This story is a work of fiction. It is not intended to imply anything about the true sexuality of the celebrity, Zac Efron, involved. I have no personal knowledge of Zac Efron's private life. This story is an original work of fiction; the author retains all rights. Your comments are appreciated: firstname.lastname@example.org. Future chapters, depending on the response, will be forthcoming.
Zac Efron in Connecticut
Zac had to spend the next two days in the studio doing voice over work -- and then, we’d see each other again when we’d met in guise of a business meeting He told me that at the end of day of recording, he’d probably be too tired to be any fun to be around. I didn’t tell him that I’d still offer him ass, so I told him that I understood. We made plans for dinner the night before our meeting to discuss Connecticut.
I wondered what a dinner with Zac would be like. He made it sound like it would be dinner in a restaurant. Would we sit in the back? Up front? Hold hands? Would I stick my foot in his crotch under the table? I wanted him to excuse himself to go the bathroom and when he came back, he come up behind me, put his arms around me, touch my chest, and kiss my ear. I thought vaguely about Lady and the Tramp and the spaghetti scene.
My father, in one his few, gentle moments, once told me to remember the little day dream fantasies. They were the precious, magic moments.
“Dinner sounds good,” I said.
“Great, I’m really looking forward to it,” he said.
I took his hand and kissed him once more at the door. I didn’t grab his crotch. I wanted to.
“See you then,” I said.
He turned as if he was leaving and then, came back. He kissed me again, pushing his body against mine. I put my hand up and felt his ribs, and grabbed his ass once more. He took my face in his hands and kissed me slowly for a long moment.
“See you soon, okay?” he said.
“Okay,” I said.
I ran my hands through his hair once and he turned down the hall. He waved once as he turned the corner. I heard the sound of the elevator a few seconds later and the hallway was silent.
I shaved and showered and put on a clean pair of pajama bottoms. I didn’t really have anything terribly important to do for the next two days.
Mark Slatterly, my business manager, had told me weeks ago to look at triplex that he wanted me to buy. I seemed to be buying a new piece of property every six months or so. Mark had mailed me photos, a few pages of information, and the asking price. $900,000. And he added a note that he would oversee adding $100,000 in renovations. He estimated about $45,000 in yearly revenue. And because I had other properties making money, he said we could flip inside three years for about $400,000 in profit. The photos made the property seem remarkably ordinary. Just three doors on a large looking house. I didn’t know why I had to actually see it in person, which was why I hadn’t yet gone to see it. I stuck everything back in the envelope and left it on my desk.
Actually, I did know. Mark had been, for a while now, trying to convince me to take a more active role in managing my own money. He had explained to me that because I had a certain amount of capital and certain amount of willingness to speculate on property, with a few smart decisions and the wherewithal, I could easily become very wealthy during my lifetime. He told me that I was only a few years away from being able to buy a small, downtown office building and that, he told me, was where the real money was, especially if I didn’t limit myself to L.A.
On my desk, there was also an invitation to a talk at UCLA. Some professor was delivering a lecture and, according to the note, one of my father’s novels was part of his focus. He invited me to attend. I had considered going. “Sexualization of Authority and Counter-Authority as a Mode of Identity in the Novels of Lukewater, White, and Brassil.” Catchy title, sort of. And, I had actually met Sam Lukewater at my father’s funeral. The two had been casual friends. It was supposed to happen in three weeks. I quickly sat down and fired off an e-mail, saying that I would, indeed, attend.
I made a cup of coffee and sat with my iPad, reading blogs and newspapers for about an hour. I was sitting in the chaise lounge, the same place where Zac had fucked me about nine hours before and where I had cum in his mouth. I had to admit that Zac was staying in my mind. I turned off my iPad and ended up staring at the ceiling for a long time A strange blend of depression and unbridled joy was washing over me and I couldn’t get either emotion to subside. On the one hand, I felt that I had met the most perfect man ever. I couldn’t shake the feeling and size and beauty of his cock. I couldn’t forget how deeply I wanted to fall into his eyes and how warm it felt when he wrapped me in his arms. I loved rubbing my face into his chest. I love the smell of him and the taste of him. I loved how beautiful he was when I was riding his cock. I love the way his lips parted and the sound of his breath when I sucked on his balls. And, at the same time, I had no idea if I would ever see him again.
I did a few sit ups. And then a few push ups. That was about all the physical exercise I ever do. Time had been good to me. Eventually, I’d have to start jogging or doing something more. For now, I was just thin without being gaunt. I could fill out a t-shirt and still had some hips.
I remembered that my car was half way across town, so I called down to the concierge to get me a cab. I threw on some clothes and went down.
“Hey, Mr. White,” the concierge said as I crossed the foyer. “Guess who was here this morning?”
“Who?” I asked.
“From the, uh...” I pretended to be a little less familiar with Zac’s IMDB page, “High School Musicals -- is that it?”
“Yeah,” she said, clearly very aware of the films.
“Cool,” I said. Interested, but not too interested. Cool.
The concierge was a young woman named Rebecca, one of three concierges that were worked here throughout the week. I imagined they were part-time jobs, but I didn’t know. And she seemed level-headed enough. In my mind, I wondered if she was the sort to take a photo on her phone. Or, e-mail some celebrity blogger. It was possible, but I thought unlikely. These jobs require discretion, for whatever that’s worth.
The cab wasn’t there yet.
“What was he doing here?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she smiled, mischievously. “He just got off the elevators and went out. I guess he had a car parked on the street.”
“This morning?” I asked, even though she had already said that it was. I was trying to get her to talk more without necessarily asking pointed questions. I thought that would make me seem lees interested -- although I didn’t know why seeming interested was a bad thing.
“Yeah,” she said. “He’s really cute.”
I smiled at this.
“Yeah,” I said. “I wish I had been here.”
My cab pulled up in front so I nodded goodbye and made my way out.
When I finally got to my car, forty-five minutes later, there were two tickets on it. $150 and $250. That was fine. I put them in my pocket and started up my engine.
I drove around LA for two hours. I actually enjoy driving aimlessly. With a camera, I can do it all day. And, sometimes, I find myself composing a few lines of poetry or rewriting a paragraph that had gotten me stuck.
I was out past Chino before I decided to turn back.
And, all the while, all I could think of was Zac. I found myself trying very hard to think about politics or architecture or what kind of tie I needed to really fill out the palate of my closet. I wondered whether I needed to buy personalized stationary. And then I thought about stamps. And then I thought about licking stamps and then I thought about Zac’s mouth and how much I wanted him to suck my cock again and before I veered into on coming traffic, I shook it off. It always came back to Zac. If I thought about broccoli, I thought about Zac as a naked broccoli farmer, which didn’t make a lot of sense, I admit.
About 1:30, my phone pinged with in an coming text.
It was Zac. I pulled over quickly into a gas-station parking log and composed my response.
--how’s the vo going?--
--just finished early. dead tired. meeting friends for drinks. wanna come?--
Friends? Really? I thought about it for a moment.
--sure. just got my car. when? where?--
He texted me an address across town.
--thirty minutes away. see you then.--
Well, what the fuck did that mean?
I could feel the over-analytic half of my brain going nutz. The level-headed thing to do would be glad. He had texted me; he had reached out. I should be happy. And I would meet his friends. While I suspected that he wouldn’t introduce me as the man he hoped to marry, at least it meant that he wasn’t denying my existence to the entire world. And, if nothing else, at least I would get to see him again. Clearly, he hadn’t decided to ignore me.
And yet, I was beginning to feel anxious. Meeting someone’s friends is always a bit of test. Zac seemed too cool to have the quirky, theatre type friends that I had. When I imagined the sort of people who would surround Zac, I imagined conversations about baseball and concerts. I imagined a club scene and strange drugs. It seemed like an anorexic world and a world of athletes and veganism. It was very bro and yet, slightly outside the country club system. The sort of hardcore upper-crust of Los Angeles.
But, then again, I also thought of Disney movies, so it couldn’t be sure, either way.
I was still very East Coast. Did that difference even exist? Was I imagining it just in case I needed to look back and explain why it hadn’t worked out? Was I sabotaging myself?
I passed a Hugo Boss and made a quick decision. Fuck it -- if I was going to feel awkward, I was damn sure going to look good doing it.
I was buying an incredibly bright blue checkered shirt and pale gray, summer suit.
“Date?” the guy behind the counter asked.
“Sort of,” I said in response.
“Pocket square,” he asked and smiled as he handed me one that matched the blue of the shirt.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Will you need shoes?”
“Something red, right?” I asked.
“Dark red. For the gray.”
“Boxers?” he asked. He was feeling my vibe. He handed me a pair of bright blue, silk boxers that matched the shirt.
“Yeah,” I said. “Everything.”
I stepped into the dressing room and put everything on.
“Does that work?” I asked when I was standing in front of the mirror. “These boxers feel really good.”
“It works,” he said. “You’re going for slightly above overdressed? Confident and approachable?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Something like that. I was thinking ‘well-travelled, good conversationalist, probably wearing silk boxers.’”
He smiled at that. “It works.”
“How does my ass look?” I asked, twisting to try to get a view.
“It works,” he nodded. “Definitely.”
Well, if all else failed, there was at least one salesclerk at a Hugo Boss who would fuck me.
It cost me $2,300.
I arrived at Lily’s about twenty minutes later, forty-five minutes after I texted Zac saying ‘30 minutes.’ Lily’s was a mild pun as new restaurants are prone to make. Lily, I assumed, was both the owner’s name and her favorite flower (or perhaps there was no Lily.) Every half-wall was a planter for white lilies. The tables were large white, plastic cubes, lighted from within like a light box from the days of slides and negatives. Small white cube vases sat in the middle of each table, holding a few lillies. The floor was a peculiar shade of black, which on closer inspection was a black stain on a dark oak. The chairs and the walls were glass and tall, organically curved slabs of thick, industrial glass were hanging in various places from the wall. The entire place had a sort of living antiseptic quality about it, as if I were standing inside a glass plant.
I had entered Lily’s from the street. I surveyed the room looking for Zac and saw him standing outside on the opposite side. He was surrounded by small group of people and seemed to be signing autographs. I crossed, unsure if I was passing by Zac’s friends, and nervous about how Zac would greet me.
“Hey, thanks alot,” he was saying to a middle aged woman who was clutching a magazine that I assumed Zac had just signed. The crowd of about fifteen people around him was made mostly of middle-aged women and most seemed as interested in Zac as the daughters around them. One man seemed less impressed and patiently waited as his daughter tittered on her feet. I wondered how typical this crowd was. Did, every time Zac paused to speak to fan,s the same crowd, demographically speaking, gather around him, asking him the same questions, putting the same magazine covers in his face to sign?
He turned and saw me.
His teeth, I had forgotten, were very white and his grin immediately made my heart skip. He was cleaned shaved and his hair was wildly disheveled. He was wearing a pair of new, crips blue jeans and a white sweater vest over a white t-shirt. I could see his butt and thighs through his jeans and chest through his sweater and I wanted to start exploring him with my tongue instantly. I wondered if I would always feel that way.
I felt a little over dressed, but I loved that he had a little fashion sense. From the photos one finds online, I wasn’t sure if that was his own taste or the decisions of his media people. He was probably paid fifty-thousand dollars each time he wore a suit to an award show.
He smiled at his fans and waved goodbye.
“Thanks, guys!” he said.
He graciously turned his back and came over.
“Good to see you,” he said and put his hand out to shake mine. So, no kiss, I thought. Okay. I took his hand and gave it a nice, professional shake. I wanted to hold it more tenderly, but the moment had a very “public” feel, like we were on stage.
“This is crazy!” he said.
“Right?” I said.
“Any trouble finding the place?”
“No,” I said. It was a filler question. I couldn’t believe it, but he was nervous, which was very cute, actually. And suddenly, I felt more confident. I immediately imagined him lying on top of me, his cock resting quietly between my butt cheeks, whispering into my ear. I imagined that we spent the afternoon rolling around in bed.
“You look good,” I said.
“Yeah, you too.”
“Have you eaten here before?” I asked, conversationally.
“Let’s go in,” he said.
I guess we didn’t need to answer that question.
Lunch, I discovered quickly, wasn’t quite as spontaneous as Zac made it seem in his text message.
“This is Jonah White,” he said as we approached the table. Two other guys were sitting and they stood so we could all shake each others hands.
“Hi,” I said, to the first man, slightly shortly than me, but handsome. He was very blond and had a sort of a rugged, thickness about him, like he played rugby or swung an ax for a living. He was very cute in way that only made sense if he didn’t shave. Masculine, without being boyish.
“Hi,” he said, “Derek Browing.”
“Hello,” I said again. “Jonah White,” even though Zac had already introduced me. I turned to the next man. “Hi,” I said.
He was very classically handsome with a shaggy, curly haircut. He had a mildly Greek touch about, like a third or forth generation immigrant, but still someone who drank ouzo intentionally. There was definitely something effeminate about him -- maybe it was the silk shirt he was wearing, complete with a off-pink floral pattern. Like me, he was very thin to the point of almost lacking substance. The jeans he was wearing were very tight and almost metallic in the blackness.
“Hi,” he said. “Tristan Reece.”
The name, Tristan Reece, immediately struck me.
“The photographer?” I asked, still holding his hand, which was delicate and weak.
“Yeah!” he said, smiling. “I think Zac set this meeting up.”
I looked at Zac and he smiled.
“Guilty,” he said. “I was over at Jonah’s last nigh talking about a movie that might happen and I saw that he had a few of your photographs.”
“You did?” I said.
“And how do you know Zac?” I asked Tristan.
I only knew Tristan Reece by name and had realized that he was more or less my age. I had pictured him considerably older -- maybe in his late 30s or 40s -- but the handsome young man in front of me could have passed as a teenager. He looked like he couldn’t grow a beard. I had purchased one of his photographs about two years ago and assumed he was an established, but looking at him now, it was probably one his first sales. And I had purchased several other photographs of his, especially after I saw that he was the photographer for a spread in GQ. I couldn’t quite remember the label, but I had thought: “Oh... I own a Tristan Reece.” His lens was very mature, I thought, and it captured the texture of the model. He shot mostly men and mostly men in various stages of undress. He posed them well, often in very unnatural positions which had the odd effect of making their bodies seem more real. The images I owned of his were men in the sort of pensive postures that I enjoy, one staring at a nude statue in a composition which I thought created a great sense of longing.
“We’re friends,” Zac said before I could answer, but not with any sort of rushed anxiety, but I knew that he didn’t want me to say something like: he fucked me a few times yesterday.
“I’m actually thinking about one of his father’s books,” Zac said.
“Your father is the novelist?” Tristan asked.
“He is. He was,” I said, clarifying.
“Lucas White?” Tristan asked again.
“I’m sorry... I didn’t realize he had...”
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s okay. I know he was younger than people think.”
“How did he died?” Tristan asked and then realized that it was perhaps an impolite question. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I said and wondered if there was a way to say it delicately. In the two years since my father had died, most people had the good sense not to ask me about it, probably because they had read the newspaper reports. So, I hadn’t really needed a polite way to talk about.
“He did in a car crash,” he said, leaving out the most important parts. Even the newspapers had left out the most important parts.
“I’m sorry,” Tristan said.
Zac smiled at how awkward things had become. He had a mischievous side about him
The waiter approached our table.
“Hi, I’m James,” he said. “Hi.”
He was clearly nervous to be around Zac, which I loved.
“Let me tell you what our specials are today. We have a Thai Chicken Cobb salad which features lightly sauteed chicken in an avocado baste, olives and cheddar and Monterey Jack, and a peanut vinaigrette. And we have a roast organic turkey and cranberry wrap, which comes with greens, toasted pecans and is served in a spinach wrap and is really delicious.”
He passed us menus, which were, like everything else in the restaurant, white. The cover had silver lily embossed in the center.
“Can I take a drink order?”
“Do you have champagne?” I asked quickly before anyone could say anything.
“We do,” he said energetically.
“Do you have Cristal?” asked Zac.
“Yes, we do,” he said.
I shrugged at Zac, gesturing ‘why not?’
“A bottle for the table,” Zac said.
“Okay!” James said. Clearly, this was the greatest day of his life.
We passed the menus around the table.
I’m not deeply committed to eating the way some people are. There were very few moments in my life that being denied food would matter to me. I can make do on a sandwich for the day. So, looking at menus doesn’t mean anything to me. I would order a house salad and probably not finish it. So, I left my menu unopened.
Tristan took great care in reading almost everything on the menu. I could see him weighing everything carefully in his mind. ‘Would a raspberry vinaigrette complement brazed quail?’ These were questions that never really occurred to me.
Derek seemed to go right to the ‘meat’ section and seemed to settle on something quickly, probably the steak. Or maybe a hamburger.
Zac took a moment, but seemed to come to a decision.
“They have French onion soup,” he said.
“You know... it comes with cheese.”
“Yeah,” I said.
“It comes it a little cup,” he said.
“Yeah,” I said... smiling at him. Was he flirting with me?
“They put the cheese right on the soup,” he said.
“And the soup... does it go in the cup?” I asked.
He smiled at me. God, he was cute. I really wanted to kiss him and rub my cock against his stomach. I noticed that James Taylor’s “Everyday” was playing softly in the background and I had been staring into his eyes slightly longer than I should have. “It’s a-getting closer, going faster than a roller coaster.”
“Did he say the Thai Cobb salad came with a peanut sauce?” Tristan asked no one in particular.
“A vinaigrette,” I said, breaking my eye contact with Zac. I had been leaning towards him and he had almost leaned back, but leaning back in almost sexual posture, a posture good for getting head, I guess. I wondered how much of Zac’s sex appeal was entirely conscious. Did he sit in postures designed to show off his abs? Did he hold his shoulders at an angle that reminded me of Michelangelo’s David on purpose? Or was just his innate and immutable sexuality? And which was sexier? The idea that he was showing off? Or that he couldn’t help showing off?
James came to our table with champagne glasses. Someone looking more senior came with him came behind him with the bottle.
“A bottle of Cristal. This is the 1999,” he said and showed to Zac and then to Tristan and then to me and then to Derek. I loved the unnecessary showmanship of it.
Impressively, the other waiter opened the bottle correctly, which is not the preposterous sword (le saberage) or even the loud explosion with the cork going all over the room. Rather, it is slow and gently and the cork slides up with a sound like an aluminum can of soda being opened. It’s sort of like a nice, late night hand job. Effective, pleasant, but it doesn’t have to change your life.
He filled the four flutes and leaving only another serving and half in the bottle.
“We’ll probably need another bottle,” Zac said.
“Yes, sir,” the other waiter said and nodded at us all as he left the table.
“Well,” Zac said lifting his glass to the table, “to new friends.”
“Cheers!” we all said and clinked our glasses together.
“Derek,” I said, “what do you do?”
“I’m a veterinarian,” he said.
“Really?” I said. “That’s very nice.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I enjoy working with animals.”
Tristan reached over and took Derek’s hand. “My usual vet was on vacation and my little Ginger was sick.” Ginger, I assumed, was a dog.
“He ate chicken because you spoil him,” Derek said.
“I have to spoil him, Derek! You know that!”
So, Tristan and Derek were a couple, I realized. Now, I really wondered what Zac was up to. A double date? That seemed a little too much to imagine.
We placed our orders and continued to chat idly. Derek and Tristan had only been together for a few months but they seemed happy enough. Derek, who seemed older and was a veterinarian, after all, was quieter than the rest of us and seemed content to listen. I imagined that Tristan had called and somehow dragged him to lunch. And, Tristan clearly enjoyed be fabulous and flamboyant in everything that he did. Many things in his mind were a “bitch,” like the waiter when he didn’t bring something quick enough.
Twice, as we sat, people came up with requests for Zac’s autograph and Zac very politely obliged them both.
We talked about art and photography for a while. I was curious about where Tristan had studied and his method.
“Honey, I just point the camera and press the button!” he said and laughed at the hilarity of it.
We worked our way into a third bottle of cristal and I could see that both Tristan and Zac were enjoying the alcohol more than me and Derek. I ordered a cappuccino when James came and took our lunch dishes away.
“How was everything?” he asked.
“Very good,” we all said. And it was excellent food, I though. The bill on this thing was going to be more than a thousand, I thought. It wasn’t like James had to do more work than he would had the Cristal been cheap wine. But, a $200 tip seemed excessive.
Tristan asked Zac asked about work and Zac talked a little about the movie he was shooting.
“And you guys are talking about a movie?” Tristan asked me.
“Yeah,” I said but nodded noncommittally. “We’re talking. It may be five years before anything happens if it does.”
“Jonah is a great writer,” Zac said.
“I’m not,” I said.
“You’re better than you think,” Zac said. “I was reading a script he’s writing about the Trojan War.”
“The Trojan War?” asked Tristan.
“Yeah... I don’t know. I wanted to write about Paris and Helen as characters rather than these peripheral characters in a war. They never seem as complicated as they should be in the movies.”
Everyone nodded in understanding.
“I think it’s a good script,” Zac said.
Tristan told me that he had a show opening in a few weeks and we traded phone numbers. He told me he’d call and let me look around the gallery before the public did. I told him that I’d enjoy that.
James brought around dessert menus, which we took and all read. I could tell that none of us were going to order anything, but there might some sharing if we could all find something.
Zac took out his phone and pressed some buttons.
“I’m feeling something like tiramisu,” Derek said to Tristan.
“Okay,” said Tristan. “But, I only want a bite.”
“You’ll only get a bite,” Derek said.
My phone vibrated in my pocked and fished it out.
-- i want you on my cock -- the text from Zac read. I made a point to not look at Zac, returning my focus to the menu, knowing that he was enjoying watching me pretend not to be aroused. I could feel my cock hardening in my pants, straining against my new silk boxers.
“Has anyone tried Royal Tokaji?” I asked, reading the name of a dessert wine that I had never heard of.
“No,” said Tristan.”
My phone vibrated again.
“Sorry,” I said.
-- i wanna blast my jizz all over your face --
I was surprised by how hard my cock had gotten. I wanted him so badly in that moment. I want his cock, I wanted to taste it and touch it and feel it slapped across my face, I wanted him to plunge his fat, beautiful cock into my mouth and down my throat. I wanted to barely be able to breath as he fucked my face, holding on to his tight ass with one hand, maybe fingering his asshole.
“Sorry,” I said again, looking at my phone. And texted back.
-- you wanna fuck my face? --
Tristian erupted into laughter over something that Derek had said and I realized that I was almost completely unaware of anything except for the incredible sexual lust that burning up inside of me. I was sure that my skin was flushed.
I saw Zac look down and check his phone.
I wanted for a moment, pretending to be interested in what Tristan was saying. I think it had something to do with Greece.
-- I want to jerk you off while you jerk me off and we stare deeply into each other’s eyes --
“I need to find a rest room,” I said to the table and stood up. I had to splash some water on face, just to cool down. I kept my back ever so slightly arched to hide my erection, but if anyone had looked closely, it would have been obvious. I had a feeling that a little dampness was seeping through my new silk boxers, too.
The bathrooms at Lily’s continued the same motiff. The 1x1 tiles had a randomized pattern and included white, silver, and mirror, creating a fairly pleasant effect. There were, of course, a vase of lilies and all the appliances were automatic so as to avoid. The first open area contained a large mirror and a row of three vessel sinks. Turning left, down a corridor, there were a row of urinals. And then, further down the same corridor, there were three stalls with walls that ran ceiling to floor. The last stall was larger for handicapped patrons. I went into the last of the three stalls (the wrongness of ever taking the handicapped stall seeming obvious to me). I put my jacket on the hook, undid my belt, unzipped my fly, and undid my pants, sliding them down and sitting on the toilet. My cock was rock hard.
My head filled with images of Zac’s naked body and his thick cock. I remembered the way it layed on his stomach, like a man lying on his back, relaxing in the sun, after he had cum, surrounded in his soft, brown public hair. I imagined myself there with him, lying in bed on a warm afternoon. Both of us drifting in and out of sleep, I would reach down and gently stroke his balls. I liked it when he laid on his side. I could see his hip bone and the dip of his thin waist and the muscles of his stomach. His ass smelled so wonderful when I buried my face deep inside it, and it tasted wonderful when to licked those dark, unexplored regions. I knew that he hadn’t had many tongues on that part of his body. And I loved the width of his back. I wanted to lay on top of him, my face buried against his neck, my hands in his hair, and my chest against the width of his muscular and masculine body.
A knock came at the door.
“Jonah,” Zac said, quietly. “Let me in.”
I stopped jerking off and looked up at the door for a minute. I didn’t say anything for a moment.
“Zac?” I said.
“Let me in...” he said again. And then in a quieter voice, “I’m horny. Let me in.”
I stood, holding my pants with one hand, and slid open the lock on the door.
He came in and locked the door behind. He grinned when he saw my erection.
“Nice,” he said and immediately opened his pants, letting his own erection free. It was beautiful -- it was like I had never seen before even though it was exactly like I remembered. It was completely hard and stood up, pointing slightly upward, proudly and almost arrogantly. I reached out for it but he took my hand and pulled me to my feet, our cocks touching tip to tip between us, the liquids we were both producing mingling.
He put his hand around me and held my back, pulling me close to him, our cocks rubbing together. And with his other hand, he stroked my face with the back of his hand. The combination of his strength and tenderness was overwhelming to me. I run both my hands under his shirt, feeling his tight abs, his ribs, and settling them on his chest, holding his pecs, as he held me tightly.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he said quietly, and kissed me quietly on my lips.
I couldn’t speak.
“I want you. I want you all the time,” he said and kissed me again, this time, more passionately. I opened my mouth and let him enter me, sucking at my tongue. Gone were the timid kisses, the gentle strokes of the tongue, asking to be let in. Gone were the introductions. This was familiarity. He totally understood my mouth and I totally understood his. He plunged his tongue into me, like he was digging for buried treasure, completely unapologetically. It was like he was trying to wrap his tongue around mine
“Your skin,” he said, pausing and looking in my eyes. “Your skin is so soft. And your lips.”
I took a hold of his cock and held it comfortable girth as he kissed me again and again. His cock was warm and thick in my hand.
And, then, before I could do anything, I felt his hands on my shoulders, asking me to get on my knees. It was the only thing I wanted to do.
As I knelt and saw his beautiful cock, I wanted to swallow the whole thing and jerk him off madly until he came all over my face. Looking at his cock, I wanted to feel the warm spray of his cum.
“Hello, Mr. Efron,” I said to his cock. I looked up at him wide-eyed and flirtatiously.
“Your cock could win a People’s Choice Award,” I said. Zac laughed at that. He clearly wanted me to get him off but he also liked me looking at his cock. I felt like I was kneeling before some caveman, making me worship at his cock -- a very sexy, well-dressed caveman.
I wanted to give Zac as much pleasure as I possibly could, which meant taking it very slow. I wondered how slow I could go.
He put his hand down to take hold of his cock. I pushed it away. He tried to take my head in his hands so he could fuck my face, but I pushed away his hands again.
“Let me,” I said. I took his hands and put them on his ass, asking him to hold onto his ass as I worked on his cock, while I worked on giving Zac a painfully slow orgasm.
I slowly caressed the length of his cock with the back of my hands, brushing the underside first with one hand and then the sides with both hands. I lightly gripped it, and stroked it slowly, letting only the smallest portion of the skin of my fingers come into contact with his. It was like electricity moved between us and I wanted just enough contact to let the electricity flow.
His cock was completely engorged and almost pulsated.
“Holy fuck...” he said under his breath. I loved that I could touch his cock in the slightest way and it drove him nuts.
I kept brushing brushing him lightly, stimulating it and pleasuring in the most delicate way. I knew that even this light touch was driving him wild. He kept moving his hips, like he was fucking the air. I touched his stomach to feel his torso as he moved.
I licked at the head of his cock, just the head and only once.
“Oh, baby...” he said.
I licked it again, looking up at him, grinning seductively at him. I could taste the sweetness of his pre-cum. Then I took the head of his cock into my mouth, sucking it loosely, and then let it go.
Zac was breathing heavily.
Again I took the head of his cock into my mouth, sucking at it gently, not like I wanted to suck the cum out of it, but like I wanted to just taste the flavor. Sucking on his cock, I gentled brushed his shaft again, bushing it back and forth. I ran the head of his over my lips.
“Oh, fuck, Jonah.... fuck...”
I opened my mouth and slowly took his entire cock in my mouth, holding his balls gently in my hands. I moved my lips over, again and again, but slowly, to keep the pleasuring building slowly.
I pushed him down into my throat as far as I could.
“Uhh....” Zac said in a quiet, wordless moan. “Oh, yeah.... I wanna cum so bad for you baby...”
I lifted his cock up and licked at the underside, licking it like a long, delicious dessert of manhood.
I licked at his balls, taking each one into my mouth, sucking them tenderly. I loved the sweaty, masculine scent.
“Oh, yeah...” he said. “...please...”
He moved his hands and tried to take hold of his cock, but I moved his hands away again.
“I’m so close,” he said. I loved that he was begging.
I put my hand between his legs, stroking his balls, and pushing further. There were wonderful parts of his body there, the sensitive parts of his legs, his lowest part of his ass, the base of his scrotum, and the avenue of naked flesh leading to his asshole. And ran my fingers of every inch, over ever millimeter, and took his cock in my mouth again.
“Oh, god...” he said and shivered in pleasure.
I took his cock and ran it around the outside of my mouth and slapped it gently against my face.
“Fuck, yeah...” he said. “That’s so hot.
“You like that?” I asked
And then, to change the pace, I plunged his cock as far into my mouth as it would go. I loosened every muscle in my jaw that I could find... Zac’s cock is about eight inches long and very thick, so thick that I could almost not close my fingers around it. So, getting the entire thing into my mouth was impossible for me, probably for anyone. But, I took as much as I could. My nose was brushing the very first of his pubic hairs. I could feel myself beginning to gap but suppressed it, loving his cock to deep with me, loving the pleasure that Zac was experiencing.
I bobbed my head up and down on his cock furiously for a few seconds and then stopped. I knew that it was exactly what he wanted. And stopping was driving him even crazier.
“Oh, God....” he said. “I wanna cum so bad...”
“Are you ready?” I asked, licking gently at the underside of his cock.
I sucked his balls again, looking up.
“You wanan cum?”
“Please let me cum,” he said. His face was so beautiful. I could see all the aching pleasure in his face.
I tried to deep throat his cock again, moving my head as fast as I could.
“I’m gonna cum...” he said. “Oh, fuck, I’m gonna cum...”
He moved his hands to my head, taking hold of it, fucking my face and moving his hips.
“I’m cumming....” he said in a voice that was entirely too loud, considering our surroundings.
I felt his cum in my throat, a warm wave of cum that filled my mouth and throat almost instantly. I swallowed as much as I could quickly, without losing a beat, still moving my head, his hips still moving his cock in and out of my mouth, still fucking me with each long stroke of his cock. He bucked as the spasm of pleasure made their way through his body. I refused to stop, giving him each and every one of the pleasurable strokes, working the head of his cock with my mouth. He shook and shuddered, bending over me, like he was cradling my head in his arms.
“Oh, fuck,” he said, slowing down, standing up. “Oh, fuck...”
He looked down at me, and I looked up at him, licking his cock for the last drops of cum.
“Fuck me, that was amazing.”
“Did you like that?” I asked.
“That was fucking amazing. That was the best I’ve ever had.”
His cock was softening now and stood up.
He kissed me and his cum passed into his mouth. His hands groped my body and settled on my cock.
“I...” he said. “Jonah, I don’t know if I can do that. You’ll have to teach me sometime.”
“Zac, trust me, you’re fantastic,” I said. “Really. You turn me on so much... just being here with you turns me on so much.”
“What do you like?” he asked.
“What do you think I like?” I asked.
“I know you like when I suck your balls,” he said.
That was true. And I nodded.
“I want to say something,” he said and looked down at me. “I know that sex is great and everything... but, you know, when people get more experienced with each other... it changes. It gets a lot better because you know what you want and you can do it for each other.”
“Sure,” I said and put my arms on his shoulders, tenderly. “I know.”
“I just hope that we get that far, you know.”
“Me, too,” I said.
He kissed me again. God, he was amazing, I thought as I tasted his tongue again.
He sat me down on the toilet seat and knelt before me.
My cock was completely erect and he took it in his hands gently, playing with my balls slowly with the other. I put hands on his, and looked into my eyes. I leaned forward and kissed him. He was just irresistibly beautiful. His eyes were so blue and his eye lashes so long.
He took my cock in his mouth and starting moving his head up and down. He played with my balls. It felt incredible, and put my head back and moaned softly.
“Yeah...” I said.
He kissed the underside of my cock and started tonguing my balls. I saw the long strokes of his tongue and my balls in his mouth. I almost came, just seeing it. He buried his face between my legs, his nose buried into my scrotum, my cock resting on his face, as he sucked indiscriminately on my body. It felt so good... I leaned forward and put both of my hands through his hair. I touched his ears and his face.
He started sucking my cock again. I kept touching his face and hair.
He used both hands to stroke the shaft, wet with his saliva, as he suck the head. I felt his tongue work around the head of my cock. He was remarkably skilled. I couldn’t believe how good it felt.
I felt the orgasm. I felt it in my balls. I touched his face again .He sucked on my balls again, wetly.
I was bent over so much that my face was close to the top his head.
“I’m gonna cum...” I said to him.
He stopped and kissed me.” I held his face in my hands.
He sucked my cock, deep-throating my entire cock.
“Oh, my god... oh, my god...” I said, breathing deeply, “Oh, don’t stop.”
I jerked off my cock, looking into my eyes.
“I’m gonna cum,” I said again.
He put his mouth on my cock and I came into his mouth and down his throat.
“Fuuuuck,” I said. “Fuck. Oh, fuck.”
He kept sucking on my cock, draining me of every drop. I groaned deeply with a profound satisfaction that I couldn’t explain.
He looked up at me, my cock still was in his mouth. And our eyes met. I stroked his cheek delicately.
“Zac,” I said.
He let my cock soften in his mouth, holding me wetly. We looked at each other, enjoying the long moment.
If we had been in a bed, we would have stayed like this. I wanted to fall asleep like this.
But, we stood up. I kissed and he kissed me.
“What the fuck...” Zac said as I tucked my shirt back into my pants.
“What?” I asked.
“That was amazing,” he said.
He pulled me close to him again.
“What do you think?” he asked. “Pretty amazing?”
“Yeah,” I said and kissed him again. “Pretty amazing.”
“I think... I think it’s amazing that we can do that... you know, in your place. And in here,” he said.
“Yeah,” I said.
“You think that’s amazing?” he asked. I didn’t know what he was asking me. There was something adorably needy in his voice. I couldn’t imagine what he wanted me say or what he wanted to hear.
“Do you want to... I don’t know, come over tonight?” I asked.
“Oh, I can’t tonight actually,” he said. “I have a meeting... and work tomorrow. We could do dinner tomorrow night?”
“Okay,” I said. “And then we have our meeting together the day after.”
“Yeah,” he said and kissed me again.
“I’ll go first,” I said, gesturing back to the world.
“Yeah,” he said.
Before I returned to the table, I made a point to walk over to the food preparation area and found James, our waiter. I handed him my credit card and asked him to run it for me quickly. He handed me the white leather bill holder and quickly added a two hundred dollar tip to the $1400 bill. It was turning out to be an expensive day, but I didn’t mind. And fortunately, I could more or less afford to live like this.
I could see Zac come out of the bathroom, looking very handsome, and I could see him notice that I wasn’t at the table. He looked around and saw me talking to James. He came over.
“What are you doing?” he asked, smiling widely at me.
“Nothing,” I said.
“No, don’t do that,” he said, seeing that James was ringing up the bill.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said.
“Come on,” he said. “That’s too much money for you.”
I smiled at him. “Zac,” I said, “I’m pretty sure I make just as much as you do.”
He smiled at me like it was adorable of me to say this. “Wait, really?”
“You’ve seen my apartment,” I said.
I realized that on some level Zac didn’t understand money. I was sure that I didn’t have much of a grasp of it, either, but Zac hadn’t grown up with any money. My father had been highly successful by the time I came around so there was never a time in my life when I didn’t fly first class. There was never a time that we didn’t have a car service of speed-dial. And, although I had never checked, I was pretty sure that my net worth was more than Zac’s -- not that it mattered. It was just sort of cute that Zac thought he made more money than me. And I suppose I had more job security than Zac, too. If I did nothing, I made money. If Zac lost the public attention or made a bad movie or two, he wouldn’t be able to pull in more than a hundred grand for a feature film... if he could a deal like that. I suppose, though, that Zac made more money than most of the people that he met.
“Come on,” I said, a pulled his arm back to the table. I almost took his hand, but stopped myself.
Tristan looked up at us as we approached.
“Did you pay?” he asked Zac.
“He did,” Zac said, pointing his thumb at me.
“What?” Tristan said. “Let me give you some money.”
“No, no, no...” I said, holding up my palms in a ‘stop’ gesture.
“Give him some money,” Tristan said to Derek.
“It’s my treat,” I said. “It’s just a treat to meet one of my favorite photographers.”
“Thanks,” said Derek, clearly not interesting in the perfunctory rounds of protests that politeness demanded.
“That’s too kind,” said Tristan said.
“You’ll show me your photographs?” I asked.
“Absolutely,” he said.
Leonard Cohen’s “Chelsea Hotel #2” was playing. I liked that song. “Giving me head on the unmade bed.” I wondered if I ever get Zac to give me head in the Chelsea Hotel.
Zac had to go to his agents for a meeting and then had to read lines with some people. So, we finally got up and made our way out. Tristan was half drunk, Derek was totally level headed, like me. Zac was a little tipsy but fine to drive. We all shook hands, said it was fun, and seemed happy with the whole affair.
I drove home, still floating on the memories of Zac’s blow job. I loved giving him head, but I loved seeing his eyes, looking into his eyes, with my cock in his mouth. This was the second time I had seen that it was getting better. Better and better. Life was going to be better and better with Zac around, I had a feeling.
I took a nap and dreamed of Zac’s butt, flexing while standing up, soapy in the shower, soft and perfectly shaped as he lay face down on my bed.
My phone rang around 10:15 at night. I was surprised how long I had slept... usually, I don’t sleep that long.
“Hello?” I said without checking to see who it was.
“Hey,” a voice said.
I didn’t say anything.
“It’s Tristan. Tristan Reece.”
“Oh, hey,” I said. “Sorry.”
“Did I wake you?”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “God, I must have nodded off.”
“Sleepy head,” he said.
“Yeah,” I said.
“It’s late,” he said.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I’m awake. What’s up?”
“I was wondering if you wanted to set up a time to see these photographs. I feel like I owe you a print. Lunch was really good.”
I laughed lightly. It seemed a little late for this, but we artistic types keep strange hours.
“Sure,” I said.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” I said.
“And, tell me if this is way off base... or totally in appropriate.”
“Okay,” I said, not quite sure where this was going.
“Are you and Zac sleeping together?”
I affected a laugh.
“Wow,” I said.
“Are you?” he asked again.
My hesitation was probably enough to answer the question. I thought quickly and decided to lie.
“Well, you flatter me,” I said. “I mean he’s pretty hot and I definitely would but, I thought he was...”
“Oh, come on...” Tristan said. “For someone who spends that much time on his hair, there’s no way.”
“Maybe. I would be nice, wouldn’t it?” I said.
“I’ve seen Zac before when he likes a guy. I think he likes you and I think you guys are sleeping together,” he said.
“You’ve seen when he likes he guy?”
“Sure, honey. He fucked me a few times.”
“Sure. And let me tell you: the boy can fuck...” he said. There was something in his voice that I didn’t like. He had been drinking, I knew that much. But, it was also... could it be heartbreak? Was he not over Zac?
“Listen,” I said. “I don’t think...”
“You’re fucking him, right? I mean... of course, he doesn’t let anyone fuck him. I mean, he’s fucking you, right? With that big cock of his?”
“Tristan,” I said. “Listen, I think you got the wrong idea. Zac and I are just friends.”
“Whatever,” he said. And hung up the phone.
I sat at my computer for an hour, checking e-mail.
I made myself a coffee and wrote for about an hour. I like that Zac my writing. I liked that he liked it more than I did.
And the phone rang again.
This time I check. It was Tristan again. I contemplated not answering, but answered anyway.
“Jonah,” he said. “Jonah, I’m sorry about what I said earlier.”
“That’s okay,” I said, feeling the pain in his voice.
“I guess... I know it’s shitty of me to call like this again, but, I guess I just wasn’t prepared to see Zac with someone else.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Tristan, like I said...”
“Honey, I heard you guys in the bathroom.”
“Oh,” I said, quietly.
“I’m sorry,” he said, almost in tears. “Zac’s a great guy and amazing in bed, so, good for you. I guess it just still hurts.”
“I know...” I said. “I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could do.”
“Derek is a nice guy, but he’s not Zac, you know what I mean?”
“I know what you mean,” I said, trying to sound comforting.
“I know... Jonah, there aren’t a lot of people I can talk to about this... I’m sorry to be such a bitch.”
“It’s okay,” I said.
“Um... what are you doing? Do you want to get a cup of coffee or whatever?”
“Sure,” I said. Well... this would be my mitzvah for the month.
“Do you want to come to my place? I actually have some shots of Zac if you want to see those...” he laughed. “I can cry on your shoulder and you can look at the rest of the photos, too.”
“Sure,” I said. “It’s late, you know.”
“Oh, is it?” he said. “I sleep during the day usually, when Derek’s at work.”
“Okay,” I said.
He gave me his address.
“I’ll be over in thirty minutes,” I said.