“But I’m more than willing to top for the experience of it.”
I don’t need to ask what those terms mean. The context is sufficient.
“For example,” Borja continues, “if you don’t have any experience with either one, I’m willing to switch and help you discover which one lights you up the most. Maybe both will. Maybe neither will. It’s all individual.”
I open my mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out.
“Topping is easier at first. Gotta do some prep for the bottoming.” He smiles. “Not you, actually. Not eating will work in your favor.”
“Why?”
He leans close, whispering things about biological functions into my ear. I feel my cheeks heat, and I nod. “I understand.”
My gaze returns to the screen as the guy on top arches his back and semen shoots from his cock. The other man shouts and grips his partner’s hips, grinding against him, then he pulls out and covers the other man in his semen. They kiss, tangling their arms and legs together as the scene fades to black.
I can’t help but sneak a peek between Borja’s legs, my breath catching when I see his cock straining against his pants.
“How does that get on the internet?”
“It’s filmed by adults who consent. At least the sites I watch. It’s a profession.”
“Anyone can watch it?”
“Well, yes. It’s meant for adults, obviously, but yeah, anyone can watch it.”
“And people want you to watch it? Theywantto be seen having sex by strangers?”
“Yep.”
“I can’t imagine broadcasting such an intimate act.”
“It’s not for everyone, or for most people to be honest. It’s more popular to watch than it is to participate. Although private videos are a thing—filming for just the people involved.”
“To do what with?”
“Watch it. Or just the thrill of knowing it’s happening.”
“I see. Thank you for showing me.”
“No problem, Farns. What did you think? Did it do something for you?”
“I don’t see how one could be unaffected by it.”
“Does it make you hot? Does it make you want to fuck?”
“I believe you know the answer to that.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear you say it.” He brushes his fingers across my cheek. “Your cheeks are bright pink, your pupils dilated. Tell me what you want and it’s yours.”
My instincts are warring with each other. Logic tells me I’ve gone far enough and need to keep things professional, but my baser, feral side wants desperately to climb on Borja’s lap and see what all the fuss is about.
“Come on, gorgeous,” he whispers. “Say the word. I don’t want to assume anything. I want to hear your words.”
What’s the worst that can happen? I have a few hours of fun before it’s all over and I return to my life in the Revival House? That’s not so bad, is it? Surely having a little taste is better than eternal starvation. Or is it better never to know what I’m missing?
“No pressure, babe,” Borja says. “We can totally watch a movie or read.”
“Do you want… me?”
