Page 15 of Bobby Green
Everything was rarely that easy.
The first time a guy went down on him, he froze.
His sister’s words had rung in his ears—not from when she took her meds, but those other times, when she didn’t take her pills and her blue eyes darted and she did the junkie tap on her computer desk. She shouted at the computer then, shrill words about fags doing each other and how her brother better not be a little faggot. Reg had been fine during the kissing and the touching part. The guy had laughed, and his body had been nice. Smooth tanned skin and muscles were fun to touch on a girl or a boy. Reg hadn’t known.
But as soon as he was naked and the guy’s mouth was on his cock, his boner just melted. John didn’t have girls then—which might have helped. Instead Reg had stared at John helplessly, not wanting to voice that promise John had made, that he’d have a job no matter what.
John had called “cut,” given Reg a robe, and taken him quietly into the bathroom and given him a little tablet he called Silver Sword. It worked fine—in fact, it had given him a boner he was practically feverish to get rid of. He’d managed to fuck the guy—long since retired and gone from Johnnies—until his eyes had rolled back in his head and he’d dry-come into the bed.
John had a long talk with Reg after that, about being kind and taking other people’s cues. He said it was like working at McDonald’s. People wouldn’t yell at him, but he had to remember that he was touching other people’s bodies, and he had to be respectful.
Reg had nodded and remembered as much as he could. But he hadn’t taken an enhancement again. Seems he didn’t really need it once he knew that being with a guy didn’t mean he was a bad guy—just meant he could fuck guys, and that was okay.
Didn’t mean he was gay. Didn’t mean he wouldn’t keep looking for a girlfriend. Just meant, well, his job was a little unusual. Given that he’d had to take a special class in school just to figure out how to fill out a job application and balance his bank account, Reg was sort of proud of that. He had a job skill, one not many people could claim.
Ten years later, he was still proud of it.
He’d caught on to the reason for the porn name, though.
Girls saw him on the website. He had no idea girls watched gay porn.
The first time a girl had seen him at the gym and called him Reg, he just thought he’d met her somewhere and forgot. Medium height, brown hair, muddy-colored eyes—she looked like a lot of other girls, and his memory, not always the best. She’d been aggressive at the gym, touching his biceps, his ass, and he’d thought, “Yes! A girlfriend!”
His last girl had left him when Veronica had gone off her meds. That was a whole other story.
He’d been excited—and willing. She’d gotten into his Camaro with him and started giving him head, right there in the gym parking lot. Her mouth on his cock was decent—he had to admit, he usually got the best head at work—but then she’d stopped and gazed at him dreamily.
“I bet this would be great if Tango were here,” she said, licking her lips. “Could you call up Tango so we can have a threesome?”
Reg had gaped at her, for a moment trying to figure out if he’d met her with Tango, whose real name was Tommy, but he hadn’t known that then.
And it hit him. “Uh, Tango and I only do that at work.”
She pouted. “But… but you guys arehot. And you’re friends! You were working out together!”
Well, that day they had been. “Yeah, but we’re not boyfriends,” he said. At that point, he’d been in the business long enough to not care if people thought he was gay. He hooked up with enough Johnnies guys off camera, just because a friend in need was a naked friend who gave good head.
“But you fuck,” she said, getting upset. She sat up in the seat and pulled her jogging bra back over her boobs. He sighed. They were nice boobs—pert and bouncy with big raisin-colored areolas. He’dreallyliked it when she hit on him.
“Yeah,” he said, trying to be kind like John had been to him. “We do. It’s a job. I like him—he’s a friend. Like… where doyouwork, Leona?”
“Leora,” she snapped. “I’m a receptionist at a law firm.”
Oh God. She was smart. Why had this smart woman seen his picture on the computer and thought he’d be smart like her? “Well, that’s a real good job,” he said sincerely. “And I bet there’s guys there you like to talk to. You may even see them on weekends or go to the movies and shit. But you don’t sleep with them—they’re just guys from work, right?”
She nodded, the furrow in her brow reminding him of John’s the last time Reg had gotten help with Veronica’s papers.
“So, it’s like that. Except whenIgo to work, I fuck guys. And we work out together and see movies and shit. But I don’t fuck them unless I’m at work. ’Cause fucking guys is my job.” He tried a smile then, because it was sort of funny, right? He wasn’t quick—not like Dex or John or Tango or even Ethan, who was actually damned clever although he said he wasn’t.
Leora didn’t smile back. “So you’re not gonna call Tango,” she said, sounding bitchy.
“No,” he told her. “Tango went home to paint his house. I told him I’d come help when we were done here.”
“You’ll paint the guy’s house on the weekend but you won’t wax his knob?” she asked, eyebrows doing that weird jumpy thing people’s did when they were reasoning shit out.
“Tango tries to have boyfriends,” Reg told her. “That would just make shit complicated.” He didn’t tell her that yeah, sometimes he hooked up with Johnnies guys because girls were thin on the ground. He just didn’t feel like he owed her that much information.
She shook her head. “You,” she said succinctly, “are a disappointment. Damn. Porn stars—not what you think.” She grabbed her workout bag from the back of the car and went to get out.