Boys of Vice City Read online

  Coughing and spluttering, Gil fell back on the floor, trying to recover his senses. The Italian got up and zippered his fly, then calmly knelt down beside Gil and jerked him off. It took the boy twenty seconds to reach orgasm, and as he began to fountain creamy jets of cum, the officer lowered his mouth over the throbbing cock and allowed the sperm to flow over his tongue. He liked American cum best of all: It was the cum of wealthy corn-fed boys. All American boys were wealthy and the best way to get a load of their luscious cum was to pull the drug bust tactic.

  He stood up and with a final admiring glance at the boy’s lovely body he said, “Okay, you go now. I think we look for someone else who got the drugs.” And with that he went out of the room.

  Gil got up shakily, filled with post-orgasmic remorse and disgusted with himself. He gave a shudder of revulsion at what had just happened and began to get dressed.

  “Fucking foreigners,” he muttered under his breath. Wiping the final remnants of saltiness from his lips, he hefted the carry-on over his shoulder and picked up his suitcase. He felt self-conscious as he left the small interrogation room, worried that everyone still in the luggage claim area knew what had just happened to him. Outside, the bustle of the airport shocked him with its normalcy, as though nothing had occurred at all.

  As he left the customs hall he spotted the mustachioed official who had just violated him, standing next to a colleague, chatting happily away. The man looked up, saw him, and smiled pleasantly with the cold smile customs men give all the world over. Gil grimaced and walked out onto the concourse. There was a human barrier confronting the emerging passengers, couriers, taxi drivers, tour guides, and families, all waving placards with names. In the mêlée he managed to make out his own name, hastily chalked on a piece of card painted like a clapper board.

  He forced his way through the throng and gave the production secretary a brief hello smile.

  “Gil Graham?” she asked unnecessarily.

  He pointed at her outstretched placard and then at himself, nodding his head.

  “Have a nice flight?” she asked as they thrust through the crowd toward a large car parked in the courtesy lane outside. The Italian summer heat hit Gil. It felt different, more condensed and enveloping than he was used to back home, so he flopped into the back seat of the air-conditioned limo gratefully.

  “Okay,” he finally answered.

  “You were a long time in customs,” she remarked pleasantly.

  “My bag was an age coming along,” Gil replied uneasily.

  “Well I just wondered,” she said, “because the customs guys here in Rome can be bastards, they’re known for it.”·

  “Yeah, I guess I was lucky,” Gil answered drily.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Humpy Little Gofer

  When the limousine pulled up outside the hotel Vittorio Emmanuele where most of the film crew were staying, Gil got out and stretched, a healthy young animal stretch, and took in the smell of Rome: hot dust, auto fumes, garlic, tomatoes, garbage, and antiquity rolled into one. At last he felt he was in a foreign place. He looked up as he heard the whine of a jet coming in to land at the nearby Ciampino airport.

  Five floors up two men were leaning out of a window casually watching the production secretary pulling Gil’s bag from the back seat while he stretched. One nudged the other in the ribs. “Hey, Harry, who’s the chicken with Sheila?”

  The grizzled man called Harry took in Gil’s lithe body and slim build, saw how handsome he looked, and smiled. “Don’t know, Jeff. No doubt we’ll find out.”

  “If he’s on the unit, I tell you now, my focus pulling is going to go out of joint.”

  “Reckon he’s straight?”

  “Depends who hired him. If it was Rosen, you never know,” he said, letting the words hang in the air. “One thing’s for sure, by the time this unit gets through with him he won’t be.”

  Both men leaned farther out to watch as Gil and the secretary walked up the steps and through the swing doors into the foyer of the hotel.

  Gil waited while the girl filled out the forms for him at the desk and he handed his passport over for the number to be entered on the registration form. As he took down the details the desk clerk gave Gil secretive glances of appraisal. There was always money to be made on the side for fixing up the wealthier guests with the young and less wealthy. He wondered what Gil’s bag was. He knew several businessmen attending a boring convention at the hotel who would offer high for this one if he could be persuaded. On the other hand there were some well-to-do old baggages down from Lugano who would be delighted with a young Americano stud. But there was plenty of time to find out. After all, the kid was going to be staying for a few months with the film crew.

  As soon as the form filling was completed Sheila led Gil to the bank of old fashioned elevators and took him up. “You’re on the fifth floor with some of the others,” she told him.

  Gil nodded happily.

  “You’re very young,” she remarked.

  “I’m twenty.”

  “That’s very young if you’re a young person, and to me you look a very young person.”

  Gil colored angrily but she forestalled his protest.

  “I’m just warning you to watch out for yourself. This isn’t Li’l Rockville Stateside, you know.”

  “I’m from LA, and that isn’t exactly a little town.”

  “Okay, okay. Just remember that Romans are a corrupt lot, and this film crew aren’t angels either. Watch out for that desk clerk too—he’s a pimp. Actually, watch out for all of them. Most of them would pimp their grandmothers if they could make a quick buck.”

  Gil took in this piece of xenophobic advice without comment. The elevator lurched to a halt and Gil picked up his case to follow Sheila out into the hall. Just before they reached his room number a door opened and a hardened looking man in his late thirties peered out at them. He was joined by another guy with floppy black hair, also in his thirties, Gil judged, who grinned infectiously at him. “Who’s this then?” he demanded of Sheila.

  “Gil Graham, meet Harry and Jeff. Harry is the A camera operator and Jeff is what we call follow focus, as you can probably tell by the way his eyes rove about.”

  Harry leaned against the doorpost, eyeing Gil coolly, but Jeff’s grin found a response in Gil. He smiled back happily, reminding Jeff of a bouncy young puppy trying hard to wag its tail.

  “Hi,” offered Jeff, extending his hand and shaking Gil’s. “I guess they put you in the room next to mine, just there.” He pointed across the hall at a partly open door.

  “Gil’s the new gofer,” said Sheila.

  “Okay, see you around, Gil,” Jeff said. Harry just kept on staring at the boy, a quiet amusement in his gray eyes.

  “Yeah, see you soon fellas,” Gil mumbled as he turned to go to his room.

  Sheila opened the door for him and handed him the key with its inconvenient heavy bronze plaque dangling from it. She shrugged apologetically. “They haven’t got around to installing electronic door locks here yet.”

  Gil glanced around the room. It was of a good size and had a double bed. To his inexperienced eyes, the bed looked massive. He’d never slept in one as big before, something only his parents had.

  Sheila handed him the ungainly key. “You get today and tonight off to get over jet lag and then it’s straight in. A bus collects everyone at six and takes you to the studio at Cinecittà, unless we’re on location. But that’s not yet.”

  Harry and Jeff watched as Sheila shut the door and went off down the hall to the elevator. “Hmm,” Harry began, “humpy little gofer. Yes sir, that’s the humpiest gofer I seen in a long time.”

  The two men turned and went back into Harry’s room.

  Jeff took out a coin from his pocket an
d grinned up at Harry. “Okay you leery son of a bitch. I’ll flip ya for him.”

  Harry laughed and flicked the coin into the air. It spun upward and then fell to the carpet. “Heads,” muttered Harry, the instant before it landed.

  Gil felt tired by the time he had unpacked the few things he had brought with him from the States. The journey and the even more strenuous arrival had taken it out of his system. The weather in Rome was hot and humid too, lacking the Pacific breezes that cooled Santa Monica and LA. He stripped off his clothes and put on a pair of cut-off denim shorts. Otherwise naked, he flopped down on the bed. Although he felt tired, the jet lag prevented him from sleeping. After ten minutes he decided to get up and take a shower—at least, if the bathroom included such a facility. He was still languishing, wondering if he had the energy to consider cleaning up when there was a soft knock at the door.

  “It’s open.”

  “Can I come in?” Jeff stuck his head around the door. “Were you sleeping?”

  “No, not really. I was just thinking of taking a shower.”

  Jeff stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. “That’s funny. I was about to do the same thing, only my shower seems to have clogged up again. The plumbing isn’t up to American standards. And you know what Italian hotels are like at fixing things. Well, no, perhaps you don’t, but you’ll soon find out.”

  Gil sat up on the edge of the bed, his long legs stretched out in front of him. “Well…why not use mine? At least, if it’s working.”

  “No, go ahead. I’ll take one after you.”

  Jeff was disappointed. If the kid was into guys he might have suggested them both showering together (Optimist, he thought), or at least made some suggestive remark. Still, Jeff never gave up easily. He walked into the bathroom and tried the faucet. “It works.” He came back into the room, unbuttoning his shirt. “Where you from, Gil?”

  Gil told him, covertly watching as Jeff’s chest was bared, and feeling again that unfamiliar tingle of anticipation. Idly he wondered whether Jeff would undress completely right there in the room and whether he would get a look at the guy’s cock and balls—just checking him out, of course, like guys did.

  As Jeff listened to the reply he was also watching carefully for any giveaway signs that the boy was getting turned on. It was difficult to be sure but he thought he could see a blush on those smooth cheeks. Should I try it? he speculated. He removed his socks and then, as though it were perfectly natural, began undoing his 501s.

  “And you?”

  “Me? Originally from Boise, Idaho, but nowadays, like you, from around LA.”

  Gil shifted on the bed uncomfortably and tried not to look at Jeff. But Jeff kept chatting to him, asking him questions and making him look over. After unbuttoning himself and holding up the front of the jeans, Jeff went into the bathroom again and turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature with deft hands. He came back. Gil was sitting cross-legged on the bed. So young-looking to have such a good body, Jeff thought. He dropped the jeans, revealing tight fitting yellow briefs beneath. Gil couldn’t help glancing shiftily at the European underwear and at the same time his eyes couldn’t help but notice the coiled shape held in it.

  Jeff caught the look and smiled inwardly. He went into the bathroom, half shutting the door. Quickly he took off the briefs and went under the stinging spray of the shower and reached for the small cake of soap on its stand. He picked it up and flipped it over the top of the glass wall of the shower and heard it thunk onto the floor by the john. After a minute he shouted out.

  Gil heard him and went to the gaping door. “Did you say something, Jeff?”

  “Yeah, Gil there’s no soap in the shower. Could you grab a bar off the wash stand and hand it in to me?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Gil replied, uncertainty in his voice.

  The guy had looked good just standing there in those briefs. Gil realized he was curious, wanted to see more. He went into the bathroom and found another bar, unwrapped the soap. The shower stall door was partly open. Tentatively Gil slid it further open and held out the soap. Jeff was facing away from him, water streaming down his broad back. Through the steam Gil could see the way Jeff’s spine ran as a straight line down onto the dark cleft between his ass cheeks. Then Jeff swiveled the upper half of his torso and hot water splashed from the shower all over Gil.

  “Shit! Sorry. Did I get you wet?”

  “A bit, yeah,” Gil replied, flicking his now damp hair from his eyes.

  “Well you were going to have a shower anyway, weren’t you?” Jeff replied easily, still facing away from Gil. “Why don’t you come on in and bring the soap with you? There’s plenty of room.”

  Gil only hesitated for a second, but it seemed like an age to Jeff as the water streamed down his face. He heard the zipper on Gil’s cut-offs and then the quiet rasp of the door sliding shut.

  “Got the soap?” Jeff said, blindly reaching out behind him. His questing hand bumped into Gil’s hard stomach. Gil dropped the soap into Jeff’s palm. “Thanks.”

  Jeff began soaping himself. Gil watched, wanting to touch him but not daring. Jeff lathered his chest and stomach and then down to his thighs, bending slightly to do so. Gil stood helplessly by. The heat of the water was getting to him, arousing those strange feelings again, arousing more than that. In a panic he realized he was getting a hard-on again and tried to stop it. Jeff reached between his legs and soaped himself. Gil caught a glimpse of big hairy balls, swinging between the trunks of his legs. Remembrance of the Italian customs officer’s cum tickled Gil’s taste buds. He found himself wondering what it would be like to suck Jeff’s dick. Would it taste different?

  “Hey Gil, o1’ buddy, can you do my back? I can’t reach so well.” Jeff held out the soap. Blinking under the shower’s spray, Gil took the proffered bar and gingerly commenced lathering Jeff’s straight back. “Ah, that’s good,” Jeff muttered encouragingly. “Don’t stop yet,” he added as Gil paused. Gil carried on, leaning closer and closer to Jeff’s muscled body. He almost didn’t notice when one of Jeff’s hands stroked absently along the flank of his thigh. After a minute Jeff said, “Okay, turn around and I’ll do you.”

  Gil did as he was bid hurriedly lest Jeff should see that he now had a raging hard-on. The old panic was back again. What would Jeff think if he noticed? He knew from his upbringing that what was developing here was utterly wrong…and yet…some instinct was driving him on. Jeff started soaping his back, working the lather harder and harder into Gil’s firm skin. Lost in a daze of pleasure, Gil turned his head up into the spray rapturously. Jeff sneaked a peek over the boy’s shoulder and felt a cold rush as he saw the size and hardness of Gil’s beautifully shaped cock. Jeff let the lathering get lower until he was just touching the cheeks of Gil’s butt. The boy seemed to like it. Jeff allowed his hands to cup the hips. Quietly he whispered into Gil’s ear... “You like this, don’t you?”

  Gil started, realized he had been dreaming, and looked up with alarm into Jeff’s face. Jeff took a firm grip on Gil’s cock, relishing that lovely spongy yet resilient dick texture. At the same time he pushed his own hard-on up against Gil’s crack. “Don’t worry about a thing, baby,” Jeff murmured. Gil relaxed imperceptibly and then began to turn around in Jeff’s soapy embrace until their lips met in a gum grinding kiss. Gil could feel Jeff’s huge cock pressing against his own. It made him think he was inadequate.

  “Jeez, you’re big,” he exclaimed, and couldn’t resist holding the rampant shaft. He pulled slightly away from Jeff, so he could have a look at it. A good ten inches long and at least six around. “Shit! It didn’t look that big in those briefs of yours.”

  “So you were getting a good look then. You’re a little prick teaser.”

  “No. I’m not very experienced.”

  “We’ll soon put that right,” Jeff replied
, sliding the tips of his fingers into Gil’s ass. The boy flinched from the touch. “Ever been fucked before? I mean really fucked good and hard.”

  Gil shook his head and continued caressing Jeff’s cock. He leaned toward the older man and experimentally flicked the tip of his tongue over one of Jeff’s swollen nipples.

  Jeff started stretching Gil’s asshole by gently rubbing around it and slipped his fingers further in. Gil wondered at the unfamiliar sensation and started to think that just maybe he might like more. Aroused by Jeff’s touch, he laved the man’s nipple harder.

  “Do you give head?” Jeff asked, sensing the boy’s area of interest.

  “Give head?”

  “Suck cock.”

  “I couldn’t get you into my mouth.”

  “You could try.”

  Gil waited for a moment and then followed a rivulet of shower water down Jeff’s hairy chest, lapping at its wetness, lower until it coalesced with the pool rimming the concavity of Jeff’s heaving navel. A quarter of an inch lower and he could see clearly the detail of the heart-shaped knob, bigger than his mouth. Jeff’s hands gently fondled Gil’s ears, encouraging him to try it. Gil kissed the glans, moistening his lips to slip around it. Ever so carefully Jeff raised himself up on his toes and Gil’s lips widened to stretch over the meaty cockhead. He felt like a snake, enlarging its jaws to swallow something twice its own size. He couldn’t get very much in and so started rubbing his tongue on the underside of Jeff’s cock just as the Italian had done to him earlier in the day. Then he began to lick at those huge balls and saw how much this turned Jeff on. Gil began in turn to get very excited and wanted to do more. He flicked his tongue up between the bulging nuts and the fork of Jeff’s crotch.