Chapter 1

Lying prone, Shannon pushed himself up on his hands and arched his back into Cobra Pose, following Nick’s example. “How do I look, bro?” he asked, grimacing.

“Like a sick cobra,” Nick commented, mouth quirking. “Don’t strain so hard. Take it easy or you’ll hurt your back.”

Shannon exhaled in frustration but did relax somewhat. They both held the pose for a minute or so before Shannon collapsed next to him, looking over enviously at Nick for a moment before returning to a topic that Nick vehemently wished he’d drop.

“Pokey Dee,” his friend murmured. “Fuck, THE Pokey Dee, bro! Pokey Dee had you over to his mansion!” He paused to shake his head before continuing, “I can’t you believe you turned him down, dude. Pokey Dee is the biggest thing since Drake. How could you say no?”

Nick pulled a face. “Dude, I am not gonna go on camera and let some guy fuck me. I mean, WTF? He’s crazy!”

“Dude, DUDE!” Shannon persisted. “IT’S FUCKIN’ POKEY DEE! I’d fuckin’ bend over and let him fuck me for nothin’, much less a million fuckin’ dollars!”

Nick rolled his eyes. “I had no idea you were so heteroflexible, bro. And it wasn’t a million dollars. He said that he thought we’d make at least a million dollars if we did it.” He broke the Cobra Pose and sat cross legged, making a dismissive motion with his hand. “Dude must be desperate if he’s starting an OnlyFans page. Only washed up celebrities and attention whores do that shit.”

“Hey! I’m on OnlyFans!” Shannon protested, sounding hurt.

Nick looked over at his friend with narrowed eyes. “You’re joking.”

“Nope. I started it a few months ago. I’m pullin’ in a couple thou a month now.”

Nick opened his mouth to reply but the words got lost in his throat. He knew it was stupid but he felt betrayed by this news. He would never have expected his best bro would stoop so low. He stared over at him, unwillingly visualizing him without clothes. Shannon was a handsome dude with a ripped bod, sure, but Nick had never thought about him being naked before. He shivered, realizing he’d never look at his friend in the same way again.

Shannon Davis was on OnlyFans.

Innocent Shannon!

Shit, he’d known the dude for years and felt like he was his brother even though Shannon was black and Nick was white. Shannon with his wide nose and full lips that were always ready to curl into an infectious smile. Shannon with his long, lanky body and that mop of unruly curls. Even though his bro had dated plenty of women, Nick still thought of him as asexual. It was sort of like thinking about your kid brother having sex, you just didn’t go there.

Well, that was over now.

Shannon Davis was a sexworker.

A sexworker on OnlyFans.

“Yer awfully quiet, bro.”

Nick shook himself and took a sip out of his protein smoothie to conceal his discomfort. “I…I’m fine. It’s just that–”

“I don’t take it all off, dude,” Shannon interjected, laughing nervously. “I’m not showing ‘em my hole or anything.”

“Ugh! Shut up, bro!” Nick shouted, choking on his smoothie. “I don’t wanna hear ‘bout–”

“I just, you know, wear tight clothing and strip a little, show ‘em a little of what I got,” Shannon continued, ignoring him. “Kinda like you do on Instagram.”

“I do NOT strip on Instagram,” Nick objected.

Shannon gave him a pitying look that verged on patronizing. “Bro. C’mon, bro. Be honest. Yer an Insta whore. Yer always queer-baiting yer followers. There’s no difference between what you do on Instagram and what I do on OnlyFans.”

Nick had to force himself to unclench his fists. He resented everything that Shannon had just said, most especially being called out for queer-baiting. After a few deep breaths, he challenged, “If there’s no difference then why not just do Instagram? Why prostitute yerself on OnlyFans?”

Shannon’s mouth fell open. “Uh, the money, bro. The money. I’m not a hotshot model with an agent and a contract like you, dude. I need to make money somehow and god knows sponsorships don’t pay enough to cover the bills.”

This gave Nick pause. He hadn’t thought too much about how Shannon paid for his Malibu lifestyle. He’d assumed the money he made off his YouTube channel and from apparel and supplement sponsorships was enough. And it was true what Shannon said about Nick being a model with a lucrative contract. As a top model, Nick didn’t worry about money because his image was so highly sought after. He occupied a rarified niche in the modeling world, one that allowed him to rent a condo on the beach and afford the luxury of not having to work a day job. He spent his days working out and perfecting his already perfect physique. Only occasionally was he required to travel for photo shoots or other promotional activities. It was a good life!

He looked over at his reflection in the mirror propped on the deck beside them. The ocean breeze was pleasantly cool and it ruffled his thick, black hair. His blue eyes sparkled in the golden California sun and his skin was a pleasant shade of tan. He looked much younger than his thirty two years (thanks in part to his regular trips to the dermatologist.) His body was both lean and well-muscled. His bare thighs were supremely shapely, his waist narrow, his shoulders broad. And, even sitting down, he could see the profile of his magnificent ass.

It was that ass that was responsible for Pokey Dee’s invitation to his mansion. The rising hip hop star had informed him of this almost as soon as he entered his gorgeous but heavily-guarded compound: Nick’s world-famous glutes were the only reason he was there. 

‘You see, man,’ Pokey Dee had said, slinging a heavy arm over Nick’s shoulders and whispering in his ear. ‘It’s yer ass, man. Or rather I’m an ass man. If I’m gonna fuck a dude on my OnlyFans page, it’s gonna be yer ass.’ He let his hand slide down Nick’s back to land on top of his perky globes, pinching them salaciously.

Nick’s pulse still pounded at the memory. It was one of the most humiliating things anyone had ever done to him. He had wanted badly to pound the shit out of the dude but was still in possession of enough wits to realize that doing so would be a career-ending move.

“Uh, Nick? Hey, Nick? You still there?”

Nick looked over and met Shannon’s gaze, inadvertently flinching.

Shannon’s face softened. “What’s wrong, bro? Was it sumthin’ I said?”

“No, it’s nuthin’,” Nick said, swallowing. “I was juss, y’know, thinkin’ ‘bout Pokey Dee and what he said to me. He insulted me, man. And it hurt.”

“It’s about yer ass, isn’t it?”

Nick went rigid. “Why do you say that?”

Shannon laughed. “‘Cuz it’s yer biggest, um, asset, dude! It’s what everyone talks about. You got an ass that won’t quit. And yer white. And yer a dude. Put all three of those things together and, well–”

Nick lowered his head, cringing. Now all he could feel was his big, cushiony ass beneath him. It wasn’t that big…was it? Those twin mounds of muscle and fat followed him wherever he went, both literally and figuratively. For his whole life, his ass had been…significant. The kids at school had tormented him about it, making his life on the baseball team a constant misery. Only when he’d graduated from high school and started working out seriously, developing the rest of his body, had he managed to bring it into proportion. As his other muscles grew–thanks to hard work and a little boost from steroids–and his ass became less noticeable, his self-esteem returned. When his modeling career took off, he’d dared to hope that he’d left his ass, ahem, behind him and he was finally being recognized for his whole self.

But now he realized this hope was nothing more than a fantasy.

The incident with Pokey Dee only highlighted this. If he was brutally honest, even with his other big muscles to balance it out, his ass was still a big part of his image. It even had its own (unsanctioned) Instagram page. Even though his face was stunningly handsome and he possessed a ripped physique worthy of a Greek god, it was still his ass that got him most of his work. That bountiful ass was the reason his modeling gigs were almost exclusively for underwear and swimwear and why the vast majority of his followers were gay men. Everyone, it seemed, wanted a piece of his ass.

Even Pokey Dee.

He sighed, realizing he had a love-hate relationship with his bum. He hated its size but loved the money it made him. Ideally, it would be smaller and slimmer. But he couldn’t do anything about it because there wasn’t such a thing as ass-reduction surgery. His plastic surgeon had told him many times that he was just ‘naturally gifted’ back there and encouraged him to embrace his voluptuous cheeks rather than trying to shrink them. And so he reached an uneasy detente with his buttocks, trying his best not to bring undue attention to them while still showing them off when it was in his best interest financially.

“Dude.”

He looked up to find Shannon standing over him, a concerned look on his face. “Don’t worry ‘bout it! I’m sure you were nice to Pokey when you declined his invitation, right?”

Nick’s cheeks colored and he cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“What?” Shannon pressed. “Don’t tell me you–”

“I, um,” Nick began, “might’ve said some stuff I regret.” He looked down at the deck, unable to meet Shannon’s gaze. The tips of his ears were red.

Shannon exhaled loudly, squatting down beside him. “You didn’t…I mean, I hope you didn’t say anything that could be, you know, considered….well, homophobic or racist, did you?”

Nick looked up at him, startled. “No! Of course not! I was just pissed at him for touching my ass without my permission. I’m not a piece of meat! I told him to go fuck himself if he was so eager to fuck a guy.”

“I see.” Shannon shook his head. “Well, let’s just hope it blows over. Pokey Dee has millions of followers. He could set his fans on you and that wouldn’t be pretty, bro.”

Nick flinched, admitting, “I hadn’t thought ‘bout that.”

Shannon’s face brightened and he favored Nick with that award-winning smile of his. “Pokey’s a standup guy, though. I’m sure it’ll be fine, dude. Don’t worry ‘bout it!”

***

Chapter 2

Nick woke up the next morning to discover his phone had blown up overnight. Groggy, he rolled over in bed and held the screen up to his face. There were over a dozen new voice mails and more than a hundred text messages. He sat up in bed, hearting pounding, as he scrolled through the notifications. A text from Shannon stood out; it read, >>Dude check out pokey’s gram NOW<<

Hands shaking, he unlocked his phone and opened up Instagram. He didn’t even need to search for Pokey Dee’s feed because his followers had already tagged him in the dude’s post more than a thousand times. It came up immediately, a video message from Pokey Dee to his fans. Nick’s stomach fell as he saw it; he knew what it was about even before he watched it.

Pokey Dee had issued a challenge, throwing down the proverbial gauntlet by taking his invitation public. Pressing play, Nick watched breathlessly as the video started. The camera zoomed in on Pokey’s face; his deep, soulful eyes were filled with indignation as he pursed his pouty lips. “I tole you guys I was gonna do it, didn’t I?” he said in a mellifluous voice. (The dude did really have a great voice, Nick grudgingly admitted. And he was handsome, too, not that Nick paid much attention to that.) 

The camera panned outward, revealing Pokey’s shirtless bod, every muscle delineated perfectly under his glowing mocha skin. “I tole ya I was gonna start an OnlyFans page and show you guys EVERYTHING. An’ I wanna make it real special for you, ya know. That’s why I invited the world’s most famous male model, Nick Randall, to join me in my first post. See, I wanna pop Nick’s gay cherry–That white boy got an ass that won’t quit, ya know!–live on my page. Now who don’t wanna see that?”

Nick swallowed bile, sick to his stomach. He wanted badly to stop playing the video but it kept going, sealing his doom forever.

“The only prob is that ol’ Nick tole me to fuck myself,” Pokey continued, frowning theatrically, sticking out his lower lip while batting his eyes innocently. “Can y’all believe that? I mean, WTF? Who he think he is anyway?” He paused and the camera panned down over his impressive chest. “Who wouldn’t wanna get tapped by dis? C’mon, guys! Tell me I’m not wrong here! I need yer help to change Nick’s mind. Go out and convince him he’s makin’ a BIG,” the camera dropped downward at that moment, zeroing in on the very tumescent bulge in Pokey’s shorts, “mistake by sayin’ no. Don’t let him get away wid it, guys! Go after him! Do it for yer Pokey Dee. Make Nick come to me with his pants down around his ankles. Do it TODAY!”

***

“It’s not that bad, Nick.”

Nick scowled, glaring down at his phone. He was talking to his agent, Bradford Milgram. Ford, as he preferred to be called, was trying to convince him the publicity was good for his image. Taking a deep breath, Nick tried to mute the outrage threatening to boil out of him at any minute. “Ford, I know you think that any publicity is good publicity,” he said evenly, “but I’m being bullied here. Isn’t there anything you can do about it? I mean, come on! Isn’t there some kind of law he’s breaking here? It can’t be legal to impugn my reputation like this!”

Ford paused a moment, repeating, “‘Impugn,’ huh? Good one. I thought ya never went to college.”

“Just because I don’t have a degree doesn’t mean I’m illiterate,” Nick hissed, wanting to reach through the phone and strangle his stupid agent. “And don’t dodge the question. Isn’t there anything you can do?”

“In a word, no. No, there’s nothing I can do or you can do, for that matter.” Hearing Nick take a breath to protest, he added hastily, “On second thought, the best thing you can do is get out in front of this. Post your own video in response. Don’t say anything bad about Pokey and don’t make any commitments. Be gracious. Tell him how flattered you are and that you would take him up on the offer if you were gay but you’re not so it’s out of the question. That should fix things. He’ll leave you alone and this will die down and you’ll be even more well known than before. Yer fans’ll love ya to death!”

Nick remained silent. He could feel the ugly vein on his temple throbbing and he resolved to make an appointment with his dermatologist for another round of Botox. When the silence stretched to the breaking point, he said gruffly, “I’ll think about it. Thanks, Ford.”

He clicked down on his phone, ending the call.

***

The day totally sucked.

Angry Pokey stans were camped out in front of his condo, harassing him and shouting demeaning taunts as he drove out of the underground garage in his Porsche. They followed him wherever he went, to the juice bar, supplement store, dermatologist and the gym. The hounding was so persistent and so vicious, he was forced to retreat into his condo and spent most of the day sulking with the shades drawn.

Unfortunately, this left him alone with his iPhone and he couldn’t resist the impulse to obsessively check his social media feeds. He started to shake when he realized his own fans were turning on him, too. “Don’t be a pussy,” one fan posted, “show us yer boi pussy, Nick! You know ya wanna!” Nick blocked him but the guy was back a minute later under another account. Worse, the fucking ‘anti-stan’ posted about being blocked and this enraged a bunch more fans. Soon, it was like playing a game of whack-a-mole and he couldn’t get ahead of the abuse. No matter how hard he tried to block the offending followers, the online taunts and jabs kept coming. If anything, they grew in number and intensity as the day wore on.

When he saw that he’d lost over ten thousand followers on Instagram, he grew worried. He had well over four million so he could afford to lose a few but it still hurt to watch his follower count drop, especially when he’d been adding over ten thousand a day for the past month.

He was debating what to do when Shannon called. “Bro, yo, bro!” his friend chirped, the smile in his voice unmistakable. “What up? Wanna hang out at my place and get a break from the angry mob? If you open up your garage and let me drive in, I can smuggle you out unnoticed.”

“That would be awesome,” Nick breathed, slumping in relief. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this awful before and was profoundly grateful for Shannon’s friendship at that moment. “When can you get here?”

“Gimme five. I’ll text when I’m outside.”

True to his word, Shannon’s text arrived five minutes later and Nick let him into the garage. He crawled into the back seat of Shannon’s Honda Civic and waited for his friend to cover him with a blanket. Soon, they had exited the garage and made it undetected to Shannon’s apartment on the other side of Highway 1. Nick was glad to have escaped but was also shaking with humiliation. He couldn’t believe he’d been reduced to the status of contraband, stashed in the backseat of a Civic like cheap weed.

“I got lotsa Tequila,” Shannon announced after he’d let Nick into his untidy basement apartment. The place smelled of mildew and there were dirty clothes lying everywhere; Shannon was not a fastidious housekeeper by any stretch. Nick gingerly picked a yellowed jockstrap off the couch and sat down.

“That’d be great,” he said, trying to ignore the stickiness on the sofa’s cushions. (He definitely would never want to shine a blacklight on that couch!) “I can help make margaritas if you have the ingredients.”

“Yeah, dude!” Shannon exclaimed, clearly giddy at having Nick over to his place. “I’ll pull out the mix I bought last week at Safeway.”

Nick nodded, privately appalled at the prospect of drinking margaritas made from a mix. He politely refrained from commenting, though, saying instead, “Awesome! I should only have one, though. I got a shoot tomorrow.”

***

Twelve margaritas later, Nick’s head was spinning. Shannon had to help him into the bathroom where he puked his guts out in a toilet encrusted with unmentionable stains. Nick fell back against the wall, laughing loudly for no reason.

“Jussssss you waaaatch, brah,” he slurred. “Ima gonna poke that Pokeeeeeee ssssssooooo h-h-h-hard, he’s gonnnnna squeeeeeeeel like a piggee!”

Shannon rinsed a stained washcloth under the sink and wiped Nick’s mouth before pressing it against his forehead; it felt deliciously cool. “Um, yeah, bro, you might not wanna repeat that to anyone,” he murmured, lifting him up under the armpits. Unlike Nick, Shannon had only consumed a moderate amount of alcohol. “C’mon, lemme get you home. I think you need to sleep this off.”

“I mean whoooo does he thin he is enny-way,” Nick continued, heedless of the fact that Shannon was moving him toward the door of the apartment. “Heeee can’t do thissss to meee. He’s a fahcker!”

Shannon patted him on the back, helping him through the door and up the stairs to the parking lot. “Sure, bro, sure. He’s no match for Nick Randall, that’s for sure.”

“Damn straight!” Nick shouted too loudly. “I’m N-N-N-Nick R-R-R-Randall, S-S-Super Mah-del!”

***

Chapter 3

His career, already in a precarious position, toppled the next morning before he even woke up. First, his agent, Ford, dumped him by text: >>Turns out I was wrong, dude. Not all publicity is good. Congratulations on ‘impugning’ yourself. I’m terminating our contract effective immediately.<<

Within minutes, the studios followed suit, eliminating his only sources of income. By 9am, he’d lost almost half of his followers on Instagram and Facebook had suspended his account. Even Shannon refused to respond to his calls and texts. In the space of a few hours, Nick went from being America’s top male model to persona non grata. 

And what was the reason for this abrupt fall from grace, you ask?

A drunken, late-night rant he recorded on Facebook Live after getting back from Shannon’s. 

Even though he deleted it within minutes, the damage was done and the video had been reposted all over the Internet. Deemed too offensive for most platforms, it found life on Twitter and Reddit where angry followers kept reposting it. The hashtags varied but were all permutations of #RacistRandall or #NickthePrick.

The video had seemed like a good idea at the time. He was hurt and angry that Pokey Dee could get away with bullying him when he’d done nothing to deserve it. He was straight, for fuck’s sake! What gave the dude the right to go after him like this? The last straw had been arriving back at his condo to find it covered with graffiti. Crude pics of him getting porked up the ass by a huge cock were spray-painted all over. 

Shannon had tried to talk him down but he was too drunk and furious to think rationally. He’d slammed the door on Shannon’s Civic shut and stormed into his condo, pulling out his iPhone and recording a live video. His tongue had no filter and he let loose with all manner of offensive taunts. He ranted for five minutes before some semblance of reason took hold and he stopped the livestream. He deleted the post soon after, believing naively that it would go unnoticed because it was after 2am.

By 10am, his bank account information had been doxxed and his credit cards were hacked. He got a text from Chase informing him that he was overdrawn. Panicked, he tried to log on but discovered that his credentials no longer worked. He called the bank on the phone and spent an hour on hold before he decided to drive to the nearest branch and get it sorted out in person. The only problem was he had no transportation; when he went down to the subterranean garage to get his car, his Porsche was missing from his parking spot. He stared at the vacant spot, running a hand absently through his luxurious black hair as his mind spun with disbelief.

“It was repoed,” the security guard said with a smug grin when Nick approached him. “Too bad. It was a nice car.”

Nick watched him saunter away with his mouth hanging open. How could it have been repossessed? He was current on his payments! He stood there, holding his head in his hands and feeling the world crumble beneath his feet. Finally, he realized he had no choice but to eat crow.

“What the fuck do you want?” Shannon demanded, finally picking up after Nick left him five plaintive voicemails. “If you’re ‘specting me to go out there and vouch for you, tellin’ everyone yer not really a big, racist cracker, you got the wrong idea ‘bout me, bro. I ain’t that kinda Negro.”

Nick barely heard him; he was so happy Shannon had finally deigned to answer his call that he had to blink back tears. When he spoke, his voice was raw with emotion. “Listen, Shannon, I’m completely fucked here. My agent fired me, someone stole all my money and my car’s been repoed. You gotta help!”

There was a long pause before Shannon sighed, “Serves you right, fucker. How could you say all those things? I knew you were a clueless white dude but never had ya pegged for a white supremacist!”

Nick’s heart pounded in his chest and he felt like he was going to hyperventilate. “Shannon! Don’t say that! I’m still your friend! I’m not a racist! I love you, man! I–” his voice broke off and he started sobbing. Shannon just let him bawl, remaining silent on the other end for so long that Nick worried he’d hung up. When he finally managed to get himself together, he asked, “Shannon, buddy? You still there?”

“Yeah.” His friend’s tone was so cold!

“Shannon! Please help me! I need to go to the bank and get all this straightened out.”

“So call an Uber, dude. I’m not yer Man Friday.”

Nick inhaled sharply, stung by his friend’s harshness. What had happened to good little Shannon, the puppy dog who would do anything to please him? He took a deep breath and tried to steady himself. “The Uber app is linked to my credit card and it’s frozen,” he explained, unable to keep the panic out of his voice. “I’m fucked if I can’t get to the bank right now!”

There was another excruciatingly long pause before Shannon said the magic words: “Fine. Just be outside yer place in five.”

***

It was no use. After begging with the branch manager for an hour, the best Nick could do was get them to agree to open an investigation. The fact that the dude had seen his racist and homophobic video didn’t help Nick’s case. In fact, his reception at the bank was unusually chilly, making it clear that everyone there knew about his tirade. He staggered out of the bank into the bright California sunshine feeling like a zombie. He hadn’t realized until that day how much he had coasted on his stellar good looks and reputation. Take one of those away and it really made life difficult! Thank god he still had his million dollar bod or he’d be completely screwed. As long as he was a total fucking stud, there was a chance to repair the damage and get back into the modeling business. He just needed to find the right PR firm…

“Well? How’d it go?” He looked up to find Shannon leaning against his Civic, a Starbucks iced coffee in hand. His friend’s expression was closed. Nick opened his mouth to reply but before he could say anything, Shannon continued, “Don’t worry, dude. If the modeling agencies won’t take ya back, I hear the KKK is looking for a new Grand Dragon.”

Nick winced. “That’s a low blow, dude.”

“You deserve worse.”

Wounded beyond words, Nick slumped against the car next to Shannon. His friend pulled away, though, when they brushed shoulders. He ignored the slight, saying, “Look, Shannon, I know I’m a shithead, Ok? I’m a racist fucktard and a homophobic asshole.”

“You got that right. Least you admit it.”

Nick sighed. “I know there’s nothing I can do to make this better and nothing excuses my behavior but I want you to understand that I was really wasted and really angry when I recorded that video. Pokey Dee had no right to–”

“Leave Pokey Dee outta dis,” Shannon interrupted, holding up his hand. “He didn’t make ya a racist homophobe; you did that yerself. You ‘an yer cracker parents, that is.”

Nick had to bite off the sharp retort on the tip of his tongue. Why couldn’t Shannon see how unjust this whole situation was? Why was his friend being so difficult when he should be consoling? Instead of yelling, though, he made himself take a deep breath and replied evenly, “Yes, of course, you’re right. I’m just not used to…being targeted like this. It doesn’t feel right.”

Shannon snorted with derision. “Do you realize how many centuries black folx have been sayin’ the same thing, bro? We’ve been targeted since Day One and you know what? We’ve endured far worse. So Pokey Dee set his posse on ya. So what? If you’d just kept yer big mouth shut fer once and let it blow over, you woulda been even richer and more famous than before. Poor lil’ white boy! Someone called him names and he throws an epic tantrum. Life’s real hard for ya, bro. I feel yer pain.”

***

Shannon’s cold attitude gradually warmed as the day wore on. He took Nick home and they sat outside on his deck, sipping iced tea and enjoying the ocean breeze. He would cajole Nick into a better mood every time he slipped into obsessing over his dire financial situation. Nick had to admit that having the guy around helped. Without his friend there, he would have been a total mess.

“Relax, bro,” Shannon said at one point. “This’ll blow over. What is it that all the celebs do when things fall apart? Check into rehab and blame the drugs?” He shrugged, looking over at Nick and smiling devilishly. “If it works for them, it should work for you.”

Nick shook his head. “There is no way I’m going to rehab! I’m not an addict. ‘Sides, it’s my money I’m worried about, not my reputation so much. If I can get my accounts unfrozen, I’ll be able to recover.”

Shannon gave him a calculating look before nodding to himself. “Planning to hire a PR firm, huh?” He let out a low whistle, continuing, “Those guys don’t come cheap, bro. You’re better off solving this yerself.”

“I’d rather pay someone else to fix it,” Nick murmured, staring out over the blue ocean and watching the waves roll onto the beach. “There’s a reason I’m a model and not a lawyer, dude. It’s the only thing I’m good at.”

***

By the end of the week, Nick’s bank account was still frozen and he still had no car. His rent was due in another week and he was getting desperate. He had to do something to bring in cash and he had to do it quickly. Out of desperation, he reached out to Shannon once again.

“Dude, can you help me set up an OnlyFans account?”

Shannon froze in the middle of doing downward dog, his shapely buttocks rivalling Nick’s. (Ever since Shannon had confided that he had an OnlyFans account, Nick had started seeing his friend in a new, sexualized light. He reluctantly admitted that Shannon had an amazing bod and a certain allure that, if you were gay, might be worth paying money for. Thus, the unspoken question behind his question about OnlyFans was, ‘Will you teach me how to appeal to gay guys, bro?’)

“I thought ya said only sexworkers have OnlyFans accounts?” Shannon’s voice was muffled because his face was pressed against the yoga mat but Nick could still detect the disdain in his tone.

“That’s true,” Nick conceded. “But, bro, you gotta understand me here: I still can’t get to my money in my account and I gotta pay rent. I gotta do something!”

Shannon sighed, breaking the pose and settling cross legged on his mat. He scrutinized Nick with a jaundiced eye for a long time before saying, “I will help you set up an account but the rest of it is up to you.”

“You’re the best, man!” Nick couldn’t help smiling in relief. He’d been convinced that Shannon would say no.

***

Shannon shook his head, looking down at his phone with disdain. “Dude, WTF were you thinkin’? Charging fans seven five dollars to look at pics of you they can download for free on the Internet? No wonder you don’t have any subscribers!”

Nick lowered his head, abashed. It wasn’t an emotion he wasn’t accustomed to feeling. He was Nick Randall the superstar model after all! He was a god on earth! He was…broke. Not a penny to his name. And now he’d ignited another firestorm of fury with the creation of his OnlyFans account.

When he remained mute, Shannon continued, “I hate to say it but I agree with Queerty: You’re a gay-baiting phony!”

“Ouch!” Nick exclaimed. “That’s not true!”

Shannon lifted his gaze from his phone, fixing him with a gimlet eye. “It is and you know it! Yer just tryna cash in on your fame and bod to rake in money from homos. You deserve all the online hate yer gettin’ right now.”

Nick flinched. Shannon’s contempt hurt more than all of the vitriol currently being directed at him on the Internet. “Shannon, please,” his voice broke off as he choked back tears. “Can’t you see how my life’s shit right now? I’ve lost my job, my income and my reputation. I can’t lose my only friend, too!”

“Tell me, bro, why I should feel sorry for you,” Shannon said, crossing his arms. “Tell me! As far as I can see, you deserve even worse. Yer a racist homophobe! A pampered pretty boy who’s never had to work a fuckin’ day in his life! You’ve had everything fuckin’ handed to you on a silver platter. And now that yer karma has finally come home to roost, you start cryin’ like a little baby.” He paused, unmoved by the tears openly rolling down Nick’s cheeks. “Go home to yer rich mommy and daddy if ya want sympathy and money. I’m sure they’ll bail you out. Fuck, they’ve probably been bankrolling yer ass all along. Modeling doesn’t pay well enough to afford a condo on the beach!” Voice rising, he rounded on Nick, pushing his finger painfully into his chest. “Go on!” 

“I’ve asked, dammit!” Nick yelled, feeling like Shannon had just kicked him in the chest. “My dad’s under investigation by the SEC right now and his assets have been frozen. And my mom’s