Page 3 of Under The Twilight Rainfall
Besides, each session only gets a handful of explicit photos; I’m more about erotic, sensual teasing.
And that’s why I’m doing this solo shoot around the world. I don’t need anyone else to make my work shine. And I don’t need a man to bring me pleasure. I’ve got that shit covered.
All of my equipment is in its travel-ready packaging and squashed beneath my clothes are the toys I’ll need for the intimate photos my followers won’t let me get away without.
Not that it’s a chore, but the act of getting off is my least favorite part of what I do. I like showing off how beautiful sex between two men can be, even though I know there’s a deeper emotion missing from my work. The passion is there; people have praised me for the feelings my images elicit, but both my followers and I know that I avoid the flip side of the coin like the plague. Love just isn’t something I know how to portray on film.
They’ve asked for it: for the intimacy that goes beyond two bodies touching. I’ve promised I just need the right atmosphere—the right person. Even though I know I’ll never let someone close enough to capture it.
Spinny put me on a flight at the asscrack of dawn, and I have no illusion that it was his only option. It’s my penance for giving him such a tight deadline to work with.
See, Spinny works for an international travel agency, and as such he deals with disorganized messes all over the world. He’s the only travel agent I’ve tried who hasn’t pawned me off to someone else when my requests got to be too much. Plus, dealing with local agencies was a hassle when I kept moving around. Having someone who can stand me and can work with me wherever I am? It’s the best I could ask for.
Sure, I could go online and schedule all my travel details individually, and deal with venues and hotels and car rentals… Okay, no, there’s no way I could organize that while keeping my head on straight.
Hiring a travel agency truly is the only way for me to go. My brain is just too much like a domino of firecrackers, each progression point sending me spiraling in a million other little directions.
Sure, it’d be fun as hell to see what I could come up with, but I like to fit as much consistency and routine into my chaos as possible. Spinny gets that. He gets my level of oddities and doesn’t ask me fifty million questions about why I am the way I am.
Why every shoot is a one-off with a stranger—no one else in the industry. And why I never stay in one place more than a week at a time.
Hell, I’ve only lived in this apartment the last two years because of Zeke. Before that, I bounced around from city to city staying in ratty motels and couch hopping with the guys who filmed with me. Once I could afford to go abroad?
The apartment became more like a homebase where I come to recharge. The only place I haven’t been back to in all the years since I left is Ferndale, Colorado, where memories of a past life need to stay dead and buried.
Maybe my need to be on the move stems from bouncing between foster homes so often as a kid, but what can you do?
Maybe I’m more comfortable on my own because I always have been.
If it ain’t broke don’t fix it, and there isn’t anything broken about me. Nope. Not even a little.
That’s why I’m going to show the entire world—or at least my close to a million followers—that the beauty of sex can be captured anywhere, and you don’t need any-damn-body else to capture it.
Twomonthsoftravelinghas me wiped. Anyone who says jerking off isn’t a lot of work can fuck right off. They’ve never had to work out camera angles and timers and completely fucking up so you have to wait through the damn refractory period just to try again.
It’s better when I get to do location shoots, when the focus is less on me and an orgasm and more on the beauty and sensuality of the place I’m shooting. It’s more challenging this time around because I don’t have anyone else to shoot with or lend a helping hand.
But that’s the point. That I can do this on my own and it’ll still be just as stunning.
I’m jet lagged as hell; it’s nearly six in the afternoon, though it feels like midnight—because time change!—and all I want to do is crawl into bed at the place I’m renting and sleep for the next two days.
It isn’t my first time in the Philippines; when I first started traveling internationally, I spent a couple of nights at a hotel in Manila, but I didn’t get to explore like I will this time.
My flight lands in Cebu City, and I’m already plotting out in my head how long I can actually rest before I have to make travel plans to the islands I need to visit. I’ll need at least one day I can dedicate to staying in the home and taking intimate photos. Another day will basically be dedicated to me going through all of my shots and seeing if anything needs to drastically be re-done.
I’m practically the last one off the flight, but that’s fine because I’m dead tired and I’ll take the extra few minutes of shuteye. While waiting on my luggage, I take a peek out the big glass windows at the forming sunset. I should be pulling my phone out and checking when I’m supposed to be meeting the guy I’m renting from, but honestly, if there was anything I learned from living with the Olaño family, it’s that punctuality isn’t exactly a staple in Filipino culture.
Oh wow,there’s the pang that makes my chest feel tight and my stomach queasy. It’s been a minute since I’ve thought of the Olaños; I try to keep them far out of mind, but five minutes being here makes that feel impossible.
No. I won’t be moping on this trip.
I take my time in the bathroom splashing the sleep from my eyes, then I lounge around in the pick-up area and try to narrow down my destination list.
My most anticipated stop is Kawasan Falls, partially because it’s a popular tourist attraction, but also getting to go deep to a more secluded part of the falls? It’s one of those places I wish I had an extra set of hands. Pictures from there will be beautiful but limited to what I can do on my own.
I have a few islands mapped out by the time I realize I never actually checked my messages to find out when and where I was supposed to meet the property guy—I know he sent me something while I was on the plane, but sleep and distractions kept drawing me away from checking.
Not that I get the chance to check it now that my mind is finally going “oh hey, that thing we were supposed to do!” because a pair of white-and-pink checkered sneakers stop right in front of me and steal my attention.
