Page 9 of Judging Duke

Days had passed since my last encounter with Duke, and I’d not left my apartment. Hell, I’d not even left my bed. I’d ignored every call and message and wallowed in my depression and shame.

Showering seemed like far too much effort, and I stank, barely surviving on a diet of toast, noodles and soda. Sleeping meant I forgot everything. Waking meant I remembered it all. I knew which one I preferred.

How had I let it happen again? Why had I approached him at the bar?

But this time, it wasn’t all about Duke.

I rolled over and checked my phone for the umpteenth time. Five missed calls and too many messages to count.

Most messages were from Dex, the calls were from Robbie, and as much as I hated not taking them, I couldn’t deal with him now. With a head full of my drama, little to no room remained for what I knew would be a tough conversation.

Since leaving LA and moving back to the UK, I’d fallen into a hole. With nothing to do, my old pal depression had moved in and took hold.

Often, I could throw myself into my work, but work was part of the problem. The issue I’d encountered before—call it performance anxiety—had meant that the last movies I had planned were a no-go. If a porn star can’t perform, what’s the fucking point?

I’d bowed out, citing stress and anxiety where, in fact, I couldn’t get hard, and even if I could, within minutes I was soft, leaving all of us unsatisfied, and me especially, very red-faced.

In a fit of panic-induced anxiety, I’d instructed Dex to sell my apartment early and flown home to nurse my hurt and tender feelings.

Depression had been a constant companion since Robbie’s accident. When he was down and depressed, my period of darkness usually followed. Add in my own troubles, and I’d hit rock bottom. The thoughts I never spoke to anyone about infiltrated my brain.

I knew what Robbie wanted, though, but my selfish brain wanted time to mourn the loss of my ‘acting’ career.

The doctor who had promised to get Robbie walking had failed in his attempts. It was no one’s fault, but at the realisation that this last attempt to walk had eluded him, Robbie, too, had spiralled into a cycle of hatred at himself and the world.

At times like these, Robbie would call me, telling me again how he couldn’t see the point, that he had nothing to live for any longer, and as much as I loved my brother, right now I could barely look after myself.

Feeling worthless, I threw my phone to the floor and lay back on the cloud of pillows, sinking into the softness. Life stood still, and staying here appealed to the introvert inside me, no longer wishing to see or speak to anyone.

A banging on the door startled me. Who the fuck could that be?

I didn’t have to wait long to find out, as Dex’s distinctive voice sounded.

“Simon! Open the goddamn door.”

“Leave me alone,” I croaked. I’d spoken with no one in days.

“Open the door now. I’m going nowhere until you do. I’ll annoy every one of your fucking neighbours.”

He banged again. I reluctantly dragged myself from the bed and ventured to the door.

I glimpsed my reflection in the mirror as I passed, grimacing at my appearance before slowly opening the door.

Without waiting, he barged past me.

“Jesus fucking Christ. Look at the state of you.” His nose wrinkled. “You fucking stink. Get a shower.”

“What do you want, Dex?” I followed him into the spacious lounge overlooking Liverpool city. The weather was as miserable as I felt.

“We’ve got a meeting in about an hour. You need to be there.”

“What’s it for? I’m not interested in doing anything.”

“Some film studio wants you to appear as a cameo in a movie.”

“Porn?”

“Of course. What else would it be? You just need to stand there and watch, play with your dick, give ’em a good cumshot.”

“I’m not doing it.” I slouched in the chair and closed my eyes, hoping he’d be gone the next time I opened them.

“I’m your manager. You’ll do as I say, Simon. Now get yourself showered and dressed.”

“You’re fired. I don’t need you anymore.” How many times did I need to tell him it was over?

“The fuck you don’t. I’m the only one who has your interests at heart. You certainly don’t.”

“I’m done, Dex. Don’t you understand that? I can’t do it any longer. You heard about what happened.” I finally looked at him. He needed to understand. “I’m spent…literally. No one does it for me anymore.”

“Use pills. Hell, you can even get injections.”

I winced at the thought and clenched my thighs. The thought of anyone sticking a needle into my cock sent a shockwave of fear through me.

“No injections and the pills don’t work. I just can’t, Dex. Tell them no.” The thought that my virility, the one thing I’d thought defined me as a man, had deserted me was devastating.

“It’s just a phase. Like you said, you’ve been tired, stressed. It was the whole reason for sending you to the spa, but what did you do there? You brawled with the staff. When do you ever listen to me?”

Standing tall, I squared up to Dex, towering over his small stature. He sniffed, gagged and turned away.

“Go shower. Get dressed. We’re going.”

I sighed, scrubbing my hands over my face. “Why won’t you let me disappear into obscurity?”

“Because that’s not what you pay me for. My job is to get you out there, make you visible. Hiding away in here like a hermit won’t earn you any money.”

“And then you don’t get paid,” I finished the sentence for him.

He shrugged. He earned more from me than any of his other clients. They were small fry compared to me, but he knew it wouldn’t last forever.

He was right, of course. He always fucking was, knowing what I needed and wanted usually before I did.

“Look, Simon. They only want you for two days max, and the money they’re offering is, quite frankly, too good to turn down. This”—he waved his hand around in the general direction of my dick—“it’s just a blip. We can visit the doctor. I know a guy.”

Of course he did.

I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, and after flipping him off, I walked into the spacious ensuite bathroom.

I stripped off the shorts I’d worn for the past few days. The stench of my body odour was overpowering.

Setting the shower as hot as I could stand, I stepped under the spray. It felt good. I dropped my head, resting my outstretched hands on the tiled wall before me.

Scalding water sluiced down my body, washing away the filth.

I needed to get a grip. This wasn’t doing anyone any good at all, least of all Robbie.

I’d get this meeting over and done with, then travel to see him. As much as I hated it, people relied on me.

Dex for his salary, Robbie for his treatment, and my parents for the financial support I gave them.

I had no time to work through my own problems; it was always about someone else.

That needed to change. I knew that. My erection problems were probably stress-related. Yeah, let’s go with that and not the fact that none of the men I fucked were Duke.

The mere thought of him and my cock twitched.

Yep, definitely his fault.

A fist thumped the bathroom door.

“Get a move on, Simon.”

And there it was, gone again. Pushing all thoughts of Duke out of my head, I shampooed, washed, and finished by shaving the scraggy beard I wore.

I dressed casually, a pair of trousers and a tight-fitting Henley shirt that showcased my muscles.

“Much better,” Dex said, giving me the once-over. “Let’s get going, else we’ll be late.”

Phone and keys in hand, I followed him into the lift. The improvement in my appearance from half an hour ago was noticeable.

“Stop fretting, Simon. You’ve got this.”

The drive to the meeting was silent. As much as I wanted to believe that my intrusive thoughts had disappeared because I’d given them a good talking to, it wasn’t the case.

No depression I knew had ever been cured by someone telling you to calm down or to cheer up.

These feelings would linger, and it was up to me, and me alone, to get back to a place where I could function without them filling my head.

The meeting went well, all things considered. The money they were offering was mouth-wateringly good. Dex looked over the contract, and after a brief discussion, we signed on the dotted line.

The shoot wasn’t for a few weeks, giving me time to sort out my ‘issue’.

All expenses were covered, including travel to the South of France, where the movie was being shot. I’d visited a few times and loved it. The climate, the people. Everything called to me. You could keep LA and the UK. That was where I wanted to retire to.

After a quick bite to eat, Dex dropped me back at the apartment, telling me to stop fucking around and pull myself together.

Again, like that was going to work, but I smiled through gritted teeth and saw him off with a two-finger salute.

Figuring it was time to face up to the responsibilities I’d ignored for the last week, I plucked up the courage to call Robbie.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Was that any way to greet me? I almost ended the call but took a deep breath and swallowed down the words I wanted to say.

“I’m sorry, Robbie. Things haven’t been great.”

“And you think my life is a picnic?” I knew when Robbie got like this, he could be hurtful. I’d learnt over the years to ignore him, but today, it rubbed me the wrong way.

“You know what? If it wasn’t for me, you’d be struggling in the two-up, two-down house we lived in as kids. Because of me and my money, you live where you do. I pay for everything. I pay for Carlos, the expensive treatments you get, and this is how you treat me? Go fuck yourself, Robbie.”

I ended the call and threw the phone on the kitchen counter, cursing as it slid off the end to the tiled floor, shattering the screen.

I screamed, loudly. God damn it!

It rang, and through the cracked glass, I saw that it was Carlos.

I turned and left it where it was, the ringtone getting louder the longer I ignored it.

Time to do something for me for a change.

Anger coursed through me. A workout was what I needed. A good blow-out at the gym followed by a few beers.

That would do the trick.

The gym I used was exclusive, of course. A fit, young receptionist greeted me by name, her youthful looks belying her years. I knew for a fact she was similar in age to me.

Thirty-four.

When had I got that old?

I smiled, nodded and headed for the changing rooms, opening my personal locker. It smelt of old sweat and faded cologne.

A couple of guys eyed me up as I changed. I wasn’t shy and stripped off completely before redressing in my gym gear. Jockstrap, short shorts and a vest. I was ready to expend the anger and frustration that had built up.

After warming up, I went straight for the punch bag, trying hard not to picture my ungrateful brother. I’d given up so much to support him.

Granted, the sex industry paid well, but I’d have much rather followed my genuine passion instead of putting myself out there for all to see.

Nothing was private when you were in the public eye. It was difficult not to see the leers and jibes I got, mostly in the few gay bars I occasionally visited.

I punched and kicked at the bag, muscles straining and burning from the effort. I’d hurt tomorrow, but I didn’t care.

Thump, thump, thump-thump.

Hitting my rhythm, I got lost, the noise from my surroundings becoming a distant buzz. All I could feel was the blood pumping through my veins and my harsh breaths as I pushed myself.

Unsure how long I’d been hitting the bag, I finally stopped, becoming more aware of a few people staring.

Sweat dripped from me, and I ripped open the gloves with my teeth, throwing them to the floor. My eyes stung, and my vision blurred. Someone handed me a towel.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, wiping my face and neck.

“You might want this too.”

Hang on a minute. I recognised that voice.

I hesitated to look or take the offered bottle of water, knowing exactly who I’d see standing in front of me.

“Jesus Christ,” I said, finally looking into Duke’s cocky face.

“Not quite, but if the cap fits.”