ARISTOCRAT novel by
JOHN CORIOLAN
ARISTOCRAT novel by
JOHN CORIOLAN
Excerpt:
Since the time more than five years ago, when Hixson first encountered Tryce Dexter, he had been intrigued by—enchanted by—that beautiful young man. Tryce Dexter's other beauties and his potentialities—not as Hixson's boss and his boss' boss were, by the rising porn star's immense dick and the likelihood that Tryce could become a featured player in porn-films. The Poet was smitten by Dexter's over-all physical grace and his clearly-stated and utterly believable desire to be Someone Special in the Great Wide World, besides, perhaps, being an internationally known star of the best of the ‘explicit' films. Dexter meant to be a Great Actor of Classical Roles—one of the few who even knew that there had been and soon would be again, such Highly Respected Figures. To discover that any young person was aware of how the wheel turned, of how the ever-changing world would again need Great Art…. It was a miracle that only made the youth even more lovable in the poor old Poet's eyes. As Eldon Hixson himself would some day soon be recognized as the Walt Whitman of the Era, so would Tryce Dexter be known as the Hampden—no, the Olivier!—of that time!
Immediately, the Poet had begun his cherished collection. The Poet had seen every film that Tryce Dexter ever appeared in—not only all those later ones in which Tryce Dexter had been featured. Hixson had also managed to own prints of all but one of the very early ones. He had had to pay a finder's fee for a copy of the abandoned "Hamlet" that Marina Lakakovsky had made and had had to sell because she needed the money. And he had paid a whopping amount for one of the rare copies of "Outpost", but having them was worth any expense, for he adored Tryce Dexter.
In one of the New York amateur-made shorties, the blond beauty, ‘The cynosure of all eyes that ever beheld him', was not yet ‘Tryce Dexter' but was a nameless performer…with ‘the biggest dick anybody had ever seen anywhere'! Although the Poet considered that special trait of the young male's a mere extraneous-detail, numerous other devotees of Low Cinema had not only ‘noticed' it but had spread the joyful word about it. Although the size of Dexter's sex-organ…tool…bodonkus…prick…dick…might be almost irrelevant to Hixson, it was a celebrated Fact of Life to many film-addicts. And not just a Fact of Gay Life! It was certainly a salient fact that drove up the asking price of all the ‘relics' that Hixson had heard of and eventually acquired, despite his own limited income, his negligible hand-out from the USA government. Unlike many poets he knew, he had worked at enough salaried jobs, et cetera…
............
Bad porn was worse than no porn at all, but Trice did go to see all the old Johnny Holmes epics, 'cause the loners there whipped out some really first-class huge meat and beat it off, as Holmes up on the screen—as he always did—pulled his famous tool outta the female's front or back hole and beat off his heavy load…which was, of course, ‘augmented'. Nobody ever shot out that much jiz!
The straight guys imitating their idol Holmes didn't, apparently, care a bit who watched them beating their meat! In fact Trice had the impression that nine out of ten of the really well-hung guys wanted other guys to see them walloping their big stiffies and shooting their loads. The niggers simply all surrounded the urinals in the Mens during the obligatory two-femmes-together scenes and showed each other their enormous stiff dicks and, somehow, they all beat off at the same time. Once Trice counted six loads flying into one long tin urinal! The oriental tourists—Japs or Chinks, who cared which?—jabbered right through everything, even through Holmes's calm, heavy jacking off his huge organ for a full minute and his finally shooting out his load. But did they all shut up and stare if Trice hauled out his great ‘wonder' and teased it up hard?
Trice never let himself go all the way at any porn-palace, having to save his cream for some lucky customer who had earned it. Trice was a good whore—he always gave his customer his moneys worth…though, if he or she was the third that day, he or she had to really ‘work' for it. Many tried to tease Trice into reciprocal sex but he always skipped that scene—unless the guy's dick was really huge, a rival of his own…and whose ever was? Trice's lucky extra three-eights of an inch each way gave Trice Holly an enviable and well-acknowledged edge over all the other ‘big-fixed' studs.
Even out at the Coney Island Baths, when about thirty guys were rubbing against each other in a ten-man steam cubicle. With no room to kneel and suck, the mode was all hand-play. The one beauty whose basket promised Something Really Special down there to ‘play with' had on a bathing-suit with the waist drawstring so tightly knotted that nobody could get the smartie's huge dick out. Trice was frustrated but the smart operator was a mean cock-sucker so Trice gave him that day's ‘good stuff'. He hoped they'd meet again—maybe in the gym showers where the damned old bathing-suit armor would be de trop and the guy's huge dick would hang out its full eleven inches. Or if the guy was all that lucky—a fantastic twelve! A genuine ‘Footlong'! A man could dream….
Then, suddenly, Trice didn't want to hustle anymore, go on ‘dates', sell his favors, enjoy laying back…. Belva had other studs she could send out, better mannered if not-quite-as-hugely-equipped studs…like that Italian Carlo from Great Neck, who'd do anything and seem to love it! Trice Holly was over his ‘round heels' period.
He'd even got over wondering what he might do out on the Coast, letting all the gay movie-actors—and out there who was not gay?—suck him off. Only, some of the big male stars were only gay and sucked cock when a possible lead in a new movie was involved. Or if the cock they were offered was Really Something Special, as Trice's certainly was! What star would ever not suck off ‘The Biggest Ever', if it was politely offered…maybe under a table, at some famous restaurant?
Trice had heard tales about the fabulous studs out there, the reputed ‘twelve-inchers' that he'd have to see to believe…and if they were really that long, how big around were they? Could he himself get down on one that huge? He'd try. Who wouldn't? But he doubted. However, the idea that some joker might already have a bigger one had bothered Trice a lot. He'd expected that some day, when he was old and tired, not a drunken Swede but some kid with a further sixteenth of an inch each way would turn up as the New Champ! But meanwhile…his own, it being one tiny bit longer and thicker than any other man could show—obviously would be and was enough! Or was, alas for too many, More than Enough! And, yeah—he had always looked and if the other guy's dick looked as if it might be Really Pretty Big, his own automatically got hard. He had a lot of fun that way. But fun wasn't getting him the repute as a great Actor that he supposedly needed more than anything else. Nor was a pile of money in his bank-account what he needed. He was no greedy cousin Robertson, he was just crazy, strangely equipped and strangely talented Trice Holly—the soon-to-be-hailed Great Classical Actor of All Time!
To Be Continued
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