The Mostly True Tale of Seabass and Cash

by Flip McHooter

Ding dong.

Nothing. I rang the bell again.

Still no answer.

I was turning to bail when the door cracked open a foot or so.

"Hello? Something I can help you with, buddy?" a big, towering, half-naked guy with silver-dollar sized nipples asked from behind the fancy, carved wooden door. I couldn't see all of him, but it looked like I woke him up since his eyes were sleepy-looking, and his hair was a crazy tangle of dark-auburn locks sticking out like an old-school Russian satellite.

"Oh, wow. Um, hey. Sorry to bother you, dude. I was looking for Mrs. Peterson. Is she home by chance?" I asked. Even though he was big, he looked young, maybe my age.

"Sorry, buddy," he said, staring down at me while he quickly finger-combed his hair. It didn't seem to help much, not that it mattered. "Auntie's in Florida for a while. Something I can help you with?"

"Well, um, I don't know. Maybe. I'm Sebastian T. Reynolds, and I'm selling tickets to our summer musical at the Arts Center downtown. She always likes to go, and since this is a going to be one of the biggest ones we've ever done, I thought she'd want to know about it. You know, first, so she can get a good seat. It's next month, so maybe she'll be back by then?" I sort of half-asked.

After looking me up and down a couple more times, he came around the door. I practically fell backward off the porch, onto my ass in the overgrown ivy when I got a full look at him. Damn he was hot. Way hot. And cute, too!

"Well, Sebastian T. Reynolds, I'm sure she'd buy a couple of tickets off you, but she won't be back for a month or two, at least. I'm not sure when she'll be back, to tell you the truth. She's taking care of my granny while she goes through her chemo treatments. We sorta swapped houses for the summer."

"Oh. Sorry to hear about your grandmother. That must suck. Guess that's why I've never seen you before. Okay, then. Sorry to bother you," I waved, as I turned to leave again.

"Hey, don't go. Maybe I might buy a ticket. What are you guys doing?" I had to catch my breath. I'm no wimp, but he had to be at least six-four, half a foot taller than me. Broad shoulders and all muscle pushing through his tight black and red Marlin's gym shorts – the only thing he was wearing. And a fucking killer smile that made me smile right back at him. Kinda pissed me off – but I wasn't sure why. Dick.

"Um, we're doing Hairspray this time. It's gonna be way cool. I'm totally stoked because I'm playing Corny Collins."

"That's awesome. I saw that movie on cable. But isn't your hair kind of long for that part?"

"Yeah, yeah. I know. The old wigs they have in wardrobe didn't work, so I'm going to the barber tomorrow to get it hacked off. Ms. Abby, our director, says I'm getting a pompadour, whatever that is. Hate to do it, but…My guess is that it's gonna feel like the first legal cannabis harvest back there."

"You're weird, buddy. But funny. Too bad about the haircut. Long hair looks good on you. Anyway, you can always grow it back. C'mon in and help me find my wallet. I'll buy a couple of tickets. Auntie left me some cash for things like this. It's for a good cause, right?" He had a thick country accent that we didn't hear much of here on the West Coast. Mixed with his deep voice, I thought it was sexy.

"Oh, yeah, sure. The booster club always needs money," I laughed, "kinda like me." I followed him inside like I was in stasis, stuck inside some sort of tractor-beam. It was hard for me to take my eyes off his tight, meaty buns as he walked across the foyer. His little Debbie's looked amazing, because they weren't all that little. Damn, I could totally glaze those buns. Shit. I had to get a grip on myself. This guy could pound me into oblivion.

"Park your skateboard over there, and lock the door for me, okay?" he said over his shoulder.

"Sure," I said, thinking I should bail, going in a stranger's house and all. But I didn't. Couldn't. It was weird.

"How much are the tickets?" he asked, digging through a pile of clothes and other assorted crap stacked on a worn-out pool table sitting in the middle of the dining room. "Sorry. I got here yesterday morning, and I haven't unpacked yet. And the time change has totally messed me up."

"No worries, dude. Twenty, fifteen and ten, depending on where you want to sit. All the seats are good, though."

"Cool," he said, giving me the once-over again. "Give me two of the twenty dollar ones. Don't know anybody who would go with me, but I'm a big guy so I can spread out and get comfortable."

"Thanks. That helps a lot. I only have ten more to sell." I had no freaking idea why I said that last part. I took a look around the big house and was surprised that most of the furniture in the two front rooms had been pulled away from the wall, and all of the artwork was stacked against a long, icky-green old school couch. Before I could catch myself, I asked, "Hey, what's going on in here? I didn't realize we had another earthquake. Did I sleep through it like last time?"

"Damn. I hope not. I don't want to go through one of those things. Give me a hurricane any day. Least you know they're coming. Anyway, part of our agreement is that I get to stay here for the summer in exchange for painting Auntie's living and dining rooms. I've got this whole place all to myself for the summer. How cool is that?"

"That's sweet, dude. But, isn't that a lot of work for one person?"

"Not really. My dad's a painting contractor, and I work with him sometimes. I just have to figure out where the nearest hardware store is. Then it's easy peasy." His accent was so killer I could listen to him all day.

"I can show you – it's not far. But, yeah, I know how that goes. My uncle does kitchen remodels, and I've helped him and my gang of asshat older cousins out a time or three. Not my thing, though," I said, "being the weird, surfer outcast cousin and all."

"I hear ya. Sucks having to do family shit only because it's family. But I'm like you. I didn't have much choice, since where I live in rural Florida there aren't very many jobs for guys our age. How old are you?"

"Just turned eighteen. I would have graduated last month, but I flunked out of a stupid math class. So it's a do over for me this summer. But it's all good. If I had graduated, I wouldn't have been able to be in the play."

"Why'd you fail? Too busy surfing?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah. How'd you know? You a mind reader?"

"Your long hair, your tan, and that awesome wave tat on the inside of your ankle. For the record, I might be from the south, but I ain't no country cousin," he said, pushing the last part in the southern vibe he had going. It was strangely hornifying.

"Good to know. So, yeah. Awesome call. How about you? Play football?"

"No. Love to watch it, hate to play it."

"No way." That totally surprised me. "You must have royally pissed off your coach's. Dude, you're totally built for it," I said, getting a free pass to look him over again. I totally needed to get my shit together before he figures me out.

"True. Like I said, my dad keeps me busy after school and on weekends helping with the painting business. This is the first time I've had the summer free. Anyway, football's not my kind of sport. I was serious when I said I'd rather watch it than play it. I got my first concussion when I was nine, and after the second one, that did it for me."

"Smart move, dude, smart move. That CTE shit is bad business. We had a couple of guys on our high school team that got concussions. They both stopped playing. Too bad, because they rocked our team. So how did you get in such good shape?" I asked.

"Good genes, and a killer weight room in the garage. I have older, twin brothers who set it up a couple years before they joined the Marines."

"That's awesome. It's totally paid off."

"Thanks," he said.

We were quiet for an awkward minute, until I asked, "Your older brothers? They all good?" I could never figure out how to ask that 'shouldn't-be-difficult-but-it-is' kind of question about our service men and women. A good number of kids at my school had older brothers and sisters – even parents – in the military.

"They're great. On their third tour in Afghanistan. They love it. Tat's up the ying-yang, and they're both as big as a Humvee."

"I bet. That's cool." That was a relief. Didn't seem to happen that way for one of my surfing crew's older bro. "What else are you planning on doing here in L.A. this summer, besides painting?"

"Shit! I don't know what I did with my wallet," he said, totaling ignoring my question. "Maybe it's in the kitchen. I seriously need some caffeine. It seems like it's three in the morning, but the sun's shining like crazy. Want a cup of coffee or a Coke?"

"Sure. I'll take a Coke. But dude, it's almost noon. And this is California – the sun's always shining. You should have stayed up all night."

"Seriously? Is that how jetlag works? Shit. C'mon. Follow me. I do have something I want to do this summer, but I'm not sure I can pull it off," he laughed, and his face suddenly flushed. It caught me off guard. "It's kind of weird, and it might freak you out when I tell you."

"Why do you say that? What do you want to do? And dude, for the record, not much freaks me out. I live with my four-times divorced mom and, well, to be honest, a slutty older sister, so I've probably heard it all before."

"Good to know. Okay, so try this. But don't laugh. I want to model," he said, looking at me out the corner of his eye.

"Why would I laugh? You certainly have the looks for it. I mean, dude, looked in the mirror lately? A hundred-and-ten-year-old Vatican nun with cataracts riding a Vespa could see you're hot from two miles away. But yeah, I could see you doing something like underwear commercials, you know, like, um, what's that guy's name? Shit. I can't remember. The one that shaves his pits and has that nipple ring. Or maybe you could do a cologne ad in a men's magazine or something like that. You know, those black and white ones they do in GQ and Men's Health. I think they pay big bucks for those." God, I needed my mouth to shut the hell up. The problem was, this guy was pushing my buttons. All the sexy, hot ones. Shit.

"Maybe," he said, setting down a generic can of cola in front of me.

"Thanks." I took a sip, made an involuntary sour face and said, "Wow, this taste's, um, weird. Where did you get this? 1985? Is Mrs. Peterson a prepper?"

"I doubt there are many preppers in Los Angeles. I got it out of the fridge," he laughed. "Auntie is quite the cola connoisseur." He really spun that last word. It was awesome.

"Yeah, no shit. Hey! You never told me what kind of model you want to be."

"Promise you won't laugh?" he asked.

"Why would I laugh? I don't even know your freaking name," I joked, getting situated on a kitchen stool and plopping my elbows on the granite countertop. The barrier between us made me way more comfortable, but I wasn't sure why.

"Oh, yeah," he laughed. "Sorry. I'm bad about that. My real name's Rance Crawford, but everybody calls me Cash."

"Cash? Why do they call you that?"

"Because I ain't got none."

"Makes sense. I totally get it. I was a grom when one of the old guys I surf with once in a while named me Seabass. Kinda lame play on my name, but it took. Everybody but my mom calls me that," I said, sucking down more of the cold cola. "My sister calls me that only when she wants to squeeze something out of me. Otherwise, she calls me fish guts."

"That's awesome, buddy. I like it. Not the fish guts part, so much. I take it your sister's a…"

"Go on. You can say it. Bitch, pain in the ass, slut? She'd be the first to agree with all of them."

"Sorry, buddy. That must have been brutal."

"For me, yeah. Her, she reveled in it. But still, it's partly deserved. When we were younger, like, when I was ten or eleven, she was a cheerleader in high school. I used to sneak chili powder into her lucky satin panties before game day."

"Wow," he laughed. "Remind me never to piss you off, okay?"

"No worries, dude. But that's nothing compared to what she used to do to me. Anyway, Cash…what kind of model do you want to be?"

"You said you wouldn't laugh, right?"

"Yeah. I already told you that. No worries, bro, no worries," I said. "Fire away."

"Model isn't exactly the right word for what I want to do. I want to be a…oh God. You said you wouldn't laugh, right? I'm holding you to that. Okay. Here goes. I want to be a porn model. Actor. That type of thing."

"Seriously? Hoo-lee shit. Didn't see that one coming." I had to slap my hands on the counter. This was by far the weirdest – and most awesomist – thing I had ever heard. "That's freaking wicked, dude. Good for you. Have you done that before? Shit. You must be rocking some seriously righteous junk."

"Oh yeah, all the time," he said, his smiling face was even redder than it was before. I couldn't tell if he was joking, or not. But the dimple on the right side of his mouth had detonated, and it made him look, I don't know, kind of shy, but way sexy, too. "To be truthful, I haven't even had sex yet."

"No way," I yelled out into the starkly white kitchen. "No. Fucking. Way. You've got to be kidding me. You're good looking, and have a freaking killer body. How come you've never done the big nasty? I don't believe it," I said, because I didn't. "A virgin doing porn. Does that even happen? I mean, do you get like a boner or something for doing that? Um, wait. That's not what I meant," I snorted. "What I meant was, a bonus for doing that the first time on camera. You really are shitting me, right?"

"No, I swear," he said, holding up his palms. "Where I come from, there aren't a lot of folks our age. The largest city closest to us is forty-five miles away. And then the population is like only a hundred. Shit, we don't even have a Walmart close by. And there were only thirty-five kids in my senior class. Besides, after school, I always had work or chores to do. If you want to learn to drive a tractor or muck out a stall, I'm your man."

"Not sure what muck is exactly, but I get it I think. Still, all this, I don't know, just seems extreme to me. Doing porn and being a virgin and all. Damn, dude, you're one crazy mo-fo."

"Maybe, but I figured I could kill two birds with one bullet. I need to get laid, and I need the money. Fast. Both of them. But yeah, that's the truth."

"Now you're the one being weird. Bullet? I'm not sure that's how the saying goes," I laughed.

"True. But did you ever see someone hunt for birds with stones?"

"Good point, maybe on Vikings, but um, dude, you're trying to change the subject here. Tell me, Cash – oh wait! Wait a freaking second."

"What? What is it?"

"You need a killer-good porn name for your new profession. Do you have one?" I asked.

"Not really. I was just thinking I'd use my own. What's wrong with Rance Crawford?"

"Yeah…no. I don't think so. That's a great name and all, but do you want to use that? The real one? I mean, everybody back home will know that's you. I've lived here my whole life, in the shadow of Hollywood, and it doesn't always work out the way you think it will. Just ask my sister. Her pussy went viral in high school. Not a good thing. Besides, you don't want all that drama. I sure wouldn't. Unless, of course, you don't care."

"Good point. I'll rethink the name."

"So…lemme think for a minute here. Cash, that's a good, porny first name, but you need an equally good porny last name to go along with it. Have any ideas?"

"Honestly, no."

"Okay, try this. Tell me, Cash Porker, oh wait, wait a second here. This one's way better. Cash Porkenstein. Yeah, that's the one. Hilarious and hot all at the same time."

"Hey," he said, shining his great killer smile again. "I love it."

"So, Cash Porkenstein, how do you plan this crazy endeavor of yours? Are you going to drive all around the Valley looking for porn producers? Because I'm totally sure they're standing along the sidewalks on Sherman Way with a lukewarm Starbucks in their hand, just waiting for you to finally pull up. And then what are you going to do? Whip out your dick and show them how hard it gets? How big it is? Seems kind of sketchy to me, dude. Just sayin'. I'm pretty sure that's not how it works."

"I don't know, exactly. I didn't get that far yet," he muttered. "I googled some stuff, but all I got was a bunch of post office boxes, and well, other weird websites, like with whips and shit."

"What's wrong with that? Shoot 'em an email, and see what they say. I'm sure they can find you the correct position for your, um, talents, you know, if you're not into whips and shitting on people."

"You're funny. But you know what I mean."

"Seriously though, you should set up an email with your stage name, you know, now that you're Cash Porkenstein. I can help you with that. That way you can sorta test the waters without dipping your stick, so to speak."

"Yeah, I'm going to do that. You're smart. Maybe you can help me out with something else. I mean, well, I don't know anyone here in L.A., except you. I'd really like it if you would. I didn't think this was going to be so complicated, and I don't know anybody else to ask out here. You're the only one I know."

"We can sort it out, dude, sure. But yeah, I'm game. Let's do it. This might be fun. What do you need me to do? Where should we start?" I asked. "I've got all afternoon."

"Okay, here goes. One thing I couldn't figure out was how to take a decent picture of myself. You know, a selfie, but naked. Maybe with, uh, with a boner? We have one mirror in the small bathroom all of us share back home, and well, the lighting sucks, and um, I just couldn't get a good picture. I tried, but they didn't come out very well. Everything came out too dark. Even with the flash. I tried doing it out in the woods, on our tractor, but I almost got busted by my neighbor. You think you could take some of me with my phone? That way I can attach them to my email. They want to see your package along with a photo of your driver's license to make sure you're legit."

Oh, fuck. Did I hear him right? Was this dude going to get naked and bone-up in front of me while I take pictures of him? Somehow, when I wasn't paying attention, I must have died and gone to the second level of hell. Still, there was no way I was going to say no.

"Um, yeah. I could do that for you. But I don't think all of them should all be nude. You need to tease 'em a little, you know? Get 'em all worked up before the big reveal. I think, sometimes, at least for me, half-naked is sexier than all naked. Do you have some underwear that shows off your, well, assets, I guess you'd say? Maybe a ripped up, worn out pair of jeans and a super-tight old t-shirt?"

"Oh yeah, those are brilliant ideas. I got that stuff. Everything I own is either too old or too tight. That's why I need to make some money. What else do you think would work? What's my best side?" he asked, awkwardly turning around in the middle of the kitchen, all the while smiling his shiny white teeth at me in a, well, funny way. Like maybe he didn't smile very often. Made my heart pulse, and I was turned on even more.

"Well, to be honest, you're way hot. All around. But for me, if you want my honest opinion…"

"I do, I do. I trust you, buddy. Just tell me. I can take it."

"Okay. Here goes. You've got a mother-fuckin' killer ass. Just sayin'. You should show that off. On the other hand, you're kind of stiff. You know, when you move around. You should try and be more fluid. Do you know how to dance? Have a favorite song?"

"I can dance great, when I'm all liquored up," he joked. "Especially when something by Florida Georgia Line is on the radio."

"Somehow, I don't doubt that. We all think we have moves when we're wasted. But I'm pretty sure you can't be drunk on the set. So there's something else we can work on. Maybe you can go surfing with me. You'll learn to move right away. You know how to swim?"

"Oh, yeah. That would be great. I have an idea. How about this? Should I get up on the pool table? Maybe on my hands and knees and look back over my shoulder at the camera? I've got some lime green and black boxer-briefs that would work perfectly. They're kinda small."

I couldn't say anything. My mind had blown a gasket, and I could feel my back getting uncomfortably tingly and sweaty.

"What? That's too weird? Tell me? Maybe something else?" he asked when I didn't say anything.

"Okay, stop. Just…stop. Stop right there, dude. Put the brakes on," I said, holding up my hand. I took a couple of deep breaths, and tried to nonchalantly rearrange my throbbing dork in my board shorts. "You gotta hold on here a second. I need you to know something before we go any further, because I can't hold this inside me any more, without exploding into bits all over your kitchen."

"Okay, what is it? Did I do something wrong?"

"No. Not you. Dude. If we're gonna do this, we need full disclosure first. Just so you know, I'm the G in LGBTIQ and whatever other letters were added in the last week. What you said about being on the pool table like that in your chonies almost made me shoot off in my shorts. So, if I freak out, that's why. I hope that's not a problem for you. We still cool?"

"Of course we're cool. I figured you were gay the minute I saw you smiling at me out front. Well, maybe not right away. I was too busy checking you out, too. So, buddy, like you say, full disclosure: I'm the B in all those letters you rattled off. Not sure what they all mean, but I think I'm a B, heavy on the G. Like a B-minus, maybe? But like I said, I haven't had sex yet so I don't know for sure if I even have a letter yet."

"Whew. Okay, that's good," I said, relieved. "But dude, that brings up a whole shit-load of other questions, starting with…are you going to have sex with a guy, or a girl, or both? What's your fantasy partner? What do you think about when you're rubbing one out?" I surprised myself talking so bluntly about this kind of stuff with a dude I met fifteen minutes ago.

"Well, see… It's strange. I could never talk to my friends about any of these things. They're kinda redneck, and I sure as heck couldn't talk to my brothers about something like this. But with you…it's easy. You're super easy to talk to. I like that. Okay, here goes. I love my dick. I love to play with my dick. And I'd like a guy to play with my dick, and I'd play with his dick, too. That sounds hot."

"Agreed. I'll second that motion. What else?" I asked, sticking my hand in my pocket and shuffling Richard and the twins around again.

"All the guys at school like looking at boobs, and well, I think I like boobs, too. At least looking at them. Maybe feel them up?"

"Okay, good. What else?"

"Well, buttfucking. I think I'd enjoy getting plowed by a hot guy. Don't you?"

"Oh, man. I guess I do, but to be honest, I think I'd rather be the top man. Since we're being truthful here, I'll tell you this. I tried out one of my sister's dildos once, but I didn't like it all that much. I think I'd prefer to do the plowing."

"Eww. That's gross, being your sister and all," he said, making a face.

"Why?" I asked. "I washed it first and then bleached it. Plus, as cheap as she is, she probably got it second-hand from one of her friends, or who knows, from the Goodwill. Ripped it off from a Madame somewhere? I don't know. With her you never know. She's a rebel in her own mind."

"Okay. Guess California is going to take some getting used to."

"Maybe, but why? Aren't you out here to make it big in the porn business? It's just sex. Like my friend Mary Jane told me a while ago, if you can't talk about it without wigging out – I'm paraphrasing here – then you shouldn't be doing it. Isn't it about time to take it for a joyride?"

"Yeah. You're right. Thanks for the wake-up call. You're right. So, um. Joyride? You haven't done it either, I take it? Fucked a guy, I mean? Or, well, anybody, for that matter?"

"No. Like you, I still have my V-card dangling around my dick. My mom and my sister know I'm gay, and my best friend Mary Jane does too. But it's not cool being a gay surfer. And, well, it's just easier at school not being out. I can't wait to test drive it, though."

"Makes sense. But I don't want to wait any longer. It's time," he said, the real smile back on his face.

"Okay. Back to the porn. You realize that there'll be lots of people watching you when you film your scenes, right? Like camera operators, directors, sound and lighting, makeup artists, fluffers, too. I can go on and on. Can you keep it hard in a busy situation like that?"

"Seriously? That's a lot of people. How many are you talking about?" he asked, the color draining from his face. "I'm not so sure I can do it in front of a bunch of folks like that. And what the heck is a fluffer? I think I might have to rethink the virgin part. Maybe I need to know more about how to do it first. I wouldn't want to look stupid in front of all those professionals. It'd end up being more like a porn sitcom."

"Hey. You might be on to something there. But that makes sense. So, let's do this: Let's take some photo's for now, and you can figure out the experience part later on. What kind of phone do you have?"

"I have a cool flip phone. It's blue."

"Um, really? See, I think that could be your problem. I don't think those take very good pictures. We can use mine. I got a new one for my birthday, and it takes awesome pictures," I said.

"Great. Okay, how should we do this?" I could tell he was getting excited again, because he was shuffling back and forth on the balls of his feet. "You want to be the director and tell me what to do? How to pose?"

I wanted to say, "Shit, yeah! That's a stupid question," but instead I said, "Sure, I can do that. Let's try this. Put on the clothes we were talking about earlier, and then you can peel them off as we go along. Maybe if we play some of that Georgia Lineman stuff, you can move around to that. We'll figure out how to make it look real sexy."

"Okay," he laughed, "but it's Florida Georgia Line. FGL for short."

"Oh. Can't say I've ever heard of them before. I don't think L.A. is a big enough market for country music. What's their biggest hit? I'll find it and play it while you get dressed."

"They're all great, but try this one: This Is How We Roll. You might have heard that one before."

He got busy looking through his pile of clothes, while I searched Pandora for FGL. I was surprised how many songs they had. I found the one he liked, and as soon as it started playing, I thought I recognized it. It was an interesting country-rap mashup.

"How's this?" he asked. When I turned around to look at him, I had to stifle a gasp. While he looked hot almost naked in his big, black Marlins shorts, wearing clothes made him even sexier. They honestly were too tight, like he said, and didn't leave much to the imagination. Good for me.

"Turn around. Show me your butt. Yeah, like that. You look hot, dude," I said, slipping into some weird porno mode. "You still want to use the pool table as a backdrop?"

"Sure. Why not?"

"Sick. Let's move your gear off of it. Does your aunt have any pool cues?"

"Yeah, over there in that closet. Grab one while I pile all this stuff in the corner. That way, it will give us sort of a blank canvas in here. What do you think?"

"I think it'll look awesome. I'm gonna open up the blinds so we get some natural light in here. Can the neighbors see in here?" I asked as I went to the big sliding glass door in the back. "Yuck, dude. What happened to the pool? It looks like a freaking swamp."

"Yeah, I know," he said, adjusting his crotch in his two-sizes-too-small 501's over his sturdy hips. "I gotta fix the pump and then shock the pool. Easy-peasy."

"If you say so. Want to start with breaking the balls?"

"Oh, man, getting sexy right off, huh?"

"That wasn't my intention, but yeah," I half-laughed, half-snorted. "You do know how to play pool, right?"

"Oh, yeah," he said as he started sinking the balls into the pockets with relative ease.

I took a few pics of him as he wound his way around the table. I purposely took the majority from behind, and to the side, because his hind-quarters were so big and tight, and honestly, I couldn't take my eyes off them. "Lean over like you're taking a tough shot. Stick your butt out more, okay?"

"Like this?" he asked, surprising me how quickly he complied.

"Awesome, dude. But slide your jeans and boxer-briefs down lower, so your crack is almost showing. Get up on the table more, like you're making a super-tricky shot. Maybe a leg on the table?"

I took maybe a dozen more shots, when he said, "Hey! How about this?" He started to grind around to the music, when another country song he knew came on, while at the same time holding the cue between his legs and working his shirt up his stomach. The black band of his boxer-briefs was showing, and he had hiked up his way-too-tight blue Florida Gators t-shirt exposing those beautiful, huge nipples. He looked hotter than hot.

"Damn, dude. You're a natural at this. Turn around and shake that killer ass of yours. Close your eyes and listen to the music, okay? Pretend I'm not here," I said.

After a couple of shots, I had to stop and rearrange my dork again, causing me to groan. Cash caught me and asked, "You're getting into this, aren't you?"

"Sorry. That sound was freaky, wasn't it? Okay, so listen, if I get into creepy porn photographer mode again, let me know. I'm gonna direct you and keep the comments to myself, okay? That cool?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm all yours, buddy. What should I do next? Want to see my ass now?"

"Um, yeah, but not yet," I stuttered. Geez. I couldn't remember the last time I was this horny. "Why don't you take your shirt off, and maybe flex a little. Maybe work the cue like it's your dick."

"Okay." He quickly peeled off his shirt and started to move around with the pool cue between his legs. It was steamy to watch, and it reminded me of a novice stripper in that Magic Mike movie. As I was taking more pictures, he surprised me when he turned around and bent over, running the pool cue in and out between his legs. "Dude, that's wicked. You might have found your calling here."

"You think?"

"Yeah, you seem like a natural."

"Think I can make some big money?"

"Possibly. I don't know how that part works. But dude, you're not embarrassed doing this stuff in front of me? I'm not sure I could do it."

"No. It's fun. It's strange, I guess because I've never done this before. It's like I'm free for the first time in my life."

"That's awesome. I think it will show up in the pictures. Why don't you start slipping out of your jeans? I think I have enough good shots of you playing pool."

"Okay." He casually slid out of his jeans, and then stuck his hand inside the green pouch of his boxer-briefs, moving his hard cock to the side. There was a small stain in the front where it looked like he leaked some dick juice. Apparently, this was turning him on just as much as it was turning me on.

I took a couple more pictures of him posed next to the pool table, his hands crossed over his buff chest, his hard dick straining the tight green fabric trying to get free. He was watching me now, with a grin, and I could tell he was enjoying himself as he showed off for me. It made my balls twitch. Next thing I photographed was Cash slowly, and I mean slowly, peeling down the front of his boxer-briefs, showing off his nicely trimmed, dark auburn bush.

"God, dude, that looks hot!" I said. "You're groomed and everything."

"Want to see more?"

"Yeah, let's get to the good stuff."

He pulled the elastic band out, and down, securing the black-striped elastic under his big, droopy balls, making his rock-hard cock stick straight up. It slapped hard against his toned stomach, making both of us laugh. It was an amazing sight.

"Do you think it's big enough?" he asked seriously.

"What? Your dick? Oh, yeah, dude, yeah. Not too big and not too small. Just the right size, in my opinion. I don't like looking at porn with guys that have freakishly huge dicks."

"Good. I was worried it might be too small."

"No, dude, no way."

"What about my ass?" he asked, with another wicked grin. "Want to see it?"

"Um, yeah. That's why we're here, right?" I said.

"Exactly." Cash stepped all of the way out of his boxer-briefs, his boner swinging around like Harry Potter's wand, and grinned once more at me as he slowly turned around. I let out a sigh when I saw those perfectly sculptured mounds of hot man meat come into view. I'm an ass man, and shit, he had the meatiest, hardest globes of man ass that I'd ever seen.

"Damn, dude. How did you get those ass cheeks so hard? They look outrageous."

"Lots and lots of squats. Pretty much every day since I was thirteen when my older brothers taught me how to work out," he said.

"Well, it sure paid off. You're rocking it."

"Thanks." After a weird, quiet pause, he said, "Um, I know this is about me, but buddy, you look like you're about to blow into your board shorts. Why don't you take them off? Maybe I can take some pictures of you."

"Seriously? I don't think so. I'm not all that."

"But you are, Sebastian. You're really cute, and your long hair looks sexy on you. Plus, you have a nice tan. Maybe, if you want…we could…I don't know. Mess around a little? You looking at me has made me super horny, and, well…Part of my plan was to finally get some, so why don't you and I do it?"

"Um, I don't know."

"Come on. Your first and my first. Seem's like it's the perfect time. Let's do it," Cash said nervously.

"I don't know," I said again, because I didn't. I wanted too, but I didn't know what was holding me back. Confliction had always been my enemy.

"Let's do it. I want to make out with you. Right here, right now. It'll be great, I promise. We can both learn together. I won't pressure you into anything you don't want to do."

"I guess," I finally said, trying to push out all the clashing vibes going on in my head. "But I don't want to take pictures. That's all right for you, but for me, not me so much."

"No problem. Let's go slow and see where this goes. C'mon. Take off your clothes and show me what you've got. I can't wait to see you in all your naked glory." He was totally turning me on, and it was hard to say no since I was so freaking hot and horny.

"Okay, but no pictures," I said again, as I pulled my favorite Volcom t-shirt over my head while at the same time toeing off my beat-up red-checkered Vans.

"Wow. Your tan is hot. And buddy, you don't have anything to be ashamed about. You have nice pec's and a tight little six-pack going on."

"You think?" I wasn't sure, because I didn't work out other than surfing and running almost every morning.

"Of course! One thing about me is I don't lie. You're very sexy."

"Thanks, I guess."

"Take off your shorts. Let's see what you're packing."

"You're sure about this, right?"

"I am, unless you don't want to mess around with me."

"No, I do. I just…"

"Great!" Cash moved over in front of me like a bolt of lightning, his hard dick pointing the way. He said, "Can I take them off for you?"

"Um, yeah, I guess," I whispered.

When he reached out, he surprised me by putting his hands on my bare shoulder blades instead, making me gasp in delight. "I want to kiss you first, buddy. Is that okay?"

I didn't get a chance to say yes, since his soft lips were plastered to mine in a nanosecond. I felt goose bumps ignite all over my body when his tongue invaded my mouth, and I almost went limp from an overload of pent-up desire – not just from me, either. He was so hot he was shaking. A couple of minutes later, he broke our kiss when he leaned back to look in my eyes. "Damn, Sebastian, that was outrageous."

He pushed me back against the pool table, grinding his naked, hard cock into my still clothed crotch, locking lips with mine once more. This time I was ready, and I kissed him right back full force. Our tongues dueled, hard and fast as we explored each other's waiting mouths, the whole time crushing our super-hard boners into each other like they were lightsabers.

When we broke for air all I could say was, "Damn."

"God, that's so good. I'm glad you showed up today."

"Me too. But I need to get out of these shorts. My dick is starting to hurt bent like this for so long."

"I'm all over it!" he yelled.

He kneeled down in front of me so he was eye-level with my crotch, put his hands on the waistband of my shorts and slowly, too slowly, pulled them down to my ankles. My rock-hard boner flipped up, happy to be free from the confining material. He gasped when he caught the first glimpse of my business and said, looking up at me, "Buddy! That's a beautiful dick. And it's uncut, too."

Cash stood back up, grabbed my cock with one hand, and with his other directed my hand to his hard dick. He came back in for a deep kiss, while we both palmed each other's members for the first time. I couldn't decide which I liked better: The soft taste of his tongue in my mouth, or the outrageous feeling of someone rubbing my bone. It was difficult for us to stand still, because the sensations were overpowering.

"So good, Sebastian, so good," he purred.

I couldn't say anything, because before I knew it, he had his lips over the tip of my cock, sucking and swirling his warm tongue around the sensitive head, making my eyes roll back into my head, and my mouth clamp tightly shut. It was a luxurious feeling, and soon I was panting with lust.

After a couple of minutes of him sucking on my cock, and against my body's objections, I lightly grabbed his curly hair in my fists and pulled his head off my throbbing member. "You better stop doing that or you're going to get a wet surprise. Get up. Let me try you now."

I kicked my shorts off my ankle as we traded places, sending them flying across the room. The cool air felt ridiculously crazy on my naked skin. I was mesmerized with his droopy ball-sack, so that's where I started when I settled in front of him. I seized his ballbag in my hand, feeling the soft folds and velvety smooth skin. He had recently shaved his nutsack, and when I started to taste the soft, buttery skin, it felt like nothing I had ever experienced. I was hooked.

I had read an article and watched a video on some website how to suck a cock, so I started to implement those tips. First, I took one ball in my mouth and rolled it around on my tongue. Cash moaned his appreciation, widened his stance and pushed his arms further back on the pool table, my guess so he wouldn't topple over on top of me. I sampled the other one, and it was as delicious as the first – savory and bittersweet. His hard cock was pushing against my forehead, and I could feel it pulsating with lust which in turn, egging me on, taking full control of this big, hot man.

I popped his left ball out of my mouth, grabbed his sack between my thumb and index finger, pulling them up and out of the way so I could reach my tongue to the sensitive area between his legs. When I started to swipe my tongue on his secret spot, I knew I had hit gold, since he groaned loudly with pleasure. His deep moans of delight resonated through his body and turned me on even more.

Even though he seemed to be loving this attention, I was impatient and needed to get a taste of his cock. His dick was pointing straight up, randy and glistening, so I let go of his balls and wrapped a hand around his shaft, slowly pointing it down towards my hungry mouth.

Cash's shaft was hot in my hands and thumped with each pulse of his rapid heartbeat. I opened my mouth, and took an exploratory taste, first running my tongue along one side of the veiny shaft, and then the other, finally licking up and down the sensitive line running up from his balls to the underside of his dick head.

"So good," he murmured.

I quickly settled in on his spongy knob. The spicy taste made my boner twitch yet again, and I was rewarded when he let loose a little blurp of pre-cum hot onto my tongue. I rolled the slippery substance around his knob, then around my lips, and soon, I had half of his length deep in my mouth.

"Oh, God, Sebastian. That feels so great. Keep doing that."

Fisting the base of his cock, I had total control of him now. After a minute or two, I let go of his shaft and grabbed his ass cheeks with both of my hands, reeling him in closer to me. I stuck my tongue out a little so I could get as much of his cock down my throat as I could. I was surprised at how easy this seemed to be, and how bitchin' it felt to finally have a hard dick down my throat.

I tried another trick I had read about and started to hum his favorite FGL song. That got him moaning in pleasure, and soon, the house was filled with his oratory satisfaction. He was pushing deeply into me now, and his butt cheeks in my hands had started to sweat. I knew he was totally digging it, and it made me happy to give this hot guy so much pleasure.

"Gotta stop," he croaked a couple of minutes later.

"Mmmm?"

"Gotta stop, Sebastian."

"Mmm-uh." I wasn't going to stop for anything. I needed to taste all this hot country boy had to offer.

"Buddy! Gotta stop. Now."

I didn't. Instead, I increased the rhythm, sucking deeper and deeper as we both got hotter and hotter. My dork was sticking straight up in the sky, and I could feel my pre-cum running down my boner onto my balls.

"I'm gonna blow, Sebastian! Do you want to take it?"

Silence was my answer. Anyway, how could I say anything with a mouthful of hot, ready to spurt man seed? So I didn't. Instead, I sucked harder, and firmly stroked the lower part of his shaft with my hand. That got him moaning even louder, and that in turned got me going even more. I was on my knees now, front and center, totally focused to bring this bad boy off.

I could feel his balls pull up tight, and I knew I was in for a treat any second. It didn't take long for him to shout out into the big room, "I'm gonna cummmm!"

And cum he did. Jet after jet after jet shot out of his cumhole like a cannon, blasting deep into my mouth. The taste was so fantastic; like mine but completely different. I couldn't swallow fast enough, and some of his hot seed started to dribble out between my lips, and run down my chin. I didn't care. It was so tasty I wanted all I could get.

Cash surprised me when he pulled himself out of my mouth, reached down and grabbed me roughly by the armpits, pulling me up so our faces were inches apart. I looked into his eyes to see total satisfaction. It made me smile.

But he wasn't done. Oh no, not yet. He had one more surprise. He crushed his mouth to mine, eager to sample the taste of his hot load. He even licked the few drops that were running down my chin, then hurriedly fed them to me. God, was he hot. We kissed that way for a long while, as he came down from his high.

"Damn, buddy. You really haven't done that before? You're like a pro," he finally said when we broke for air. "That was fucking outrageous."

"No, I swear," I said, leaning into him.

"Well, that was beyond anything I ever imagined. I do know one thing, though."

"Yeah, what's that?"

"We're going to have a hell of a lot of fun this summer, you and me. And you know what else?"

"No. What?"

"I need you to fuck me. Right now!"

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We support Ukraine — Мы поддерживаем Украину — Ми підтримуємо Україну

Iomfats.org

The Mostly True Tale of Seabass and Cash

by Flip McHooter