Page 3 of Felix

Me: How old are you?

C: Perfectly legal.

They send a wink, and I blow out a breath.

Me: I’ll leave them open.

C: Lucky me. When’s the next show?

Holy shit. Am I really going to do this?

Me: Tonight?

They send a frown.

C: Working. I’m free now, though. What’s your refractory period like?

I huff a laugh. I’m a twenty-three-year-old with a high libido and a penchant for being watched. My refractory period is damn near zero if there’s an audience involved.

Me: I’m good to go. Wanna watch me fuck myself with a dildo?

C sends a skull and crossbones emoji, and I grin at the implication that they’re dead from that response.

C: Specs, I can honestly say I’d love nothing more. Show me what you’ve got.

Fuck.

Inhibitions nonexistent in the face of my single greatest weakness, I set my phone on the bed, check to make sure I’m standing in a spot where my neighbor can see me—even though I can’t see through their blinds in return—and drop my pants to the floor. My pulse hammers as I drape myself over my bed, reaching into my nightstand for lube and the biggest dildo I have.

I’m well aware that, in a sea of humans, I’m a fairly average fish. I’m average height for a guy, not overly thin but not bulky either, I have plain brown hair and eyes, a decent smile, and I wear glasses. Frankly, I blend into the crowd.

But when there are eyes on me, none of that matters. There’s not a high I’ve discovered that’s better than this. I know nothing about C. I don’t know their gender. Whether they’re my age or sixty. I don’t even know if they find me attractive or only see me as a free source of porn. Ironic, really, considering my job.

But none of it is important. All that matters is that they see me. That they’re watching.

A shiver rolls down my spine as I kick off my socks and underwear, uncaring where they land. I get on my hands and knees before bending low, putting myself on display.

My phone pings.

C: Look at you, Specs. You like this, don’t you? You like showing off.

You have no idea.

I don’t respond, instead bringing lubed fingers to my ass as every fiber of my being vibrates in excitement and heady want.

Funny, just yesterday I was lamenting this change in location and the upheaval of my comfortable routine. But less than twelve hours later, I’m wondering if maybe this move was the best thing to happen to me. It’s no secret my life is predictable. Some would even say boring, apart from my job in porn. I go to classes, I study, I eat, and I sleep.

And I’m happy with that. I like my life; I do.

But sometimes, even when I’m stubbornly rebelling against it, I know change can be a good thing. And this change? Maybe even great.

After all, what more could an exhibitionist want than a willing voyeur right outside their bedroom window?

Chapter 1

Present Day

Emil

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