Saturday, May 1, 2021

Tad's Wild Night with the Rifleman and His Son

Readers have been asking for a story about a Chuck Connors - Johnny Crawford romance ever since I started this blog in 2015.

I don't know why.  Most Baby Boomers have never seen The Rifleman (1958-63), about single dad Lucas McCain (Chuck Connors) raising his son Mark (Johnny Crawford) in the Old West.  It was before our time during its first run, and who wanted to watch the reruns?  Westerns were square; the 1960s was all about blasting off in rocket ships and zapping aliens with ray guns.

Plus Johnny Crawford was 12 years old when The Rifleman began, so any sexual activity would be the predatory grooming of a pedophile.  During the last season, he was 16-17 years old, still off limits for any consensual romance.  But maybe later, when they were both adults.

Here are the 2 hookup stories I heard about them in West Hollywood.  The first comes from a guest at one of Will the Bondage Boy's parties in 1999, a young BDSM bottom.  I don't remember his name, so I'll call him Tad.  I added a few details.

Hollywood, Spring 1986

I was a Cute Young Thing, 19 years old, still living with my parents, working at a video store in Eagle Rock.  I was tall and skinny, kind of homely, with a big nose and acne scars, a small dick, no muscles, no selling point except my willingness to bottom, which as you know was unusual in the 1980s.

So every weekend I hung out on Hustler Corner, Highland and Santa Monica. Not hustling, though I wouldn't say no to a new shirt.  But the closeted married men who came out after their kids were tucked into bed didn't care that I was poor, homely, small, or didn't belong to a gym. All they cared about was getting off.

 I met a lot of closeted actors on Hustler Corner, cruising themselves or sending an assistant out to make the deal for them.

Well, one night this blue Camero pulls up, and a very handsome guy sticks his head out -- in his 30s, black curly hair, dark skin -- and asks if I like older men.  He's not really older, but I say "Sure" and get into the car with him.

We drive to the parking lot on Selma.  "Do you mind if I inspect the merchandise first?" he asks.

"Be my guest."  I pull out my dick, but he asks me to raise up so he can feel my butt.  "Nice and firm!  Do you do Greek passive?"

"As long as you use a condom."

"Great -- these days Greek passive is hard to find.  Is gang banging ok?"

"The more, the merrier."


I wasn' t ready to admit my BDSM interest yet, so I said "As long as there's no pain."

"Another plus.  And you're cute.  I think you'll do great."

"Thanks," I said, wondering if I was going to a trick or an audition.

"It's a bit of a drive, so my boss would like you to spend the night, and if things work out, the weekend.  It pay $200.  Is that ok?"

"As long as I'm back for work by noon Sunday."

He gets onto the 405 and drives us north, over the mountains and then farther through the San Joaquin Valley.  I don't mind -- there are snacks and beer in the car, and Mike has a lot of funny stories.  Originally from Albuquerque, he came to L.A. ten years ago to become an actor, but ended up a pool cleaner and lawn maintenance guy for some of the wealthy residents of Bel Air.  For the past three years, he has been a personal assistant for Chuck Connors.

Chuck Connors!  I can barely hide my excitement!  You may think I'm too young to remember The Rifleman, but when I was growing up, they were playing the reruns every day after school. I had lots of fantasies about Lucas McCain and especially his teenage son Mark.

After about two hours, we come to a gated community up in the mountains near Bakerfield, and drive into what looks like a ranch called Medicine Hat Oak.  The main house is all done like a Wild West ranch, too, with wood paneling and deer and moose heads and guns on the walls, and that old-fashioned Colonial furniture.

Mike lets me use the bathroom, then takes me into a guest room.  More Wild West motif.

"You won't meet Mr. Connors until tomorrow," he says.  "Do you need anything?"

"A shower," I tell him.  "And maybe you could join me?"  We start kissing.  Soon our clothes are on the floor.  Mike has a great physique, hard smooth chest, big cock.  He goes down on me, teasing until I'm ready to explode, then turns me onto my stomach, puts on a condom, and pushes into me.  I've been screwed before, but the big head hits just the right spot, and I cum immediately.

Mike keeps on thrusting inside me for a long time.  I get aroused again, and start beating off.  Finally he finishes, takes the condom off, and turns me over for a long kiss.  Then he says "If you need anything, I'm just on the other side of the kitchen.  Breakfast is at 8:00."  He grabs his clothes and leaves.

In the morning I finally meet Chuck Connors.  He's in his sixties, white-haired and craggy, but still hot.  Mike and two other guys are there, too.  In their fifties, balding. I don't recognize them.

Breakfast conversation is mostly about horses.  I want to talk about The Rifleman, and mention my childhood crush on Mark McCain.

"Johnny will be up later," Connors says abruptly, cutting me off.  Apparently he doesn't want to talk about The Rifleman...or about me being gay.  "For the party.  I think Hank, too."

Is Hank a boyfriend?  I wonder.  A lover?  But the conversation turns to Hank' problem with a contract of some sort, and I don't think it's a good idea to ask.

After breakfast Mike drives me into Tehachapi to get some new underwear and a swimsuit.  We spend the day working out, swimming -- some kissing in the pool, but no sex -- and riding horses.  Connors joins us for tennis.  More guys arrive during the day, until by the time the cook sets out dinner by the pool, there are around 30.  All men, mostly in their fifties and sixties.  Like a gay party, except there's no touching, and no one is talking about sex.

Mike introduces me as "a friend from L.A."

I'm disappointed that there aren't more celebrities.  I recognize Charlton Heston from The Planet of the Apes and Gary Lockwood from 2001: A Space Odyssey, but that's all.  No Johnny Crawford.

I ask Connors where he is.

"I guess he'll be up later.  He had a thing to do in L.A. first."

Around 7:00 pm, Mike says "It's time for you to earn that $200."  He takes me back to the guest room, strips me out of my clothes, and has me lie down on my back, crosswise on the bed.  He ties my arms and legs together and blindfolds me.

I have never been tied up before. The loss of control is wildly exciting.  I'm already aroused.

"You'll be here for three hours.  If you need a bathroom or stretching break, just tell the guy you're with to come and fetch me.  They all know they have to use a condom, and no pain.  Any questions?"

For the next three hours, hands caress my body.  My nipples and balls are licked.  I am kissed.  I count four cocks in my butt, five in my mouth.  I lose count of the mouths on my cock.  I cum three times.

It's the best night of my life.

The only problem is, I have no idea which of the guys I have been with.  Chuck Connors?  Johnny Crawford?  Charlton Heston?

Afterwards Mike unties me, and I shower and go to bed.

He wakes me up in the morning before dawn, gives me $200, and drives me back to West Hollywood.  We stop for breakfast at a McDonald's on the way.

"You had quite a night," he says.  "Are you sore?"

"Not really.  It was great. By the way, did Johnny Crawford ever show up?"

"Yes, he was at the party."

"Did he screw me?"

"Sorry, that's classified information.  Mr. Connors likes to protect his guests' privacy."

"Did Mr. Connors screw me?"

He smiles.  "I can't tell you that.  All I can tell you is that one of the guys was me.  Butt and mouth both.  And I'd like to do it again sometime, except just the two of us, not a crowd."

"Sure.  As long as there's some bondage involved."

To this day I don't know if I had sex with Chuck Connors or Johnny Crawford, or both, or neither.

1 comment:

  1. I imagine that Tad was with Chuck Connors, since it was his party and his idea.



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