Date: Tue, 15 Jun 2010 06:45:35 EDT
From: BertMcK@aol.com
Subject: Dancing on the Tundra, 16

DANCING ON THE TUNDRA
by Bert McKenzie
Copyright 2010

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to any real
person alive or dead is coincidental and unintentional.

CHAPTER XVI

     "I really can't stay too long," Terry said as the two of
them sat in a booth in a little corner tavern.  The establishment
seemed to reek of old world charm and provided the perfect
setting for an intimate rendezvous.

     "But you must be free till five," Collin objected.  "You
were scheduled in for photos till then."  The waitress came by
for their orders and the man in black requested a couple of
imported beers.

     "Well, yes, but I've got a lot of things to do," Terry
improvised.  The truth was, he found the photographer incredibly
attractive and was trying to find an excuse to get away.  The
last thing he needed was to fall for a married straight man.

     "I won't hear of it," Collin said quickly.  "I've already
seen about as much as I can of you.  Now I want to get to know
the man behind the body."  He smiled disarmingly.

     His charm took Terry completely off guard, and before he
realized it he had spent an hour telling Collin his life's story.
He glossed over certain facts and totally avoided others.  His
own insecurities made him steer clear of his sexual orientation.
Finally he came to a halt, then realized he had been monopolizing
the conversation.  "I'm sorry," he apologized.

     "Don't be," the photographer replied.  "I love hearing your
voice."

     Terry blushed and stared down into his glass, watching the
tiny bubbles cascading to the slightly foamy surface.  "So tell
me about you," he finally responded, looking up at the intense
blue eyes focused on him from across the table.

     "There really isn't much to tell," Collin answered.  "I went
to CCNY and majored in business.  Now I run a photography
studio."

     "What about your wife," Terry asked, then felt guilty, like
he was prying into the man's personal life.

     Collin shrugged.  "She's an actress.  But let's not talk
about her.  I'd rather talk about you."

     Terry blushed again.  "We've already talked about me."

     "On the surface, yes, but I want to know so much more.  What
made you want to be a dancer?  Why did you come to New York?
What's your favorite color?  Do you sleep in pajamas or
underwear?  Are you gay?  What kind of wine do you like?  Would
you have dinner with me this evening?"  Terry's mouth dropped
open as he was hit with the barrage of questions.  He was
completely taken off guard.  "Well, I'm waiting for answers,"
Collin prompted.

     "Okay, here goes," Terry replied.  "I don't really know; I
had a friend here; green; the raw; yes; anything red and sweet;
and I don't think so."

     Collin laughed at the replies.  "How did you remember all
that I asked and in the correct order?"

     "I have an exceptionally strong and photographic memory.
That's why I've always been a quick study on stage, learning the
whole script of a play in just a couple of days."

     Collin shook his head in amazement.  "Okay, my turn to
respond.  Let's see if I can do it the same way as you.  Oh; how
close of a friend; I would have guessed a red tone; how exciting;
I'm very glad; now I'll know what to order; and why not?"

     "Because I hardly know you . . . and what do you mean your
very glad?"

     "I find you incredibly attractive.  I've been wanting to
jump your bones since early this afternoon when I first saw that
hot body of yours in my studio."

     "But you're married," Terry blurted out.  The way Collin
drew back made Terry instantly regret he had said it.

     "Well, that's a long story, and one I'd just as soon not go
into.  Now, about dinner . . ."

     Terry finally allowed himself to be talked into going to
dinner with the charismatic man in black.  They found a small
Italian cafe and dined on ravioli and Chianti, then went for a
walk through Central Park.  Terry found himself liking the
photographer more and more.  As the evening wore on, Collin
finally hailed a cab and the two climbed in.  Terry directed the
driver to his building and they ended up in Terry's bed.

     The love making was sheer physical delight.  Collin was
obviously experienced and knew how to elicit pleasures from Terry
that the young man had never experienced before.  He relaxed and
gave himself over to the pure, hedonistic thrills.  Once he had
experienced an orgasm, Terry then concentrated on providing just
as much excitement for his new sex partner.  He used muscles he
didn't know he had and worked up quite a sweat as he performed
over his new friend.  Soon Collin was groaning with pleasure, and
then, after an explosive climax, the two men relaxed in each
other's arms.

     "That was absolutely fucking fantastic!" Collin said as he
nuzzled Terry's neck, kissing him gently.  "Or maybe I should say
fantastic fucking.  Can I come back and do this again?  I mean, I
don't want this to be a one night stand."

     "Would you like to spend the night?" Terry asked hesitantly.

     "Can't," the man said bruskly, then rolled off the bed and
grabbed for his black, bikini briefs.  "The little woman will be
expecting me."

     "Oh," was all Terry could say as he watched his new love
quickly dress.  In a couple of minutes the man was ready to
leave.  He leaned down and kissed Terry passionately on the
mouth, then abruptly stood and walked out.  Terry wandered to the
front door to throw the dead bolt, then went to the living room
window and looked down at the street below, seeing Collin climb
into the back of a taxi.

     "So you want to tell me all about him?"  Terry turned to see
Wayne dressed in a white, terry cloth bathrobe, leaning against
the archway into the kitchen.

     "I'm so confused," Terry said as he dropped down onto the
sofa.  "Wayne, he was wonderful.  I haven't met anyone that good
since . . . well since a long time ago."

     "Since when you were a freshman in college and had that
short lived fling with that jock.  What was his name?"

     "Dan," Terry responded.  "Yeah, I guess maybe it's been that
long since I fell for someone.  I've had sex, but I've never
really connected.  Not like this."

     "Well, honey, that's great," Wayne said enthusiastically.
"There's nothing that warms my innards more than the thought of a
faggot in love."

     "But he's married," Terry whined.

     Wayne dropped down onto the couch beside him.  "Then you
have got a problem.  Does his wife know?"

     "Know what?"

     "That he likes little boys?  About you?  Does she know
anything?"

     Terry shook his head.  "I don't think so.  We only met
today."

     "You are a fast worker, you little home wrecker," Wayne said
as he jabbed his roommate in the ribs.

     "That's it," Terry said as he stood up.  "It was just a one-
time fuck.  I'm not going to be responsible for destroying a
marriage."  He slowly walked back through the bathroom and into
his bedroom, filled with resolve.  But once he climbed back into
bed and could smell the scent of his lover still on the sheets
and pillow case, his resolve began to crumble.

                            *   *   *

     Terry was looking through the want ads two days later when
he got a phone call.  It was Marvin.  The man had received the
photos from the session with Collin and had already circulated
them.  He had two offers for Terry right away.  Rand Studios
wanted him to do some modeling and Marvin had also arranged for
him to meet with a casting director that evening.  Terry was so
excited, he didn't even think to ask about the jobs but accepted
immediately.  Marvin gave him the address of the modeling firm
and told him to be there at 1:00.  Then he was to meet with Mr.
Caselli at 7:30.  He was to dress sharp and report to room 714 at
the Hotel Edison in downtown Manhattan.  Marvin said that Mr.
Caselli would also be paying Terry an audition fee which he was
to give to Marvin.  It was sort of a kickback to the agency and
would cover his 15% if he were to get a job out of this audition.

     Terry quickly went to his room to pick out clothes to wear
for his appointments.  He assumed that the modeling agency would
probably provide the clothing for him to wear.  He had never
really thought of modeling as being related to a theatrical
career, but he could now easily see the tie in.  As he fussed
through his closet there was a knock at the front door.  Terry
threw a suit on the bed, then headed for the living room.

     "Yes?" he called as he looked out the peep hole in the door.
All he could see were roses obscuring the person holding them.

     "Flowers for Rock Michaels," a voice called out.

     Terry quickly slipped the chain and opened the door.  "I'm
Rock Michaels," he said as he reached out for the vase with the
beautiful arrangement.  "I wonder who they could be from?" he
mused.

     "Me," the delivery man said and parted the flowers that
Terry now held.  It was Collin on the other side of the floral
arrangement.  Terry was shocked into silence.  "Well, aren't you
going to thank me?"

     "Thank you," he replied automatically.

     "Aren't you going to ask me in?" the photographer persisted.

     Terry wanted to be firm and tell him to be on his way, but
Collin's expression looked so cute, a combination of hopeful
anticipation mixed with a tinge of fear of rejection.  "Come in,"
Terry said and stepped away from the door, putting the flowers on
a small table beside the beat up couch.

     Collin shut the door and stepped forward, reaching out to
embrace Terry in his arms, but he was rebuffed.  Terry stepped
back and turned away.  "What's the matter?" Collin asked as his
smile faded away.

     "I'm not so sure about this," Terry replied.  "Look, I
really like you a lot.  But I don't want to be a home-wrecker."

     "Then maybe we need to talk," the photographer said as he
unzipped his black leather jacket, revealing a black sport shirt
beneath.  He sat on the couch and Terry perched on the arm of the
sofa, not far from him.  "In the first place you aren't a home-
wrecker.  I'm the one who did the pursuing.  In the second place,
there isn't really much of a home to wreck.  My wife and I have a
marriage more of convenience than anything else.  We don't love
each other.  She goes her way and has her lovers, as do I."

     "Then why do you stay together?"  Terry suddenly felt
uncomfortable the moment he said it.  This man's personal life
was really none of his business.

     "I don't know really.  Partly money, partly laziness.
Neither one of us wants to take the effort required to untangle
things and get a divorce."

     Terry and Collin sat and stared at each other for a minute.
"Well," Terry finally said as he stood up and went to the door,
"thanks for the flowers.  But I really have got a lot of things
to do and . . ."

     "Rock, is this a problem for you?"

     "I hate that name.  Call me Terry.  And no, I don't think
so.  I think this is a problem for you."

     "But can't you see I'm falling in love with you," Collin
said.

     He stood up and in a moment the two men were in each other's
arms.  Their passionate kiss seemed to last an eternity and Terry
could feel his body beginning to respond sexually to the
intensity of their embrace.  He finally broke the kiss and pushed
the photographer back.  "Look, I don't want to be the other
woman, okay?"

     Collin laughed and pulled him close.  "You aren't.  You're
the other man, and all man."  He slowly slid his hands down,
cupping Terry's ass and pushing their pelvises together.

     Terry again pushed him back.  "Collin, I really can't do
this now.  I have a job this afternoon and I need to get ready."

     "What kind of a job?"

     "Marvin got me a modeling job with some company called the
Rand Studios.  I'm supposed to meet with them this afternoon at
1:00."

     "Rand?!" Collin asked in surprise.  "Terry, we need to talk
about your agent.  Rand Studios is a producer of porno pictures.
If that's what you want to do, that's fine, but if you're
planning on having hot, erotic photos taken, why don't you let me
do that."

     Terry sat heavily on the couch.  He felt devastated.  He
came to New York to be a serious actor and now he was being told
that his agent was arranging to get him involved in pornography.
"Are you sure?" he asked, hoping that Collin might be mistaken.

     "Well of course I'm sure.  Don't you even pay attention to
your own books."  The photographer bent down and retrieved a
nicely bound "art" book that was supporting the short leg of the
table holding his roses.  He handed it to Terry as he moved the
vase to the floor.  The volume was one that Wayne had purchased
and brought home.  He liked to look at the photos while
masturbating.  Terry had glanced at the book before, but never
really paid it much attention.  He now examined it closely.  The
cover had a two toned photo of an attractive naked man posing so
that his outspread hand just barely covered his genitals.  The
title, in gold ink, was "Hot Summer Men of Rand."  There was no
doubt about the studio, and there was not doubt about their
intent as Terry quickly flipped through the volume.  The
publishers might claim it was art, but the carefully posed men in
the book, most of whom showed huge erections, were very obviously
photographed to excite and arouse.

     "This is not what I wanted for a professional job," Terry
said angrily, putting the book down.  "I'm going to give that
creep a piece of my mind," he continued as he grabbed for the
phone.

     "Better not," Collin advised as he stopped his friend.  He
convinced Terry that refusing a job might open him up to possible
litigation for breach of contract.  It all depended on what his
agreement with the agency said.

     Terry had a sinking feeling that he had definitely been had
by the sleazy agent.  "What can I do?" he asked.

     "Miss the appointment.  You're new to New York.  You can't
help it if you got lost in the city.  Meanwhile, you need to
relax.  Don't get so uptight.  Here, I'll help you."  Collin
reached over and began to massage Terry's tense shoulders.  It
felt so good, that Terry closed his eyes and leaned back against
his friend's ministrations.  Collin came close and began to
nuzzle his ear.  The photographer stuck out his tongue and gently
and sensuously ran it down Terry's neck to the base where his
shoulders flared out.  All the time Collin kept his hands moving,
his fingers kneading the firm muscles.  He carefully slid his
hands up under Terry's shirt and reached around to tweak the
nipples on his chest.  Terry emitted a groan of animal pleasure
as the two men slowly sank down onto the couch.

                            *   *   *

     Late in the afternoon Terry received a terse phone call from
Marvin Williams asking why he missed his appointment with Rand
Studios.  He used Collin's excuse that he got lost while trying
to find the address.  Marvin strongly suggested that he not get
lost that evening on his way to meet with Mr. Caselli, the
casting director.  He also again stressed the importance of
collecting the audition fee that the man would give him.  Terry
hung up and immediately began to prepare for the meeting.  He
found a suit that flattered his thin physique, then gathered his
portfolio of photos, notices and credits.  At precisely 7:30 he
was knocking on the door of the hotel room.

     A tall, thin man of about fifty with slate grey hair opened
the door.  He was wearing a satin bathrobe.  "Yes?" he asked in
an imperious tone.

     "I'm Terry Michaelson . . . I mean Rock Michaels.  I have an
appointment to see Mr. Caselli."

     "That's me," the man said as he beamed a wide smile.  "Do
come in, dear boy."  He stepped back to allow Terry access to the
room.  "Forgive me.  I was just relaxing in bed.  Perhaps you'd
care to join me?"

     The question took Terry by surprise.  For a moment he was
speechless.  The man seized the opportunity to put a glass of
champagne in Terry's hand, then proceeded to stretch out again on
the double bed.  As he did so, the satin robe gaped open exposing
him.  "Come join me," he said and patted the mattress beside him.

     Terry stepped to the side of the bed and sat gingerly on the
very edge.  The man reached out, as if to embrace him, and Terry
quickly stuffed his photos and resume in the outstretched hands.
"As you can see, I've had quite a bit of dance experience.  My
most recent job was dancing in an off-Broadway . . ."

     "I've seen the photos, dear boy," the man said with a
sardonic grin.  "You are here so I can sample your wares in the
flesh, so to speak."  Terry dropped to mute silence as Mr.
Caselli tossed his photos aside.  The man stared at him for a
minute, then finally sighed.  "Alright, I can tell I'm not going
to get any enjoyment unless I do it your way.  So you want to
dance, then by all means.  Go ahead."

     Terry stood up and took a step back.  "I . . . I guess I
don't understand.  I thought . . ."

     "You're a dancer.  You want to dance.  Let's see your
routine."

     Terry was still a little confused.  "But there's no music,"
he said.

     "You want music?  You got it."  The man reached over and
snapped on a radio that was sitting on the nightstand beside the
bed.  He fiddled with the dial until he found a station that was
playing a heavy disco beat.  "Now let's see what you've got."

     "You want me to audition for you?  Dance to that?"

     "Yeah," the grey haired man said with a lecherous smile.
"Strut your stuff.  Make me hot."  Terry put down his portfolio
and began to move rhythmically to the solid beat.  He felt
awkward and uncomfortable trying to dance in the tiny space of
the hotel room.  He had no routine or number prepared and he
wasn't dressed for performing in his suit and tie.  But none of
this seemed to bother his one person audience.  "That's good.
Yes, that's nice," Caselli shouted out encouragements over the
music.  "Great, now take your coat off.  Let me see your
muscles."

     With a shrug, Terry slipped off his coat and dropped it over
the back of a nearby desk chair and continued to dance.  He
executed a couple of jazz steps and then attempted a double
pirouette, no small feet on the carpeted floor.  "Hey, you really
are good," the man said admiringly.  "Give me some more.  Take
off the shirt and tie.  I want to see your chest."  Terry stopped
his dancing and began to remove his tie.  He should have been
prepared he thought.  He should have worn a leotard.  If the man
was hiring a dancer he of course would want to see Terry in dance
togs.

     "What are you doing?" Caselli asked as Terry pulled off his
tie.

     "You said you wanted me to take off my shirt and tie," Terry
replied, suddenly feeling uncomfortably foolish.  Maybe he had
misunderstood.

     "But you stopped dancing.  You can't dance and undress at
the same time?"

     "Well, yeah, but . . ."

     "Then do it!  I'm paying you a nice fat sum for tonight and
I expect a little more for my money than just sex.  Williams said
you could entertain me.  Well, let's see some entertainment."

     Terry stood perfectly still for a moment trying to digest
what he had just heard.  Apparently this had all been an
elaborate set up.  He was no more than a two bit hustler with
Marvin Williams acting as his pimp.  Suddenly, when this incident
was coupled with the appointment at Rand Studios it all made
sense.  He was being pimped as a sex object.  Terry began to
rebutton his shirt and tie his tie.

     "Hey, what do you think you're doing?" the grey haired man
protested as he sat up on the bed.

     "I'm sorry, Mr. Caselli.  I'm afraid there has been a
mistake.  I was told you were a casting director and that I was
interviewing for a part in a play."  Terry continued to dress,
picking up his jacket.

     "A casting director?" Caselli mused as he leaned forward.
"Well that's a new one.  Actually I'm in the retail jewelry
business.  But for tonight I can be a casting director.  Now,
please, come audition for me."

     "I'm an actor, not a hustler," Terry said as he gathered up
his photos.

     "And I'm a salesman.  That doesn't mean we can't enjoy each
other's company.  I'll pay you well for your performance.  I
promised to make out the check directly to Williams, but if you
want, I'll give it to you in cash instead."

     Terry shook his head and stepped toward the door.  "I'm
sorry," he said.

     "Wait a minute.  I already paid a $50 deposit to your agency
for tonight."

     "Then maybe you ought to give Mr. Williams a call.  Perhaps
he'd be willing to come over and perform for you."

     "Mr. Williams?!"  The man cried out as Terry opened the
door.  "Are you kidding?  Have you seen . . . Hey, come back
here.  We can work something . . ."

     Terry closed the door firmly behind him and bolted for the
elevators.  He wasn't sure what he was going to do now.  He had a
contract with Bremen and Williams, but he knew being a call boy
was not part of the deal.  If his agency wasn't on the level,
then he would have to break his contract and find someone else.
As his elevator car sank rapidly to the lobby, Terry tried to
figure out what to do next.  He didn't want to go home and face
Wayne.  He couldn't bear the humiliation just yet, not while it
was still so fresh from his encounter with Mr. Caselli.  But
where else could he go.  He walked for what seemed like hours.

     Eventually Terry found himself on the street in front of
Collin's photography studio.  The front was dark, but he could
see lights on in the back.  He tried the door but it was locked,
so he rapped on the glass window.  In a few minutes he saw a
figure moving in the dark, then the door opened.  "Terry, what
the hell are you doing here?"  Collin had answered the door.  He
was dressed all in black as he had been earlier in the day.  It
must be some sort of fetish or peculiarity Terry thought.

     "I finished my interview with the casting director," Terry
said by way of explanation.  "I just needed to walk and get some
air, and then I found myself here."

     "How did it go?"

     "Can I come in and tell you?" Terry asked.  He was beginning
to feel awkward standing on the sidewalk talking to Collin who
was holding the door open just wide enough for him and standing
in the way.

     "Well, I'm kind of busy," Collin said and fidgeted
uncomfortably.

     Terry suddenly felt very foolish.  He could tell his
presence was making Collin squirm and he wasn't welcome at the
moment.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to bother you.  I just
thought . . . "  Terry's voice choked off and he had to bite his
lip to keep from breaking into tears.

     "Collin, honey, who is it?" a woman's voice asked and
suddenly an attractive girl in her early twenties came up from
behind him, pushing the door open wider so she could see Terry.

     "Oh, um, this is Rock Michaels.  Rock, this is . . ."

     "Felicia, darling," the girl provided, giving him an odd
look.  "Your wife, remember?"

     "My wife," Collin added sheepishly.  "Rock had me do some
photos for his agent."

     "How nice," Felicia purred.  "Darling, our dinner's getting
cold," she then whispered in Collin's ear.

     "Well, I better be going," Terry stammered, feeling even
worse than he had before.

     "Yeah, well I should have those proofs for you tomorrow.
I'll give you a call.  Thanks for dropping by."  The door closed
firmly.  Terry knew there were no proofs.  Collin had been saying
this for his wife's benefit.  Obviously the marriage of
convenience that Collin told him about seemed a lot more
convenient than Terry was led to believe.  He turned away and
headed for a nearby bus stop feeling strangely disoriented and
cut off.