chapter
three
loren
I hate the term 'influencer'. There's no way to say it without sounding like a total fucking douchebag. Unfortunately, people looking for a quick buck and the chance at going viral have single handedly delegitimized the art and hard work of true marketers.
Content is everything. It takes more than one good post or funny video to catch fire. More than good looks and a hot body. It's about continuity, longevity, and adaptation. More importantly, and above all else, you have to be authentic. It sounds easy but this is by far the hardest part of it all. Fifteen years and I still struggle with how to be truly authentic while maintaining any semblance of a private life. I've concluded over the years that the probability of the two co-existing at this level is impossible.
It's not easy to appeal to a wide range of people while consistently inventing new content that will keep everyone interested, especially when we live in a world where people expect, want, and demand instant gratification. In spite of all that, I've managed to stay ahead of the curve. And by me, I mean my team. If anyone thinks it's just me and my phone, they're wrong. It may be my face and body that everyone sees, but it's a crew that makes it happen. Fuck, I've been more than I can handle for a long time.
Tuesdays are long days. We start at five-am and go until dark, sometimes later. I love it. It's one of my favorite days. The creativity and brain power it takes to map out this much content on a weekly basis is total fucking insanity. And that's on top of the filming we do throughout the week. People are insatiable. I have to be on the camera in one way or another all the time.
All-the-fucking-time.
I start the morning out with my weekly breakfast special. It's the most sought-after segment. Cooking breakfast shirtless at five-am when my hair is a mess and my face is sleep crumpled is the golden goose.
"Pull down your boxers," Sven says. He does a lot of the filming and knows what sells. I look at Sven as I pull my boxers down a little at a time, waiting for him to give me the green light. Just when I'm about to protest because my dick is about to join the show, he gives me the thumbs up before his eyes linger, taking me in.
If the day goes well, it will end well, too. For both of us.
And it does. It's just Sven and I left on the pretense that he's showing me the footage. Once the last person leaves, Sven's on his knees in the living room.
"It was agony watching you through the lens all day knowing I had to wait," he whines as he opens my pants. I'm not wearing much so it doesn't take any effort to get me naked. Sven shoves me on the sofa and shuffles between my legs. We kiss. It's fast and rough--foreplay. Nothing more.
Like a snake, he slides down my body. I gotta give him credit, he's hot. He moves with a learned precision. Years of clubs, social partying, and hook-ups has honed his skills. I toss my head back when he runs his tongue from my ball sack to the tip of my dick and then around like he's devouring a lollipop. He gets me hard, he gets me wet, he gets me close to blow. Then he gets up and pulls a package of lube and a condom from his pants pocket before bending over the couch.
"You know I'm not gonna fuck you on this couch, Sven." We've been over this before. It's an expensive couch that's used for a lot of photo opts. It's dark gray. The last thing I need is cum on a difficult to clean fabric.
The slight blonde rolls his eyes like I'm the fucking difficult one, but gets up anyway. "Okay," he drawls. "Guest room? Game room? Where do you want me?"
"Great room is fine." The housekeeper is coming in the morning anyway. I grab the stuff and head over there. Sven's quick to bend over the couch, the one I've fucked him on it before, others too. Everyone knows not to sit on
this
sofa.
Five minutes later we're fucking. Sven is loud, which I like. The fucking is good and Sven is noisy, it's just how he is. It's good for the ego so I roll with it. We go for ten minutes, maybe fifteen before I feel the telltale signs that I'm about to cum. I pull out, rip off the condom, and cum on his back.
"Why do you do that? You know I like it when you cum in me."
For that exact reason.
"I like to see my cum on you." It's not a total lie. "Flip over so I can blow you." I enjoy finishing him off like this. The power. The control. It's addicting. He tells me just before he cums and I pull off.
He lays there, panting, goofy smile on his face. "We should do this more often."
"Totally."
Nah.
"I was thinking about dinner and stuff." He sees my reaction and instantly launches into damage control. He raises his hands. "Just for something to do. There's no reason we can't keep doing this and share a meal, Loe. It doesn't have to be a big deal."
I walk to the living room and grab my pants. "I don't have time. You know it." I grab his clothes and toss them at him.
He's unamused. "We both know that's not the case. I'm not asking you to do something you're not already doing every week. Eating out is literally part of your job."
"Dating isn't," I say, a little too forcefully.
"It could be." Sven's still naked. The clothes I threw at him are balled up under his arm. He's getting ballsy and demanding. He's nice about it, but he's been challenging things a little more each time. Pushing the boundary. "Just sayin'."
"Sven, let's not get into this again. We have a good working relationship with a side of fun. I don't have time to date. Even if I did, it's just not something I'm interested in. Let's not ruin what we have by overreaching."
Sven gets dressed rather hastily and with great irritation. This isn't the first time. He'll get over it. Before he leaves, he stops at the door. "If you wanna grab lunch or something before next Tuesday, you know how to find me."
"See you Tuesday, Sven."
He mutters something under his breath as he closes the door behind him. I sit down on the couch, close my eyes, run my fingers through my hair, and scratch my scalp. It's been a long ass day and the releases are getting more tangled every week. Tail is easy to come by. There's any number of guys blowing up my DMs on the daily or giving me looks wherever I go. The problem is that it's hardly without complication. Sven wants to date, the others want the spotlight, some want to run their mouths.
Others claim they want marriage.
I rub my eyes and laugh as I think of how fucking ridiculous Jay Petermeyer is. Who the fuck says shit like that? I have no doubt hundreds of guys fall for it. He has to get mad mileage off that line. That's
if
they aren't already hooked by the fact he's a million feet tall, built like a tank, well dressed, and confident in the way he presents himself. Yeah, if that wasn't enough to catch the fish, his smooth words will net them out.
What a crazy mother fucker.
****
This week's drink is blueberry vanilla latte. It takes a hot minute to make the blueberry syrup from scratch but it's fun and the viewers love it. I'm wrapping up when Ruby comes in. She's a tiny girl with a larger-than-life shit grin on her face. I could drag the video out a little longer but I know she's got something juicy for me. The things people say in the DMs...
Her face brightens when I hand her the latte. She gets a bit giddy as she takes a sip. She holds the liquid on her tongue for a moment then moans. Ain't no approval like Ruby's approval. That alone tells me the drink will be a hit. She takes one more sip before setting it aside and turning to me, cocking her hip against the counter. She's got that look, the one that tells me it's been an entertaining day in the DM's. She swipes through her phone. It takes a second and then her doe-eyes dance when she finds what she's looking for. "You get the craziest emails, but this one made me smile."
"Loren, I've been trying to contact you regarding your car's extended warranty. For more information, come to Anchorhead on 7
th
@ 2pm today. Salesman ID #99.
"
Ruby smiles rather genuinely. "I mean, you have to admit, it's kind of adorable."
Okay, I smile. The guy is relentless. "I don't know if I would call it adorable. Psychotic, maybe. Seems like the kind of guy who proposes to random strangers."
"How is your extended warranty anyway?" she asks teasingly.
