by Max Hudson
“Yeah, I think I do,” I said, reaching for my phone.
“Oh? That’s new?”
I just nodded and flipped through my contact list until I found Doug’s number.
“He must be somebody special. Are you going to have enough energy to handle him after working all day?”
It was a legitimate question, and I didn’t have a satisfactory answer. I was actually contemplating sending a message begging for a raincheck, but the feeling of Stacey’s eagle eyes on my neck made me abort that idea before it took root. I wanted to get out of here, and spending a few hours with Doug was a better option than spending the night wrestling with Stacey.
I put the phone to my ear, not sure if I was hoping he would pick up or not. On the third ring the call connected, and I suddenly felt very self-conscious about my surroundings. I stepped out of the studio into the cool evening air.
“Hey, I thought you forgot about me,” he said.
“No, not at all. By the way, I got your uniform.”
“Really! I was pretty sure it was ruined. Madam Park must really be a miracle worker,” he said. His voice was refreshing, like an effervescent bath for my nervous system.
“I told you, she’s the best. So, look, I still owe you a drink and you’ll probably want that uniform. I’m getting off of work now. If you give me an hour or so, I’ll meet you down in the lobby of the hotel?”
“In the lobby?”
“I would invite you up to my room, but I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.” I also didn’t want to explain to him why I couldn’t get hard, if he was inclined to jump my bones.
He laughed, and the sound went straight to my empty balls. I was becoming more and more frustrated by my self-imposed impotence. I took a deep breath. I wasn’t even one hundred percent sure that he was gay. I was just assuming everything on my side. I mean, what did I have to go on? The fact that he didn’t run screaming into the night when I suggested he come up to my room? That was flimsy at best.
“I won’t get the wrong idea. I’m up for a drink, but we’ll have to keep it short. I have to catch a flight in the morning,” he said.
“Yeah, me too.”
“Really?” I could hear the excitement in his voice.
“No, I’m just fucking around with you. You’re too innocent, kid. It brings out the worst in me,” I said, half confessing to him but mostly talking to myself.
“Oh. Okay. See you soon?”
“Yup,” I said, hanging the phone up before I had a chance to ruin this whole deal.
I took my fourth shower of the day and caught a second wind. My phone rang as soon as I walked out of the bathroom.
“I’m downstairs.” He sounded winded.
I hesitated. I’d be a few minutes. Did I really want him to come up?
“You can wait there for me or you can come up,” putting the ball in his court. Yeah. Great idea. “I just got out of the shower, so I’ll be a few minutes.”
“I’ve got a great idea. How about I buy us a bottle? I think there is a game or something on TV. We can pretend to watch, have a few drinks, and both be in bed on time.”
Jesus, was he hitting on me? It was hard to tell with this guy. Everything he said sounded so clean cut and wholesome. There was no evidence in his voice that he was thinking about anything other than his flight. Fuck! How long had it been since I had a normal male friend? I couldn’t tell the difference between two guys hanging out and an obvious come-on any more. I needed more non-porn related relationships.
“Sounds great. This way I don’t have to make sure my belt and my shoes don’t clash,” I pushed my hands through my hair.
“What’s your poison?” Again, with all the fucking excitement.
“Whatever you’re drinking is fine.”
“Okay, see you in a few.”
Shit.
I’m ashamed to admit it now, but the first thing I did was put my wallet and cash in the hotel room safe. I felt a little conflicted about it, and reasoned that if I thought this guy was going to rob me, then maybe inviting him up to my hotel room wasn’t the smartest decision I’ve ever made. But I couldn’t bring myself to uninvite him, or not worry about my valuables, so I went ahead and used the safe.
Then I slid into a comfortable pair of underwear and sweatpants. One of the interesting side effects of my chosen profession is that I feel somehow more “dressed” when I’m naked. When I’m in some form of undress, I feel like “Max”, the man, the myth, the legend. Fully clothed I’m just Max, a guy with an interesting job description. I debated with myself over which Max I wanted to be tonight. Shirts or skins. The man or the myth.
I slid the sleeveless shirt on over my head just as the knock on the door came. Doug stood in the hallway with a bottle of tequila and two novelty shot glasses. He looked like he was fresh out of a laundry commercial. I opened the door and he walked in without hesitation. Everything about him was fresh, unassuming, and completely confusing.
He took off his shoes and immediately began chatting as he set out the shot glasses and liquor. He also pulled a large bag of popcorn from under his arm.
“Do you have a bowl or something?” he asked.
“You’re not on duty, we can just rough it,” I said with a smile.
He blushed. An honest to God blush. That took my breath away. By this point, I was praying that he was gay, or at least a little bi-curious, because this guy was my kryptonite. I had no defenses against nice, normal guys, with excellent hospitality and hosting skills. None.
“It's an occupational hazard. I’m so used to serving,” he said, plopping down on the small love seat in the living area of the room. “So, who’s playing?”
I flipped the television to the sports network and let it play. I didn’t really care about sports, and neither did he. It was an excuse. Instead of watching what came on, we ended up talking.
In a few short hours I found out that Doug James was from Utah, and although he wasn’t a Mormon, his upbringing was a slice of Americana that you only see on reruns of shows from the 50’s. With the exception of his mother’s hippie tendencies, and his father’s occasional pot smoking, his existence had been pretty straight-laced.
“But, I guess it all worked out. Except for the whole gay thing, my childhood was just like everybody else’s,” he said, draining his shot glass for the last time.
“Gay?”
“Yeah, I’m gay. Is that a problem? I thought you knew?” He looked legitimately confused, and I was too shocked and intoxicated to think about how I looked.
“NO! I was just starting to wonder if we were getting our signals crossed,” I shook my head.
“I know, a gay flight attendant… shocking!” he laughed. I found myself laughing as well, although I had no idea why that was funny. I realized that there was still no proof that I had a snowball’s chance in hell with him. I was enjoying our time together, but it wasn’t exactly fireworks and deep feels. Maybe I just wasn’t his type. Maybe he was in a committed relationship. Maybe….
“I guess I should get going. It’s getting late,” he stood to leave. He might have been ready to call it a night, but I wasn’t. Unfortunately, my tipsy brain wasn’t able to keep pace with the situation. I found myself smiling and nodding like an asshole, struggling to find an excuse to keep him overnight.
“We have to do this again,” he said with a broad smile.
“Definitely, next time we’re both on the same coast,” I said, feeling none of the optimism that seemed to be shining out of his eyes.
“Well, you’ve got the number,” he slipped his feet back into his shoes. “Don’t be a stranger.”
“I’ll try,” I said, following him to the door.
As he was leaving, he turned and looked me in the eye.
“Thanks for being a gentleman tonight. I don’t really go out much. This was just what I needed.” He leaned in and kissed my cheek before leaving. I stood and watched as he waited for the elevator. As the doors opened, he looked up an
d smiled brightly before stepping in.
I went back into the room and locked the door. My heart was pounding and the spot where his lips touched my face felt like the new center of my universe. The last time I felt this way, I was in middle school, and there was a whole lot more self-loathing and shame involved.
I climbed into bed wondering what the procedure was for “almost” dates. Should I wait an hour and send him a text asking if he got home all right? Call? Shit! I really needed to spend more time with people who kept their clothes on at work. Just as I was about to give up and call it a night, my phone rang in my hand. I dropped it and stared at my hand as if the thing just bit me. I managed to compose myself by the third ring.
“Hey,” I started.
“Hey, umm, I just wanted to let you know I made it home safe and thank you again for everything tonight. Believe it or not, I don’t have the best people skills, at least not when it comes to dating. I always seem to miss my connections,” he said.
“I get it, it’s a flight joke!” I rolled my eyes and silently facepalmed. “I’m not really good with people either, despite my job. But I had a good time, and I’m kinda glad I hurled on you, now.”
“Yeah, that will make one hell of a story,” he chuckled. “Anyway, good night.”
“Good night Doug.”
The phone went dark as he hung up and I settled back amongst the pillows. Maybe this was how relationships were supposed to start. Regardless, I was having a lot of fun.
Chapter Three
Even though the music was thumping, making every surface in the club vibrate to the beat of the bass, I could still feel my phone in my pocket, buzzing with new messages. I couldn’t check it right away. I was working, hosting a club event as part of my studio’s promotion package. This was the part of my job that didn’t really seem like work. I walked around with a drink in my hand, but I didn’t drink when I was working. Whether it was on set, or on stage, I stayed sober.
“Hey Max, long time no see!” A familiar face made its way across the dance floor.
“Imagine that,” I said with a sneer.
“Where have you been hiding all week?” Stacey looked me up and down and did a quick whirl around, dropping into the beat of the music. He was an annoying fuck, but he could dance, I had to give him that much.
“Busy.”
“Are you still busy?”
“Yup. Besides, I have to leave soon. I have work in the morning.”
“Are you doing the new Ronan flick?”
“Nope, I don’t work with Ronan. EVER,” I said, trying not to lose my temper.
Just the sound of the man’s name made me angry. Ronan was a director who made the transition from the smaller, independent porn scene out of Florida, to the big studios in California. He was used to operating in an industry that had no regulations. Florida was the wild west when it came to adult entertainment, and many of the things that went unquestioned out there were not acceptable anywhere else. Unfortunately, Ronan wasn’t adapting well to the change in his environment, and after spending one hour on one of his shoots I vowed never to work with him again.
“Never say never, darling. I thought you knew better,” he said with a wink. I walked away. My pants were buzzing again.
I found my manager and let him know that I was leaving. I had performed earlier in the night and had done all my contractually obligated duties. The party was in full swing and it looked like everybody was having a good time.
“Okay, Max, I’ll send a car for you tomorrow,” he said, his eyes already looking lightly glazed. I nodded and set my drink down at the bar, then slipped out the back entrance. I hopped in a cab and headed back to the hotel. I had one more obligation out here before I would head back East.
I checked my phone as the car wound its way through the night. Doug and I had been chatting, not so casually, all week. I had to admit that I was falling hard; we had conversations for hours about history and love. As a guy who’s known for his body, it was refreshing to meet a guy who expected me to use my mind. And, when he would send me random texts in the middle of the day, I felt special. The conversations we had were pretty benign, to be honest. No random dick pics, and almost no innuendo. Something about Doug was too cute to let me get raunchy with him. It felt like cussing in front of your grandmother, without the condemnation. Despite that, the feelings were still there. The butterflies in the stomach and the goofy grin that I couldn’t get rid of when we hung up the phone at night.
The one thing we hadn’t talked about at all was what I do for a living. He never asked. I never volunteered to tell him. I wasn’t sure if it was because he wasn’t sure how he felt about it, or if I wasn’t ready to deal with the idea that he might not be willing to pursue anything serious with a guy like me. But, I was getting way too emotional.
We needed to have “the talk.”
The phone buzzed in my hand as a new message came through.
Leaving the airport now. Meet you in the lobby?
I took a deep breath. I was nervous. That was a good sign.
Call me when you arrive.
I hurried up to my room and showered. I kept rehearsing what I wanted to say to him in my mind. I’d already dropped the “adult entertainment” line on him before and he took it really well. Most people thought that meant I was a stripper or a go-go dancer. Most people could handle the idea of dating a stripper. For some reason, it was a whole different story when it came to porn. Even escorts found it easier to get into relationships than porn stars. Perhaps it was because what happened behind closed doors, in the club or in hotel rooms, stayed there. Porn was different. It was recorded and distributed. The evidence was available for download. It was harder to ignore.
I made a rule long ago when I was hired for my first scene. No matter what, I wouldn’t live with regrets. Everything in life had a cost. This was one of them. Every time I even thought about getting into a real relationship, I had to have “the talk”, and even when it seemed to go well, most people couldn’t stomach it. In the end, they bailed.
I couldn’t blame them. Everybody has their boundaries, and mine were not as narrow as most. I was just hoping that Doug wouldn’t be like all the rest. Despite only knowing him for a little over a week, I was falling hard.
The phone rang just as I was trying to decide if cologne would make me look desperate.
“Come on up,” I said.
“Open the door.”
I hesitated at the door. This was it. As much as I was looking forward to seeing him, I was not looking forward to the possibility of this being the last time I saw him socially. I took a deep breath and plastered on a smile before opening the door. He looked like a million bucks. The same smart, clean-cut look that you expect from a flight attendant, his jacket slung over his arm and his suitcase at his side.
“Glasses? That’s new,” I said.
He smiled and took one step forward, landing a kiss on my lips. I was instantly rooted to the spot. His lips were soft. Softer than I expected them to be, and his kiss was sweet, like he’d spent the whole day with peppermints in his mouth. His lips moved against mine confidently, affectionately, but instead of the normal stirring in my crotch, I felt it in my chest. It shocked me, making me break contact before I had a chance to think about it.
“Long time no see,” he said with a light chuckle.
“Yeah,” I ran my hands through my hair. Why the fuck was I so nervous? “Come on in.”
He walked past me and wheeled his suitcase over to the side, slipping out of his shoes and hanging his jacket on the back of a chair. All of his movements were practiced and efficient. He wasn’t flirting, but it felt like he was. We weren’t touching, but it felt like foreplay. It wasn't my first date, but it felt like it was.
“How was your flight? Are you worn out?”
“It was uneventful, thankfully. I couldn’t take another shift with a screaming kid. I think I’m a pretty patient person, but the sound of screaming babies has got to be my we
akness. I just can’t handle it,” he flopped down on the sofa.
“When do you have to go back to work?”
“Tomorrow night. I hope you don’t mind me crashing with you. The airline has accommodations for us, but I was worried I wouldn’t have any time to see you if I stayed in my hotel,” he said, looking a little embarrassed.
“No, it’s okay. I was looking forward to seeing you again, too.”
The silence in the room seemed conspicuous. I wish I’d had the foresight to put on some music.
“Do you mind if I use your shower? I need to wash the funk off before it gets offensive,” he said suddenly.
“No, go right ahead. You smell great anyway,” I blurted out. Humiliation sliced through my gut like a hot knife through butter. I wasn’t supposed to say that last part. I was only supposed to think it. What the hell was wrong with me?”
He didn’t seem upset. He looked at me over his shoulder and smiled.
“Thanks,” he said, and then squatted down to pop open his shiny roll-away suitcase and pull out a perfectly folded set of clothes and a toiletry bag that I was almost sure would be full of matching bottles of his favorite products. He was that type. The matching hand towels and shower curtains type. And I was the kind of guy who needed to sit on his suitcase to close it.
Maybe my profession wouldn’t be the only major impediment in this relationship.
When he came out, he looked more adorable than when he went in.
“How do you walk out of a shower looking younger than when you went in?” Again, words I didn’t intend to say out loud, but I guess I hadn’t fully installed my inner editor yet.