Sometimes I wonder if part of the reason for my amoral attitude returning in full was my friendship with Vance.
Jared Daniel Vance, but if you ever used his given names he would cut you to shreds.
He was an anomaly in many ways. Long, lean and always in casual designer things that kept him completely dressed from head to toe, almost to the point s you couldn’t really make out what he looked like. Even his face, which was sharp and intelligent, was usually kept half-hidden by a thousand-dollar hoodie or specialty cap. No question he was striking to look at when you first saw him, but to this day I don’t know his age or even the true color of his hair, since every visit to his stylist brought out something dark, different and dreamlike. It’s like he wanted to be well-seen yet invisible, at the same time.
We’d met years ago on a no-budget project being mangled from my less-than-stellar script about an escaped serial killer on the loose around a small Christian college campus. Yeah, real original. The producers and director dropped the Christian part but kept in lots of pretty, half-dressed girls and buff, obnoxious boys being slaughtered, so it got used as midnight filler on a cable network that shall remain unnamed...and even achieved an 88% on Rotten Tomatoes. Probably from the incel crowd and leather queens.
He was second camera for a couple of slaughter scenes, and he made no secret about his interest in me while I made no secret of my disinterest in him. Especially after I noticed how he really got off on one bit where a wannabe James Dean was strangled in a shower.
Totally naked, of course.
I’d written it as a female but Vance had suggested the sex change and the director, who was a long-term buddy, hadn’t cared. The guy they cast as the victim thought it might be his big break so went right along with it all. They set up four cameras to record it in one take, three of which were really just iPhones being hand-held.
The killer was one of those big, buff, butch, biker boys in a balaclava who had so many tattoos, even when he was stripped down to a pale blue designer jockstrap to do the deed he looked like he was dressed. Which also was NOT in the script and, I thought at the time, a big boo-boo. Because he got a serious hardon while strangling the victim, from behind. Very obvious hardon rubbing against the victim’s rather fine ass as he struggled against him while water pounded down on them both in a way that was so fucking homo-erotic, I found my breath going shallow. Kept up until the kid passed out.
Literally.
Sent the set into shock mode. Oh, he came out of it quickly, but had serious bruises around his neck. Meaning he’d really been strangled. Big, buff, butch, biker boy was lectured about safety as the kid was tended to...and paid a lot extra for nearly being so beautifully killed. Kid accepted the money and the scene stayed in, thanks to some very judicious editing.
Of course, Vance’s phone focused close on the fingers around the guy’s neck and his body tensing and bucking and legs kicking and, I would swear, biker boy cumming in his jockstrap near the end. All of which I’m sure he downloaded because he also caught some serious views of the kid’s lovely dick flopping around. Much of which made it online as GIFs at Tumblr and BDSMLR. Last I heard, the one with the cumming had nearly ten-million views across venues like fucking YouTube, Instagram and even Tik-Tok before someone complained!
Which I checked out, of course, and downloaded and jacked off to more than once. A week.
Funny part is, the kid went on to be big in a sitcom, and whenever he was asked about that scene he’d respond with a shrug and, “I’m an actor. I did what I agreed to do. I keep my promises. End of story.”
Which shot his reputation into the clouds. And the fact that his dick was seriously impressive had nothing to do with it, oh, no.
Even when some of the jackasses referenced the GIFs and shots of those shots not in the film, as one so delicately put it, the kid would look straight at them and said, “What can I do about that? I mean, other than keep dealing with reporters who’re into some kinky shit, seeking that out?”
Now just between you, me, and the rest of the world, I’m ninety-nine-point-nine percent certain Vance arranged for that near death experience for the kid. I saw him talking with biker boy after the uproar had settled, as he was finally pulling his clothes back on.
Which was why I was watching him. I’m not big on tatts, but the profile of his legs and ass and amazing pecs caught my focus and I was considering making my approach...
When Vance came up and patted him on his naked butt. He didn’t so much as flinch, in response, and I’d swear a couple of hundreds were stashed under one of the jock’s straps just before his jeans whipped up to cover him.
Of course, Vance never admitted to it. But I already knew he was a video techie and I’d heard he asked to be second camera after he read the script. And now I knew he was the type who’d love to sneak shit past everyone, which only added to my wary sense of him.
So you might wonder...if I felt like that about Vance, why didn’t I ghost him? Simple. He had connections out the ass. I wound up with two rewrite jobs and my second script sale, thanks to him. So I just kept contact to a minimum.
Still he had wormed his way closer to being a friend and had been over to my condo a few times, since I bought it. He loved my...how’d he put it? My proto-Japanese minimalist style and loved to make a big deal about how spacious it was. Even marking off the sizes of the rooms with his feet.
“I’m a size ten,” he’d told me, once, “so eighteen of my feet equals fifteen actual.”
“Why do you want to know that?” I’d asked, confused.
“Curiosity. See if the square footage they told you it has is actual or make-believe.”
“This is LA. Everything’s make believe,” I’d laughed.
“Without question. Still...I’d say they overestimated the actual square footage by about twenty...no, thirty feet.”
“So should I ask for my money back?”
“No, not enough to matter. Just sloppy...and a note to settle my brain.”
Weird.
But he was good at parties and knew all the latest food fads, so having him as a guest helped get things rolling whenever I threw a party for other writers I knew...and actors and crew and such. And he’d bring in his own contacts, which helped make and maintain me connections, network, that sort of thing.
Vance could talk about film, history, literature, porn, salacious gossip in the political world...though no actual politics. “Too many land mines for that shite,” he’d said when asked. And on more than one occasion he’d snuck up into my upstairs back bedroom with some good-looker...be they male or female.
Funny thing is, he never came on to me after his initial attempt to get me into bed. I didn’t care. He simply wasn’t my type, at all. I go for guys who bring to mind the main heroes of the Marvel Universe. Cap. Thor. Even Loki, once I saw him dance to Rasputin. Guys with a bit of heft to them. Vance was too ghostly for that.
That’s not to say I hadn’t been steady with anyone. I’d broken up with wannabe superstar Craig six months before buying the condo.
Lovely Craig. Blond. Taut. Superstar body and dick to die for. Not a lot of ass, but enough for me, as was mine for him. While he wasn’t the first guy I ever rimmed, I was the first to do it to him...and he never returned the favor. The little shit.
No, no, it wasn’t a favor. I loved diving my tongue into him during or after a shower. Taking my time exploring his hole and driving him crazy till was all but screaming, “Fuck me, already! Shit! Please!”
As for his dick and balls? Beyond beautiful. Not pornstar huge but exquisitely formed and in perfect proportion to the point sometimes all I wanted was to suck on him for an hour.
Again, bringing him to the point of, “Fuck me, already! Shit! Please!”
His favorite phrase when we had sex.
Of he liked to suck and fuck me, too, but he always seemed to be more in a rush to get to the point of orgasm. No edging. Ever. In and out and happily enough, but not with the same focus or attention. Too damn much like Ralph, in that regard.
Then he’d decided to shift to high-profile females to further his career path. I was also growing tired of his one-way attention...even though it was justified. So we were done, and I’d felt no need for anything that binding, since. Oh, I still hooked up a few times with a couple other writers...and another actor who was so paranoid he killed all the fun of the night...but overall I liked being alone in my place.
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