None of them had rushed to join the small group darting out The Bodyshop's secret exit last month when the cops had raided the gay bar on some pretext or other, even if 'raid' wasn't what they wereofficiallycalling it these days.
Didn’t matter if he hadn't actually done anything wrong. Didn’t matter if the charge was bogus, or if they released him right after, either. He couldn't afford an arrest on his record. Not now. Even if he could prove his innocence beyond a doubt, Dylan would still have to disclose it, possibly causing issues with his visa.
Like I need to give them any more reasons to reject my application and ship me back…
Flopping face first onto his bed with a grunt, Dylan gave himself exactly four more minutes to indulge in his private little pity party, before telling himself he didn't have time to mope — not when he had a channel to manage and videos to make.
Soon enough he was lost in the near-endless loop of editing, queuing, and promotion that'd been such an eye-opening lesson when he'd first started his channel a few months ago. He finally felt as if he was getting a handle on all of it — or at least finding a routine, which was almost as good.
He hadn't been doing this long enough to feel anything like stable, and his numbers still weren't phenomenal.
Better than they used to be, though. Sucks that the payout delay is a whole sixty days. If they’d shorten itby even a couple of weeks, maybe I would’ve been able to go out tonight after all.
What he really needed was a hook, a gimmick that'd set him apart from all the other performers out there. A partner wouldn't hurt either, someone to help him spice it up; keep his videos from feeling too routine. Means he'd have to split the earnings, but it also meant there'd be more earnings to split.
Not to mention, just plain more fun than jacking off to the camera alone. It's like they always say: two butts are better than one.
But that'd mean letting another person in on his secret, and that was just too dangerous. If they let it slip, if word got back to the university or caseworker assigned to Dylan's visa application…
“Byeeeeeeee, Dylan!” Vince yelled from the other side of his door so loud and ill-timed that Dylan dropped his phone. “Don't miss us too terribly!”
“I won't!” Dylan lied, checking the time and cursing to realize how late it'd gotten.
Oof. Forgot to eat.
He could fix that later. When the sound of the apartment door closinghadn'tjust signaled he'd been presented with a golden opportunity for privacy.
With a quick glance around his room to ensure Dylan hadn't left out anything identifiable or incriminating, he headed down the hall for an equally hasty shower.
His hair was still wet when he returned, pulling a particular box out from among the clutter shoved under his bed. It wouldn't cause a damp patch the camera might pick up on the green luchador mask he kept in his toy box, but it still felt weird once he'd pulled it on.
The camera stand and DIY lighting rig were hidden under his bed as well, and soon Dylan had everything set up to record.
Recordwhat,though, is the question…
Eyeing the contents of the box, Dylan considered his options. Not that he had a ton of toys. The opposite, actually. But to be honest? He just wasn't all that horny.
Start with something simple. They'll be gone for a couple of hours. Maybe you can squeeze a few videos out of tonight.
Sure, that sounded like a plan. He could get the easy one out of the way, then follow up with some toys or something. If he edited them right, it'd build himself a decent cushion covering at least a week or two's worth of content.
Finals are coming up. Be nice to have one less problem to stress about.
Settling himself comfortably on the bed, Dylan checked his framing on his phone’s screen.
If I ever start making real traction with my channel, the first thing I'll do is get a decent setup.
First things first, though.
Feeling indulgent, Dylan didn't immediately reach for his dick. He let his hand trail over his chest instead, pinching each nipple, before wandering down over his belly until he was skimming his palm along the top of his thigh; warming himself up. Like a rolling wave, his body woke to the teasing, his semi-hard cock perking up with interest. With a low sigh, he cupped his balls, shifting his leg as he massaged and played.
It took longer than usual for his body to get with the program, while a strange edge of dissatisfaction hovered just out of reach.When he finally slid his palm up the side of his shaft, he was still only about half-hard — but he was running out of time. If Dylan wanted more than only a stroke video out of tonight before his roommates came back, then he'd simply have to buckle down and grind it out, wouldn’t he?
Clicking the record button on the wireless remote he'd gotten for his phone for this very purpose, Dylan leered into the camera.
"Hey, Papi," he said to the camera, and to the imaginary viewer he'd found helped make all this feel less strange. "Been thinking about you. You been thinking about me?"
Long, firm strokes; up and down. Dylan bit his bottom lip, tipping his hips and letting his thighs fall open more.
