Chapter One - This Life Can Kick You Around
Ross felt himself getting close as he stood in the middle of the office jerking himself off.
He made eye contact with the man in the suit sitting and watching him, biting his lip while giving him his best seductive look. He needed this job, so he pulled out all the stops. With his free hand, he rubbed his muscular chest, breath catching as he played with the erect nubs of his nipples, then provocatively he drifted it down to massage the hard lumps of his perfect abs.
He paused to let a long string of spit drop onto his throbbing cock then resumed stroking, the slickness feeling so damn good. He picked up the pace, letting out breathy little gasps as he felt his climax building.
The man smiled when Ross's body stiffened. Ropes of cum shot everywhichway as he spasmed through a powerful orgasm. Ross made sure he kept jerking himself until the end, letting jizz spill over his fingers so he could rub over the tip. Ross finished by sticking his fingers in his mouth and sucking them clean, his best innocent schoolboy expression on his face.
The man, the producer of an upcoming pilot, got to his feet and golf clapped, then moved to his desk and picked up some paperwork. "Congratulations, Mr. Lynch, you have the part. Thank you for coming"―he smirked at the double entendre―"and I am very much looking forward to working with you. Very much." He handed a still-naked Ross the papers. "It was a pleasure seeing you again."
Ross faked a smile and took the papers in his non-sticky hand. He'd obviously been dismissed so he dressed in a hurry and, as this was his third callback and third jerk-off performance for this man, he knew where the men's room was so he could clean up.
After slipping on the briefs he'd brought in his messenger bag, he put his clothes on properly this time and started scrubbing his hands clean. He looked at himself in the mirror and willed the vulnerable face he saw back into his patented happy look. He remembered the words from an old movie he'd watched with his sister long before he'd set himself on this course to find fame. "Welcome to Hollywood! What's your dream? Everybody comes here. This is Hollywood, land of dreams. Some dreams come true, some don't. But keep on dreamin'―this is Hollywood. Always time to dream, so keep on dreamin'."
So here was was, dreaming the dream.
And getting naked a lot.
He'd been in LA for just over a year, tired of life in Middle America, of living in his brother's shadow, sick of hearing everyone gush how talented Riker was and how he was going to be a huge star. Ross knew was better looking, had a killer body, was certainly sexier, and way more talented. A few days after turning eighteen, he'd had enough and decided to up and leave Colorado, following the siren call of fame to Hollywood.
He went to the casting director's office and asked the secretary for a pen so he could sign his contract. He didn't read it. He didn't care. It was money.
It didn't matter anyway. They never put the important stuff down on paper. If the producer wanted, he would be required to do what he'd just done―or even more―every day if the pilot got picked up. Besides, it was a decent role, the supposedly dumb jock sidekick of the lead character, who actually hid a Mensa level IQ just to be popular. It was a role that would give him exposure. And if he had to appear shirtless three times in the pilot, no worries. His abs were his meal ticket.
Riding the bus to his current gig, he remembered the first time he'd taken his clothes off. At an open call for a commercial for Six Flags at Magic Mountain. He'd been a rookie then, and the guy had made it seem like it was a normal request for him to take off his shirt.
He'd wised up when the guy started rubbing Ross's body and calling him "baby".
As rough hands had roamed his body, Ross remembered those stories his cousin Derek had told him at a family reunion after a few beers (and then sworn him to secrecy afterward) and realized this was all part of the business. So he let the guy take down his pants and suck his dick. Hey, he'd been eighteen and couldn't believe how lucky he was that to have gotten a job in every sense of the word just like that.
Then the next guy told Ross he wanted him to suck his dick.
Ross wasn't sure he'd heard him correctly―until the guy unbuttoned, unzipped, and pulled out his cock and balls.
He told Ross that every other boy waiting outside to read would do it if he wouldn't. That it was expected. Part of paying his dues.
And Ross did it. Gotten naked, gotten on his knees and blown the guy...
Ross had never gone down on a man before. Using all his acting skills to not look nervous, he dropped to his knees in front of the guy. Thinking about what he himself liked, he started out playing with the guy's already hard cock. Then he bit the bullet and licked the tip, getting a taste of the precum oozing from the slit. Not horrible.
Knowing he didn't have much time, he leaned forward and took a dick in his mouth for the very first time.
Ross just kept thinking that if he did it, he'd get the job, and started sucking in earnest, lips sliding up and down the shaft, tentative at first but with growing confidence. He guessed he wasn't bad at it by the way the guy was moaning. And the fact that he was in control of a thirty-something-year-old man gave him a nice little power trip.
The casting director pulled his shirt up, revealing a pretty well-developed torso, and started tweaking his nipples. Ross couldn't help watching as the guy rubbed large hands over his own chest and abs, adding to the pleasure Ross's mouth was providing.
Then those hands grabbed the sides of Ross's head and started thrusting his huge cock in and out of his mouth, fucking Ross's face like a girl's pussy. "Keep it up it, you cheap little cock sucker. Suck my cock, you little bitch. I'm gonna cum down your throat and you're gonna take it. Every last fucking drop."
Ross couldn't help thinking this brought a whole new meaning to "suck it up". Pun definitely intended.
With every thrust, Ross's nose was buried in the guy's pubes and he couldn't help but inhale the musky aroma and was feeling turned on in spite of himself. He remembered to keep it wet and soon long ropes of saliva were falling from his chin as well as the guy's pistoning shaft.
When his dick started brushing the back of Ross's throat, Ross tried not to gag and somehow managed to relax. He'd never been deep-throated before, but now he definitely wanted to be as soon as possible with the way the guy was falling apart, bucking and grunting.
Ross looked up at him, saw his face and chest were beet red and knew he was close to the edge. To seal the deal Ross locked eyes with him and, smiling around the dick, tickled the underside of the head with his tongue.
The casting director groaned a strangled "Oh, fuck!" went rigid, and shot his load down the boy's throat.
Ross tried to keep up swallowing gush after gush of hot, thick jizz, but at what turned out to be halfway through, he pulled back and caught a couple squirts in the face and had cum smearing his lips and running down his chin. He persevered and ran his tongue in a slow, sensual "O" around his mouth, licking up the residue and scooping it inside, the guy watching hungrily just as Ross hoped he would.
Naked and kneeling on the floor, he felt the stranger's cum dripping down his chin to fall on his own hard cock. He gave in to the urge to rub it into the sensitive skin of the tip and unexpected sparks of pleasure shot through him.
Suddenly, the guy's still-hard shaft was jutting in Ross's face and he heard him order, "Clean me off."
Ross obliged, opening wide and sinking down to the root, clamping his lips around the shaft and slowly dragging them back up. His mouth was once again filled with the unique and provocative taste of semen as he polished the guy clean. The guy's eyes were closed in pleasure as Ross milked his over-sensitive dick dry.
Then the eyes opened and it was all business again. The casting director tucked himself back into his pants and pulled down his shirt. He motioned Ross to get to his feet and said, "Get dressed."
Ross complied, pulling on his briefs and pants. He shrugged into his shirt and asked earnestly, "So, that's it?"
The guy looked at him, an amused smile quirking his lips. "Oh, sweetheart, lucky for you you're so pretty. Did you just fall off a turnip truck or something? That got your first call back..."
In the end, giving the job hadn't gotten him the job. But not for a lack of trying. And he now had a new skill he reckoned he could put to good use but couldn't list on his CV.
He leaned his head back, tired of watching Wilshire Boulevard stream by the window. He plugged his earbuds into his phone and played what he'd rather die than admit was his favorite song since he was fourteen.
There's a dream in my soul
A fire that's deep inside me
There's a me no one knows
Waiting to be set free
I'm gonna see that day
I can feel it
I can taste it
Change is coming my way
Like most boys, he'd never gotten the appeal of the young Justin Bieber, but this one particular song resonated with him, the lyrics giving words to what he felt in his heart.
I was born to be somebody
Ain't nothing that's ever gonna stop me
I'll light up the sky like lightning
I'm gonna rise above
Show 'em what I'm made of
I was born to be somebody
I was born to be
And this world will belong to me
Ross got off the Metro bus and started walking, reflecting on the choices he'd made to further his career. He prayed the pilot would be picked up and would be the start of something big for him, something that would give him some control.
This life can kick you around
This world can make you feel small
They will not keep me down
I was born to stand tall
I'm goin' all the way.
I can feel it
I believe it.
I'm here, I'm here to stay
He turned down the terra cotta tile walkway and approached the arched gateway in the garden wall. He pulled open the decorative wrought iron gate and walked across the courtyard toward the main building, hearing voices and the splash of water from around back.
Ross was let in the front door and stepped from the bright sunlight into the dimly lit staging room. Will Schuester, the stage manager, greeted him with a smile. "Hey, Austin, how'd it go?" he asked, tapping off his headset mike first.
"Great. I got it." Ross hung his messenger bag on a wall peg, then started unbuttoning his shirt.
The smile grew to a grin. "I knew you could do it, kid. I'm proud of you. Congratulations!" He clapped Ross on the shoulder.
"Thanks," Ross replied, a blush spreading on his cheeks as he stepped out of his pants. "So what's happening?"
Will turned to check out the big flat screen mounted to the wall. "Right now, Chord and Darren are roughhousing in the pool. Blake, Jacob, and Marshall are working out. Grant's doing a live chat right now―don't forget you've got one tonight, too, at eight. And Harry and Nolan are watching porn in the media room," he observed from the grid of CCTV images displayed there.
Ross stood naked on the cool tile floor and took the bottle of baby oil Will offered him. He squirted a generous portion into his hand and started rubbing it over his chest and shoulders. "Where's Noah?"
Will gave him a chastising glance. "If you mean Mark, he's on a shoot."
"Sorry," Ross smiled sheepishly. Even after two months, he still occasionally forgot to use the guys' aliases. He was rubbing oil down his legs now, the sheen making his toned body look even more amazing.
"You're forgiven," Will smirked, helping Ross by rubbing oil over his back. He then moved downward, his hands taking their time as they thoroughly massaged the oil over the smooth skin of the boy's muscular ass before traveling down to his thighs. Ross felt his pulse inexplicably quicken at Will's gentle touch.
"All set, Austin," Will declared, slapping Ross on his backside. "Get out there and be sexy." He tapped on his headset and announced, "Austin on deck in five."
"Like I could be anything but," Ross smirked, slipping on a pair of gym shorts―not that he'd probably be wearing them long. After jamming a baseball cap backwards on his head, he walked out into the Frat House.
Three months prior, Ross had been "discovered" by a scout for the "Fratboy-dot-com" website, where subscribers paid $29.98 a month to see "naked college jocks and straight boy bromances". After his audition, he'd filmed a series of masturbation videos and premiered on the site as "Austin", the new freshman pledge. The subscribers went crazy for him and he was fast-tracked to be one of the featured men living in the "Frat House", a sprawling house in the Valley where the ten Fratboys lived under 24-hour CCTV coverage. The guys were encouraged to wear as little as possible, work out, jerk off frequently, and horse around as provocatively as possible (just short of fucking) for the benefit of their eager viewers.
Like Will had said, his housemates known as "Harry" and "Nolan" were sitting side by side in the media room, reclined on two of the chairs watching silent porn on the big screen while they jerked off. As Ross passed through, "Nolan" (née Hunter Clarington) started thrashing in his seat, letting out a deep groan before shooting a huge load over his sculpted torso, encouraged by his jerk-off buddy as he convulsed through a powerful orgasm.
Ross pulled open the sliding glass door, squinting in the bright California sun as he went outside to the pool.
Their bathing suits lying discarded in a puddle on the deck, "Chord" and "Darren" were in the shallow end tossing a Nerf football back and forth. There was much laughing, splashing and tackling involved as the two men frolicked in the water. In real life, "Chord" was Sam Evans, an aspiring musician from Nashville. He was the archetype of the boy next door: blond, drop dead gorgeous, and with abs for days. "Darren's" real name was Blaine Anderson, a drama student at UCLA, who was not-so tall but dark and very handsome in a matinée idol way, Ross always thought, with an ass that made even straight guys do a double take.
The two paused in their antics to wave at him. "Hey, little bro!" Sam shouted, referencing the viewers' suspicions that his resemblance to Ross meant they were brothers. (Ross had laughed the first time he'd seen those comments―seriously, "Austin" and "Chord" had made out several times and even blown each other once―until the older guys' pointed stares and "Grant" coughing "incest" into his fist made him realize how slow on the uptake he was.)
"Come on in, the water's great," Blaine added, playfully splashing Ross in the face to prove it.
Ross responded by pulling off his shorts. After cockily flexing for the cameras, he made a running start and cannonballed into the pool, shouting "Geronimo!" as he smashed into the water.
His ass bounced off the bottom and he untucked, swimming for the surface, the water refreshingly cool on his nude body. As he drifted upward, the lyrics played through his head:
I'm gonna rise above
Show 'em what I'm made of
I was born to be somebody
I was born to be
And this world will belong to me...