Jungle Boy

Jungle Boy 14

by George Gauthier

Fair warning: This story features explicit and graphic depictions of gay sex. The story takes place forty years in the future.

Chapter 1. Story Conference

Martin Fletcher thanked Luis, his attentive houseboy, for the tray of lemonade then settled back in his lawn chair to await his visitors. Fletcher preferred to meet in the informality of his yard rather than at the office. Meanwhile Luis checked the temperature of the water in the swimming pool. His boss's younger guests were sure to go for a swim after their story conference, and the houseboy hoped to join them.

Short, slight of build, and with fine-boned features, Luis was the incarnation of youthful male beauty. As usual when he was working around the house and grounds the stunning looking mestizo lad was in the nude. Cute houseboys of the gay persuasion were all the vogue in Hollywood. It was something of a naughty game among Hollywood celebrities to see whose houseboy was the most brazen about casual public nudity. Fletcher's Luis thought nothing of walking out the door to fetch the papers or down to the mailbox. He signed for deliveries that way too.

First to arrive were Fletcher's friends and colleagues, director Jim Nichols and studio production chief Leon Potter. On their heels came Fletcher's two favorite movie stars, the stunning blond beauty Sandy Barnett and his lover Terry Knowles, an impossibly cute Irish lad. Also attending was their agent Ed Veronese. As Terry settled into his chair he gave a wave and a wink to Luis. The houseboy had a terrific crush on the comely red-head.

"So what is the word of the day, Fletch? Or dare I even ask?" Nichols inquired knowing Fletcher liked his little surprises.

"Not to worry, Jim. No bombshells like Bomba today."

"I hope you weren't trying for a bad pun there, Fletch," Ed Veronese remarked. "At least not intentionally."

"Everyone is a critic" Fletcher reflected sadly, shaking his head.

Actually Fletcher's brainstorm about Bomba the Jungle Boy had been a huge success. The first two pictures had done big box office. Unlike the originals from the 1950s, short running low budget potboilers shot in black-and-white on a soundstage, the new Bomba pictures were exciting action-adventures shot on location in glorious color and shown in 3-D. Another big change was that the new Bomba was gay. Sandy played title role supported by Terry as Bomba's love interest, Bryce O'Hanlon, once a sissy rich boy from New York, happy now to sleep in Bomba's arms when they both weren't running around the jungle bare ass getting into trouble.

Hollywood's latest Jungle Boys, Sandy and Terry were super-twinks, young, cute, and terribly sexy. They owed their breakout success in pictures to their willingness to go in front of the camera in the skimpiest of costumes or even nothing at all. If fact they had made entire pictures in the nude including a gay version of 'The Blue Lagoon' and a remake of 'When Dinosaurs Ruled the Earth', already a cult classic.

Sandy and Terry had taken up the mantle of actor Jason Eberly, the first to be called 'Jungle Boy' in his own right, not as an on-screen character. Like Jason, Sandy Barnett was a blond twink blessed with pretty boy features and a fine athletic physique which he was not shy about showing off. Something of an exhibitionist, he had started out as a male model. He often went swimming at nude beaches. Sandy also like to run bare foot and bare ass along jogging trails in a clothing optional state park near his parents' home in Florida. Fletcher fully expected him to throw off his shorts and tank top after the meeting and jump into the pool.

His costar and lover Terry Knowles had originally been a bit shy about baring all, but had came out of his shell, as well as his clothes, under Sandy's influence. The blond actor had recently introduced Terry to the sport of nude beach volleyball. Fans and paparazzi crowded the sidelines for a chance to capture candid video of the two youths as they sidestepped, jumped, blocked, and spiked the ball. The fast moving game might have been designed to show off the youthful male physique, especially with a pair of uber-twinks like Sandy and Terry out there in all their glory, buns bared and all.

"My friends," Fletcher began, "the word of the day is "Dimacherus".

He spelled it. The others frowned, clueless.

"No takers? All right, I'll explain. The dimacherus was a kind of gladiator who fought with only two long knives but no armor, helmet, or other gear. In fact he entered the arena stark naked with his body oiled up making him hard to grapple."

"Stark naked, eh?" Sandy remarked. "I can guess where this is going."

Terry rolled his eyes heavenward in supplication. These days screenwriters seized on any pretext, however flimsy, to get him and Sandy out of their clothes. All right, a pair of perpetually naked castaways was believable enough when the total population of the tropical island of the Blue Lagoon numbered only two young males. But the pretext for the dinosaur picture had become a running joke. The opening narrative explained that its young heroes were naked because, in that time so long ago, clothing had not yet been invented. Right!

Admittedly it was cleverly done. The voice-over opening narration purported to be a loose translation of a set of cave paintings that told the story. The man who spoke the narration was none other than Conrad Held, who did voice work before he was cast in the title role in the new series of Dracula pictures.

Actually both Terry and Sandy liked doing costume pictures a whole lot. Call them a couple of kids, but it was fun to dress up as a pirate or musketeer and lay about with sword and dagger. If only he could play D'Artagnan, Terry was sure that he would look fabulous wearing the blue and silver tabard of a musketeer, his rapier suspended from the baldric across his chest with high boots and a large plumed hat to complete the ensemble. In fact Terry had secretly practiced in front of a mirror, sweeping a big hat off and around in front in a courtly bow. Now that was movie making. If only.

"The concept," Fletcher continued," is "Spartacus meets the Jungle Boys".

That drew universal groans and shaking heads.

"You know the critics are gonna call it 'Young Gladiators', Potter pointed out.

"Hey, give it a chance." Fletcher protested. "Here is the pitch."

Sandy and Terry would play young barbarians captured in the wars and consigned to a gladiatorial school to be trained as gladiators. In the arena, they fight separately and win bout after bout against large heavily armed opponents always dreading the day when they might be set against one another. Though warned against forming friendships with other gladiators whom they might have to kill, the boys have fallen hopelessly in love. In desperation they escape and flee to the coast where they join a band of Cilician pirates at work scouring a seaside town in Roman Italy. After which, they sail off into the sunset.

"Shouldn't that be into the sunrise, Marty?" Potter asked. As I remember my ancient history and geography, Cilicia was in Asia Minor, way to the east of Italy."

"Dramatic license." Fletcher replied airily. "Besides, they can't sail directly eastwards. Italy is in the way."

Actually, geography aside, everyone liked the concept. It had all the elements of an exciting movie: action, spectacle, romance, dramatic conflict, even humor. Add in the sex appeal of a couple of cute twinks running around the sands of the Colosseum bare ass naked, why the picture would pull in millions.

Potter acknowledged that he would have no problem lining up backing for such a picture. There was no need to talk salary. The boys had a lucrative five picture deal with the studio. With everyone on board for the project, the meeting was soon over.

Terry and Sandy undressed, dove into the pool, and started swimming laps. The pool was Olympic in length but only half that in width, with three lanes. Fletcher swam for an hour first thing every morning for his health. Sandy and Terry liked to use Fletcher's pool since they did not have one at their townhouse. Some considerable time later Sandy got out of the pool and stepped under the outdoor shower giving the producer a good look at him.

Sandy Barnett was twenty-two but looked no more than eighteen thanks to his slight build, tight body, and total lack of body hair, even at the fork of his legs. The smooth look was popular for young males, and modern one-time depilatories made it simple to achieve. Fletcher reflected that in their day, the ancient Romans had abhorred body hair, having it plucked periodically by attendants at the public baths. Ouch!

The thinking was, that if you were going to run around in the nude anyway, then you might as well go all the way and get totally naked, minus messy body hair. It helped that single-use depilatory creams also left the skin smelling sweet. It turned off production of potentially smelly secretions from the sweat glands of the armpits and groin while leaving the cooling function of perspiration unaffected.

Sandy's body was that of a young athlete: short, slender, and slightly built but toned and sporting a wiry but well-defined musculature. It wasn't all Mother Nature's doing. He worked out regularly, but Sandy was no body builder, certainly no pumped up Tarzan like Gordon Scott eighty years earlier. No, this movie star had the physique of a boy not quite grown into manhood, a fine swimmer's build you would say, in contrast to cross country runners like Jason Eberly, the first Jungle Boy or Terry Knowles

Sandy was a fine looking specimen but diminutive in stature, standing barely four inches over five feet (163 cm) and weighing only 112 pounds (51 kg). Daily swimming and running and working out with light weights had produced the body of an athlete with the look of a fawn. He was simply scrumptious.

As for his face, Sandy Barnett was a pretty boy, much prettier in fact than a boy rightly ought to be, with fine-boned features, highlighted by a straight nose, a chiseled jaw line, high cheekbones, and large green eyes topped by a thatch the color of corn.

Terry was no slouch in the looks department himself. A cute red head, lightly freckled and with sky blue eyes, Terry was a beauty in his own right. His slender but well-knit physique physique measured just over five four (164 cm) (a half inch more than Sandy) and he weighted 117 pounds (53 kg). His physique was the very opposite of the bulging muscles of a gym bunny. Like Sandy he worked out but only for better definiton.

You wouldn't think it just to look at him but he was quite an acrobat. He might not have the typical gymnast's build, but even his stunt double could not match him in tumbling, climbing, or balancing. He was a bit vain about his abilities too, taking every chance to show off climbing structures and swinging on ropes and such. Recently he and Sandy had taken up the sport of parkour, which turned a normal cityscape into an impromptu obstacle course. The two were forever scrambling up buildings and structures, scaling walls, etc. At least there was one kind of exercise that got these shameless kids to put on a pair of pants, even if it was only low-rise skin tight shorts, no top, and light shoes.

Meanwhile Luis had finished his chores and looked hopefully over at his boss. Fletcher nodded indulgently telling the boy to take the rest of the afternoon off. The happy houseboy joined Terry in the pool where the two of them frolicked and splashed and indulged in the kind of grab ass games so dear to the hearts of youthful males. After a while Terry and Luis repaired to the guest house where the houseboy had his quarters.

"There they go again, Sandy," Fletcher ventured as the blond actor sat down with him, "It never bothers you, does it, when your lover goes off with another boy for, well ... "

"For a tryst, you mean."

"Tryst? Do people still use that word? I thought it was only for Scrabble these days. OK, a tryst. It doesn't bother you though, Sandy."

"Martin," Sandy began "The human male is simply not made for monogamy. It's evolution, about spreading our genes, and all that. Gay guys especially understand the difference between monogamy and commitment. Terry and I are committed to each other in every way possible. We are lovers, each other's best friends, co-stars ... we have even joined our fortunes and our futures in a civil union, but we are still guys. That means we need variety."

That drew a rueful laugh from the producer who said:

"I tried explaining that to my wife, but she left me after our sons grew up. She couldn't accept my rationale that occasionally a man will stray and find other company temporarily, but it doesn't mean he does not love his wife and family. It shouldn't break up a marriage, but it did."

"What can I tell you, Martin, me with no experience at all with women? I'm a complete virgin that way, but I do know that women have a hard time accepting that only the female half of humanity is naturally monogamous. John Denver put it best in his song 'Berkeley Woman'

Oh woman is the sweetest fruit that God ever put on a vine.

But I would no more love just one kind of woman than drink only one kind of wine.

"To most women, that is just a clever way of saying that men are pigs."

"Unlooked for wisdom in one so young and looking even younger. You boys have faces that never change. No wonder Conrad Held dubbed you the uber-twinks."

"Tell me about it! Terry and I will get carded till we're forty! Hell, we've been arrested twice for carrying phony ID."

Meanwhile, in the guesthouse, Terry and Luis fell onto the bed in a tangle of bare limbs and laughter, hugging and kissing and petting. After they disentangled themselves, they sat up together, legs intertwined kissing and touching each other everywhere. While Terry played with Luis's nipples, the Latino boy clutched their rampant cocks, pressing them together, sliding his hand up and down the shafts, milking them for seminal fluid. Luis touched the tip of his finger to the fluid welling up from the tiny slits, first offering a sweet tasting droplet to Terry then putting one to his own tongue.

"For such a sweet kid Luis, you are one red hot chili pepper in bed."

"As if you weren't pretty damn hot yourself, my fiery haired gringo, or should I say, gringuito," employing a diminutive.

That was the attraction between them, hot boy sex. Terry loved grappling with Luis's slim body, one so much like his own if not so muscular. They had the physiques of boys not quite grown into a men, and the libidos of youths at the very peak of their sexual prowess. With another boy, sex for Terry was a joy; it was fun, far different from the subservient craving Terry felt for sex with the dominant bondage masters he sometimes yielded himself to.

Both boys were energetic and enthusiastic and quite flexible in their role playing, cheerfully switching from top to bottom and often sixty-nining. In bed Luis was utterly uninhibited, willing to try any position their athletic bodies were capable of. He was very vocal, but then so was Terry. Fortunately the thick walls of the guesthouse kept the sounds of their lusty sexual congress within.

Abruptly Luis scooted forward, lifting himself and settling his ass on Terry' erection. The sudden total penetration drew a gasp from the impaled boy, then a sigh of pleasure. This was what a bottom boy like Luis was born for, to be fucked.

Terry bent forward, putting Luis on his back. He started pumping into the welcoming hole of his young lover, which clutched and gripped his turgid manhood. Then came the moment when Terry's cock touched his lover's joy spot. Luis felt light headed, tempest tossed on a sea of sensation, his head whirling, the pulse pounding at the temples, his own member poking stiffly up from his groin. His whole body shuddered helplessly as his guts clutched in an orgasm. When he came, Luis nearly blacked out from the intensity of it, as his gism spurted from his cock to coat their chests and bellies. At the same time, a wet warmth flooded his insides as Terry shot too. The red-head pressed their sweaty bodies together, holding the Latino boy, savoring their closeness, kissing him softly on the lips.

Afterwards, the two youths lay together sweaty and tired, drained but satisfied. Soon it was time for Terry to take a shower and drive home with Sandy.

Chapter 2. Car Trouble

"So what happened with Luis, Terry? You both went inside but only you came out."

"Oh, he's still in bed Sandy, exhausted. I wore the poor guy out."

"He's got a real crush on you, Terry."

"I know. He's a lot of fun in bed Sandy, but I hope he realizes it's nothing serious between us."

"Just recreational sex, you mean."

"Exactly."

Terry was fresh from a shower, hair still damp. Sandy sniffed then asked about the scent he was wearing.

"Oh, something of Luis's that calls itself a "manly scent". It goes by the name of "Really Ripped Abs", if you can believe that."

"We're both pretty well ripped already, from all our running and swimming and climbing."

"True, but Luis sure isn't. He is more skinny than slender. His is the sort of epicene beauty peculiar to boys of a certain age. I'm afraid the only way he'll ever get ripped abs in out of a bottle."

"Gosh, Terry, I hoped you didn't actually tell him that and hurt his feelings. He is such a sweet kid."

"Oh, I know that, and of course I would never lay anything like that on him. I like him a whole lot, you know."

"Everyone does."

They waved companionably to Fletcher as they walked over to Terry's car for the short drive to their townhouse. Sandy grabbed Terry's shorts out of his hands before he could put them on and threw both pair in the back.

"Why bother Terry? No one can see inside your tinted windows. And we're driving less than seven miles. Lets go just as we are. After all, what could happen?"

Grinning and feeling very naughty, the boys drove off stark naked.

About half-way home, Terry and Sandy were overtaken by a car that rushed past them at nearly twice their own rate of speed. The speeding car was of a different make but much the same style and color as Terry's Ford. Not far behind came a trio of police cruisers, light flashing and sirens warbling. With no time to slow down, Terry simply edged onto the shoulder to give the cops room to pass. Instead of passing him, the lead cop car put its right front fender against the left rear of Terry's car and sent it into a deliberate spin using the PIT maneuver.

Terry held on to the wheel, fighting for control, but his car spun right around, crossed onto the sidewalk and took out a mailbox on the passenger side before it got sideswiped on the driver's side by a police cruiser. Airbags popped into the young actors' surprised faces. Swerving to avoid the pile-up, a second cop car managed to wrap its grill around a utility pole.

Cops from the stopped cruisers piled out and rushed over to Terry's Ford with guns drawn.

"Show us your hands! Show us your hands! Get out of the car!"

"Uh, officers, could you give us a chance to reach back for our shorts? We're both naked in here."

"Keep your hands in sight. Don't reach behind you. Keep your hands away from your guns."

The boys had no choice but to exit the car stark naked, hoping they wouldn't get shot by some nervous cop by mistake.

"What the hell is this?" exclaimed a surprised cop looking at the nude twinks.

"Well, well, well. What we have here is a couple of nature boys. And look, there's not a feather on either one of them." said another.

"So what, maybe they did not rob the bank themselves, but they did drive this decoy car," growled a third. "Isn't that true Red? You're working with the crew that just hit the Well Fargo Bank on Sepulveda. And don't try looking innocent with me. I know a perp when I see one."

The police corporal then said:

"I don't suppose you can produce any ID. What about you Blondie?"

"Uh, our ID is in our shorts, on the back seat."

"Instead of covering you decently. What kind of kink are you into, you shameless tramps?"

"Hey, if we offend you, officer, how about letting us get dressed?"

"No way, Red. Everything in that car is evidence. Besides, a felony arrest is strictly come-as-you-are."

Two cops handcuffed the boys and kept them naked even while other cops checked their car. The cops made a production of patting them down for concealed firearms and doing a cavity search for contraband, with the boys put belly down on a fender. They kicked the kids' feet apart, smacked them on the butt with their hands, and reached between their legs to get a good hold so their prisoners wouldn't squirm too much as they were probed with latex covered fingers.

OK it was on a secondary road--but still right out there in public. Neither cop liked Sandy much but they were especially dismissive of the little red headed transgressor. He was the driver, wasn't he? Look at him: small, nude, and hairless even down there -- and much prettier than a boy rightly out to be -- not much of a male was he? Neither of them really. Sandy's cop gave his tackle a couple of good squeezes, just to teach the obvious gay boy a lesson.

They took take their captives to the station, with one of the cops taking the wheel of the Ford. The grinning cops dragged the hapless boys before the desk sergeant, making a big story of the arrest. They wanted the boys charged with aiding and abetting armed robbery, reckless driving, interference with the police, vehicular assault, malicious mischief, the works.

The prisoners' conspicuous nudity caused much merriment. Everyone in the precinct looked at their pretty boy faces and boy toy physiques, their complete lack of body hair, and bronze skins with no tan lines and smirked. Don't these kids ever wear clothes? Oh yeah, that's the latest thing, isn't it: casual public nudity. Some people thought that a sensible way to deal with global warming. At least these guys were young, in shape, and cute as anyone might wish.

The two arresting officers wouldn't leave it there either, taunting the boys verbally and teasing the boys physically, poking a nightstick at their genitals and running the shaft along their cleavages. At least the boys got some relief when the crusty desk sergeant told their tormentors to leave off.

One cop sat the boys down on a bench while the other went into an office. After a while, he came out again with a police lieutenant. Sergent Costigan passed the lieutenant an evidence bag with the boys' shorts and IDs.

"Thought you might want to interview these offenders yourself, sir."

The lieutenant was a big man, six-five and two thirty. He looked over at the two captives and raised his eyebrows then asked the Corporal, the senior arresting officer:

"You brought them in stark naked?" he said, shaking his head.

"All right, boys. I'm Lieutenant Smyth with an 'y'. Bring them inside, Corporal, then you can write up your report and go back out on patrol".

Sandy almost ran into Smyth when the cop turned abruptly at his desk. The man looked down at him, an eyebrow quirked. The blond youth suddenly felt very small before this giant. Their proximity accentuated his own nudity, and the peace officer's uniform and badge and gun symbolized the authority and power the big man had over him. With hands cuffed behind him, Sandy felt helpless and vulnerable. What did this big cop intend to do with him?

The big cop eyed both boys skeptically. He was having a hard time seeing a pair of naked twinks as the accomplices of a crew of professional bank robbers. More like a couple of young idiots out for a joyride. Time for a lesson in manners.

With Sandy right in front of him, he started on a deliberately humiliating tactile inspection. Smyth put his big hands on the young man's shoulders, slid his palms over the flaring pectorals, ran his hands down the impressively scalloped belly and circled his navel with his thumb, then ran his thumbs over the boy's prominent hip bones. He turned the youth around and ran his hands down the boy's shoulder blades and flanks to the flare of his narrow hips and on to the curve of his buttocks, giving them an experimental squeeze. He reached forward testing the firmness of the muscles on the back of Sandy's thighs and of his calves. Hmmmn. Impressively muscled for such a slender lad.

This blond boy had a beautiful tanned body, toned, taut and muscular with strong shoulders, well defined abdominal muscles, and narrow hips. His hands were small and his legs well muscled with veins prominent under the skin because of a body fat percentage virtually in single digits. No hair interrupted the flow of its faultless lines. Small veins just under the skin of the belly led the eye downwards to the fork of the legs. His sex was in proportion with a smooth cock, foreskin concealing the head.

"So you like boys, do you?" Terry asked sarcastically.

"Indeed, I do like boys, but not that way you mean." Smyth countered. "I coach Little League. Still, as boys go, your friend here is as cute and sexy as they come. You too, Red, but that's no excuse for driving around without a stitch."

Turning back to Sandy, he spun the captive youth to face him once again, smiling at the boy's embarrassment, the way their proximity and the intimate visual and physical scrutiny had stimulated him, plumping his cock up a bit, a drop of clear fluid glistening at the tip. He grinned as he saw the boy's nostrils flare, unconsciously taking in the cop's scent. Pheromones to a gay kid like him.

As the lawman continued to handle his genitals and look at them appraisingly, Sandy felt heat rush to his belly. Oh, no, please not now, not in front this cop, not in front of Terry. His whole body turned pink from embarrassment. Of course the more he thought about his swelling cock, the more it plumped up. His nether hole twitched in anticipation. A bottom boy like Sandy could not help but respond to the proximity and overwhelming masculinity of the big cop.

A saucy smile split the lieutenant's face as he watched Sandy's erection rise to vertical. Tut tut, such a naughty boy. He frigged the rampant cock a bit, pulling the foreskin down to reveal the purple head, rubbing his thumb over the sweet spot and squeezing the head to express a clear drop of seminal fluid from the slit. Scooping it onto a finger tip he offered it to his prisoner. Sandy gulped at the humiliation but obediently took the droplet of his own pre-cum on his tongue and swallowed it. Yes, this boy was a natural submissive.

The big cop then pulled the stiff member out at a forty-five degree angle and let it slap back to his belly with an audible thwack. A law enforcement officer of long experience, he knew that sometimes to get the attention of a young male, you had to grab him by the balls. A stiff prick made a good handle too. Smyth turned a bit to give the other boy a good look and pulled the rigid member down nearly parallel with the floor. The resulting smack was louder.

"Must be happy to see me. Don't you think so, Red?"

Terry's eyes boggled. Sandy wasn't really into bondage and humiliation like he was, yet here his lover was hard. If Terry had been the one with the big cop's hands all over him, playing with his erection, offered a drop of his own pre-cum to lick off a finger, wow. He would have cum right then and there. Oops, just thinking about it was getting him hard too.

Terry's nether sphincter suddenly sputtered and smacked and crackled as gas escaped from his anus. The big cop looked over at him, one eyebrow raised interrogatively.

"Did you take it up the keister just now from your boyfriend here? He's pretty well-endowed for a boy his size. Then you are pretty small yourself, especially back there with those narrow hips of yours. He must have stretched you good. Is that why you can't keep it in? Better pucker up before it starts draining down your legs."

Poor Terry was mortified by such salacious talk. Due to his Irish Catholic upbringing, Terry was embarrassed to talk frankly about the mechanics of sexual intercourse especially with authority figures. That was why trash talk during his bondage experiences affected him so much. Now this cop was taunting him for having had recent anal sex, taunting the boy because his ass lips were loosened by his sex play earlier in the day with Luis.

Smyth told himself he'd better stop there. This blond kid was so randy he might very well splooge on his uniform if he tried that again. And the red head was getting aroused too. At least they had the good sense to be embarrassed about it. Well, let this be a lesson to them both. Lt. Smyth had gently mind fucked the blond kid, knowing that, as a bottom, Sandy would respond to this unconventional approach to interrogation. He had teased Terry too. As the driver, should have done more than just taken his foot off the accelerator and edge over to the shoulder of the road. He should have braked, come to a stop, and parked at the side of the road.

Well Terry wasn't to know that the cops didn't just want him to give them room to pass. He had no idea that the car with the bad guys had already escaped a first attempt at the PIT maneuver. So the collision was actually caused by his own officers, as the dashboard video had confirmed. And the angry cops had gone too far with these kids, making a public spectacle of their nudity, slapping them around.

Sure the boys had committed an infraction, but a minor one he could mark down to high spirits. It was the department that was really at fault with a high speed chase and spin out that put innocent motorists and pedestrians at risk. Someone might easily have been killed or, perhaps worse, disfigured or crippled for life. So the big cop released the boys from their handcuffs and let them climb into their shorts assuring them that no charges would be filed.

Still it was only right to let the twinks tell what happened from their own viewpoint.

"So boys, what's your story?"

First off the kids denied having anything to do with any bank robbery. As if they needed the money with as much as they had in the bank. As to their state of undress, the boys were polite, contrite, and apologetic about their prank. All right, yes, a public road wasn't a nude beach nor a section of a park set aside for nude sunbathing. They thought they were discreet behind tinted windows. No, they hadn't realized it was a violation of section such and such. They were truly sorry and would never do it again. Still, the cop looked skeptical, even shaking his head slowly.

Terry couldn't contain himself any longer.

"You cops never gave us kids a break. Always throwing your weight around. What can we do about it anyway? A couple of bare ass kids are an easy target. You don't seem to realize that that cop car ran me right off the road. Blame them for my loss of control. Blame the bank robbers they were chasing. It isn't my fault if my car looked a lot like theirs. We're the victims here. Did you see what they did to my car? Both sides are banged up and gouged."

Lieutenant Smyth shook his head.

"Don't jump to conclusions Terry. I was about to let the both of you go. I can see you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time in the wrong kind of car. Anyone who thinks a couple of naked pretty boys are hardened criminals probably shouldn't be driving a police cruiser."

"But you're also being too hard on the police force, thinking in stereotypes. You shouldn't believe all cops are like the ones who arrested you. Didn't Sergeant Costigan out there get your arresting officers to leave you alone? He gave you a fair shake too, just as I am doing now."

Indeed the sergeant had flicked a switch to put the goings-on at his bench on camera so his lieutenant could monitor the action. Costigan had no use for bullies who abused prisoners for their own amusement. Not only was it wrong in itself, but it made his precinct and the whole department look bad. Those two kids should have been allowed to get dressed. That was procedure. Besides, the poor things looked so woebegone and scared, his heart went out to the frightened lads. Examining their ID, he was surprised to see that they were twenty-two. Neither looked a day over eighteen. They looked so damn cute too, especially that red head, biting his lower lip nervously.

"And I didn't really need ID for you or your friend here. I recognized you both as Hollywood's Jungle Boys, even if my men didn't. I've seen all of your movies. I know that with all the millions you have made in the motion picture business, you are the last guys to take part in a robbery. Still, there's a bit of the exhibitionist in both of you, I'm thinking, from those skimpy or non-existent costumes in your movies, not to mention today's command performance."

That aside, the lieutenant had been favorably impressed that the boys hadn't made excuses for driving around in the nude, hadn't tried to throw their weight around as big time movie stars, and had not tried to call some big shot lawyer. Hell, even that car of theirs was no great shakes. It must be at least five years old, a vehicle anyone might drive, and these kids were rich. That's what he liked most about them: they did not act like big shots. A decent pair of kids really, even if they couldn't keep their pants on. Nice kids, not like so many Hollywood types Smyth had run into over the years. And that red head had spirit.

"One thing more, kids. I know the law is much more tolerant these days about guys like you running around bare ass in public, but you should be a whole lot more cautious. Not everyone out there is willing to just ogle and fantasize. Both you boys have gotten into trouble like with those weirdoes in the San Jacinto mountains, that so-called Brotherhood, and those jailbirds in the Yucatan. Sure you have had your share of fun too like with those young tribesmen in Africa. Watching the video, I laughed so hard my ribs hurt. You should have seen your faces! Seriously though, and I am speaking now as a friend rather than as a cop, you need to watch it. Remember, just because you have a legal right to do something, does not necessarily mean that it is a good idea."

The boys nodded, grateful to the big cop for his forbearance. Since Terry's car was still operable, they just drove straight home.

Given the nature of the incident and the notoriety of the Jungle Boys, the news got out fast, though their fans were disappointed at the quality of the video the police released. The stuff uploaded by passers-by was much clearer. The boys did look ever so sexy standing there on the pavement, totally nude, helpless, arms drawn back by the cuffs, making them look even more slender. The fans' sympathies were entirely with the young actors. The cops seemed to be having much too of a good time, working them over, slapping their assess, and verbally humiliating them.

The boys had been upset at first about their arrest, but then shrugged it off. The collision was not their fault, but they had been rather naughty about driving bare ass down busy streets, though with tinted windows they were not trying to offend anyone. Well, that was something else to put in the memoirs they would write some day. Meanwhile, they put their version of what happened on their blog.

This misadventure sure topped Jason Eberly's recent run in with the cops.

Chapter 3. Gladiators

During pre-production for their as yet unnamed picture, Sandy and Terry went to gladiator school. Just as their characters would on screen, they were taught the art of knife fighting. A master at arms showed them the different ways to hold a knife. The boys learned the variations on the forward grip including the hammer grip but the saber grip with the thumb on top of the handle was the one with which they would wield their long knives in the arena.

The young actors also learned the regular reverse grip where the hand is wrapped around the handle as if making a fist with the thumb capping the handle, edge facing away from the forearm. It would not be used much in their movie, but that grip was quite popular in slasher movies. Wielding a knife in that fashion turns the edge of the blade toward the victim and the camera, increasing the sense of menace. The boys hadn't done a slasher movie yet, but you never could tell.

Actors were always tooling up for current and future roles. At one time both young actors had been really shaky on horseback, but now looked natural in the saddle. It wasn't just for westerns; you also had your period dramas, sword and sandal epics, even life styles of the rich and famous. You never knew when a producer would put a character up on a horse. The boys had even learned ballroom dancing for a picture that got cancelled before going into production.

Finally the movie went into production. Most of it could be done on local sound stages and the back lot or in front of a green screen. location filming would be done in Mexico rather than in Italy.

Sandy played Tor, a German farm youth captured during Julius Caesar's foray across the Rhine into Germany. Terry played Finn, a young Celt from Gaul, taken in the battle against his people the Belgae. The hapless youths had been stripped, enslaved, marched south, and finally sold at auction to a certain Marcellus, trainer and owner of a gladiatorial school in Antium, a port on the Tyrrhenian Sea some 60 kilometers south of Rome. A former gladiatorial champion himself, Marcellus had picked them for his team of fighters. He knew that their physiques and abilities were a perfect match for the fighting style of the dimacherus who relies on speed and agility rather than on armor for protection.

Their extraordinary physical beauty was the other reason for his choice. It wasn't just blood lust that these two comely lads would raise in the spectators. Fighting naked as they did would put the taut sexy bodies of these cute youngsters on display for the delectation of the entire crowd. Even men who were not into boys could appreciate their athleticism and raw animal appeal.

For the sake of dramatic contrast, each match would pit a dimacherus against a heavily armed and armored foe. Their opponents would all be big men, older guys with rough features. It might look like the youths had little chance, slender nude boys armed only with a couple of knives against big men with swords and shields, or tridents and entangling nets, but Marcellus knew that a good dimacherus could win the bout by controlling the pace of the fight, keeping his opponent off balance, harrying him, wearing him down till a final flash of blades ended it. Their twin double-edge blades could block as well as slash or stab, providing defense as well as offense despite the lack of a shield.

Filming was hard work for the young actors. The worst of it was the sheer fatigue of long hours doing action sequences under the hot sun, getting sweat in their eyes. Sometimes the kids had to call a break just so Sandy and Terry could hydrate and rest for a bit. It was no picnic. These boys had to do their own fight sequences -- no stunt doubles. The physiques of these young stars were far too well known to the audience for that. Even in as good shape as these young men were, their action filled days left them exhausted. Prop weapons made of aluminum feel like iron after a long day.

Hollywood stunt men played their opponents. You wouldn't know it from their fierce demeanor on screen as they tried to kill the naked youths facing them, but these men really liked both lead actors a lot. These kids might be pretty boys, and you could hardly get them into a pair of pants even off-screen, but they were good actors and good at stunts too, holding up their end of the pretend combat really well. Nobody had to carry these two in a fight scene. Hell they might be able to win such a fight for real, if somehow spirited back to ancient Rome in a time machine.

The kids took their lumps too. Even blunted weapons can leave bruises when they make unintentional contact with their entirely unprotected flesh. Fight scenes are tightly choreographed and require a great deal of rehearsal beforehand. Each fight is broken down into short sequences for the sake of safety and to let the director and cameraman get the shots they need. The scene of the melee in the arena was the toughest, with eight fighters on each side. One stunt man went to the hospital with a concussion.

At one point during a rehearsal, Sandy backed off from an opponent, holding up his hand to signal a break. He sat down heavily, thrusting his knives into the sand, reaching for the water bottle a staffer handed him. After drinking deeply and emptying the rest of the water over his head, the young actor looked up at the stunt man and said wearily.

"What a way to make a living! I don't know how you can stand it, Jim, baking under the hot sun in all that armor."

The stunt man laughed, twirling his heavy sword one-handed to show that he still had plenty of pep left in him even if a kid half his age had to plop down onto the sand from sheer exhaustion.

"It's simple, Sandy. An application of Hollywood movie magic. This armor may look like steel but it is made of a lightweight plastic. That's why it makes so little noise when you strike it with your knife. The sound editor will add metallic clangs during post-production. The suit has forced ventilation built into it. The helmet too. It's too bad you have to do the scene naked. The only cooling system you've got are your sweat glands. The sweat has been dripping off you all afternoon!"

"I'll say one thing for your approach, Sandy. It gets your whole body glistening. That makes you look very sexy. Your fans are gonna love it."

The stunt man showed his admiration afterwards by slapping the kid on the butt with the flat of his sword. It got to be a ritual, a way to wrap things up for the day. The young actors were good sports about it too. No one knew better than they how eminently spankable their asses were.

One day Fletcher brought his houseboy along to watch the filming, a reward to Luis for a job well done on a backyard barbecue for the neighbors. In this scene the two young gladiators are being punished for fraternization. It was very much against the rules for gladiators to form friendships with men whom they might have to kill in the arena. And these two lads had gone beyond mere friendship. They had fallen in love.

Their physical relationship was not the problem, not at all. Indeed the youths were regularly taken to the beds of the older gladiators and to Marcellus's bed as well. But that was just to provide the other gladiators an outlet for their sexual urges. It was only natural to make such use of the younger, smaller, and prettier trainees. They were just slaves after all and had no say about it. Caged in the barracks, perpetually naked, outnumbered, and with the prospect of punishment if they resisted, the young gladiators had to yield themselves to the others for use as pleasure boys.

Luis came in just as the cameras got rolling. The scene was dramatic. There were the forlorn trainee gladiators, their slender nude bodies strung up by their wrists to a column, with a pair of burly gladiators working them over with whips. The boys modeled their performance on that of the actor in the title role of Derek Jarman's old flat movie 'Sebastiane' (1976). The young Italian actor suffered one torment after another before finally being killed by arrows at the end of the movie.

Terry turned on the histrionics, writhing and twisting sexily in his bondage, his muscles playing erotically under his tawny skin. His stood with legs apart, knees bent, back arched, rump thrust back. His small body looking tortured and defenseless. With his arms stretched overhead he could do no more than twist or raise a knee to protect his groin. All quite useless of course as the lashes simply wound their way around his limbs and torso to sting wherever they contacted bare flesh, leaving mean looking red welts.

Sandy's performance was similar though a little more restrained, and actually more realistic in his own estimation. Terry was hamming it up dreadfully. They both twisted and turned as the lashes fell, at first shouting defiance, though both were later reduced to inarticulate screams and sobs as tears glistened on their soft cheeks.

Poor Luis, a gentle soul, had not expected such intense realism. He knew it was all make-believe, but it did not look like it nor sound like it. His heart went out to the tortured youths, particularly Terry. Tears welled up in his eyes as he turned to Fletcher and blurted out his feelings.

"Oh no, not my Terry. Look what they are doing to him. You must stop it!"

Surprised but also touched by the distraught houseboy's obvious concern, Fletcher did not mock him for his overreaction.

"Look my young friend. None of this is real. It's all make-believe. Here feel one of these prop whips. They are made of a soft fabric light as a feather and only tricked up to look like leather. It's the red powder impregnating the lashes that is leaving welts on Terry's back and ass. No one is hurting him or Sandy either. If anything, your red headed friend is getting off on the whole scene. If you look closely you can see he is hard. He does have a kinky side to him, our Terry does."

Just then the director called "Cut!" Luis hurried over to his friend and took him in his arms.

"They didn't hurt you then after all? You're all right, Terry?"

Still strung up, Terry could not hug his friend back but he too spoke gently to him, touched by Luis's genuine concern. It was so sweet. The two comely youths pressed their bodies together and kissed. No doubt about it. Fletcher was right. The staged flogging had got Terry aroused. Sandy smiled, not at the naivete of the cute houseboy but at Terry's state of arousal which could not be concealed on the crowded set.

"Another sure-fire sequence for the 'Making Of' video. Good work there Terry."

Embarrassed but also pleased with Luis's presence, Terry shrugged it off. These things happened. Soon all three young men were chatting volubly about the production. Suddenly Sandy had a thought.

"Say Marty, how about giving Luis a bit part. Nothing much, one scene, a couple of lines. Take advantage of his presence here. I know he would just love it."

"A bit part? Doing what?"

"Throw him to the gladiators to play with. He is so damn cute, he would fit right in as a naked slave boy."

Luis was ecstatic. He would be doing a movie with Terry! While the crew set up for the next scene, a screenwriter sketched out the simple scene and wrote down a couple of lines for Luis to memorize. Luis would portray a slave boy who worked at the gladiatorial school but was not himself a gladiator in training. As the scene unfolds, Luis tends the hurts of the whipped boys before he himself is drawn away to entertain the gladiators with his sweet body. The slender nude boy trembles with fear as big men in leather and armor press around him. He sinks to his knees as the gladiators leer and joke among themselves. Cut.

So Luis's scene is sexually explicit but not graphic. The three of them, Luis, Terry, and Sandy were completely naked. No coy camera angles either. The houseboy would appear on screen in all his glory, front and back but he would not simulate sexual intercourse.

They did the scene in only two takes. Maybe Luis was not movie star material, but he did well enough, especially for an untrained beginner. Director Jim Nichols thought they were lucky to have the sexy youngster for that improvised scene. Great body and that face of his had an exotic beauty. Maybe they could use him again in future movies. His mixed heritage, Spanish and Zapotec Indian, would let him play ethnic roles. With his high cheekbones and light toned reddish brown skin he could play an Indian, a Mexican, a lascar, a Hindu, anything at all. His young stars were happy with the idea. So was their producer though he warned Luis not to get his hopes up too high about success in the movies. It was a tough racket.

"You did OK just now, Luis" Fletcher said, "but don't quit your day job."

This was to be the most explicitly homo-erotic movie that the two young stars had ever done. They were naked in virtually every scene, their athletic bodies on display in training sequences, combat in the arena, the slave auction, rapes by their captors and by the gladiators, and their tender love scenes.

The most graphic scenes were when the young gladiators were raped by rich Roman males. It was customary for the gladiator schools to prostitute a victorious fighter out to those who wanted sex with him while he was still covered with sweat, the dust of the arena, and the blood of his foe. It appealed to the Romans to fuck a trained killer who was chained up for the protection of the patrons. That was the ultimate way of enjoying the games, sampling the flesh of a real gladiator right after mortal combat. For that reason, the bloody minded Romans soon took to calling the young gladiators the "Killer Catamites."

For a montage of post fight prostitution, eight actors played rich patrons of the games enjoying the charms of one or the other of the pair. One portly actor just did a close up, the camera zooming in on his jaded features, his tongue licking his lips lasciviously while looking at the nude bodies of the chained up youths. Another actor got to slap Tor's butt just before mounting him. A third threw Finn onto his back saying he wanted to watch his pretty face when he got pronged. But those were just short sequences not full scenes.

Everyone has seen a montage even if they don't know the technical term. Montage is a filmmaking technique which uses quick cuts between scenes, special effects, and music to compress the narrative into a short sequence. It shows, in a very short time, what has been happening over an extended period.

For the role of the Roman senator whose viciousness towards Terry pushes the young gladiators to revolt, the studio brought in Conrad Held. It was only a small role really but a critical one, and Conrad was perfect for it. First he had the look of a villain: tall, dark, and elegantly handsome, with an intent stare and a perpetually quriked eyebrow that hinted at the cruelty beneath the surface elegance. In this role, he spoke with an upper class English accent. In a subconscious echo of Britain's imperial past, the actors playing Roman characters all employed an appropriate class accent. Non-Romans spoke with an American accent. This was a convention going back to the Charleton Heston version of 'Ben-Hur'.

Additionally the audience would remember Conrad and Terry's pairing in their Dracula movies. The cute red-head was ever the object of the vampire's dark lusts. Their real life trysts were no secret either thanks to pirated video of their cruise down Mexico way.

The production had carefully foreshadowed Held's big scene, lingering over him in crowd shots of the arena, or showing him conferring familiarly with Marcellus, the gladiator trainer, that sort of thing. Now was his big moment. This scene would set up the dramatic conflict that drove the plot to its climax.

In the scene poor Finn (Terry) is lying on a pallet, chained by his wrists to the wall of a cell. Clearly exhausted, the slender nude boy is dirty, sweaty, and covered with blood, not all of it his opponent's. Some of it seeps from a small cut on his upper arm. He has a scrape along the high cheekbones of his face. (All courtesy of a fey lad in make-up.)

Drained, bruised, and battered though he is, Finn is still beautiful, perhaps even more lovely from the contrast with his physical condition and dismal surroundings. Finn's face shows his chagrin that yet once again, as so many times in the past, he has been forced to submit to sexual assault. First it was the Roman legionnaires who captured him, the slave drivers who marched him south to Italy, older and bigger males in the slave pens, his fellow gladiators, and now Roman patricians, reeking of wealth and privilege.

Quite a let-down it is too: the victor in the arena one moment, the next moment degraded and transformed into a sexual plaything in a deliberate denial of his masculinity and manhood. Since his capture, they had kept him perpetually naked, like an animal, so much livestock.

As the door swings open, the haughty senator Caius Marius enters, a leer on his face. He walks over to the bound boy, sits on the edge of the bed and and runs his fingers along the boy's back lingering at his rump to caress and fondle and squeeze. The boy trembles under his proprietary touch. A close-up shows Caius licking his lips appreciatively.

"Ah, Finn, you are mine at last. I watched you out there in the arena just now: a comely boy with the heart of a warrior. So fierce with those wicked knives of yours, so quick and agile and yet your face and body would not be out of place in a boy brothel. It's a wonder that you did not end up in one. Then again, Marcellus does have a discerning eye for fighting talent."

"Now I will take my pleasure of you, a privilege that my wealth brings. Have you any idea how truly exquisite you are? You are nothing less than a perfect specimen of youthful male concupiscence. You are blessed with a lovely form and a face that cannot but inspire admiration and lust in the heart of any male who appreciates a beautiful lad."

"Don't think that because I am older it will be over quickly. I still have the hard body and stamina of the soldier I once was. So, I will savor you, making my pleasure last and I will take you more than once today. I expect you will respond to my ministrations, to crave my attentions. I know that for all your spirit in the arena, in bed you are sexually submissive. Slight of build as you are and impossibly comely, no one can take you seriously as a male. You were born to be a catamite or pleasure boy."

Finn stays silent. He knows better than to talk back. Marcellus expects his boys to be complaisant even enthusiastic with his clients. Why oh why must this vile man try to justify his intended rape. All right, maybe a boy like Finn does prefer the passive role in sexual intercourse and with his own gender, but why should the choice of partners not be his. But that is not the way things work in Rome. Men with wealth and power take what they want. Barbarians like Finn and Tor, captured in the wars and enslaved, simply have no choice; they must submit.

As the senator looses his robes he displays a lean physique, featuring wide shoulders and a well-developed musculature. He eases himself atop the boy then enters him with a sudden thrust making Finn gasp. Caius pulls Finn's head back by his hair and turns his face forcing the boy into an obscene kiss. The rest of the scene is done as a montage, rapid cuts between glimpses of their lovemaking, showing Finn being taken in various positions: on his belly, on his knees with the senator's hands at his hipbones pulling the boy back to his groin or Finn on his back as the insatiable senator takes his pleasure of him. The senator does have the stamina of a soldier as he prolongs their lovemaking.

Of course, unseen by the camera, Held was wearing a modesty pouch to prevent actual contact skin to skin. He was only simulating sexual penetration of the young actor he had made love to in real life so often. Somewhat to his chagrin, Conrad found himself getting hard, even with the distraction of a whole crew standing right there just out of frame. Terry felt it too as the man's turgid shaft slid along his cleavage or poked between his upper thighs, rubbing against his perineum and bumping his ball sac. It was nearly too much for Terry: his bondage, everyone watching him getting fucked, the sexual stimulation. He got hard too. Just in time the director called cut before the pair committed the unprofessional act of ejaculating on camera.

They really needed that cooling off period between takes.

When filming resumes, the senator is still lying atop Finn. In the afterglow, he tells Finn that his next combat will be against Tor and it will be to the death.

"No never! I could never hurt Tor. I love him and he loves me."

"You won't have any choice, my young friend."

The senator goes on to explain that only one of them can survive. They will both be killed if they don't fight at all or if they only pretend to fight or even if one boy sacrifices himself for the other. It has to be all-out combat which can end with only one victor. That prospect makes the boys desperate to escape and sets up the climax of the picture. And yes, the young lovers do get away in the end and live happily ever after.

Chapter 4. At the Premiere

Test screenings of their new movie showed the studio had a hit on its hands. Audiences loved the slo-mo shots and lengthy fight sequences which highlighted the physiques of the two young athletes in action, David vs Goliath style, as they battled hulking brutes whose blades threatened to cleave the youthful beauty in twain.

Their slender bodies lunged and parried and turned and twisted in a kind of visual poetry that celebrated the youthful male physique in the manner of the Ancient Greeks. That was the only way to describe it. Never had Sandy and Terry ever looked more physically desirable especially to their gay fans. Needless to say the gay community were their biggest fans. They had taken Sandy Barnett and Terry Knowles to their hearts. Their fondest wish was to take the twinks to their beds.

Straight young males, always Hollywood's prime audience, watched the bloody combat in the arena enthralled, oohing and aahing and, gasping at the close calls, on tenterhooks to the end, wondering how these cute twinks could possibly overcome their huge foes. Slender nude boys seemed badly outmatched by heavily armed and armored giants, but the kids always sprang a surprise that gave them the victory.

The straight kids even enjoyed the gay love scenes, especially the rough sex when the young gladiators were prostituted to rich Romans. "Slam it into him" they urged the tops. "Take it like a man!", they urged the bottoms, all they while giggling at their own outrageousness. Many of them were gay friendly anyway and willing to concede that the two young stars were far prettier than the girls they dated.

Came the day of the Hollywood premiere, the buzz was of a mega hit. Advance sales had left many auditoriums booked solid a week ahead or more. There was even a patter of Oscar talk for cinematography and costumes. (That drew a laugh from the twinks when they heard of it.) Congratulations were really due all around: producer, director, casting, sets, costumes. There would be a big pay day for those whose contracts provided them a percentage of the gross.

All along though Potter had been bugged by one question. He brought it up at the party after the premiere showing.

"Fletch, you never did say where you got the idea for the movie. How did you ever hear of a dimacherus in the first place?"

"You'll find this hard to believe, Leon, but our movie is based on historical fact. There really was a Killer Catamite way back when, during the reign of the sexually perverse boy emperor Elagabalus. More than thirty years ago, some farmer in Italy accidentally dug up a half-size bronze statue of the young gladiator. After restoration, it was put on public display. I came across the find about a year ago and knew right away it would make a swell picture especially with our two uber-twinks in the lead roles."

[See the story 'Sol Invictus' in the 'Daphne Boy' series in the Gay/Historical section of the Nifty Archive. It relates the history of the original Killer Catamite. The epilogue describes the archeological find.]

Luis brought his folks to the premiere, having warned them about the explicit nature of his scene. Much to his relief, during the viewing, his father only smiled and squeezed his son's shoulder reassuringly. Luis' mother shook with suppressed laughter at her younger son's on-screen naughtiness. Luis sat up straight, proud of his movie debut. His second gig, already in the can, was more of the same, a bit part for him and an unbilled cameo for Terry in a slasher movie directed by Conrad Held, in a change of pace from acting. The young actors play a couple of college students, slain together in bed by a knife wielding lunatic.

At the celebration dinner, the Jungle Boys' agent Ed Veronese mentioned an idea that had been pitched to him by an independent TV producer. It would be a revival of an old series about the young wizard Merlin and his close friend Prince Arthur, this time with a gay subtext. Set when they were both around twenty years of age, the two principals would be portrayed as wary of each other at first, but later they would become lovers as well as allies.

"The producer see you guys as his young Arthur and Merlin, the perfect gay couple. Arthur is blond, muscular, and classically handsome while the young Welshman Merlin is red-haired, slender, and boyishly cute."

"One problem," Sandy replied. "Sure I am in good shape, but my physique is more about quality than quantity. Sounds like they need someone else, some gym bunny for Arthur."

"Not if you bulk up, Sandy. Put on twenty pounds of muscle."

"Ugh! Not interested, Ed. It's not the look I want for myself. I'm a twink, not a hunk. My fans like me that way. More important, so does Terry. Isn't that right?"

"Right. Sandy knows 'I don't like a man with too many muscles'", Terry said quoting from 'The Rocky Horror Picture Show'. Movie folks are fond of allusions to film classics.

"Forget the pumped up look." Terry added emphatically.

The two young actors hugged briefly. Ed Veronese sighed over the lost opportunity. Still these kids had good instincts about what worked for them. Yes, they listened to industry veterans, but ultimately they made their own decisions. As their agent, Veronese could only recommend projects.

How lucky he was to have had Jason Eberly as his client for twenty years and now these new Jungle Boys plus Conrad Held. Ed had even taken Luis on as a client, really as a favor to Fletcher and the kids. The budding actor might never make the big bucks, but it looked like he had a career ahead of him in supporting roles. Ed had started out that way himself and had a fondness for supporting actors. Movie goers might not know their names but they knew their faces all right.

"You know Ed," Terry ventured, "what I really want is to do a costume picture, to give me a chance to dress up as a pirate or even better as a musketeer. I would give anything to play D'Artagnan."

Sandy rolled his eyes. Here we go again with the musketeers. Vernonese took his young client more seriously asking"

"Hmmn, and what role would that leave for Sandy?"

"Oh, he could play Porthos" Terry said airily, one hand waving dismissively.

"Humph! I am so NOT playing a fat guy." Sandy said emphatically, glaring at his lover in mock umbrage.

An impish smile came over Terry's face as he countered, saying:

"OK, Sandy, you can play Rochefort, the Cardinal's henchman, who has a change of heart and rallies to the side of the Musketeers."

"And what plausible reason could Rochefort have for changing sides?" Veronese asked.

"Simple. He falls in love with D'Artagnan." Terry smiled sweetly.

The others shook their heads, doubtful this outrageous plot twist would really work. Rochefort was always portrayed as a villain of the darkest hue. The man's only virtues were persistence and sheer physical courage. You had to give him that much. Besides Rochefort was a secondary character.

"I'll see what I can rustle up for you." Veronese promised, though his tone was doubtful.

Just then Conrad Helm walked over to the boys and asked them if they had read the script for the new Dracula movie.

"Yes, we both read it," Sandy replied, "but we have one big problem with the project. Namely who gets top billing."

Held looked confused. He had thought that issue long since settled amicably.

"I though that you and Terry agreed to take top billing alternately. Your names always go above the title, but his goes first for the Dracula pictures and costume dramas and yours for the Bomba series and the rest of those Jungle Boy pix."

This drew the attention of both Fletcher and Nichols, producer and director respectively on the project.

"Yes, that's true, Conrad. So, what's the problem boys?" Fletcher asked.

Sandy answered for the both of them.

"It's just that most of the story is about Dracula's early centuries. We come in for little more than the last third of the picture. Conrad has nearly twice as many lines and screen time as both of us put together."

"Right," continued Terry. "And he does play the title character. So it seems only fair to us that, for this picture anyway, Conrad get top billing. In fact, we are pretty much insisting on it."

He raised his head defiantly. Sandy nodded emphatically to signal his support.

Conrad Helm was flabbergasted. This was unheard of in Hollywood: big name stars insisting on top billing for someone else, for an actor who was, when all was said and done, really a supporting player, even if not in this particular picture.

Fletcher was astonished, but if both his stars wanted things that way, how could he oppose it.

"Agreed."

As the boys went off to chat with Luis and his family, the three of them, producer, director, and actor, all Hollywood veterans of long standing who thought they had seen it all, looked after the twinks with tears glistening in their eyes. They shook their heads in wonder at the generosity of spirit that Sandy and Terry had just shown. All right, maybe these kids were wild and irreverent, and you couldn't keep either of them in a pair of pants for very long, but they had heart.

Author's Note

This is another tale about the lives of a pair of young gay actors in Hollywood and their utterly improbable adventures in the movie business. It takes place maybe forty years in the future. This fourteenth installment continues the story of the pair of protagonists, Sandy Barnett and Terry Knowles, introduced in Jungle Boy 6, in place of Jason Eberly, the original Jungle Boy of the first five tales (who has an occasional cameo in these new tales).

If Alexander, the Daphne Boy in my series of that name, is "the ultimate twink" then Jason, Sandy, and Terry are "the penultimate twinks". I just love writing about them. These kids are hot.

This tale is entirely fictional, with no resemblance intended to any person living or dead. Neither the author nor any of his heirs or assigns has any connection whatsoever to the movies except as fans. Occasional references by characters to real motion pictures and actors and others in the movie business are simply to lend verisimilitude to a tale about persons in show business. None of the real people mentioned in passing is in any way part of the tale.

Readers who like the Jungle Boy series should try either of my series of historical novelettes. The 'Daphne Boy' tales depict an eternally youthful protagonist and his adventures in exotic climes and times. The settings for the 'Naked Prey' series are equally exotic, but each story has its own cute twink protagonist. My other series are the 'Track and Field' stories in Gay/College and my 'Mer-Boy' stories in Gay/Beginnings. For links to all my stories, look on the list of Prolific Authors on the Archive for George Gauthier.

Comments and feedback welcome at georgegauthierdc@gmail.com

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