Covet (Straight Taste Book 4)

by Jaylen Florian

  "You're single, too?" I asked.

  "Oh yeah, no use trying to put a mustang in a pen."

  He shook his head and I laughed along with him.

  "No kids for me yet either. Maybe in about ten years or so, we'll see."

  "All I know about you is that you live out west and served in the military."

  "I'm in Vegas now," Brandon said. "I fly copters for a private company. Give tours. It's a good fit for me. I think I'll do it a few more years."

  "Fun! Where do you fly?"

  "I split my time between short and long tours out of the Vegas and Henderson airports. The flights over the Vegas strip last about twenty minutes. The trips to the Grand Canyon are just over two hours."

  "I've never been in a helicopter. I can only imagine what it would be like."

  "People love them. They offer unmatched views. We go right over the tops of the casinos and the mountains, so close it seems like you could reach your arm out and touch them."

  "These are rich people taking private rides?"

  "Rich and not so rich," Brandon shrugged. "The choppers are big airbuses. Seating eight people. The volume makes it kind of affordable."

  "One day..."

  "You been to Vegas before?"

  "Not yet."

  "Just get yourself there and I'll fly you on the tours at no charge."

  Brandon brought us second cans of beer and talked at length about his love for travel. He had difficulty choosing a career path after his years of service, but he didn't blame the military. Brandon said he was consumed with passion to see the world and feared getting stuck in an office job where he had to obey a boss and take orders. He also confided that he wasn't so good with money. It slipped through his hands like sand.

  "The pay for flying is great, but I always need more. I can't save a cent to save my freaking life. So I do odd jobs on the side, whatever I want, some things that interest me and haul in a few more bucks now and then."

  That sneaky gleam was back, looking at me out of the corner of Brandon's eyes, but I didn't understand. I assured him I understood financial hardship, too.

  "What do you do about it?" he asked.

  "I live as frugally as I can," I answered. "I don't require anything fancy."

  "Okay."

  "What kind of things do you do to ease your money woes?"

  "Listen, I'm starving. Let me take you to a dinner buffet—do they have any here in town?—and I might tell you a thing or two about what I do on the side on occasion."

  Chapter 8

  The closest thing to a buffet I could find for Brandon was a vegetarian restaurant north of downtown, sandwiched between an art gallery and hair salon. Fortunately, Brandon loved it. The restaurant had five self-service food stations we generously helped ourselves to, beginning with a salad bar, followed by a soup bar, a baked potato bar, a pasta bar, and a desert bar.

  I asked Brandon about his trips abroad. Peppering him with questions throughout our meal about his time in Amsterdam, Athens, Egypt, London, and Paris, he was happy to share his impressions. Brandon's eyes lit up when he recalled his best memories. Not only was dinner conversation completely unstrained and enjoyable, I grew to admire Brandon even more. Instead of mentioning getting drunk and hooking up with women, Brandon relayed stories about the Eiffel Tower and Seine River, Buckingham Palace and Westminster Abbey, ancient canals and old churches, pyramids and tombs, and the Parthenon. Further, he didn't try to impress me by stating how fancy his hotels or resorts were or what he had for dinner in elegant restaurants.

  Brandon's longtime friendship with Andrew now made more sense to me. Both had down-to-earth qualities that I found deeply appealing.

  We were halfway back to the duplex in his rental car before I remembered to ask Brandon about the source of his moonlighting income.

  "Ah, Kieran," he laughed, "I forgot I had promised that."

  I sensed he was ambivalent about changing topics. "It's something illegal?"

  "Naw, it's perfectly legal. Just a far cry, maybe, from the lofty version of myself I have been telling you about to the baser and cruder side of myself. That's all."

  "Porn?"

  "Well, no, not in the traditional sense." Brandon hesitated to describe it. "What do you know about web cams?"

  He described the growing popularity of adult web sites featuring "amateurs," rather than professional pornographic actors and actresses. Brandon could display himself on a web camera, in his apartment or in a hotel room, wherever he had some privacy. He alone could decide what he was willing to do, or show, on his web cam shows. The sites were free for viewers to visit, but amateur performers, like him, made money by receiving tips—in the form of tokens purchased by viewers—from appreciative supporters and those who had specific exhibition requests. Brandon said he only performed solo, but many other amateurs performing on camera included second and third partners, including spouses, girlfriends, or even strangers.

  "People get to watch you shower?" I asked, remembering a web cam advertisement I had once seen on a web site offering intimate shower viewing.

  "I've done that," Brandon answered. "If it's real personal, like jacking off and shooting my load, then I make the fan take me private for a one-on-show show experience."

  "How much does that cost?"

  "Whatever I decide at the moment."

  "You set your own rules?"

  "Yeah, the site has some specific requirements. Like you can't promise something for tokens and then not deliver on the deal. Only an idiot would do that because the site could ban your account and withhold your money. But, for the most part, I make my own rules. I usually just show off my body for tokens. Take my shirt off, show my ass, that kind of thing. If someone tips generously, I'll flash my junk for them."

  "It's good money, Brandon? Can I ask that?"

  "Hell yes, I usually do well."

  "That doesn't surprise me at all." I flushed as soon as the compliment left my mouth.

  "Thank you, Kieran." Brandon glanced at me and grinned. "There are many attractive men and women and couples on there. Tons of competition. At first, I made peanuts. But over time, I've built up a loyal audience. They can chat with me by typing in messages. The site has a button that lets viewers 'follow' their favorite performers, alerting them by text or email or computer notification when they are doing a cam show."

  We pulled up in front of the duplex. Brandon parked the rental car and shut off the engine.

  "I've been trying to bust through to fifty," he added. "I'm stuck at forty. It's like a plateau. But the more super fans, the better my rank and position on the site, which means more exposure and more income. You get the drift, don't you?"

  "Your goal is fifty followers?" I asked, as I got out of the car.

  Brandon chuckled as he locked the car and joined me on the sidewalk. "Fifty thousand followers."

  "What!"

  "Yeah. Fifty grand."

  "That's equal to every single person in this town, then tripling that number, and tripling it again!"

  "The viewers and fans are worldwide."

  "Wow, and you get to do this all at home, whenever you want, however you want?"

  We climbed the steps in front of the duplex.

  "Kieran, you have a computer or tablet?"

  "I have a desktop computer."

  "Invite me in and I'll show you the site."

  Chapter 9

  We were in my bedroom. Brandon sat at the small desk holding my computer and I was on the corner edge of my bed watching him log on to the web cam site. His aviator jacket hung from the back of the chair behind him and he had on a tight black t-shirt that fit snugly on his biceps.

  To help me see, Brandon expanded the browser to fit the entire monitor and activated my web camera, which was built into the top frame of the computer. With a couple of clicks, a screen popped up—wider than tall, with dimensions like a television set—and there was Brandon, from the chest up, staring back at us from my desk. I could see my fac
e, too, barely visible over his shoulder.

  "You're broadcasting?" I asked. "Right now?"

  "We're live to the world," Brandon answered.

  He muted the microphone so he could explain the site's features to me without any of his viewers listening in. He also typed a heading under his cam screen that read, "Sorry, no exhibition right now, just showing this site to a friend."

  Brandon scooted his chair over so I could get a better look at the monitor. "It's a simple arrangement," he explained. "To the right of the web cam display screen is the chat box. This is where people can type in messages to me. Usually, they're begging for dick or hole or whatever, but sometimes they do so in clever ways that gives me a chuckle or two. Underneath the screen is a listing of basic information—language, age, country, some legalese prohibiting them from taping my shows, and so forth. And there is the line with my current number of followers. Right now that number is 41,489."

  "I've got it so far," I replied. "And how do people find your cam?"

  Brandon clicked on the site's logo at top left, taking us to the homepage. It was dominated with rows of live webcams, five cams per line, all the way down the page. Under each cam image was a username and location. In Brandon's case, the username was a meaningless jumble of numbers and letters and he had listed his location as "Land of Fantasy." I leaned forward to better see the rows.

  "There's usually at least a hundred pages, all just like this," Brandon said. "It goes on and on. The cameras with the most viewers make the homepage. This is almost always super hot heterosexual couples or groups of hot girls messing around. It's very rare to see a dude by himself on the homepage. But look here. These tabs near the top of the page filter out cameras to your interests. You can choose female, male, couples, or trans." He clicked the "male" tab and the screen filled with cameras featuring solo men and men with visible friends or partners. "So people can scout around and explore. As you can see, the competition is fierce, right?"

  "I had no idea this was so popular," I said.

  "It makes sense, Kieran. Think about it. It's participatory. You're not just watching someone. You are getting to compliment him or her, make requests, listen to the music they're playing, or whatever. There are times when all I do is come on here and talk about my day, my workouts, or chat about a movie I've seen and liked, and that stuff builds my connection with my fans."

  "They know you're a pilot?"

  "No way! I never say my real name, actual location, or hint at anything to do with my job. I'm extremely careful. There's nothing wrong with doing this, as long as you don't connect it to your real life. It's like anything else on the web. Great caution is needed on what you post, however, the internet is so vast that you can stay pretty anonymous."

  "Even with 41,489 followers?"

  "Damn right," he laughed. "Ah, and I forgot to show you this feature. I can split the screen to see what I am broadcasting while watching another cam of my choice at the same time. There are some seriously sexy ladies on here every night."

  "I'm bombarding you with questions," I said, "but this is interesting. Are you on every night?"

  "Naw, I try to do it a couple of times per week."

  Observing Brandon and myself together on the screen, I was taken aback by how we looked together. I didn't seem worthless and puny next to him after all, though clearly he was far more attractive and hunky. Sharing similarities in hair and skin tone, with our ginger and red and pink coloration, it seemed like we could have passed as cousins. Brandon traded places with me so I could be closer to the screen. I clicked on several pages to view Brandon's competition. The chat box was rolling with comments from viewers.

  "Your viewers are commenting on my eyes being two different colors," I said, reading comments by some that I had heterochromatic eyes like David Bowie—one blue, one green.

  Brandon peered down over my shoulder to read the messages. "They notice everything. Most are kind. If someone says something we don't like we can ban them with one click of a button beside their screen name."

  "Do you have to ban people much?"

  "Nope, every once in awhile someone gets offensive when I don't do what they want. But it's all right there in my bio. I'm dominant. I don't want them ordering me around. If they send me a tip, I'll consider their requests. I won't tolerate being treated like a puppet."

  As Brandon had said, I noticed the line in his biographical information, underlined and in bold, that he was "alpha" and "dominant," warning that anyone too demanding risked getting permanently banned from his page.

  A sudden cha-ching sound startled me. "What's that?"

  "Tokens," he answered. "Someone just gave a tip. Trade places back to the bed so I can have the chair and see what's going on." We switched seats. "I always thank people for their tips, so I'm activating your microphone now. Remember not to say my name, okay?"

  "I won't, no worries."

  Andrew looked directly into the camera, smiled, and thanked the tipper by name. "No show today, but I appreciate the support. My friend here is a cam virgin and I'm just showing him how it all works. Who knows? Maybe one day you'll see him on his own cam."

  From my vantage point on the corner of the bed, I could read the comments tumbling into the chat box. The moment Brandon had turned on the microphone they had escalated with greetings and compliments about how good he was looking today. Interspersed were questions about me.

  "As I said," Brandon announced, "we're not here to play. Sorry, folks. Just me and a buddy poking around for a few minutes." Brandon kept reading the chat entries, most of which had become inquiries asking who I was and what was the new location of his cam.

  Brandon looked over his shoulder at me. "They like you."

  "They're crazy," I responded, "I'm just a regular guy, at best."

  Brandon read some more. "They heard you talk just now and they say you are humble and sweet."

  "Are you joking?"

  Brandon laughed. "Don't be so hard on yourself. Some of them like you and that's that."

  Another cha-ching blared out, followed by another.

  "What's going on?" I asked.

  "They're sending some sugar," Brandon answered. He bent close to the camera and spoke to his followers. "It's mighty nice you good people are making my friend know he is so welcome his first time on cam. I've said it before, and I'll say it again, I have the best fans on this whole site."

  "How much are they sending?"

  "It's coming up on ten bucks."

  "In the few minutes we have been sitting here?" My voice was high and animated because nothing had happened at all. We were just sitting in front of the screen and reading the chats.

  Another cha-ching.

  "Whoa, that was a big one!" Brandon said, then thanked the contributor by name. "You guys are going to make us feel bad. Love the tips. But there's no show tonight. Don't make me harbor guilt for taking your money. You know I only play around solo on here."

  The chat box was pummeled with pleas that Brandon and I strip together. Brandon shook his head and grinned, inadvertently suggesting to them that he was considering it. But he wasn't. He put both of his hands out and waved them. "Slow down. The requests and comments are coming in so fast I can't read them."

  Two more tips banged through the speaker.

  "What's gotten into you folks?" Brandon asked them. "You're all fired up today! Neither of us are getting naked. Please don't ask us to show off together. That's not happening."

  Brandon muted the microphone, stood up, and turned toward me so that his back was to the web cam. He told me eighteen dollars had poured in and they deserved something for that. Brandon asked if I was cool with him taking off his shirt and showing them his gratitude.

  "Of course," I answered. "I'm sure your competitors are doing far more, so whatever you need to do to keep your fans engaged is fine by me."

  "Awesome." Brandon handed me the key to Andrew's door. "Will you get us a few beers each from his fridge? Let's settle in for a w
hile and find out generous they could be tonight."

  Chapter 10

  Within half an hour both Brandon and I had our shirts off. His nipples, exquisitely shaped on a muscular chest, beckoned me to pinch them, but I didn't dare. The tips and compliments were rolling in. Brandon and I had each downed a few beers, off camera, as drinking alcohol was forbidden by the web site during performances.

  I couldn't keep my eyes off of Brandon's broad back and powerful arms, which didn't go unnoticed by the fans. They quickly understood the dynamic of a gay and straight man on cam together. Rather than hurling insults or pity at me for my captivation with him, the viewers thought it was "cute" and sent Brandon messages urging him to let me touch him.

  "Everyone's welcome in my room," Brandon announced, speaking into the microphone to the audience. "We don't judge here, do we? This young man here is my buddy and he isn't going to be touching me tonight. I mean, it would take tons of tips, and even then I'm not sure. We're here as friends, not to mess around for you. In fact, we didn't plan this at all. I was just showing him how web cams work."

  The incoming tokens and pleadings hit a crescendo. Brandon shook his head in disbelief. He looked over his shoulder at me. "They're begging like crazy," he said. "Do you want to stop?"

  "No, I'm having fun."

  "Should we tease them some and show our gratitude?"

  "Let's do it. Anything you want."

  "Whoa, dude, they can hear you!" Brandon laughed and turned his attention back to his fans. "I guess we're going to heat things up a tiny bit. But I don't touch guys, so stop asking for that. Tell us what you want—something reasonable—and we'll consider it."

  The responses ran the gamut. Most of all, they wanted Brandon and me to take our pants off. Reluctantly, Brandon finally agreed. "Okay, just this once, because everyone's being so appreciative with tokens tonight. I'll let my friend here take my pants off."

  Whatever got into me at that moment, I didn't seem like myself. Without any hesitation or shyness, I bounced to my feet and stood behind Brandon. Perhaps intoxicated by the sexiest man imaginable being just within my grasp, the adoration from his fans, or the effects of the beer, or all of the above, I abandoned my restraints and gave the audience what it, and I, wanted. Reaching around Brandon's waist, and pressing against his back while doing so, I unbuttoned his fatigues. Ever so slowly, ramping up the tension and drama, I lowered his zipper. Brandon's bulge swelled against my hand. Before sliding his pants down, I pressed my face against his hip. Brandon was tenting his white briefs, engorged to half mast, with the lines of his penis clearly visible under the stretched fabric. The buzz of incoming tokens chimed in a constant stream.