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Zach studied himself in Evan’s full-length mirror. He ran a hand through his hair, teasing a few stray strands into place. He had on a tight black ribbed-tee and skinny jeans. He had a day’s stubble that was exactly the right length, but would have to go tomorrow. After a month staying in Evan’s flat, he felt like he had absorbed some of the older guy’s being, like he was living in his skin.
Evan favoured copious amounts of white in his decoration, with the occasional bold accent of colour. Zach kinda liked the blank slate vibe, but overall felt it was too basic - soulless. Four years of dorms and student housing had left Zach with no clear vision of what his own aesthetic was. In this space he could reinvent himself, explore his options, work out what it was he wanted and how he was going to get it.
Zach saw Evan’s life as one possible future ahead of him, one where youth and good looks were in danger of being squandered, but opportunity and security showed up in the nick of time. He wondered if Evan knew how lucky he was to have Scott. Good men, solvent men, caring men - they were hard to find. Zach knew this was his time to parlay his beauty into a tangible and lasting legacy. The window was open now, but all too soon he would be on the other side of the fence, with hungry young faces looking at him, hoping that he would be their salvation.
Graduating from college had messed with Zach’s head. His whole life he’d been given everything he wanted, he barely had to ask for it. His Ma was always one step ahead of his desires - the best schools, the trendiest clothes, the coolest vacations. His father was happy to bankroll it all, particularly after he’d left them for his mistress, no doubt helping to salve a guilty conscience. Now it was all set to change. His parents had made it clear he was to find his own way, get a job, his own apartment. This proposal did not appeal to Zach: they had created his dependency, set a standard of living he enjoyed, he saw no reason why he should alter that lifestyle simply because he’d hit some arbitrary age limit. If his parents wouldn’t pay for it, there were plenty of other people who would, given half a chance.
In the small living room Zach arranged the floor lamp, with its Medusa-like tentacles, each holding an LED, so that the sofa was well-lit. He flopped down on the middle cushion to check what the webcam was seeing. He got up and dimmed the ceiling light and tried again. That was better. He pulled up his shirt and the lamplight highlighted his abs nicely. He checked his watch, it was 10.30pm UK time, which meant it was 5.30pm on the East Coast, 2.30pm Pacific - should be plenty of trade about. He opened the browser on his laptop and logged in to the site. If he could make a few hundred dollars tonight that should cover him for the weekend. Funds were getting low enough that he might have to consider calling his Ma, but he’d put that off for as long as possible.
Zach positioned the laptop on the coffee table so that he could see what his adoring public were viewing and read the chat as it came through. He switched on the Bluetooth keyboard and checked it was connected. ‘Time to party.’ He’d set an ambitious goal for the show tonight, but there were plenty of incentives on the way to the big climax to get the generous tippers on board. It was always slow at first as people realised he was live and checked in to his virtual room. He leaned back seductively on the sofa and let his hand slowly wander over his body, he closed his eyes and imagined he was being caressed by a lover. Scott’s face came into view and a smile formed on his lips. He let his hand slip under his shirt and reach across to play with his nipple. The kick of rejection he’d felt on his knees in Frankie’s kitchen hit him again. He opened his eyes. He could see a few lurkers were in his room, but they were either too shy or too cheap to chat yet. ‘Hi guys, how y’all doin’? Looking forward to puttin’ on a show for y’all tonight. Check out my goals, the more you tip, the more you see.’ Zach winked into the void, trying to imagine the various faces illuminated by the light of their screens. Men, women, old, young, ugly, hot - all craving the same thing: him. ‘Don’t be shy, y’all. Let’s get to know one another.’
The first message popped up on the right side of the screen: “Ur hot”.
Zach grinned. ‘Thank you “jt64”, I appreciate that.’
The ice broken, more messages flicked up on the screen. Most were variations of “hi”, some were confirmations of his beauty, a few were more direct in what they hoped to see unfold. Zach gave a running commentary, thanking each contributor, encouraging them to share more. He saw he’d got over fifty viewers now, not bad so early on, that goal might be in reach. The first tip appeared; it was generous enough to pass the first stage goal. ‘Why thank you kindly, “bruthaluva”, somebody is sure keen.’ Zach slowly slid his T-shirt up to show off his abs. He took a minute to flex and shift to show them to their full advantage. He pushed the shirt higher, over his nipples. He leaned forward, playing gently with them until they hardened. More tips started coming in. He eased the shirt over his head and tossed it aside. He knew people liked to see the discarded clothes in shot, it was part of the fantasy, that they had been the one to remove them. Zach flexed his biceps, turned around so that his audience could see his toned back. He pushed his rear towards the camera, causing a flurry of thirsty comments.
The higher the tip pot grew, the more Zach got into it. This was people’s hard-earned cash, they deserved a bang for their buck. He wished he’d put on a few more items of clothing, as he was quickly down to his jockstrap. On the plus side he was already almost halfway home cash-wise. Usually he’d allow the option for a private chat, when he’d take a particularly generous donor off for a sideshow, where they could direct him to play out their personal desires. The downside with that was you lost the crowd and it took time to build them up again. He decided to go for crowdfunding over patronage. He was always surprised by the number of people that wanted to see close ups of his feet. He didn’t understand that fetish, but in the grand scheme of what he’d be doing tonight, waggling his toes at the camera hardly registered on the weirdometer.
Not for the first time Zach wondered if he knew anybody who was watching. Sometimes out in the real world he would make eye contact with a stranger or meet someone new and there would be a second of recognition. Nobody had yet had the guts to own up if that was the case. This might be Zach’s guilty little secret, but surely anyone watching had as much to lose by admitting such a connection. Maybe Scott was out there: the thought made him sad, so he shook it away. The punters didn’t pay to see him mope.
In that moment in the dark with Scott, he’d sensed he could have taken it all away from Evan. That protector, provider, lover - he could have been his own. Zach knew that was not who he was, he’d had to make that same decision once before and had walked away. He would not achieve his happiness by destroying someone else’s, however tempting that might appear.