Date: Thu, 31 May 2001 04:37:47 -0700
From: Taylor Hutchence <sleaze_hound@hotmail.com>
Subject: Adventures in ColtLand: Part 1: Shooting the Legend

The following is a complete fantasy, as far as I know Carl Hardwick is not
gay, but he is short.

I had been working at Colt Studios for a few months before I met any of the
models. I was only a lowly administrator and the talent didn't come into the
offices all that often. This was not as I had planned it; I had been working
as a video director for another 'adult' company in Europe prior to this.
When it went into liquidation I had used some contact's to get this job. I
had hoped to continue directing, but my contacts weren't as good as I had
hoped and I was stuck shuffling paper 9 to 5.

I had been letting all this get to me all week; it was Friday, when my
manager sent me off on another menial job.
"Take these down to Studio B" She said "They're just some test sheet's we
need Hardwick to approve, get him to sign the release form. And make sure he
sign's his real name, I'm not saying he's dumb but he seems to have
difficulty remembering it sometimes. There are two copies just in case.
Thanks."
By Hardwick of course she meant Carl Hardwick.
This is the part in most of these stories when the narrator explains that
the previously mentioned hunk is someone they have always fantasised about
and how they can't believe that they are going to meet them. Right? Well not
this time, pal. I had seen him about the place a couple of times and
couldn't see the attraction. Of course he was fully clothed on all those
occasions, but still.
No, the one I was desperate to meet was Pete Kuzak.
But that wasn't going to be today.

Studio B was really just a large empty room on the second floor, but it got
good light and it didn't overlook any kindergarten's so it was sometimes
pressed into service as a photography studio. Studio A was a fully fitted
professional studio and Studio C you don't even want to know about. That's
where they took Polaroid's of the comedians who wandered in drunk from the
bar next door declaring that they wanted to be nude models and earn lots of
money.

I pressed my ear against the studio door, listening for the noise of a photo
session in progress. If they're working they (models and photographers)
don't like to be disturbed by mere mortals like myself. I heard noise inside
so, rather than knock and interrupt, I quietly slipped inside.
Sure enough they were shooting. Hardwick was leaning against the back wall,
posing for Matthew, one of the least popular in-house photographers.
"OK. But twist your torso towards me..."he was saying.
Carl did as he was told. He was wearing, let's see, a Stetson and a smile.
That's it. No I tell a lie. He was also sporting a hard-on like a Grolsch
bottle.
I didn't know where to look. That's not strictly true, I knew where I wanted
to look - away - but when there is a naked muscle-bound man with a throbbing
great erection standing large-as-life a few feet away it is hard to look at
anything else.
Despite what I said earlier, he did look damn good. His upper body was
coated with a pelt of thick fur and every muscle seemed to have been hewn
from some deeply tan marble. His chin like his chest was unshaven and he
looked so good, I felt myself get hard just looking at him.
They carried on with the shoot for a few more minutes oblivious to my
presence.
"Oh for God's sake." Matthew exhaled loudly "You're losing your erection
again. Lets call a break, shall we, and see if you can keep your dick hard
long enough for me to photograph it."
Carl took this abuse in his stride. Matthew was like this to everyone, all
the time.
I took the opportunity to get his attention.
"Excuse me, Mr Hardwick?"
They both looked my way.
"Don't confuse him. He's Mr. Jeffers." Matthew said, as he passed by me on
the way out.
"I just need you to take a look at these contact sheets and sign a release."
I said.
"Sure thing, bud." His voice low, with a strong southern accent.
He crossed the studio, his softening dick slapping between his thick, hairy
thighs.
I handed him the envelope; he slid the glossy sheets out and began to work
his way through them.
"Did you take a look at these?" he asked.
"No. Of course not, I brought them straight to you."
"Relax, I wasn't accusing you of anything. I just wanted to know what you
thought of them."
"Oh."
He held up a photo. It showed him lying naked on a sofa, his right hand
encircling his stiffened dick, his eyes closed.
"Whad'ya think?"
"Very nice." I say.
"Very nice, eh? Do you think my cock looks good in this one?" He held up
another photo.
"Yes, very...er."
"Nice?...What about my balls? Do you think they photograph well? I mean
compared to in the
flesh?"
At this he lifted his dick to give me a better view of his testicles.
Dutifully I checked out his crotch, trying not to stare too long.
"Um."
"You Brits. I don't know." He laughed. "I'm right aren't I? You're British?"
"That's right."
"You been over here long?"
It knocked me out how comfortable he seemed, chatting to a complete stranger
while completely naked. I realised we were alone together.
"A couple of months."
"Why are there two consent form's?"
He was looking at the papers again.
"Oh, Um."
"In case I sign the wrong name?"
"Well, Susan did say something..."
"I only did that once. Is it any wonder? This is Colt so I'm Carl Hardwick.
I think it shows real
commitment to the brand that I identify so much with the name they give me,
don't you think?"
"Sure, absolutely."
"Maybe I should sign one 'Rusty' and the other 'Carl' and you can tell Susan
that I screwed up
again?"
"Maybe you should sign them both 'Carl'."
"You see, I knew you had a sense of humour."
I smiled back at him.
"Which do you prefer, though? Honestly."
"Well, I think Carl is..."
He raised his eyebrows expectantly.
"...maybe, sexier?"
"You think so, huh?"
He seemed a little pissed off.
"Well I mean to say that..."
"I'm joking." Another smile. He took the Stetson of and put it on my head.
"There, now you look like a native."
He leant forward on the table to sign the papers. I took the opportunity to
step back and get a good look at him. I realise that he's quite short, maybe
only 5''7". And his cock isn't any bigger than is normal; it just looks
bigger on him because of his lack of height. But set against that he has an
awesome body. I was having second thoughts about Pete Kuzak.  I watched his
biceps bulge as he brought the pen up to sign, the curve of his back as it
falls from his thick neck and curves outward with his big, round ass and
down again to his hairy, beefy thigh's. His big balls and fat dick nestled
in a nest of thick pubic hair.
I was lost in him.
"Hi. I'm up here."
He was watching me watching him.
"Oh God. I'm sorry. I was just..."
"I know what you were just..." He smiled, this time showing his teeth. He
turned on the spot, his arms spread wide. "Well...do I pass muster?"
"..."
"Relax, would you. I'm used to having men staring at my naked, pink,
vulnerable body." He laughed.
"I'm sorry."
"For what? I'm butt naked, anyone would look, wouldn't they?"
"Sure I guess. But..."
"But what? They wouldn't get hard?"
Oh Jesus, he'd noticed.
"Tell you what, why don't you help me get myself hard again and we'll call
it even?"
"You're not serious?"
"If you want to I mean, I'm not trying to force you or anything. The way you
were looking at me I
thought..."
"I'd like to, God I would, but I think I could get fired for blowing the
talent."
He laughed again, thank God.
"No problem, d'ya wanna hang around and watch me do it myself?"
"You can blow yourself?"
He barked out another laugh.
"No I can't blow myself. I mean get myself hard."
"Oh, Shit sorry."
"Forget about it. I just like to be watched sometimes."
"OK sure, go ahead."
"You sure? I don't wanna force you or nuthin'."
"They can't fire me just for watching, can they?"
"Just say you walked in and caught me in the act."
"Where do you want me?"
"Wherever you're comfortable."
He lowered himself into a battered old recliner, his right hand going
straight to his crotch.
I found and old office chair across the room and sat down.
"You OK?"
"I'm fine, really." I lied; here I was alone with a naked man who wants me
to watch him masturbate.
His thumb and forefinger encircled the base of his cock and he began to
caress himself. His prick had gone limp but with short strokes of his shaft
it began to thicken again. Carl let out a low grunt. I watched as beads of
sweat broke out on his forehead and chest, matting his chest hair.
"You OK?" He asked again. His voice deeper, gruffer.
"Sure."
"Why don't you lock the door?"
I did so.
"Y'know, I really wanna fuck you." He gasped out. "Jerking off in front of
you is not even close to
what I want to do with you. Would you let me fuck you?"
Bending his knees he brought his feet up and raised his hips off the
recliner, thrusting his loins into the air. With his left hand he squeezed
his balls tight, and slid his fat forefinger down between his legs and began
to finger his arsehole.
I was dying in here. My dick was harder than algebra, and I didn't know
whether to join in or just watch or run out of the room screaming or what.
I went to him.
Kneeling by the side of the recliner I leant over him, he looked up at me a
big grin splitting his face.
He loosened his right hand and I took this as my cue to take over. I grasped
his stubbled chin and tilted his face towards me, leant in and kissed him.
My tongue slipped between his lips, he reciprocated his stubble like
sandpaper on my face.
I let my hand wander down his broad barrel chest. The tactile sensation of
his fur felt so good between my fingers. As my hand moved south, I felt the
texture of hair change, where it had been short and silky it was now coarse
and thick and longer. I was nearing "The Goods".
I quickly slipped my fingers around his already hardened shaft.
Carl exhaled loudly into me, his tongue probing deeper.
I stroked him slowly, his hips gyrating, working himself into my fist.
The sour taste of his sweat reached my lips, I felt his torso dampen with
the exertion, the thick hairs flat to his skin with sweat.
With one hand he held the back of my head pulling my in closer to him.
With the other hand he felt down the length of my arm, when he reached my
hand he wrapped his fist around mine, which in turn encircled his manhood.
We were both breathing quick, shallow breaths into each other by now.
The stench of sex and sweat was coming off him in waves by now.
We were like that for a minute or so when he pulled my hand away from him.
"Easy now. I'm hard."
Sure enough his dick was pointing at the ceiling.
I released my grip on him and leant back.
A thin line of saliva linking our lips broke on his chest; I wiped it away
with my palm.
"Sorry Bud. I'd like to go on but I can't...I just needed to stiffen up, you
know?"
"Of course. I understand..."
There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment.
"Well I had better be getting back anyway. Susan will be wondering..."
"Sure thing. Bud. And thanks."
"No worries."
I got up, straightened my shirt, picked up the paperwork and went for the
door. I pulled it but it wouldn't budge. I pulled again.
"Allow me."
Carl leant across me his chest brushing up against mine. He released the
lock and swung the door open.
"Oh. Thanks." God, was I embarrassed.
He leant in and kissed me again, long and deep.
"I meant what I said before, you know."
"About what?"
"Wanting to..."
Matthew walked in saw clocked the two of us, Carl holding my head in his
hands, and raised an
eyebrow.
"I'd better go." I stammered.
"Must you?" This from Matt "You seem to have had the desired effect." He was
checking out Carl's packet. "Maybe I could page you if he looses wood
again?"
I slipped out the door quickly not looking back. I heard Matt's voice.
"Can't leave you alone for a minute, can I? And do you think you can keep it
up for more than 30 seconds this time, or shall I get him back in here?"
"Shut up and shoot, you prick."

I went to the nearest toilet. It was empty, thank God, I locked the cubicle
door behind me and tore my trousers and boxers down. I was still hard, had
been for the 10 minutes, and jerked myself off. In my head I was with Carl.
We were both naked and this time we didn't stop until we had both come.

When I got back to the office I checked the release forms. The first was
signed "Rusty Jeffers".
The other was signed "Carl Hardwick" and where the date should have been he
had written 6:30 tomorrow, in a space at the bottom of the form he had
written an address in the valley. I smiled to myself. Then I realised that
he had signed the forms before he had even caught me checking him out let
alone giving him a handjob.
Arrogant bastard.
I wrote the time and address in my diary.