Color Him Gay: The Further Adventures of the Man from C. A. M. P. Read online

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.
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  “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.”

&n
bsp; “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.

  CHAPTER THREE

  He came to slowly, his head throbbing painfully. Memory swept over him and he opened his eyes, shaking his head to shrug off the clinging blackness.

  He was lying on the sidewalk. His watch informed him that he had not been out for long after all, no more than a few minutes. There was no sign of his attacker, however, who had had ample time to make a getaway.

  He remembered the diary finally and bolted to his feet, his eyes sweeping the sidewalk about him. It was gone, of course. The book had been the reason for the bump on his head. No doubt the blackmailers had their eye on this place. They might even have heard his parting comment to Dingo, regarding the “memoirs,” or they might somehow have already known about them. In any event they now had in their hands the most powerful tool they could use against Stark, a guaranteed fortune, if not from Stark, then from some unscrupulous publisher who would pay handsomely for the handwritten and scandalous document.