Minutes before closing time he walked into the photography shop that my brother and I owned. Rob hadn't changed since I'd last seen him at high school graduation five years ago -- muscular and drop-dead beautiful. The muscles were due to his four years of workouts while becoming a star on the high school football team and he'd managed to maintain his thoroughly masculine physique since then. His good looks were probably due to a fortunate combination of genes.
"Hey, Don," he exclaimed with his characteristic grin that was slightly lopsided but unmistakably revealed his perpetual good humor. Knowing his environment at home was with parents who squandered their money on booze and lived in a run-down house, I could never understand why he always seemed to be cheerful.
I was pleased to think that he remembered me because I did not hang out with the "high flyers" in school. All I could do was wish I were as gifted as they were. Still, I indulged myself by fantasizing that Rob and I were close ... 'very close', if you get my meaning.
"Didn't know you worked here," he said cheerily. "How're things going for you?"
"Just great, Rob. Good to see you again. How are things going for you?"
"So-so," he replied as his grin faded, leaving me to wonder whether he had some kind of problem.
Not wanting to probe into his possible difficulties, I asked, "What brings you here? Can I help you find something?"
"I was hoping to find a digital camera ... that's not too expensive."
"In that case," I said, "my brother, Mark, is the one you want to talk to. I run the portrait studio upstairs; he handles the cameras, accessories, and stuff down here. Unfortunately, he left a bit early today. It's his wife's birthday and he's taking her to dinner and a concert. But if you'll settle for second best, maybe I can help."
I guided him to the display of cameras and asked (isn't that what a good salesman is supposed to do?), "What kind of pictures you want to take?"
"Well," he began hesitantly. "I sort of ... that is ... this may sound strange but I need some pictures of myself."
I found that to be curious but chose not to probe for more information. "In that case," I said, "you'll probably want a camera with a self-timer. That way you can set the timer and position yourself before it snaps the picture. Oh. I'd suggest a tripod, too ... that'll hold the camera while you move around in front of it."
Digital cameras were new on the market and expensive back then. He frowned when he saw the price tag on the various models. "That's a bit out of my range," he said sadly. "I didn't know they cost that much."
"I have some regular film cameras that are much less expensive," I suggested.
"'Fraid not," he mumbled. "Got to be digital."
Trying to be helpful but not too pushy, I said, "Well, with a film camera you can get prints made quite cheaply. And they're just as good or better than prints made from a digital image."
"Won't do," he countered.
Curiosity got the better of me and I asked, "Why?"
"Gotta email 'em somewhere. Can't do that with prints."
The ambiguity and evasiveness that I sensed in his tone and manner told me not to pursue the question any further. But another idea came to mind. "I've got a digital camera in my studio upstairs. I'd be happy to take a few shots of you and make a CD for you. That way, you'll be able to email them."
He fidgeted and frowned for a few moments before hesitantly saying, "That might work. And I DO need the digital pictures. But ... well ... you may not want to do it if I tell you what they're for."
"Hey, Rob, what's the big deal? I shoot some pictures, give you the CD, and you don't have to buy a camera that you can't afford. Moreover, I guarantee they'll be top quality. If you were to take pictures of yourself the lighting, the pose, the resolution of the image wouldn't be as good. How about it?"
"Well, okay. But you gotta swear not to tell a single soul about it. Can I trust you to do that?"
"Of course, Rob! But now you've got me wondering. Why would I not want to take your picture? Why is it such a secret?"
He dropped his gaze to the floor and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Even his frown was slightly lopsided. Hesitantly, he said, "I'll tell you on one condition. Whatever I say cannot be repeated. EVER! After I explain, you can tell me to get lost, but ... on your word of honor ... you'll keep your mouth shut. Okay?"
"Agreed," I said, still mystified by his strange demand.
"It's like this," he began. "I need money. I was laid off at work and got bills to pay. There's a bunch of Websites that'll pay good money to somebody like me. You can call it modeling, but a special kind of modeling. You see, I won't be wearing any clothes. Naked! Hard! Jerking off! Cumming! I've contacted quite a few and the ones that pay money want to see samples before signing me up. The whole truth is, Don, they're gay Websites. Does that offend you? Are you going to tell me 'no way'? Or do we have a deal? Can you keep it a secret?"
I was stunned by what I heard. Rob was going to pose for gay porn Websites. "You got a deal!" I said. "What's more, I've seen a lot of those Websites." (I avoided admitting that I visited them all the time. That would reveal my sexuality.) "Nobody knows that, so we both know a secret that can't be repeated. It's closing time. Let me lock up and we'll go upstairs for your sitting."
I was elated! I would get to see -- for the first time -- the nude body of the guy who had dominated my fantasies. I might even get to see him jerk off and cum. I hoped he didn't sense my enthusiasm and conclude that I was gay ... worse, that I lusted after his body.
"Not now," he said. My anticipation turned to disappointment. "I don't have the right clothes now. Can I come back tomorrow night?"
"Sure thing," I replied. "I'll have the studio set up for you. Come in about this time. We'll lock up and you can show off your stuff." I immediately regretted that last phrase because he may still be embarrassed about what he was forced by circumstances to do.
<><><><><>
As closing time drew near the next day, I could hardly concentrate on my job. Mark noticed and asked me what was wrong. "Nothing," I replied. "Just a lousy day upstairs with a nit-picking customer. When she saw the proofs, she wanted me to soften the wrinkles in her face. Christ! I might as well try to fill in the Grand Canyon!" It was a lie, but I hoped it was convincing.
My hopes for seeing Rob naked that evening were dashed when Mark said he would be staying after hours to catch up on some book work. I knew I would have to persuade him not to do it because of the risk of his catching me upstairs engaged in porno photography. I was at a loss to think of a reason for him to go home. All my eager anticipation morphed into frustration. But fortune smiled on me when he got a phone call from his wife to say that his son had fallen off his bike, possibly breaking an arm, and had to be taken to urgent care. He apologized to me and left in a hurry half an hour before closing time. I expressed my concern for his son, of course, and tried to hide my relief that he would not prevent what I had been looking forward to. Hell, I had been getting hard just imagining what was in the offing for me!
Rob had not arrived when it was time to lock the front door and turn out the lights. I delayed closing for fifteen minutes, hoping that he would show up. He didn't. I locked the front door but kept the lights on. I waited, becoming more frustrated and despondent, for another twenty minutes. Had he changed his mind? Did he have some kind of accident? Would my golden opportunity be nothing but a false promise?
The knocking on the door and the sight of Rob peering inside lifted my spirits. In spite of myself I ran to the door to let him in. While he apologized -- he was caught in traffic -- I regained my composure. I hoped he wouldn't deduce from my running to the door that I was particularly eager. That could lead to a further deduction that it would be more than a simple photo shoot and that I wanted to see him naked.
He was dressed in a tight tee shirt that did nothing to hide his muscular chest and flat abdomen. His jeans were well worn and clung to his massive thighs. I could see that he had work boots on, which completed the impression of a hunky construction worker. My heart skipped a few beats at the thought of seeing what lay under the clothing. He brought a gym bag that, I found out later, contained a hard hat and a tool belt full of tools.
I directed him to the stairway at the back of the shop and was able to maneuver behind him for a better view of his butt as he effortlessly climbed the stairs. I was so engrossed with the sight of his firm ass that I hardly heard him say, "I hope this isn't too much trouble for you ... staying late, I mean. Will your family be upset over your being home late for supper?"
"No. I don't have a family. I live alone. Besides, I'm happy to do a favor for a friend." He had no idea (I hoped) just how happy I was. Nor, (I hoped) would he think it unusual that I had not married.
I had the studio set up with a leather arm chair, end table and lamp, and a backdrop showing a fireplace and bookshelves. The lighting was already arranged. He was impressed. However, with the way he was dressed, the setting was not appropriate. I suggested that I change the setting to something more like the outdoors and he agreed. I switched the backdrop to a scene of a river, pine trees, and a mountain in the distance. He helped me move the chair and table and position a fake log over an artificial grass rug. "That's perfect!" he gushed. 'Not perfect yet,' I thought. 'Not until you're naked!'
Both of us had seen how the Websites presented a photo series -- beginning fully clothed, stripping off, and a finale of a cum shot -- so I wouldn't have to give him many directions on how to pose.
I nearly gasped when he pulled off his tee shirt. A wonderfully tanned, solid chest and biceps was the epitome of masculine beauty. It was not the body of an extremist body builder that I thought was a grotesque caricature of the developed male form. Rather, the firm muscles formed proportionate bulges that perfectly expressed both power and grace.
If I hadn't been so impatient for him to reveal his body -- ALL of it -- I'd have been impressed with how well he performed as a model. He even managed to ignore the camera, which I thought would add appeal for voyeuristic viewers. After a brief distraction of adjusting the lights, however, I had the presence of mind to compliment him. "You're a skilled model, Rob. It's as if you'd done this before.
"Well," he began. (Did I notice a slight blush?) "I practiced some in front of a mirror. I wanna make a good impression so they'd sign me up for pay."
"When they see these pictures, Rob, there's no question that they'll want more," I assured him.
Through several minutes and dozens of pictures with occasional pauses for me to get the right angle, he took off his wide leather belt, unbuttoned the waist band of his jeans, and unzipped his fly. My groin responded in spite of reminders to myself that I must concentrate on my task of taking pictures. When he slowly pulled down his jeans, it was with the skill of a striptease dancer. He must have perfected that practicing in front of a mirror. I was surprised to see that he wore a string bikini but not surprised that his package was very large. I had to turn my back on him with the excuse of adjusting a flood light. I needed to adjust my hard-on that had become wedged in an increasingly painful position.
My heart almost went into arrhythmia when Rob pulled down his underwear. A thick, black mound of pubic hair came into view. It contrasted with his virtually hairless torso. Gradually, the bikini lowered, revealing inch by inch a thick cock. It was long, but not abnormally so. It was about that time that I felt moist precum saturating my skivvies. It was becoming increasingly difficult to hold the camera steady, much less to concentrate on getting good pictures. After kicking his skimpy bikini aside, he began to fondle himself. How I wished it were my hand administering the arousing touch!
He was hard and erect rather quickly, I thought, but he stroked his manhood slowly for a long time, which allowed ample opportunity to take some great pictures and to sear the sight into my memory.
He gradually increased the pace of his stroking until he grunted, "Gonna shoot! Get ready!"
The warning was appreciated and I took a position that would assure a great picture. I was clicking the shutter furiously as three long ropes of cum erupted to coat his torso. One or two of the shots, I was sure, caught the semen in flight.
I thought there would be just a few more pictures of him recovering. But he wiped up the cum with his fingers, carefully and with obvious gusto savored every bit of it. Only then did he turn his face to the camera and flash his lopsided grin.
"How was it?" he asked. "Do you think it's good enough for them to offer me a contract?"
"It was fan-friggin-tastic!" I exclaimed. "I've never seen such a performance! You're going to get a five-star rating from the viewers, too. They'll be cumming in their pants.
He shot me a quizzical look that made me realize I may have revealed more about my familiarity with gay Websites -- AND my sexual interests -- than I wanted. But his question really put me on the spot. "Are you one of those that visit a lot of gay porn sites?"
I could lie ... unconvincingly. Or I could tell the truth ... for the first time to anyone -- that I was gay. My resistance to coming out was so ingrained, however, that I replied, "I've seen a few. For the quality of the photography, that is."
"Yeah, right!" he said with a tone dripping with sarcasm. "And what explains that tell-tale bulge in your crotch? Got a banana stuffed in there or did you get all hot and bothered watching me?"
I was speechless, which was enough to confirm his suspicions. Finally gathering my wits, I said, "Okay. I spend a lot of time surfing gay porn sites ... and not for the quality of the photography that, by the way, is generally terrible. Why? Because I'm gay. Nobody but you knows that. I can only hope that you don't out me."
His laugh exploded from the depths of his being. I worried about that. Conflicting thoughts came in rapid fire succession. 'Did his laugh mean that he would disregard my request and take pleasure in letting others know my secret? That would be unbearable. No. He'd have to explain how he found out. But wait. Maybe he's not ashamed of posing in the nude and jerking off for the camera. Maybe he's also gay. No. He was known in high school as a stud and bragged about all the girls he'd laid. Could that have been just a cover? SHIT! I don't know what to think!'
"Sonofabitch!" he said when he stopped laughing. "I'd never have thought it."
"Please!" I pleaded. "Don't tell ANYbody. It would destroy me. My family. My customers. My reputation."
"Relax, Don. We've already agreed to keep each other's secrets. Now, if you don't mind, stop gawking at my body and I'll get dressed."
Chastened ... and worried about whether to trust Rob's promise of secrecy ... I transferred the images from my camera to the computer while he dressed. "I shot a lot of pictures, Rob. Too many to fit on a CD. So I'm going to put them on a thumb drive. Go through them when you have a chance and write down the numbers of those you want to send off to the Web site. I'll then make a CD of the ones you choose. I'll also put them in a ZIP file so you only have to send one email attachment. It'd be a big attachment if you choose too many so I suggest you pick out the ten or so best ones."
"Thanks, buddy," he said. "How much do I owe you?"
"We'll talk about that later, Rob. I never charge anybody until they're satisfied with the proofs. Then the price depends on the size and number of prints they order. So don't worry about it now. Just be sure that it'll be fair and affordable. Okay?"
<><><><><>
Rob was back in the shop the next day just before noon to hand me the thumb drive and a list of the eight photos he wanted to use. He didn't know it (but probably guessed) that after he left the day before I jerked off as I viewed the pictures as a slide show. With the sight of his magnificent body displayed before me, intense doesn't begin to describe the orgasm I had.
"I can have these ready for you today," I said. "Can you come back later?"
"Sure," he replied. "I've got a couple of job interviews this afternoon but I can be here ... hopefully before you close."
"If not, Rob, I can wait around for a little while. Just knock on the door if it's locked."
I waited half an hour after closing before hearing the knock on the front door. I let Rob in, locked the door, and we went upstairs to the studio. I was not surprised by the eight pictures he had selected. They were favorites of mine as well. It took only a few minutes to transfer the photos to a CD.
"Thanks, buddy. How much do I owe you?"
I'd given that plenty of thought and debated with myself on what to ask for. Ultimately, I decided to gamble. "Normally, I charge only for the prints a customer orders. The cost of the sitting is built into the package price for the prints. If a customer doesn't order prints for whatever reason, I charge fifty dollars for the sitting." I could tell from his reaction that he was troubled by the cost. "But you're just getting a CD and not getting prints to frame. Moreover, you were honest enough with me to have me make the CD instead of burning off the pictures yourself. So it's hard to say. But I know you're short of money so I can give you another option."
"What's that?" he asked.
"First of all, let me say that I did it as a favor to a high school friend. But if you'd like to return the favor, I have something in mind. We already have a pact of secrecy so I'm willing to tell you what I want. It isn't cash. I want to undress you. I want to wander all over your superb body with my hands and mouth. I want to suck your terrific cock. To put it plainly, Rob, I want to give you a blow job. If that offends you, you can walk out of here with the CD and owe me nothing."
He looked at me intently for what seemed to be forever. I couldn't interpret his blank expression. I began to regret my bold but foolish request. I was about to apologize when he said, "Okay. But on one condition. I get to do to you the same as you do to me."
It was my turn to be speechless. But not for long. "Does that mean...? Are you also...? Are you serious?"
He flashed his lopsided grin as I tried to fathom whether this macho man could possibly be gay. "To answer your questions," he began. "Yes, I want to give you a blow job, too. And no, I'm not gay. I like to bang chicks but I've been curious about what it's like with a guy. What the hell. Sex is sex. Right? I guess that makes me bi. And yes, I AM serious. How about it? Do we have a deal?"
"DEAL!" I exclaimed, not ashamed at all of my enthusiasm.
The next two hours were euphoric! Every moment is burned into my memory and I frequently recall (and perhaps exaggerate?) the experience. We began as timid, sometimes awkward virgins who were unsure of what to do and how best to satisfy ourselves and our partners. It was my first (and so far my only) gay encounter. Although Rob had laid many girls, it was his first time with a guy. Consequently, underlying my ecstasy was the hope that I could give him as much pleasure as he had often experienced with girls. Any inhibitions we might have had were soon displaced by overpowering carnal lust. After a short time I had the vague sense that he was treating me like a girl by taking command and choreographing our actions. But I didn't give a shit. I had free access to a hunk whom I had envied and hungered for since high school. It wasn't long before all thoughts of the outside world vanished. My attention was focused exclusively on the muscular body that was mine to explore.
We were both hard, but I managed to control my urgent desire to rush to orgasm or, for that matter, to let his cock fill my mouth. I was -- for the time being -- content to enjoy worshiping his body with my hands and mouth. He was not as patient. He pushed my head down to his crotch, an obvious sign that he wanted the blow job I had promised him. The scent, the sight, the feel, the taste of his manly organ did to me what I imagined a snort of cocaine would do to an addict. His precum coated my tongue and intensified my arousal. I teased the head of his cock with my tongue, which elicited two reactions from him. The first was a loud groan of pleasure that pleased me. The second, however, disappointed me. I wanted to prolong my sucking and pleasure but he started fucking my face. 'Okay,' I thought. 'If that's what he wants, I'll go along for the ride.'
A few minutes later and without a word of warning he erupted with several blasts of hot cream into my mouth and throat. I had to swallow quickly, not wanting to lose a single drop of his offering. He then collapsed while I coaxed the remaining cum out of his softening rod. That pleasure was not to last long. He pushed my head away, no doubt because his cock was too sensitive to endure further stimulation.
When he had recovered he said abruptly, "Your turn." He immediately positioned himself at my crotch. I wished he would pay attention to my body as I had done to his but he seemed interested only in my erect cock. It took a few minutes (of extreme pleasure) before I was on the brink. I warned him but he locked his lips more tightly around my throbbing sex bone. My orgasm was so intense it was almost painful. My mind went totally blank except for the extreme sensations of pleasure that radiated from my groin to every part of my body.
We cuddled, pressing our naked bodies together, for a long, blissful time.
"That was marvelous," I gushed.
"I liked it, too," he replied with a disappointing lack of emotion that started me worrying that he didn't like it but was just trying to be nice. I wondered what he said after he fucked one of his girlfriends. If he wanted a return engagement, he'd surely express more sincere appreciation.
I had to know more. After a few moments I asked, "Something you'd like to do again?"
"I'll be honest with you, Don. If you're asking to get together again, the answer is no. Don't get me wrong. It was fun and I enjoyed it. But I don't want to get involved in any kind of relationship. Too much complication. Too many worries. Maybe someday I'll change my mind. But if and when I do, it'll be with a woman. That's not to say I'll stop having an occasional fling with a guy but it'll be just for the sex. With no promises of commitment."
I had hoped for a repeat whenever he was horny and couldn't score with a girl but it was apparently not to be. I'd have to be content with memories of a glorious encounter with a spectacular stud.
<><><><><>
A week later, Rob came into the shop again. I could tell from the bounce in his step and the radiating smile on his face what he was going to say. I guessed right. "Hey there, Don," he gushed. "Got some place we can talk? In private?" We went out the back door into the alley. I guessed right. "Got word from the Website," he gushed. "They like what I sent 'em. I leave next week for Dallas, all expenses paid. Be there for a week. They want to do three or four series. Solo, another with a guy, and another with a chick. Imagine! Getting paid to have fun! Just stopped by to share the good news and to thank you for your help."
"Congratulations, Rob. Although I'm not at all surprised that they liked what they saw. You're going to be a hit, for sure."
I never saw nor heard from Rob again -- not even on the Websites I frequented. My only regret is that I never asked which Website he would be working for so I could follow his new career.
I periodically view the photographs I took of him. They inevitably get me hard and lead to a satisfying orgasm, particularly when I recall our only sex together. I caught myself wishing once that I had gone with him to be his exclusive photographer. Perhaps we could repeat our sexual encounter. But what's the use of mourning over something that didn't -- and couldn't -- happen?
The end.
Author's Note: Iatia, the best editor I know and my best friend corrected my careless mistakes and offered valuable suggestions to improve this story. THANKS!