Bark and Ted’s friendship is complicated. And while on spring break, it gets even more complicated when Bark brings home a woman back to the room, into the bed they share.

---

The bed is shaking.

Do they have earthquakes around here?

Someone’s moaning. Why is someone moaning in my bed?

Oh, shit.

Ted felt something against his leg. Something warm. A leg? At first he thought it was Bark’s leg, but it was smooth and slender, unlike the lacrosse calves Bark had worked so hard to develop.

Whoever’s leg it was, it was moving. It seemed increasingly likely that it belonged to whoever was moaning. Next to him. In his bed.

Ted opened his eyes to find the room mostly dark. The light from the bathroom illuminated a streak across the foot of the bed, and he could see the duvet moving rhythmically. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what was going on next to him, though by this point he knew full well what was happening. He looked at the pillow next to him and saw a tangle of long blonde hair. She, whoever she was, was facing away from him. Her arms were wrapped around Bark and his around her. They were writhing together on their sides—how were they even doing that? Ted tried to imagine what mechanics were in operation under the covers, but then realized he was trying to picture his best friend having sex. He closed his eyes again.

He wanted to get up, to slip out of the room before the congress next to him reached its inevitable conclusion, but that seemed awkward. Perhaps less awkward than lying there pretending not to exist, but overall Ted was more comfortable with his complete erasure than he would have been with the visibility of stalking across the floor while they went at it.

Plus, from what he could tell, he was naked.

Where the see-through black briefs had gone was just one of the mysteries of the evening. A mystery, Ted knew already, he would prefer to let recede into the mists of time. He probably had barfed all over himself and had to be hosed down and put to bed. And of course Bark would figure that if he was too far gone to keep from soiling himself, he would surely sleep through Bark and his new friend working through the Kama Sutra. This was the kind of insane reasoning that added up only on spring break.

Ted decided to play dead and wait for it to be over.

A few minutes later, however, as the pace quickened and the moaning rose an octave, he felt compelled to open his eyes. What he saw was worse than he could have imagined.

It was Bark. Looking back at him.

He held his lady friend close, strong arms holding her as his rhythmic thrusts grew more urgent. He was flushed and a bit sweaty, but his green eyes were locked on Ted as he moved up and down with the effort of sliding his—Ted knew this as much as he tried not to know it—nine inches of stiff cock in and out of her.

Ted tried to look away, made every effort to close his eyes, but he could not. Seeing Bark this way, transported by physical pleasure, so transfixed him that he was powerless to break their connected stare. His eyebrows rose in panic as the sheer obscenity of the situation overwhelmed him.

Bark’s eyebrows rose along with his.

Ted’s chest grew tight. He closed his eyes for a long blink and opened them.

Bark did the same.

Oh, fuck.

Bark’s pace was growing ever faster; the moans of his companion were rising to a staccato frenzy of yelping. And still his eyes remained locked on Ted’s.

Ted took a deep breath. He couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t try to determine whether Bark’s mirroring of his motions was coincidence or intentional.

He opened his mouth, and bit the right side of his lower lip. It was a move every movie heroine does when she wants to convey simultaneous innocence and sexual availability. He did it because he had to know.

Bark’s eyes crinkled for an instant, just as they did when he was about to burst out laughing, but he didn’t laugh. No, instead he opened his mouth and bit down on the left side of his lower lip, exactly mirroring Ted’s motion.

We’re really doing this.

Ted didn’t remember feeling the erection grow, but he was now certainly aware of its presence on his belly. It throbbed in time with Bark’s thrusting, and now he felt it slipping crazily side to side in a slick pool it had produced near his navel. Ted hadn’t touched it, but he felt its eager presence, the warmth it created radiating out from his groin.

Bark’s eyebrows began to peak, and his breath was short. Ted knew he was close, and he watched with fascination the changes that swept over his friend’s face as the moment neared. His cheeks flushed, and he licked his lips as if they were dry from the exertion—Ted did the same, without even thinking—and sweat beaded on his forehead, dampening his hair to a dark copper. Then, the spasm started. He froze at the peak of a thrust, and made a dozen tiny little jabbing movements while his eyes rolled upward. His mouth formed into an O, and his cheeks pulled in and puffed out with frenetic bursts of breath. He writhed, arms and legs in motion, and then…

And then.

Ted’s world stopped spinning when Bark’s hand touched his shoulder. Hot and sweaty and strong, at first it seemed accidental, a byproduct of his grasping for leverage, a better angle from which to pound away at his lady fair. But then it flopped over, palm pressed against Ted’s clavicle, and the fingers gripped his flesh. Ted looked down at it in a panic, and then back up to Bark’s face, which was contorted and red. No breath, no sound. But his eyes never looked anywhere but at Ted’s.

Bark was frozen this way for several long seconds, and then a growl unlike anything Ted had ever heard rumbled through his chest and out his throat. His hand, though—his hand never released its grip on Ted’s chest. The fingers grasped and released but then grasped again even harder. Bark wouldn’t let go of him.

Then, suddenly, his expression changed from one of angry exertion to one of surprised bliss. Eyebrows peaked, mouth open as if chasing its next breath. It was a look of pleasure and innocence, as if Bark were experiencing this for the very first time, as if this orgasm were a roller coaster he had saved all of his summer chore money to ride, one time, before school started. It was the entire story of his life in one look, and it was what did Ted in.

As Bark cried out in ecstasy, Ted’s lonely member responded in kind. As he watched Bark’s primal thrusting, their gazes still locked on each other, his cock suddenly erupted. The orgasm took him completely by surprise, and he thrashed in its grip while Bark shivered out the last spasms of his.

And still he held Ted tightly, never taking his hand back, never looking anywhere else.

As the spontaneous orgasm waned, Ted’s chest tightened. What the fuck had they just done? His heart pounded. But then the hand that had come to rest on his heart relaxed its grip. Ted was relieved that this bizarre physical connection would be broken. But Bark didn’t lift his hand off Ted’s chest, despite its panicked heaving, driven by the breath he couldn’t seem to catch. Instead, the fingers began to move in little circles, small tickling movements that sent goose bumps springing all across Ted’s chest. The sheer insane intimacy of this motion made the blood drain from Ted’s face, but Bark simply smiled as his breathing slowed to normal.

And then, with a wink, he pulled his hand back and wrapped his arm around the woman who was between them. He closed his eyes and his head sunk back to the pillow and out of sight.

Ted tried to work out his next step, but nothing came to him. He was in a bed with his best friend and the woman he had obviously brought back from a bar; those two had just had sex with each other, and Ted had accidentally done so as well, but with himself. Now they seemed to be snoozing, and he was wet and mortified. There was nothing in Ted’s experience to prepare him for this situation, which, he was certain, had never happened to anyone ever.

He decided he just needed to get the hell out of there. As he slid out of the bed, he did his best to wipe off his torso on the sheet. It would be an awful mess—Ted didn’t think he had ever come so much in his life—but it was better than walking out of the room dripping with spooge. He stood up, searching the floor for something, anything, he could put on. Luckily, though his underwear were still missing in action, his cargo shorts were conveniently wadded up in the middle of the floor. He stooped down to put them on.

“Oh, is your friend leaving?” a woman’s voice asked from the bed.

Bark only grunted uncertainly.

“He’s welcome to stay and join us… I mean, if you’re into that. It would be fine with me.”

“Thanks, but I was just leaving,” Ted said inanely. “You two have fun.” He opened the door and stepped onto the pool deck.

Justin and Roman were inseparable childhood friends, torn apart by their parents when they grew a little too close. Their reunion is a journey of exploration, with the more experienced Roman guiding the virginal Justin. Here, they get a little frisky in the bakery late at night.

---

They once again stood before the large table, their half-empty cups of bourbon where they had left them, Roman’s pants and shoes on the floor. Roman pulled Justin into a long kiss, which tasted a little different than before, Justin thought with a thrill.

“You. Naked. Now.” Roman’s commands were staccato and brooked no argument. Justin complied.

He pulled his shirt off over his head (he had worn an old one, in case Roman was in a bodice-ripping mood again) and dropped his pants to his ankles. He heel-toed off his shoes and then yanked off his socks and stepped out of his pants. He stood before Roman in just his briefs.

“I said naked,” Roman growled impatiently.

Justin, startled by the ferocity of Roman’s order, slipped his underwear off and threw them behind him.

“Up on the table,” Roman said.

Justin, who didn’t even spare a thought as to the disinfectant regime he would need to impose the following morning before any fondant could be rolled out here, hopped up and sat on the table, his legs dangling over the side, his erection poking him in the belly button.

“Turn around,” Roman ordered.

Justin considered how he could possibly accomplish this, given that turning around would mean—what? Leaning against the table? He paused for a moment to work out the logistics.

“On your hands and knees.”

“Oh,” Justin said. It was only when he lifted himself fully onto the table and turned over onto his hands and knees that he considered the position this put him in.

Roman roughly pushed his knees apart, opening him completely. Justin sucked in a nervous breath. Was Roman planning on—what were the words he used? “Splitting him open”? He was about to voice his concern about boundary issues when he felt Roman moving behind him. But he wasn’t getting up on the table, so perhaps he was safe?

“Relax,” Roman murmured. “I’m not going to fuck you.”

“You’re not?”

“No. We’d be sanding your claw marks out of the table for days.”

“Sorry, I’m just a little nervous.”

Roman laughed gently. “I can see that. If your ass were any more clenched it would implode.”

“Sorry!” Justin was so embarrassed.

Roman laid his hands on Justin’s buttocks and rubbed them gently. “Just relax. You’re going to love this.”

Justin willed himself to stop breathing hard, to convince himself that he was in good hands. He was completely unprepared for the feel of cold liquid dripping from the small of his back, down between his buttocks. Then he felt Roman’s mouth—he was nuzzling and slurping the back of his balls, drinking in the liquid after it had run down through… Justin couldn’t even finish the thought.

A pause in the flow of liquid.

“Now this is how a true gentleman drinks his bourbon. Your hot ass beats the hell out of a coffee mug.”

More bourbon drizzled down his ass, followed by Roman’s insistent, wiggly lapping at the secret skin between Justin’s ass and balls. When the flow stopped, Roman surged forward and sucked both of Justin’s balls into his mouth, then pulled back, and they reemerged with a slurp. Then he licked his way up from the base of Justin’s scrotum, nibbling his way along. He was nearly to Justin’s twitchy anus when he lifted his tongue and then continued licking his way up the base of Justin’s spine to lap up the bourbon.

Justin was in a frozen frenzy. It wasn’t just that he hadn’t expected Roman to do this to him—he had simply never imagined that anyone ever did this to anyone. He was relieved that Roman had skipped over his asshole. Really, did anyone ever—

“Unh!” he grunted, shoved forward by the force of Roman crashing his mouth, suddenly, shockingly, right onto his anus.

So, he had his answer. People did do this. At least Roman did. He was actually kissing Justin’s ass. The thought was kind of funny, but the feeling was kind of… nice.

And then it happened.

He felt it—Roman’s tongue—slither right into his ass.

He tried to lean forward, to get away from this invasion, but Roman’s hands were around his hips, and he was held in place with a muscular force he was unable to overcome.

“Oh… God,” he grunted, his voice choked with the effort of trying to pull away.

The tongue retreated.

“You okay?” Roman asked, sweetly, as if his tongue hadn’t just been up Justin’s ass.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“I’m rimming you. Awesome, isn’t it?”

“People do that?”

Roman chuckled. “Oh, yes. People do. Now, take a deep breath and try to relax.”

Justin wasn’t sure he’d ever relax again. Then he felt Roman’s hands, ever on the move, his fingertips venturing into the crack of his wide-spread ass, pulling him even further apart, exposing him horribly. And then he felt the slow, delicate fanning of Roman’s breath on his most private place. Suddenly he was calm, feeling that slow cadence, that leisurely flow of respiration. Somehow, it soothed him.

When Roman entered him again, he vowed to count to ten before freaking out. By the time he got to seven, he was starting to feel how the tight ring of muscle was responding to the invasion of Roman’s slippery tongue. How that tongue could be thin and pointy, or thick and blunt, sometimes alternating by the second. How it thrashed and plunged, lapped and caressed. Justin lost count. He was about to lose his mind.

Instead of trying to squirm away, he found himself pushing back against Roman, opening to him, arching his back and biting his lip as the sensations surged through him. Roman responded by grunting and pushing harder so that Justin’s ass became their site of struggle—Roman to impale more forcefully, Justin to consume him entirely.

Then Justin felt his hand. Roman wrapped his fingers around the head of Justin’s cock, which had been oozing a steady stream of fluid since the invasion began. Roman smoothed this slick gel all along his cock and then gripped it firmly. He made a milking motion in time with the thrusting of his tongue, and created a symphony of movement and friction that unstrung Justin completely. His arms collapsed, but his legs were held in place by Roman’s hand—and his tongue.

“Oh, fuck,” whispered Justin. The circuit between his ass and his cock, something he never knew existed, was electrified by Roman’s steady, aggressive rhythm. Burning freezing tingling erupted from his very core, and Justin could only moan as it built up force. He feared it would take him apart; he hungered for the obliteration that this orgasm would bring.

And then he froze. Every muscle in his body locked against his frame, every cell straining for the impending release. He shivered, unable to move, unable to resist the force of Roman who had pitched him into the inferno of this orgasm. By the time he could hear the heavy splatter of his ejaculation raining down onto the tabletop, he could hardly remember a time before this orgasm started. It was unlike anything he had ever known.

Finally, Roman relinquished his grip on Justin’s cock and pulled his tongue from its playground. Justin collapsed to the side, breathing like he’d just run a sprint. He hoped he could stay conscious.

He felt Roman’s hands, caressing his legs, gently tickling his sides, gradually bringing him back to himself. He breathed a deep, contented sigh.

“You okay?” Roman murmured.

“No,” Justin replied dreamily. “I used to wonder what Galileo felt the first time he saw Venus through his telescope. Now I know.” He sighed. “If, you know, it was in his butt.”

Roman burst out laughing. “Wow. I’ve been complimented on my technique a few times, but no one’s ever said that. Yeah, not once.”

Justin joined him in laughing and then slowly sat up and slid off the table. “Well,” he said, looking at the tabletop. “This is kind of a mess.”

“Totally worth it,” Roman said. “To see you experience that for the first time, I would set fire to this place.”

“Don’t think that’ll be necessary. Just some Lysol, I think.” He turned and looked at the simply staggering amount that he had ejaculated onto the table. “And maybe a wet/dry vac.”

They shared another hearty laugh and then went to get a bucket. They had some cleaning to do. Together.

Casey Melville is about the best friend anyone could ever ask for. Though he’s straight, in this excerpt he helps Jonah Fischer come to terms with what it means to be gay by taking him to Alta Avenue, the gay district well known to readers of Frat House Troopers. The results are touching—and hilarious, of course.

---

Casey pulled his car into the first parking spot he found on Alta Avenue, right where the rather prim map he’d consulted online last night told him the “alternative district” began. He put the car in park and shut off the engine.

“So, this is it,” he said to Jonah, who was surveying the street through the passenger window.

“It’s not what I expected,” Jonah replied.

“What did you expect?”

“Well, every time you see gay people on the news, they’re wearing dresses with feathers or dancing in speedos on floats.” Jonah peered through the windshield.

Casey burst into giggles. “That would be pretty fucked up, man. Think about the traffic around here if they all traveled on floats.”

Jonah laughed, though he sounded a bit more anxious than his friend. “You sure you want to do this?”

“It’s what we came for. No one here knows us, and no one will ever find out we were here.” Casey nodded encouragingly and opened his door. Jonah did the same, and they stepped out of the car.

“I gotta put some money in the meter,” Casey said, patting his pockets. “Did you bring any gay money?” He winked at Jonah, who rolled his eyes and handed Casey all of the straight coins he had in his pocket.

“There. We can be gay for”—Casey squinted at the meter—“exactly two hours.” He turned to Jonah. “If you feel the need to be gayer than that, we can always come back and feed the meter.”

“Are you going to keep doing that?” Jonah asked. “Because I might have to kill you.”

“Sorry, man. Just having a little fun. You know, feeling kinda happy and gay.” Casey saw the glare Jonah was sending his way and recoiled, genuinely startled. “Okay, no more jokes. Got it.”

Jonah grinned. “Well, maybe a few more. You’re awesome to do this with me.”

Casey smiled, pleased to see his friend’s mood lighten for the first time in days. “So, our first stop should be right up here.” He pointed to the other side of the street on the next block up.

“Wait, you planned this out? Like an itinerary?”

Casey nodded, uncertain whether this was something Jonah might view as an intrusion on his prerogative as a sexually questioning individual. “I thought it might be helpful. I didn’t know we’d end up here so soon, though, so I hadn’t really gotten it all nailed down. I mean, do you like gay Thai food or gay Indian food?”

Jonah closed his eyes and shook his head. Then, without warning, he threw his arm around Casey’s shoulder and pulled him into a sudden hug. “Best best friend ever,” he whispered.

“Save it for the float, bro,” Casey replied, deeply thrilled to have made his friend happy. “Onward!” he called, and they walked to their first destination.

They soon found themselves in front of a large bookstore called, as Casey had discovered in his research, Pen is Mighty.

“Look how they repeated the name and ran the letters all together,” Casey said to Jonah as they looked at the front of the bookstore. “See how it looks like it says Mighty Penis? Hah! How gay is that?”

Jonah looked at him, eyes bugged out. “Casey, you can’t just say that, especially not here!”

“I didn’t mean gay like stupid, stupid. I meant it like ‘appropriate considering the target market and neighborhood demographic.’ Jeez, you need to lighten up.” Casey shook his head scoldingly at his friend.

Jonah rolled his eyes and sighed. “Let’s just go in, okay?”

They walked through the door and stood in the two-story atrium with blonde-wood shelves reaching from floor to ceiling.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been in a bookstore—even a straight one,” Casey said as they took in the scale of the place.

“Let’s try not to look like farm boys, okay?” Jonah pointed toward the center of the store. “This way?”

“Your call, chief.” Casey smiled and followed along.

They walked into the center of the store, from which two stories of shelves radiated like spokes. They stood and looked around and had no idea where to start.

Casey was undaunted. He marched up to the information desk and waited for the young man with the Clark Kent glasses to finish consulting the computer about the book he held in his hand. Finally he looked up, and did a double take when his eyes landed on Casey.

“Well, hell-lo,” he said, sliding along the counter on his rolling stool until he was directly opposite Casey. “How may I be of service, sir?”

Casey had never understood what people meant when they said someone had “undressed me with his eyes.” Now he did. The clerk looked him up and down, lingering over areas Casey suddenly felt his clothes were inadequate to cover. He shook off his insecurity and forged ahead with his question.

“Where is your how-to section?” he asked.

“How to what, then?” the clerk replied.

“Um, how to be gay, I guess? It’s for my friend over there.” Casey tipped his head over to Jonah, who was still turning slowly around, absorbing the size and complexity of the place.

“Riiiiiight, your friend,” the clerk said with a smile. “Okay, let’s get your friend the information he seeks. Follow along, cutie.” He came around the side of the information counter and gave Casey another once-over. “Hmm. Sure it’s just for your friend?”

“Oh, about 99.9 percent sure. But thanks for the creepy look,” he said with a sunny smile that clearly intended no offense.

“We’ll see,” said the clerk with a wink. He headed across the hub of the store, tapping Jonah on the shoulder when he reached him, signaling Jonah to follow. The three of them climbed the staircase to the second level and arrived shortly at a section of the store where several rows of shelves radiated out from some conversationally arranged couches.

“Now this is the sexualities section. Here we have lesbian, gay, bisexual, asexual, polyamorous, cisgender, transgender, and, well, other.” He pointed to the shelves on the left and then moved his hand, making chopping motions, as he swiveled to the right. “So moving into the gay section, we begin with ‘Am I gay?’ then on to ‘Why am I gay?’ to ‘Hell yeah, I’m fucking gay so deal with it!’ down there at the end. Then on this shelf we have ‘What kind of gay am I?’ to ‘How do I have gay sex?’ and finally ‘Why does no one want to have gay sex with me?’, which honestly, you two are not going to have to worry about for many many years. With me so far?”

Casey, eyes spinning a bit, nodded gamely. Jonah seemed hardly to be breathing.

“Great. Now next row over we have the coming out section. Coming out to Mom is this shelf—and those four over there. Coming out to Dad is on the next two shelves, and then on down through grandparents and second cousins, and finally rich uncles who might cut you out of their will if you’re gay. Got that?”

The boys nodded helplessly.

“Then finally, we have gay culture, gay cooking, gay travel, and gay automobile maintenance. We used to have a gay fashion section, but now that’s just basically the fashion section on the lower level. It’s fabulous. Any questions?”

Casey could only shake his head. Jonah was reading titles on the shelves with increasing alarm.

“Okay, so…,” the clerk said, trying to catch Jonah’s attention.

“Jonah,” Casey said. “His name’s Jonah.”

“Okay, Jonah. There’s really only one question you need to ask yourself, and the answer will help you more than all of these books. You know the feeling you get in your tummy when you look at your friend here?”

Jonah looked at him quizzically.

“Hang on, let’s get this right. Here, you….” He pointed at Casey.

“My name’s Casey.”

“Casey, great. Okay, Casey, take your shirt off.”

“What?”

“Do you want to help Jonah, or not?” the clerk demanded. He crossed his arms and tapped his foot imperiously.

“Yeah, I do. He’s my best friend.”

“Then off with it. Just for a sec.”

“But…,” Casey stammered, looking around. There were no other patrons in the section, but still.

“Take it off! Now!” ordered the clerk, in a commanding tone Coach Woody could never hope to attain.

Casey crossed his arms and whipped his shirt off.

“Oh, fuck me,” the clerk whispered under his breath. He shook it off and turned to Jonah. “Now, Jonah. You know the feeling you get in your belly when you look at Casey? Be honest now, you know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

Jonah looked at Casey, the friend of his entire life, and his eyes slowly ran down the lithe musculature honed by years of wrestling. He nodded. “Yeah, I know,” he said in a small, pained voice.

The clerk smiled warmly. “Thank you, Casey. If you insist on being fully clothed, which is, I assure you, a loss to humanity, you may put your shirt back on.” He turned back to Jonah. “I know you’re confused and anxious because you don’t understand what’s inside you. That feeling is the truth, Jonah. No straight man could have answered that question in the affirmative. But you felt it, just like I felt it, just like most of the men here would have felt it.”

Jonah looked at the clerk, panic in his eyes.

The clerk continued, his voice low and gentle. “It wasn’t put there by the left-wing media, and it wasn’t put there by Satan to lead you astray. It wasn’t put there by your mom loving you too much or your dad being distant. It didn’t come from anywhere—it’s a part of you. It’s the most ‘you’ thing that’s in you. It will always be there, just like it’s always been there. You can try to ignore it and tamp it down and hide it, but that won’t make it go away. You will be happier, and healthier, if you listen to it and accept it as part of your life. You know this about yourself, Jonah. You know it.”

Jonah’s eyes welled up as he shook his head slowly under the onslaught of the clerk’s monologue. The clerk matched his cadence with nodding, and he laid a hand on Jonah’s arm. That seemed to be the last straw. With a stifled sob, Jonah slumped as if the head-shaking refusal had exhausted him. He closed his eyes, forcing tears from them, and then nodded slowly. He looked over at Casey. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Casey came to Jonah and pulled him into a hug. “No. You’re Jonah. Never be sorry to be who you are.”

“I’ll give you two a moment,” the clerk whispered, a tear running down his cheek as well. He backed away and walked off down an adjacent aisle.

“Happy now?” Jonah muttered into Casey’s ear.

“Gay now?” Casey muttered back. Then he broke into giggles.

Jonah slapped him on the back of the head but then held him tighter. “Thank you,” he said. “I keep saying that, but I can’t say it enough. I can’t believe you did this.”

Casey gripped his best friend more tightly. “I love you, man. I want you to be happy, and to be happy you need to be yourself.”

Jonah took a deep breath and released his hold. The friends stepped apart and wiped their eyes.

“You know, I don’t think I need any of these books,” Jonah said.

Casey’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“Nah. If I get lost, all I have to do is ask you to take your shirt off. Apparently, that’s the only guide I need.” He grinned.

“Think what you’ll learn when I take my pants off,” Casey replied with a wink.

“Let’s save that for when we’re someplace a little more private, okay?” Jonah said with a laugh.

“Deal. Now can we get some gay lunch, please?”

“You got it. Let’s go.”

They walked back down the stairs to the main floor of the bookstore and stopped at the information counter where the clerk was beaming at them from his stool.

“Thank you,” Jonah said, extending his hand.

The clerk took it and shook it gently. “People say that coming out is the most difficult thing they’ve ever had to do, Jonah,” he said with a smile. “But you’ve done the hardest part—you came out to yourself. And to your best friend. Nothing will ever be as hard as what you’ve already done. You’re home, Jonah. Your new life—your real life—starts today.”

“Yeah, happy gay birthday, buddy!” cheered Casey with a wink. He slung his arm around his friend and they walked out of the store together.

Brandt’s undercover mission requires him to take a job in a sex-cam house. This scene is his debut performance, in which Nick leads him through the experience.

---

“All right,” Nick said as they walked, “We’re going to shoot in the master bedroom today. It’s a great room—big sunken tub, this shower with water shooting all over the place, and a big window so there’s lots of good light on the bed.”

Nick’s every word made Brandt’s stomach hurt even worse as he followed him down the hall. This was going to be awful. Determined to salvage some actual police work from the wreckage, he pulled out his cell and typed a message to Donnelly: “Drake, Tim. State College 2001.” Brandt had noticed Mr. Drake’s class ring.

Too soon they arrived at the bedroom. It was, as Nick had promised, beautiful. The kind of place where Brandt could imagine spending a weekend. With a woman. What the hell was he doing here?

Nick was all business as he got the room set up. “We’ll have two stationary cameras, here”—he pointed to the corner opposite the bed—“and here”—he pointed to the ceiling above the bed. “And I’ll have this camera so I can move around and get all the angles. So the technical side is covered….” He trailed off, seeming to sense that Brandt was overwhelmed.

“Look,” Nick said, his voice softer, “I know the first time can be a little nerve-wracking. We’ll take it slow and make sure you’re comfortable, okay?”

Brandt could only nod. He was afraid if he tried to speak he would yak up his breakfast.

“For the test video, sound doesn’t matter. So you can ask me questions if you need to, and I can give you suggestions. All we really want to see is how you come across on camera, okay?”

Brandt nodded again. He stood, not knowing at all what he was supposed to do.

Nick picked up the camera and began shooting.

“So, Mason,” he said.

Brandt looked confused. Nick peeked out from behind the camera.

“I made that up for you. Pretty quick thinking, huh?” he grinned.

Oh, great. Now I have my own porn name. Fucking lovely. And it’s one letter off from my other fake name—it’s like I don’t even have a real name anymore.

Brandt realized he couldn’t afford to lose the momentum he had built by allowing himself to even consider the implications of what he was doing—what he was about to do.

Focus, Brandt, focus.

He smiled back at Nick, trying to look pleased with Nick’s inspiration.

“All right, now, how about we head for the shower?” Nick suggested.

Brandt smiled—slyly, he hoped. He walked toward the bathroom, and Nick followed him. Funny how Brandt was on camera, yet Nick was the naked one.

The shower was large enough to need no enclosure. Brandt reached in and turned on the water, which splashed down from three shower heads on the walls and one in the ceiling. He waited for it to warm up.

“Take your shirt off,” Nick suggested. His voice was too soft to be commanding; it was like he was encouraging Brandt rather than ordering him to do things. It made Brandt feel even dirtier.

Regardless, he whipped his shirt off over his head.

“Whoa, there, big fella! Let’s take this a little slower,” Nick said, handing Brandt back the shirt he had dropped onto the counter.

“Why?”

“Because you’re unveiling yourself. Your audience is dying to see what’s under that tight shirt of yours, and you’re about to show them. But you have to do it slowly, so they are aching to see it come off. Build the suspense before you show them those amazing pecs of yours, okay, buddy?”

Nick’s jocular tone of voice clashed with his visible leering at Brandt’s body. Is he attracted to me? Brandt wondered, completely lost. But he put his shirt back on.

Nick offered more instruction.

“Okay, now grab the bottom of your shirt. That’s the move that announces that you’re about to take it off. But don’t do it yet. Just lift it up a bit, and then turn toward the mirror, like you’re checking yourself out. That’s it—I’m getting a great shot of those fucking awesome abs of yours. Holy shit you are hot!”

Brandt was in agony. What the fuck was he doing here?

“Now, turn away so we don’t get to see your chest right away as you uncover it. Make us wait. Ooh, that’s it. Now up over your head, slowly, slowly. Awesome. Now stuff it into one hand and turn back to us. Ah! Fuck! That’s it! I think I just came!”

Brandt turned to Nick in horror and saw that he was joking.

“Hah! Gotcha! Now, let’s test the water again, and then we’re going to do the same thing with the shorts, okay?”

Brandt felt the water, which was by now quite warm enough. Then he returned to his striptease. He turned his ass to Nick, undid his shorts, and ran his thumbs around the waistband. He pulled down the back, slowly, and was just starting to show the top of his cheeks when Nick gasped.

“Holy shit, you aren’t wearing underwear! That is so hot!”

Brandt wasn’t sure he could stand being told one more time by a guy that he looked hot. But he bit his tongue and continued to slip the shorts down his ass. As he did so, he felt something being taken from him—a sense of his most private things being released into the world, where people who didn’t know him would see them and make their own use of them. He was profoundly saddened by the feeling. But then, as quickly as it came upon him, it vanished. In its place was only a feeling of dangerous power—his ass could make people stop and look, could excite them in ways Brandt had never imagined. He felt suddenly free.

“Okay, now turn around, slowly, and just show the top of your pubes.”

And just like that, the feeling of freedom evaporated and Brandt once again felt like a whore. But he dutifully turned around and faced Nick and his camera with his most private part just barely hidden by the thin fabric of his shorts.

“Okay, buddy, lay it on me. Show me that awesome cock of yours.”

Brandt looked at Nick. “Are you sure you’re straight?”

Nick grinned. “Is it straight to want to rip those shorts off of you? Yeah, I don’t care. I’ve got to see that huge dick.”

Brandt felt that freeing power creep back into his psyche, confusing him even more. He was hiding what Nick, and who knows how many other people, wanted to see. This was not a couple of fags in a dressing room; this was an audience of anonymous viewers, perhaps dozens of them, who would see this video, and for this moment their only thoughts would be focused on him. On his dick. A slight but genuine smile played around the corners of his mouth. He tugged his tight shorts down further. Most of the fabric was gathered under his buttcheeks already, and the front slid smoothly down the length of his cock. In a moment, he was fully exposed. Nick drew in an admiring breath.

“Fucking hot piece of meat, dude,” he exhaled, his camera trained closely upon it.

Brandt kicked off his shorts and turned to get in the shower.

“Ooh, nice,” he heard Nick say behind him. What was nice? All he had done was step over the lip of the shower…. Oh. He must have flexed his ass muscles in doing so, and that’s what Nick was responding to. Brandt was realizing that being a sex object meant that everything he did was somehow a performance. It would take some getting used to.

In the shower, he did what he always did—he stuck his head under the spray for a few seconds, then grabbed the shampoo, squirted some into his hand, and starting scrubbing.

“Whoa whoa whoa there, big guy,” called Nick. “You can’t just charge into it like that!”

Brandt was at a loss.

“What should I do?” he asked. “This is how I take a shower.”

“But this isn’t a shower—it’s a fantasy video. People want to see that rockin’ bod of yours and study it from all angles. They want to see that you love it as much as they do.”

“What, you want me to start going at it right now?”

“No, not yet. But what you should do is stand under the water and let it run down your body. See how it flows down your chest, and then ripples over your abs? That’s awesome, and that’s what they want to see.”

“So, I’m going to stand here and let the water run down my body? Who does that?”

“No one, in real life. But that’s what makes these videos work. Give it a try.”

Brandt stood under the water, motionless, and let the water run down him. It felt stupid.

Nick peeked out from behind the camera again. “Now, run your hands up and down your torso.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would I do that? I don’t even have any soap.”

Nick took a deep breath.

“Jason, what do you think the people watching this video want?”

“Um… I guess they want to see me jack off?”

“Well, yeah, they do. But not right away. First they want to see you work up to it.”

“That’s what I was doing!”

“No, you were just standing there. What they really want is to be here, with you, rubbing their hands up and down your amazing body, feeling the hard muscle under your soft skin. They want to brush their hands across your chest and feel your nips harden. They want to count your six pack and then run their fingers down your treasure trail and try to wrap them around your cock. Which is getting bigger, now that I look at it.”

Brandt looked down, horrified. It was true. As Nick described what these faceless viewers wanted to do to him, he was boning up. Shit. Brandt was starting to think he really had become a slut. He decided to ignore it, if he could.

“Okay, so they want to maul me. What am I supposed to do again?”

“You have to touch yourself, because they aren’t here to do it. Your hands fill in for their hands. You should do to yourself what they would do to you if they were here.”

“Who watches these things, anyway?” Brandt hoped that by talking shop he could distract his still-hardening cock.

Nick shrugged. “Well, men mostly.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured that. But creepy old men, or what?”

“No, actually, most of our viewers are in their thirties and forties. They want to relive the frat house days they never had, or something. We get some that are older, and some younger. You remember I told you my boyfriend, Pete, was in Europe with his friend Josh? Well, Josh was one of the first guys who came to my live shows, and he’s my age.”

Brandt took in this information and glanced down quickly to see that his dick, as he had hoped, was starting to soften again. Whew. Nick’s eyes flashed down as well; if he was concerned by Brandt’s shrinkage, he was too much a gentleman to mention it.

“So, you good to go?” Nick asked.

“Yeah, I guess so. It’s just kind of weird to think about all of those guys watching this video. You want me to touch myself the way they would do it, and that kind of freaks me out.”

“Well, then, imagine that the people watching this video are the cheerleaders from the U., or lesbian porn stars, or whatever.”

Boom. Brandt’s cock began to rise again.

“Now start feeling yourself up.”

Brandt tried hard to do what Nick asked of him, but it felt so strange. He rubbed his hand across his chest as Nick had suggested, and to his surprise he felt his nipples harden. Trying to get into the spirit, he pinched his left nipple; this was meant to show Nick that he was trying, but the spark of hot pleasure that shot across his chest—his whole body—from that pinch shocked him. He looked down in surprise, and saw his nipple honed to a sharp point, goose bumps all around it. Perhaps he really had been missing something by rushing through his showers all the time.

He looked up at Nick, right at the camera, and tweaked his right nipple; again, an electric bolt sang through his chest and bumps radiated from the hard nub. Without thinking, he sighed, half closing his eyes as he gave a little more of himself to this… this thing, whatever it was, that Nick was making him do.

“Ohhhh, fuck,” Nick whispered. His tone shifted, softening, as if he recognized that Brandt’s reserve had finally given way.

Brandt felt himself go on some kind of demented autopilot as he squirted some body wash into his hand and started rubbing it over himself. Every few seconds he would feel flashes of detachment from his own body—moments when his hands really did feel like they belonged to someone else—and then his body responded even more ardently to his touch. His cock was full-on steely hard and throbbing now, though he hesitated to touch it in case it wasn’t what Nick wanted him to do. Was he really doing this? Was he really more worried about pleasing some nineteen-year-old pervert with a camera than he was about his police work? What the fuck?

“You’re forgetting to wash something,” Nick murmured, and Brandt saw his ever-so-slight head-tip to his crotch. “I’m assuming you usually wash there too, right?” he asked with a wink.

Brandt hoped the heat in his cheeks would not show up in the video. He was just getting the hang of this, and now it was the moment he had been dreading. Up until now, all that had been recorded was of him showering; if anyone he knew ever saw it, he could claim it had been made without his consent, with some kind of spy cam. But now he was going to be recorded beating his meat, and he would have to look totally into it. This was the career-ending moment, the life-altering moment. He couldn’t do it. Never.

He looked at Nick, whose golden eyes met his gaze. He saw a grin flirt with Nick’s lips, and then Nick growled—an urgent, primal sound—“Come on, do it for me. Stroke it for me. Don’t think about them.” He shot a glance at the camera he still had trained on Brandt’s junk. “Think about me. Give it to me. Just me.” He licked his lips.

Brandt wrapped his hand around his cock.

He did it without thinking, without stopping to doubt or worry. He did it for Nick.

He gripped his cock with his right hand, slick with soap, and slid it down the full eight-and-a-half-inch arc from base to tip, and then he pulled it back in to press against his flat, muscular lower belly. This simple transit made his breath ragged, and he let out a “woof!” as he repeated it, more quickly, gripping harder, friction building. His hand was soon a blur along the length of his urgently hard cock.

“Perfect.” Nick’s exhaled praise was barely audible, but Brandt heard it like a bell, and he felt the spasming start in his loins. If he didn’t stop right now, he was going to go right off the cliff and—

“Stop!” boomed Nick. Brandt did as he was ordered, as he always did when ordered to do anything. He looked up at Nick and shivered off his preorgasmic trance.

Nick smiled. “It looked like you were about to rub one out there, and we don’t want to do that in the shower, do we?”

How the fuck did he know I was about to shoot, wondered Brandt.

“Why not?”

“Ugh—sticky mess. If I ever jack in the shower, I just do it in my hand and lick it up—that’s far better than trying to clean it off later. Anyway, let’s get to where you rinse off and get to the bed, okay?” he said brightly.

It was too much for Brandt. Had he really been about to come—here, doing this? Fuck. He saw Nick duck back behind the camera, and he knew he was back on. He would have to think about this later. Or never.

He rinsed off the soap and took the towel that Nick had set out for him, an impossibly fluffy white monstrosity that looked brand new. He dried himself, even patting down his cock and balls without being prompted by Nick. He wrapped the towel around himself and walked into the bedroom.

Brandt stood before the bed, knowing that this was where he would humiliate himself, body and soul, in the line of duty. He breathed deeply to calm himself and was so focused on trying to summon the courage to continue that he didn’t feel Nick approach from behind. His warm breath in Brandt’s ear sent a shiver of surprise down his spine.

“It’s okay to be nervous, stud.” The deep voice softly filled Brandt’s ear with its rumbling, soothing heat. “But you are the sexiest man who’s ever laid on that bed, and people are going to go crazy over this video. Now just go do your thing, and I’ll be watching.” He felt Nick pull away from his ear, and then lean back in. “I’m totally hard for you, by the way,” he whispered. Then Brandt felt something on his earlobe. Did Nick just kiss him on the ear? Fucking kiss him?

Brandt’s resolve to get this the hell over with was now ironclad. The only way out of this bizarre, oversexed, fucked-up place was to just get it done. As he moved to the bed, he noticed with some surprise that there were goose bumps all down his left arm. Which Nick had made. When he fucking kissed him. Fuck.

Brandt threw himself down on the bed. He pulled open the towel and defiantly exposed himself to Nick, as if he expected the younger man to be knocked back by the force of his unveiling. Nick’s raised eyebrows and sharp intake of breath showed Brandt that his gesture had been received. Nick retreated behind the camera.

Brandt grabbed his cock and began stroking. There was lube on the nightstand, but he ignored it; there was porn on the monitor at the foot of the bed, but he didn’t even look. He just gripped tight and pumped away, staring angrily at the camera. Fucking Nick, fucking kissing him. What did that bastard think was going on here?

Nick kept his camera trained on Brandt’s cock, wincing as if he could feel the dry rub it was getting.

In less than a minute, Brandt could feel the orgasm starting to build. He tensed his abs to bring it closer—he was chasing it down, he was going to grab it, choke the life out of it—and warmth spread across his body from his groin. His chest began to tighten, and his pecs stood up round and taut as every fiber of his being reached out for this orgasm. He closed his eyes, threw his head back, and pumped as if he were trying to wrestle it into submission.

His hands tightened around that elusive orgasm, felt its life begin to flow into him. He howled as he thrust his hips into the viselike grip of his hands, pushing, pushing to get all the friction he could. Then he froze.

From his red and motionless cock, gripped tightly in his frozen hands, the first shot of cum exploded. It shot up, then stretched itself like a river, a twisting white Amazon, across Brandt’s abs. A creaking groan escaped his lips, his whole body twitched, and then another blast erupted, arcing up to his chest. The third flew gracefully through the air and pooled at his throat. Then the thrusting started again, and his whole body was in convulsive motion as he beat the life out of the orgasm he had finally caught and made his bitch. Cum flew everywhere, splattering like thick rain on the sheets, the pillows, all up and down Brandt’s body. His body wracked with spasms, he jerked and shook and cried until he was exhausted, empty, done. He panted, his fingers laced together around his still-hard cock, wet with the product of his frenzy.

Nick stood breathless. “Oh… my… God,” he finally croaked, with obvious effort. “That was incredible. I’ve just never… no one’s ever… that was amazing.”

Brandt’s mind had been a blank, scorched by the cleansing fire of the most brutal orgasm he had ever experienced. But Nick’s voice brought him back to himself, to this place, and to what he had just done. His cock ached, his earlobe tingled, and the air conditioning was blowing across the pooled spunk on his chest, giving him a chill. He opened his eyes, sat up. He shook his head quickly from side to side, hoping against hope that this would prove a nightmare.

“Did you—” he rasped, his throat rough from the groans and shouts he was just now becoming aware he had made. “Did you get what you need?”

“Almost.”

Brandt looked at him quizzically, and he pointed to his crotch. His cock was standing straight up, and a gleaming silver thread dripped lazily from its head.

“Another minute of that and I would have just shot all over the place without even touching it.”

In spite of himself, Brandt was flattered. The humiliation of his performance came to rest in his mind right next to the pride of having done it well. He had been told on several occasions in the past that he was too eager to please, and this was pretty much the ultimate proof. He had just jerked off in front of another person for the first time ever, and instead of being disgusted by the whole thing, he was blushing with pride.

“Can I go get cleaned up?” Brandt asked.

“Sure, if I can join you,” replied Nick, winking.

Brandt just stared at him. This was over the top.

“Kidding! You go take a shower and I’ll start getting this stuff on the computer for editing.” Nick gathered up his equipment and walked to the door. “Just come on down when you’re ready—I’ll be in the dining room. That’s where we edit video.”

“Okay,” Brandt mumbled numbly.

In the shower, as he scrubbed the cum off his chest (and legs, and arms, and was there any place this stuff didn’t land?), he tried to think—about anything other than what had just happened. It seemed unreal, even as he soaped the semen out of his pubic hair, that he had really done it. He had masturbated, on camera, for money. He had become what he never wanted to be by doing what he was ordered to do. There was an empty feeling in his chest, a space where his dignity, his privacy—a big piece of his humanity—had lived, and now that it had been taken from him he felt the ache of its loss. He put his hands against the wall and pressed his forehead to the cool tile while the hot water washed over him.

“Damn you, Brandt,” he said aloud, hoping to focus his mind, “Get it together.”

He forced himself to analyze his situation. Clearly he had been successful in his audition—he was in. But what was the next step? How would he begin the search for the documentation the Chief was expecting him to gather? That lived in spreadsheets somewhere, and the only sheets he had touched in this house were in the next room, splattered with his sperm.

Fuck.

“Get it together,” he repeated to himself under his breath. He did what had always worked in the past when the stress of the job overwhelmed him—he put himself back in his academy days, in that time when his body and mind were pushed to their limits. The state police force was widely known for running an academy as demanding as West Point, and graduates could be justly proud of simply surviving it. Brandt did more than survive it, of course, but it was the hardest thing he had ever been through.

Until now.

As he called up an image of himself crawling through the stinking mud of the urban assault course, his resolve strengthened and his spine drew up straight. He would get through this too. Somehow, he would get through this.