The Parasocial Network Ch. 02

Oscar's palms momentarily blur up the screen as he adjusts the cameraphone, and then he stands back to survey the new angle.

The frame readjusts, and then focuses in on Carlos, who is stroking his slick cock at the edge of the bed, looking hesitantly into the front-facing camera.

"¡Esta bien!" Oscar finalizes, satisfied with his new role as the Roger Deakins of the Mature amateur porn section. He crawls back to his position on the mattress in front of his top.

Carlos was a tall, strapping, young man, who was ugly in a handsome way. But his real capital was in the fat, uncut slab of meat he was toting around.

Oscar was a complete 180 of those traits.

The boy begins to slide chorizo in as Oscar pulls out a small amber bottle, plugging one nostril while taking a long sip through the other. He repeats this step with the other nostril as the boy begins to pick up his pace.

Oscar caps the bottle and takes a long exhale, collapsing completely into ecstasy a few seconds later. The sagging skin on his body reverberates with every pounding of flesh.

"Ay papa," Oscar moans in between the soundtrack of skin crashing. Carlos is relentless, looking to either finish the job rapidly or induce suffering, possibly both in tandem.

The video begin to stutter on Randy's 70" Samsung.

"It's okay," Oscar says, taking his non-lubed hand and flicking around on the same phone he filmed this grandaddy porn with.

The Asian bear, Mickey, rushes over to help the Latin Luddite with his Airplaying.

On the couch across from me, a middle-aged black twink is sucking the spongy cock attached to Chad, who definitely wasn't the Chad of Gen-Z fantasies.

Next to them, a white otter, whose name escapes me, flicks his tongue across Randy's jarring nipples while he palms his ball gut with both hands.

Michael, the young black bear, shakes the bottle of Woodford Reserve in front of me.

"For our whiskey warden," he says, refilling my glass up to it's 'two finger' position.

Sorry if it's difficult to keep up because there's a lot of new faces here, but this is a party.

The video continues and Carlos is pounding away so savagely, that this sexagenarian porn can turn into a snuff film at any minute.

Just two weeks ago, he was sitting here in this very room, clacking away on the glassy screen of his brand new iPhone as Oscar showed off his prize. We sipped cheap bourbon and drunkenly laughed about nothing as Oscar translated our jokes to Carlos to a forced chuckle, which got old very quick and fucked up the flow of the conversation.

Just a few weeks prior, Oscar sent money down to Colombia so Carlos could make his way here to America. A couple of thousand for the coyote to get him through the Darién Gap. A few more when Carlos got arrested in Mexico, but ended up recording himself partying it up at a gay bar. A couple more to get him from the border to Ft. Lauderdale. A new iPhone. A shopping spree at the Galleria. A couple of Andre Jackson's for tina baggies so they could fuck relentlessly for days on in.

...And then, one day, unbeknownst to Oscar, Carlos' "uncle" unexpectedly showed up to take him down to live with him in Miami.

Oscar was left with a drained savings account, prolapsed hole, and a myriad of well-lit memories of them fucking in 4k.

"It's okay," Oscar silently repeats aimlessly towards the TV screen while stroking his sad dick.

Chad stretches a silicone cock ring around his genitalia which sends the blood bulging into his veins. The twink continues slurping at his falsely-erected piece.

I roll my saliva-soaked fingertips around my nipples, but I'm really just cosplaying. This scene isn't enticing to me at the moment. Plus, I'm sixty-five years old. My dick only gets half hard half of the time without juicing and my shoulder hurts when I jack off.

My mind is still fixated on Ivan. He hasn't spoken to me since the night I paid him for his services, and now he was off in Madrid at a Papa Party. Drifting around, focusing on a good time, not establishing anything.

The actual last time I saw him was at the gym. I refused to reward him with the satisfaction of being desperate for conversation after the event, and he refused to make eye contact with me, even though I was occasionally staring a hole through him.

Darius would glance at me though. Since I saw Ivan in his lowest moment, I was sure he was trying to degrade my credibility to anyone whose opinion on him I could influence. The entire gym would probably come to know me as some super obsessed stalker who wouldn't leave Ivan alone.

I didn't care. I just wanted Ivan to know that I cared.

"You still thinking about Trenbolone titties over there?" Randy asks, plopping down on the sofa next to me.

My pupils constricts as I pop back into the present.

"No," I lie.

"You're lying," he figures. "Forget about him. Ya know, Michael has a thing for you. Bought this expensive...well, for him at least... bottle of whiskey just to try to impress you."

Michael bounces over to refill Oscar's glass.

"If he really wants to help him out, he'd slip a little cyanide in there," I joke.

"Now I know he ain't the 'MAN OF YOUR DEEPEST FANTASIES'," he emphasizes, giving me the spirit fingers. "But he's a nice kid. Loving. Loyal. Trustworthy. That's worth more than a superficial six pack, right?"

As much as I valued my intelligence, I knew he'd be disappointed in my answer, so I hold back on a response. I can't help it. Ivan still clouds my mind. He has a hold on something deep inside of me.

"Face the facts, old man," Randy says. "This is your sexual social strata right here."

I look around the room. Ethnic bears. Balding otters. Dilapidated sacks of flesh. We weren't top of the totem in the community. That was the only common denominator that brought us together.

"Anything outside of this is gonna empty your bank account," he continues. "Anything outside of this will consist of you willingly being cognitively dissonant, and at this age, we can't afford to be willingly dishing that out while it's already dissipating."

On the screen, Carlos pumps out a few more hard hitting pumps as he moisturizes Oscar's insides.

"Te quiero," Oscar exhales, as the shit has been pushed back into a grin that he chows down on.

Michael come over a sits next to me, taking my declining stiffy into his hand.

"I'll take care of that for you, daddy," he whispers in my ear, the sour-mashed scent emanating from every syllable. I squeeze my eyes shut and think about Ivan nursing me instead.

"It's okay," I hear Oscar lamenting from across the room.