Page 53 of Judging Duke

“I don’t need any. I’m good.”

“It’ll be a light covering, I promise, just to hide any blemishes, that kind of thing. Please, monsieur. Cyril says it must be done.”

I didn’t see the point. I’d be sweating it off anyway if all went to plan, but if Cyril wanted it, he was the one paying the big bucks.

I hated this time before filming. All the plans, directions and camera angles needed to be gone over. Very little was spontaneous, or rarely. Most were choreographed precisely, everyone and everything having a place.

It was a job, and jobs had guidelines. The porn industry was no exception.

However, Cyril did a fabulous job of directing, forcing nothing until we were all relaxed.

The scene went beautifully, and I could feel the love that Troy and Finn had for each other as they acted out their part of Master and squire.

Not usually one to feel the emotions or sensual nature of a scene, they were erotic without being hardcore, despite having to break several times because the light wasn’t right or Troy was so into his role he was about to come.

All this hanging around, though, and doubts were beginning to creep in. What if I couldn’t perform?

How would that play out? I had an image to uphold.

If it got out that Simon Stroker couldn’t get the job done. It’d ruin my career.

Admittedly, I was stepping back, but I wanted to go out on a high, not in disgrace. The shame would follow me forever. The internet could be cruel at the best of times. They’d have a field day with this one.

What I needed was to fill my mind with seductive images to get me in the mood. It had never been a problem before, and why it was happening now, I didn’t know.

All this anxiety and stress over my condition was now making matters worse, and despite the pills they’d handed out, nothing was working.

I was fucking panicking, my time to perform fast approaching.

What the fuck was I going to do?

Sensing my mounting stress, or maybe it was the look of abject terror on my face, Cyril took me to one side.

“Is everything alright, son?”

“Yep. Why wouldn’t it be?” My guts were churning. It was a wonder he couldn’t hear them.

“You’re looking a little worried there, and I can’t help but notice you’re still fully dressed.”

“I’m not on yet, am I?”

“You will be very soon. Can I get you anything?” He looked over at a guy standing off to the side and called him over. “Phillipe here will be only too happy to help you out, if you need it.”

I swallowed, hard. Was it that obvious?

“I’m good, honestly. I’ll be ready to go as soon as you need me.”

“Okay. Clothes off then. Almost time to rock and roll.” He slapped me on the back and walked away.

I forced a smile, all the while a raging panic ensued inside me. I felt like a deer in the headlights, not knowing which way to run to escape.

And I needed to escape. I could fucking kill Dexter. He’d encouraged me to do this one last gig when I knew it was impossible.

I should have put my foot down, told him no.

Faded into obscurity on a high. Simon Stroker—award-winning porn star.

Not Simon Fletcher, who couldn’t get it up, even on a good day.

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