Becoming Alex- Book 18 in the Action! Series

By GA Hauser

Alexander Mark Lehman-Richfield. What can you say about a young man who grew up surrounded by lies? His mother, Iris, had a one-night-stand, with a handsome man when she was single and working as a stripper to support her college tuition. His mother, who was now married and a primary school teacher, never even knew the man’s name.
Eighteen years later, after coming out, living his life as a gay high-school student and withstanding bullying at the same time he was satisfying older men, Alex spotted a cologne ad in a glamour magazine.
It was then, he knew.
Mark Antonius Richfield, the Nation’s Top Male Model, was his real father.
From the moment Alex stood at the front door of his birth father’s home, as well as Mark’s husband, former LAPD cop, Steve Miller, Alex’s life changed forever.
From an unknown androgynous nymph, to a superstar in blockbuster films, Alex had done the unimaginable. He had accomplished his goals. And that included, marrying a gorgeous police officer, twenty years his senior, Captain Billy Sharpe.
But there was one flaw in the plan. Trust.
Alex hoped his life would be trouble free from now on.
Becoming Alex...
The present for Alex was already tough, the future? Impossible to predict. But one thing was certain, Alexander Mark Richfield, was destined for superstardom.

• Language: English
• Publisher: GA Hauser
• Release date: Jan 23, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311718884

GA Hauser

About the AuthorAuthor G.A. Hauser is from Fair Lawn, New Jersey, USA. She attended university at The Fashion Institute of Technology in NYC, and has a BA in Fine Art from William Paterson College in Wayne NJ where she graduated Cum Laude. As well as degrees in art, G.A. is a Graduate Gemologist from the Gemological Institute of America (GIA). In 1994 G.A. graduated the Washington State Police academy as a Peace Officer for the Seattle Police Department in Washington where she worked on the patrol division. She was awarded Officer of the Month in February 2000 for her work with recovering stolen vehicles and fingerprint matches to auto-theft and bank robbery suspects. After working for the Seattle Police, G.A. moved to Hertfordshire, England where she began to write full length gay romance novels. Now a full-time writer, G.A. has penned over 200 novels and short stories. Breaking into independent film, G. A. was the executive producer for her first feature film, CAPITAL GAMES which included TV star Shane Keough in its cast. CAPITAL GAMES had its Film Festival Premiere at Philly's Qfest, and its television premiere on OutTV. G.A. is the director and executive producer for her second film NAKED DRAGON, which is an interracial gay police/FBI drama filmed in Los Angeles with the outstanding cinematographer, Pete Borosh. (also the Cinematographer for Capital Games)The cover photographs of G.A.'s novels have been selected from talented and prolific photographers such as Dennis Dean, Dan Skinner, Michael Stokes, Tuta Veloso, Hans Withoos, and CJC Photography, as well as graphic comic artist, Arlen Schumer. Her cover designs have featured actors Chris Salvatore, Jeffery Patrick Olson, Tom Wolfe, and models Brian James Bradley, Bryan Feiss, Jimmy Thomas, Andre Flagger, among many others.Her advertisements have been printed in Attitude Magazine, LA Frontier, and Gay Times.G. A. has won awards from All Romance eBooks for Best Author 2009, Best Novel 2008, Mile High, Best Author 2008, Best Novel 2007, Secrets and Misdemeanors, and Best Author 2007.G.A. was the guest speaker at the SLA conference in San Diego, in 2013, where she discussed women writing gay erotica and has attended numerous writers’ conventions across the country.

Book preview

Chapter 1

November 2015…

Alexander Mark Richfield held the paperwork for his upcoming scene. They had four weeks to get through production. Four weeks. Then he and his co-star Carl Bronson would have to return to the filming of their nighttime TV drama series, Being Screwed and Forever Young. The holidays? Out. The days of sleeping in? Gone.

Welcome to the world of feature films.

Luckily for Alex this was not his first. His film debut was in George Ford’s blockbuster, Bedtime Stories. It had been filmed in Rome, and he was away from his LAPD Captain husband, Billy Sharpe for weeks until Billy finally came to join him.

And… things went to shit back in LA while he was away.

Now, at least, he was in Los Angeles, and performing with Carl, whom his father, Mark Antonious, knew and respected, and Alex adored.

But the director, a powerhouse of a woman who took no nonsense from anyone, Ms Winters, was as big a perfectionist as Mr Ford had been.

This was for Warren Brothers Studio. So that meant million dollar budgets and the pressure was mounting.

Alex was cast to play a character who was only eighteen, when in reality, Alex was twenty-six. Ashley Deon was a gay youth, thrown onto the streets by an unloving family, and living in an LGBT shelter in a very bad section of the city.

So, that’s where they filmed. In filth. No need for adding to the garbage, it was piled everywhere. Alex had no idea there were areas like these in LA.

As the camera crews set up for their night shoot, armed security guards were everywhere, protecting them, and their equipment which was worth a fortune.

Are you ready, Alex? Ms Winters asked.

Yes. He set his ‘sides’ or, daily script, to memorize for the shoot, aside, and was attended by their makeup artist.

‘Ashley’ was considering gender transformation surgery, but as yet, was only wearing clothing with a feminine flair. His co-stars, who played prostitutes to earn their money, were in various getups, each showing off their fine attributes.

Carl was cast in the role of a fucked up older attorney, Zeke Baxter, who inflicted self-harming cuts to himself regularly, and was hiding he was gay from his law firm. His character had fallen for Ashley, meeting him after work for nightly sexual encounters.

As Alex shook back his long hair, which was well passed his shoulders, he inhaled deeply as the illuminated clapperboard was brought in front of the cinematographer’s camera.

While the scene, take, and film role were recorded, Alex had a flash memory of his childhood.

His mother, Iris Lehman, worked her way through college as a stripper. She wasn’t proud of it, and kept it her secret… until … she had no choice but to tell Alex.

Alex, as he grew up, knew he was not like the other boys in his class. He loved growing his hair long, wanted to put eyeliner on; maybe it was Goth, maybe not. And, he adored being stared at by his handsome male teachers. Secrets. Dirty little secrets Alex kept to himself. But he had seduced one of those married teachers at thirteen years of age. He didn’t care to experiment with his peers. His passion was mature men. It had always been that way.

He was the oldest of four children, two of which were twin brothers, Kyle and Will, and he had a kid sister, Amy.

His father worked hard, as a laborer, and drank heavily, but never hit his mom, as far as Alex could tell. And his mother, Iris, would probably hit him back. She was no wilting lily.

Life for Alex had been a nightmare for eighteen years. He was the butt of his twin brothers’ jokes, called a fag, a girl, and every other disparaging name they could come up with. His sister was very young, and shy. But they did get along.

Alex had no one to talk to about his desires, his hidden rendezvous with faculty members, and of course, any information regarding contact between himself and men twice his age was illegal. So? Alex shut up. He didn’t want to harm the men he seduced. And yes, he seduced them. Pressured them, cornered them, and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Some of those men twice his age, gave in. And he became a master at sucking cock at a very early age.

Those identities, those names, he would take to his grave.

But, then, at eighteen years of age, Alexander finally forced the truth out of his mother; making her reveal her secrets.

Alex stood under the halo of a streetlight as the dark sedan Carl drove, pulled up.

There’s your man… Alex’s co-star said.

Alex sauntered over to the car as Carl rolled down the window. Hi.

Get in.

Loving the sex scenes with Carl… loving them! Alex didn’t have to play sexy, Carl made him feel sexy.

Ironically, his mother was now a primary school teacher. His brothers had joined the army, together, and his sister was currently in college.

What would life have been like for him if he hadn’t seen his real father, Mark Antonious Richfield’s, cologne ad in a glamour magazine?

The usual? Alex knew where the cameras were. Two remote cameras were tucked on the dashboard, one taking a close-up of Carl, one of him, the third, and most important was the enormous ‘RED’ camera behind them, with their phenomenal world-class cinematographer, A.D. Wilson, and their master sound tech, Zee, had his recording equipment on his lap.

Carl shut off the car engine and turned in the seat towards Alex, opening his own zipper.

No, this was not porn.

Yes, there was full frontal; his dick. Not Carl’s.

Alex could be bitter. He was obviously being exploited for his sexuality. But if he had not knocked on the front door of Mark Antonious Richfield and his former LAPD police officer husband, Steven Jay Miller, where would Alex be now?

After dropping out of drama school, Alex would probably be flipping burgers or waiting tables.

Alex knew why he had got lucky and was offered a part in Being Screwed. His fabulously gorgeous model father was his key to getting ‘in’. So, Alex was one of the ‘chosen ones’.

Carl held up cash for the sex.

Alex took it, stuffed it into his pocket and ‘went down’ on Carl, who simulated an orgasm so well, Alex nearly came in his skin-tight pants.

He also knew, not far from where they had parked this camera-filled sedan, Ms Winters and a load of crew members, were watching everything the cameras were filming through a video screen, and listening to the sound recording through headphones. Not even a whisper or fart was too low to be picked up by the super-expensive microphones.

So, Alex slurped away, pretending to blow his man, as Carl gasped and gripped the steering wheel.

How could Alex complain? At least he was with Carl, a man he absolutely loved and would suck in a heartbeat. Carl was married to Keith O’Leary, his co-star on Forever Young.

Thank fuck, Alex no longer had to deal with the vile Randy Dawson; a closeted narcissist who had blackmailed Alex’s father into having sex.

My life… Alex mused while he finished Carl off, as Carl did an amazing job faking an orgasm.

Cut. Ms Winters tapped at the back window to get the attention of their cinematographer and sound man. How’d we do?

Zee listened to the sound playback in his headphones. Some background freeway noise. We can do it again in a closed sound stage.

Fuck, Ms Winters said, looking up at the highway.

Alex could see the overpass they were under. The noise was horrendous. This was the streets of LA after all.

She leaned into the back seat to speak to her cameraman. How did you like the angles? What else should we do?

Three more; one from the exterior of each side, then through the windshield.

Agreed. We’ll do that here, then move the car into the soundproof garage for Zee to get clean audio.

Hearing that conversation, Alex reached for Carl’s hand for comfort. It was going to be a very long night. So long, in fact, he may not get to see Billy. He knew once the filming began, Billy and his schedules would clash. Not only that, Alex had to sleep, remember his lines, and if he was lucky, shower, before he was back again doing the filming.

Carl clasped his hand and gave him a sweet smile for reassurance. Anything they said to each other was going to be overheard. That was a rookie mistake many amateurs made, much to their demise.

They forgot microphones were everywhere and criticized either other stars, or crew members. If they were caught and it was early in the filming, bye-bye.

Carl and Alex stayed put as the grips set up the camera tripod and lights and the director and cinematographer discussed the lens placement.

Knowing they could be heard, Carl whispered, How are you holding up?

Fine. You?

Good. Carl looked out of the windshield at the hive of activity. Working with you is a breeze. You’re making it so easy.

Alex smiled. I adore you.

Carl took a quick peek around and pecked Alex’s lips. You too.

~

Captain Billy Sharpe stood in his bedroom removing his uniform. He unhooked the heavy gun belt, one which contained his holster and pistol, handcuffs, a flashlight holder, radio holder, mace, and keys. He unsnapped the leather ‘keepers’ that held the duty belt to his pants belt, and let it drop on the bed. He groaned in relief at having the weight off his hips. Next, he removed his shirt and slacks. He didn’t wear a Kevlar vest unless he was going to command a major incident. Now that he was a captain, his work had become administration… a desk, a computer, and dealing with internal affairs, politics and promotions, disputes and public opinion, and… he was exhausted.

Once he was down to just his briefs, he checked his watch. It was after seven. The house was empty on his return. No Alex. No dinner waiting, not even a message on his phone.

This was Alex’s life during filmmaking. Gone.

Ironically? Gone while he was in LA. No, not Rome, like last time. He was right here.

But Billy knew better.

I don’t go to your workplace, you don’t come to mine.

They had made that mistake before. Lesson learned.

Billy took a shower and shaved so he didn’t have to do it in the morning. He wore his old LAPD SWAT T-shirt, and a pair of jeans, and hunted down a meal.

He opened a beer and stared at the selection of food. Nothing looked appetizing. The beer nearly finished, he pulled out a menu for a local pizza place and called them for a pepperoni pie.

Thirty minutes guaranteed. Whatever.

He slouched in the large sectional sofa, looking at his new flat-screen TV. He had to buy a new one. Steve Miller threw a bottle at the old one.

Oh, the good ole days.

Jealousy. Cheating. Suicide attempts…

And here he was. Alone. Tempted to drink, and drink, and drink.

Like his dad.

He finished the beer and went for another. Then he returned to the spot on the sofa in their enormous home in Bel Air, only blocks away from Alex’s father’s home.

He was warned once Alex began filming, he would be gone. By the time Alexander managed to wander through the front door, he was a zombie; dropping to bed and out cold in seconds.

Their sex?

None.

What had gone from wild ravaging physical contact, had vanished. Alex was working sixteen hour days, and the few moments they had together, which had become rare, Alex spent memorizing lines.

As Billy sipped his beer, waiting for pizza to show up at his door, he wondered about being married to a superstar.

When he and Alex first fucked, Alex was a drama student. Who knew?

Poor Alexander, crying, insecure, craving a name for himself.

Ha. Billy shouldn’t be bitter. Right?

At the time, Billy was living with ex-porn star Gabriel ‘Angel’ Loveday, and his son, Oliver. A little cottage by the sea, how quaint.

Billy looked around his multi-million dollar open-planned mansion in Bel Air and shook his head. With the beer to his lips he couldn’t believe how far he’d come.

Not me. Alex.

The house was paid for with Alex’s trust fund from his grandfather and grandmother’s mega-billion dollar company, Richfield International. The décor was planned by a designer hired by Alex’s father, Mark.

What did I do to deserve it?

Cheated on Angel, stole Alex from Oliver, and fell in love with that sex-mad androgynous kitten.

The second beer was now empty. It was Thursday. Being a captain, he accumulated a lot of time off. Sadly, he rarely used it. Alex was either filming his TV show, or now, when the TV show was off for the holidays? A feature film.

What was he supposed to do? Go on a trip alone?

It was hard not to be angry.

He spotted his mobile phone on the kitchen table. He stood to get a third beer and picked it up. Nope. Nothing from the film star.

He cracked open the beer and tapped a text with his thumb as he drank. ‘wanna come over for pizza?’

A text came back, ‘I do not eat pizza, captain.’

‘wanna come over for sex?’ Billy smiled. It was a game.

‘naughty, naughty…’

A game until he and Mark fucked.

Yup. He fucked Mark Antonious Richfield.

Alex’s father.

A day that will live in infamy. The day he did something so taboo, he was high from it, only to create a bottomless pit of hell for Mark. Mark tried to overdose that night. He nearly died.

‘I take it Alexander is filming?’

‘yup.’ Billy drank his beer as he texted Mark. ‘where’s Miller?’

‘watching TV.’

Billy looked back at his own television. Commercials were airing. Lately nothing but commercials were on TV. They had taken over, but no one seemed to say anything about it or care.

After Billy’s pause in the texting, Mark wrote, ‘you are welcome to come here.’

Billy nearly choked on his sip of beer. Come there? See you and Miller snuggle? Fuck that.

He wrote, ‘no. thanks.’

‘he’ll be home soon. poor baby.’

Billy returned to the sofa and set his beer down, since all he had for company was Mark. ‘I hate when he films.’

‘I know, love.’

Billy wanted to beg Mark to come over. Beg him to meet. But that always ended the same way. Mark shoving him back, sinking mentally from the betrayal and left them both a sexually pent-up mess.

It didn’t stop the craving, however. Like for beer. Billy had become a Mark-coholic.

‘meet? one minute?’ At this point, Billy would take anything. Even staring into Mark’s green eyes.

‘terrible idea, captain.’

‘fuck. plz?’

‘what shall I say to Steven? hm?’

‘You’re taking out the trash? I don’t know.’

‘taking out the… captain. no.’

‘fine.’

Billy threw the phone on the coffee table and drank the beer.

~

Mark Antonious Richfield stood in his bedroom on the upper floor of their split-level home in Bel Air. His husband, former LAPD police officer, and now his co-worker at Parsons and Company, an advertising firm, was watching sports on TV.

Mark sat down on the bed as he and the captain exchanged text messages. He ran his hand through his hair tiredly.

He had managed to survive his forty-fourth birthday without their friends, particularly Josh Elliot, lifeguard, bad-boy, and sex-fiend, making a fuss.

So, as Mark had wished, the day of November 17th, slipped by soundlessly, without so much as a balloon or candle. And he wanted it to stay that way. He wanted to be dead. But it seemed his minders needed him to stick around.

Deleting the text conversation, Mark pocketed his phone and headed down the stairs. He could see Steve, wearing torn, threadbare jeans, shirtless, a beer in his hand, watching TV. Mark leaned against the doorframe to admire his stunning hubby. I do love you.

Steve perked up, his baby blue eyes sparkling at the compliment.

They had just finished a light dinner, which had been preceded by a rough sexual bout, after their evening run.

Come here, beautiful. Steve set his beer down and reached out his fingers.

Mark approached, loving the look of desire in Steve’s eyes. He was drawn to Steve’s lap and Steve went for Mark’s crotch to caress and kissed his neck.

I have a question. Mark snuggled against Steve, staring at the TV.

Mmm, the answer is yes. Steve licked Mark’s skin.

You don’t know the question. Mark smiled and spread his legs wider since Steve was enjoying touching him.

Wanna fuck you again, Richfield. Steve urged Mark under him on the couch.

You are insatiable. Mark smiled and ran his hand through Steve’s brown hair.

Steve opened Mark’s trousers and dug under his pants to his dick. Mark wore no briefs, he had gone ‘commando’.

You do realize, he’s tired. You shagged me senseless not more than a half hour ago.

I’m just touching you. You don’t have to come. Steve nibbled on Mark’s earlobe.

Mark bit his lip and asked nervously, Would you be ever so cross if I spent two minutes with our captain?

Steve stopped all of his affection instantly, removed his hand from Mark’s pants, sat Mark up, and glared at him. Did he text you?

Yes. Before you get into your usual fury, he’s alone. Mark caressed Steve’s hair. Alex is—

No. Steve picked up his beer and his demeanor had completely changed.

Was it any wonder?

I was just— Mark was going to say ‘talk to the captain for one minute’ when Steve yelled, No!

No need to shout. Mark zipped his pants and tucked his shirt in.

Tell him to come here. Steve looked so bitter about the topic, how could Mark ask the captain to come here?

I offered that option. He declined.

Steve exhaled loudly, and faced Mark. You want to go to him? Go!

It’s not like that. Steven, really. I won’t have sex with him, ever again. You do know that.

Mark could see Steve shutting down mentally. He turned his back to Mark, sucked on the beer, and watched the TV. Mark was now invisible.

He stood, backed up to the doorway, and then entered the living room. He sat down on the sofa, trying to compose himself.

Why did it