Chapter Three

Loncey

Finally, I'm alone.

I sigh as I collapse onto my couch. It's been a long fucking day. Or rather, a long day of fucking. Pablo Ferrasco more than lived up to the expectations Harley made sure I had. I feel a little buzz in my veins as I think about editing the video of us three together, hoping the way he fucked me while I fucked Harley looked just as good as it felt. Miko, who is now predictably back with Harley, was the cameraman so I have every faith it's going to be a good take. Yeah, today was a fucking good day and a good day fucking.

I smirk to myself at the thought. How many other people can say that?

Actually, quite a few. There are more of us adult content creators than people think. I've fucked over two hundred of them over the last few years too.

I should shower again. I always shower before and after a scene, but there's something about washing in my own shower that feels more cleansing, more grounding, like I'm truly home. Even if my home is a glorified shed.

A small wooden cabin I built myself about four years ago, if it was on wheels or located in the middle of a lush pasture, it would be considered a trendy tiny home. However, in my mother's back yard, it looks like a slightly strange add-on, an afterthought. And that's exactly what it is, in many ways.

I moved back in with Jessica and Mom immediately after I broke up with Geneva, the woman I was with for a good portion of my twenties and my early thirties. I was twenty-five when we moved in together after less than a year of dating, but it made sense. Seven years older than me, she already had her own place and lived only a couple of miles from my mom and Jessica so I could still be around for her appointments and to help out on her bad days.

Back then I was a personal trainer and had only just started to share content online. I had a popular but half-assed YouTube channel and an Instagram profile with grainy, filtered photos that should never have been as admired as they were. But as Geneva often pointed out, all I had to do was take my shirt off and "the girls and the gays" would come running.

Ever the businesswoman, she wasn't wrong, although I know she never intended for me to take it to the level I have.

I smile to myself as I wonder, not for the first time, what she would make of how my career has evolved from sharing fitness tips online to taking all of my clothes off and fucking in front of a camera.

Does she even know?

I shake my head and stand. I shouldn't be thinking about that. I shouldn't be thinking about Geneva at all.

It's been more than four years. I'm over her. I punctuate that thought by stripping my clothes off and throwing them in the laundry basket.

The cabin's bathroom would likely win awards for smallest room in the world, but it has everything I need with a rain shower, a toilet and a small sink atop a built-in cupboard. The shower was my one indulgence when building the cabin. Ensuring the water pressure was strong enough for the full effect took days of work, but it was a fun problem to solve, and every single day I reap the benefits of my hard work. I miss doing things with my hands.

Like painting. I really miss painting. Maybe one day I'll go back to it. When work isn't so busy, and when Jessica is more stable.

The shower hits the spot, helping unwind my muscles and making me feel squeaky clean. I go back to my couch with a towel wrapped around my waist, picking my laptop and hard drive up off the neatly made bed on my way. Next to the door, the couch lines one side of the bed, which faces a small kitchen comprised of just a few cabinets and enough counter space for an espresso machine. I don't cook in here much, and more often than not, I go into Mom's house to do so, but I like knowing I can when I want to. When I want to spend time alone.

When I need to spend time alone.

Which is how I feel now.

I've checked in on Jessica, who is in her room flicking through a new recipe book after doing her last physical therapy for the day. Mom is out at a birth and will likely be gone all night. I'll be up early tomorrow to take Jessica to a check-up appointment as it's been two weeks since she was hospitalized for that infection. I plan on doing nothing but an hour or so of work, making myself a sandwich to eat and then crashing for the night.

I'm quick and efficient answering the last twenty-four hours of DMs and emails, until I see one from SAFE, an underwear brand wanting to sponsor my attendance at XXXCon, a conference for online adult content creators that takes place in Las Vegas every year. I went my first two years in the business but last year, I skipped it. I don't need to network for work opportunities anymore, and I turn down more brand offers than I accept. However, this one has caught my interest. I've heard of the underwear brand before, they sponsor a few other online sex workers I know and they're well-known for supporting queer creators. They're a non-profit and claim that for every pair of boxers or panties sold, they provide period underwear and cups to those who need them in developing countries. They also campaign for period products to be tax-free. I tap out a quick reply saying I'm interested and asking that they send me more information.

I then pick up my phone and call my sister.

"Hey," she says. She sounds quiet, but normal.

"Hey yourself. Are you okay?"

"I literally haven't moved a muscle since you poked your head in my room about an hour ago."

"That didn't answer my question."

"I'm fine," she says, dragging out the vowel of the last word.

"Do you need anything? You ate dinner already, right?"

"Yes, Mom made me a big plate, which I ate like sixty percent of, so you know, award-winning performance over here."

"You got your water bottle?"

"Jesus fucking Christ, Loncey," she tuts. "I have everything I need and I also have legs, which work just fine."

I want to tell her it's not her legs I'm worried about but I bite it back. I remember what Mom said about her wanting to be a normal twenty-six-year-old, and my heart plummets because having your older sibling checking up on you is not what that is like.

"Well, good because I'm really tired and need to finish some work before I call it a night. I've set my alarm for seven so I'll be up to take you to your appointment."

"You know, I can just drive myself," she says but her voice is a little lower, quieter, as if she doesn't really want me to agree. Not that I ever would.

"You know I like to take you."

"I know," she sighs, and I hear it again, the exhaustion and the resignation.

"Okay, go rest. Don't stay up all night watching Great British Baking Show replays."

"And don't you stay up all night watching videos of yourself wanking," she bites back with a bit more energy in her tone.

"Ew, Jessica," I cringe.

"Ew, Loncey," she mimics back.

"Goodnight," I say with a small smile.

"Night," she replies, then hangs up.

I go back to my laptop and promptly confirm my flight to film a scene in Los Angeles, forwarding the details to Mom so she knows the exact dates I'll be out of town. Jessica doesn't have any appointments while I'm away and I know she and Mom will be just fine, but I like to make sure they have an easy time while I'm gone.

Getting into a more comfortable position, I plug in my hard drive and set about continuing the edits I was doing this morning for the video I'll hopefully release tomorrow. It's a solo video where I play with myself while also riding a suction dildo. That's another reason I like having my yard cabin; so I can film this content without being under the same roof as my mother and sister, because no matter how masterful my dick is at holding erections in the most unusual of scenarios, any risk of them walking in on me is a definite buzzkill.

After nearly an hour of editing, my eyes start to glaze over and my stomach growls at me. I quickly make a sandwich and then go back to the couch to eat it while scrolling on my phone.

It's when I open up TikTok and browse through my most recent hundreds of notifications that I see a comment on one of my most recent posts, a carefully edited clip of me and Shania, a woman I did a collaboration with last month. We're fully clothed and not even kissing much, just brushing our lips and noses and chins against each other as I tell her how beautiful she is, how pretty she's going to look when I make her hair a mess and her mascara run, how good she's going to sound and feel as I make her scream. It's how our scene had started, and she had stopped it, suggesting we recorded it for social media as it was fairly PG and to quote her, "Would get people's panties really wet."

I agreed and shared the video late last night. I can see now she was right. It's blown up with over a million views and over quarter of a million likes.

I speed through the top comments until one makes me stop. I read it once, then twice.

I refuse to believe this man is aromantic. The way he looks at her. The way he talks to her. The way he makes it all about her pleasure. Because you just know he's going to talk her through it when they finally get down to business. He's the very definition of romantic.>

I drop my head and push out a low groan.

"For fuck's sake," I say to nobody but myself.

I think about my options. I could let this go. I could just ignore it like I do 90% of the comments I get, but there are so many things wrong with this comment and I see a learning opportunity in it. If there's one thing that brings me the most joy in my work, it's trying to help others learn and know better so they can do better. I mean, it's what I strive to do myself and no job I've had has ever taught me more than this one.

I hold my phone up and let another groan leave my lips before I smile and hit record in a video reply to that comment.

"Hey, no hate to this commenter but a few things I want to address in what they've said. Firstly, I'm not a man. I'm non-binary and my pronouns are they/them. It's no secret. It's in all my bios and has been for years. So that out of the way, I want to remind everyone that I'm aromantic not asexual. As it's pretty clear from some of my sites – if you know you know, right? – I'm very, very allosexual. I experience sexual attraction and I enjoy having sex. A lot. Not that asexuals don't have sex. Many do, very happily. But it's important people remember that aromantic and asexual are not the same thing, although we are related and you can be both, sure, and I will always be a vocal ally for my aro-ace homies. But here's what bugs me about what people think aromantic is, or rather isn't. Being aromantic doesn't mean I don't care. When I'm being intimate with someone, that's exactly what I'm doing. Being intimate. And so that means bringing a lot of care and respect to what I do." I rub my chin with my hand, feeling the rough stubble there. "Being aromantic doesn't mean I don't want to treat people well, to make them feel good. It means I don't feel romantic attraction to people. And it's fluid, right? I haven't always felt this way, so I do know what it's like to feel romantic attraction. I just haven't in a long time and doubt I will again, but just to repeat myself, that doesn't mean I don't treat my partners with kindness, with care and most importantly with respect to their bodies, their desire and their pleasure. Because I will always do that. I hope that's clear. Okay, peace."

I finish the recording and don't even bother to watch it back. Instead I quickly check that closed captions are active and I tap out a quick caption along with the #asexual and #aromantic hashtags. Then I post it

And I forget about it. I finish my sandwich, I do another twenty minutes of editing, I plug my phone into charge on the other side of the room and I sit and meditate until I start to feel drowsy. Then I brush my teeth, do my skincare, empty my bladder, and finally walk to the chest of drawers near the couch. Pulling out a black satin negligee, I throw it on over my head. I close my eyes when the cool, smooth material kisses my skin as it settles. After taking a moment to appreciate how it makes me feel, I eventually crawl into bed.

I couldn't tell you what time it is when I fall asleep but I can tell you that the last things I see before I do succumb to slumber are the countless stars above me in the Nevada sky. I have blinds, which I use when I need to record content, but when it comes to lying in my bed at night, enjoying being stretched out and lying flat, I like to keep them open. I don't know when I fell into the habit of looking up at the night sky as my body slowly fell asleep but it's my nightly routine and I no longer need blinds to sleep. In fact, I don't really need much in my life.

All I need in life is my family, my job and some alone time now and then. And the stars. I need the stars for company. They remind me: even when I want to be alone, I never really am. I don't know why, but that's a truly comforting thing.