The End of Billy Knight

by Ty Jacob

  “Cut!” Sasha yelled. “Excellent!” She went out and yelled to the extras. “Now, all you good people, you can go home. You’re beautiful and I love you all! Thank you! Thank you! Billy and Max, take a break while we set up for the next scene. There’s food in the aerobics room. Don’t eat too much or your tummies will bloat. You two are fantastic on camera! Fantastic!” There was clearly an energy developing between them, a mounting desire, as well as a growing confidence in Max, which she needed for the scene to work. She was relieved. It was going well.

  The boiler room was hot, dark, and far from spacious. It took the better part of an hour to figure out how to set up the lighting without having the lighting stands show up on film. Sasha’s video monitor had to be set up just outside the boiler room, but that was okay because she was still within yelling distance. Terrence started doing touch-ups on Max and Billy, and especially on Max’s bruise since the makeup had rubbed off under his shorts.

  When Sasha saw Günter disappear into the toilets, she suspected he was in search of something stronger than caffeine and she followed him. Through a stall door, she heard the distinctive sounds of someone preparing lines on the toilet seat and snorting coke. “Get ouuuuut!” She began screaming, pounding on the stall like a mad woman. “Ouuuut!”

  Günter opened the door with a shocked look on his face, wiping his nose and sniffing.

  “Nobody does coke on my shoot!” she yelled. “Nobody! I don’t care if the Queen of Sheba sent you! We’re here to work, bitch, not play! You leave!”

  “But…” Günter said.

  She cut him off, shrieking and shaking her head. Her earrings rattled and her eyes bulged as she pointed toward the door. “Ouuuut!”

  Günter stood frozen for a moment, dazed and clearly frightened by what was in front of him. It wasn’t until Sasha took a step toward him and yelled “Now!” that he finally turned and walked toward the door. He didn’t come back.

  Sasha walked out into the locker room, where the crew was standing, and she clapped her hands twice to get their attention. They were already watching. “Listen up! If I catch anybody else doing anything stronger than coffee before we’re done with this shoot, you can join that little tramp out in the gutter. Now back to work!”

  By then it was nearly 1:00 a.m., and they hadn’t even started filming the sex yet. Sasha led Max and Billy back into the boiler room and walked them through the blocking for the scene, telling Max how she wanted him to start by throwing some of the blue mats down onto the floor next to the old weight bench. Then she wanted Max to push Billy onto his knees to begin the oral. Finally she explained that she wanted the anal to start with Max sitting on the weight bench and Billy doing a reverse cowboy.

  “What’s a reverse cowboy?” Max asked.

  She looked at the ceiling again and sighed, then looked back at Max. “You’ve been in a couple movies for Blane, right?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Didn’t he teach you anything? How else will you improve your craft? What kind of director is he, anyway? Billy, tell him what a reverse cowboy is.”

  Billy smiled flirtatiously at Max and said, “It’s where I ride your dick with my back to you.”

  “Oh,” Max said, smiling like an idiot. “Cool.”

  Sasha continued. “Your sex will focus on this weight bench and on the floor mats. Once we have the reverse cowboy shots, we’ll talk about the next positions. And Billy, what’s the golden rule of porn?”

  Billy smiled again. “Always look like you’re into it, like you’re having fun.”

  “I don’t think I’ll be pretending,” Max said, staring at Billy.

  Sasha nodded. “Oh, you’re such good boys. Now, everyone in your places! Action!”

  As Max and Billy began having sex in the boiler room, Sasha sat outside watching her monitor, shouting directions and encouragement. When Billy was giving Max his blow job, she yelled, “Good length, Billy! Remember good length! Move up and down on that dick! Fantastic! Max, give me some noise. Moan! Tell him to suck that dick!” When Max began reciprocating with a blow job for Billy, it quickly became clear he wasn’t very good at giving oral, so Sasha cut the take short and went straight to the anal. Toshi brought out the box of condoms. Max slipped one on and sat down on the weight bench, leaning back. Billy held Max’s dick and slid his ass down onto it. He moaned. He started sliding up and down, slowly at first, then faster.

  Although she couldn’t say why, knowing that yesterday Mike had secretly come here to work out with that stripper Kerry bothered her more than watching Billy get fucked by Max in front of her now. In fact, she really liked watching Billy get fucked.

  She shouted, “Beautiful! Now, Max, pull his hips down onto you! Fuck that ass! Gorgeous! Arch your back, Billy! Show off that beautiful rear end.”

  Sitting back didn’t stop Max from thrusting hard, rocking his body into Billy. He clearly was better at fucking than sucking. Sasha was relieved. He was taking control of Billy’s hips now without being told, and he was getting verbal, saying to Billy “Oh yeah, you like that dick?” Billy moaned, “Yeesss!” Sasha was careful not to yell over the top of them, so that their impromptu dialogue could be saved in the editing room. A good fuck was almost always verbal. Sasha had always believed that the ears were one of the most important sex organs, right after the eyes.

  As she watched, Billy was transforming, becoming entirely lost in the sex. It was amazing the way he stayed hard while being fucked, without even touching his dick, which a lot of bottoms couldn’t do. How she hated the sight of a floppy cock on a moaning bottom.

  She shouted out directions to Hugh. “Move in and give me a quick insertion shot from that angle! Perfect! Now a full body shot from the other side!”

  Everyone else had fallen silent and still, as though a kind of magic snowfall had begun to cover everything. Terrence and Toshi stood several feet behind her, peering over her shoulder at the monitor. John was diligently holding the boom through the doorway.

  When the reverse cowboy shots were done, Sasha called the boys out of the boiler room and explained what she wanted next. The lights and the sex were making it hot in there and the sweat looked fabulous on Max and Billy, standing naked on either side of her. Max had pulled off his condom. They both listened to her directions carefully, pulling on their dicks absentmindedly while she talked, just to stay hard.

  She was careful to be very specific about the next shots. Models performed better when they knew what to expect. First, she wanted Billy on his back on the weight bench, legs in the air butterfly style as Max fucked him. It was, she explained, her favorite position to see on film. She talked to Max about cheating his torso toward the camera during the side shots, so you could see the penetration. Then she wanted Max to push Billy down onto the mats, onto his stomach, and fuck him in the missionary position, but aggressively and hard. She explained that any good fuck film had anal in at least three positions. She liked four. For the last one, she wanted some intense doggie style, then the cum shots. After that, the only bits remaining would be the final close-ups, which would be edited back in at various spots – shots of their faces as they pretended to come, or of Billy acting like he was sliding down onto Max’s dick for the first time in the reverse cowboy, or of Max pretending to be enjoying a blow job which was, in fact, long over. Sasha hoped to be finished and have everyone out of there by 5:00 a.m.

  Terrence briefly touched up the makeup, Max slipped on a fresh condom, and they were ready to start filming again, but as soon as Billy lay back on the bench with his legs up in the air, Sasha screamed. “Aaack! Billy! The bottoms of your feet are filthy. Terrence! Get in there and clean him up!”

  Billy lay there on the weight bench with his feet in the air as Terrence cleaned off the dirt with wet paper towels, then he wiped off Max’s feet for good measure. The floor of the boiler room was dusty and grey, and from then on Terrence stayed on foot-cleaning duty.

  When Sasha screamed “Action!” again, she watched in
her monitor as Max moved up to Billy, held his ankles in the air, and pushed his dick into Billy’s ass. “Beautiful!” she yelled. “Now pull back out, Max! Hugh, lay down on the ground under Billy’s ass and get that insertion in extreme close-up.”

  What came across her monitor then was absolutely incredible. There was no doubt about it, watching Max’s huge dick slide into Billy’s ass was one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen. This dear little Billy was amazing, so beautiful, so charming, and he could take anything up his ass. He would go far.

  Yet as the monitor cast a glow over her features, she still couldn’t help herself. She kept thinking about him there yesterday, in that very gym, with that damn stripper – somebody he’d chosen to spend time with instead of being with her.

  Then suddenly it hit her. An image came to her mind: Mike Dudley and Stripper Kerry doing an unthinkable thing. The image was not of them fucking. Sasha pictured them sitting together at a nearby café and actually having coffee. It was a horrible thought, horrible. They would be talking and laughing at a table for two, and Mike would be looking up over the rim of his coffee cup, smiling at this Kerry, ridiculously, like somebody smitten. Kerry would be smiling back, looking all handsome. Sasha remembered him clearly from Exposé. She hated to admit it, but Kerry had a fantastic body and a full head of hair. Who could compete with that?

  A knot turned in the hollow of her stomach. She could lose him, her Mike, her Billy. She could lose them both. It was utterly terrifying.

  In the monitor now, she saw that Hugh had backed up and was shooting Max and Billy from the side again. It was a gorgeous long shot, and it wrenched her heart.

  She was afraid, and she was angry. “Now Max, push him onto the floor and fuck him hard!” she yelled. Then she watched closely as Max did just that.

  24. Fear of the Body Failing

  MIKE WAS THRILLED to make five hundred dollars off the scene, the same as Max. Sasha said she was pleased. When they were finished filming at the gym, Mike went with Sasha to Cougar to drop off equipment and the footage. By the time they got back home it was light.

  They slept right through Tuesday morning and into the afternoon. Sasha went to work, saying that she was only going to sit and review the footage with the guy who would do the editing. Steve wouldn’t be back until Thursday, so they had to wait to hear what he thought of the footage before the editing began. Still, she said, she wanted to be ready.

  Mike sat home that afternoon, wanting to call Kerry and tell him all about the shoot, but he was worried about what Kerry would say. More than anything he wanted Kerry to pick up the phone and call him, to ask how it went. He decided to wait. He didn’t want to seem desperate.

  Standing in the kitchen and pouring himself a cup of coffee, it felt like something was wrong. He should be happy. He’d just done his first scene for a big studio. He’d had a fantastic time with Kerry the other day, something that actually felt like a date, with no money changing hands. It felt like romance. Only then did it dawn on him, lifting up one of Sasha’s thick pink coffee mugs to his lips, that he’d never actually had a date before. He’d slept with more men than he could count, picked guys up off the street or in bars, had fuck buddies here and there, and lots of johns of course, but he had never had anything that could even remotely qualify as a genuine date, like normal people had. Yes, he should be very happy. At the age of twenty-three, he’d finally had his first date.

  He went into the living room and opened the small side pocket on his duffel bag to find the thing that was bothering him. He pulled out a white piece of paper and read it again. “Your code: Y7349A,” it said. “Your appointment: 2:00 p.m. Friday, April 28th, 1989.” It was three days away.

  Kerry never called that day, and when Mike called Kerry that evening, there was no answer. Maybe he was working. Mike left a message. “Hey there. It’s Mike. It’d be great to catch up. Give me a call.” He wanted to seem casual. He kept thinking about his appointment. Everything seemed connected to it.

  Mike expected to see Kerry at Exposé the following night. When Kerry didn’t show up for work, even though he was scheduled, Mike began seriously wondering if it meant something. Pascal complained about Kerry pulling a no-show, about strippers having no sense of responsibility, but Mike wasn’t listening. He was wondering if Kerry knew something, if he’d intuitively figured out that Mike had AIDS and was going to die. It was a crazy idea, but he couldn’t stop it. Waiting to go up on stage and take off his clothes, he feared his body was already failing him, and he thought of Freddy.

  * * *

  In Mike’s entire life he’d only had one john he’d ever fallen a little bit in love with. Freddy Wilson was a middle-aged black man with small love handles and a successful Cincinnati business – a fish market called “Freddy’s Fish.” He was an unusual john because he never wanted to actually have sex, or if he did he never said so. Sometimes they’d jack off together watching porn, but Freddy was so afraid of infecting somebody that he wouldn’t even let Mike suck his dick. Instead they kissed, on the lips, mouths usually closed, like modest lovers before marriage.

  When Mike first met him at the Spares ‘n’ Strikes, Freddy didn’t look sick at all. He was dressed neatly. There was a shiny gold chain around his neck and a small diamond stud in his left ear. He was friendly and gentle, smiled a lot, had a deep, sexy voice. Sometimes he would tease, pretending to be rough, like a street-smart thug. “Yo bitch, I’m gonna beat yo’ white ass,” he’d say, a lighthearted flicker in his eye. Mike always laughed. He knew from the very beginning that Freddy would never hurt him. They spent time together. Freddy paid well. He was the only regular Mike took back to his own place, that apartment on St. Clair above the bar. It was nice having Freddy there, hearing his low voice fill those tiny rooms, seeing him piss into the toilet naked with the door open like he lived there, like Mike wasn’t really alone. That was the first time Mike was able to imagine how it might be, if there was no money.

  Within a year Freddy started losing weight and visiting the hospital a lot. They stopped watching porn. Instead Mike would go to his apartment and they would eat sandwiches at the kitchen table and go for a short walk. Every once in a while, if Freddy was feeling good, they’d manage to go out to dinner. Freddy started giving him advice about business, how to deal with customers. “Keep ‘em interested and they’ll keep coming,” he’d say. “People pay more for the good stuff.” One day he took hold of Mike’s hand and said, “You be careful when I’m gone. Don’t let anybody hurt you.”

  Mike stopped taking Freddy’s money, and he started showed up at Freddy’s place just because he wanted to. It was like visiting an ailing uncle, someone you really liked a lot. Maybe even loved.

  Once, when Mike hadn’t talked to Freddy in a couple of weeks, he phoned to see how he was. Mike was afraid there’d be no answer, but then there was Freddy’s voice, just as deep as ever, although tired now, and Mike felt an incredible sense of relief. Mike asked if he could stop by, and Freddy said yes.

  Freddy lived in a high-rise apartment building downtown. At the front door to the building Mike rang the intercom and Freddy buzzed him in. Mike walked through the sterile white lobby, took the elevator up to the tenth floor, and knocked on Freddy’s door. He heard Freddy yell, “Coming!” It took a long time for Freddy to get to the door. Standing in the hallway, Mike called out, “What are you doing Freddy? Hiding the go-go boys?” He couldn’t hear if Freddy was laughing, only heard him say again, “Coming!” Mike teased some more, “Slow poke!”

  When the door finally opened, the guy standing on the other side was just a shadow of Freddy – a frail, thin man in a robe, leaning on a cane. Usually Mike gave Freddy a kiss on the cheek when he saw him. He didn’t now. Freddy looked so sick.

  Walking behind Freddy into the apartment, looking at the suddenly slight waist and withered legs, Mike saw that Freddy could barely walk. He’d aged decades since the time they’d first met at the Spares ‘n’ Strikes. Pill bottles lined th
e coffee table. The apartment had an odd, sour smell.

  Freddy laid down on the couch, put his leg up because he said it hurt, and they talked. It was only then that Freddy admitted he’d just gotten out of the hospital the day before. He joked about a hot orderly. “A beautiful brother,” he said. “Goatee and a shaved head. He was fine.” Then out of nowhere, he said, “I can’t get my earring in. It’s been out for a long time. I think it grew shut. Will you help me?” Freddy’s old diamond stud was sitting on the coffee table. He must have noticed Mike hesitate, because he said, “There’s gloves over there, if you want,” and he pointed to a box of latex gloves on the kitchen counter.

  The thought had rushed through Mike’s mind that there could be blood when he poked the earring back through the hole in Freddy’s ear. He looked at the gloves, not knowing what to do. He didn’t want Freddy to think that he was suddenly afraid of him. He sat for a moment, then got up, walked over to the box of gloves and put on a pair, feeling bad the entire time, as though he was admitting to some small failure. It was odd touching Freddy’s ear with one hand, and holding the diamond stud with the other, but not actually coming into contact with anything, feeling only the powdery insides of the latex gloves against his skin. When he pushed the earring through, Freddy didn’t even wince. There was no blood. Mike took off the gloves and finally touched Freddy’s arm, skin to skin. He wanted to kiss him on the cheek, but he couldn’t. Three weeks later Freddy was dead.

  * * *

  In the days before his appointment, Mike couldn’t get his mind off Freddy. It was odd the way people could come back to you like that, as though you had never really left them behind, as though everybody you once knew was still inside you somewhere, just under the surface of your skin, even if they were dead. Full of his own fear as he was, Mike’s thoughts of Freddy gave him no comfort.