by Amy Lane
Oh God, he’s going to come.
And Ethan’s egging him on, grabbing his hand, hauling his ass up….
Oh God, he’s going to come!
And he looks like he loves it, that big thing in his body, pure ecstasy pure bliss pure orgasm on his face as he’s….
Grab your cock you moron, you’re….
…going to come!
Chase shoved his hand down his jeans and squeezed hard once, twice, again, and then shot, silently, into his underwear. He sat at the computer for a few moments, shuddering, praying Mercy hadn’t woken up to hear, until the final spasm rocked his body. When he’d stopped, he wiped his hand off on the inside of his jeans, cleared the video off his screen, and closed the laptop. He stood up very quietly to put his jeans in the laundry—which he made note of to do early in the morning, so Mercy didn’t get to it first—and take a brief shower.
He very carefully didn’t think of anything at all, not the two gods on the computer screen, not his physical reaction to them, not his effort to hide his masturbation from his girlfriend—nothing.
Not even the way his balls still ached from his orgasm.
JOHN called the next day to schedule a date in the next week for the shot. It was weird, but until Chase was told to save his load, he never really appreciated how often he and Mercy did not have sex. Three days? Three days was nothing. She worked overtime for two of them, and on the third, he worked out for an extra hour and was exhausted. (He’d been appalled by the amount of baby fat on his stomach and chin when he’d seen himself on camera, and determined to make that change.) Mercy was a little disappointed, but he gave her a foot rub and that seemed to be that. He went to sleep like the next day was nothing special.
His stomach had been buzzing the entire week before the shoot.
He remembered Christmases as a kid—all of that crazy anticipation, and usually, he ended up getting shit he really didn’t care about. Socks, sweaters, the occasional baseball hat (which he really loved). He never got trading cards or a bike or a baseball mitt or an erector set—all the stuff had to be earned through chores, because his dad didn’t believe in giving free rides, ever—and generally? The best part about Christmas had been hanging with Donnie and Kevin for the whole two weeks of vacation. Donnie’s mom actually gave them real presents, like trading cards and action figures and stuff, and made hot chocolate and cookies and all of the things that you were supposed to get at Christmas, and Chase didn’t know if he’d ever quite told Mrs. Armstrong how much those action figures and trading cards had meant to him.
But the thing was, he’d always been disappointed. Christmas was takeout food with his dad and a morning of opening shit he didn’t want on the coffee table, because some years, a tree was just too much trouble. Christmas was watching his dad roll his eyes at the card he’d made at school, or the present he’d bought with his own money or even made in Dad’s woodshop, because he was pretty good with tools.
Eventually, he’d stopped getting excited about Christmas, and then he didn’t have to be disappointed. (Oddly enough, he’d discovered that the not getting excited made the things Donnie’s mom did for him even more precious, but still, he didn’t have words to tell her.)
So this stomach buzzing… this was something new. Something strange and wonderful. The last time he remembered anything like this was that set of precious minutes in Donnie’s room, when he was playing video games. There had been that moment between, “God, I wonder if Donnie would touch me?” and unbuttoning his pants and pulling his erection out of his shorts that had been a caffeine/cocaine/adrenaline high of excitement, topped only by the feel of Donnie’s (Donnie’s!) skin against his, and the orgasm itself.
He could hardly keep contained in his own skin, he was so excited. It felt like his cock was always at half-mast, always sensitized, always ready to just fill up and explode. So not having sex with Mercy was easy, but in the day, when Mercy was gone and he was home (ostensibly looking for more construction work; although he was getting paid for this video and for the introductory one too, he hadn’t told her that, in case this fell through), it was about all he could do not to imagine what was going to happen and then just cream in his shorts with excitement.
He didn’t think men could actually do that, but he imagined for a moment, a hand on his body that wasn’t his own, a male hand, one with strong bones and a sure grip, and he almost got himself off while leaning against the counter.
After that he tried to tamp down on the buzz a little. He tried valiantly to think about Christmas.
THE day before the shoot, after his workout, he got a call from a guy calling him Chance. For a second he was confused, and then he remembered: he was Chance. The guy on the other end of the line was Dex; it took him a minute to place the name, and then he realized it was the guy he was supposed to film with. His voice was a mid-range tenor, and he sounded a lot like the guys Chase had gone to school with as he asked if he wanted to meet for lunch at Jamba Juice.
Chase was actually relieved. It was like getting to open the package before Christmas, which meant the natural disappointment could begin and the terrible anticipation could stop distracting him from his goal of cleaning the apartment spotlessly, detailing Mercy’s car, and cooking dinner from an actual cookbook with a salad and a dessert and everything.
And from thinking about why it was so damned imperative that he do all that shit before the shoot the next day.
Dex turned out to be… beautiful. Blindingly beautiful, with blond hair (his looked natural) and a long oval of a face and two slightly bucked teeth. He smiled disarmingly as Chase walked in, and offered to buy Chase anything on the menu.
Chase shrugged—he usually went for a little more protein—and that’s when Dex got right to the heart of it.
“Okay, there’s some shit no one wants to talk about in this business, but we’ve got a scene together, and I figure you’ll want to know, ’kay?”
Chase nodded, his eyes big. Oh God—they were in the middle of Jamba Juice—was this guy gonna start talking about—
“Gas,” Dex said frankly. “Avoid it. I get the banana-strawberry here with the protein supplement and a whole-wheat pretzel the day before a shoot because it settles my stomach. You’re free to get what you want, and you should have some fruit and some milk in the morning for energy, but you don’t want too much in the pipes, and what you do have needs to be small, near the top, and eco-friendly, do you feel me?”
No, and now I don’t really want to.
“Peach,” Chase said blankly, “and what you’re having.” Well, thank God this wasn’t going to be awkward or anything.
Dex laughed a little. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you off. It’s just that—” Dex paused for a minute and gave their orders to the cashier. He paid and they went to the back of the store. Chase realized that Dex was good at keeping his expression natural and his voice pitched not too loud. No one could hear him, but he wasn’t having one of those secret conversations that made everyone want to hear him, either.
“It’s just that,” Dex said, leaning back against the glass wall, casual and self-contained, “no one really talks about what it’s like to have all the pretty sex with people who are, essentially, coworkers, right? And coworkers can be awesome people—I mean, I love the guys at Johnnies like my brothers, you know? Kill or die for them, fuck ’em silly, whatever. But we get really close to one another, and you just need to learn that some shit is courtesy, okay?”
Okay—that’s actually common sense.
“Yeah,” Chase said, nodding. “I’m all ears.”
At that moment, the counter-girl called Dex’s name and Dex got their drinks and pretzels, and they went outside into what was promising to be a beautiful late-October day.
There was just enough wind to eddy the leaves around the parking lot, and the sky was that blue—that unforgettable cobalt blue—that always spoke of happy and sad to Chase, who was sorry to see the end of baseball season but who had always,
unaccountably, loved winter.
Maybe he was still waiting for Christmas.
“Okay,” Chase said, after taking a deep pull off his smoothie and savoring it. Jamba Juice was still not a favorite now, but Dex had a point: it didn’t give him gas.
Dex nodded. “’kay, so the hygiene—all the time. Even if you’re not sure you’re going to do anal or anyone’s going to do you, the enema and diet stuff just keeps your whole personal space clean and friendly. It’s one of the reasons we let them rip out our sphincter hair, yanno?”
Chase grimaced. He’d had to tell Mercy that he’d won a free body wax from a school club, and that it helped with the weight lifting. She’d liked it, but he still thought his privates looked really naked without fur.
“Yeah, I hear you. So, anything else gross?”
Dex laughed. “You’re going to need to kiss. I know, your resume says you’re straight, and some of the straight guys, they come in thinking it’s just nerve endings, right? So they plan to close their eyes, get their nerve endings fondled, and no kissing.” Dex shook his head. “You’ve got to. We’re selling intimacy here with our sex. It’s why people want to see us talking to each other or watch us undress. Don’t be afraid to kiss or to touch or to pat or praise. No one is going to think any worse of you on set, and it may weird you out at first, but you’ll get used to it.” Dex took a swig of his drink and nibbled on some pretzel. “You play baseball, right?”
Chase nodded, trying to remember that this guy had seen his profile—hell, had probably seen him jerk off on screen.
“Yeah, so think of kissing like patting other guys on the ass. It’s something you do to show a coworker appreciation, and you can live with that.”
Oh God yes!
“I’ll try not to be too stiff,” he mumbled, trying to hide the flush over his body. God, this was like unwrapping a Christmas present early—except finding out it was the bike you always wanted!
Dex chuckled drily. “Now don’t promise that,” he said with a wink, and Chase laughed hard enough to spit smoothie. Dex laughed some more and Chase wiped his mouth and blushed and tried to smile back like he was just some dumb jock who meant to do that.
Then Dex said, “Yeah, try not to do that either on set,” and Chase was lost. He broke into giggles so bad he had to rest his face in his arms until he was laughed out.
When he looked up, Dex was grinning evilly, and Chase grimaced and threw a wadded-up napkin at him. Dex ducked and caught the napkin and threw it back.
“Thanks, asshole!” Chase said, but he was still laughing. God, it felt like he hadn’t laughed in such a long time. Maybe since he’d met Mercy in the library at school that last time, the time before their first date.
“You’re welcome,” Dex said smugly. “You keep laughing like that, you’re going to have a good time with us, okay?”
Chase nodded, and realized he’d forgotten for a minute why he was there. Maybe that was good. Maybe that would make Dex feel like a coworker, just like he said.
“Anything else?” he asked, eating some more of his pretzel. God, this wasn’t going to be enough. He’d have to have a… a… a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on whole wheat would probably be his best bet, hah?
Dex nodded. “Yeah—now I saw your profile, and you say you’ve got a girlfriend. Does she know what’s doing?”
It would break her heart. She’d hate me, and never speak to me again, and she never did anything wrong to deserve this and God, Mercy, I just want… just want… crap, the money’s good.
Chase shook his head. “She has no idea.” He cringed a little, expecting Dex to blow him up for lying to his girlfriend, for hiding part of his life, for not being an out and proud straight man doing gay porn.
“Okay, then this shit is critical,” Dex said, blowing Chase’s anxiety out of the water, but not much else.
Chase nodded, all ears.
“You’re going to have bruises—maybe not tomorrow’s shoot, but any shoot where you get really physical, whether you’re the top or the bottom, someone’s going to be grabbing an arm or a thigh or a hip and holding on for dear life. If you’re on top, you’re going to get them on your hips; if you’re on bottom, you’re going to get them on your ass. Hickeys, whisker burn, bruises, muscle fatigue—if you’ve never fucked a man, you don’t know, but we go at it like an Olympic fucking sport. If you’re straight, it’s all about nerve endings, right? Well, you’ve got to hit those babies hard and do it right, and that’s not always butterflies and lollipops. Even if you don’t like rough with your girl—or anyone—this is different. You’re going to be marked. If she doesn’t know, you may want to take a business trip, see the folks, something, and then do it with the lights off when you get back.”
Oh God. I’m going to come in my pants.
“I can do that.” Chase shrugged and drank so much smoothie he got brain freeze and had to swallow quickly and try really hard not to press the heel of his hand against his eyeball. Dex saw him do that and laughed, and reached across the table to clap him on the shoulder.
“You’ll do fine,” he said.
I’m gonna get sex! Sex! Sex sex sex sex sex… from a man!
“You saw the video—I’ve got a body made for porn.” He tried a cocky grin, the kind he gave when he was at the pitcher’s mound and he knew he was inside the hitter’s head.
Dex rolled his eyes. “God, yes! I can’t wait to fucking blow you—that’s going to be a trip!”
Chase managed valiantly not to do anything else weird with his smoothie, but his eyes must have gotten as big as softballs, because Dex laughed some more. It was a good laugh, and his smile was charming, but Chase had a moment when he realized that Dex wasn’t Donnie, and it made him almost miss what came next.
“That’s another thing—”
“God, those words are starting to freak me out!” Say them again! Say I’ll be someone else on set, someone free, someone sexy, someone who can hold and touch and be held and lov—someone who is happy.
“Well, get used to them,” Dex said drolly. “See, the thing is, if there’s anything you don’t want to do, be up front. Some guys like rimming, some guys refuse. Some guys hate getting rimmed but don’t mind doing it themselves. Whatever. If you’ve got something you just can’t? Talk about it before the shoot, because sometimes, we really do just roll with it, okay? I mean, not with the huge stuff, like penetration, but tomorrow? If you’re looking into it, turning me on, I may reach out and touch you. If it’s weird and you don’t like it, just move my hand, but don’t freak out, okay? Let us know so we don’t have any embarrassment on set, but if you don’t let us know, sometimes the moment does take you, and that makes for good camera sometimes, so John likes it.”
Oh yeah. I’ll be doing it for someone else. And for a moment, the bike became tarnished—maybe it was used, or had a banana seat, when everyone knew they’d been out of style forever. But still… it was a bike. He’d never gotten a bike before.
“Is there anything else he likes?” John had seemed on the up and up, for a porn director, hadn’t he? For a second Chase waited uncomfortably to find out that his bike was a poisonous snake.
Dex nodded so matter-of-factly that Chase didn’t even have time to be afraid. “Yeah, you have to watch where you put your hands. You may want to touch someone’s face or their ass or something—but watch where the camera is. They want to see our faces, our cocks, and our penetration. They definitely need to see us blow our wads. The guys with the cameras have the angles all figured out and shit, and they try to stay out of our way, but we’ve got to help them out. So if you want to touch someone’s face, do it with the hand on the side away from the cameras.”
Oh yay! It really is a bike, and I’m going to ride….
“Geez, I hope I remember that!” He did too.
Dex shrugged. “You’ll be with a veteran for the first couple of shots. If you’re good, if you get lots of downloads and some good responses, eventually you’ll be the veteran, and
you’ll remember. No worries, okay?”
Chase nodded his head enthusiastically. “Man, I’ve got a lot less now!”
Dex smiled. “Any questions? I mean seriously—personal, not personal, your choice, okay? No judgments.”
Chase nodded. “So, do the guys hang out, or is it business and go home?”
“Oh no. We definitely hang out. Those of us who are local go to the same gym, you know? Just to work out together—we even get a discount.”
“That would be awesome. When baseball isn’t in season, I’ve got no one to work out with. It’s sort of depressing.” He used to work out with Donnie, but now Donnie worked out with his boyfriend, and Kevin was unreliable at best.
“Well, there you go. We can hook you up. Anything else?”
Are there relationships on set? How many of the guys are gay? How many straight? How many bi? Is it going to matter if one of them is touching me? Blowing me? Has his cock up my ass? Will I feel it? Will I be able to tell the difference? Can I separate the need in my skin from the job I’m going to do? Can you help me do that?
“Yeah, is all porn like this?”
Dex laughed a little and shook his head. “Not as far as I know. Johnnies is really good about trying to keep things friendly and trying to make it seem like a family. We have our dramas, and we don’t always get along, and John tries not to make us work together when that happens, and we try to keep things professional so he doesn’t have to get too into our business to put sex on tape, you know?”
Chase blinked. He’d never really thought about that.
“Yeah, that would suck if you had to fuck an asshole,” he said thoughtfully, and this time it was Dex who spit out his drink, and then Chase realized what he’d said and the rest of his questions got giggled into the cradle of his arms on the table.
