Five years of pretending to be a real estate agent had really weighed me down. It was just the random sale every now and then that kept me financially afloat. People did need to live someplace after all, and I was selling apartments. Sure deal, right? At least I thought so when I started this phenomenal waste of time. Shaking off my thoughts, my eyes caught on the shower and the greenish mold spreading around the silicone seal. Damn!
I flashed my brightest smile, hoping to divert my clients' searching eyes by putting myself right in front of the mold-infested shower stall. Fidgeting with the top button of my white business shirt, I puffed out my wide chest and beckoned the two guys into the small room. Sure, I might have been San Diego's worst real estate agent, but I'd be damned if I couldn't sell this shithole to a gay couple who were staring at my lips like two kids on a hot day waiting to get ice cream from a street vendor.
Stan, the shorter of the two, looked around the room, while Hank, the tall, lanky one, smiled at me and winked. Great. I tried my best not to roll my eyes.
"The tiles look like a chess board. And there's no window." Stan slipped an index finger across a tile and rubbed it against his thumb, apparently gauging the amount of dust. Okay, I could take a hint. Time to move on.
"Let's check out the bedroom, the view there is amazing!" I walked out of the bathroom and down the hall, Hank following at my heels.
"The view sure is amazing, Brian," Hank drawled. I couldn't believe that guy. Flirting with me right in front of his man. I swallowed and led Hank into the bedroom, ignoring the way his hand bumped into my hip in passing. Involuntarily, of course. Not.
The bedroom wasn't too bad. Bright and cozy with a dark redwood floor and large windows overlooking a park. The street was right below, but looking out from this floor, all you could see were trees. If they didn't ask me to open the windows, I might actually score a point with this one.
Stan walked around the king sized bed, staring at the bare mattress and out the high windows. Yeah, I knew an apartment would be easier to sell if there was furniture and decoration, instead of showing people around bare rooms, but hey, I wasn't selling in the Kardashian's price range, so I hoped the guys would give me a break.
"The view is nice," Stan conceded. He walked closer to the bed and bumped against it with his shin. Testing its sturdiness? Please just take the damn flat already.
"I bet that bed can easily hold three guys, right?" Hank walked forward and leered at me, clearly checking me out. God, really?
"I wouldn't know," I said, my smile slipping the more Stan joined his boyfriend in that awkward staring contest at my crotch.
"I bet you would, Steve Hunter. After all, we are fans." Hank walked over and slipped his hand around my waist, pushing me softly toward the bed. My porn name had me frozen to the spot. I had hoped that after five years of retirement my fame would have vanished, but apparently I was still famous enough for two horny guys to go as far as apartment hunting just to get me into a bedroom. Suddenly I wished this flat hadn't even come with a bed.
I shook my head and pushed the hand away. "Not gonna happen, guys."
"Come on, why not? We got lube and condoms right here and it's not like we're gonna mess up any sheets, right," Hank laughed and pointed at the blank bed, running his fingers along my naked forearm. "And we might be interested in this place after all, right Stan?"
Stan smirked and rolled his eyes. "Sure thing. You do come highly recommended, you know?"
I hated this. Even more so as it wasn't the first time. The longer I worked in real estate the more I ran into clients who expected something intimate on top of a lease contract for their new apartment. 'Oh, try O'Leary Real Estate if you want to fuck a porn star'. Made me feel like a rent boy. Made me feel like a whore. I had hoped those days were behind me. I closed my eyes, trying to think.
I jumped as my cell vibrated in my pant pocket, shortly before a soft chirping announced an incoming call. Saved by the bell.
Removing myself from Hank's roaming fingers I turned toward the windows.
"O'Leary," I answered the call, frowning at an unknown number on my private cell.
Silence, then the soft sound of a woman clearing her throat. "Bry? Is that you?"
"Sarah?" Way to go, man. I hadn't talked to the only woman I ever shared my bed with in years and all I managed was her name? "How... how are you?," I added, then words tumbling out of my mouth before I could stop them. "Is Evan alright?"
Sarah sniffed. "Evan is fine. He's... he applied at Berkeley. And got accepted."
I blinked, trying to find the mindset to discuss my son's education in front of two horny clients. Day of my life.
I didn't know much about academia, but Berkeley wasn't a no name university. My chest swelled with pride knowing my son was apparently smart enough for a college like that.
"That's... great news," I said quietly, all too aware of two sets of curious eyes staring at my back.
"Wait until you hear how much the tuition will be," she said carefully.
Stan and Hank startled behind me when I repeated the figure, almost yelling at my phone in disbelief. Stan cleared his throat.
"Don't tell me someone offered you that amount of cash for this dump here," he laughed and unbuttoned his shirt.
"Sarah, this is a bad time. I.. I'll think of something. I don't have that cash right now. Not even close," I whispered. I wanted to think I knew the disappointed glance that I was sure Sarah was sporting on her end of the line, but fact was I hadn't seen her in the last 15 years. Still, I knew I had let her down again, judging by her sigh. I swallowed hard. "I'll think of something, okay?"
Clicking my phone off, I turned back to Hank and Stan, who looked at me expectantly. Hank was already kneeling on the mattress, while Stan still worked to get out of his shirt.
I ground my teeth together. "You really gonna take the apartment if we do this?"
"Sure thing, dude. Now come over here." I followed Hank's beckoning hand and let him draw me closer by my belt. Bending me forward, he claimed my mouth in a wet kiss, raking his hand through my short hair. A warm weight against my back and a hand opening my shirt buttons one by one reminded me that Stan was still with us. I felt four hands roaming lower to work my belt, Hanks lips traveling down the trimmed hair on my gym-shaped chest, his tongue circling my nipple. I closed my eyes and let both guys play me, the way countless guys had before them. Teeth still grinding together, I just wanted to cry.
***
The apartment felt empty and cold. It wasn't really different to any other day, but I felt especially lonely as I came home after my successful sale. At least they had signed the lease when we were done. That was more than I could have hoped for. I stepped into the hallway and shrugged out of my leather jacket. Only a couple of buttons holding my shirt in place around my chest, I shrugged out of it and dropped it on the floor. Yeah, I knew. Laundry ain't a bachelor's best friend. My jacket had thankfully prevented the shirt from falling off on my way home, as I hadn't wanted to spend any more time around Hank and Stan than necessary to seal the deal. The smell of two different aftershaves on my body reminded me of what I had just done. Again. I pinched the bridge of my nose and leaned against the hallway wall.
I needed the damn money. Not just for Evan's tuition. I also needed to pay rent and cover my own expenses like everybody else did. Just that everybody else didn't hover on the tight line between gainful employment and being a hooker. How did other people do it?
With a college degree and a set of references. I could basically hear my mother drilling her wisdom into my teenaged self. Not that I ever listened to her. I didn't hold a grudge against her when she stopped speaking with me after the porn thing got out. Still I wished I had someone to rant about shit - and I figured that was what a mother was about. Or a boyfriend. Not that I had any of those.
I didn't bother to put on a shirt again and strolled to the kitchen for a beer. The fridge was well supplied with alcohol, if nothing else. I considered hitting the gym after all, not really wanting to break my training schedule. Reading the label of the beer bottle in my hand, I shrugged the notion off and walked back to my couch, my socked feet ghosting silently over the cheap linoleum floor. I just wanted this day to end, not drag it on. The laptop still sat opened on the couch table and it just took a swipe of my finger to awaken it. I couldn't wait to mark that cursed flat as sold and remove it from my listing, but first I wanted to check my finances. Logging into my bank accounts, I wasn't surprised to see that my cash account had shriveled down to a minus balance yet again. It wasn't by much, but it was still a rather saddening sight, given it was only the middle of the month. Today's sale would even things out again so I wasn't bothered. Switching to my savings accounts, I stared at the 80 grand sitting there. Money I had accrued for Evan's tuition. It used to be so much more. Porn had paid off well and a stab of guilt reminded me that I could once have covered the full tuition at Berkeley that he needed now, but fate had had different plans and forced me to take money out of the account to cover my own expenses. Ashamed, I pulled the laptop shut and shrank back on the couch. The cold beer tasted stale on my tongue and I noticed that it wasn't the only taste still lingering there. I should probably brush my teeth.
A tentative knock on the door had me turn my head towards the entrance. I wasn't in the mood for visitors tonight. Especially not Miguel and his persevering stamina. I was 38 years old after all and just had to satisfy two guys. Another soft knock on the door. Damn, I felt like an ass.
"Come in. It's open," I called out and sighed to myself, knocking back a large swallow of beer.
My hot young neighbor sticking his head inside my door was actually the most pleasant sight of the day. I relaxed with a smile and lifted my bottle in greeting. "Miguel, handsome! Mi casa et su casa, have a beer."
I tensed up when Miguel didn't react to my tired flirting and wordlessly walked over, dropping on the couch beside me. "What's wrong?" I sat up and put my arm on his shoulder, his dark tattooed skin smooth under my callous fingertips. He didn't look at me, watching his own hands instead as he tugged on his fingers one by one. We've known each other quite a while. It was nice to have a cute young guy next door to be friendly with after work. I didn't mind the occasional hot sex either. And judging from the moaning sounds I sometimes heard through the wall, I didn't have to worry about him getting too attached to me. Besides, Miguel and I shared a rather sad secret that probably deepened our friendship on a level that I wouldn't have tolerated otherwise. I didn't usually do the big brother act with my younger lovers, but Miguel's shaking hands had me draw him in for a hug. He sniffed against my ear. "What's going on, man?", I whispered.
He sniffed again, drawing back from my embrace. "You smell like sex," he said and wrinkled his nose, then smiled. "I hope it was good." His Mexican accent was more pronounced when he was unsettled like this.
"I sold a flat," I shrugged in answer, rubbing his back in a slow circle. I realized he was stalling.
"Are you feeling alright?"
He shook his head, his black hair falling into his eyes. He was a damn hot Latino and usually knew it, but he seriously scared me now, all pale and shivering. "Is it the meds?", I prodded gently.
He looked up at me with huge brown eyes. I watched him sniff again. He rubbed his eyes on the long sleeve of his pullover and I felt cheap sitting shirtless next to him.
"I had to change the combo again after only three months. And it still doesn't work. I feel like shit, man," he said quietly. So different to the usual banter we exchanged. "It's the second time I had to change. What if I run out of options?" His lips trembled and I felt his fingers close tightly over mine, holding on for dear life, it seemed. "I don't wanna die, Brian?" His eyes sparkled.
I had never seen him cry. So the tear slipping out of the corner of his eye, rolling down his tanned but unusually pale cheek surprised me. I drew him into a hug again and he melted against me, sobbing loudly, tear drops wet on my naked chest. "I'm sure it'll be alright. We'll go to the clinic right away and fix this. They'll check your blood and then the doc will decide how to continue."
He sobbed again and I did something I never did with him before. I kissed his head, his soft hair tickling my lips. "I had a shitty time myself until I adjusted. My first combo, I thought I'd die. The second one wasn't as bad, but it still took me three months to get used to it. It's been working for 4 years now. It'll be the same for you," I soothed him.
He stilled and I let him sit back. "What if not?" I could see his fear clearly in his eyes.
"What if you walk out that door and get run over by a bus? You can't ask 'what if' or you'll stop living, Miguel." I slapped his cheek playfully and smiled at him. "Come on, get your meds and we're off to the clinic. I just need to take a shower, okay?"
Miguel watched me, obviously mesmerized by the colorful design tattooed on my chest. When he looked up he said, "Thank you. For coming with me."
I patted his knee and stood up. "You're welcome. That's what friends are for."
"You're my friend," he said quickly and he sounded so much like a scared child that I wanted to hug him again. But Miguel was 28 years old. HIV wasn't the end of his life, even if it was a nuisance sometimes. I knew he would make it. And I'd be there for him when he needed me, hoping he'd do the same for me.
In the bathroom, I dropped my pants and socks and stepped into the shower feeling like someone who actually had a purpose in life. I smiled sadly to myself. The first real smile on a day that had already gone down the drain.
***
The clinic wasn't exactly buzzing with activity. This time of night, it was only emergency cases such as Miguel who were accepted. The usual crowd of worried party boys in need of a test after a night of wild and risky sex was luckily absent. I couldn't stand the stupidity of these guys. As if they would get a solid result after only a few hours. Still, they kept clogging up the waiting lines at the clinic while real HIV patients with health issues had to wait hours to be seen. A full health insurance was one reason why I had to take money out of Evan's account. There was a time when I actually thought I'd die, while the faces of mindless pretty boys stared at me in the waiting rooms, probably even recognizing my face. A health insurance meant I could see a doctor in a more private setting. Miguel wasn't as lucky, so I waited at the clinic next to him, letting him drop his head on my shoulder while we waited and glad that the usual day crowd was absent.
"I met someone. He knows." Miguel's words caught me by surprise. I turned my head, my mouth in his hair now.
"That's great. Congratulations. You going steady?", I whispered and squeezed his shoulder. He nodded.
"I think so. I've never had a boyfriend. I don't wanna mess up," he whispered back.
"You won't. If you really like him, he's worth it." He was silent, waiting for more adult wisdom from me. "And I'll be your friend, even if we don't do the bedroom tango anymore. You know that," I said slowly, not sure what he wanted to hear.
He raised his head from my shoulder and looked at me, his eyes searching for something on my face. After a second, he smiled and pressed a quick kiss on my lips.
"I didn't know, but thank you. It means a lot." He rested his head again on me and tightened my grip on his shoulder, drawing him nearer.
"Are you ever lonely?", he asked suddenly.
I shrugged. "You know, I'm rarely lonely."
I felt his chest rumble in a soft laugh. "I mean, between tricks. When you're by yourself."
I was glad he couldn't see the frown on my face. "Who isn't? It's not like I have much to offer to a boyfriend. And I don't want some porn freak who wants me to re-enact my old scenes with him."
"I think you have a lot to offer," he said and fell silent for a long time until I felt him take a deep breath.
"Why did you sleep with your clients today?", he asked. It felt like a dagger being driven into my side. I winced. It wasn't that I was ashamed of doing it. I never felt ashamed for having sex. It was just the fact that it sometimes felt like people bought me that unsettled me.
"They said they'd take the flat if I did. I needed the money," I sighed. "And what a shitty thing to say."
"Why are you doing real estate? You keep saying how much you hate it, but it's all you've done ever since I know you. Why not do what you really like. Like your gym stuff?" he said. I wasn't used to having a grown-up conversation with him. We never felt the need to talk much. He knocked. I opened and we soon found more pleasurable ways to fill our mouths than idle chatter. I never knew Miguel had given that much thought about my life or that he knew I was a fitness freak who liked bodybuilding - and not just to ogle the hot guys at the gym. I actually loved the health aspect and the dieting. It was one reason I was in such good shape despite my diagnosis.
"When I stopped doing porn, I did get employed at a gym. You're right, I was quite good at it. But some guys knew me and requested other services on the side. When my boss got wind of it, he fired me. That's why I decided to go into self-employment. Real estate sounded good at the time."
"Just that it sounds like the same thing is happening again. Except that there's no boss who could fire you for it." Miguel's voice sounded sad, which irritated me. Was he worried about me? Or did he think I was a whore? I wasn't a whore. I just did what needed to be done so I could meet my responsibilities.
"I know. Fact is, I need the money. Evan's college tuition is coming up and I don't know what else to do." I bit my tongue. Shit. Why couldn't Miguel just sleep on my shoulder until he was called in? I just gave away more of myself than any guy ever got from me before.
"Evan? Who is Evan?", Miguel said, lifting his head, curiosity clear on his face.
"He's my son," I said and looked at the empty chairs on the opposite side of the waiting room. I had never told Miguel about my family or my life before my nebulous porn fame. It suddenly seemed like I had lied to him for so long, simply by omitting something that wasn't his business to begin with.
"Wow," he looked at me like he suddenly saw a new person where his fuck buddy had been. "And you're paying for his tuition? Isn't that like a shitload of money?"
"Uh-hu. You got that right," I murmured and was relieved when he put his head back on my shoulder. He didn't freak out over my fatherhood at least.
"Does the real estate gig make enough money for that?," he finally asked.
I shook my head and rolled my eyes. "Not even close."
"So what are you gonna do?"
I shrugged my shoulder, careful not to disturb him with the motion.
"Will you return to porn?" The question surprised me. I hadn't ever considered it, not after the way I left porn. But I knew that with the rise of bareback porn, even HIV+ guys were getting work in the business, as long as their t-cell counts were okay. At least I hoped that the companies cared about such shit and not willingly endangered their negative performers by pairing them with guys like me.
"I don't know. Do you think I'd still have a chance?"
Miguel's laugh rumbled through his chest. "You gotta be kidding me. You'd be a rising star."
I smirked at his enthusiasm. "We'll see."
I looked up when a doctor emerged from one of the closed doors and approached us, a worn out look on his face. I couldn't blame him.
"Mr Rodriguez?"
Miguel sat up and looked at me. I squeezed his hand. "You need me to come with?"
He shook his head and followed the doctor into his office. I folded my arms in front of my chest and relaxed back into my chair. The clock said 9 p.m. My eyelids were starting to get heavy, despite my knees jiggling restlessly. I hoped Miguel would be alright. I didn't have many friends, just fuck buddies, but I felt like I could need friends now more than ever. Slipping my cell out of my pocket, I started to scroll through my contacts, most of which I only kept saved so I could block the numbers. Grindr was damn convenient to scratch an itch, but it also left me with lots of contacts I didn't want a repeat with.
I wasn't sure if I had deleted it long ago, but after a couple of minutes I found the number I was looking for. Staring at my phone for what felt like an hour, I clicked back to my home screen and waited patiently for Miguel to return.
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