But as our followers grew, it consumed our lives. Every comment, like, and troll’s insult became a source of stress. Ray obsesses over all of it: the homophobic bullshit, the glowing praise, the metrics that supposedly prove we’re the ultimate couple. Meanwhile, I’m stuck performing, forced to smile and react on cue, watching the part of our life that was once private slip further and further away.
“We’re doing two cuddle scenes, one on the couch, another in bed with no shirts. Classic stuff: love-of-my-life, perfect-couple bullshit,” he says, as if that’s who we actually are. “Then I’ll be slapping your ass in different spots around the house, except for one scene where I don’t, and you’ll act like I don’t love you anymore. Last, I want to recreate the ‘ninety-nine problems’ scene, but I’ll have a hundred when you walk in. The kitchen’s perfect for that one.”
Original content isn’t really his thing, so he leans on the latest trends. About a year ago, he had the bright idea to get us on OnlyFans. I’m not a prude, but it took me a while to feel okay with putting our sex life on camera. I like porn, don’t get me wrong, but beinginit? That was a whole different story. At first, it was justthe two of us: blowjobs or mutually jerking off. As our subscribers grew, Ray nudged me to level up to full-on sex on camera.
Lately, though, he’s been bringing in a third, or even a fourth person. We didn’t even talk about it. One afternoon, I finished work and walked into the living room to find a guy already there, camera ready. I was blindsided.
We never agreed to an open relationship. I told Ray I didn’t want to do it, but his persuasion always wins out. Subscriber growth and metrics, he argued. So, we had our first threesome. Since then, it’s become a regular thing, happening a few times a month, whether I like it or not.
I tune Ray out, lost in my thoughts, barely noticing what he’s rambling about until he snaps his fingers at me.
“Hey, that guy, Zach, we met last week, is coming over tonight to film with us. He’s been doing a solo gig for a few years, and he’s got lots of contacts for collabs. We need this to go well.”
I really didn’t want to do this tonight. My plan was to curl up in my comfy chair, wrapped up in that fuzzy blanket my mom got me for Christmas, and read my spy book. I’d rather be lost in espionage and intrigue, than faking it in front of a camera. But arguing with him is pointless.
We film the clips, leaving just enough time for a quick dinner before Zach arrives. Neither one of us is a good cook, so we mostly rely on pre-made meals and takeout. I’m just plating the lasagna I put in the oven before we started filming, when Ray drops his latest and greatest idea on me.
“We need to get married,” Ray states matter-of-factly as I hand him a plate of food.
I almost drop it. “What? Why?”
“Because that’s what’s big right now,” he responds. “Every post I see from other creators is engagement photos, wedding ceremonies, or anniversary posts. We need to jump on this. Plus, we’ve had more than one comment asking about it.”
I shake my head and huff under my breath, stunned by his reasoning. “So, you want us to get married because it’s good for social media?”
“Babe, this is important,” he goes on. “Our posts are getting stale. We need something for people to get excited about.”
“Ray, I don’t want to get married. I’ve told you this.”
He rolls his eyes. “I know, I don’t really give a shit about it either, but for now, we need to at least get engaged. And you need to be the one to do it.”
“To do what?”
“Propose.”
“Why the hell do I need to propose?”
He points his fork at me. “Because it would prove you’re fully committed to this relationship. How many times have I told you about the comments saying you don’t look happy? We can’t have people questioning us. It’s not good for our brand.”
The simple truth is I’m not happy. My mantra for years has been that I don’t believe in marriage, not after my parents’ ugly divorce. But that’s not entirely true. I just don’t want to marryhim.
And the guys he’s talking about in those posts, I’ve met some of them, and they genuinely seem happy and fulfilled in their relationships. But that’s not us.
Lately, I’ve been thinking more and more about ending things with Ray. But it wouldn’t be easy. Unraveling our life together, ourcontent, and five years of history would be just as hard as getting a divorce. And Ray, being Ray, wouldn’t make it any easier.
I swallow the last bite of my dinner; the heaviness of what he’s asking of me chokes my throat. But to get this conversation over with, I offer him something.
“I’ll think about it.”
“Good,” he says as he drops our plates in the sink for me to clean up later. “You should go take a shower and prep before Zach gets here. I’m setting us up in our room.”
Not bothering to protest, I trudge down the hall to get ready. I hate using our bedroom. When we first started filming with other guys, he promised we wouldn’t use it. That promise evaporated the second week when a guy wanted to be in bed. We could have used the guest room, but Ray insisted that the lighting in our room was better. Case closed.
I take my time getting ready and stretching myself because Ray won’t bother opening me up properly. In past threesomes and foursomes, his focus is always on the other guys. Last time, he didn’t even notice I didn’t get off. I honestly can’t remember the last time we had sex that wasn’t on camera.
When I finally emerge, I find Ray and Zach already got started while I was in the bathroom. They’re making out on the bed, totally naked. Ray notices me and gives me an irritated look, probably because I took too long.
He guides me onto the bed, his hands firm and demanding, positioning me on all fours and directing my head toward Zach. I’ve barely said two words to the guy, and now I have his dick in my mouth. I’m good at giving head, though, so I take him all the way to the root. He’s average, so my gag reflex isn’t an issue.
