Date: Mon, 23 Apr 2007 13:58:42 -0700 (PDT)
From: kevin Donovan <letsgonaked2000@yahoo.com>
Subject: chapter 20, the association, gay male college

THE ASSOCIATION

Disclaimer: This is a work of gay fiction.  It will contain scenes
describing sex between adult males.  If that offends you, if you are
underage, or if it is illegal to possess such material where you are, then
stop now!

I appreciate your constructive comments.  Email me at
letsgonaked2000@yahoo.com Copyright held by the author.  Do not reproduce
without permission.


SUBMISSION

	The luxury jet ride was long, but the way to go as far as travel
comfort is concerned.  Most of us slept a substantial portion of the way.
Franco, in his role as master, good-naturedly rousted all of us at one time
or another to serve in some way.  There was a uniformed steward who
prepared the food and made it clear he did not want naked slaves in his
galley-but he had us deliver and serve the food and beverages he cranked
out of the tiny but fully equipped food prep space on-board.  Of course, we
enjoyed the delicious, top-quality provisions, too.  I stirred once in my
sleep to observe Peter fucking Franco back in the master's lair.  On one
side of them, Brendan fucked Joe, and on the other side, Patrick was
slamming Jack.  I knew my turn would be coming soon (of course, all three
of those guys had already had my ass and cock for free), but the eight of
us had hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of stud work to do for our
temporary owner.  I toyed with the idea of fucking Nicholas out of his
slumber, but set that notion aside.  I would surely be needing ever drop of
jizz and all the hard-on I could muster for my contribution over these next
few days.  I satisfied myself with admiring and stroking Nicholas'
beautiful ass while he slept, and eating it out for him as he awoke.

	I wondered how we would handle getting all of us naked men out of
the jet once it landed at LAX.  It turned out, we went to a smaller
airstrip, taxied to a private hangar, walked over to an enormous limo, and
piled in, without donning a scrap of cover.  Only a couple of bored
mechanics, who looked like they'd seen it all, observed us.  It was tight
in the limo for the dozen of us, but we were not averse to touching one
another, after all.  We drove for another hour on crowded freeways and city
and residential streets before pulling up at the gate of an imposing
property, one of many we had passed.  The gate slid open, and the limo
disgorged our group into an immaculate and expansive semi-tropical garden.

	Franco's house proved to be a rambling, contemporary sprawl that
went on forever, with mostly glass walls, gardens and fountains tucked in
here and there, one side open to an impressive ocean view, and an enormous
terrace garden on the other side.  We were packed off to share two
king-size beds for the night, with instructions to behave ourselves, get
some rest, and report for duty by seven in the morning, with breakfast
available at six on the terrace.  The Hollywood guys disappeared for the
night as well, leaving us wondering what was so important for us to do here
that warranted such a high price for our services.  But we dutifully piled
into our beds (Jason and William, of course, joining me and Nicholas), and
after some innocent cuddling and skin-to-skin, got several hours more of
shut-eye.

	We were accustomed to waking early, though, even by Eastern
standards, and we were now three hours west.  Nicholas woke up at 2:00 and
amused himself licking on my tits.  I was fully awake, and aroused, by
2:30, and before 3:00, the others were sitting up wondering what the fuck
to do.  We were used to a morning run, so we decided to go for it.  The
corridors of the house were empty and quiet.  We made our way softly on
bare feet to the terrace, but after only twenty feet, met the uniformed
security man, who grinned at us with amusement.

	Everyone looked at me, so I became spokesman.  "We can't sleep and
need a place to run."

	"That ain't all you need."  The guy was a comedian, it seemed.

	"Well, what you see is what we've got.  Any ideas?"

	"Oh, hell, this time of night the cops have more on their minds
than naked joggers.  It's pretty obvious you ain't stealing anything.  I'll
let you out the gate and show you how to get down to the beach."

	So Lenny (our new bud) ran through a list of turns and street names
that would keep us off of major thoroughfares and give us access, down a
long flight of wooden stairs, to the beach.  It was wee hours, but even so,
there were a good many vehicles passing the eight naked studs running in a
pack.  We got several car honks and whistles, but no police interest.  The
beach itself was deserted at first, and its firm sands a relief to our feet
over the pavements.  But after we had run an hour, we realized we'd better
head back.  And on the way back, we began to meet early risers walking and
running on the beach as well.

	Beach walkers and joggers are, apparently, an unusually tolerant
lot.  We got plenty of friendly greetings, but not one negative comment as
we dashed by the bemused public.  It got dicier once we headed up the long
stair and back onto the streets, though.  Now, the traffic was picking up
with more panel vans and other delivery vehicles.  Some of the honks now
sounding more reprimanding.  There were even a few, "Get something on!"
type shouts.

	We had just heard the estate gate clank behind us when two
black-and-whites cruised slowly past.  Fortunately, we were now out of
sight in the lush landscape.  Lenny gave the officers an innocent wave and
returned to reading his morning paper.

	Since we hadn't yet been assigned shower facilities, we
commandeered the outdoor shower at poolside, and afterward, dived in to
cool off.  That's where we all were when Consuela and Jorge appeared to set
up breakfast.  They took finding eight naked college men in their pool in
stride, and had our first cup of coffee in weeks served up in moments.  We
certainly didn't need it to wake us, but the aroma and flavor were a
special treat we hardly realized we had missed.  Consuela rolled her eyes
at us with an amused and slightly embarrassed smile as we emerged,
dripping, from the pool, but Jorge, try as he might, could not keep his
gaze away from our midsections, gaping with open and reverent admiration.

	Breakfast was light, but there was plenty of it.  Promptly at
seven, Franco's officious and very gay events manager Jerry pranced in,
very full of himself and his importance, and determined to show that he was
not in the least impressed by a phalanx of prime male specimens in the
altogether, while at the same time surreptitiously drinking in every detail
of our bodies.  He had a habit of laying a hand on whoever he was talking
to which got tiring, and he looked a little ridiculous in his "Hollywood
casual" get-up, with his skinny legs and slightly paunchy waistline, amidst
our tanned and buffed nakedness. Not, obviously, an Association man.

	But he had big news and big plans for us.

	The gist of it is: Franco and Company were planning a big motion
picture, a colossal period piece the likes of which had not been done in
years-shades of Cecil B.  DeMille, Cleopatra, and Lawrence of Arabia.  The
title was to be The Glory of Sparta, and it would be a gory action feature
about the Greek defeat of the Persian Empire, especially the heroism of
King Leonidas and his men at Thermopylae.  The story would be padded out
with romance, intrigue, and sex, and it was planned to re-set the bar for
the tastefully erotic portrayal of nudity, especially of the masculine
kind.

	That night, Franco would be throwing a huge, promotional
extravaganza for potential investors in the film here in his own garden.
Joe and Jack and three of the hottest female stars in Hollywood had been
signed.  The eight of us were to aid their spectacular entrance by carrying
them in on an enormous palanquin, portraying Spartan soldiers.  With
passengers, the thing would weigh nearly 800 pounds-but the strapping likes
of us, of course, that would be no problem.

	Jerry put us to work as roustabouts, and we toiled all morning
bringing in tables and chairs, sound equipment, tents and backdrops for the
event.  By 1:00, the place was transformed, and only detail set-up work
remained.  We broke for lunch, and Franco himself breezed through to give
us a pep-talk about the importance of our role and advise us that he was
giving us the bulk of the afternoon off for the express purpose of getting
some rest-we'd need it, he warned, as the night would be a long, hard one
in every sense of the word.  Again he warned-no sex!  Yet!  Our 'nads
belonged to him today.

	So we racked out and, having had already a pretty active day, did
catch several hours of sleep.  At 5:00, we were unceremoniously invaded by
a crew of make-up artists, mostly women, totally nonplussed at our
nakedness, who examined every square inch of skin on us, applying cover to
every blemish, real or imagined.  They commented, laughing at how there
wasn't much for them to do on such a canvass.  Then the costume crew swept
in, bearing, as it turned out, very little in costume for us.  We each wore
a light-weight helmet that looked more Roman than Greek to me, with an
enormous, Hollywood-style white plume across the crest and trailing to the
shoulder-blades in the back.  We got thin-soled sandals, with flimsy
gold-toned shin-guards.  They took our P.  A. rings out, and wrapped a
three-inch-long gold metallic embossed sheath around the shaft of our
cocks.  In all our cases, that didn't cover the amount of meat we had
hanging even at our most flaccid, but it did draw the eye to the region,
and one couldn't help but note how much sausage was left over outside the
wrapper.

	That was all.  As for clothing, we got not one stitch.

	A couple of waiters came in with trays of light refreshment.  Then
we waited.  We heard the noise of a large crowd building outside beginning
around 8:00.  There was music and a general hub-bub, with occasional
loud-speaker announcements.  Just before 10:00, we were led out, via
interior hallways, to a secluded section of side garden, where our burden
awaited us.  We formed up four to a side.  Jerry insisted that Nicholas and
I be in front, because we were, as he put it, a "matched pair."  Behind us
were Patrick and William, then Anthony and Brendan.  Dennis and Peter
brought up the rear, because, "they had asses for it," according to Jerry.
We hoisted the palanquin to our shoulders and, directed by Jerry, backed it
up against a stairway balcony so that our passengers could load.  We felt
the weight increase and the balance shift as the stars of the film settled
into the cushions above for their ride into the spotlights.

	Jerry led us along a dimly lit path to the edge of the main garden,
still hidden from view by plantings.  There was a voice droning on about
the film and what a great sensation it was going to be, how much money it
was going to make for its investors.  Pure hype, and I paid no attention.
Finally, it was time to introduce the stars of the film, whose presence
would guarantee full houses in theaters around the world.  There was a
crescendo of drumming and trumpet fanfare, and Jerry cued us to make our
entrance.

	We were to walk at a stately pace around the perimeter path of the
garden to the point where the stage platform was erected, turn 90 degrees
to allow our passengers to step off onto the stage as introduced, then back
off, turn again, and proceed on around the remainder of the perimeter,
exiting on the far side of the garden.

	We hadn't been coached, really, but together we had decided that we
had better keep in step and give verbal cues from up front on starting,
turning, and stopping.  I spoke softly, "Ready, set, LEFT," and off we
went.  Immediately a million megawatt spotlight erupted upon us.  The crowd
turned, drums and trumpets still blasting, and let out a soft "ooh," as
they saw our glimmering plumed helmets and the elaborately decorated litter
we carried, straining perhaps to see who was on it.

	Then, it seemed that collectively, the crowd noticed all at once
that the men carrying the litter were magnificent-and totally nude.  There
was an audible gasp from the garden, followed by whistles, cheers, and
applause.  We turned into the garden path, now presenting our flanks to the
view of the spectators, and the uproar continued and even grew.  Cameras
were clicking, and some people pushed their way right up next to us for
photos.  Some of Franco's staff leaped in to shoo them out of our way so
that we could proceed up the pathway.  I was trying to keep eyes front, but
in my peripheral vision, I saw face after face, male and female, with
longing eyes, excited, admiring, leering grins.  For the first time, I
caught a glimpse of the exhilaration, but also the sheer madness, of
celebrity mania, which the lucky, or unlucky passengers above us had to
endure every day now.

	We reached the stage.

	"Ready...and...stop.  Right turn.  Ready...and...turn."  We marched
our burden toward the dais and stopped again before it.

	Each one of the leading actors was introduced in reverse order of
importance, but beginning with the three women, since this was essentially
a guy film.  All were very well-known performers.  Each of the women,
slender and breasty, emerged wearing heeled sandals, an elaborate
head-dress, and a jeweled g-string, nothing more.  Each was greeted onstage
by a pair of female attendants who wrapped her in a gauzy thing like spider
webs that hid virtually nothing but cast an air of mystique about her
person.  The women sashayed seductively to their marks to the screaming and
wild applause of the crowd.  Finally, Joe was introduced, and we felt his
movements above in the shifting of the litter.  He stepped off onto the
stage and into my view.  He was truly magnificent.  And he was completely
naked but for footwear like ours and a scarlet-plumed helmet.  Two male
attendants in scant tunics draped a gauzy red cape on his shoulders, and he
strode proudly, to the thundering ovation of the crowd, to his place.  His
cape thing just barely, but not entirely, screened his genitals as he
acknowledged the greeting.  Then came Jack, and clearly, he intended to get
his proper share of the adulation.  He sprang lightly off the palanquin, as
nude as Joe, but in no hurry to get his wrap on.  He bowed graciously, as
if completely unaware of his nakedness, leaving his attendants holding his
flimsy robe behind him.  Only when he was sure that everyone had truly
gotten their eyes full, and taken pictures for posterity, did he step back
to receive his garment.  Even then, he moved to his position with the robe
hanging open in the middle, and he never bothered to draw it around him in
any way.  The man had balls!  (And I had sucked on both of them just a day
earlier.)

	On my cue, the team of naked bearers backed out from our docking,
rotated, and resumed our stately way around the garden and out.  People
near us still screamed, clapped, and called out to us.  I felt dozens of
hands caressing my thighs and ass, but there was nothing at all I could do
about it.  Jerry tried his best to shoo the women away, but to no
avail-they were absolutely shameless in their determination to touch our
naked skin in some way.  When we got out, Dennis discovered that his
phallic sheath was missing.  Someone had stripped it right off of him while
fondling his cock and balls.

	"Shit," Brendan commented.  "Like walking through a giant
Grope-Machine."

	"I feel so used," wailed Anthony satirically.  "Hey, can we go out
there again?"

	We all laughed, but mine was a bit hollow.  I wasn't so sure I had
enjoyed that.  It felt right on the edge of dangerous to me.  A crowd like
that-even in privileged, sophisticated Hollywood-- was a live animal that
could become a mob in a heart-beat.  We were nothing but tools for fantasy,
chunks of meat for transient pleasure only.  Nicholas gave me an
understanding look, and I figured we'd have some things to talk about soon.

	But for the moment, we had work to do.  James appeared, in his
Hollywood chic clothing, with instructions from Franco.

	"Head up to the showers, guys.  Get rid of that ridiculous get-up.
And get ready to earn your purchase price.  This thing is coming to a close
soon.  When we send for you, there will only be a few dozen naked men left
on the grounds.  They are all members of the Association, who are very much
looking forward to meeting you.  Your instructions are to see to it that
every one of them goes to sleep tonight with a great big smile on his face.
Whatever it takes.  Because when Franco calls them tomorrow, he wants to
find them in a very generous mood."