Chapter One

 

The young man beneath me climaxed with a soft, whimpering moan. His long fingers dug tightly into my shoulders for a moment as his body trembled and shuddered, his fingernails scraping my skin, before his entire body relaxed bonelessly against the bed. 

I came a moment later, teeth bared, arms trembling with the strain of keeping my weight from falling onto him, sweat trickling into my eyes. 

My co-star uttered a soft sigh and pushed his sweat-stiffened blonde hair back from his forehead. 

He was a good actor; he’d only made a few films, and the decision to pair him with me for this one would give his fledgling career a bit of a boost. He’d managed to shoot the entire film in only two takes, and he’d kept the star-struck looks I usually got from the new bottoms hired by the film company to a minimum. 

I carefully withdrew myself from his body and moved back a little so that the cameraman hovering over my shoulder could capture his expression. 

I gazed down at him for a long moment, saw the loving, sated twinkle in his baby-blue eyes, and leant down to kiss him tenderly. I let my tongue swipe lovingly over his plump lips before I drew back, and heard the director yell, 

“Cut!” 

I slid away from the twink, who seemed to be in some sort of stupor on the bed, and pulled on my dressing-gown. My name, Alex Oxford, was embroidered neatly on the back of the deep blue material. 

The bottom’s agent scurried across to the bed and draped the young man’s own red dressing-gown over his body to cover his modesty. 

The gesture made me smile; we’d just filmed a pornographic film, after all. The guy’s modesty was already in the toilet. 

“That was great, guys,” the director said happily. “We’ll send these scenes over to editing immediately. I don’t think anything needs re-shooting, but if we do, it’ll be Friday morning.” 

The set technicians were already dismantling the set, getting ready for the next film shoot which would take place that evening. Tall steel lighting frames permanently lit the studio apartment which altered in various films shot here only in its decoration and content. 

I had shot eleven films in this set over the past two years. 

The twink finally sat up, wiping a trickle of sweat from his temple. He barely looked of age although, of course, he was. 

Digital Movie Studios carefully vetted everyone who worked for them, from the best-paid stars to the lowliest dogsbody. No-one was underage; no-one had a criminal record; and no-one had, or had ever had, an STD. 

My co-star pulled his dressing gown on properly and spoke to his agent in a low voice for a moment, while I grabbed a bottle of water from the mini-fridge tucked behind the set’s breakfast bar and drained the cold liquid in two large gulps. 

“Good film, Alex.” My agent, Jon, came up and patted me on the shoulder. “As usual.” 

I threw my bottle in the bin and shrugged. 

“Is he okay?” I jerked my head towards the twink, who still looked a little dazed and was moving rather cautiously. 

“Yeah.” Jon grinned. “He just got screwed by the Great Alex Oxford. He’s probably star-struck.” 

I saw the kid coming over towards the mini-fridge, and mentally sighed. 

“Be nice,” Jon murmured, before slinking away to speak to the bottom’s agent. 

“Good film,” my co-star said, leaning past me to pull open the mini-fridge and take out a bottle of orange squash. 

“Yeah. One of your first?” 

“My third,” he said. “I’m lucky to have worked with you, actually. I wasn’t originally picked, but your first partner had to back-out last minute. I called my friend Benny before I came in, and he said he had to make loads of films before he was picked to work with you.” 

“Working with me is down to the casting people,” I said. “It’s nothing to do with how many films someone’s made. Just... a lucky dip, I guess.” 

“I’m going out for drinks with some of the other guys later. Do you want to come with us?” 

“No, thanks. I already have plans.” I lied smoothly. Aside from the occasional drink with my agent to celebrate a particularly good pay-day, I didn’t socialise with people from work. “Actually, I should get going.” 

“Alright,” the bottom said. “Well, it was nice working with you.” He held out his hand for me to shake, which I thought was amusing given how informal we’d just been together. 

“You too.” 

I grasped his proffered hand for a moment, before pulling the dressing-gown tighter around my body and leaving the set. 

I made my way down to the second floor, where all of the dressing rooms were located. The ground floor of the building was mostly the administration department; the second floor was dressing rooms; the third floor was casting, editing and the sound departments, and floors four to seven were all various film sets. 

I shared my dressing room with one of the other well-paid tops. Our ‘stardom’, such as it was, afforded us a smaller, private dressing room, rather than having to use one of the three communal dressing rooms shared by the newer, lesser-paid actors. 

The room was been painted in a soft peach shade. A thick cream carpet covered the floor, and a comfy sofa was set against the wall beside the door, facing the small TV in the corner. There were two small wardrobes for our clothes, and a shower cubicle built into a deep recess set in one of the walls. 

I tried to spend as little time as possible in this building, but there were times when I had to come in to speak with the directors, casting agents, my own agent or other actors, and I spent as much time as possible in this room rather than socialising with my colleagues. 

Despite being good at what I do, I hate it. 

I loathe that my body is used for commercial gain; I hate that people see me for what I am, not who I am; I abhor how unclean I feel. 

I tugged off my dressing-gown and threw it into the laundry hamper which was emptied each day. I stepped into the shower cubicle and stood beneath the hot jets for a long while, scrubbing the dried sweat and semen from my body and washing my hair thoroughly, before resting my head against the tiled wall and letting the cooling water just run down my body. 

I finally exited the shower, dried off and pulled on a pair of loose jeans and a sweatshirt, before leaving the dressing room and making my way down to the basement car park. 

I was about to get into my car when I heard someone call my name. 

One of the casting directors came jogging over to me, looking cross and out-of-breath. 

“You alright, Shaun?” I asked in amusement. 

He scowled and thrust some paper at me. 

“Script for your next film. Writers just finished it. Ashley Long has been giving them grief over his lines.” 

“I’m working with him for this one?” My heart sank. 

“Yeah. He’s been demanding changes to his lines for the past week, so shooting’s been pushed back another week. You film a week on Thursday, set three.” 

“Ashley’s a git,” I said calmly. “Just tell him where to get off, and he’ll leave it alone.” 

“Well, the writers finally did. He’s agreed to this re-written version of the script.” 

“They’re porn films,” I grunted. “We aren’t exactly making Schindler’s List here. We have about six lines each. Or does he want each moan scripted too?” 

Shaun snickered. 

“Yeah, well, Ash likes complaining. You know that.” 

I shrugged. 

“I’ll pay him back. As long as some of the scenes are good and rough.” 

Shaun smirked. 

“Well, we did put in a couple of unusual positions. They might make him squirm a bit.” 

With a laugh, I clambered into my car and threw the script down on the passenger seat. 

Being the fifth highest-paid porn star ever employed by Digital Movie Studios means that my salary has afforded me a large house on the outskirts of the city. 

It was essentially an old country manor estate. The original mansion had been gutted after a fire at the end of the nineteenth century, and the estate had fallen into disrepair. Unable to pay for the rebuilding the manor had required, the family had sold the land. The gutted manor had been entirely demolished in the nineteen thirties, but plans for a small hospital to service the growing city had been scrapped at the outbreak of World War Two. 

The forty-acre scrap of land had been uninhabited and undeveloped, untouched for almost seventy years, when I bought the land at auction almost seven years ago. 

The land was one of the best investments I’d ever made. 

Although the original manor house was long gone, the old stable block and coach-house were still standing. The buildings had been close to falling, but over the years I’d spend money on architects, builders, plumbers and electricians, and spend a fair bit of time myself on the smaller DIY projects. 

The four stable stalls, feed-room and tack-room were now all incorporated into the old coach-house, almost doubling the size of the original building. The barn had been dismantled, and the lumber used to help support the new roof of the old stable block, which now housed my swimming pool. 

The sweeping driveway had been cleared of shrubbery and debris, long border tiles placed neatly along the edges, and the driveway itself gravelled with small, off-white stones. Lawn was laid neatly to either side for about twenty paces, and I kept a half-acre of land around the coach-house turfed and regularly mown. 

Thirty five of the forty acres I’d rented to a local farmer, who used most of the land for crops. There were a few small fields given over to pigs, a venture which, he’d assured me, would cease as soon as his elderly father passed away. 

I’d left some of my five acres to the woodland which had started to flourish by the time I bought the property, and now the land was a haven for wildlife. It was quite a common for me to see deer, rabbits and birds from my kitchen window while I ate my breakfast. 

I pulled my car up outside the double garage, pressed my key-fob and waited for the door to lift. After parking and locking the car, I pressed the button on the wall that would close and lock the front gates. 

My mother, before she died, helped me redesign the kitchen for the coach-house. She was an excellent cook, and firmly believed that the kitchen should be the heart of the family home.  

Tall bookshelves lined the front wall, framing a large bay window; the shelves held my mother’s many cookery books, and several more that I had collected over the years. Another two windows and a set of glass doors in the back wall faced the rear patio and flooded the room with light. 

A granite-topped island in the middle of the room was where I prepared most of my food, and a large range cooker sat to one side; a rack hanging from the ceiling held my favourite pots and pans. 

Large grey flagstones on the floor contrasted against the dark granite work-surfaces and followed through into the hallway, downstairs cloakroom and the study. 

I pulled open my alcohol cupboard, took out the half-empty bottle of whiskey inside and poured myself a generous three-finger measure. I threw in a couple of ice cubes and swallowed a mouthful of the drink, letting the strong liquid sit on my tongue for a moment before swallowing. It burnt a delicious trail down my throat. 

Opening the fridge, I pulled out some bacon and made myself a bacon sandwich. Taking the food through to the living room, I settled down on the sofa and flicked the TV on. 

My dog, a five-month-old German Shepherd by the name of Jet, came sauntering through from his bed in the hallway and watched with feed-me-now eyes while I ate. I threw him the last mouthful of the sandwich and took another swallow of whiskey. 

I spent the rest of the day lounging in the living room, watching old films and sitcoms that I hadn’t seen for ages. 

My industry focused on looks and beauty, and I usually observed a strict fitness routine. Aside from the celebratory bacon sandwich and whiskey that I allowed myself upon the completion of a film, I permitted myself few other vices. 

Digital Movie Studios contracted all of its employees to look their best at all times; no excessive drinking, no smoking and no recreational drugs were allowed. Each actor had to undergo three-monthly random drug tests and mandatory blood testing to check for STDs. I began my day with a fitness routine that kept my body looking its best; in my home gym, I spent twenty minutes on the cross-trainer, finished a ten-minute fast jog on the treadmill, did thirty minutes on the exercise bike, and finished with fifty minutes on my various weight machines. After my cool-down, I rounded off the workout with thirty laps in the pool. 

When I was fed-up with watching TV, I took Jet for a run down to the woods and back, before having a quick shower and going to bed. My bedroom was equipped with a large wardrobe and a tall dresser, a full-length mirror and a king-size bed. It was minimalist, and masculine. 

My mother had told me on several occasions that the entire house was too masculine. That I needed a nice woman to settle down with, who could show me things. Like how to decorate. And raise children. She’d died before I could pluck up the courage to tell her I had no interest in women. 

I sank into bed with a sigh, and scrubbed a hand wearily over my face. 

I was so lonely.

 

Chapter Two

 

Three days later, I was in the middle of my workout when the phone rang shrilly. 

“Hello?” 

“Hi. My name’s Lysander Rose. I was hoping to speak to Alexander Oxford.” 

“Speaking,” I said slowly, wondering who the guy was. 

“Good.” The man on the line sounded inordinately happy. “You’re the seventh Alexander Oxford I’ve called, so I hope you’re the one I’m looking for. I’ve only got three more on my list, and then I don’t know what I’m doing to do.” 

“What’re you talking about?” I snapped. He had about two seconds before I hung up on him. 

“Did you go to St. Martin’s Grammar School? In Essex?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, I don’t know if you remember me but I was in some of your classes at school.” 

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember you.” 

“That’s alright. Half of the people I’ve called don’t,” the man said cheerfully. “Although you’d think with a name like Lysander... Anyway, if I remember correctly, I was in your English classes. The reason I’m ringing is I was put in charge of organising a school reunion. I’ve been contacting everyone from our school year and inviting them, and I was wondering if you’d be interested in coming along.” 

“I might be able to look in. It’d depend on my work schedule. I can let you know nearer the time, if you like.” 

“Great.” Lysander gave me the name of the bar and his mobile number, and signed off with a hope of hearing from me soon. “If you can make it, it’ll be great to see you again. Most of our school year has promised to come down.” 

We hung up, and I returned to the gym to finish my workout. 

After finishing, I showered quickly and pulled on a pair of loose jeans and a t-shirt. I went into my study, one of the smallest rooms in the house, and settled down at the computer. 

This was the only room where I allowed my work to be showcased. On the bookcases were complimentary copies of every film I had ever been in, sent to me by the company after the films were released. There were several prints on the walls, and a few props from some of the bigger-budget films I’d starred in. 

While I took pride in my work, as everyone should, I disliked people knowing what I did. It made me feel dirty. I never watched porn myself. Knowing that film, sound and lighting crews, as well as agents, directors, and sometimes even the owner of the Digital Movie Company, were stood behind the scenes watching every second of the film as it was made took away all of the excitement. 

I sometimes watched the films back when I was due to shoot with an actor I hadn’t worked with for a while. I liked to remind myself what the actor was like in bed, what he liked and didn’t like, what I could and couldn’t do. 

Although all of the films were scripted, some actors were a bit funny about doing certain things in bed. One actor I’d worked with before wouldn’t allow me to touch his neck at all, because he was extremely ticklish there. Another refused to touch and stroke my hair as we made love for the cameras. 

Aside from watching the films to remember, however, I avoided the rest of my work. 

Though I was well-paid, lived a luxurious life, and was at the peak of my physical fitness, I was tainted by my industry. Whenever I went to bed with someone for my own pleasure, and not for profit, there was so much pressure upon me to perform that the sex usually ended up being horrible for me, because I put myself under so much strain. Men expect so much, when they go to bed with Alexander Oxford, and I just couldn’t deliver all of the time. No-one can. 

 

* 

 

On the night of the school reunion, I showered quickly and spent a few minutes deciding what to wear. I finally decided on a pair of smart black trousers and a midnight blue button-up shirt. 

I let Jet out to relieve himself, before shooing him back into the house and locking the front door. 

I drove across the outskirts of the city until I came to the bar. I handed my keys over to the valet and went inside. My watch showed I was a little late, and when I entered the place was already swarming with people. 

While I ordered and waited for my drink, I turned my gaze to the people, wondering if there was anyone present that I actually recognised from school. 

After a few minutes, I decided I knew a few of the people there, but the ones I recognised I couldn’t name. 

“Hi.” A slim, blonde-haired man came across to me, put his drink down on the counter beside mine and held out his hand. “You must be Alexander.” 

I nodded and shook his hand. 

“Lysander?” 

“Yep.” He grinned toothily at me and drained the rest of his drink. “Fancy another?” 

“Sure.” I downed the rest of my drink quickly, and let him buy me another one. “I have to be honest, I don’t remember most of the people here. Including you, I’m afraid.” 

Lysander shrugged. 

“I was the nerdy, specky twat in your English class. You probably didn’t even notice me.” 

I frowned, trying to remember, before laughing. 

“I remember. You had that obsession with Thin Lizzy.” 

Lysander rolled his eyes and smirked. 

“What?” He asked defensively. “They were a great band.” 

I shrugged noncommittally and sipped my drink. 

“So, what are you doing now, then?” Lysander asked me. His eyes raked my body for a moment, before he frowned. “I don’t think you look like much of a banker. A personal trainer, perhaps?” 

“Are you flirting with me?” For once, I didn’t mind. I don’t think Lysander had recognised me from my… work. 

But I had to admit, my dating skills were a little rusty. 

“Perhaps.” Lysander grinned wickedly. “So, are you? A personal trainer?” 

“No, I… I work in film production. How about you?” 

“I work in marketing and advertising.” Lysander grimaced. “I don’t enjoy it much, but I’m well paid so I can’t complain too much.” 

“Have you worked on anything I’d know?” I asked him. 

“I did that advert with the talking cow. The butter advert. And the one for the new Audi.” 

“I like that advert. You almost convinced me to buy one. I didn’t in the end, but...” 

Lysander laughed. 

“Well, it was actually a good car. Usually the products I sell are only so-so, but this one was really worth the money they’re asking.” He finished his drink and ordered another. 

I paid for the round. 

“So, was the brand-new Range Rover that pulled up outside yours? Or did you just hire it to look cool tonight?” 

“Nope, it’s mine.” I grinned at his jealous look. 

“I make money, but not enough to afford one of them!” 

I shrugged. 

“I get paid… enough.” 

“Yeah, well, we all know the film industry can be ludicrous.” 

We got into a massive debate on the pros and cons of the film industry, arguing the costs, pay and general issues surrounding films. Several more men from our school year joined in as the night wore on, until there were thirteen of us cursing and arguing over our drinks. 

As it neared eleven o’clock I extracted myself from the group, drained my last drink and started making my goodbyes. 

Lysander followed me to the door. 

“Hey.” He reached out and grabbed my wrist. “Here’s my card. Call me sometime.” 

I took the card and looked at it for a moment, before I nodded slowly. 

“I guess I could do that.” 

He gave me a cheeky grin before disappearing back inside the bar. 

I waited for the valet to return my car and drove home slowly. Leaving the car on the driveway, I unlocked the front door, and was greeted with a soft bark. Jet brushed against my legs as he raced out into the garden. 

He relieved himself and came trotting back into the house, looking pleased with himself. 

“Sorry I’m late, boy.” I reached down and fussed his ears. “Come on. Bedtime. I have to be up early tomorrow.” 

I locked the front door and set the alarm, before going up the stairs, Jet padding alongside me. I undressed and sank wearily into my bed. Jet had curled up on his bed and closed his eyes. I reached over and switched off the lamps. 

For the first time in a very long time, I had enjoyed the company of other people. Perhaps because they weren’t obsessed with their looks and physique, their hair style and their fake tans. They were just normal people; teachers, bankers, architects, social workers, policemen. 

So many of the people I worked with were false. Perhaps I was myself, I don’t know. Yes, I kept myself physically fit because I wanted to look good for the cameras. And yes, I enjoyed aspects of my work, and took pride in my films, as much as I could. I enjoyed the lifestyle that my work allowed me to live; money, a large house, expensive cars. I loved them all. 

But was I really happy with my life? 

No. 

I had no real friends, no family left. I was incredibly lonely, all of the time. 

I didn’t really have any career aspirations. I had just fallen into the porn industry; I was picked up in a bar one night by a guy who was working for Digital Movie Studios at the time. After sleeping with him, he recommended me to a casting director, who called me in for an audition. 

I was cast in a minor role in a low-budget, multiple partner film. Then another. Then I was asked to stand in as the main actor for one of the tops who became ill suddenly. And my career just… took off from there. 

Jet snuffled softly in his sleep, his paws twitching as he chased imaginary rabbits. 

I smiled and leant across to stroke his soft head.