Monday, October 31, 2005

The fourth part.

As Baxley thrust himself deeper into me, I felt the first boy's cock pumping into my throat; as soon as he was out and leaving his cream behind, another prick took its place. I started sucking that and the still-unfulfilled other prick, knowing that I wouldn't be out of here until I had sucked all ten boys here... and until they, in turn, had blown me.
The youngest of the lot had crawled under me and was tasting my own cock, groaning over it as he licked the full length. Squeezed in next to him was another one, moving his mouth back and forth from one of my sacs to the next, and all the while the cock inside me kept pounding away. "MMmmmm..."I mumbled over the penises, excited at the way they felt on my tongue and at how Baxley's prick was starting to drip in me. "Ohhhhhh...MMMMMMMMAAARRRR!!!"
"Oh yes Vic... fuck yes... you've got an ass to die for here....!!!!" Baxley's voice shot up as he filled me up, slapping against me as he came, becoming the first boy to fuck my no-longer-virgin ass. As he pulled out and gave me one last slap, I didn't even have time to come down before I felt another pair of hands. A blissful smile, lightly covered with drops of the come from the boys I'd just made come in my mouth, came to me...

* * * * * * * * * *

I don't know how long it took before the boys had had their fill, but I do know that later on I was upstairs, asleep on Baxley's bed. The others had left, and Baxley had let me rest up until I was ready, sticky and sweaty, but happy.

Slumbering, moving in and out of sleep, I was thinking about how things would change now. Now I knew about what some of them held secret, I could either hold it over their heads or just let it lie there... power was wonderful, and sexual power was the most wonderful of all. At least one of the guys who'd pounded his cock in me loved boasting about all the girls he'd fucked - now I knew he was full of it...
No. No blackmail. In and out of slumber I had seen images of girls in my head from time to time, and I wouldn't have been surprised if I'd been left limp by all of them. But I wasn't. Maybe he still liked girls, maybe he was pretending. The thing was, I wasn't going to say someone - anyone - was gay if they weren't. I myself was in the middle, and loving it.
The last thing some of the guys had said to me before leaving was something about next time. That was the last thing that went through my head before I felt two hands on my back. Two older hands. Two older hands belonging to someone who thought I was asleep.
Two older hands moving down my back towards my trousers. "...nice botsy..." the man who thought I was asleep grunted. " botsy... beautiful botsy.. beautiful big botsy..."
I knew that voice. It was Baxley's dad; I was willing to bet it wasn't the first time he'd done something like this. And he probably thought I was asleep as he pressed his hard cock against my cleft.

He grunted as he thrust forward, his hand slipping under me to stroke my cock as he moved. "Good boy... gorgeous boy..." he groaned, fucking me for the first time that morning, thinking I was asleep, and thinking that I would have tried to escape if I was.
He was wrong on both counts.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Hey, Victor."
Scott slapped my shoulder with an envelope. "That's yours."
"What for?" I asked.

"For last week. By the way, Bradley wants to meet you." Scott gave my ass a discreet squeeze before sidling away, freeing me to peer into the envelope and widening my eyes at what was inside; some little folded coloured pieces of paper that I recognised instantly, and a note next to them.
Vic -
You earned it.
Making boys - and increasingly men - happy, and getting paid for it. And no more teasing; they knew how to keep their mouths shut.
Or most of them did. If I'd known that another classmate had gotten another envelope linked to me, I might not have been so cheerful.

If KS is still interested - and other random ramblings.

I've decided to send him those CDs. The player might have to wait, though. (He knows what I'm talking about.)
Meanwhile, it should have occurred to me before. Annoying voice, grating mannerisms, always off work, saying the dumbest things possible, unwavering belief in own correctness... no wonder Esther is a Bush supporter; barring her being black, from Africa, very fat, poor and not in the White House, they're like two peas in a pod.
Weeds is still not pulling me in yet. I'm beginning to think Mary-Louise Parker might have to do a nude scene like she did in Angels in America for me to hang on for all of this season.
And finally... that's it.

End of the most senseless post of any blog ever?

Thursday, October 27, 2005

Is it okay if I bitch a bit? It is? Oh good.

I hate the fact that our new bosses paid us in cheques last week. Cheques.
I hate how Abbey National waits three business days to clear them.
And charges £30 for every time my account goes into debit.
I hate that Veronica Mars is ending next week and Britain's Next Top Model isn't.
I hate how my prescription's going to arrive after I've run out of one of the pills.
I hate how no one will dare assassinate the Smirk because then Dick Cheney'll be the Commander-in-Chief.
I hate how one homeworker drops by to give us his stuff so early in the fucking morning.
I hate the mere mention of the name "Doctor Who."
I hate how multi-region DVD players aren't widely available in Britain.

I hate being almost as slow as Mr. B, writing-wise.
I hate certain Firefly fans for insisting that Serenity was a hit long after it became clear it wasn't.
I hate Charlotte Church more and more every day.

I like Nicollette Sheridan's Maxim spread, Brooke Burke's calendar and Assa Guerrass ((c) Jennifer Orangio) naked.

The end.

When I was 23, it was a very good year...

It was a very good year for discovering that there were more people who bought the wares of Varese Sarabande and Intrada and La-La Land and so on. And for discovering that there was actually a magazine for people interested in such things, the wonderful Film Score Monthly. Now this was what I was talking about... Lukas Kendall, R. Mike Murray, Jeff Bond and the rest were regulars in my reading material from then on. Even when it eventually stopped being monthly, and became Film Score Magazine.

Of all the magazines I ever bought, or subscribed to when it became hard to get hold of in London (if this is the world's greatest city, why are there hardly any soundtrack stores here, eh?), this is the only one that I have every issue of since I started getting it back in 1993, even unto buying every available back issue to fill the gaps. So it was not a pleasure when it was announced that the next print issue will be the last; now there's only Music from the Movies left (Soundtrack! expired some time ago), which isn't the same. True, the website as linked to below will continue, but...

Sweetening the blow? All subscribers get one free CD per three issues or part thereof remaining on their subscription - FSM moved into soundtrack production a few years ago, and it's now a major part of their bread-and-butter. So bags me The Appointment (with the rejected score, the used score, and the television rescore) and The Egyptian (the Batman Begins of its day inasmuch as it was a teaming of two A-list composers). And then more of their stuff, before they eventually run out (they only do limited runs of everything).

As to why there's a link to Hayden Panettiere and Paris Hilton - well, it's my blog...

Thursday, October 20, 2005

The Cindy Spot: The last one.

Wait wait wait... it's not the last time I'm ever going to be mentioning Cynthia Ann Crawford. She hasn't crossed the line into please-fuck-off-foreverhood (lifetime president: Madonna. Second-in-command: Christina Aguileraisacunt) that Charlotte Church has, nor has she gone into a nunnery or something.

It's just that after consistently failing to write that "column" regularly, the best thing is to just rename the blog. Making everything a Cindy Spot and solving the problem, and leaving the Cindy Inc. name for my stories. And also giving me something to wash the sight of Paris Hilton naked (albeit probably Photoshopped that way) out of my mind.

So to make the blog-only stories debut, any requests? Apart from the obvious ones. (And if Jen is reading this, Laura Prepon works for the opposition. Sorry.)

Well, at least I've got something in common with Jen.

You are Lamentations
You are Lamentations.

Which book of the Bible are you?
As they used to say on American TV shows, "brought to you by..."

Monday, October 17, 2005

What's the difference between "Totally Scott-Lee" and Sonic the Hedgehog?

Sonic the Hedgehog has a discernible point. Several, in fact. :)

Before I go into meltdown over this MTV-hogging no-talent ex-member of the ex-pop group Steps (trust me, you don't want to know about Lisa Scott-Lee. You really don't), let's talk about something else.

Like my managing to do the rent for the month early for once.

Or communicating with another Cindy-lover over on Superiorpics (called IloveJLH, which shows excellent taste).

Or wondering why LivingTV is burning off Veronica Mars on weekdays and dithering over Ghost Whisperer (which is right up their supernatural alley - buy it, dammit! It probably won't be as good as Medium, but it's got Jennifer Love Hewitt!).

Or discussing 2006 calendars.

Okay, let's do the calendars. If Cindy still did official calendars, she'd be in like a shot. But sadly she stopped years ago. (It's not like she hasn't got the body for it. Trust me.)

The Charmed one would normally be a shoo-in, like it wasthe last two years, but this year Brian Krause and some new guy managed to worm their way onto it, thus causing this to break my most important rule about calendars: No Guys Allowed. Ever. I am a single man; when I wake up I want to see something pleasant, something which will give me some nice thoughts to start the day. No one with a penis who is not a shemale has that capability. (There are probably fans of The O.C. who feel that way about Rachel and Co., which is why there's a separate one about the lads of said show.)

No pets, no countries, no flowers... and no modes of transportation. All out.

I also don't like cartoon calendars on walls, so I have to pass on The Simpsons. (Probably the only time I will ever arrange those words in that order.)

So we're back to the eye candy. The Lost, Alias and Desperate Housewives calendars all fall by the wayside for that same reason as Charmed (big plus: waking up to Maggie Grace, Jennifer Garner or Eva Longoria. Big minus: waking up to just about any of the guys, but especially Naveen Andrews [facial hair? Ugh], Victor Garber or that one who plays Carlos); no soap babes will ever adorn my walls; and since Britney has been unable to do a calendar this year for obvious reasons, that accounts for the singers (Kylie Minogue? Jessica Simpson? Rachel Stevens? Get out).

Models? No chance - I couldn't live with myself if I put up Abi Titmuss or Lucy Pinder (with or without Michelle Marsh). And as for Jordan...

So we're left with actresses (and I bet you can see where this is going). And who's the final choice? Um... yes, that's right... the Alba. (Not official, but better than nothing. Especially since the only other option is the Fantastic Four calendar. Too many Y-chromosomes.)

More homoerotic porn during the week.

The continuation.... still can't think of a title.

There were about ten of them there, all bunching in up close to me as if we were in the world's smallest locker room, rather than the generously sized living room of one of their houses. My ego swelled on seeing that some of them had swellings lower down...
They soon had their hands on me, some on my chest, some on my legs, one or two on my crotch. "Hey, wait a minute guys," I laughed, "you'll all get some... and NO TEARING! You want people to start asking questions?"
Rogers let go my shirt as the others let me start to strip. They waited all of four seconds before tugging the rest of my clothes off, until I was lying there, the only naked guy in the room with ten horny boys. Just what Charlotte Cambridge always wanted, I bet.

"Fuck me," Baxley moaned, freeing his throbbing rod from his jeans and letting them drop to the floor as the other boys stripped. "You tell anyone about this---"
"---and you'll kill me, I know, I know," I said casually. "Now who wants to go first?"

I knew I shouldn't have said that. They landed on me, grabbing and kissing what they could find, and lifting me off the sofa. Within seconds, I found myself unable to get air - because Rogers and Kelly had rammed their cocks into my mouth, black and white blending together in my damp mouth. As I sucked and swallowed their lengths, the heads rubbing against each other inside my mouth, my hands were busy stroking Riley and Foster's organs, pulling them as if I was thinking about the Adderley sisters, but this time with added groans from the guys.
Kisses and caresses were landing on my sides from Tony, Simon, Francis, Richard and Dennis. They were murmuring comments about my legs when not stroking them with their cocks. It wouldn't be long before I felt them get covered with something sticky.
And Baxley? With his hands spreading my ass open and something smooth being put around my opening, I knew what was coming.
When he slammed it in, soon it would be me....

Some more of the below.

This time without Presley or Kaia. For the most part.

Imagine her with your favourite together. (Warning: May not work if you are strictly gay.)

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

The third part... I'll think of a title.

"It's okay, this won't take long," Bradley assured me, as I got down on the sand, the trees keeping us from being seen by anyone. In any case, since I wasn't a girl I could get dressed and out of there very quickly. "Just two shots."
"One from the front and one from behind, right?" I asked, smiling.

"You haven't done this before, have you?" Bradley replied, snapping me lying there, a teasing smile on my face and my hand on my fully-erect cock as if I was about to jack right there.
I didn't say anything as I turned around and spread them. Just for his private collection, I figured. Right?

* * * * * * * * * *

I came into school a lot happier. Since that little session a month or two ago, Bradley and his friends had in fact eased up on the teasing, and it was starting to show in my attitude - less tense, more relaxed. Hell, I'd even been invited to go to one of my classmates' places after class to play some games, listen to some music... I was happy to do it. Sometimes it's good to be accepted.
Andrew Baxter drove us to his place himself, and it was with a happy heart that I finished my drink a couple of hours later - still nothing strong, but otherwise in a party mood. "Here's to video violence!" I shouted, toasting the other boys.
"Here's to Vic!" the lad sitting next to me crowed, and the others all joined in.
"But I'm not the star of this thing..." I pointed out.
"Oh, but you are, Vic... you are," Baxter said amiably. "It's all about you. Ever since that time with you and Simon."
I blanched at that. Simon had been the most unrepetant of my tormentors. And the most quiet ever since the week after Bradley's pictures, after he'd come up to me and told me that if I did him a favour, he'd do me a favour. The favour I did him was letting him swallow me; the favour he did me was never bothering me again.

Bradley, at least, had never shown anyone my bid for Numbers magazine; but Simon had apparently let the word out among his friends. Knowing him, he probably told them I liked it.
And as the boys started crowding around me, I knew he was right...

Sunday, October 09, 2005

Ladies and gentlemen, I support terrorist activities.

One of the adverts you see in British cinemas is one exhorting you not, I repeat, NOT to buy fake DVDs. They used to have a version in which they told you that by supporting such people you were indirectly financing criminals all over the world, but this approach has gone by the wayside.

The point is, I avoid pirate DVDs. The way I used to avoid pirate videos (which were, and are, all over the place down in Barbados - I'm not going to lie to you and say I never watched any, but ultimately I'll always go for the real thing). And the way I tend to avoid bootleg soundtracks... what, you didn't think there were such things? Hell, yeah - complete editions, unauthorised releases, you name it. I usually manage to avoid them... but not always.

This might not be important to you, but it was a bummer to me to find out from a reliable source that a CD that I have, a promo of Basil Poledouris music, is actually a bootleg. A very convincing one, at that. I hate it when that happens... now I can't listen to it without feeling pretty bad. This weekend's sucked pretty much for this kind of thing - I got Rocky and Rocky III on CD while forgetting I already had the latter on cassette.

Anyone want two discs free of charge? :(

Wednesday, October 05, 2005

The second part.

"What time?" I asked.
"Not here, for a start," Bradley replied. "You'll catch your death of cold out here."
It was true; Caribbean nights could get pretty cold.

"Meet me tomorrow morning. My place. 7."
"Seven in the morning? But your mum--"
"Not at my house... the one on the beach."
Bradley was lucky enough to be living by the beach; I was lucky enough to be able to walk down there. I had a feeling my parents wouldn't quite get it if I asked one of them to give me a lift. I nodded.

"See you tomorrow, bubble butt," he smiled.
Now I knew how some of the girls at school felt.

* * * * * * * * * *

Walking down towards Bradley's house, I kept my eyes out for the path that would take me down to the beach. It was a public area, but at this time of the day there wouldn't be many people there. So hardly anyone would be able to hear me if...
"Stop it, Victor!" I told myself. Bradley and his friends might be jerks, but they weren't going to make me disappear. From the way he had looked at me, he was either a really good actor or he really wanted to... play with me. And I had seen the fifth form's play; it had to be the latter.
All the way home and all through the night I had been thinking about what had happened. All my life, and even right now, I'd be turned on by girls but had never really brought up the nerve to go near any - as a result, the only F-word a lot of them used around me was the really bad one. Friend. The idea that any of them might have seen me as a sex object had never occurred to me; and now here was an upper classman telling me that I was turning other guys on. They weren't trying to pinch my ass or look at my legs (thank goodness I didn't have to wear shorts anymore!), but it was weird to think that someone was looking at me and licking their lips the way I'd done with Nicole Ince. Except the lips thing of course... The whole thing was kind of weird.
And yet, it was also kind of flattering. Okay, I wasn't getting anything from girls, but it was kind of good to know that someone liked me. And if I was giving someone pleasure, who cared whether or not that someone had a prick? My mind was made up as I got to Bradley's beach house and knocked on the door.

"Come on in, Victor!"
He wasn't calling me Vicky anymore, like he had done sometimes to piss me off. Better. I pushed open the door and went inside, getting out of the early morning rays and greeted by Bradley's nicely furnished pad. And Bradley himself, standing there with a camera and a tripod.

"Bright and early... let's get started," he beamed, seeing me seeing the camera. "You know what this is for."
I knew. And running was the last thing on my mind. Sighing, I started to undo my clothes, a smile coming onto my face as I got myself to relax. Bradley's grin got wider as he kept snapping me all around his place, shedding more and more of my clothes and revealing more of my dark body, chatting to him as I did, feeling my reservations slipping away along with my clothes. I never took part in sports, so neither he nor anyone else had had a chance to look at me in the showers; this was easier than I had thought it would be.
Finally, with Bradley nodding approvingly and snapping away, I looked at him over my shoulder and lowered my underwear, letting him see me naked and ready, and got down to the fully-buff posing.

Mum and Dad would kill me if they knew what I was doing, but the way I was seeing it, stripping off for this guy was a win-win situation. If my body made him (and whoever he showed those pictures to) happy, then they'd leave me alone.
And me? I was living out a fantasy.

The Cindy Spot: Dear Heather Mills, fuck off. Cheers, Victor.

Call me unreasonable, but after all these years I still get deeply pissed off when Cindy gets attacked for any reason not actually involving her taking a human life.

This, plus the fact that we've already gone through Cindy's views on fur (which I thought were already behind us). So I really can't get that bothered over Mrs. McCartney's broadside, well-intentioned though it is. Cindy's made her position clear, so leave her (and the others) the fuck alone. This is why I can't tolerate PETA either; bunch of self-righteous dung beetles.

To make up for it, the above link takes you to all the POP pictures, including this one with the bald guy. At least, I hope it does. But beware of pop-ups...

Tuesday, October 04, 2005

An open letter to Kelly Brook.

Dear Kelly,

Now look, I'm sure you're a very nice person and I don't blame you for letting Maxim promote you as "the new Cindy Crawford," but I'm wondering... do you, by any chance, have a twin sister? I ask because I'm sure someone who'd go to court to stop producers from including scenes of yourself nude and having sex in Three wouldn't think of posing for Arena in pictures like this.

That would be hypocritical. Eye-opening, but hypocritical. (And people complain about Jessica's see-through dress.)

All the best,

P.S. If anyone reading this wants to know who Kelly Brook is, an explanatory blogging can be arranged.

Monday, October 03, 2005

My hair! My beautiful hair!

This weekend I found...

that Thornton's penchant for making chocolates suitable for diabetics is marred only by the note about possible laxative effects being less of a threat than a promise.

that having a street festival on Oxford Street to celebrate shoppers coming back after the July 7 bombings serves only to screw up traffic for the second Saturday in a row, and with even less reason than the anti-Bush (and Blair, but chiefly Bush) demonstrations last week. (And has it dawned on these people that since the one person who really needs to get the message has spent the past five years paying no attention whatsoever to anyone disagreeing with him, he's unlikely to start listening now? So everybody loses.)

that I should have updated my card details with PayPal earlier, dammit.

that Kelly Brook's nude Arena spread is lovely, but I still can't warm to her. (See next post.)

that I still don't like getting my hair cut. I like my hair; it keeps my head warm, and I look less grim with it. Still, if Sharon is reading this (ha!) she'll be pleased to know that it was at a black barber this time, and at least I won't have to get it done again this year.

that I can't get AIM launched at some internet places (I did try).

that it's good to hear from friends.

No title, just a story; or the start of one.

"Hey Fifi."
That was all I had been hearing for the past three weeks at school. Always from the boys, never the girls thank goodness - it was always some guy calling me Fifi. In classes, at lunch, going home... bloody Fifi.
I had no idea who the guy was who'd started it; it just seemed to be some instantaneous thing. Okay, maybe I was a bit of a soft guy - didn't speak much, didn't like sports, kind of sensitive, and thankfully had pulled off an excusal from the thing thanks to my bad feet - but I was hardly a dandy. But there they were, going Fifi all the time. Why I didn't try and beat them up, I don't know.
I glared at Anderson, grinning at me from under his glasses and handing me a note. As he ran away I opened it up.

If you want them to stop teasing you, meet me on the playing field 5:30pm.

No signature on it; and it was typed out, so I couldn't even guess from the handwriting. Still, it wasn't like I didn't have anything better to do. And if worst came to worst, I knew I could run pretty damn fast when I had to...

* * * * * * * * * * *

I don't like being late for anything, even exams. I got on the sports field behind the school at 5:28, figuring I'd probably be kept waiting for -
"Hey, Victor."
I tensed up on recognising that voice. It was Bradley; he was one of the more persistent members of the Fifi Brigade. And smug with it. And wherever he was, his friends were sure to go... he saw in my eyes that I was about to run.

"It's not a trap, man," he said quietly.
From his eyes, I could tell he wasn't kidding. Still, what did he want with me? Was he going to make me part of some fantastic plan? Was he going to tell me that he'd been bullied too and tell me how to get my own back? Was he -
"I can get those guys off your back no trouble," he told me.
"But it'll cost me, right?"
"I don't want your money, Victor," Bradley laughed. "I just want to tell you something. And then for you to do me a favour. That's why I wanted it out here, so no one would find out about us."
"What do you mean, us? And what did you want to tell me?"
"I mean me and... the other guys. We think you've got a lovely ass."
This caught me offguard, and I edged away a bit. But only a bit.

"The way you keep walking around here, wiggling it like a girl... that's why we keep calling you Fifi all the time. You talk like a boy, but you move like a girl."
"And you want me to stop?" I asked.

Bradley came closer to me. "I want you. Just once, and they'll never bug you again." He put a hand on my shoulder and smiled a little.
I looked back at my former tormentor and gulped a little. "Just one time?"
"Just once. Unless you change your mind..."
"That won't happen," I lied, although I didn't know it yet.