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Blurring the Lines

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"Greg is straight, but makes easy money offering his services to gay men online. He's inexpensive but has a few ground rules: never reveal his real name, never invite a client home, and never, ever, ever agree to more than three appointments with anyone. Ever.

RC is handsome, loaded, and lives in a big house in a swanky neighborhood. Greg doesn't understand why such a guy needs to pay for companionship, but RC’s been burned by men who are interested in only his money, and paying someone takes off the pressure of maintaining a relationship.

Their first appointment goes well, and they schedule another. But Greg is surprised when RC calls him a few days later just to hang out. Greg doesn’t pal around with his clients; it’s strictly business. But there’s something about the guy that makes him say yes.

At dinner, RC introduces himself as Ryan, and Greg breaks his own rule and shares his real name, too. By the end of the evening, the lines between client and friend have begun to blur. Does this count as their second appointment even if they don’t have s*x?

By the time they meet up again, Greg is half in love with Ryan. Will this next appointment be their last, or will Greg embrace something he didn’t even know he was looking for?"

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Chapter 1
Blurring the Lines By J.M. Snyder I meet him the way I meet all guys—online. His e-mail stands out from the rest because he doesn’t use a name but initials. RC, like the cola. Who goes by that? The message is short and almost formal. I want to inquire about your services. As if my ad online doesn’t spell it out. But I get this a lot—guys putting out feelers, curious and interested but not quite ready to commit. For every e-mail I get asking me to pencil in a date and time, I get another three or four with questions. It’s almost like they’re trying to talk themselves into an appointment. That’s what I call it, an appointment. Like going to the dentist—it’s nothing I really want to do, and if I could avoid it, I would, but I can’t, so I just get it over with as fast as possible. I’m a broke-ass guy in my mid-twenties with a college degree who can’t get a damn job that pays above minimum wage, so I have to make ends meet somehow, right? I can think of worse ways to pay the rent. So I cut and paste the body of my ad into the first message I send this RC character. I don’t even try to pretend I don’t by adding something new. In its entirety, it reads: Straight white guy, disease-free, looking for donations from gay men interested in hooking up. Seven inches hard, circumcised, nice ass. See photos. Suck me for $50. I suck you for $100. No ass-play. No b**m. No weird s**t. Full nudity OK. I hit send and don’t think about him again. I have a half-dozen more messages in my inbox to respond to, and the night is still young. On a good weekend, I earn more getting blowjobs from complete strangers than I do bagging groceries down at Shay’s. Any guy can do it, just lie there and let someone else suck his c**k. Maybe let him fondle my balls a bit, or bend over so he can stare at my butt while he jerks off. It isn’t s*x. I’m not gay. * * * * My ground rules are simple. I don’t tell anyone my real name. I don’t ask for theirs. I don’t meet them in public, and they don’t come to my house. I go to theirs, and I see the money up front before either of us undress. We do whatever it is they’re paying me to do, and I don’t stay any longer than an hour. Some contact me again. If they didn’t gross me out or aren’t too weird, I agree to another appointment. But I don’t like to meet anyone more than three times. After that, it’s harder to stay strangers. By then we sort of know each other, and some start asking for a discount—like what, frequent fucker miles or something? No. I can always find another guy eager to pay for my services. My inbox is full of e-mails waiting for replies. I don’t think about RC again until he sends a second message. Like his first, this one is almost old-fashioned. May we schedule an appointment? An afternoon would work best for me. He doesn’t give a date, so I suggest Tuesday at two. I include my cell number in the e-mail, and tell him to text me his address. Then I promptly forget about him until our appointment.

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