The Porn Shoot Ch. 03

"Well, I'm definitely down to hit a bar up with you," Logan says. "As long as you don't mention that we were hanging out off set to anyone when you're filming again."

The secrecy is weirding me out, and maybe it's a terrible idea anyway. I look at Logan's face. "Should we not do it then?"

"No, I think that would be fun. Where do you want to go? Campus Sports maybe?" he jokes, immediately bursting into laughter. "What about the Cardinal?"

The place is a tiny indie bar with half a dozen tables, a perfect location to have a discreet conversation, and it's undoubtedly dead at this time on a Saturday. "Yeah, that sounds good," I agree.

Logan smiles, seeming genuinely excited to spend time with me away from the mansion. "Ok, I'll meet you over there!"

We climb into our cars and drive back down the long driveway of Bob's estate, beginning the 20 minute trip to downtown. Questions are still roiling through my brain, my dick stiffening every time I remember fucking Logan. The images are obnoxiously vivid, my shaft filling out even more in my gym shorts thinking about the way he'd moaned when I plowed him with everything I had. Fucking Viagra! How long is this shit supposed to last? I try to drown everything out with music, turning my stereo's volume up almost as high as it can go. I don't even know what I'm expecting from having a tipsy conversation with Logan. I'm dwelling on it as we slowly return to civilization, crossing back into the familiar grid of streets near the college campus. I want him to tell me that plenty of his other straight scene partners found themselves getting into the shoot and enjoying it, enjoying his touch, his mouth, his ass. I want him to reassure me that it doesn't mean anything. We were just acting, just filming a scene to get paid.

The Cardinal is deserted when we walk inside, understandably since it's 4:00 PM. After Logan and I both get carded, I walk up to the bar and order a double whiskey and Coke, Logan asking for some fruity shit, waving to one of the guys behind the bar. I throw my card down and pay for both drinks, a habit I'm apparently incapable of giving up, the two of us settling at a table. I'm the one who'd asked to hang out, my scene partner looking up at me like he's expecting me to say something as we both quietly sip our cocktails. I don't know what to fucking say. I have no idea how to start this conversation. Why the fuck did I do this? Why am I always putting myself in these horrible situations?

"How's your drink?" I finally ask, trying to fill the silence.

"Good," Logan answers, taking another long sip. "How's yours?"

I gulp more of mine down. "Hard to fuck up a whiskey and Coke," I mutter.

He laughs nervously, looking down and sipping again before he gazes back into my eyes. "What's your real name?"

"Jamie. What's yours?"

"Kyle. But don't call me that on set if they pair us together for another scene," he cautions. "Bob will be pissed."

He's bringing up the apparently absolute prohibition against us hanging out together outside of the mansion for the second time in less than an hour. "What's wrong with us hanging out and talking?"

"It causes drama," Kyle explains. "Models fuck, models have tiffs when it doesn't go well, they get pissy and start badmouthing each other and then they don't want to work together. It gets in the way of Bob's schedule, and all he cares about is making money."

"I guess that's fair," I say, slurping more whiskey down before I turn awkwardly silent again. What the fuck is wrong with me? I know exactly what I want to say, and now we're alone together. Why can't I fucking say it?

Kyle looks more comfortable with his drink mostly finished. "You feeling a little weird about filming today?"

He's known that since I turned strange in the shower, when I was certain he'd picked up on the confusion scrawled across my face. "Yeah," I admit, the booze finally starting to hit. "More than a little."

Kyle stares down at the table like he's not sure how to respond before he looks back up at me. "What's going through your head right now?"

Why the fuck did I think this was a good idea? I knock back the rest of my drink before I feel like I can answer him. "A lot of stuff," I say puzzlingly. He's being way too patient kindly looking up at my face after a response like that. He must have been in this position with a scene partner before.

"Should we get another drink?" Kyle asks.

Knowing that he's worked with other straight guys, I feel like he understands exactly what I'm experiencing right now. Booze is the best way to the truth. "Yeah, that's a good idea," I answer.

"Just relax, I know one of the guys working here. He'll hook us up," Kyle says, standing up and walking over to the bar for both of us.

I feel like a fucking idiot. I'm outgoing, carefree, and buoyant for a living, but I'm making this feel like an awkward first date from hell. If I met up with a chick and she acted this way with me, I probably would have already been running out the door. This guy is way too patient. Maybe I should just leave. This is fucking pointless.

Kyle comes back to the table with two fresh drinks in hand, sliding one over to me. While I'm eagerly slurping my second whiskey and Coke down, not offering another awkward word, one of the bartenders walks up and sets down a wooden tray with six full shots of clear liquor.

"Thanks, Jack!" Kyle calls, smiling at the guy he'd waved to when we'd ordered our first round.

"What did you get?" I wonder, staring at the shots lined up in front of me. They're alluring and I'm imagining myself instantly downing all of them. Maybe that would make me a little fucking braver.

He smiles at me. "Truth serum," he answers, starting to laugh. "It's tequila."

I know I would have charged $30 for a flight like that at Sports. "Dude, I owe you!"

Kyle shakes his head. "Don't worry about it, he didn't actually make me pay for the shots. And I got paid more for the scene anyway."

"You got paid more?"

He grins. "You always make more being the bottom. You want a shot?"

Well, fuck that. I liked fucking him but I definitely don't want to have a dick shoved up my ass, even if it pays more than $750 a scene. Logan makes me take two shots of tequila for every one he downs. By the time we finish the flight, I'm definitely tipsy, staring across the table at his pretty face. With the alcohol swimming in my brain, I admit to myself that I'm attracted to him. I've never felt that way about another guy in my whole life, but I'm attracted to him. He's small and hairless and his face is smooth and I don't even care that he has a dick, thinking about how tight his ass was wrapped around my shaft, remembering the way he'd easily swallowed me to the balls. The little gay guy is cute and I'd liked fucking him. I loved fucking him. I'd ignored Todd's directions earlier because I was intent on shooting my seed inside of him. I don't know why I felt like I needed to do that, but I needed it. I wanted my load buried up inside his tight ass.

And right now, I want to lap my tongue against his perfectly smooth pink hole again, to shove my hard cock into him without Todd ordering me around and interrupting us. And god it's fucking hard. Thinking about fucking Kyle again, my rigid shaft is eagerly pulsing in my shorts. How long does Viagra fucking last, seriously? I want to hear him genuinely moaning again. I want to know how much the pretty boyish guy loves having my huge dick reaming in and out of his ass. I want to actually fuck him, without a crew and a camera looking on.

"How are you feeling?" Kyle asks, interrupting my fantasy.

"Good," I answer. I'm buzzed, fuzzy, and he suddenly looks more attractive than he has all day. How can a guy be this cute? What the fuck is wrong with me? I busted my seven day load, and it's been hours since I took that blue pill. Why won't this fucking erection go away? God he's cute, and I'm fucking crazy. Kyle smiles at me like he knows exactly what I'm thinking. He fucking knows and I can't hide anything.

"You going to tell me what you're thinking about now?"

I sigh loudly, shaking my head, looking down at my drink. "Have you been with other straight guys who enjoyed filming the scene?" I ask. I can hear myself fucking slurring.

"Yeah," Kyle answers nonchalantly. "It happens sometimes. Are you freaking out because we actually connected?"

We /connected/? Shit. I knew it and I knew he knew it, but actually hearing him say it makes me fucking anxious. My face lifts up and my eyes are drilling into his. "Yeah, man. I'm fucking freaking out. I've never experienced that with another dude before." I'm still slurring and I don't even care. I want to reach across the table and grab him, shoving my tongue down his throat again. He's fucking pretty and small and hairless and his blue eyes are beautiful and I love the golden hue of his tanned face and what the fuck is wrong with me? Oh shit! Did I just acknowledge that we /connected/?

"You know you can be into girls and guys at the same time," Kyle says sincerely.

He's calm and at ease like this situation is totally normal while I'm silently panicking, struggling not to permit the emotions to creep across my face where he can see them, but he can probably see them anyway. He fucking bores into me and sees everything. I'm not even drunk enough to pretend I'm too drunk as an excuse to wander away, not that I really want to, because I can't stop thinking about how fucking attractive he is.

"Jamie?"

God damn it. I'm so lost and confused I'm being awkward again. "You really think that's true?" I wonder, nervously rubbing my hands against my legs, feeling my solid dick snaked down one of the sides of my shorts, as I lower my head into the straw planted in my whiskey and Coke, taking a huge swig. He's watching me drink and I know he knows what I'm thinking. He knows everything that I'm thinking.

"Some of the other straight models are married or have girlfriends, but they still enjoy doing the scenes," Kyle explains. "Some people just like being sexual. I mean, I'm totally gay, but I've hung out with other guys who got into it and I definitely don't think they are."

No, no, no, I'm not suddenly down to fuck around with other guys because I fucked him. I'm into him. He's the only one who's ever inflicted this confusing torture upon me. "I don't just like being sexual with other dudes," I drunkenly declare to his face. "I like being sexual with you. And you're the only guy I've ever felt like this about in my whole life, seriously."

Kyle looks sympathetic as he sips more of his fruity drink. "Well, you know I'm into you too. You're a really hot guy. And I've enjoyed getting to know you all day. I like you a lot, Jamie. And honestly..." He looks hesitant as he slurps more booze down. "If the possibility that you might not be 100% straight is bothering you already, maybe you shouldn't film any more scenes. It's probably going to make you feel more confused."

I've totally forgotten about the money at stake sitting here across the table from him, and right now I don't even care. "So you think I'm just into dudes now?" I ask angrily. Of course I'm straight. I'm only attracted to him because I've busted a single time in the last week and they doped me up to film. It doesn't mean anything.

"Maybe you just discovered something you never realized you were open to before," he suggests. "I mean...you're saying you would want to fool around with me again if you had the chance, right?"

Feeling like he's inviting me, my dick still hard looking at him, I stop caring about what it means. I want him. I have no idea how long these feelings are going to last, but I know I want Kyle again right now. "Dude, can we walk back to my place?"

He seems hesitant gazing back at me. "I'm sorry I made you do most of the shots," he apologizes, like he thinks I'm too drunk to be inviting him back to my apartment.

"No, man," I object. "You were right, truth serum. And now I'm telling you the truth. I want you to walk back to my place with me. Right now." Kyle looks fucking uncomfortable and I feel like an idiot knowing that I had to do this to admit how much I want him and I hate seeing that expression on his face. I slurp the last of my whiskey and Coke down, bolting up. "Sorry," I mutter, bounding away from the table, struggling past the people who are suddenly walking through the cramped entrance. I feel a hand on my back as I'm trying to navigate through the crowd.

"Jamie, come back!" Kyle calls from behind me.

Nope. I'm fucking done with this being vulnerable shit. Fuck Kyle, or Logan, or whoever he is. And fuck Bob Howard. Fuck Rick and Todd and whoever that third dude at the house was. And fuck my mom too for putting me in this situation. And fuck my dad, because he's the only reason she ever said no to bailing me out again in the first place. And fuck everyone, fuck the whole fucking world and everyone in it for me making me live through that shit. And fuck the bank for letting me overdraft and then charging me a fee, and fuck the other bartenders who gleefully took my money while I spent the month on my magic spending spree. And fuck every girl who I ever bought a drink for, and especially the sluts who ate up bottle service downing shots as they hungrily looked on while I handed my debit card over like it was nothing. Fuck them all. Go to fucking hell.

Fuck! I'm too buzzed to squat, so I hit the sidewalk intent on drunkenly stumbling into the gym and curling more weight than I ever have in my life. I'm going to do four fucking sets and then I'll do four fucking sets of hammers with even heavier weights. And then I'll do some preacher curls and make my arms really fucking burn. God fucking damn this stoplight. I can't even fucking get closer to the gym. I feel a hand against my shoulder, grunting as I tear it away and turn around.

Kyle's standing there beneath me, looking up at me with his smooth, pretty fucking face. He wraps his arms around my back and presses into my lips and I want to shove his gay fucking ass away but I kiss him back because it's all I've been able to fucking think about since the camera crew left us alone in the shower, when I wasn't man enough to do it even knowing how much I still wanted him. What the fuck is wrong with me? I'm the one plunging my tongue into his mouth and we're greedily making out here in the intersection, and I suddenly stop caring if anyone sees us because at least I'm kissing him. I hear people walking all around us, but my eyes are closed and I feel myself melting into him, surrendering to the roughness, the forcefulness, the masculinity of his kiss. My big dick is filling out in my shorts again and I don't even fucking care who can see it.

God damn, Kyle. Seriously, what is this? How long is the fucking Viagra going to last? His tongue feels so good against mine, better than it had with the cameras rolling, better than when he'd innocently offered to practice and we first made out. People are still loudly walking past us to cross the street and I don't even give a shit.

"Is your place close?" he finally asks when he breathlessly pulls away from my mouth.

Fuck the gym. I have Kyle now. "Yeah, a couple blocks up," I answer. We walk up the street together and every time we have to stop I look at him like I want to devour him. I do. What the fuck is wrong with me? I'm still pent-up and drugged and I'm a little drunk but he's cute. He's really cute. Why do I keep thinking he's cute? Why is he so pretty and why is he chasing after me? I'm a total fuck-up who just filmed a gay porn scene because I failed at getting my life together, but the beautiful gay guy is following me home.

/Beautiful gay guy/? Shit. Now I think he's beautiful? Well, he is. He's gorgeous. I'd never thought about another man like that before, but I know he's pretty. Why the fuck am I so attracted to him? Fuck it. When we're stalled at the next light I grab Kyle's hand, his fingers locking around mine, my dick filling out even more. I stare out at the street, not able to look down at him, but I love feeling his flesh against mine. I don't even care who might see us: girls I'd fucked, coworkers, people who went to Sports, whatever. We march across the street together and I finally unleash him as we walk into the lobby of my building, pressing my fob up to the sensor on the door.

Standing together in the elevator, riding up to the fourth floor, I see the anxiety in Kyle's eyes. "Hey, uh," I mutter as the door swings open, "I'm sorry if I made this awkward as fuck."

He smiles warmly, like he genuinely cares. "Are you sure you want to have me over? I can go back down."

I adamantly shake my head looking at his pretty face. "No, I definitely want to have you over." We walk out of the elevator to my door and I unlock it, feeling like I'm letting Kyle into my real life as we both cross into my apartment.

He looks around and chuckles as he's taking his shoes off at the door. "Well, I definitely believe you're straight now."

I don't even get it as I'm drunkenly pulling my shoes from my feet. "What?"

Kyle laughs again. "You have, like, no decorations at all except for those empty bottles on top of your cabinets. Your walls are totally bare."

I shrug. "So what?"

He wraps his hands around me there in the entryway, looking up at me like he wants to kiss me again, and of course I do it. Our lips join together and I'm making out with Kyle more eagerly than I had in the crosswalk, loving his kiss, the confidence, the firmness, the unapologetic masculinity that he's pouring into it. We're two horny guys hungry for physical affection, and lapping my tongue vigorously against his I know he wants this as much as I do, that he needs this as much as I do. God damn, how have I lived 22 years without being kissed like this! Fucking Viagra!

Kyle looks up at me with intense longing in his blue eyes when I pull back from his lips, feeling our saliva all over my mouth.

"I'm cool with just hanging out if this is too much right now," he offers meekly, like he's worried that I broke away.

Hang out? I didn't bring him here to just shoot the shit. "Can we hang out naked?" I ask, smirking at him.

He laughs, pulling his shirt off without saying anything, his smooth little body calling out to me as I feel his little pecs up the way I'd grab a chick's tits. There's barely anything there but I still love touching him. Kyle drops his shorts as I'm pinching his nipples, his briefs falling down with them as he softly moans.

"You're wearing a lot for someone who wants to hang out naked," he whispers, my hands still on his chest.

God damn, seriously, what the fuck is wrong with me? I'm staring down at his naked body, seeing that his little dick is rock hard, and I absolutely fucking love the way he talks to me. There's no drama, no dance, no courtship. We've decided we're attracted to each other and the little gay guy goes for it, daring me to go further. This is fucking hot. It's exciting. I strip my shirt off, throwing it down on the floor. "Yeah, you're right," I murmur, totally playing along.

Kyle lifts his soft hands up from my faint abs to my round pecs, touching every inch of my skin, moving to my shoulders and gripping his fingers down my arms, past my biceps, sliding his hands down my forearms as he's gazing eagerly into my eyes. "You have such a fucking hot body," he says hungrily. "I've always wanted to look like you."

I grin, pulling my gym shorts down and releasing my dick as his hands drop to my huge ass, cupping it relentlessly. "Maybe we should start working out together," I suggest. "I could use a good gym buddy." I don't even fucking mean it, hating when people bother me in the gym, but the words escape my mouth anyway. His glance is so fucking lustful and I can't even believe I've never explored this until right now. Kyle is unleashing something within me that I never knew existed until today, until the shoot, until this moment, and now I'm standing by my front door naked with him wanting more. I don't even care if I will regret any of this when I'm "normal" again. I need him right now.