Page 10 of Sebastian

Which… oh god, why did I ask him for a collab? Why did I give him a freaking business card? I shouldn’t have even mentioned I was a camboy. He probably has all kinds of guys saying that to him all the time. He probably threw out the card the second I turned my back.

I moan into the pillow and the sound morphs into a yell. I know this is the anxiety fucking with my brain, but no matter how many times I tell myself that, the thoughts don’t go away. They get louder, they drill deeper, until they’re so real I have no choice but to believe them.

Christian is a freaking legend in the industry. I’m practically nobody. He’s already started a new and successful chapter in his life. He’s got no reason to turn around and dive back into a world he walked away from just because, what—some random dude had the audacity to proposition him?

God, what was I thinking? I’m such an idiot. There’s no chance in hell he’ll say yes. And if that’s what I consider to be good decision-making, maybe I shouldn’t be doing this whole creative entrepreneur bullshit to begin with. No wonder my subscribers are dropping like flies.

The pressure on my chest gets worse, dragging me down and crushing me. I lean into it. I let it smother me. Everything feels heavy and if I end up drowning in this, then I drown in it. I don’t know what else I can do—I have no other choice.

The next time I open my eyes, it’s dark. Whatever sliver of sunlight that comes through the window during the day is long gone. I must’ve slept for hours and I feel exhausted.

My anxiety isn’t quite so oppressive anymore, so that’s a plus. But I can still feel it lingering around the edges of my consciousness, ready to pounce if I let my guard down.

I’m tempted to turn over and go back to sleep, but I’ve already lost half the day and well, I should at least check my inbox. My laptop is still on the floor and I drag it into bed with me. There are a shit ton of new emails, just none that I want to deal with at the moment. So instead, I open up a new browser and type in my favorite search term: Chris Preacher.

All the results on the first page are purple with time stamps telling me I’ve already visited the site. I know that’ll be the case with the second page too—and the third and the fourth. The image results, though, those won’t mock my obsession with Christian.

He’s just so easy to look at. Big broad shoulders. Short buzz cut I want to rub my palms over. Close-cropped beard I want to scrape across my skin. Two full sleeves of tattoos I want to trace with my fingers, then with my tongue.

He’s older now than in most of the photos online and personally, I think he’s gotten hotter with age. He had this stern daddy vibe when he was active and if anything, it’s more intense now that he’s a personal trainer. It’s the air of authority he exudes. He knows what he’s talking about, he knows what he’s doing, and you’ll regret it if you don’t do what he says. It makes me gooey inside every time I look at him.

I know he’s never going to take me up on that request for a collab. It was always a shooting-for-the-stars kind of thing. Like the guys said, the worst that can happen is he says no and I’ll go on with my life. There will be other guys I can work with, other performers and content creators I can partner with. Even if my numbers are down for a few months, I’ll find a way to bring them back up. I just have to be creative. Because this is what I do. I’m an entrepreneur, goddamn it. If one strategy doesn’t work, then I’ll try the next thing, and then the next until something does.

I close my laptop with my little pep talk still circulating in my mind. I’ll write today off as a mental health day—we all need those every once in a while. Then I’ll get up early tomorrow, go for a run, and put on the latest Yoga with Adriene episode. Everything will be better in the morning.

CHAPTER SIX

CHRISTIAN

The one-on-one session with Sebastian was almost two weeks ago, and I haven’t seen any trace of him at the gym since. And not for lack of trying either. I’ve had my eyes peeled for that head of dark hair and that pair of dark eyes. By now, I’m pretty sure I can pick him out of a crowded room of gym bros from nothing more than the tilt of his shoulders. That’s how much I’ve been watching his OnlyFans page. That’s how much I’ve been distracted while at work.

“What are you doing?”

I jump at the question. It’s from Donnie, the gym’s resident spin instructor. He must have just finished a class because he’s in his cycling gear and he’s drenched with sweat.

“Nothing.”

Donnie cocks an eyebrow at me. “Doesn’t look like nothing. Looks like you’re surveying the land. Getting that desperate, huh?”

“Shut up.” I spin around and march toward the staff locker room. He knows I don’t make a habit of sleeping with gym members. Some of our other co-workers aren’t quite so circumspect, but Donnie and I aren’t known to fuck where we eat, so to speak.

Donnie’s right behind me and he starts stripping the second we round the corner into the relative privacy of the locker room. “You’ll get no judgment from me. Consenting adults and all that.”

It’s the gym’s policy—as long as everyone involved is a consenting adult, almost anything goes. Some of the stuff we’ve walked in on, that we’ve had to studiously ignore… they would fill volumes.

“It’s not like that,” I say, pulling my bag out of my locker.

Donnie’s wearing nothing but a towel around his hips. “Hmm.”

He obviously doesn’t believe me and I don’t blame him. My mood has been getting progressively worse with each day that Sebastian remains MIA. It’s so bad now that even I’m annoyed with myself.

I have no reason to be so cranky. Members aren’t required to show up at the gym if they don’t want to. It’s not like he’s missed or canceled a scheduled session. We have no plans to meet on a certain day or a certain time. It’s just… I thought I’d see him around more, that’s all.

I thought he’d follow up on his proposal to work together. His business card is still burning a hole through the top of my dresser. I’ve gotten myself all worked up about what I’d say to him the next time I saw him. And now he’s disappeared.

I’m… disappointed.

Which makes no damn sense. Porn isn’t in the cards for me anymore and I should be happy that Sebastian isn’t hounding me for an answer I can’t give. So why don’t I cancel the damn subscription to his OnlyFans? Why am I still looking for him whenever I’m at work?

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