The Porn Shoot

The guy is way more professional than I gave him credit for when I thought he was just creeping on me at the gym. This really is all a business to him. "Yeah, I can do that," I promise.

"Great, Jamie. I'll send you the details for the shoot in a couple days but we'll probably be filming on Saturday afternoon," he says. "I'm really excited to work with you."

"Yeah, me too," I lie. I'm already fucking dreading it but I need the $750.

"Bye for now, Jamie, we'll see you this weekend," Bob concludes.

"Have a good one, man." I hang up, letting my phone fall to the couch. Does committing to filming a gay porn scene count as being responsible? I hope my parents never find out about this shit, but if they ever do, I'll remind my mom how desperate I was for the cash. This is all her fault. Except not really, it's my fault for spending my earnings so recklessly, and maybe I deserved to suffer having some guy's mouth slobbering all over my dick as penance. The fear of having to resort to doing this again might actually help me to get my act together.

I hate knowing that I'll have to give up my two stroke sessions a day, that I won't even have a chance of scoring pussy until next week, but I can't afford to fuck this up. After not getting off for a week, looking at a fucking flower would probably be enough to get my dick hard. At least that would hopefully make the job easier.

***

I'd made a deal with Bob and set a date, but I still tried lobbying my mom hard, feeling more and more anxious about potentially having to fool around with another guy on camera as the days passed. She wouldn't even answer my fucking phone calls. /Tell me if this isn't about money and I'll call you back/, she texted after my first attempt. /Love you, Jamie/. Yeah, right, whatever. I even thought about calling my dad, but I knew that was a dead end. He wouldn't just say no, he'd probably spend half an hour yelling about how ungrateful and irresponsible I am. Fuck that. By Thursday I was resigned to my fate. I had to shoot the scene. I had to fuck a guy if I wanted to pay my rent.

I drove to the spa on Friday afternoon, feeling ridiculously awkward telling the hot young receptionist that I was "here for Campus Productions." She must have known exactly what it meant, that I was destined to be naked on a set with some gay dude all over me, but she was professional about it. The chick pulled out a fucking folder after asking for my name, drawing out a piece of paper that presumably listed the specifications Bob had requested. I felt like I was being tortured sitting in a place full of chatty women, the only guy there, having someone scrape dead skin off my feet and meticulously clipping my fingernails, but I treated the experience as practice for being uncomfortable. I definitely needed that. At least none of the people bothered trying to talk to me, that piece of paper probably instructing them to avoid it. I was relieved getting to the haircut, knowing that the ordeal was almost over, finally free after my beard was mostly sliced off. On the bright side, I looked great for my Friday night shift at the bar. I walked out with $200.

And now I'm twenty minutes into a drive across town from my apartment, turning into a neighborhood called "Hillside Estates," every house there obnoxiously huge and sited on a big swath of land, all the lawns bright green and well-maintained. The properties must easily be worth at least a million dollars each, and I can barely believe there are people in a college town who have that kind of money. Fuck performing, how do I start a porn site so I can live in this neighborhood and cruise around town in a sweet Audi R8 like Bob?

The GPS beckons me to turn and I drive up a long paved driveway to a huge two-story mansion that's built in a modern style, rectangular shapes and huge plates of glass everywhere. The house seemed like a bold place to be filming porn, but who am I to judge? The old guy has so much land his neighbors had probably never noticed. I park beside several other modest vehicles sitting in the driveway, immediately assuming they weren't Bob's. No, his cars were probably safely tucked away in what looks like a four car garage. I wonder how many other people are here to watch me actually go through with this as I reluctantly climb out of my car, walking up a lushly landscaped pathway to a huge front door. I take a deep breath before I ring the bell.

Bob answers the door, warmly smiling as he pulls me into the house. "First thing, Jamie," he says as we're walking through a grand foyer, "you're going to be Brent for the rest of the shoot. Don't say your real name to anyone here. You're Brent now."

I nod my head. Brent. I don't like it, the pseudonym definitely not one I would have chosen, but I was going to put up with a lot worse than everyone in the house calling me Brent all day. The short silver-haired guy leads me into a monumental living room with several huge couches, light pouring in from the massive windows. There are four other people already sitting there, all of them looking at me, but the younger guy sitting on the couch apart from the other men is definitely observing me the most intently. Bob leads me toward him, the guy jumping up.

"Brent, this is Logan, your scene partner today," he introduces.

The young guy smiles goofily as we shake hands, his eyes deep blue. "Nice to meet you," he says, not sounding nearly as gay as I'd expected.

"Yeah, nice to meet you," I mutter back. Logan didn't look girly, more like pretty, his face boyish, the opposite of handsome and rugged. He was a few inches shorter than me, obviously less muscular, his body well-tanned. He's clean-shaven, the guy's straight blond hair brushed over the top of his head and swept across the ride side of his forehead, the sides buzzed. He definitely looks gay.

I feel awkward standing there above him as Logan sits down, Bob ambling over to the other couch and gripping a clipboard off an ornate coffee table. He walks back over, holding it out to me and handing me a pen.

"We'll start by having you fill out this paperwork we need for our records," he says. "All the places you need to sign are highlighted already. Have a seat and get to know Logan a little."

Sitting down next to my scene partner feels even more awkward, knowing that I'm about to have the little gay guy all over me. I put some distance between us, struggling not to overdo it.

He chuckles at me. "You're straight, right?" Logan recognizes.

"Yeah," I say a little nervously, not looking at his face as I start searching for the highlighted spots on the contract.

"I figured when I saw you. This must be your first time. You nervous?"

I'm starting to sweat just having him ask me these questions. "Yeah, definitely pretty nervous," I mumble, scribbling my signature on one of the forms.

"You ever done any acting before?" Logan asks.

"Not really," I mutter gruffly, trying to concentrate on the paperwork. "Well, I'm a bartender, does that count? I have to pretend to like people all the time."

He laughs at that. "In town? Where do you work?"

"College Sports," I answer, finally glancing at Logan.

His face lights up. "No wonder you look familiar. I love that place! My friends always want to go there."

My head kicks back in surprise. "Your gay friends want to go to Sports?" The place was always crawling with the frat and sorority crowd, not the kind of bar I imagined many gay guys would choose to hang out in.

"No, I really don't have many gay friends," Logan says matter-of-factly. "They're all dramatic and they all sleep with each other all the time. It gets old. I hang out with girls mostly."

Staring back down at the paperwork, I feel surprised. I don't know why I'd always assumed gay guys always hung out together. I saw them with big groups of chicks all the time at work. "I wish I could say that!" I joke, feeling more at ease with him.

Logan laughs. "Hey, I'm a great wingman! But yeah, think of the scene like your job. You're just pretending you like me so we can both get paid. Act like you're enjoying everything even if you hate it and you'll be fine. We just need to look and sound good for the camera."

Hearing him say it that way bothers me. "Not that I don't like you, man. You seem nice."

"You know what I mean, that you're into me," Logan corrects himself. "If you're good at it, they'll give you a lot more scenes."

I sign the last highlighted box, setting the clipboard aside. "I don't really see myself doing this more than once," I say, glancing back up to his face.

"Really?" he asks like he's surprised. "I've made about $20,000 in the last six months."

My eyebrows jump up hearing that number. "Wow, seriously?" I could pay my rent for a whole year, pay off my credit card, and still have thousands in the bank if someone handed me that kind of money.

"Yeah, and some of the other straight guys have done a few dozen scenes each," he continues. "They've made way more than me. I'm still kind of new to this."

I'm nervous as fuck about doing this one scene, but knowing how much I could potentially make from Bob suddenly has me wanting to give it everything I have. I'm going to fuck Logan like he's the hottest girl in the world to prove myself to the old man.

"You reconsidering now?" he wonders with another laugh.

I grin at him and nod my head. "A little, man. I just needed to cover my rent but that's some serious cash."

"That's why I keep coming back!" Logan's face turns blank and he's quiet for a few seconds. "You want to, like...practice a little while we're waiting?" he asks sincerely. "Just so you're comfortable before we start filming with each other."

The way he poses the question, I don't even feel like the gay guy is coming on to me, more like he wants to help me do my best. But that euphemism, practice, forces reality to settle in. We're about to be naked together, our hands all over each other, expected to kiss and suck and fuck.

"It's cool if you don't," Logan breaks into my thoughts. "I just wanted to offer knowing that you're straight and this is your first scene."

I look at him appreciatively, even if I am suddenly more anxious than ever. "No, man, I think that's a good idea. What do we...uh, what do we do?" My pulse quickens and my heart starts thundering in my chest.

Logan's face is totally neutral as he reaches a hand out to my thigh and plants it there. He starts caressing his fingers against my gym shorts, sliding down to my bare leg and dragging his warm fingertips across my skin. "You good with that?" he whispers.

My whole body shudders as Logan softly strokes my leg. "Yeah," I murmur. I'd always imagined being touched by another guy would be repulsive, somehow feeling horrible, but if I closed my eyes right now I definitely wouldn't have known that Logan wasn't a chick. He presses more of his soft hand down on my thigh, gently tracing over it. His gentle caress actually feels good, my dick even starting to fill out. That would weird me out if I wasn't desperately aware of the fact that I hadn't fired off a load in a solid week. I decide Bob wasn't just insistent about my being chaste because he cared about the cum shot. No, he wanted my body primed to react to the slightest stimulus and now it was working perfectly. Having the gay guy's hand on my leg was somehow enough to get my cock hard.

"Should I touch your dick a little or would you rather wait?" Logan asks. "I know that might be weird for you."

I suddenly realize I actually had closed my eyes at some point, imagining that Logan was a girl as he massaged my leg and I enjoyed it. "No, I really should start getting used to it," I decide. I jump up, hiking my gym shorts and boxer briefs down to my ankles before I settle back on the couch. My shaft is already close to full mast.

"Wow," he whispers. "You have a really big dick, don't you?"

I chuckle at him, feeling proud. I definitely wasn't above taking a compliment from a gay guy who handled penises professionally. "Yeah, man, it gets pretty big." I feel Logan's hand wrap around my balls, which are obnoxiously massive and full after a week of denying myself any pleasure. I was expecting that touch to be immediately repulsive too, but it's not. Having a stranger touch me intimately is almost exciting, even if it is another dude. Logan slowly works his hand higher, cradling his fingers around my dick and starting to stroke me. I'm rock hard in seconds, so horny and eager for release that I'm actually enjoying these sensations too.

"Damn," Logan mutters. "I'm going to struggle with this one."

That makes me smirk. I knew I was bigger than the guys in the trailers I'd previewed! My heart's still pounding as my scene partner softly jerks me off but I'm calming down, suddenly understanding how all those other straight guys were able to do these scenes. I didn't have to be attracted to Logan to appreciate his hand, to let him give me pleasure. This isn't ideal, not something I would ever seek out, but it's not horrible either.

"Looks like you boys are enjoying getting acquainted," Bob remarks, showing off his white veneers again as Logan lets my hard cock go. There's another middle-aged guy standing at his side.

I was so distracted having my dick touched that I hadn't even noticed them approaching, and now it feels weird, realizing that two other guys were looking on as another dude stroked me. Whatever, not like they give a shit. Nothing worth panicking about.

Bob hands me a blue pill and a bottle of water. "What is this?"

"Viagra. This will make it way easier to keep your dick hard while you're working with Logan and stopping and starting for the scene," Bob explains.

I twist the cap off the water bottle, downing the pill and taking a big swig.

"This is Rick, one of my production assistants," Bob introduces the man standing next to him. "He's going to take you into the bathroom real quick and trim your body hair up a bit for the scene."

"Uh, ok," I mutter, imagining the dude gleefully rubbing his hands all over me as he does the deed. I stand up and follow Rick to a huge bathroom with marble counters and expensive-looking tile. He flips all the light switches on, the room obscenely illuminated. "Don't worry, man, I won't be feeling you up while I do this," he says calmly. "I'll just tell you where I need you. Can you take your clothes off for me?"

Getting naked in front of people in a gym locker room is second nature, but stripping down in front of a single guy who's going to trim my body hair for me is awkward as fuck. I do it anyway. I'm going to have to get used to things being awkward for the next couple hours.

Rick puts a guard on the end of an electric beard trimmer as I'm sliding my boxer briefs down, turning back around and intently examining my body in the bright light. He presses a button and the trimmer starts buzzing loudly, the guy running it over my chest, the blades whirring every time they slice into my body hair. He runs it down my stomach next, as I'm looking down with fascination, noticing that he only spares my happy trail from the trim. He kneels down and starts to move toward my pubes next, hesitating with the noisy trimmer in his hand.

"You already have the crotch pretty clean," Rick decides, running the trimmer up and down my thighs instead. "Turn around for me." I feel the guard rubbing all over my ass cheeks, nervous that he's going to spread them apart, but he doesn't. "Alright, turn back around." He stands back up and looks me over, appraising his work and turning the trimmer off. "Ok, I think you're good." He opens a cabinet, grabbing a packaged plastic toothbrush and a towel. "Take a good shower and soap up thoroughly, especially around your dick and your hole," Rick instructs. "Brush your teeth and come back out to the living room. Don't bother getting dressed again, we'll have an outfit for you."

"Ok, thanks," I mutter.

Rick leaves the room and I walk up to the huge shower, turning the knob. Water starts pouring out from five separate heads, two mounted above and three on the side of one of the walls. Stepping in and sliding the door shut, pouring body wash into my hands and soaping myself up, I can't believe I'm standing in the old silver-haired man's shower, prepping myself to stick my dick in another dude. At least the Viagra is definitely working. Rubbing a soapy hand all over my shaft is enough to make it start filling out. Maybe this wasn't going to be as tough as I'd imagined. After cleansing my massive ass, I turn the shower off, opening the door as water trickles out of the five shower heads, drying myself off with Bob's fluffy towel. I rip the toothbrush out of its package, thoroughly brushing my teeth and stopping to stare at myself in the mirror. I look good. Knowing that I'm hot enough to film this scene, remembering how Bob had eagerly called me within a minute of sighting my junk, I feel a surge of self-confidence. I'm ready.

I walk back into the living room with the towel wrapped around my waist, Logan eagerly looking over and obviously checking out my body. He's so gay. My scene partner is obviously freshly showered too, his hair still a little damp. He's dressed in a blue v-neck shirt and gray sweatpants now.

"What sizes do you wear, Brent?" Bob calls from the other couch.

"Medium shirt, 32 for pants," I answer.

Rick walks away, disappearing into another room and coming back with a black t-shirt, khaki shorts, and a pair of white Calvin Klein briefs, pressing the clothes into my hands. I drop my towel right there in front of everyone, Logan looking on as I suit up. I sit down next to him as we're waiting, closer than I'd ventured the first time. I feel comfortable with him now.

"Have you ever kissed a guy before?" he asks shyly. "I mean, I'm assuming I know the answer."

I twist my head to his, my eyes a little wide realizing that it's only a matter of time until I can't say I haven't. My heart is pounding in my chest again, a kiss somehow seeming infinitely more intimate than having my dick stroked. "No, I've definitely never done that before."

"We can practice a little if you're nervous about it," Logan offers, sounding like a professional again, not like he was coming on to me.

I start anxiously running my hand through my hair. Fuck, if I want to get invited back, if I want to have a chance at getting paid again, I know I need to make this look good. "Yeah, man, I'd be cool with that." My scene partner doesn't waste any time gingerly wrapping his arm around me, as I turn toward his face, finding him warmly smiling. He wraps his hand around the back of my head, pulling me closer into him as my eyes shut and our lips meet with one simple smack.

Logan lifts away, letting his hand fall to my shoulder. "Was that Ok?" he asks.

Being kissed by a guy, like everything else I'd endured so far, wasn't as immediately abhorrent as I'd envisioned. It was fine. "Yeah," I whisper to him, opening my eyes to find him staring into mine. "Yeah, not as bad as I was expecting."

The little gay guy smiles again as he draws closer and my eyes shut, gently kissing my lips, rubbing his smooth face into my trimmed beard. I start to kiss him back, wrapping my lips around his, my dick starting to fill out. Fucking Viagra. Logan tickles his tongue against my lips and I part them, knowing that we're about to be doing this for real with a camera running. He slips his tongue softly into my mouth, rolling it against mine with our faces pressed together, as my tongue starts thrusting into his. I would have believed he was a girl with my eyes closed, feeling his smooth face rubbing against mine as we make out, but the actual kissing is certainly different. Logan is confident, rougher, more aggressive than any girl I'd ever kissed in my life, passion slowly building as our tongues creep deeper into each other. My dick is rock hard in the shorts Bob's crew had given me, almost painfully pushing into the tight fabric, when Logan pulls away.