Jungle Boy

Jungle Boy 13

by George Gauthier

Fair warning: This story features explicit and graphic depictions of gay sex. The story takes place thirty to forty years in the future.

Chapter 1. Story Conference

Martin Fletcher thanked Luis, his attentive houseboy, for the glass of lemonade then settled back in his lawn chair. A cute dark haired Latino about nineteen, the houseboy wore nothing but a tiny string thong, the pouch barely as large as his hand.

Not that Fletcher was fey himself, but cute houseboys of the gay persuasion were all the vogue in Hollywood these days, the cuter the better. Though a ladies man himself, Fletcher had recognized exquisite youthful male beauty when Luis interviewed for the job. These boys were valued not only for their looks but also for their training in household management at community colleges Why hire a frumpy female housekeeper when you might have a professionally trained pretty boy at your beck and call?

Sighing contentedly Fletcher reflected on his good fortune. Here he was an A-list Hollywood producer with all the money he would ever need, close friends and colleagues like director Jim Nichols and studio head Leon Potter, and a body of work that would stand the test of time. Cinephiles would be showing his movies for decades, maybe centuries from now. Academics at film schools would write biographies and filmographies, hold retrospectives, and teach his films. No, he did not go in front of the camera like the "talent", but he would not be forgotten any time soon.

Just at that moment his friends started arriving for a story conference. Fletcher preferred to meet in the informality of his back yard instead of an office. First were Nichols and Potter and veteran actor Conrad Held. On their heels came Fletcher's two favorite young actors, Sandy Barnett and Terry Knowles, not only co-stars but lovers who had joined their fortunes in a civil union.

Not yet twenty-one, the super-cute twinks, one blond the other a red head, had starred in a string of successful pictures for almost four years including two recent franchises. The first centered around a gay Dracula portrayed by Conrad Helm. This latest reincarnation of the vampire lord is not interested in swooning female virgins sleepwalking across the moor in filmy nightgowns. He wants hot blooded young males, both as a source of nourishment and to indulge his bestial and perverted lusts.

The second was a string of jungle adventures about Bomba the Jungle Boy with Sandy in the title role and Terry as Bomba's faithful companion and love interest, Bryce O'Hanlon, once a sissy rich boy from New York, content now to sleep in Bomba's arms when they both weren't running around the jungle stark naked getting into scrapes.

Usually the boys showed up early for a swim in Fletcher's half-width Olympic sized pool or a game of Frisbee. They liked to gambol about the landscaped ground clad only in a sheen of sweat, their deeply tanned bodies completely on display. This day they wore clothing if only hot pants, extreme shorts that were back in fashion. Barefoot and with nothing above the hips, the comely youths nodded to Luis before sitting down at the table. The houseboy hastened over with a pitcher of lemonade, pouring a glass and handing it to Terry, almost spilling it in his eagerness. Luis had a terrific crush on the young actor.

Luis's stance as he served the lemonade caught Terry's eye. With his slender arm extended, deltoid and biceps tensed, veins running from armpit to wrist standing out like on a fawn, his scrumptious young body leaning forward, it was as if he were offering himself not just the lemonade. Terry winked at the houseboy as he nodded his thanks. It was like a ritual with them every time Terry came over. They had got it on a few times though not recently, but Luis was still hopeful.

"So Sandy, what did the FBI tell you about The Brotherhood?" Fletcher asked, enunciating the capital letters. Sandy leaned forward, anxious to share his news.

That organization had kidnapped Sandy for four days eight months earlier and abused him both physically and sexually. Though they had left no mark on his body, the frightful experience had cost him peace of mind for these many months. The Brotherhood had threatened to grab him again and again over the years, whenever he was on hiatus from picture making. His captors had boasted of being a nationwide organization of powerful men, men so rich and connected as to be above the law. The Brotherhood reportedly had vast resources. There was no escape. They promised to keep the blond youth under surveillance till they wanted him again.

It turned out to be a hideous mind game. Even more than raping Sandy's luscious body, their true crime was raping his mind. They claimed not to be sadists, but whatever you might call their pathology, they enjoyed what they did to him, what they made him believe, instilling a crippling fear for the future. That was the worst of it -- taking for a boy Sandy's age his hopes for happiness. By all rights, the young actor should be able to look forward to a future blessed by a successful career, an unshakeable partnership with Terry, and all that family and friends do to make life worth living.

The Brotherhood finally made a mistake posting video of Sandy's degradation on the internet. A full-bore FBI investigation eventually penetrated the smoke screen of anonymous servers, false identities, shell companies, etc. which The Brotherhood relied on to shield their identities. It turned out to be just as Sandy had hoped and surmised. A hoax. The Brotherhood was just the three men who had taken Sandy captive. Now the miscreants were in custody facing a whole slough of charges: kidnapping, rape, aggravated assault, and false imprisonment for starters.

As Sandy settled back with satisfaction, everyone could see the relief on his face. The arrest had removed a sword of Damocles that had hung over him for most of a year. The district attorney assured him that the weight of evidence would ensure convictions.

"So what is next, Fletch? More jungle adventures?" asked Jim Nichols, the veteran director of the first Bomba picture.

"Yes but not till after our next Dracula picture. In this one, Terry's character goes over to the dark side. He nearly loses his humanity forever, but before he can turn into a full-fledged vampire, he must drink the blood of a lover. At the critical moment he refuses to take the life of the last of the Van Helsings, the young man played by Sandy. That saves their lives and their immortal souls."

"Works for me," Terry enthused. "So I get to sport fangs and to fly. I know it's just wire work, but it looks so cool on screen."

"After that, Jim, yes, we'll do more jungle adventures but not another entry in the Bomba series, not just yet.

"Why not another Bomba picture? Look how well the first one did." Terry asked.

"That would be too soon. Give it a year or two." Potter replied. Fletcher supported him.

Bomba 1 had been hugely popular with straight teens, always Hollywood's prime audience and among the two young actors' most loyal fans. Terry and Sandy did not threaten their masculinity, not with their short slender physiques and pretty boy good looks not to mention their gay goings on, both on screen and off. Surveys showed that their action-adventure pictures appealed to the straight male audience as action-comedies.

A sneering critic has panned the performances of the two principals in Bomba 1, calling them the "Lordlings of the Jungle", and the name stuck. The fans had adopted as their own. Just mention the Jungle Boys or the Lordlings of the Jungle and everyone in Hollywood knew whom you were talking about. But Fletcher was right; Hollywood did like to wait a year or two between sequels.

"And this time out we are going to film two pictures at once, the second as a direct sequel to the first."

Leon Potter shook his head. He had green lighted the project but was still not happy with doing it that way.

"Audiences sometimes resent being left high and dry at the end of the first movie, Fletch." he reminded his producer yet again.

"Yes, Leon" Fletcher replied, "but sometimes it does work, like with 'The Empire Strikes Back'. I will always maintain that 'Cleopatra' (1963) would have been better released as two features, the first one ending at the natural break of Caesar's assassination. But the studio wanted to cash in on the Taylor- Burton romance. Like theirs, our story is just too much for one picture. We have to tell it in two movies or cut the heart out of it."

"Let me guess, Sandy interjected. "It's twice the story because of improbable plot twists that keep the pot boiling endlessly."

"Well there is a whole lot more to it than that." Fletcher replied, somewhat defensively. Sandy's sarcastic characterization was embarrassingly not that far off the mark. The plot in the draft script was indeed twisted and episodic with the various subplots getting resolved only in the sequel. "Hey this is action-adventure, not an epic like 'Gone with the Wind'. We aiming for big box office, not an Oscar.

Terry spoke up then:

"Dare I ask whether Sandy and I get to wear clothes in these two jungle pictures?"

"Well, you do in a few scenes, though admittedly rather few." came Fletcher's grudging admission. "Terry will start out in safari gear again though his captors lose little time in ripping his clothes off. Sandy wears a breechclout in some scenes."

"And the rest of the time, for both pictures, we are stark naked. Right?"

"Well, sure. You know that is what your fans expect. That's the mythos of the Jungle Boy, why he appeals to audiences. Jungle boys live without the trappings of civilization and all its problems. No jobs, no bosses, no taxes. No clothes either."

Sandy and Terry rolled their eyes. It was true they were quite comfortable with casual nudity, but the script writers seemed to go out of their way to get the boys naked in front of the camera. Fletcher was right though. It did sell seats.

Sandy and Terry were uber-twinks and terribly sexy. They owed their breakout success in the movies to their willingness to go in front of the camera in the skimpiest of costumes or even none at all. No coy camera angles either. If the scene called for a shot of their shapely tushes or the full monty, then so be it. Their gay fans drooled. Their straight fans thought it all terribly silly, but in a cute and endearing sort of way. They willingly suspended their disbelief as two bare assed twinks somehow rose to the occasion to outsmart and outfight the bad guys. The female fans loved having two sexy and youthful male bodies to watch during love scenes and action scenes.

Sandy Barnett was blessed with the kind of good looks that turned heads. Like Jason Eberly, the original Jungle Boy, Sandy was preternaturally beautiful, much prettier than a boy had any right to be, with delicate features, a straight nose, finely arched brows, a chiseled jaw line, high cheekbones, and large green eyes topped by a thatch the color of straw.

In keeping with the traditions of the Jungle Boy pictures Sandy was no body builder, certainly no Tarzan like Gordon Scott eighty-five years earlier. Sandy had the physique of a boy not quite grown into manhood: short, slender, and slightly built but toned and muscular, a swimmer's build then in contrast to that of a cross country runner like Terry.

Sandy was a fine looking specimen but diminutive in stature, standing barely four inches over five feet (163 cm) and weighing only 112 pounds (51 kg). He had a fawn-like physique but with a wiry musculature, toned and taut from daily swimming and running and working out with light weights. As a competitive high school swimmer, he had used the new permanent depilatories to suppress the growth of hair on his body, little as it had been, even in his armpits and at the fork of his legs, leaving him permanently smooth and boyish.

Terry was no slouch in the looks department himself. A cute red head, lightly freckled and with sky blue eyes, Terry was a beauty in his own right. His slender but well-knit physique physique measured just over five four (164 cm) (a half inch more than Sandy) and he weighted 117 pounds (53 kg). His fawn-like physique was the very opposite of the bulging muscles of a gym bunny. He didn't have a gymnast's build but he was quite the acrobat and liked to show off climbing and swinging on ropes and such.

Both comely actors were the very picture of health and youthful male exuberance. They knew that the on-screen display of their nude physiques excited concupiscence. Why not. Hollywood had been peddling sex appeal for more than a century. Beside they were not self-conscious about public nudity.

"So what is the basic story line, Marty?" Sandy asked, though it was Jim Nichols who answered.

"Let me take that one Fletch. Sandy, I've been working with the writers to finalize their scripts. Basically our story is a mash up of plots from H. Rider Haggard's two best known African adventures: 'She' and 'King Solomon's Mines'. With a nod to 'Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade' it is set in 1938 shortly before WW II.

Nichols went on to explain that in the first movie, tentatively titled 'He', Sandy portrays Khosrau, the immortal god-king of the lost civilization of Kor. To everyone in the realm, their revered ruler's every word is law. The god-king's worshipful subjects refer to him not by name but as "He Who Must Be Obeyed".

Kor's white ruling class and military are Zorastrians, worshipers of a fire god. They are descendants of refugees fleeing the destruction of the Sassanid or Persian Empire by Muslim conquerors in the seventh century. After long wanderings, they came upon and settled a fertile valley in the very heart of Africa, one isolated by mountains and jungles and tributary tribes who guard their borders. From their stone-built citadel, the Zoroastrians rule a restless underclass of native serfs. That social structure leads the Nazis to think of Kor as a potential ally who could threaten the colonial empires of their enemies in the coming war.

Terry portrays an American youth named Axel Harding, a college student working that summer as part of an archeological expedition. Physically he is the very image of Kallikrates, Khosrau's lost lover, whose soul is thought to be reincarnated in Terry centuries later. In our story, Khosrau seduces Axel and induces him to bathe in the sacred flames which confer immortality. With their love literally rekindled, the happy couple resolves to open the hidden land they now jointly rule to the modern world, to free the serfs, and bring the benefits of civilization to Kor. The sequel depicts the lovers' struggle to thwart the designs that Kor's reactionaries, Arab slavers, a rogue detachment of the French Foreign Legion, and the Nazi SS have on the legendary 'King Solomon's Treasure'.

"Nazis again?" Conrad Held frowned.

"Why not? Nazis make great villains. God's gift to Hollywood. No, offense, Fletch.

"None taken, Jim."

Fletcher, orginally Fleischer, was Jewish, the third son of a rabbi from Breslau. Many of his relatives were wiped out in the Holocaust a century earlier.

"Maybe I am missing something, but why am I playing a god-king in a breechclout. Why not a crown or elaborate headdress and robes of state?"

"It's for dramatic contrast, Sandy. Khosrau's courtiers and military all wear colorful Persian style robes or armor as well as caps or helmets. Their god-king contents himself with a golden diadem upon his brow and a skimpy loincloth of the purest white cotton, when he bothers with anything at all. The rest of the Persians are grown men, tall and muscular, often bearded. Khosrau looks to be the merest slip of a lad, a beardless stripling, and displays himself next thing to naked in a calculated display of youthful male pulchritude. That reinforces his agelessness in the minds of his subjects who were all brought up on tales of his exploits down the generations from the time of their grandfathers' grandfathers' grandfathers."

"And Conrad, here's a twist. You play his vizier, a bad guy who ends up doing the right thing for the wrong reasons and thwarts the Nazis." Fletcher said.

"Sounds interesting, but I know I can do even more than that. I played the hero in a couple of my early pictures before I got typecast as a heavy. I'd like to break the mold and do that again. I've gone ahead and optioned a likely property. Take a look at this script and tell me what you think."

"I am certainly open to suggestion, Conrad. The more versatile you are, the more valuable you are to the studio. And if this flies, you'll get an executive producer credit as well. Won't he Leon?"

Potter nodded though adding thoughtfully.

"You know. Sometimes audiences have trouble with an actor who does bad guys suddenly playing the hero."

"Lee Van Cleef made the transition." Conrad pointed out.

"So he did. Hmmn. I remember as a boy watching a low-budget Western with character actor Stephen McNally in the lead role. You kids won't remember him, but he played Dutch Henry Brown, Jimmy Stewart's bad seed brother, in the original Winchester '73 (1950). Despite his genuine acting talent McNally was unconvincing as a hero. He looked mean even when smiling. That's why he was so good at playing heavies."

"1950? Gosh, you go back that far?" Terry piped up in a deliberately falsetto voice, throwing a stage wink to Sandy.

"Of course not, you young scamp." Potter rumbled with feigned umbrage. "I caught it on TV. The Early Westerns Channel, if you must know."

Jim Nichols grinned at their exchange adding:

"That reminds me of the time I watched an old Japanese monster movie on TV. If you can believe it, they had King Ghidorah as one of Earth' guardian monsters. Another case of bad casting. Utterly unconvincing. But you take Godzilla now. No question the Big Green Guy has the dramatic range to play a guardian monster as well as a villain, but not that three-headed flying horror."

That brought chuckles all around.

As the group broke up, Sandy and Terry stood and let their shorts slip to the grass, then went over to the pool and jumped in bare ass. Luis collected their garments, but before he put them on a chair he brought Terry's up to his face for a heady sniff. Then he looked up to find his boss watching him one eyebrow raised, but the half smile on the Fletcher's faced eased Luis' embarrassment.

Chapter 2. Dracula II

They were shooting the critical scene of their second Dracula movie:

Pieter Van Helsing rushes along the hallway, his blond hair tousled from sleep. The sash of the robe he has thrown over his nightshirt is tied carelessly around his waist. In his left hand, he bears the scabbard of sword whose blade was tempered in holy water. It can kill a vampire and thereby free those the creature has sired of their vampire curse.

Hearing the dread voice of Dracula, he steps into the bedroom of his lover Luke West. The red haired youth has come out from under the covers, standing nude before the dread count, looking very small and submissive before the imposing figure looming over him. Dressed in dark clothes except for a white shirt open halfway down his chest, and with the cape over his shoulders fluttering in the wind coming though the French doors, the dread count bears more than a passing resemblance to the blood drinking bat many fancy he can transform himself into.

Conrad Held is perfect for the role: tall, dark, and elegantly handsome, he has an intent stare and a perpetually half raised eyebrow that hints at cruelty beneath the surface elegance He speaks English fluently but with a distinct Central European accent, in short, the epitome of the suave foreign nobleman.

In their scene, Luke is silent at this point, his demeanor calm and unemotional. It is the vampire who speaks first.

"Separate bedrooms, young Van Helsing? Afraid the servants might gossip and ruin your boy's reputation? How terribly bourgeois. An aristocrat takes no notice of tittle tattle among the lower classes. After the many times you have enjoyed each other's charms, you should be proud to bed such a delightful creature as Luke here."

Van Helsing ignores the count's sally and directs his attention to the pretty youth facing him. Luke stands silent, relaxed, seemingly uninvolved.

"Luke, listen to me," he plead. "You must break the count's hold over you. Don't do Dracula's bidding. For my sake, for the sake of your soul, for the sake of our love for each other, be yourself, the Luke West I know, not the psychic slave of this vampire."

"It is useless, young Van Helsing. Your lover is in my thrall. I have turned him to the dark side. With me he can achieve immortality. What can you offer him but a comely face and trim little body that will decay and turn to dust in a few decades?"

"What point immortality at the cost of your humanity? Luke, come back to me. If you destroy me, you destroy yourself."

"Resistance is futile, Van Helsing. Look on your lover for the last time. I will give you one last chance to make love to this exquisite creature then you shall lose him forever. He shall belong to me. Luke, follow the orders I gave you."

The red haired boy approaches Pieter and lifts a hand to his face, caressing his cheek. Pieter tilts his head, enjoying the warmth and closeness of the boy he loves. He stands unresisting as Luke takes the sword from his grip, one of the few weapons that could put an end to Dracula. Even enthralled as he is, Luke knows Pieter could never use it on him, not on the boy Pieter Van Helsing loves.

Luke undoes Pieter's sash, then opens the robe and slides it off his shoulders. Underneath, Van Helsing wears a loose fitting nightshirt, open at the neck and halfway down his chest affording glimpses of his tiny red nipples. Sweat plasters locks of his hair to his forehead. He looks lovely and vulnerable in the moonlight streaming through the glass.

Luke takes hold of the neck opening of the boy's nightshirt and tears the garment down the middle, splitting it along the V down the boy's chest, parting the fabric as easily as if it were tissue paper. Already the strength of a fiend is upon him. It needs only the blood of one he loves to transform him irretreivably. The blond boy does not react, standing mute and motionless as the halves of his night shirt fall away, disclosing his exquisite physique.

Pieter does not try to defend himself, standing mute and motionless. He knows this is a battle he can not fight on the physical plane. It is a struggle for the heart and mind and soul of the boy facing him, his friend and lover. Pieter is counting on getting through to Luke, hoping their love might yet save them both. Otherwise he does not care whether he lives or dies. Life after watching Luke lose his humanity would not be worthwhile anyway.

This dramatic unveiling is Sandy and Terry's big nude scene in what is basically a costume picture. Cameras were set up to capture images from every angle. Moonlight painted the youths with a bluish light, creating intriguing chiaroscuro effects which outlined every corrugation of chest and belly. From their tiny red nipples to deeply indented navels, to narrow hips framing surprisingly ample manhoods for boys so slight of build, Luke and Pieter were real beauties. Their sexy bodies were so alike they might belong to twins. They carried so little body fat that their flat bellies showed a tracery of downward pointing veins just under the skin.

From the front, the boys looked so, well flat, though corrugated with rippled abs, pecs, ribs, and nicely formed muscles, but their fawn-like physique were the very opposite of the bulging muscles of a Schwarzenegger. From the rear, the boys were all curves: the calves, the slender thighs, the firm globes of the buttocks, the swale of the lower back, the slope up to the shoulder blades which formed winglets on the upper back, to the cylinder of the neck. Their bodies were smooth and hairless, looking both terribly sexy and terribly innocent.

Luke leans forward and places a kiss on Pieter's lips. Dracula smiles, fully expecting his thrall to transfer his lips to the vulnerable throat over the jugular artery and start feeding. To his consternation, Luke stops then straightens up. A look of horror comes over the red haired boy's face as he pulls back from his assault.

"My God! What have I nearly done?"

Luke looks around, taking everything in. His eyes narrow as his gaze falls on the count. Luke's features transform from indifference to steely resolution. He returns the sword to his lover Pieter Van Helsing and says to him.

"Piet, help me. Together we can destroy Dracula."

"Cut!" called Jim Nichols from his director's chair. "Good work, kids. You nailed it on the first take."

The actors were to do the fight scene the next day. Meanwhile, they still had to do their close-ups where they would repeat their lines from the group shot. Later, during post-production, the film editor and director would occasionally cut away from their group shot to close-ups of key lines for the best dramatic effect. Close-ups are good for showing emotions though sometimes a cutaway was simply a device to cover a flubbed line in the group shot. Not this time. Young as they were, Terry and Sandy were getting very good at extended dialogue.

It helped that the young actors could draw on their emotional bond to inspire their performance in this scene. Committed lovers in real life, their bond was as strong as that between the fictional Luke West and Pieter Van Helsing on screen. Something their fans knew full well, it lent verisimilitude to their performance. If anything could break a vampire's psychic hold on Luke/Terry surely it would be his love for Piet/Sandy. And Sandy's love for Terry would steel him to gamble everything to save the soul of the boy he loved. Nothing phony about that.

"Wow! That was great." the blond actor bubbled, embracing his lover and co-star then called over: "Thanks again Conrad, no one puts more menace into so few words or into a sneer."

Conrad Held acknowledged the compliment with a quick nod and a smile. That was just like Sandy, always recognizing the contributions others made. Unlike some movie stars, Sandy (and Terry) were fully aware that making movies was a collaborative art. It made as much sense to credit the model for the sculptor's work as to give all the credit to the "talent" in the movies. Writers, producers, directors, cinematographers, costuming and make-up, and all the movie trades worked at turning out a successful picture.

Sure, some directors had a recognizable style, and their names went above the title, but so what. Held chuckled remembering the fed-up screenwriter who marched into Frank Capra's office one day and threw a script of blank pages onto the desk, challenging the three time Oscar winning director to give that script the vaunted 'Capra Touch.'

Held was grateful to the boys. Their recent collaborations had revived an acting career that had stalled, limiting Held to small supporting roles. Though he still got occasional work in front of the camera, Conrad had come to depend on voice work for his living. Once a lucrative side-line, for a time it had became his main means of support. It was his voice that furnished the opening narration for the boys' remake of 'When Dinosaurs Ruled the Earth'. Of course, they did not meet at the time. Voice work is done in a studio with just a sound engineer and a second unit director on hand. It was steady work with frequent gigs narrating and announcing, particularly for movie trailers.The public might not have known his name then, but, like Don LaFontaine for an earlier generation, they recognized him by his powerful voice as "that announcer guy from the movies."

Held liked working with these kids and not just for the chance to ogle their delectable bodies. They were good kids, beautiful people really and not just physically. They had it all: looks, brains, common sense, sex appeal, and sunny personalities spiced with a mischievous sense of humor. And they had pluck. It was their own efforts that had freed them from sexual slavery in the mountains. Conrad admired the way these kids kept both feet on the ground. They both took courses toward their college degrees. They were close to their folks. They were unpretentous. You did not have to be on Hollywood's A-list to be admitted to their circle of friends.

The young actors lived moderately well, sharing a large townhouse but nothing fancy, certainly not a Hollywood "estate". A cute houseboy came by three times a week to do the housekeeping. Both boys were tidy and organized, which made things easier. A hard headed manager handled their financial affairs. He paid the bills and invested most of their earnings for the long term. Both boys were financially independent, millionaires many times over, but their life style was no more than middle class. Terry still drove his beat-up old Ford. As far as he was concerned, possessing an auto was about transportation, not ostentation. Sandy didn't even own a car. If pressed he would admit to not liking to drive very much though he did have his license, and both young actors had taken an evasive driving course.

They just weren't into possessions -- most obviously they had little use for clothing. That wasn't for the sake of titillation, though they did have an exhibitionist streak, both of them. They just felt comfortable going entirely naked or "natural" as they called it. No wonder then that they had no trouble with film roles that required them to parade before the camera in the skimpiest of costumes and quite often nothing at all. Casual public nudity did not bother them. They thought nothing of swimming at a nudie beach, loping down running trails barefoot and bare ass, or playing volley ball in the altogether. Fortunately these days, the law no longer frowned on that particular life style choice.

You never caught them wearing clothes at home, except maybe an apron in the kitchen. Sandy occasionally cooked, though they usually sent out for Chinese or Thai or Italian. Terry could make a decent omelet, but that about exhausted his culinary skills. Terry preferred his garden even if all he had was three tub planters and a single flower bed in the back yard.. You would find the red head kneeling on the ground, brown cheeks resting on bare feet, lithe torso bent over, ribs and spinal bumps prominent as, trowel in hand, he worked at his mundane tasks firm muscles playing under the tawny skin. He looked so alive, a fine specimen of the human animal totally nude except for a straw hat incongruously perched atop his head.

The studio had included footage of the boys at home in some of their 'Making Of' videos. That had given fans a peek into the uninhibited home lives of the young movie stars. Terry and Sandy were open and candid. They displayed the large bed they shared, explaining that they had chosen a futon because it was sturdy enough to stand up to their energetic lovemaking. Terry spoke about his college courses, holding forth knowledgeably about Civil War history and English Romantic poetry, all the while sitting yoga style in front of a keyboard and screen unselfconscious about his total nudity. He wasn't being exhibitionistic much less salacious. He was simply being frank. That was really how he lived. You couldn't expect to find him in a pair of pants. Not him, nor Sandy either.

Despite their success they had never gone Hollywood and never gave themselves airs. You never heard them speak loftily of the 'cinematic art'. That was for film school types. These kids just made movies. Imbued with a solid work ethic, they showed up on time, knowing their lines, and hitting their marks on cue. No drugs, no tantrums, no attitude, and no entourage either. They were the genuine article in a town full of phonies.

They sported virtually identical physiques but had different interests. Terry had been rather a shy kid till he hooked up with Sandy. Cute as a button, he showed his Irish heritage by his red hair, sky blue eyes, and a sprinkle of freckles on his open and honest face. He was a bit of an intellectual, indeed very well read but not snobbish about it. Sandy was no dummy himself but was less of a bookworm and more exuberant.

Both were the kind of leading man a director wishes for: regular guys who cared little about movies star status or cinematic art and were just there to do a job, like everyone else, and maybe have a good time doing it. Sandy and Terry knew they were just a pair of good looking kids of moderate talent who had gotten a break in Hollywood by being willing to go in front of the camera virtually or even completely naked. They had lucked out starting at the top of the movie business in a revival of a money making franchise -- the Jungle Boy pictures.

And the kids were impossibly cute, both of them, blessed with fine-boned features. Both were prettier than any female Conrad had ever worked with, certainly prettier than any female he had bedded, maybe prettier than any he had ever laid eyes on. In Hollywood, that was saying a lot. You would never describe them as handsome. That was Conrad's department. They were simply pretty boys, a couple of super-cute twinks, uber-twinks in the jargon. If you wanted to get fancy, then call them "preternaturally lovely" or "supernally beautiful" or "comely".

They would be the first to acknowledge that their good looks and brains were none of their doing. As they said in an interview.

"It's not like we chose our parents or anything. We're just the lucky winners in the genetic draw."

Held had sampled their charms more than once, notably on a cruise down Mexico way, the trip of a lifetime with two of the very few boys sexy enough to tempt a committed ladies' man like him from the straight and narrow, if only episodically.

They way the kids flaunted their bodies in public, often stark naked, it was no wonder they had gotten in over their heads. At different times during the cruise both kids had gone off alone for a spell and fallen into the clutches of dominant males who would not take no for an answer. Alone, naked, unarmed, outnumbered, and surrounded, each boy had been used as a sex toy by his captors, though thankfully for only a few hours each.

At a wildlife sanctuary on an island in the Sea of Cortez, park rangers had taken Sandy into custody for landing without a permit. He had swum ashore to go on a run (in the nude, naturally) while Terry and Conrad relaxed aboard their boat. The rangers handcuffed the hapless lad and threw him over the saddle of an ATV. With a ranger standing on either side of the vehicle, they had used his mouth and his ass, twice. To their credit, they did release him right away afterwards and even gave the fucked out boy a lift back to their boat.

Terry had walked into the wrong cantina at a resort town on the mainland. It was not the tourist bar where he had arranged a rendezvous with his friends but a biker bar with a similar name. Like a fawn on wobbly legs wandering onto the path of a pack of wolves Terry was mistaken for a client of the biker gang who had a sideline in sexual theater.

Their clients were all oversexed boys with too much testosterone and money and not enough good sense, boys who were into heavy action and willing to pay for the privilege. By prearrangement, they surrendered themselves to a rough biker gang ready, willing, and able to give them what had been lacking in their sex lives. That action was a combination of bondage and rough sex. These boys got off on their sense of helplessness and moderate pain and humiliation, though nothing terribly serious happened. After a rough night, they were released, everyone happy.

For the lusty bikers, there was nothing like latching onto a wild kid they could play with. They thanked their stars and Mother Nature for creating sweet slutty submissive bottoms who craved forceful masculine companionship. Perhaps it was his destiny that Terry got mistaken for a client and found himself the center the biker gang's attention. The next morning, after his ordeal, their leader gave Terry a ride to his hotel, and Terry even gave him a parting kiss. When he had run into Sandy and Conrad in the hotel lobby, Terry had called out, casual as you please:

"Hi guys! I guess last night was my turn for perverse sexual adventure. So what room are we staying in anyway? I sure am hungry, so I'll just change and come back down for breakfast."

Chapter 3. Heart of Africa

Shooting for 'He' and 'King Solomons's Treasure' started the following month on Hollywood sound stages transformed to look like the interior of the citadel: the throne room, armory, and dungeon, and the cavern of the sacred flame. Most outdoor scenes would be shot on location abroad.

Sandy really nailed the character of the god-king, no easy task for so young an actor. He projected the dignity and wisdom of an ageless and world weary monarch in his public persona as ruler of the lost kingdom of Kor. In private scenes with Terry, Sandy portrayed the lonely and vulnerable young man behind the public mask of the monarch. He drew on his real emotions to portray someone who had loved and lost and finally, after centuries of loneliness, encountered his lover reborn. Terry's task was easier, playing a naive youngster who gets into a trouble, faces danger resolutely, and finds true love thanks to pluck, luck, and his basic good sense.

For the sake of authenticity and with two pictures to spread the costs over, the studio OK'ed expensive location filming in Africa. Even with advanced movie magic, you could do only so much with green screens and similar production tricks. You really needed to mingle with the wildlife in the Ngorongoro Crater or swim in the pool at the foot of Murchison Falls, a natural flume where the Nile squeezes itself through a gorge only seven metres wide carrying the entire outflow of Lake Victoria over a spectacular waterfall to Lake Albert.

Such spectacular locales aside, most scenes would be shot in the Republic of Equatoria which lies astride the middle reaches of the White Nile in Central Africa. The production was hiring hundreds of extras to play an army of rebellious serfs. Fletcher and his casting director liked the exotic look of its Nilotic population, one quite different from heavy boned Bantus. Nilotes are tall, slender, and gracile in stature thanks to limbs longer than the human average. This characteristic body type is thought to be an adaptation to a hot climate that allows their bodies to shed heat more efficiently. They are a handsome people with fine boned features including high cheekbones and straight noses.

No roughing on location, though. Not this time out. Instead the production company rented comfortable lodgings at jungle resorts and safari campgrounds. That was a relief for the young lovers. Hot showers and clean sheets and mosquito nets were a whole lot more comfortable than living out of a tent. Still thin walls and the airy construction of their lodgings let the sounds of their lusty sexual congress carry through the African night. Very much in love and intensely physical, Terry and Sandy coupled enthusiastically and vocally, to the consternation of some of the light sleepers in the crew. The guys who had worked with the young actors before knew what to expect and had taken first dibs on rooms at the other side of the compound.

Even after a day of running, climbing, and shooting fight scenes the athletic young pair were never too pooped for fun and frolic. You can do that when you are just twenty-one and at the very peak of physical prowess. The truth is that even after almost four years the two youths were besotted with each other. Their delight in each other's sexy bodies was inexhaustible. Sometimes they would simply cuddle in bed, petting and stroking flanks and rumps. Usually they were energetic and vocal in their lovemaking. It did not seem to affect their compatibility that both of them were bottom boys at heart.

At home though they also sought out and indulged in sex with alpha males, men typically several years older, tall, domineering, and muscular men to whom they surrendered control of their delectable bodies. The boys went all weak in the knees and fluttery before alpha males, which is only right for twinks of their sort, small and slightly built "beta males", entirely too pretty for their own good. What better use for kids each with two hungry holes that needed to be filled? And there were many to answer the call, males who knew that these were submissive lads who needed to be fucked hard and often and by men who knew how. Sometimes this involved sessions of light bondage and physical and verbal humiliation with the twinks drawing on their acting skills to impersonate young innocents fallen into the clutches of muscular brutes who use them in appalling ways to gratify their bestial and perverted lusts.

In virtually all scenes shot on location, the co-stars went naked, as called for by the script. Except for official occasions Khosrau usually went naked in his suite of rooms in the citadel and the gardens and while exercising outdoors or training with weapons or in unarmed combat. For his part, young Axel was taken captive, stripped, and raped by black tribal warriors. The scene was written into the plot to establish the idea (realized in the sequel) that the natives were indeed restless and resentful of their white skinned overlords.

When the soldiers of Kor took Axel from the tribe, they too abused the hapless lad though only till a superior officer recognized the uncanny resemblance of the battered foreigner to the portrait of Khosrau's lost love hanging in his monarch's chambers. The colonel had the boy bathed, primped, and scented and presented to his monarch wearing only a flower behind his ear. That led to the first of several love scenes. Just what you might expect in a Jungle Boy picture. It certainly kept costs in the costume department low.

Sandy and Terry went starkers during much of their down time too, though they did slip on shorts for dinner with the crew, they saw no point in getting dressed for a fitness run along the road. They simply took off bare ass. That meant barefoot too, but their feet were tough because they often ran cross country barefoot back in the States. Safari guides with rifles followed on electric motorcycles to keep watch against predators like lions, leopards, hyenas, and wild dogs.

Terry had been surprised to learn that the most dangerous animal in Africa was the comical looking hippopotamus, an herbivore. People think hippos look too roly poly to be dangerous, but they actually kill more humans in Africa every year than crocs do. On land they can even outrun a human, at least for short stretches. Hippos are large, territorial, and notoriously tempermental. Crocs give hippos a wide berth. If they get too close, the pachyderms would kill them using their tusks to punch right through their tough hide into their vitals.

On one of their runs, the boys turned off the dirt road onto a cross trail just to vary their routine. They passed a village whose friendly inhabitants waved right back to visitors who seemed quite exotic themselves, two strikingly comely white boys running in the nude. Then again, nudity was quite common among these people. Their own youthful males go about entirely unclad till they are wed. Meanwhile they live communally in a young men's lodge at the edge of the village.

The white boys soon found their progress blocked at the next village by the press of young males on the narrow trail. Evidently someone had called ahead. Perpetually nude themselves like their visitors, the tribesmen buzzed around the attractive strangers like bees around fragrant blossoms, enthralled by their preternatural physical beauty and lissom bodies. The two young whites might lack something in stature, but their diminutive physiques were so very sexy. Gosh their faces were so pretty, maybe differently featured from their own, but so darn cute. The blond boy's eyes were the green of growing things, those of the red head were the blue of the sky.

After their long run, their skins were flushed and hot to the touch. Drops of sweat beaded up on tawny skins, the sunlight refracting through them making them bright as diamonds. With strands of hair plastered to foreheads and temples, the white youths looked as if they might after energetic sex.

How nice that these friendly white boys were willing to meet the tribesmen on their own terms, in the nude. It was clear from their deep even tans that these young whites spent much time outdoors in the buff. Good for them. From what they had heard, quite a few young men in the developed countries had taken to going about nude, at least in summer. About time white folks gave up their silly nudity taboos. In the past, before their republic broke away from the Arab ruled North, Muslims had looked down on the black skinned tribes of the South, mostly Christian and animist by persuasion, just because the young men of the tribes went about naked in the tropical heat. In reaction, the Nilotic peoples had re-emphasized and reaffirmed the institution of juvenile nudity in their culture.

The white boys delighted in the cordial response to their arrival. Each found himself the center of a cluster of a dozen or more young men and older boys. These natives were very handsome and virile, sporting manhoods of such prodigious length the comparison made the white youths feel inadequate. The white boys had always considered themselves reasonably well endowed -- maybe nothing to brag about -- but shapely and smooth not gnarly and shriveled like with so many guys. Maybe their cocks did not hang halfway down to their knees but but that was just fine when you ran cross country as they did: bare ass and with your dangly bits bouncing about.

The slender bodies of the young blacks allowed more of them to press against Sandy and Terry than might otherwise have been possible. Their scent was a heady mixture of sweat and salt and male musk. The white boys felt hands on them everywhere, exploring, caressing, squeezing. Bold fingers tweaked their nipples or squeezed, kneaded, and even pinched their bottoms. With all the touching and the skin-to-skin contact and the pheromones, in no time their cocks were erect and leaking.

The natives took that for informed consent, not that it was really needed The small stature and smooth hairless bodies of the visitors put them in the category of younger subservient males who were expected to submit to older and bigger boys and provide them with sexual release. Surely these white youths were here intentionally for that purpose, to deliver themselves up to the young men of the tribes, to surrender their sweet bodies to whatever use might be made of them. No doubt that was why they had arrived without a stitch on themselves.

Sandy and Terry did not quite realize it till it was too late that the unmarried men and boys meant to hustle them into their lodge for an all-out sex orgy. Physically and socially isolated from their young women, restricted by custom to narrow windows of opportunity for courtship only after they reached their mid-twenties, these young males had only each other for sexual relief in the meanwhile. Then two young godlings had presented themselves properly un-attired for the delectation of the village's young men.

"What you have got us into this time, Terry?"

"Hey, it's not my fault, Sandy. Look, I know it was my call to turn down this trail, but I had no idea this would happen."

"Maybe not, but I do remember that you researched the ethnic groups in this country and their customs. You knew that young males here run around naked -- hence that lack of surprise in your face when we met them back there. Didn't you suspect that these sexually frustrated young men and boys might pluck us like ripe fruit?"

"No, Sandy, no. I mean ... well ... maybe I sort of fantasized or even hoped ..."

"Uh, Huh. Well then get ready to shed your virgin's blood. Those cocks of theirs are like spears, oversized even on them and even more outsized once inside us. I can just see myself, impaled at both ends at once, a giant cock in my mouth and another up my ass, their tips practically meeting in my middle. Oh my poor little butt. And it is such a nice ass too. Everyone says so."

Further conversation was cut off as the tide of naked humanity carried the hapless lads to opposite sides of the young men's lodge for a sex orgy, or really two at once. After a very long while, the boys were passed across to the other side so that one and all would have the chance to play with both of them. The tribal youths were delighted with their twin captures. Both were so utterly scrumptious. They were slender yet muscular though in different ways. The blond boy had more of a swimmer's build, sporting strong shoulders, a deep chest, narrow hips and muscular legs. The one with red hair was a bit taller with the hard musculature and flexibility of an acrobat.

The black youths found it exciting to grapple the hard bodies of the white youths. Black boys turned and tugged and twisted the white youths into naughty positions to provide the males of the tribe access to their orifices. The black youths turned the white boys onto their backs and played with their erections, bending them down a ways and letting them slap back against their bellies. All the while they laughed and pointed, amused at how puny these whites were in that department. No translator was needed to convey that notion. Still their boycocks, undersized though they might be, were like the rest of white youngsters, smooth, hard and cute.

The white kids might not have come looking for perverse sexual adventure, but they had found it. They later explained their experiences in much the same terms, Terry's confession went like this:

"Well there I was in their midst, entirely naked, as all the young men were too, pressing against me. Their hands were roaming all over me, touching and petting and stroking my body. I was embraced and kissed. There were boys licking the salt and sweat off my shoulders. With all that stimulation, my cock got hard which they took as consent for what they wanted to do with me. They picked me up right off the ground and carried me into the lodge. They held me about waist high, my arms and legs splayed apart and gripped tight. One boy stepped up to my ass and thrust into me while another slapped my face with his turgid member before presenting it to me to suck. So I did. I mean, what choice did I have?"

"It's not my fault that I responded either. Not any of my doing that I got aroused too. Just hormones at work. So yes I soon started bucking and humping at one end, sucking and slurping at the other, doing what comes instinctually to any gay boy getting fucked. My involuntary reactions set off a sexual frenzy among those sexually frustrated native youths. I found myself being passed from cock to cock to cock, my body turned and twisted into every imaginable position to give them access. It all happened in a blur in an atmosphere supercharged with sex. I cannot remember particulars after that."

Indeed the young males of the tribe jostled and pushed in their eagerness to embrace the white boys. It was so exciting to grapple their small sexy bodies as they struggled twisting and straining all slick with sweat, tugging, pulling, and squirming in their arms. What a marvelous contrast between their own ebony skins and the tawny hides of these super cute white kids. Neither was a virgin. Or shy. Their knew what they were doing clamping their pouty lips around thick black cocks, tongues twirling, laving, lapping at the shafts thrust down their throats. And their asses. These white boys were fantastically good at squeezing and massaging and milking cock with their ass muscles. What fine round rumps they had on them, just begging to be spanked or fondled or squeezed.

Sandy's tale was much the same, though he did add:

"Before they took me inside, one of them led me around by my stiff prick, letting everyone get a good look at me, giving them a chance to run their hands over me and into my cleavage before bending me over a log drum to be fucked at both ends at the same time. I lost count of how many boys took their pleasure of me. It must have been dozens, and many came back for seconds or even thirds. And I have the finger marks on my ass to prove it."

"What of your armed guides?" Nichols asked, incredulous.

"Well, they belong to the same tribe and knew their fellow tribesmen meant us no real harm. Even in that remote location, all of them were fans of our movies. And they knew something of our private lives and predilections including Terry's liking for kink. So, given the opportunity, they staged an impromptu scenario out of a porno movie: wild savages capture and rape white explorers incautious enough to fall into their clutches. For them it was a hoot. Though it left our bottoms very sore."

Nichols sighed. He was damn sure his two young stars had not put up much resistance, not those two. Abject submissives that they were, such scenes like the one they had just gone through must turn them on unbearably.

So he shrugged it off. These were young gay males; their juices were flowing. Who could fault them or their local "fans" for doing what came naturally? No real harm done, after all. The boys were sore but not injured.

That would have been a game changer. Jim Nichols had a protective streak in him. He cared a lot for his young stars, never having had kids of his own. At the start of their careers he had taken them under his wing, supporting and nurturing his proteges in an avuncular way of course. He had no leanings in that direction.

"No point in going to the authorities, then." Nichols concluded.

Too bad the boys were in no shape the next day to go before the cameras. The production had to shoot around them. Well, the weather might have caused a delay too.

"A shame we didn't get footage of our dynamic duo's double gang bang." Nichols grumbled a couple of days later. "It would have been a shoo-in for our usual 'Making Of' video."

"You can't be serious, Jim!" his young stars protested, dumbfounded.

"Can't I?"

Just then, one of Nichols' assistants spoke up.

"Uh, sir. I wasn't sure you would approve, but I went ahead anyway and optioned exclusive footage from the boys' guards. They and the villagers spent two days collecting and posting stuff shot with cameras and phones on a secure web site and let me take a look. It's really exciting. Both "victims" can be seen sucking and humping enthusiastically. I lost count of how many times they shot their loads. We can use a lot of it though some of the footage is perhaps too explicit: you know, penetration of orifices, ejaculations, splash shots, and the like."

"Oh no!" the boys wailed in unison. "We can never go home again. Never show our faces there!"

"Now now, boys. Don't go all drama queen on me. It will be done tastefully."

And it was. They eventually sold a million downloads of the 'Making Of' video, largely on the strength of scenes of the boys' "encounter" with the villagers.

Chapter 4. Tropical Paradise

After production in Africa wrapped Sandy and Terry flew to an exclusive resort in the Seychelles for rest and relaxation. After acting in three movies in a row without a break, the boys were taking a whole month off. It was time to be lazy, to kick back, get caught up on their reading and on their studies. The had two years worth of college credits already, from on-line courses, placement tests they had studied for, and intensive study during breaks. They did keep in shape with swimming, running along the beach, but much of their time they stretched on the sand. The young men donned sarongs for restaurant dinners but otherwise spent their time around their seaside cabin in the nude.

That was how Jason Eberly found them one morning, lying side by side eyes closed, resting after a long run and a dip in the ocean. Jason wasn't sure if he had ever seen a more lovely pair of young males. He settled himself in a rattan chair and treated himself to a visual feast.

Sandy had such a beautiful tanned body, toned, taut and muscular with strong shoulders, well defined abdominal muscles, and narrow hips. A prominent vein ran from armpit to wrist and from groin to ankle. A delicate tracery of veins highlighted the inside of his forearms. His hands were small and his legs well muscled with veins prominent under the skin because of a body fat percentage almost in single digits. No hair interrupted the flow of its faultless lines. His genitals didn't look all shriveled up like with so many young males. Sandy's uncut cock was smooth not gnarly with purple veins. Cock and balls were reasonably large but he wouldn't be scaring the horses. It took both his small hands to cover his erection, but only one when it was soft. That was just fine when you were running cross country bare ass with your dangly bits bouncing about.

Jason watched as droplets of sweat formed on Sandy's smooth tanned skin, glistening in the sunlight. Growing larger, they broke the surface tension that had held them in place and slid downhill, collecting in rivulets in the channel between the pectorals and in the large hollow between the bottom of the rib cage and the hips.

The older actor watched as Terry opened is eyes and turned to Sandy. Terry reached over and played with the sweat pooling in his lover's navel, smearing a bit with a finger tip to trace a circle on the flat belly, bringing a taste up to his tongue, bending down to lap up the salty beverage, then pressing a spot on one side of Sandy's belly to let the remaining pool of sweat drain down his hip, only to watch it slowly fill up again. Jason caught his eye but put a finger over his lips to shush him. He retreated to their cabin waiting patiently for his two young friends to join him. An hour later, both boys ambled over to the verandah to join the older actor.

"Hi Jase. Looking good." Sandy enthused taking in Jason's tanned and taut physique, clad revealingly in one of his trademark sarongs wound low around the hips. Jason had long appreciated the utility and beauty of the sarong. It came in a variety of patterns and colors, cost almost nothing, and could be donned or doffed in an instant. It fit tight around the lower half of the body and very much flattered a slender male physique. It clung to the limbs of its wearers, which is why the original meaning of the word was sheath.

Jason nodded his appreciation, though Sandy spoke only the truth. Though no longer the "compact blond bombshell" he had been in his youth, Jason at nearly forty-two still looked stunning. The years had been kind to him. He appeared to be at least a decade younger. Though his days of playing a kid on the big screen were behind him, he was still an attractive leading man and his pictures did big box office.

"I took you up on your standing invitation to drop in during your break. I was doing a pirate movie in Madagascar. Once production wrapped, I booked a flight on a puddle jumper, and here I am."

The Seychelles lie northeast of the island of Madagascar, fourth largest island in the world and once a haven for pirates. Jason's movie was shot on authentic locations. The government had provided subsidies in the interest of promoting tourism to the scenic areas.

"Fine. Say Jason," Terry asked. "What was all this about your recent arrest in LA? We never got the full story while we were busy on location in Africa."

Jason shook his head ruefully, leaning forward to explain that it had not been an actual arrest. He was walking along a street in Venice (California) when a police cruiser speeding by suddenly braked, crossed lanes, and ran up onto the sidewalk, blocking his way. The cops inside the car jumped out, their guns drawn, pointing them at the startled actor. It seemed Jason fit the description of an armed robber who had just held up a nearby bank and shot a teller. For once Jason was dressed normally in long pants and T shirt and sandals. A baseball cap and wrap around shades completed his ensemble. Unfortunately the bank robber had similar sartorial tastes.

Jason managed to explain himself to the satisfaction of the cops. But then it happened again! Incredibly Jason got stopped only fifteen minutes later by another pair of cops in a different cruiser. The second pair thought his ID was phony. Jason had to prove who he was using his tablet computer to pull up videos of his movies and recent celebrity interviews. That cleared him. Jason's notoriety as a movie star ensured that the story got out.

"I mean, do I look like I rob banks for a living?" Jason grumbled. Frowning, he added: "How many bank robberies are pulled off by middle-aged white guys, anyway?"

"Middle-aged? You don't get it, Jason." Sandy said shaking his head. "Looking at you. the cops didn't see a middle-aged white guy. They saw a cool guy dressed in casual threads and looking young enough to be the perp."

"Well, if you put it that way ..."

Mollified, Jason smiled and leaned back in his chair, nodding his thanks. He had not thought of it like that.

"By the way, I brought my sketch pad with me so I can do your portraits. Sometimes the pencil sees more than the camera. I like the way you were stretched out just now. So I'll do one like that too, but I need a pose where you are standing or sitting and looking oh so terribly sexy."

A mischievous look came over Terry's face as he spoke up enthusiastically.

"I have the most fantastic idea, guys. You'll love it Jase and you too, Sandy. One of my fantasies is to prance down a crowded city street wearing just a sheen of sweat, my manhood tumescent, sticking straight out, a string of precum hanging from the head of my cock, all purple and swollen. How terrific that would be! A pretty boy in heat, cock proud and strutting along, whirling so everyone could see me from every side. If only I had had the guts back home to do it for real. It would be so sexy! Just thinking about it makes me hard. See."

Terry stood up and spun around to show just how he meant to pose, with his sexy body in a state of full arousal. Terry always liked the way his hairless groin made his genitals look larger, though they were a pretty fair size for someone with his slight build. He looked so wanton with his ball sac pulled tight to the fork of his legs, engorged cock jutting straight out with a fleshy purpled glans shaped like an arrowhead at the end, a droplet of fluid glistening on its tip, a composition bursting with youthful male assertiveness. Gosh, what did that say about him. He was turning into such a boy slut these days.

And what if had actually tried it. He would be in big trouble. While casual public nudity was fine for sports competitions, at the beach, in large urban parks, in backyards, on hiking trails, or outdoor classes at college, there were limits. You didn't just walk down a city street starkers certainly not aroused. He would surely be arrested and handcuffed, then thrown into the lockup stark naked at the mercy of who knows how many sexually frustrated hardened criminals? What would they do to his helpless, luscious body? Was he unaccountably perverse for even fantasizing about such a lubricious display of sexuality? He almost ejaculated just thinking about it, without touching himself.

Sandy shook his head, knowing this was Terry's kinky side talking. Just imagine. Still, it was a very sexy pose. And that was what Jason wanted. In the end Jason did draw them that way, in half -profile, Sandy and Terry facing each other, on separate sheets of sketch paper. The boys had the sketches framed and hung side by side like a diptych on the wall of their bedroom.

Author's Note

This is another tale about the lives of a pair of young gay actors in Hollywood and their utterly improbable adventures in the movie business. It takes place maybe forty years in the future. This thirteenth installment continues the story of the pair of protagonists, Sandy Barnett and Terry Knowles, introduced in Jungle Boy 6, in place of Jason Eberly, the original Jungle Boy of the first five tales (who has an occasional cameo in these new tales).

If Alexander, the Daphne Boy in my series of that name, is "the ultimate twink" then Jason, Sandy, and Terry are "the penultimate twinks". I just love writing about them. These kids are hot.

This tale is entirely fictional, with no resemblance intended to any person living or dead. Neither the author nor any of his heirs or assigns has any connection whatsoever to the movies except as fans. Occasional references by characters to real motion pictures and actors and others in the movie business are simply to lend verisimilitude to a tale about persons in show business. None of the real people mentioned in passing is in any way part of the tale.

Readers who like the Jungle Boy series should try either of my series of historical novelettes. The 'Daphne Boy' tales depict an eternally youthful protagonist and his adventures in exotic climes and times. The settings for the 'Naked Prey' series are equally exotic, but each story has its own cute twink protagonist. My other series are the 'Track and Field' stories in Gay/College and my 'Mer-Boy' stories in Gay/Beginnings. For links to all my stories, look on the list of Prolific Authors on the Archive for George Gauthier.

Comments and feedback welcome at georgegauthierdc@gmail.com

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