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Screwed C-1
I modeled gay porn scenes to support my younger brother and myself. I was screwed in multiple ways after Johnny discovered my part-time job doing porn.
Remember, this story is fiction and in no way condones or condemns the action.
My brother's voice blasted in my ear. "Get away from me, faggot. You suck dick for a living. Get off me."
"Johnny. I can explain. Hear me out."
"Tell me that wasn't you I saw in that video. Tell me you did not have a cock up your ass and another one down your throat. Tell me you weren't moaning. You liked it faggot."
"Johnny, I . . ."
"I ain't your brother anymore, faggot. How can I face my friends at school or on my team when they learn you do porn, gay porn? Huh? Tell me faggot."
"I'm not a faggot. Johnny listen."
"Listen? My best friend came over to watch TV. Guess what was keyed up? A DVD of my brother being a whore, a faggot. Now Timmy knows. He won't keep quiet."
I sat heavily on the sofa. Ever since our parents died in a terrorist attack, I took care of my brother. Yeah, I was nineteen now. I had been eighteen when they had been shot. Our house was free and clear after the insurance paid off the mortgage. I had become Johnny's guardian along with mom's brother, Uncle Donovan. After the insurance went on the house, I needed to get a job. Fast food worker could not pay the house bills, buy us food, and buy Johnny the sports gear he needed to play his beloved hockey. Ice time costs equaled a week's take home plus at the fast food place. Then we had food costs to fill the body of a growing fourteen-year-old.
"Johnny," I begged. "Listen, please. I can explain."
"Fuck you, Cam." Timmy stalked from the living room as he cursed me.
I placed my face in my hands. My mind relived my life, mine, and Johnny's since our parents died at the hands of a crazed gunman. Many people died in that theater before an armed citizen blew off the crazy's head. My parents died holding each other. I called my mom's brother after the police came and were going to have social services separate us sending Johnny into foster care.
Uncle Donovan sent papers that showed he had been named our guardian. I was eighteen and considered an adult, though I still had a few months before I graduated from high school. Johnny was a sophomore. Donovan, he insisted I drop the uncle, arrived two days later. Johnny and I were still deep in grief, crying, and holding one another, We had even shared my bed, Johnny acted like a little kid and clung to me, then.
Donovan arranged for the funeral and showed me how to take care of Johnny and the house. He told me I would need to get a part-time job until I graduated, but he would send money to take care of the major bills until I finished school.
My hopes of playing junior hockey went out. Johnny could play Bantam, then move up, if I covered his expenses. As a present for graduation, Donovan flew us to his Las Vegas home. While there, he introduced me to a way of life I had never considered.
Johnny was splashing in the pool. Donovan took me into his den. There he gave me a business card, black with gold lettering. "Straight Guys" it said. Under the lettering a ruler, and a web address. "Check this out. Let me know what you think. Use my computer. I'll close the door and keep Johnny occupied."
The website was a gay porn site that specialized in marketing young guys as Straight, supposedly. What I saw I had never seen before. Young men doing things with other young men that I only imagined guys did with each other.
Donovan entered. "Johnny's napping. What do you think?"
I must have seemed embarrassed to Donovan as he laughed. "I expected many reactions. Silence is at the bottom of the list."
"Why do you have this card?"
Donovan stared. "First, tell me your reaction. Be honest."
I stared back. "I -- it was -- " I did not know what to say.
"Did the sexual actions repulse you? Were you turned off by guys having sex?" He must have seen from my reaction just the opposite was true. "You got aroused." His statement caught the truth of my reaction to the porn. He read me clearly.
I nodded, saying nothing. "To answer your question about where I got the card. I own Straight Guys." He stayed quiet, letting me digest his revelation.
"How do guys get to work there?"
He smiled. "I hoped that would be your reaction. I like a young guy who has a goal. You want to do an audition or you want to think it over?"
That's how I ended up at Straight Guys the next day. Donovan arranged for me to be picked up and driven to the studio while he took Johnny to Hoover Dam, sightseeing. I had to be tested, sign forms, prove I was eighteen. Then I found myself in a bedroom being interviewed about my life. I was told to call myself Charlie Beck. They had coached me to pretend to be straight. I did not need to pretend at this part of my career. I was straight. So I thought. The final part of the interview, I had to strip and jack off. I had to pretend to look innocent and scared. I enjoyed being filmed and showing off, especially when I scrunched my face, lifted my hips, and spurted on my chest.
I showered and as I left the secretary gave me a check for 500 dollars. I must have looked puzzled. "Standard pay for your performance. We'll be in touch."
That night, after Johnny went to sleep, Donovan asked me about my experience.
"I loved it. I got to expose myself and jack off. I came so much more than ever. I hope whoever sees me gets pleasure. I liked that." I did not feel ashamed, or embarrassed about revealing this detail to Donovan.
I heard Johnny stomping upstairs, which brought me back to the present. I wondered if I should try to talk to him. What was he doing? I had almost decided to try to talk to my brother when he clunked downstairs, hockey gear bag in hand.
"Where are you going?"
I ain't staying here. I thought I knew my brother. Guess I was wrong. I'm going to stay at Timmy's. Johnny left but not without his parting shot, "Faggot."
I called Donovan. I cried as I told him what was going on. He told me he was flying out. I went to bed, a mess. Johnny and I never were apart since our parents died unless I was doing a scene at Straight Guys. That was in Las Vegas, and Johnny would fly with me to hang at Donovan's.
I was still a mess in the morning and when I went to pick up Donovan, who took one look at me and insisted he drive the car.
Back at the house, he told me to lie on my bed and try to rest. I must have fallen asleep. I woke to shouting. Johnny's voice hit me like a freight train.
"Screw you Donovan. I won't live with that faggot."
I made my way to the dining room just as Donovan looked at my brother and in a voice dripping with ice said, "Sit down and shut the fuck up."
Johnny must have heard a tone in Donovan's voice that made him sit. He glared at me, never moving his eyes.
Donovan slapped a sheet in front of Johnny.
"What's this?" Johnny's surly tone had me recoiling.
Donovan moved behind Johnny and with his finger pointed at the paper, which, as I closed on the table, I saw was a spreadsheet filled with numbers.
In a clear, steady voice and using his finger, he pointed at columns. "Ice time 300 dollars a month. Hockey sticks to replace the ones you broke 400 dollars a month. Transportation and motel room cost for away games 600 a month. School lunches as you refuse to brown bag it. Your clothes and food at home expenses. I see you want 250 dollar shoes. I could go on, but to keep you in hockey and school and feeding you is at least 2000 dollars a month during the season. Look at you brother's take home from the burger joint where he works part-time while he gave up college and hockey for you. Look! 250 take home. Don't forget he needs to pay house utilities. Do you think he shits the needed money?"
"He has all that life insurance money. What is he doing with that?"
"That money, all of it, paid funeral expenses and paid off the house. Oh. Add in property taxes. If they aren't paid, the government takes the house and sells it. You will be homeless."
"But he's a faggot," Timmy whispered.
Donovan smacked Timmy on the back of his head. "You call your brother a faggot again. You will be homeless. I will make sure you go into foster care and Camden will live with me in Las Vegas."
I wanted to tell Donovan that would never happen. Johnny was my little brother.
"Your brother is damn good at what he does. He is a model who does scenes for Straight Guys, which I own. He gets no extra pay or benefits because he is my nephew. If he did not have a following, we would cut him loose."
Johnny still looked defiant, but his hands were open and his eyes softer.
"Can I talk?" I asked, looking at Johnny.
He did not say "No" nor did he use a slur against me. He gave the slightest nod. I sat.
"I enjoy doing scenes. I make viewers happy. I don't know if I am gay, straight, or bi. I make good money for us and save some. I will start college this fall. I need a career after porn. I maybe have two to three more years. I have only a limited time to convince people I am straight. Then I will play another role in gay porn. Whatever, I need to keep this up as long as you are in school and playing hockey."
Johnny stared as if he were torn between what I was doing and his hatred of all things gay. I waited. I sensed that two paths were warring inside Johnny.
"So you are not a faggot? Ouch, quit hitting me, Donovan. So you do gay porn for the enjoyment and the money? Do you ever hook up with guys off camera?"
"Johnny, I'll always tell you the truth. First, I love you so much. I need to care for you, even after you become an adult. I hope you will let me do that. Next, I love acting and having scenes that give people pleasure. I dream of them watching me and getting off. Maybe I am filling a need in them. Yes, I have a friend who is a guy. We might become boyfriends. Not yet."
Johnny was silent. He looked between Donovan and me. Then I saw that slight uplift of the corners of his lips that told me my brother had decided.
"So, Cam. You really are not a faggot?"
Maybe this could continue. Let me know. Comments and suggestions at: < acgib1943@orotonmail.com >
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