Easy Rider

Some people are born to be teachers, or great thinkers, or athletes on the world stage. And some folks are born, by the grace of god, to be high-speed chase stunt doubles. One of those people would be me. Get me behind the wheel of a luxury vehicle going 180 down a desert salt flat, and something inside of me transcends. Knuckles white, thighs clenched, the horizon a portal I’m barreling towards. Not gonna lie. That shit gets me hard.

Being a queer guy on the scene can be tough. People make a lot of assumptions. But I can say that after being a stunt person for going on fifteen years, I’ve learned there’s every kind of person, doing every kind of thing imaginable, in the tinsel town that is Hollywood, California.

Take this one night, for example. A few years ago at the Dresden. Marty and Elayne were doing their usual act, wooing the crowd with a jazzy, falsetto laden serenade that took everyone back to the Sunset Strip lounges of the sixties and seventies. I was by myself at the bar. This was a regular spot for me. The bartenders knew my order by heart – Hendrick’s Collins and the prime rib French dip. When I walked in and took a seat, it was usually only moments before the drink appeared in front of me, extra lime. I kept to myself, head down, cowboy hat dipped low over my face. Nothing more than a shadow at one end of the bar. I came here to relax, to unwind, to find some internal quietude. The Dresden was church, not a social hour for me. So when that hoity-toity producer came over and ran a finger over my shoulder, I shot backwards in my chair and nearly hissed in his face.

Milo Milton. Brain behind the Silver Bullet series about werewolf clans that doubled as drag racers. The third movie was due to head into production this year, and Milo was on my ass to do the stunt work for it. So far I was unimpressed. I was at the point in my career where I got to choose what work I said yes to, and Milo Milton’s fantasy scripts weren’t high on my list.

“Leo. Leo Rendahl. Stunt double extraordinaire. High-speed chase savant. The man, the myth, the legend.” He bowed slightly, his pastel two-piece suit crinkling at the waist. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Milo. I’ve read your emails. Answer’s still no.” I turned back to my drink, hoping he would get the hint. But Milo pulled up a damn chair and squeezed in next to me. The man was a caricature. He twisted his long, thin mustache up on either end so it stretched into two curly black wires on both sides of his face. His goatee was trimmed into a severe triangle shape, devilish. Despite myself – and despite Milo’s grating tendencies – there had always been something about him I found vaguely alluring. It was as though he existed for another time, and it wasn’t just a facade. 1890 had spat this man out into 2019, and he was having a hell of a time adjusting.

“Oh come on! You don’t even want to let me try and woo you, face to face?” He leaned in closer to me, green eyes twinkling, jaw square. I’d heard rumors about Milo. The parties. The drugs. The sex. He smelled like anise. I crinkled my nose like it bothered me, but it didn’t. I was beginning to feel curious about him, but to let him know that would be a mistake.

Marty and Elayne’s music was swelling around us, getting louder. A raucous bridal party had just come in, and the space went from being standing room only, to skin on skin packed.

“It’s too loud here for business. I’m leaving.” I knocked the rest of my drink back and stood up. Did I know then that Milo would follow me? Did I hope? Perhaps. In either event, he did. We piled into my Lambo out front. Milo wanted to “see what I was working with.” And that night, I wasn’t feeling shy. I took us to Mulholland, and as we began to creep up the narrow road into the dark hills, I looked at Milo next to me.

“So you really wanna see what I’m working with?” I didn’t look at him as I said it. Just stared through the dashboard at the twists and turns ahead. Milo grinned, his arms stretched behind his head.

“Impress me, Leo.”

His arrogance was palpable. He was in the passenger seat with a stunt driver on one of the most notorious streets in America for car accidents. I wanted him to show at least a sliver of humility. The things I could do would have him sweating bullets in seconds flat. At the same time, the way he’d managed to wrangle me into this ride with just a sentence or two was, whether I liked it or not, turning me on. Did I want to hate fuck Milo Milton? Maybe just a little bit.

As we sped behind the Hollywood hills I decided to take it up a notch. Ninety around a hairpin turn? Why not. I could do it with my eyes closed. I noticed Milo’s expression tightening, his eyes going wide, the whites of them exposed. I had him exactly where I wanted him.

“Is this what you do in your free time?” he asked me.

“Pretty much.”

“And do you usually take unsuspecting passengers along for the ride?”

“Not if I can help it. I like my alone time.”

Milo looked at me, something mischievous tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Pity, to think of a man like you relishing something like…alone time.” He laughed, the last two words dripping with a flirty disdain. “Baby, tell me someone, somewhere, has shown you just how pleasurable human company can be.”

I took it up to one ten and watched Milo’s hands clench the fabric of his lavender pants. I jerked the wheel as we went around a bend, and felt one of the car’s back wheels lift slightly off the ground.

“You trying to talk to me about love, Milo?”

“Love?” He laughed. “Never.”

It was here that he reached over and slid a hand over my knee, up my thigh. He was staring at me, trying to gauge my reaction. I didn’t react. He went higher, his hand skirting against the crease where my leg met my hip. Despite my stony resolve to not betray just how much this was turning me on, I felt my cock stiffen inside my pants, and I was pretty sure he felt it too. He began kneading my skin, squeezing my thigh and letting his hand rest against the ridge of my dick. I shifted in my seat, slightly, pushing myself against his touch, encouraging him. Milo was watching my face. Both of us were trying to break the other, but for what reason I wasn’t sure. I took it up to one-twenty.

The night raced forward, rushing over us and dissolving behind the path the car cut through it. Mulholland snaked through the hills, its legendary twists and turns melting beneath the wheels of the Lamborghini. I’d driven this street thousands of time. These days it was usually in bumper to bumper traffic, so being able to tear around these bends when it was empty was bringing me close to tears. I’d never fallen in love with a person, but I loved Mulholland Drive.

The city twinkled below us, and up above the eerie day-glow of LA’s light pollution kept the sky a deep, cobalt blue. Milo’s hand tightened on my leg. I felt him work his way over my crotch, lingering there. I let him.

“So Leo, is this alright with you?” The way he said my name sharpened it, two hard syllables. For the first time since we got into my car I broke my gaze away from the road, and looked at him. I nodded. In that moment I knew he’d won. I was going to do his stupid movie. And we were going to fuck in my Lambo.

I looked back at the road just in time to avoid cascading over a sharp ridge. Milo laughed, nervously this time. Maybe I was getting under his skin too. He reached over and toyed with my belt buckle. When he began to unzip me, I stepped on the gas slightly. One-thirty. Milo worked me out of my pants, and soon my cock was rigid in his hands. He bent down, and I felt his breath hot against my tip. He buried me in his mouth, and my hips rose up slightly out of my seat. A barely audible moan escaped my lips. I could feel the back of Milo’s throat with my cock, and my hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. Now I was the one with white knuckles.

Milo began to pump his mouth up and down the length of me, slurping, sucking, gagging. His sex noises were theater in and of themselves, but I couldn’t lie. He gave some good fucking head. His hand was inside my pants, cupping my balls, and he was sucking on my tip so hard it felt like he was trying to suck something buried deep inside out of me. The devil, Satan. Exorcizing me with the power of a skillful blowjob. I felt my eyelids fluttering. My focus was beginning to drift, and I couldn’t let that happen.

We were approaching the Hollywood Bowl overlook. I knew there was a pull off area under a large tree around the next curve, and I slammed on the breaks, giving Milo a little start. We skidded to a stop at the edge of the drop-off, the car’s back wheels fishtailing just as I’d wanted them to.

I looked at him, grinning. “What, you don’t trust me?” He answered me by pulling my face towards his. He had me by the collar, and his mouth was on mine. Lips, tongue, teeth. His mouth tasted like what he’d been drinking at the Dresden—tequila. I was gripping the back of his neck, my hand tangled in his hair. It had been smoothed down so intentionally, with so much pomade. I took pleasure in mucking it up. Let this smooth talking vamp have his feathers ruffled.

His hand was still around my exposed cock, and was stroking it, pinching the tip slightly. It was springy between his fingers, and as he moved over me my desire ricocheted from passively interested to desperately horny. I grew harder, and worked my hips back and forth, moving myself against Milo’s palm. The central console of the Lambo was terribly positioned, and we kept moving ourselves around it to no avail. I was tired of it. I climbed over and straddled Milo in the passenger seat. I pushed him back against the seat, one palm on either of his shoulders. He looked up at me, his head tilted back slightly and neck exposed like I was an executioner set to seal his fate. My naked cock sprang up from the place both of our pelvises met. I reached down and began to stroke myself while staring into Milo’s eyes.

“Milo I want you to fuck me against the hood of this Lamborghini.”

He tilted his head forward, and looked up at me through his abundant eyelashes.

“That can be arranged.”

Within seconds flat I was bare assed and bent over the hood of the car. In the distance, downtown LA set the horizon alight, and the red and white streaks of highway headlights snaked over the earth. But up here, it was just deerweed and squaw-bush. And a heavily guarded chateau or two.

I heard pebbles crunch underfoot as Milo stepped up behind me. He ran a hand down my back, and bent forward, kissing my neck.

“I’ve fantasized about you for years, Leo,” he whispered in my ear. My shirt was still on, and he worked if off over my head. I was naked now. Milo ran his hands over my abdomen and pressed himself against me, groaning into my neck. “Do you know what a beautiful doll of a stuntman you are? Your name should be in lights.”

I turned around so I was facing him, and I gripped him by the ass, pressing his pelvis to mine.

“Don’t tell me. Show me.” We were kissing again, furiously, heated. Time spun away from me as Milo slipped his pants down and I bent in the dirt and took him in my mouth. Dry earth pressed into my knees, and I held him by the ass as I took him deep as my throat would allow. His head was flung back, hands in my hair. I knew if someone passed us we would be seen, but I also felt that in that moment we looked beautiful. I almost wanted somebody to stumble upon us, to see two men in the throes of desire perched cliff-side above Hollywood, California. It felt like we were angels in the sky, looking down.

Milo pulled out of my mouth, bringing me back to earth. He pulled me up to him, and kissed me, long, soft. He guided me to the hood of the car and softly bent me over.

“Is this what you want?” he asked.

“Yes. Yes!”

I heard a little click, like the sound of a plastic lid opening and closing. I looked behind me.

“Is that… do you just carry lube on you all the time?”

Milo winked at me. “Just think of me like a boy scout. Always prepared.”

It was smart, really. I made a mental note to start doing that too.

Milo gripped me by the hips and I felt his tip nudge against my asshole. He stopped, bent down, ate me there. He sucked on me, pressing his tongue against my opening and pushing it in slightly. He circled my anus, licking it. He spat on me and slipped one finger in, two, coaxing me open. He stood up and positioned himself again.

He smacked his lips. “Yummy.”

Milo worked himself into me slowly, gently. An inch at a time, pause. I groaned as I felt myself expand around him.

“You’re making me feel like a virgin with this slow and steady pace. I like it. Touched for the very first time.”

“I just want to really feel you.” With that he buried all of himself in me, and I gasped, gripping the hood of the car. He pulled back out, and I felt my prostate begin to hum. I pushed back against him, encouraging him to fuck me. Milo obliged, thrusting back inside of me. He began to work my ass, and I had to grip the edges of the hood to steady myself. My arms were spread, chest pressed against the metal of the car which was still slightly warm from the searing heat of the day.

The inside of my ass began to radiate pleasure, like the start of an orgasm but one that only kept building and never reached its peak. My mouth was hanging open, and I was sure drool was dripping all over the hood of my car, but I couldn’t stop myself. My entire body was helpless to what Milo was doing to me. I reached down and found my cock, began stroking it. Milo reached around and cupped my ball sack, squeezing slightly. That sent me over the edge, and I screamed, “FUCK!” into the hood. Milo’s other hand was gripping my hair, wandering down my back, steadying himself against the car. At one point he went to grab my dick also, but found my hand already there. We stroked it together, in one motion. I took the tip, him the base, and we moved up and down in time with him pulling in and out of my ass.

I was the first to come, and as I did a long shudder passed through me. I pushed my ass backwards, ramming Milo’s cock even further into me. My cum shot across the hood of the car, and when I collapsed forward the sticky pool of it spread over my stomach. I was panting, delirious, when I heard Milo’s groans escalate and he suddenly pulled out of me. A shower of something warm and viscous shot over my back. Cum. I felt it drip down and pool at the top of my ass crack before leaking there, too. The warmth of it trickled over my asshole, down further. Milo fell on top of me, kissing the back of my neck.

I rolled over, my entire torso and ass absolutely saturated with cum. I looked down and ran a finger over my stomach. The stuff was mixing with the filth from the hood of the car, and my legs were covered in dust from kneeling in the ground to suck Milo off.

“I think I’m the filthiest I’ve ever been right now.” Milo leaned over and kissed my cheek.

“Nasty boy.”

We were silent for a moment, just laying on our backs looking up at the sky. Down below a siren wailed, and off in the distance streaks of morning light were beginning to push against night’s darkness.

I looked at him. “Okay Milo. I’ll do your movie.”

He continued to stare at the sky above, but his face broke into a wide grin.

“I know.”

I rolled onto my side and propped myself up on my elbow.

“Is this how you get all of your stunt doubles to come work for you?”

“Leo, please. I’ve got a classy reputation to uphold.”

“Do you now?”

Milo rolled onto his side also. Our faces were nearly touching. He traced a finger over my lips. “Well, thank you for giving me a firsthand window into your skill-set. I think Silver Bullet III: Revenge of the Carnivora will flourish with you on board.”

I rolled my eyes and playfully pushed him away. He’d managed to rope me in, but it was fine. Shitty movies came and went. But the magic of Mulholland Drive was forever.