Hi Everyone,
Thanks for the encouraging comments from the first chapter! I have to admit that I wasn't sure how the whole porn thing would go over with readers, but thanks for keeping an open mind.
We're getting into the thick of things here in chapter two—heavy sex content. Hope you're okay with that!
And again, please comment. I love getting your feedback. Happy reading.
Yours,
HB
Copyright (c) 2016 by Hudson Bartholomew. All rights reserved. This story or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Between the Push and Pull – Chapter 2
Ryan tugged at his collar and the bowtie they told him to wear. He insisted that PhD students didn't necessarily wear bowties—he certainly didn't when he was in school—but they insisted that this PhD student did. So Ryan was stuck with a bowtie that threatened to cut off his air supply.
Other than the bowtie, the rest of the outfit wasn't so bad. Slim fit dress shirt with rolled up sleeves under a vest, and tight jeans that showed off his ass. The wardrobe lady called it "hipster chic." Ryan helpfully pointed out that hipster was already pretty chic, so she didn't need to add chic as a description—that earned him a dirty glare.
The whole production was a lot more than what Ryan was used to. Typically, porn sets consisted of the people having sex, a couple of cameramen and assistants, and the director. Floodlights were set up to light the set and mics were attached to the top of the handheld cameras.
But this time, Ryan found himself on the sidelines of an honest to goodness film set. They'd managed to rent out an actual nightclub for a few hours and the entire place was buzzing with film crew fixing the lighting, sound guys with mic booms, and people running around with pieces of furniture. Erik was huddled with Gary and one of the cameramen talking through what they'd be shooting today.
Not for the first time did Ryan question what he had gotten himself into. Once he agreed, Erik and Gary immediately started scheduling shoot times, despite Ryan's objection that they didn't have a script yet. That's when Erik sheepishly admitted that they already had the first two episodes mapped out.
Ryan remembered the apologetic hesitation in Erik's blue eyes when he handed the script to Ryan. He almost sounded nervous when he asked for Ryan's opinion. Ryan was loath to admit it, but the screenplay was quite good. Now he was worried whether he'd be able to pull it off.
"Okay, you ready?" Gary's approach pulled Ryan from his own thoughts.
"Yeah, where do you want me?"
"Over here," Gary led Ryan over to a tall round table with a glass of liquid on it. "This is your drink, so you can sip at it during the scene."
"Don't worry," Erik smiled as he approached, "It's water." His dimple winked at Ryan.
"And where will you be?" Ryan asked.
"Erik will be on the platform," Gary pointed to the box not far from the table. "You'll be sipping at your drink, and watching Erik dance. Simple, shouldn't be too hard."
Ryan nodded—right, shouldn't be too hard.
"Great, let's get started," Gary turned to toward the crowded room. "Places, people!"
And suddenly there was a hush across the room. The house lights dimmed, as ambient white light filled the space. Colorful strobe lights roamed around the room, controlled by some unseen force. Someone took Erik's robe from him and he stepped up onto the box.
Gary called out, "Action," and Erik started moving to an unheard beat.
Ryan let his eyes wander, appreciating the ripple of muscle as Erik undulated on top of the box. His skin glistened with oil and the colored lights played off the shiny planes and angles—he looked less like a man, and more like impressionist art come to life.
Wide shoulders, and strong arms. Defined chest that tapered to narrow hips adorned simply by straps from a jock strap. His thighs—Ryan had never seen such muscular thighs in his life. Strips of muscle twisting down his limbs until they disappeared in thick, black biker boots.
And all along Erik's body swirled one unending tattoo. Ryan had seen one end of it peaking out of Erik's t-shirt back at the bar; wisps of smoke spiraled down his left arm and licked at his elbow. From there, the tattoo snaked up around Erik's shoulder and down his back in a frenzy of little whirlpools. The smoke trailed diagonally across Erik's back, wrapped around his waist, over his hip, and circled his right thigh before dissipating just above the knee.
Impressive—very impressive.
Ryan's gaze trailed back up Erik's body to contemplate the most important organ. It was hidden behind a scrap of red fabric, stretched taunt and threatening to burst. Erik's bulge was just as impressive as the rest of his body. Ryan had already adjusted his previous guess based on the videos he found online—now that he was confronted with it in person, he knew his adjustment was accurate. It wasn't eight inches; it was more like nine, and probably five inches in circumference. It was huge.
Ryan tried to suppress a shudder at the thought of Erik's size, and his asshole clenched involuntarily. They'd already discussed what roles they'd be taking, and although Ryan almost always topped in his scenes, everyone had agreed that this character in particular felt more like a bottom. Gary and Erik had been wary of asking Ryan to bottom, and he wasn't thrilled by the idea himself, but it had felt like the right way to go.
What Ryan had never told anyone, though, was that he secretly preferred to bottom, at least he did in his private sexual encounters. Even now, knowing that the big fat cock hidden by that red jockstrap would soon be invading his ass was enough for Ryan's cock to plump, and he shifted on his feet to alleviate the pressure.
Erik turned, his body undulating and rolling, arms raised and his head falling back as if lost to some enthralling music. Just like his front, Erik's back was ripple after ripple of clearly defined muscle, each one glistening in oil, his tattoo a living, breathing creature that moved to its own dance across his skin. His ass, two perky mounds framed perfectly by the straps of the scrappy article of clothing.
Then he bent over, head suddenly between his calves, and piercing blue eyes peaked back at Ryan. Ryan swallowed heavily at the look in them—Erik knew he looked good, and he knew Ryan knew he looked good.
His new position left his ass lifted high in the air, cheeks spread and Ryan could see Erik's wrinkly asshole exposed to the air. It twitched once as Erik twerked at him. In this position, Ryan could see Erik's tattoo as it wrapped around his inner thigh, dangerously close to his most private of parts and Ryan wondered at how it must have felt to have needles piercing into such delicate skin.
Ryan's hand ached, and he realized that he'd been clutching his glass of pretend alcohol much harder than necessary. He forced himself to relax his grip and raised the glass for a sip. It was disconcerting how the glass trembled in his unsteady hand.
Ryan slowly lowered the glass and placed it gently back on the table, eyes lowered, gathering himself for a moment before glancing back up. Erik was watching him, reading him, studying him while his body moved.
Erik's hand floated up to his chest, two fingers rubbed at a nipple until it stood on end. The other hand lingered on his bulge, tugged and massaged. And all the while, his eyes unwaveringly focused on Ryan, drawing Ryan into the performance.
This was an act, Ryan reminded himself. They were on camera. But the way Erik looked at him, the way Erik touched his own body and danced to the silent music—it made it easy to get lost in the make-believe moment they were creating.
Erik knew how to move; Ryan certainly could appreciate that. He wondered suddenly what genre of dance Erik specialized in in his past life—Ryan made a note to ask about it. It was a weird thing to think of in the middle of a scene, but Ryan actually felt more surprised that his mind hadn't wandered well before then.
