His name was Beef O’Keefe and he was famous not for his generous heart but for his generous cock. Pictures of his iron hard and vein-twined tumescence sold strip club tickets by the bushel and made porn sites’ servers smoke. His agent loved him for this. So did the men and women who bought his videos and the men and women who came to the clubs where he performed. Yet for all this love, Beef was lonely.
He wasn’t the sort of man you might pass in the supermarket and think, “That man should be in porn.” He was muscular, sure, but not burly. He had the build of a swimmer rather than a wrestler. His eyes were the slightest bit myopic. It gave him a vulnerable look. He was usually cast as a bottom, despite the bulldozer between his legs. There’s a gif that continually makes the rounds. He’s riding another man (Buck Dylan, though you can’t see his face). He’s pushing down hard and taking him deep. His heavy slab of dick meat is helicoptering and shooting cum and painting a spiral of semen through the air. This was his signature move: coming with another man’s cock in his ass. No hands needed. When the angle was right, off he would go.
Beef liked men well enough but in truth he preferred women. Women liked him plenty too. He didn’t lack attention. The men who approached him often knew who he was and they had special requests inspired by having seen him already with a cock or two in his ass. If he was feeling horny enough he’d go along. The women who approached him rarely knew who he was. When one of them did, though, boy was he in for it. Some of these women had toys that dwarfed any real cock and they were determined to use them on him.
But what was Beef really looking for? Certainly not a love life where his role was to re-enact his films for a procession of adoring fans. He’d had enough men plow his ass open and spill their cum over his face, enough women pile drive him with ridiculous strap-ons. He was looking for a change. He sat down one morning and he made a list: 1. Gentle 2. Patient 3. I’m in charge He set up a profile far from his usual crowd, over on soul-connections.us among the sincere and the innocent. He put up a few wholesome selfies after agonizingly comparing them to some of his more well-known shots on the internet. He even considered photoshopping them to make them look less like himself but decided that it was unlikely he’d be recognized. And a couple of weeks later, after numerous flirtations that led to discussions of favorite books and food and music (instead of partners and positions!), and that sometimes touched on matters of faith and family, he had a date with a sweet young lady named Daphne. In one picture that he particularly liked, she was petting a horse at some kind of fair. Her hair was in red ringlets and her blue eyes matched her blue blouse uncannily. At her neck was a small gold cross.
They met for dinner at a nice Spanish restaurant that he found on Yelp. He stayed far away from the neighborhoods he frequented in his professional and personal life. He stuck to one glass of wine to match the one she ordered with a hesitating shyness that he found endearing. Over a shared paella, he asked her all kinds of questions. Where did she grow up? Why had she moved to L.A.? Did she miss her parents?
She asked him all kinds of questions too. He lied. He said he was a freelance lighting engineer in Hollywood. He’d helped out enough on the set that he figured he could sound credible on the subject but blessedly she didn’t feign interest and the conversation moved elsewhere.
She blushed prettily. It was the wine, he figured, because he was working carefully to avoid saying anything too suggestive. He didn’t want her to think that sex was the only thing on his mind, though he did find her irresistibly cute. He found himself wondering if her kewpie doll lips would fit around his cock but he forced the thought away. She was a nice girl. He needed to keep this sort of thinking at bay and treat her with respect.
When they were walking to his car afterward, a man passing them on the sidewalk said, “Hey, Beef!” Daphne gave him a puzzled look. Beef ignored the man and shrugged at her. She didn’t bring it up and he hoped she would forget the incident.
They went on a second date the following weekend. They had a quick early dinner, then saw a play together. She suggested a drink afterward. She got a little tipsy. She said to him, “This is our second date. Tonight, you’re supposed to get a kiss.”
“Is that the official rule?” he asked. It had been a long time since he’d been with someone he hadn’t fucked on the first night, sometimes before even learning their name.
She nodded and touched him, briefly, on the knee. “You really are a choirboy, aren’t you?”
For a second he thought she’d said “queer boy” but then realized that in the loud bar he’d misheard her. He laughed nervously.
He thought maybe she’d had a little more to drink than she meant to. She probably didn’t drink that often. On the walk back to his car as they were walking past a church, she stopped him and took his hand. “I really like you,” she said. There was a pause. Her blue eyes looked at him, sparkling and dewy. He leaned close and gave her a chaste kiss. She pressed herself against him. She took his upper lip gently in her mouth. With anyone else he would have taken it as an invitation to do a whole lot more. And maybe she meant it that way. Of course she must have sexual desires. What was he to do, assume she was waiting for marriage? But he held himself back. She held his gaze after they broke their kiss. Then she smiled at him and glanced at the church and said, “Nothing I’ll need to confess tonight, then.” She patted his cheek.
He went home alone that night and lay in bed fretting that she would think he found her unattractive, or that in his hesitance to risk offending her, he’d given the impression that he was frigid.
On their third date he kissed her with intention. He asked her back to his place. She seemed breathless and full of excitement. He lit candles. “It’s been a long time for me,” he said. It wasn’t really a lie. It had been a long time since he’d moved so slowly with someone. He undressed her with reverence. He kissed her lovely pale skin, her pert breasts. He made gentle, respectful love to her. Was she perhaps a little disappointed by that? If you have to ask, then you already know the answer.
As they lay in bed afterward, Daphne seemed to come to a decision. She took a deep breath and said, “People are always shy when they first meet, aren’t they?”
“Do you ever wonder what more there is to someone, that they aren’t showing you?” She touched his face. “Do you ever think you should just skip all that being coy? Cut right to the part that’s going to scare someone off?”
“Do you scare people off a lot?” he asked, smiling.
She smiled, took another deep breath, and said, “Will you come to the church with me?”
“I mean right now.”
“Why right now?”
“I need to confess.”
He held her. “Daphne, we haven’t done a thing wrong.”
“I know we haven’t.”
“This is the most natural thing in the world.”
“I know. But there’s something I’d like from you.”
He began to wonder what he’d gotten himself into. He wasn’t a religious man. But he liked Daphne and, determined to give her the benefit of the doubt, he went along with it. They got up and got dressed. He drove. She directed him along dark quiet streets. There were no other cars in the lot and when they went into the chapel it seemed unoccupied. Candles burned and filled the space with warm light and slowly throbbing shadows. Daphne took his hand, smiled at him, and led him toward the confessional booths. He became anxious. He wasn’t catholic and he had no interest in confessing in any case. Then she opened the door to the priest’s booth and gestured for him to step inside. His anxiousness increased but he went along.
She stepped into the booth next to his. He found the little door and slid it open. He’d never been in a confessional before but he’d seen it in movies enough times.
“Bless me father for I have sinned,” she whispered. “It’s been three weeks since my last confession.”
Beef cleared his throat. “Go on,” he said.
She said, “I committed a sin of self-pleasure.”
He thought to himself that that was no sin and wondered whether she was being serious. But he was no priest, so something else was going on. Really, he was being a bit slow. This was the man who had been nominated for several awards for his performance in Choirboy Cum Communion 3, so he should have known better.
Then she said, “I did it with a cross. I couldn’t help myself. I knew it was wrong. But I put lube all over it and I sat down on it. I felt guilty and it hurt a little, but I just couldn’t help myself.”
There was a pause. Beef didn’t know what to say, but he sensed that she was waiting for him to say something, so he said, “Is that all?” He wasn’t even sure what he meant by it. Was he minimizing the severity of her sin, or was he prompting her to tell him more.
She did the latter. “I also committed an act of fornication.”
Well he knew that. It had only been an hour ago.
.... There is more of this story ...