METHOD ACTING by Haven Tesla
Premise: A hunky, cocky young actor joins the cast of a long-running daytime soap opera, and everything seems peachy. He's snagged a leading role, his prospects for winning a Daytime Emmy look bright, and the show's executive producer is practically his best friend, seeming to share his virulently homophobic views. What could possibly go wrong?
Author's Note: I came up with this story as a way of merging two of my passions: the authoritarian genre and soap operas. It is a work of fiction, and I have taken great liberties with how the world works. You should leave logic behind before embarking on this story and you'll have a more enjoyable read. All characters are over the age of 18 and not intended to resemble any real person, while the daytime television industry is represented here as a parody of itself, including the Emmys. I previously published this story on NCMC and am presenting it here with some minor revisions. If you'd like to share your thoughts on this tale, drop me an email - I'd love to hear from you.
<<< PART 1: There's No Business like Show Business >>>
There's something really odd going on at my latest acting job but I can't quite put my finger on it. It's like my role on the show exists purely to exploit and humiliate me, but that can't be true ... right? I'd never stand for that shit - I'd quit straight away. In fact I've even gone to the head honcho, Hank, several times with every intention of quitting, but somehow I always leave his office without tendering my resignation.
I'm no stranger to show business; I got my start in high school when my drama teacher kept pushing me to star in our school productions. I suspected that Mr. G was a fag - he was a good-looking guy lacking a wife or girlfriend despite being in his early thirties. To his credit he never tried anything funny with me. Just as well or I'd have had to do something regrettable, like the way I handled those sissies in gym class who kept staring at my body in the showers.
Even before I started hitting the gym every day, I could get by on my face and charm. Good cheekbones, jet black hair, brown eyes and what one girl called "alabaster skin". That's some queer shit, but I can't deny that it's helped my sex life - probably a lot. There's no end to the chicks who want a piece of me, and I'm glad to give it to them. Fuck em and dump em, that's my MO. I hate it when they started crying - that's my cue to leave. What do they expect? An engagement ring? Jeez. Why do commitment when you can do fun?
The gym helped me develop a perfect six-pack, solid pecs and bulging biceps. I even paid attention to my lower body and exercised my thighs, calves and glutes. Didn't want to end up top-heavy like some guys - you know, those idiots with overinflated chests and chicken legs. My hard work paid off and I even landed a few modeling gigs. Nothing too exploitative of course - that's only for chicks! The most I was willing to do was take my shirt off and flex my pecs a little.
That's what really puzzles me about my current situation. How do I let myself get talked into wearing the skimpiest, most revealing clothes on this show? I honestly cringe when I see myself on screen in tighty-whiteys - and that's if I get to wear clothes at all!
This began right off the bat. On my very first day on set, I discovered that my wardrobe for the episode consisted of a towel and a pair of white designer briefs. The briefs were a size too small and barely covered anything - the fabric on the sides was barely an inch high!
I did raise a stink to Hank, I swear I did. This wasn't what I'd signed on for. The actresses playing my girlfriend and my baby mama got to keep their clothes on while I carried on conversations with them in just tighty-whiteys. What the hell, right?
"I don't believe a guy my age would wear those," I told Hank in reference to the offending underwear.
"Now Colt, you know how this works. You play the script, no questions asked. So what if you spend the whole episode in tighty-whiteys? You've got a great body, so you shouldn't have a problem showing it off."
"It's not that. I want to be taken seriously as an actor," I whined. "I don't want to be just some eye candy for bored housewives."
"And you'll have the chance to show off your acting chops once the steroid storyline kicks in. But I know you recognize what an integral part of acting body language is. With you in your undies, the audience gets to see Max's physique, I mean body language, unencumbered by clothes. Wouldn't you agree?"
Hank's words did make sense. After all, that was part of the reason he'd hired me to replace the previous actor who'd played Max. He'd been a scrawny little runt with no body to speak of! No wonder the show-runners felt a recast was necessary to position Max as the leading man of the show's next generation. After all, he was the beloved son of one of the show's tent-pole couples, the police commissioner and district attorney, and he'd already fathered a son of his own while a high school junior. (That sort of virility was more in line with my portrayal of the character than the previous actor's.)
Hank certainly hit the jackpot with me, and he told me as much. He said I'd done a great job in turning Max into a sex symbol. I should've been annoyed but it was kind of flattering to hear praise from Hank. Maybe that's why I didn't question all the subsequent scenes which I had to perform in my underwear. It became a daily occurrence. Each and every scene that took place in Max's parents' apartment had me in tighty-whiteys. (They did try to mix it up a bit with colored briefs or a towel once in a while.)
It didn't matter whether it was his relatives or friends paying a visit - Max would always come out of his bedroom to greet them in his briefs and carry on the conversation without getting dressed. It got pretty humiliating after a while. My cast-mates would tease me and the soap journalists asked if I'd ever get to wear clothes. It really didn't seem like it because even my scenes outside the apartment set typically involved me jogging shirtless through the town square, hanging out in a towel at the country club steam room, or changing out of sweaty sports gear in the newly-created high school boys' locker room set.
Well, I can't blame Hank for trying to get the most mileage out of that new set. It had been built partly to facilitate the big storyline he'd promised me during my audition. Max getting into steroids was the big break I needed to make my name in the acting sphere: a hard-hitting, socially-relevant story that could net me a Daytime Emmy nod.
The first phase of this storyline involved Max joining the high school wrestling team. Unfortunately, it got off to a rough start. I was dismayed to see the lilac wrestling singlet that wardrobe had set aside for me. The costume was skintight, accentuating every contour of my body, and made worse by the fact they hadn't given me any underwear to put on underneath!
Hank explained that this was because the underwear would be clearly outlined beneath the form-fitting Lycra, which would spoil the camera shot.
"But isn't this even more revealing?" I protested. "I mean, look!" I gestured down at my crotch helplessly, where the Lycra outlined my cock and balls obscenely. You could tell my religion as clear as day! It's not like I had anything to be ashamed of, with an endowment 5 inches soft and 7.5 hard, but I didn't need that revealed on national television!
Hank was very assuring. "Wow! I mean, it shouldn't be a problem. We'll film the wrestling scenes mostly from the back. If anything does slip into the shot, we'll edit it out in post-production. But really, there's really absolutely no reason for you to be covered up. In fact, your next scene is in the locker room and you'll be sitting totally naked on the bleachers."
"Totally naked?" I yelped.
"It's just going to be a side profile, to show the audience that you're really bare-assed ... I mean, vulnerable. It explains why Max ends up taking steroids. This is the meaty storyline you wanted, remember?" But it was his remark about Randy, my 18-year-old costar, which sealed the deal. "Randy's barely 18 and he did a nude scene last week. Don't tell me you can't do the same?"
I bristled at the insinuation that I was too chicken to do a nude scene. I'd been on set when Randy filmed that scene. I'd been surprised to see he was genuinely naked, without even a cock-sock to protest his modesty. I'd thought cock-socks were standard procedure for nude scenes in American studios. Instead, those of us on set caught occasional glimpses of Randy's dick when he failed to cover up fully. At least the episode that was transmitted on air had any such exposure painstakingly edited out.
I was sure that Hank would be just as careful to avoid exposing my nudity on national TV. Besides, I couldn't lose out to an 18-year-old!
"Yeah, of course I'll do it," I declared with more confidence than I actually felt.
Hank grinned. "That's great. So we're done here, yeah? I'll see you on set in 10."
Ten minutes later, I was on the wrestling mat that had been laid out in the gym set, being manhandled by this huge guy who'd been hired to play Max's wrestling opponent. The guy was seriously huge! Massive! How he was supposed to pass for a high schoolboy, I really didn't know.
He wasn't playing around either. He kept slamming me into the mat with such brute force that a less well-built guy would probably have been injured. Maybe he didn't get the memo that this was just acting. His forcefulness spurred me to give the match my all, even though my character was supposed to lose. It didn't make a lick of difference though; I was still like a rag-doll in his powerful hands. His wrestling moves were a distraction too. He constantly had me in a headlock under his shoulder, smelling the funk of his shaven armpit, or between his thighs, shoving my face in his musky bulge. Otherwise he was on top of me, practically humping my butt with his dick - I could've sworn it was hard!
By the time we were done with multiple takes of the wrestling, I was sweaty and battered. I wanted nothing more than to go home and soak in a hot bath. But my day was not yet over. It was time for my dreaded nude scene.
I stumbled into the locker room set and self-consciously peeled off my sweat-soaked singlet. I realized for the first time that the singlet was even more revealing wet - practically translucent. I really hoped that the editors would be thorough! In my current state, the lack of a cock-sock was the least of my worries.
"Cut!" shouted the director suddenly, as I stood bare-assed, one hand hovering over my crotch. "Colt, you've got to be less self-conscious. Max wouldn't be shy about stripping off in the locker room."
"I know, but he wouldn't have an audience either," I protested. For some reason there were an unusually large number of people on set that day: costars and crew who weren't even involved in the scene. Some had even brought their relatives and friends along!
Hank cajoled me, "Come now, Colt. Everyone's just really excited to see your big storyline kick off. You can't begrudge them that, right?" He smiled at me and I had to admit that helped assuage the gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach, albeit only a little.
"But can't I at least have one of those cock-socks?" I pleaded.
"We've been over this before," Hank said patiently. "It's called method acting. We need it to look and feel real."
I couldn't dispute his logic. The best actors were method actors. I agreed to re-take the scene. I peeled off the singlet again, trying not to think about my audience. I sat down heavily on the bleachers, holding my head in my hands. The camera captured a side shot of my sweaty, pumped-up body, but those watching on set had an unobstructed view of my full-frontal nudity.
"Hey, dude. You want to beat that guy next time?" The speaker was another high school wrestler, just as stacked as my opponent earlier. He was to sell Max his first batch of steroids.
I made the mistake of looking up because the guy's bulging posing pouch was at eye level. That was all he had on! Jeez, he could at least have stood further back, instead of thrusting his package right in my face. I caught a whiff of his crotch and felt sick.
Method acting, I reminded myself, and soldiered on.
"Hell yeah! But how on earth could I possibly do that? He basically wiped the floor with me out there."
"I have a way," said my costar, moving closer. I was hit by a stronger wave of his manly musk but couldn't look away. The guy had to be shaving his pubes; the posing pouch was so low on his hips yet I couldn't see even a trace of pubic hair. "At the next wrestling meet it can be you wiping the floor with him. You interested?"
Of course Max was interested. Over several weeks, the soap charted his downward spiral as he endeavored to build up his body through both exercise and stimulants. Hank was having me hit the gym twice a day now and I was becoming seriously ripped. In spite of that, I still wasn't comfortable with the near-naked scenes they kept having me film. Max was always working out shirtless and then checking himself out in the mirror, wearing only a towel or a posing pouch. I'd thought the tighty-whiteys were bad; these posing pouches were ten times worse! They were practically a string at the sides and, as I'd discovered in that locker room scene, they put half my pubes on display. Hank said they'd have to go. If I wanted to be a method actor, I'd have to shave my entire body just as bodybuilders frequently did.
I balked at this. I was already fairly hairless, except for my armpits, pubes and legs. Only sissies would shave off those! I know Randy had already been subjected to a full-body shave, but then the guy was seriously hairy for an 18-year-old; he even had chest hair! (And he was a bit of a sissy. Why else would he agree to get publicly shaved by a couple of extras in the makeup room?)
"Please, Hank. Do I really have to?" I hoped Hank would see reason. He was a rather reasonable guy.
Hank looked disappointed. "I thought you appreciated the importance of method acting, Colt. You're the only one with something to gain by it. It doesn't make the slightest difference to me whether you shave your body or not, but it'll make your performance that much more believable when it's time to submit your Best Younger Actor reel."
Well, when he put it like that ... "Okay, Hank."
"Tell you what. We're going to be taping your next scenes during the studio open day. Why don't you invite some of your friends to come over?"
"Er, I don't really want them to see me like that-"
"Nonsense," said Hank. "You want to show them how far you've come as an actor, don't you? You're the leading man on a daytime soap opera. How many of your pals can claim that kind of success at your age?"
It would be pretty sweet to show off my success. I didn't have a great many friends, but a number of acquaintances who I'd often run into at auditions or acting classes. I could certainly invite them along to the open day, and watch their faces burn with jealousy.
On the day itself, Hank fetched my friends in because I was occupied in the makeup chair. Three struggling young actors swaggered into the makeup room behind him; a couple of them had taken advantage of the plus-one in their invites to bring along their girlfriends too. Their eyes widened when they saw me stretched out on the horizontally-reclined makeup chair, naked except for a small hand towel draped over my junk. One of the crew was shaving my armpit.
I was embarrassed. "Oh, hi, guys. Um, sorry I can't get up."
"No shit," joked one of the guys, Lenny.
"Colt's preparing for his next scene," explained Hank.
"As a male stripper?" asked another guy, Brandon, sarcastically.
I blushed, but Hank just grinned and clarified, "As a bodybuilder. You may know that they have to keep their bodies shaved smooth to accentuate their muscle tone. Colt's committed to method acting, so he's consented to having his body shaved as well."
"He seems pretty hairless to me," remarked Lenny.
"Oh no," said Hank. "I agree that his torso is fairly smooth, but not his lower body." He casually reached out and whipped off my towel, exposing me full-frontally to my audience. Their jaws dropped, and I turned an even darker shade of crimson. With my hands above my head, I was utterly unable to cover up.
"Y-you intend to shave his pubes too?" sputtered Chris.
"Everything," confirmed Hank. "In fact, why don't you guys chip in and help Colt out? It'll not only speed things up but also give you a one-of-a-kind interactive studio tour."
I opened my mouth to protest, uneasy at the grins on my so-called pals' faces, but Hank swiftly reassured me that he'd stay on to make sure things didn't get out of hand. That was the cue for Brandon, Lenny and Chris to fall upon my naked body far more gleefully than the situation warranted. Armed with razors, they lathered up my cock and balls and began whisking away my dark pubes. I was alarmed to see their girlfriends whip out camera phones and start filming us.
"Don't worry, Colt," said Hank soothingly. "I already spoke to them about keeping anything they see on set to themselves. Right, guys?"
My supposed friends nodded, but their concentration didn't waver from the task of denuding my body of its hair. They certainly took their own sweet time, so I don't feel it was a time-saving measure at all, but at least they were careful not to nick me. They weren't so cautious when it came to shaving my asshole. (Yes, Hank insisted we needed to shave every part of my body from the neck down.) It was mortifying enough to have my legs propped up and spread widely so that they could access my ass crack, but my humiliation was compounded when each of the guys accidentally slipped their finger into my hole. It's a good thing the shaving foam had lubricated my hole somewhat, because otherwise it would have hurt like a mother-fucker, particularly when Brandon and Lenny managed to simultaneously bury their fingers right up to the knuckle. I'm pretty sure they didn't need to saw their fingers in and out of my hole, but I didn't want to draw attention to it, or the fact that I had a leaking erection.
"It's quite normal," Hank told me. "You should have seen Randy on shaving day. The kid is a real grower." If he'd intended to put me at ease, it didn't work, especially with the girls capturing my debasement for posterity on their camera phones.
Once all my pubic hair had been shaved off, the guys turned their attention to my legs, which they seemed to shave much faster although it was a much wider area. They then inspected the rest of my body and found only a wisp or two around my nipples, which they spent another inordinate amount of time shaving. Finally satisfied that I was follicle-free, they let me put on my costume: a skimpy maroon posing pouch.
With my friends watching from the sidelines, we filmed a scene at the country club locker room. Randy's character Jake bumps into mine while I'm flexing in front of a mirror.
"Oh, sorry, I didn't realize ..." Randy's voice trailed off as he absorbed the sight of me wearing next to nothing.
"What do you think, dude?" I flexed some more, making my muscles pop. (The whole thing was pretty ridiculous and I had said so but Hank had impressed the importance of this scene upon me so I didn't want to let him down.)
Randy gulped. "Um ... when did you get so jacked?" I was starting to suspect he was as much of a faggot as his character, if the way he was hungrily eyeing up my mostly-naked physique was anything to go by.
"I've been body-building for a couple of months now," I announced proudly. "Do you want to feel my muscles? Go on." (Like I said, ridiculous! What straight guy would invite another to molest him?)
Randy looked like he was about to pass out as he reached out to tentatively feel one of my powerful biceps.
"Wow, that's rock hard!" he exclaimed.
"Yeah. I've been working on my pecs, too. Go on, have a feel."
Emboldened by my encouragement, Randy began to more or less grope me. I was squirming inside, aware that my friends were watching the scene unfold. Out of the corner of my eye I could see them giggling. There was worse to come though.
"Hey, you know, I was actually about to snap some pics of my progress for my bodybuilding diary. You want to help me out?"
"Of course!" Randy was totally enthusiastic.
I'd told Hank that Max couldn't be that clueless not to realize that Jake had a homosexual crush on him. Hank had replied that the scene clearly evidenced how steroids can impact mental acuity. It was a sensible explanation so I didn't debate it further.
"There's a bottle of baby oil over there you could help me put on," I told Randy. "It really makes my muscles pop in the photos."
Randy was far more handsy than he needed to be oiling up my body. Did he really need to twist my nipples until they were hard or grease up my ass-crack so deeply? At one point he even slid his hand down the front of my pouch! The scene where he kneeled in front of me to oil up my muscular thighs was so provocative that I wondered how it made it past the censors.
But it was the next scene which really gave me a turn. Jake had stolen one of the Polaroid snaps he'd taken of me for his own private viewing, and this fed into a soap opera staple: the fantasy sequence. Only this time, it was an erotic gay fantasy with my character as the other participant!
"I get that Jake's a faggot which is probably right up Randy's alley, but why do I need to get dragged into it?" I whined to Hank upon receiving the script. I felt nauseated just reading about how our two characters were supposed to have this steamy, naked make-out session in the shower.
"Colt, Colt, Colt," Hank reproached me. "If you want to be taken seriously as an actor, you need to be able to roll with the punches."
"But it's a gay sex scene!"
"That's the next best thing to an actual gay role. Every young actor under 25 has done one now. You're already missing out since your character's straight, but this is as close as you can get."
"But ... I have to do it for real?"
"If you want to embrace method acting, yeah. Now come on, Colt. Your friends are watching. Don't let them to think you're too chicken to kiss another actor."
I grumbled but consented. Stripping off even the posing pouch, I joined an equally naked, dripping wet Randy inside the shower. The scene was shot through a glass door whose lower half was frosted, just enough to steer clear of the censors but not to hide the fact that we were in fact completely nude. (No cock-socks here either; I was starting to get used to it.)
"Oh Max," sighed Randy as I grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around. We looked deeply into each other's eyes.
"You're the one that I want," I said in a stage whisper that was loud enough to be heard over the cascading water. Randy took that as an invitation to lock lips with me. I tried to purse my lips shut but he was persistent. (A total fag - just as I suspected!) He forced my mouth open with his prying tongue and shoved it down my throat.
"Good work, Randy," called Hank. "Colt, put some passion into it." His gentle rebuke prompted me to overcome the gender of my kissing partner and turn it into a smoldering make-out session that would make any actress envious to be on the receiving end. Unfortunately it wasn't a woman on the receiving end but Randy. When life hands you lemons ... I threw Randy up against the shower wall and returned his kiss with similar fervor.
Surprised at first, Randy quickly got into the scene and ran his hands all over my body. Fortunately the scene which played out on television only shows his hand disappearing down out of shot before transitioning to him waking up from the fantasy.
On set, however, Randy fondled my cock with one hand while his other hand crept round my back to my ass-crack. I tensed up as I felt a wet, but otherwise un-lubricated, finger prodding at my virginal asshole.
"What're you doing?" I squawked.
"Playing the script," replied Randy as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
"Ugh," I grunted as Randy's finger wormed its way into my ass. I was acutely aware of the watching eyes. "Take it out!"
"I'm supposed to put 3 fingers into you."
"Three?!"
"You can finger my ass if it makes you feel better," suggested Randy. "Hank's been helping loosen me up - my ass can take up to 4 fingers now."
I shook his head violently. That couldn't be right. Why would Hank be fingering Randy's ass? We didn't do non-simulated sex. That was in the realm of pornography, not daytime soaps. No, this wasn't right, and I said as much.
"Yes, it is," Hank responded convincingly. "This is the story you're playing. This is Jake's fantasy, and he wants to make love to Max, so that's what you're going to do."
"But I'm not really Max ... and this is just make-believe ... the sex is supposed to be simulated ... we're not ... I'm not ..." I was losing my train of thought.
"Kiss him," urged Hank. "Keep kissing him. Feel him up. Finger his hole. Suck his cock. Make love for real."
I forgot about professional acting. I forgot about my audience. The only thing that existed to me at that moment was Randy. Naked, wet, teenage Randy with his blowjob lips and his pert butt.
I grabbed him roughly and threw him against the glass. "You want this, don't you, you faggot?" I asked aggressively, grabbing his package.
Randy looked like a deer in the headlights. If he was acting then I was going to be facing some competition for the Best Younger Actor prize.
"Yes," he whispered, "I want your cock."
"Then suck it," I ordered him. I grasped Randy's shoulders and forced him to his knees. The spray from the shower cascaded down over us as Randy hesitantly wrapped his lips around my dick and gave me a blowjob.
The boy was able to take all 7.5 inches of my manhood down his throat. I took it as further confirmation that he was a born cocksucker.
Randy's mouth may have been occupied, but his hands were still working my body. He'd managed to stick three fingers into my hole as he'd promised and was now attempting a fourth. I threw my head back, groaning from the dual sensations of pain and pleasure. Randy was plunging four fingers in and out of my ass at a clip, and to my amazement it just made my cock grow even stiffer.
"I'm gonna cum," I said, "and you're going to swallow it all."
It's not like Randy had much choice in the matter; I had his head in a vice-like grip as I brutally face-fucked him.
I roared as I came, pumping cum for nearly half a minute, letting my seed gush down Randy's throat. He, filthy cocksucker that he was, dutifully downed the massive load before licking his way up my body. I was pretty disgusted by how he was obviously into my body, slobbering over my abs and nibbling on my nipples, but I manfully put up with it by reminding myself that this method acting was going pay off in spades when the Daytime Emmy nominations rolled around.
Randy was now kissing my neck and I was astounded to hear him say, with unexpected conviction, "Now it's your turn to suck my cock."
But the bigger shock was that I actually obeyed! I got down on my knees and sucked Randy's cock! Look, I'm straight so method acting or not, I wasn't about to deliver a stellar blowjob. That was my concession to doing this queer shit.
Randy kept wincing and warning me to watch my teeth, but that didn't stop him from cumming like a hosepipe. I vigorously fingered his asshole throughout the blowjob and found him surprisingly tight. Could he really be an anal virgin?
I didn't have time to ponder the question because he blew his wad down my throat without warning. I nearly choked on his spunk, and wanted to swallow quickly to get rid of it but Hank interjected.
"Don't swallow! I want to see you both snowball."
We both looked blankly at him, and he rolled his eyes. "Pass the cum back and forth between your mouths while you kiss," he explained.
I could scarcely believe that Hank would suggest such a repulsive practice - even Randy was looking a little queasy - but we had faith that he knew best. We puckered up and went for a deep French kiss, exchanging the semen-and-saliva mixture as he suggested.
"Great job, guys," praised Hank after this went on for a few minutes. That made it all worthwhile. He added, "That's a wrap! I'll see you both back in the studio tomorrow. Well, maybe not you, Randy. I think you'd best follow me home. There was one acting skill you displayed just now that I'd like you to practice further with me."
While Randy trotted off behind Hank, I ran to the nearest dressing-room to rinse out my mouth. To my dismay the taste of semen lingered. I turned around to find that my pals had followed me. I had completely forgotten about their presence. It suddenly occurred to me that they'd seen me acting out a blowjob. The broad grins etched on their faces heightened my sense of embarrassment.
"Well, Colt, I'm certainly glad we got to see you in action today," said Lenny.
"Boy, you certainly go for it, huh?" added Chris.
"You know me, guys - I'm totally method," I said with as much bravado as I could muster.
"Yeah, method acting. That's what they call it," smirked Brandon.
"It was definitely, uh, revealing," remarked Chris, as the group tittered.
I turned red. The guys slapped me on the back, hard, and strutted off. Why did I get the feeling they weren't actually impressed?
Well, I did know one lot that I'd managed to impress. Hank shared that the demos showed a marked increase in male viewership after the fantasy shower scene aired. I was surprised by how tame the broadcast version was - surely the scene we'd filmed had gone on for much longer and much further? But I was too relieved at not being seen on national television sucking off a teenage boy to question what had happened to the extended footage.
Hank also revealed that advertisers were thrilled by the audience numbers and that he'd been approached by a fashion house asking if Randy and I would be willing to model for their latest line. Apparently we would be the ideal faces for their brand.
I was initially excited until I found out the fashion house in question actually targeted gay customers and the clothing line they wanted us to model consisted of underwear and swimwear.
"But Hank, this stuff is so freaking gay!" I complained as I rifled through the box of samples they'd sent us. Thongs and Speedos were all they seemed to have!
"At the stage of your career that you're in, you can't really afford to turn down a lucrative modeling deal like this. Think of all the publicity it'll drum up for you come Emmy nomination time. Yeah, the clothes are a bit gay but that's what all the big stars do nowadays. They're stripping off for cancer charities and even gay magazines! If you don't get on the bandwagon, then someone else will and you might as well surrender your Emmy to an actor from another show."
Hank was right (of course). I couldn't blow off this deal just because it made me uncomfortable to have gay guys leering at me in my skivvies. It's not like this would be my first revealing photoshoot anyway. Hank frequently arranged for journalists covering the soaps to interview me and publicize my upcoming storylines, giving them exclusive access to behind-the-scenes pics (inevitably of me in various states of undress). He conceded that they were somewhat exploitative but stressed the importance of raising my public profile. You could be the most gifted actor but without the right PR machinery behind you, all the talent in the world would be for naught.
If not for Hank's professional acumen, I'd never have consented to some of the interviews they made me do. The funny thing is the journalists always seemed less interested in my storyline than in me: how I kept myself fit; how I felt filming my many half-naked scenes; whether I wore boxers or briefs; and so on. There was an entire spread about my workout regime, complete with pictures of me exercising shirtless. Now I'm proud of my physique but I'd never take my top off at the gym under normal circumstances.
Another issue had a centerfold pull-out of me emerging from the ocean wearing just square-cut swimming trunks. That photoshoot had been especially embarrassing thanks to all the guys my age who were on the beach that day, looking on and snickering loudly at my skimpy swimwear. I was quite distraught and Hank tried to console me by saying that James Bond had worn the same trunks in Casino Royale; you didn't get much manlier than him! I appreciated his attempt but I still felt like a piece of meat.
If I'd thought that was bad, the photoshoot for the gay underwear brand was even worse. I was really glad for Hank's company because it seemed the whole outfit was run by gay men, from the photographer down to the makeup guy. The latter relished putting makeup on my abs and spritzing me with baby oil to achieve the "sweaty" shots. Some of my body hair was starting to grow back and he made a great fuss over shaving me smooth. If Hank hadn't calmed me down, I would've punched his smug little gay face when he tried to touch my cock while shaving my pubes.
The photographer was no better. He commented creepily about my "beefy pecs", "shredded abs" and "bubble butt" as he copped a feel of the corresponding body part. He told Hank he'd been inspired by my wrestling scenes on the show. "Exquisitely homoerotic," he called it. "Exactly what we need to sell this line."
So he had me and Randy reenact the scenes, only we were dressed in rainbow thongs instead of wrestling singlets. With our oiled-up bodies on display, I had the sick feeling that we looked like a pair of fags, despite Hank's assurances.
"Fasten your lips round Colt's nipple, Randy. That's it," instructed the photographer. "Colt, pretend to take a bite out of Randy's ass. Fabulous! Fabulous!"
He wasn't content until both Randy and I were soaked in sweat, which prompted him to order shots of Randy licking up the pool of sweat between my abs and me tonguing Randy's sweaty armpit. How gross is that?! Hank really had his work cut out for him cajoling me into that.
We were guided through a series of poses in multi-colored briefs, trunks, jockstraps, g-strings ... no normal underwear like boxers, only tight, revealing stuff! There was even mesh underwear that exposed our junk through sheer fabric. I trembled at the thought of someone seeing me in those, but Hank assured me that those images wouldn't feature my face. It struck me as odd since Randy and I were the faces for this line, so customers would only have to guess between the two of us to determine whose equipment was exhibited on the underwear packaging. With Randy being olive-skinned, I doubted they'd have much difficulty differentiating between our crotches. But I had faith that Hank wouldn't have overlooked something so blatant.
Just when I figured we were done, the photographer announced we still had the swimwear to model. And then, to my chagrin, he had us pack up for an outdoor shoot at the very same beach where I'd encountered those laughing teens in my square-cut trunks; only this time I was dressed in even less!
The low-slung pink Speedos I'd been given to wear were like briefs, but with uncovered panels at the sides which exposed my milky-white skin. If I hadn't been shaved smooth, most of my pubes would have also been on display. I looked over at Randy who was wearing an equally skimpy Speedo, (except his was turquoise) and looked just as nervous.
We were greeted by jeers and catcalls the moment we stepped out of the vehicle and onto the beach.
"Look, it's the two gay boys from TV!"
"What are they wearing?"
"He's some kind of muscle Mary, look at that freaking pink Speedo!"
I wished the ground would swallow me up. I wouldn't have made it through the photoshoot if not for Hank's support. He even went and had a word with the heckling teens, although unfortunately he apparently wasn't able to get them to tone down their taunts. They just went and called all their friends down to the beach and whipped out their phones to record Randy and me in our Speedos. But at least Hank had made the effort; that counted for something.
The photographer, seemingly oblivious to our audience, had me and Randy cavort on the beach. We frolicked in the surf, gave each other piggyback rides and (most embarrassingly) engaged in several homoerotic clinches. These invited the worst of our teenaged spectators' derision. Truthfully, I couldn't blame them because what else would you do if you saw two MEN making out on the beach while shoving their hands inside each other's scanty Speedos and grabbing handfuls of cock and ass?
Randy and I underwent several changes of costume, but none of them were less revealing than the first Speedos. Amid our boardshorts-clad spectators, this was especially mortifying.
There was no proper place to change either; we were simply handed a hand towel and told to change under that right there on the beachfront. You can imagine how successful we were at keeping ourselves covered at all times with such a small towel that we had to hold to keep from falling off. Both of us suffered at least two such humiliating slip-ups, each of which raised a raucous cheer (and ample photography!) from the watching teens.
After three hours on the beach, in increasingly revealing attire and a growing audience, the photographer finally called it a wrap.
"Look forward to seeing yourself on the billboards, boys," he told me and Randy in parting. I exchanged a horrified glance with my teen co-star. We hadn't realized the marketing campaign was going to be so public!
Hank patted my shoulder in encouragement. "It's all good, Colt. Just keep your eyes on the prize. All publicity is good publicity."
It sure didn't feel that way. Even taking the subway home after filming became an ordeal after the underwear ads went viral. Reactions fell into two categories: people either pointed at me laughingly or approached me with full-color printouts of images from the campaign that they wanted me to autograph. Hank had told me to humor them, so I did, although it felt like I was sanctioning my own exploitation. It didn't escape my notice that the vast majority of the autograph-seekers were male, in contrast to the females who had mobbed me when I first started out in the role. I wasn't having much luck pulling in the girls at bars when I went out these days, but was getting a lot of attention from the gay men instead.
I wasn't the only one suffering. I think Randy was getting teased at school because he was seeking out Hank more and more, spending hours in his apartment. That rankled me for some reason. If I didn't know any better, I'd think I was jealous of the amount of time he was getting to spend with Hank. But I'm a tough guy, not a sissy like Randy, so I vowed that I wouldn't go crying to Hank. After all, he was trying to propel my career and I could put up with the shit in the meantime.
Filming went on as usual. My character was starting to exhibit signs of roid rage. Given what was going on in my life outside the studio, I didn't have to tap very deep to play the increasingly volatile Max. It was almost cathartic to throw things around and really go for it in my wrestling scenes. Max's violent spree culminated in him brutally beating a rival into a coma. Overcome by guilt and fear, Max flees the scene with no one the wiser as to who committed the dastardly crime since the victim was rendered comatose. Well, almost no one.
Max had been witnessed running away from the scene by Carter, a con-artist who had fallen on hard times since being released from prison and forced to take a job as a male stripper at a gay club. I'd had a good laugh at the expense of Carter's portrayer, Ross, when he first realized that his costume from then on would be a glittery thong. Ross was a pretty cool guy but he looked ridiculous pole-dancing and grinding on guys while nearly naked. Hank even offered my pals Brandon, Lenny and Chris small roles as strippers in the background. Hank must have been his usual persuasive self because, after mocking me for my dedication to method acting, the three were featured in several episodes gyrating in spangled thongs. Brandon got the most prominent part, making out with Ross and losing even the undies at one point. Man, I'd never seen them blush so much!
But getting back to the plot - Carter partnered with a sleazy pornographer named Mick. Armed with Max's dirty secret, the pair swiftly blackmailed him into meeting them at a fleabag motel where they had a proposition for him in exchange for keeping quiet about his crime. To Max's shock, Carter and Mick weren't alone; young Jake was also there.
"Ah, of course you know know each other already," remarked Mick. "That's good. It gets the awkward introductions out of the way."
"What do you want from us?" demanded Max angrily.
Mick repeated the proposition he had already offered Jake: the two of them would appear in a gay porn film that would be marketed exclusively in Europe.
My reaction, I mean Max's, was instantaneous. "No way!"
"I'd rethink that answer if I were you," advised Mick.
"You want me to make gay porn with Jake! That's insane! Neither one of us is even gay." (If you recall, Max was in the dark about Jake's homosexuality. Indeed, that was how Jake himself had been blackmailed into appearing in this porno.)
"I'm leaving," insisted Max. "And Jake, you'd better come with me."
"I ... I can't," said Jake miserably.
"Why not? What is it they have on you? Whatever it is, it's not worth acting in some sleazy gay porno."
"Are you sure about that, Max?" questioned Mick. "Would you rather make a porno with your friend or risk going to prison? I don't have to tell you what happens to pretty boys like you in prison."
Max turned pale. "You're making that up."
"Oh yeah? Ask Carter here. He's been in prison before."
The actors on set were shown the uncensored version of the flashback of Carter's prison rape, which was way more explicit than what eventually aired. I couldn't believe Ross had actually taken two black dicks up his ass at the same time. My own asshole clenched in sympathy. The things we actors do for our art!
Max shuddered; as the son of the police commissioner and district attorney, he would likely be a prime target for depraved convicts.
"Just take the deal, Max," said Jake. The faggot was trembling with excitement. What had started out as frightening blackmail seemed to be turning into a previously impossible opportunity to sleep with the boy of his dreams.
"Jake, I can't possibly do this. Do you understand what they want us to do? We're both guys!"
"I know, but it's not like we have a choice."
I let my shoulders slump in defeat. "It's only the one video, right? And that'll only be marketed to Europe?"
The blackmailers smiled.
A short while later, I stood facing Randy across the bed. We were dressed in ludicrously tiny, tight briefs (white for him, red for me) and our bodies shone with the sheen of baby oil.
"Lights, camera, action!" Mick called from the side. We moved timidly towards each other and then hesitantly began kissing. Slowly we inched closer to the bed, and Randy let his hands wander down my body. The scene that was broadcast ended with us falling into bed together, and picked up again after the sex.
Given that Hank is such a fan of method acting, we shot a lot of additional footage that didn't make the cut. He made us watch several gay porn films so that we could get a feel of what actually is expected of actors in gay porn. I was pretty disgusted by the many scenes of `rimming', where one guy actually licks the other guy's asshole! Watching them ride each other's cocks, virtually enforcing their own fucking, was just as horrific.
Then we had to put what we'd seen to practice. I was really, really reluctant to do this until Hank gave me a pep talk.
"It doesn't make you gay, Colt," explained Hank patiently. "In fact that's why you need to do this, so that when you act out Max's trauma at being forced into sex that goes against his heterosexual nature, you'll be able to channel your own feelings into your performance. You can play the sense of violation and self-loathing with Emmy-worthy realism."
That's Hank for you, always having my best interests at heart. He's such a swell dude. Is it any wonder that my anxieties about being butt-fucked on camera all but melted away after speaking to him? He even convinced me of the pressing need to enact the rimming scene to which I'd been particularly opposed.
In porn terminology, what Randy and I acted out was called a flip-flop fuck. (That was what I'd learned from watching all those gay pornos that Hank supplied us with.)
I was going to go first. I was understandably nervous but Hank was on hand to allay my concerns. He even took up the unenviable task of giving me an enema and then lubing up my asshole with four fingers. To be honest with you, I kind of wish he'd let someone else do that because his fingers were rather thick and I was squirming terribly by the time he'd forced all four up my tight hole, but I didn't want to be ungrateful when he was being so supportive.
I was stunned by the transformation that came over Randy once the cameras started to roll. The shy, soft kid was replaced by a brutal fucker. He slammed into me with such force that I nearly screamed the place down. He continued thrusting in and out of my poor ass at a breakneck pace, stabbing me deeply in the guts every time. From the devious grin on his face I think the son of a bitch enjoyed it a lot more than he should have in any professional capacity.
I had my chance to get my own back when it was his turn to get fucked, but first I had to rim his asshole! Somehow Randy had escaped being shaved `back there' (if you get my drift), so I couldn't even fool myself into imagining that I was eating out a girl's pussy. Randy cooed and moaned in delight as I applied the "kiss, lick, suck, tongue-fuck" rimming method which Hank had advised me to follow. Man, I can't tell you how revolting it was - all I could smell or taste was male ass! But I persevered, and the pleased look on Hank's face gave me some small measure of pride.
Having gotten Randy's ass all wet with spit, I wasted no time in replacing my tongue with my cock. Propping his hairy legs up on my shoulders, I swiftly entered him, relishing the pained yelp that triggered. He continued to groan as I fucked his brains out. I thought he'd be in too much agony to get off but lo and behold, he was sporting a dripping boner within minutes. (Come to think of it, I'd had one too when he was fucking me. It must be the lack of sex getting to me.)
Thanks to his limited sexual experience, Randy had little self-control; he cried out as he shot his wad, nearly taking my eye out with the first blast. His cock kept spurting, drenching us both in his warm, sticky spunk.
I hadn't realized that was Ross's cue. He ripped off his golden thong and entered the frame full-frontal. Evidently all those stripping scenes had made him comfortable with onscreen nudity and homosexuality. He joined Randy and me on the bed and started lapping up the sweat and semen that coated both of our bodies. He squatted over Randy's face, getting the teenager to eat out his blond ass while he fisted his own dick and chewed on my erect nipples. Randy must have given a very good rim-job (yet more proof that he was a total fag) because Ross ended up adding his cum to the crusty mix on Randy's torso.
Then Ross got on all fours for Randy and me to pound him from both ends. Randy was just as aggressive in face-fucking and I genuinely thought that poor Ross was going to choke on his mouthful of cock. I didn't let my commiseration get in the way of delivering the scene that Hank was expecting. I powerfully hammered into Ross's ass, making sure I got in real deep before pulling almost all the way out and slamming back in. As much as he moaned, it was nothing compared to the howling we got out of him when Randy joined me to double-stuff him. I'd assumed Ross would be used to taking two dicks up his butt after filming that prison rape scene, but apparently not.
I'd never taken part in a double-penetration before and found it weird and stimulating at the same time. Weird because my cock was crammed alongside another one in a man's ass, and stimulating because I'd never experienced a tighter fuck. I'm ashamed to admit that I actually wound up shooting my load inside Ross. So did Randy, but given his suspect sexuality, that was hardly unexpected.
Spent, I wanted nothing more than to wash away the funk of homo-sex but Hank asked if I'd be willing to help Ross. It seems that a warm tongue is the best salve for a violated asshole. I blanched but did my part for my colleague by rimming him anyway. Eating my own sperm as well as Randy's out of Ross's hole was not an experience I ever wanted to repeat. I couldn't get the taste out of my mouth for hours! I was so glad that this storyline was over.
Or was it?
TO BE CONTINUED