“Yeah, I know. I watched you come.” Neither of us needs to think about the fact that I didn’t do it for the video. Well, I didn’t look over at him because it was in the script; it just happened to be a happy coincidence that it worked out that way.
“Perfect. I’m going to get a wet rag, you want one?” he asks as he gets off my bed and heads to the bathroom.
“Yeah. And grab a bottle of water.” I should have had snacks and drinks ready already since it’s movie night, but I was distracted by the fact that I was going to masturbate with Magnus.
Huh. I bet the lack of refreshments clued him in to my intention. He’snota mind reader.
Magnus waves his acknowledgement, and while the cum cools on my skin and he cleans himself up in the bathroom, I peruse our movie options. A lot of these we’ve already seen, but a grin spreads across my cheeks when I find that Netflix uploaded the newest batch of flicks and included all the best of the sexiest leading lady to ever grace the silver screen: Sigourney Weaver.
I know it’s not a common opinion, but how any modern man can see a badass woman like Ellen Ripley and not think she’s the sexiest woman ever, I don’t know. Badass is sexy. Man, woman, non-binary person–doesn’t matter; badass is sexy. Full stop.
Magnus returns with refreshments and a warm wet rag for me, and while I clean the cum off and tuck my dick away, he sets up the bowl of snack mix between us and sticks a water bottle between my knees.
I toss the dirty rag into my laundry basket and get comfortable. “Sigourney Weaver fighting aliens and generally being a badass. It’s got some jump scares, and the third moviewas a total bust plot-wise as far as I’m concerned, but I love this franchise.”
Magnus puts the bluetooth earbud that he always uses into his ear again and shoots me the happiest smile I’ve ever seen on his face, except for maybe the one he gave me the day I moved in. “Sounds fun! Young Sigourney Weaver looks hot.”
“She totally is,” I agree, starting the movie and wondering how things can be so normal after getting off together. I guess Magnus was right, I really can do gay porn with him.
Fucker.
Chapter 4
Magnus
I findit intriguing that the first video on our fan site garnered fifteen subscriptions since last night. I haven’t told anyone but Dr. Marconni about the site yet, and I only sent her the link so she would understand that I was serious about my threat to leave the university if the ethics board decided to get involved.
Oh. Hmm. Interesting. One of the subscribers is the chancellor of the university. I wonder what he thinks of this side-hustle. I’ll schedule a meeting with him today or tomorrow, that way I can ask if he’s joined in order to stop me or if he’s perhaps a closeted gay or bisexual man. Considering his prodigious wife, I would suspect closeted, at least to the general public—I doubt he has secrets from his wife. Amani would be very supportive if Mehcad was queer, and she would probably encourage him to seek a paramour if he wanted a male companion in addition to their relationship.
Regardless, fifteen subscriptions to a brand new account on a platform with stiff competition is far better than I expected before I had a chance to email the link to a student who will spread it like wildfire. I haven’t decided which student yet, because I have to make sure it isn’t one currently in any of myclasses, and I have to ensure that the email cannot be traced back to me. Not that that’s hard. I’ve sent emails from the accounts of senators before…
Bored Magnus shouldn’t be making decisions, because now I’m really tempted to hack into the student union’s email to send my link out. Honestly, it would take me two minutes.
Yep. I’m going to do it. Not right now, obviously. We first need to post a video more along the lines of the format that we’re going to be using henceforth, and I really ought to make sure the chancellor is on the same page as me. He knows where the money comes from, and as long as I keep bringing in the funding that currently exists because of my work, he’ll make sure everyone bends over backwards to accommodate me.
Money talks louder than ethics, unfortunately.
I purchased and have been practicing with the camera equipment and editing software I bought for this business venture, so I check the charge on the camera and then the time. Our amended calendar has a short adventure scheduled every Saturday morning. We’re supposed to leave the dorm and go spend some time together out and about.
This is the part of the video that our viewers are eventually supposed to see as our dates. They’re supposed to be invested in us falling in love, so while the format is different than the usual tease and fuck that most channels have, I think it will appeal to romantically inclined women, and that’s our target audience.
I’m trying to get a subscription base of working women who have the surplus income to spend on long term subscriptions to our channel. It’s a sustainable business model, and it will make for an interesting view into the sociology of women in groups united for a purpose. I’ll be downloading and using the comments on each video as data for my potential research. I don’t know if there’s something worth writing about yet, but I think there will be.
We only have one comment, and it’s from the chancellor’s account. It’s simply a well-wish:Good luck with your research, Magnus.
Of course, I will have to figure out a way to organize the comments, but I don’t have to do that yet. Statistically, fewer than ten percent of our audience will comment, though significantly more will participate if it’s a live stream. We aren’t scheduled for that until we reach five hundred subscribers.
“Magnus,” Trent calls as he walks into my room. “We’re supposed to be vlogging about a trip to the farmer’s market, aren’t we?”
Grinning, because once Trent decided he was in, he committed to it, I push record on the camera and point it at him, walking backwards as we head out of our first floor dorm suite. “Farmer’s market bro-date is a go. What are we hoping to find today?”
Trent uses his middle finger to blow the camera kiss. “It’s a farmer’s market. I’m hoping for produce.”
I giggle at his deadpan delivery. “I’m hoping one of the farmers has the time, skill, and wherewithal to bring baked goods. Homemade baked goods are provably the best kinds of baked goods.”
“Provably? Is there scientific research backing up this claim?” he questions, taking the camera and pointing it at me.
I give the camera the professor-smile I use with my students. “I think a poll done world-wide would present enough data sets to prove the truth of that claim. Homemade is better because humans are amazing. People in happy homes tend to have at least one recipe that they claim is better than what you can get anywhere else, and even if it’s not a universal truth, what actually matters in opinion polls are the opinions of the participants. And I think it’s nice that families create recipes that are unique to their own family. Those are the kinds of things thatmake up the roots we talk about when we say a person is putting down roots.”
