DISCLAIMER: This is a story containing sexual acts between consenting males. If you are underage and/or unqualified to view adult material, if adult material is outlawed in your community or you are offended in any way by explicit depictions of sexual activity, DO NOT read on. Also, this is an entirely FICTITIOUS fantasy, not meant to imply anything about the actual sexual orientation, emotional state or behavior of any of the celebrities it depicts.
Haley Takes a Chance by Tony Idolatry
Do you know what the best thing about Atlantic City is?
If you're over 21, you're almost certainly thinking, yeah, the casinos, man. Blowing into South Jersey on a Saturday night, hitting the tables or the slots at your favorite casino. You're up, you're down, up, down, all night long. One minute you're nosediving, certain you've got the longest, most depressing drive ahead of you at sunup, the next, you're up a cool grand and tipping cocktail waitresses like you're giving out breath mints. Talk about a rush.
Maybe you're under 21, so your experience is the conventional vacation, right? Cotton candy and carnival rides on the boardwalk, not to mention those two hours of family togetherness every day when mommy and daddy aren't functioning as a precisely timed, well-oiled tag team, with one keeping an eye on you, the other escaping to a casino floor.
Maybe you're not a gambler, but a beach goer, a surfer, a yachtsman. Obviously, you're covered, too. Professional eater? The last thing you see may be a full plate at one of the buffets. Professional lecher? There are at least four or five casinos with nightly shows that feature alternately shaking and thrusting tatas, pins and bootys. Knock yourself out.
Haley Joel Osment recognized all those pursuits, all those types of people, appreciated them, and even looked the part of the lone ranger gambler on this particular Saturday night, about seven-ish, driving down the A.C. Expressway, the setting sun behind him and the city ahead. He was fresh off a flight from L.A., driving a rental blue convertible, which was just as well, as his own car would be out of commission for quite some time on the other coast. He wondered if he'd even be allowed to drive like this in a week's time. The rental's leg room was a joke, and the ridiculously tight steering caused Haley's sore left shoulder to tense up painfully. But the feel of the whipping ocean breeze in his floppy brown hair and across his arms, bronzed and bare outside his red Polo shirt; that fresh, salty smell - that was enough consolation. Yes, Haley had different reasons for loving this city. He had to, of course: he was 18.
Haley got his first taste seven years earlier, mother, father and younger sister Emily in tow. There was a special screening of "The Sixth Sense," a meet-and-greet at his co-star Bruce Willis' boardwalk Planet Hollywood restaurant, and an overnight stay at Caesar's. And it wasn't that the summer afternoon atmosphere on the boardwalk and the all-encompassing flashing neon of the evening didn't appeal to Haley. How could those things NOT make an 11-year-old's eyes gleam?
Here's what really stood out: not Haley.
#1 movie in the country. Autograph signing on a Wednesday afternoon in August in a supposed vacation hot spot. Signed 500 in an hour at the Planet Hollywood in New York the previous afternoon - that would be Tuesday, in a city working 9-to-5, and it would have been MANY more than 500 if the police barriers hadn't held. Oh, and by the way, you recognize the guy sitting next to me, right? Bruce Willis? That's right, from "Die Hard"! He'll sign for you, too. Even speak to you. Any takers?
Try 50, about 20 of whom were not dodging boardwalk heat stroke, but actually seemed to know where they were, and only 10 of whom seemed to be happy about it.
Haley's father, sensing a need to prevent an unexpected, crushing disappointment to his son, apologized afterwards. "It's not you," He said repeatedly. "They did a HORRIBLE job publicizing this stop."
Haley, wise beyond his years, saw only opportunity. "Different kind of people, Dad. They don't come here to star gaze. They come here for themselves. Just to be themselves."
And so, every summer since, the Osments summered for a week in Atlantic City. Haley and his family would swim, and go to the arcades, and walk the entire length of the boardwalk, from the Hilton to the Showboat and back. Seven years, swimming in throngs of humanity, and they were asked "Could you spare some change?" ten times more often than "Aren't you the kid from 'The Sixth Sense'?"
Haley's parents never got the appeal. How could they?
"Very cool," Haley would say more than once. Instead of all eyes on him, it was eyes to the ground, eyes into space, always preoccupied, maybe seeking some sort of inner peace, but more simply, probably just wondering how to recoup some cash back indoors. More sun for Haley. More surf for Haley.
The 18th birthday of a young star is a peculiar milestone. Instead of Haley anticipating what presents his parents would buy, the Osments wondered what sort of things Haley would buy himself. It was the day his millions of dollars of accumulated salary would be his own, free and clear, no longer held in trust. A new car was the easy presumption. Haley had been driving a beat up, claustrophobic Saturn since he earned his license. An apartment or small house of his own nearby in the same upscale L.A. suburb was also logical. Haley was always a smart one - maybe a bit withdrawn for his parents' liking, but he always seemed confident within himself, and surely Ivy League bound in a few short months, career permitting. The Osments were certain any choices he made would be wise ones.
Funny then, how Mr. Osment found himself screaming "Are you out of your ever-loving mind?" five minutes after carving up the cake.
"What?"
"Haley, a penthouse in Atlantic City?"
"It's not a 'penthouse,' and I can afford it."
"An apartment with a view, at the top..."
"Near the top."
"Oh, forgiveness, near the top of a luxury hi-rise, that is a penthouse, young man. And let's review your penthousing neighbors..."
"Dad," Haley put his hands to his face, bemused.
"Donald Trump. Hugh Hefner. Snoop Diggity Dogg, right? Probably. The latest winner of that World Championship of Cards thing. Hey, Allen Iverson. That's convenient, isn't it? If you need to borrow some sugar, you can bring up the 'A.I.' thing. Maybe his 'posse' will throw in some of that other powdery white stuff."
"Dad." Haley put his head down on the table. "I like it there," came his muffled declaration.
"You do not fit in there," his father insisted. "You are 18."
"Which is WHY I like it there!" Haley looked up and shot back, earning a disapproving glance from his mom. "Dad, you can like it or not, but I love it. It's not like I'm living IN the casinos. It's not like I'll live there all the time, either. It's just a little vacation in the clouds, you know? Away from these places you keep talking about, where someone my age is SUPPOSED to fit in, but me? I actually never will. You get it?"
A vigorously shaking head and exasperated breath contradicted his father's verbal reply. "I'll try," he said. "Meantime, live your life."
"Live my life," Haley recalled later to his kid sister Emily, now 15 herself. Haley washed his own cake off the dishes. Emily loudly cleared the table. Chores were gospel in the Osment house. "That's a good one. You imagine the telling-him-I'm-gay conversation?"
"Yeah. You'll be gang-raped by Snoop's posse," Emily dead panned.
"But it won't be that bad," Haley laughed, "because they'll drug me first."
Emily cut through the bravado by hugging her brother. "Times are changing," she said. "They'll just have to change with them," she pointed down the hall.
Haley tried to smile, but couldn't. Didn't want to cry, HAD to cry, but was out of tears. Emily cocked her head and threw her arm around her pained brother.
"God, Haley, hang in there."
Haley managed the smile and a nod, squeezed Emily's hand, told her he loved her, and headed upstairs to his room. Another night of surfing the Web on waves of Kahlua.
The lines of trees on each side of the expressway parted now, the water of an inland bay enveloping the road and the glittery, shiny strip of boardwalk casinos straight ahead. Haley smiled, the freeing wind whisking stray, shaggy wisps across his lips. He called up his favorite driving-towards-the-light song on his mp3 player - Cher, "All or Nothing": "I've been sleeping out in the rain, I've been calling your name, got that lonely feeling again, calling out your name..."
"Oh, Brent," he allowed himself to say aloud, laughing from self-awareness, shuddering from the reality.
The parking garage enveloped the young resident in warmth. Haley was home, yet once again within earshot, so instinctively Cher got the boot, Outkast got the nod. You can take the boy out of Paparazziland....
Atlantic on Pacific was the building's name, noting the irony of the Atlantic Ocean on one side, Pacific Avenue on the other. Only two years old, the white granite tower of condos rose 30 stories, not as high as the tallest casino in town, but dwarfing its next-door neighbor, the Boardwalk Hall arena, former home of Miss America, current home of boat shows, financial seminars, and on this Saturday night, a championship boxing match. Haley's two tickets would go to waste. He was not a fight fan and neither, it turned out, was his expected guest.
Haley stepped out of his car, popped open the trunk, and grabbed his black suitcase and a draped outfit on a hanger. He walked through the circular lobby, set in front of the tower on the boardwalk side, with a large skylight ceiling and glass sculptures and flowers hugging the walls.
"I'm expecting a guest in about two hours," he told the clerk at the front desk. "Just send him up, will you, please?"
"Will do," the occupied clerk barely managed. By the time he recovered to offer a "Welcome home, Mr. Osment," the elevator doors were closing in front of Haley.
"Thanks," the beaming young man gushed before disappearing behind the doors.
OK, so 29 out of 30 was as "near the top" as you can get, Haley thought with a smile. And it was 2901, the largest of the floor's, umm, two "apartments," with the only view that mattered. Haley looked out from his living room's panoramic windows, taking in the boardwalk and the vast sea beyond, the last daylight splattering orange specks across the darkening sky. He was nude - don't worry, they're tinted, he needed to reassure himself far too often - and readying for a shower and wardrobe change. He awakened the track lights ever so slightly, extending the evening's warm glow into the apartment. The residence had the look of a suspended sand castle, with off-white walls, similarly colored soft, spongy carpeting; three couches, each facing out from and bordering the entireties of the windowed walls: white suede on the left and right, coral suede up the middle to reflect the starfish, lobsters, crabs, and other sea creatures featured in modernist paintings in the apartment's other rooms. Glass coffee table. Large, entertainment system primarily accented in gray. In fact, the only traces of black were in the inner sanctum, so to speak: the bathroom, bedroom and small dining area. Inviting the summer sun to microwave your black furnishings was never a good idea. Haley took pride in these small decorating decisions. Another tiny detail? Not a plaque, not an award, not an on-location photo to be seen.
Haley smiled, exhaled, and sat down...only reminded of his nudity when catching a glimpse of his lower body in the mirrored base of the kitchen counter across the room. He was happy with his physique. For the longest time he was afraid he was destined for two types of shortness, but Haley's growth spurt kicked in slowly but surely, leaving him knocking on six feet upstairs and seven inches downstairs.
He fisted his dick to full mast now, trying to tell himself one more time that others would be satisfied with him, too. His cock had a dark base springing from a small patch of chestnut-colored pubes, and was crowned by a large, sensitive pink head, delightfully spongier than the carpet into which his toes were digging. Haley shuddered as he surveyed his own smooth, toned tan chest and strong legs sprinkled with hair that blended into the tan. Haley crossed a leg and rubbed his hard cock against the cool, satiny sole of his foot, throwing his head back in satisfaction. His shoulder twinged and his right side ached from his unexpected quivers, but Haley saw the pain, saw the whole night, as the accident and the nightmare it represented saying its goodbye. It hurt so good.
"Yeah, I'd do me," Haley laughed. Sometimes you just have to say it. He got up. One hour to shower, change and stave off another inevitable round of doubts.
The change of clothes was a tux. Haley knew it was probably too Hollywood - shit, everything about him would ALWAYS be too Hollywood for his liking - but looking in the bedroom mirror now, he felt the choice was right. He was a surefire stunner in a tuxedo, and the longer hair he recently began sporting only hinted more strongly at a randy rebel underneath prim packaging. Haley considered letting some classical music flow lightly through the apartment, but it ultimately seemed too cheesy, like this was all about the perfect sex setup. Not to mention, Brent said he was more into rap and techno. Don't go there.
Haley had no idea how this was happening, or why he trusted it would stay private - if not strictly between two people, then quiet enough for Haley to remain comfortable until he felt like being more open about himself. He had thought about what his first time would be like for what seemed like forever, but there were his parents, and the press, right over his shoulder, all the time. In L.A., the only escape he had was - well, he HAD the drink, along with an unspectacular toke now and then, but now he was down to just the computer, and in the cyberworld of gay sexual icons, no one revved Haley's engine like Brent Everett, the young porn stud.
Haley knew far too much about gay pornography for an 18-year-old, but thanks to the Internet, it was not a new expertise. He had known FAR, FAR too much when he was 13, for example. He was not the only one to think Brent was in a league by himself. There are worlds within worlds in the celebrity universe, and in the world of gay porn and modeling, Brent Everett was unquestionably a superstar.
Brent was young, 20-ish, with a compact build and "twink-like" smoothness, yet ripped all over, with a tattooed band around his left arm, a tattooed scroll on his right, adding an element of toughness. Cropped spiky black hair, with dark brown eyes and plush - no, we're really talking plush here - cherry lips. His cock seemed impossibly long and thick. It couldn't belong to a dude who was also so young, lithe yet muscular, pretty yet masculine. It was too much of a good thing. He had a deep voice, too, a tinge of a Canadian accent reflecting his hometown of Vancouver. He wasn't an empty shell, either, as so many porn models seem to be the second they open their mouths. Haley remembered watching a clip of Brent jerking off for a cameraman. Brent did the big unveil.
"Oh, you're cut," the cameraman said. "Most Canadian men I've seen have uncut dicks."
"Oh, really?" Brent shot back, fighting not to roll his eyes. It was perfect, Haley thought, sort of like, "Who the hell are you, the Canadian Cockmaster General?" And this while he's JERKING OFF on camera. They called Haley an actor, but there was poise and there was poise.
Brent had a website of his own. Many times, Haley would find himself drawn to it, merely to stare at the PG-rated section. Well, OK, if a picture of a shirtless, flexing sex god with a perfectly outlined hard-on through skintight pants is really PG. The sight usually elicited just a drooling trance from Haley. It drew a different reaction from Emily.
"Wow," the snooping blonde said over her spooked brother's shoulder about a year earlier. "I give up. The hotter guys are on your team."
"Will you PLEASE knock next time?" Haley replied in his patented not-gonna-wake-mom-and-dad shout. "What if I was naked in here?"
"Ick," Emily said. "I see your point. Besides, I shouldn't be seeing this. I'll go with something wholesome in my room, like 'Bikini Chain Gang' on Cinemax."
"You do that."
Emily walked out the door. But she just had to stick her head back in and say it. "Get in touch with him!" she whispered, shaking her fingers as if Brent's hotness burned her.
"OUT!"
Which is exactly what Haley wanted to be.
Haley sat on his sister's thought until the accident possessed him with newfound courage. The night he got discharged from the hospital, he e-mailed Brent an anonymous fan letter. Brent got back to him, and to Haley's surprise, seemed to think the two could click. They progressed to chatting, and two enjoyable IM sessions later, Haley took a deep breath and let Brent know his real identity. Brent seemed to take it in stride. It was surreal, but such was life.
Friday came, six days after the accident, and the questions were suffocating Haley. Was he actually stupid enough to be drunk behind the wheel? Will this "scandal" hurt his career? His image? What's his next move?
And that was just his parents. Apparently, from the 57 unanswered messages on his machine, the press had some interest, too.
His next move, his grab for air, was to e-mail Brent and offer him a plane ticket and "five figures" to meet him in Atlantic City the next night. Fuck it. Literally.
Click.
"Message Sent."
WHAT?!?
Haley went out for three hours, driving around L.A. in his mother's Range Rover, for the first time feeling less conspicuous on the town than in front of his computer.
"Oh, I get it, you're Super Stud now, huh?" Haley said to the dashboard. "You're crazy. You're fucked. He'll laugh and laugh, and then he'll forward your stupid fucking message to anyone with a pulse. You'll have to move now, you know that? Think you can find some town in Maine with a boardwalk, FUCKWAD?" The Cher was blaring, unchecked. So obviously, in Haley-world, we're talking a five-alarm freak-out here.
When Haley finally got back, much as he wanted to, he couldn't ignore the "new message" notice on his screen:
"Details, plz? Other than that, look for me. I'll be the one with bells on."
Haley began to type. Fuck it.
It was close to eleven. Haley knew Brent's connecting flight from Chicago was supposed to land around 9. A half-hour for baggage, a half-hour from the airport...what the hell? Haley sank into the couch and threw his head back. The reflected lights of a Steel Pier Ferris wheel danced across his wide pupils. He knew he should've insisted on meeting Brent at the airport, or at least hiring a car for him, but Brent said no, thank you, he'd find his way. After reading Haley's life-in-a-nutshell IM's, Brent seemed even more concerned than Haley about being discreet. He seemed like one hell of a guy. But now what? A wait long enough to sweat right through a tux...if the air conditioning system wasn't so immaculate, that's what. Haley prayed he hadn't truly been preyed upon. A chill cut to the bone, stronger than he could conjure up in any role. Damn celebrity. He rose slowly off the couch and picked up speed on his way to the bedroom computer. He'd check Brent's site to see if there was any diary entry about a weekend trip. If not....
The doorbell seemed to ring.
Haley gasped and froze in place, trying to shake any possible cobwebs out of his head.
No. The next ring was definitely real. Is there enough light in here? Should I have made dinner?
Haley practically sprinted toward the door, surprising himself by how determined he was to open it on time, open himself up to whatever was on the other side.
That turned out to be Brent's smiling face, familiar yet startlingly vivid, eye to eye with Haley. Like his jaw, Haley's eyes darted down, just an instant but long enough to sear his brain with the image of a dead-fit body cloaked in a short-sleeved black t-shirt and oversized jeans with a really thick belt. A light blue duffel bag spilled onto his striped black-and-white hi-tops.
"Jeez," the guest finally said, downright ogling Haley in his tuxedo. "I should've dressed up."
"I should've made dinner," came Haley's dizzy reply.
Brent put his hand up and shook his head, letting out a little laugh. He was a veteran of intimidating situations, but seeing a Hollywood celebrity so adorably flustered by his presence was a new one. Unless you count Bruce Villanch at the GayVN Awards. And Brent didn't.
"Can I come in?" Brent asked. Moving things along. "I know I'm a little late, but the traffic. The cab was fighting the fight, you know?"
Out came a clammy hand. "I'm Haley."
Back came a strong grasp and a laugh, albeit a throttled one. "Haley, it's alright, man. We've talked before, you know? I should be the one who's acting starstruck."
"Oh, don't say that," Haley said, waving Brent into the condo and closing and locking the door behind them. "Really. I appreciate it, but don't say it."
Brent plopped his bag onto the counter. "Fame's a bitch."
"I'm honestly not sure if you would know, or if you'd have no idea," Haley said.
"To your extent? You're right, I'm bullshitting you. I've got no f'n clue," Brent said. He walked into the living room, drawn as anyone would be by the view. "But believe me, I know what it's like to be a set idea in someone's head."
"Sure you do," Haley said, nodding. And the physical part is right on the money, he thought. "Make yourself comfortable. Drink?"
"Actually, about that dinner," Brent said, "I know this is the point in the script where I'd grab my crotch and say 'It's a good thing you saved your appetite,' but a cross-country trip, you know?"
"I know," Haley said, nodding. He hadn't heard from his own stomach since L.A. Do the crotch thing, he thought.
"Can we order a pizza?"
"Pizza?!? You eat pizza?" Haley eye-fucked Brent again. Brent sighed and put his hands on his hourglass hips. He'd run out of thank-you blushes months ago.
"All the time."
"Unbelievable. You've been here two minutes and I already have to hate you."
"Oh," Brent laughed, "well I'll just be going..."
"Sit your tight ass down," Haley smiled. "I'm calling Fredo's."
The pizza took an hour. Saturdays. But Haley couldn't have been happier. He and Brent had a calming shoot-the-shit session, mainly about movies and music, Brent wise enough not to bring up Haley's own career, yet unfazed by talking about his own. Haley never thought he'd sense so much common ground: hours of waiting while shots were arranged, Brent's surprising desire to get the non-sexual dialogue perfect and bring out the emotion from the sex. Long makeup sessions. Even for him, Haley thought in amazement. On and on.
Brent finally begged Haley to get comfortable: "I'm flattered, and you're two kinds of hot in that thing" - blush - "but...you know that little boy in 'Airplane,' or maybe it was the second one? And he's dressed in a suit, and he's trying to score with the little girl in the dress? You don't need to try so hard. Breathe."
"I'll be back," Haley said, slipping towards the bedroom and finding himself shaking his head and smiling yet again. He couldn't help but feel like Brent was the man in the room. Not the worst feeling. "Turn on the TV if you want."
But when Haley returned, in black shorts and a yellow tee that showed off his own hopelessly outmatched cuts and curves, he found the room dark, save for the glow of the boardwalk, Brent kneeling backwards on the couch and peering out, seemingly transfixed. Haley swallowed hard. It just felt more intimate.
"It's real pretty," Brent said, "but so what, you know? I'm sure you could live in a whole lot of pretty places. Why this one?"
Haley knelt beside his date. Wow, it's a date. He smiled at the spotlights beaming up from the arena, the carnival in the distance, the dancing neon patterns across the face of Bally's and the illuminated golden minarets of the Taj Mahal much further in the distance. Brent smiled at Haley's smile.
"Well, I told you online, I like that I can blend in, but you know what I really love? Especially since I bought this place?"
Brent just waited.
"The contrast." Haley pointed to the boardwalk. "Look at all that life. It's after midnight!" Pointed to the casinos. "Do you know how crazy it must get at those blackjack tables? Roulette wheels? All that frantic energy. It's all about sheer chaos. Everyone fighting to win an edge, get ahead. My parents, you know, they've schooled me to get ahead, like, forever. You spin and you spin."
Brent listened.
Haley pointed to the darkness of the Atlantic. "Tall buildings and flashing lights, and they're put here by people who've made it, and they draw people who want to. And do you see the water? No, you don't see it. But it's there, isn't it? It's quiet, and it's black, and it's biding its time. And it may be hard to believe, but when you and I are dead and gone, and this gorgeous building is rubble, and that one, and that one, and the people who remain don't even know what roulette WAS, that will still be right there. The Atlantic Ocean."
Haley wanted so badly to connect, wanted to call him something - "The Atlantic Ocean, You." - but actually calling him Brent to his face would feel too strange, like calling Norma Jean Marilyn. Thing was, he was connecting. An hour earlier, Brent couldn't help thinking "poor little rich gay boy." Now...
"Stop the world," Brent offered.
Haley turned. "I WANT to get off," he admitted.
Brent ran his hand behind Haley's neck and leaned in, his breath against Haley's lips. "Do you?"
The doorbell rang. Haley would've answered right away. It's a good thing Brent was there to remind him of Option B: let the fucking pizza guy wait ten seconds while a hot guy's tongue slides down your throat. The tongue took its sweet, wet time snaking back out. Haley took his time opening his eyes.
"Uhhhhhhh," came the creak from Haley's formerly virginal lips.
Brent stretched to raise the light switch, then grabbed Haley's limp hand and pointed it towards the door. "I'll wait here," he smirked.
"Ohhh, where'd you learn to do that?" Haley asked weakly as he struggled to reach the door and tame his erection, Brent laughing it up.
Obviously, no entree goes hand-in-hand with an art-deco dining room like a large cheese pie.
"Admit it," Brent said between bites and swigs of Coke. "Those awards dinners would be so much better with this instead of roast baby duckling or something, right?"
"You're such a kid, I can't believe it," came Haley's laughing critique between bites and swigs of the exact same things. He really didn't identify himself as a teetotaler yet.
"Hey, I'd drink beer," Brent nodded, "but I'm not crazy about drunken sex, OK?"
Haley unconvincingly stifled a few coughs as some soda went down the wrong pipe. Brent sometimes forgot he was bringing a turtle out of its shell here, but he couldn't help it. The sexual tension was overwhelming. Very cool. Nevertheless, Haley was still jittery, so Brent valiantly changed the subject.
"I got my teeth realigned about a year ago."
"Very nice," Haley said.
Brent flexed his overlooked facial muscles into a dopey wide grin of thanks. "I said to the dentist, 'I'll still be able to eat pizza whenever I want, right?' Of course, we had the 'You can eat pizza?' conversation. Then he said, 'Uh, if your teeth melt away from pizza, it's not my fault. Must be the ovens at Domino's. They went nuclear or something.'" Brent laughed. "Strange thing is, I can't order from Domino's anymore. It hurts my teeth to think about it. That stupid joke jinxed me. I'm a psychopath, right?"
Haley stared into space.
"Right? Haley, right?"
"What? I'm sorry," Haley said softly. "It's just I lost a tooth in the...."
"You wanna talk about it?"
"No. Not really." Haley's eyes started to water. He put a hand up. "I just wish I could understand it, though."
"What?"
Haley swept his hands towards the rest of the cavernous condo. "How I let it get to this." He allowed his hands to stop squarely aimed at Brent. "You don't want to be here."
"I want to be here."
"You haven't even brought up the money. It's in the black suitcase." Haley pointed to the bag resting against the right-side couch.
"I know. Five figures. Ten thousand, right? I trust you."
"Ten thousand," Haley laughed through choking up, his head shaking again. "Try a hundred thousand."
Brent absorbed the cannon shot to his brain as quickly as one could. "That's six figures, dude."
"Thank you, Mr. Wizard," Haley hissed, a tear falling. Brent just shrugged. Haley sensed he was there for the duration. "I'm sorry, yes, six, but I just didn't want you to ever think I'd short-change you."
"I have sex on film, Haley," Brent said. Haley's shamed eyes looked at Brent, the source of all those computer screen fantasies, very real now. "Yeah, I do. I do porn. News flash. But I'm not a whore. I wasn't taking your ten. I'm not going to take your hundred. I'm here for me as much as I'm here for you. Just talk to me."
Haley's shoulder burned. His throat stung. He was back in the driver's seat of that Saturn. "It all happened so fast, but I'll tell you something, you." Had to do it. "And I haven't told a single other soul. Dark or not, fast or not, drinking or not, there was an instant that seemed like eternity where I saw all that brick in front of me. Clearly. And getting closer and closer. And do you know what I did?" Haley acted it out, slowly, painfully. "I pulled my hands off the wheel, and I closed my eyes." The silence screamed as Haley swallowed hard and relived the impact again and again.
"And you opened them again," Brent finally reminded.
"No thanks to me." Haley violently shook his head, but there was no shaking this. Whiplash for dessert, perhaps? "Living out like you do," he said, looking at Brent in true awe. "You've got more courage in your pinky finger..."
"You know what, Haley?" Brent asked, closing the pizza box half a pie short of completion. "It's behind you."
"No."
"It is! Hey, I don't know any directors named Spielberg. But I do know Chi Chi LaRue. And I'll give you the advice she gave to me when I sent a Falcon Studio exclusive to the hospital with a hard cock jab to the rib cage." He knelt smiling in front of Haley, caressing his new friend's drooping cheek. "Don't fuck 'up' again."
Haley pursed his lips, waiting for a blink from Brent that never came. He doubled over laughing, Brent holding his shoulders steady. "Ahhh, that's the silliest th...." Their lips rejoined, and this time Haley locked his hands onto Brent's cheeks, sucking on those lips like they were the only oxygen in that stifling, tense kitchen.
"Mmm, make fun if you want," Brent said, squeezing another peck in. "But I'm going to the bedroom. And if you come in in five minutes, I promise you will not be coming out on a stretcher. Unless, you know, your ass doesn't know when to quit."
Haley initiated the kiss this time, running his hands through Brent's hair, spiked but somehow so soft. "Go," he managed to say, pointing down the bedroom hallway. Brent departed and Haley's nerves returned. This was really happening. He was really going to get fucked by this stud. With feeling, too. He took a shaky gulp of Cock, err, Coke. "I just hope my ass knows when to quit," Haley muttered, happily spanking himself through his shorts.
Haley stood up and went to the counter mirror, forcing himself to turn away from the sight of the open bedroom door, the soft light from within making the hallway look like the passage to heaven. He sized up his reflection for one last reassurance. First thought: no Viagra required. His cock stabbed forward, mercilessly tenting his shorts, a one-eye that didn't blink. Haley simply could not remember ever being that perpetually aroused before. It gave him the confidence to give Brent a little surprise. He stripped right then and there, flexing a few times in the nude before letting his seven-could-be-eight-he-was-so-pumped incher precede him into the hall. This was happening, he thought repeatedly. This was happening. Breathe. Smile.
Haley stepped into the bedroom doorway. It's funny. A virgin's thoughts of the first time have romance and reason playing big roles. There'll be music in the air and the smell of flowers, and constant declarations of love, he thinks. That'll be big, absolutely essential. And then, when the moment is upon him, he sees Brent Everett standing at the foot of the bed, his sculpted body bare save for a pathetic excuse for a pair of briefs. Electric blue Calvins with a black band. Inside, the cause of that historic skintight outline, seemingly on the verge of winning the battle to bust out, Brent's thick, missile-like eight inches becoming eight-could-be-nine upon seeing Haley naked and hard.
Neither boy could bring themselves to say anything, just stare, squint through the hot haze of sex on the brain, and slowly stroke their pieces. Brent was very rarely as turned on by his partner as he was by Haley, but he still knew not to shuck the briefs, knew not to move a single muscle below the waist. This was the bedroom. This was his house.
Haley was pulled into the inescapable vortex. Not that anyone ever wanted to escape. Slowly jacking himself, watching Brent pet the pouch, he licked his lips. It must be worshiped. He smiled and carefully hit all fours, a slight "Mmm" cutting through his labored breaths and the sounds of knees and hands sinking into cushiony carpet. Brent watched Haley crawl over, watching that taut ass shake in the air and wanting those sweet, hungry lips on his manhood. "Come here," Haley heard himself say, even though he was the one in motion. "Mmmm, come here with that cock."
Brent tauntingly stepped back once as Haley bounded up against his legs, but Haley laughed and latched a hand around the smooth muscled calf of Brent's left leg.
"You're not going anywhere but in my mouth," Haley demanded, looking up at Brent, thrilled and utterly determined.
"Mmmm," came the first response from Brent. Haley slowly straightened himself, running his hands up Brent's legs. Brent cupped his bulge, making his cock stick out straight in the briefs. The top of Haley's rising head slammed into the anxious erection.
"God, yes," Haley groaned, running his face against the covered package, the steel boner burning hot beneath the blinding blue cotton. "Slap me with it," he ordered Brent. He opened his mouth and felt the bulge bounce against his nose, the massive head of Brent's cock throb against Haley's nostrils and slip down to spank his salivating tongue. Haley ran his lips over the mound and his hands up Brent's chest, Brent's muscles reflexively popping beneath Haley's fingers as they traced the ridges of those unbelievable abs. The electric blue turned darker, Brent's aching cock dry but its casing bathed from Haley's drooling sucks. Haley's tongue felt a pearl of pre-cum pulse from Brent's slit. Haley's own cock swayed like a rock above his kneeling thighs, its owner suckling on Brent's covered glans, trying to drain the taste from that tiny sample of fuck fluid onto his taste buds. Brent laughed through the torturous pleasure, picking up a bare foot to swipe across Haley's lonely shaft. Haley responded with a happy "Mmmm," running a hand down to fondle Brent's other leg, to feel the added tension build in that bulging calf.
Haley reluctantly pulled his mouth off Brent's packed briefs, leaving a hand behind to viciously jack the covered tube of meat. Brent shuddered from watching Haley's own developing biceps twitch from the whacking.
"You like this?" Haley asked, practically growling from deep inside.
"Uh huh," Brent breathed. "Work me like a whore."
"Could teach you some tricks, couldn't I?" Haley asked, biting his lip and staring up with hungry, pinpoint eyes, lifting and shaking his tight tush. He licked up and down the length of Brent's monster. "You want to fuck this ass?" he asked.
"Yeahhh," Brent groaned. He was thrilled, but he was also Brent Everett, and he was losing himself in the moment. He slapped his own six-pack twice, feeling only muscle, reminding himself who he was and how good he could be real fucking quick.
"Yeah," Haley cooed, back to jerking. "You're a man, aren't you?"
"Yes," Brent answered, strongly now.
"I've got such a hot ass, don't you think?" Haley felt only one thing when he talked dirty: hard. "Very tight Cali butt. And I've waited for so long for a man and his big, hard cock to tear my ass up." Haley hiked it up. "It's pretty, isn't it? Tell me."
"Very pretty."
"Yeah. So now tell me." A soft sucking kiss on Brent's cockhead. Needy doe eyes cast upward. "Would you please stick your cock in my ass?" Another wet shaft smooch. "Pretty please?"
Brent stepped back. Haley rose, smiling, cupping his own satisifed hardness. Brent finally stripped the soaked shorts, no longer calculating enough to make a big show out of it. The marvelous penis simply sprung forward. God, Haley thought, the head on that thing is so big and gorgeous, he wanted it probing every part of him. Brent ran his hand across the back of his neck. It came back dripping with sweat. Not bad for a virgin seductor.
"There's condoms in the top drawer," Haley said, pointing to the dresser to Brent's left. Haley jerked himself breathlessly as Brent dove into the drawer. "Extra large and lubed for my pleasure," Haley said, his voice cracking through pounding pulses.
Trojan, red latex - sweet. Brent fished one out of the laughably large box - the kind of precaution purchased only by a nervous first-timer or Judy Cum. It gave him encouragement to take back some decision-making power.
He tossed the condom to Haley. "Come over here," he said, flopping onto the king-sized bed and lying flat on his back, his erect tower of cock casting a surreal shadow on the wall. "You put it on me," he encouraged Haley.
Haley began to tear at the sealed package with his teeth.
"Wait," Brent said. He fisted himself for surefire hypnotic effect. "What's your rush?" He beckoned with his finger. "Pull up a face and sit awhile."
"Yes, baby," Haley said, ecstatic, having been unsure if Brent wanted to give him some sweet mouth love. He walked over, feeling his own cock slap back and forth, and climbed onto the bed, "accidentally" running his left leg across Brent's cock as he straddled him, feeling that unreal rod bare for the first time. He put his knees down on either side of Brent, face towards his cock, cock in his face.
"Such a naughty behind," Brent said of the rump before him, his voice deep and commanding. He grabbed a handful of each cool cheek, a breeze drifting into Haley's exposed bud. "Pretty little hole," Brent declared. He expertly kneaded the cheeks, letting a finger trickle down the length of Haley's crack before landing an open-handed spank. Haley's head was swimming, a completely fried grin on his face.
"What are you waiting for?" Brent asked.
Haley let a shivering hiss escape his drooling mouth. "Oooh shit, I just love it," he cooed, finally reaching for Brent's giant pole. His hand traveled the length of the throbbing tool with surprising ease, the hot flesh like satin in his palm. "Ohhh, smooth," Haley said through a giddy chuckle.
"Come on," Brent reminded. "Nice and slow. Bring that pretty puss down."
Haley did as he was told, looking back between his legs to see Brent's outstretched tongue impale itself between his cheeks and against his pucker. The eager porn star spread it and fed on it. Haley's eyes rolled as he felt Brent's tongue beating and tickling the inside of his ass. He pumped up and down several times, feeling the tongue explore the sweet, virgin cherry, warm, wet lips smacking against his crack.
"Uhhhh," Haley groaned, a sexual instrument completely freed in the feeling and impulse. Before he even realized what he was doing, a stream of saliva poured from his mouth down onto Brent's cockhead, followed immediately by the mouth itself. Brent pushed up in surprise, groaning a satisfied "Mmmmm" before he slid down a bit to suck a nut from Haley's dangling, peach fuzzed sack into his mouth.
By that time, Haley had Brent's big cockhead and three inches of thick shaft between his lips. Haley sucked passionately, having always been disappointed in the apathetic blow jobs in gay pornography. Now, Haley imitated the work of some balls-to-the-wall straight porno sluts he had always envied. He devoured his lover's beautiful knob, coming up fast and letting the saliva re-pool at the back of his throat, the ridge of Brent's head busting past his soft, moist lips, before he plunged back down, very deep and slow, puckering those lips as tightly as possible around Brent's shaft, tasting five, six inches now, his tongue making room for a raw, eye-bulging throat fuck. Haley would only retreat when his senses were completely overloaded, cleaning up the taste of spit and sex on the way back up.
"Ohhh, suck it real good," Brent groaned. "I like it nasty." Haley looked back at the scene as he sucked, so unreal, Brent's tensed, chiseled body underneath him, the stud's cock wedged in his face, his own cock, looking shockingly impressive from here, bouncing across Brent's nose. His own dickhead seemed to have throbbed its way up to the size of a baseball, but all of a sudden, there was Brent sucking it in, tonguing its spongy bubble, frenching it. Haley drove his mouth down the sex god's thrusting shaft, gagging on meaty shaft and feeling nutsack brush his lips. Feeling woozy and on fire, his eyes began to water. He felt a burst, a gush from his cock into Brent's mouth, the sensation of Brent's swallow, and thought for sure he had come, but it was only pre-cum, and it seemed to liven him up, a shockwave through the paralyzing bliss.
"Cock tastes sooo fucking good down my throat," Haley groaned, his eyes still glassy after throating Brent's big boy. "Let's taste some balls," he whispered, his hand holding down Brent's insistent, pulsating pole, his tongue snaking around Brent's smooth sack. The sound of his famous, deeper-by-the-day voice saying such raw things turned both guys on. "Urrrhhhh," Haley echoed, his lips enveloping and voice ringing against Brent's tasty right testicle.
"Like them, mister?" Brent asked, a twinkle in his eye. His own warm red lips started pounding their way down Haley's shaft, Haley bucking in perfect time, dipping his wick as far as he could in that hot mouth.
"They're very nice," Haley eventually replied in a man-in-a-massage-chair lilt. His drenched lips supplied every hard "s" with a cock-flavored lisp. "Almost as sweet as your lips. And I don't usually eat nuts." He went back to ball-sucking.
"You keep doing that," Brent said, spitting out Haley's rock hard dick, "you're gonna taste my nutter butter in about a minute." He felt like tasting ass again, and poked his tongue back inside Haley's ready rear door.
"Mmmm! That reminds me," Haley said, sticking his index and ring finger into his own mouth. "For a muscle man," he said, quickly running the wet fingers under Brent's tiny rump, "you sure don't mind getting fucked."
"OHHHH!" Brent never expected Haley to take that initiative, but then there were two fingers pumping in and out of his sensitive fuck hole. He spanked Haley in return but kept his tongue firmly in place.
Haley laughed at the approval, giving glancing kisses to Brent's wagging cock while he dug his digits further into Brent's warm chute, feeling like such a hot, lucky slut. "This ass in a jock strap," Haley said, flashing back, pounding away. "Is it actually legal for you to buy one, or do you have to get an uglier guy to go pretend its for himself?"
"Mmmmrph," came the reply.
"Option B," Haley decided. "Sweet job. Got an application?"
Brent pulled himself from Haley's hole mid-meal and spit a wad of saliva onto the underside of Haley's drying shaft, clearing his throat while he jacked. "You're way too beautiful for that."
"Ohhh, that's it," Haley groaned, pulling his fingers from Brent's behind and licking them clean like a good boy. He leapt absent-mindedly off the bed to find where the condom had squirted off to, and his jello legs immediately buckled but barely, thankfully held. He laughed an endless giggle of contentment now, finding the condom package and tearing with his shaking fingers. "I need to have you inside me. Now." Haley looked down at Brent, the cocksman totally ripped and still painfully hard. He had a huge smile as he watched Haley's hopelessly clumsy efforts. "What?" Haley laughed.
With an appropriate grizzly growl, Brent climbed off the bed and bear-hugged Haley from behind, easily wrestling the condom away and scooping the giggling boy's feet on top of his own.
"Hold on tight," Brent said, clutching Haley's shoulders from behind and toe-towing him down the hall.
"Oooh, where are you taking me?" Haley said through the happy giggles, feeling Brent's prick wedging into his moving crack.
"I'm not sure," Brent whispered, kissing and nibbling Haley's earlobe. "But I'll take you when we get there."
Brent knew exactly where he was going, back to the dark living room, the middle couch, where he lowered Haley gently, knees down, ass out, kissing him down his sweaty backside before pulling away to quickly retrieve something out of his own bag.
"Whatcha doin'?" Haley asked, looking back, digging his hands deeper into the leather, so ready.
"Nothing against your choice of protection," Brent said, opening a wrapper of his own, "but I like to light it up." Haley first laughed at the neon green glow from Brent's hand, but when Brent expertly extended the shining latex over his entire cock, creating a glow-in-the-dark, eight-inch monument to man, Haley could only gulp and wiggle his ass impatiently.
Brent lined himself up, locking his strong legs in place and running his hands over the shuddering length of Haley, finally parting those taut first-timer buns again. He wanted to tell Haley how long it had been since he'd been this turned on going through these familiar motions, but there was Haley, turning and smiling, biting his lip in anticipation. All he could do was return the smile with all his heart. And wink. After all, this was his house.
"Turn around," Brent reassured Haley, pressing his cock beacon against Haley's tiny, tense pucker. He hocked some spit onto the monster wand for lube, but things were still pretty moist back there. "Just let it go. Give yourself to me, baby."
"Oh yeeee..." A gasp. No sooner had Haley turned and braced than Brent's huge cockhead plunged its way into Haley's hot rear.
"Ohhh, you're so tight," Brent said, instantly noting the difference of a virgin passage.
"You're so big," Haley said, chuckling but grimacing despite himself as his dream partner began to fill him.
"I'll go slow," Brent promised.
"You'd better not," Haley laughed, but Brent definitely knew what he was doing. Slow but steady. As Haley relaxed, Brent managed to stuff a good three, maybe four inches of rigid cockmeat inside Haley's teen hole. He let it set, like he was molding a cast, waiting for Haley to say when. It didn't take long. Haley started to ride the ripple sensations of a boned butt, rocking back and forth, instinctively angling for more meat.
"Fuck me, please," Haley pleaded. Brent leaned over to kiss the back of his lover's neck, Haley turning around just in time to peck Brent's retreating, luscious lips. Brent made a strong push, another inch inside, the pleasure shaking Haley to the core. Brent grabbed Haley's hips firmly and began to thrust, in and out - all the way in, moving his hips in a circle, massaging Haley's insides in every possible direction, then back out again. Haley locked his dangling feet around Brent's knees, his wet toes digging into the tops of Brent's heaving calves.
"I've wanted you for so long," Haley groaned through fiery hot breaths, sucking in the cool, conditioned air, his banged-up shoulder feeling no pain as it knocked against the cold suede.
Brent slapped Haley's wanting ass, sweat pouring from his tan brow onto Haley's tailbone. "You've got me," he said. He thrust harder. Haley's knees jumped. Another slapping sound rang out that Brent had heard - though not as often as he would've liked - before. Sack on sack. "How bout that, little Haley Joel," Brent said. "You've got me balls deep."
"Oh my fuck, yeah," Haley groaned, shooting Brent a very wicked, very proud smile. "Mmmm hmmm."
Brent grunted and did his magic. He had personally busted this butt into a snug cock glove. He was gonna try it on as often as he pleased. Haley had his eyes locked shut during most of Brent's breaking and entering, but now he looked out the window as Brent repeatedly reamed his fuckhole. The boardwalk was pretty empty. The fight was long over. But Haley knew who the winner was. He looked out toward the endless sea and instead found himself refocusing on his and Brent's reflection, courtesy of the city lights and Brent's surprisingly bright neon rubber. He drooled, smiling a dopey, ecstatic smile as he watched and felt Brent ravage him. Brent's intent downward gaze made him giddy.
"You like...watching your big beaut...iful cock slam in...and out of my virgin pussy? Huh?"
Brent grunted and fucked away, harder, amazed that the rookie could still talk while he himself was lost in the pleasure. There was nothing like fucking a young man, he thought, nothing like a hot, slick chute around his mammoth, oozing prod. Haley looked at the mirror image of Brent's one-of-a-kind physique and thought there could be nothing like getting fucked by THIS young man, feeling that cock, yes, but also watching those arms bulge and those rock hard pecs twitch and that beyond-perfect rack of abs undulate like a wave, and knowing all that hot masculine energy is directed at pounding YOUR prostate.
"Uhhhh, can I tell you a secret?" Haley muttered, boiling over.
"Hmmm, yeah?"
"I think....I'm gay."
"I think I am, too," Brent laughed, but he felt Haley's grip around his knees loosen and a throbbing from deep within against his thrusting pole. Sure enough, the first spurts of gooey jizm were spraying from Haley's cock, no touch required, all over the couch. Brent gingerly grabbed hold of his conquest's spasming cock, jerking lovingly and redirecting the rest of the load onto his own smooth left thigh and upper leg. Haley lightly slapped his left hand into the cushion, five, six, seven times, on the verge of joyous tears as Brent continued to pound his ass. Haley pulled out of Brent's hand when it was too much, dipped, rubbed his crotch across the load-covered couch, Brent crouching, dipping and fucking right in rhythm with him, not letting his own steadily approaching climax out of reach.
"Oh God, Haley, I'm about to cum," Brent groaned. "Your ass is unreal, man."
Haley instantaneously snapped out of his own euphoria. No fucking way he was missing what he craved most of all. "You're aboot to cum?" he squeaked, mocking Brent's Canadian accent. "You're not doing it back there." He slowly wiggled his way off Brent's impaled dick and laid his face directly underneath the huge cocked gun, his moppy head of hair rolling in his own load. He watched Brent's face contort, holding back, yes, somehow holding back, until Haley could reach up and yank the glowing condom off Brent's burning hot dick. Haley smiled a toothy grin and put the condom on his own forehead so Brent could see exactly what he was about to do.
Haley ran his left hand over this adonis one last time, front side and back, and with the right, reached up and gave that perfect tool some rough, full contact jerks. "Now you let go, stud."
"Oh FUCK!"
"Give me your gift. I want it. Come on. I want your gift all over my pretty lips."
"Oaaahhhhh fuuuuuuuck!!!!"
Haley didn't blink once. Not when Brent shot off his first hot white stream of milk, the rope seeming to freeze in mid-spurt before slamming against the right side of Haley's mouth. Not when the second blast cut through Brent's caveman cries and pounded Haley's nostrils. God, it smelled so great. Not even when the next seven pulses out of that smooth manhammer of his got more and more watery and flooded Haley's smiling cheek, very close to his left eye.
Brent shook his head violently, like he was trying to wring it all out, but Haley had taken care of that. Only then did Haley release his grip on Brent's manhood. He ran the hand around and spanked that baby-smooth butt. What a man.
"That, my friend," Haley began, giving Brent's slowly shrinking cock a soft, sweet kiss, "was a load. You must've been saving those kiddies up for me, hmmm?"
"Oh Godddd."
"Well, I'm touched."
Brent dropped to his knees and passionately kissed Haley. The lingering taste of Brent's sperm deeply satisfied them both.
"Actually," Haley said, "fuck Fredo's. I'd rather they serve THAT at the dinner parties. 'Charity balls.' Think about it. Whole new meaning."
Brent laughed, but quickly turned serious, his eyes meeting and piercing Haley's. "I'm not kidding about this," he said, reaching in for another kiss. "That was the best. I swear."
Haley was dumbfounded, but the only way he could keep from crying was refusing to believe it. For now. "So, you liked your first trip to Jersey, then?"
"You know, Haley," the porn star playing himself said, "you can call me by my name. It's alright."
"Ohhhh," Haley said, his voice trailing off. "Sure thing, Mr. Everett. You're quite..."
"No. God, no."
Haley's lover leaned in, and in a whisper, Haley's beaming soul matched the rays peeking through the window. The sun had truly risen for the first time over the Atlantic...on Pacific.
THE END
Hope you enjoyed. All comments welcome - please note my new e-mail address: xxxidolatry@yahoo.com