The Iceman Cometh by Callan Smith

As you probably know, I'm a photographer and derive a lot of basic material for my stories from my male models. They're usually straight but open-minded and can be pleasantly hot when stirred. Of course, I sometimes embellish this 'basic material' a bit but I'm sure you'll forgive me that. I daresay you'd go all basic as well and 'embellish' one or two of them yourself - if you could get your hands on them that is. That's the principle problem. Getting your hands on them. Still, there's a dark side to every guy and those camera lights sure illuminate (and reflect) their hitherto deeply hidden fantasies... and feelings.

This is a story about one such guy who seemed bent on staying straight. I 'borrowed' the title to this torrid tale from a play by Eugene O'Neill. I hope he'll forgive me too. The guy's name was Jarrett and he was a hard nut to crack. My warm friendly endeavours to 'develop' something between us by using my camera as an 'accomplice' at first met with a negative full Frigidaire ('I'm straight man') lack of response but I prevailed and he eventually 'unveiled.' Hence the title.

I met him at my local Wellness Center. His beautiful body was something to behold but it sent out messages of look but don't touch. Even under the shower he kept his dick firmly under wraps which either meant this part of his awesome anatomy was a disappointment or he didn't want guys coming on to him while he lathered up. Either way he excited my curiosity and aroused the rest of me. I told him I was a photographer putting together a Christmas Calendar showing guys at work and working out. Said I'd like to photograph him. Nothing like being straightforward even to straights. I told him how girls liked to see men both in and out of uniform and asked him what he did for a living. It was a line which invariably worked with guys really into their bodies, and fishing for compliments, but Jarrett didn't jump at the bait so I backed off. His potentially hot rod proved to be the exception to Callan Smith's cast-iron rule: 'Flatter them to the hilt and they'll show you how well they're built.'

I ran into him a few more times at the gym but didn't follow him into the washroom. Besides there were a lot of other good looking hunks there who displayed just as much camera potential but, as the saying goes, the further up the cherry tree the sweeter grows the cherry. And the out-of-reach fruit is always the most appealing and the most succulent. By the way, I wasn't sure how to spell that word so I looked it up. I knew the meaning of course but was interested to see that in reference to plants my dictionary defined 'succulent' as 'having leaves and stems that are thick and contain a lot of water' and I'm sure you'll be ecstatic to hear that Jarrett turned out to have a very thick stem indeed, and one which contained a lot more than water. And Callan's the cat that got the cream.

On the same dictionary page, was another favourite word of mine: 'to succumb.' Its definition was 'to fail to resist (or yield to) an attack.' And Jarrett I'm happy to say eventually succumbed for, as another saying goes, "Where there's a will there's a way" and his strong resistance was met by my long persistence. I don't want to spoil your journey to the end of this story but I'd like to keep your interest during this lengthy introduction - or overture - by telling you that my mouth and his organ finally harmonized and we produced some very jazzy (and jizzy) beat-me-Daddy-eight-to-the-bar uptempo kind of music together and after a whole lot of suck-ulence and suck-cummin came to a rousing, ear-splitting crescendo. Now for the in-between notes that got us to the top of the scale.

I suppose it well and truly began when I was out on a photo shoot with a pretty young actress. As luck - or fate - would have it, we passed a fire station and I thought all that red for danger might make a nice background for some of the pictures. A couple of curious fireman came out to watch and although I hardly recognized him in his uniform I saw that one of them was Jarrett. He didn't say anything but I think my credibility went up in his estimation from that moment on.

When we met in the gym a few days later he actually apologized for pretending not to know me but he was embarrassed in front of his friends. Said he felt like an asshole and offered to buy me a beer.

Once again, as luck would have it, I couldn't make the appointment as another photo shoot came up at the last minute and I had no way of contacting him. Still, I wasn't too worried. I've learnt from experience that playing it slow at the beginning can often hasten things to a horny climax. It's not that you have to play hard to get exactly, just put your I.C.E. program into operation. Indifference, Control and Excitement. It gets them every time. Of course the indifference didn't last too long as I was so excited that he'd actually invited me for a drink after all his previous stand-offishness. Even so the thought did come into my head that maybe he just wanted me to set him up with the girl.

As it happened he was in a few of the photos. To tell you the God-honest truth I'd made damn sure of that. So I had a few 'control' cards to play the next time I saw him. I suggested we had that beer at my studio and I'd show him some of the shots I'd taken. Not a very subtle line I admit but this time he fell for the bait. He was wearing his fireman's outfit when he arrived. Yet another stroke of good fortune. So after whetting his vanity with how photogenic he looked in the girl's pics I didn't have much trouble getting him to pose for some of his own. Fully clothed of course. I didn't want him scuttling out the door. That merited another visit to Callan Smith's lair and I took it - and him - from there.

I called him as soon as the photos were ready, which was pretty soon, and he came right over. No uniform this time and he was dressed to start fires, not put them out. Tight Armani jeans and a black silk shirt. I don't know if he'd dressed specially to please me or my camera but, when I set eyes on him, my only thought was to rip everything off and finally get my hands on all that fabulous flesh. But I kept myself in check with my ICE theory. It had never been quite so tested before but I'd never desired anyone so much before either.

He liked the photos a lot so I told him we were halfway there and just needed a few off-duty shots if he wanted me to consider him for the Christmas calendar. I could see that the idea was beginning to appeal to him and that he was reassured by all the photos I'd taken of female subjects. I'd put the horny hunk shots away for the night. He was still on the defensive and somewhat stiff in front of the camera but relaxed a bit when I gave him a scotch and got him to sit on a stool. The fireman shots had been slightly wooden but had served their purpose. They'd impressed him with how photogenic he was and, despite the woodenness, had given me an instant woody which I'd managed to conceal during the shoot although my hands had shaken quite a bit towards the end and I must admit that I gave my dick something of a shaking later on as I jerked off looking at some of the blow-ups on my computer. I decided to use a tripod this time with one of those rubber bulbs which just need a gentle squeeze to keep everything in focus.

I let him talk to me about pussies and such because that's what all straight studs do when posing for photos. Until they find out they're barking up the wrong tree that is. Then at a certain point the conversation reverts to dick-size even if still related to pleasing pussies. But this time I managed to gear things to the thrills and fears of fire fighting and showing an interest in his work rather than his body. Occasionally I swivelled him round on the stool and even dared to undo a button or two of his shirt but he took it all in his stride, especially after a few more swigs of scotch.

There was a lot of static in the air and I knew he'd gotten a little electric charge out of the attention and touches but I was biding my time and waiting for him to take the initiative himself. I didn't have long to wait. He undid a few more buttons of his shirt and spread his legs on the stool.

"Don't you want a few torso shots?" he asked.

"Whatever turns you on," I said, wishing I hadn't.

"Thought the idea was to turn the girls on," he answered.

"Just joking," I said.

He hesitated a while, weighing me and the situation up, but then took off his shirt. I had him where I wanted. I let my lens caress his body and took some great shots. His lips were parted and his eyes looked straight into the camera almost challenging me. I knew then that I'd reached the perfect ICE combination. He'd lost his previous indifference, I had him completely under the control of my lens and we were both excited even if he would never have admitted it.

I decided it was time to go in for the kill.

"Stand up and open your jeans a bit," I said.

"I'm not wearing any underwear."

"It doesn't matter. I'll crop the photo if we see too much."

He hesitated but opened his jeans just enough to show his pubes.

"I'm not doing any dick shots," he said.

"Ok," I assured him. "Just give them a taste of what lies in store."

He complied.

I was happy to see that he hadn't shaved down there. I've never been attracted to guys who look like skinned rabbits when their buffed bodies are in the buff. I don't like hairy apes either but there's a happy medium. What I call the natural look. Which is how I like my 'au naturel' men.

I took the standard shots of your stunning stud thrusting his thumbs down the front of his jeans and making you wish you could hit the same hallelujah trail. Then I stopped.

"Is that all?" he said, sounding disappointed in spite of himself.

"Yes," I lied.

I knew I had him turned on and that he was getting a taste for what I'd set out to do but, as I said, I wanted the excitement to come from him and didn't want to go too far too soon.

"Can we look at them on your pc?"

"Of course," I said.

The photos were great but I knew we could still improve on them. I also knew how.

"I need to play a bit more with the lighting," I told him.

"They look great to me," he said. "I look hot."

"Yes," I said, "but I can make you look hotter if you've got the time."

"Are you asking me to pose nude?" he said suspiciously.

"Not necessarily but I wanted to show off your legs a bit and you're not wearing any underwear."

"I told you I don't want any dick shots."

"I could always cast a few dark shadows round there so that wouldn't be a problem."

Once again he hesitated but I knew he was hooked.

"Why don't I lend you a pair of my workout shorts?" I suggested.

"Ok," he said, seemingly relieved.

He changed behind a screen and once more I wondered if he had something to be ashamed of.

"That better?" he asked.

"Yes," I said "but we need a little oil here and there to bring out your biceps."

He let me apply some although I'm sure he could just as well have done it himself. As he lifted each arm I had a whiff and a sniff of his armpits. He hadn't shaved there either. I was so tempted to lick the clinging clumps of hair. Our eyes met and he must have read my transparent thoughts.

"Don't get too frisky with your fingers," he said but I ignored the remark.

I took a few more shots and let him see them. He approved as I knew he would.

We both agreed he needed to relax a bit more and I offered to massage his shoulders.

"I'll de-frisk my fingers," I said. But, of course, did quite the opposite.

It was a long, slow sensually drawn out process but he began to yield to my touch and leant back against me. He even let me pass my open hands over his pecs and anoint his nipples with oil. My fingers and the scotch were beginning to have their effect. There was a horny hiatus in the air and a lot of static which I hadn't activated yet. I felt like I was in some kind of time capsule which might burst its bubble at any moment. I couldn't believe I was doing what I was doing and that he was letting me do it. I was so afraid he was going to say 'stop that's enough already' but instead he let out what I can only describe as wordless sighs and I knew I was on the right ab-track.

I wiped my oily fingers on my pants, which were becoming semen stained anyway, and took a few more shots. Silence still reigned but words were becoming superfluous. There was a new intimacy between us and we were communicating tactilely. I did a bit more oil application and a lot more kneading, especially around the inner sanctum of his thighs, slipping my fingers under his shorts and up his inside leg. Soon I was almost touching his scrotum. I could feel the heat of his dick which was urgently pressing against my face. I pulled the shorts down over his huge erection.

I was reminded of a Greek temple. His thick thighs were like pillars supporting two boulder-like balls and his proud thrusting phallus was reaching for the sky ... and my mouth.

Soon I'd forgotten all about taking photos and was worshipping his dick.

"You can blow me if you like," he said. "Isn't that what you've been working up to?"

This kind of broke the mesmerism and the magic a bit but I was past caring. I stroked his leaking organ like I was stroking a family pet and guided it into my mouth so he could make a doormat of my face. I rubbed his thighs with the palms of my hands, scrubbed his dick with my tongue and made pizza out of his butt. He moaned, or rather mewled, like a cat in heat and tore at my hair.

There was a climate change in his attitude and a gulf stream of hot cum flooded my mouth.

It was over that quickly but I savoured and relished every sizzling second not to mention the cum that coated my throat and dripped down my chin.

"That was great," he said. "If you'd been a girl I'd have fucked you."

"You can still fuck me," I told him.

"Maybe later," he replied, half joking.

I wiped my mouth and sighed. As usually happens with straight studs he'd retreated into his macho shell once the earth moving, mouth-boggling eruption was over and his nuts were empty.

Still I'd gotten this far and I knew that if I played my cards right and got him hot with some more photos he'd be as good as his word. And the fuck would be even better.

Next time I'd put just a little more 'ice' in his drink.