Date: Sat, 27 Feb 2021 02:03:38 -0600
From: Bryce Manning <brycemanningfiction@gmail.com>
Subject: The Porn Shoot, Chapter 4

Comments, questions, gripes? Email brycemanningfiction@gmail.com. Follow
me on Twitter @BryceManningFic to see when I post new stories.

--------------------------------------------------

The Porn Shoot, Chapter 4

By Bryce Manning

I bolt up with a sudden desperate breath, the details of the horrible
nightmare that roused me instantaneously forgotten. My mouth is parched,
my head throbbing, my eyes barely able to open at all. Struggling against
the searing sunlight, everything is hazy, a bitter grunt escaping my
mouth as I lift a hand up over my face. Fuck the fucking sun! I spread my
fingers wide enough to see my other hand clenching a sheet, suddenly
realizing that I have absolutely no idea where I am or how I got here.

At least I'm not waking up in the fucking drunk tank. Not this time! Fuck
it, I feel so awful I'm just going to pass out and sleep some more. And
then the worst possibility imaginable crosses my mind, my foggy brain
screaming his name. No, I couldn't have. I couldn't have.

I instantly force my fingers wider, my eyelids steadily giving up their
resistance, and discover that I'm lying in my own room. Retreating back
into my pillow, I let out the most blissful exhale of my life. Pulling
the sheet back over myself, I wonder what the fuck happened last night,
sighing loudly as my eyes close again and I recognize that I've suffered
yet another blackout. I need to quit drinking. I need to fucking give it
up. I feel like I'm about to piss the bed, and I'm desperate to guzzle at
least a whole gallon of water, but I still can't summon the will to move,
to face the blistering light again, knowing that I'm at least safe in my
own bed. Shit, I'm still fucking buzzed too! If I opened my eyes and
looked around, the room would be spinning--I'm fucking spinning lying
here right now even though I'm completely still. What the fuck did I do
last night?

I already know that it's a lost cause to try to recall how a night I can
barely remember in the first place ended, having traversed that empty
path countless times before. Who I talked to, the ways I might have
embarrassed myself, that was all forever forgotten after I crossed that
certain point of drunkenness; I'll never recall any of that unless
someone who was more sober than I was eventually fills me in. And that's
a tough task when I can't even remember who I might have talked to last
night.

I'm such a fuck-up. No wonder my mom wouldn't give me more money. What do
I do the second I get paid, when I desperately need the cash to pay my
rent? I go piss a good chunk of it away. Shit, how much did I fucking
spending last night? I reach for my phone on the nightstand, the place I
always leave it when I pass out, but my hand just hits the bare wood.
There's nothing there. God damn it.

Whatever, I'm still drunk right now. I probably passed out with my phone
still in my pocket. Reaching underneath the sheet, my hands grazing my
bare thighs, I realize I'm not wearing anything at all. My left hand hits
the head of my half-hard dick, and it's only that solid because I
desperately need to piss.

Then I hear a gentle sigh, my sheet rippling as someone else manipulates
it. Fuck. Fuck! What did I do last night? Kyle. His name washes over me
again, still drunk or not. What the fuck did I do last night? What if
it's him lying next to me in my bed?

I don't know who's there and I'm scared as shit to find out, so I
half-cover my face struggling to open my eyes against the light again,
trying to see the person who's there next to me. If it's Kyle--no, I
couldn't have. I tossed his number into the trash. I went out and I
drank, drank, and drank. There's no way I came back to my apartment last
night to find his number. It's not Kyle, no way. I wouldn't have done
that. I couldn't have possibly done that blackout drunk.

When I lift my hand high enough to actually see the person next to me,
I'm relieved to find long brown hair, the girl I must have picked up
facing toward the wall. Not Kyle. Of course it's not Kyle. I'm so
relieved I smirk and laugh, but she doesn't stir. Did we fuck? I have no
idea if we fucked, I don't remember her name or anything else about her
right now, but she needs to fucking leave. I've suffered enough in the
last 24 hours.

I cough loudly, but she doesn't budge. Go figure, if I'm still this
wasted I probably bought this random chick enough booze to ensure she was
completely trashed too. I violently yank the sheet, but the girl still
doesn't move. Fuck it, time to be more extreme. Now I rip the sheet away,
forcing it out from underneath her, and she finally stirs, her body
slowly rolling over toward mine.

"Hey," I say loudly, mustering all the enthusiasm I can despite my
miserable condition. "Morning!" I'm such a fucking dick, and this girl is
actually smoking hot, but she can't stay here right now.

Her eyes shut and slowly blink open again. "I'm so tired," she complains,
her voice raspy.

Too bad, bitch. "Sorry, but I have to get up for work," I lie.

She sighs and fumbles for her phone. At least she knows where she fucking
left hers. "It's 7:47," she mumbles after peering at the screen.

Who cares what time it is? She needs to go. "Yeah, I'm really sorry, but
I'm scheduled to clean up for opening today," I lie again.

The girl covers her eyes with a hand. "What?" she says like she's
shocked. "You said you were off today. You promised we were going to get
brunch."

I'm a fucking moron. "I totally forgot about my shift," I say, trying to
sound sincere. "My boss just called and I'm already late."

She uncovers her eyes and looks straight into mine, a hint of suspicion
obvious. "You found your phone?"

"Yeah," I answer instantly, silently panicking that I might have actually
lost it in the course of the drunken night. How else could she know that
it was missing? "Yeah, I found it."

Her head hits the pillow again, her eyes closing. "You still owe me a
brunch," she mutters in her raspy voice. "But it's fine, you can call the
Uber."

God damn it. What else did I fucking promise? "Call the Uber?"

Now the girl looks at me like she's disgusted. "You said you would pay
for the Uber back to the house if I came back with you last night."

Yeah, of course I did, and now I don't actually know where my fucking
phone is. "Oh, yeah--but my debit card is locked," I say as convincingly
as I can. "I spent so much last night the bank thought it was fraud. I
have to call them when they open today."

She sighs and slightly shakes her head, "I told you not to get bottle
service," she mumbles. "I was already so drunk."

Fuck my life. Whatever, I'll have to deal with that later. "Yeah, once I
get started--hey, I really do have to get going though. Can you call that
Uber?" I climb out of the bed still completely naked, scanning the carpet
next to the nightstand. No phone.

The girl groans, her eyes closing again. "Can't I just sleep some more
and let myself out later?"

"Hey, I'm sorry, but I'm really not comfortable with that," I say as I'm
reaching into the pockets of my shorts on the floor, finding them empty
aside from my wallet. "You know, we just met--"

"Fine," she angrily interrupts, lifting her phone up and tapping on the
screen. She starts groggily rising up with the phone in her hand, naked
except for a lacey white bra.

Normally this is a moment when I'd say fuck it, take everything I'd just
said back, and throw her down on the bed. Instead I turn away as she's
peeling her clothes off the bedroom carpet and putting them back on. But
I'm hungover. I'm so hungover. That's all it is. If I had the energy I
would be destroying her pussy right now.

"You're a real fucking asshole," she mutters just before walking past me
toward the kitchen.

Why the fuck am I letting this hot woman just walk away? I trail after
her, suddenly feeling desperate to save face as she's grabbing her purse
off the counter and starting to trudge toward the front door. "Hey," I
offer authoritatively, "come to Sports this weekend and you can have
whatever you want on me. Maybe stick around until closing?" I smile as
her head cranes back to me, that look of disgust planted on her face
again. "Maybe we can get that brunch then?"

She scoffs as she slips her feet into a pair of flats, opening the door
and facing me. "You didn't even have sheets on your bed, you couldn't get
hard, and you passed out on top of me while you were trying. And now
you're kicking me out of your apartment at 8:00 AM after promising me
brunch and a ride home? Go fuck yourself, Jamie."

I'm so stunned I can't form words as she walks out and slams the door
shut behind her.

Shit. "Well, she's not wrong," I mumble to myself in the now silent
apartment. "I am a real fucking asshole." I let out a loud defeated sigh
and finally pour myself a glass of water, immediately gulping it all
down. I'm so exhausted I don't bother walking back to the bathroom, just
whipping my dick into the kitchen sink and letting a seemingly endless
torrent of hot piss fly.

I grab another glass of water and settle my naked body on the couch,
propping my head against the cushion. I'll never remember everything I
did last night, but maybe I can at least retrieve enough fragments to
figure out what happened to my fucking phone.

I had walked over to the Tap Room, the closest bar to my apartment, and I
immediately recognized the bartender, Mitch, as a guy who frequently
comes into Sports. We'd served each other before, and we'd always been
generous. Last night he was charging me a buck for everything I ordered,
and I was tipping him as well as he tipped me when I was on the other
side. I was drinking pretty slowly for a few hours, not wanting to abuse
his generosity and happy to be any level of fucked up after what I'd done
that day. We were bragging to each other about our sexual exploits as the
crowd steadily grew, even if he didn't understand that I was desperate to
reassure myself that I'm not a fucking fag. And then the shift changed, a
new bartender who I didn't know charging me full price for everything.
Whatever, I'd just made $750. I felt like I could afford to have some
fun.

I kept ordering drinks and eventually I was liquored up enough to hit on
every decent-looking girl in the bar. I was buying tons of drinks for
women who quickly wandered away. They could tell I was a fucking
desperate mess and it was still way too early for any of them to settle
for that. I was doing shots with a new girl, not the same one I'd woken
up with, who I must have spent at least an hour talking to, and that's
where the film runs out. I have no idea what fucking happened after that,
no idea how long I was out, no idea when I finally made it home.

The Tap Room is the most logical place to try looking for my phone, and I
know they're serving brunch already. When I try to lift myself up off the
couch, I can't even summon the will to move. I feel like a fucking idiot,
and I'm so unbelievably humiliated. I couldn't even get my dick hard? I
fell asleep on top of her? Obviously that was the booze. I've done plenty
of drunk fucking, but blackout drunk fucking? I'm sure it's happened
before, and I'm sure I had the exact same problem. Who could possibly
achieve a raging hard on when they're that wasted?

Fucking Kyle. Fuck Kyle. I should have just sold my laptop and spent the
rest of the semester getting shit done in the library. I should have
dropped Bob Howard's business card in the trash the second he'd pressed
it into my fingers. Fucking disgusting old man. Fucking Kyle. Fucking...

***

When I wake up, I still feel like shit, maybe even a little worse now
that the previous night's buzz has completely dissipated. Instinctively
reaching around for my phone, I quickly remember that I'm a total fuck-up
and still have no clue where it is. God damn it. I sigh as I squint my
eyes trying to read the clock on the microwave. 12:17. The temptation to
take another long nap is overwhelming, but I know I need to be
responsible for a change. Actually responsible. I'm definitely in no
position to replace my fucking phone right now.

After a few more glasses of water and dropping another load of piss down
the kitchen sink, I decide to skip showering. Who cares what anyone
thinks of me right now? I'm fucking trash anyway. I put on some of my
laziest clothes and plod over to the Tap Room like I'm being forced to
relive a horrible crime. The sunlight, the traffic, the people loudly
talking everywhere, it's all a miserable, grating torture. Why am I
constantly subjecting myself to living my life this way?

I wander into the bar finding the place strangely illuminated and staged
for brunch, bizarrely serene compared to the usual cacophony.

"How many?" a petite blond hostess asks. "Or did you just want to sit at
the bar?" she adds a second later, presumably after she'd taken a moment
to actually size me up.

"Yeah, I, uh, think I might have lost my phone here last night?" I
stumble to say, miserable that I'm being forced to speak to another human
being right now.

There's a subtle smile on her face, the kind that betrays she's already
heard a story from some other employee about the missing phone. "I think
the bartender has one if you want to check with him," she suggests, not
bothering to point the way.

"Thanks," I mutter, striding past the tables to the huge bar on the back
wall.

"Jamie!"

It's Mitch, the familiar face who I'd shared the conscious part of the
night with. "Hey, man," I greet listlessly.

He grins, reaching behind the bar and pulling out a phone. "You leave
something here last night?"

I grab it hopefully from his hand and see my lock screen, looking at
Mitch in disbelief. "How did you even know?"

The bartender starts laughing hysterically. "You left your bill on top of
it when you paid your last tab, you fucking drunk."

"Shit," I mumble. "Thanks, man." I start to turn away but I can tell
there's something else he wants to say.

"Dude," Mitch starts slyly, lowering his voice. "So what's her name? Does
she ever come in?"

"Well," I stumble, assuming he thinks I must have hooked up, "I, uh, met
her here, right?"

He smirks and shakes his head. "Not the one you bagged last night. The
hot slut you were ranting about to Josh. You were saying she's the best
fuck you've ever had, and I know you've been around."

This fucking day gets worse and worse. What the fuck was I even talking
about? I wasn't in my right mind, obviously. "I'll point her out next
time I have the chance," I pretend to promise, struggling to smile even
though I want to vomit.

"Hey, I'm not asking to share!" Mitch jokes. "I just want to get a look
at her!"

"Yeah, we'll see about that. Thanks again, man!" I turn away before he
has the chance to say anything else, speeding out of the place despite my
crippling hangover.

I settle on a bench that's on a sidewalk right next to the bar and hold
my phone up, seeing that I have a voicemail. I don't immediately
recognize the number, but within seconds I realize who it belongs to: Bob
Howard. Which horrible news do I want first? My bank balance after a
night of unbridled depravity or Bob yelling at me for the way I'd handled
the cum shot with Logan or Kyle or whoever the fuck he is? Fuck it. I
might as well see what the old man has to say. I start playing the
message.

"Hey, Jamie," Bob greets warmly. "This is Bob from Campus. It's currently
Sunday morning, hope you're having a great day."

There was an obnoxiously pregnant pause. Get to the god damn fucking
point, Bob. Add to the long, long and constantly growing list of the shit
that I screw up.

"I just wanted to give you a call to let you know that I watched some of
the raw footage you guys shot on Saturday," he continues. "You were
absolutely fantastic with Logan, absolutely fantastic, a total
natural--I'm going to be honest with you, Jamie, I think you're one of
the best new guys we've cast all year."

I can't even believe what I'm hearing.

"I would really love to have you back to film some more scenes with us,"
Bob says excitedly. "And we can definitely discuss bumping your rate up
if you can deliver like that for me again."

I start laughing to myself on the sidewalk like a fucking crazy person.
Did I finally do something right in my life?

"So, great job with that shoot," Bob compliments, "and please, please
give me a call back if you're interested in working with us some more and
we can definitely discuss the details. Looking forward to hearing back
from you, Jamie. Enjoy the rest of your day."

The messages ends with a click and I feel more conflicted about
everything than I have all day. Whatever, I don't have time to think
about that. I'm being responsible now. I open my banking app, bracing
myself to see the transactions from last night. Shit. I'd spent $300,
half of it on bottle service, and the tips haven't even posted yet. I'm
going to need more money, and I'm going to need it fucking fast. I am
such a fucking moron.

While all the other hungover people gleefully enjoy their brunch food and
mimosas, I walk the short distance back to my apartment wondering if I
can put myself through another one of Bob's porn shoots. I'm fucking good
at it, right? I was "fantastic" in Bob's words, one of their best new
guys of the year. And he wants to pay me more to do it? Maybe I just need
rules going forward. Work will be work, and that's that. No hanging out
with anyone else off set, no expensive drunken existential crises. Just
work, just performing with my best bartender persona, showing off my
great physique, and collecting the fat check.

Stepping back into my apartment, I instantly strip off my clothes and
settle back on the couch. I still feel awful, but I start touching my own
body, rubbing my hands over my pecs, down my faint abs, down my huge
thighs. I'm hot as fuck. Who wouldn't want to see me naked? Why shouldn't
I take full advantage of being able to make vastly more money than I
could make from the bar? Doing that job doesn't have to change anything
about who I am. I can be like every other straight guy who works at
Campus, putting in a great performance to take home my cash and then
fucking all the chicks I want. It's just like being a bartender. I almost
never want to actually fuck the people I'm serving drinks to, but I'll
flirt with all of them all night long to collect their tips.

Porn is just another service industry. Smile, bear it, act like you're
having a great time. I'm fucking good at that. I'm a fucking natural.

***

I passed out naked on my couch yet again, waking up 30 minutes before I
was supposed to clock in for my Sunday shift. Whatever, that's the great
thing about living so close to my job. After a quick shower, struggling
to wash away all the humiliation and shame of the day, I donned a black
Sports tank and a gray pair of gym shorts, rushing out my front door and
easily punching in on time. After eight hours of naps and an absurd
amount of water, I was close to 100%, even if I was starving. I made that
up slipping into the kitchen all night, feasting on everything the
customers had sent back. Who knew a bunch of drunks could be so fucking
picky?

Before I knew it, 2:00 AM had arrived, closing time, all the lights
turning up and the blaring music going silent as the Sports staff started
the task of cleaning up all the raucous debauchery a rowdy crowd of
college kids can inflict. I did a bunch of shots with my coworkers,
something we always do when we're finally alone and rendering the place
spotless for the next afternoon. My manager even did a round with me.

And now I'm finally trudging home with a nice buzz and $100 in my pocket,
barely tired since I'd spent most of the last 24 hours sleeping. I'm
broke as fuck, still likely to be late on the rent, but Bob had dangled a
desperately needed lifeline in my face. Fucking another dude to get your
shit together isn't the worst thing in the world. It's better than
pissing away $300 flipping out about it. Fuck that.

Walking into my apartment and kicking my shoes off, I settle down on the
couch where I'd spent most of the day, propping my feet up on the coffee
table. Within a few minutes of mindless phone scrolling I realize how
insanely horny I am. I'd cum just twice in the span of a week, probably a
personal record since I'd first discovered the magnificent pleasure of
jacking off.

My hand begins absentmindedly tugging at my dick through my shorts, my
deprived length quickly rising to its full throbbing mast. I'm so
ridiculously fucking horny. I start thinking about the girl I'd woken up
next to, the one brief conscious glimpse I'd had of her naked body, but
that doesn't work at all. A more potent image suddenly invades my mind.

I remember Kyle being right here on this couch, his smooth toned legs
pressed against my hairy thighs as his tight ass greedily sank down on my
whole eight inches, swallowing me up so effortlessly. I think of the way
he'd passionately kissed me as our bodies were grinding together, as he
vigorously rode me better than any chick ever had.

Tipsy and not desperate to prove something to myself, I recognize that
I'm brutally hard at my own volition reliving that afternoon with him,
pumping my dick even harder thinking about the way we'd fucked. And god
damn it, there's no fucking Viagra to blame. Maybe it is all way more
complicated than I've been trying to make it. I can't control what my
fucking dick responds to! Who knows, maybe the novelty of fucking another
guy is what made it so hot; maybe that will completely subside after I've
done it a few times and the idea of seeking it out will go back to being
unfathomable.

What the fuck is wrong with me? For a minute that idea takes hold again.
Why is my dick so solid remembering banging another dude? But it is what
it is. I liked fucking Kyle. I really, really liked fucking Kyle. Where
did pretending I didn't enjoy it get me? Blackout drunk, $300 in debt,
some rightfully pissed off woman telling me to go fuck myself. Shit,
what's good about any of that? Nothing!

Why do I keep thinking he's so pretty? I can't get him out of my head. He
was so nice to me, so genuine, and I treated him like shit even though
I'm the one who pursued him! Well, what else is new? That seems to be the
way I always operate, female and apparently male too. What the fuck is
wrong with me? Shit, it seems to be me. I'm a fucking asshole. Why do I
act like this with other people? I can't even explain it to myself.
Apparently I need some fucking counseling.

I know I have his phone number still sitting crumpled up in my trash and
the temptation steadily grows to dig it out. As soon as Mitch recounted
his friend saying that I'd ranted about some girl who was the best sex of
my life, I knew I must have been talking about Kyle. Who else could it
be? And if alcohol is truth serum, that was the fucking truth when I
declared it to some stranger blackout drunk. I threw Kyle away and
mourned the decision within hours because I have some obnoxious hang-ups
about who I want to be and what I'm "supposed" to like.

Fuck it. I have to call him. I jump off my couch, wandering to the trash
can and staring down into the contents. There's only one crumpled up
piece of paper there, right on the surface. I pluck it out and unfold it.

Kyle, his phone number scribbled across the little page, an offer to
reach out. I sigh plugging the digits into my phone, pressing call
without giving myself a chance to hesitate. Thank god he doesn't know
who's calling because he'd probably just decline it if he did.

The line keeps ringing and I suddenly realize it's probably way too late
to be calling someone on a Sunday. What the fuck am I doing? I should
just hang up.

"Hello?" he finally answers.

Shit, I was seconds away from hitting voicemail and thought I was in the
clear. "Uh, hey," I say awkwardly, starting to pace around my kitchen.

"Who is this?" Kyle demands.

"Jamie."

"You know it's like 3:00 in the morning, right?" he says after a few
seconds of silence, sounding slightly pissed.

I shouldn't have fucking called him. "Shit, I just got off work. Sorry if
I woke you up."

Kyle laughs. "No, I'm at a party. Hold on."

I can't hear the telltale signs of a party in the background, but at
least he's awake.

"Alright, I'm outside now," he says.

"Sorry if I woke you up," I repeat.

"I just said I'm at a party. Are you drunk right now?"

"Well, yeah, a little," I admit.

"So why are you calling me drunk at 3:00 in the morning?" Kyle asks like
he thinks this is just a booty call.

I don't know what the fuck to say. "Uh, I just, um--I don't know."

"You were a dick, Jamie. I'm not going to roll over every time you feel
like admitting you want my ass."

I can't read him at all right now. He seems to be all over the place.
"I'm really sorry," I whisper into my phone. "Seriously."

Kyle scoffs. "Yeah, you're sorry until you cum in my ass again. And then
you'll go back to being an asshole, right?"

What the fuck am I supposed to say? I can't even form words.

"We should have kept this professional from the beginning," he mumbles.
"I've let his happen before--you know, there's a reason Bob doesn't want
us talking. We never should have met up off set."

Fuck. I threw his number in the garbage and now I feel like he's throwing
me there too. Why am I even calling him? What the fuck am I trying to do?
I already burned the bridge.

"You there?" Kyle asks, frustration evident in his voice.

"Sorry," I mutter, covering my eyes with my hand like I'm not seeing him
in my mind.

"I mean, I know there must be something going on if you're calling me at
least. Right?"

"Yeah," I agree. "There's definitely something going on." I wander back
to my couch, splaying out and settling down.

"I know," Kyle says a little more sympathetically. "But I've been down
this road before, you know? Do you have any idea what it's like when a
guy throws you out and makes you feel that way?"

I think of the way I'd treated him the evening after our shoot, the way
I'd treated the unfortunate girl whose name I still don't even know the
morning after; I think of all the women I've treated that way, like
objects, like convenient means to an end. I have no idea what it feels
like. I always get rid of other people before they have the chance to get
rid of me.

"You're there, right?"

"Yeah," I answer. "Sorry. I've been thinking about stuff like that. I've
been thinking about a lot of stuff. I don't know why I do it." I pause
for a second, instantly recognizing that isn't the truth at all. "I don't
even like myself, man. Honestly. I don't like myself at all. I never give
anyone the chance to realize they don't like me either."

"Well," Kyle starts, letting the word hang for awhile. "I thought you
were a really cool guy, honestly. I mean...obviously. I've only hung out
with a few of the guys I did a scene with."

"I really am sorry for being a dick," I say as sincerely as I can. "I'm
so fucking tired of being a dick. Really."

"Thanks, Jamie. Hey..."

There's silence on the other end for a few seconds. "Yeah?"

"Do you want to talk about all this stuff in person maybe?" Kyle asks.

In an instant my dick is rock hard. "In person?"

"Well, I'm literally three blocks away from your place right now," he
says, his voice slightly hesitant. "Or maybe we should do that when we're
both sober?"

"I'm better at telling the truth when I'm not," I quip.

Kyle laughs. "We would just be talking, though. That's all."

I close my eyes and start stroking my dick through my gym shorts
imagining his pretty face, his smooth tanned skin, his beautiful pink
hole. "If you don't come on to me I won't come on to you."

"Are you saying you want to come on to me again?"

"Dude, so fucking badly," I admit, grasping my shaft and opening my eyes
to see a huge spot of precum soaked through the fabric of my shorts.

"Then we definitely need to talk about that," Kyle says insistently. "Let
me tell my friends I'm leaving and I'll head your way."

A massive grin spreads across my face. "Sounds good, man. Tell me when
you're here and I'll buzz you in."

"Ok, see you in like five minutes. Bye."

The call ends, and for a regretful second I feel like I just made a huge
mistake inviting him over. What the fuck is wrong with me? I'm not gay!
But my cock is so insanely hard thinking about Kyle. Fuck it. Fuck it!
Sex is just sex! If I'm going to do more scenes for Bob, if other guys
are going to turn me on the way Kyle had, I have to confront that maybe
I'm not 100% straight. And who fucking cares? I just want to be happy. I
pull my dick out and stroke like a madman remembering the way I'd fucked
Kyle on this couch, letting myself admit that I'd enjoyed it. The minutes
tick by and then he texts that he's here. After a couple more minutes, I
hear a soft knock at my door, jumping up to let him in.

"Hey," Kyle greets, sounding a little tipsy himself, a huge smile on his
face like he's really happy to be seeing me again.

He's so fucking pretty. He's wearing a gray t-shirt and jeans, his blond
hair styled exactly the same way it was for the shoot. I smirk at him,
his blue eyes meeting mine. "Glad you could make it." How the fuck am I
supposed to repress my urges?

Kyle's gaze quickly shoots to the rigid shaft that's obvious in my gym
shorts, and he stares lustfully for a few seconds before looking back up
at my face. "What have you been doing?" he asks even though he already
knows the answer.

"Thinking about you," I say. I'm not even trying to be flirty, but I
can't help myself. All I want to do right now is grab him and shove my
tongue down his throat again. Who the fuck cares what it means? Fuck it!
Sex is just sex!

Kyle laughs, his bright blue eyes lighting up. "So...should we sit down
and talk?"

I motion to the couch. "Yeah, have a seat!"

We both sit down, positioning ourselves closer than we probably should,
the sexual tension almost explosive. I have no idea what I'm supposed to
say. Should I be apologizing to him again for acting like an asshole?
Kyle doesn't say anything either, just wearing that same sheepish smile
he'd borne in this exact same spot the day before. "You know, this was
your idea, man," I finally prompt him, playfully tapping his shoulder
because I'm desperate to touch him.

He jolts at the momentary contact and laughs again, looking into my eyes.
"You're making it really, really hard to stick to what I said on the
phone."

I know he wants me too. Fuck it. I grab Kyle's hand, locking our fingers
together tightly. "Are you sure you want to stick to it?"

He hesitates for a moment. "Well, I know what I want," he whispers,
squeezing my hand. "Are you sure you do?"

I let Kyle go and reach my hand around his head, pulling his smooth face
toward mine, our lips meeting in one tender kiss. Sharing that with him
again right now, I know I need more. I want to spend the whole fucking
night kissing him. "Feel how hard my dick is right now," I whisper, our
mouths just an inch apart, my breath against his skin.

Kyle grasps the thick eight inches through my shorts, moaning softly into
me as he starts to stroke my length.

"Definitely not the Viagra this time," I murmur. "Must just be you."

He moans again as he plunges his tongue into my mouth, our hands all over
each other as we begin ravenously making out. When Kyle pulls away, he
rips my Sports tank top off, yanking his shirt off too as he climbs on
top of me, his legs pressed against my thighs. Our mouths collide
together again like we've both been lusting to experience this moment for
so much longer than just a single day, our tongues forcefully struggling
to press even deeper inside each other.

"This is so fucking hot," I pant when Kyle finally comes up for air. Who
gives a fuck about labels when being with someone feels like this? Fuck
it! At least I'll fucking remember this!

He grins, his whole face flushed and transfixed with lust. "You're so
fucking hot," he whispers, starting to grind his butt into my dick
through our clothes.

I smile too, gripping Kyle's ass with my hands and pulling him into my
crotch as he moves up and down. "You want that big dick again?" I ask, my
voice low, authoritative, hungry. My balls are so fucking full.

"You know I do," he says eagerly, the intense desire obvious in his eyes.

"Then take the rest of my clothes off," I command with a cocky smirk.

Kyle leaps out of my lap, hooking his fingers underneath either side of
the waistband and urgently yanking my shorts and boxers down in one fell
swoop. My rock hard dick is sticking straight up, the head already slick
with the precum that had been steadily dribbling out. He looks in awe at
it from in between my legs, like it's just as mesmerizing as it was every
other time he'd seen it, wrapping his slender hand around my warm,
pulsing shaft. He nuzzles his face against my sack, breathing deeply as
his tongue probes my balls. "I can tell you just got off work," Kyle says
when he pulls away. "You smell so fucking manly right now."

I grin knowing that he likes my scent, and when Kyle starts to press his
mouth toward my dick, I hold a single finger up above it. "Not yet!" I
tease him, desperate to see his smooth ass again. "You need to lose those
clothes first."

He rises up in front of me, his little pecs and ridiculously chiseled abs
already on display, slowly and seductively unbuttoning his jeans.

I grip my thick shaft and start stroking as I watch him gingerly slide
the pants down his hairless thighs, revealing a low-waisted white pair of
Calvin Klein briefs that contrast beautifully with his deeply tanned
skin. "Nice," I hiss, pumping my dick harder. "Now turn around and peel
them off."

When Kyle changes positions, he squats down in my lap, rubbing my dick
against the white fabric concealing his ass cheeks. He slowly slides the
briefs down, exposing the two hairless globes I'd grown obsessed with at
Bob's mansion, the head of my cock sliding against his crack.

This feels so fucking good. This feels right. Who the fuck cares? I grab
his beautiful butt with both my hands, digging my fingers into his supple
skin, guiding his ass up and down my length. "Dude, fuck the blowjob," I
mutter.

Kyle twists his head back looking worried, probably nervous that I've
suddenly changed my mind about what we're doing, but that definitely
isn't true. His ass is so fucking sexy that I need to have it right
fucking now.

I wrap my hands around Kyle's waist and kiss up his back to reassure him,
forcing him upright again as I stand up behind him, slapping his stunning
butt a few times with my thick 8 inches. He'd mentioned that doggy is his
favorite position, so I turn him around, pushing him down on the couch so
that his arms are up on top of the cushions, his feet dangling off.

He arches his back, pointing his ass up toward me, the perfectly smooth
mounds spreading to expose his tight pink hole.

Drinking in that magnificent sight, I'm desperate to taste him again,
dropping down to my knees and pushing my face between his smooth cheeks.
I start lapping my tongue against his silky slit, eagerly massaging it as
I listen to his moans of pleasure.

"Fuck yeah," Kyle murmurs from the cushion. "Get that pussy nice and wet
for your big fucking dick."

That word triggers me again, my dick growing even harder than it is. I'm
already throbbing, my balls so full and desperate for relief, but that
word makes my length even more rigid, even more determined to destroy
Kyle's tight butt. He doesn't have an asshole, just a sweet pink gash of
a pussy that exists to be filled up by men. I lick more forcefully, using
my hands to spread Kyle's cheeks even wider as he moans more
enthusiastically. I drive my tongue into the tight ring, trying to push
my way inside him, wishing he was still leaking my seed like he was the
day before.

"Fuck me!" Kyle begs after a couple of minutes, his face desperately
turning back, the hunger obvious in his blue eyes. "I need to feel your
dick inside me again right now!"

I want to eat him out all night, to keep tasting that sweet hairless
pussy between his legs, but I'm aching to be inside Kyle just as much as
he's pleading for it. "You're ready for this dick?" I ask, standing up
and slapping it against his pink slit.

"Yeah!" he answers. "Give me that fucking dick!"

I spit on my cock a few times, rubbing the saliva all over my shaft,
grabbing one of Kyle's hips while my other hand guides my rigid length
into his slick, warm opening.

"Shit!" Kyle yells the second I finally press inside him, his ass quickly
darting away from me. "It's too much! You're so fucking huge!"

I'd totally forgotten the way I'd slowly warmed him up when we first
fucked. "Sorry," I whisper, suddenly nervous that I'd hurt him.

Kyle's head turns to look at me again, his pleading eyes finding mine. "I
can do it. Just give me a few fingers first. I can fucking take it."

I get back on my knees right in front of Kyle's smooth butt, still
marveling at how perfectly pink his hole is and stealing another lick,
pushing my tongue slightly further than I'd been able to manage before.

"Oh fuck," he moans. "Get my pussy so fucking wet for you. Loosen me up
so I can take that whole massive cock."

God fucking damn he's so hot. I spit into his sweet pink slit again,
drawing my face back and rubbing a finger against his slick hole,
gradually pressing it inside him. Kyle gasps like it's my whole dick, but
after a few seconds I easily slide a second finger in too.

"Yeah!" he groans. "Stretch me out. Get me ready. I want you to fucking
fill me up, Jamie!"

Hearing him say my name turns me on so much. I slap his ass with my free
hand. "You need this big dick destroying your ass, don't you?"

"Fuck yes!" he whimpers. "Fucking destroy my ass!"

Straight, gay, bi, who the fuck cares? I'm so turned on I can barely
resist stuffing my whole length inside of Kyle right fucking now. I shove
a third finger in and he groans loudly, but his ass easily accommodates
it. He's ready to take my cock. I withdraw my fingers, standing up again
and positioning my thick shaft against Kyle's hairless hole.

"Yeah," he encourages, his voice desperate. "Give it to me!"

I press the head of my dick into Kyle's butt again, his insides easily
giving way this time, spreading open for my eight inches. He feels
tighter than he's ever felt, like his hole has totally reverted to its
natural state after a day without penetration.

"Fuck!" he yells deliriously when I'm just halfway in. "Fuck yeah!
Fucking take it! Fuck me! Use me!"

"Fucking slut," I grunt as I slide the rest of my length inside of him,
the last inches effortlessly disappearing until my pubes are resting
against Kyle's butt.

He moans and groans and swears adjusting to my massive length bottomed
out inside of him again, his hole cradling my dick. "Your fucking slut,"
he finally says urgently.

"You want to be my slut?" I challenge, totally lost in the pleasure of
the moment as I start thrusting my length in and out of his ass. "Your
pussy should be able to take this big dick with no warm up at all."

"Fucking train me!" Kyle begs, his blue eyes wild when his head twists
back. "Make me take this big fucking dick all the time!"

Shit! He's such a fucking slut! I'm so turned on I have to pause my
assault, waiting a few seconds before I start sawing in and out of his
hairless globes again. His ass is clenching down on my shaft, gripping me
so tightly as I barrel in and out of him. I know Kyle must be jerking
off. He's fucking enjoying this as much as I am. "Going to shoot your
load when I fucking breed you again?" I ask, drops of sweat dripping off
my forehead and landing on his back.

"Yeah!" he yells between ecstatic moans. "You feel so fucking good!"

"Fuck, man," I grunt, his tight ass squeezing my dick hard again. "Shit.
Fuck." I keep pummeling his butt, viciously slamming my eight inches in
and out of him. "Your fucking pussy is going to suck the cum out of me."

"Yeah?" Kyle whimpers back, his hole gripping harder than it had all
night. "You going to fill that pussy up?"

"Fuck yes," I answer, barely able to stop myself from cumming as my dick
effortlessly glides in and out of his hole. "You want me to fucking fill
that pussy up again?"

"Fill me up!" he enthusiastically shouts back. "Load that pussy up!
Fucking shoot that cum inside me, Jamie!"

Literally a second after he says my name, I bury my dick to the hilt,
digging my fingers hard into Kyle's hips and finally letting go. I roar
so loudly, so primally, the sounds unlike anything I've ever uttered
before as my semen pours into Kyle's butt. Fuck it. Fuck it! This is so
good! This is what I fucking need! I'm panting, breathless, my dick still
squirting inside him when the orgasm finally subsides. I'm still pumping
in and out of Kyle's ass, barely able to believe how incredible it feels.
I slap his smooth butt a final time, letting my softening dick slip out.


"Wow," Kyle murmurs from the couch cushion.

Fucking wow. The white globs of my cum start spilling out the second
after I pull out of his hole, the warm jizz quickly streaking down his
slit and smooth balls. I slap his cheeks again. "Taste it," I insist,
still feeling totally dominant, still wanting his mouth around my cock.

Kyle instantly turns around, positioning himself at my dick and eagerly
taking it into his mouth.

Too eagerly. "Easy," I whisper, still sensitive after my orgasm. "Just
taste that load I dumped inside you."

He moans and slurps on my soft dick less intensely, quickly pulling off
of it. "That was amazing," he says, his blue eyes looking into mine, his
blond hair a mess.

"Yeah," I say back, still relishing in my release with Kyle's face at my
cock, my cum now lodged in both his holes.

He suddenly moves away, urgently kneeling down on the floor and searching
for the white Calvin Klein briefs he'd discarded during his strip tease.

I know he's scared, and he should be, because I'm a fucking asshole. But
I'm not panicking. Not yet. So I fucked the pretty gay dude again? So
fucking what? I grab Kyle's arm, pulling him up, forcing him to face me.
He looks fucking terrified and I immediately feel awful. "Do you have to
leave?" I ask.

He looks nervous as fuck and I know I deserve that. "Well, I was planning
to head out," Kyle says. "I have class tomorrow."

I feel like he's kicking himself out before I can even have the chance. I
bend down to peck his lips, tasting a hint of my own cum. "Weren't we
supposed to talk tonight?"

He smiles. His blue eyes look up at me like I've grown. "You're not
tired?" Logan asks.

"I am," I answer, finally succumbing to the combination of my obnoxious
shenanigans, a shift at the bar, and what I'd just expended with Kyle.
"But there is a bed right down the hall. Unless you really need to head
back tonight?"

Kyle shakes his head and I take his hand, leading him to my bedroom, both
of us still completely naked. We get comfortable beside each other,
nestling in my sheets. At least this time I'm passing out with someone
I'll actually remember, someone I actually like. God he's fucking pretty.
Fuck it.

"This is so weird," Kyle whispers into my ear.

By now I'm already on the verge of passing out. "What's weird?" I
groggily ask.

"I didn't think I was ever going to talk to you again yesterday. Now I'm
sleeping next to you."

"Yeah," I mumble, cradling up next to him, enveloping his small frame
against mine and loving the way his warm body feels. "How well was my
life working out before? Fuck it. Fuck everything."

"You have so much going for you, Jamie," Kyle whispers back. "You're
tall, you're muscular, you're smart."

I chuckle at that. "No, I'm a fucking dumbass," I say. "Total fucking
dumbass." I have so many things people think they want, but I feel like I
have nothing at all.

He runs his fingers through my hair. "You're still figuring everything
out," Kyle murmurs into my ear. "There's nothing wrong with that."

That's definitely the fucking truth right now. I have so much to figure
out. "Let's just sleep," I decide.

Kyle doesn't say anything else. He's probably afraid to say anything
else. He's gotten a taste of how fucked up I am and I've done everything
possible to drive him away from me, but he's here right now, his smooth
skin against mine. Fuck it. I feel good about myself for the first time
in a long time. I did something right for once. I'm sleeping next to
another dude, yeah, but who fucking cares? Fuck it. Seriously, fuck it. I
literally don't even remember sleeping next to the last girl I brought
home. At least I'll actually remember this.

Who the fuck am I? Less than a day ago I'd dragged some smoking hot girl
here with false promises and passed out on top of her not even able to
get hard. Now I have the ridiculously pretty gay guy sleeping next to me
with a huge load of my cum planted in his ass. I don't fucking know, and
maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and finally panic that I did this again. But
right now...god, this feels so fucking nice.