Richard Longfellow’s Private Practice
I have a thing for books where one of the guys is in the adult industry. Don’t know why but I love them. There are some really good ones out there. But Private Practice adds in a sexy doctor. Can’t go wrong with all of the potential for doctor fantasy adult films. Those two aspects put this book at the top of my (extremely massive) TBR pile. Below you can see all of the details about the book. There are also TWO excerpts for you to enjoy. If they don’t make you want to read this story, I don’t know what will! At the very bottom you can enter to win an e-copy of the book.
By Richard Longfellow
Mark has film star looks, a body to die for and a successful career as a gynecologist, but he’s lacking something – like a boyfriend, for instance. He’s also a porn star on the side with a hundred DVDs to his name and a libido to match. Then, along comes a patient who seems all set to destroy everything. Will he be able to talk his way out of the mess this time? Perhaps he’ll need to call on divine guidance from Holy Joe, the school chaplain, who already knows so much about his past…
“Mm, that feels so good,” said Rick, who was bottoming.
“You like my big fucking dick in your pretty little arse?” said the muscular Latino top in barely intelligible English.
“Oh yeah, your big dick feels so fuckin’ awesome. I just want it to explode inside me and…”
Rick started giggling. He turned to the director. “Look, this dialogue is just awful. Can we take it again from the top and try fewer words?”
The director shrugged. He was used to Rick Longbow calling the shots. He was the star performer, after all.
The video, Private Practice, was being shot in a photographic studio somewhere in the sleazy backstreets of London’s East End. At one time it had been a meat-packing factory and fearsome-looking hooks still hung from the ceiling. In fact, it still was a sort of meat factory, although the only corpses littering the place were involuntary hysterics from the performers.
The film centred on the antics of a navy medic with a busy practice examining navy reservists for fitness to leap into action. Which, of course, they did repeatedly and in every way and combination imaginable, and usually – if Rick got his way – with the bare minimum of dialogue.
The place bristled with cameras, covering every conceivable angle: some were controlled remotely by overweight, beer-bellied technicians scratching their crotches; others were the steadicam type used by roving camera crews to get on-the-spot cinéma vérité and essential to cope with the shock and awe of an explosive ejaculation. Overseeing all of this organised chaos, the BritSpunk director was sitting in his chair watching the unfolding action and evidently looking forward to his latte macchiato and jam doughnut in approximately ten minutes time, assuming no one kept him waiting.
The cavernous interior had two sets currently in use: on the far left was a mock-up of a medical consulting room with a generously-sized examination couch equipped with stirrups, and a trolley covered with speculums, probes and other intriguing metallic instruments; on the right, an interior of a minimalist, Californian condo with a black, faux leather sofa and the image of a glistening pool drenched in artificial sunlight visible through floor-to-ceiling windows.
Rick Longbow knew exactly which set he’d prefer to be on, but the director had made sure he didn’t have any choice in the matter. He’d entered the examination room wearing a fetchingly tailored uniform which hadn’t remained on for long. Rick currently had his feet up in stirrups and he was being enthusiastically attended to by a Latino guy covered in exotic tattoos who’d cast aside the rented doctor’s outfit ten minutes ago and was now sweating profusely. He’d never come across a health professional with a dragon quite so extravagantly displayed on their body, and particularly one destined to incinerate his left nipple at any moment.
It had also been rather ironic undergoing an examination by someone who didn’t even know how to use a stethoscope. His co-lead’s technique with a tendon hammer had also left a lot to be desired and his right patella was still suffering from his sledgehammer approach at eliciting the knee-jerk reflex. And then there was that annoying abdominal x-ray on the viewing box, which someone had put up the wrong way around; the ascending colon was descending, the descending colon was ascending, and the transverse colon didn’t know right from left.
He tried not to let all of that distract him too much as he had a job to get on with, and he was actually rather enjoying his partner’s pile-driving exploration of his nether regions. He might have zero medical training, but he was certainly an expert when it came to sex and his prostate was being very pleasurably stimulated.
The venue for Mark’s screen test was in the swankiest part of Notting Hill and the stucco-fronted house looked straight out of the eponymous romantic comedy. He walked up the steps of the porticoed entrance and just knew there’d be a butler. The guy who answered the door addressed him like a butler, but his topless uniform and knowing smile definitely broke the mould. The ornately-framed pictures lining the stairs hinted at wealth and nubile youths featured prominently; in fact, some were almost three dimensional in their prominence. The sound of talk and laughter trickled down from the first floor.
Following where the noise was coming from, the room Mark entered wasn’t like that of a typical party. Aside from the lavish buffet set out to one side, it looked like a plush home cinema, with reclining chairs arranged in rows and a huge flat screen TV at the end. Curiously, there was a dais to the right of the screen on which a cello stood waiting to be played. Most of the guests were men but there were a few women as well. Mark fleetingly wondered whether he was on the menu for their entertainment.
Someone kissed him on the cheek. “Doc, it’s good to see you again!” Mark was pleased to see it was the irrepressible Steve fully recovered from his operation and looking exceedingly handsome in a tuxedo and bow tie, his rebellious spiked hair complementing his conservative garb.
“Shush! Remember I’m here incognito.” Mark stepped back to inspect his night-time lover. “You look incredible! How come the tuxedo? I thought you’d be entertaining everyone in your jockstrap.”
Steve smiled. “Ah, that might come later, but first I’ve got something more serious to attend to.” He started walking towards the dais. “They’ll call for you when they’re ready,” he said over his shoulder.
Steve walked up to the dais. Mark decided he must be the master of ceremonies in charge of the evening’s delights. Instead, Steve sat down behind the cello and lifted the bow. He smiled at Mark, as if to say, “Hey, this is the real me.” As the prelude of J. S. Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1 cast its spell, the guests stopped talking and moved to the chairs. Mark found himself thinking back to the comment made by his registrar. He wished the bigot could see Steve now: a dancer, porn actor and amazing musician who probably brought more meaning into the world than any third rate surgeon. A tap on Mark’s shoulder brought him back to the here and now.
“They’re ready for you, sir,” said the semi-naked waiter with a wink.
Mark followed the waiter to a corridor on the left just past the buffet. The guests were entranced by Steve’s playing and barely cast him a glance. He was glad he hadn’t eaten anything as butterflies were busy at work in his stomach. An open door with bright lighting beckoned. He’d expected something like a smart bedroom. Instead, it was a sizeable photographic studio with centre stage appropriately given to a super king size bed with black sheets surrounded by all the paraphernalia of filming.
“Hey, posh boy, long time no see,” said someone to Mark’s right.
Mark turned to look at the guy. He was the same height as himself and had blond hair that flopped into his eyes. He was grinning broadly. He was also naked and his dick and balls had been freshly shaved.
“Christ! I don’t believe it!” exclaimed Mark. “You’re the one who gave me a blowjob! And you’ve had your tooth fixed!”
The guy ran his tongue sexily across his teeth. “Yeah. That’s one of the perks of this business.”
“So, how long have you been doing porn?”
“Just over a year.” He looked long and hard at Mark. “You know, I sort of wondered whether I’d see you again. I mean, that dick of yours is quite something.” He cupped Mark’s groin. “Yup, still there.” His own dick was getting more erect by the second. “Mm, I can’t wait…”
Mark looked surprised. “So, it’s us together, then?”
“Of course, darlin’.”
Just then, someone who seemed to be in charge came over to greet Mark.
“I’ll be on the bed waiting for you,” said the naked guy, walking back to the bed with his dick bouncing energetically. Mark realised they still hadn’t exchanged names.
“You must be Mark,” the man said, shaking his hand. “I’m Eduardo and BritSpunk’s jack of all trades and master of none – in other words, Talent Manager and Assistant Director.” He was a bit short but had a nice, engaging smile and was nothing like the sleazy character Mark had imagined. “I see you’ve met Frank. He’s clearly keen to get on with the shoot. But let’s run through some preliminaries first.”
They found a couple of chairs and Eduardo started checking items on a clipboard. “So, Mark, how old are you?”
“Gay, straight or bi?”
Mark was initially surprised by the question but remembered some guys were gay-for-pay. “Gay, although I’d probably be okay with bi.”
“Excellent. Top or bottom?”
“That’s even better. Flexibility is a big help when we’re casting. Now, what about your dick size? Steve’s a size queen, so it must be big.”
Eduardo raised his eyebrows. “And girth?”
Mark had measured that before he came out as he thought he’d be asked. “Six and a half.”
Eduardo looked surprised. “Really? That’s impressive. Have you done any sort of porn before?”
“Finally, do you know your HIV status?”
“Yes, I’m negative. I’ve got my test results if you need them.”
“Fantastic, Mark. I think that’s everything we need for the moment. If you’d like to take your clothes off and join Frank on the bed, we’ll get on with the shoot.”
As Mark was undressing, he could hear Steve’s cello. He found it surreal but also comforting, as the music seemed to bridge one world he knew and another he was just about to discover.
Richard Longfellow resides in London, Great Britain. He’s tall, dark and handsome and currently unattached. When he’s not tending to his patients, he enjoys stroking cats, films with happy endings and opening the very best champagne, although not necessarily in that order. He has absolutely no connection with the school described in the text and his father never wore a Rolex watch. This is his second novella of quintessentially British, gay erotica.
Dark Hollow Press: www.darkhollowspress.com
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