The big news here, of course, is that Chad Hunt, he of the bull-fiddle boner, finally gets fucked onscreen. And does he ever! Three toughs  (Nash Lawler, Chad Donovan, Phenix Saint) jack their donkey dicks with Hunt's choking, gagging and very deep throat, then one by one, in colossal close-up, shove shaft into his thuggy butt. And they're out to hurt it. That tattooed cross on his back points right to the poke-hole that's being made into pussy right in front of your eyes. But before that spectacle, and after it, there's a moving and mysterious story written and directed by gay porn's cinematic craftsman, Jett Blakk. Trevor Knight, a bland office worker (think a young, built Bill Pullman) is repressed and oppressed. His mean boss, Tyler Saint, has all the fun, athletically flip-fucking with hunky Scott Campbell right on the office stairs. Knight is fired, aimless. And suddenly there's slightly seedy Hunt there, claiming to be Knight's long-lost brother. It's like a Hitchcock plot; the odd stranger takes the hero out of the world of order into a world of alluring chaos. On a goofy motorcycle holiday, they stop at a truck joint. In the men's room, wimpy state trooper Kyle Pierce tries to rape Knight's mouth, but it's saved by Hunt, who fucks the culprit in Knight's sight right on the concrete floor while Knight masturbates an enormous erection from excitement. Emboldened, shy Knight balls rangy James Hamilton, a motel bedmaker. Life is good. But things get darker and darker (not the stunning seacoast scenery), and both Knight's and Hunt's identities become dubious. There's a surprise ending, even after the sexual surprises to Hunt's end. Dirty Bird is to be commended for putting together this one-of-a-kind project. Director Blakk's commentary track concentrates on business matters, movie technique and warm, loving anecdotes about the cast most informatively and entertainingly. For instance, Knight wasn't paid for one spontaneous ejaculation! The long behind-the-scenes extra is hilarious and horny.