A new adult movie is made every forty minutes, while there are as many as 30,000,000 people viewing pornography every second. Men who perform in videos costarring with women earn three times less than men who perform in videos alongside men, and the job requires little education. Most workers in the pornography industry don't find the scenes they are placed in to be appealing.

I still feel dirty although I showered at the hotel. I had stood under the water for a good half an hour, using all of the measly body wash that the hotel had. I felt like my breath somehow reeked, full of the foreign taste of some man who paid to use me. So, I stood under the water with my mouth open and my tongue out, letting the hot water hit my tongue, and bounce out.

At the hotel I had a nightmare, and when I had jolted awake the bed was empty, and the client I had just been with must have left. Panicking, I had quickly run around the room in search of the money I'd earned, and luckily I found it, placed on the pillow of the still made bed. I had overlooked it at first, as I was in a rush. I then began to walk home, late at night in Chicago. I could have easily lost money I'd earned by being stupidly intimate, cuddling with a client. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Every car that passed by had made me tense up, the sound of the tires against the cold asphalt, the way their headlights looked up into my eyes. They passed by quickly, however, and they would leave me in the darkness. My arms were wrapped around my almost too thin frame, my hands fisting the material of Ryan's jacket tightly. I suppose it wasn't the best decision, but it must have been alright because I'm alive and shivering standing before the door of Ryan's apartment. I forgot I still hadn't gotten a key to 'our' apartment yet. I begrudgingly remove one of my frozen arms to knock on the door. I somewhat excpect my arm to shatter into a million small ice cubes.

This is rude. I shouldn't be knocking on his door at four in the morning, and oh God, he's gonna ask me questions that I don't have the answer to. I don't know, where was I, do you know where I was? Why am I here now? Um, I don't know? I was blowing some random guy for money, I guess? What if he doesn't even answer the door? What if he's angry? I don't have answers to the questions he's going to ask me.

The door slowly creaks open, and Ryan is standing in the doorway, sweats and t-shirt. Messy hair. "Good morning?" He mumbles, rubbing his eyes awake. He's not really angry, just confused. "Where the hell were you?"

"I was..."

"You were."

"Um- with..."

"With..." He raises his eyebrows, urging me to continue. Who was I with? Why did I say I was with someone? What the hell? I could have just said I was out, no one asked me to specify, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Would he notice if I just pushed past him and ran into the apartment?

"Um- I was with- um." It almost comes out as a question, as I'm left wondering who I was with.

"Never mind, it's too late for this, just come inside," he finishes, rolling his eyes and pulling me into the apartment. "Just, don't ever leave and wait until five in the morning to come back."

"Four."

"Four what?"

"It's four in the morning," I inform him. He, surprisingly quickly, turns around and stumbles slightly as he makes his way over to me. He forcefully lays down a hand on my shoulder, which I almost wince at and I just know I must have bruises there too. He looks into my eyes and suddenly he pulls me into a hug by my shoulder. My arms hang idly by my sides, but only for moment, until I remember to bring them up below his arms around my neck, and I hold him as well. His head tucks into my neck, and I wonder if I still smell like sex after my quick hotel shower. God, I hope not.

"You're so fucking stupid, Urie. Don't ever do that again. Do you know how bad your luck is? For Christ Sake, you totally could have died. That's fucked, man," he mumbles into my neck. That tickles. I smile at his choice in words; someone's sleepy. Maybe Ryan does worry, I think, as I pull my half asleep roommate off of me, and guide him to the bedroom.

I support him slightly as he lays down onto the bed, and once he's settled, I move to the drawers to change into clothes I can comfortably sleep in. I find them easily, and change quickly. Ryan's pretty organized. At least one of us is. I turn to leave for the living room couch when Ryan calls after me. His voice already drifting as he begins to fall asleep.

"I forgot to lay out blankets in the living room," he mumbles into his pillow as he lays on his stomach.

"I have a queen, just sleep in the bed." He flicks his wrist down, trying to express how it's not a problem.

Alright. That's fine. I guess we're not just roommates. We're cuddle buddies. How cute. Too bad we don't have our cute matching pajamas tonight.

I lay down next to him, and we keep our distance as I slowly drift to sleep. Again. Hopefully for awhile now.

•••••

This time I don't wake up to sunlight flooding the room, and I don't wake up to nightmares of cars slamming into mine, full force, rendering my vision dark. It's not any more of those recurring night terrors I used to get. I hate my nightmares; my family would be blood red and they'd have pointy yellow teeth, and they'd tell me I was to die for being gay, a bible in hand.

Instead, I wake up to Ryan getting out of bed. The sheets rustle and the mattress creaks slightly as he raises his tall, slim form up off of the bed slowly. I crack open my eyes and I can see him stretch. I close my eyes and yawn.

"Morning," his strained voice says as he's reaching up to the sky, both arms above his head. "Morning," I say, lazily burying my face into the pillow again, my hands on either side of the pillow. This lasts just about two seconds before my comfort is disrupted.

"Nope." The pillow is pulled out from underneath my head, leaving me confused until I open my eyes and spot the pillow, gripped tight, in Ryan's skinny hand.

"Up."

"Why," I whine, "I need my beauty sleep." I roll over onto Ryan's side of the bed, trying to hide my face in the next closest pillow. I hastily pull the sheets up above my head, but they're ripped off of me as well, in one sudden movement. "Ryan!"

"You gotta get up. We're gonna have breakfast, I'm gonna go to work, and then we're gonna talk, okay? So you need to be up and out there so you can eat the lovely breakfast that I so kindly am going to make for you," he crosses his arm against his chest in a huff. What do we need to talk about? I groan and roll out of the bed, slowly.

"Good."

•••••

The breakfast was good; Ryan made bacon and eggs. I tried to stay out of his way, I never learned to cook. The idea of a talk had been haunting me the entire time he was making breakfast, but it really wasn't anything to work me up. The talk was just basic things we needed to inform each other of. He told me his work schedule, as it's a set schedule now, and he also informed me that my curfew is midnight. Well either that or call him and let him know when I'd be home. Or just be safe. Basically, he said he'd prefer me home around midnight. We talked about me getting a key soon, and he apologized for not having one made already, but of course I said it wasn't a problem. I mean, it's not like either of us expected the move, right? He left for work right after breakfast - and our talk - so I offered to clean up. I told him I'd go searching for jobs today, but I'd definitely maybe try to be home by - or around - twelve to appease him.

The thing is, I wasn't going job searching. I found a somewhat steady, yet completely unreliable source of income in the form of scribbly writing on a thin slice of paper torn from the notepad of a decent hotel in Chicago. It was shoved into the pocket of Ryan's jacket which I had discarded on the bedroom floor, just last night. Luckily I had picked it up to throw into the laundry basket, so I had searched it first. The bottom was signed, 'Love X.' Still no name, then, I see. Although the handwriting was hard to read, I could get the main idea of it; I was to meet him at the same hotel, today, at noon. It's currently ten, I have enough time to shower and prepare for whatever X wanted to do today, at noon.

I pull back the shower curtain slowly, and step onto the cold tiles, the water already running hot, it begins hitting my back. When I was younger, my dad used to use this shampoo that had promised no tears. It stung less when you got it in your eye, he said. So you cried less. I remember being about six, and at this time my younger brother was still young enough to have that 'No Tears' shampoo. I decided to test the claim this shampoo had, of course, and consequently I brought the lid up to my eye. I flipped the top up, and looked down into the container. I squeezed both of my hands together, fast. It shot into my eye, and I screamed and dropped the bottle. I ran into walls, tears streaming. Come to think of it, yeah it stung, but I think I was more afraid because I'd just squeezed shampoo into my eye and less afraid of the actual shampoo stinging. I guess I've always been more afraid of what I lead things on to be for myself, than what they resulted in. Afraid of ideas not repercussions, right? No matter the case, my dad beat my ass for it.

•••••

My hand is raised up high, clenched in a fist, ready to knock. It's noon, but what if he isn't here? What if he was just messing with me, what if he forgot? I knock, and the warm echo of my fist knocking on the door radiates through the halls. The door doesn't open immediately, instead I hear feet shuffling and movement behind the door. I busy myself with looking down at the dull carpet. It's clean and the scent of the hotel faintly reminds me of the desolate, clean smell of the hospital. Still trying to busy myself, I think about the walk here. It looks a lot different in the daylight around here. The cars seem less menacing, I'm not freezing my ass off, it's nicer.

I hear the chain being unlocked, and the door clicks, and swings open. I look up, face to face with the man who'd left me a note in a jacket which did not belong to me.

"Come in," he smiles, and moves so the way inside is open for me. I step inside, slowly. He follows and I look over my shoulder at him, lip between my teeth. I play with my hands anxiously. Are we gonna fuck, or what?

"I wanted to talk to you."

"Oh, okay," ...Like, talk, while we fuck, then? He sits down on the bed, and I'm left standing. He looks down and places his hands atop his long legs, sliding them down where they cover his knees, and he's leaning forward slightly. "Do you like ...Doing what you do?" He asks, looking up. "Do you enjoy selling yourself, I mean." He says a little quieter.

"Um..."

"You don't have to lie to me, I'm just curious," he interjects when it's become obvious I don't know what to say.

"No," I admit. "I don't. I just need money, and I kind of ran away before I could graduate High school." Funny how I tell this man, who's name I still don't know, more about my past than anyone else, excluding Ryan of course.

"I have a way that you could be earning double what you do now, you'd be treated well, and you'd be a lot safer than looking for jobs on the street. It still involves selling your body, in a different way, though," he sighs. "I don't do this a lot. I'd think about it."

I shift nervously from one leg to the other, curious to hear his proposition. "What would I be doing?"

"I have connections with men in the pornography business, and if you'd give it a thought, you have the looks for it. They'd treat and pay you well, but if you're not into so many people seeing you, that's fine." He pulls his hands away from his knees and placed them in his lap, slightly leaning back. He let ou a breath out slowly. "I'm definitely not trying to pressure you into anything, I want to make that clear, you can make your own decisions and they are valid, okay?"

"Okay," I nod.

"Are you interested?"

Yes, I want money. No, I don't want people to see me. Yes, I want to be safer about how I get money. No, I don't want to feel like a whore... what if Ryan sees, or my family sees any videos I'm in? That's so- so violating and I don't know if I ca-

He stands quickly and moves to me, but it feels like everything is in slow motion as his hand rests on my lower back and I feel his hips push closer to me. He leans down, as he's much taller than me. "I'd love to see you with a cock up your ass, hun," he practically groans out in a husky voice as he leans down to place a couple dry kisses on my neck. His hand feels like fire on my back, as well as the one that's found it's way to the back of my neck, heating up my cheeks.

"Yeah," I breathe out against his neck, not even fully aware I've opened my mouth to speak. "Yeah," I repeat as I loosen the grip I didn't know I had on his shoulders. "When do I start?"

He smiles still towering over me. His brown hair drops ever so slightly, a couple strands moving in front of his eyes. He releases me from his embrace, and steps back slightly. He reaches out to shake my hand, and I reach out as well. He takes my hand in a strong grip.

"I'm Dallon Weekes. Welcome to the industry. Your first day is next Monday, I'll pick you up." He hands me a pen and paper from the same notepad he'd written his note on. "I'll need your address."

•••••

How the fuck am I going to keep this from Ryan. Do I just tell him? Should I let him know? I mean, he deserves to know but I can't bring myself to tell him. Fuck, I fucked up. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Dallon is going to be here soon to pick me up, and fuck. It was easy enough meeting with Dallon a few times last week, Ryan was already at work. We didn't meet up to have sex, except for the couple times, but that's it. Well, I mean, that was not just it. It, itself, was great. Fucking, mind blowing - actually, but anyways... He was telling me how I'd start out working, and where he expected it to go, said he'd help me. But now Ryan's got a day off and I can't hide this from him forever. I should tell Ryan, I decide as I quickly push myself up off of the couch to talk to him. I walk down the hallway, my feet dragging a little more with each step. I should have told him earlier. I had, like, an entire week.

I barely knock on his door before he yells, "Come in!" loudly. Stepping inside, I close the door behind me. "Hey," I start, and then I begin walking into the maze, and I get lost again. "I um... I just wanted to let you know, I found a job," I rush out. Okay. That's true, that's very, very true. Good start.

"Oh okay," he doesn't bother looking up from the textbook he's reading. He jots down notes after he skims through the pages. There's a picture of a heart, with labels and arrows and lines. There's fancy words I don't understand sprawled throughout the pages. "What do you do now?" He casually asks. Yeah. What do I do now?

"I work as a personal assistant," I rush out. Fuck, that wasn't the truth, what the fuck? "Okay..." he looks up from his book now, and turns slightly so he's facing me as I stand near the door, placing his pencil down on his organized notes, giving me his attention now. "A PA for who? Or what?" He laughs lightly, "I need more information here."

"Well, I don't know who yet, per say, but it's in a production company. They produce movies," adult movies; pornography. I work for Dallon Weekes who has since met with me to discuss more about what I'd be doing. I'll start as a fluffer, you know the guys who keep the actors stimulated? But he expects me to work my way up to the ranks to a pornstar by early next year. I ramble to myself, careful not to let the extra information I've yet to come to terms with yet, to Ryan. "Oh," he says, raising his eyebrows. "I didn't know you had an interest in film production, that's neat." I nod, and my hands feel sweaty at my sides, desperate to change the topic I sit on the bed and look at Ryan's back. He's returned back to his note taking. "What'cha doing?" I ask innocently, craning my neck to try to see over his shoulder ignoring the distance I've created myself.

He laughs and picks up his notes and his book and brings it over onto the bed, next to me. I shift so that we'll both comfortably fit on the bed. I'm glad Ryan's so nice, and inviting. He let me into his space, into his room, into his thoughts. It's just... Nothing I'm used to. He lays out his notes in between the both of us. "I'll show you," he smiles, and picks up a few papers, handing them to me.

•••••

Maybe it was fate that kept me from attending my junior year of high school, consequently keeping me from my senior year, eventually keeping me from graduating, but I did not understand anything that Ryan had explained to me about his studies. 'Advanced Studies of Cardiac Anatomy,' is something I will never want to study, and something that I don't think I'll ever be able to do. However, I also thought I could never be sitting at one of the largest porn production warehouses in Chicago.

Luckily enough for me, there aren't giant neon dicks and flashing arrows pointing to the building, so maybe to the untrained eye, they won't know what the large gray building is for. Maybe they won't label me as a young perverted man who turns to porn to get himself through the day. Hopefully not, as that's not what I am. I'm not a cheap whore either.

I feel Dallon's comforting hand on my back, guiding me as I walk through the small hallway. The hallway ends with a cheap wooden door. With one single window through the top middle half, but where you'd normally be able to see in, there's a single sign covering it. It's laminated and has neat font splayed across it. 'The Angry Rabbit.' That sounds about right. I feel Dallon's hand slip from my back as he reaches in front of me to turn the doorknob. I guess I expect to see a giant orgy, all limbs and sweat, and maybe some tears - in some giant heap, or puddle, because I'm surprised when the first room is just a small welcoming room with a desk, and more hallways to the left and right. Dallon turns to me, noticing my surprise.

"We don't shoot every scene here, and before we even get to the rooms we shoot in, you'll have to check in," he gives a light laugh, and it does it's purpose to comfort me a little. I give him an assuring nod and walk with him to the desk where a man who must be no older than Dallon sits. I let my eyes drop to his chest. His name tag reads, 'JON' in big bold letters.

"What can I do for you, Dallon?" Jon asks, still sitting he slides a paper laid on a wooden clipboard towards both Dallon and I.

"New recruit," says Dallon as he signs in. I peer down at the milky white paper and using the dull pencil, I fill in my name, the date, and the current time. I just use the same time Dallon wrote down. I don't have watch, like him. He sets off towards the hallway, and I'm hot on his heels, scared to get lost in such a foreign place.

Once he opens another door, this one looks less cheap than the door of the entryway, the smell of lube and sex hits me, and I begin to miss the stench of cleanliness that the hospital had bored into my nostrils back in the end of summer. The start of my new life left me bewildered.

•••••

It's currently week two, and I think I'm getting the hang of this.

My throat hurts, but I hear my name being called again, so I hurriedly drink down some more of the cold liquid. I'm not even sure if it's water anymore, everything tastes like a byproduct of the different men I've had in my mouth. I'm not a pornstar. Not yet. Right now, I'm only a fluffer. But, hey, fluffers are important. Sometimes they are the the day fours of the world, and not to be overlooked.

My job description includes toweling off the actors, adding fake sweat or shine to the actors, and even brushing their hair when they change positions sometimes. Which I find absurd. I have to run in, some guys cock right up some guys ass, comb out his hair, and leave so they can continue grunting in front of a camera together. The more lively action I get is when they ask for me to play minor roles. Sometimes I'm the driver of a taxi who's face isn't shown, while the straight couple in the back decide to have some fun, risking being caught. Sometimes I'm the brother who walks in on the  older brother only to discover he's gay when I catch him making out with his supposed childhood bro.

I haven't actually had to take off my clothes yet, although Dallon keeps reminding me it's definitely coming soon and with a pay raise, it only makes me anxious. The majority of what I do, besides the minor roles in the clips or movies they produce here is to keep the actors in an aroused state. Basically, I just deep-throat them a couple times without them getting off on it. Either that, or coffee runs.

After a full day of deep-throating, coffee runs, sweeping, combing hair, and no acting roles today I come home to quiet, which leaves me perplexed. Ryan is usually home by the time I get home around seven, most days. Usually I come home to a house with the television or the radio on, and Ryan would be making something in the kitchen, singing and swaying to the music. He'd say, 'Good afternoon,' and I'd return it with a smile and help him finish up dinner. Then I'd volunteer to do the dishes, and he'd tell me I shouldn't do it alone and he'd begin to scrub the dishes in the sink with me.

Today I come home to an empty feeling. When one of the guys from work dropped me off I knew I'd seen Ryan's car outside in the parking lot, so I assumed he would be at home.

I begin to search through the house, the living room first, where I strip off my coat that protected my from the cold November air, and lay it on the back of the small couch. He's not in the living room. Looking to my right, I easily conclude he's not in the kitchen either. I continue down the hall, a little worried now. It's still so quiet, and the walls feel dark and foreign. Nearing the bedroom door I hear the slight clinking of glass, and upon opening the door I see that it's beer bottles. "Wow," I mutter as I take in the scene around me. I lick my lips, and my brows furrow as I stand with my hands on my hips, in the doorway with the door swung open. He still hasn't realized I'm standing in the doorway until a moment later.

"Ryan? What the hell are you doing?"

I don't get an answer, only incoherent mumbles as an almost naked Ryan turns around, finishing off the last of the beer from the bottle he's currently holding. Suddenly, he bursts into a fit of laughter, and lays back onto the bed, pulling the sheets over him. "Woah, woah, woah, it's not bed time yet, mister. How much have you drank?" I grab the empty bottle from his grip as he tries to snuggle into the warm linen sheets.

"I didn't even drink that much," he slurs and his eyes are half lidded.

"God damnit Ryan," I shake my head in disbelief. He'd never mentioned anything about being an alcoholic, and I don't even know if he is, so what led him to drink so fucking much beer? Maybe he'll answer.

"Can you tell me why you drank so fucking much beer?"

"I was lonely. And I was bored."

"Lonely?" I sit down on the bed besides him, and instead of answering my question he pulls the sheets back so I can lay in bed with him.

"Ryan I'm still wearing pants, I'm not getting into bed with them," I explain kicking off my shoes while I speak, as I know he won't take 'no' for an answer. He looks up at me, only in his boxers, and gives me a smolder, I'm he thinks could kill.

"Then don't do pants," he winks. I laugh at how poorly executed his sentences are, and strip off my pants, and lift my shirt above my head. I still can't shake the uneasy feeling I have abut how much he's drank, but I definitely try to push it aside. I lay next to him, hoping he'll sober up soon, but not foolish enough to expect him to.

He grips onto me, and I cradle him although he's older than me. I start to feel bad for the sad looking man I'm holding, but I don't know why I'd feel bad. Well, I know he's drank a lot but I really just want him to tell me why. "Ry? Why did you drink so much?" I test as I gently stroke my roommates hair.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

"Sure, Ry."

"I drank a lot," he starts and I hold in the sarcastic 'no shit,' as I wait for him to continue, "because I like my roommate. And he's a guy, and we're roommates." I raise my eyebrows in surprise, but I don't think he knows what he's saying right now, so I brush it off and hold him to my chest tightly. I don't prod anymore.

I think I like my roommate too, Ry.

"I don't know what to do." he continues, although I thought he was done.

"Me either, Ry."

His breathing slows as he falls asleep in my arms. No distance between us, his head on my chest. His fragile hands lay carefully next to his head atop my chest, and one lay across my arm.