Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
"Can I ask you something totally inappropriate?" I ask.
"Sure," he says.
"Do you have sex with men?" I ask.
"For work? Or fun?"
"Either, I guess," I say.
"No." He shakes his head. "That was a vow Sasha and I made when we started the business. We'd never do anything we didn't want to do. She got calls, men who wanted to have sex with men, but she never pushed me to agree."
"She turned clients away?"
"Referred them to someone who gave her a finder’s fee." He smiles. "She's savvy." He looks me in the eyes. "Why? Is that a fantasy of yours? Two men?"
"At once?" I ask.
"I've done that." He doesn't say if it's for paying clients or fun, and I don't ask. "But always with the women the center of attention."
"I have fantasized about that," I admit. "I imagine most women have."
"And what does that mean?" he asks.
"For some people, it's simple greed. Two is better than one. Sometimes, it's about sharing. Or community. For others, it's about being desirable. Or being watched. Or watching."
He shakes his head. "I don't want Doctor Vaughn's answer. I want Ivy's. What turns you on about it?"
For a moment, I hesitate. It’s awkward to share this way. But there’s something about his eyes too. I trust him to listen without judgement. I trust him to give me the things I want. "The thought of being wanted that much," I say. "And the mastery of it, I guess? Like I'm so good with dick I can handle two at once."
He chuckles. "I've never heard it described that way." He reaches out and brushes a hair from my eyes. "But it is true. Is that your fantasy?"
"Uh-uh. It's your turn, and I've already shared one," I say. "I'm not saying anything until you share."
"A shrewd negotiation." He nods and looks to the window. To the blur of palm trees and blue sky. "You know how everyone says if you love your job, you'll never work a day in your life?"
"It's not true," I say.
He nods of course not. "And it's worse, too. If you turn what you love into a job, all of a sudden, it becomes work."
"We've both made sex into work," I agree.
He nods. "I don't think about what I want out of sex anymore. Even when I fuck myself. It's more a training exercise."
"How does that work?" I ask.
He chuckles. "It's more a mental game than physical. I put myself in a very unsexy circumstances—a messy room, surrounded by pictures of bored workers, or truly hideous men—and I try to block all that out to find arousal. Or I put on a video, and I try to last as long as possible."
"What do you use?" I ask. "To test your stamina?"
"Is that my secret fantasy?" he asks.
"Is it?" I return.
His head drops as he laughs. "You're going to laugh and say I'm a cliche."
It's hard to imagine him as a cliche. I shake my head. "I might laugh, but I promise to call you something far worse."
"Good." He runs a hand through his hair in that coy way guys do. It's an odd gesture on him. Sexy. "I watch…" He takes a deep breath and lets out a hard exhale. "Girl on girl."
"No." I feign shock.
"I know." He points to his chest. "I'm like a sixteen-year-old boy. But it's not the tacky mainstream stuff."
"Do you pay for content?" I ask.
"Of course," he says. "Sasha would kill me if I didn't."
"If she wouldn't?"
"I know I should," he says. "As a person in the industry. But I don't always want to seek out just the right thing. Sometimes I just want to open PornHub and get off."
"I thought you only masturbated as work?"
He shrugs. "Mostly."
"And those other times, still girl on girl?"
"Sometimes."
"Other times?" I ask.
"Mostly, solo videos," he says. "Ones where women are teasing the camera. Looking right at me."
"What do you like about it?"
"The solo stuff?" He asks. When I nod, he continues. "I like seeing someone with themselves. I like that it's for my viewing pleasure. That I'm not expected to do anything but watch. That I can't see myself in it."
"And the girl on girl?"
"The way women are tender," he says. "And loving. A lot of amateur—or fake amateur—stuff is gentle. I like seeing that. The affection. The softness. The time. They aren't putting on a show. They're really there, in the moment."
"And you can't see yourself in that, either," I say.
He nods.
"Why do you think that is?" I bite my tongue. "Sorry. Therapist mode."
"Maybe that's a new fantasy of mine," he says. "My sex therapist finding me so hot she breaks all her rules." He smiles. "Or is that too fucked up for you?"
"Too real." I nod. "But I can understand the appeal. That your darkest thoughts are so enticing they make someone risk their career, violate their ethics."