Attitude Adjustment – male on male erotica
I checked my mail when I got home that evening, and there were three
items from Feygin. One had the promised web links, one was a collection of
picture attachments, and the third held three video files.
The pictures weren’t what I expected. I thought of gay porn as leather,
rubber, and hairy guys – I’d certainly seen my share of that back when I
was doing the groundwork for my Pam the Plumber stories. Instead I found
myself looking at a collection of photographs more focused on facial
expressions, the curves and lines of taut muscles, the contact of skin on
skin. In tone they reminded me of some of the lesbian porn sites I really
liked. There weren’t any tags on the photos; I wondered where he had found
them.
They did give me a couple of ideas, one of which seemed promising – a
guy assigned to a detox program where the all-male staff was heavily into
physical exercise and wrestling as therapy. I fiddled with it for a while,
but it didn’t seem to be going anywhere. By the time I gave up, it was
already past my usual bedtime so I saved my drafts and went to bed.
For the rest of the week, when I got home I alternated between reviewing
the pictures, looking at different sites on the web, and starting
unsatisfactory story drafts. Friday night, since I didn’t have anything
else to do, I opened up the email with the videos. The first one was kind
of jittery, and looked like a transfer from the middle of a VCR tape.
Two guys were working out in the gym, wearing grey workout shorts and
tee shirts, making the rounds of the equipment stands. Both had worked up
a good sweat, and their shorts clung, framing their cocks. The taller one
finished off his exercises with a cable kickback. The muscles of his legs
stood out as he extended his foot behind him.
While he was catching his breath, the shorter man moved in from behind
and slid his hands around, cupping the other man’s crotch, knuckles
shifting as his fingers moved.
The taller man writhed in that grasp – the camera shifted around the
side to show his growing erection, the legband of his shorts lifting just a
bit to give a teasing glimpse of swollen testicles. The short man’s hand
slid down inside the shorts and the camera zoomed in for a closeup, but the
picture got blurry – I could see the outline of the cockhead under the
fabric, and maybe a stain at the tip, but even looking close it was hard to
tell for sure.
Suddenly, abruptly, the video ended. I found myself leaning forward,
squinting toward the monitor, rubbing my thighs together. Yeah. I could
write a scene like that.
At least that’s what I thought, but nothing would come together Saturday
morning after I woke up. I could get the words onto paper, but none of the
music was there. I filed it away and went back to my most current TG
story, but couldn’t find a groove there either. I opened my miscellaneous
picture folder and clicked at random. Nothing grabbed me. I went back to
the video; there was something in the camera work or maybe the lighting,
the scene just hinted at an intense sexual power without ever getting
around to showing it. I replayed it several times, but I just couldn’t
identify the trick that made it so attention-grabbing.
I had some bills to pay and other mundane tasks to do around my
apartment, then I put on my headphones and just listened to Beethoven,
Ravel and Gershwin for a while. I was still restless, so I went back to
the computer and opened up the second video.
This film didn’t have a title either. Two guys were doing laps in a
swimming pool, then went to the shower room where they soaped up and then
started lathering each other. The video quality was a little scratchy, but
for this scene it didn’t matter. Two bodies sliding against each other,
erect cocks rubbing together, soapy fingers exploring underarms and
asscheeks – sometimes you don’t need a plot. I licked my lips; this was
seriously hot.
Groping and rubbing gave way quickly to hunching and stroking, and when
one man went down practically swallowing the other guy’s cock, I could just
about feel the sensation myself. The camera focused on the standing man’s
face, zeroing in on a look of either agony or ecstasy. It was definitely
ecstasy, obvious the moment he tensed in orgasm.
He slumped back against the tile wall and would have fallen, but his
companion eased him down gently, stroking his face. He turned the weakened
man around and positioned him on all fours, sliding a bar of soap between
his wet asscheeks. The camera zoomed in, and you could see the anus flare
open. The wet cockhead was fitted to the soapy opening and pushed slowly
inside, then pulled out. In, then out, faster and harder, slapping sounds
coming through the speakers until a second explosion occurred and both
bodies twisted and arched under the spray of the shower.
The file got scrambled at that point, breaking up into weird geometrical
shapes. I watched a bit longer, but the problem didn’t go away. The
visual fuzz was giving me a headache and I needed to masturbate, so I went
to bed on that note.
^^^^^^^^
Over the weekend I toyed with and tossed out any number of story setups
– a guy trapped in a stable tack room, a college student being consoled by
his secretly gay roommate after breaking up with his girlfriend, even a
setup where a guy was hitting on a woman in a bar only to find out later in
the dark that she was a man. But that was more of a TV/TS story and I was
trying to write a straight M/M plot.
Out of curiosity I went to a local adult book store and video arcade,
and used up a number of dollar bills checking out what they had in the gay
department. The videos varied from quick suck and fuck loops to moderately
complex plots, and they were all clear and crisp without the fuzziness of
the files I’d gotten in the email. None of them, however, had that
visceral impact.
When I got back I looked at the emailed videos again. Despite the
flicker and jitter of the camera work, they had an awesome sense of
presence and reality. I still didn’t have a story idea that was working,
so I opened up the mail message with the web links. The first one was all
about men in rubber, gas masks, forced handjobs and the like – just what
I’d expected. I sampled the other sites, not finding anything specifically
helpful but getting a better appreciation of the field.
I went back to the pictures. There was something I was missing, some
indescribable difference between “hot” and “erotic.” I could look at a
picture or a video and feel the pulse inside, even though I would never
look at a guy and think “he’s hot.” Then again, I didn’t really need to be
able to respond to a visual that way myself – I only needed to convey
excitement through my words. I studied the pictures again, trying to feel
the heat behind the flat screen. I almost had… something.
By the end of the weekend I’d tossed a half dozen ideas into the trash
basket and was getting seriously frustrated. It couldn’t be this
difficult; there were thousands of guys posting gay porn fantasies all over
the internet. Granted, most of them didn’t pretend to have a plot, those
that did were either two characters who just had to be in the same scene to
be banging each other or some variation on coerced sex.
That was when I realized what my problem was – I was trying to force my
characters into one of those molds, and that just wasn’t how I worked. I
needed to let my characters find each other. With that, a weight seemed to
fall off my shoulders and I sketched out a half dozen different opening
paragraphs. Things felt a lot better – I was back in my writing groove. I
checked the videos one last time, just to keep my mind in the right space,
and headed to bed.
^^^^^^^^
Monday at lunch it hit me: The narrator was being felt up by the man who
was fitting him for a suit. The idea wasn’t original – I’d probably read a
hundred lesbian first time stories with that kind of setting – but it was
different with two men. I could just about feel the fitter’s hands,
sliding up the insides of my legs, measuring my crotch. I don’t usually
let a story idea run away with me like that, but I was practically bouncing
in my chair for the rest of the day. Once I got home, my creative juices
were in full swing – I didn’t even bother with dinner, just went to my
computer and opened up a fresh story template. This was going to be a good
one. My fingers practically flew across the keyboard as the story took
shape:
^^^^^^^^
“Working Title: Fitting In”
The good news about the takeover was Jeff’s elevation to vice-president
of the western branch. The bad news, in his opinion, was having to give up
casual clothes in favor of the monkey suits favored by the Europeans. At
least they covered the expense of his new wardrobe.
“The fitter will see you now, Mister Harrison.” Jeff put down the
magazine and followed the menswear assistant into the back of the tailoring
area. The young man waiting there with an impatient attitude was blandly
sleek in the manner of magazine covers. He gave Jeff the shortest of looks
and fluttered his fingers dismissively. “I am Emile. I will be measuring
and preparing you for your proper clothing. Now remove those.”
Jeff looked around, confused. “I thought you took measurements over the
pants.” The fitter looked pointedly at Jeff’s khaki slacks. “Perhaps at
J.C. Penney – here you are being measured for real clothing.” The put-down
was delivered with a scathing tone, as if such material might contaminate
the high-end suits of the clothier. Jeff unbuckled his belt and slid his
slacks down to his ankles.
“Dress left or dress right?” The question left Jeff completely baffled.
The younger man circled around him like a lion sniffing its prey. “Oh,
never mind – you wear briefs. You’ll have to change that for the formal
dress pants, of course. Now get it all off and stand on the platform.”
Jeff flushed, but sat down to take off his shoes and trousers, then
wriggled out of his briefs as well. He stepped onto the raised platform
with his face flushed and his cock dangling, reflected in all three
mirrors.
[…]
The orgasm caught Jeff by surprise, his groin clutching painfully as he
emptied himself into Emile’s mouth. “Now,” Emile said after licking his
lips, “we give you a real fitting.” He half-dragged, half-pulled Jeff over
to lie atop the tailor’s table, then rubbed something slick between his
cheeks. It tingled, but Jeff didn’t have time to appreciate that before
Emile was inside him.
Jeff moaned at the intrusion, his cock still dribbling as the other
man’s shaft drove deeply in and out. His head was cheek-down on the table,
and the nearby mirror showed a distorted reflection of their bodies
bouncing against each other. He wondered if this meant he was gay now, and
then Emile grunted and the first thick blast drove all thought out of
Jeff’s mind.
^^^^^^^^
I didn’t like the working title. I changed it to “Attitude Adjustment”
– I had planned to use that for my story about a perverted chiropractor,
but that idea had gone nowhere and the title worked well enough for this
one.
I did a word count, updated the story summary codes, and saved the file.
Then I uploaded it to my online repository, put a note on my blog, and
kicked back with a grin on my face. If I’d had a bucket list for writing,
I’d have slashed a big red “X” in the male/male category. Celebrations
were in order, but first a certain writer needed to know what his
“analysis” was worth.
I opened up my email and there was a message waiting from him. He’d
sold a collection of his stories, and did I want to be his guest for lunch
before he left town? I liked the idea of springing my story on him at
lunch, so I turned on my instant messenger, caught him on line, and
confirmed the restaurant and time. It was a good restaurant, too – not one
that I’d go to on my own wallet.
Lunch was great! He had lobster and Scotch; I had a tender filet and a
rich Tuscan cabernet. Between ordering and getting our food, I handed him
my printout. He chuckled a couple of times, lifted his eyebrow twice, and
finally set the papers down. “Not bad,” was his comment. “I know a couple
of short story aggregators who would be interested in this.” A couple more
drinks, and we wound up heading to his hotel room to get the names of his
contacts. I sat at his laptop to copy down the information while he went
to relieve himself.
When he came out of the bathroom he was naked. In the moment between my
thinking “what the hell is going on here?” and “wow is he hung,” he crossed
the room and wrapped me in a bear hug, covering my mouth with
Scotch-flavored lips and rolling his crotch against mine. I struggled in
his strong arms, but that only made my surprising erection harder. His
hands gripped my ass and pulled me against him, and while I was weakly
fighting, my body was still responding.
It was different, up close and personal.
Somehow my pants were unbuckled and his hand was around my cock,
stroking, rubbing my erection against his. I strained to hold myself back
but he could tell. The next thing I knew I was bent over the back of the
hotel chair and he was doing obscene things with his tongue inside my ass.
I whimpered. I cried. I came.
My body went limp, but he manhandled me into a sitting position and
slapped that thick cock against my face a couple of times. When he pushed
it against my lips, I opened my mouth but then turned my face trying to
lick the taste away. “I’m not gay, you know.”
“This wouldn’t be nearly as much fun if you were. Now shut up and
suck.”