In Bel Ami's latest, Flings , director George Duroy serves up yet another smorgasbord of beauteous boy-men in the throes of discovering the delights of mansex. And smorgasbord is the operative word, for the film is a six-episode loop film, each of which has nothing to do with the others. It is as if Duroy had gone into his well-stocked larder, selected half a dozen mouth-watering delicacies, randomly laid them out for your delectation and said, "Here is a sampling of what I do best. Try this, taste that. I'm sure you will find any number of treats to please your palate." And, indeed, you will.
The first confection he offers up features blond Tim Hamilton (who reminds us of Randy "Justin" Harrison in Queer as Folk ) and brunet Marcel Bouvier (who proved to be such an accommodating bottom in Cherries ). They are first seen bouncing on a vibrant yellow trampoline but in time adjourn to an abandoned building to satisfy their hungers. Teasing segues into kissing, and before long, these baby satyrs have stripped down, their lean, hairless bodies and throbbing erections standing out in bold relief against the crumbling debris where they have chosen to dine on each other.
Hamilton initially appears to be the more aggressive of the two, easing onto all fours to devour Bouvier's ready erection. (As always, Duroy's camera finds the perfect angles from which to capture the action, but here he outdoes himself.) In no time, Bouvier has returned the favor, lapping up Hamilton's uncut cock and unshaved balls, then his smooth torso and, finally, his filet of a tongue. When the oral action shifts to the anal, however, Bouvier is the top, fucking his companion strictly in missionary position. Both deliver tasty money shots, and Hamilton's pudding is especially copious.
The second snack to be proffered combines Dano Sulik (one of the most popular stars in the Bel Ami stable ever since he debuted in Accidental Lovers ) with Danny Saradon (a quintessential Bel Ami newcomer, lean, youthful and smooth). At breakfast in their pajamas, they feed each other yogurt and grapes before other cravings lead them back to bed. Although Sulik is beginning to mature, he still exudes a torrid sexuality, gobbling down the fresh-faced Saradon's stiffy as if it were the staff of life. Saradon follows suit, and both spray copious loads. Then, Sulik takes total charge and batters his partner in three different positions. Saradon, amazed and delighted by this new experience, kisses, grins and jacks himself throughout. In no time, Sulik shifts into overdrive and delivers one of his trademark double-time fucks, which ignites another pair of explosions.
The third treat to be savored highlights Oliver Krist (a Bel Ami mainstay ever since his dazzling debut in Pleasure Express ) and Nico Tiziani (the sleek brunet who has bounced his way through several Duroy productions). At a deserted farmhouse, they waste no time in stripping down and consuming each other. Krist's protean countenance and complete abandon drive the scene, and unlike most Eastern Europeans, he is a skilled deep-throat artist. After a pair of warm-up money shots, Krist turns around and lifts a leg to be rimmed, and Tiziani chows down. But when it is his turn to reciprocate, Krist not only eats ass but fingers and fucks his partner to frenzied ecstasy in three positions.
Duroy's fourth tidbit presents two of this reviewer's favorites, Adrian Kinski and Mirko Polakov (both introduced in Cherries ). First seen in the woods picking mushrooms, they soon head into a rude shack and begin to make love. Both are tall, lanky medium brunets who kiss with tenderness and slip their hands into each other's shorts with an easy familiarity. Polakov is the first to kneel and toy with Kinski's' abundant foreskin before settling in to pleasure his rockhard erection. Kinski too is a talented cocksucker, and each continues to stroke himself while servicing the other. By the time they get to the multipositioned fucking (with Kinski once again on top - are we ever going to see him take it?), both seem to have floated into a trance of sexual bliss. Particularly enticing is that section when Polakov squats over Kinski's shaft, impales himself and rides to the most shattering orgasm of the film, firing off spurt after spurt of sizzling spooge.
The piece de resistance of the film, however, introduces two exquisite, big-dicked newcomers, blond Jeff Daniels (who reminds us of the legendary Jeff Quinn) and Chris Cameron (a super-butch athletic type). Both are superb sexualists, but Daniels is the find of the film, orally giving and taking with a passionate zest that seems palpably real. And when he lifts his legs, splayed out like a frog's, to be rimmed and fucked every which way, we assume that we have discovered one of the great bottoms of our time.
Two money shots later, however, he turns the tables and enters Cameron's beefy butt with total command of the situation, as if he were born to top. His versatility is simply astounding. What's more, both remain rockhard throughout, and the action is frosted with hungry kisses and toe-and-finger-sucking, even as the rutting continues. The money shots are notable, too. This scene is pure ambrosia - you'll go back for seconds.
The final morsel to be presented casts Valentin Nabokov (the baby-faced blond bonbon from Frisky Summer 3) and Bouvier again. Decked out in red and white Santa Claus caps (and nothing else), they feed on each other in another enticing flip-flop under a candle-lit Christmas tree. Both are effective oralists, and Nabokov in particular has quite a vacuum-cheeked technique. The oral action produces a pair of festive orgasms (with Bouvier lapping up his own cum), and the anal action, a second set. Bouvier tops first, in scissors position, but the apex of the sequence occurs when he shifts to bob up and down on Nabokov's upright erection. The results are both charming and arousing.
Flings , then, is not so much a feature film as it is a bravura display of the various sweetmeats concocted by master chef Duroy. The boys and the videography are as delectable as ever, and if the sexual choreography has become a bit formulaic, only the most discriminating gourmand will complain. Bon Appetit!
- Jerry Douglas