FRICTION FICTION: A FRESH YOUNG FACE by Max Donovan

[monshanjik]

A FRESH YOUNG FACE

By Max Donovan

The cowboy was adrift in the sea of Los Angeles, never suspecting that
one brief meeting on the street would rocket him to fame.

Victor Cavelti, the fashion designer, tossed the portfolio of
photographs on my desk.

"None of these will do," he said flatly. "They look like ordinary
department store photos, and the models are insipid to the point of
boredom!" He turned on his heel to leave, and I followed him toward the
door.

"But Mr. Cavelti," I pleaded, "your account is very important to me —
I'm sure we can work something out."

He turned on me, inches away, his brown eyes smoldering. "I told you
that I have to have a fresh young face for this campaign. My new line of
bikini briefs must be introduced by an intensely masculine model with
just a hint of vulnerability. But you've given me the same old hackneyed
faces that I could have found in any standard modeling agency in Los
Angeles. I came to you because you have a reputation for creative
photography."

He had reached the front door before I could grab him by the elbow. "You
still have one month before your publication deadline, Mr. Cavelti. I'm
sure I can come up with suitable pictures within the next couple of
weeks."

He pushed my hand from his arm. "You have one week, Andrews. That's
final." Thrusting his aquiline nose into the air, he burst through the
door and disappeared.

My stomach churned as I slumped into the chair behind the desk. The
rejected eight by tens lying before me represented weeks of work. Now
they were trash. Cavelti was an arrogant bastard, and I hated him for
putting me through this. But he was also a popular designer, and getting
the account for his new line of briefs would be a feather in my cap.

My last words to him had been pure bluff. I didn't know where I could
find the fresh new model that he wanted. Perhaps such a person didn't
exist. I had been stalling for time, and he sensed it.

After several frantic phone calls to modeling agencies, I decided to
take a lunch break. Perhaps a leisurely meal would calm me down.

My black mood deepened as I walked back to my studio near Hollywood
Boulevard. Cavelti's account seemed like a total loss. Besides, my rent
was due in a couple of weeks, and I didn't know whether I could pay it
or not. Things had never looked darker.

As I turned the corner, a rumpled cowboy stepped in front of me. He was
just another bizarre denizen of Tinsel Town. "Can you spare me a
quarter, mister?" he asked.

Although I usually accommodate such requests automatically, my sour mood
got the better of me, and I lost my temper. "Why don't you get a job!" I
snapped.

His pale blue eyes flared beneath the brim of his Stetson. "I'm willin'
to work. You got a job for me?"

For the first time, I saw that he was actually very young. His dark
brown hair fell in soft curls around his handsome face. Sparse stubble
covered his cheeks and chin. He was tall, at least six feet, and his
denim jacket and tight jeans gave the impression of a slender, powerful
build. A desperate plan began to glimmer at the back of my mind. Maybe I
could pay the rent after all.

"How old are you?" I asked.

"Nineteen," he drawled. Then his full lips broke into an easy smile,
revealing an even row of flawless teeth.

"You're a handsome young man," I began. "I'm a professional
photographer. My studio is right down the street. I'll pay you fifty
dollars to pose for me . . . in the nude."

The words hung in the air between us like a dark cloud. His eyes widened
and then narrowed with anger. "What kinda crack is that, mister? I just
asked you for a quarter. I'm no hustler!"

"It will be a straight business deal." I pulled out my wallet and showed
him two twenties and a ten. "You pose for one hour and then leave . . .
no touching and no strings attached."

My tone had been unemotional and unemphatic. He cocked his head to the
right and hitched his hands into the rear pockets of his jeans.

"I haven't had me a decent meal in three days, mister. So if you're
shittin' me, get the hell out of my way!"

"Of course, you'll have to sign a model release."

"What's that?"

"It's just a formality that gives me the legal right to sell your
pictures."

"Who in the hell'd buy naked pictures of me?"

"I have a friend who markets nude pictures of men."

He shook his head slowly. "Oh no," he muttered. "I've never done nothin'
like that. I wouldn't want to get me that kind of a reputation."

"If you change your mind, here's my business card. My studio is half a
block down the street."

An hour later, as I was setting up a complicated shoot for a spaghetti
display ad, I heard someone come in through the front door. Impatient
that I was being interrupted, I went to the counter and discovered the
young cowboy slouched against the wall.

"Is that offer of yours still open?" he asked, nervously shuffling his
western boots.

"Sure," I said. "What made you change your mind?"

"I figure the exposure won't do me no harm. I hear tell Sylvester
Stallone started out in porno flicks. Besides, I need the money."

My spaghetti display would be ruined, but I figured I'd better strike
while the iron was hot. If the pictures of him turned out well, I could
get several hundred bucks for them, enough to pay my rent.

"Can you pose right now?" I inquired casually.

"Yeah," he said, "let's do it."

I locked the door and put the CLOSED sign in the window, explaining, "My
customers are always walking in, and we don't need an audience."

We went to the back. I moved the spaghetti aside and pulled down a gray
background of seamless paper.

"You can get undressed in there," I said, indicating a small room at the
back. "The light switch is inside the door. There's a robe in the
closet. Just take your things off and put the robe on until we're ready
to shoot. There's a bathroom, too, if you need to use it. I'll get the
lights set up."

He disappeared, and I set a large strobe in an umbrella at the right, a
reflector at the left, and a small, diffused fill-in flash on the
camera. Then I turned on some soft music, and as I was loading my film
magazine, I heard the shower running.

He emerged from the dressing room, freshly showered and shaved, wearing
a dark blue robe, which descended halfway, down his thighs. His legs
were well formed, and his waist was slender.

"Before we start, let's get the model release signed," I said, handing
him the printed form.

He read it and signed his name in bold black letters at the bottom of
the page: Lonnie Fairchild.

"Do you have any identification, Mr. Fairchild?"

"I've got a Wyomin' driver's license."

"Show it to me, please."

He returned in a moment with the license, and I saw that his name
checked with his I.D. He had also told the truth about his age.

"'You can put this away now," I said, jotting his license number on the
model release.

When he came back, I turned off the overhead illumination, so that I
could study the effect of the modeling lights on his poses. "Give me the
robe and stand in the center of the paper."

He slowly slipped the robe open and off, revealing a well muscled,
sharply defined physique which was slender rather than heavy.

"Are you an athlete?" I asked.

"I do gymnastics, lift weights, ride in rodeos."

His passive penis was uncircised, with a fleshy foreskin that drooped
well below the glans. His balls were large, and swayed pendulously in
their loose sac. I tossed the robe on a chair and studied his image on
the ground glass.

"You look wonderful," I said, trying to put him at ease. "Just listen to
the music and imagine you're alone on a beautiful warm beach. You can
feel the sun and the wind, and smell the sea air. You feel very
sensuous, and glad to be alive. Then move slowly through various
positions: standing, kneeling, sitting, and so forth."

Catching the rhythm of the music, he moved easily with no further
direction. He had a flair for the dramatic and a natural feeling for
striking a strong, attractive pose. The effect was totally erotic. I
could hardly believe my eyes, and I snapped my shutter repeatedly,
trying to grab the intoxicating essence of his masculinity. He tossed
his head back and pinched his left nipple. Then he turned his back and
spread his legs apart, arms akimbo, letting his long, loose scrotum show
beneath the tapered cheeks of his ass. His balls sagged very low, the
left one lower than the right. Thrusting his butt out, he cupped his
buns with his hands, spreading them slowly open, revealing the sweep of
curly brown hair around the puckered hole.

The soft electronic flashes blazed, and I felt a fresh infusion of blood
pounding in my groin. Then he faced me, squatting on the paper, and I
crouched to catch the lovely curve of his ass behind his cock and balls.
Sitting down, he turned to the side, drew his legs up, and looked
directly at the camera with a smile that could have melted an iceberg. A
moment later, his eyes became hard and defiant. He rose to his knees,
grasped the shaft of his cock, shook it a few times, skinned it back and
forth, revealing the flaring pink head. Gradually, the whole shaft
curved upward into full erection, the perfect image of the uncut tool.
Then he turned toward the camera, lay back on his elbows, spread his
legs apart, grasped the base of his cock with his right hand to push it
upright, and reaching under his ass with his left hand, he spread his
butt cheeks open, letting his fingertips touch the edge of the tight
little hole.

"My God," I gasped, "you're really hot! Stand up and give me a few shots
with that big hard on."

He stood, showing his throbbing rod in profile, and flashing a dazzling
smile. Then he turned in the opposite direction and projected a
smoldering, intense look of wanton lust. He posed easily, giving me
exactly the slick, commercial shots that gay magazines thrive on. His
scrotum was very loose, and he wrapped his index finger and thumb around
the top of the brownish bag, causing the heavy balls to bulge through
the glistening skin. He licked his lips lasciviously, touched his index
finger to his tongue, and then touched his fingertip to the moist slit
at the top of his cock, stringing out the pre- for six inches.

"I'm also a contortionist," he said, sitting on the floor, "but I can
only hold this for a few seconds, so crouch down and be ready to snap
it."

Then he put his right leg behind his right shoulder and neck, and with a
supreme effort, passed his left leg behind his left shoulder and neck,
too, so that his legs crossed behind his head. He then raised himself up
off the floor on his hands. It was a spectacular shot, because it showed
his asshole, balls, and cock, topped off by his glittering smile.

Only moments later, he slowly unwound from the tortuous position and
collapsed on the floor. The posing had exhausted him. I grabbed the robe
and threw it over his shoulders.

"You'd better rest," I said. "You can lie down on the couch over there."
He rose with difficulty, and I helped him over to the couch. "How long
has it been since you've eaten?" I asked.

"I had a little bread and wine last night."

"I have some coffee perking up in front, and I'll get something from the
delicatessen for you."

When I got back with some hot soup and a corned beef sandwich, he was
asleep. I didn't have the heart to awaken him, so I let him doze. I put
the food on the table in front of him, and then he turned over. His robe
fell open, exposing his chest and genitals. He was so attractive that I
wanted to caress his private parts, but he was still asleep, and without
his consent, it would have been like rape. Besides, we had agreed there
would be no touching. Still, he was ten years younger than I, and he
looked so innocent, so inviting. I touched his chestnut hair. It was
soft and fine. But I resisted the urge to go farther, wrapped the robe
around him, and went up front.

At closing time, I locked my front door and went back into the studio.
Lonnie was sitting up eating the sandwich.

"Do you want some coffee with that?" I asked.

"That'd be great."

I returned with the coffee and sat down beside him. "You're a fabulous
model," I said.

He looked at me and blinked. "You think the pictures are any good?"

"I know they are. You sure had me excited."

"You're pretty good lookin' yourself," he said, patting me lightly on
the shoulder.

Why does his touch send shivers up my spine? I can't get involved with a
homeless tramp like him. My business is barely making it, and I have
more important things to worry about. Everybody has problems, and I
can't be a nursemaid to all the down-and-outs of the city. He's just
another pretty face in a dog-eat-dog world. Besides he's already given
me what I want, and now I have to get rid of him.

"I've closed up shop now," I said. "Here's your fifty dollars."

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, stood, and took the bills
from me. "Thank you kindly. Life on the streets is really the pits." He
glanced toward the dressing room. "How come you got all that underwear
in there?"

"They're samples from a client. Go ahead and take a pair for yourself."

I followed him into the dressing room and watched as he slipped into a
pair of white bikini briefs with horizontal red pinstripes. All at once
something clicked in the back of my head. The models for Cavelti had all
been circised, and I had put a modesty cup in the front of the briefs
to prevent their cocks from showing through the thin cotton tricot. I
had also used intense frontal lighting to give a modern high key effect.
But in the subdued light of the dressing room, Lonnie suddenly looked
perfect in the clinging fabric. The fleshy foreskin over the tip of his
cock made a soft, indistinct bulge, and his huge balls gave a very
round, full, natural look, which I hadn't seen on the other models.
Suddenly I grew very excited.

"I want you to pose for a few more shots in those briefs. Come out into
the alley in the back," I instructed.

The alley was littered with packing crates and half-filled dumpsters,
and the sky was overcast but luminous. I set up a silver reflector at
the left to highlight his physique and a small bounce flash in front to
soften the shadows on his face.

He fell immediately into the mood that I wanted to create: he was the
macho cowboy with the great new bikini briefs, and he was showing them
off. We used an old packing crate and a brick wall as an offbeat
background for the trendy underwear. He put his hands on his hips and
gazed directly at the camera, his pale blue eyes looking liquid and
intense. He clasped his hands above his head, flexed his arms, and made
his stomach ripple. He placed his hands against the packing crate behind
him and thrust his hips forward, emphasizing his fully packed crotch. He
rested his right knee on the wooden crate, folded his arms across his
chest and looked off toward his left. He sat on the edge of the crate,
spread his legs, and leaned back, supporting his weight on his hands. He
was the epitome of masculinity, yet apparently unaware of his classical
sculptured looks, which were powerfully emphasized by the soft side
lighting.

"Thanks, Lonnie, you may have saved my skin. Come back inside. You can
put your clothes on now."

We went inside, and he looked at me with more than casual interest.
"There's something I've wanted to do ever since I met you," he said.

"What's that?"

Slowly, he wrapped his arms around my neck and drew me into a warm
embrace. Suddenly, all of my internal defenses collapsed, and I became
totally lost in the passion and longing of mutual desire. It had been
months since I had surrendered to the impulse, and I caught my breath in
short gasps.

"I wanted to — touch you — when you were sleeping — but I didn't think —
you'd like it," I whispered.

"I never held a man like this before. Wanted to for a long time, but
back in Wyomin', most people get mighty upset if they know you like
men."

I pulled him down onto the couch and wrapped my arm around his
shoulders. "How long have you been here?"

"Three days; three long days. I was hopin' to get me a job bein' a stunt
man in the movies, but I got robbed at gunpoint and lost all my money. I
can't go home, 'cause I had this big fight with my uncle. He said if I
left; I wouldn't be welcome back."

I drew him into an embrace and pushed his head against my shoulder. He
moaned softly and relaxed.

"Is it okay if I hold you like this?" I whispered.

He wrapped his arms around me. "Yeah, it feels real good, like somebody
cares about me for a change."

His flesh was wonderfully supple and warm beneath my touch. I caressed
his back and thighs, and he arched forward and sighed softly. Then, I
brushed his nipples and cupped my hand around the bulge in his crotch,
pulling him gently over so that he was lying on his back. Kneeling
beside him, I pulled the skimpy briefs down and off. He lay inert, not
knowing what to expect. My hand trembled as I grasped his spongy cock.
It filled my grip with its rubbery mass, and I took the end of it into
my mouth and swirled my tongue inside the loose foreskin. The shaft
quickly throbbed to full erection, and I slipped my lips and tongue over
the flaring head. He grasped my wrist.

"That feels so good," he muttered. "I didn't know it could be this way."

Then my lips fell upon his delicate scrotum, and I sucked gently until
both of his balls were inside my mouth. It suddenly seemed to me that I
had captured the very soul of his manhood, the heart of his masculinity
and power. And it amazed me that anyone as handsome as Lonnie would
allow me to touch him. My tongue glided over his balls and I nibbled
softly at the thin tissue, which encased them. Lonnie stroked the back
of my neck.

"That feels great," he murmured softly. I undressed and lay down beside
him.

"Oh," he muttered. "I've never seen a grown man's hard on in real life
before. It's beautiful." And then he tentatively felt the shaft of my
cock and the balls underneath it. "What's your name?" he whispered
dreamily.

"Brad — Brad Andrews."

Our lovemaking continued at a leisurely pace, ending not in orgasm but
in a long embrace, which I found totally satisfying. Just holding him
felt so fulfilling that anything else seemed anticlimactic.

After a long time, Lonnie whispered, "Brad, I got a real bad need to
jerk off. My balls are really achin'!"

"There's another way." I got a rubber out of my wallet, opened it, and
rolled it onto his turgid rod. It was the type with a lubricated end.
Then I straddled his hips and pushed the tip of his cock between the
cheeks of my butt. "I haven't done this for a long time, so I'm kind of
out of practice." I sat back, and his cock slowly pushed my sphincter
open, sending a hot flush over my stomach, chest, and throat. Gradually,
I felt a delicious sense of fullness.

"It's so big, Lonnie, I don't know whether I can get it all in." The
throbbing shaft plowed slowly into me, pushing my channel wide open,
making me feel lightheaded and giddy. Finally, my distended bung reached
the base of his rod, and I bore down, contracting my butt muscles as
hard as I could. "How does that feel?" I asked huskily.

"Oh, God," he gasped. "You're squeezin' my cock with your ass. I can't
believe it — feels so good I don't ever want to take it out."

I lay forward upon his chest and wrapped my arms around his neck. "Go
ahead, Lonnie," I urged.

His shallow thrusts gradually grew deeper until he was slamming hard
into me. He would slowly pull his cock almost all the way out and then
shove its full length quickly in, making me gasp for air. My cock and
balls rubbed against his stomach with each thrust, and his gentle
caresses opened me totally to his sweet assault. After some time, I
reached behind me and fingered his balls. His scrotum had grown thicker
and tighter.

"Your balls are tightening up," I said.

"Yeah. But oh, Jesus, that feels good when you play with my old nuts
like that."

I lightly squeezed and pulled his balls, and he wrapped his arms around
me in a powerful embrace. Gradually, his scrotum grew thick and rubbery,
and he was gasping and shuddering.

"You close to coming?" I asked.

"Yeah."

I sat up and jerked on my cock as hard as I could. It erupted in a
geyser of just as Lonnie gasped that he too was shooting his load.
Totally spent, I fell forward and snuggled into his warm embrace.

"That was somethin' else," he gasped. "Thank you." He trembled and drew
his breath with difficulty. Then I saw that there were tears in his
eyes. "Thank you. Brad."

"It feels so good to hold you like this and share these moments," I
whispered. "You've made me feel alive and loved again." I kissed his
eyelids and rubbed my fingertips at the nape of his neck. "Do you mind
that I'm ten years older than you?"

He said nothing for a moment. Then he whispered, "Age don't matter,
Brad, not if two people understand each other and feel close."

"I didn't intend that this would happen, but I'm glad it did."

As we lay enfolded in each other's arms, he seemed small and vulnerable,
as though he could easily be hurt. Suddenly, I remembered photographing
him in the nude, and I felt uncomfortable and guilty about it. Had I
exploited him because of his poverty?

His tears gradually subsided. He sucked in his breath and hugged me
hard. "I sure feel really good — better'n I have for a long time." His
fingertips strayed through my hair, and he pulled my cheek against the
soft curve of his. "And I guess I'm wonderin' whether I'll ever see you
again."

"Would you like that?"

"Yeah, I would. But my whole life is so mixed up right now — I don't
know what's happenin' from day to day."

I hadn't been involved with anyone for a long time, because I kept
telling myself that I was too busy. But maybe 1 was just making excuses.
Maybe I had really been running away from love. "Would you like to stay
here for awhile?" The words were out before I realized it. They
surprised me because I'm usually so cautious.

"I can't do that. I need to get me a job and a place of my own."

"How far can you go on fifty dollars?" He said nothing for a long time.

"There's a bathroom here, and I've got a hot plate and refrigerator.
There's a laundry around the corner. You can sleep on the couch, and you
won't have to live on the streets and risk getting robbed again."

"You mean it?" he asked. "I sure wouldn't want to impose."

"Of course I mean it. And you wouldn't be imposing. You can help out by
sweeping the floor, answering the phone, setting up my equipment."

"But what about us?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, hell — this started out as strictly business — but what is it
now? What if I can't find work right away, and you get tired of havin'
me hangin' around? What happens when you photograph the next guy in the
nude? Do you kick me out on my ass?"

His words cut into me like a knife. "You're the only man I've ever
photographed in the nude. Business has been bad lately, and I was just
trying to pick up some fast cash. My real business is commercial
photography, not taking nude photos. I'll probably never do this again."

"You're not involved with anyone else?"

"I haven't been for a long time. I guess I'm pretty insecure about
intimate relationships."

"Yeah, I understand what you mean. This is startin' to get pretty
complicated. Maybe we better just take this one step at a time. But I
sure would like to stay here for a few days if it's all right." His lips
brushed mine. "What do you say?"

Two days later, after the enlargements of Lonnie in the briefs were
finished, I called Mr. Cavelti over to inspect the results. He swept
through the front door with his usual haughty brusqueness.

"I hope you're not wasting my time again, Andrews!"

"I think you'll like these shots," I said genially. "They're based on a
totally new concept."

I ushered him back to my desk and showed him the sixteen by twenty
enlargements of Lonnie's poses in the alley. Cavelti took the first
photo in his hands and stared in total fascination. Then he inspected
the others, and his expression softened to a radiant smile.

"These are fabulous," he exclaimed. "I love the contrast between the
dark brick wall and my sophisticated design. The briefs really stand out
against the background. And the model is fantastic. How did you do it?
The lighting is absolutely superb."

I cleared my throat and put on an authoritative air. "It was a very
difficult shoot, actually. We had to set up several cheesecloth
diffusion screens and wait hours for the perfect sunlight."

This was not true, of course, but I figured Cavelti would appreciate my
work more if he thought it involved great technical innovation.

"Who is the model?" Cavelti asked. "He's like a young Hercules or Apollo
on an ancient Greek coin. His form is so palpable. It's as though I
could reach out and touch him. Really, I must meet him as soon as
possible and congratulate him on the wonderful mood that he brings to
your work. He fills the bikini so . . . perfectly!" His florid lips
curled around his yellow teeth in an obscene grin.

Lonnie appeared at the entrance to the studio in the rear behind
Cavelti's back, and I signaled him to remain silent.

"The young man is a college student in another state, and he prefers to
remain anonymous for the time being."

Lonnie retreated silently.

Cavelti looked crestfallen, as he continued to stare at the
enlargements. "Well, he's absolutely perfect for my campaign. I want to
sign each of you to a three year contract. My offer will be in the mail
by the end of the week." Then he hesitated and added in a strangled
whisper, "May I take these photos with me, so that my art department can
get busy on them right away?"

"Of course, Mr. Cavelti."

He put the photos between two hinged cardboards, tucked them under his
arm, and swept out the front door, humming an old Neapolitan tune.

"Why did you lie to him like that?" Lonnie asked, approaching me
hesitantly.

"Didn't you see Cavelti drooling over your pictures? He wanted to meet
you so that you would become his next little playmate . . . in bed."

Sudden shock registered on Lonnie's face. "You're not serious!"

"I'm very serious. He has a reputation for chasing young guys. He even
put the moves on me, until I made it clear that I wasn't interested. But
what about his business offer? Do you want to sign a contract and stick
around for awhile?"

"Sure, but I wouldn't have to sleep with Cavelti, would I?"

"Not if you don't want to."

"Good, 'cause I already have me a partner I like a lot." He put his
hands on my shoulders. "A lot."

"You're just a kid, you big stud, but I'll protect you from the evil
ways of the wicked city."

"Oh, yeah, and how are you gonna do that?"

"Well, the first thing we'll do is destroy the nude prints and negatives
that I made of you. I've got a hunch that you're going to have a great
career as a legitimate fashion model. And who knows, modeling may lead
to better things in movies or TV."

"This contract with Cavelti is mighty big, isn't it?"

"Yes, and I had lost all hope of getting it until you showed up. Thanks,
cowboy!"

"You really do care about me, don't you? I mean, you're gettin' rid of
the nude pictures of me. And you're lettin' me stay here — so you must
care a little bit."

"Listen, just knowing you is a great joy to me. I haven't felt this good
for a long, long time. So all I want is for you to be happy, no matter
what happens to our relationship."

He dropped his hands onto my butt and squeezed both cheeks. "You want to
make love after we close up shop?"

"Sounds great. Making love with you is the sweetest, most beautiful
experience I've ever had. It's even a little frightening sometimes."

He drew me into an embrace. His arms were warm and strong. And I
suddenly realized that if I hadn't invited him to stay in my studio, I
would have lost both him and the contract with Cavelti. I never could
have found him again in the endless maze of Los Angeles. The thought
made me shudder, and I held him closer.

-------------------------
Thanks to original poster in Yahoo! gaymagazinefiction group!
Enjoy!