Clickbait

My name is Josh O’Connor, and I’ve got an addiction.

I wish it was sex or drugs or gambling. At least when you do that kind of stuff, your friends all want you to get better. Me, I’m obsessed with the news. I can’t go ten minutes without refreshing Twitter or checking out my news app or turning on the radio. It’s making me stressed and anxious, and I know it’s doing the same to you.

How do I know? Well, I read this article where they talked about rising stress in society.

I’ve got lots of friends who ignore the news. Some of them spend just as much time on Twitter, but their feeds are all memes and hot takes about celebrities and vapid posts by influencers. God, I wish that was me. I need a break. But whenever I complain about it, my friends just tell me that it’s good I’m so well-informed. They tell me they rely on me to tell them the important bits, to sift through all the crap and keep them up to date.

I feel like I’m going to vibrate apart. And yeah, I know it’s a choice, I know I could just turn off my phone and go out drinking with my buddies, but I can’t bring myself to actually do it.

At least my work friend Tanner sort of understands. We had lunch earlier – that Indian place over on 102nd St – and like usual I was complaining. That’s all I fuckin’ do – complain!

“I’m telling you dude, it’s relentless,” I said. “I put down my phone for like... a minute, and Russia makes another troop movement or Elon Musk buys Twitter. It’s fucking impossible to catch up and just... be caught up!”

“Yeah. You care too much,” Tanner chuckled. He was scooping butter chicken into his mouth at an alarming rate. I always tell the guy... you’re supposed to eat it with naan or rice or anything, but he says the carbs would just fuck up his abs.

“I wish I could quit,” I raved. “But I need to stay informed. I just can’t help myself dude, the world is too dark to ignore.”

“It’s these phones bro,” Tanner laughed, waving his iPhone at me. “I’m just as addicted to mine, but I’m all about the socials. Look, my bro Kevin just posted a new pic, and yeah, that’s a double tap. I gotta get those likes – that’s how they’re designed. Just admit it bro, it’s not the news, you’re a dopamine junkie, except your supply keeps you stressed.”

“Yeah, but the news is... important!” I insisted.

“You should give socials a try,” Tanner said, half paying attention as he posted a picture of his butter chicken. #600Calories #Protein. “Replace your stupid dopamine hit with something... actually stupid.”

“No way,” I chuckled. “I need to stay informed. That’s all just bread and circuses.”

“We work in tech bro,” Tanner shrugged. “You know as well as I do – we’re all slaves to the algorithm. But you get to pick which algorithm, you hear what I’m sayin’?”

I laughed. Tanner might not care about current events, but he’s got a way with words.

“Sorry dude,” I said. “Not to be a homophobe or anything, but social media is totally made for gay dudes. It’s not the same for me.”

“Hey,” Tanner said in mock defensiveness. “You don’t gotta be a sexy gymrat to post pics... but it sure does help!”

We both laughed loudly, louder than that probably deserved, but honestly it just felt good having a real conversation with a real person, no matter how silly and inconsequential the topic actually was.

I signalled for our bills. Time to get back to work.

---------------------

So much stuff happened that afternoon. The UN released a climate report saying that the window was closing on the 1.5 degree target. A group of food banks noted a 20% increase in the need for their services among theoretically middle-income residents due to the rise in interest rates. My boss was totally on my ass about this powerpoint I’m doing.

I needed to relax. So of course, the second I left the office, I pulled out my phone.

My favourite news app is called “NowNews”. It’s really good. Most of the apps have a bias – liberal, conservative, fascist, it feels like everyone is trying to put their agenda. But NewsNow sticks to good old school journalism, and I feel like I can trust it. Plus, it caches stories so I can read them on my subway ride home.

I was reading about Russian and the Ukraine most of the ride home. I barely recognized the places they were talking about – no way I could find them on a map – but it seemed vitally important that I understood exactly who and where was under attack.

Finally I emerged into daylight for the last two blocks to my apartment. A notification buzzed across my screen – “BREAKING NEWS: EngageSocial has purchased NowNews for 1.1 billion dollars”.

My stomach sank. I’d heard about EngageSocial – who hadn’t? They were an absurdly overfunded social media company that had a couple of apps and a whole lot of hype. I remember reading that six of the top ten VC firms were bankrolling it, and they were aggressively acquiring products in an attempt to boost their own user base. I prayed to god that NowNews wouldn’t be their next victim, pushing some skewed worldview to all our phones. I’d quit for sure if that happened, delete the app and find something new.

I didn’t bother hitting the notification. Instead I kept reading about Europe’s energy shortage as I rode up the elevator and to my apartment. People over there are paying heavy costs to stay warm this winter, and that was just the tip of it. The economy, the war, climate change, the shifting political landscape – it’s all connected, you get that, right?

The doors dinged open. Not my stop yet, but my phone buzzed again. A blonde girl walked off the elevator – ten years ago I wouldn’t have taken my eyes off her, but I barely noticed her today.

I had a direct message from NowNews. I didn’t even know the app could do that. I tapped and skimmed over it. Apparently I’m one of the top 100 users of NowNews, so I’ve been automatically enrolled in a beta test.

Don’t worry, the message said. NowNews is still your best source for news as it happens, but now it’s going to be even more personalized.

I winced. I wanted the news. I wanted the truth. I wanted the facts. I didn’t want whatever some algorithm thought I needed to see. Everyone knows they’re just trying to sell you more useless garbage to clog up our landfills and stave off the crash of capitalism one more day.

The elevator opened again. Still not my stop, but I had another notification.

BREAKING NEWS: This Magic Workout Will Leave You Shredded!

Great, they were already sending me vapid shit. What kind of drugstore counter bullshit was this article. Still, it said breaking news, so the reptile brain at the back of my head tapped on it without thinking.

I thumbed down the article. It was some workout plan that... didn’t actually look like total bullshit. Sure, magic was a strong word, but that was the headline editor, not whoever wrote the article. It had been a while since I’d been in a gym... a while since I’d had a girlfriend... and if I ever wanted to get one again, maybe it was time to consider working out.

I saw a big ad at the bottom of the article. Okay, at least the ads were local – this one was for a gym near my house. The picture was the smiling face of some gymbro with TikTok hair and a flawless smile. Without thinking, I reached out and tapped on it and –

“Here you go bro,” the muscular gymbro said, handing me a fresh membership from across the counter. I blinked... hadn’t he just been in an ad... hadn’t I been basically home...?

“Huh?” I said, staring at the card. It was freshly printed with my name and my picture. My picture was fuzzy – it barely looked like me.

“Have a good workout,” he said with that friendly grin. “Change rooms are through there.”

My body went on autopilot, swiping my card at the turnstile and turning towards the change rooms. I wasn’t carrying my work bag anymore – now I was carrying a gym bag. I pulled off my shirt and tugged on the one in the bag... an oversized tanktop that looked ridiculous on me. But whatever, when in Rome, right?

I kept my phone in my hand... I needed that workout, right? What was the first exercise again? I was supposed to do squats... I think I tried those once in college, didn’t I?

Somehow my body found its way to a squat rack. I loaded a ten pound weight on each side of the bar. I had a sense that it was embarrassingly small, but hey, a guy has to start somewhere, doesn’t he?

Except I didn’t. I didn’t need to be here. I didn’t even mean to be here!

But when I squatted down a wave of pleasure roared through my body. It felt so good – ignore the outside world and just focus on me for a change. My ass quivered under the strain of the tiny weights. I could have sworn I felt it swelling, growing just a tiny little bit...

I wasn’t wrong.

---------------------

“C’mon bro, you got this!” some guy screamed at me from above the bar. I was struggling under a bench press, pushing 225 pounds of weight away from me with. I felt like I was going to collapse. I could only grunt in response. I could barely handle it.

But I could handle it.

I’d only been at the gym for a couple of hours and my frame was bulging with shredded muscle. I kept catching glimpses of myself in the mirror as I moved from exercise to exercise. Sure, my tanktop had started off super baggy and my shorts seemed average, but now it was obvious that my tank was perfect to show off my gains and my shorts were plastered to my thighs.

It was impossible. Every exercise was making me bigger and more muscular. Every rep.

I was a fuckin’ beast. The workout was literally magic.

Just like the app said...

I should have felt ridiculous, but... honestly, I felt like I fit in. I was moving from squat rack to bench press to cable crossovers, asking for spots like a boss and basking in the jealous looks I was getting. I just knew that the harder I pushed, the bigger I’d get – so I pushed like a maniac. Tanner was nothing compared to me.

My dick was hard against the fabric of my shorts. I don’t know if it was the blood pounding through my veins or the testosterone flooding my system, but I was horny as fuck.

I grunted hard and shoved the bar back up, pushing myself to absolute failure. My spotter had to help me rack the weight.

“Bro, that was awesome!” he shouted.

“Hell yeah,” I screamed, flexing my chest at him. We bumped our fists and I went in search of more weight.

After another hour, I finally had to give up. I could barely lift my arms. Every single muscle was a work of art, worked and pumped to perfection.

I stumbled into the locker room. No point in changing to street clothes, but I wanted to grab my wallet and my gym bag.

Was the workout actually magic?

I slung my bag over my exhausted chest. I gave myself a cocky grin in the mirror.

Who the fuck cared? I was a god.

I was almost back to my apartment when I looked down at my phone. Huh... I’d been at the gym for hours... maybe I should take a peek at the news...

I was unlocking my phone when the notification came through.

BREAKING NEWS: Quiet Quitting – These Millennials Ditched the Office for the Beach!

I tapped on the notification and started reading. It was all about that new trend where people don’t put in any extra work, they just work what they’re actually contracted to. I don’t know why the news was suddenly calling it ‘quiet quitting’, unions had been doing ‘work to rule’ for decades. And they always got it confused – people weren’t actually quitting their jobs.

But this article said people were. It said some millennial are using remote work to move out to the middle of nowhere and buying houses way outside the city where it was still affordable. Imagine that, getting up and commuting twenty feet to the office. Yeah, COVID proved we could do it, but that didn’t mean it was actually happening.

I mean, yeah, I’m sure some people are – but my boss wants me in the office so it’s just not an option. Like if he can’t see me every second I’m not actually working. It’s such a fucking boomer mentality. I wish I could take a couple zoom meetings and spend the rest of the day surfing and hanging out with friends...

Whatever, this stuff is all pushed by some consumerist narrative. In fact, there was an ad at the bottom of the article for beachfront houses. Out of curiosity... just curiosity... I tapped it –

I was walking up the front steps of my beach house.

I could have sworn I was just in the city, walking up to my soulless apartment building, but... my keys were in my hand. The keys to the cute little house I own on the beach.

It’s not huge – just two bedrooms. But it’s all mine.

I unlocked the door and stepped inside.

I tossed my keys on the kitchen counter and took a look around. For some reason I felt like I was discovering the whole thing for the first time. Two bedrooms, one of them rigged up as a home office. A kitchen. A living room with a set of french doors that opened onto a back porch. The steps led right down onto a sandy stretch of oceanfront beach...

Just like I’d wanted. I remembered walking through with the realtor and grinning the whole time. It checked every box I had and a couple I never knew I needed.

There were mirrors everywhere. I grinned at my reflection – windswept hair cut in a shaggy surfer cut, a tight black tee that downplayed my tan muscle, and a pair of short shorts that left nothing to the imagination. I was living my best beachboy life. I pulled off my aviator sunglasses and tossed them on the kitchen counter, next to my keys and my phone.

I walked over to the fridge and inspected it. Mostly beer and prepped meals, along with a sprinkling of hot sauces and snacks. I flexed my back and felt the aching soreness of a good workout. My routine was wakeup at sunrise, surf, work for a couple hours, and then hit the gym. Hadn’t it been evening a moment ago? But this was Pacific time.

My phone buzzed on the counter. I felt a flash of worry – was it another one of those notifications? Nope, it was just a text from my buddy Patton – he wanted to know if we were still on for video games at three. Hell yeah, I texted back. He gave a thumbs up.

I swiped over to my pizza app and placed an order. The clock said 2:30, so I figured I could grab a shower before anyone showed up.

I stripped out of my shirt and headed for the bathroom. The shower had good water pressure and I relaxed under it’s warmth. I felt so good... relaxing after my workout... looking forward to my bros coming over...

But still... something was bothering me.

Part of my brain wouldn’t stop shouting about the news. That damned app – something about its notifications were fucking with me. Earlier today I was an average nerd at work... in New York... miserable. Now I was groping at my meaty pecs in my California beach house. Something was terribly wrong if I –

A knock at the door interrupted my thought.

The news, I...

“Hey bro, you in here?” I heard a deep voice call. Patton, walking right in like he always did.

“We brought pizza!” Nick called from the kitchen. “I mean... we stole it from the pizza guy, but let’s give us credit, huh?”

I twisted off the faucet and dried off. It was something about that news app... I had to...

“Hey dude, put your dick away,” Patton laughed as I walked out into the kitchen. Oh shit... I pulled the towel off my shoulders and quickly wrapped it around my waist. I’ve spent a lot of time in the locker room, y’know? Sometimes I forget.

But I haven’t.

“Whatever Pat, it’s his house,” Nick said, stuffing a piece of pizza into his mouth. Patton was pretty well build – nothing like me – but Nick’s kind of skinny. I don’t know where he puts all those calories. He’s only like... 180 at six feet, while Patton easily breaks 200. I’m a little taller, and around 240 of shred.

I recognized these guys... like well enough that I know their stats. But they were also total strangers. Nick and I used to live in New York – he was on Wall Street before he decided to give it up. I have no idea how I knew that. Patton’s from LA – I don’t really know what he does for work, but I think it’s got something to do with family money.

“I just gotta check my phone...” I stammered.

“Sure thing bro,” Nick grinned. He grabbed the pizza and headed for the couch. Patton fished a sixpack of beer from the fridge and followed him towards the TV.

I grabbed my phone, looking for answers. Luckily it was in the mood. A notification popped up on the lock screen.

BREAKING NEWS: Influencer Josh O’Connor Partners with EngageSocial!

My eyes bulged when I saw my name on the screen. The best way to make someone read a newspaper is telling them they’re in it... so I tapped on the notification.

The article popped up on screen. Apparently I was the new ‘brand ambassador’ for EngageSocial, whatever that meant. I was supposed to be a major new influencer on the platform, along with bringing other influencers onboard and uplifting members of diverse communities to become influencers as well.

I didn’t have a clue what that meant. Influencer was a fake job, right? Like when someone posts pictures online and pretends like they’ve got sponsors? I’ve read articles about them... a lot of businesses say they’re super entitled and don’t actually make a compelling pitch for marketing.

But it was right there in black and white. I’m an influencer, and apparently I had new sponsors.

“Holy shit,” I said, the words slipping out as I read.

“What’s up bro,” Patton asked, wandering back into the kitchen. I almost had a heart attack. The two hundred pound man was wearing a black tee with ‘EngageSocial’ written on the front in fancy white lettering and a pair of baby blue briefs. I didn’t look long, but I think he shaves his legs...

I looked down. Holy shit twice. I was wearing a black stringer tank with the same EngageSocial writing on it, and a tiny pair of neon orange shorts. You could see my bulge easily, and I wasn’t even hard.

“You okay bro?” Patton asked with a cautious grin. “We’re gonna do pics, and then we’ve got clubbing. Eat up, it’s a work night.”

I looked towards the living room. Nick was there – thankfully wearing pants along with plain white tee – setting up lightings and a camera. Our casual video game session was looking more and more like a film shoot for beer and pizza.

Cause that’s what we sell, I suddenly realized. The lifestyle. Carefree idiots, loving their lives. Buy the pizza. Buy the beer. Join the app. Then you’ll be like us.

My stomach turned.

I looked back to the article. I couldn’t believe it – the last paragraph said I was getting paid ten million over two years. Below that there was an ad. A picture of Patton and me at some club... judging by the background a gay club... sweaty and happy and on the dance floor.

I almost stopped myself from tapping it but –

Club music pounded my ears. There was a sharpie in my hand. I was signing my name on a pair of boxer briefs, and the twink wearing them was bent over to give me a painfully obvious angle.

Patton was just a few feet to my left. We were surrounded by gay guys and they all wanted to meet us. I felt like a hot girl at an anime convention.

“Thanks,” the twink said, turning and giving me a generic grin. He had bleached blond hair grown into the exact cut I was wearing. He was shirtless – next to me his thin chest looked pathetic. “So like... what’s your secret?”

“Hard work and clean living,” I grinned, the answer automatic and scripted. “Hey, what’s your name on Engage?”

“Oh, I’m not on there yet,” the twink said. “Like, none of my friends are there.”

“Well... follow me,” I said with a flirty wink. “I’ll follow you back!”

“Really? Yeah! For sure,” he gushed. “I’ll do it tonight!”

“Awesome,” I grinned. “Hey, have you talked to Patton yet?”

I shuffled him off toward my coworker and looked toward the next needy guy who approached me. I’d tell you what happened, but it was the exact same interaction. And I mean... like, exactly the same.

I glanced over at Patton and he met my eyes. We both knew the drill – make these guys feel special, take as many pics as they wanted, and make sure they all ended up on Engage. I felt like I was taking advantage of them, but hey, that was the job, right?

That was my job, wasn’t it?

Something about this was so wrong. I just couldn’t put my finger on it. My brain kept insisting that this wasn’t me, this wasn’t my life... not really.

“Hey, have you talked to Patton yet?” I asked the nerdy queer I was chatting to. I sent him off and made for the bar. I needed a fresh drink.

“What do you need?” the bartender asked smoothly. I cut past the whole line. I guess we were celebrities here.

“A shot, anything hard. And an old fashioned to chase it down,” I ordered.

The shot landed in front of me in just a second. He was mixing the old fashioned when my phone buzzed with a new notification.

BREAKING NEWS: Samir Fucks Josh’s Brains Out!

“Hey man, there’s your old fashioned,” the bartender said. I thrust a twenty at him but he waved me away. “No can do,” he said. “You’re all paid for.”

I glanced down at the notification. It was still there. I’d read it right.

The old fashioned was suddenly clammy and heavy in my hand. I tossed it back, gagging on the sweet drink. I had no idea who Samir was... and I didn’t want to find out.

I glanced back and forth. I didn’t see anyone that looked like a Samir – but I was pretty sure that was a guys name. I didn’t want to be at the bar when Samir showed up.

My mind raced frantically. The notifications hadn’t been wrong yet, had they? Maybe they couldn’t be wrong. But I had to try.

I turned away from the bar – and bumped right into a thick wall of Arab muscle.

“Hey, where y’goin’ buddy?” he slurred his words. He was clearly drunk. I didn’t say anything, I just tried to dodge around him, but his meaty hand landed on my shoulder. We were about the same size, but I felt tiny next to him.

“You’re cute,” the drunk guy slurred at me.

“And... you’re Samir,” I guessed with a sinking feeling.

“That’s right buddy,” he grinned. “Hey, have we fucked before? Cause we’re gonna tonight!”

My phone buzzed again and I grabbed for it, hoping for the notification that would magic me out of this situation. Make me do TV commercials. Send me to events at shopping malls. I’d do anything they wanted.

But it wasn’t a notification. It was a text from an unknown number.

“Hey, it’s your editor,” the text read. I tapped and watched three dots form under the first message. “Your story’s already written dumbass. Enjoy the ride. Trust the algorithm.”

A wave of inevitability rushed over me. I couldn’t escape it... nobody can escape it... the algorithm said that Samir was gonna fuck me. Of course, that’s what was gonna happen.

He had dark skin and deep brown eyes, the kind of eyes you could fall into forever. He kept his hair short and gelled. He gave off a powerlifter vibe... pure raw masculinity. Tonight he was dressed in jeans and a v-neck. I could see his hairy chest peeking out from under the collar.

I felt myself getting hard. I reached out and grabbed his shirt, pulling him tight against my body.

“Take me home,” I shouted in his ear.

“Let’s do this,” he rumbled. He took my hand and tugged me along, leading me out of the bar and onto the dark street outside. There were a few guys scattered around, smoking or making out. Samir and I were getting a lot of jealous glances – he was taking me early, but whatever, Patton would cover the meet and greet.

We made out in the cab. Samir’s cologne was overpowering. His body was thick and muscled. I couldn’t resist him – my hands kept wandering over his back, trying to hold onto his muscled bulk. He returned the favour, feeling up my shredded physique, making me feel like I deserved to be near him.

Samir lived in a sketchy part of town, but his shaky elevator opened onto a penthouse loft. Brick walls, a view of the city... this place would be great for parties.

He picked me up and tossed me backwards on the bed. He stripped off his shirt and unbuttoned his jeans, shoving them roughly to the floor and exposing a packed pair of boxer briefs. God... his cock was huge... how did gay guys do this?

I was about to take my first cock. Or my thousandth cock. I couldn’t remember – everything was blurring. The app... the app...

I kicked off my shorts, but I left on my tank. Just in case he was filming this... you gotta rep the brand.

“Mmmm... look at that tight ass...” he moaned, rubbing his cock through his boxers. I gave it a little wiggle and got down on my elbows.

“C’mon bro,” I grinned. “You got this!”

He pushed his cock into my hole. Oh god... it was so big... but my body moved automatically, pushing myself farther onto his pole. He rammed his cock into me over and over. I felt like I was going to collapse. I could only grunt in response. I could barely handle it.

But I could handle it.

With each thrust, a wave of lust rolled through me. We’d only been fucking for a couple minutes, but my mind was already shattered. I couldn’t think... I felt like I was drunk or high or something.

I wasn’t... my thoughts didn’t... oh yeah, fuck me bro... I’m such a slut...

I caught a glimpse of myself in his bedroom mirror. A slutty bottom bro, straining to keep up with Samir’s fat cock. It was impossible but... every thrust was making me dumber and sluttier. I could feel it.

I just knew that the harder he fucked, the dumber I’d get – so I screamed like a whore and tried to make him go harder.

“Fuck me Samir,” I moaned. “Pound my ass!”

“Gonna fuck your brains out bro,” Samir growled from above me.

Yeah... that’s what was happening! Every motion brought me closer to the edge. I felt all my thoughts flowing down into my balls. All that hard stuff... all that complexity... all that fear and worry and anxiety was draining into my enormous fucking balls.

This wasn’t right... there was something about the news...

“Uhhhh.... uhhhhnnnnfff!” I screamed, blowing my load. That set him off – I felt him pulsing inside me, flooding my ass with his hot cum. My cock kept jumping, spurting hot sticky strings of cum onto his sheets. And with each one...

The fog in my brain lifted. It was just like... empty in there. I was so fuckin’ basic. So fuckin’ mindless! Dumb and hot and carefree – just like I always wanted bro!

He wrapped his arms around me and we fell asleep. I never felt so happy.

---------------------

I woke up to sunlight streaming through the windows. I felt warm and safe, wrapped up in Samir’s arms. His cock was hard again, pressed against my ass. Mmm... I wanted him to fuck me again so bad... but I still had a job to do.

I rolled over and face him. He brushed aside a strand of my surfer hair and gave me a tender look.

“Last night was really special,” he said dreamily.

“Yeah,” I sighed happily. “I’m sorry but... I’ve got to go. Last nights meet and greet was the kickoff, but now I gotta go tour the country for a while.”

“Too bad,” Samir said, glancing down at my pecs. I guess my tank ripped off at some point. “Can I get your phone number? Maybe give you a call when you’re back in town?”

“Sorry,” I shrugged with a guilty expression. “They don’t let me give out my number. But follow me on EngageSocial – you can message me there!”

“I’m not really a social media guy,” Samir groaned.

“You should sign up,” I said, laying on the charm. “C’mon... just to message me.”

He glanced at my ass and sighed.

“Fine,” he said, grabbing his phone. “Okay... got the app. Now... terms and conditions...” he started scrolling down and giving them a read.

“Oh my god,” I laughed. “Like... who reads that stuff?”

I sounded so braindead saying it. I felt so good – I wanted to say more dumb shit.

“Guys like me,” Samir said, rolling his eyes. But he stopped reading and just clicked the ‘Agree’ button. I felt a shiver run through his bulk.

“Whoa,” Samir said, shaking his head lightly and blinking. “This app... it’s really cool.”

“Yeah,” I said with a smirk. We had him – once guys start using Engage, they like... totally love it.

“Help me take some pics before you go?” Samir asked, staring at the profile creation screen. “I need to take some sexy pics for my profile...”

---------------------

I stepped out of Samir’s apartment building wearing my favourite pair of short shorts and my aviator sunglasses. I left him my tanktop – he looks good in it. Besides, I was off the clock, and I gotta keep my pecs tan.

Nick was waiting in my convertible. Patton was riding shotgun, but when they saw me coming he hopped into the back. They were both repping the brand – tight black tees with the EngageSocial logo plastered on them.

“Hey, nice job dude,” Nick said as I slid into the passenger seat. He was thumbing through Samir’s profile, checking out the half dozen pictures that the stud had already uploaded. My favourite one was his profile picture – his hairy muscle stuffed into my EngageSocial tank, his thick cock hard under a classic jockstrap. He was giving the photographer a look like he couldn’t wait to fuck... it was genuine, trust me, I took the pic.

“Thanks,” I grinned. “He’ll make a good local brand advocate. Let’s send him the starter kit real soon, okay?”

“It’s already on its way,” Nick promised, pulling the car out and onto the road. “Corporate knows what it’s doing. They just sent him the notification to invite all his friends and he’s invited like... at least three dozen guys so far.”

“Sick,” I laughed. I leaned back in my seat and enjoyed the wind whipping through my hair. The air was cool against my body, but the sun was keeping my skin warm. And soon we’d be back at the beach house and...

“Great job babe,” Patton said, leaning around the seat and kissing me on the neck. “I wanna fuck you before the gym.”

“Hurry home bro,” I said, glancing at Nick.

He laid on the gas.

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Hey guys - welcome to the end-of-month story dump I always seem to fall into.  Yeah, I was that kid in high school who always finished his homework on the bus.  Let me know what you think about this one in the comments!  - Derek