When Work Is a Pleasure (2 page)

And where better than the Folsom Street Fair for raunchy fun? Garrett had gone once before, when he was just barely legal, and had been so intimidated he’d left after less than an hour of wandering around. It was one thing to fantasize about sex but quite another for your naughtiest fantasies to suddenly come to life all around you. At When Work Is a Pleasure |
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eighteen, it had been a bit much for him, and he’d gotten so flustered that he had tripped over his own feet, knocked a trio of leather dykes to the ground with his flailing limbs, and then run away blushing a deep purplish-red when they’d suggested perhaps he just needed a good spanking to steady his nerves.

Chad had laughed himself sick—literally; he’d actually vomited—and the story had become something of a legend with Garrett’s friends.

But he was five years older now, and wiser, and he’d seen things. Been clubbing. Watched a lot more porn and had a lot more sex. So he’d be fine, right? He wasn’t the geeky too-tall kid he’d been back then.

No, now he was slightly less geeky, just as tall, but a bit more coordinated, though he was still somewhat baby-faced despite his religious gym attendance. Not to mention that he was single and in a rut ever since Michael—his last loser boyfriend—had left him, citing that Garrett was the most uncreative writer he’d ever been with. And that was
after
Garrett had given him a blowjob in a movie theater, even.

Well, Garrett would show him. He’d go to Folsom. And he’d have a fantastic time.

IT TOOK Garrett twenty minutes to find the location of the party and twice that long to find parking. For a “small, private event,” it sure was crowded. It turned out that the guest list was very restricted, and Garrett was stunned that his name was actually on it. Thank you, Carl!

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Once inside, the place was wall-to-wall men: there were maybe five women in the building, total, including one of the bartenders. He found himself near the bar, so he grabbed a drink and let the crowd shuffle him toward the empty stage in the main room.

“What’s going on?” he asked a short guy who looked to be in his late thirties

The other man smoothed back his wild curly hair as he answered. “There’s a show. The studios bring a few of their guys for us to see before the fair really gets started. They’re all backstage, I think.”

A show. As in live sex? Garrett swallowed and nodded, trying to look worldly. “Guess that’s where I’m supposed to meet Carl, then,” he mumbled and started pushing through the crowd to get closer to the door.

The guy in leather guarding the entrance not only didn’t believe him but seemed mildly disgusted that Garrett couldn’t come up with a more creative story than being a reporter, there to meet Carl from Hawk Studios. Finally, a very pretty young redhead coming out the door interrupted Garrett’s pleading by saying he was there to see if Carl’s guest had shown up. Garrett was so relieved to see the redhead that it took a few minutes for it to register that his savior was buck-naked.

Everyone
in the room he was led into was naked, except him. Some guys were massaging shiny oil into their skin (or other men’s), or bending over to display perfect round asses as they stretched and flexed, or just hanging out talking and laughing. The redhead—Jeremy—nudged him along, chattering about how excited he was to be there, that it was When Work Is a Pleasure |
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his first show, and he was getting fucked by this gorgeous guy he’d never been with before and was really looking forward to it.

Garrett couldn’t help laughing. “Sounds like a great job.”

A heavy arm wrapped around his waist. “It’s got its awesome parts. You the reporter? Garrett?” an easygoing voice asked.

Carl was blond and looked like a surfer, with a slight L.A. accent and a gorgeous body that was more natural-looking-muscle than gym-bunny. He introduced Garrett around, to Kris and Rob and a bunch of other guys from Hawk Studios, all of whom were naked. They were so casual about it that Garrett kept kind of forgetting, then being shocked when he glanced down and saw dicks. It was weird.

Kind of nice, but weird.

And then it got weirder; Garrett turned around and saw a familiar face across the room. A familiar ass. And chest.

And legs. It was that guy from the porno. The good one. That Garrett had sort of watched a few more times. Few
hundred
more times.
Watched. Yeah.

He made a gurgling noise as he tried not to swallow his tongue. Or get hard. Correction:
harder
.

Jeremy squealed. “Oh my God, that’s him! Alec! Jesus, he’s even more beautiful in person. And in twenty minutes, he’s going to fuck
me
,” he said in a voice of awe and pride mixed. “I’m so glad Hawk got him to sign on. If you ask me, the other two were just a bonus. This guy’s going places.”

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“What?” Garrett blinked. “Alec Greene’s signed on with Hawk Studios? When?”

“Ah, so you’re ‘familiar with his work’, huh?” Carl teased, jostling Garrett with a shoulder. Which reminded Garrett
again
that he was surrounded by two dozen or so really hot, really naked guys.

“Uh, yeah,” he answered feebly, figuring there was no point in playing coy since he’d already ID’d the guy. “Caught his debut, I guess. With Kent and Lance?”

“You’re not the only one,” Kris said, shaking his head.

“Atlas’s execs are kicking themselves for not grabbing him right off the bat. He got a ton of offers. To be honest, I’m surprised Hawk was the best one, but who knows? Maybe he had some restrictions and they were the first or only studio to agree to them or something.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes. “Restrictions—what
ever
. I get to be fucked by unbelievably hot guys for a
job
. It’s safer than being an escort, and when the guys look like the studs Hawk hires, I could care less what they want to do to me.” He ran his hand down Kris’s chest with a flirty leer. “Okay, I’m off.

Gotta lube up and stretch,” he said, bouncing up to kiss Garrett’s cheek before he flitted off into the crowd.

“Wanna watch the man in action, son?” Kris grinned.

Carl shoved him. “Come on. It’s why you’re here, right?

To learn more about the seedy underbelly of the porn industry?”

“Actually, no,” Garrett said, refocusing his wandering eyes onto Carl’s face, away from the flesh-fest surrounding him. “I want to find the personalities, the real people behind the scenes. Show that there’s nothing seedy or raunchy or When Work Is a Pleasure |
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coercive or exploitive about porn. That it’s just sex for entertainment, and that the people involved are perfectly normal.” He flushed. “If somewhat better looking.”

“God, geek-talk makes me hot,” Kris purred in full-on Southern drawl. “Alla them big words, ooh boy.”

Garrett blushed. Well, blushed
more
; he was probably already flushed from general embarrassment and arousal.

“Well, come on,” Carl said, coming to his rescue as he wrapped an arm around Garrett’s back and steered him to the side exit. “Watch the amazing Alec Greene fuck Jeremy, maybe we’ll have some fun, and then you can decide who you want to interview tomorrow at the fair.”

That was how Garrett found himself standing in the second row back from a small stage lit with two spotlights, surrounded by hot, sweaty, horny, nude and semi-nude men on all sides, watching Alec Greene fuck Jeremy. Jeremy acted like Christmas had come early as he got his mouth around Alec’s cock.

The crowd around him, the room in general, reeked of sex. Men watching, touching each other, touching themselves, getting aroused, getting off. The guy to Garrett’s left was getting a hand-job; the one in front of Garrett leaned back against his chest and reached for his hand, asking if Garrett wanted to jerk him off. Carl was on his right, the hand on Garrett’s ass a semi-possessive warmth through his jeans, and on the other side Kris was licking Carl’s neck.

And in front of him, Alec was sliding his nice, thick cock into the shining hole of the young man bent over in front of him, thighs taut, ass firm, and every muscle flexing as his beautiful green eyes slid shut in pleasure.

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Yeah, Garrett was hard.
Beyond
hard, light-headed, dick aching like he was a virgin back in high school—hard, urgent and aroused and uncomfortable and embarrassed.

Wondering if he was going to come in his pants right there or die from frustration first.

It was all a little overwhelming.

Then again, seeing your favorite porno fantasy come to
life six feet in front of you will probably do that to a guy
.

“You like him, don’t you?” a soft voice whispered in his ear. “More than the others. It’s his eyes. There’s just something kinda special in them.”

Garrett nodded, not looking at Carl. “A mystery. Layers.”

“Yup. But watch out, sweetheart. Sometimes there’s nothing much good there behind the mask.”

Garrett nodded. “Pretty to look at, though.”

The hand on his ass squeezed a little, before drifting over to his hip. He shifted away slightly.

“No? Okay, man. Just thought I’d offer, since you’re enjoying the show and all.” Carl grinned.

“Might take you up on it later.” Garrett shrugged. “If the lamprey attached to your neck ever lets go.”

Kris pulled off with a laugh, leaving a huge purple mark, and reached over to swat Garrett on the arm. “Trust me; I know how to share,” he said as he smirked.

The general murmur around them dropped suddenly, interrupting any response Garrett would have made. On the stage—which he’d sort of been trying to
not
watch, actually, so his dick didn’t spontaneously combust—the pace had When Work Is a Pleasure |
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picked up. The beat of the music seemed louder and the moans of the two porn stars—to say nothing of the men next to, behind, and in front of Garrett—were audible. And growing in volume.

In moments Jeremy’s groans had turned into near-yells.

Alec thrust hard, flexing his ass as Jeremy gave a long, wailed, “Oh fuck, yeah,” and came in copious bursts all over the chair he was bent over. Alec moaned, a surprisingly deep sound, and pulled out. He stripped off the condom, jerking his dick hard and fast, and in moments was coating Jeremy’s ass with his come.

Garrett blinked and tried to remember how to breathe.

In. Out. In. Out
.

No, not really helping. He shivered, trying to hold back, to not reach down, to not rub his aching cock through his jeans and come all over himself.

To be professional, even as the men all around him were getting off.

A bead of sweat trickled down his back.

Alec gave Jeremy a playful slap on the ass, wiped him off with a towel, and helped the kid up. They both laughed at something Alec said and then grinned and waved at the crowd, taking little mock-bows to a roar of catcalls, before they sauntered off backstage.

Garrett whimpered.

“Need that hand?” Carl offered.

“I need a drink. And air. Maybe a block of ice down my pants.
Then
maybe that hand.”

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Kris laughed. “You look like you’re gonna bust a nut, boy. How about we start with that air; it’s a little ripe in here and I could use some too.”

Garrett glanced down. “Um. Won’t you need clothes?”

Carl shrugged. “Nah, we’ll go up on the roof.”

Shaking his head at their lack of inhibition, Garrett followed, glad to be away from the over-stimulating miasma of sexuality. And trying not to eye the asses of either of the men going up the stairs in front of him.

On the roof it was much cooler; late autumn in San Francisco meant no fog, yet. The temperature, not to mention the sparse population, helped cool Garrett’s blood.

So long as he kept his eyes from lingering on Carl and Kris, he was good.

They were both turning out to be pretty normal guys; they’d met “at work,” become friends, and were even talking about starting a band together, maybe. They came from fairly typical backgrounds and had gotten into porn because they knew someone who knew someone—the same way everybody else got a job. The money was great, the working conditions were good, and the job itself was
sex
. Garrett agreed readily that yeah, getting paid to have orgasms was a pretty sweet deal.

He took a few notes on his Blackberry but mostly just listened to the two guys joke around, teasing each other and Garrett. They were politely interested in his job, in him, and they had a good conversation that ranged from porn, to the local music scenes in S.F. versus L.A., to the best cheap taquerias around the panhandle.

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Carl introduced everyone who walked by to Garrett, who was mostly just being friendly but was also chatting them up to see how they felt about maybe talking to him as a reporter.

Garrett was feeling relaxed, calm, and a lot more at ease in his pants. He was even getting used to the nakedness of the men joining them, walking past, grabbing a beer, and settling in to talk for a while or have a smoke.

In other words, he was totally unprepared when a guy sat down next to him, put a hand on Garrett’s thigh, and leaned across to steal Kris’s beer. Garrett turned, a smile already forming on his face in greeting—these guys had zero concept of personal space—“an occupational hazard” Carl had admitted—when he saw who it was. He flinched back like he’d been electrocuted.

“Shit, it’s hot in there,” Alec Greene said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and putting Kris’s now-empty bottle back on the table.

Garrett tried not to stare at Alec’s lips.

“Alec, meet Garrett, reporter for
Queer America
. He’s doing a story on porn stars and I bet he’d sure like to

‘interview’ you,” Kris drawled.

“Uh,” said Garrett eloquently.