Instafamous

by Marcus Herzig

  “What are we gonna do?” he said, breaking the silence, and I wasn’t sure if it was a rhetorical question or if he was actually asking me for advice. That would have been a first.

  I shrugged. “Not much we can do, I guess. I mean, we don’t know what this guy is gonna do. Or if he’s gonna do anything at all.”

  He pursed his lips. Then he shook his head and said, “Since when did you become such an optimist? How would anyone sinister enough to point a camera at us doing what we did not make use of it?”

  “I don’t know.” I thought about it for a moment, then I said, “I mean, there are only three possibilities, right? Number one, he took a picture or a video of us, but he’s never actually gonna do anything with it. Maybe he’ll look at it every once in a while for his own amusement, but he’ll never show it to anyone else.”

  Ben winced at the word amusement. “Ugh! That’s disgusting.”

  I nodded. “It’s also the best-case scenario. Option number two, he shares whatever he has with people. Doesn’t even matter if he shares it with two people or two thousand. Once it’s out there, it’s out there, and whoever sees it will share it with more people. People we know.”

  “It’ll be our death.”

  I was assuming he meant it figuratively, not literally. “Anyway, number three, he starts blackmailing us. You know, ‘Do whatever I say or I’ll post it on Facebook.’”

  “Great,” Ben said. “We’ll be broke first, then dead.”

  “Well,” I said, shrugging, “unless we take preemptive action.”

  He frowned at me. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, think about it. What would be the worst about this photo or video getting out?” He looked at me, and I could see in his eyes that he knew the answer to my question, but he was too scared to say it out loud, so I had to say it. “It would be people finding out that you’re gay, right?”

  He averted his gaze and shrugged. “I guess.”

  “Right,” I said. “So if we came out before he outed us, we could take the sting out of it. Not the whole sting, because even if people know we’re gay it would still be super embarrassing to have them watch me sucking you off. But at least the coming out would be on our own terms.”

  Ben shook his head emphatically. “Are you out of your mind? That is so not gonna happen.”

  “I’m just saying,” I said and shrugged. “So how do you wanna play it?”

  “I have no freaking idea, Noah,” he said. He pondered the question for a few seconds, then he added, “We can’t be seen together.”

  I scoffed and said, “What else is new?” It came out snarkier than I had planned, but the criticism was valid. We couldn’t be seen together before, so I wasn’t sure how the future was going to be different.

  When Ben saw my questioning look, he said, “I mean at all. No more secret meetings either. Whoever did this will be watching us. If he sees you walk into a bathroom and me two minutes later, he might follow us and try to pull the same stunt again. Let’s just wait and see what happens. Who knows, maybe you’re right and nothing will come off it.”

  I didn’t say anything. What was there to say? He did have a point, and while the whole episode hadn’t freaked me out quite as much as him, I wasn’t keen on getting caught with his dick in my mouth again. What really bothered me more than the thought of suspending our secret encounters indefinitely was how he just turned around without another word, with no sign of affection and no moral support whatsoever, and walked away, leaving me behind like an abandoned dog. Not that I was surprised or anything. This was the Ben I knew and yearned for in my secret daydreams, and the reason I let him get away with his less-than-perfect personality was that at least every once in a while I got closer to him than anyone else who secretly dreamed of him ever would, girls and boys alike. How could I not let this make me feel special, especially when no one else had ever made me feel special before.

  After our meeting behind the gym, we didn’t speak for a whole week. It didn’t affect my schooldays on the surface in any noticeable way, because he never acknowledged my existence in public anyway, but deep down inside I missed the tickle of his warm breath as he whispered, “You are so freaking hot,” into my ear. I missed the touch of his soft warm hand cupping the nape of my neck as our tongues performed their lustful mating dance. I missed the scent of his cologne mixing with the ammonic high school bathroom smell as I pressed my nose against the crease of his neck, and I missed the hot, throbbing sensation as he rubbed his firm crotch against mine. For the past six months, these things had done a better job at getting me out of bed and go to school every morning than my Prozac ever had.

  THREE

  After I had shown him the video, school dragged on for two more periods, none of which I shared with Ben. After school, I walked home with Jordan in silence until we reached his house. He raised his fist for a fist bump. Avoiding to look me in the eyes, he said, “Sorry about earlier. Your bowel movements aren’t really any of my business.”

  Ignoring his fist, I said, “You don’t have to apologize every time you talk to me, you know?”

  “Sorry,” he said as he lowered his fist and put his hands in his pockets, still not looking at me.

  “Still doing it.”

  Struggling hard not to say sorry again, he shook his blushing head and laughed.

  “I was meeting someone,” I heard myself say. I didn’t know what was riding me to provide that unsolicited information, and for a brief moment I wished I could unsay it, but then I was unexpectedly rewarded with a rarely seen bright smile on Jordan’s face as he finally met my eyes and said, “Ooh, nice! Do I know him?”

  Now it was my turn to blush. I had never actively tried to keep my sexuality secret, but I’d never officially come out either, so Jordan’s assumption I had been meeting with a guy was somewhat telling. “Yeah,” I said. “But he’s … you know.”

  “In the closet.”

  I nodded. “Sort of.”

  “Bummer.”

  “Yeah. Anyway, it’s even more complicated than that, but …”

  He shook his head. “No, it’s okay, I get it.”

  I don’t think you do, I thought, but I had said too much already, so I raised my fist and said, “Gotta run. Good talking to you.”

  He bumped my fist and nodded. “All right.”

  As he turned toward his house, I continued on my way home, feeling confused and annoyed. Why on earth had I suddenly decided to share this information with Jordan, today of all days? Now he knew I was secretly seeing someone. It would be easy for him to keep a close eye on me at school, if he were so inclined, and sooner or later he might figure out what was going on between me and Ben. But things were getting pretty crazy, and I didn’t want to go crazy with them. I needed someone to talk to. Ben would have been the obvious choice, because we were in this together, but he didn’t exactly make it easy for me to talk to him, and I didn’t have anyone else. Jordan was the only person opening up to didn’t seem completely preposterous.

  When I got home, I was welcomed by the smell and sound of meatballs sizzling in a frying pan. I found Mom standing by the kitchen sink, straining a pot of spaghetti. She was doing the late shift at the supermarket today, so we had time to have lunch together.

  “Noah, honey,” she said when she saw me, “the meatballs are done. Can you just dump them in the sauce for me?”

  “Sure.” I dropped my backpack on a chair and walked over to the stove. I turned off the heat under the pan and used a spoon to move the meatballs from the pan to the sauce pot.

  “The school has called,” Mom said, putting the spaghetti on two plates. “Again.”

  My heart skipped a beat, and I felt my face heating up. I wondered what Mom would say if she saw the video of Ben and me. “So what have I done now?” I asked, trying to sound casual as I stirred the sauce.

  Mom sighed. “The usual. Late for class, almost every single day.”

  I picked up the p
ot and a ladle and turned around. “That is a gross exaggeration.”

  “They say it’s always the period right after lunch break.”

  Of course it is, I thought. It was the only time Ben and I could meet, toward the end of our lunch break when most people had already used the bathroom. Pouring sauce over the spaghetti, I said, “Getting from one class to the next just following the herd is easy. Lunch break gives me the time to sit back and think, and that’s when the anxiety usually kicks in. That’s when I just want to run away and I have to kick myself to finally get to class.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was not a lie either. I tried not to lie to my mom if I could avoid it.

  Mom nodded. “I understand, honey. Have you been taking your meds?”

  “Yes, Mom,” I lied.

  We sat down to eat.

  “Good. But I don’t know, maybe we should talk to Dr. Martinez. Maybe she can prescribe you something other than Prozac. Something that better fits your needs.”

  I put my fork down and reclined in my chair. “Mom, please. We’ve been through this. I have anxiety. I was born with it, I will die with it, and in the meantime I’m dealing with it. The Prozac helps. I go to school every day even though I hate it, my grades are not great but they’re not terrible either, and I’m not suicidal. I don’t need different meds, okay?”

  Mom nodded, putting her hand on mine, welling up and struggling hard not to burst into tears. As sweet as it was, it made me feel awful. I hated to see my mom worrying about me as if she didn’t have enough other shit to deal with. We finished our meal in silence although I could tell Mom wanted to say more, but they would have been things she had all said before, and she knew she’d only annoy me if she kept saying them over and over again.

  “Thanks, Mom,” I said, getting up from my chair. I kissed her on the head and picked up our empty plates. “Your spaghetti and meatballs are the best in the world.”

  “Thanks, honey.” She smiled at me as I took the plates to the sink, but then her expression turned kind of somber. “How anyone with your appetite can stay so skinny I have no idea. You don’t have an eating dis—”

  “Mom,” I interrupted her. “Please. Not again.”

  “All right, all right, sorry,” she said, raising her hands in defense. Her glance fell on the microwave clock and she sighed. “I have to go. My shift starts in twenty.”

  She got up, walked over to me and kissed me on the cheek as I was rinsing our plates. I turned to look at her and said, “I may have a lot of issues, but an eating disorder is not one of them. I just have a healthy metabolism, okay?”

  She put her hand on my cheek and gently stroked it with her thumb. “I know, honey.” She grabbed her handbag off the counter. “It’s gonna be late. There’s pizza in the freezer.”

  “Okay.”

  She cast me another sad smile, and then she was gone.

  After I had finished cleaning up the kitchen, I sorted the laundry and started a washing cycle. As the machine started gurgling and humming, I went into my bedroom. Lying down on my bed, I closed my eyes and tried not to think about anything, but it was impossible. It always was. Whenever I allowed myself to stop and think, I found the inside of my mind to be huddled mess, a convoluted concoction of smells and sights and sounds fighting for my attention. The smell of tomato sauce mixed with the stale stench of my school’s bathroom facilities and the musky scent of Ben’s crotch. The image of his face morphed into that of Jordan, then my history teacher, then my dad. Buzzing hallways, school bells, teachers droning on and on about useless shit, sizzling meatballs, Ben’s whisper, people laughing, politicians shouting, babies crying, it all became a mind-numbing cacophony that made me wish I could rip my brain out of my skull and toss it out the window.

  My phone buzzed. I hardly ever got texts from anyone, so the noise always yanked up my heart rate, even more so now that I had push notifications for the BenHynes01 account turned on. I woke my phone, and my heart sank when I saw his latest post. It was a photo of Ben and me in our bathroom stall, kissing. We were fully dressed, wearing the same clothes as in the video, so he must have taken it moments before he started filming us.

  BenHynes01: Now that wasn’t so hard, was it? Welcome, FUBSTRD. I’ll b nice & not take ur username as a personal insult. Anyway, speaking of hard, each of u 2 pretties will take a photo of ur stiffy & upload it 2 this account. The password is 69fckby. I know what ur thinking now. Don’t! Any attempt 2 delete any of the posts in this account or the account itself will result in me uploading the video I have 2 YouPorn and sending the link 2 everyone u know. So b nice & do as ur told. U got 24 hours.

  Fuck, I thought. It didn’t come as a big surprise BenHynes01 was trying to blackmail us, but it never even occurred to me that instead of extorting all our lunch money and maybe then some, he’d ask for more compromising material that would give him even more leverage over us. This was not good.

  I checked his profile. As expected, BenHynes01 now had two followers, NoahSimm and FUBSTRD. I followed the new account and sent him a private message.

  NoahSimm: Now what?

  It didn’t take Ben two minutes to reply.

  FUBSTRD: I’m gonna kill that bastard.

  NoahSimm: No, ur not because u don’t even know who he is. So what r we gonna do?

  FUBSTRD: If we don’t do what he says, he’ll go public.

  NoahSimm: We r both 17. Nude pics of us legally qualify as child porn. We commit a felony if we post them online.

  FUBSTRD: I’m 18 next week.

  NoahSimm: U think he’s gonna wait that long? He wants the pics tomorrow. Plus, I’m not 18 next week.

  It took Ben a full ten minutes to process that information.

  FUBSTRD: What r u suggesting?

  NoahSimm: He already committed a felony by posting that video. We haven’t. We’re still just victims of a crime, not perpetrators. If we go to the police, they can get his IP address and track him down and stuff.

  FUBSTRD: R u out of your fucking mind? MY DAD IS A COP! If we go to the police I’m DEAD!

  NoahSimm: U wanna be a felon registered on the sex offenders list?

  I waited. Ten minutes. Twenty. There was no reply. After half an hour, I moved the laundry from the washing machine to the dryer. Back in my room, I did my homework, checked my phone, watched some YouTube, checked my phone, took a little nap, and checked my phone again. Ben was taking his time, and I grew more and more anxious. I sat down at my computer and googled “how to deal with blackmail”. I got 7320 search results, but after skimming the first few, it became pretty clear that nobody thought it was a good idea to give in to a blackmailer’s demands. I found a five-step guide on how to handle the situation that seemed to make the most sense to me, so I went through the steps one by one.

  1. Assess the situation. Is your current or future employment at risk? Would someone else suffer physical or emotional damage as a result of the blackmail? And what is the worst thing that could happen?

  If you were looking for a job, it probably wasn’t helpful to have a porn video of yourself floating around the Internet, but at least it was just a blow job and not one of the kinkier sex practices that I knew nothing about except the few things I had seen or heard about on the web. Besides, I was still in school and I was gonna go to college, so by the time I was going to hit the job market, maybe my juvenile sin would be long forgotten or such old news that no one really cared. My mom was going to suffer greater emotional pain from me being blackmailed than from what I was being blackmailed with, and I didn’t know anyone else who would give half a damn. The worst thing that could happen, apart from the embarrassment, was going to be some form of punishment imposed by our school. Detention, suspension, maybe even expulsion.

  2. Discuss the situation with someone you trust.

  That was a tough one. The only person I really trusted was my mom, but I was reluctant to let her in on this, not because of the embarrassment it would cause me, but because of the worries it would cause her when
she already had enough crap to deal with in her own life. The one person I really should discuss this with was Ben, but he wasn’t exactly being responsive.

  3. Take away leverage.

  That meant coming clean. I’d already told Ben that this was probably gonna be our best option, but he wouldn’t have any of it, and I couldn’t do it on my own without implicating him and potentially getting him into really big trouble at home and at school.

  4. Keep all evidence of the blackmail.

  That one was tricky because the evidence legally qualified as kiddy porn, and retaining nude pictures and videos of ourselves might get us into even bigger trouble, unless …

  5. Reach out to law enforcement.

  Again, this was probably the safest option, but it was gonna be tough to convince Ben.

  Rubbing my eyes, I sighed. I had no idea what to do, so I copied the link and sent it to Ben. If he didn’t listen to me, maybe he would listen to a neutral source and decide to bite the bullet and go to the police after all. The ball was in his court because he had more to lose than I did.

  He replied five minutes later.

  FUBSTRD: Not going 2 the police, Noah. I can’t.

  NoahSimm: If we give in now, what is he gonna ask of us next? Where will this end?

  FUBSTRD: Idk. All I know is we’re on a deadline. U have any idea how long it will take the cops 2 get a warrant and track this guy down? He’ll go public before the police will get 2 him!

  NoahSimm: It’s our only chance. How do u think being a registered sex offender will look on your college application?