himself out in the mirror, wearing only a
towel or a posing pouch. I'd thought the tighty-whiteys were bad; these
posing pouches were ten times worse! They were practically a string at the
sides and, as I'd discovered in that locker room scene, they put half my
pubes on display. Hank said they'd have to go. If I wanted to be a method
actor, I'd have to shave my entire body just as bodybuilders frequently
did.

I balked at this. I was already fairly hairless, except for my armpits,
pubes and legs. Only sissies would shave off those! I know Randy had
already been subjected to a full-body shave, but then the guy was seriously
hairy for an 18-year-old; he even had chest hair! (And he was a bit of a
sissy. Why else would he agree to get publicly shaved by a couple of extras
in the makeup room?)

"Please, Hank. Do I really have to?" I hoped Hank would see reason. He was
a rather reasonable guy.

Hank looked disappointed. "I thought you appreciated the importance of
method acting, Colt. You're the only one with something to gain by it. It
doesn't make the slightest difference to me whether you shave your body or
not, but it'll make your performance that much more believable when it's
time to submit your Best Younger Actor reel."

Well, when he put it like that ... "Okay, Hank."

"Tell you what. We're going to be taping your next scenes during the studio
open day. Why don't you invite some of your friends to come over?"

"Er, I don't really want them to see me like that-"

"Nonsense," said Hank. "You want to show them how far you've come as an
actor, don't you? You're the leading man on a daytime soap opera. How many
of your pals can claim that kind of success at your age?"

It would be pretty sweet to show off my success. I didn't have a great many
friends, but a number of acquaintances who I'd often run into at auditions
or acting classes. I could certainly invite them along to the open day, and
watch their faces burn with jealousy.

On the day itself, Hank fetched my friends in because I was occupied in the
makeup chair. Three struggling young actors swaggered into the makeup room
behind him; a couple of them had taken advantage of the plus-one in their
invites to bring along their girlfriends too. Their eyes widened when they
saw me stretched out on the horizontally-reclined makeup chair, naked
except for a small hand towel draped over my junk. One of the crew was
shaving my armpit.

I was embarrassed. "Oh, hi, guys. Um, sorry I can't get up."

"No shit," joked one of the guys, Lenny.

"Colt's preparing for his next scene," explained Hank.

"As a male stripper?" asked another guy, Brandon, sarcastically.

I blushed, but Hank just grinned and clarified, "As a bodybuilder. You may
know that they have to keep their bodies shaved smooth to accentuate their
muscle tone. Colt's committed to method acting, so he's consented to having
his body shaved as well."

"He seems pretty hairless to me," remarked Lenny.

"Oh no," said Hank. "I agree that his torso is fairly smooth, but not his
lower body." He casually reached out and whipped off my towel, exposing me
full-frontally to my audience. Their jaws dropped, and I turned an even
darker shade of crimson. With my hands above my head, I was utterly unable
to cover up.

"Y-you intend to shave his pubes too?" sputtered Chris.

"Everything," confirmed Hank. "In fact, why don't you guys chip in and help
Colt out? It'll not only speed things up but also give you a one-of-a-kind
interactive studio tour."

I opened my mouth to protest, uneasy at the grins on my so-called pals'
faces, but Hank swiftly reassured me that he'd stay on to make sure things
didn't get out of hand. That was the cue for Brandon, Lenny and Chris to
fall upon my naked body far more gleefully than the situation
warranted. Armed with razors, they lathered up my cock and balls and began
whisking away my dark pubes. I was alarmed to see their girlfriends whip
out camera phones and start filming us.

"Don't worry, Colt," said Hank soothingly. "I already spoke to them about
keeping anything they see on set to themselves. Right, guys?"

My supposed friends nodded, but their concentration didn't waver from the
task of denuding my body of its hair. They certainly took their own sweet
time, so I don't feel it was a time-saving measure at all, but at least
they were careful not to nick me. They weren't so cautious when it came to
shaving my asshole. (Yes, Hank insisted we needed to shave every part of my
body from the neck down.) It was mortifying enough to have my legs propped
up and spread widely so that they could access my ass crack, but my
humiliation was compounded when each of the guys accidentally slipped their
finger into my hole. It's a good thing the shaving foam had lubricated my
hole somewhat, because otherwise it would have hurt like a mother-fucker,
particularly when Brandon and Lenny managed to simultaneously bury their
fingers right up to the knuckle. I'm pretty sure they didn't need to saw
their fingers in and out of my hole, but I didn't want to draw attention to
it, or the fact that I had a leaking erection.

"It's quite normal," Hank told me. "You should have seen Randy on shaving
day. The kid is a real grower." If he'd intended to put me at ease, it
didn't work, especially with the girls capturing my debasement for
posterity on their camera phones.

Once all my pubic hair had been shaved off, the guys turned their attention
to my legs, which they seemed to shave much faster although it was a much
wider area. They then inspected the rest of my body and found only a wisp
or two around my nipples, which they spent another inordinate amount of
time shaving. Finally satisfied that I was follicle-free, they let me put
on my costume: a skimpy maroon posing pouch.

With my friends watching from the sidelines, we filmed a scene at the
country club locker room. Randy's character Jake bumps into mine while I'm
flexing in front of a mirror.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't realize ..." Randy's voice trailed off as he absorbed
the sight of me wearing next to nothing.

"What do you think, dude?" I flexed some more, making my muscles pop. (The
whole thing was pretty ridiculous and I had said so but Hank had impressed
the importance of this scene upon me so I didn't want to let him down.)

Randy gulped. "Um ... when did you get so jacked?" I was starting to
suspect he was as much of a faggot as his character, if the way he was
hungrily eyeing up my mostly-naked physique was anything to go by.

"I've been body-building for a couple of months now," I announced
proudly. "Do you want to feel my muscles? Go on." (Like I said, ridiculous!
What straight guy would invite another to molest him?)

Randy looked like he was about to pass out as he reached out to tentatively
feel one of my powerful biceps.

"Wow, that's rock hard!" he exclaimed.

"Yeah. I've been working on my pecs, too. Go on, have a feel."

Emboldened by my encouragement, Randy began to more or less grope me. I was
squirming inside, aware that my friends were watching the scene unfold. Out
of the corner of my eye I could see them giggling. There was worse to come
though.

"Hey, you know, I was actually about to snap some pics of my progress for
my bodybuilding diary. You want to help me out?"

"Of course!" Randy was totally enthusiastic.

I'd told Hank that Max couldn't be that clueless not to realize that Jake
had a homosexual crush on him. Hank had replied that the scene clearly
evidenced how steroids can impact mental acuity. It was a sensible
explanation so I didn't debate it further.

"There's a bottle of baby oil over there you could help me put on," I told
Randy. "It really makes my muscles pop in the photos."

Randy was far more handsy than he needed to be oiling up my body. Did he
really need to twist my nipples until they were hard or grease up my
ass-crack so deeply? At one point he even slid his hand down the front of
my pouch! The scene where he kneeled in front of me to oil up my muscular
thighs was so provocative that I wondered how it made it past the censors.

But it was the next scene which really gave me a turn. Jake had stolen one
of the Polaroid snaps he'd taken of me for his own private viewing, and
this fed into a soap opera staple: the fantasy sequence. Only this time, it
was an erotic gay fantasy with my character as the other participant!

"I get that Jake's a faggot which is probably right up Randy's alley, but
why do I need to get dragged into it?" I whined to Hank upon receiving the
script. I felt nauseated just reading about how our two characters were
supposed to have this steamy, naked make-out session in the shower.

"Colt, Colt, Colt," Hank reproached me. "If you want to be taken seriously
as an actor, you need to be able to roll with the punches."

"But it's a gay sex scene!"

"That's the next best thing to an actual gay role. Every young actor under
25 has done one now. You're already missing out since your character's
straight, but this is as close as you can get."

"But ... I have to do it for real?"

"If you want to embrace method acting, yeah. Now come on, Colt. Your
friends are watching. Don't let them to think you're too chicken to kiss
another actor."

I grumbled but consented. Stripping off even the posing pouch, I joined an
equally naked, dripping wet Randy inside the shower. The scene was shot
through a glass door whose lower half was frosted, just enough to steer
clear of the censors but not to hide the fact that we were in fact
completely nude. (No cock-socks here either; I was starting to get used to
it.)

"Oh Max," sighed Randy as I grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him
around. We looked deeply into each other's eyes.

"You're the one that I want," I said in a stage whisper that was loud
enough to be heard over the cascading water. Randy took that as an
invitation to lock lips with me. I tried to purse my lips shut but he was
persistent. (A total fag - just as I suspected!) He forced my mouth open
with his prying tongue and shoved it down my throat.

"Good work, Randy," called Hank. "Colt, put some passion into it." His
gentle rebuke prompted me to overcome the gender of my kissing partner and
turn it into a smoldering make-out session that would make any actress
envious to be on the receiving end. Unfortunately it wasn't a woman on the
receiving end but Randy. When life hands you lemons ... I threw Randy up
against the shower wall and returned his kiss with similar fervor.

Surprised at first, Randy quickly got into the scene and ran his hands all
over my body. Fortunately the scene which played out on television only
shows his hand disappearing down out of shot before transitioning to him
waking up from the fantasy.

On set, however, Randy fondled my cock with one hand while his other hand
crept round my back to my ass-crack. I tensed up as I felt a wet, but
otherwise un-lubricated, finger prodding at my virginal asshole.

"What're you doing?" I squawked.

"Playing the script," replied Randy as if it was the most normal thing in
the world.

"Ugh," I grunted as Randy's finger wormed its way into my ass. I was
acutely aware of the watching eyes. "Take it out!"

"I'm supposed to put 3 fingers into you."

"Three?!"

"You can finger my ass if it makes you feel better," suggested
Randy. "Hank's been helping loosen me up - my ass can take up to 4 fingers
now."

I shook his head violently. That couldn't be right. Why would Hank be
fingering Randy's ass? We didn't do non-simulated sex. That was in the
realm of pornography, not daytime soaps. No, this wasn't right, and I said
as much.

"Yes, it is," Hank responded convincingly. "This is the story you're
playing. This is Jake's fantasy, and he wants to make love to Max, so
that's what you're going to do."

"But I'm not really Max ... and this is just make-believe ... the sex is
supposed to be simulated ... we're not ... I'm not ..." I was losing my
train of thought.

"Kiss him," urged Hank. "Keep kissing him. Feel him up. Finger his
hole. Suck his cock. Make love for real."

I forgot about professional acting. I forgot about my audience. The only
thing that existed to me at that moment was Randy. Naked, wet, teenage
Randy with his blowjob lips and his pert butt.

I grabbed him roughly and threw him against the glass. "You want this,
don't you, you faggot?" I asked aggressively, grabbing his package.

Randy looked like a deer in the headlights. If he was acting then I was
going to be facing some competition for the Best Younger Actor prize.

"Yes," he whispered, "I want your cock."

"Then suck it," I ordered him. I grasped Randy's shoulders and forced him
to his knees. The spray from the shower cascaded down over us as Randy
hesitantly wrapped his lips around my dick and gave me a blowjob.

The boy was able to take all 7.5 inches of my manhood down his throat. I
took it as further confirmation that he was a born cocksucker.

Randy's mouth may have been occupied, but his hands were still working my
body. He'd managed to stick three fingers into my hole as he'd promised and
was now attempting a fourth. I threw my head back, groaning from the dual
sensations of pain and pleasure. Randy was plunging four fingers in and out
of my ass at a clip, and to my amazement it just made my cock grow even
stiffer.

"I'm gonna cum," I said, "and you're going to swallow it all."

It's not like Randy had much choice in the matter; I had his head in a
vice-like grip as I brutally face-fucked him.

I roared as I came, pumping cum for nearly half a minute, letting my seed
gush down Randy's throat. He, filthy cocksucker that he was, dutifully
downed the massive load before licking his way up my body. I was pretty
disgusted by how he was obviously into my body, slobbering over my abs and
nibbling on my nipples, but I manfully put up with it by reminding myself
that this method acting was going pay off in spades when the Daytime Emmy
nominations rolled around.

Randy was now kissing my neck and I was astounded to hear him say, with
unexpected conviction, "Now it's your turn to suck my cock."

But the bigger shock was that I actually obeyed! I got down on my knees and
sucked Randy's cock!  Look, I'm straight so method acting or not, I wasn't
about to deliver a stellar blowjob. That was my concession to doing this
queer shit.

Randy kept wincing and warning me to watch my teeth, but that didn't stop
him from cumming like a hosepipe. I vigorously fingered his asshole
throughout the blowjob and found him surprisingly tight. Could he really be
an anal virgin?

I didn't have time to ponder the question because he blew his wad down my
throat without warning. I nearly choked on his spunk, and wanted to swallow
quickly to get rid of it but Hank interjected.

"Don't swallow! I want to see you both snowball."

We both looked blankly at him, and he rolled his eyes. "Pass the cum back
and forth between your mouths while you kiss," he explained.

I could scarcely believe that Hank would suggest such a repulsive practice
- even Randy was looking a little queasy - but we had faith that he knew
best. We puckered up and went for a deep French kiss, exchanging the
semen-and-saliva mixture as he suggested.

"Great job, guys," praised Hank after this went on for a few minutes. That
made it all worthwhile. He added, "That's a wrap! I'll see you both back in
the studio tomorrow. Well, maybe not you, Randy. I think you'd best follow
me home. There was one acting skill you displayed just now that I'd like
you to practice further with me."

While Randy trotted off behind Hank, I ran to the nearest dressing-room to
rinse out my mouth. To my dismay the taste of semen lingered. I turned
around to find that my pals had followed me. I had completely forgotten
about their presence. It suddenly occurred to me that they'd seen me acting
out a blowjob. The broad grins etched on their faces heightened my sense of
embarrassment.

"Well, Colt, I'm certainly glad we got to see you in action today," said
Lenny.

"Boy, you certainly go for it, huh?" added Chris.

"You know me, guys - I'm totally method," I said with as much bravado as I
could muster.

"Yeah, method acting. That's what they call it," smirked Brandon.

"It was definitely, uh, revealing," remarked Chris, as the group tittered.

I turned red. The guys slapped me on the back, hard, and strutted off. Why
did I get the feeling they weren't actually impressed?

Well, I did know one lot that I'd managed to impress. Hank shared that the
demos showed a marked increase in male viewership after the fantasy shower
scene aired. I was surprised by how tame the broadcast version was - surely
the scene we'd filmed had gone on for much longer and much further? But I
was too relieved at not being seen on national television sucking off a
teenage boy to question what had happened to the extended footage.

Hank also revealed that advertisers were thrilled by the audience numbers
and that he'd been approached by a fashion house asking if Randy and I
would be willing to model for their latest line. Apparently we would be the
ideal faces for their brand.

I was initially excited until I found out the fashion house in question
actually targeted gay customers and the clothing line they wanted us to
model consisted of underwear and swimwear.

"But Hank, this stuff is so freaking gay!" I complained as I rifled through
the box of samples they'd sent us. Thongs and Speedos were all they seemed
to have!

"At the stage of your career that you're in, you can't really afford to
turn down a lucrative modeling deal like this. Think of all the publicity
it'll drum up for you come Emmy nomination time. Yeah, the clothes are a
bit gay but that's what all the big stars do nowadays. They're stripping
off for cancer charities and even gay magazines! If you don't get on the
bandwagon, then someone else will and you might as well surrender your Emmy
to an actor from another show."

Hank was right (of course). I couldn't blow off this deal just because it
made me uncomfortable to have gay guys leering at me in my skivvies. It's
not like this would be my first revealing photoshoot anyway. Hank
frequently arranged for journalists covering the soaps to interview me and
publicize my upcoming storylines, giving them exclusive access to
behind-the-scenes pics (inevitably of me in various states of undress). He
conceded that they were somewhat exploitative but stressed the importance
of raising my public profile. You could be the most gifted actor but
without the right PR machinery behind you, all the talent in the world
would be for naught.

If not for Hank's professional acumen, I'd never have consented to some of
the interviews they made me do. The funny thing is the journalists always
seemed less interested in my storyline than in me: how I kept myself fit;
how I felt filming my many half-naked scenes; whether I wore boxers or
briefs; and so on. There was an entire spread about my workout regime,
complete with pictures of me exercising shirtless.  Now I'm proud of my
physique but I'd never take my top off at the gym under normal
circumstances.

Another issue had a centerfold pull-out of me emerging from the ocean
wearing just square-cut swimming trunks. That photoshoot had been
especially embarrassing thanks to all the guys my age who were on the beach
that day, looking on and snickering loudly at my skimpy swimwear. I was
quite distraught and Hank tried to console me by saying that James Bond had
worn the same trunks in Casino Royale; you didn't get much manlier than
him! I appreciated his attempt but I still felt like a piece of meat.

If I'd thought that was bad, the photoshoot for the gay underwear brand was
even worse. I was really glad for Hank's company because it seemed the
whole outfit was run by gay men, from the photographer down to the makeup
guy. The latter relished putting makeup on my abs and spritzing me with
baby oil to achieve the "sweaty" shots. Some of my body hair was starting
to grow back and he made a great fuss over shaving me smooth. If Hank
hadn't calmed me down, I would've punched his smug little gay face when he
tried to touch my cock while shaving my pubes.

The photographer was no better. He commented creepily about my "beefy
pecs", "shredded abs" and "bubble butt" as he copped a feel of the
corresponding body part. He told Hank he'd been inspired by my wrestling
scenes on the show. "Exquisitely homoerotic," he called it. "Exactly what
we need to sell this line."

So he had me and Randy reenact the scenes, only we were dressed in rainbow
thongs instead of wrestling singlets. With our oiled-up bodies on display,
I had the sick feeling that we looked like a pair of fags, despite Hank's
assurances.

"Fasten your lips round Colt's nipple, Randy. That's it," instructed the
photographer. "Colt, pretend to take a bite out of Randy's ass. Fabulous!
Fabulous!"

He wasn't content until both Randy and I were soaked in sweat, which
prompted him to order shots of Randy licking up the pool of sweat between
my abs and me tonguing Randy's sweaty armpit. How gross is that?! Hank
really had his work cut out for him cajoling me into that.

We were guided through a series of poses in multi-colored briefs, trunks,
jockstraps, g-strings ... no normal underwear like boxers, only tight,
revealing stuff! There was even mesh underwear that exposed our junk
through sheer fabric. I trembled at the thought of someone seeing me in
those, but Hank assured me that those images wouldn't feature my face. It
struck me as odd since Randy and I were the faces for this line, so
customers would only have to guess between the two of us to determine whose
equipment was exhibited on the underwear packaging. With Randy being
olive-skinned, I doubted they'd have much difficulty differentiating
between our crotches. But I had faith that Hank wouldn't have overlooked
something so blatant.

Just when I figured we were done, the photographer announced we still had
the swimwear to model. And then, to my chagrin, he had us pack up for an
outdoor shoot at the very same beach where I'd encountered those laughing
teens in my square-cut trunks; only this time I was dressed in even less!

The low-slung pink Speedos I'd been given to wear were like briefs, but
with uncovered panels at the sides which exposed my milky-white skin. If I
hadn't been shaved smooth, most of my pubes would have also been on
display. I looked over at Randy who was wearing an equally skimpy Speedo,
(except his was turquoise) and looked just as nervous.

We were greeted by jeers and catcalls the moment we stepped out of the
vehicle and onto the beach.

"Look, it's the two gay boys from TV!"

"What are they wearing?"

"He's some kind of muscle Mary, look at that freaking pink Speedo!"

I wished the ground would swallow me up. I wouldn't have made it through
the photoshoot if not for Hank's support. He even went and had a word with
the heckling teens, although unfortunately he apparently wasn't able to get
them to tone down their taunts. They just went and called all their friends
down to the beach and whipped out their phones to record Randy and me in
our Speedos. But at least Hank had made the effort; that counted for
something.

The photographer, seemingly oblivious to our audience, had me and Randy
cavort on the beach. We frolicked in the surf, gave each other piggyback
rides and (most embarrassingly) engaged in several homoerotic
clinches. These invited the worst of our teenaged spectators'
derision. Truthfully, I couldn't blame them because what else would you do
if you saw two MEN making out on the beach while shoving their hands inside
each other's scanty Speedos and grabbing handfuls of cock and ass?

Randy and I underwent several changes of costume, but none of them were
less revealing than the first Speedos. Amid our boardshorts-clad
spectators, this was especially mortifying.

There was no proper place to change either; we were simply handed a hand
towel and told to change under that right there on the beachfront. You can
imagine how successful we were at keeping ourselves covered at all times
with such a small towel that we had to hold to keep from falling off. Both
of us suffered at least two such humiliating slip-ups, each of which raised
a raucous cheer (and ample photography!) from the watching teens.

After three hours on the beach, in increasingly revealing attire and a
growing audience, the photographer finally called it a wrap.

"Look forward to seeing yourself on the billboards, boys," he told me and
Randy in parting. I exchanged a horrified glance with my teen co-star. We
hadn't realized the marketing campaign was going to be so public!

Hank patted my shoulder in encouragement. "It's all good, Colt. Just keep
your eyes on the prize. All publicity is good publicity."

It sure didn't feel that way. Even taking the subway home after filming
became an ordeal after the underwear ads went viral. Reactions fell into
two categories: people either pointed at me laughingly or approached me
with full-color printouts of images from the campaign that they wanted me
to autograph. Hank had told me to humor them, so I did, although it felt
like I was sanctioning my own exploitation. It didn't escape my notice that
the vast majority of the autograph-seekers were male, in contrast to the
females who had mobbed me when I first started out in the role. I wasn't
having much luck pulling in the girls at bars when I went out these days,
but was getting a lot of attention from the gay men instead.

I wasn't the only one suffering. I think Randy was getting teased at school
because he was seeking out Hank more and more, spending hours in his
apartment. That rankled me for some reason. If I didn't know any better,
I'd think I was jealous of the amount of time he was getting to spend with
Hank. But I'm a tough guy, not a sissy like Randy, so I vowed that I
wouldn't go crying to Hank. After all, he was trying to propel my career
and I could put up with the shit in the meantime.

Filming went on as usual. My character was starting to exhibit signs of
roid rage. Given what was going on in my life outside the studio, I didn't
have to tap very deep to play the increasingly volatile Max. It was almost
cathartic to throw things around and really go for it in my wrestling
scenes. Max's violent spree culminated in him brutally beating a rival into
a coma. Overcome by guilt and fear, Max flees the scene with no one the
wiser as to who committed the dastardly crime since the victim was rendered
comatose. Well, almost no one.

Max had been witnessed running away from the scene by Carter, a con-artist
who had fallen on hard times since being released from prison and forced to
take a job as a male stripper at a gay club. I'd had a good laugh at the
expense of Carter's portrayer, Ross, when he first realized that his
costume from then on would be a glittery thong. Ross was a pretty cool guy
but he looked ridiculous pole-dancing and grinding on guys while nearly
naked. Hank even offered my pals Brandon, Lenny and Chris small roles as
strippers in the background. Hank must have been his usual persuasive self
because, after mocking me for my dedication to method acting, the three
were featured in several episodes gyrating in spangled thongs. Brandon got
the most prominent part, making out with Ross and losing even the undies at
one point. Man, I'd never seen them blush so much!

But getting back to the plot - Carter partnered with a sleazy pornographer
named Mick. Armed with Max's dirty secret, the pair swiftly blackmailed him
into meeting them at a fleabag motel where they had a proposition for him
in exchange for keeping quiet about his crime. To Max's shock, Carter and
Mick weren't alone; young Jake was also there.

"Ah, of course you know know each other already," remarked Mick. "That's
good. It gets the awkward introductions out of the way."

"What do you want from us?" demanded Max angrily.

Mick repeated the proposition he had already offered Jake: the two of them
would appear in a gay porn film that would be marketed exclusively in
Europe.

My reaction, I mean Max's, was instantaneous. "No way!"

"I'd rethink that answer if I were you," advised Mick.

"You want me to make gay porn with Jake! That's insane! Neither one of us
is even gay." (If you recall, Max was in the dark about Jake's
homosexuality. Indeed, that was how Jake himself had been blackmailed into
appearing in this porno.)

"I'm leaving," insisted Max. "And Jake, you'd better come with me."

"I ... I can't," said Jake miserably.

"Why not? What is it they have on you? Whatever it is, it's not worth
acting in some sleazy gay porno."

"Are you sure about that, Max?" questioned Mick. "Would you rather make a
porno with your friend or risk going to prison? I don't have to tell you
what happens to pretty boys like you in prison."

Max turned pale. "You're making that up."

"Oh yeah? Ask Carter here. He's been in prison before."

The actors on set were shown the uncensored version of the flashback of
Carter's prison rape, which was way more explicit than what eventually
aired. I couldn't believe Ross had actually taken two black dicks up his
ass at the same time. My own asshole clenched in sympathy. The things we
actors do for our art!

Max shuddered; as the son of the police commissioner and district attorney,
he would likely be a prime target for depraved convicts.

"Just take the deal, Max," said Jake. The faggot was trembling with
excitement. What had started out as frightening blackmail seemed to be
turning into a previously impossible opportunity to sleep with the boy of
his dreams.

"Jake, I can't possibly do this. Do you understand what they want us to do?
We're both guys!"

"I know, but it's not like we have a choice."

I let my shoulders slump in defeat. "It's only the one video, right? And
that'll only be marketed to Europe?"

The blackmailers smiled.

A short while later, I stood facing Randy across the bed. We were dressed
in ludicrously tiny, tight briefs (white for him, red for me) and our
bodies shone with the sheen of baby oil.

"Lights, camera, action!" Mick called from the side. We moved timidly
towards each other and then hesitantly began kissing. Slowly we inched
closer to the bed, and Randy let his hands wander down my body. The scene
that was broadcast ended with us falling into bed together, and picked up
again after the sex.

Given that Hank is such a fan of method acting, we shot a lot of additional
footage that didn't make the cut. He made us watch several gay porn films
so that we could get a feel of what actually is expected of actors in gay
porn. I was pretty disgusted by the many scenes of `rimming', where one guy
actually licks the other guy's asshole! Watching them ride each other's
cocks, virtually enforcing their own fucking, was just as horrific.

Then we had to put what we'd seen to practice. I was really, really
reluctant to do this until Hank gave me a pep talk.

"It doesn't make you gay, Colt," explained Hank patiently. "In fact that's
why you need to do this, so that when you act out Max's trauma at being
forced into sex that goes against his heterosexual nature, you'll be able
to channel your own feelings into your performance. You can play the sense
of violation and self-loathing with Emmy-worthy realism."

That's Hank for you, always having my best interests at heart. He's such a
swell dude. Is it any wonder that my anxieties about being butt-fucked on
camera all but melted away after speaking to him? He even convinced me of
the pressing need to enact the rimming scene to which I'd been particularly
opposed.

In porn terminology, what Randy and I acted out was called a flip-flop
fuck. (That was what I'd learned from watching all those gay pornos that
Hank supplied us with.)

I was going to go first. I was understandably nervous but Hank was on hand
to allay my concerns. He even took up the unenviable task of giving me an
enema and then lubing up my asshole with four fingers. To be honest with
you, I kind of wish he'd let someone else do that because his fingers were
rather thick and I was squirming terribly by the time he'd forced all four
up my tight hole, but I didn't want to be ungrateful when he was being so
supportive.

I was stunned by the transformation that came over Randy once the cameras
started to roll. The shy, soft kid was replaced by a brutal fucker. He
slammed into me with such force that I nearly screamed the place down. He
continued thrusting in and out of my poor ass at a breakneck pace, stabbing
me deeply in the guts every time. From the devious grin on his face I think
the son of a bitch enjoyed it a lot more than he should have in any
professional capacity.

I had my chance to get my own back when it was his turn to get fucked, but
first I had to rim his asshole! Somehow Randy had escaped being shaved
`back there' (if you get my drift), so I couldn't even fool myself into
imagining that I was eating out a girl's pussy. Randy cooed and moaned in
delight as I applied the "kiss, lick, suck, tongue-fuck" rimming method
which Hank had advised me to follow. Man, I can't tell you how revolting it
was - all I could smell or taste was male ass! But I persevered, and the
pleased look on Hank's face gave me some small measure of pride.

Having gotten Randy's ass all wet with spit, I wasted no time in replacing
my tongue with my cock. Propping his hairy legs up on my shoulders, I
swiftly entered him, relishing the pained yelp that triggered. He continued
to groan as I fucked his brains out. I thought he'd be in too much agony to
get off but lo and behold, he was sporting a dripping boner within
minutes. (Come to think of it, I'd had one too when he was fucking me. It
must be the lack of sex getting to me.)

Thanks to his limited sexual experience, Randy had little self-control; he
cried out as he shot his wad, nearly taking my eye out with the first
blast. His cock kept spurting, drenching us both in his warm, sticky spunk.

I hadn't realized that was Ross's cue. He ripped off his golden thong and
entered the frame full-frontal. Evidently all those stripping scenes had
made him comfortable with onscreen nudity and homosexuality. He joined
Randy and me on the bed and started lapping up the sweat and semen that
coated both of our bodies. He squatted over Randy's face, getting the
teenager to eat out his blond ass while he fisted his own dick and chewed
on my erect nipples. Randy must have given a very good rim-job (yet more
proof that he was a total fag) because Ross ended up adding his cum to the
crusty mix on Randy's torso.

Then Ross got on all fours for Randy and me to pound him from both
ends. Randy was just as aggressive in face-fucking and I genuinely thought
that poor Ross was going to choke on his mouthful of cock. I didn't let my
commiseration get in the way of delivering the scene that Hank was
expecting. I powerfully hammered into Ross's ass, making sure I got in real
deep before pulling almost all the way out and slamming back in. As much as
he moaned, it was nothing compared to the howling we got out of him when
Randy joined me to double-stuff him. I'd assumed Ross would be used to
taking two dicks up his butt after filming that prison rape scene, but
apparently not.

I'd never taken part in a double-penetration before and found it weird and
stimulating at the same time. Weird because my cock was crammed alongside
another one in a man's ass, and stimulating because I'd never experienced a
tighter fuck. I'm ashamed to admit that I actually wound up shooting my
load inside Ross. So did Randy, but given his suspect sexuality, that was
hardly unexpected.

Spent, I wanted nothing more than to wash away the funk of homo-sex but
Hank asked if I'd be willing to help Ross. It seems that a warm tongue is
the best salve for a violated asshole. I blanched but did my part for my
colleague by rimming him anyway. Eating my own sperm as well as Randy's out
of Ross's hole was not an experience I ever wanted to repeat. I couldn't
get the taste out of my mouth for hours! I was so glad that this storyline
was over.

Or was it?

TO BE CONTINUED