For the fans, p.10
For The Fans, page 10
“Yes, I fucking do.” He steps into the room. “I’ve made friends at BC too, okay? Just because I’m not a superstar football quarterback, doesn’t mean I have nothing to lose.”
I roll my eyes.
“You’ll always have more opportunities than me, Kyran.” He slumps down onto my bed, and I pull my knees to my chest to get away from him. “You can probably just apply for housing through your fancy football scholarship. But I don’t have that option. I’ll be lucky if my assistance even covers full tuition.”
“Get out of my room, Avi.” Melancholy escapes in my tone, though I really don’t want him hearing it. “There’s nothing worse than having to feel this way in front of you.”
“Why? Because I couldn’t possibly understand what you’re going through??” he grumbles in frustration. “God, you’re fucking self-absorbed. This isn’t only happening to you, Kyran. It’s happening to all of us. The first time I’ve ever cared about something… The first time I’ve ever been able to get something that’s more for people like you than people like me…”
Flinging upright, I hurtle a glare at him. “Oh, poor Avi. Middle class is so difficult. You have no idea the kinds of things other people have had to deal with.” His forehead lines and he stares at me while I gulp and backtrack. “You’ll get over this because you can. It’s easier for you…”
“What does that even mean…?” he mumbles.
“Never mind,” I grunt, standing up because I just have to get away from him.
I can’t stand being next to him for one more second, especially with him looking at me the way he is.
Stalking to the doorway, I pause to say, “I guess I’ll see you back at school… for however long we have left.”
And with those despondent words, I head downstairs and leave, ordering an Uber back to campus. The entire twenty-minute drive, my mind is racing through the torment that drives my determination.
In my hands are the lines of roads between captivity and escape.
I have to figure this out. I can’t be crushed down again…
Not this time.
Arora626: Why does this video make me want a Costco hotdog?
MirrorMirror: Can I pleaseee be your Fluffer? *Bats lashes*
I might have lost my mind.
No, seriously… I think I’ve gone completely loco.
Let me tell you how the last two weeks of my life have been going, and then you can corroborate my claims.
Approximately fifteen days ago, I found out that my mother’s husband, my stepfather, Thomas Harbor, is broke. Like, broke as a joke. Meaning no extra funds for anything, especially his stepchild.
The credit card that I had for emergency purposes—which was conveniently how I paid for all my food, clothing, transportation… literally everything—stopped working two days later. It was pretty humiliating being an almost twenty-year-old calling Mommy and begging for a few bucks to feed myself until I can find a job on campus. But I had no other option. All the accounts dried up almost immediately, including my own, which, let’s face it, only had money in it because my mother would deposit some every week.
I haven’t had a job since we lived in Brooklyn and I worked a few hours here and there at the Starbucks down the block after school. When we moved, I’d planned on finding something, but then Mom married Tom and it didn’t really seem necessary. He paid for everything. She’d even scaled back to part-time work at the Mercedes dealership…
But now she’s back to working sixty hours a week, and supporting our entire family, which has increased by two mouths, until Tom finds something new.
It’s a big fucking mess. Boston is almost as expensive as New York, which is ridiculous because it’s like a million times smaller. Things on the BC campus are discounted for students, but not by much. So now, it’s goodbye morning lattes and the constant DoorDashing to feed my endless munchies… and hello Maruchan ramen noodles in a stupid fucking Styrofoam cup.
What a cliché… a college student surviving on Cup of Noodles. God, this blows.
And the craziest part of it all is that I should be living in the lap of luxury!
A week before the start of this semester, I was informed that because of a lack of available space last minute and some miracle of divine intervention, I was being switched from the Walsh Residence Hall to the Thomas More Apartments; the fanciest, most sought-after part of BC housing. Usually, you have to be rich as fuck, or a Senator’s kid or something to get in there. And now I, little Avi Vega from Brooklyn, am living here out of sheer dumb luck.
And to top it all off, my newly assigned roommate, Ash Holloway, never showed up. No one’s told me what happened to him, or why he’s suddenly absent from school, but I can’t say I’m mad about it.
I sort of know Ash Holloway… He went to Somerville High. But that doesn’t make us friends, or mean that I’m bummed he isn’t here. Because I now have a suite-sized double-dorm to myself. It’s been two months, and I haven’t heard shit about where my Aussie musician roommate is, or if he’ll ever be gracing me with his presence.
Basically, I’m living the dream. Except that I’m not, because all the fantastic plans I’d made, to furnish my new penthouse and throw extravagant Playboy-style parties, have been stubbed out by the lack of funds. Luckily, I was able to buy some nice bedding and kitchen stuff on Tom’s credit card before I found out about his company going under. Other than that, the place is sort of sparse.
But still… it is really nice to have privacy and my own space.
Which brings me, finally, to the anecdote that proves I’ve gone off my rocker.
Frankie came over last week while I was in a downward spiral.
“What am I gonna do??” I’d asked her, pacing around the room. “I’m completely fucked… The financial aid I applied for doesn’t even cover all of my tuition for next semester, let alone housing.”
“How much do you need?” She gazed up at me from the couch in my dorm living room, her fingers steepled in front of her lips.
“Thirty-five hundred to finish sophomore year,” I sighed, then finally stopped pacing to fall dramatically onto my knees on the floor. “And another nine grand to keep this place.” I whimpered, petting the hardwood floors with my fingers. “I knew it was too good to be true…”
“That’s it??” Frankie gasped. “Only nine grand a semester for this place?? That’s actually really low…”
“They took pity on me and gave me the regular dorm rate,” I mumbled. “But still, it doesn’t matter. How on fucking earth would I ever come up with thirteen grand in two months?? Even with the payment plan, I won’t be able to find that kind of cash fast. There isn’t a part-time job in the world where I could work enough hours while also balancing school…” Pressing my forehead to the floor, I whined out of hopelessness. “Goodbye, beautiful, spacious luxury dorm room. We could have had something so special…”
Feeling a nudge on my side, I peeked at Frankie to find her poking me with her toes. “I might know of a way you can get some quick money…”
I blinked at her. “I don’t like the way your eyes are sparkling…” Her tiny smirk widened into a fully wicked grin, and I straightened. “Frankie… I will not rob a bank with you. I don’t think I have the stomach for it. Plus, what kind of mask would I wear?? There are just too many options…”
“Idiot,” she chuckled. “No one’s robbing anyone. Well… not exactly.” I simply stared at her as she leaned forward. “I have two words for you… I mean, two words smashed together for some reason.”
My brows knitted.
“OnlyFans.”
I continued to gawk at her for five full seconds before bursting into a boom of haughty laughter. “Yea… right. That’s good. Thanks, Franks, I needed the laugh.” I wiped my eyes while she narrowed hers.
“I’m being serious.”
Amusement fading, I scoffed and tossed her a look like she was nuts. “Dude, I can’t do OnlyFans…”
“Why not?” She sat back and folded her arms over her chest.
“Because…” I muttered, shaking my head at the tomfoolery of this conversation’s trajectory. “What would I even do? How would it even work?? I can’t do… porn.”
Frankie threw her head back in a cackle. “It’s not really porn.” I cocked my head at her. “Okay, well, in a way, I guess it is.” She scooted down onto the floor in front of me. “But, Avi, listen to me. You’re fucking hot. You have a sick body, which I still don’t even really understand because you stuff your face with junk constantly and are like the least physically active person I know.”
I frowned. “I work out ironically…”
“The point is, people on the internet would pay good money to look at you.” She smirked. “Throw in some naughty lil videos, and you’re golden, pony boy. Problem solved.”
I couldn’t believe I was actually thinking about it… But I was. The attraction to fast money wasn’t something I could overlook at that point in time.
Because the more I stressed about it, the more I knew with absolute certainty there was no way to make the money I needed by working a regular job. It was too late. Even forfeiting the sick-ass dorm and moving home wouldn’t solve my problem.
I needed to do something drastic if I wanted to stay at BC. Especially if I wanted to keep living on campus, in this amazing apartment that had somehow just fallen into my lap. I couldn’t possibly squander this opportunity.
And my conversation with Kyran from the week earlier popped into my head…
Somehow, I’d found myself in a place I didn’t belong, surrounded by thousands of people who thought they were better than me. If I just gave up, moved home, and switched to a less expensive school, I’d be proving them all right. I couldn’t let that happen just because my rich stepdad’s company went under.
I didn’t need him. I could fight for this myself, and prove, definitively, that I deserved this just as much as they did.
Swallowing down my reservations, I blinked at Frankie. “And you really make that much money? Just from recording yourself naked…?”
“Let’s just put it this way… I saved up enough for first, last, and security on an apartment in Brookline,” she told me with a sympathetic smile. My forehead lined. “I was going to wait to tell you… since you know, I didn’t want to kick you while you were down. But I’m moving in next week.”
“You’re leaving campus?” I pouted, bummed by this information. I needed Frankie around, especially now.
She’s my best friend…
“I’ll be ten minutes away. Don’t be a baby.” She chuckled, which brought a curve to my lips. “Plus, I’m throwing an epic Halloween housewarming party to celebrate, and I expect your ass to be there.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I grinned.
“Good.” She poked her finger into my right dimple. “Now, where are we on the OF? ’Cause if you’re gonna do it, you’re gonna need help getting it set up and promoting yourself.”
My face lit up and I gasped, “Will you be my OnlyFans Yoda?!”
“Show your dick on camera you will, young Nerdwalker,” she teased, and I cackled. “No, but seriously. Strokin’ it for perverts on the internet is all well and good, but for the kind of money you need to make, and as fast, we’ll have to do some serious selling.”
“Oh God…” I rubbed my face. “I haven’t even started it yet, and already you sound like a pimp.”
“Get that ass in gear, baby girl.” She stood up fast and started snapping her fingers at me. “Time is money.”
And just like that, I was going to start stripping for strangers on the internet. It really happens that fast.
From that conversation, I kicked my ass into immediate gear. Frankie brought over her old tripod stand, which, according to her, is a must.
“POV shots are a hit, but you can’t do it the whole time,” she told me while helping me set up my creator account.
“Can’t I just lean my phone against some books?” I’d murmured, and she gaped at me like I was personally offending her.
“You need to be a professional, Avi,” she’d scolded. “The only way you’ll make real money doing this is if you look at it like a job.”
Once again stuffing down my hesitations about the whole thing, I’d nodded in agreement. After all, I had already boarded the crazy train… there was no getting off now.
Actually, there would be plenty of getting off.
No shortage of puns available in this situation.
In my first week as an OnlyFans creator, I’ve managed to wrangle up fifty subscribers, and made a few hundred bucks on subscriptions. As a total newb, I’d consider that a pretty good start. I also created a Twitter account specifically for the purposes of selling myself, and with Frankie retweeting and mentioning me constantly to her fifty-thousand-plus followers, I’m seeing new fans popping up every day.
However, as far as content goes, I’m still dipping my toe in the shallow end. I won’t lie… it’s a strange thing to warm up to.
I’m not the guy who sends dick pics around or records jerk-off videos of myself, so this is all very new for me. At the same time, it’s easy to get wrapped up in the attention when the comments start rolling in…
You’re so beautiful…
Look at that body…
Endless heart-eyes and fire emojis… I’ll admit, it went to my head pretty quick.
Which is why I’m now fully certain that I’ve gone mad… Because I’m currently lying in my bed with my dick out, recording myself jerking off for the complete strangers who are paying me to do so.
With my hand wrapped around my shaft, I struggle to ignore my phone’s camera aimed right at me from where it’s locked into the tripod at the edge of the bed. I’m not an actor, in any way shape or form, but I’ve been working on learning to control my body’s movements, practicing the faces I make and the little sounds… Really trying to sell it, while also coming across as natural.
It’s weird at first, but if this is my only shot at making the money I need to stay here, then I’ll try my very hardest to Spielberg this production into something that will have the benjis rolling in at a steady pace.
Grazing my fingers over my nuts, I squeeze them a bit before my hand slides back up, slowly stroking my cock as it fills rapidly. It’s a little cold in here, so my nipples are pebbled… Not to mention that the thrill of even doing this is giving me goosebumps.
It’s the ultimate naughty act of exhibitionism in the twenty-first century. Filming yourself doing things you should theoretically only be doing in private. And I suppose it’s still private, in a sense.
This is just for the fans… the people who have paid money for me do it. And surprisingly, that notion seems to turn me on even more.
Hence why my dick is thick and solid in my hand, my heart thumping wildly within my chest from the nerves, adrenaline, and the thrill of it. I continue to gradually palm my cock, a teasing dance that’s born out of mild trepidation. Honestly, it’s kind of my brand so far. The college student, hesitantly and wantonly exploring himself in his dorm room all alone…
My left hand pushes my sweatpants down a little more, while the right works up a rhythm. Eyes closed, head tipped back, I writhe into the sensation of giving myself pleasure, while my mind flips through various musings…
I wonder what my fans would like to see…
Do they like when I tease myself, slowly, like this? Do they touch themselves, watching me touch myself?
I wonder if it makes them as hot as it makes me, and even thinking about it has my hips chasing the friction of my hand pulling on my cock, more and more.
This is my first full-length video. Up until this point, I’ve only been sharing pictures and a few video clips. And the thing that’s sort of surprised me more than the fact that people are even paying for this in the first place, is how many of my subscribers are guys.
Call it my own naivety, I guess, but for some reason, I stupidly assumed that because I’m straight and have only ever hooked up with girls, girls would be the ones watching me. On the contrary. About ninety percent of my subscribers are men, and they all seem to be the most generous with the tips and the comments.
Truthfully, I’m just grateful for all of it, regardless of who it’s coming from.
I’ve never been a macho-hetero dude. It’s just not me. I’ve always seen sexuality as fluid for other people, and I suppose it is for me too, even though I’ve never been attracted to another man before.
Well, maybe not in a way that’s felt obvious… I’ve noticed guys before, but it was always an abstract thought. I figured if I was bisexual, then my desire to hook up with a guy would take over and it would just happen. But it hasn’t, so in that sense, I just call myself straight and that’s that.
But now that I have a bunch of men watching me touch myself, telling me how gorgeous I am and about all the things they’d like to do to me… I don’t know. It sparks this tiny little buzz of excitement in the pit of my stomach that I can’t explain.
I’m not repulsed by it, not even close. In fact, I think it might be what’s turning me on the most.
My eyes creep open and I peek at the camera, only to remind myself not to and flutter them shut once more, biting my lip and fucking my fist harder as a soft groan escapes me. I can’t even tell if it was for the benefit of the video or if it just happened, but I’m definitely burning up inside my skin right now. The confusion of jumbled thoughts about my sexuality is heavy, weighing on my chest like someone’s sitting on top of me. But instead of ignoring it or pushing it away, I lean into it.
I let it fuel things… The lust, the untapped desire… The curiosity of what it would be like if someone else was in the room with me right now, watching.
Just watching… at first. But then maybe they would come over. Slowly step up to the bed, then drop their knees onto the mattress by my side.
No… Over my hips.
Maybe they would straddle me and push my hand away so they could take my cock in theirs and stroke it for me. Leaning over my mouth and brushing my lips with theirs…
