Jocks have never been my type. That whole stereotype is just too fake, a total turn off. Bleached hair, spray tans and unnaturally white teeth are not sexy. Just creepy.

No, blondes don’t do it for me. I’ve always had a soft spot for brunettes.

Take the jock I’m fucking right now as a perfect example. His hair is bleached a brassy yellowish blonde, and his tan has that fake orange cast to it, strangely intensified by the baby oil glistening on his chest. He is pulling the weirdest sex face I’ve ever seen, baring his teeth like some sort of rabid dog. If it’s supposed to be sexy, it’s really not working.

I slide my cock nearly completely out of him, before slamming back in. He gasps and grunts, which I try to ignore. Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to focus on staying hard. Sliding my hand along his thigh, I push his legs further apart, allowing myself deeper access.

“Cut!”

We both pause, panting, and glance over to the director.

“Brad, that looks great, but your arm is blocking the action just there,” he comments, pointing to his monitor. “Let’s try a different angle?” He gestures to the cameraman who nods and dutifully repositions himself to our right. I catch my breath while our director, the legendary Joe Hahn, checks his monitor once more.

When he is happy with the camera’s new angle, he nods thoughtfully.

“Ok, that works. Ready guys? And… action!”

I continue thrusting, and the jock continues to pant and moan. He strokes his hands across his shiny chest, urging me on with dirty words and breathless gasps. I thrust harder, pushing deep into him. I can do this for hours, if needs be. When I’m working, sex is just that: a job. It’s almost mechanical to me. Only when the director decides it’s time for the grand finale, do I allow myself to focus on something special, something guaranteed to make me come. Usually a favourite fantasy, usually involving my boyfriend Rob, a blindfold and some whipped cream.

Rob, of course, would not be happy if he knew I was ‘using’ him in this way. Let’s just say, he’s not exactly overjoyed at his boyfriend’s chosen profession. He’s no prude, far from it, but, well, I guess it’s just difficult to accept that your boyfriend fucks other guys for a living.

Oh, I’m sorry, was that too crude? Forgive me, but I just don’t see the point in dressing it up in fancy, flowery language. It is what it is. Porn.

And anyway, we love each other, and trust each other completely. Our relationship couldn’t be stronger; he’s the most supportive, loving partner any man could ever hope for. Oh, and did I mention he’s a fucking Adonis? Seriously, he is so incredibly hot he could be, like, a male model. He’s tall, with the most amazing broad shoulders and muscular arms. You could bounce a quarter off his abs.

And his eyes. God, his eyes! So dark and soft. They tell me everything he is thinking without him having to utter a single word.

Yeah, I know what you’re going to say. If I love him so much, why don’t I quit the business? Well, it’s a simple case of dollars and cents. I was already in the business when we met, and my career was progressing quickly. After I won Best Newcummer at the AVN Awards, work came flooding in. After my 2nd year of work, I was the highest paid male porn actor in the States. My wages pay for our beautiful five bedroom house (with both indoor and outdoor swimming pools, of course), my two cars and Rob’s motorbike. Whether he likes it or not, the porn industry has given us a great life.

So, yeah. We generally deal with my career by not dealing with it. I very rarely talk about work at home. Not the healthiest system, I guess, but it kinda works for us. Has done, for the last five years at least. Only our closest friends know what I really do for a living. I generally tell people I work as a sound engineer, and they’re too bored to probe any further. Rob is a paramedic, so that usually grab’s peoples attention and takes the focus away from me.

Which is kinda weird, when you consider how many awards I’ve won, and how many films I’ve made. I’m quite the celebrity, in my field, yet the average person on the street wouldn’t know who the hell I am!

I turn my attention back to the panting boy beneath me, continuing to pound, waiting for any further direction Joe decides to throw my way.

After a few minutes of hard fucking, I hear Joe’s hushed voice from the other side of the set.

“Ok, Brad, lift his leg a little,” he mutters, and I oblige, angling my body so that the video camera gets just the right shot. I’ve worked with Joe for a few years now, and have got a pretty good idea of how he wants his movies to look.

“Mitch, jack yourself off,” he instructs, and the boy eagerly grabs his cock and starts stroking it hungrily. I focus on his hand as it slides up and down, hypnotised despite myself.

“Ok boys,” Joe speaks quietly again, “Lets go for the money shot,” he grins.

I slow down my thrusts, allowing the cameraman a good, close shot of the action, before pulling out completely. Moving forwards, I grab hold of my slick erection, pumping it rhythmically.

“Fuck yeah,” the jock moans though gritted teeth, “come for me.”

Angling myself over his cock, I pump my hand faster, watching as he strokes himself, matching my speed. Squeezing my eyes shut, I picture Rob’s wet mouth sliding up and down along my length, and that familiar warm tingle begins to spread through my body, surging faster and faster through my veins until it culminates in my groin.

A deep moan escapes my lips as I release all over Mitch’s stomach, pumping my hand to give the camera a classic cumshot. Mitch moans and squirms as my thick, hot cum squirts across him. Just as I finish, he comes onto his own stomach.

I continue to stroke along my length as Mitch sits up and catches my lips in a messy, wet kiss. I moan erotically for the camera, but I cringe inwardly. He tastes of Trident Bubblegum. Eventually, Joe shouts the magic word.

“Cut! Good job! That looked great guys,” he smiles, clapping softly. “I can always count on you for a Oscar-winning money shot Brad!”

“Thanks,” I laugh. “Any chance of a towel?”