I recognized them both from school. They were both wearing wet swimming trunks and laughing. They also appeared to have tents in their pants. We could just hear their echoed voices, “I'll show you mine if you show me yours.”The stockier one of them lived across the street from Randy. Tom was his name. The other was Eddy. They were both seniors from our school. Tom's family had a pool and from the noises we could hear in the distance they must be having a party. Something I was never invited to. Still, they seemed to be playing a familiar game. They both lowered their pants to show off their dicks to each other. Tom's was almost as big as Randy's. Eddy's was smaller. More the size of mine. Eddy was examining Tom's intently as we watched from our hiding place. He couldn't take his eyes off of it.“Go ahead, touch it.” Tom said, waving his pudgy dick back and forth with a knowing smile. Eddy eagerly grabbed it. He couldn't resist stroking it in his hand as he kept staring at it. I knew. Felicity, Flick Caterham, my agent, had sent her right-hand girl Hattie out to run her American agency and it was doing really well. Hattie had been replaced by another of Flick’s beauties, a woman of about thirty. A product, like me, of a private school but, like Hattie, Phoebe was tall, svelte, elegant and absolutely gorgeous. Flick only employed classy beauties on the basis that the industry was run mainly by males and her ‘girls’ helped keep clients loyal. “The trouble with stage work,” said Flick one day over a glass of champagne in her office, “is that it keeps you from doing other stuff for too long and doesn’t pay nearly as well. Films are far better. You can make more money, keep making money and it keeps your profile up.” “Maggie Smith and Judi Dench do both.” “Yes, darling, they do but then they are A-list plus.” Meaning I wasn’t which, of course, was true. “Now, that said, I might just have a little tickle that could appeal. Chesty Morgan,” Chesty was a director of stage.
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