Strike a Pose
#11 of Confessions of a Gay Porn Star
Jimmy remembers a past colleague. Is it a fond memory, or one he'd rather not go to?
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Felt inspired, so here's a quickie from yours truly - calling them that usually brings me good luck, so let's hope for the best! *chuckle*
I would appreciate all feedback, as always, so don't forget to comment, vote and fave, y'all!
Have a nice read!
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Sometimes I do look at pictures of myself from the old days- hey, who doesn't, lol? Everyone loves leafing through old photo albums and maybe pointing and laughing at the terrible clothes you used to wear, or maybe catch a look at that great-uncle who passed away some time ago, or maybe a past friend or two, or something. Good times, yeah?
Of course it's a bit different if you used to work in the adult entertainment business, as was my case, and the digital photo album open on my pad resting on my lap was certainly of that more interesting variety. Heheh.
I can be pretty clinical about it, for most part. Just random shots of me in various states of undress and or arousal, silly, goofy poses, suggestive looks, lifted tails, paws dragging my ass cheeks apart while I look at the camera...sucking on a lollipop...ewww...cradling my balls in my paw and grinning...all good and standard porn stuff. Nothing funny about it.
But then I flipped the page again with a twist of my thumb, and a wholly different kind of a picture showed up. That was enough to make my ears jump a little, even.
I was standing there, arms folded over my chest - by now, quite beefy, too, lol, since I was no longer a kitten on this snap, hell no, big arms, legs spread solidly, a confident, cocky look on my muzzle and my ears in a stern angle that was another show of a "don't mess with me, dude!" attitude. That was pretty much porn standards till - throw in some tight-fitting designer gay favorite briefs and you'd be all set for a sultry shoot. All top-like and other stuff fapping guys wanted to look at to get into the mood. Oh yeah.
But that wasn't enough. Nope, this time there was very little of my pretty golden furs in sight. Instead, I was covered from head to toe in black, matte-surfaced leather, dark, dangerous-looking, firm leather that squeaked with every movement I made. And I sure as hell remembered that it did, whether I was moving my arms or my legs or even my tail, lol, stuffed through a studded hole on the back of my tight-fitting pants. I couldn't see my ass on this picture, but I definitely remembered the results of other pictures, and how it looked like, my hot double ass globes lined by the leather that almost looked like it had been sprayed on.
I tell you again, I was never into leather, rubber or any of that stuff, not as a personal preference, but damn did I look good with those pants, on that time almost ten years ago.
It wasn't just that, though. Heavy leather boots covered my footpaws, a bit mismatching with the pants, I suppose, but maybe those who really liked it didn't mind. The leather jacket I wore looked almost like something out of a mental hospital, I guess, with all those leather straps on the front and around the wrists, where more studs adorned the openings. I was wearing fingerless gloves that were of course pure leather, and my knuckles had naughty-looking leather spikes on them, too. My fingers were curled a little to make my pose extra cocky, I thought, and my cheesy leather cap only made it all perfect, or so I thought.
Well, I had the stuff, and I had it on, and I was looking menacingly at the camera, but I looked nothing like Owen.
His stage name was Larry Lasker, but I knew that the polar bear standing next to me on the picture was actually called Owen.
"Hi, I'm Owen", he greeted me, I remembered, the first time we met, in a dingy corridor at The Blue Paws Productions Studios, I was pretty sure I remembered right.
Big paw, a gentle squeeze, and a smile.
The guy on the picture was only big, but nothing else. His huge frame was clad in full fetish leather and rubber, shiny in his case, with extra chains, studs, a leather codpiece, and a nasty-looking collar that was tall enough to make it difficult for him to turn his head as he wished. The top of his head was covered in a leather skull cap that let the ears through, and made it look like someone had shaved off all the fur from there to reveal the skin beneath. His expression was a dark leer, and a giant, glowing cigar stuck between his black lips so that you could see a few vicious teeth, too.
Damn he looked nasty. Made my belly twitch even now as I looked at him, glowering eyes, cigar, ugly leer, that goddamn leather big daddy dom attitude shining through, his eyes, his giant boots, ready to force any nearby twinks to lick them or something, and maybe drop some ash from that cigar over their heads or some other funky shit.
I know what I'm talking about, because I was there. Of course I was. Not as a twink, mind you, but doing other kind of leather daddy stuff...or whatever. I'm not sure whether I qualified as a fully-blown daddy at that point, since I was only about thirty when Max, the producer, hooked me up to do some heavy fetish shooting for the Ballcrusher Collection for Blue Paws. He told me they'd hired some new guy from a rival studio to star in them.
"Hello, Owen. I'm...uhm...Benny."
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I sorta re-imagined my porn identity around that time, you know. Twinky-boyish type Lance had given space to Benny Thicker, the buff muscle lion. The conqueror of boytoy asses and the fucker of muzzles. Sometimes with leather. _ _
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"Heheh, I've seen some of your stuff!" a huge paw came to pat on my shoulder.
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"Really?" I cringed a little under the massive stomping paw while his other still held my paw in a grip.
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"Sure!" the polar bear winked. "Nice to meet you!"
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"Come on lovebirds!" Max the producer was already booming down the hall from the door into his office. "We've got some porn to shoot!"
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Funny to look at him there...posing like that in fully geared up state, grinning and obviously planning to do all sorts of naughty things with the lion standing next to him. And we did, of course, but only on film. Owen was one man kind of a guy "off-duty", so to speak, lol. And really sweet, too.
"You must come to our barbeque this Saturday!" he'd enthuse to me in the locker room shower, after all that sweaty leather was finally off me and I was washing away all sorts of residue from the long shoot. "Everyone would love to meet you!"
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Me, carefully washing my sore tail, wondered whether his idea of a barbeque included a swing hanging from the roof and some rather phallic spit roasting, and maybe a jar of Crisco.
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"Well..." I started, soapy suds rolling along my slightly aching back.
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"You can bring a boyfriend too, if you have one!" the polar bear winked, himself rubbing some heavy duty shampoo onto his head furs.
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Definitely an orgy_, I thought._
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"Well I'm kinda between them..." I mumbled.
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"Any friend then, who likes good, meaty food, heheh," the bear laughed. "Of course there's plenty of salad too and some tofu if you're into that sort of stuff. Angel's made sure of that."
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"Well..."I uhhhmmed again.
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"Come on!" Owen said again. "I've invited a couple of other guys from here, I wanna get to know some of the regulars here, makes it easier to do the job and all that."
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Hmmm...that sounded less like a leather orgy now, I though.
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"Saturday it is, then?" I asked.
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"Sure is!"
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I don't think I have any pictures of that barbeque party...I don't think so. I leafed over the next picture, as if it magically might be taken at that particular occasion, but no, it was just me, a bit younger this time, less built-up with muscle, looking lustfully at the camera while I was busy licking a feline-shaped dildo I held in my paw. My own hard dick poked out of the white pouch of a jockstrap covering my junk.
Damn I looked young.
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I flicked myself back to the leather picture and wondered at it again, Owen there, well...Larry, since he was in character on the picture, the toughest, naughtiest, dirtiest daddy in our studio, and boy did he live up to the reputation. I didn't do anything extra kinky with him besides a small watersports that was part of a bigger group sex thing where we weren't really interacting much, but I saw him work a few times, and it always left me feeling a bit uneasy, and my asshole to clench involuntarily as I'd see him drive all sorts of seemingly impossibly large objects into some poor bottom's tail while the cameras captured everything from multiple angles.
We mostly stuck to generally naughty behavior, excessively dirty talk, some spitting, some rough-housing that looked pretty violent on camera, and a particularly memorable session where I had to wear a collar and leash and be his very good leather kitty-cat while "Larry" smoked his cigar and used me as a footrest.
I was kinda glad there weren't any pictures of that on my album. It would be probably easy to find from the net, though, any of the countless pages where old porn was pirated for free. Hell, I could've flicked the browser open even now and taken a peek.
DIdn't feel like it. It was easier to look at the picture, smile, and remember the smell of cooking meat that hit my nose when the front door opened and a Hawaii-shirt-wearing Owen opened the door and gave me a hug,
"Glad you could make it, Jimmy!"
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I'd shared my real name by then, something I felt comfortable doing then, since we'd worked together a couple of times.
"I brought some beer," I lifted up the two six packs I had.
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"Marvelous!" Larry declared and grabbed them from me. "Come on right through, we're on the back yard obviously, since the weather is so nice."
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No wonder he was wearing sandals and that shirt covering his huge body. All that thick, white fur must've been hellish on a weather like this, something like 100 or so, according to the weather forecast, and according to my T-shirt gluing itself onto my back.
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Owen waddled in front of me and led me into the house. It was an average suburban home, I suppose, but definitely not set up like one. I got a glimpse of a living room, and it was excessively neat, leather furniture, bookshelves, a fully stocked bar, even, complete with its own bar stools. The kitchen I was led through was very clean, too, almost industrial, spotless, stainless steel, and plenty of bowls of salad covered with Saran wrap.
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"We've been cooking all day...hahah...only the real grilling to be done so that we can actually mingle, too..." Owen boomed just as we went through some glass doors and into the fenced back yard.
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It smelled even better there. There was a big gas grill stocked with so many wieners, cuts, buns and corn cobs and whatever I could think of that I was sure it was going to feed 60 furs instead of the 20 or so mingling about. Not a huge party, but not intimate either. There were even a few couples consisting of *gasp* opposite sexes. That made my tail jump with extra surprise. Maybe this wasn't going to be as kinky a party as I thought, lol.
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"Come on, Jimmy!" Owen patted my shoulders, let's go and get you a cold drink, and then you can get a plate and have anything you like to eat, and you can meet everyone...but first of course, Angel!"
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He led me over to the shiny grill which was manned by a massive tiger wearing a blue and white striped apron and brandishing a spatula that dripped with fat and meaty juices as he was busily flipping a few delicious-looking patties.
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"Hey, Angel, here's Jimmy!" Owen still had his paw on my shoulder as he introduced me.
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"Hi, gorgeous!" the huge tiger managed to sound pretty camp when he said that, even if his voice was low and gruff, and kinda sexy, too, I had to admit, especially with all of that buff, pumped up muscle mass that was evident. He wasn't wearing a shirt either, and when he turned his back briefly, I almost expected to see a bare ass below the ties of that apron...but damn...there were some shorts, loose so that I didn't really get to admire his buns.
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"Hello, I tried to sound normal, waved a paw, and hoped that they'd never learn that I had thought this was going to be some kind of a sleazy popper orgy.
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"My name's Angelo but everyone calls me Angel, so you should, too," the tiger replied, paws moving swiftly as he slapped some more pork chops onto the grill where they immediately began to hiss, "so you're Jimmy, huh?"
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"That's me," I said as I felt sweat trickle down my neck.
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"Owen showed me the working copy of your latest thing," the tiger winked at me. "Looked pretty good. Hope he went easy on you, dude."
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My tail was still kinda regretting that job, but I put up a brave face and smiled.
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"Sure," I said, "he's an easy guy to work with."
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Owen chuckled loudly, patted my shoulder some more, and moved away to charm some other guests now that he thought I had gotten to a good start. The tiger called Angel gave me another look, smiled some, and flicked his tail in the direction of the buffet table stocked with food.
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"You heard the hubby," he said, "help yourself, it's a free for all."
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"Thanks," I replied awkwardly.
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"Enjoy, sweetcheeks!" the tiger winked, waving his spatula.
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Wonder how they're doing nowadays, I thought as I smiled a bit, looking at the picture again, me and the big daddy, ready to conquer some butts.
"Hey, could you please not smoke here?" I heard Owen speak loudly when I was piling potato salad onto my plate. "It makes everything stink and I don't like it!"
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Well...almost forgot to mention that Larry Lasker, the cigar-chewing leather daddy, was play-acted by Owen, who hated all forms of smoking.
Peace,
Jimmy.
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