Aspen Easter Wee

Aspen Spring Week

Former porn star meets current rock star

This is a totally fanciful story. I had prepared it last year for an Easter submission, but things got too busy. (I'm still working on the series I started a few weeks ago.) All characters and places are fictional, despite any resemblance to real figures (assuming that any entertainer is "real"). All characters engaged in sex (even if they self-ignite from the passion) are over 18. © Copyright, Brunosden, 2025. All rights reserved.

1

This story is true--or at least as true as any other story you read in the International Enquirer. It tells how I spent one of the most exciting weeks of my life, and how it set my life on a new course. Aspen is still talking about the non-X-rated aspects of the tale. If only they knew the whole story.

It was Easter Week in Aspen, and Easter was late this year--mid-April. Typically this week signaled the end of the ski season for our famous resort, but given the lateness of the holiday and the unpredictability of the impacts of climate change, even the snow-making equipment found it difficult to keep even a small amount of new snow on many of the slopes. Fuck, it was 70 degrees at the base of the mountain at mid-day!

This is a very busy time--with a combination of college spring break skiers and family time, spread over a few weeks as the various school vacations permitted families to travel together. But, this was the peak week, and the hotels were all jammed; the restaurants, all booked; the rentals, all full.

At City Hall, I was fielding emails, txts and calls--as though I controlled the weather! Aspen had more than 5000 visitors (assuming the day skiers from nearby Denver or Colorado Springs decided to stay home thanks to the conditions on the mountains). They wouldn't be able to ski; there were only a few arcades; really no museums; and only one movie theatre that held up to 400. Spring break college students and families didn't typically spend their days shopping in the expensive shops that lined the small downtown streets. If I didn't do something, we were going to lose a lot of money and we might lose their future patronage--and the hotel owners and merchants were calling every five minutes to ask, "What the hell are you going to do?"

Did they think I was God? I've been called that by many of my partners in the heat of a fuck, but they didn't really mean it, I assume.

On the other side of town, in a large rental property, ten UColo students were equally perplexed. They had come to ski. The last week of the year. The two late night pan-sexual dance clubs downtown were an added draw for them--but only after ten. And they all realized upon arrival that they should have watched the conditions more closely. There was no snow. What the fuck could they possibly do in this expensive little place? They had brought booze and weed for a week of après-ski, but hadn't planned for whole days off the slopes. They were all members of the CGMSC (Colo Gay Men's Ski Club)--better known as the "Gay Poles." Sexual activity was a given--but it needed to broken up with at least some skiing! Somehow, I thought they'd survive. Maybe they'd invite me to help.

I'm new to Aspen--Josh Reynolds, City Manager. This is my first ski season in the job. My family was originally from Old Virginia stock, but my father had moved to California in the 70s, after college, joined the counter-culture, ultimately married Mom and got a real job, and moved to Orange County where I was raised.

I graduated a few years ago from UCLA with a double major. I started in city management studies. Then, after appearing in a production, added drama, music and dance courses. I was going to try my luck at hitting it big on the screen or possibly the musical stage. Like so many others, I had taken on multiple minimum wage jobs while I auditioned for role after role, all unsuccessfully.

I did get one "break" of sorts (that is, a specific part of my anatomy): I had an anonymous 20 second stand-in "bare ass" double for my namesake. (It took well over an hour of filming for those seconds. And yeah, I could pass as a twin for the other famous Reynolds so there was a good deal of ogling. I think there were a few surreptitious photos taken to be sold as "celebrity porn.") They offered me a permanent slot dubbing for him, "butt" I didn't see the future. Maybe if they had also shot my dick.

I was in debt, sleeping on couches in friends' living rooms--rotating among them so as not to wear out a welcome, borrowing from the folks now and then. I was desperate.

Finally, there had been a breakthrough of sorts--my workouts, grooming and natural attributes paid off. I was invited to audition at Bad Boys' Club Films--a porn film producer. At first I had refused--not because I'm a prude, but out of fear that a porn appearance would destroy my "legitimate" career. Fuck, what career? But a month later, hungry and at the end of my rope, I had called and scheduled an audition, realizing that I'd have to get naked and fuck or be fucked to have any chance of getting a job. At the time I was bi, and not getting much action from either side of the aisle. But, nudity and sex were never an issue for me.

I was right on both accounts. Both the "director" and the cameraman managed to plug me. The screen tests--with me as both top and bottom--were returned a few days later, and preliminary audience testing suggested potential porn stardom. In other words, gays liked my bod.

God has really blessed me with looks, presence and charm. I've got what they call "wholesome cowboy good-looks." I'm just under six feet, gym-toned, with a squared symmetrical face that the camera loves. Dark "smoldering" eyes set in a perpetually tanned face. Shaggy dark hair (typically barbered at the kitchen sink with grocery shears), thin lips and a five o'clock shadow that appears at 11 a.m. And, yes, I'm hung, a shower/grower, uncut and groomed. In short, a gay dream. A man's man that takes and gives cock with equal attitude. I come on with boyish innocence and finish with take-charge athletic sex. I can play a top or a bottom with equal enthusiasm and success. If necessary, I can pound away for 20 minutes or so without cummin.

Over the next two years, I had performed as Slade Dagger in more than fifty porn flics, several of which had won AVN awards, the Oscars of Porn. Although I had a huge following on social media, the audience was narrow, and the film life of a porn star is limited. I was nearing the end of that part of my career--having appeared with several dozen of the other porn stars of the moment. Gay porn is very fickle. In one rear, out the next--so to speak.

I had always been an avid skier--although post-UCLA, I had little money to pursue that passion. One of my (Slade Dagger's) fans had learned of my passion and invited me via Grndr to a weekend of skiing at Aspen where his folks had a condo. I paid for the weekend with my ass. He was a good skier, but not as good at sex as he thought himself to be. It was an incredible weekend of athletic skiing, and, if the truth be known, not really so bad après-ski. My host was a really good guy--a pro football hunk, but he was predictably a professed top. He assumed I was his willing boy-bottom. He found out before we left that he also really enjoyed being under me (or riding me). He was really vers, a bottom for the right cock.

While there, I had met Kirk Matthews, the middle-aged tourism manager for Aspen, who also was gay, (and a DILF). We talked and danced at The Caribou Club's late gay night.

Kirk and I hit it off. We danced a bit--and thanks to the relaxation of the dress code on our night, after midnight, most of us were bare-chested and few were in knit boxers or even jocks or g-strings. Several guys invited me back to their place--including Kirk. But, I demurred from an assignation while there with my California fan. In my view, you go home with the guy that brought you.... That only made Kirk more interested. So he had persisted and I had accepted a return visit invitation in a week or so.

Kirk incidentally is about twenty years older than I, a trust fund kid, a "Daddy" type, but fit, reasonably endowed, total bottom and cock slut, and very appreciative of a really rough fuck. The return was a wonderful weekend on the slopes--and in his bed. Kirk turned out to be a power bottom with far more stamina than his age suggests. I also learned that he owned eight VRBO houses in Aspen, a restaurant, and actually was one of the political players in the little resort town.

Three weekends later, Kirk had dropped my resume (leaving out the film credits, emphasizing my management degree and experience) for the City Manager's slot. And, as they say, the rest is history. I moved to his bed for several weeks as I read into the job. Kirk and I still have a regular session now and then. But we've never clicked as a couple. Kirk, of course, knew of my past--and potential. But I never dreamed that a porn past might be an asset in this environment. I guess that's particularly true when the local political puppeteer is gay, wealthy and likes younger guys to fuck him.

So enough introduction. Back to the problem at hand....

2

How could we rescue spring week? Aspen had already erected a large tent (typically used during the summer months for the music festival on the grassy field near the river. It wasn't heated of course--and wouldn't withstand the snow's weight on the tent top--but the conditions were spring like--snow was not a likely danger; heat, if needed, could be handled with a few portables.

But we had only planned a few evening shows--a comedy, a jazz quartet, and the local chamber orchestra--probably non-starters for most of the younger crowd.

So I called in a few favors and within 24 hours, Kirk and I had conceived the "Aspen Easter Festival" during an unusually athletic encounter in Kirk's king. He was skeptical of my idea, but like always, I was able to convince him with twenty minutes of ass-pounding sex that turned him to mush.

The tent would hold about 800 guests. The local theatre company was currently doing a raucous, risqué comedy. They would perform one night. They also could provide some actors and musicians for a few other nights. A few out-of-work actor-singers from LA would fly out in a day, stay with Kirk, and perform for minimum AE stipends as the "Aspen Tenors"--and backup if we found a headliner. But we'd need a week's worth of performances, some pop-up food trucks and a relaxation of the city rules on drinking outside.

I decided we also needed a headliner--maybe a rock star. Or someone with Broadway cache. Or both. I called my assistant to begin the preparations for the installations in the tent--we would need to upgrade the lighting and the sound. Then I called Kirk to ask, "Who's in town this week that's famous--not necessarily rich, but famous? Someone who might be persuaded on a moment's notice to perform--without a large compensation package, but maybe a few promised perks--mountain passes for future years or even sexual favors. Someone who has broad appeal to young audiences.

Minutes later, Kirk brought me a short list of four names. All men. Two over-aged rockers--who could do backup but not headline. A dancer. And Ricki Lopez! Knowing me, Kirk bent over my desk, his ass within reach of my hand, as I perused the list. He had provided head-shots and provided a non-stop description of backgrounds as my hand spread over his butt and gently massaged. I always read and think better when I've got a hand on someone's ass or dick.

I liked one of the rockers, but Ricki was a current phenom--a Puerto Rican soft rock star that had captured like a billion 13-something young girls, then went international, and finally had become a gay icon when he had come out as radically bi. It was said he had over ten million Facebook followers; and, he had several platinum albums and three world tours already--and he was only 25. "Do you think we could get Ricki?"

"We'd be shooting for the moon. But, we'll only know if we try. If anybody can do it, you can, Josh. Maybe two shows--one aimed at the kids; one aimed at the 'adults'--that is, the gays. He's capable of doing both. I think over half my houses are filled with gays this week. In the future I think Easter week in Aspen is going to become Rainbow Week in Aspen. They are so many of us in town."

"Does he have some backup with him?"

"I'll try to find out."

"Set up a meeting if you can, Kirk. I'm headed home to get ready. Let me know what happens asap." By then, he had sat on the desk; I had extracted his dick from his jeans, inhaled it deeply, used my talented tongue, and sucked him off while a finger played with his hole. "Make this happen and there's more where that came form." I certainly knew how to get the best from my employees.

I went home to shower, douche, and change into one of my sexiest and most appealing outfits. I tousled my hair into the bedroom do that had worked so well on film. We're not talking LA, South Beach or a New York runway: tight worn jeans that whiskered my basket, a polo that I should have retired years ago--treadbare and tight, and a jock--to keep me a little hard, upright. I knew I still looked good, really good. But, I also wanted to look poor--and needy. I was putting on the boy-in-need act.

My physique, face and personality had never failed me before. The fact that I'm hung, really hung, didn't hurt either. I needed all the charm I could muster this round. I doubted that Ricki knew me or had seen any of my flics. But I was taking no chances. I was going to turn on the charm and take any of the consequences that he might throw at me. Let's see if the stories about him are true. I was ready to top or bottom. Whatever he wanted.

3

I appeared at Little Nell, picked up the house phone and called Room 4-C, one of the penthouse suites. "This is Josh Reynolds, City Manager of Aspen, for Mr. Lopez."

Ricki had answered his own phone. This was looking promising. He apparently wasn't surrounded by publicists and managers who would try to talk him out of a small audience gig. And it would definitely be easier one on one. "Yes, Kirk Matthews has introduced us. Come on up, Mr. Reynolds."

Seconds later I approached the door which was unlocked and cracked open. I knocked. "It's open, come in."

I entered and a smile lit up my face. I had home-court advantage and was already add-in. I turned and slid the lock in place. This was going to be easier and far more enjoyable than I had ever imagined. The suite was empty save one lightly muscled Latino. He was naked, kneeling provocatively with his arms on the back of the soft chair, staring out at Aspen Mountain. He had thoughtfully covered the damask with a large terry towel. His ass--oh fuck, what an ass, round and full, unblemished, naturally tanned and without a hair--was arched up in invitation. Shaved clean, silken. Holy shit. I hit the jackpot. World class. Even though he was presenting mostly ass, I realized and knew that he was beautiful--mocha skin and lightly muscled, loose balls hanging like the Bells of Adona between his spread legs. Seconds later, I also noted that he was hung and uncut with a professionally cut trapezoid of curly pubes. I knew his sultry bedroom face from the ads for his tours. Fuck, he WAS Latino volcanic sex, threatening to explode at any second. This was the stage image--and now it was the persona being offered to me. Ricki was one of the sexiest men alive--according to Entertainment Weekly--and now me.

Without registering recognition, Ricki began in a melodic teasing voice, "I'm looking out at all the snow that's not there, Mr. Dagger. Kirk tells me that you've got something to talk about and something to ask--and that you've got a proposal to make. I'm disappointed, really disappointed, not to be on the slopes. I was getting ready to leave Aspen. But, Kirk says you'll make it worth my time to stay. I know who you are and your reputation. You're going to have to soften me up first, Slade. I'm waiting."

I decided to skip the preliminaries and the denials. He knew who I was. My strategy was set. I was going to fuck the shit out of Ricki Lopez--so thoroughly that he'd be begging me to allow him to headline three nights in the tent! Maybe I'd even agree to back-up and service him at intermissions.

I moved to a spot in the room where he could catch my image in a large mirror and began to strip. I could see the smoldering looks, the tension and the expectation in his eyes as I slowly removed everything, lingering over the orange nylon jock that showcased my best feature. I pulled it down and slid it under my balls for effect, before pulling it off, ostentatiously smelling it and throwing it toward him. I stretched to pop my pecs, fluffed my near-erection, bounced my balls, and moved slowly behind him. He had watched it all with hot, watery, hooded eyes. But then, as I stepped toward him, his response was to bend his head into a submissive pose and arch his ass up higher. Ricki was a total bottom. Hungry for cock. Or maybe it was an act. His position suggested the opening scene in one of my more famous porn shots. He had obviously viewed at least some of them. I guess he knew my typical script and how to replay it.

The positioning was perfect. I moved in tight, slid my cock between his legs and poked his low hanging balls. I reached under and cupped his tits, grasping both nipples firmly until they popped and he groaned. He was gym hard--as I molded my chest to his lightly muscled back. He whimpered, actually almost like a kitten's mewling. Fuck he was so ready and so sub! My head moved to his shoulder where I nipped his delts, nape, then an ear lobe--leaving no telltale marks. He was a stage-star after all. Fuck, he was so hot, he was going to explode into flame. My right hand moved to his throat where I could control his breathing. I pushed his face to the side and took his lips, sucking and tongue-thrusting. He opened easily. Kissing Ricki was like sucking on the hungriest, sweetest mouth in the world. Our eyes were inches apart. I don't think I had ever taken a man who looked so hungry. Who was so ready to be dicked! We should have this on film! No it would burn up the film.

We necked for a few minutes as my hand alternated between pressing on his windpipe, pinching his nipples and stroking his long, hooded cock. Finally, he gasped, "Fuck me, Slade. Put that fuckin' parola deep inside. I don't want our first time to be a solo. I'm gonna cum."

"Not quite yet, Ricki." I released, and he groaned. I circled and squeezed the base of the shaft. Then I squeezed his balls and yanked them down from his crotch. He swore a series of unintelligible Latino curses and squirmed, trying to push his ass onto my cock. These were the classic hip moves that had made him an icon on stage. But I had him under control. Finally, he quieted. By then, my hands were already on his mounds, pulling them apart, exposing the dark rose that he had already lubed--and presumably prepped with some toy. He was already open. My tongue circled the rim and plunged inside as my hands held him steady. His response was immediate and dramatic: his ass pushed forcefully into me, wanting it deeper. I continued to eat, as he continued to moan.

"Oh fuck. That tongue feels so good. But, enough. Put it in. Por favor. Put it in."

At that second, my porn talents kicked in. I could finish this boy in less than a minute. Plunge, pound, crowd the nut, fist his shaft. And he's done. I wasn't sure whether that would get me what I wanted--a commitment to perform. But, those same porn talents had taught me how to prolong the "shoot." I backed off, wrapped and lubed. Then the head found its way to the tunnel of passion's gate. I paused, relishing the next few seconds when my cock would find another chute to stretch, conquer and own. Every new guy was a challenge and a treat. JR had never failed me before. This afternoon was no different.