A quick glance around the auditorium shows that everyone is enthralled. I can see why. The only thing is, I’m not that good of an actor. I know I’m not. And it’s not false modesty. If anything, I have an over-inflated opinion of my skills. But I work hard and I listen to my acting teachers. I know my range and my limits and what I just saw, is not it.
Which means… I fancy the fuck out of Mackenzie Jones.
Chapter four
Sixa.m,Ihaven’tbeen to bed yet, but I can’t sleep. As soon as the showing was over, I looked for Mackenzie, only to find he had vanished. It wasn’t surprising. He probably slipped away as soon as the opening credits started. It was just his style. As if he really believed he was too good for the rest of us and could only tolerate our presence for a short while. The disappointment was still bitter though.
Everyone else moved on to the after-party, and that had kept me distracted for a few hours. The glitz, the glamor, the congratulations. It had all been wonderful and I had lapped it all up eagerly. But now, at home, with Liliah asleep in bed, my mind will not stop spinning.
The sofa is comfortable but I know it’s weird to just be sitting here, staring at the fake fireplace blankly. But it’s not like anyone can see.
How could I have reached twenty-four years of age without knowing I’m gay? Or bi? Or pan? Or whatever the hell I am. I’m pretty sure I’m not homophobic, so it can’t be denial. Unless the internalized homophobia is buried far deeper than my therapist has ever been.
Perhaps I don’t actually want Mackenzie, and it’s just a weird infatuation. That would make more sense. I try to imagine kissing him. Would his lips feel as soft as they look? Would he wrap his arms around me and hold me close? Would he moan?
I stare down at my cock that is now tenting my trousers. Fuck. Well, that answers that question. I definitely want him. I throw back my head and groan. Never mind the gay stuff, he is a horrible person. What the fuck is wrong with me? Am I secretly a masochist too? Pining for someone who can’t even tolerate my presence, just to enjoy the burn of constant rejection.
I fetch my phone out of my pocket. Scheduling an extra appointment with my therapist is a brilliant idea. She has an online booking system, so it only takes a few moments. Then my thumb pauses over the browser. Fuck it. I pull up Pornhub and go to the gay section.
I scroll through the videos, watch a few minutes of a couple, but feel nothing. No repulsion, no arousal. Just a curiosity of how the stars manage to wax so perfectly. I go back to the menu and flick through a few pages of thumbnails before finding one that catches my attention. It’s a twink with shoulder length blond hair. I press play.
A few minutes later and I’m more aroused than I have ever been in my entire life. I think about waking Liliah up but that would be all kinds of wrong. Instead, I try to untangle my thoughts. It seems I have a type, when it comes to guys at least. I’ve never had a type for girls.
I pull back the time bar on the video I’ve just watched until I can see the twink’s face. He is cute. I can see that objectively. I’m not blind. But I don’t think I want to do him. The disturbing truth is, I got all hot and bothered by imagining he was Mackenzie.
For fuck’s sake. I have a gay, obsessive crush on my co-star.
Not that it matters. Nothing will ever come of it. Even if I wanted it to. And unless the show is renewed for a second season, I will likely never see Mackenzie Jones in the flesh again. It’s all fine. My stupid, strange infatuation will pass. I just need to ignore it until it does.
On the plus side, it has made my acting look top tier. With such a great performance under my belt, it should be far easier to land my next role. Maybe even something bigger and better. The future looks bright.
Heaving myself off of the sofa I head for the shower. Sleep is finally calling me. It’s a damn good thing I have nothing scheduled for the rest of the day as I’m pretty sure I’m going to sleep like the dead.
The hot spray feels incredible and I can’t help but grin. It’s the little luxuries like this that never get old. The shower in the flat I grew up in was shit. It was so tiny it was impossible to stand under it without touching at least one wall. The water pressure had been abysmal and it never got truly hot, managing a lukewarm at best. The whole effect was like standing in a cramped, damp cupboard while someone pissed on you. So not my thing at all.
Now, here I am, standing in a huge marble and chrome walk-in, bombarded with enough cascading water to knock me off my feet and hot enough to take my skin off, if I turn it up anymore.
Sheer bliss. If only I didn’t still have a raging hard-on from imagining railing Mackenzie fucking Jones.
Groaning in defeat, I grab hold of my traitorous dick and start to stroke myself. I try to think of Liliah but it doesn’t work. I slap the shower wall in frustration and allow myself to picture Mackenzie underneath me. Looking up at me with those dazzling sapphire eyes. Looking at me the way Cain looks at Abe. I come so hard I see stars. It’s a good thing the shower is so noisy and far away from the bedroom or else my yell of pleasure would have woken Liliah. Hell, it would have woken the whole block of flats if I was back at home.
My knees are weak, and I have to place my hands against the wall to brace myself. I’m breathing like it’s going out of fashion.
I really need that extra session with my therapist. This is insane. Mackenzie is ridiculously pretty but I don’t even like the dude. I admire his acting skills but that’s it. If I got hard for everyone in Hollywood that I admired, I’d be walking around with a permanent boner.
I need to get over Mackenzie Jones.
Chapter five
It’sasunnyafternoonin LA and I’m clothes shopping with Liliah. I’m having the time of my life. Clothes shopping. In LA. With my girlfriend. I really am gay.
I take a long sip of my iced coffee and try to calm the fuck down. Everyone loves shopping in LA and I’m an actor for god’s sake, I’m supposed to like clothes, and how can hanging out with my girlfriend be gay? I’m being ridiculous. I love shopping because I grew up in poverty and this is everything I always dreamed of. There is nothing more to it.
Liliah smiles at me, and I smile back as I take her hand. Thankfully, she has zero clue about my inner turmoil. It’s not something I have shared with her and that’s not going to change. Our relationship is not like that. I like her, but I don’t love her. I’m sure she feels the same way about me. But we get on well enough and we are great for each other’s careers. We look good together.
Niggling thoughts about how little we have sex threaten to swamp me, but I manage to hold them back. It’s fine, everything is fine. We have a perfectly normal Hollywood relationship. There is no need to question my sexuality over it.
“Shall we grab lunch?” asks Liliah.
