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: email@example.com. I really appreciate those of you who have gotten in touch. Your kind words make writing this all the more enjoyable for me. And I especially appreciate those of you who have been willing read early drafts of chapters and talk with me about the this writing. More chapters will definitely be forthcoming!
Zac Efron in Connecticut
“Hello, Mr. Efron,” the estate agent said and offered his hand. “My name is Andrew Garrison.”
We were meeting outside one of the few residential towers in downtown Hartford, Connecticut. It loomed only twenty-five stories off the ground.
“Hi,” Zac said and shook his. “This is Jonah White.”
And I shook Andrew’s hand, too, resisting the temptation to call him Mr. Garrison. Andrew was a handsome man. His hair was greying and he had the strange musculature of a runner, tight but slightly disproportionate. His clothes were not tailored but they were of fine material, suggesting the upper crust of the middle class. As far as real estate agents go, he was on the classy end, I decided -- or, at least as classy as Hartford could offer.
“Mark Slatterly referred you to me,” Andrew said to Zac.
“Mark is Jonah’s buisness manager,” Zac said.
“So this apartment is for you?” Andrew asked me.
“No,” I said.
“It’s for both of us,” Zac said.
“Oh,” said Andrew matter-of-factly. “Well, let’s go up and take a look.”
“Mark mentioned that we’re only interested in the place for six months?” I asked. “We’re going to be shooting a movie here in Hartford.”
“Yes, he did,” Andrew. “That isn’t a problem. This place has a year-long lease standard but I called the owner and he was receptive to the six-month offer. I was told a private entrance and three bedrooms. Is that right?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Well, there aren’t many options in Hartford. I think this is the best you’ll find.”
“Let’s take a look,” Zac said.
We passed a bay of elevators and approached a lone elevator that stood off to the side. Two large ferns flanked it and “Penthouse” appeared on a small plaque over the “up” button. Under the “up” button was a keyhole and into this keyhole, Andrew slide a strangely shape key.
“So, there’s a key,” Andrew said, narrating his movements out of, I supposed, awkwardness.
And, inside the elevator, there were four buttons marked 1,2,3, and 4.
“Which one is it?” Zac asked.
“Three,” Andew said. “That’s on the top floor. Three is on one side and four is on the other.”
We rode up in silence.
The apartment consisted of half of the top floor -- which is pretty typical of penthouse layouts. My own is half of the top floor. Exiting from the elevator, we entered into a small vestibule. To the right was a small, modest door which was probably the servants entrance or a utility entrance. And straight ahead, there was a much larger, grander wooden door. Andrew unlocked this and pushed through.
The main room was a large living room with floor to ceiling arched window on the far side. The right was a large dinning room and leading off that, a kitchen. To the left of the living room, there were two bedrooms, each with a full private bathroom. Between the two bathrooms was a other floor to ceiling arched window. It created a nice effect in the living room.
“Where’s the master bedroom?” Zac asked
“Through here,” Andrew answered. On the other side of the dinner room, I hadn’t noticed, was a hallway that led past a small room (almost a large closet) then into a stately bedroom. It two had its own floor to ceiling arched window. The bathroom was a rose red marble and there was an enormous elevated hot tub with a wide marble surface around it. I instantly thought of taking a long bath with Zac, surrounded by candles and soft music. There were two sinks and two toilets as well as two walk-in closets. There was also, and I liked this, a balcony facing over the the Connecticut River.
“This is crazy!” Zac said.
“Yes, it’s a very nice space,” Andrew said. He handed us each a page of specs with the BTUs of the ovens and so on. There was a floor plan and I noticed that there was indeed a servants bedroom that entered into the large pantry behind the kitchen.
“Can you give us a second?” I asked Andrew.
“Do you have any questions?” he asked.
“No, just give us a second.”
Andrew nodded and stepped out into the living room. I waited a moment.
“What do you think?” Zac asked in a hushed breath.
He stepped close to me and took my hands in his, holding them at my side.
“Well, it’s a nice place,” I said.
“I’m thinking we could set up two offices in the other bedrooms.”
“Yeah, I think so,” he said. He leaned forward and kissed me quickly.
“And we could sleep in here,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said, kissing me again. His tongue playing at my lips. He pushed his hips against mine. We were both getting hard.
“So, we’re basically going to be living together,” I said.
“And fucking a lot,” he said, smiling at me. I had to the admit, the idea of a daily morning ass pounding really appealed to me. I liked the idea of always showering together. I even liked the idea of sharing a bathroom, shaving while Zac was taking a shit, talking casually about whatever we had scheduled that day. Of course, I would have unfettered access to his cock.
“Yeah,” I said and kissed him back. “You ready for living together? You ready for that?”
...six months earlier...
When I woke, Tristan was still asleep. We were lying together naked on his bed and, even though I felt mildly like I might be able to get away with some morning sex, I wasn’t that interested in it. He seemed, somehow, like a TV movie. Maybe you start watching, maybe you get into it, but you probably fall asleep and in the morning, you couldn’t care less.
I got up and quietly dressed. Leaving a note, I thought, would be nice. But, I decided, intead, to text him once I had gotten far enough away.
I stopped for coffee at a Starbucks and was home by 9am -- still a little hungover. I showered and busied myself with e-mail and paper work. I did a little writing.
Zac and I had made dinners plans for that evening, even though we hadn’t talked about where or when yet. It was, in fact, the plan we had made after our first encounter. It had only been a few days but Zac had almost entirely taken over my ever waking thought. And my dreams. We had spent that first night together. The next day. We traded blowjobs in a restaurant bathroom. All told, it almost overwhelmed me. And now, we had our dinner together and tomorrow was our meeting to discuss Connecticut. And that, I had a feeling, would begin a new chapter in my life.
I wanted to make the movie -- I had realized that much. As much as I knew there were a lot of obstacles and that, to be realistic, the movie probably wouldn’t get made, the idea of seeing my father’s story on film and knowing that it had passed through my hands and Zac’s hands filled me with an increasing sense of excitement. It was the excitement artists feel when they’re zeroing in on something.
And maybe it was foolish because I knew that the slightest thing can detail movie’s in development. And maybe I wouldn’t be able to write the script.
I fished a copy of Connecticut off my bookcase and started flipping through it. I had read it three or four times and I wanted to start thinking about how to make it into a script.
Some of the things Tristan had said to me the night before still weighed heavily on my mind. He had texted me the night before. He was upset and it had to do with Zac. Against my better judgement, I had driven over to comfort him.
Tristan had been crying, I could tell almost the moment I saw his face. He had dried his face, but his cheeks were still red and his eyes seemed strained and anguished.
He said ‘hello’ and hugged me like we were old friends. It was strange to me. I enjoyed being somewhat aloof and having only a few friends, if any, and distant friends. But, Tristan seemed to believe that we were very close, like we had survived a natural disaster together. He was asking me to be closer than I wanted to be, but at the same time, I didn’t mind specifically because he seemed to be in so much pain. He was asking me to share my strength and, somehow, that made me feel stronger than I was.
He lived in small apartment over a two car garage. The garage had been turned into a photography studio. The entire building was painted a dark forest green with black trim and sat at the back end of a much larger house in the Hollywood hills. It was clearly a chauffeur's house that had been converted and rented.
“I’m still embarrassed by the things I said to you,” he said.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said.
“You must think I’m such a drama queen.”
I smiled at that. I did. But, I didn’t mind.
“It’s okay,” I said.
“Come on in,” he said.
He was wearing a plaid bathrobe that he had tied loosely with a belt of the same material. Underneath, he was wearing no shirt. His chest was hairless like mine and he probably had less muscle mass than I did. He was also shorter than me and it was rare that I felt like the most masculine person in the room -- I definitely had some effeminate qualities, but I still felt like I could summon my masculine side. He was also wearing a pair of pajama bottoms. I felt ridiculously overdressed and I was just wearing a pair of khaki pants and a long sleeve, white collarless shirt with a elaborate, stitched white floral pattern -- about as far from fashion as I ever get.
“This is a really great space,” I said as he let look around the ground level, the garage. I meant it. I had a nice apartment for writing, but, at the same time, I had more than once dreamed of a small cottage in the woods somewhere where I could write for long, long hours. And, for a photographer, this was a very nice set up. There was a large worktable on which several cameras were spaced out, including Nikon’s D3x, a camera that I had been mildly interested in buying. I asked him about it.
“Oh, it’s a really nice camera,” he said. “I like Nikon’s lenses.”
“Yeah?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m not sure why. Most of what I do doesn’t require a special lens or much zoom, but Nikon has a pretty good basic lens.”
“Yeah,” I agreed.
He had an open space and backdrop where people clearly sat for their portraits.
“Do you do a lot of portraiture here?” I asked.
“You know, less than I did,” he said. “Fortunately, a lot of the work I’m doing now allows me to be in the field.”
“You prefer being in the field?”
“So much more expression, yeah.”
I wondered if I was shooting someone, would I want them in the field or against a backdrop. I thought about Zac. I would probably put him in a gorgeous black suit with a thin tie and have him strike a few poses. I like the idea of capture the images as he undressed. It would be important to preserve the elegance though. He takes his tie off. He pulls his jacket off and his shirt stretches over the muscles of his chest. Maybe a few shots of him with his sleeves roles up. Maybe Then, in an undershirt. Maybe a shot in which he has no undershirt, his shirt is open wide and maybe off his shoulders... he looks down as he undoes his cufflinks. God, that would be sexy...
I thought that I could do that in front of a backdrop but something like a wood-paneled hotel bar might be more suited, like a gentlemen’s club from the late 19th century.
“Oh, these are nice...” I said, looking at a series of 8x10 black and white photographs clipped to ribbons tied around a three panel folding screen. It was actually kind of clever idea, using an ordinary panel folding screen (you can get these at Walmart for thirty bucks) to display photographs, not because you could see the photos more easily, but because you could fold the screen up and leave the photos in place. With ten of the screens, you could really envision an entire collection.
“That’s a shoot for UnderGear,” he said. The same model appeared wearing various trunks and bikini bottoms and standing in various poses. He had a Brazilian look about him and was very handsome and had an amazing body. And yet, he was boring. You’d look at him if you saw him on the beach. You’d probably try to sleep with him. But, you’d also not worry too much if it didn’t work out. His beauty was the cheap, replaceable kind of beauty -- the kind you want to rub your cock on but not necessarily the kind you want to wake up with the next morning. That might have been because of his personality and might have been because of Tristan’s skill. Or lack of skill. I wasn’t sure.
I had to admit that I enjoyed Tristan’s work, but he clearly wasn’t as consistently talented as I had though. There’s a kind of photographer who can go out to the park and take fifty shots and most of them pretty interesting. Twenty or so are fantastic. And there’s another kind of photographer who can take five hundred shots and most of them are pretty crappy. Twenty or so are fantastic. The effect is the same, and it’s hard to judge the two methods. I’d like to be more of the first kind, though. And Tristan was seeming more the like second kind. Or maybe it was the commercial nature of a shoot for UnderGear.
“What do you think?” he asked.
I stared at them for a moment.
“You hate them,” he said.
“No,” I said. “These are for a... what? A catalogue?”
“A website, probably.”
“I mean... with these, what’s the message?”
“‘Look at me.’ Something like that.”
Looking at a Brazillian model, staring at the camera with nice cheekbones and a perfect body, the message wasn’t just ‘Look at me.’
“I think it’s something like ‘I don’t have to try,’” I offered.
Tristan laughed at that.
Once I had opened up Connecticut, I remember more about what my father had tried to do. The plot wasn’t especially complex. In the opening scenes, the narrator (who is never named, but people assume is my father) is working as a waiter at formal dinner at a prestigious military prep school. (Zac would look cute in a military uniform, I thought.) The dinner is the night before opening ceremonies for the year and a new teacher is introduced. He is a kind hearted, but mildly ‘in the clouds.’ His hot wife is very wealthy and one of the school’s major donors. She likes the look of the narrator and they up having sex in coatroom. My father told me that that really happened.
The narrator and new teacher’s hot wife are discovered by the school’s commandant and, in order to protect her reputation and donations, the commandant can’t punish the narrator. The rest of the book involved a slow, subtle stalemate between the narrator and the commandant. The narrator continually pushes the boundaries and commandant pushes back. It’s not a playful story, though. It’s remarkably sad and their attacks on one another are cruel and vicious. The only character for whom the narrator has any real affection is the new teacher, who seems almost naive in contrast to the other characters.
I sketched out a few scenes.
Condensing the story down to 120 minutes of action wouldn’t be hard, but retain the subtle psychological gestures would be very difficult.
Zac texted me around 3:30 in the afternoon.
--Done in an hour ru ready?-- He had been doing voice over, if I recalled correctly.
I texted back.
--yeah. what’s the plan?--
--put on a nice suit i made reservations--
I had a sexy black suit that I had picked up in San Diego and hadn’t actually had occasion to wear. I showered and put it on. It hung very nicely on me and had a slimming cut. The lapels were high, and it had a very subtle pinstripe, which I liked. I put it over a very crisp white shirt, white boxers, and pulled on bright purple socks. They matched the tie I had in mind, which I had never worn. It was thin and black and had little purple diamonds spaced out, leaving a nice subtle touch of color.
I wanted to go to Seville Row with Zac and spend ten grand each on suit and then fuck while we were wearing them. I was incredibly horny, I realized, as I look at myself in the mirror. My boner was completely obvious. I was tempted to rub one out before Zac got there, but I decided against it. I had a feeling that Zac would take care of it later on that night. I hoped he would.
I put on the kettle for a cup of coffee and sat down with a magazine. What I really wanted, I thought to myself, was for Zac to fuck the shit out of me. A nice ass pounding. A really deep fuck.
The kettle came to a boil and I poured the water over grinds in a melitta, added a splash of milk and sat at the counter reading the magazine.
Sex with Zac was, of course, overwhelming. It was like heroine. Partly unbearable pain and partly unbearable joy. It left me quivering in pleasure. But, what I was really think about was just snuggling up with Zac in bed, watching TV. A good movie on and being able to casually touch Zac’s cock, to run man hands over his balls and have him kiss my forehead in response, but still focusing on the screen. I rest my head against his chest, breathing in his scent. I touch his stomach. He asks if I understood that commercial and I kiss him and say no.
Tristan had showed me a portfolio with about sixty images that were much better done. 16x20. And most of them were the same intricately emotional shots that I had purchased. He had an excellent eye, looking at these images. He was able to somehow suggest that the young man’s beard, as he sat on a sidewalk curb, was usually kept neatly trimmed, or that the old woman on the subway stairs was going to church and not to work. These were the subtle judgements that most photographers didn’t understand.
“I think I have one of yours of a young man... kind of cute... looking sort of sad and staring off...”
“Yeah,” he said. “I think that was just a guy I ran into at a library.”
He walked over to another table and shuffled through some photographs...
“Is this him?” he asked.
He showed me a photograph.
“Yeah!” I said. “Well, I’ll buy the rest of the series if you’ll sell it.”
“Sure,” he said. “I think it’s six more, maybe ten.”
We talked about a few more images.
We talked about cameras for a few minutes.
And then we went upstairs. Tristan’s upstairs apartment consisted of a full bathroom, one large living room which opened into a kitchenette, and a bedroom which housed a queen-sized bed, a night table, and nothing else. The appointments were tasteful but modest. There were very few paintings on the wall and a general lack of things on the surfaces of things. The over all feeling was like Tristan had just moved in, but more likely, he just didn’t have the money to decorate. Also, I got the feeling that he slept at Derek’s house and this more like his “pad.”
I wondered where Derek was, but didn’t mention it.
There was a comfortable, L shaped sofa made of a dark, brown cloth. A few pillows here and there and a blanket. Clearly, a place Tristan had sat and probably where he had cried.
“I have red,” Tristan said, “And I have white.”
“White,” I said.
He pulled a bottle from the refrigerator with a screw-top cap, filled two wine glasses and he carried them both over to the sofa, where I took and seat. He passed me the glass and sat down on the other side of the L, facing me.
He smiled at me.
“So... Tell me about you and Zac.”
I smiled at him.
“Why don’t you tell me your story first?”
“You admit that you’re sleeping with Zac, right? I feel like you...”
“Yeah,” I said. “I am... I am sleeping with Zac.”
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll go first.”
He poured himself more wine.
“I met Zac for the first time at a gallery opening... it was, like, my third showing... ever. I was still working for a TV station doing camera work and photograph was just a passion and I hadn’t really devoted myself to it.
“He came in looking... fucking beautiful,” I smiled at that. “He bought a piece and talked to me for a little. I mean... you know what it’s like. I wanted to hump him for the first second.”
“Sure,” I said. It was suddenly nice to speak to someone who knew exactly what it felt like to stand close to Zac. Standing near Zac made my heart race and my blood boil. Seeing his smile, and trying to think up excuses to touch his body... or just shake his hands...
“He called me, like, two days later and asked if he could see more of my work. So, of course, I was, like, ‘come on over. Don’t bring clothes.’”
“He came over and we talked for a little while. And then, out of no where, he got close to me. And kissed me.”
He stopped and looked into my eyes. I could see the longing and I knew exactly what he was feeling.
“I mean... do you know what it’s like when fucking Zac Efron kisses you? It’s like every orgasm you’ve ever had,” he said. “He’s so just perfect.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I know what you mean.”
I know exactly what he meant.
I took a long sip of wine.
“He is,” I said.
“He fucked me that night,” Tristan said. “And that was pretty amazing.”
“He is pretty good in bed,” I said.
Tristan smiled at me.
“So, where did you two meet?”
“Umm.....” I wondered about how much I wanted to say. On some level, I knew that this exchange of information wasn’t just gossip. I was, after all, either in relationship with Zac or about to be in a relationship with him. I wanted to be his boyfriend, I realized with a clarity that I hadn’t before.
“Well, we met at a Starbucks actually.”
“You recognized him?”
“Actually,” I said. “He recognized me. It’s complicated... one of my father’s novels might be made into a movie... It’s just talk. I mean... it’ll be five years before anything happens, I’m sure.”
“That’s pretty cool,” he said. “Zac would star in it?”
“It’s really way to early to talk about that kind of thing. There are thousands of movies in development all the time and it’s all just talk.”
“I get that,’ he said. He leaned over and fill my glass with more white wine and then filled his own.
“So, you met at a Starbucks.”
“Yeah... and, you know... we hit it off.”
“Did you guys have sex in the Starbucks bathroom?”
I laughed at that.
“You really heard us?”
“Yeah... you guys weren’t quiet.”
We laughed again.
“You know my favorite part of Zac?” I asked.
“Other than his cock?”
We laughed again.
“Yeah,” I said. “His cock.”
Tristan poured us both more wine.
“That beautiful cock!”
We raised our wine glasses.
“To his beautiful cock!”
“A great cock to suck!”
“A great cock to get fucked by!”
We laughed again. The wine was going to my head.
“No, really...” I said. “My favorite part of Zac is his shoulders, I think.”
“Yeah... I like touching them. Or just holding onto them.”
“Yeah....” said Tristan. “I like his chest, I think.”
“He’s pretty much perfect.”
“Yeah, he is.”
--be there in twenty minutes. I’ll come up--
--looking forward to it-- I texted back.
There was a knock on the door. I didn’t clap my hands in excitement as I ran to door, but it was close.
He was wearing a light, metalic three-piece grey suit, almost blue, with a white shirt. His tie had about six different shades of grey and white in angled stripes. His collar was starched and he looked very classically elegant. It was the especially the three-piece suit that got me.
“Hey, sexy,” I said and I leaned in. He kissed me. He put his hand on my neck and held my head as he kissed me. I opened my mouth and let his tongue enter me. My back went weak as I felt his power come over me and I became liquid in his strong arms. I held his biceps, bulging in his sexy suit. I reach up and ran my hands through his hair.
“Hey!” he said.
“What?” I asked.
“Don’t mess up my hair...” he said gently, but genuinely.
“Really?” I said, smiling at him.
“Come on, I put stuff in it...”
“Zac,” I said. “That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”
He smiled at me.
“You’re the cutest thing...” and he leaned into kiss my neck.
“Oh, smooth...” I said, bending my head and letting have access. I run my hands down his back and took hold of his firm ass. He was sending shivers down my spine and I realized that our cocks were both completely hard.
“Zac,” I said... I tried to push him away. “Zac, let me close the door.”
He made a grunting noise as he switched to the other side of my neck.
“Come on,” I said.
“God, you turn me on,” he said.
“Believe me,” I said, breaking away from him, “We’re on the same page on that one.”
I pulled him inside and closed the door behind him.
“You look really good,” I said.
“Thanks,” he said, “So do you.”
He followed me into my apartment. He slapped me on my butt before we got too far in. I squealed a little in a voice that truly embarrassed me.
“I want you to know something,” he said.
“I am deeply committed to fucking you before the night is out.”
“I see we’re past the coy innuendo phase.”
He grabbed his crotch and grinned at me.
“I’m going to put my cock in you.”
I had to admit... that made my own cock do a little happy dance in my pants. I moved to the other side of the room.
“You wanna pound my ass?”
“Yes,” he said. And then, with great sincerity: “Yes, I do.”
“I’ll have to think about that,” I said, coyly.
He came closer to me.
“You know, I was thinking about just staying in tonight... I know we had plans and I got all dressed up and all...” I said.
He reached for my waist and I turned away. Instead, he came up behind me, putting his hands around me. He tilted my head to the side and kissed my neck, sucking at my neck.
“Are you going to eat my ass, Zac?” I asked, thinking that my neck would be covered in hickies the next day. I didn’t mind though.
I could feel his cock straining against his pants, pressing against my ass. I loved knowing that it was there, hard and desperate to get to me. I arched my back a little and stuck my butt out. Moving on my toes, I rub my butt up and down on his cock a few times.
Zac moaned a little and sucked at my ear.
“Zac...” I murmured, I reach back and touched Zac’s face.
“Zac,” I said again.
“Yeah,” he said.
“Zac, come on...”
“Don’t you want to?” he asked.
“I do,” I said. “But, we have all night.... let’s go out.”
He didn't say anything.
“Zac,” I said, again.
“Okay,” he said and broke away.
“Sorry,” I said, looking over at him. He was straightening his tie and flattening his shirt. He tugged on his vest to make sure everything got into the right position again. He look a little flushed and I could see that he was completely ready to go. I could see his erection through his pants, still pretty much rock hard. I was still tempted to just forget dinner and the clothes and let him fuck him. We could probably spend the next ten hours having sex.
But, I also wanted to spend time with Zac that didn’t involve erections. Lunch the day before had been so nice, seeing Zac in public and watching him be charming was a totally different experience than watching him suck my cock.
“Sorry,” he said. “I got a little ahead of myself there. I just find you kind of irresistible.”
Tristian and I had talked on. We talked about our exes, our favorite sexual positions, our fetishes and, our fantasies, getting drunker and drunker as the night went on. I had had only a few boyfriends and most were guys I had dated for only a few weeks, none more than two months. Relationships weren’t my thing and long stretches of solitude appealed to me. Tristan, on the other hand, always had boyfriends and some simultaneously. Exclusivity, he explained to me, wasn’t important. And exclusivity and fidelity were not related. He could faithful to several men, he explained. It didn’t make any sense to me, but I nodded happily as we made our way into our second bottle of wine.
He was a bottom, he explained. I was mostly a bottom, I explained.
“But you top sometimes?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said. “Sometimes.”
The truth was: topping always seemed like half of what sex should be... like I wasn’t really getting what I showed up for. For me, topping could be an appetizer, but it was never the entree, even if I came. Bottoming was the entree. And pretty much the dessert, too.
I wasn’t sure what time it was. The wine was swimming in my head. And I realized, as Tristan poured me more wine, that we were somewhere into our fourth bottle of win. Where had the third bottle gone? I almost didn’t care.
I don’t drink to get sloppy very often, but it’s certainly fun when it happens. And this was fun, too. I enjoyed talking about Zac and thinking about Zac. And the strangeness of doing it with another of Zac’s lovers was obvious, but it was fun, nevertheless. In the strangest sense, it felt like we were two naked boys worshiping at the foot of a giant Zac Efron statue. Zac was so beautiful that we could both entirely admit our attraction to him without feeling threatened whatsoever. I wondered whether we could have a threesome and whether that would work. If both us were sucking Zac’s cock, would that work?
“My favorite thing that Zac does...” I said, my voice a little slurred, “is when he gets on his knees, spreads his legs open, and kind of arches his back so his cock just looks so perfect.”
“Yeah, really hard,” I said. “Maybe even just seconds before he sticks it in.”
“Yeah,” he said.
Tristan had moved next to me. I didn’t see it happen and I was beginning to loose track of where I was in the world, what time it was, and what was going on.
“Do you think Zac will ever come out?” Tristan asked. He was resting his head on my shoulder.
“Yeah,” I said. “I do, actually.”
“I think that’d be cool,” he said. His hand was on my chest.
“What’s with his girlfriend?”
“He likes women,” he said.
He put his face into the crook of my neck, breathing on my neck and ear.
“He fucks women because they’re easy to get. It helps his career,” he said.
And he started kissing me.
“A woman can get it up for him. But, not like you or I can.”
“Yeah,” I said, enjoying the sensation of his lips.
“Zac Efron likes to fuck pretty boys,” he said, and his drifted down my chest. He started rubbing my cock which was already hard. All this talk about Zac had gotten me horny. And, Tristan was clearly going to use Zac to get me even hornier.
“Zac Efron... it’s such a perfect name. Easy to say. Easy to fuck.”
He opened my pants and bent down, pulling my cock out of my pants and starting to suck on it.
“When Zac fucked you,” I asked him, “could you cum without using your hands?”
I played with his hair as he sucked my cock. Running my hands up and down his back, I could feel the energy rise between us.
“You suck a good dick,” I said.
He sat up and looked at me.
“Yeah,” he said. “Zac thought I was a pretty good cocksucker, too.”
“Zac’s pretty good, himself, isn’t he?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Let’s go in the bedroom.”
I could tell immediately why Zac had been attracted to Tristan. We kissed as we undressed. He was skinnier than I was, his legs and arms had almost no muscle whatsoever. His cock was larger than mine, probably nine and half inches long and fat. It seemed to hang off him disproportionally, but it was a beautiful cock and by the time he had stripped off his clothes and I had taken off mine, it was completely erect.
Two naked, skinny boys in the dark.
I could barely get my hands around his cock, and could hardly get any of it into my mouth. We laid on the bed on our hips, his cock in my hands, my cock in his.
“Do you smoke weed?” he asked me.
“No,” said. “But, don’t let me stop you if you want to.”
“Zac likes weed,” he said.
“Yeah. And cigarettes,” he said.
“Really?” I said. “I didn’t know that.”
“He has a remarkable ability to keep secrets,” he said, massaging my cock on his hands. He bent and took one my balls in his hands.
I moaned quietly.
“You like that,” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said.
He rolled on his side a little more and stuck his head between my legs, sucking on bot of balls at the same time. He pushed his tongue into my scrotum and rolled them around in his mouth.
“Oh, fuck...” I said quietly as the waves of pleasure radiated up my body.
I tried to suck his cock but I could only manage to the tip in my hands. I licked at his shaft in long strokes, leaving saliva on his dick. Holding the head of his cock on my mouth and working at it with my tongue, I jerked him on off with both hands.
He had a beautiful cock and I could feel his hips starting to move with pleasure.
He continue working by balls, stopping occasionally to take my cock into his mouth. He could get it more or less entirely down his throat, which was impressive and felt amazing. Zac had had difficulty doing that.
“Can you fuck me?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said.
“Fuck yeah...” he said.
He rolled over to his bedside table and pulled out a Trojan, a small tube of lube, a joint, and a cigarette lighter. He passed the condom to me and lit up the joint, inhaling deeply on it.
Weed has never interested me. My mind doesn’t enjoy being sedated like that. Alcohol, which is also a depressant, is fun -- but, even then, I’m usually not interested in getting so drunk that I fall asleep.
Tristan seemed to enjoy it. He inhaled again, holding the smoke in his lungs, and offered the joint to me.
“No, thanks,” I said. While I waited for him to exhale, I opened the Trojan and rolled the condom onto my cock. It was a Magnum and fit me.
I moved over closer to Trisan and spread his legs. I sucked his cock for a moment, while he smoked. Then he flipped over on his belly. On his elbows, he continued to smoke, and spread his legs. I got behind him and beheld his little ass. It was, I suspected, smaller than mine and I suspected it would be ridiculously tight.
I got on my belly behind him and started eating him out.
“I started working on the script for Connecticut,” I said.
“Really?” Zac said.
I opened a bottle of Restoration Pale Ale from Abita, Louisianna and poured it into two glasses. We stood on either side of a corner of the kitchen island, both of us leaning over, so we were face to face.
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s going to be hard to write, but starting felt good.”
“Which parts did you write?”
“I did scene where the narrator and the commandant are talking about the narrator’s uniform.”
“Oh, right... something about medals?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“I don’t know... I need to rewrite it. But, it was good to start writing, you know what I mean?”
“Yeah,” he said. He kissed me quickly in a sort of congratulatory kiss.
I asked Zac about doing voice over work. He explained that almost all movies are short on location with the audio in place. But, in order to help mix out background sounds, the actors lay down tracks of the voice saying the exact same words.
“It’s pretty boring work,” he said.
I asked him about The Lorax.
“It was fun,” he said.
“Is that it?”
“It’s hard to talk about,” he said. “You’re in a booth with no other actors... you’re just reading lines. The engineers are there and there’s a director. You say the same line twenty times and then move on. You have no idea which cut they’re going to use.. or if you’re doing what they need or not. They work it out later.”
“You don’t enjoy it?”
“I gotta say... not really. It’s sort of fun at the time. But, I don’t get the, uh... the craft of it. You know? I understand acting and being an actor. But, voice of work is just... I don’t know. It’s like it’s not really acting.”
“I guess it sort of isn’t,” I said. “Still, people can do it well, right? I mean... there’s a skill to it.”
“Sure,” he said. “I guess it’s just not my calling.”
He smiled with an almost sad, seriousness. It was the same smiled that he occasionally wore in some of my favorite photo shoots. It was the same smiled that Tristan could capture. I loved that smile. It was the smile that made me want to comfort him and wrap my body around his. I wanted my body to be a safe place for that smile, whether it was just offering him a warm embrace or making him soup as he thought about whatever was on his mind or slowly riding his cock. That smile was a wonderful glimpse into Zac’s mind, a glimpse that I had only seen before when he was cumming.
“Come here,” I said and learned forward, kissing his beautiful, perfect smile.
We talked on for about twenty minutes. And then, I put the two glasses in the sink and he headed down in the elevator. We stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the door.
“You look really good tonight,” I said.
“You, too,” he said.
“Is that suit Armani?”
“Yeah, it is,” he said.
We watched the numbers tick by.
“I’m still really horny,” he said.
“Yeah, me, too.”
When we got to the lobby, I saw that Rebecca, the same girl who had seen Zac leave a few days ago was on duty. I filed that away.
We stood out on the street.
“Okay,” Zac said. “I really went all out on this. This is going to be a really nice evening.”
“Really romantic,” he said and smiled at me.
I wanted to say that he made me feel like a natural woman, but that didn’t quite seem like the thing to say. But that didn’t stop the song from playing in my head.
“You’re still trying to get in my pants, right?”
“I promise you,” he said. “That’s the only thing on my mind.”
A white limousine rounded the corner and slowed in front of us.
“Is this us?” I asked. I was kind of giddy at the end of about whisked away into the night in a white limousine. A long, white limousine.
“Yeah,” he said.
“Aw... you got a limousine.”
The limousine came to a stop and a very small woman of about seventy-years got out.
“Jonah,” Zac said, “This is Maggie. Maggie, this is Jonah.”
“Good evening,” she said.
“This is Maggie’s limousine,” Zac said in a friendly voice.
Maggie turned and opened the door. Zac went in first. I checked out his ass, and then followed.
She closed the door and made her way around to the driver’s seat. I looked over at Zac who was smiling widely at me. My heart was racing, knowing how much he was enjoying overwhelming me with each grand gesture.
He reached over and took my hand.
“This is going to be a good night,” he said.
“Yeah,” I said.
I realized I was almost about to burst into tears and I didn’t know why. I was just so happy to see him and see him doing so much for me.
The back of the limousine consisted of two, black-leather bench seats, facing each other. To the right of Zac’s seat, however, was a sort of built in mini-bar and there was a television mounted to the ceiling directly above the seat in front of me. It was a nice area.
“Do you know Maggie? You introduced her like you knew her?”
“No,” he said. “Well, she knows me.”
“What?” I said.
“Uh...” Zac said, suddenly nervous. “Well, you know... she drives me when I’m out with a guy.”
“Oh,” I said, realizing that we had just touched on a topic that we had never touched on before.
The car started moving. I realized that the pane of glass separating the back of the limo and the front of the limo was completely opaque. I couldn’t even see the traffic lights in the intersection ahead. I suspected that a button somewhere could lower the opaque glass so that we could talk to Maggie. Or perhaps there was a intercom.
“We haven’t talked about that sort of thing before,” Zac said.
“Yeah,” I said. “We don’t have to.”
He looked at me for a long moment, clearly thinking deeply. I really loved his eyes. I wanted to feel his eyelashes on my cheek... and his breath on my neck.
“Jonah,” he said. “You know usually I can... you know, I can --”
“Zac, we don’t have to --”
“Yeah, that’s cool,” he said, pushing himself closer to me.
“I just want to say, though,” and he clear his throat as he looked for words. I put my on his knee. “I just want to say that you’re the first person I’ve uh... you know, wanted... to talk about it with.”
He kissed me and, when he did, I felt something new in his lips and his mouth. It wasn’t the bold and brave domination that turned me on so much. It wasn’t the cockiness or self-assured sexiness. He wasn’t that underwear model knowing that he didn’t even have to try.
What I felt when pulled me close to him, when his tongue moved into my mouth, looking for my tongue, and when his hands came to my waist, was desperation. He desperately wanted me, not just for pleasure, but to sooth him.
We continued to kiss and my hands, I realized, were unbuttoning his shirt. I bent my head to kiss his chest as I opened his shirt and he kissed the back of head and my neck.
I licked his chest and felt his chest hairs against my face.
I opened up the rest of the buttons of his shirt, except the one at his neck, leaving his tie in place. I pulled his shirt tails out of his pants and kissed at his stomach and his abs. He held my head in his hands. As I undid his belt and unfastened his pants, I looked up at him. He leaned down and kissed me. I sucked on his tongue for a moment, until I felt his pants open up. I got on my knees in front of him. He was wearing white Calvin Klein boxers. I pulled the band down, reached, and took hold of his thick, meaty cock,. Pulling the band again, carefully lifted out his balls, and tucked the band under them.
I licked his balls gently for a moment and sucked on each one individually. I could see his stomach rising and falling rapidly as I layered pleasure on pleasure upon him. I licked around his scrotum and to the interiors of his thighs.
And, then, I took his cock into my mouth, focusing on the head of his cock. It was completely engorged and I touched every inch of it as I sucked on it. I ran my tongue around it, feeling the subtle difference in the skin on the ridge, the neck, and the shaft and smoothness of head itself. I delicately licked at the slit and tasted his salty pre-cum. With my hands, I formed a long tube and held his entire shaft firmly.
“Oh, fuck...” he said, breaking deeply. I rested a hand on his stomach so that I could feel his abs. I ran my hand up his stomach and over his chest. I felt his nipples and his chest hair and the strength of his pecs and the sweat that was forming all over him.
I realized how much I wanted to put his legs up in the air so that I could eat his ass. Or even just take hold of his butt. Then again, I also wanted to feel his cock inside me and I wanted to see him sucking my cock, too. I wanted to cum with him and on him and feel his cum on me and in me and taste it and smell it. I wanted to rub his cum on my face and feel its warmth. I wanted to taste his cum and my cum and kiss him and taste his tongue in my mouth.
I played with his balls and let his cock deep into my mouth and down my throat. I moved upon and down on it, slathering it with my saliva and my tongue. I found feel the veins on the inside of my cheeks and on my tongue, and each time I came to the head, I stopped to give it a little extra attention. I was going very slowly, enjoying it. And then, let his cock down further into the back of my throat, tying to carefully reach my limits. His cock was large in my throat and it was almost too much. I let it go further and further down my throat. I could feel his pubic hair against my nose. I pushed further and then, my nose came against his stomach. I had his entire cock in my mouth and down my throat.
I let it go and sat up.
“Wow!” I said, catching my breath. “I can’t believe I did that.”
He smiled at me. His face was completely awash with pleasure and I could see that he slumped a little to the side.
“It was really fucking amazing,” he said.
“You want me to keep going?” I said.
“Yeah, baby,” he said.
“You wanna cum?” I asked.
“You don’t want to uh... you know, save it for later?” I asked. “Would you like to get naked together?”
He looked at me. I could tell he really wanted to cum.
“This is an odd time to mention this...” I said. “But, you know that PSA for cancer you did. The stuck in the elevator joke?”
He looked at me quizzically. “Yeah?”
“I really liked that PSA,” I said. And smiled almost shyly at him. “Just thought I’d mention that.
“Come here,” he said.
I sat next to him. His cock was still completely erect and I took it in one hand as we talked.
“Seriously, dude...” he said. “I really, really want to cum.”
I smiled at him.
“This is torture, man!” And he laughed. “I could cum in like two seconds!”
“Yeah,” I said. “You know, I love watching you cum. I love having orgasms with you.”
“Me, too,” he said. And nodded to his cock. “So, come on...”
“You want me to?” I asked.
“Is this a trick question?” he asked.
I unzipped my pants and reached in, pulling my cock out. We were both still dressed in our very sexy suits in a wonderful, white limousine, with our rock hard cocks out. It was like something out of a fairy tale -- sort of.
He rolled over on his hip so his cock pointed over at me. I rolled on my hip so our cocks came together. We let the two heads touch in the middle and laughed at it. It was like our cocks were saying ‘hello.’
“Okay,” Zac said. “We’ll do this after dinner?”
He took hold of my cock, not to jerk me off but just to hold mine in the same way I was holding his, just to feel the throbbing.
“Yeah,” I said. “I really want you to fuck me, too.”
“I will,” he said. “I want to try to cum like... four times.”
“You like my cum?”
“I do,” I said. I leaned over and rested my head on his shoulder. I still held his cock in my hand. I wrapped my hand around his waist. I loved that I could feel his hip and his ribs and his muscles, all in one embrace.
“I like your cum. You wanna cum on my face?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said. “You like that?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Let see... you’ve cum in me...and I swallowed your cum...”
“Yeah,” he said. He put one hand my head and started stroking my hair. “And I’ve swallowed yours.”
“You like my cum?”
“I do,” he said.
We stayed like that for a few minutes. Silent. I rested on him and we held each other’s cocks, like we were holding hands. I watched his stomach rize and falling slowly.
I realized that I was thinking about his cock, which had seem so enormous a few days ago, differently. It was still enormous and symmetrical and beautifully proportioned and beautiful. And his balls were large and hung nicely. It was about as perfect as it gets.
But, I wasn’t thinking about it as just an enormous, beautiful cock. I was thinking about it as something familiar, something that had more emotional content for me now. It was something I loved and adored and wanted to be near. It was a way into the interior of Zac. Not a thing on his outside. It wasn’t so much a thing that went into me; it was how I went into Zac. The thing caused me so much pain and pleasure, but not just because of its size... but because it was Zac and all those sensations came from him and were shared with him. They were his as much as they were mine.
“You know, we’re getting close...” Zac said, looking out the window.
“Yeah?” I said, sitting up a little. I was just as prepared to lie here and fall asleep.
Zac picked up a phone from the minibar that I hadn’t noticed before.
I heard a ring from the driver’s seat.
“Hey, Maggie...” he said. “Give us ten minutes back here.... just drive around the block or something.... thanks.”
He put the phone down.
And he leaned over and took my cock in his mouth, sucking at gently for a long, tender moment and then sat up again, looking at me in the eye.
“So, let’s get dressed again. We have reservations.”
“Okay, I said, and put my hands on his chest, kissing him. I could taste my cock on his breath and I wondered if he could taste his cock on my breath. I touched his face and sucked at his ear lobe.
“Okay,” I said. And broke away.
Zac tucked his cock back into his pants and start to rebutton his shirt.
I did the same.
“Goddamn,” I said.
I felt my penis softening in my pants and the heat draining my face and head. I could think clearly again and looked through the window out of Los Angeles.
“So...” I said. “You promise that tonight will end up with a lot of nudity.”
“Rule number one,” he said. “No clothes.”
We pulled up in front of the the Beverly Wilshire.