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!