Page 82 of Bobby Green

For the first time in twelve years, it hit Reg. What he did for a living. Like it was brand-new and he was a virgin with no fucks under his belt.

And he was horrified.

That thing he did in the dark with Bobby—even those times they hadn’t been naked, when Bobby had just come over and touched him, held him, kissed his neck or his shoulder, or even, once, down the bumps in his spine—those things werehisthings.

Except Bobby had just done those things under the lights, for the camera.

Reg didn’t feel any resentment for the other guy in the shot—but dammit. He had so little in life that washis. He wanted his thingsback.

It was irrational. He told himself again and again; he knew this job. He knew what that kid brought into his house, into his bed, was special. Bobby wasn’t giving the same kisses on the set that he was giving to Reg. He wasn’t whispering the same things.

Whether Bobby topped or bottomed was the director’s choice on the set, but in close and personal, when it was just the two of them, Bobby took charge. In a way it was almost scary how much Bobby seemed to know about telling Reg what to do, but in another way it made total sense.

Bobbyknew what to do. He knew when Reg got too excited or just needed to be kissed hard and into the mattress. He liked to touch, sliding big work-roughened hands over Reg’s skin like he was covering Reg with his essential person-ness, protecting Reg with a layer of warmth, giving him a thicker skin.

Reg saw Bobby sexed out, looking like he knew he didn’t smell great, and he felt some of that warmth seep away.

Reg wanted his things back.

He was still standing there, reflector in hand, when Dex walked through the corridor and bumped him from behind.

“Uh… Reg?”

“Sorry, Dex. Just thinking.” For a moment he was embarrassed, but if Dex thought there was anything weird about Regthinking, he didn’t say that.

“What about?”

“About… about what I do for a living.”

Dex grunted. “Hold a reflector and listen to me say ‘Dammit, flash your junk’?”

Reg snickered. Yeah, the last shot had been with a new guy who’d picked the name Harvey, which Reg thought was the dumbest porn nameever. He thought making o-faces and waving his wang around made for good film. Dex had needed to stop shooting to say “I know it’s gross, but people like to see that thing moving in and out of the asshole, so you’re gonna have to lean back. Do some stomach crunches if it’s too hard, but it’s necessary.” And then Skylar, who’d been bottoming for this shot, had cracked up, and Dex had turned on him. “Dude, I know you douched and shit, but whatever protein drink you guys are downing now, it’srank. Maybe stick to fruit juice the day before the shot?”

“Aw, dammit, Dex!” Skylar had whined, “Now I’ve gotta think pineapple juice to get it up again. Do you know how wrong that is?”

Dex just looked at him. “I watch guys have sex day in, day out. If I can do it without smell-o-vision, there’s a chance I might get laid myself, so no. I don’t feel sorry for you. Seriously—what have you been drinking?”

“Spinach, kale, and this new sort of protein powder that… uh… I haven’t tried… uh….”

Dex was staring at Skylar and touching his nose. “Bingo.”

“Yeah. It’s bad. Sorry.”

Dex shook his head. “No worries. Harvey there apparently can get it up in a meat-packing plant. Everybody, break for hygiene and Gatorade. Back in five.”

So their jobs were not exactly glamorous, but it was finally hitting Reg why any guy who was hung like a god and could come on command might opt out of porn.

“Reg?” Dex shoulder-bumped him. “C’mon, man. Let’s get to the next set—it’s just a basic intro video. New guy.”

Reg brightened for a minute. “Really? Audition tape?”

“Yeah. This guy’s pretty hot. If he does good, we may fly him out from Kansas City and back to film.”

Reg sighed. Another guy who got to go places Reg had never seen. Another new face—and new dick—in porn, to replace the guys who had grown out of porn and were now on to the grown-up parts of their lives.

“Well, if a horny teenager awaits,” he muttered and walked around the complex to the other bedroom set to film.

THE BOYwas pretty—super pretty, actually. He had longish blond hair and a wide, smiling mouth—not unlike Bobby’s. Big brown eyes too. Reg had been in the business long enough to know that the way he brought himself off slowly, his face relaxed and happy, arching like a bowstring as he shot, and the almost decadent pleasure he got from licking his own come off his hand—all that would make him a surefire winner at Johnnies.