WARNING!
Claudio Martin
Distributor | Released | Length |
---|---|---|
Channel 1 Releasing | 2005 | 120 |
I wouldn't lie to you -- well, at least not about smut. I knew that even before I pushed play on my remote that "Deceived" was going to be a scorcher. I mean, how could it miss? And Chi Chi LaRue's stamp is all over it: hot guys, smokin' action and tireless attention to detail. Take the opening, for example. Leave it to Chi Chi to find a clever way to roll out the credits. And if deception can be detected by looking in someone's eyes, the ballsy and sinister glares served up by each model all but guarantees that each one is a bone fide bad boy. Don't fuck with these studs -- they'll break your heart.
Jan Fischer and the utterly adorable Patrick Downs may be devious, but you wouldn't know it from the sweet and tender way they explore each other. Wearing nothing but boxers, Jan and Patrick kiss slowly (achingly slow) while undressing. While Patrick occupies himself with what's lurking behind the fly of his buddy's boxers, lucky Jan uncovers one sweet pink hole, which he dutifully admires with not one, but two fingers. After Patrick spends several moments orally lavishing Jan's cock and balls, Jan returns the favor. Not only is his ass a knockout, Pat's got a sumptuous prick as well -- one long vein curving up the side, fleshy balls and a well-trimmed bush to frame it all. The scene hits its peak when Patrick gets on his side and exposes his hole for Jan to explore. And explore he does. He stares at Pat's pucker almost drowsily, slowly finger-fucking it and taking long swipes with his tongue. Jan reluctantly leaves rimming heaven and takes Patrick, still on his side, holding one leg up in the air. Patrick's nasty expression lets you know how much he's loving getting fucked. He shoots his load while getting plowed, cum flying over the headboard without any warning.
The flick takes an odd twist when we cut to super-twink Jeremy Jordan, his mouth already stuffed with Brandon Lee's sturdy cock. They're going hot and heavy, stealing glances at a TV set running the sex scene we just saw. It's hard to imagine needing inspiration from a porno when you've got real cock in your mouth, your own peter in your fist and fingers fluttering against your exposed butthole, but Jeremy keeps one eye glued to that TV while he blows Brandon. Talk about multitasking. Jeremy and Brandon, both sporting short crew-cuts, maneuver into a lewd 69. Brandon can't keep his greedy fingers away from Jeremy's asshole -- I mean, could you? Their 69 gets more and more intense to the point where they're wrapping their legs around each other's head to get as close as possible. And in a new twist on the old porn standby, the salacious pizza boy, cover model Claudio Martin, breezes right into the bedroom to make his delivery. Unfazed, he merely wants his 10 bucks, even brazenly asking for a tip. Claudio is tall and ripped, I was torn between lusting after his long and wavy hair, hanging precariously over his eyes, and his very muscular-looking cock. Throwing the pizza aside, he nonchalantly unzips. Brandon contents himself with blowing their guest while Jeremy stands on the mattress and offers Claudio something to suck on. All three have lanky, lean frames and they look gorgeous enjoying their sudden three-way. Like Lane Fuller, Jeremy is one of those models who never loses his wood while getting fucked, no matter who's doing the fucking or how hard they're going at it. Both Brandon and Claudio take a crack at Jeremy, and sure enough, his pole stands at attention, regardless of the angle he's getting plowed in. Geez, the lengths you have to go to just to get a slice.
Tattooed Johnny Hazzard, wearing a white wife-beater, spies on the action from the alleyway. Cal Jackson busts the voyeur, then demands oral service. It looks like Johnny has acquired some new tats since the last time I saw him; they drape over his shoulders and forearms, captured in amazing detail while he devours Cal's blond goatee. Not only can Cal command head, he hoodwinks Johnny into licking his ass while he bends over a garbage can. Not missing a beat, a prepared Johnny stands up and eases his sheathed prick into Cal's guts, giving his ass a good working over. But no worries, Johnny slips into his more familiar bottom boy role soon afterward. Filmed in spectacular close-up, Cal soaks Johnny's asshole with spit before fucking him on a ladder. Johnny spews from overhead, dousing Cal in spunk.
In the final scene, we see that once again, it's a film within a film. We're suddenly in one of those old-fashioned NYC porno houses where Clay Maverick, Eddie Stone and Jay Varilla are watching the previous alley fuck on a mammoth screen. Jay slyly moves into a seat next to Eddie, shamelessly looking for action, even bringing along the popcorn. I won't spoil the surprise, but in this scene, Chi Chi uses a movie-house prop that gives a whole new meaning to the word refreshments. Jay sports a unique cock with a sexy forward bend near the head. Greedy Eddie seems not to notice but quickly jams it into his mouth. Jay's shining brown eyes continue to watch the action on the screen until Eddie pulls him to his feet, then quickly to his knees. That's when Eddie catches sight of Clay Maverick jerking off solo a row or two back. Eddie's repeated attempts to grab hold of Clay's prick are firmly refused. At this point, Clay's content to watch. But when push comes to shove, Clay is a horny slut, too. It only takes a little patience and persistence, and before long, Jay is precariously dangling over the back of the seat bobbing on Clay's prick. With Jay's hairy ass up in the air, Eddie takes full advantage and plants his face deep in the crack. Jay and Eddie, now completely nude, enjoy an equally nude Clay seated smack between them in a row of the theatre, each taking turns worshipping Clay's cock while impatiently flogging their own. Then, in what has to be one of the most uncomfortable places to get fucked, Eddie gives it up for Clay, the entire time wedged into one of those plush red seats. Jay takes pity on Eddie's aching back and politely bends him over the seat before fucking him. No complaints from Eddie -- he takes advantage of Clay's spit-slick stiffie just inches from his open mouth. The scene ends with all three bringing themselves off, then a twist.
Director Chi Chi LaRue would never pull the wool over your eyes when it comes to queer cinema. Delivering consistently good flicks, always with an impressive collection of sexy models, some familiar, some not. No fibbin'.
DVD features: Chapters; cum-shots chapter; behind-the-scenes footage; safer-sex public service announcement; trailers ("Bolt," "Hole Patrol" and "Raw Footage"); and no regional coding (playable worldwide).
A DVD Review by Rick Forrent
In the latest release from Channel 1 and Rascal Video, director Chi LaRue and screenwriter Doug Jeffries have devised an ingenious series of steamy riffs on illusion and reality entitled Deceived. It is unlike any film either of them has ever made before. In four heated episodes, this 90-minute, 10-man production again and again toys with such questions as: What is "real" sex? Is "real" sex more "real" than the sex created for explicit films? And in the final analysis, can anyone really tell the difference between the two? Deceived, then, is filled with the theatrical sleight of hand that Pirandello might have conjured up had he been a pornographer.
All philosophical considerations aside, Deceived is also one hot little film -- and never more steaming than in its opening episode, which begins with a tight close-up of two men kissing. Gradually, the shot opens up to reveal a vibrant young couple, stripped to their undershorts, kissing, caressing, nuzzling each other on a big double bed in a perfectly generic bedroom. These two lovers, portrayed by the ice-blue-eyed Jan Fischer and the stubble-bearded Patrick Downs, are ideally cast. This is an explicit scene in its purest form; it is about nothing except the sexual electricity between two individuals who are wildly aroused by each other. Tender, hungry kisses segue into Downs' oral exploration of the bulge in Fischer's boxer shorts as Fischer in turn focuses his attention on Downs' nigh-perfect ass. From the get-go, the viewer believes implicitly that what he is seeing is "real" passion.
The scene is sprinkled with satisfied grins, contented moans, brief spurts of pillow talk, searing eye contact, mutual deep-throating and a teasing round of thumb-fucking as Fischer warms up Downs' rosebud for the anal action that is to come. Each watches his partner closely, concentrating on the responses he is producing in the other, and before long Fischer has slid his twitching erection between Downs's pillowy buttocks to tease him to further heights before penetrating him scissors-style. Each seems to glow with gratitude toward the other during the hard-driving fuck that turns effortlessly into a lap fuck and concludes in the missionary position, which brings Downs to a roiling geyser-like explosion while plugged. Fischer too detonates his own stunning spurts of flying jism before they happily settle down into a romantic postcoital glow.
Then, suddenly, the camera pulls back to reveal that this is a fuck-tape being played on a TV set in the bedroom of power bottom Jeremy Jordan and his partner, the haphazardly tattooed Brandon Lee. (Lee has recently acquired an eyebrow piercing and more inkings.) The two of them are at the moment eagerly reveling in the joys of oral sex, but their attention is strikingly divided between the "real" kinetic sensations at hand and those they are watching on the video screen -- yet the two realities seem to exist quite comfortably, one enhancing the other. Both Jordan and Lee are full-throated cocksuckers, and their 69 is especially well-lensed by videographer Hue Wilde. Even as he is enjoying a gulletful of cock, however, Lee is simultaneously fingering Jordan's ready sphincter, and one senses that the anal action is only nano-seconds away.
That's when the pizza boy arrives in the person of newcomer Claudio Martin, a tall, rangy, hose-dicked brunet with the face of a street kid who has clearly seen more than his youth might suggest. In lieu of a tip, he stays to join in the "real" action. (The savvy viewer smiles at this hoariest of porn devices, the pizza boy, and wonders fleetingly if this too is not reality but another deceptive illusion with which the filmmakers are teasing their audience.) During the ensuing three-way, each gets a throatful of cock from the other two before Jordan finds himself in the middle of a sandwich, sucking Martin while being fucked by Lee. The high point of the scene occurs, however, when Jordan sits on the supine Martin for a grinding, bouncing lap fuck that is enhanced by Lee simultaneously giving him head. With his shock of floppy hair, shadowy stubble, long, lean torso and prodigious sexual skills, Martin is an impressive addition to the Rascal Video stable.
As the trio melts into a three-way kiss, the camera pans to a Venetian blind-covered window and a pair of eyes peering through the slats. They belong to Johnny Hazzard, one of LaRue's most exciting discoveries. He is in the alley outside, and the "real" action he has been watching has aroused the "real" voyeur in him. Before he can do much more than grope himself, however, he is caught by another back alley hood (the doughy, goateed, relentlessly ordinary Cal Jackson) and forced to his knees to give head. This is the least interesting scene in the production, partly because it fits less comfortably into the scheme of the film than any of the other vignettes and partly because there is little chemistry between the two performers. Hazzard, usually a sexual dynamo, seems to be working here at half-throttle, executing all the right moves but with only a pro forma energy. Before the scene is over, each has sucked, rimmed and fucked the other on a step ladder, but Jackson's screen presence is bland, and Hazzard's fans would be better served by rerunning virtually any of his far better previous performances.
As Hazzard and Jackson settle into exhausted aftermath, the sequence ends with the revelation that what the viewer has just seen is a feature film being shown on the screen of a fuck-movie theatre. Is what we have just watched a "real" interpersonal coupling or just another loop shown to create "real" arousal in the audience? Whatever it is, it has aroused two members of the theatre audience, lanky Eddie Stone and a boyish brunet newcomer, Jay Varella, whose impish glint reminds one more than a little of Owen Hawk. (The cardboard popcorn tub on his lap is empty save for his erection raging through a hole in its bottom.) Almost at once, Stone is on his knees, taking Varella's erection down to the pubes, but Varella's eyes remain locked on the screen, and one cannot help but wonder which reality is getting him off.
About this time, a third moviegoer saunters into the place and drops down in the row directly behind them. He is played by the ever-smoldering, never-blazing Clay Maverick, who has somehow made quite a lengthy career of remaining unattainable trade. In time, all three strip naked, and both Stone and Varella get their chance to swing on Maverick's hefty cock. (Both are excellent cocksuckers. In particular, watch what Varella does with his strings of spit.) Maverick allows the servicing with his usual dispassionate distance but remains in his own world, his own "reality," and never really connects with the other two. He does ultimately fuck Stone in one of the seats, but things really perk up when Varella replaces him in the saddle and shows what can happen when two strangers are "really" electrified by one another. That's when we hear someone call, "Cut -- that's a wrap!" and the movie crew moves into the theatre set for the stills that will finish the day's work.
In a trice, the "real" sexual heat has been replaced by the camaraderie of co-workers on the set of a fuck film. Only then does the reviewer realize that he has been the one who LaRue, Jeffries and the cast have so brilliantly Deceived.
- Jerry Douglas