by JD Ruskin
Donnelly tipped his head to one side as if working a math problem. Then he snapped back into the moment. “Penetration,” he said, simply but decisively.
“Penetration? That’s the line?”
“Yep. When a body part enters the other person, that’s the gay line,” he affirmed.
“So, dick in mouth equals gay.”
“Yep.”
“Dick in butt equals gay.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Dick in hand equals gay?”
Donnelly paused. “I’d have to say yes.”
“But there’s no penetration.”
“Of course there is. Make a fist, the dick penetrates it. Same diff.”
“Kissing?”
“Kissing what?”
“Does kissing another guy make you gay?”
“Again, we’re not talking about what makes me gay. Nothing is going to make me gay. But, yes, kissing a guy makes you gay.”
“But that’s not penetration.”
Donnelly sighed. “Tongues all in there, hell yeah that’s penetration.”
“But what about if there’s no tongue?”
“Then you’re not doing it right.”
“I’ll remember that next time I kiss you. Thanks.”
“Whatever. Hey, you need a ride tomorrow? For the thing?”
“No, I’m going to drive myself over. It’ll seem weird if I get dropped off. But I’ll call you when I’m done, let you know how it goes, okay?”
“Good enough. Catch ya later.”
Donnelly left Brandt alone to contemplate his skimpy khaki short-shorts, his skin-tight periwinkle shirt, and his tawdry fate.
BRANDT WALKED up to the porch of the frat house, regretting every step as soon as he had taken it but knowing that he must arrive, must do his job. He was profoundly uncomfortable; his balls were stuck to his leg, squished in place by the pressure of the tight shorts. He wished that he could just be out of them, but immediately realized that this could very well happen soon enough, and then he was a little sick to his stomach. He knocked at the door and waited.
“Hey! You’re here!” Nick said as he opened the door.
“And you’re naked!’ Brandt replied.
“Yeah, I guess I am. It’s just easier on the weekends. That way if I happen through somebody else’s shot, I’m a bonus, not a buzzkill. Come on in!”
Brandt walked through the doorway while Nick held the door for him. His hip, clad only in the sheer fabric of his shorts, brushed against Nick’s completely bare one as he passed. He was mortified; Nick seemed not to mind in the slightest.
“Mr. Drake’s waiting for you in the office,” Nick said as he walked down the main hall. Brandt tried to look anywhere other than the backside of his new friend, but as he was following him, he didn’t have much choice.
Nick stopped in front of what looked to be a hall closet; he opened the door, and Brandt saw that it led instead to an office. A quite plain one, given the luxury of the surroundings: there was a desk, a table with a couple of chairs, and a small number of Tuscan-looking landscape photographs on the wall. At the desk sat a slight but fit man, perhaps in his midthirties, who was entering figures into a spreadsheet. He looked up as Nick entered, Brandt following.
“Ah, Nick, I see you’ve brought your new friend,” said the man as he rose to reach a hand across the desk in greeting. “I’m Tim Drake,” he offered, in a friendly, vaguely Midwestern voice.
“I’m Jason. It’s nice to meet you,” replied Brandt.
“Please, sit down.” He motioned for Brandt to take a seat. “Thank you, Nick. I’ll call you if we need you.”
Nick smiled, turned, and left the office, shutting the door behind him.
“So, Jason, tell me. What brings you here today?”
“Well, um, Nick told me that you might be hiring, and I sure could use some more money.”
Mr. Drake smiled. “Are you aware of what we do here?”
Brandt looked at the floor. “Yes, sir. I am.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“I guess so. I mean,” and here he looked up at Mr. Drake, “I’m not gay or anything, but I need the money pretty bad.”
Mr. Drake chuckled softly. “Oh, I think you’ll find, Jason, that few of our cast members are gay. They are more open-minded than most, but almost all of them would say they are straight.”
Brandt nodded as if this made sense. Did it? He couldn’t tell any more.
“So, would you be comfortable being naked on camera, Jason?”
Brandt nodded.
“And would you be comfortable masturbating on camera?” Mr. Drake sounded somewhat doubtful.
Brandt’s cheeks were burning, but he worried that he was not convincing Mr. Drake he’d be able to do what was asked of him. He forced himself to kick it up a notch.
“Hell yeah,” he snorted with a macho laugh. “I jerk off all the time anyway. Might as well get paid for showin’ it off, right?”
Mr. Drake smiled broadly. This clearly was what he was waiting to hear.
“Excellent. Well, let’s do this. We need to get a camera test first to be sure that you’re the right fit for the job. We’ll pay you $250 for that today, and if we like what we see in the video, then we’ll talk about hiring you on for more. How’s that?”
“Awesome!” Brandt replied, trying to stay visibly excited about this horrible, career-ending thing he was apparently about to do.
“Great. I just need you to sign this release, and I’ll call Nick back in. He’ll help you record the video today.”
Brandt filled out the remarkably brief model release with his cover identity’s contact information and signed it with the fake signature he and Donnelly had made up last night. Mr. Drake dialed and then said into the phone, “Nick? Yes, we’re on. Sure, you can shoot there today. Okay.” He hung up the phone.
“Nick will be here in a sec. Any questions for me?”
“Nope. Just excited to get going,” Brandt lied.
“I’ll be excited to see your video,” Mr. Drake replied.
Brandt could feel Drake’s eyes locked on his ass as Nick guided him out of the office.
“All right,” Nick said as they walked, “We’re going to shoot in the master bedroom today. It’s a great room—big sunken tub, this shower with water shooting all over the place, and a big window so there’s lots of good light on the bed.”
Nick’s every word made Brandt’s stomach hurt even worse as he followed him down the hall. This was going to be awful. Determined to salvage some actual police work from the wreckage, he pulled out his cell and typed a message to Donnelly: “Drake, Tim. State College 2001.” Brandt had noticed Mr. Drake’s class ring.
Too soon they arrived at the bedroom. It was, as Nick had promised, beautiful. The kind of place where Brandt could imagine spending a weekend. With a woman. What the hell was he doing here?
Nick was all business as he got the room set up. “We’ll have two stationary cameras, here”—he pointed to the corner opposite the bed—“and here”—he pointed to the ceiling above the bed. “And I’ll have this camera so I can move around and get all the angles. So the technical side is covered….” He trailed off, seeming to sense that Brandt was overwhelmed.
“Look,” Nick said, his voice softer, “I know the first time can be a little nerve-wracking. We’ll take it slow and make sure you’re comfortable, okay?”
Brandt could only nod. He was afraid if he tried to speak he would yak up his breakfast.
“For the test video, sound doesn’t matter. So you can ask me questions if you need to, and I can give you suggestions. All we really want to see is how you come across on camera, okay?”
Brandt nodded again. He stood, not knowing at all what he was supposed to do.
Nick picked up the camera and began shooting.
“So, Mason,” he said.
Brandt looked confused. Nick peeked out from behind the camera.
“I made that up for you.
Pretty quick thinking, huh?” he grinned.
Oh, great. Now I have my own porn name. Fucking lovely. And it’s one letter off from my other fake name—it’s like I don’t even have a real name anymore.
Brandt realized he couldn’t afford to lose the momentum he had built by allowing himself to even consider the implications of what he was doing—what he was about to do.
Focus, Brandt, focus.
He smiled back at Nick, trying to look pleased with Nick’s inspiration.
“All right, now, how about we head for the shower?” Nick suggested.
Brandt smiled—slyly, he hoped. He walked toward the bathroom, and Nick followed him. Funny how Brandt was on camera, yet Nick was the naked one.
The shower was large enough to need no enclosure. Brandt reached in and turned on the water, which splashed down from three shower heads on the walls and one in the ceiling. He waited for it to warm up.
“Take your shirt off,” Nick suggested. His voice was too soft to be commanding; it was like he was encouraging Brandt rather than ordering him to do things. It made Brandt feel even dirtier.
Regardless, he whipped his shirt off over his head.
“Whoa, there, big fella! Let’s take this a little slower,” Nick said, handing Brandt back the shirt he had dropped onto the counter.
“Why?”
“Because you’re unveiling yourself. Your audience is dying to see what’s under that tight shirt of yours, and you’re about to show them. But you have to do it slowly, so they are aching to see it come off. Build the suspense before you show them those amazing pecs of yours, okay, buddy?”
Nick’s jocular tone of voice clashed with his visible leering at Brandt’s body. Is he attracted to me? Brandt wondered, completely lost. But he put his shirt back on.
Nick offered more instruction.
“Okay, now grab the bottom of your shirt. That’s the move that announces that you’re about to take it off. But don’t do it yet. Just lift it up a bit, and then turn toward the mirror, like you’re checking yourself out. That’s it—I’m getting a great shot of those fucking awesome abs of yours. Holy shit you are hot!”
Brandt was in agony. What the fuck was he doing here?
“Now, turn away so we don’t get to see your chest right away as you uncover it. Make us wait. Ooh, that’s it. Now up over your head, slowly, slowly. Awesome. Now stuff it into one hand and turn back to us. Ah! Fuck! That’s it! I think I just came!”
Brandt turned to Nick in horror and saw that he was joking.
“Hah! Gotcha! Now, let’s test the water again, and then we’re going to do the same thing with the shorts, okay?”
Brandt felt the water, which was by now quite warm enough. Then he returned to his striptease. He turned his ass to Nick, undid his shorts, and ran his thumbs around the waistband. He pulled down the back, slowly, and was just starting to show the top of his cheeks when Nick gasped.
“Holy shit, you aren’t wearing underwear! That is so hot!”
Brandt wasn’t sure he could stand being told one more time by a guy that he looked hot. But he bit his tongue and continued to slip the shorts down his ass. As he did so, he felt something being taken from him—a sense of his most private things being released into the world, where people who didn’t know him would see them and make their own use of them. He was profoundly saddened by the feeling. But then, as quickly as it came upon him, it vanished. In its place was only a feeling of dangerous power—his ass could make people stop and look, could excite them in ways Brandt had never imagined. He felt suddenly free.
“Okay, now turn around, slowly, and just show the top of your pubes.”
And just like that, the feeling of freedom evaporated and Brandt once again felt like a whore. But he dutifully turned around and faced Nick and his camera with his most private part just barely hidden by the thin fabric of his shorts.
“Okay, buddy, lay it on me. Show me that awesome cock of yours.”
Brandt looked at Nick. “Are you sure you’re straight?”
Nick grinned. “Is it straight to want to rip those shorts off of you? Yeah, I don’t care. I’ve got to see that huge dick.”
Brandt felt that freeing power creep back into his psyche, confusing him even more. He was hiding what Nick, and who knows how many other people, wanted to see. This was not a couple of fags in a dressing room; this was an audience of anonymous viewers, perhaps dozens of them, who would see this video, and for this moment their only thoughts would be focused on him. On his dick. A slight but genuine smile played around the corners of his mouth. He tugged his tight shorts down further. Most of the fabric was gathered under his buttcheeks already, and the front slid smoothly down the length of his cock. In a moment, he was fully exposed. Nick drew in an admiring breath.
“Fucking hot piece of meat, dude,” he exhaled, his camera trained closely upon it.
Brandt kicked off his shorts and turned to get in the shower.
“Ooh, nice,” he heard Nick say behind him. What was nice? All he had done was step over the lip of the shower…. Oh. He must have flexed his ass muscles in doing so, and that’s what Nick was responding to. Brandt was realizing that being a sex object meant that everything he did was somehow a performance. It would take some getting used to.
In the shower, he did what he always did—he stuck his head under the spray for a few seconds, then grabbed the shampoo, squirted some into his hand, and starting scrubbing.
“Whoa whoa whoa there, big guy,” called Nick. “You can’t just charge into it like that!”
Brandt was at a loss.
“What should I do?” he asked. “This is how I take a shower.”
“But this isn’t a shower—it’s a fantasy video. People want to see that rockin’ bod of yours and study it from all angles. They want to see that you love it as much as they do.”
“What, you want me to start going at it right now?”
“No, not yet. But what you should do is stand under the water and let it run down your body. See how it flows down your chest, and then ripples over your abs? That’s awesome, and that’s what they want to see.”
“So, I’m going to stand here and let the water run down my body? Who does that?”
“No one, in real life. But that’s what makes these videos work. Give it a try.”
Brandt stood under the water, motionless, and let the water run down him. It felt stupid.
Nick peeked out from behind the camera again. “Now, run your hands up and down your torso.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why would I do that? I don’t even have any soap.”
Nick took a deep breath.
“Jason, what do you think the people watching this video want?”
“Um… I guess they want to see me jack off?”
“Well, yeah, they do. But not right away. First they want to see you work up to it.”
“That’s what I was doing!”
“No, you were just standing there. What they really want is to be here, with you, rubbing their hands up and down your amazing body, feeling the hard muscle under your soft skin. They want to brush their hands across your chest and feel your nips harden. They want to count your six pack and then run their fingers down your treasure trail and try to wrap them around your cock. Which is getting bigger, now that I look at it.”
Brandt looked down, horrified. It was true. As Nick described what these faceless viewers wanted to do to him, he was boning up. Shit. Brandt was starting to think he really had become a slut. He decided to ignore it, if he could.
“Okay, so they want to maul me. What am I supposed to do again?”
“You have to touch yourself, because they aren’t here to do it. Your hands fill in for their hands. You should do to yourself what they would do to you if they were here.”
“Who watches these things, anyway?” Brandt hoped that by talking shop he could distract his still-hardening cock.
Nick shrugged. “Well,
men mostly.”
“Yeah, I kinda figured that. But creepy old men, or what?”
“No, actually, most of our viewers are in their thirties and forties. They want to relive the frat house days they never had, or something. We get some that are older, and some younger. You remember I told you my boyfriend, Pete, was in Europe with his friend Josh? Well, Josh was one of the first guys who came to my live shows, and he’s my age.”
Brandt took in this information and glanced down quickly to see that his dick, as he had hoped, was starting to soften again. Whew. Nick’s eyes flashed down as well; if he was concerned by Brandt’s shrinkage, he was too much a gentleman to mention it.
“So, you good to go?” Nick asked.
“Yeah, I guess so. It’s just kind of weird to think about all of those guys watching this video. You want me to touch myself the way they would do it, and that kind of freaks me out.”
“Well, then, imagine that the people watching this video are the cheerleaders from the U., or lesbian porn stars, or whatever.”
Boom. Brandt’s cock began to rise again.
“Now start feeling yourself up.”
Brandt tried hard to do what Nick asked of him, but it felt so strange. He rubbed his hand across his chest as Nick had suggested, and to his surprise he felt his nipples harden. Trying to get into the spirit, he pinched his left nipple; this was meant to show Nick that he was trying, but the spark of hot pleasure that shot across his chest—his whole body—from that pinch shocked him. He looked down in surprise, and saw his nipple honed to a sharp point, goose bumps all around it. Perhaps he really had been missing something by rushing through his showers all the time.
He looked up at Nick, right at the camera, and tweaked his right nipple; again, an electric bolt sang through his chest and bumps radiated from the hard nub. Without thinking, he sighed, half closing his eyes as he gave a little more of himself to this… this thing, whatever it was, that Nick was making him do.
“Ohhhh, fuck,” Nick whispered. His tone shifted, softening, as if he recognized that Brandt’s reserve had finally given way.
Brandt felt himself go on some kind of demented autopilot as he squirted some body wash into his hand and started rubbing it over himself. Every few seconds he would feel flashes of detachment from his own body—moments when his hands really did feel like they belonged to someone else—and then his body responded even more ardently to his touch. His cock was full-on steely hard and throbbing now, though he hesitated to touch it in case it wasn’t what Nick wanted him to do. Was he really doing this? Was he really more worried about pleasing some nineteen-year-old pervert with a camera than he was about his police work? What the fuck?