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Kiss4 by danthedanimal
If you enjoy my male erotic photography now you can help us to shoot more of it by supporting us at our Patreon! If all of my fans and friends only contribute $1 a month... less than the cost of a gas station coffee...we can book two or three shoots a month and give you the very best of what you want with the hottest guys!! Please help and smoochers!!
If you enjoy my male erotic photography now you can help us to shoot more of it by supporting us at our Patreon! If all of my fans and friends only contribute $1 a month... less than the cost of a gas station coffee...we can book two or three shoots a month and give you the very best of what you want with the hottest guys!! Please help and smoochers!!’ by danthedanimal
we now have  fun and nawty goodies on Redbubble :…Yeppers by danthedanimal
“It’s not just that man, supposedly the most intelligent creature in our known universe, in his greed, blind ambition and willful carelessness has chosen to destroy the perfect balance of nature on which his life depends, but he’s committed himself to obliterating intelligence altogether. We have lawmakers who prefer mythology to science, fiction to reality, faith over facts and lies versus the truth. They start wars in the names of all their gods, and wash their hands in the blood of innocents like it’s righteous water. They blatantly and proudly design laws to discriminate and denigrate those who are not like them and base it on fables. They preach hatred, intolerance, and segregation. Rather than bring man together, they want to separate and enslave him. They neither aspire nor inspire. They drag progress backward to the age of ignorance when women had no role but as servant to man, not owning their own bodies, or having choices in their life. And they smile proudly as if their stupidity were a badge of honor. Their minds are closed like steel traps and they are backed by enough money to put the worst of the worst of them in power. It’s fascism under a new banner, guaranteeing a world of suffering rather than progress. They are the cancer eating away not only at the globe we live on, but at civilization itself.”
EXCERPT from my Sci-fi Novel, XPERIMENT

His aggravation persisted for most of the day, although it lessened in Chris’ presence. They had

dinner and then the latter practiced a few musical pieces. The music soothed Geoff’s raw nerves.

Their weekend together was something they looked forward to. They could snuggle in bed

together, read, and enjoy each other’s company. The simplest pleasures of life and love.

As midnight divided one day into the next, an early snow began to fall. Goose feather-sized

flakes drifted down, softening the cityscape. Geoff put another blanket on the bed and fell

comfortably asleep in his lover’s arms. The last of his sullied mood had evaporated.

When he awoke it was still dark, but he noticed Chris’ absence immediately. As sleep-worn eyes

focused, he found him seated at the end of the bed. He didn’t seem to be doing anything but

sitting rigidly, hands folded in his lap, head turned toward the window. Geoff realized he was

listening to something. He was still dressed in his t-shirt and boxers.

“Chris,” he whispered. There was no response. He said his name again. His head slowly turned

toward him. His eyes sparkled in the dimness, but Geoff could tell he was still asleep. He was

sleepwalking again; or very close to it. It seemed to be the one consistent side effect of the

supplement. “Come back to bed, babe.” He patted the mattress.

The pale face resumed its blank gaze at the window.

Reluctantly slipping from the warmth of the bed, he trotted on tiptoe across the cold floor to the

window. A quick check outside confirmed it was still snowing. He coaxed his partner beneath the

covers and, at last, Chris closed his eyes.

There was enough winter chill in the room to affect his bladder. Standing quietly at the toilet, he

tried to filter out the sensations around him. The smells, the pull. The feeling that something bad

was going on out there.

As he finished and flushed, he noticed the room temperature had taken a drastic nosedive.

Goosebumps pebbled his arms. He could see his breath.

Upon his return to the bedroom, the reason for the cold was evident. The bed was empty; the

window open. The drapes billowed on the breeze, carrying in snow to form wet specks on the


His mind wanted to reject the meaning of what had happened in his absence. He tugged the drape

back and looked outside. The snowfall had been consistent; the ground was covered with a

velveteen layer of white. Imprints of bare feet could clearly be seen on the fire escape, but no

Chris. His eyes swept both directions of the street. He saw nothing. Looking below, he

discovered the half-dressed sleepwalker standing on the sidewalk, hair dotted with white; face

pointed down the street like a hunting dog signaling where the duck had landed. The chill, along

with annoyance, made Geoff bristle.

Trying not to disturb the neighbors, he whispered; “Chris! Get back up here!”

If he’d heard him, there was no acknowledgement. He’d have to go down and fetch him. Geoff

found his jeans and threw them on. As he zipped them, he poked his head out the window.

“Chris!” he whispered louder, trying to catch his attention.

Slowly, the pale blue neon eyes of the somnambulist turned upward to him. Then he turned and

sprinted barefoot down the street.

“Shit!” Geoff cursed, hastily cramming his feet into his running shoes. He jumped over the ledge

and outside. Without a thought of the danger, he leaped over the rail, landing four stories below.

The impact jarred his teeth, but the adrenaline revving his system reduced pain to an

afterthought. Eyes focused on the nearly blank canvas of ground cover, following the solitary set

of footprints. Visibility, even for him, was minimal in the speckled curtain of white. At the pace

he’d set, Chris was already blocks ahead of him.

His cauldron of thoughts had him fuming as he ran. He knew exactly what was happening. He

could smell it in the air, too. Chris’ heightened instincts had pulled him out onto a trail.

The distance between the footprints widened. He was in a full sprint; his direction mapped.

I’ve created a fucking nightmare, Geoff mentally whipped himself as he ran, snow crunching

underfoot. It was unbelievable that the man he loved was running half-naked and barefoot

through the snow in freezing temperatures. They were heading north to the older section of the


He crossed an intersection without looking, the sharp blast of a car horn startling him. The driver

stomped his brakes, sending the vehicle into a sideways skid, missing him by mere inches.

Headlights momentarily blinded him as the car slid into the curb and struck a lamppost. He

didn’t have time to look back at the sound of crunching metal.

Apartments gave way to warehouses, staring like featureless faces. The smell of decay and

neglect were a smoky undernote beneath the other scent. The trail of footprints led to a dead end

and a three-story brick building with double garage doors. It seemed to be the only one in the

block that’d received maintenance. Frosted windows were dimly lit. The trail led to the alley

alongside and to the rear of the long, dismal building. A quick survey of the street in front

revealed the tire tracks of at least three cars leading inside the building. That engaged his radar,

sensing trouble. This was a not a good place.

Neither the brisk run nor the chill was responsible for the thick lump in his throat. It was worry.

If he was right, Chris had just found a very nasty nest.

The barefoot imprints vanished at the back of the building. Glancing up at a staggered set of

windows, he knew Chris had used their ledges to scale the building. He was up there somewhere.

Geoff would soon follow, but he was curious to know what they were walking into.

The graveled backyard, even with a blanket of snow, was noisy to walk across. He chose his

steps cautiously, finding a door near the rear. The crud on its windowpane had likely

accumulated for decades, but with a little spit he succeeded in rubbing enough away to look

inside. He immediately didn’t like what he saw. Draped on a wall near the door was the

ominously familiar red, white, and black flag, the symbol of perfect intolerance and evil. Chris

had stumbled upon what Detective DiMarco had warned him about weeks ago— band of neo-

Nazis. From the number of voices muffled inside, they were having a meeting.

He wasted no time climbing to the roof. The architecture was surprising, pitched high with clay

tiles and a double door walkout to a veranda in years of disrepair. The upper floor had been a

residence at one time. One of the doors was open. Chris was already inside.

Beyond the door was a shadowy room which, with a perfunctory examination, appeared to be

used for storage. There was a lot of old WWII Army paraphernalia. To be precise, German army

paraphernalia: coats, boots: the works. In the left corner, another door stood half-open. Light

slanted through. He could hear smatterings of conversation as he approached.

An L-shaped balcony ran the length of hallway directly outside the door and to the right,

overlooking a garage below. The building was enormous. Here, mingled with grease and motor

oil, the stench assailed his nostrils stronger. A wall at the end of the balcony had been knocked

down, opening to another cavern-black room. A stack of disordered bricks were piled in front of

the opening. It was here he caught sight of what he was looking for: the white t-shirt and boxers

crouching beneath the bricks, hidden in the shadows. He could see the head of knotted brown

curls. Chris was listening to the voices below.

An inner dialogue warily prodded him. The one and only priority was to get Chris out safely.

He’d no intention of involving either of them in this business. There were others who could take

care of it.

A garage door rattled the walls as it opened. A car pulled inside. From where Geoff stood, he

could see a black limousine. It stopped just beneath the balcony. The men in the shop gathered


He had to move with the utmost delicacy. Crouching on all fours, he inched his way along the

balcony toward Chris. Not only did he not want to alert the men below, he didn’t want to startle

the sleepwalker.

There was little doubt these were the very people DiMarco had spoken about. They were in the

middle of a meeting, swastika flags proudly displayed throughout the room. How a group like

this could still exist in the 21st century boggled the imagination. It simply had to be people who

loved to hate.

He’d counted six men, but felt there were more beyond his vision. The room was filled with too

many voices. Someone had stepped from the limousine. There was no vantage from the balcony

to get a clear view. A glimpse here and there revealed he wore a suit, was middle-aged, and

looked to have a ponytail. No sooner had he slipped from the vehicle, than every hair on Geoff’s

body stood on end. He knew they were in the presence of something diabolical. As the new

arrival spoke, the room fell silent. He had a pronounced Southern drawl, the kind of accent that

turned one syllable into two, like someone singing.

“I’m glad we all could get together on this fine evening. Looks like our Master has graced us

with a canopy of virgin white, a symbol of the way the world was in the beginning and shall be

when our mission is complete.”

This was followed by a chorus of “Amen” and “Right on.”

“I can’t tell you the pride I have looking ‘round at y’all tonight. It does my heart good knowing

there’re still righteous men with resolved hearts willing to do the work of the Almighty. We live

in a world of sin and sinners, and they think they have all the time in the world… They’re a

pompous bunch livin’ to do the devil’s deeds in the name of education and science. They think

they can push us to the corner. They think we’ll cower like mice in their cage.”

“No more!” a man yelled from the group.

“We all know we can no longer trust our government; the police, the FBI; the CIA. We hear the

stories every day of our good leaders, the men of faith and conviction meeting strange ends,

suicides and disappearances. We know what’s going on. They’re trying to shut us down, cut us

off. They think if they kill us, they kill the message.”

Geoff edged closer to the balcony’s rail in an attempt to see the man’s face. He’d heard the voice

before, but couldn’t place it. He remained just out of sight.

“They took two of our best men in Roy and Allen at The Patriots Way. They thought they could

weaken us, but they have only strengthened our determination.” The emotion in his voice was

stirring. He was a gifted orator for sure. “But little did they know Roy and Allen had already

done their part to help us on our way. We’ll make a statement all the world will hear.” His voice

had turned defiant. “We, too, can work in mysterious ways. We, too, can strike terror in their

hearts. We’ve lost nothing because their strike against us has guided us to send our message

where it will be heard.”

There was a scattering of applause and “Here, here.”

“We have most of the stuff ready,” another voice spoke up from the group.

“Will it be enough to make a statement?” the southerner asked.

“More than enough.” The man cackled. “It’ll make ‘em shit their drawers!”

“Good. We’ll have a new reason to rejoice this Thanksgiving.”

A bang, loud and disrupting, hit the garage roof. It sounded as if a car had been dropped on it.

Dust spilled in streams from the rafters. Lights blinked. Everyone’s eyes shot upward.

“What the fuck was that?” someone said.

Chris’ head pushed upward, listening. His expression was curious, attentive. It had definitely

rattled Geoff, setting off the unwanted stimulation just beneath the surface of his skin. He held

his breath, calming himself. This was not his fight.

Something heavy dragged across the roof, the sound deafening, like a colossus walking just

above their heads. It headed toward the rear of the building. Every thump sent more dirt raining

down from the ceiling. A quick check below: all eyes had turned upward following the noise.

Some had drawn guns.

“Al, Gil, go check that out,” a baritone voice instructed two of the men. “You know what to do.”

Two pairs of feet started to the stairs. Looking around, he knew he couldn’t back into the room

he’d come from. They’d be headed in that direction. There was little choice: he went down on his

belly, sliding over to where Chris was hidden. His movements caught the sleepwalker’s attention.

A nose quickly sniffed, then turned back to the sounds on the roof. Geoff lay flat in a rectangle of

darkness between the bricks and wall. He was close enough to his partner to see the hair on his

legs had stiffened and scratched the floor.

Glass shattered with explosive force inside the storage room. Something had blown its way

through the window. A series of tumultuous thumps followed. Everyone in the building came to

an abrupt standstill: listening, including the men who were halfway up the steps. Whatever had

been on the roof was now inside the building, in the room. Al and Gil on the stairs, their faces

now substantially lighter in color, stared at each other. Their confidence, even with guns in hand,

had met a serious challenge.

“What are you guys waiting for? Christmas? Get in there and get the job done!” the voice

commanded them from the garage below.

They slowly approached the top of the stairs, faces taut, fingers white around their revolvers. Just

before reaching the door, another crash came from inside the room, stopping them in their tracks.

He scooted closer to Chris. He didn’t appreciate the precarious position they were in.

“Well?” The impatient voice came from downstairs.

He didn’t have to read minds to know what held them back. The news had been overrun with

tales about strange creatures killing people. Their sort of people. They could only imagine what

horrible thing awaited them beyond that door. Every step closer probably sparked a fresh terror

in their imagination. They stepped uneasily through the door, disappearing into the cold void.

Hard soles crunched broken glass; there was stumbling. A voice called out: “Looks like the

window is broken. It could have been the wind.” The last statement rang uncertain.

Something rattled in the room; followed by the cacophonous din of crashing. The group below

moved closer to the staircase.

A projectile, hard and roundish, with a ragged flap at its end soared in a high arc from the

darkness of the door, bouncing down the stairs to land at the feet of those below. The head of

either Al or Gil lay staring at them in obscene, choked silence, paralyzing them with

incomprehension. It’d happened so quickly that their minds locked their tongues. Eyes slowly,

fearfully, turned back toward the mystery of the door.

A roar so ferocious and unearthly it sounded prehistoric shook the building. Beginning in a low

bass, it rose to a fearsome ear-piercing shriek in seconds, raising the hair on Geoff’s neck. He’d

never heard anything like it. It was a sound that could shear nerves, rip courage from a beating


Someone in the garage below was making a hasty retreat. A pair of feet in hard-soled shoes

scampered away. A car door opened and closed. The engine of the limousine started.

That noise was apparently the impetus for whatever hid itself in the darkness to act. Wood

splintered as the doorframe exploded outward. Bricks blasted over the balcony. A dense plume of

charcoal-colored smoke swelled from where the door had been, blooming out above the stairs.

Inside that smoke, using it as cover, was something enormous. As the camouflage dispersed, a

silhouette gradually emerged, ten feet in height, black as iron, and breathing powerfully as a

locomotive. As if it were not big enough, it began to unfold itself, revealing a twenty-foot

wingspan, feathers the color of brushed iron. A collective gasp came from below before it

released another ear-splitting shriek.

With a flap of its gigantic wings, the last obfuscation of dust cleared, leaving only it: the thing,

gargantuan, feathered, and gleaming like metal. A perverse imitation of an eagle, feet twice as

large as a man’s hand, talons like sabers. Eyes of burning yellow appraised the men below. The

gray hook of its beak was darkly stained, from its maw dangled the second man. What was left of

him. Below his waist hung a skirt of bloodied entrails; his legs had been ripped from his torso,

but his arms continued to gesture helplessly. Saddened eyes gazed down at his friends. He tried

to speak, but his lips only twisted around breathless, unspoken laments.

Geoff couldn’t tear his eyes from the creature. It was magnificent, monstrous, majestic.

Gunfire popped from the garage below. Their panicked aim askew, stray bullets hit everything

but the target. This seemed to present a direct challenge to the monstrous fowl. It tossed the

remainder of their friend to them. The half-living remnants plopped nearly on top of them as it

took flight. Its wake had the thrust of a gale, an awesome spectacle as it circled the ceiling of the

building sending the terrified group scattering. Bullets pinged off walls, taking out windowpanes,

shattering lights. The sound of men screaming and running was chaos. Rafters shook, lights

rocked as it dived and ascended, eyeing the men like defenseless field mice.

It swooped down with a grace nearing elegance, a talon finding the first of its running prey. One

swipe of the claw sliced the head off clean to his shoulders. The suddenness of the attack left the

body standing, squirting blood like a macabre fountain before it dropped rag-like to the floor. It

threw the head at another man. It bounced lopsidedly until it came to rest near one of the cars

parked in the garage.

Tires squealed as the limousine sped in reverse toward the garage doors. The building convulsed

when it crashed through the door, speeding away from the scene of carnage into the freedom of

the night.

Another victim found himself impaled through the waist before being flung to the stairs. He

came apart as he tried to crawl away, unravelling in the middle, leaving his legs kicking

helplessly on the floor below.

Geoff couldn’t help but marvel at the unique beauty of the winged predator. This was no ordinary

creature. Nothing existed like it on the planet; he knew that. This regal monster had Seuthers’

stamp all over it—upreme and frightening, swift and deadly. It moved from man to man

dispensing justice dismemberment-by-dismemberment, pitching limbs like garbage throughout

the garage.

Chris’ head swayed in tempo with the mayhem. The one thing noticeably absent from his

demeanor was fear. Geoff wrapped an arm around him pressing him deeper behind the blockade

of bricks.

Another victim squirmed, screaming from where it hung in the humongous beak before being

pitched to the balcony. He landed in front of Chris and Geoff on the stack of bricks, his face a

hellish portrait as frantic fingers reached forward for help. They found Chris’ collar, clutching it

before Geoff tore the hand free, pushing him back. In the next second, he was gone, snatched

away by a huge claw, then torn in half mid-air and thrown to opposite ends of the garage.

They had to get out of there. He saw another of the men attempting to fend the creature off with a

flag. He stabbed and jabbed at it, trying to keep it at bay as it first bit through and shredded the

red, white, and black fabric, and then flipped the pole from the man’s hands before biting his

head off at the collarbone.

Grasping an arm, he hauled Chris up from the floor tersely whispering; “Time to go.” And he

guided him to the hole in the wall through which they’d come. The trunk of a body lay just past

the threshold surrounded by a lake of fresh blood, which they stepped around. Geoff looked

around for something to cover his partner’s near-nakedness. A rack of vintage German army

overcoats provided what he needed. He gently manipulated Chris’ arms through the sleeves,

buttoning it while shrieks racked the building. He found boots and pushed Chris’ bare feet into

them. The screams continued, sounding like a medieval torture chamber, but nothing penetrated

the sleepwalker’s trance.

Stepping onto the rooftop’s veranda again was like escaping a preternatural world of darkness for

one of purity. Snow blanketed the city in a mantel of white, spilling from the sky like confetti.

The air was brisk but not unbearable. He was glad he wore his sneakers. The rubber soles were

going to be necessary for the precarious trek home… beginning over the rooftops.

The building shook under their feet. It was time to go.

Draping Chris’ arms around his neck, he hoisted him onto his back, instructing him to hold tight.

He followed Geoff’s command with no problem. He’d done this roof running act before, just not

carrying another person. Life was providing one new adventure after another for him. But this

time he actually felt like the knight rescuing his beloved.

Buy link:…

Excerpt from TPOD:…

 We all three heard the unexpected opening of the door at the same time and turned toward it. Afternoon light spilled in with Dick’s long shadow. He was home in the middle of the day. Unannounced. Naturally, by this time both the boys were naked, wrapped in the red satin sheets that were my standard, a trademark in every one of the romance shoots. He looked at me, then them, then back to me. It was the first eye contact we’d shared in ages. He didn’t have to say anything. His dilated black pupils were angry and accusatory. He gave nothing away to the models. His color momentarily fluctuated between tan and blanched, but he covered it with his practiced smile. He apologized for the interruption. I introduced him as my roommate. He sat down at the edge of the studio in a chair, pretended to read mail he’d brought in with him. He’d carried in that ‘bad vibe’ sensation. It now clung to him like cheap cologne.

I finished the shoot in record time, thanked the boys and promised to have copies of the shots in their emails by that evening. That left me with Dick moving through the house acting as if he wasn’t angry, but I could feel it there swimming beneath the surface. He’d caught me in a lie. I didn’t want to feel guilty and didn’t know why I did. I think that’s the difference between people who have consciences and those who don’t. Dick would never have felt guilty for lying to me.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. What began to happen after that made it clear that everything between us from friendship with occasional sex to business would never be the same.

I drank even more, had more frequent hangovers, and worried ceaselessly. It was one thing to have a friendship temporarily on the rocks, but we were business partners as well. We had tied ourselves together like kids in a three-legged race. I had held on to hope that things would get back on track. That he’d recover at least some of his old self, that I wouldn’t have to lie awake and worry about someone I no longer trusted, who no longer trusted me.

The problem for him was that I was the problem. The longer we lived together, the harder I was to explain away. There aren’t too many supernatural things I believed in, but the one thing I know is that humans have a built-in sense of intuition. We can sense something bad or dangerous. I was sensing both.

*  *  *

Together Dick and I had reached our tipping point. It’d taken many years and a near tragedy for me to overcome the hurdles of his family and friends while maintaining his secret sham. I could finally behave in a normal manner again. This time I was being pushed down and back because of his homophobic employers. I didn’t know how many more sacrifices I would be expected to make on his behalf. I was living a twilight life.

This wasn’t fair to someone pushing into his forties. Dick's life of lies was impeding my personal freedoms. I was making endless concessions and he was making none in return. I was being met with hostility because he considered me more of a liability than a friend. I was depending in vain on the value he placed on our friendship to redeem us, and salvage everything that seemed to have taken a left turn in to hell.

I respected his intelligence too much to think he didn’t see this. He had to understand why I was reluctant to have him in another shoot after his homophobic outburst at Ran. His ego had been scraped down to raw nerves because Ran had cottoned to his secret. I couldn't have someone so explosive at a shoot; always worrying over what might flip the switch that turned him into a monster. The distance we had to go to find our way back to our friendship just kept getting wider and icing over.

He would test my honesty more frequently now to see if I’d booked any more romance shoots, but no matter what answer I gave him, I wasn’t believed. Skepticism doesn’t have to be seen to be felt. I had plenty of unused shots from over the years that had never been seen that I could sell. He began to spend more of his weekends out at the ranch, but occasionally he’d sneak back early, and I knew it was to see if he could catch me in another lie about a shoot. The seeds of mutual distrust blossomed quickly. I was going through cheap boxes of Cabernet like they were lemonade. Hangovers, extra calories, and added weight were the unwanted side effects of leaning on that crutch.

He’d mentioned the name of the ranch, and out of curiosity I Googled it. It was one that was classified an historic location and was being refurbished and revitalized by a fifty-five-year-old woman named Selma, a divorced mother of five youngsters ranging in age from eight to twenty-one. Her help came in the form of a band of volunteers, a member of which Dick could now be counted. There was a picture of her. She was a short, zaftig woman with long, dark hair she pulled back in a ponytail for the picture. What you might call handsome. Time may have given her a few pounds, but her looks transcended them. She seemed completely at ease with herself, and had no qualms being photographed in unflattering positions in overalls, while saddling or shoeing horses.

My first thought was one of nagging worry and fear that Dick would try to do to her, this honest hard-working woman, what he’d done to Mr. Walsh and all the rest of his victims. She was already a client, but she had something that meant more than money to Dick. She held the key to the door of his fantasy life as a cowboy. An entire ranch on which he could act out his Lonesome Dove dream. I could only feel dread over her proximity to him. I hoped she was a smart woman and would see through his bullshit.

We were spending less time together during the week. He worked very late, sometimes until after ten. I first assumed he was taking on new clients and getting buried in paper work in an effort to avoid me. However, I knew Dick and recognized his patterns of behavior. This was the one he used when he was plotting damage control for his reputation. I’d been here several times. I didn’t have to see the motor to know what drove the car.

an excerpt from TPoD By Dan Skinner

Buy link:…

I’d just sat down with my first cup of coffee when there was a knock on the door. I looked at the clock. It was just before eight a.m. I had no clue who it could be. Throwing my robe over my shoulders, I answered the door finding a young woman in business clothes standing in the hallway, holding an envelope. I didn’t know her.


“Dick Fitch lives here, right?” she asked trying to look past me into the living room. I moved to block the view even though there was nothing to see. It seemed the thing to do with someone who appeared so nosey.

Those prickly cactus needles of suspicion started attacking the back of my neck. It made me realize that no matter how long you live with a closet case who dates women to cover his tracks, you’re stuck protecting their secret. I was, as always, on guard.

“He’s not here at the moment,” I said, cautiously.

She looked disappointed. “Oh Christ! I missed him, didn’t I?” she glanced at her watch, slapped it with two fingers. “He’s already at the airport. I’m Debbie. I’m the secretary at his work.” She held up the envelope. “He forgot to pick up his restaurant vouchers for the trip. It was part of his prize. I tried his phone but he’d turned it off. I guess if I was off to a sunny beach in Mexico, I’d have set out early myself. My mistake. I apologize for bothering you.”

I went cold and numb. “Prize? Beach?” I heard a disembodied voice come from me.

“Oh yes. He came in first in a contest at work a couple months ago. He won the trip to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. All expenses paid, all-inclusive resort. It’s a dream trip. I’m very jealous. These restaurant vouchers are for some very fine places off the grounds of the resort. The company did this one up right. There were three winners, but Dick topped them all. The other two don’t get these vouchers.”

My feet seemed to be in quicksand pulling me downward. I sensed the sinking momentum inside myself. I was unsteady and gripped the doorframe. There was a buzzing growing in my head.

I heard the words. I knew what the words meant. But my brain just wouldn’t absorb them. She was still speaking. Something about emailing or faxing the vouchers to his hotel so he could use them with his lucky vacation partner.

Somehow she vanished. My door was closed. I was still standing there motionless, but everything inside me was shifting on its axis. Bits and pieces of erratic thoughts snapped like electrical fire in my head. I was trying to put together everything I’d just heard because it didn’t fit into the serene and contented morning that I was having before I’d opened the door.

I looked back at the sofa, the cup of coffee on the table where the morning had started. It was astonishing how the mood could change in so short a distance. From that table to the door.  Somehow my feet took me back there like life was holding that nice place for me with a bookmark. Only the nice day wasn’t there anymore. Just me and the sound of myself hyperventilating.

Suddenly, I wasn’t in my living room anymore. My mind took me inside the plane, seated next to Dick as he looked out the window. I could see his smile as the city whisked away beneath him, carrying him to the land of blue skies and clear ocean and sandy beaches. Our trip. The one I had looked forward to. The one that he had used to encourage me to send my friends to him so he could win the contest. The beach I had rigorously worked out for. I had dreamed about lying on a towel in the blazing sun, sipping Margaritas. The beach he was headed to at that very moment. Without me.

I stared at the walls. Something told me I could tear down those walls like Samson. I’d be seeing these walls from Friday to Friday as he tanned in warm sunshine.

I thought: this is how people end up in prison. These are the thoughts that turn the meek into monsters; mild-mannered men into murderers. And it can happen to the sanest of souls within a few sentences, a matter of seconds. Happiness can turn to hatred in a few clicks of a second hand on a clock.

I found myself in the bedroom. The room I’d given up in my own home to him, ever the hospitable, unselfish host. I stared at the bed. I wondered how he’d laid in it for two months knowing he’d won the vacation. How he decided I wouldn’t be going? Apparently for those sixty or so days he had no stab of conscience about lying to me, betraying me; robbing me of the one small hope that had given me something to look forward to. He never expected me to find out.

How could I feel so much hatred, depression, and disbelief at once; like it was a rotation between them on a wheel turning inside me? From inside this demented fog I realized my hands were hurting and I looked down to my balled fists to see that my nails had drawn blood from my palms.

I won’t pretend to tell you I handled this in a dignified manner. I did all the things you can imagine. Said all the curse words, cried. Drank. Three bottles of wine that night alone. It was the grandest, most uninhibited pity party I’d ever held in my life.

I felt unstable. Hell, I felt driven insane by the things I was thinking in the depth of my anger. I knew I needed help. When I woke up the next morning I knew where to go; whose ear to bend. Someone who could help me because he knew me inside out.

Excerpt from the novel THE PRICE OF DICK By DAN SKINNER
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The next day I slept in late. I’d thought I’d set the alarm. I hadn’t. Perry and Anthony had slept in as well. When I awakened, the two of them were still buried in their sheets and pillows. Dick’s bunk was empty. His clothes were also gone. As I stumbled to the too-bright kitchen to start some coffee, I saw that he was nowhere in the bunkhouse. I glanced out each window and could see no trace of him in any direction. That was curious. Where could he disappear to in a landscape that provided nowhere to hide?

Half an hour later as I got breakfast cooked and on the table, and the two other models had joined me in the kitchen, I caught a glimpse of the wayward cowboy-wannabe tromping his way along the gravel road from the direction of the farmhouse and horse barn. His hands were tucked deep in his pockets. He wore an intense expression. He didn’t need to voice it. I knew he was out there living in the Wild West world of his mind. In my own dream life I’d be rich, own a penthouse in New York City overlooking Central Park, and never have to worry about money again. I couldn’t even imagine someone fantasizing about living in the boonies, isolated from humanity, stepping in horse and barnyard shit every day and working their ass off dawn to dusk. That took a special kind of crazy. Dick’s kind of crazy.

He joined us at the breakfast table, looking macho with his growing scruff of deep black stubble on his cheeks and chin. Perry and Anthony stared at him as though bewitched, feeling victorious at attaining the unattainable. It made them want more. No one was ever satisfied with a small taste of a rare treat. I’d use that for some more smoldering scenes: some vignettes in the barn, in the open fields behind hay bales, and in the cab of a tractor. Later in the evening I’d use the bunkhouse itself. I’d brought two oil lamps that would lend a turn of the century feel to the shoot. They didn’t know it, but they were about to endure eight solid hours of prick tease and foreplay by way of a photo shoot.

It was arduous but fulfilling work. I’d never taken so many spectacular photographs. Each time Dick and I worked as a team I felt like we were raising personal bars on our creativity. When I realized my own work visually entranced me, I knew I was achieving a new level of artistry. I was proud of myself. I was proud of us. This type of work would have never been possible without his input and approach. He brought out something unique in every model who worked with us. Artistically and sexually.

Yes, the guys fucked and sucked their way through the entire three days, but it was the sublime moments I caught in between the carnal bits that made the process invaluable. You don’t get physical responses like these from models who didn’t know each other. They needed to bond, become intimate. The body language then became something different. Moments of genius accidentally discovered in reality.

On the last day, the contented smiles from Anthony and Perry were not just for a job well done, but because they felt victorious. They’d both been fucked by a ‘straight’ man. Dick had, in fact, nearly broken Anthony’s bunk when he plowed the young man’s very white, very small ass. They got lost in the momentum and in the rigorous rhythm had split one of the bed slats. After dragging the mattress to the floor, they finished the sweat-drenched encounter. Then Perry took over. By the time it was done, the boy’s cheeks had a much more vivid rosy color. We repaired the bed as best we could. I’d make an excuse to explain what happened to our host and offer to pay for damages. I knew a man of his means wouldn’t accept, but it was the courtesy of gentlemen.

As we packed up the car, I was head-dead. I couldn’t think of another thing to shoot or anything we possibly could have forgotten. We’d covered all the possibilities. All I could contemplate was my soft sofa in the apartment, cool sheets over my head and sleeping nonstop for an entire day. Dick would drive. I didn’t have the wherewithal required to perform even that mundane task.

I had to return the box of props Willie had loaned to us for the shoot. Just as evening approached, Dick drove us back to the farmhouse. We saw the elderly man at his usual post in the chair on the porch. He was drinking from a half-filled glass of milk. He lifted a gnarled hand to wave.

I retrieved the box of props from the trunk and carried it up the stairs toward him. He rose. It was a painful motion for him. He held stiffly to the back of his chair and pushed himself into an upright position to grab a cane hooked behind it. He straightened, turned and opened the screen door to the house and gestured me inside.  I heard him shuffle in behind me slowly, the screen door slap shut.

I looked back to inquire where to set the box, and I froze at the seriousness in his gaze.

“I need to say something to you, J.J. Privately.” He cast a glance at the door to make certain we were alone. Then those humorless eyes were on me again.

“What’s the matter?” I asked, concern blooming inside me. My first thought was that something had happened to Tina, his daughter.

The cane brought him two steps closer to me so he could speak in a hushed tone. “It’s that young fellow that came up here with you. What’s his name Richard? Dick? Is he a close friend of yours?”

My heart did an unexpected flip-flop against my breastbone. What was this about, I wondered? “He’s my roommate,” I answered. I’d almost said business partner as well, but held back. Something in the timbre of his voice filled me with apprehension.

“Is he right in the head?” Willie said it with such gravity that my tongue felt paralyzed. “I mean, do you think he’s trustworthy?”

My brain was putting two and two together. I suddenly knew where Dick had vanished to yesterday morning.

“He was up here to see me yesterday morning. I just came out to have my morning coffee. And there he was sitting on my stoop like he was waiting for me.”

I sat the box on the table and used my hand to wipe away the sweat I felt pop on my forehead. All of this felt like an eerie film. The type I don’t like to watch.

The scratch of Willie’s cane brought him a foot closer to me. I could see the dried milk over his moustache. “I’m not going into the whys and wherefores of what happened with this young man because I’m a gentleman, and think of you as a friend.” His eyes flinched a little as he held back that secret. “But I’m gonna do what I think is a favor to you and share something from the wisdom I've gained while living on this planet for some seventy years; that you need to find a path to walk that this young man is not on. You need to find some separation from this...this...” he was holding back words that I could only guess at. “From him as soon as possible and never look back.”

It felt as though roiling poison had flooded my stomach. My imagination couldn’t even fathom what could have possibly happened between the two of them to bring this warning from the old man.

He went on. “In my day, we knew people like him and had a name for them. Flimflam men. He’s got the looks and the slick tongue and he can spin a mighty tale for you, but he’s got nothing but snake oil in his suitcase. I’ve dealt with more than my fair share of them and I’ve seen them in all shapes and sizes, but nothing like this,” he held his tongue again from releasing what I was sure would be a curse word. I tried to say something, but couldn’t get anything out but his name. He stopped me there.

“No good can come to you in the company of someone like him.” He shook his head and glanced back at the screen door. “This is a private conversation between you and me. As friends. But if you got your life messed up with his, you’d best unmess it directly and get a good safe distance away. His type of people don’t improve with age. Their bad deeds just get more clever. And the more clever they get, the worse it gets for you. They make you think you’re a friend, but to them you’re just another stone to step on to cross the pond.”

I heard the car horn honk. It roused me from the dread I felt.

He nodded, moved to the side to open my path back to the door. “There are some people on this earth that do nothing but lie to and use other people. They roam door-to-door looking for those who will believe their lies and buy what they’re selling.” He touched my arm, “Keep your hands in your pocket on this one, J.J. Walk away, or better yet, run!”

The second honk from the car drew me quickly back outside. I think we both bid goodbye to each other, but in all honesty, I can’t remember.



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Quietly, they made their way out of the horse barn into the night. The air
seemed to be a bit fresher and cooler outside, but not by much. Caleb led him to
the corral. Perseus was already waiting. Caleb’s free hand found his nose, then
dropped to the gate and opened it. Matt followed him in. The horses stirred and
watched, but stayed in place. Only Perseus pressed next to his master as he closed
and locked the gate behind them.
Walking forward, Matt could tell they were heading toward the pond. While
they were still several feet from it, Caleb handed him the lantern. Matt took it and
watched as he strode toward the water with the animal. A couple feet from the
edge, Caleb shed his underwear and walked naked into the pond with the horse.
He waded in chest deep.
Moon and starlight framed them in an incandescent glow as he took cupped
handfuls of water and poured them over the head of the animal. Perseus made
noises of enjoyment.
The sight mesmerized Matt. He’d never seen anything like it. Caleb pressed his
head against the horse’s and then touched its leg. The horse seemed to bow. Caleb
grabbed it by the neck and hoisted himself upon its back and lay down on him.
His hand stroked the side of its face, lovingly. Matt thought it was the most
incredible thing he’d ever witnessed.
He was only briefly distracted by a falling star streaking across the sky. All
these sights he would have never been exposed to had he remained in the city. He
was glad he’d come. That Caleb had insisted on it.
He saw Caleb’s hand tug on Perseus’s mane. The horse turned and walked back
toward the bank. The young man slipped off and patted him lovingly. The animal
leisurely walked off to the side to sleep with the other horses.
Caleb retrieved his briefs and slipped back into them as he joined Matt where
he was waiting with the lantern and sat next to him. They both stared off into the
After a few moments, Caleb said in a low voice; making certain it wouldn’t
carry back to the barn, “Isn’t this great?” Matt agreed.
“Out here you don’t have to have someone tell you what’s natural and what
isn’t. It just comes to you. You know? It’s okay to be different. To grow into
whatever you’re supposed to grow into without someone trying to change you
into something else. To force you to fit into their mold.”
He didn’t know why, but Matt could sense those words contained the truth of
the universe.
“You’ve never had vacations with your family, have you?” Caleb asked.
“No. We never had enough money.”
“You’re not very close to your pop, are you?”
“No,” Matt’s sorrowful tone said everything his one word answer didn’t.
“Your mom?”
“Your dad doesn’t let you do much does he?” His silence answered that
“And you have no real friends in the church.” That was more of a statement
than a question. He didn’t respond. Caleb had seen how the others treated him.
“Your pop is real strict? You’ve had a lot of whuppins?” A fortuneteller couldn’t
read him any more clearly. It made him sad that he could be read with such
Caleb picked up a stone from the ground and skimmed it across the surface of
the pond. It woke a few horses that made noises of protest against the sound.
“The guys don’t like you because you make them feel inferior,” he said.
That statement surprised Matt. He turned to look at him and found Caleb
leaning back looking at the stars. “What?”
He turned to face him. In the shadows mixed with moonlight, Matt could see
the pits of the scars. He looked calm and cooled off from the dip in the pond. His
chest still glistened with drops of water.
“You’re beautiful. You make them feel unattractive. They don’t want you near
them because they don’t want the comparison. They don’t hate you because
you’re less than them. They hate you because you make them feel less than you.”
Matt sat stunned at the words. He didn’t know what to say. It was too much to
“Your attractiveness doesn’t intimidate me,” Caleb said, looking into his eyes.
“I appreciate the beauty of nature. It’s not anything to run from.”
Matt could think of no response. His brain hadn’t wrapped itself around
Caleb’s words yet.
“You’ve missed out on a lot, haven’t you?” He asked it like he didn’t expect an
answer. As if he already knew it to be fact. How did he know all of this? ”You
shouldn’t miss out on anything,” Caleb continued. What was he saying?
The face moved toward him. He felt the distance between them disappear inch
by inch. A hand curled around his neck and pulled him forward to the mouth
parted in front of his own. It was like a dream unfolded itself in the space where
reality should have been. And then that mouth was upon his own. Caleb’s tongue
pushed inward and he tasted him. Indescribable...
He felt faint, realized his body was descending in slow motion to the ground
while in Caleb’s grip. His eyes rolled upward toward the sky. He saw another star
streak against it. Caleb’s breath filled him and he gave it back to him as the press
of lips continued.
When it ended, he realized his eyes had closed and he felt adrift; like a boat on
a calm ocean, gliding into the night. When he opened them again, Caleb still
hovered above him. He could see the slight smile curling his lips.
“Your first kiss. I wanted it to be mine.”
Matt blinked as if he thought the whole thing would disappear. “Why did you
do that?”
“Because it felt like the thing to do. It felt like something I had to do. Because I
wanted to do it.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, feeling disembodied.
“How do you feel?”
“Sleepy. Like I need to go to bed,” Matt said dreamily, feeling drained;
“Me too,” Caleb said, helping him back to his feet and grabbing the lantern.
He guided him back into the horse barn and up the stairs to the apartment like
he was intoxicated.
Caleb put the lantern on the floor between the beds.
Matt realized he was on his bed and Caleb was unbuttoning his shirt and
pulling him out of it. He folded it, draped it over the bottom of the bed frame.
Matt saw him studying his shoulders and chest. The tanned hand ran gently over
them down to his navel and discovered the blond fur there. His ears thudded with
the blood pumping through his heart.
Caleb bent and tugged the shoes and socks from Matt’s feet. He tucked them
under the bed.
Matt watched it all as if from a far shore.
Deft fingers found the button to his jeans and undid it. The zipper slid down
under a firm draw. The jeans disappeared from him. He saw them folded at the
end of his bed next to his shirt, not fully aware of how they had gotten there.
He heard his own respiration, felt the rough hands upon his thighs. Everything
was pushing him further away from his connection to the real world.
Hands urged him down onto the bed and he felt his underwear vanish. He lay
exposed, vulnerable. Caleb’s face floated above him like an apparition. “Are you
His voice came as an indistinct hoarse whisper: “Yes.” The calloused hand
found him. Held him. Ignited him. Moved. Found a rhythm and he followed it.
Every second felt like it expanded to ten.
He opened his eyes and found Caleb staring into them. Hypnotized. He
couldn’t close them.
The hand urged him onward and he felt the desire grow until it scorched his
whole body. When he tried to move away from it another hand held him down.
“Why are you doing this?” He heard the words coming from his mouth but he
couldn’t remember thinking them.
“Because it’s right,” came the answer in a soft whisper that breathed over his
cheek. The hand continued its attentive pursuit. Matt’s desire grew. It expanded
in the grasp of the abrasive calluses.
“Ready?” the voice above him asked. All he could see were the eyes, shining
and beautiful in the dim lamplight.
His voice abandoned him. He nodded. All he knew was that rhythm, and when
he could stand the pull no more, he let go. It felt eternal as his mind left him
completely and he traveled a void that was as endless as the starry universe.
A hand holding a cloth wiped him down. The lips pressed upon his again, and
he fell into a dreamless sleep.

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From The Price of Dick by Dan Skinner
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As hard as I tried to avoid it, or find an excuse not to, I’d end up meeting the monstrosity that was Dick’s mother that Fourth of July. She extended a personal invitation through him, and in spite of my resistance, he was the one who insisted I go. No clue why, but I could hazard a few guesses. All of us were pieces on the board where he played his Almighty Game. I believe that my part in the game was to represent everything that was the complete opposite of his mother and her belief system. He was tossing my liberalism in her face as an act of defiance against her “Three R’s”: Rules, Regulations, and Religion.

His family had an annual barbecue for the Fourth, and now that I was a fixture in his life, they thought they should all get to know me better. At least that was the explanation he offered me on their behalf. Considering how his dad and brothers had first reacted to me, I didn’t have high hopes for a warm reception from mommy. However, I gave in to his wishes.

When we arrived at his parents’ home, his dad opened the door to us. It was clear he was already half-sloshed. He smelled like aftershave and bourbon. He was happy to see his son; indifferent to my presence. I got a slight nod of acknowledgement as we stepped into the house. We made our way through all the shades of blue to the kitchen where the rest of the family had gathered to prepare the food and socialize. I could hear the bustle of activity. That sound would die away the moment I crossed the threshold of the kitchen. It was as awkward as I’d imagined, and I instantly regretted my decision to come. The only person with a smile aimed in my direction was his mother. It stretched on her face stiff and plastic as a Halloween mask.

She was a diminutive thing with Lady Clairol one-tone black hair, lacquered into a helmet on her head. “Call me Eleanor.” All her friends did. She wore a floral blouse and a pair of new jeans that fit oddly on her short legs, wide hips and small waist. Everything about her was disproportionate. Her face held an inch-deep layer of makeup. Red lipstick stained the center of painted-on beige. How nice it was to finally meet me! She was so happy that I could make it! She was delighted to meet the friend of her son! The grin certainly didn’t match what burned in her eyes. Small, bony arms wound around me in a hug which made my skin crawl. I felt impatient for a strong drink. One as tall as Dick’s father was making in an iceless glass for himself.

We all moved outside by the pool where the barbecue pit was, and where the adults could keep an eye on the children. They were all pre-teens. The sisters-in-law, bless their kind, birds-caught-in-a-religious-cage hearts, made an attempt to be hospitable to me. His brothers dueled to make the least eye contact with me. They walked past me to the beer cooler numerous times as though my chair were vacant.

“So we’re told you’re a photographer...?” It was less a question than an accusation from Eleanor. Said it as if it weren’t a real vocation. Like; “so you’re a sorcerer, a pagan, a whoremonger, a heathen...” I remember seeing her sharp teeth align as if that was only way she could keep the smile affixed to her face. It had a Gloria Swanson Sunset Boulevard look to it.

Before I could reply, Dick piped up, “He sure is, Mom. A model photographer. One of the best in the city.” Then, looking at his brothers, he added enthusiastically, “You should see the beautiful girls going through the place. In their bikinis.”

His brothers perked up like duck hunting rednecks hearing their first quack. Their spouses looked at them with silent disgust. Mommy’s disapproving brow-knitting quickly tamped it all down. She did it with just that smile, the one that never left her face. It had to be an exercise in muscle control to hold it. I wondered if her cheeks hurt.

She chopped cooked potatoes on a plate for potato salad. “So how old are you, Mr. Johnstone?” She asked in a low voice that had a clear undercurrent of read-between-the-lines. In that question, she was really asking, “So what’s an old guy like you doing with a young guy like my beautiful son?”

I told her my age, knowing full well I’d get bee-stung by her eyes.

“I don’t see a ring on your finger. Are you divorced?” Read-between-the-lines: are you a pervert who just uses women and then tosses them aside, or a homo?

Laughter from Dick. He was still answering for me. “Mom. I told you he’s a confirmed bachelor. He just got out of a long relationship. You don’t have to interrogate him about it.”

The long, simmering Gestapo stare she gave her son was unnerving even to me. She let the subject drop after that. I was relieved. My shirt was already soaked and it wasn’t due to the summer heat.

The manipulation in this family was obvious everywhere. It had only one source; the June Cleaver-imitation matriarch of the clan. No one said or did a thing without casting an eye to Eleanor first. Her apron strings were those of a puppeteer. She listened in on every conversation simultaneously. And in spite of all her false warmth and fake kindness wrapped in the smile, a real penetrating coldness and dislike for me seeped through her performance.

I ate their dinner, drank their booze, and listened to their small talk. Every minute I spent in their presence felt like vampires were sucking the life from me. If this was Conservative Americana, I wanted no part of it. Only when Dick and I were in my car driving away, did I feel the weight lift.

I know Dick wanted me to see this. Experience the world he had run from. He hoped it would cement our friendship with my sympathy for him. He was right.

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From the Novel The Price of Dick by Dan Skinner

During what should have been a long, quiet drive home, Dick yammered excitedly. First about the event itself. Then about how great he’d done. And finally about a couple of the other athletes he’d met that morning in the registration tent.

“The ass on the guy in the gray wetsuit, Jesus H. Christ! Ass of death. I could die fucking that ass. He would die from me fucking that ass. Hence, ass of death.” Animated limbs flew everywhere as he talked.

“You okay?” I asked. I was ducking arms.

“He didn’t have much in the coin bag. But you know what they say, the smaller the cock, the quicker the pop. And the last thing I care about is spending time on a front door when the back door is where the action is.” He made a ridiculous thrusting movement with his hips that made me laugh.

“You’re mixing metaphors,” I said, knowing full well he’d ignore me. I was in his periphery during this ride. Just there to listen to what he wanted to say.

The highway ahead of us was seventy miles of blank space. He was in his sweat-cutoffs, and smelled like a barnyard. Instead of being dog-tired, he was bouncing all over the place. I didn’t know if I could tolerate it for the rest of the drive.

“Oh my God, I’m so horny. My nuts feel like sandbags weighing my dick down!” he announced out of the blue like a man unable to restrain any thought that passed through his mind. “I gotta get off! This is crazy. I can’t stand my dick feeling like it’s going to explode. You ever have that?”

I informed him we were still an hour away from the apartment. Small details like that were incidental to him at this point.

An impish giggle burst from him. “Hard cocks don’t wait for anyone or anything,” he said. And with that, he stripped out of his ragged sweat-shorts and briefs. His legs stretched out in the car, filling it with the smell of stale sweat. From my nervous sideways glances at him, I saw his cock release and flip upward to the edge of his shirt. Leaning back and sliding down in his seat, he admired his own hunk of hard flesh as if Michelangelo had personally sculpted it.

“What are you doing?” I asked both thrilled and panicked. “What if we get pulled over, you dipshit? What if a bus drives by, or a guy in a Mack truck?” I was checking my side and rearview mirrors.

That statement appeared to amuse him. “What if I just christen your car?” And with that came another bizarre burst of laughter. “Imagine a priest christening things like that?” He pointed at his dick in three directions as he said, “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost,” and then he laughed again.

He began stroking himself. I began thinking of excuses I could make to the cops should I get pulled over.

 I should have made more of a protest. Each passing vehicle sent a stab of terror in my chest, worrying we might be caught. On the other hand I thought, how many men have the opportunity for a gorgeous stud to strip half naked in their car and jack off?

“Did I tell you about the priests at Saint Jude’s when I was a kid?” Again, asked for no reason in the middle of his masturbatory act. “It’s the church behind my folks’ house. I went to grade school there. I used to mow the rectory lawn every Saturday during summer, from the age of twelve until I was sixteen, because I could walk the mower from my house to the church. They were supposed to pay me ten bucks for each time I mowed.”

When he remarked how old he had been, I recalled seeing the pictures of him as a pre-teen and teenager on the wall going down into the basement of his folks’ house. The same lantern-jawed face, but with lighter blond hair. He wore glasses back then. Big, nerdy glasses that took up a third of his face. And he still had that same jutting bone structure that made him appear older.

“The first time I mowed the lawn I noticed the priests in the rectory windows watching me. They thought I didn’t see them peeking through those curtains, but I saw their beady little eyes.” He talked without missing a stroke on himself. I had to peek.

“So what did you do?” I wondered.

“Oh dude, it gave me the hardest erection knowing they were watching. I grew this monster between my legs starting at eleven years of age. I knew it was there for a reason ‘cause it went from being a peanut to a banana in less than a year. I knew what I had down there and I knew they were looking at it, standing behind their curtains and yanking on their willies. You think I wasn’t gonna show it off?”

He tightened his grip on himself as he said this. He counted this as a salient trophy memory and not something inappropriate.

“I took off my shirt. I wasn’t as built then. Didn't have any body hair either. But I had a good tan, and I had on a pair of those pleated shorts that rode up my ass crack real tight so they got a good look at my rear junk.” He spit into his palm and continued to work himself more vigorously. “I kept my dick pushed way down in my shorts so they could see the outline when I mowed toward the window. I bet they were just dripping Holy jizz at the sight of a little boy with a big cock.”

I hazarded a quick look at him. He smiled at me, pointed with his eyes for me to look at the dick in his hands. It was huge, like all the blood in his body had pooled in that specific location. The head glowed shiny with pre-cum, was a deep tropical color, like a jungle snake about to strike.

“The Devil wore tennis shoes,” I quipped, reluctantly turning my eyes back to the lanes ahead of me. Several cars passed. I sighed with relief as each one went by.

“When I was fifteen or sixteen years old, Father James used to ask me in so I could shower in the rectory afterwards. Told me it would help me get used to high school showers when I’d have to be naked in front of other boys. But I knew what he was doing. I let him think I was a dummy; him standing there watching me as I soaped myself up, running my hand up and down my hairless little boy crack for him to see; keeping a nice half-woody worked up.”

“You know you’re giving these priests a defense if they need one, don’t you?” I joked.

That gave him some perverse delight. “Just because they put on black robes with a silly little collar doesn’t mean they ain’t ruled by their dicks like the rest of us. We all got the same dirty little secrets. And my mom thought they were all so holier than thou. That was a kick in the ass. Her bending on her knees, sucking the wine out of their cup and munching their dumb little crackers like God picked them out and put them on a pretty little pedestal. And there they were hankering after her boy’s hot little ass.” There was no mistaking the malice heard in his laughter this time.

I was hesitant to ask, but couldn’t live without the information. “Did you ever do anything with the priests?”
I saw the shadow of his shaking head. “Nope. You only get so much for ten bucks and a cold soda,” he said.


From my sizzling erotic novel, The Price of Dick
Now available at Amazon:…

Mike and his boyfriend had garnered a window seat in the small storefront establishment and saw me as I walked up. I was greeted with an energetic wave with a pair of chopsticks. He looked incredible, my little lifeguard-poolboy. He’d gained some serious muscle and had let his black hair grow out to shoulder length. With his slightly aquiline nose and barely slanted eyes, he looked like anime. His new amour seemed average in contrast to Mike's dramatic coloring, but he had his handsome traits, as all young men do. He was taller, leaner than Mike, and had buzz cut blondish hair. If he’d worn fatigues he could have passed for someone newly enlisted in the military. They both wore colorful tie-dyed T-shirts bought from the same store, and that style of shorts with an overabundance of pockets.

Mike was his usual hyper-animated self. A million stories to tell in a few minutes. It made my brain race just to keep up with his verbal sprints.

They ordered way too much food along with the entree I chose, and decided we should all share. The two of them consumed enough for four men. I’d no idea where they had room in their bodies. I was done eating fifteen minutes ahead of them. As their appetites tapered, Mike finally brought up the subject of my friend, Dick. I’d hoped not to discuss him at all at this point in time for obvious reasons. Why ruin a nice meal with unpleasant conversation?

“How’s your straight buddy doing?” he asked, putting a weird emphasis on the word straight.

I lied, “He’s out of town at a conference.”

His chopsticks needled some stuffing out of an eggroll. He popped it in his mouth. He exchanged a glance with his partner like they shared some secret bit of information.

“So do you still think he’s really straight like he says?” he asked, his voice edged with a notable skepticism.

Again I found myself in that position of trying not to lie by avoiding the truth. “Why do you ask?”

The two of them looked at each other again. Now I knew there was something the two of them knew. Mike scooted forward in his chair and leaned in to talk in a hushed tone. “Dude, what I’m gonna tell you is strictly between us, all right?”

That is never a good beginning to a discussion, but I agreed.

“Okay so between you and me, I’m telling you that your Dick friend is one creepy ass dude. He started calling me right after I left for college. At first I just thought it was because he wanted to be my friend and he liked me. I’d get calls every day and he’d talk like I was his bestest buddy. I didn’t mind because, you know, I thought the guy was hotter than shit. Who doesn’t want a dude who only fucks girls to think you’re hot, too? So I was flattered.”

“He did seem to get along with you,” I said.

His hand worked in a nervous tick over the pocket of his shirt. I could see the outline of his cell phone tucked in it. “So for a while he’s like, how’s college? What’s new? What courses are you taking? Do you have a boyfriend yet? Are you getting laid? How is the party life? Bull shit stuff. No big deal.”

Inwardly, I was surprised. Dick had never mentioned Mike at all in the past few months since he'd left for school. I didn’t know he had his phone number. I hadn’t given it to him. It seemed strange. All news to me.

“Then he started to get a little weird. And then a lot weird. I mean, that is, if he’s really a straight guy who digs chicks and has had nothing but girlfriends.” He reached into his pocket and took out the phone. He began tinkering with it as he jabbered on. “I’ve always had doubts about anybody being totally straight to begin with, but the way he just kept harping on it was like, you know, methinks he protests... doth...” he got lost on the quote.

I helped him out, “Methinks he doth protest too much.”

He pointed at me with the gun hand gesture. “Exactamundo!”

He laid his phone in front of me, spun it around so I could see the screen. I quickly wiped up the spilled sweet sour sauce on the table that he’d almost laid the phone in with a napkin.

“What am I looking at?” I wondered, peering down at the phone.

He hit a small bar on the surface to demonstrate how to scroll the typed words on the screen. I was looking at a bunch of text messages.

“It’s my belief,” Mike said, "that straight dudes don’t sext gay dudes. But that’s what he started doing.” He pointed at the small screen on the phone and scrolled it for me. “Read what he was sending me. I started getting these one night just out of the clear blue. I thought he had like drunk texted me thinking I was one of his girls. But nope... lookee here,” he pointed to a typed line. “He knew who he was talking to and he was doing it on purpose.”

I read and scrolled through the messages. There were numerous texts. Too many to count. And all of them were pointedly sexual and exceedingly graphic. Some read: “Have you had a teacher suck your dick yet?” “What’s college jock ass like there?” “You should have a three-way. You’d look great as a spit-roast.”

“I tried to tell him I had a new boyfriend, thinking maybe he would slack off on the private perv act, but then he started talking about getting a hotel room when I got back and having a little orgy get-together if I wanted to bring my guy and some friends. Like I would do that to a new boyfriend.” He made a face of disgust. “But he just kept on sending me this crap and asking me if we could hook up when I got back, even if I didn’t want my boyfriend involved. The dude just doesn’t get a clue!”

The one thing that was clear in Dick’s texts to Mike was that he was persistent. He believed he’d prevail through sheer tenacity. Mike took the phone back, punched another button, scrolled and handed it back to me.

 “When that didn’t work, this is what I started to get from him. Selfies of him masturbating at work in his office. I was getting those from him while I was in class. I had to turn my phone off to keep my professor and classmates from seeing these things pop up.”

I flipped through photo after photo of Dick jacking off. There was no doubt whose cock it was. I’d seen it enough times. This was messed-up behavior by anyone’s standards.

The weird tale went on: “He kept asking me to jerk off and send him pictures; to have phone sex with him.” He leaned closer to me across the table. “You see what I’m saying about this bullshit he’s trying to sell us about being straight? What straight guy asks for pics of you jerking?”

I shook my head. I had no way of putting a spin on it. “I don’t know what’s going on with him,” I admitted. It was the truth.

“Okay, now this is where it starts to get real strange.” Mike’s face was stony. “He started asking me about my folks. All kinds of questions. I got totally freaked out by it. He already knew their names and where they lived. I never told him their names. So every time he brought them up I tried to change the subject. Finally, I quit answering his calls. Then he started sending me more texts. He somehow got the names and addresses of where they worked, and then he wanted me to introduce him to them so he could do business with them.”

The hairs on my neck stood up at that bit of information as well. I could understand what Mike was experiencing. Dick wasn’t just being weird. He was invading his privacy.

“I mean, how would I explain this guy to my folks? Oh dad and mum here’s a guy I let fuck me in a photo shoot who’s harassing me to convince you to invest with him.”

Eventually, we did end dinner on a pleasant note. We’d get together next time he was in town and he’d email his new cell phone number when he got long as I didn’t share it. In other words, he was done with Dick.



    The fatigue overcame him and he lay in the corner watching the flickering shadows on the wall until sleep finally freed him. He fell into the deep, dark and dreamless envelope.

    When he woke he felt warm and comforted in a soft cocoon that begged him not to open his eyes. He lay there basking in the feeling of being insulated and protected listening to his heart quietly beat.  Then he noticed another rhythm softly thumping on his leg; then one to his back. The warmth he felt on his neck was unlike the dryness from a fire. It came in moist waves… like breathing.

    Opening his eyes he was more amazed than startled to find he’d acquired company during the night. Lying to his side, back, near his face and draped like a furry blanket over his legs were the wild dogs, the inhabitants of the barren world of derelict buildings. There were four of them and they all looked like mixed mongrels the size of Shepherds or Boxers. They had snuggled around him as if he was one of them, protecting him from the cold as the fire had died while he slept. The one closest to his face opened sleepy eyes and blinked. They had the stink of wet fur that had dried. He found himself smiling in the face of the one nearest to him.

    “Hi there, fella,” he whispered and was immediately greeted with the wet lap of a tongue against his cheek.

    The others began to stir as he sat. On the floor near the smoking embers of his fire they’d placed a couple of dead rabbits and a squirrel. They’d even brought him breakfast. He was astonished… and tickled by the extraordinary sensitivity of the animals.

    One by one they sat to greet him. He pet them, scratched behind their ears and made grunting sounds they seemed to acknowledge and understand. They’d been true to their word. They’d told him he was not alone. 

    He was hungry. He could tell his new buddies were as well. He’d never skinned and cooked any animal before, but figured no time was better than the present with everyone gathered around waiting for food.  First, he gathered more scraps of wood and drywall to build a fire and then sat to try his hand at skinning a rabbit using one of his retractable claws. The dogs watched him patiently as he dug the nail beneath the fur and under the hide and began to cut it away in a sawing fashion revealing the dark red meat beneath. Tongues salivated, swiping wet noses.

    He tore away the first shreds of skin and tossed it to the side. The dog nearest grabbed it and ate it down.

    “Whoa, whoa buddy… I didn’t even get a chance to cook…” he looked at the shining eyes of his canine culinary audience.  They eyed the raw meat in his hands. They weren’t waiting for him to cook it. They were waiting for him to share it. “Yeah, I guess you guys pretty much prefer the sushi type.”

    He sliced off pieces of the carcass and began feeding each of his new friend’s equal portions of it. When they’d each had a bite they waited. It didn’t take long for him to figure out they were waiting for him to take his portion.

    Looking down at the red twist of raw muscle on bloody bone, he paused. This was how nature worked. It had its own parameters of acceptability and civilization.  He studied their faces, their liquid bright eyes. Nature had its own courtesy it seemed as well. To be a part of it; to really understand it, he thought, he would have to truly experience it. It was only the conditioning of society that dictated food needed to be prepared.

    “Well, I guess I don’t want to be rude to my hosts…,” he swallowed hard.

    Thinking hesitation would only prompt further delay, he closed his eyes and took a substantial bite of the vibrant red thigh muscle and began to chew.  It was, at first, rubbery and a bit gamey. But then something shifted, perhaps in the taste buds of his tongue, and he found the bloody saltiness of it tasty. The furry crew in front of him seemed to smile their approval.

    “Not bad,” he said. “A little catsup wouldn’t hurt though.”

    When they’d finished their “breakfast” the boundless energy of his new friends indicated they wanted to play. Outside the gray walls of the building the world was a winter wonderland of pure, untouched white. Further away, the other world smoked and boomed with the ugliness that was humanity. Geoff not only didn’t want to be a part of it, for the time being, he didn’t even want it to enter his thoughts. He needed a reprieve. The wet nosed nudges he received was anxious encouragement to join.

    They watched with eager curiosity as he stripped out of his clothes and jewelry and knelt naked on the floor in front of them. In moments he’d become one of them in every respect. The transformation delighted them as they circled and sniffed, jumping playfully atop him, pushing him toward the door.

    The air was sharp and brisk, the snow deep and crisp as they sprang into it. Their leader, or as Geoff presumed, their instigator led them out into a frivolous romp through the picturesque still-life of old buildings and new snow. The virgin white sketch pad was soon covered with haphazard but happy trails as they frolicked like children, knocking each other over, chasing one another from building to building. It was exhilarating; freeing. The blackness of the night before was whitewashed away. They barked and yelped in their game of nose tag. He realized it was the first time he’d ever played in a group. He’d always been left out of the grade school playground games, been relegated to the sidelines of other people’s lives later in high school. He was having fun being part of a team that treated him as a friend. It continued for an hour until, exhausted, they refreshed themselves by licking snow and slowly made their way back to the building.

    In the back of his mind Geoff didn’t want it to end. It was like he’d regained his lost childhood. Found the simple pleasures he’d never been afforded and it was liberating. There was such unbridled beauty in this wild, different camaraderie. Nature had given him a perfect moment of bliss when he needed it most.

    They slept huddled in a group by the ebbing fire until another boom from the direction of the city awakened him. It didn’t seem to disturb the others. They didn’t know what the sound meant. To them, it was just thunder. It had no ominous portent other than weather. But Geoff knew the world outside this small, heavenly slice of freedom, was falling apart. It had claimed something from him it could never repay, and he had to return to collect a debt.

    By the time he redressed it was afternoon. The dogs vigorously licked his hand as if affection would be enough to convince him to stay. Tails wagging, they followed him to the edge of the road, barked their goodbyes as he marched back to confront the things he must.

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   (Excerpt from XPERIMENT By Dan Skinner)

They crossed the street. Geoff was checking everything for any clues he may have left behind in his hasty flight. There was nothing he could see. Even his footprints had been smudged by dewy grass and mud.

    “Looks like there was some excitement around here last night,” he attempted small talk.

    Danny shrugged. “Police seemed to think it happened sometime late, probably after I got home. I guess I was lucky to get inside and safe.“  They’d reached the van. He sat the box down on the curb near the panel door on the side. “Let me show you something,” he said, stepping back into the street. Geoff followed him. He pointed in the direction of Dollar Bills where they could still see the two women. “Whatever happened started in the alley behind our store. The cops think they were going to firebomb us; they found some jars and shit filled with gasoline. While they were setting things up, someone discovered them, overpowered them, whacked the first guy.” The finger drew a line across the street to the gun shop. “Then, the second guy was knocked out and dragged back into his shop and killed there. Whoever did this was still in there when the police arrived. They surrounded the building.” He pointed up to the rooftops. “So our mysterious person high-tailed it upstairs and out through the attic door and onto the rooftop. The cops saw him and tried to follow him from down here. He was up there running over the roofs jumping from building to building.”

    Geoff followed his finger. From where he stood he could see the whole line of buildings. Last night the path had been his only recourse. He recalled feeling like he was soaring as he ran barefoot leaping from one roof to the other. He’d never felt so strong; so powerful. Every muscle did what he needed them to do. He watched the faltering attempts of the policemen and the bouncing beams of their flashlights as they tried to follow his daring path. Even on the ground they were no match for his speed.

    “Nine buildings, nine roofs, three stories high,” Danny looked at him with an expression that was a mixture of awe and disbelief. “The first space between buildings is only five feet. Easy jump. The next is maybe four. Not a big deal to jump when you’re running. But after that they get wider. One is six feet, the one after that is nine. The last two are over fifteen to twenty feet apart.”

    Geoff said nothing.

    Danny pointed to the last building that stood next to an empty lot. Its yard was completely roped in yellow. “He ended up at this last building. Three stories high; no fire escape. No way to come down but jump.” He pointed into the soft mud of the vacant lot. “Which he did right there,” his finger pointed at two deep indentations in the mud in the center of the yard. Then it followed a trail of footprints from the yard and across the street, “… and he ran that way.” He looked at Geoff again. “Are you as impressed as I am that someone could jump off a three story building and still not be crippled, be able to run fast enough to escape the cops?”

    “That sounds pretty...fantastic,” he didn’t know how to respond to a question that was a blind compliment and not feel egotistical.

    “Fantastic? We need that dude in the Olympics. That’s downright unreal.” He led him back to the van. “I’d give them a medal anyway for getting rid of those lowlifes. The world’s a better place without them walking in it.”

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FROM The Novel, THE PRICE OF DICK By Dan Skinner

There’s nothing comparable to the knowledge that someone has prepared himself sexually for you completely. It’s an adrenalin surge all by itself. It saves time. No tentative, awkward questions to get in the way or impede the momentum of the heat of first encounter passion. In most male minds, foreplay is a test to see how far one can go in an initial encounter. Later it’s just a delaying technique to slow the way to what needs to get done. For a man, knowledge is as good as foreplay.

This time when they kissed, Dick’s new knowledge set a fire ablaze. He was ready to take it all the way with no more pseudo-protestations.

My camera would be busy under a frantic finger for the next fifteen minutes. A thousand shots. Almost a full card.

Mouths melded in a forceful plunge, noises like souls drowning, then resuscitating as they returned to the surface for air. Gasps of oxygen. Fingers splayed in blurred fury undoing the drawstrings of the swimsuits. A loud smack of hard flesh hitting a belly. There was an exclamation at the size and girth and color of the object of worship. Its head was a royal purple. The sexual fever generated by the two bodies refreshed the chlorine from their pores. The smell filled the room

Mike’s appetite for his ‘straight’ conquest was more than hunger. It was starvation. His mouth opened over the erection not to taste, but to consume. He took him in inch-by-inch, python-like, relaxing so his jaw could stretch to accommodate the width. When he made it to the base, lips grazing the light brown pubic curls, Dick lolled backward into the sofa, at a loss for words; the open O of his mouth exposing his tongue. Hapless fingers found the boy’s dark scalp and clutched the hair as he began to work the huge cock in with suction and warm, wet saliva.

My palms sweated on the camera. I wiped them on my shorts where my own zipper protruded. I had to keep moving and shooting. Climbing up on furniture for a better, more creative shot. Crawling beneath them for an inventive angle. I always hurt like I’d run a marathon after a shoot. It was, in fact, an endurance test in many ways.

The facade of the immutable straight guy was quickly crumbling at the hands of the youth eager to please him. They resembled two mangled bodies sprawled on the sofa. Tan lines demarcated target areas. Large, hair-covered thighs had been pushed upward and out so the boy could suck his sac unobstructed. He stroked him in unison with his sucking, his grip white-knuckled. The suckee was looking more helpless by the moment as the boy expertly coaxed his pleasure from him. His moans were half-formed exclamations and curses.

The lifeguard stood up, and with a sudden determination, peeled himself from the red swimsuit. His dick sprung out from a cleanly shaven crotch as if startled. It jittered with anticipation against his soft, untanned lower belly. He wasn’t large, but long, boyish balls dangled beneath his erection.

The larger man looked up at the bare boy, appraising what was being offered. His cock jerked against him, spreading a web-thin string of pre-cum from itself to his navel like colorless taffy. “You have a gorgeous ass,” Dick said, a telling smile accompanying the words.

It was the concession the younger man was waiting for. Some form of mutual, if limited, attraction.

Dick realized he’d given away some of his power and meant to correct it. “I mean you don’t have a set of tits or a wet hole I can stick my tongue in, but those sweet cheeks... ain’t gonna lie...” That’s as far as he would go with a compliment. There was obviously not going to be any act of oral reciprocation.

I heard my own sexually charged rasps as I moved around them to take more photos. Being a photographer by trade necessitated being part voyeur. I was as aroused as they were.

“You ever fuck a guy?” Mike’s gaze was as direct as the question he asked.

The larger man shook his head. “Nope.”

The not-as-large hand reached into the drawer of one of the end tables and brought out the sealed, silver wrapper of a condom. He knew where I stored everything in the house. He opened it, deftly grabbed the hunk’s hunk, stroked it to assure its firmness, and then attempted to roll it over him. The prophylactic was too small. It barely made it an inch before the lack of dimension stopped him.

“Oops.” The remark came from the man below, rich with self-applause.


From the Novel, The Price Of Dick By Dan Skinner
Available at :…

It was almost scary how enormous his body was. When he folded himself around me, I seemed to disappear inside his immensity. In there I could feel his heartbeat and the tense hunger. His appetite was craving things he’d never been served. A hand made its way down the back of my jeans, in past the underwear to one of my cheeks and I could feel his short nails dig into it. He exhaled in my mouth. It filled me up. I gasped. He liked that. It invited him to unsnap and unzip my pants. His hand found me ready.

“I haven’t done this part either, so you might have to tell me a few things...,” and with that he lowered himself to his knees in front of me. “Just remember, this is just as friends.”

I didn’t protest the stipulation. Right then, I’d put it in writing if he wanted.

Pulling both jeans and underwear down at once, I bounced upward directly in front his face. He stared at my dick a moment, like it had instructions written on it. Then he grasped it, pulled it down to his mouth, parted his lips and took in the first inch of it. He only lightly sucked it, then pulled it back out and looked at it again. On his next attempt, he took it down halfway. He only made a minor choking sound before he recovered by returning to the head and sucking hard on it. His tongue darted in the hole, and then he looked up at me.

“How am I doing?”

I was shaking at this point. And sweating. I felt it roll down the cleavage between my cheeks. “Fine," I said, hearing my voice crack.

This time he took it in slowly like he was concentrating on each centimeter of me, going as far down on me as he could. I was lightheaded as I felt my balls under his thumbs, grazing his hard whiskers. He repeated the deep slow plunge several times. His other hand touched the tremor in my stomach and followed it up to my chest where the thumping originated. It spurred his tempo on me, causing me to bend over him. My fingers blindly found their way into his hair and the hardness of the scalp that was rocking forward and back from me. And then I knew I was there. I blurted it like a quick warning. He pulled me out of his mouth with his hand and kept that hand on me, taking me to the finish until I almost fell over.

When I roused, standing in swaying, insane bliss, I saw that he was on the floor cleaning up my mess with a box of tissues. Clumsily, I bent and pulled up my underwear and pants. I quickly sat on the bed to recover. Once my vision cleared, I realized I was staring at him, listening to the buzzing in my ears as the blood flow returned to my head.

He glanced up at me. “Sorry, I didn’t swallow. I was afraid of...” the sentence suspended itself. We knew the context of it. I’d been there with him...intensely there.

He continued cleaning the floor, but I could see what resembled a smirk on those lips that had just had me inside them. Thinking about this now, beyond the blush of the thrill, I’ve come to believe that this happened, not because he was curious to learn how, but because he wanted to learn how in his mother’s house. In the presence of all of his awards and scrapbook memories kept to preserve their image of the first-rate family. He was committing the proverbial passive-aggressive swipe at a home prison-locked in his mother’s control. Whether she knew it or not, he committed an act—a sin in her eyes—under her roof. Had she known, it would have seared a hole in her soul. That was the source of his pleasure that day, not the sexual release, but the thrill of the illicit act compounded by the forbidden place: his childhood home.

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I reached across and pulled his clothes from his arms and dropped them to the floor,
so that we both stood naked in front of each other in the light for the first time. I let my
eyes travel down from his face over the full length of him. My pulse raced with the fury
of whitewater rapids. He was glorious. From the wide shoulders to the narrow waist
and the outty navel, he was tanned nut-brown. The tan-line stopped a few inches
above the tiny trail of blond fur beneath his belly button, then traveled down to the
well-coiffed square of golden pubes that functioned as a frame for the half-erect and
very thick dick. It was admirably circumcised so that the large bulb, tinted that subtle
shade just between purple and red, was a perfect crown. It seemed to be growing in
front of my eyes and pointing directly at my own. His balls were long and hung wide
between his legs, and it was evident he shaved them as well. I could see small
glistening bristles growing back. His thighs, thick with muscle, were naturally hairless
and untanned as well. The deep sun-color returned just above his knees. His calves
appeared to be the hairiest part of his body, the hair bleached almost colorless by the
sun. His feet were large, but they were well formed. The toes wiggled nervously.
I returned my gaze to his face and saw that his eyes had been watching my appraisal.
His breathing was hard enough for me to notice it.
“Show me how you do it,” I said.
He looked confused by the question. ”Do what?”
I shook my head. “What you do.”
“You mean jack off?”
I nodded. “I wanna see how you do it. How you like to do it. Every guy is different.
Some guys like to do it real fast; some do it really slow. Some do long strokes; some
stay right on the head and work that.”
He actually seemed impressed that I had that much information. “You seem to know
a lot about it.”
I spread his clothes on the floor because they were the only ones that were dry, and
made a cushion for him to lie on as I guided him down to the floor. It was odd, I
thought, as he positioned himself seated upright with his legs splayed, that he looked
much larger than when he stood. By the time he was comfortable and looking back up
at me, he was fully erect, the dick in a rigid arc pointing at his belly button. A glittering
diamond of wetness bubbled from its tip. I knelt down in front of him.
“You want me to just do it…?” he asked.
I told him I did. “Like you would do it with no one around.”
Taking a deep breath, he leaned back on one arm and with his other hand began a
long, slow, almost savoring stroke on his shaft. Using only three of his fingers and his
thumb he worked it from the base to the tip, circling the circumference of the bulb
with his two first two fingers before returning down with a backwards stroke. It was
clear it was a sensitive dick, especially along the under flesh. When his fingers glided
downward, his balls jumped wide and to the side in their sacks, and a quiver laced the
meat of his thighs and soft flesh of his belly. He did this half a dozen times before
opening his eyes and looking at me again, as if awaiting instructions.
I sat down in front of him, hooking my legs over his so we looked like naked Kama
Sutra bookends. My dick already had its own heartbeat. Mine was longer than his, and
narrower along the shaft. I matched his balls in length and I was uncoiffed, so I had a
nice, curly bush of dark pubes. I tilted my pelvis backward so he could have a clear
view of my ass as well, because I liked to toy with it occasionally during masturbation.
The best way to learn what someone liked was simply to watch them, and I figured this
was the easiest lesson to teach.
“Watch me. This is how we each learn what the other likes.”
His gaze was riveted to my crotch as I began stroking. What should have been an
exposition of how I normally did myself became an exhibition. I found the idea of
performing a private, intimate act for him more than stimulating… so it turned into
something more. It was a Salome’s dance done to entice him. I wanted him to see how
pleasure looked on me. I fell back on my elbows, giving both my hands freedom in the
exercise. My movements became more pronounced, almost exaggerated, as I lifted my
hips with each stroke, one hand cupped around my dick for the stroke and the fingers
of the other pulling the cheeks of my ass apart to toy the sensitive flesh hidden
beneath the soft whorls of hair. With one glance at his face, I could tell I had
captivated his attention.
“I like to do it slow like you,” I said in a voice that sounded almost teacher-like
except for the breathy quality. “I like to use this hand to play with my ass. It’s very soft
and delicate in between the cheeks. When I start to get real excited, I can feel it get
very hot.”
As I spoke, he unconsciously began stroking himself again, his eyes never leaving
what I was doing to myself.
I stopped, sat back up, and then knelt over him, gently easing him into a prone
position on his elbows. His dick was already twice as thick as when we’d begun, the
veins engorged as it gently bobbed with the increasing rhythm of blood. I took it in my
hand. It felt large and hot… and ready. I mimicked the stroke he’d done on himself,
slow to the top, circling the tip and then back down. His balls jumped playfully each
time. His face looked spellbound as I took my time on him, finding those special
nerves along the way that made him gasp, his eyelids flutter.
“How am I doing?” I asked, making sure I hit every one of his special spots as I
delivered the question.
He sucked in air suddenly and swallowed. His eyes found mine and they had that
look of someone being swept away. “Great. You’re doing great.”
“Am I going slow enough?” I did the same thing again with my fingers. It had the
same effect on him. The gasp and the flutter.

A Novel By Dan Skinner


As night fell deep around us, Dick was eager to build an outdoor campfire that would serve a two-fold purpose: to cook our actual dinner and to do the part of the shoot where three cowpokes were cooking some campfire grub. We’d do this near the corral where the horses had been loosed to stroll and eat. Their silhouettes against the starry backdrop would be a wonderful accent for the realistic setting. The night was balmy, the moon at three-quarters, and Dick happily channeled his inner Shane as he cooked burgers in the cast iron skillet, squatting in his jeans, boots and Stetson. Anthony and Perry revived themselves with cups of strong coffee drunk from the tin prop coffee cups as I caught it all with my camera. Any one of the many shots, chock full of home-on-the-range atmosphere, could be sold as stock for a typical Zane Grey.

Somehow, being outdoors gave the food a more robust flavor. We washed the hearty fist-sized burgers down with cold beers before hauling out and lighting the kerosene lanterns. They’d serve as supplemental lighting for the shoot at the pond, which in the darkness looked like a silver bowl filled with moon soup. The lanterns at water's edge brought a rim of orange to the night pallet of blues. Ideal for three cowboys to skinny dip.

There wasn’t the slightest hesitation on the parts of the three models to shed their clothes, pitch them to the pools of orange light on the bank, and trip like wild children into the cool water. The moon’s reflection dispersed into a thousand moving incandescent fragments around them. Grown men splashing and yelling like teenagers. I captured it all frame by frame, thinking there was nothing more breathtaking than handsome, nude men frolicking, all wet and shiny from the minimal light of the moon glow. When the fireflies came out to join them, the shots took on aspects of a fairy tale western.

Perry and Anthony performed the dutiful standard rote romance stills for me: passionate kisses and lustful embraces. Dick, his skin jewel-speckled from the water, parked his naked butt on the soft mud of the bank, observing them like a student-voyeur. He was their fuel, each of their movements being an act of seduction to break down his ‘straight’ resistance. He feigned disfavor, looking away from them like he was bothered, and then eyes seemingly drawn back to them in curiosity. I ignored him with my camera, framing tight on Perry and Anthony. There was no doubt his behavior had amped up the heat between them. I had to admit there was a method to his madness.

The models, one younger and one a bit older were losing themselves to the draw of sex. Their prowess was evident when the outline of Dick’s erection etched itself against the orange glow of lamps. He’d carry his half-hearted reluctance with him as they pulled him knee-deep into the water. The camera caught each crystal-like splash of pond water.

What happened after Dick entered the water was something I’d not planned on shooting, but it ended up being one of the hottest scenes of muscle worship I’d ever witnessed. The older and younger models came at him from either side, hands finding a pectoral or quadriceps, exploring the growth of fine hair over it, fingers moving in the darkness, acquiring knowledge of him like Braille for a blind man. He responded. The expression on his face said he was barely clinging to his lie. He was enjoying himself at their hands. He gave into the play between each of their mouths as they pulled him to the bank and down into the soft mud. Their writhing coated them with wet earth, creating a new layer of shadows. Time and again each of their heads took turns bobbing up and down on him, trading mouths to take him. They gave his senses no break from the stimulation.

When the camera could determine nothing more of them from the mud and shadows, I stood back and watched as they brought each other to climax. I moved in close to observe Anthony pull Dick’s orgasm from him with an unexpected bellow, and swallow all of it. The force of it pushed Dick hard into the bank, his body sinking deep into the mud. After they rose to bathe, I could see the intact impression of his naked body in the mud. I shot a picture of it. It was like a private sexual epitaph. The Aftermath. It might even make a good book cover.

By midnight we’d found our way back to our individual bunks and collapsed, each of us spent for various reasons. As the three of them fell into slumber, I loaded the photos onto my laptop. I examined each one of them individually; over a thousand. By the time I got to the moonlight sex in the pond, I knew I was going to have to masturbate to relieve myself. The photos were that steamy. Some things had happened as I moved and snapped away that I hadn’t noticed at the time. One series in particular showed that the older Perry had inserted his middle finger deep between Anthony’s ass cheeks and finger fucked him as he sucked my roommate. The photo almost did me in without touching myself. I had to take care of that problem. It didn’t take long. Afterwards, I fell into a hard sleep.