“I see. Well, I’m not sure what your school schedule will look like in the spring, but I’d love to offer you a full-time position here.”
“In the spring?” I repeat, feeling a small flurry of hope. That might give me time to figure out if it’s possible at least.
“Yeah. You know how it is in April, all the abandoned babies being brought in. Things will be busy, and I’ll need to make sure we have more staff.”
“But what about when fall and winter roll back around, will I be let go?”
“No, this wouldn’t be a seasonal offer. What do you think, are you interested?”
My stomach flutters again and the word yes is on the tip of my tongue. Of course I’m interested. But can I make it work? That’s the bigger question.
“Can I get back to you on that? I’ll need to figure some things out.”
“Of course, take some time and think it over.”
Walking out of Alex’s office, I can’t decide if I’m elated or about to collapse under the weight of my responsibilities. I want so fucking badly to take this job, to get back in school and start working toward my passion. But life doesn’t work that way.
“Did you get the job?” Julie asks as soon as she spots me again.
“He offered it, I told him I’d think it over.” She opens her mouth, but I don’t want to answer any more questions so I whip open the freezer to grab a bag of dead rats. “I’m going to check on the raptors and get them fed.”
“Oh, okay,” she agrees. “By the way, if you pass the ducks, can you peek in and make sure Albert isn’t picking on Kinsey again? Ever since Kinsey broke his wing, Albert has been a real dickwad.”
I give her a salute to let her know I’m on it and head off to get some work done.
A few hours later, I’m leaving the barn smelling like dead rats and various kinds of animal shit, but the smile on my face is huge. There’s just something about being here that makes my soul happy.
Walking to my car, I tilt my head back and look up at the stars. The city lights reach out here to an extent, but there are still visible stars, unlike within the city limits.
I hop up onto the hood of my shitty little car and lie back to look at the sky for a little while, basking in the feeling of peace and rightness being here gives me.
For some strange reason, I suddenly want to bring Jackson out here sometime and share this with him. He grew up on a ranch, I bet he’d appreciate it. Then it occurs to me that bringing him here would open up a lot of questions I don’t want to answer. Hell, it would mean giving him a fuck ton more insight into who I am than I’ve ever given any of the guys I work with. Maybe it’s not such a good idea. It’s a nice thought, though, sitting on the hood of my car all sweaty and smelly together, looking at the stars. Yeah, I think he’d enjoy that.
Eventually, it’s too late to keep sitting here, so I climb off my car and get inside to head home, driving with the windows down and my music loud until I reach the city limits and the sense of peace and freedom leaves me.
One day I’ll be a veterinarian and I’ll live outside the city. I’ll spend my days helping animals and everything about my life will make me happy. One day.
5
Jackson
After shooting for six days straight, it’s my day off today, and I’m too tuckered out to even contemplate going anywhere. It’s hot as Hades outside, the oppressive heat covering the city like a gray, smelly blanket, and I have zero desire to leave this well air-conditioned room. I stepped outside for a few minutes to take out the trash, and I was sweating like a sinner in church.
And to think that when I was house hunting, I debated moving into an apartment without AC, thinking the LA heat couldn’t be as bad as Texas. In hindsight, that was stupidly naïve. I’m happy right where I am, with Cameron as my roommate.
We’ve been roommates for a month now, and I still don’t have a clue what Cameron does for a living. It’s weird, because some days, he comes home with the distinct odor of animals on him. Hello, I grew up on a ranch. I know what animals smell like, and he’s got that scent of hay, of dirty stalls, of animal slobber and fur all over him sometimes. He wears sturdy cargo pants those days, with boots that reek of manure, and he’s tired but happy when he gets back.
Other days, he comes home with his hair still wet from a shower, smelling fresh and soapy. Those are the days when he wears those ridiculously tight jeans that are so perfectly sculpted around his ass I have to force myself to look away. He has one pair that’s faded to the point where I’m holding my breath every time he bends over…but I’m getting distracted here. Those days, he’s plumb tuckered out, the kind of bone tired that has little to do with your body and everything with your head space.
I don’t get it. It’s like he’s two different people, with two separate jobs. I’ll admit, it’s made me very curious, but I don’t want to ask again. It’s clear he doesn’t wanna talk about it, considering he’s blown me off twice now. If he wanted me to know, he would’ve told me, right? I have questions, though, lots of them. Like, the guy doesn’t seem to have much of a social life either. There have been no girls sleeping over, not even visiting, as far as I can tell.
Again, not something I’m gonna comment on, especially since he could say the same from me. No, I haven’t told him I’m gay. Truth be told, I didn’t want to tell him at first. My money is on him being straight, and I don’t want to ruffle his feathers. I fear he might not be too happy being roomies with a gay dude, especially with that habit of his of walking around almost naked. Not that I’m complaining, mind you, but he’d feel mighty uncomfortable if he knew I was gay. I think. Plus, I haven’t found a natural segue yet from hey, how was your day to by the way, I’m gay.
But he’s nice. Strike that, he’s really nice. And super cute. Which obviously, I’m keeping to myself because of the aforementioned gay thing. But there’s nothing wrong with my eyes, and he’s a mighty fine sight. Especially naked or half-dressed. That boy needs to learn to put on some clothes when he saunters around the apartment.
But even dressed, I like hanging out with him. We’ve chatted a bunch of times about random stuff, and he’s been patiently answering all my questions about getting around in LA, places to visit in my spare free time, and more.
Cameron told me he’s working all day today, which is mixed news. I sure wouldn’t have minded spending a little more time with him on my day off, I’ll tell you that. Aside from him being easy on the eyes, there’s this sense of mystery that has me captivated. But I’m also tired, so with him being gone, I’m fixin’ to spend a lazy day inside. And after I did the dishes, cleaned up my room, and ran a load of laundry, I have something else on the agenda.
Porn.
Here’s the thing. I never had much chance to watch any, since my dad put one of them filters on our internet back home. Heck, you couldn’t even search for breast cancer what with how strict the settings were. College wasn’t an improvement, since our college Wi-Fi network—strict conservative Christian college, remember?—had a similar filter. And since my phone was a prepaid one with a data limit, I never had much opportunity to watch any.
Sure, I watched some with friends whose parents weren’t as strict as mine, but that was back when I was still pretending to be straight. Boobs just don’t do much for me. My apologies, ladies. I know y’all work hard at making that porn, but it’s leaving me plumb unsatisfied.
Since moving to LA, let me tell you, I’ve watched a lot. I found some stuff I never even knew existed. Hello, daddy kink. I gotta admit, watching one of them gray-haired bears—aren’t I catching up on learning all the gay lingo?—pound an itty-bitty twink into oblivion is a mighty fine sight to see. I also tried some stuff that didn’t ring my bell, which is fine. But this newbie gay Facebook group I joined had some recommendations for gay porn, which I bookmarked, duh, so I’m fixin’ to try those out.
I install myself on my bed, buck naked of course, and place my laptop so I can see it. I haven’t bought a
TV for my room yet, but with Netflix and Hulu subscriptions Cameron and I share, this works just fine. I try out two sites that came recommended, and after watching some videos, my dick is already leaking like crazy. But I don’t want to finish just yet. Years of playing with myself have taught me that edging is a hell of a lot of fun and totally worth it.
I pull up another rec, a paid site called Ballsy Boys that offers some free previews for nonmembers. There’s a preview of a new shoot, and the picture they show is promising, with the cutest little twink ever taking a big dick. Campy wrecks Pixie’s ass, the one-liner reads, and I chuckle at that nickname as I click. The video starts playing, and one second later, I freeze.
That’s impossible, right? That sexy as all get-out naked guy on screen who is kissing the little twink like there’s no tomorrow can’t be my roomie. It can’t be, and yet as the camera zooms in, there’s no doubt in my mind. That tanned face with the blinding white teeth, that messy brown hair that always makes me want to drag my hand through it, and that toned body, I’d recognize him anywhere by now. It’s Cameron, all right, though he apparently goes by Campy here.
Cameron is doing gay porn? I try to let it sink in as the video continues, Cameron and that cute twink—Pixie—kissing in a way that makes my stomach act all funny. Then they move on from kissing, and the camera travels lower, showing off Cameron’s body. Oh my, he’s perfect, all these tanned lines and hard planes. He’s not bulky, but he’s got the body of an athlete, all tight muscles and not an ounce of fat.
The camera zooms in on his cock, Pixie’s hand wrapping around it, and I have to remind myself that oxygen is essential. Breathe, Jackson, breathe. Oh darn it, he’s perfect. Every inch of his body is utter perfection, and that includes his dick, which is…perfect. I need a thesaurus, because perfect just doesn’t cover it, but my mind is having a hard time functioning at all.
Pixie scrambles down and those full lips wrap around Cameron’s cock. I can almost taste him myself, the slightly salty tang of his precum, the hint of sweat that never fails to turn me on, mixed in with the essence that’s all him. I swallow thickly, my cock so hard it hurts. It’s hard not to be jealous of Pixie, though I don’t even know him, because he gets to taste him, gets to pleasure him. How I wished that were me.
Admittedly, I don’t have a lot of experience in the sex department. I’ve had two partners, which I’m sure is an old-fashioned term, and I remind myself to look up how to better word that—one of the many things I need to learn about gay culture and sex.
One was when I was still in high school and messed around with a guy on my football team. No one knew, obviously. Texas, teens, and football players, it’s like the holy trinity of hell no. But we had some fun exploring, kissing and frotting and giving each other sloppy blow jobs that got better over time. We never went all the way, too scared of the ramifications if anyone found out.
Then in college—a conservative Christian college, of all places, the irony of that wasn’t lost on me—I met another guy who, like me, was shoved deep into the closet. After a month or two of dating in secret, we rented a motel room one night and went all the way. It was clumsy and yet sweet, both of us taking a turn at topping and bottoming.
I liked him and though I was nowhere near in love with him, it was still a blow when he announced his engagement a few weeks after that. Not to me, goodness no, but to a sweet girl he’d been dating for years but had “forgotten” to inform me about. Even worse was that he still wanted to see me. You’d better believe I turned down that proposal faster than I can throw a football. I wasn’t quite that desperate.
So no, I don’t have much experience. It’s one of the things I set myself to rectify here in LA. But Cameron could teach me, right? Or Campy. Either one, though it’s hard for me to think of him as Campy. I don’t care what he calls himself, because the best news ever is that he’s gay. I clearly have to work on my gaydar, but then again, so does he, as he hasn’t pegged me as gay either.
Pixie lets out a soft little moan as Cameron fills him, sinking that perfect dick into his pink hole, stretching it wide open. I can’t stop watching, greedily soaking in every grunt Cameron makes as he slides into him, first slow and then with a force that causes his balls to slap against Pixie’s ass. The sound alone is intoxicating, and I can’t resist the urge anymore to wrap my hand around my cock and start stroking myself in the same rhythm.
“Oh, you feel so good,” Pixie moans.
Why yes, he does, I think, increasing the pressure on my dick. Cameron sneaks a hand around to wrap it around Pixie’s cock, and I have no trouble imagining my own hand is his, firmly gripping my dick and stroking hard. He’d know to relax just a little on the downward move, then grip tightly on the upward one, fisting the crown. It’s sopping with my juices, all slick and slippery, and I love the sound it makes as it mingles with the increased noises from the video.
Then Cameron lets out a low, deep moan, and I let go. My balls empty themselves as I come hard all over my chest, while Cameron and Pixie have their own cum-fest on screen. I have to wipe my hand on a tissue before I can turn off the video, and I sag back down on my bed, still shaking.
Cameron is gay. It’s that thought that fills me more than anything else. He’s gay. And as my heart rate finally settles a bit, my decision is made.
I’m gonna ask him out.
6
Campy
“Mom,” I call out as I step into her small house about an hour outside LA. The house is quiet and dark, but her car is in the driveway so I know she must be home. “Mom,” I call again, making my way down the hall to her bedroom.
I give a light rap at her door and hear rustling on the other side.
“Cameron?” Her voice sounds tired.
I push the door open and I’m not surprised to find her in bed, clearly just waking up.
“What time is it?” She rubs her eyes and tries to sit up, but winces in pain and sinks back down.
I hurry over to her and sit down on the edge of the bed. “Don’t try to get up. Is the pain bad today?”
She nods weakly and tries to give me a reassuring smile. It breaks my heart to see my mom this way. Growing up, she was like Wonder Woman to me. My dad peaced out when I was a baby and she raised me on her own, working as a maternity ward nurse. Then, five years ago, she started experiencing fatigue and severe back pain. That’s how it started, but it soon progressed to losing coordination in her hands at times, dizziness, and muscle spasms.
After her diagnosis, she was determined to keep working, but that only lasted about six months before she had to admit she wasn’t able to do her job anymore. Even with the symptoms coming and going, there was no way to know when she would have a bad day, and she couldn’t stand to have to call in so often on such short notice. She was devastated when she had to quit, and she’s never quite bounced back emotionally.
“Have you been in bed all day? Do you want me to fix you something to eat?” She looks a little guilty and I know instantly she’s been having more than just one bad day. “How long?”
“Oh, just a couple of days.” She tries to wave me off and her hand tremors.
“Why didn’t you tell me when I called? I would’ve been over here right away. Have you eaten or showered?”
“I didn’t want to bother you. You’re so busy working, making sure you can pay all of my bills.” There’s even more guilt and bitterness in her voice. “I don’t want to burden you more than I already am.”
“It’s not a burden,” I assure her. “If you can’t get out of bed to take care of yourself, then I need to be here to help.”
This is exactly why I need to find a way to afford a home health care aide to at least stop by daily. My original plan with Jackson moving in was to use the extra money I was saving on rent to cut back my hours at Ballsy, but this is more important.
“I’m going to hire you an aide. Once I get you fed and taken care of, I’m going to go online and start looking. I’ll call off my barn shift an
d stay here the rest of the day, and for the next few days until you’re feeling better.”
“Cameron,” she tries to argue but I fix her with a look that tells her to save it.
“I’ll have to duck out tomorrow afternoon for work, but I’ll come right back after.”
She pats my hand and gives me a more genuine smile this time. “I’m so proud of my boy, working at a vet clinic and saving animals, and all the volunteering you do at that wildlife rehab.”
I bite the inside of my cheek against the guilt rising in my throat. It’s not like I could tell her how I’m really covering her medical expenses. I wish I could work at a vet clinic, but the paycheck would barely cover my own bills, let alone hers. I honestly can’t think of another job I could do with my thin resume that would make her care possible. Better porn than drug dealing, right? I just wish I didn’t have to lie to her about it. After everything she’s done for me, this is how I repay her? By doing porn and lying straight to her face? Son of the year, ladies and gentlemen.
I help my mom to the shower and then go to the kitchen to fix her something to eat, keeping an ear out in case she calls for help. Once I have lunch assembled for her, I pull out my phone and call Jackson to let him know I won’t be home for a few days.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Jackson,” I say into the phone, hurrying over to help my mom to the table when she shuffles into the kitchen. “I wanted to let you know I won’t be home for the next few days. I didn’t want you to worry or anything.”
“Oh?” He sounds curious, but clearly doesn’t want to pry. It’s that politeness in most people that makes it easy to avoid giving more information than I want to. People may be dying to know what’s going on in your personal life, but they’ll rarely come right out and ask.
Campy (Ballsy Boys Book 4) Page 4
