Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
Blake
Blake rolled onto his back, exhausted from being awake half the night and obsessing over the closing of The Firehouse.
Vague, anxious thoughts had been swirling in his mind.
Is this the right time to start my own club?
What will I do for money when The Firehouse closes?
Will I have to go back to porn, or can I make rent with cam work alone?
Hours later, he was no closer to an answer for any of them.
He groaned and rubbed his gritty eyes. In need of a distraction, he slipped his hand into his briefs. His morning hard-on was warm to the touch, and he moaned when he wrapped his fingers around the firm shaft.
After a few slow strokes, his arousal spiked. There was no turning back now. He tucked his briefs’ waistband under his balls and spit in his hand. As he coated his dick with saliva, he flicked his nipples until they were erect and alive with sensation.
A sudden thought occurred to him: This is the type of content Hollis suggested for my subscribers.
Blake slipped off his briefs and hopped out of bed to set up his tripod. Once he had his phone angled properly, he climbed back into bed and sat up against the headboard.
“Hi guys,” he said, making his voice as husky as possible. “I woke up hard. Do you want to see me come?” He stroked his cock and let out a throaty groan, letting his eyelids flutter closed.
Murmuring a steady stream of obscenities, he rubbed himself faster, twisting his wrist on every upstroke.
There was a good chance Dustin would hear him, since their walls were paper-thin, but the scene was too good to stop.
Delicious tension was already building behind his balls. Best to soldier on and apologize later.
Butt stuff! Hollis had assured him that some butt play would excite his subscribers, but he was too close to orgasm to stop and grab one of his toys. His balls were already pulled up tight against his shaft. He’d have to improvise.
He scooted lower on the bed, bending his knees and planting his feet on the mattress. When he was sure his ass was visible, or at least visible enough to titillate the viewer, he licked his fingers and smeared the spit around his hole.
A fantasy took shape in his mind of Ethan on his stomach between his legs, arching his back, his ass in the air. Flicking his tongue against Blake’s hole, slipping the tip past his rim, licking deeper…
Fuck me with your tongue.
“Fuck!” Blake’s head dropped back against the headboard as he pressed his middle finger into his hole. Powerful jets of cum arced through the air, painting his chest and stomach.
“Wow,” he said, his lips slipping into a smile. “That was intense.” He winked at the camera, in the mischievous way he’d perfected through years of practice in front of a mirror, and licked a dribble of cum off the back of his hand. “Hope that got you off.”
He stopped the video and flopped back on his bed, spent. Normally, he’d be basking in a warm, drowsy afterglow, but the aftermath of what he’d done was slowly dawning on him. The rumpled sheets. The unpleasant coolness of cum on his skin. The smell of ass lingering on his glistening fingertips.
For the first time in his porn career, Blake felt dirty. Ashamed of the video he’d filmed.
He pulled a towel out from under his bed and wiped down quickly, then slipped his briefs back on.
He’d crossed a line. This was the first scene he’d filmed while he was dating someone.
It could be worse – he could have fucked another person – but that was splitting hairs.
A solo vid was still porn. He was showing off his body and sharing something intimate with strangers at the same time he was going on dates with Ethan.
He could delete the video. He selected it from his gallery, his thumb hovering over the trash can icon. Erase or send? It was time to be honest with himself. Opening his club was a long shot. Porn was a sure thing. He needed to make money, and his subscribers needed content.
With a resigned sigh, he selected the share icon instead. After sharing the video with Hollis, he navigated to his calendar to set up a meeting.
An hour later, Blake was reclining on the sofa in the living room, dressed is a stretched-out T-shirt and sweat shorts. There was no reason to dress up when he’d just sent his assistant a video of himself jerking off.
Hollis joined the meeting, and his face appeared on screen, brow furrowed in the stern expression that was his default. “Good morning, Blake. I haven’t had a chance to review your video. I’m pulling it up now.”
Dustin came out of his bedroom, shuffling through the living room in his bathrobe. “Mornin’, roomie.” It was at that moment that Blake’s exaggerated moaning and dirty talk started on the video. “Oh!” Dustin exclaimed, rushing into the kitchen and rooting through the cupboard.
Seconds later, he hopped over the back of the couch and plopped down next to Blake, a bagel gripped between his teeth. As he bit off a piece of the bagel, he scooted closer, sprinkling the front of his shirt with stray poppy seeds and onion flakes. “What are we watching?”
Blake groaned when Hollis answered, “Blake’s newest jerk-off vid.”
“Exciting,” Dustin said, adding a spray of bread crumbs to the mess on his shirt.
Hollis raised his eyebrows and hummed in approval. “Nice butt play. Very hot.”
“Ooh, butt play. So that’s what you were getting up to this morning.” Dustin chuckled when Blake pulled a throw pillow over his crotch. To Hollis, he asked, “Is it weird for you, watching your boss jerk off?”
Hollis glanced over quickly and scoffed. “Please. I’m a professional.” He returned his attention to the video. “And a gay man.”
The video continued, Blake’s moaning and swearing building to a crescendo. Dustin munched on his bagel as he leaned closer to the laptop. “Sounds like you’re getting ready to blow.” At the sound of Blake’s shout, he said, “There it is.”
“Nice cumshot.” Hollis leaned forward. “Wait. What are you mouthing?”
“What?”
“You’re mouthing something at the end.”
Blake opened the video on his phone and advanced to the end. Watching over his shoulder, Dustin let out a whistle. “Dude, how do you shoot that far––”
Blake pushed his roommate away and focused on the video. Sure enough, as his orgasm reached its peak, he mouthed a single word. It took him a moment, but he felt a pleasant flutter in his chest when he figured out what he’d said.
Ethan.
He quickly closed the video. No one needed to know who he’d been fantasizing about when he had his finger up his butt. “Who knows? Guys do weird things when they come.”
Apparently unconvinced, Hollis clicked back in the video and replayed Blake’s orgasm, narrowing his eyes as he studied the screen.
“Moving on to the next order of business,” Blake said, raising his voice above the sound of his moans. “The Firehouse is closing in a few months.”
“Sorry, man,” Dustin said.
“Oh no.” Hollis paused the video and looked at Blake with a sad smile.
“Yeah.” Blake let out a nervous laugh. “And Tenny had this crazy idea that I should open my club in its place.”
“I think you should,” Hollis said.
“I mean, me opening a nightclub is kinda – wait, what?”
“I think you should,” Hollis repeated. “It would be a great way to expand your brand and open up another stream of income. I could help with the social media accounts, booking acts, basically any part of your brand management.”
Hollis was always so responsible and risk-averse – that’s why he was such a valuable assistant. He was the last person Blake would have thought would tell him this was a viable idea.
Could I make this work?
“Okay,” Blake said. “I’ll consider it.”
“Keep me in the loop. In the meantime, I’ll upload this video. I’ll need a thumbnail, though. Can you send me a pic in the same position, with underwear on? Make sure your dick is hard.”
“I can do that.”
Dustin patted Blake’s shoulder. “I’ll let you get to that.” With the remaining half of his bagel dangling from his mouth, he propelled himself over the back of the sofa and disappeared into the bathroom.
After ending the call with Hollis, Blake returned to his room and headed straight for his closet. He brought down the beat-up three ring binder that he stashed on the top shelf.
In the bathroom, the shower hissed to life, and Dustin launched into a spirited but off-key rendition of Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ on a Prayer.”
Blake sat on his bed and brushed away the layer of dust, revealing the words scrawled on the cover in black marker: My Club.
He leafed through the loose notes and pages torn from magazines he’d collected over the years. Costume designs. Stage layouts. Cocktail recipes. All his favorite ideas, curated, jotted down, and sketched out during late nights when The Firehouse felt more like a dream incubator than a job.
He chuckled at his youthful exuberance. Half the ideas were the kind of big-budget, technical shit you’d see in the biggest clubs in Vegas – pyrotechnics, hanging aerial silks, water features, and rain falling on the stage. But a lot of his ideas would work for a smaller community venue.
It was pie in the sky. A beautiful, impossible dream.
What if…
Blake grabbed a pen from his nightstand and found a blank piece of yellowed notebook paper in the back of the binder.
As he drew, his vision took shape. Over a rough floor plan of The Firehouse, he marked where he’d add a second bar. Sketched how he’d remove the runway to accommodate more seating. He made notes about the lighting, and the dressing rooms, and the backstage area.
He closed his eyes. He could see it all so clearly. The club he wanted. The life he wanted.
Dustin knocked on his open door, dressed in a blue polo and khakis, his damp hair combed back off his forehead. “I’m heading to work. Are you dancing tonight?”
“Yeah,” Blake said, closing his notebook. He’d completely lost track of time. A glance at his clock revealed that he’d been sketching and daydreaming for over forty minutes.
Dustin leaned against the door frame. “Are you really planning on taking over the club?”
“Maybe? Sorta? It would be cool, but I don’t know if I’m cut out to run a business.”
“Are you kidding? You’re one of the most successful porn stars in the industry. You’ve built an empire.”
“That’s because I have a big dick.”
“You know it’s more than that. Don’t sell yourself short. If you ask me, you should go for it. Who knows, maybe I could perform there some day. I’m no Dirk Slocum, but I have a flat stomach and a cute butt. Try not to stare on my way out.”
They shared a laugh and Dustin left for work, giving Blake a few hours to himself to rehearse for that night’s show. He was debuting a new number with fresh choreography and a costume he’d sewn himself.
After running through the number three times, refining it with each pass, Blake leaned against the sofa and dried his sweaty forehead with the hem of his shirt.
Was all of this wasted effort? The audience at The Firehouse didn’t care about choreography and costumes. They just wanted to drool over his dick print.
His burlesque club would be different. It would be a place where he could sing and dance, a place where artistry and talent would be appreciated. He’d be a legitimate performer. He might even be able to leave porn behind for good.
What if this was his one shot to make his dream come true?
When he arrived at The Firehouse that night, he took the long way to the dressing room so he’d pass Virgil’s office. Standing in front of the door, he shook out his hands and bounced on his heels, psyching himself up.
Before he could lose his nerve, he knocked on the door.
“Come in.”
Blake opened the door, and Virgil looked up at him with a smile.
“I’d like, um…” Blake’s mouth snapped shut.
I can’t do this.
“Um…” Sweat broke out on his brow, and his heartbeat thundered in his ears. He was getting ready to mutter an excuse and leave when Tenny’s words of encouragement surfaced in his mind, shushing his inner critic.
(I know you can.)
Blake took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “I’d like to talk about taking over the club when it closes.”