by Ty Jacob
In the past few years, finding anyone even remotely resembling a boyfriend had become more difficult than ever. Billy Knight had become one of the highest paid and most well known porn stars in the business, easily making as much as the hot, famous tops. He’d had interviews and cover shots with every gay porn periodical out there – not only Rod & Shaft, but also Gladiator, Hunkfest, and even Man Love Magazine.
Mike had always thought success would protect him from sadness, but with his firmly established superstar status, an entirely new cause of heartache had arisen, a new problem. The guys who were turned on by Mike’s larger-than-life porn reputation didn’t want anything more than a star fuck, a video fantasy in the flesh, while the guys who were out there looking for relationships were put off by the fact that he got paid to get fucked on film and by wealthy clients in private. Porn celebrity made people weird – even weirder, it seemed, than with ‘normal’ celebrity – and Mike was sick of the way guys either fawned all over him or avoided him like the plague. There was nothing in between.
Years ago he’d learned to recognize the weird light in people’s eyes that crept in when they were being affected by fame. It caused faces to change, and a feverish, awed blindness to occur. He didn’t like it. He was grateful that at least there were a lot of people who didn’t watch gay porn and who, consequently, had no idea who he was.
For a while Mike thought he’d found what he was looking for with a guy named Jay. Jay was small, smooth, and lithe – not normally his type – but Jay had a way of making Mike feel like he wasn’t a porn star, and Mike loved that. They fucked off and on for over a month and things seemed to be going well, when suddenly Jay started asking Mike to fuck him without a condom. “Do me bareback,” he’d say.
Mike didn’t actually mind being a top off camera every once in a while, although his on-screen porn persona was still entirely defined by being a bottom. Occasionally he topped for clients, when they wanted it. Now and then he topped Nick. But he’d always been safe. He still got tested every three months, never did bareback.
He told Jay no, but Jay kept asking.
“It’ll be fun,” Jay said, trying any angle he could to make Mike say yes. “It’ll make us feel closer.”
Mike knew that some people weren’t as afraid anymore. Guys were no longer dying like they used to.
“It isn’t such a big deal if you get it now,” Jay told him. “You just take the new drugs and you’re fine.”
The positive guys Mike knew didn’t make it seem fine. Sure, you might not die, but it was still horrible, always fighting off some new infection, having to pop pills for the rest of your life just to keep yourself alive, all the nasty side effects they caused.
Regardless, it was clear to Mike that something was beginning to change. Even his clients were asking for bareback sex more often – although it was always him they wanted to take it up the ass unprotected, never themselves. Around West Hollywood there were gay video shops that had pulled all their old 1970s porn videos out of dusty storage rooms to display them in special sections called ‘Pre-Condom Classics.’ And there was one small, renegade gay porn studio that had actually gone back to making new bareback films – low-budget productions that showed guys eating cum and taking loads up the ass.
All the established gay studios still used condoms religiously, and they even blacklisted directors and models that didn’t. If you decided to make a bareback film, you could pretty much give up on ever working for Cougar, Magnum Man, or Hard Bodies again.
In straight porn, however, sex without condoms was still the norm. Nobody was shocked by it or called it bareback. It was just sex.
Mike knew there were guys out there who were so tired of the constant, seemingly hopeless struggle to avoid HIV that they’d begun giving in and seeking it out, intentionally trying to get infected just to get it over with. Sure, it was rare, but it happened.
For almost three weeks, Mike had told Jay over and over that he wouldn’t fuck him bareback. For some reason Jay still kept asking. Finally Mike began wondering if Jay might actually be a bug chaser. Maybe it wasn’t just the supposed thrill and intimacy and freedom of unprotected sex Jay was after – maybe it was the virus itself. He quit seeing Jay after that.
Lying down on his bed now, Mike hugged his pillow and looked up at the posters he’d just put back on the wall. He’d come to the conclusion some time ago that it was easier to concentrate on a career than on a boyfriend.
Mike was proud of what he’d accomplished in porn. Billy Knight was widely credited with being the first bottom to make it to the top. The new young bottoms looked up to him like some respected elder.
He’d certainly come a long way from the days back in Cincinnati when he would jack off to Luke Champion videos, to actually doing his first scene with Luke in Romeo and Julius. He’d loved every minute of that shoot. Sure, Luke had a bit of an ego, but he also had an incredibly thoughtful, supportive side. They’d hit it off well. Mike realized that Luke’s aloof exterior was a way of protecting himself from all the people who fawned over him. Mike understood. Since that first shoot together Luke had actually become something of a friend and mentor, like an older brother. Luke’s advice had helped Mike to do well over the past four years.
With all his income from movies, dancing gigs, and clients, Mike was pulling in six figures. He’d started actually saving money. At Luke’s recommendation, Mike only did three or four films a year, and in each one he tried to do something new, even if it was just licking a guys balls in a different way, or twisting his body unexpectedly while getting fucked, so that his viewers didn’t get bored. He had to work hard to maintain his longevity – hitting the gym five days a week, watching his diet, studying sexual technique in porn and in person, continually. Billy Knight had become a brand, a business. He remembered Freddy’s old advice. People pay more for the good stuff. Keep ‘em interested and they’ll keep coming. What would Freddy say now? Would he be proud?
Still, even with all Mike’s success, he was getting tired. He’d been doing porn now for nearly eight years. He’d been hustling for thirteen years. He was thirty-two years old. Hadn’t he left Cincinnati with the idea of quitting hustling? Somehow back then he believed that porn would bring an end to the hustling, but it hadn’t. Now the idea of quitting seemed unfathomable. It was what he did.
One of Mike’s enduring frustrations was that he hadn’t been able to get any income from products, which could set you up in retirement. All the superstar tops made big money with dildos. Some company would sign a deal with them to make a rubber replica of their cock, sometimes slightly exaggerated in size, and market it with the star’s name and photo on the box.
Luke had recently told Mike that the popular Champion Dildo was still earning him almost $50,000 annually, even though Luke had finally retired for good two years ago. Mike had tried pitching a ‘Billy Bottom’ – a fuckable replica of his ass – to several adult toy makers last year, but nobody took him up on it. They said things like that never sold as well as dildos. It was cocks people paid big money for.
Mike got up off the bed and walked out into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and pulled out a can of orange pop. He leaned against the counter drinking it. The can was cold in his hand. He thought about Nick.
“You’d have your own room,” Nick had said that night at Utopia. “I’m a trouble-free roommate.”
Mike said yes right away, even though it wasn’t really what he wanted with Nick. He was almost certain he could handle Nick as a roommate, and maybe every once in a while they could still slip into each other’s bed for a convenience fuck. It could be handy, having Nick just down the hall. Later that night Mike pretended he didn’t care when Nick left the bar with some guy he’d just met.
Carrying his orange pop, Mike walked out into the front room and looked around the apartment he shared with Dale. Here was the fake leather couch he’d first slept on eight years ago. There was the bookcase with all their Silver Dicks – his seven nex
t to Dale’s two.
Maybe Billy Knight was part of the reason Nick couldn’t imagine being anything more than fuck buddies. Maybe somehow that colossal persona had got in the way even for Nick.
Mike looked over at the burgundy chair he’d brought home years ago, then up at that sappy painting Dale had insisted on buying on Fire Island – those two muscle men holding hands, frozen forever on some beach, mid-step, never getting anywhere.
It was so hard to know what to do with Dale. Although Mike cared deeply for him, sometimes living with him felt suffocating, the way all of Dale’s attention was on him all the time, the way there was no place to relax, to feel unobserved, unless he was home alone or went into his bedroom and shut the door tightly behind him, turning the lock. He almost always slept with his bedroom door locked now. Sometimes he felt like Dale watched him in his sleep. Moving out was the best thing he could possibly do, although he knew it would break Dale’s heart.
Lately he always had to check in and explain himself to Dale. I’m going here, I’m doing this, I’ve been there. Nick, on the other hand, was so indifferent to everything that he wouldn’t keep tabs at all. Nick would give him space. Although Mike could afford to live on his own, Nick would provide company without the claustrophobia he felt with Dale.
Mike believed Dale had become stuck in his feelings for him, snagged on something that was actually stopping both of them from moving forward. But sometimes he wondered how much responsibility he had for Dale’s feelings. In the beginning, after all, hadn’t he tried to make Dale fall for him, to want him, just a little? Wasn’t that part of the way he’d gained some kind of control?
But now he had to step out from underneath Dale’s shadow. Mike was not the same young man as when they first met. He’d grown and changed. It was time. And it had to be abrupt. He knew if he gave Dale much warning, if he announced he was leaving in a month, Dale would spend that month moaning and complaining and generally trying to talk him out of it. He might even succeed.
Mike rubbed his hand across his stomach, took another sip of orange pop. It was unclear what he should do with his day now that his plans had changed. He’d always thought of himself as decisive and strong-minded, and he was surprised now to feel so hesitant and unsure, changing his mind back and forth this way. But he was leaving Dale. And leaving Dale perplexed him. As much as he wanted to do it, it was hard.
He could still take some things over to Nick’s today. He could take his clothes, some boxes, a few tiny things that wouldn’t be missed. He could drive them over in his car. It would be easy. Tomorrow he and Nick would use the U-Haul to take over his bed and dresser, night stand, the small TV from his bedroom and the bookcase where he kept his porn – all the things that would be too obvious if he moved them today.
He downed the rest of his orange pop and went back into his bedroom, picked up the keys to his car, and opened the closet doors again.
41. Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy
DALE BOARDED THE plane in Houston carrying his old green shoulder bag in one hand. In the other hand he held a shopping bag labeled ‘Western World.’ He couldn’t wait to give Mike his present.
The plane lifted him into the air, and he thought about how lucky he was to have Mike. As long as that beautiful man was at his side, he never felt like a complete failure. Mike Dudley was the only enduring and reliable stronghold of happiness in the muddle of Dale Smith’s life. As the land fell away, Dale tried to figure out how he would ask Mike, how he would propose his latest idea.
He didn’t think that Mike would say no, not this time. This film would be a hit, guaranteed. Mike’s schedule hadn’t allowed him to be in Sasha’s last five films – or was it six? If Billy Knight’s name and photo had appeared next to Sasha on the cover of Mama’s Boys, sales no doubt would have been better. So Dale was planning to schedule filming for this new Western entirely around Mike’s availability. He’d get Mike’s buy-in even before approaching any of the studios. It was the same old dilemma. If Sasha could tell the studios that she’d already secured Billy Knight, she’d have a better chance of making it. She was going to make this movie, it was going to star Billy Knight, and it was going to be fabulous.
Later, as the plane began its descent, there was a twinge of anticipation in Dale’s chest. Being away from Mike, even for short trips, had become increasingly difficult. Whenever Mike went off on dancing gigs or travel jobs, Dale felt an emptiness that was unsettling. Things were just easier when Mike was nearby.
In LA Dale gathered his purple, floral-print suitcase at the baggage carousel and went to long-term parking to get his car. Soon he was driving along with the heavy congestion of the freeway, listening to Etta James on CD singing “I’ll take care of you.” Her voice boomed out about how much she longed to take care of the one she loved, and Dale sang along. He thought that Sasha should do a number to this. He looked towards the hazy slopes of the Santa Monica Mountains at the edge of the city and felt happy to be home. The sun was shining through the smog. The world was full of possibility.
He exited at Santa Monica Boulevard and headed into West Hollywood. When he got to Fountain Avenue, he double parked near a U-Haul truck, turned on the hazards, and ran up to the apartment.
There was Mike, sitting on the couch and watching TV Dale ran over and gave him a hug and saying, “Hello, hello, hello!”
Mike hugged him back, but he looked sad.
“Are you okay?” Dale asked.
“Fine. Fine.”
“I’m double parked. Can you help me bring my suitcase up?”
Mike followed him back down to the street and took the heavy suitcase out of the trunk.
“Don’t look in this,” Dale said, handing Mike the Western World bag, then he drove off to find someplace to put the car.
Later, Mike sat on Dale’s bed as Dale unpacked and told stories about his trip, about the wet underwear contest and how terrible it was that the winner couldn’t come on demand, about how nicely the runner-up performed, about the two hooligans who had recognized him.
The entire time it was clear that Mike was only half listening.
“What’s wrong?” Dale asked.
“There’s something we need to talk about.”
Dale didn’t like the sound of that. “Wait. I have a present for you,” he said, sitting down on the bed next to Mike and handing him the Western World bag.
“I don’t need a present,” Mike said.
“Well, I’m not taking it back to Texas to return it, so you’re stuck with it.”
Mike opened the box. He pulled out the beautiful dark brown boots, embroidered with just the right amount of detail – not so much to look frilly, but not so little as to look plain. “No way,” he said. “Boots. Why?”
“I wanted to. They’re size nine. I hope they’re okay. Try them on.”
Mike put them on and stood to look in the full-length mirror. Then he turned to Dale and said, “They’re perfect.”
But somehow Mike still looked sad.
Dale sighed. “Those make a hot guy even hotter. Look at you. What a hottie. Studly Dudley.”
With that, finally Mike smiled. “Thank you.”
“So you like them?”
“Yes. They’re great.”
Dale patted the bed until Mike sat down next to him again. “You’ll look great in those boots in Sasha’s new movie. It’s going to be a sexy Western. The ranch I checked out in Texas is wonderful. You’ll be the star, of course. Box cover. Top billing. Top dollar. Everything a superstar needs.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Sasha’s next movie. You’ll be the star. I’m going to call it, Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy.”
Mike didn’t even crack a smile. His eyes seemed strange. “Dale, I’m really busy,” he said.
Dale leaned in and lowered his voice into a whisper, tilted his chin down and began to trace a circle with his finger on the back of Mike’s hand. “Oh, baby. You know as well as I do that Sasha needs to mak
e a comeback before it’s too late. Before everybody forgets her. Please? She needs your help. Will you star in this movie for her? For me?”
Mike pulled his hand away but then looked back. “When are you filming?”
“That totally depends on you. Since the problem lately has been your busy schedule, this time it’s all going to be planned around you, Mr. Knight. When are you free?”
“What studio is it with?”
“Not sure yet, but one of the biggies. I wanted to make sure you said yes before going to the studios with the idea. You’ll be the ace up my sleeve. I’m so happy you’ll do it.”
“I didn’t say that.” Mike turned so that he was no longer facing Dale. He stared at the floor for a moment. “I’m really sorry. I’ve booked my four films for the year and you know I don’t do any more than that.”
“What?”
“You’ll find somebody else. Some cute, up-and-coming guy.” He looked over his shoulder at Dale.
“But it’ll be a fantastic movie. You’ll see. You won’t regret doing it. It’ll be like before. Sasha and Billy. Billy and Sasha. Everyone will be talking about us.”
“I really don’t want to.”
“But I said I’d plan it around your schedule.”
“I’m sorry.” Mike shook his head.
Something was happening that Dale didn’t understand. “You mean you won’t help me?”
Mike turned toward Dale a little more. When he spoke, his voice was soft. “Dale, how much have I helped you? I got you your first big contract. I was in your first four big films. I’ve done so much for you.” He reached out and touched Dale’s shoulder and said, very gently, “I can’t carry you anymore.”
The room seemed to shift. It was a horrible thing to say. Dale was shocked. “What do you mean, you can’t carry me? You’re where you are because I put you there.”