He simply nods, no hesitation.
I snap a few photos.
“Lie down,” I instruct, and Hunter does, the towel parting slightly. He doesn’t move to close it, so I take a few more, from different angles, wishing the lighting was better but unwilling to stop and break the moment.
He watches as I climb on the bed. I move my hand slowly, giving Hunter time to tell me no, and open his towel. His cock is soft, in a nest of brown hair.
I snap photo after photo, documenting this moment, how fucking beautiful he is, and the trust he’s giving me. I straddle Hunter’s legs, see his cock begin to grow, while he lets me photograph him this way. My camera moves up his body, from his dick to his torso to his face, and the soft smile and almost reverent look he’s giving me. “My best work yet,” I tease.
Hunter rolls his eyes. “You haven’t even seen it yet.”
“No, but I see you.”
He smiles, and I capture that as well, then take another of my hand around his hardened shaft, of the pearl of precum at the tip, zoom in on the sac I love to bury my face in.
“I think you might become my favorite thing to photograph. Touch yourself.”
Hunter’s pupils flare, and he does as I say, replacing my hand with his and stroking himself to full hardness. I continue to take photos, some with my digital and some with my film camera.
“Don’t come,” I say.
“I’m close.”
“I know. Turn over. I want your ass too.” I move off him, and again, Hunter doesn’t hesitate. I palm his ass cheek and snap a photo, then take some of just his ass, spread him wider, and then… “Can I take a photo of your hole, Hunt? When we’re not together, I’ll look at it and jack off, pretending I’m inside you.”
He ruts against the bed. “Fuck. How do you do this to me?”
What?I want to ask.What am I doing to you?Wanting to soak up each and every word he gives me.
“Yes. I trust you.”
Those words make me fucking soar. I take photo after photo of his perfect hole, tease it with my finger, rub it, make him feel good, watch it clench before I roll him onto his back and say, “Now you can come.” It doesn’t take him long, and when he does, I capture it—cum flying through the air, his mouth open, neck arched, the pure fucking bliss on his face as he works his pretty cock.
He’s panting when he’s done. I set the camera down, then lick up the cum all over his chest and from his fingers.
“Christ,” he says.
I chuckle. “I can’t help it. I like to be dirty with you.”
“I like to be dirty with you too,” Hunter admits. “I wouldn’t have done that with anyone else…wouldn’t have wanted to. You make me feel…like I’m a different person, or like I can be a different person, like my life doesn’t only have to be about one thing.”
Hearing him say shit like that is going to do me in. He’s already playing games with my heart.
“Good. Now get your ass up before you’re late.”
He laughs, kisses me, then rolls off the bed. Sometimes it’s easy to trick myself into believing he’s really mine.
*
My shoot gotcanceled because of a missed flight, so I do some work around the studio, then meet Isla for lunch. We haven’t hung out nearly as much as we would have if I wasn’t spending every spare minute of my time with Hunter. I hate being a shitty friend, but I know she’ll understand.
We decide to meet at one of our favorite queer clubs on Santa Monica Blvd. They open for brunch daily, serve delicious food, and have events like drag shows. It’s not until I’m sitting on the patio, a hot guy in booty shorts and a crop top asking me what I’d like to drink, that I wonder if Hunter has ever been to a place like this.
I order for both Isla and me, knowing what she’d want. He winks and slips away.
Does Hunter frequent queer establishments? Have queer friends?
I always respected Hunter for coming out young. Maybe he only did that because he was dating Ellis, but I understand how much courage that took—to be out before college, before proving himself outside of being a kick-ass high school player. But he’s so immersed in sports and football, I can’t help wondering if he allows himself to experience the beauty of queer culture.
