Manhandled (15 page)

When Fall finally came it was another gusher, as if he hadn’t gotten off in weeks, but still he didn’t react up top. I’d never
seen a dick so disconnected, all that fury trapped inside his meat as if it had a life of its own. My own cream spurted in
reply, arcing up onto my shirt in answer to his long climax. Never before had so much juice sprayed out of my cock, but even
after I was empty my balls felt heavy, ready for another go. Only then did I begin to realize the enormity of my need for
Derek Fall.

As before, once he’d gotten his fuck he abandoned me. I kept my legs up long after I heard the outer door slam, its echo like
a cell door closing. My flaming hole faced empty seats but I saw instead an imaginary audience who, I decided, were entitled
to a better finale. I squeezed and stroked my softening prick, cum gathered at the slit; I cupped my balls and pulled at my
bag; I slid a finger into my dripping pucker and played in the fresh cum; I let the audience linger where Jake Cavett had
been.

“Oh, Christ,” Abel Groff said when I ran into him that night at a club we both frequented. “He’s fucking you, isn’t he.”

I nodded.

Abel sighed, shook his head, then reconsidered. “Maybe it’s not a bad idea. Maybe…Tell me, has he used any of Jake’s lines?”

“No,” I lied.

“But you’re his Brian.”

Was I? Brian was ineffectual, weak, so incredibly needy. Anyone could fuck Brian. “I don’t think so,” I told Abel. “It feels
very… me.”

Abel eyed me. “You’re a good little pussy,” he mused, “and maybe for the good of the play, if Jake is fucking Brian, then
we’ve got a bit of reality, don’t we? What more could a director ask?”

Abel refused to fuck me that night, even when I presented myself to him in the men’s room at 2
A.M.
He was at the urinal, dick in hand, and I went limp when he turned me down. “For the good of the play,” he said, adding quickly,
“I know, I know, it’s unheard of, Abel Groff begging off, but I want it pure, don’t you see? Jake and Brian and nothing else.
You’ve got his cum up your ass, and that’s purity.” He zipped up and patted my shoulder. “Go home,” he said softly. “Let Brian
sleep.”

It was an awful night, passed in dreams as frustrating for their lack of clarity as for their paltry payoff. At one point
I lay in the dark clutching my dick, trying to figure out if it had been Brian or me, deciding finally it didn’t make any
difference.

Fall and I had a culmination scene late in the second act that was to be the focus of the following morning’s rehearsal. So
far we’d skated through it; Abel concentrating on earlier bits, leading us up to it much as Jake led Brian. The scene wasn’t
the play’s climax, however—sex in that context would have been cliché even for Abel Groff. No, the climax was Jake’s suicide
just before the curtain fell.

Now Fall and I were alone onstage. The rest of the cast had been called for afternoon and we had just a few crew members.
The old Lindsay had never seemed more cavernous. Even though it was just a rehearsal, I’d dabbed makeup over dark circles
that shadowed my eyes. My entrance was calculated and determined; I wasn’t Brian and I wanted them to know it. I was Carl,
and it was all an act.

Partway through Abel’s instruction I tuned him out because he didn’t matter anymore. Derek Fall—Jake Cavett?—was in charge,
and he and I knew it; possibly even Abel knew it, although no director is ever going to admit a loss of control. My dick began
to fill in anticipation of Fall’s body against mine, and I glanced down to see the all-too-familiar bulge at his crotch.

The scene was Jake’s ultimate acquiescence to Brian’s advances, which had for most of the play been limited to mutual hand
jobs and cocksucking—all shadowed, all simulated. Now Brian was to be granted his wish. Jake would, with all the rage pooled
inside his balls, fuck him full on. This required the usual bit of nudity, and Abel reminded us yet again what we didn’t need
to hear but what he obviously enjoyed saying: “Remember, you can get it out, you just can’t put it in.”

Part of Abel’s success had been controversy over the “getting it out” that was such an integral part of his plays. Audiences
could always count on at least one or two cocks making an appearance, and this had brought on attempts to shut down every
one of his productions, but San Francisco’s liberal majority had prevailed and exposed cocks had been allowed to stay. The
new play, however, went a step further, and word was already out that an erection would be visible in the second act. Talk
was heavy; Derek Fall’s prick was going to be famous.

Abel insisted we take it all the way during rehearsal, which meant Fall had to produce a stiff prick. All I had to do was
bare my ass, but the foreplay, that long arduous scene in which Brian pleads for his sexual life, was so emotionally demanding
that by the time Cavett presented his cock I was as battered as Brian.

The entire second act takes place in Jake Cavett’ s bedroom, much of it his raging soliloquy on love and loss. Bottle and
glass stand empty on the dresser, bedclothes are tangled, and Jake retreats to an overstuffed chair and opens his jeans. He
has a hand down inside working his cock, eyes closed as if this is his only solace. At this point I make my entrance.

It didn’t matter that Fall had fucked me. I was Brian now and Jake Cavett was going to do it because we were onstage and had
an audience, however limited. There was something extra required in slipping inside someone else for a sexual act, in playing
a part, but this time I knew it was different, and as much as I tried to be Brian, to assume his need instead of my own, I
played the scene for myself. When it came time for Jake to push Brian over the arm of a chair and enter him, to present the
much-anticipated and highly visible erection for all to see and for me to receive, I felt myself open to him, asshole begging
as he slid his rigid prick between my legs in a masterful simulation.

The fuck was real, never mind theater. As we writhed for Abel and the few others present, I squeezed my thighs together and
took him, his massive dick working me with a steady thrust. His meat skated my balls as it plowed blindly forward and I wanted
more than anything to grab my dick and jerk off but, of course, that wasn’t in the script. I had to take him without any visible
response other than gratitude, and take him I did, thighs slippery with his precum, asshole pulsing with the mere proximity
of that swollen sausage.

Jake cries out “Pussy boy” as he gives it to Brian. He has succumbed at last to love and its attendant pain; he rails against
it all, professes love and hate as one, swears, then comes. Abel and the others could not see his cream spurting between my
legs, or my own seconds later. I had not touched myself. Derek Fall’s heat and the raw pleasure of his skin against mine had
been enough to send me over.

Cavett’s disintegration begins at this point. His dick is still up Brian’s ass when he starts to come apart and lashes out
in his own brand of cruel self-preservation, closing with, “You’re just a fuck, Brian. A good one, but that’s all you’ll ever
be.”

“Wonderful!” Abel Groff shouted. “Let’s stop there.” Fall’s dick was softening, and I let it slide from between my legs. My
heart was pounding and I heard an awful rush in my ears. I managed to pull up my jeans and gather enough strength to face
our director, but when Abel saw me he knew I was in trouble. “Let’s take a break, shall we?” he said. “Ten minutes.”

We both watched Fall hurry away, then Abel put his hand on my shoulder. “It’s fabulous, you know. The energy between you is
absolutely electric; it plays all the way to the balcony. Opening night there won’t be a limp dick in the house. The theater
will reek of cum.”

“Abel…”

“I know, but it’s what we want, Carl. Anguish, pain, passion, two men unable to connect except with cock and ass.”

“It’s exhausting,” I said.

“I would imagine. We’ll work on the dialogue next.” He looked into my eyes. “And remember who you are. He’s rejecting Brian,
not Carl.”

We picked up exactly where we’d left off, Brian enduring Jake’s wrath because he’d stirred him above the belt as well as below.
The scene is devastating for Brian, ending in shouts, broken glass, and slammed doors. We ran through it so many times I began
to lose myself, and Abel called it a day when I finally broke into tears.

Derek Fall didn’t fuck me again until opening night. As the play was fine-tuned I gradually came unglued, managing to keep
Brian alive while Carl went under. I continually sought out fresh cock but found myself accepting only James Dean types, surly
blonds who invariably disappointed, never mind how big a sausage they crammed up my ass or how beautiful its owner. I finally
had to admit I was hopeless about Fall, and worse, that it was probably a one-way street.

The dressing room was frantic opening night, with too many well-wishers and hangers-on. Fall had kept his distance but managed
to stand half naked long enough to catch me looking at his prick. Once he’d accomplished that, he gave it a long artful stroke,
put on his costume— torn jeans and T-shirt—and left.

It was a packed house, but where I usually enjoyed exhilaration I now felt anxiety. My hands shook, I snapped at assistants,
and I pushed one fellow actor so far he stormed out after a single departing comment: “Get fucked, Brian.”

I was alone in the dressing room when Abel came in. Seeing my distress, he said, “You’ll do fine. Let Brian have his night,
OK?” He kissed my cheek and left, not waiting for comment.

“Five minutes,” someone called outside the door.

When I walked onstage I had no idea who I was. Brian and Carl had finally become one, and I felt hundreds of eyes watching
this hybrid creature who played the part for real, who said the lines and hit the marks and lived the agony Abel Groff had
scripted. By the end of act one I had nothing left. I ran outside and stood in the alley taking deep breaths, trying to regain
some bit of balance for what lay ahead. I halfway wanted Abel to come out and console me, but he didn’t. I think he knew we
were beyond that.

When act two began I watched Jake Cavett’s raging soliloquy from the wings, fighting what I knew was fast becoming a truth.
Tears were in my eyes when I made my entrance.

Brian’s move toward Jake was calculated, almost coy, but as his failure became apparent, as Jake sat unblinking, hand inside
his jeans, Brian grew desperate and began to plead, offering unconditional love in addition to his body. When Fall stood and
pushed me toward the chair I dropped my pants, baring the ass I so wanted him to have. He came up behind me, erection brushing
my crack, and then instead of sliding between my legs he pushed into my asshole in one long glorious stroke.

I didn’t care that there was an audience. I wriggled back onto his cock and clenched my muscle, because I wanted him to know
I was there—Carl, not Brian—and he responded with a full-on fuck, one I’m sure Abel thought the ultimate mastery of sexual
simulation. And never mind that Fall had gone in before. This was a whole new game, and as I felt that long prick shoving
in and out of my channel I hoped desperately that what had happened to me was happening to Fall as well, that Jake had been
pushed aside and now, onstage, before hundreds of eager faces—and who knows how many stiff pricks—he might at last be himself.

Thanks to creative lighting and carefully planned angles, the audience could not see what was happening to me. Confident they
were watching a simulation, they enjoyed an innocent thrill while I received the prick of a lifetime. Their presence made
the entire act so incredibly public that my swollen cock began to throb and I unloaded into the chair as Jake raged behind
me, driving his dick into me with renewed fury. I took it all, letting his angry words flow past as that snake of his plowed
my chute, and when he came I squeezed for all I was worth, sucking dick with my ass to quench an unbearable thirst.

The rest of the scene—Jake’s retreat, denial, shouts, the hurled bottle—was just that, a scene. I let Brian endure it and
at the appointed moment made my exit. Standing in the wings, I had only a minute’s respite before the finale began: Jake’s
suicide. I forced myself to watch him down the pills and liquor; I felt an awful dread even as his cum dripped from my ass.