Third You Die (Kevin Connor Mystery) by Scott Sherman Read Free Book Online Page B

could hear us unless we screamed, “than advertised.”
    “That’s great,” I said politely, hoping if I showed the minimal possible interest I’d be spared the grisly details.
    It was three days after Tony had left me blue-balled on the couch. The episode of my mom’s show that Freddy had sneak-peeked at in my apartment had aired to the world the day before. Grateful for the exposure, and pleased with how he’d come across on screen, Brock Peters called Andrew and invited him out for drinks. They wound up at Brock’s place.
    “There’s this scene in The Legion of Super Twinks vs. the Beastly Bears of Doom where Brock hooks his heels behind his ears, which I’d always assumed was done with CGI. Well, it turns out he really can . . .”
    I tried not to listen. Tony’s next visitation with Rafi wasn’t for another few days, and I was hoping he and I could finally finish our lovemaking. I’d have to remember to call him when I got out of here.
    “Then, just like he did to Rod Racer in Buffguy, the Vampire Player, he flipped me over and . . .”
    I also had to call Freddy. He’d left a message that he had gotten together last night with Cody, a guy I’d introduced him to a few months ago. They’ve been dating on and off since then—the closest Freddy’s come to a relationship in, well, ever. I knew Cody was frustrated that they weren’t more of a couple, but he was also glad to take what he could get. I thought Cody was a terrific catch, and I hoped Freddy had good news about how things were going.
    “All of a sudden, Brock does this thing from Gone with the Rimmed where he takes a guy’s ass and . . .” Andrew’s eyes were gleaming and I swear he was starting to drool.
    “Enough!” I said, unable to tune out more of Andrew’s endless recap. “What was this—actual sex between the two of you, or the porno version of a Civil War reenactment?”
    The light in Andrew’s eyes blinked out so quickly that I felt a little guilty for pulling the curtain. “I know, I know,” he sighed. “It was kind of weird. Brock was nice enough, and, well, you saw, incredibly good-looking. Technically, the sex was great, too. Quite the workout. Very, ah, aerobic.
    “But I couldn’t separate the real person from the guy in the movies. Everything we did felt like a rerun, even if it was the first time I was actually in the scene, as opposed to just watching it.
    “What really ruined it for me, though, was the feeling that he was performing. Putting on a show for me. Like he had to be ‘Brock Peters’ as opposed to a mere ordinary lay.
    “The whole thing was a little depressing. Brock seemed so . . . mechanical about it. It makes me look at porn differently. Maybe it’s not much fun after all.”
    I thought about my own time in the sex trade. “You shouldn’t generalize,” I said. “I’m sure there are some guys in porn who are totally jaded and burnt out, but I’m sure there are others who keep it in perspective. You’re a full-time TV producer used to running the show, but it’s not like that affects every other aspect of your life. You don’t go into the supermarket and tell the manager where to stack the cereal boxes, or rearrange the lighting when you go to a club. There’s a difference between what you are and what you do. A healthy person can separate the two.” Who had recently told me that?
    Andrew looked thoughtful. “You think?”
    I know. “Yeah. I hear you talk about Brock, and I figure it’s a chicken-and-egg thing. Did years of being in porn make him into a self-centered lover, who’s more concerned with technique and dazzling his partner than he is with forming an actual connection? Or, was he a ridiculously handsome, narcissistic stud who got into movies because he already saw sex as a ‘performance’? One in which he was the star?”
    Andrew rested his chin in his hand. He nodded. “Maybe. I don’t know. You’re right about one thing. It wasn’t so much that I felt he was aping