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That Man from C.A.M.P. in Color Him Gay [MultiFormat]
eBook by Victor J. Banis

eBook Category: Erotica/Humor
eBook Description: Being the Further Adventures of That Man from C.A.M.P..... Steve thought to cut in on the source of blackmail money that Dingo Stark was paying the boys who wanted to Color Him Gay but his hatred took him too far. As his screams drift through the still air, it's up to the debonair secret agent, Jackie Holmes, that Man from C.A.M.P., to arrive in time to save the day!

eBook Publisher: Wildside Press, Published: USA, 1966
Fictionwise Release Date: May 2007


6 Reader Ratings:
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Foreword to the Second Edition

The books in the series, The Man from C.A.M.P., were among the earliest of the many novels I have penned. They were written in the 1960s, and they are very much a part of that exciting era when people of so many different sorts were coming out of so many different closets. Gay people were celebrating in the streets the very same lifestyle that only a few years before had engendered in many of us guilt and shame and fear, ruined large numbers of promising careers and sent many to prison.

These books were a part of my celebration. They were written with tongue very firmly in cheek, in a few days each, with nary a thought of rewrite or polishing up some admittedly amateurish prose. They were never intended to be "literature," and they are not. They were, however, intended to be fun.

I think they still are.

--Victor J. Banis

July 2006

* * * *
The Man from C.A.M.P. Checklist
1. The Man from C.A.M.P.
2. *Color Him Gay
3. The Watercress File
4. The Son Goes Down
5. Gothic Gaye
6. Holiday Gay
7. Rally Round the Fag
8. *The Gay Dogs
9. Blow the Man Down
10. Gay-Safe (not written by Victor Banis)
*=Published by Wildside Press
* * * *
Associated Titles:
Sex and the Single Gay
The C.A.M.P. Guide to Astrology
The C.A.M.P. Cookbook
* * * *
Chapter One

Jackie Holmes smiled over the rim of his glass at the good-looking young redhead in the mirror behind the bar. The redhead smiled back and continued to play kneesies with him.

Definitely encouraging, Jackie thought. He turned slightly on his seat while still maintaining the enjoyable pressure of their legs, and faced the stranger.

"All alone?" he asked to break the ice.

"I was. But I'd just as soon not be," the redhead said.

Jackie smiled again and studied his neighbor quickly but thoroughly. The redhead was not much taller than his own five feet, nine inches, but with a stockier build. While Jackie was slender and small of build, the young man opposite him displayed, in his jeans and a tight fitting t-shirt, a sculptured and muscular body. The enticing bulge of his jeans made the overall picture even more enticing. Brown eyes twinkled at Jackie from the freckled and young looking face.

"My name's Jackie" He extended his hand.

"I'm Bob," the redhead answered, shaking Jackie's hand firmly.

The evening, Jackie decided, was progressing nicely. He had been in two other bars before this one, all of them gay, and all of them rather quiet. In fact, he had all but decided to call it a night and return home when the sexy redhead had taken a seat beside him at the bar. Now he was not so eager to go home; at least, not by himself.

"Want another drink?" Jackie asked him with a meaningful gaze that managed to ask other questions.

"I don't really need it," Bob informed him. His eyes were doing a good job of answering Jackie's silent questions and the answers were all favorable.

"That's encouraging."

"I live just a couple of blocks from here," Bob explained. "Why don't you come up for some coffee or something?"

"I'll accept, on both counts," Jackie answered. "What's the address?"

The redhead gave him the address and Jackie committed it efficiently to memory. "I'll join you there in a couple of minutes," he said.

He watched as the redhead left the bar. The view from the back was just as interesting. His buttocks were lush spheres of flesh, neither too lean nor too fat, tightly encased in the jeans that did more to reveal the shape of things to come than to conceal. Jackie downed the rest of his drink and, with an expectant tingle in his loins, left the bar a minute later.

The parking lot was in the rear. He circled around the building, entered the comparative darkness of the lot and approached his car. The sound of a scuffle from nearby brought him to a halt.

He paused for a second beside his car. There was a fight in progress, in the narrow space that separated the bar from the neighboring building. By all rights he should investigate and do what he could to straighten things out. On the other hand, there was a sexy young redhead just a few blocks away, waiting for him to arrive.

With a sigh Jackie moved past his car and started for the fight. Business, he reminded himself, before pleasure.

The fight was decidedly a one-sided affair. Of the four people involved, three of them were busily engaging in working over the fourth. For his part the victim was putting up a good fight, if a losing one. Tall and lanky, with what gave the appearance of a long blond fright wig atop his head, he was backed now to the wall, using hands and feet alike to fight off his attackers.

As Jackie paused at the beginning of the narrow passageway, there was a click of metal and the moonlight gleamed on the blade of a knife. It was time, Jackie decided, starting to run, that someone evened out the battle.

The man with the knife heard the sound of his approach and whirled about to face him. Jackie was faster, catching the shadowy figure in half turn. He grabbed for the knife hand, giving the wrist a violent yank that sent the man off balance. A knee to the groin finished the job. The knife fell to the ground as the man doubled in pain.

Someone grabbed Jackie from behind. With lightning speed Jackie fell forward, carrying his attacker up and over to send him flying through the air.

With only one combatant, the blond victim of the attack was faring better. Jackie came toward him, grabbing hold of the remaining antagonist, a burly six-foot figure. The man slipped from his grasp and landed a hard fist on Jackie's jaw. Staggering backward, Jackie caught the edge of a brick that, if it had landed squarely, would have probably caved in his scalp. As it was, he sank to his knees, dazed momentarily.

The trio of hoods, however, had had enough. They took advantage of the opportunity to break away, disappearing into the parking lot. By the time Jackie had gotten to his feet, a car had roared to life in the lot, and a second later it raced away with a squeal of tires.

He turned instead to the blond, who had been felled also by a parting blow. To his amazement, however, the blond was no longer a blond. The golden mane had been a wig after all and it had been lost in the scuffle.

"Girl, you sure pick them tough," Jackie said, helping the stranger to his feet.

"Watch how you address me, bloody hell," the other snapped angrily. "For your information I'm not some blooming pansy."

It was not a very grateful response from someone who had just been rescued and for a moment Jackie nearly resorted to anger himself. As the young man got to his feet, however, Jackie's anger was swallowed up in his surprise. Without the covering of the wig, his hair was a cascade of unruly dark locks that tumbled about his face and reached to his shoulders. It would have been impossible for Jackie not to recognize the hair, the large, bright eyes, separated by a long, almost hawk-like nose, and the pouty curve of the mouth.

"Dingo Stark!" Jackie exclaimed in amazement. It was an unlikely place in which to be meeting the world famous rock-and-roll singer. He remembered reading somewhere that the young Englishman was visiting in the country but the gay bar they were outside of was not a place Jackie would have suspected as a part of his itinerary.

"Not so blooming loud," Stark warned him, glancing anxiously about. "I don't want to be recognized around this place."

"That explains the wig," Jackie said, in a lower voice. "And it's none of my business what you're doing here. But I don't need to tell you those boys meant business. One of them was pulling a knife when I came up."

"Yes, I know." Stark looked back at him now and managed what Jackie assumed was a grateful smile. "I owe you a vote of thanks, mate."

"That's all right," Jackie assured him, accepting the hand that was offered. "In a manner of speaking, protecting people is my business."

Stark raised an eyebrow. "Well, now, that's interesting, isn't it? I'd say at the moment that I might need a bit of protecting."

Jackie shook his head, "To be honest, I don't think you fall into my category. Speaking bluntly, I'm usually concerned with helping out homosexuals."

"I see." Stark did not seem at all dissuaded by the statement. "As a matter of fact, that sounds all the more interesting. Tell me, Mr....?"

"Holmes, Jackie Holmes. Call me Jackie."

"Tell me, Jackie, would you be interested in running up to my hotel with me? I have a feeling we might be able to do a little business together."

Jackie hesitated for a moment, remembering the redhead, Bob, who by now was probably growing very impatient. He hated giving up the prospect of a torrid session, most especially since he couldn't look forward to one with his new companion. Stark was not especially good looking, and yet there was something about him that was wildly attractive, especially when he was in action. Singing at the top of his lungs, his long hair flying about as he flailed his guitar and gyrated his narrow hips, Stark exuded an animal magnetism and vitality that set millions of young girls, and boys, afire. Too bad, Jackie thought quickly, that he was straight. On the other hand, this was business, and if there was a homosexual element involved, it was definitely right down his alley.

"Come on," he said, reaching a decision. "I'll drive you to your hotel."

* * * *

"This is it," Jackie said when they reached his car in the lot.

Stark stared at the vehicle in amazement. "I say, it is a wild-looking thing isn't it?"

The roadster before them was finished in a pale shade of blue. The color, however, was the only docile thing about the car's appearance. High cycle fenders arched gracefully over the huge wire wheels, encasing the side-mounted spare and reaching down and back to the wide running boards that were typically Italian, high off the ground.

"Alfa Romeo," Jackie explained as they climbed inside. "1925 vintage, a 22-90 RLSS model."

The six-cylinder, three-liter engine sprang to life. Jackie struggled with the four speed gearbox, a hard one to handle, and swung out of the parking lot at a fast clip. Despite its age and size the car was easy to handle, the steering quick and precise, the performance surprisingly muscular.

"Noisy brute, isn't it?" Stark commented, enjoying the cool night winds that whipped over him.

"That it is. By the way, I hope you are not wearing rubber sole shoes."

"I'm not," Stark assured him, giving him a puzzled look. "But why do you ask?"

Jackie nodded his head down, toward the aluminum footboard. "It gets hot. First time I drove it, I wore rubber sole shoes and the damned thing melted the soles."

Ahead of them a compact car pulled out from a side street. Jackie swore aloud and slammed his foot on the brake. The result was a blood-curdling howl from the wheels. Despite the noise, however, the action did rather little to stop the car. They came within inches of the compact before the frightened driver of that car, unnerved by the racket and the sight of the classic roadster roaring down upon him, finally accelerated out of their path.

Stark had turned somewhat paler. "What was all that about?" he asked finally.

Jackie giggled. "They hadn't yet invented modern braking systems at the time this car was built. These are four-wheel brakes, but there are no linings. The noise you heard was the sound of cast iron shoes rubbing directly against the steel of the drums. Added to that, there's an intricate system of chain, cable and steel tapes that was intended to transmit the pressure of your foot to the brake drums. By the time it does its work, you've usually hit whatever you were trying to miss."

"I see," Stark answered, in a none too enthusiastic tone.

If the rock-and-roll singer's nerves had been rather abused by the peculiarities of the car, he had yet to suffer still more hardship. They had gone only a few blocks more when, with a gush of a small waterfall, the dash panel erupted before him. The seams gave way suddenly to release a river of warm oil over his lap.

Jackie brought the car to as hasty a stop as the braking system would allow, unable to suppress the gales of laughter that left him shaking.

"It's not bloody funny," Stark roared, viewing the results of the accident.

"Sorry," Jackie apologized, growing more sober as he produced rags from beneath the seat and began mopping up the oil that had all but inundated his companion.

"I should have suspected trouble. The car has two oil tanks, one under the dash and the crankcase itself. The idea is to fill the dash tank, which automatically feeds the engine. I left my mechanic to service the car and he must have mistakenly filled both tanks. The overtaxed seams just gave up."

Despite his ministrations to the other's lap, which had been deliberately quite thorough, and more enjoyable for Jackie than for Stark, the damage to the slacks Stark was wearing was irreparable.

"I'll see that they are replaced," Jackie assured him. "And I am sorry, really."

Stark was still shaken and not particularly cheerful. "Are there any more booby traps set to spring?" he wanted to know.

"I give you my word," Jackie promised, starting off again.

To their mutual relief they reached Stark's hotel without further incident. Jackie was surprised to note that it was not a particularly outstanding hotel.

As though divining his thoughts, Stark explained. "It's difficult to make myself inconspicuous," he said as they entered the lobby. "But there are times when I simply have to get away from the fans who are always trying to tear me apart. So far, no one has discovered me here but I wouldn't have had a minute's peace in the Hilton."

The hotel employees regarded them with amusement and curiosity as Stark passed through the small lobby in his oil-stained trousers. For an answer, Stark only glowered at each one in turn. He was still glowering when they reached his room.

"I think I'll feel better if I get out of these," he said. "And take a good shower. Can you make yourself at home?"

"Don't hurry," Jackie assured him, seating himself on one edge of the bed. "I'll be here when you finish."

He did not attempt to hide his interest as Stark undressed, dropping the trousers rather noisily into the wastebasket. To his disappointment Stark donned a terry cloth robe before removing his underpinnings. Jackie had seen enough of the body, however, to know that it was a nice one, long-limbed and sturdy.

He remembered as Stark disappeared into the bathroom that the young man had not always been a highly paid singer. He had come from one of the rougher districts of London and if one were to believe the publicity biographies, his early life had been a hard one.

Only two years before Stark had been a construction worker living with his large family in a crowded and shabby apartment. His two years of success had apparently not yet softened him. He was still muscular and rugged, and the rough edges still showed through the veneer of polish he had acquired.

Stark was back quickly, his legs dripping water beneath the robe. "Now then," he said, leaning against the dresser and folding his arms over his chest. "You said that you were in the business of protection and that this involved homosexuals. Can you be more specific about this business of yours?"

Jackie hesitated briefly. He did not, as a rule, discuss his work with strangers as, for all practical purposes, Stark was. On the other hand, Stark had hinted that he needed help, and if Jackie was going to supply that help, he owed some explanation.

"I'm an agent for an organization called C.A.M.P. It's an international, underground organization dedicated to the advancement and protection of homosexuals."

"Is there a demand for such an outfit?" Stark asked, interested.

Jackie nodded. "Most definitely. No one knows just how many homosexuals there are in the world, but it's safe to say there are millions. Most of them pay a heavy price for being what they are. In most countries there are laws prohibiting homosexual acts, sometimes involving life imprisonment. Even where there are no laws there is a great deal of ignorance regarding the subject, with the resultant myths and prejudices. C.A.M.P. has numerous sections that deal with every aspect of homosexuality. Some of them work to improve the legal situation, others work in the medical and social fields, among others."

"And the protection?"

"Unfortunately, it's too often necessary. These homosexuals are frequently the victims of unscrupulous people, ranging from small time roughnecks who make a sport of queer hunting--cruising around looking for homosexuals to molest--to blackmailers and sometimes worse. There's little police protection for the homosexual. Remember, he's technically outside the law anyway. That's where I come in. My section works as a police agency for homosexuals everywhere, whenever needed."

"I see," Stark said thoughtfully, rubbing his chin with his hand.

"But I'm not sure I see what your interest in all this is," Jackie said frankly. "You were pretty blunt in stating that you weren't, as you put it, a pansy."

A slight blush tinged the angular face pink. "I'm not, of course," Stark agreed. "But I think I can qualify for your services, Jackie."

"In what way?" Jackie asked, puzzled.

Stark was becoming more embarrassed as he talked and his reluctance was apparent in the fact that he looked away from Jackie as he went on slowly.

"These blackmailers you mentioned," he explained, stammering. "I know all about that aspect of the problem. You see, I've just found myself confronted with the same situation. To be brief about it, I'm being blackmailed. At least, someone is trying to blackmail me."

Jackie leaned forward on the edge of the bed, definitely interested. Stark, so famous now as to be almost a household word and earning a phenomenal salary, would be a ripe target for any blackmailer.

"What are they blackmailing you for?" he asked, still curious about how this was connected with him and his work for C.A.M.P.

Stark's face went from pink to a deep crimson red. "It's over some homosexual incidents," he managed to stammer.

* * * *
Chapter Two

Jackie's interest and his curiosity were aroused still further by the statement. "Isn't that a little contradictory," he asked.

"I suppose I'd better tell you the whole story," Stark agreed with obvious discomfort. "When I said I wasn't homosexual I was being honest. But isn't it true that most blokes go through a stage of that as children?"

"That's true enough," Jackie agreed. "Some experts think that the heterosexual person goes through a stage of homosexual development, which he outgrows as he grows older. According to that theory, the homosexual in a sense gets bogged down in that stage and never develops beyond it. Some people, of course, the ones they call bisexual, grow into adulthood capable of enjoying both sexes. In fact, many authorities think that everyone remains more or less bisexual, but that the conditioning in our society prohibits the average adult from practicing or even recognizing his homosexual urges."

"That's how I understood it," Stark answered. Jackie's matter-of-fact approach had eased his embarrassment somewhat. "Well, that's what it was in my case. The incidents involved were childhood incidents. They took place when I was only sixteen and seventeen."

Jackie did not interrupt to point out that the young man was not much older than that now.

"I grew up in a rough neighborhood," Stark when on. "I was pretty much of a loner, until I met Steve. He was a different sort, out of place in the neighborhood, if you know what I mean."

Jackie nodded his head. He knew how difficult life could be for the homosexual growing up in such an environment. He himself had fared better, coming from a family of vast wealth, but his work had often led him to the others.

"Steve was a nice-looking chap, but sort of delicate and fragile, if you can picture him. He was a pansy--excuse me, a homosexual--even then, and still is, so far as I know. Anyway, he had had quite a bit of experience at it, as I found out eventually.

"When I first met him, he was being worked over roundly by a bunch of ruffians. I pitched in and saved his skin. After that, he sort of attached himself to me. For me it was like having a pet dog around, or something like that, and he was a nice enough chap. Besides, I hadn't had any friends of my own and the two of us became quite close."

"How close?" Jackie prodded him when he paused, restraining himself from smiling.

"Close enough," Stark answered, blushing slightly again, "To fool around a bit with one another. Kid stuff, you understand."

How long did this go on," Jackie asked. "This fooling around between the two of you?"

"Two years. I got my big break then and left the old neighborhood."

Two years, Jackie thought, was quite a long time for a trivial affair to continue. Nor had it ended, he reminded himself, because Stark had found himself a girl or anything of that sort, but because he had moved from the neighborhood. But he thought it best to keep these thoughts to himself.

"Where is Steve now?" he asked.

"Oh, I saw that he was taken care of," Stark answered quickly, as though suspecting some implied criticism in the question. "I couldn't afford to have him stay around, at the risk of scandal, but I saw that he had enough money to take care of himself. He's living here, as a matter or fact, in this country. I haven't yet gotten in touch with him, as he'd moved from his last address."

"I see. And someone got hold of this story?"

"Yes. I don't know how, but a few days ago I got a note. It included quite a bit of information about Steve and myself, enough to make it clear that the sender knew we had been, uh, doing it together, so to speak. The note suggested that I be at the parking lot behind the bar, tonight. When I got there, I found those three toughies. They put it on the line: one hundred thousand dollars in your money, or they'd ruin my career by spreading the story about me. I lost my temper and took a swing at one of them. You know the rest."

Jackie nodded grimly. "I'd say you are in a spot."

"I don't suppose there's much that can be done now," Stark said. "After I lost my temper and started a fight, they're sure to start their smear campaign."

"I don't think so. It's the money they want, and chances are good they'll try again, after you've had time to cool off."

"Is there anything your outfit, C.A.M.P., can do to help me? I can't go to the police, of course, without risking the same exposure."

"We can try," Jackie answered. "There's not much to go on. Did you save the note?"

Stark shook his head glumly. "I tore it up. But it wouldn't have helped much. It was all printed on plain paper. It was left under my door here."

"At least we got a look at those three who met you tonight," Jackie pointed out hopefully. "I may get a lead there, if I can identify them."

"There's one thing more that worries me," Stark said quietly.

"What's that?"

"I've kept a sort of diary, most of my life," Stark explained. "I used to write down things that happened to me and how I felt about them. It's got everything about Steve in it, every single time we were together, and everything we did, in detail, in my own handwriting."

Jackie groaned aloud. "Don't tell me our friends have that in their possession?"

"No, thank heaven for that," Stark assured him quickly. "I have it here, with me. But I've been scared green that they might get hold of it. They could sell that for a fortune and ruin my career in the bargain."

"I think," Jackie said, standing. "I'd better take that with me, just to be on the safe side. You have my word that I won't read it, of course, but I think it will be safer at my office than here."

"You're right, of course," Stark agreed. He took a key from atop his dresser and unlocked his suitcase, removing a thick, battered notebook from it. "I suppose I should have burned it," he said, handing the book to Jackie. "But somehow I couldn't bring myself to do that."

"I'll take care of it," Jackie assured him. "And don't worry, we'll put an end to this scheme."

"I'll pay a fee, of course," Stark told him with a grateful smile. "And I'll be in your debt forever."

"Forget it," Jackie answered, "It's our job, remember. We don't base our assistance on whether or not someone can afford us."

"You know," Stark said after a pause, a faint smile playing across the deep red of his lips. "When I look back on it, those incidents with Steve were sort of pleasant. Nothing serious, of course, but I can't deny that I enjoyed them."

"At least you're more honest about that than many others," Jackie said. He was puzzled by the change he could not quite define.

"I wonder," Stark said, his smile broadening although the blush had returned. "If any one of us ever really outgrows his childhood?"

Jackie was beginning to understand at last. The gleam that had crept into Stark's dark eyes, the timid blush--unless he was badly mistaken, and he rarely was about such things, the rock-and-roll singer, idol of millions, was making a pass at him.

"Are you suggesting," he asked quietly, "That I make you a child again, just for tonight?"

Stark held his ground and met the questioning eyes squarely, despite his embarrassment. "I've never dared to repeat those scenes, because of the risk. But I know I can trust you and, well, it might be a bit of fun, mightn't it?"

Jackie grinned broadly. It was natural, even among the most sophisticated, to retain a certain awe for stars of such magnitude as Dingo Stark. Everyone had some idol of whom they would cherish a souvenir: a lock of hair, a piece of clothing. In his own case the memory of a bedtime romp was the sort of souvenir Jackie most enjoyed. And after all, there was that redhead that he stood up to come here, a tempting morsel he had hated to pass up.

"It might be at that," he agreed, laying the diary gently atop the dresser. He did not hesitate as he began to remove his clothing. His schedule was frequently a busy one and more often than not such diversions as this had to be accomplished with speed and efficiency.

"Would you--would you like the light off?" Stark asked, no longer the self-assured singer star, but an awkward, uncertain young man.

"I always believe one should see what one is buying," Jackie answered. "Besides, I'm not bashful."

He had, in fact, no reason to be modest over the body that was coming into view. Dressed, and assuming his customary manner, the youthful blond gave an impression of being weak and even effeminate. He was small and slender but the more than casual observer, seeing the body naked, could at once see that weakness was only an illusion.

Beneath the delicate-looking skin, well-trained and coordinated muscles rippled and surged as he moved. It had often proven to his advantage to appear less than an athlete but Jackie was that and more. At his command were phenomenal resources of strength and agility that had seen him through more than one fracas.

His body was nearly hairless, except for a bloom of golden silk at the base of his abdomen that framed a more than ample manhood and the soft down that gave added luster to the curving softness of his buttocks.

"Tell me," he addressed his companion as he stepped nearer. "Those gyrations you use when you're singing--did you learn those from Steve?"

"Some of them," Stark admitted shyly. With his eyes he had been devouring the attractive body, now naked before him.

Jackie took the robe gently in his hands, pulling it open. Stark's body lived up to its promises. He was tall and big-boned, with an exaggerated angularity that was not pretty but at the same time uniquely attractive. His chest was not particularly developed, and his waist rather thick in contrast to his slender hips, with the result that his shape was nearly straight up and down.

The same dark hair that framed his face was repeated thickly at the center of his chest, thinning out to encircle the deep rosettes of his flat, masculine nipples. From his navel the luxuriant growth began again, fanning over his gently rounded abdomen to climax at his thighs and continue down the long columns of his legs.

Looking down, Jackie was pleased to discover that his nudity had not been wasted on the English youth. Nor had he any reason to be disappointed by what he saw. The young Steve, Jackie decided, had had more than one reason for encouraging and continuing the relationship with his comrade. A homosexual, even an active and experienced one, could shop around quite a bit without finding better.

Stark shivered slightly as Jackie lifted the robe off the wide shoulders and tugged it gently from the arms, letting it fall to the floor.

"Nervous?" he asked tenderly.

"A little," Stark answered.

Jackie led him to the bed, flicking off the light as they lowered themselves to its surface. His own ardor had been aroused by the ripened fruits before him, waiting to be plucked. At the moment he could not help resenting Stark's young friend. He would like to have been the first himself.

He did not attempt to kiss the face near his, although their lips were only inches apart. He knew Stark's type. The ones who did not regard themselves as homosexual were sometimes receptive to a little "fun", but more often than not they drew the line at kissing a member of their own sex. It was a peculiarity that Jackie recognized, although he found it difficult to understand.

Stark had no such reluctance, however, in the use of his body. His embrace was warm and eager, his body twisting and squirming as he crushed it tightly against Jackie's. His hands played up and down Jackie's back, reaching to fondle and knead the yielding softness of the taut mounds at the base of Jackie's torso. For several minutes they twisted and rubbed together, sweating with the warmth of their passion.

Jackie smiled to himself as he recognized the preliminaries to the method Stark expected to use, a method known to some as the "Princeton rub" because of its alleged popularity among the students of that school, and to more serious researchers as the English Method. The latter name came from the reportedly common use of the method among English boarding school students, although the Greeks, who called it merizein, were said to have practiced the same method in their highly homosexual civilization.

In its simplest form, the method was little more than a prolonged embrace, the participants pressed tightly against one another's abdomen until the finish.

It was not a technique that Jackie frequently employed but he had long since discarded any inhibitions that he might have possessed, devoting himself instead to giving and deriving pleasure by whatever means preferred by his partner. If this was what it took to please the lanky young man in his arms he was happy to oblige. He reached for his companion, moistening the taut flesh with saliva.

For himself, his own pleasure was heightened by the obvious delight that Stark took in the caress. The English youth was beside himself with passion, the muscles of his hips taut as he pushed upward, his sliding, heaving stomach providing the physical stimulation for Jackie.

As his ardor soared Stark grew more abandoned, his hands clawing at Jackie's body, his teeth scraping the flesh of Jackie's shoulder. Jackie stroked and fondled his partner all the while, bringing into play his thorough knowledge of the male body. Stark was still quite young and the erogenous zones of a young man, he knew, were not unlike those of a girl.

His ministrations produced soft moans of delight and he wondered, as his hands explored Stark's firm, voluptuous buttocks, causing Stark to shudder convulsively, if the enterprising Steve might not have introduced Stark to other techniques as well. That, however, was a question hopefully to be explored on some subsequent occasion.

The session was proving to be a brief one, for both of them were rapidly approaching their peak. Jackie would have liked to linger, prolong the excitement, but he was already too far gone to slow down and the labored breathing near his ear told him that Stark was in the same condition.

They clung tightly to one another, gasping and panting, and Jackie's belly was suddenly flooded with Stark's warm moistness. He answered it in kind; the two on them drenched with the success of their actions.

"Time for another shower," Stark said finally. In the pale light that filtered through the window, he was smiling up at Jackie, no longer shy and awkward.

"I'll join you," Jackie agreed, standing and offering his companion a hand.

They shared a long, stimulating shower together, affectionately soaping one another's backs and taking frequent time out for horseplay. Stark seemed even younger than his years, a carefree young man playfully happy with someone he liked, and Jackie was not sorry he had promised to help him.

They left the shower finally. Stark donned his robe and watched with regretful eyes as Jackie dressed.

"Was I...?" Stark hesitated, dropping his eyes shyly, "Was I all right?"

"You were great," Jackie reassured him, retrieving the diary from the dresser. "I hope you aren't suffering any regrets."

Stark shook his head and looked up again. "No, it was even more fun than I remembered with Steve."

"Maybe we can try it again," Jackie said hopefully. "I think Steve neglected a few points. Maybe I can show you some of them."

Stark was timid again. "We'll see. I don't know if I want to. Not that I didn't like it, but I'm wondering if I didn't like it too much."

Jackie left the statement unchallenged. This was always a hard thing for some males to face and many of them preferred to take the easy course by foregoing what, to their way of thinking, were sinful pleasures.

"I'll be in touch," Jackie told him, opening the door into the hall. "As soon as I can learn anything. And I'll look after these memoirs for you."

He paused, smiling, and added, "It's too bad you won't get to record tonight in it."

"I'll add it when this is all over," Stark told him. "And don't worry, I won't be likely to forget any of the details."

Jackie grinned broadly and went out, closing the door after himself. Singing, he decided as he went down in the elevator, was far from the only talent Dingo Stark possessed. All in all, he couldn't really regret missing his rendezvous with the redhead from the bar. Anyway it was likely he would see the redhead again. Stark, however, might not be in the same mood the next time.

The Alfa Romeo was waiting for him across the street.

With the diary under his arm, Jackie started toward it. Behind him there was the sound of running feet. The alarm sounded in his mind a split second too late. He tried to duck but his attacker was faster.

He head seemed to explode with the burst of fireworks that dimmed quickly into an impenetrable blackness as he fell to the sidewalk.

* * * *

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