Page 10 of Two Guys, a Girl, and a Tripod

I paste the information and click the save button, officially publishing my profile.

Great. Now I have to fill everything else out. I quickly add my relationship status, my sexuality, and what I’m looking for: single, straight, long-term relationship. I glance apprehensively at theKinkssection. My lips press tightly together while I stare at the little screen as if I can magically make the words appear. Should I add something? Surely there’s something on the tame end of the spectrum that I can include.

I take a look, in search of the most popular terms. I’m surprised to find some pretty tame options. Anal sex is basically mainstream in porn now, according to Miles, as are some rougher acts. I scan the terms and stop on one that makes my heart pick up speed.

Domination.

Miles has talked about how he prefers to be more submissive when he films with men, a relatively new experience for him. Those discussions piqued my interest and sent me down a rabbit hole of kinks and fetishes, discovering that I find a few things related to domination to be… rather exciting. But Miles has never mentioned that he enjoys submitting outside of his shoots. Maybe it’s just porn where that happens.

I’ll fill out the kinks section later. I scroll through my phone and try to find a few photos that I can crop my head out of before posting. Everything is a picture of me with Miles or with my sisters. I can’t put my sisters on this app, even blurred or cropped. And adding Miles to my profile, with a relatively well-known face and–let’s face it–body, isn’t going to help me remain anonymous.

I send a text to my best friend, asking for help.

God damn it.

His thundering footsteps echo across the house and he bursts through my office door, breathing heavily. There’s a huge grin on his face and his eyes are practically sparkling with delight.

“Yes!” He yells, a little too loud for the small room. I wince. “Sorry, yes,” he whispers.

“Can it wait until tonight?”

“No, we need natural light. Get out here.”

Running a hand down my face, I stand and follow him to the living room. The blinds are open, allowing the afternoon sun to spill onto the couch and glint off the glass in the center of the coffee table. Miles points to the side of the couch in the sun.

“Sit.”

“Bossy,” I mutter, but do as I’m told. “Do you really want me in jeans and a T-shirt?” I ask. “Shouldn’t I be, like, dressed nicer or something?”

“Do you own something nicer?” He cocks his head, pausing halfway through raising his phone.

“I have a suit.” It’s a suit I haven’t worn in years, but I’m sure it’s fine.

Miles rollshis eyes.

“The suit you wore to Raegan’s wedding like eight years ago? Absolutely fucking not. I’m sending you shopping later. If you’re gonna date, you’re not going out looking fucking homeless.”

“I don’t look homeless!” That was a little too loud.

“You do. Just sit down, shut up, and look pensive or something.”

“Pensive?” I raise an eyebrow.

“Yeah, like you’re thinking about something deep. Imagine what the love of your life looks like or something. What’s the meaning of life? Where do we go when we die?”

“Why? I’m not even going to show my face.”

“For when youdoshare a face pic before meeting someone. You can crop the ones you post. Just do it.”

“Sure.”

I try.

I fail.

I can hear Miles’ frustrated grunts, though he’s trying to be silent as he moves around me, getting just the right angle.

“Dude, fix your face. You look angry,” he says with an annoyed huff.

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