by Megan Slayer
“Yeah.” Kris backed up another foot. “No. I’m fine. I’ll manage.”
“How else am I supposed to learn about this business if I don’t work my way up?”
“Who are you again?” Kris asked.
“Fain.” The guy crinkled his nose. “Rhymes with vain. I’m not, but you know. It’s catchy.” He chewed on his bottom lip, accentuating the piercing and small patch of hair growing below his lip. “I’m old enough to be here. I’m twenty-two.”
“Well, Fain, thanks but no thanks. I don’t need…fluffing.” Kris sidestepped Fain and stood beside the bed. He prided himself on not needing help in the bedroom. He might not be interested in the partner he was about to fuck, but he had a good enough bank of mental images to pull from to get him through.
“Fain, I need you back here.” The director yanked Fain out of the way. “Garig, you stroll in from this door and Kris, I want you waiting on the bed. Go for the come hither look. You’re ready, you’re willing, but he’s got to come to you.”
“That’s my motivation?” Kris asked and snorted. He bit back another sigh. Damn, this was getting old. He stretched out on the mattress and crossed his ankles. He propped himself up on one elbow. “I’m ready.”
“Garig?” The director jumped behind the camera and snapped the clapper bar. “Where are you?”
“Ready.” Garig grinned from the doorway. “Whenever you are.”
Kris freed his mind of his problems and focused on the film. Get it done and get out of there. He smiled at Garig. “I see you’ve found your way in.”
“What’s a guy like you see in a guy like me?” Garig asked. He shrugged out of the vest. “Tell me.”
“A horny bastard.” Kris grabbed Garig’s hand. He blocked out the actual act of licking Garig’s dick and hole. He feigned interest in Garig’s job of sucking him to erect. Maybe he was screwing himself over, but he could’ve called the scene in. He donned the rubber, then dribbled lube over Garig’s ass. In seconds he was inside and thrusting.
Kris didn’t actually count the minutes, but he’d be willing to guess the director wasn’t getting enough shots by the amount of cursing going on in the background.
“God damn it. You know there’s going to be music, but I swear you’re pissing me off intentionally, Kris.” The director snapped the clapper board. “Cut.” He directed his frustration at Kris. “I need better close-ups. You look more like you’re going to be sick than that you’re enjoying this.”
“Maybe I’m not.” Kris rested his hands on his hips. “Sorry.”
“No, you’re not,” the director replied, his tone flat.
“I’m not, but hold up. Isn’t this flick actually supposed to be about Garig and his…journey? The viewer wants to see things from his perspective and be in his position. I’ll get more into this, but you should focus on him more.” Kris nodded, as if the gesture would convince the director to go along with his line of thinking.
“You’re a dick.” The director wiped the sweat off his brow. “Fine. But act more like you’re getting off on what he’s doing.”
“I will,” Kris said, not really meaning his words. He’d done a piss-poor job of portraying his interest. Damn. He’d have to really focus if he wanted to come across as at least a little excited. He stroked his dick, then swatted Garig’s ass. Soon, he’d be done taking his clothes off for money. Soon.
Half an hour later, the director yelled cut for the last time. “I’ve got what I need to get this film done. Next time, Garig, don’t act quite so cartoony and Kris—try to want to be here. That’s a wrap.”
Kris darted into the bathroom to ditch the rubber and clean up. He tossed the used condom into the waste bin, then wetted a washcloth with warm water. He stared at himself in the mirror as the water heated up. The lines around his eyes had deepened a bit more and he noticed two strands of gray hair at his temples. Fuck. He wasn’t allowed to look old yet.
“So.” Garig stood behind him and made faces in the mirror. “You’re never going to bottom? Ever?”
“Nope.” He cleaned off his dick, happy to get the grime of the shoot off his body. Still, the quick wipe-down wasn’t enough. He switched on the water in the shower. He’d have to hurry if he wanted to make his next appointment, but he’d manage.
“Why?” Garig sobered. “Seriously. The viewers want to see you bottom.” He tapped the glass shower panel. “They want you to beg someone else to fuck you.”
“I don’t want to and I don’t have to, so I’m not going to.” Besides, he needed to control the action. When he allowed himself to let go, bad things happened. He lathered his body, then rinsed. Thank God, he’d been given a decent head of hair. Wash and go actually fit his style and worked for him.
“You’d make so much more money if you’d at least go bare. I’m clean. You can fuck me all you want, but bareback. Hell, you’re the cleanest-cut guy in the herd. I’d let you fuck me any day.”
“I’d rather not. I’m doing well with the plan I’ve got going,” Kris said and turned off the water. He grabbed the nearest towel. “I’m happy and that’s what matters.”
Garig stepped into a pair of boxer shorts. “You’re lying.”
Kris left the bathroom and headed back to the living room for his bag. “I’m not.” Not completely. He’d faked his way through the shoot and pretended to be interested when he’d been given the assignment to do the film. Maybe he was lying—to himself.
“Dude, this job is about pleasing the fans and making money. You’re being ignorant. You could not only win awards for your performances, but rake in the dough.” Garig plopped onto the couch. “Serious. You need to take the next step.”
“No.” He slid his boxers and jeans on, then wrestled into his socks.
“Why? Are you still actually thinking about going straight? You know studios won’t hire ex-porn stars. We’re not bankable and too risky. The public wants us to be having sex, not trying to date the girl-next-door.” Garig crossed his legs and propped his feet on the coffee table. “Truth.”
“I’m an actor, not a porn star.” Kris yanked his shirt down over his head and stuck his arms through the sleeves. He finger-combed his hair. “I’m getting out of here.”
“Out of the business or the house? The house, I’m sure. The business?” Garig asked. “Not gonna happen. You’re so not an actor.”
Kris rolled his eyes and picked up his bag. He’d left his cowboy boots in the bedroom. Once he retrieved the footwear, he left the apartment. He shivered. After each shoot, he needed a shower to wash off the ick.
“One day,” he chanted. “One day.” He hurried down to his car, then slid behind the wheel. If he made all the green lights and didn’t get stuck in traffic, he’d make it to the casting call on time.
Half an hour later, he pulled into a parking spot in front of the Liberty Studios building. He’d been to the building half a dozen times for various other roles. Of the fifty parts he’d gone out for, he’d landed one. The role of pilot number three in a war flick. Unfortunately for him, he’d ended up on the cutting room floor. Not a great way to start a career in serious film.
He dug through his bag for the script. The call today was for a guy in his late twenties with a dark past. He had to portray grief and sadness while staying cool and collected. His backstory included being assaulted and hardened by life. Kris glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror. If he combed his hair forward and knotted his eyebrows, he could pull off intensity. He knew how it felt to grow up angry. He owned that role.
“You can do this,” he muttered to himself. “You can absolutely do this.” Kris climbed out of his car and locked the vehicle, then headed into the building. He signed in. The receptionist told him where to wait. His hands shook and he wished he’d brought mints. Twenty other guys just like him waited too. He held the script in his hands, crinkling the paper.
He’d never know if he could move beyond porn if he didn’t put himself out there. Who knew? He might actually land the role, or even a guy
who liked him for more than his body. Wishing for all that was a little much, but fuck it. Time to find out if he was ready to leave his past behind him and move forward with his life.
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About the Author
When she’s not writing the stories in her head, Megan Slayer can be found luxuriating in her hot tub with her two vampire Cabana boys, Luke and Jeremy. She has the tendency to run a tad too far with her muse, so she has to hide in the head of her alter ego, but the boys don’t seem to mind.
When she’s not obsessing over her whip collection, she can be found picking up her kidlet from school. She enjoys writing in all genres, but writing about men in love suits her fancy best. The cabana boys are willing to serve, unless she needs them. She always needs them. So be nice to Javier or he will bite—on command. She also writes under the name of Wendi Zwaduk.
Email: [email protected]
Megan Slayer loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.pride-publishing.com.
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What’s his Passion?: Wild Card