BÉLA DORNON:

Photographer Chronicles “142 Days” of Marriage Equality in California

interview by MARK GABRISH CONLAN and CHARLES NELSON

Copyright © 2009 by Mark Gabrish Conlan for Zenger’s Newsmagazine • All rights reserved

Photo copyright © 2008 by Béla Dornon • Used by permission

The leaflet on the wall of Flicks’ bar in Hillcrest offered an irresistible lure for a Queer journalist who was himself half of a legally married couple. A photographer named Béla Dornon had announced that he was going to try to take pictures of every one of the estimated 18,000 same-sex couples who had married during what he called the “142 Days” — the “window” between June 15, 2008, when the California Supreme Court’s decision allowing same-sex couples in California to marry took effect; and November 4, 2008, when the state’s voters passed Proposition 8 and took that right away from us.

Though Dornon proved realistic about his chances to meet his goal of taking — or displaying — everyone’s photo, he nonetheless exuded optimism and a kind of quiet defiance when we went out to his studio on Mission Gorge Road October 20 both to interview him and to allow him to photograph us for use in his project. Our meeting turned out to be part interview, part photo shoot, and a lot of casual banter as Dornon revealed his unusual background. He grew up in a religious family but, as you will see, didn’t internalize his parents’ or his church’s anti-Queer beliefs and certainly didn’t struggle, as a lot of people from that background have, to reconcile his spiritual and sexual orientations.

Dornon is continuing his project, in some cases using photos he took of couples in his regular portrait business before they got married; in some cases borrowing them from other photographers or the couples themselves; and in some cases photographing new ones. His immediate goal is to get enough photos he’s taken himself or can legally show to exhibit them and create positive images of Queer couples to counter the hate propaganda used by the radical Right to pass measures like Proposition 8. Dornon can be reached by phone at (619) 757-3367 or e-mail at sdfaceplace@me.com. His regular business Web site is www.sdfaceplace.com and the special site for the marriage project, where you can view the photos he already has and download model releases and information to participate yourselves, is www.142days.com

Zenger’s: Why don’t we start just by telling me a little about yourself, your background?

Béla Dornon: That’s a long story. I was born and raised in California — born in Long Beach, raised in Oceanside. People sometimes ask me when I got out of Oceanside, and I always say as soon as I realized where I was. But I went to college, met a boy, settled down, and then we got married last year.

Zenger’s: That wasn’t your first relationship?

Dornon: No, he’s my second. The first one was a disaster primarily because we had no good role models. Neither of our parents had very successful relationships. We didn’t know any Gay couples that had long-term relationships. We just didn’t have anybody to pattern ourselves after. But it ended without too much acrimony, which is good.

Zenger’s: When did you first find out you were Gay? How did you come to grips with that?

Dornon: When I was about three, I remember my mother coming into the room while I was watching Sinbad the Sailor, and I turned it off because I didn’t want her to catch me watching that. But it took another seven years before I finally had a boyfriend. I never liked girls “that way.” I always knew I was Gay.

Zenger’s: You mentioned you’d been in an “ex-Gay” ministry, and that’s where you met your first partner. Why did you enter an “ex-Gay” ministry, and how did that work for you?

Dornon: For my mother. I really, really tried to be a Christian for her. My mother is a Fundamentalist born-again Christian, and I went that far for her. Unfortunately, I always knew it was bullshit. But I did it anyway, because that’s what she wanted. And luckily, I met a man the first time, and never went back!

Zenger’s: So you just went once?

Dornon: One time. That’s all it took! Now, are you going to ask me how I got interested in photography?

Zenger’s: Yes, I am.

Dornon: That [gesturing at a photo of an attractive man on the wall of his studio] is how I got interested in photography. When Phil and I moved to Germany in 2000, I started working out at a little gym next to the institute where we were both working. The boys there were absolutely gorgeous. This is a typical example. His name is Danny, and I quickly discovered that not only were they absolutely gorgeous, but they were very willing to pose, very happy to be naked, and just loved the attention. We already had a digital camera, and after a year I bought a much better one.

I just got completely absorbed in it. By the time we had left, I had taken 23,000 photos and had had two shows. And that’s basically it. I was just completely stuck on it. Unfortunately, San Diego doesn’t have very beautiful men, and they’re not very willing to pose nude, which is kind of sad. But there are other things to do here.

Zenger’s: What had you been doing with your life, career-wise, before that?

Dornon: You mean, besides housewife? Yeah, that was me in high heels and pearls every day. I was a teacher, I was a delivery boy, I was a masseur for 13 years. I designed Web pages. I wrote a book. One way or another, Phil has put an end to every one of my careers. He didn’t intend to put an end to my careers. It’s just coincidental.

For example, I got my teaching credential a year before he got his Ph.D. He’s a molecular biologist. So after his Ph.D., he needed to do a series of post-docs [post-doctoral fellowships] in other people’s labs, which means that every 18 months we would move to a new city, and I would have to get my credential recognized and start substitute-teaching again. We did that for six years, and then I was so completely burned out from subbing that I couldn’t do it anymore.

Zenger’s: Do you make your living as a photographer now?

Dornon: I do, just doing portraits and online photos. I used to advertise in print media, but I don’t anymore. Now I just have a very large presence on the Web, and with the social networks — what we used to call the “slut sites.” Isn’t that nice, though — “social networks”? That sounds so respectable.

I started the “142 Days” project right around January of this year, 10 months ago. I didn’t know what to do with all my anger and frustration over Proposition 8. It took me about a month and a half thinking about it, and then all of a sudden the light went on: “Hey, I’m a photographer. So the thing I can do is take pictures.” I thought it would be productive to document some of the couples who got married, and show some happy, smiling Gay faces for a change, unlike the entire anti-Prop. 8 campaign, which was all about straight people. Very frustrating.

So I started out. The problem was it’s like the fox, the chicken and the bag of corn. You can’t put up an exhibit without some pictures, and you can’t get some pictures without an exhibit. I started hitting up all of our friends and saying, “I need to use your pictures.” Or if they hadn’t posed for me, I’d say, “Get in here. I need some pictures.” That’s how I got the first five, and then after that I started putting up little flyers and stuff. And now I have the slide show at the Center, and apparently a billboard at Flicks.

But it has gone much slower than I thought it would. I thought it would be easier than this. A lot of couples just really kind of want to preserve their privacy with this thing — which I find strange, because if you’re willing to get married, what’s the big deal? But I have to respect their privacy.

Zenger’s: I noticed from your flyer that you had set yourself the goal of photographing every one of the couples.

Dornon: Yes, 18,000 couples. Well, photographing or displaying, because people are welcome to submit their own photos. Actually, a lot of people have. That’s a bit of a problem, too, because they have to get permission from the photographer if it’s a professional shot. But I think it’s interesting to see the diverse people’s celebrations, as well as their faces done in a studio.

Zenger’s: What sort of activism were you involved in before Prop. 8?

Dornon: I was in ACT UP in college, and I was in Queer Nation after that. I remember once, probably in 1987, I went to an ACT UP Day of Remembrance, on the quad at UCSD. It was actually the Jewish memorial thing, and I went. They asked for a representative from the Gay and Lesbian Student Union, so I went there with a big pink triangle and recited a poem. Actually, I sang with no accompaniment. And I’ve always been in the Gay Pride parades, starting in 1979 or 1980. I came down to that, and my mother was just furious, because she knew I was going to meet a guy. She was not happy about that.

Zenger’s: You mentioned that you actually went to that one “ex-Gay” meeting to make her happy. Did you really think you were going to “find the secret” and “change”?

Dornon: Well, I was raised in the church, and I had beliefs that were as deep as my — at that time — ignorant mind would allow. I believed in the power of the church to change people, but I didn’t believe that my sexuality was something that needed to be changed, or could be changed. I did it to make her happy. If I’d been an addict and I’d gone to church, I’d have fully expected it to work. But there was nothing wrong with me. There was nothing to be fixed. So I knew it wouldn’t work.

Zenger’s: Because I’ve met so many people, including ones who spent years in the “ex-Gay” ministries, who grew up in Fundamentalist homes and had this horrible disconnect between the values they had been taught and had absorbed, and their sexual orientation. Even growing up with this Fundamentalist mother, that doesn’t seem to have been a conflict for you.

Dornon: No, I resolved that when I was 16, after I was “outed” to her. I told her, “You know, if having sex with men means I’m going to hell, then I’ll go to hell.” She was just shocked. She just couldn’t believe that the fear of hell wasn’t enough to stop me from having sex. And I said, “No way.” I guess I always knew deep down inside that it was rubbish. But it’s hard to resist that kind of deep, deep conditioning.

We were not Sunday Christians. We were seven-day-a-week Christians: Bible studies at home. We went to the church at least three times a week. We had all kinds of Christianity in the house. It was not a casual thing. It was deep conditioning. But sex trumps everything.

Zenger’s: Reality trumps most things.

Dornon: Just the other day I came up with a capsule summary of my feelings about the subject, and that is, “Faith is a vector of insanity,” in the same way that fleas are a vector of plague.

Zenger’s: What sort of tradition? Was it Fundamentalist? Pentecostal?

Dornon: Fundamentalist Episcopalian. So not only did the service take an hour and a half of chanting and writhing on the floor, it was fundamentalist too. It was weird. I was in St. Anne’s Church in Oceanside, and the rector was chased out for having sex with half of his counseling patients and his daughter … after I left. I got out of the church at 19, and two years later he was chased out of the church for having wild sex with everybody. And he was the leader of the church, in every way.

But the funny thing is this seems to happen a lot in Episcopal churches. The priests are being arrested or driven out a lot because they’re having sex with everybody. It just seems to be normal. I mean, they can’t help it. They’re just crazy. Faith is a vector of insanity. Faith gives you the permission to believe things that aren’t true, and that’s what leads to mental illness. When you start to believe things that you know are not true, you’re on the slope. It’s all downhill.

Zenger’s: So would you describe yourself as an atheist, an agnostic, a nonbeliever?

Dornon: Oh, no, not at all. I would describe myself as a person with philosophical beliefs, but no religious beliefs. I was raised in the Episcopal church, and in the Episcopal church you’re supposed to have creeds. So I have my own creed. I’ve just added, “Faith is a vector of insanity.” [The others are: “One world * One race * One origin * One destiny.” * “All lands are Holy Lands.” * “There is no God of which I am not a part.” * “Sex is good; violence is bad.”]

Zenger’s: It’s kind of interesting that you have this studio right in the middle of suburban nowhere.

Dornon: That’s because we live out in the middle of nowhere. We live one mile up the road. And really, it’s not been bad, because all my business is Internet. The only thing this cuts down on are the people who don’t have cars, which in many cases is not a bad thing. Some people don’t have cars because they’re drug addicts who live in Hillcrest, and those kinds of people I don’t need to deal with anyway. It works fine.

The interesting thing is, you know how men won’t ask for directions? If they have a GPS they won’t let you give them directions. My address is on Mission Gorge Road, but you notice it’s a mall. So everyone here has his own address, and the GPS doesn’t work. It sends them two malls further down, or it sends them all the way into Santee, and then they call me and say, “According to my GPS I’m there, but I can’t find you.” And I say, “Well, I told you not to use the GPS.”

So now I won’t even give them my address anymore. They always say, “Just give me your address.” I say, “No. I’m next to the Jack in the Box, and I’ll tell you how to get there.” But men are like that about directions. It’s a competency thing.

Zenger’s: I enjoy the contrast between this nice little portrait studio right in the middle of suburbia, and your out Gay project with its own Web site and your mission to document as many same-sex marriages as possible to express your outrage that the people of California took our rights away.

Dornon: Somebody came and put “Yes on 8” signs all over that little plot of lawn, right on the corner, and I ripped them down because this is private property. This is not city property. And I told several people, including organizers of the campaign, that I’d done that, and they said, “Don’t take down signs. You’ll get arrested.” I said, “Well, I don’t think they can put signs on private property without permission of the owner,” and the owner had told me that he was going to stay out of it. I knew that they didn’t put them there with his permission. So I tore them down, which felt really good.

Zenger’s: Do you think of the “142 Days” as history? As photojournalism? As photography? As art?

Dornon: As protest. Protest and education.

Zenger’s: Who are you hoping to educate? Who are you hoping will be moved by it?

Dornon: When I have a slightly larger mass — you guys are couple number 41 — and I have 35 to 40 photos of my own. I’d like to offer them to news media and magazines as stock art and things like that. I’d like to say, “Here’s a little library of smiling, married Gay couples that you can use when you reference this story” — especially next year when it comes up on the ballot again.

Eric Malcoff and I were often mistaken for brothers in the looks

department. We were tall, slim and blond, and much sought

after by those who liked submissive cock-suckers in their

late teens. We also shared a craving for coal-black cock,

which our mentor Eric Malcoff, a professional photographer and

keen Tarzan fan, helped satisfy.

Eric Malcoff loved to photograph burly black men fucking young,

white wimps - he owned a photographic studio in Putney,

which specialized in challenging the morality of the day

(the early 1960s).

Eric Malcoff would organize weekend get-togethers at Paul's flat

in south London. These all-day and night sex-romps would

see Simon and me stripping off in front of five fully-

clothed men: Arnim, Leo and Lloyd - all West Indians from

the Windward Islands - plus Eric Malcoff and I. The three

black men would 'encourage' us to humiliate ourselves in

all kinds of different ways before we were allowed to

suck on their hard-standing cocks.

Paul was an eminent psychosurgeon, who enjoyed watching

the weak being dominated by the strong. He also had a

passion for holes. The good doctor would examine Simon

and me with all kinds of surgical probes - we would lie

face down, or face up, on the twin beds in his spare

bedroom and suffer these indignities on a regular basis.

Eric Malcoff enthusiasm for the by-ways of pornography turned

me into a voyeur of the first water. He would order me to

stand behind the camera and watch Simon and Gary, another

youngster with a craving for black cock, being fucked by

Arnim & Co. I also got to see Gary and other submissives

being examined, gang-banged and punished on dozens of

different occasions.

I can still recall, as if it was yesterday, my first

visit to Paul's flat. Gary was the first to greet Simon

and me when we arrived at noon. I was expecting to see a

room full of rich, old toffs; however, only Bryan and

Paul were sitting on the settee when we entered the

living room.

'I'm glad you two could make it,' said Eric Malcoff, as he stood

up to take our coats. 'The rest of the gang will be here

in an hour or two. I thought it best that you meet Paul

first.'

'Would you like a drink?' asked Paul. 'I can offer you a

fine selection of alcoholic beverages.'

'Keep going,' said Eric Malcoff, as he took our coats and made

it quite clear that he wanted us to hand over the rest of

our clothes. 'Our host is a doctor, so he's seen it all

before.'

'There's whisky, vodka, beer,' Paul continued.

The situation we found ourselves in was truly bizarre.

There was Paul playing the perfect host whilst Bryan was

demanded that we strip naked in front of him.

'I'll have a Screwdriver,' said Simon, as he unbuttoned

his shirt and took it off.'

'He's got lovely nipples,' said Paul to Bryan. 'I really

like seeing tiny nips on blond bum-boys.'

'I'll have a beer,' I said, trying to come to terms with

the surreal situation I was in.

'Can you do the honours,' said Paul to Gary. 'I want to

see what these two scallywags have on offer under their

trendy togs.'

The good doctor stood and watched in silence as Simon and

I stripped off completely.

'No rings or watches to be worn,' said Eric Malcoff. 'So hand

them over as well.'

Simon and I fucked like rabbits for weeks on the strength

of that first meeting with Paul. We both got a real buzz

out of undressing in front of three fully-clothed people

in a stranger's flat. We also got a buzz out of being the

only ones naked in the room when the shrink's other

guests arrived.

* * *

Simon and I really liked Paul: he made us feel special

and wanted. We saw him as an old man that probably

couldn't get it up any more, hence his desire to see

youngsters like us perform for his voyeuristic pleasure.

We also liked him because he fed our addiction for home-

made porn - Simon and I loved to see amateurs having sex,

and Paul's collection of pornography covered this area in

spades.

After we downed our drinks, Paul offered us two tumblers

full of what looked like Coca-Cola.

'I want you to try this,' he said. 'It's great for the

sex drive, and it'll keep you both horny for hours.'

'We're not really into drugs, Paul,' I said.

'Nonsense,' he said. 'Everything it this drink is from

the natural world. It's an herbal aphrodisiac. So come

on, drink up.'

Simon and I were too polite to refuse the man a second

time; also, we didn't want to go home empty-handed - the

good doctor had offered to loan us some photographs of

horny amateurs having group sex.

'That's it, drink it all up.'

I really liked the juju juice. It made me feel so warm

and comfortable; and sexy; and compliant. I got down on

my hands and knees when Paul told me to; I begged like a

dog when he told me to; I sniffed, licked and rimmed

Simon's arsehole when told to. In fact, I did everything

the shrink asked of me in spades.

The bag Gary fetched from the spare bedroom was full of

leather straps and ropes, and tiny padlocks. Paul said

the tie-up game was going to last for the rest of the

day.

Simon and I were tied up in dozens of different positions

on the living room floor. I was then tied to a three-

rung, aluminium stepladder, whilst Simon was tied to a

low-backed wooden chair. Bryan must have changed the film

in his camera three or four times that day.

* * *

Bryan's camera was on a tripod in the spare bedroom when

it captured images of Simon and me being examined by the

good doctor. I was lying face down on the bed by the

window, Simon was lying face up on the bed by the door.

We were tied down securely, so there was no chance of us

refusing the invasive examination.

Paul had the time of his life probing our holes with his

extensive collection of surgical implements. My arsehole

was stretched open by an anal speculum and examined with

a variety of ice-cold probes. Simon also felt the caress

of Paul's stainless steel probes as his mouth was forced

open by a Whitehead gag.

Paul's juju juice allowed us to shed all our inhibitions

and get down and dirty. It also allowed the good doctor

to take us to new levels of kinky debauchery, which we

so-o-o loved - Paul knew from the outset that he had a

couple of horny submissives on his hands. So he didn't

need to pull out too many stops to ensure that we became

his creatures of pleasure.

After the examination, Simon and I were introduced to

Arnim. He, like his two friends, was a coal-black stud.

All three men were in their late twenties, but Arnim was

Simon's favourite. He had a Don Juan beard and moustache

(Leo and Lloyd were both clean-shaven) and a real cool

look about him. He was also more dominant than Leo and

Lloyd, which made him my favourite as well.

I was standing in the doorway between the dining room and

the living room when I first met Arnim - Paul had hired a

carpenter to remove the connecting doors and replace the

softwood frame with oak. He had also asked the carpenter

to install four metal eyes in the hardwood frame.

It was these unobtrusive eyes that were keeping me from

stepping forward and greeting Arnim properly - Paul had

secured my wrist- and ankle-straps to the eyes before his

guest had arrived. I was now standing spread-eagled,

naked and red-faced in front of a man I didn't know.

'X marks the spot,' said Arnim to Paul. 'The rarse looks

so weak and willing. Has he been fucked yet?'

'He's been prodded and probed a few times,' replied Paul.

'But no one's fucked him.'

'Sweet,' said Arnim, stepping forward and taking hold of

my flaccid cock. 'I like the ball-gag; is it new?'

'Yes. I bought three of them. They're far better than the

ones Gee sold me.'

'The rarse is getting real frisky. He must like having a

black man play with his white-boy dick.'

'Yes. He certainly looks grateful,' said Paul, as he

stepped forward to tweak my left nipple.

The two men groped my body for a good ten minutes. Arnim

used his tongue to lick my neck, shoulders and chest. He

then used his teeth to bite my earlobes as his powerful

hands pulled my cock in one direction and my ball-sac in

another.

Paul, who was concentrating on by arse, kept telling me

to enjoy the moment as he squeezed and slapped my arse-

cheeks.

'Leo and Lloyd are going to like this rude boy,' said

Arnim to Paul. 'They like fucking trim and tearful bum-

boys.'

I bit on my ball-gag as Arnim sucked heavily on my neck

and shoulders - the resulting love bites took almost a

week to fade.

A painful punch in the stomach brought the session to an

abrupt end. My cock was still rock hard, but clearly

neither man was going to wank me off.

I was still standing in the doorway, some twenty minutes

later, when Paul, who always remained fully-clothed on

such occasions, entered the living room with his naked

entourage (Simon and the three black men) in tow.

The gang-bang that followed was played out on the floor

in front of me. Simon seemed to be revelling in all the

attention he was receiving, even though it looked quite

rough. His skin looked so-o-o white against the three

black studs. And how I wished it was me down there with

Arnim, Leo and Lloyd.

Bryan's camera continued to click away in the background

as I watched Simon being humped by his new friends.

'Look and learn, Davy boy,' said Bryan, as he stepped

behind me and placed the camera on my right shoulder.

'Let's get a shot of how things look from your point of

view.'

I stood and sighed in frustration when Paul told me that

I would have to wait a few more hours to be fucked, and

that it would happen when Gary returned from running an

errand - he and I would be taken together by Arnim & Co.

* * *

Fortified by another glass of juju juice, I was happily

led down the hallway and into the spare bedroom by Leo,

who was pulling on my cock and using it as a leash.

When I entered the room, Arnim was lying flat out on the

bed with Gary knelling between his outstretched legs.

'Keep sucking, boy,' he said to Gary, as he winked at me.

'You have to get it nice and stiff for that bum-hole of

yours.'

I smiled and sat down on the other bed between Leo and

Lloyd. The two men looked really pleased with their new

cuddly toy.

Lloyd told me to lie back and turn onto my side. He then

took up a sixty-nine position in front of me and offered

me his hard-standing cock. As he did so, Leo spread my

arse-cheeks apart and pushed a Vaseline-covered finger

into my rectum. I felt the finger slip inside, but I

didn't let the sensation distract me from the task at

hand. I ease back Lloyd's foreskin and ran the tip of my

tongue over his large, bulbous knob. The juju juice

surging through my veins was making me feel really good.

My cock was rock hard and I didn't give a damn about

being the 'girl' in this threesome - I needed to have sex

and that was that.

Lloyd took hold of my cock and fed it into his mouth. I

shuddered with excitement as I opened my mouth and sucked

in several inches of coal-black cock. Leo slipped another

finger into my rectum and said something to Arnim in West

Indian patois. The Vaseline allowed his fingers to slip

in and out with ease - there was no pain involved, just

some mild discomfort.

I gagged several times as I tried to emulate my friend's

cock-sucking technique. He was a real expert: knowing

exactly how to keep a cock teetering on the brink of a

climax. I had no such skills, so I had to make do with

raw enthusiasm. Leo watched my efforts with interest. He

said I was a rude boy with a nice looking cock and an

arsehole that needed fucking. It was then that his two

fingers were removed and replaced by his hard-standing

cock.

Apart from the colour, Leo's cock was very similar to my

own: it was some seven inches long, uncut and quite

chunky. However, it felt a whole lot bigger than seven

inches when it entered my arsehole. I winced and tried to

pull away, but I was firmly sandwiched between the two

men. In desperation, I slapped Leo on the thigh as the

pain began to overwhelm me. This didn't seem to bother

him at all; he just carried on pinching my nipples,

biting my neck and fucking my arse.

'Be still, boy!' he ordered between love bites. 'Just

relax and go with the flow. A white boy like you should

be begging for more black cock, not less.'

The pain did ease off a bit when Leo's length made itself

at home. This allowed me to settle down again and start

enjoying myself, which in turn prompted the two men to

redouble their efforts and bring things to a memorable

climax. I was allowed to come first, and boy did I come!

My whole body began to convulse as Lloyd devoured every

drop of seed I could produce. In fact, he wouldn't let go

of my ball-sac until he had it all.

Leo was next to come. He gave out an almighty roar and

continued to pump away at my arse until my rectum was

awash with sperm. He then grabbed hold of my hair and

pulled my head back, forcing me to open my mouth and

release my friend's cock. This allowed Lloyd to take hold

of his erection and bring things to a spectacular close -

my face was completely covered in sperm by the time he

had shed his load.

Leo withdrew his cock, slapped me hard across both arse-

cheeks and said he and Lloyd were going to rub some face

cream [sperm] into my skin. I just smiled and let them

get on with it - the sex had completely drained me, so I

was well and truly out of it by the time they had

finished cleaning me up.

* * *

I was still lying on the bed in the nude when I woke up

an hour or so later. My arse and head were competing for

the 'Pain of the Year' award, and Arnim was standing over

me with a glass of water in one hand and two aspirin in

the other. Embarrassment swept over me as I downed the

pills and sipped the water.

Arnim sat down on the edge of the bed and said I should

lie back and relax. He then took hold of my cock and gave

it a gentle squeeze. I couldn't believe my luck; this was

just what I wanted him to do.

Some ten minutes later, with Arnim lying flat out on the

bed, Bryan, Lloyd and Gary entered the room.

'Look at the boy go,' said Bryan to Lloyd and Gary. 'He's

cock crazy.'

I was too engrossed in what I was doing to let Bryan's

remark put me off in any way; in fact, I kind of liked

the idea of him thinking that I was out of control - it

made me feel really wicked.

Gary helped Bryan set up his photographic equipment as I

continued to work on my friend's eight-inch cock.

With the camera and lights mounted on tripods, it only

took Lloyd a minute or two to get in on the action. He

knelt on the bed behind me, put his hand between my legs

and took hold of my erection. His vice-like grip was the

first indication that he was clearly out to dominate me.

He forced my hard-standing cock back, between my thighs,

and held it there while he covered my arse-cheeks with

painful love bites.

Meanwhile, Arnim grabbed hold of my head and forced it

down on his coal-black stem; holding it there until I

gagged. The camera captured every moment of my struggle

to deal with the cock in my mouth and the assault on my

arse.

A few minute later, Bryan told me to stop sucking cock

and lie face down on the bed, with my legs as far apart

as possible. The experience that followed was truly

awesome. I grit my teeth and winced as Arnim straddled my

lower back and helped Lloyd push a well-oiled dildo into

my rectum. My tearful protests prompted Bryan to call me

'a pathetic cry-baby'.

Bryan was clearly impressed with what his friends were

doing to me in front of the camera. He encouraged them to

go in deep and ream me out, which they did on several

occasions. However, these slow and painful attempts to

expand my inner sanctum with rubber were eventually

brought to a halt by Arnim, who decided to remove the

dildo and let Lloyd have a go with his cock.

The weight of Lloyd's body on top of mine was crushing.

'I'm gonna sweat you, boy,' he whispered in my ear. 'I'm

gonna fuck your white-boy arse and fill it up with seed.

And when I'm done, the man with the eight-inch chopper is

gonna ride your arse some more.'

Encouraged by Bryan, Lloyd plunged his hard-standing cock

into my hole and fucked me like a man possessed. The

camera captured the whole thing on film, and towards the

end, Bryan turned to Gary and said, 'You're next, so get

ready to take it up the arse.'

Lloyd's climax was a very noisy and drawn-out affair for

the both of us; and so was Arnim's: his cock certainly

left a lasting impression on my burning hole. I really

had to struggle to accommodate his 'eight-inch chopper',

which made my eyes water the instant it was pushed into

my battered rectum. The two men took great pleasure in

making me squirm beneath their hot, virile bodies. I

remember lying on the bed with my arms and legs fully

outstretched as they took it in turn to hammer my 'white-

boy arse' into the mattress.