26. Brandon
brANDON
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t aroused.
I’m only human.
And I’m a red-blooded man who likes sex.
No, who loves it.
Plus, there was that nagging issue of my dry spell.
Three years long.
So yeah, I was turned on AF behind the camera.
Which was admittedly a little weird.
My best friend was starring in a homemade porn.
But I knew better. This wasn’t porn. It wasn’t for someone else’s titillation. And it wasn’t staged.
Nina didn’t moan like an actress begging to be banged by the biggest dick in the room.
She clearly only wanted Adam. She never cheated to the camera, never tried to show a better side, or a dirtier side.
He was the same, his focus only ever on her.
And I’d seen my fair share of porn. Online videos had nothing on these two. The camera revealed the depth of their feelings for each other as I caught shot after shot of their passion. The look on her face, the intensity in his.
That said everything. And it said all the things porn never did.
It was the truth.
They came together like it was their only truth—the way they felt for each other.
And when they finished, and they curled up, softer, gentler, tangled in each other, I snapped that too. They’d want that—the before, the during, and the after.
Because it was the after that spoke the loudest. That said who they were to each other.
They were so madly in love that something else in me cracked.
Maybe it was the last layer of pain. The last layer of self-protection.
I hadn’t come to Vegas looking for absolution from grief.
But somehow, absolutely unexpectedly, I’d found it on a plane, and it had been finished in a bedroom as I witnessed someone else’s love. As I saw everything I’d denied myself since Jenna died.
And as I learned something new about myself.
I didn’t want to be lost after her.
I wanted to move on. I wanted to live again. Someday soon.