Page 2 of Fabulous Filthy Friend

I want to see more.

I want to see your face. Tilt the camera up.

Nope.

That’s never going to happen.

In the almost year since I started doing the webcam thing, I haven’t shown my face or used my unaltered voice, and I don’t plan to anytime soon. Likely, never. The anonymity of being HRD4U allows me the freedom to do this and make some extra cash while still being able to show my face at church and Mom’s house.

It also gives me an outlet for all the pent-up sexual frustration I have from being around Rach every day and not being able to act on my feelings for her. The truth has sat on the tip of my tongue for so long, it’s permanently burned itself there, but each time I’ve been tempted to tell her I want more, I’ve swallowed the words down like a lead weight that sits in my gut and leaches poison to my heart.

It’s miserable, a constantly, dull ache in the center of my chest that reminds me that even I would never be good enough for her. And I won’t risk our friendship just because I have a crush.

Fuck.

Who am I kidding?

It’s more than a crush.

I love her.

And I have since the day I looked out my bedroom window and saw her moving into the house next door almost five years ago. Struggling with the boxes from the back of her car, her hair pulled on top of her head in a messy bun. In cut-off jean shorts and a stained pale blue tank top.

She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen then.

Still is.

It was the kind of instant attraction reserved for fairy tales and romance novels.

The kind that never happens in real life.

But it became something so much more.

Something deeper.

Something that eats away at my heart and soul every damn day.

Five years of being the “friend.” Of going on “dates” that aren’t dates. Of listening to her cry and complain about her shitty “boyfriends” when I know I’m the one who understands her and truly loves her.

All of her.

And that’s precisely what’s kept me from pursuing her.

Because she doesn’t want a guy like me—who watches porn, who likes rough, filthy sex, who lets strangers watch him walk around naked, and who jerks off to make money.

She’d be sickened if she knew.

My sweet Rachel Fury would never be able to look me in the eye again, let alone want to date me.

So, it’s this instead of being buried inside the woman I love.

My hand and an internet full of women—and men—who are willing to pay to watch me stroke myself.

It’s a fantasy world I’ve created out of necessity.

Freedom from the financial, personal, and spiritual pressures crushing me every day.

When I’m like this, I am HRD4U—naked hunk with a magnificent cock. I can’t be Flynn McAllister, mild-mannered stockbroker and financial consultant, and do these things. Flynn would think about what he’s doing too much. Flynn would dwell on it. Flynn would let the Catholic guilt that’s been driven into him since birth eat away at him until he gave himself ulcers.

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