Date: Tue, 26 Jun 2001 00:56:57 +1000
From: Andy Murdoch <super_shaft@hotmail.com>
Subject: pornographic-affair-1 (revised)

This is an attempt at a romance/sex story.  I've called it `A
PORNOGRAPHIC AFFAIR.'  Read on to find out why!  (And don't give up
after the first episode, because I promise it gets better and hotter
the more you read.)

As per usual, if the thought of guys getting their rocks off with other guys
makes you want to bring up your lunch, or if you're too young and
immature to know what the phrase "getting their rocks off" means, then
please don't read beyond this point.

Good luck with that thing in your hand, and once you're done with it, drop
me a line at: <super_shaft@hotmail.com> and give me your thoughts,
comments, praise, criticism, ideas, or just write to say hello.  I look
forward to hearing from you.



A PORNOGRAPHIC AFFAIR (EPISODE ONE)

"Hi there."  He startled me.  At this time of night, just after nine, I'm
usually the only one making use of the sauna.  We shut at nine-thirty.
"Hi," I responded, with as little enthusiasm as possible so as not to spark
conversation.  He sat down on the bench opposite me and stared up at
the roof.

"The name's Aaron, Aaron Murphy," he said, extending his hand.  "Nick,"
I replied, as he firmly grasped my hand and shook vigorously.

"You work here, right?" he asked, standing up to remove the towel
around his waist.  "Yeah, on the desk," I reply, looking up at him for the
first time.

He's typical of most of the guys that inhabit this place each night.  They
come straight from work usually, stripping-off their suits and ties to work
off some pent-up exasperation (and mid-drift flubber) on the treadmill or
the exercise bike or in the weights room, before hitting the sauna to
sweat away a hard day at the office.  I didn't remember eyeing this guy
before, though.  He was a little younger than most, in his early 30s
perhaps, with a clean-shaven face sitting on a body that, while it showed
its age, clearly wasn't neglected.

"You work out here too, right?"  "Yeah," I replied, catching his gaze.  "I
can tell," he said, lowering his glare to my naked torso.  I smiled
nervously.  "Thanks."

Beads of sweat formed on his lightly-fuzzed pecks, glistening in the dim
light of the musty wooden sweatbox.  I was already saturated, as the
sweat rolled down my flat, hairless stomach and became absorbed by the
white cotton towel around my waist.  I was far too self-conscious to lose
the towel, even though I rarely shared the room with anyone else.

Meanwhile, the detoweled Aaron Murphy, with his hairy legs spread wide
and his hands behind his head, was as brazen as most I'd seen.  His
thick, meaty cock lay nested in a dense tuft of black hair, with a large
ball
sac suspended below.  Not that I was looking.

"You know, I think you could be just who we're looking for," he suddenly
stated.  Confused, I replied, "Excuse me?"  "How much are they paying
you here," he asked.  "Umm, I don't know, about six dollars I guess,
sometimes when I work..."  "I'll give you triple that," he interjected,
before
asking, "How old are you, kid?"  "I'm seventeen, almost eighteen."
"Almost..." he pondered.

He stood up and wrapped the towel around his waist.  "I'm going to leave
my card at the front desk.  I want you to come see me at the address
written on the back of the card tomorrow morning, ok?"  "Why?" I asked.
"Because I think we can put what you're hiding under that towel to good
use."  With that, he opened the door and stepped outside.


As I stepped onto the porch and knocked on the stained-glass door, I
began to question my motivations for being there.

"I'm glad you could make it, kid," he welcomed.  "Come in."  He led me
through his mansion-like home, cluttered with an eclectic mix of
expensive but mostly eccentric odds and ends; tacky chandeliers in
practically every room and abstract artwork adorning the brightly
wallpapered walls.

I followed him through the spacious living area, regal dinning room and
kitchen and out a glass door to an outdoor deck area.  The deck
surrounded an enormous in-ground swimming pool and spa.  I followed
him to a bar next to the pool, where he stood behind the counter and
started mixing a tropical-looking cocktail of some description.

"Tell me kid, Nicholas right, why isn't an almost-eighteen year-old boy like
yourself in a classroom somewhere," he asked.  "I don't know.  I guess
I'm intrigued," I said.

I had no idea what he wanted, nor any idea why I was there.  The
promise of triple what I currently earn at the gym was certainly a major
incentive.  But it was my curiosity that drew me to the strange man and
his even stranger abode.

"Here you go, try some of that," he said, handing me a tall, lime-green
drink.

"How about we discuss business in the spa," he suggested, already
unbuttoning his shirt.  "I'd love to sir, but I didn't bring any swimming
gear,
and I should get back to school after I'm done here."  "Don't call me sir,
kid.  It makes me feel fucking old.  And we don't worry about swimming
gear here.  Get your gear off and jump in."  The request was more of an
order.

He removed his shirt and pants, before sliding his red boxer shorts down
to his ankles.  Once again I was in the presence of his naked frame,
except this time the surroundings weren't as familiar as I would've liked.
My brain told me to exit, stage anywhere.  But the rest of me was
inquisitive enough to strip-off my t-shirt, shorts and jocks and join him in
the bubbling spa bath.  I sat opposite him.

"You watch porn videos, Nicholas?" he asked, sipping his drink.  "Ahh,
yeah, sure," I said, lounging back against the side of the spa, but not
altogether comfortable.

"The thing about porn videos, Nicholas, is that they don't have to be very
good.  In fact, they can be a load of shit and nobody would give a fuck.
Randy young guys like yourself buy porn videos as stimulus for their daily
wank sessions, because other than their own hand they get little relief
anywhere else.  Of course, we never had stimulus when I was your age.
Other than a shared porn magazine one of your buds found in their old
man's bottom drawer, which, by the time you got your fifteen minutes with
it, was unreadable because the pages had all stuck together from your
big-shooting best mate the day before."  I was sure he didn't take a
breath throughout his lengthy speech.

"Sorry, where was I?" he questioned, looking as confused as I was.
"Ahh, videos and..."  He cut in, "Look kid, I want you in my videos, I need
you."  "You make porn?!" I asked, aghast.  "I'm a director kid, and I need
you, what do you say?"  "What...where do you...why me?" I stammered.
"Why you," he repeated, "because you're a fine-looking kid, because you
have a cute, boyish face, because you ooze sweet innocence, because
you're young and vibrant and energetic and smart, and for an almost-
eighteen year-old you have a very impressive piece of meat!"

I must have turned five different shades of red in a matter of seconds.  Or
at least I would have, had the blood not left my head and headed south.  I
was speechless.  And despite the one hundred and one reasons why I
should've jumped out of that spa and left this seedy deviate to his own
devices - whether it was the alcohol I'd consumed or the powerful jet
spray of warm water aimed between my legs - I knew it was an offer I
couldn't possibly refuse.

"Tell me more," I finally agreed.  My new boss Aaron smiled his approval
devilishly.



You like???  I hope so, because there is plenty more where that came
from (read on, and you won't be disappointed!).  Drop me a line at:
<super_shaft@hotmail.com> and give me your thoughts, comments,
praise, criticism, or just write to say hello.  I look forward to hearing
from you.  And stay tuned for more!