“if this ends up on the internet I will kill you”

Some say that love is a river, peaceful and deep. Some say love is a battlefield. Love is a cloud that holds the rain.. Love is a many splendid thing, it lifts us up where we belong. Others say that love is a losing game. Love is blindness. Love is this big ambiguous thing. This coveted, unique, state of mind that you only get to experience if another person lets you in. It’s like an exclusive club with a very coveted guest list. 

I sit on the edge of my bed, take out from Sushi Stop sprawled out in front of me, I watch as the credits roll on the series revival of Gilmore Girls. Tears stain my face, even though I’ve seen this show from beginning to end more times than I can count. Now that I have dipped my toes into adulthood I’ve made a rule that I can really only watch it all the way through once a year.

Out of Gilmore Girls to watch and no plans on the horizon tonight I open up Grindr. Currently I’m living in Mid City, the men in the area aren’t too exciting, but every now again you find a diamond in the rough. I live around the corner from a gorgeous gay couple that both have recurring roles on General Hospital and I haven’t seen them looking for a third yet, but the day they are I will be there, douched and ready.

Love, unfortunately, isn't what I’m interested in tonight, right now, or really ever. Love hasn’t exactly brought me much. Grindr, on the other hand, has brought me ever so slightly more. That ‘slightly bit’ being orgasms. And I will say, contrary to many opinions, orgasms have brought me much more than any boyfriend.

Scrolling…scrolling…scrolling.

I get dinged with a few ‘hey’’s and ‘what’s up’’s from some trollish looking guys and blank profiles. I start to scroll on Netflix. Should I rewatch Weeds again or should I try to make it through The Sopranos again. Every time I try to do it I get just far enough that when I take a break from watching I forget everything that was happening so I have to start over. I’m starting to entertain the idea of a night in. I’m going to crawl into bed. Have ice cream. Take an ‘everything’ shower. Put curlers in my hair. Cold cream. The whole thing.

*Grindr sound*

The, oh so original message; ‘Hey boy’ illuminates the screen of my iPhone 12 pro max. I roll my eyes, but open his profile for good measure because even though I’m making myself seem like I’m annoyed, I’m actually fully in the mood to hook up.

The sender’s profile isn’t that of a General Hospital cast member, but it is promising. He’s forty-ish. Got a full head of hair. A dad bod. A cute face. 5’10, but I’m willing to overlook that. A decent dick, he says it’s seven inches, it looks more like six, but it’s thick. I’m invested.

Blake Hawk is his name. He kind of reminds me of my high school athletic director, which is kind of working for me in a weird way. My high school athletic director was hot.

‘Hey what’s up?’ I say back. I’m not exactly a savant when it comes to Grindr messaging. I have no idea what’s right and what’s wrong. I know some guys hate when someone just says ‘what’s up’ to them, but like… what else do you want me to say? I would just send a pic of my hole but then some guys are super offended by that. You literally can’t win on this platform. 

‘Horny af.’ he messages back, ‘wanna come over? Help daddy out.’

How could I refuse?

***

The hills above Hollywood are carved out in twisted tiny roads. I thank god that she blessed me with a Prius because if I was trying to drive through here with anything bigger I’d have crashed into everything around me.

I find a small amount of exposed curb to place my hybrid outside Blake Hawk’s house and I take a few deep breaths. I’m nervous. That’s weird.

As I approach the front door I remember why I’m here and some sort of survival/gay instinct kicks in and I’m not nervous anymore, just horny again. 

What if you get murdered?

Do you care?

No.

I knock on the door.

“Hello.” The man who answers the door is exactly who I saw in the pictures. A relief. The same perfect, clean cut dad-type now sporting a gentle smile. 

“Hi!” 

He gives me a light kiss, and a slightly more than gentle hug, our hands confirming the photos we saw online. Once satisfied, he invites me in. I walk into a large modern living space with warm decorative accents and a view of the city. I’m not surprised, but I am impressed.

“How are you?” Blake asks with a sultry hint to his voice. 

“I’m better now,” I say, moving deeper into the room and taking in the view of the city. The cityscape of Los Angeles which looks more like sparkling diamonds laid out over a blanket of never ending black velvet will somehow never get old to me. “This view is incredible.” 

“It’s not as good as mine.” 

I turn to face Blake, fully prepared with an eye roll that might dislodge my left contact lens, but I don’t have a chance. Blake has my face in his hands, pulling me into a deep kiss. 

We aren’t ripping at each other's clothes. We’re not digging our tongues into each other’s mouths. There’s a stillness. An intimate stillness, like he’s reading a code that’s transmitted through my lips. When he pulls away, my eyes must have been open first because I watch as his eyes open slowly, as though in a trance.

“Where did you steal that line?” I say, not missing a beat. Blake laughs and turns away.

“I’m not sure, but it has to be from somewhere right?” He says, “let’s go downstairs.” Taking my hand, Blake starts to lead me to a staircase. 

“What’s downstairs?” I say with a slightly sarcastic slightly joking voice that implies that we shouldn’t be going downstairs. 

“I have a bedroom down there.” His tone is very matter of fact. Like it’s normal that he would have a bedroom downstairs, one that’s clearly not the master. Maybe he’s just renting a room from someone who owns the house and that his bedroom is downstairs. It’s LA rent is expensive. I wouldn’t hold that against him, but that’s also not why I’m here.

Blake leads me downstairs and directs me to a room with no furnishings except a mattress on the floor. This mattress is covered loosely with a light white sheet, and four white pillows. The trick room. Perfect. Feels right. I’ll take it.

What happens next is pretty much what you’d expect. 

Blake’s basketball shorts fall to the floor, and I follow them to my knees.

My shirt and shorts come off.

Blake’s methods are pretty straight forward. I blow him, he blows me, he calls me ‘a good boy’ as many times as he can. I’m not overly impressed but it’s working for me. I feel like when you hook up with anyone from Grindr, it’s never the greatest sexual experience you’ve ever had. Typically you’re just there to use or be used. 

Blake puts a halt on the work on my dick and says “I want to ask you something.”

This can’t be good.

“What?” I say probably a little too aggressively. Bake climbs on top of me and wraps my legs around his waist. I feel his dick teasing my hole.

“I want to record us.” 

I think about this for a solid minute. I’m not sure what the face I’m making looks like, but I know it’s not sexy. My first thought is that this guy has an Only Fans. It would fully track for him to have an Only Fans. He has this nice house but a designated fuck room? 

What’s the worst that could happen if I say yes? I end up with a sex tape on the internet. It goes crazy viral and everyone I know sees it. People send it to my parents. People stop me on the street to say they’ve seen my sex tape. That’s the worst that could happen.

“What’s it for?” I ask. Blake continues to tease me with his dick, I maintain a straight face so he knows he has zero power here.

“It’s just for me I promise.” He says, smirking. I can’t tell if it’s an excited smirk or if there’s something devilish behind it. I’ve said before that I feel great about every nude I’ve ever sent and if they ended up on the internet I wouldn’t be mad. 

“Say I swear.”

“I swear.”

“You swear?”

“I swear.”

“Okay, well if you swear,” I give my verbal consent for a video to be recorded. I don’t regret it. I’m honestly a little excited? Or maybe I’m nervous. I’m not fully aware of my own feelings. 

Just to be sure, as Blake gets up to set up his phone to record us I say:

“If this ends up on the internet I will kill you.”

***

“It’s the way he says it that bothers me the most!” Says Liz. I’ve been on the phone with her for over an hour and I’ve only been half listening but I’ve been giving award winning support and advice.

I walk up to my front door to find my Uber Eats delivery waiting at my front door for me. My love life may be non-existent, my career might be a joke, but I can time my Uber Eats delivery so that it’s fresh and waiting for me the moment I arrive home. 

“It’s not that he’s possessive, and it’s not that he gets jealous, there’s a part of me that gets the jealousy, but not the way it’s manifesting itself.” Liz continues to jabber in my ear while I grab a fork from the kitchen, and set myself up on my bed so all my take out containers are open and within arms reach. I put Liz on speaker phone so that I’m able to look through my phone while still talking to her.

While Liz continues to drag on about her boyfriend who’s name I cannot for the life of me remember, I open Grindr. I scroll for a moment or two before I see a familiar face. Blake.

My encounter with Blake was a few weeks ago, and I’d be down to see him again, so I click on his profile. His profile picture is new. It looks professionally done. It looks very out of place next to the others. I tap on the photo so that I get a full version. 

“Oh my god!” The words slip out of my mouth before I have time to think.

“What? What happened?” Poor Liz screeches on the other line of the receiver.

“Um. I– I have to go.” I hang up on Liz. 

In the corner of Blake’s new profile photo I see something that makes my heart sink. A dark black sucking void has made a home in my chest and all happiness that may have been present is now gone forever.

‘men.com’

A very simple logo. Very iconic. Very recognizable.

Now I have no problem with Blake being a pornstar, or even lightly dabbling in porn. What I have a problem with is that now I know he definitely lied to me about his intentions with our video.

I take out my laptop, I open a fresh tab, and type in those fateful words ‘men.com’. It doesn’t take long for me to find a page dedicated to Blake Hawk. Lucky for me they linked his Twitter to that page. On his Twitter I find his Only Fans, which I am not surprised by at this point.

I create an Only Fans account, pay a $19.99 paywall to have full access to Blakes page, and don’t scroll long before I see another familiar face. Mine.

There I am, in all my naked glory. On the internet. 

My perfectly quaffed hair, my rosy cheeks, my sultry expression.

I spend an immeasurable amount of time staring at the thumbnail on my phone, and I have no choice but to wonder… are all men liars? 

Or is it something about me that they feel like they can manipulate? I welcome this kind of energy. Somehow, out of all the men on Grindr, I had to find the one that was going to put my ass on the internet.

I’m furious. I type a message to Blake:

‘Hey daddy, how are you?’

He types back immediately: ‘I miss you baby, what are you up to?’

I think for a moment, then type: ‘Just wondering how much money you’ve made since you put a video of me online that you said would never go there. Take it down immediately or I will contact a lawyer.’

A minute goes by.

‘I’ll take it down now.’

‘Take it down, then go fuck yourself.’

I breathe through the fury that’s building inside me. I look around my room. My TV, my desk, my closet. Nothing’s changed. I’m still the same. I’m still me. I calm down a bit. I look back on the thumbnail, still open on my phone. I’m repulsed, disgusted, yet intrigued…. I’m hard?

I unzip and hit play.