THE CREW - Chapter 22
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A few weeks later we all got together for the first full meeting of the Crew for about three months.
Of course, the fact was that we'd all been incredibly busy during that time, forging ahead with our very own schemes to win the very first Inter-Crew Cock Contest.
I think everyone felt they had a good chance of taking the top spot. After all, so much planning, effort and, when called for, sheer duplicity had gone into all our schemes that we each felt invincible.
Someone, though - and it would actually be four someone's - would have to lose. And, while the details weren't exactly clear as yet, the general consensus was that Eli wouldn't be in the running.
How could he be?
Eli was our token str8 member of the Crew.
As far as any of us knew - and we knew him better than anyone else - he'd never had even the slightest inclination to sample dick or screw a boy's ass.
In fact, the only reason we'd let him into the contest at all was because he'd begged that he didn't want to feel left out.
In all honesty, though, we expected nothing from him.
Still, he was there - along with the rest of us - when we met up at Mike's Koffee Kabin to tell our individual stories and put our cases for taking the prize.
Spike was the first.
When he told us the story of how he'd got the jocks to put on a strip show for a gay audience, we couldn't believe it. Fortunately, however, he'd remembered to bring along Mr Hung Lo's video camera and tape so we were able to use its small monitor to watch the Tigers' performance as they strutted their stuff on stage.
But the trump card in Spike's argument was what had happened since that tape was recorded.
It turned out, he said, that the boys' performance, contrary to every expectation, had been a huge success.
OK, maybe it wasn't that they were actually any good, but, all the same, they'd become something of a cult among the local gay community.
As a result of the number of new bookings flowing in, they'd even offered Spike a full time position as their manager, though he'd eventually decided to decline and concentrate instead on winning a scholarship to West Hollywood College (or, if that failed, he planned to take a gap year coaching life skills to the inmates of the Fort Lauderdale Home for Juvenile Delinquents).
Rebuffed by Spike, the Tigers had turned instead to Mr Hung Lo, the grubby Chinese entrepreneur and porn merchant, who became their manager not on the usual basis of taking a regular 10% of their earnings but, Spike had been reliably informed, taking a regular 100% of their butts.
Under his tutelage the Tigers were, it seemed, going from strength to strength as they embarked on a brief tour of the south.
After a minor triumph at the Galveston Goes Gay - 2002 festival, they'd scored big time as chorus boys in a (scaled-down and somewhat derivative) gay western musical Oklahomo!, after which the Tulsa Times critic referred to them as "game little troopers, lacking artistic polish but making up for it with raw guts and sheer determination".
And that sort of summed up Mr Hung Lo's verdict on them too, as he set about collecting his dues with grim and insatiable determination each week.
But the Tigers' success, as it turned out, was to be short lived.
As usual in these things, success went to everyone's head and, the last Spike had heard, things had panned out like this.
Having developed a taste for dressing up in exotic costumes during his time as a Tiger, Bobby Hopkins reinvented himself as Bobby McHopkins and joined the Gay Gordons, a faux-Scottish "queer choir", as they called themselves, whose members wore just the cutest little pink and lilac tartan kilts imaginable but whose accents were closer to Delhi than Dundee.
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The second Tiger Troy LePhlegm was now, it was widely believed, PA to New York's biggest importer of exotic leatherwear.
That, Spike pointed out with some glee, was less impressive when you knew that the leatherwear in question was cheap shoes.
And, he added with a
suggestive smirk, Troy was the guy's "PA" only in acting as his "personal ass" -
for that particular Tiger's derrière had apparently developed a definite taste
for dick under Mr Hung Lo's firm management.
What, then, of the two
remaining Tigers?
Several of us already
knew about Gary Elliott, for we'd all seen that ad in the latest edition
of Gay Boys' Weekly Digest - a publication which, from its title, you'd
guess might be concentrating on mixed stomachfuls of vodka, cocaine and
sperm.
.
The ad had proclaimed the advent of a new star in the US porno
firmament…
Stand aside Stryker!
Remove yourself Ridgeston!
Here comes Cockadoodle Studio's newest sensation - Dick Deadly!!!
Well, that's the name it may have said in the ad - but we boys in the Crew all knew better.
OK, Gary Elliott had obviously spent a few days in the gym, he'd had his buck teeth fixed and clever cosmetic work had disguised most of his adolescent acne.
But nothing could disguise that distinctively twisted dick with the scar at its base where Lindy Smithers had bitten it real hard once in the middle of a particularly passionate blowjob.
So, with Bobby Hopkins (oops, McHopkins!), Troy "Mr Leatherwear" LePhlegm and Gary "Deadlydick" Elliott all accounted for, that just left one remaining Tiger.
Kenny Taylor.
That, Spike assured us, provided the happiest ending of all.
And it certainly made Kenny's own end happy.
Because, seeing that he'd so obviously enjoyed shoving a butt plug up his ass across the stages of the southern states, some kind soul in the audience had introduced Kenny to no less than Big Black Bobby himself - the owner of the dick which provided the template for the world's best-selling (and Kenny's undoubted favorite) dildo.
Kenny was over the moon (well, actually he was bent over the back of a chair).
Big Black Bobby - who actually turned out to be a rather sweet interior designer from North Dakota called Clive, but whose humungous appendage, at least, certainly deserved the more appropriate name - was delighted to park in Kenny's rear garage.
And, as far as we know, they are still living happily ever after - or, at any rate, as far as that's possible in North Dakota.
According to Spike who's received an invitation to visit them, Clive/Bobby and Kenny now live about half way between Mandan and Dickinson (both real places - we checked on a map).
They are already pillars of the local community.
And their complete happiness is only marred, it seems, by the lack of any Ralph Lauren outlets in the neighbourhood.
© Rob Maynard /HMBoys.com 2006