Beau

Kaden Rowe was not my type. I didn’t really have a type—unless you counted hot messes—but I knew for a fact Kaden was not it. He was nice, if not a little silly, with blond hair and brows, and ultra-white veneers he’d probably paid for once he’d reached a million subscribers on YouTube. At least, those were the rumors, but I honestly wouldn’t have given a shit if he wore dentures.

He was the kind of guy who made YouTube videos because he liked the attention. He’d started his channel in college at Texas A&M. He’d been out as gay and would invite jocks to cook with him while he asked inappropriate questions and encouraged them to flirt back. My subscribers loved him, and the number of views he had was evidence that a lot of other people loved him too. Which was why I now stood in his kitchen, wearing only an apron that said, “I can’t even think straight” and a pair of jeans, while he talked into the camera.

I’d recently met Kaden at an event, and we’d hit it off, so he’d asked me to collaborate on the Beat It segment for his YouTube channel. His theme was that recipes were for quitters with no imagination, so we would be throwing together random ingredients to make a meal.

For this week’s Beat It, we were making pigs in a blanket, and I’d come prepared with endless wiener jokes. I was most in my element while hamming it up for YouTube videos. After years of carefully cultivating my image, I could turn on the charm with ease.

Beau Starr was me, but a better version of me, the one who didn’t let anything bother him, who always had a snappy comeback, and who certainly didn’t have a messy past. I’d created him after things had gone to hell with Warren, and when I’d wanted to become someone untouched by my ex. Being on could be tiring, but there was also a comfort in it. Like a clean set of sheets.

“Hey, fam! I have a special guest here today for Beat It.” Kaden introduced me with Vanna White jazz hands. “Beau Starr will be cooking with me.”

I waved to the camera, flashing my signature smile and putting some extra pep in my voice. “Hey, everyone! I’m excited to be here.”

Kaden launched into his intro, and I took a swig from my water bottle. His kitchen was all white with accents of royal blue. He’d told me the colors “went with his eyes,” which I found over the top because it was a kitchen.

“Soooooo.” Kaden looked at me and shimmied his hips, then bumped mine. “Ready to get cooking?”

I pretended to roll up my sleeves—which were absent because I was sans shirt. “Bring on the wieners, Kaden.” He giggled as he handed me a package of mini sausages. I ripped them open. “I’m not gonna lie. I’m starving. I went to Starbucks this morning before I came here, and they were out of my favorite breakfast sandwich.”

“Unacceptable.” Kaden banged a tube of crescent rolls on the counter.

“I narrowly avoided throwing a tantrum.” I threw a mini sausage in the air and caught it in my mouth, then gagged a bit. “Oh gross, these are cold.”

“Of course, they’re cold!” Kaden snatched the package out of my hand. “Warm them up a bit, Beau. Wieners need foreplay.”

And already he was beating me on the wiener jokes. “Oh right!” I looked into the camera. “Also, we need to wrap ’em up first. Remember that, kids. Don’t do as Beau does, do as Beau says.”

If only they knew.

Kaden launched into his interview as we began cooking, going easy on me at first. “So, I asked my Snapchat fam what questions they want to hear from you, and number one was if you have a boyfriend.”

“Nah, single all the way. I’m twenty-six with good skin and an ass I’ve sculpted with a lot of squats.” I dropped my voice down to a whisper. “And I hate working out.” I cleared my throat and spoke again in a normal tone. “I mean, I think I’m a great catch, but no takers, I guess.”

I shrugged and exaggeratedly sniffed. That had been my story for a long time—Beau Starr was always single and always looking. Beau just hadn’t found the right man. No one needed to know that off-screen Beau was categorically defective at relationships, had picked the biggest lemon, and had stayed with the guy until he’d almost blown his livelihood.

Kaden stuck out his lower lip and slung his arm around my shoulders. He looked at the camera. “Never mind, we’re dating now!”

I shoved him away with a laugh. “Focus on your own wieners.”

“Speaking of wiener,” Kaden said before he started in on a story about his last date.

I worked diligently on wrapping the mini sausages in the crescent-roll dough and placing them on a pan. Kaden was still talking about how his date had run out of gas and had left them stranded outside of Vegas. Yikes. Dating was pointless. I still found time to slip in a few hookups between events and recording, but the sex I got usually wasn’t exactly what I needed. It was hard to get to the level I enjoyed with a one-night stand.

“Why did you start making videos, Beau?”

I had a rote answer that everyone thought was crap, but they were very wrong. It was maybe the most honest I’d ever been on camera. “I wanted to provide content that wasn’t available when I was a gayby and needed it. I’m not always PG-13, but I want to entertain while still encouraging members of the LGBTQ community to recognize their worth.”

Kaden blinked at me, like I’d just spoken a foreign language.

Not so serious, Beau. I waved my hand, all camp. “And, you know, getting invited to events with free food and open bars is cool.”

“Yeah, except when you get so drunk at that open bar that you pee on the ice shot sculpture.”

My eyes bugged out of my head. “Wait, you did that?”

Kaden placed a hand on his chest. “Me? Of course not. But you know. A friend.”

I didn’t know him well enough to determine if he was kidding. “Well, your friend should maybe have a keeper.”

“No kidding. So, since you’re Beau Starr and all about bringing positivity to the rainbow side of YouTube, what do you think of drama channels?”

I finished my entire pan of sausages and now had nothing to do with my hands. Shit. I took a sip of water and thought about how to word my feelings. Drama channels had been cropping up for years, threatening to spill the tea on YouTubers’ personal lives, rooting out beef between them or reporting on scandals—made up or real.

“Well, it’s up to everyone to decide on what kind of content they want to create. Do I wish some people would create something original rather than relying on gossip about those of us who do? Sure. But you know, none of my business.” I pressed my lips together, already anticipating the comments we were going to get.

“And what about YouTubers like TrashyZane, who do the opposite of you and treat YouTube as more of a live journal?”

I flinched at the name, and I hoped it didn’t show up on camera. Zane, with his long, shampoo-commercial hair, pretty mouth that never stopped moving, and the lithe body he loved to show off. Zane, who I wanted to hate because he reminded me of what I’d tried to leave behind years ago, but couldn’t hate because he fascinated me.

Zane was proud of being messy, and his channel was full of drunk videos regaling his sexual adventures. He was a talking, walking thirst trap on YouTube, and I hated everyone who watched him and probably beat off to him. And I hated myself for being unable to look away when he talked about his particular kink. One that meshed with mine and caused fantasies to swirl in my head that I did not need.

My hate-watching of his channel had quickly shifted into something I wasn’t comfortable acknowledging. Even now, I felt myself bristle at his name, and I said the one thing I knew any attention-seeking YouTuber would hate the most.

“Who?”

Kaden’s eyes widened a minute before he clapped his hand over his mouth and laughed behind it. I plastered on a fake smile, blinked at him and then at the camera, then shrugged my shoulders and picked up the pan.

“Should we bake these wieners or what?”

Kaden ran his tongue over his top lip, still trying to cover his laughter. “Yeah, we better get them in the oven.”

An hour later, the camera was off, and we’d eaten more pigs in a blanket than was healthy. I lounged on Kaden’s couch in his trendy L.A. apartment with one foot on the floor while he stretched out on a chaise near his window. “You should have a wiener count,” I said into the silence.

“Huh?”

I spun my finger. “Like a little graphic in the corner that counts off every time we say wiener.”

Kaden tapped a finger on his lips. “Oooh, I like that idea. Maybe I’ll declare a winner.”

“You can edit it so you said it the most.”

He smirked. “My channel, my rules.”

“Fine, just make me look good.”

“Ugh, do I have to? That’ll take forever.”

I threw a pillow at him, but he caught it easily.

I sighed and clapped my hand over my face. “Speaking of making me look good, I can’t believe I said that about Zane.”

Kaden cracked up again. “He’s going to come for you.”

“I know,” I groaned. “That was so stupid. I don’t get into that bullshit drama on YouTube.” Even as I said the words to Kaden, a thrill went through me at the thought of grabbing Zane’s attention. We’d run into each other at various events over the years, but he always sort of looked through me. And was this what I’d resorted to? Subbing the crush I resented to millions of subscribers? So mature. Much adult.

“But it’s fun.” Kaden’s blue eyes sparked. “Come on, your views will shoot through the roof if you get into a beef with Zane.”

I didn’t care about the views. Well, I did, but I’d worked hard to gain them legitimately through my content, not fights with messy YouTubers. “Whatever. Maybe he won’t even see it. No one watches your videos anyway.” I stuck my tongue out at Kaden, who made a face back.

“Your Beautifuls will stick up for you.”

He had a point. My subscribers were amazing and supported the hell out of me, but I didn’t want to drag them into drama, either.

“Also,” he said. “Any truth to the rumors about that TV offer from LT?”

I was surprised anything ever got done in this town. There were no true secrets. My agent had approached me with an offer from LT—Lifestyle Television—that would give me a guest spot on one of their shows talking about fashion. It wasn’t really my thing, but they’d wanted a gay dude and my image was wholesome enough for the masses. It was a huge paycheck and prime-time exposure, and my parents had practically shoved me into accepting. We were still working out some kinks in the contract relating to a strangling morality clause, but I’d hoped to accept by summer.

“I can’t confirm or deny, but, hey, where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”

Kaden’s eyes lit up. “Damn, Beau. Remember me when you’re Tyler Oakley.”

I laughed. “I don’t think I’ll ever be Tyler Oakley.” My stomach rumbled, and I groaned. “Ugh, I think I’m going to be sick, and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m thinking about this, or if it was from eating all those sausages.”

“You can stay, take a nap. In my bed.”

I glanced at him, expecting a teasing grin, but he was...serious. Well, shit. I’d thought his flirting was for the camera, but now he was looking at me like he wanted to swallow my actual sausage. Welp, apparently I still had a few more jokes in me. But really, why me? Kaden could bang any dude, easy. He was a jacked, tan blond from Texas. He needed to find one of the many willing boys who threw themselves at him. Not me. I didn’t fuck people in the industry.

I pushed myself up from the sofa. “Thanks for the offer, but I think I’m going to head out.”

I didn’t miss the flash of disappointment on Kaden’s face. “Sure.”

“Thanks for suggesting the collab. That was fun.” I grabbed my bag and headed toward the door before he did something awkward like try to kiss me.

“Of course.” He opened his door and leaned against it. “Hey, do you want me to edit out that part about Zane?”

I paused with a foot out the door. My first thought was to say yes, delete it, make it gone. But knowing YouTube, Kaden would tell someone what I’d said, and in typical whisper-down-the-lane style, it’d end up with people saying I’d called Zane the actual devil or Paul Ryan. Might as well prevent that by telling Kaden not to edit the single word that had come out of my mouth. It was the best option in a less-than-ideal situation. I just hoped the blowback was minimal.

“Nah, it’s fine. Thanks for offering, though.”

“Of course. Take care, Beau.”

I flashed him a smile. “You too.”

I headed out of his apartment complex, my thoughts returning to Zane’s potential response. I kept imagining him fired up and angry with me, throwing shade with that smart mouth, which would only enhance the dirty thoughts I’d already had about the guy. I was no different than his legions of horny followers. Ugh. I had to get over this damn fixation. If Zane responded, I could ignore it and let it all blow over until the next scandal took its place. That was one good thing about YouTube—there was always something new.

I slipped into my car and started the engine, adjusting vents for maximum cold air to cut through the Los Angeles heat. Once I had music on at full blast, I headed for Jamba Juice to get my daily fix before making my way home. The sun beamed as I drove through downtown, the air whistling through the sunroof and ruffling my hair. I tapped the rhythm to a Lady Gaga song on my steering wheel and sipped my Green Up ’N Go juice.

A new Ariana Grande song blasted from my speakers next, and I bounced in my seat as I blew through a yellow light. My phone’s ring interrupted Ariana, and I kept one eye on the road as I hit the button for my car’s Bluetooth. I recognized the number flashing on the touch screen panel but couldn’t place it.

“Hello?”

“You have a collect call from an inmate at California Correctional Center. Would you like to accept?”

My heart slammed into my ribcage, and the car swerved as my nerves took a nosedive. I had to get off the road before I crashed my damn BMW. I looked in the rearview mirror and found a break in traffic to pull off.

Fuck my previous dumbass self for setting up a collect-call payment with the prison. I should have cancelled it and that credit card long ago. Or I could just hang up, not accept the call. But my ex-boyfriend calling now, after a year of silence, had to mean something, and despite my bold claims that I’d changed, I was too weak to not answer it. Or maybe too curious.

Once I found a parking spot in the back of an old strip mall, I re-gripped my phone with trembling hands. “Yes.”

A series of clicks echoed in my ear, and then Warren’s voice, with the same rasp that had once turned me on and now made my stomach heave. “Hey, Beau.”

I was never sure which Warren I was going to get. The one that cursed me out? Blamed me for ruining his life? The one that had seduced me? Or the one that wanted something from me—even if what he wanted would lead to me getting hurt. I was going to assume it was the latter.

“Why are you calling?”

“I was hoping to get a nicer greeting.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’m not doing this. You don’t get emotional energy from me.”

“Oh right, I forgot. You’re all inspirational now. Beau Starr. A buddy in here jacks off to your videos. Little less clothes next time.”

How had I ever liked his smart mouth? His dark humor and sarcasm?

“What. Do. You. Want?” I asked through clenched teeth.

“I’m getting out soon. Couple of months.”

I blinked at the clock on my dashboard, like the digital numbers were going to make sense of all of this. What date was it? What year? “I’m sorry? I thought you had more time.”

“I’m a good boy, Beau. Prison is crowded and they don’t care about some guy who’s charged with a non-violent.”

Right, he’d stolen a car. As his second offense though, his prison term had been four-to-five years. He’d only served three.

“Aren’t you happy for me?” God, his voice held a plea that brought back way too many memories. Ones I thought I’d buried under his rap sheet. “For us?”

“There’s no us, Warren.”

“Well, sure, not now. But when I’m out, we can start over.”

I’d nearly collapsed under guilt after he’d been put away, but that had been before I’d known how he’d used me for money. How he’d had me unwittingly aid him in crimes. How he’d put my entire life at risk.

Dread filled me, spreading through my body down to my toes. Would this ever end? I tried to find my backbone, the body part I’d been working on strengthening for years.

“What do you plan to do when you get out?”

“I don’t know. I have some ideas from talking to some guys in here. I can stay with you until I get my feet under me, right?”

My jaw dropped before I managed to summon a coherent response. “Warren, I’m going to be blunt with you. No. What we had is in the past. We’re not starting over, you’re not staying with me, and that’s it.”

He went quiet, and I heard a couple of male voices in the background. The slamming of a gate. I pictured his slim body in the tan jumpsuit. He’d be pale, and I wondered if he still had the full head of long brown hair. I kept my eyes open, knowing if I closed them, I’d see his brown eyes, and I didn’t want to. I didn’t love Warren anymore. I wasn’t sure I ever had. I’d loved the feeling of being there for someone who’d been so lost, but then I’d realized he’d been using me. Taking care of him had almost cost me everything.

Those days were long past. That version of Beau Shields was gone. I’d learned my lesson. No more drama. No more complicated boys no matter how pretty and sexy. No goddamn messes.

“Just think about it, Beau.”

If I gave Warren credit for anything, it would be not playing up his hurt to manipulate me. That had been his shtick, and I’d fallen for it repeatedly.

“I don’t need to think about it, Warren.”

“This where you tell me to lose your number?” His tone was biting. “Hey, you owe me. I could have ratted you out.”

Aaannndd there it was. The words I’d known he would one day say to me. The ones that sent my stomach slithering into my shoes and caused my entire body to break out into a cold sweat. I fought to keep my voice steady. “You lied to me. The only reason I sold that shit for you was because you told me it was yours. You didn’t tell me it was stolen.”

“Intent doesn’t matter, Beau. You were basically my fence.”

Fuck him. He hadn’t changed at all. Everything I’d worked for—my channel and most definitely my LT deal—would be gone if it came out that I’d sold thousands of dollars’ worth of stolen goods for my ex-boyfriend. Millions of times, I’d imagined him holding this over my head, and I’d had comebacks planned. But they failed me now. The only sound I was making was a dry clicking in my throat like a scratched record.

A voice barked in the background of Warren’s call. “Gotta go. I’ll be in touch.”

He hung up.

I stared at my phone like it was the culprit of my pain. Warren could turn on a dime, his lies and manipulations making my head spin. He acted like I owed him for not turning me in when he’d been caught. As if I hadn’t already given him money to pay his bookie to cover some of his gambling debts. As if he hadn’t gone to jail, but not before telling his bookie that I’d cover the rest, leading to enforcers showing up at my door. As if I hadn’t handed over my savings to cover his debt and save my own ass.

I chugged the rest of my smoothie, the cool liquid freezing my throat. No one knew about Warren, and certainly no one who knew Beau Starr would ever think he had an ex-con for an ex-boyfriend. It’d be a juicy story for the drama channels on YouTube. They’d love exposing my shady past, and it’d be amusement for almost everyone except LT. They were owned by NBC, and I was to be the palatable, harmless gay guy on their news segment. They’d give a whole lot of fucks to learn about Warren and my crime, enough to ping the morality clause in my contract and pull it.

The scale in my relationship with Warren was unbalanced, but my side wasn’t empty. The con he’d pulled over on me would haunt me forever. I wasn’t sure what to do, but I had a couple of months to figure it out.

* * *

Zane

Run the Jewels had served as my lullaby through my entire fifteen-hour sleeping jag, but the shrill sound of my phone ringing woke me up in an instant. Killer Mike and El-P were apparently the stuff of peaceful dreams, but my iPhone ringtone pierced my brain like a poison dagger. The sound echoed in my ears, making me wonder why I hadn’t turned it off the night before. Something about wanting easy access to 911 if one of the muscle-bound bromos who scooped me up on Hornet turned out to be a killer.

Groaning, I slithered down to the edge of my bed and tried to grasp my phone with my toes. Not only did it fail, I kicked it halfway across the room.

“Oh my fucking god,” I wailed. “Death to the foul bitch who is causing this tragedy.”

The phone stopped ringing and I lay across the bottom half of my bed with my legs sliding on the floor. Thankfully, I lived alone in my chaotic West Hollywood apartment, but I was sure some celestial being was witnessing this massive shit show.

I closed my eyes and listened to my heartbeat pounding in my ears. It was awful. My hangover was awful. How many Jell-O shots had I done with that big ginger teddy bear of a jock before letting him mount me? I couldn’t remember, but I’d been determined to prove I could outdrink him.

The phone rang again, and I shouted into my mattress. Whoever was calling me was evil, and they had to be destroyed. I slid to the floor in a heap and crawled over to my phone just in time to see a familiar glorious face.

Miguel’s makeup was perfection in the picture that flashed whenever he called. His curls were bleached a deep golden color contrasting with his gorgeous bronze skin. He was the prettiest YouTuber in the land, and I was proud to have him as my friend. For friend reasons and not only eye-candy reasons, but he still needed to fuck off with this persistent calling.

“Migs,” I moaned into the phone. “Why are you torturing me? I’m so hungover. It hurts.”

“Girl, you are an hour fucking late.”

Shit.

“Uhh. What day is it?” I asked with a nervous chuckle.

“It’s Tuesday, bitch,” Miguel hollered. I could picture him rolling those big brown eyes all over the place. “Me and Deb have been at Taste for over an hour. We’ve already played Gay or European with this entire group of tourists. Like, why are you wasting our lives?”

I made a pathetic sound and curled into a ball. “I got drunk and spent an hour sitting on an oversized dick last night.”

“Oh really?” There was a click, and the next time Miguel spoke his voice sounded farther away. He’d put me on speaker phone so the tale of one of my infamous hookups could be shared with both he and Debonair—another of my friends and a well-known gaymer. “Please, tell us more.”

“He was just some guy from Hornet,” I said sheepishly. “I don’t even remember his name. Something like… Troye?”

“Sivan?” Debonair asked eagerly.

I rolled my eyes. “You think Troye Sivan needs to pick up guys on Hornet? No. It was just a random third-string NFL guy. I don’t even know. There’s no story here.”

“Zane Brody,” Miguel started in a snotty tone. “You could fuck anyone, why are you on Hornet? Do you know how many YouTubers are desperate to get in your lacy black panties?”

I grinned and smacked my own ass. There were indeed lacy black briefs covering my butt. “After the last two times of me being with a streamer? And being treated like garbage? No thanks.”

“He has a point, Migs,” Debonair relented. “He does have a tendency to pick the most toxic of the toxic. He’s better off fucking strangers until he dies alone.”

“Y’all are soooo charming,” I said, rolling onto my back. “Couple of fuckboys.”

“Speaking of fuckboys,” Miguel said with a teasing lilt to his deep voice. “Our friend Beau Starr was showing his ass on Kaden’s channel.”

“Showing his ass literally? Because I’ve seen those aprons Kaden has his guests wear,” I said. “Or was he being his snotty self? I’m shocked he deigned to be on a nudie cooking show.”

“Oh please, he was his usual tablespoon of mayonnaise. Boring as fuck. Except for the part where he dissed you.”

I opened my eyes and stared up at the ceiling, replaying Miguel’s last sentence. “Say again?”

Miguel said it again and went on in detail to describe the look on Beau’s face and Kaden’s gleeful reaction as Beau had pretended to not know my name. Which was hilarious since he threw subliminal disses at me every single time one of his cheesy viewers asked why we spent so much time snubbing each other at events.

“Okay, gents,” I said once I had the full story. “I’ll have to bail on our lunch plans. I have serious recording to do.”

“Zane—”

I hung up before Debonair, the only sensible boy in our trio, could talk me out of my plan. Beau wanted to play games? Ha. Ha. Ha.

We would fucking see.

It took me a few to find the video, since I usually avoided Beau’s side of YouTube like the plague. I’d tried it out a few times only to find it full of the kind of preachy and easy-to-digest crap that my parents wished I would spew on my own channel. Fat chance. I’d rather be me than a character on Will and Grace.

I found Kaden’s latest video and watched it with a scowl on my face. Kaden wasn’t half bad in person, but watching him drool all over Beau had been embarrassing, and Beau himself sent rage streaking through my soul. He looked magnificent with his shirt off—chest sculpted and biceps literally looking like they’d been carved out of boulders. Yet he still managed to turn small and petty at the sound of my name. He’d literally fucking cringed.

What had I ever done to this unholy asshole?

My anger swept me up cleanly from my hangover and allowed me to march over to the bathroom so I could wash my face and finger comb my hair. I was very obviously hungover, but that would be nothing new to my subs. They liked me messy and trashy, hence the name and the “Certified Trashy Boy” merch. I threw on a CTB tank top, a pair of boots, and a pair of black and gold shuttered sunglasses, set up my computer, and was sitting in front of my black and silver draped backdrop within moments.

“Hey there, skanks,” I sang into my laptop. “It’s ya boy TrashyZane here to keep you honest, and today I’m keeping it honest about which YouTubers I would Smash or Pass.” I flashed a sly grin, wiggling my eyebrows from behind my sunglasses.

“For anyone who is oblivious to the YouTube ’verse, Smash or Pass is a game where I discuss other YouTubers and why I would either Smash them—meaning fuck—or Pass on them—meaning kick them out before they get near my bed.” I lifted one of my feet to show one of my signature giant black boots.

“Let’s start with my ex,” I said and jerked one chipped, black-painted nail to the side, where I’d edit in pictures of the YouTubers in question. “Lyrix, the blond bromo gaymer who everyone loves to hate.” I twisted my lips. “Okay, you all know I’ve already smashed this dipshit, so why did I even start with him? Our relationship was the stuff of YouTube drama legends, but that was two years ago… So…would I smash him now?”

I tapped my lower lip, making sure to pull it down a bit just because I had a serious set of DSLs and my viewers loved them. “Nope. I’d pass on my ex-boyfriend Lyrix. He has a huge cock and all, but he is a little too afraid of the rough stuff in bed and remains one of the most toxic people in the biz. Making me come hands-free does not make up for treating me like garbage, kids. We’re friends now, though.”

For the next couple of minutes, I went through a number of other YouTubers including Miguel (Pass because best friend and already YouTube famous), Debonair (Smash because he was adorable, and I wanted my subs to go check out his channel and see him ranting about games in his bow ties), Kaden (Smash because I totally would ride that Texan like Seabiscuit), and Shane Lush (Smash because his mean gossiping ass was probably just the sort who’d pin me down and fuck me on the right side of rough).

Then I reached Beau.

“Beau Starr,” I drawled, pushing up my sunglasses. I dragged my teeth over my lower lip, making a low sound that was somewhere between naughty and thoughtful. “Mmm. Beau, Beau, Beau. You know, my fellow skanks? This is tough. On the one hand, Beau is about as appealing as a colonoscopy after Thanksgiving dinner, but on the other hand, it’s fun to think about teasing him until he forgets how fake he’s supposed to be.” I bit my lip again and smirked, staring into the camera. “Until he admits deep down inside he likes it rough and messy. I said Lush would give it to me hard, but…maybe deep down Beau is hiding some spice beneath his vanilla exterior.”

I held the stare for a moment longer, making it clear I was picturing all manner of absolute Beau Starr-related filth, before heaving a sigh.

“But, you know what, babies? I’d have to pass, because Beau Starr is as fuckable as a bowl of sugar-free vanilla ice cream in the looks department, and the preachy ‘use protection, kids’ shtick is so played out. The day I try to ride someone who thinks propagating the belief that all us gays are disease spreaders who need to be reminded daily to wrap up our dangerous dicks is the day I delete my YouTube channel.”

I wiggled my nose until my sunglasses fell over my eyes again.

“And that’s all the real talk I have for you today, my precious skanks! If you want to see more of this kind of trash, press my button and subscribe!”