I
GARRETT paused the video and reached down to unbutton his jeans. Today’s download from Atlas Men—his favorite porn site—was amazing; the blond guy was a newcomer and unbelievably pretty. Garrett started things up again, eyes glued to the three men on screen as he pushed his clothing aside. Following the lead of the tall dark-haired man on screen, he let his hands wander over his own body, pushing up his shirt and scratching his fingernails over his nipples.
He didn’t like the sensation as much as the new guy seemed to, so he focused on how his hands felt, imagining that he was touching the guy in the porno instead. The new guy was perfect: body firm, but lean rather than bulky and a face so gorgeous it was almost breath-taking. His green eyes were simply beautiful and that mouth, those full lips… well, they seemed perfectly made for the cock he was sucking.
The darker guy looked like he was nearly the same size as Garrett, so it was easy to imagine that those were his hands on that tight ass sprinkled with freckles. The gorgeous blond was spread open, two fingers disappearing inside his hole and spreading lube around. Approving noises were muffled by the bald guy’s cock in the blond man’s mouth, but his expressive face clearly communicated his pleasure. The newcomer shifted back, eager for more, making his benefactor laugh and give his ass a light smack before lining up and sliding his impressive dick inside.
The bald guy paused, withdrawing from the impatient blond’s mouth to let him breathe. The moans he made as he was penetrated were fan-fucking-tastic. Sure, he was a porn star—duh—but he sounded so goddamned turned on that Garrett couldn’t help speeding up his strokes on his own dick in response.
He watched for a while longer, before skipping through a couple of position changes, wanting to come when the blond guy did. He stopped near the end of the video. The blond was back on his knees, being fucked by the darker man from behind. The bald guy was laid out underneath the other two, sixty-nining. Garrett’s hands gripped his cock tighter, building up speed for the grand finale. His own harsh breaths nearly drowned out the other three—especially since two of them had their mouths muffled.
Abruptly the new guy pulled his lips off of the cock he was sucking, long fingers replacing them as his head fell heavily onto a welcoming thigh. He let out a groan that had Garrett squeezing his own cock hard, trying to hold back. The dark man’s steady fucking never changed pace although his thrusts were visibly harder, deeper, making the blond swear and moan, “Yeah, yeah, now.” He hauled him up by one shoulder, wrapping a muscled arm around the newcomer’s waist to hold him upright. The contrast of the leaner body against the more muscular one made Garrett shiver.
The blond melted beautifully back into the offered shoulder as the bald guy underneath stopped sucking his dick and rolled out of the way, still jacking the newcomer off. Less than a dozen thrusts from the darker guy and Mr. Beautiful was coming, face twisted in gorgeous ecstasy as he shot all over the bedspread. The camera panned back to capture both rather than just focusing on the come shot like usual, and that did it for Garrett. The head tipped back in rapture emphasized the taut line of his throat, delicious tendons that Garrett wanted nothing in the universe more than to lick and suck and leave his mark on, right fucking now.
The darker guy gave another thrust and a final dribble leaked out of the newcomer’s cock at the same time that Garrett climaxed, soaking his hand and chest with a gut-deep groan.
When he opened his eyes a few moments later, the other two had apparently come as well and the blond was covered in spunk. He seemed more amused about it than porn stars usually did, as if he was trying to hold back a smile. The trio traded some sloppy-wet kisses, looking fond of each other. As the sound faded out and credits started to roll, they got up from the bed and left the room, still touching and laughing.
Garrett wiped up with some tissues, put his clothing back to normal, and stopped the video. Eager to find out more about the hot newcomer, he clicked on a few links and settled in to watch the outtakes.
“Alec Greene” was the new guy’s name, and he laughed and kidded around with the other two as they waited, mid-fuck, while the lighting and camera guys moved around them to set up the best shots. The other two men Alec was with were referred to as “Kent” and “Lance” as the unseen director told them to slow down, move a little to the right, lean back so the camera could get a better shot. Unlike most of the outtakes Garrett had watched, these guys were obviously friendly and at ease with each other, giggling like boys when one of them farted.
Kent teased Lance about eating too many beans, and Alec ribbed Kent about being over-eager and having to be told to slow down more than twice. Both teased Alec about being a virgin and having performance anxiety. The director yelled at them to shut up and get back to the action, albeit with humor in his voice.
Garrett was in love. Well, not love. Lust. And maybe in like, to use a term from junior high. Alec was gorgeous, funny, had a great body and a face so beautiful Garrett wondered why he was in porn instead of real movies. His humor tended more toward the sarcastic side, which Garrett loved. And he was a total slut.
Not that Garrett meant that in a bad way. Just that the guy liked sex, seemed like he really enjoyed what he was doing, as evidenced from the outtakes. One short moment at the beginning had included a bit of conversation between him and Kent, who was welcoming Alec and saying that he was glad Alec had finally agreed to join him and Lance and give filming a try. Alec had shrugged. “I get to fuck two hot guys I know. You’re both good in bed, and I like being watched. I can’t figure out why it took me so long to let you talk me into this,” he’d said with a grin.
Yup. Garrett gave himself a rueful smile. He had a crush on a porn star. Could he get any more trite?
BEHIND schedule for work the next morning, Garrett chugged his coffee in the elevator and rushed to his desk. He was about to be late for the monthly brainstorming session at the San Francisco office of Queer America, the magazine he wrote for. He powered up his computer, grabbed the notebook he kept story ideas in, quickly checked his mail to see if there was anything from his boss that he should know about before the meeting, and dashed to the conference room. He sat down on the far side of the table, the third person to arrive, and was coolly flipping through scraps of paper and Post-its when Jeff strolled in the door, closely followed by the other dozen or so editors and writers.
Awesome. No one knew he’d only been at the office for ten minutes instead of an hour.
“Porn,” Jeff said, once everyone was seated. The scramble for coffee cups, PDAs, notepads, and pens that still had some ink in them stopped abruptly.
“The New York office wants the next issue to be about porn. So we’ve got DVDs, Internet sites, Vegas, strippers, Burbank’s porno industry, and of course, sex workers. Go,” he said, making a shooing motion with his hands.
Everyone started talking at once and the noise grew to cacophonous levels in moments. Sex, as always, got everyone’s attention.
“We’ve got all of the porn industry here in California,” Ellen said. “I think we should concentrate on that, work different angles. Creation, distribution, consumption, workers. We’ll have to send a contingent down to L.A.”
“Folsom Street’s in three weeks—a lot of them will be up here, working the booths,” an intern pointed out.
Garrett raised an eyebrow; he’d had no idea the kid was even old enough to get past security at the fair. Well then. Too bad he wasn’t into twinks; the kid was pretty, maybe a bit kinky, but still far too young. At twenty-three, Garrett made it a rule to never sleep with anyone who looked younger than he did.
Inspiration—in the form of a flashback to blond hair and green eyes and lush lips—hit. “I could call up a few of the studios with booths at the fair and ask if we could interview some of the workers and directors and stuff,” Garrett suggested.
“Good idea; let’s keep this as legitimate and above-board as possible,” Jeff said with a nod. “I want to focus on the healthy, fun side of sex, not the usual crap about how sex workers are all druggies being blackmailed into making porn by low-life crooks and pimps so they can get their next fix. Let’s not sugarcoat this, but let’s try to stay on the positive side.”
There were murmurs of agreement all around. After another hour or so of conversation and story ideas, the assignments were handed out. Garrett was thrilled to have been given not only the task of contacting his friend on the Folsom Street Fair committee to see which porno companies would have booths, but also the promise that he could do one story.
Back at his desk, he thought of green eyes again, gave his crotch a discreet rub, and picked up the phone.
IT CAME together so easily it almost had Garrett worried. He called his friend and got a list of the porno companies who had paid for booths at the fair. All he had to do in exchange was promise to bring beer and pizza to Chad’s house for the football game on Sunday. He researched the companies, got contact information for all of them, and agreements from all but one to let the magazine interview some of their directors and “boys.” Garrett hadn’t even had to bribe the other writers to let him have Hawk Studios, one of his favorites.
The next few days were spent surfing through porn web sites—at work! He had the best job ever. A lot of the porn stars had blogs, although it was unclear whether the blog posts were actually written by the guys or by some poor staff person at their studio. Garrett felt a little bad for being so cynical, but come on; not all of these guys could be into blogging. Some of them evidently were, though, posting random and weird things like bits of poems, links to songs, movie reviews, not to mention a brain-numbing amount of Netspeak abbreviations and emoticons—mostly from the twinks, sad to say.
Garrett focused on the ones who had actual content in their blogs and e-mailed a few of them. One—“Carl”—looked to be pursuing a music career in addition to his “day job” and had sparked some interesting conversation about the lyrics he posted. He certainly seemed like a real person, so Garrett e-mailed the address listed and got a reply back within a couple of hours. Carl said he’d be more than happy to do an interview and even suggested that Garrett contact his friend “Kris,” “who never shuts up; you’ll get so much verbiage you could write a book, never mind a column for your magazine.”
Kris also responded promptly to Garrett’s e-mail, having heard about him from Carl. They were both pretty friendly dudes, as much as it was possible to tell that sort of thing on the Internet. They seemed like normal guys, interested in music, posting actual content to their blogs, communicating in full sentences, and using decent spelling and typing in their e-mail. Porn stars with brains in their heads! Half of Garrett’s work was done—these two would go a long way toward proving that making pornos wasn’t just for losers.
Carl’s next e-mail invited Garrett to a kick-off party co-hosted by the Folsom Street Fair committee and a local safe-sex organization so he could meet face-to-face with the guys working at the booths and set up some interview times. And of course, he was welcome to hang out and party. Garrett had an idea of what kind of party it would be, and he was a little uncomfortable, but he said yes anyway. He’d been all-work-and-no-play for the last several months, ever since a bad breakup, and it would be good for him to break out of his shell. Maybe some high-spirited, raunchy fun was just what he needed.
And where better than the Folsom Street Fair for raunchy fun? Garrett had gone once before, when he was just barely legal, and had been so intimidated he’d left after less than an hour of wandering around. It was one thing to fantasize about sex but quite another for your naughtiest fantasies to suddenly come to life all around you. At eighteen, it had been a bit much for him, and he’d gotten so flustered that he had tripped over his own feet, knocked a trio of leather dykes to the ground with his flailing limbs, and then run away blushing a deep purplish-red when they’d suggested perhaps he just needed a good spanking to steady his nerves.
Chad had laughed himself sick—literally; he’d actually vomited—and the story had become something of a legend with Garrett’s friends.
But he was five years older now, and wiser, and he’d seen things. Been clubbing. Watched a lot more porn and had a lot more sex. So he’d be fine, right? He wasn’t the geeky too-tall kid he’d been back then.
No, now he was slightly less geeky, just as tall, but a bit more coordinated, though he was still somewhat baby-faced despite his religious gym attendance. Not to mention that he was single and in a rut ever since Michael—his last loser boyfriend—had left him, citing that Garrett was the most uncreative writer he’d ever been with. And that was after Garrett had given him a blowjob in a movie theater, even.
Well, Garrett would show him. He’d go to Folsom. And he’d have a fantastic time.
