Muscle Vampire Boot (Chris and Boot 5B)

[tortolis]

Muscle Vampire Boot

I?ve been trying to get Chris off my mind as we settle into a routine as roommates, but it hasn?t been happening. Until it does, until I?ve got this obsession figured out, I?m operating by only one rule: don?t lie to him or to myself. But I?m finding that my actions don?t always match my good intentions on this score, either.

For example, there?s my new venture, which I sprung on him very casually: a picture calendar with him as hunk of the month in every month. I had myself convinced that I was doing this purely as a business proposition, that we?d both make money. But it turned out to be a huge hassle, much more than it?s worth: theatrical props and costumes to rent from three different suppliers, printing estimates, finding a photographer, planning a sales strategy to cover book stores, gift stores, the Internet and mail order. The biggest hassle was distribution: To safely cover enough brick-and-mortar retail outlets to guarantee Chris and myself ten K apiece, I?d have to take orders from three hundred chain booksellers. That means territory from here to Chicago. Which means finding a good rep for a line of business I?ve never been in.

It would only be profitable if everything went right, and even then it wouldn?t be worth the trouble. Yet I couldn?t let go of the idea. Why not? I?ll tell you why not: fucking Abe Margolis. I saw myself in competition with him for Chris?s loyalty. I imagined Abe at his post in the club, leering at Chris every time he walked by. I thought of Abe calling him a gorilla, then going home and jacking off. And of Chris being obedient to that asshole, being employee of the week every week of the year. I had pushed Chris in the door of Boston Charlie?s, and now I wanted to lure him away.

So I covered every base with the calendar, did all the legwork. I went to the art school and found a photography MFA candidate who wanted to build a commercial portfolio to support herself. And I convinced Chris that he had nothing to lose ? which, I suppose, he didn?t.

I was the one at risk. Not financially, but emotionally. My rule about not lying to Chris or myself was the only thing protecting whatever our relationship might become. But while I was telling him and myself that the calendar was strictly business, all I could think about was seeing him demonstrate his muscular strength in twelve different fantasy scenarios?having the camera capture them?and my owning them. Because under the terms of this kind of deal, the underwriter owns the photographic rights. The photographer gets a fee and a credit line; the model gets a day rate plus royalties. But I, I get to own the images. Thousand of digital images. They?re mine to view, to manipulate, to have in secret, all to myself. As producer, I also get to tell Chris exactly what I want him to do. Make my fantasy real, Chris. Bend the steel bar. That was all I could think about. That?s what was really on my mind when I told Chris that the calendar made good business sense.

And his good nature is like a constant reminder that I?m hiding my motives from view. Chris is no fool ? he?s actually very bright ? but he is ?way too trusting for his own good. I knew it would be easy to rope him into a photo shoot, and it was, even though he hated the idea at first. And then, when we were shooting, the idea of posing was so alien to him that the photographer couldn?t quite believe it. Like he was totally unacquainted with the idea of strutting, of making believe, of looking a certain way to convey a certain impression. What about crocodile tears, Chris? Didn?t you ever lie to your parents? I was afraid to ask him, because maybe he didn?t.

So there we are at the photo shoot, and once it?s explained to him, he starts doing really well. But I?m feeling progressively worse the harder he works. For one thing, the setups were kind of bogus?we?ll be counting heavily on digital retouching to edit in some more objects and backgrounds for drama. Not one scintilla of retouching his body, thank you. Not needed, and not allowed.

But it wasn?t just the lack of budget or props that was bothering me that day. It was Chris making such an honest effort ? honest-earnest, as the advertising mavens say ? while my mind kept wandering to my deeper, secret concerns. Like imagining him bending that bar that wasn?t in our suite that day he arrived at the dorm. I had in mind for that to be our last setup. And I suddenly realized that the steel bar and Chris? incredible arms were what the entire day had been about.

Lily, the photographer, shot it just the way I told her: construction worker with rebar, a rapid series to capture the motion, with Chris looking right at the lens ? not at the bar. Then, when they were done, I had Chris do it again with me cupping his bicep in one hand and his shoulder in another. That was what I was waiting for. And it was just like discovering the magic of his unimaginable, boundless strength that first time I saw him in our dorm suite. Only more magical, more boundless, more impossible. I stood there with my eyes closed and his incredible strength pulsing hugely through me, roaring like oceans of electric current.

I swear to you before God and mammon that my skin was burning and I could not move as we stood there locked together. Not until he spoke.

?Wow, that was intense,? he said. And that?s the last thing I remember until I was back in the dorm changing my clothes, which were drenched in sweat and semen.

[rtulde]

This is so good and filled with possibilities, I'd love more installments!