Flip In New York Ch 10
Michael gets a Hollywood invitation
This story is entirely fictional. Any reference to real persons, places, plays, theatres is co-incidental. All characters described in a sexual activity or discussion are over 18. © 2024 Brunosden. All rights reserved.
Michael....
Storm House turned out to be the most demanding and all-consuming role that I'd ever play. I was young and green when I got the chance. But, years later, I realized how critical that experience was in forming my acting career as well as me as a person. It was a TV reality drama, more or less, a story that looked like it was unfolding before the viewer. But of course, we had the general outlines of a script. And we had all been drilled with the details of our character. It was perfect for me--I had been trained to live my parts, to be my characters. But, when the character is severely troubled, occasionally suicidal, typically down, the character took over my normal personality.
Flip was a life-saver. I knew he was really involved with Oklahoma! and reveling in his role. But, he sensed the personal difficulties that I was experiencing with the underlying story of SH. He stepped up and became the mature side or our relationship. He didn't push me to talk. Somehow he sensed that talking would be a re-living of one of the most difficult things that I had ever known. He was there. Always. When I got home from filming, although he was at the theatre, he had left dinner. Occasionally there were love notes or flowers. Once he even left music, with a little note, "Play me" like Alice in Wonderland. And later he would be in our bed. He stopped demanding nightly sex, and when we did, somehow he was softer--not his dick which remained hard and long and huge. But as a person. I'm pretty sure this is what love is all about.
Somehow he knew that athletic, pounding sex was not what I needed late at night. I had already been sleeping for hours when he got home. He became my "security lover." I could grip him tightly as he slowly stimulated me to a very nice draining orgasm. Then, I'd sleep in his arms.
I'd wake the next morning, still in his arms. By then, I was ready to tease a bit. So I would slowly move out of his embrace as he rolled onto his back. Then, I'd bend down and take his soft flesh inside my mouth. I could often still taste his cum from the previous night. It had that strange musky taste of an expensive truffle. It gives flavor and meaning to even a simple dish. His cock would stiffen as I rolled my tongue around under his hood, lapping up his collected juices, and his hips responded by pushing upward into me-- as his eyes slowly opened.
He was so cute awakening. Like a bear cub (not a good image--he didn't have a hair on his chest!--maybe a panther) arising from a long winter's nap. He had never been fast to awaken. His eyes would open slowly. His hands would reach down to weave through my hair. He'd murmur something about its soft golden waves and what a pleasant dream he had been having. Then he'd groan in appreciation as he realized how hard I had already made him. We'd hug and cuddle. And then, I would take him--missionary this time. I wanted to feel those lips on mine and see the depths of those dark eyes. I'd draw up his legs and roll his butt. Then it was my lips to his rim. He was warm and moist from the sleep. And the cleft exuded the aromas of fantastic manhood. I knew he loved this part, so I prolonged the torture, flicking my tongue around the rim, licking up to his taint, then curling and pushing in. Finally, I'd slowly stroke my way inside as his legs and arms surrounded me and pulled me tight to his chest, his hands always grasping my cheeks--the cheeks he consistently called his favorite part of me.
Our orgasms were perfect and nearly simultaneous. We had really perfected that. And I didn't need to use my hands or stroke. Almost every one was a deep anal, body orgasm. He would sometimes even shake uncontrollably as he came.
I would fall away onto the pillow, realizing I only had minutes to shower and leave for the studio. But, we'd talk for a few minutes. This was a magic time. Then, I would leave him to the rest of his beauty sleep. We were definitely getting there. In a little over six months, our love had matured. We were still young and definitely still over-sexed, but we had learned to manage ourselves. Somehow, in our case, we knew 1 plus 1 was way more than 2. We were ready to take on the world--together.
Little did we know that morning as I softly closed the door and left that the world was about to take us on as well. Later that day, I received a phone call. My agent called me on the set. A producer from Paramount in LA had contacted him. They wanted me to do a screen test for a potential role in a movie. They knew about and had screened the rough takes from Storm House, even before its TV release. They liked the role I was doing, but later I learned that someone else had liked the way I looked. But, they wanted me to fly out to LA for the test the week after SH taping finished. The agent had the script. And he told me it was a potential breakthrough chance. The star was Marylyn Sleep, an A-list actress with an Oscar and several nominations. Her presence in the film would insure box office appeal. But he refused to tell me anything about the role. "You'll see when you read the script. I'm having it delivered to your apartment. It'll be there when you get home this afternoon."
We finished early that day. All the takes worked well--and since it was a reality drama, the director was inclined to accept a good first take, rather than risk a more rehearsed second. In reality TV the unexpected and spontaneity are prized above all else. And this required that all of the actors have a definite level of extemporaneous possibility--we didn't study the script, except to place ourselves carefully in the setting and aware of the issues that were likely to arise. That resulted in occasional flashes of nudity (as ass, a steam-filled frontal nude, or a shadowed swing of a dick--which the director hoped would survive the censors. It probably would, Storm House was for Netflix where censorship was very permitting.
A package was delivered Friday afternoon by special messenger. The return indicated it was from my agent, the promised script. Flip had left a note on top that we had lunch with Brent and Kirk tomorrow, Saturday. They had something they wanted us to see. So we were eating at their place. Curiously, Kirk had mentioned anything. But, Flip had also left a nice bottle of Cab and some mini-pizzas. I was anxious to read the script. So I poured and micro-ed, tour open the envelope and sat in our only easy chair to get my first look.
