Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
Ethan
Ethan trudged into his apartment, alone. He’d left Zane at the club and ordered a separate Uber, so he could spend the ride home wallowing in his misery.
His phone buzzed with another text from Zane, which he ignored. He’d talk to his friend in the morning. Tonight, he just wanted to shut out the world.
He took off the pink shirt and draped it over his desk chair.
The cool air in his apartment felt good against his bare skin.
He stripped down to his boxer briefs, tossing the rest of his clothes on the floor, and flopped onto his mattress.
The room spun slightly as he stared at the ceiling, the whiskey cocktails finally catching up with him.
Ethan replayed that awful moment when Blake took off his cowboy hat and looked into the crowd, meeting his eyes. A cold, sharp pain pierced his heart like an icicle.
Of course he’d been surprised to find out that Blake was a porn star. Was it fair to be shocked, though? Blake was an adult entertainer. Although Ethan was certain that not all men who danced also did porn, it wasn’t a stretch to imagine that some of them did.
Was he a prude for thinking it was a big deal?
Lots of gay guys slept with a bunch of men and wouldn’t bat an eye at finding out their boyfriend had done porn. They might even think it was cool.
Why couldn’t he be more like that? With the exception of his Grindr summer (a blip on an otherwise spotless record), he’d been a good little gay, behaving himself and being careful not to step out of line.
And what the hell had it gotten him? A lot of boring, lonely nights, while his peers were free and uninhibited in the pursuit of their desires.
Blake was doing the same thing as countless other gay men. He was just getting paid to do it.
Ethan opened up his text conversation with Blake. His thumbs hovered over the keypad, ready to fire off an apology for leaving like that, without giving Blake any time to explain.
But before he typed a single letter, fresh anger flared in his gut.
Blake had come clean about being an exotic dancer because he had to – he needed Ethan’s help with his business plan.
If Virgil wasn’t closing The Firehouse, how long would Blake have hidden that he was a stripper?
That, at one time, he’d been a porn star?
A porn superstar, if Zane was to be believed.
Would he have kept that part of his life a secret until Ethan finally introduced him to Zane, and his best friend asked Dirk Slocum to sign his pec with a Sharpie?
And if their burlesque club fell on hard times, what then? Would Blake be tempted to go back to porn? Could he compartmentalize sex and intimacy so fully that it wouldn’t even strike him as wrong? Just a side hustle to raise some quick cash?
Ethan didn’t watch a lot of porn, but he knew about PornHub. He navigated to the site and typed Dirk Slocum into the search bar, aware the entire time that this was a terrible idea. Possibly one of his worst ideas ever. But he deserved to know.
With a pit in his stomach, he hit Enter.
The entire page was filled with thumbnails for videos featuring Blake, showing every part of his body – his chest, his dick, his ass. There was even a picture of some blond guy licking Blake’s armpit.
Ethan quickly scrolled back to the top of the page. He wasn’t prepared to see how many pages of results had come up. He clicked on the first video, which bore the enchanting title Dirk Slocum absolutely RUINS Holden Cox’s asshole!
The video didn’t have a plot. It started with Blake and an attractive ginger man already naked and making out in what was clearly a hotel room.
After some sloppy French kissing and nipple licking, Blake sank to his knees and swallowed Holden’s massive schlong until his nose was buried in the guy’s pubes.
Ethan jumped ahead to the fucking. For some reason, anal sex felt less intimate than seeing another guy’s dick sliding in and out of Blake’s mouth – a mouth that had kissed him so sweetly and hungrily.
The fucking was ridiculous and over the top, with lots of grunting and loud cursing. Every few minutes, there was a close-up shot of the penetration, showing Blake’s thick cock pounding Holden’s wet, hairy hole.
As the scene reached its climax, Blake let loose a steady stream of dirty talk.
Fuck yeah, take my huge cock in that tight asshole.
I’m gonna breed your fuckin’ ass.
Get ready for my cum.
It was hard to reconcile this version of Blake with the tender, respectful lover he’d been with. Was this the kind of sex Blake really wanted?
But as Blake pulled out and frantically jerked off, it was clear he was acting. His movements were mechanical and forced. He was playing everything up for the camera.
Did that make it okay, though? Blake was using a guy to get off in the raunchiest way possible. It was so crass and disrespectful. It didn’t matter if it was consensual or not.
If Ethan was being honest with himself, it was uncomfortably reminiscent of the way that Grindr hookup had jammed his cock into Ethan’s mouth and used him as a cum dump.
If his father ever found out Blake had done those things on screen, and even worse, that he might have done them to Ethan, how would he look his father in the eye again?
Ethan closed the website and set his phone on his nightstand.
“Oh, Blake.”
His eyes burned as they filled with tears. He sniffed, and bit down on his trembling lower lip, trying to hold back the pressure building in his chest. But a sob escaped his lungs, and he let go, surrendering to the tears flowing down his cheeks into his ears.
Creamsicle hopped up onto the bed and walked up Ethan’s body, making sure all four of his pointy-clawed paws trampled his owner’s balls. After some aggressive pec kneading, Creamsicle curled up on Ethan’s chest.
When Ethan lightly stroked the orange fur on his back, Creamsicle lifted his head and emitted his warning growl.
Ethan lowered his hand, and Creamsicle settled onto his chest again, vibrating with his broken, grating, endearing purr.
“Thanks, buddy,” Ethan whispered.
He cried until he fell asleep, with the light on, and his ornery cat curled up on his chest.