Sellout

“Dad, I gotta go,” I whispered. “I’m at work, okay? I’m not even supposed to be on my phone.”

“Matt, you’ve got to get a real job,” Dad said, oblivious to my concern. “Working at a record store? At your age? C’mon Matt, it’s time to knock on some doors. Just take your resume around and practice your handshake.”

I rolled my eyes. Dad is such a boomer.

“That’s not how the world works anymore,” I hissed. “And it’s not a music store, it’s audio-visual equipment. High end stuff, and I’m good at selling it. Besides, this is just a temp job until my band takes off.”

“I’m not sending you any money this month,” Dad said.

“I never asked you to!”

I heard a noise around the corner. It was my boss, Cody. He’s 23 and thinks he knows everything.

“I’ve got to go,” I said, hanging up before Dad could react. “I’m sorry,” I told Cody. “Parents.”

“That’s okay,” he said with an understanding smile. “We’ll just call that your break. Now let’s get moving Matthew, the rest of the team has finished their restock areas.”

I grabbed a box and kept unloading items onto the shelves. After a minute of watching me, Cody turned away to harass someone else. Fucking pipsqueak. He’s almost a decade younger than me, and he thinks he’s so much better. Yeah, his name tag says manager, but he wears the same polyester shirt as me.

Besides, he’s a loser. He's got no ambition in life. I’m gonna be a rock star.

My band – BREAK THE MACHINE – is a pretty big deal. I’m the lead guitarist. Maybe we haven’t got our big break yet, but we play bar shows five nights a week.

All my friends from school have careers, relationships, condos. I’ve got a semi-reliable bass player.

Sometimes I wonder if Dad is right.

--------------------------

I got home from work at six. I only get scheduled part time, but that’s all I need. I like to sleep late after my shows anyway, and I’ve got a bachelor apartment that’s not too expensive.

There was a letter in the mail from the bank. Great – another piece of paper telling me I’m broke as shit. If I didn’t have so much pride, maybe I’d call Dad back and ask for a little cash. Whatever – Mom always snuck me some behind his back.

I ripped open the bank’s letter and found a credit card. And not one of those fake ‘apply for a card’ things, an actual plastic card. I already had a card – constantly maxed out at $500 – but I guess they decided to send another.

This card was weird though. My old one had a photo of a city skyline. This one had a rainbow flag, like the ones gay guys wave at their little ‘parade’.

I looked at the letter.

===

Mr Morris,

Excelsior Bank, as part of its ongoing Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion efforts, is issuing a limited number of Rainbow Cards to our highest profile queer customers. This card has no limit and never has to be paid back*. It is our gift to you!

Please see the reverse side for applicable terms and conditions. Usage of this card is considered to be agreement to all terms.

Yours in Equity,

Excelsior Bank

*Use of the Rainbow Card grants permission for Excelsior Bank and subsidiaries to use the recipients likeness and identity in relevant promotional advertising.

===

What the hell? I wasn’t gay. I’m a thirty-something metalhead with long hair and fucked up teeth. Who looks at me and thinks ‘cocksucker’?

But the card had my name on it. It was legal for me to use or whatever.

I tossed the card in the garbage. I didn’t really want it. Not only am I straight, I’m not gonna be the poster boy for some fucking fascist bank. I’m the lead guitarist of BREAK THE MACHINE for fucks sake. You can’t break the machine if you’re a cog in it.

Imagine that. Using my photo to sell mortgages and student loans. They were pretty fucked up if they think I’m a role model.

Whatever.

I microwaved a couple of snack pizzas and grabbed a diet soda from the fridge. It's not the healthiest, but it keeps me moving. Besides, I get most of my calories from beer. Eating like a pussy wasn’t gonna offset my lifestyle.

I’m still using my ex’s Netflix. She was watching ‘Pretty Woman’. Chelsea doesn’t know how to change the password, and like I said, my card is maxed out.

If you haven't seen it, here’s the deal. Julia Roberts stars as this hooker who gets dolled up by Richard Greer. He uses his money and fuckin’ corrupts her, ripping her out of her legit life and making her pretend like she's someone she’s not. The whole thing’s a fucking indictment of the capitalist machine.

Whatever. Fuck it. I hit play.

The movie jumped to the scene on Rodeo Drive. Richard Greer was taking her shopping, pushing her around with his money. He was teaching her the grand rules of a broken system.

“The stores are not nice to people,” she said. “I don’t like it.”

Right there, she knows the score.

“Stores are never nice to people,” Greer said. “They’re nice to credit cards.”

What bullshit. Like he's some kind of enlightened guru, just cause he spends his whole life stealing from society? I can’t believe people still love this movie. The whole thing is so sexist. Look at the rich man, reinventing a woman to suit his image.

What a fuckin’ prick.

I crammed a pizza in my mouth. This movie needed someone to lay down the hard facts. Julia Roberts never needs Greer. She just wants his money. But his money’s got all these strings attached, and one of them’s attached to his dick.

I bet she wishes they sent her a Rainbow Card. All the freedom, none of this bullshit.

I clicked the TV off angrily. What’s wrong with the fuckin' world? They can't tell an honest story? I bet if they wrote a story about a woman actually living free, the fuckin’ studio system would never let them film it.

The whole fucking system is corrupt. Screw with it whenever you can.

I went to dump my trash and saw the Rainbow Card sitting on top of the pile. They thought they’d be scoring diversity points? Fuck them. I grabbed it and signed the back. I’d show those dumb fuckers.

I was gonna take their money, and they'd never get a dime worth of publicity.

--------------------

The next day, I was out grocery shopping and I figured it was a good time to test out the card. I made sure to use the self-checkout so it wouldn’t be awkward when it got declined.

I held my breath while the machine did it’s thing. I was a little nervous that the cops were gonna swarm me and, I dunno... charge me with not being gay or something.

I won’t keep you in suspense. Obviously it worked, it went through without a hitch. This story would suck if it ended in a jail cell. I loaded up my groceries into my backpack and headed for home.

My diet consists of frozen meals and pre-processed garbage. I had just about stuffed my apartment-sized fridge full when my hand landed on something unexpected. A can of pineapple? What the fuck, I don’t eat fruit? Or is pineapple a vegetable?

Whatever. It isn’t my style.

At least I didn’t pay for it.

I dropped myself on the couch and played video games until it was time to go to work. I wasn’t looking forward to it – I never am, but Cody’s been such a little tyrant lately.

Capitalism is such bullshit. It takes you and grinds you up, packages you and sells you. If there’s money to be made, some sycophant will sell you for a lousy couple bucks. Money touches everything, and there’s nothing that comes away unscathed. Even that fucking pineapple. Chopped up, canned, and labelled.

Philosophy aside, I needed the paycheque, so I dragged my ass to work.

On the way there I decided to give myself a little treat. I usually make coffee at home, but with the card in my pocket... would it be so bad to stop and pickup coffee? I hit up a little independent coffee shop, not a huge chain or anything.

“Whoa, did you feel that?” the barista asked as my payment went through.

“Huh?”

"Felt like an earthquake.”

I shrugged. I didn’t feel it.

I took my first sip and almost spit it out. I drink black coffee, but they’d given me something else. Some sort of fancy mint coffee thing. There was goddamn whipped cream on top.

Did I look like a teenage girl?

“Excuse me,” I said, getting her attention again. “I uh... I don’t think this is my order?”

She glanced at the receipt.

“Mint mocha with whip and chocolate sprinkles?” she asked. “Isn't that what you got?”

She must have punched it in wrong. That’s not what I ordered. But did I really want to be the guy who hassled the coffee shop girl?

I had to admit, it was actually pretty good. Not my usual, but maybe it was okay to try something new every so often, y’know?

I took a second sip and swished it around in my mouth. Yeah... it was actually pretty good.

“Yeah,” I said. “Sorry.”

There was no reason to make her feel bad. It’s not like she wanted to be at work either. Just another lost soul in the ocean of bullshit that our society loves to create. Besides, the taste was growing on me.

I might have to order one of these again. Just a little treat. I mean... I was gonna put up with bullshit all day, why shouldn’t I ease the pain a little? The bank was paying.

I walked down to the mall and punched the clock.

“Someone’s in a good mood today,” Cody said cheerfully.

“Huh?”

“You’re humming,” he laughed. “I mean, I know you do music, just never knew it was so upbeat.”

I rolled my eyes. At least he wasn’t riding my ass.

------------------

I had a good shift. Maybe it was the extra-large dose of caffeine, or maybe it was Cody acting like a fucking human being for once, but I didn’t hate my job for six whole hours. Even the customers were a little less annoying.

“Hey Matt, good attitude today,” Cody said as I clocked out.

And I didn't even tell him to fuck off.

I was walking out of the mall when a store window caught my eye. There’s a place near the entrance that does vintage t-shirts and they’d put a classic Rolling Stones tee on one of their window displays. I’m not the worlds biggest Stones fan – a little too corporate for me – but they’re still fucking iconic.

I couldn’t resist. I ducked into the store and bought it. Score another point for the Rainbow Card.

Here’s something weird. The store clerk did the same thing as the barista. Looked around and asked if I felt the earthquake. Weird – maybe we're having aftershocks.

I got home around six – lots of time to cook some food. My regular gig doesn’t start til nine. I got out of my work uniform and took a shower. Normally I just wear a plain black tee to perform, but I wanted to show off that new shirt, so I squeezed it over my head.

And I mean squeezed. It was tighter than I thought in the store. I almost screamed when I checked myself in the mirror.

The guy at the store must have packed the bag wrong. Instead of a white-on-black Stones tee, I was wearing a neon purple tee with some original art. It was the N*SYNC logo, but done up in an 80’s rock style.

I laughed. Not my style at all.

Whatever. I don't care about style – that’s just something our corporate overlords push so everyone buys new shit.

Besides, it made my biceps look nice and big, and I know the ladies go for that. I’d been having a dry spell... maybe this would do the trick.

My bandmates hassled me for it. Of course they would, those guys are such fuckin’ posers. Everything’s gotta be metal or they shit all over it.

“You suckin’ dick now?” Randy asked. He’s our bassist.

“Like he wasn’t already,” Crash joked. “Matt hasn’t taken a girl home in what... two years? I thought guitars get girls.”

Crash is our drummer and he takes a girl home almost every night. He wears these cutoff tees that show off his big shoulders. The ladies go wild for him. I wonder – would they still be excited if they knew his real name was Spencer.

“Shut up guys,” Craig laughed. He plays rhythm guitar, and he’s an alright dude. “Maybe we’ll get some fag fans.”

He’s... he’s kind of an alright dude.

“Can we just play?” Dante sighed. He’s our vocalist, he’s convinced he’s the next Mick, and he dresses like it. Honestly, maybe he's gonna be famous – we play pretty good, and if these guys would ever just shut up and practice, we’d really land some gigs.

I nodded at the tech. The stage lights flickered on and the amp let out a crackle. We needed new equipment, but who could afford it?

I thought about the Rainbow Card in my pocket. Maybe we could afford it now.

“WE ARE BREAK THE MACHINE!” Dante screamed into the mic. “GET READY TO ROCK!!!”

There were maybe a dozen drunks in the bar. One of them flipped us off.

---------------------

Our last set was over at one. I sat at the bar afterwards and had a couple beers. Curt, the bartender, is an old friend. I like hanging out and talking a little shit after a show.

“You want another?” he asked, polishing a glass.

“Nah,” I burped. “Six is my limit on a school night.”

Curt gave me a sympathetic chuckle. I doubt working a dive bar was his dream life either. He’s in his mid-20’s, but the guy’s done some rough living and you could easily mistake him for my age.

“Put it on your tab?” he asked.

“Nah,” I said, smugly thinking about my new card. “How about we settle up.”

“Uh... your total’s about 3 grand,” Curt said, glancing at a tablet behind the bar. “You wanna do the whole thing?”

“No problem.”

“What’s up Matty? Your Grandma die or something?” he said cautiously.

“Nah. I just... I came into some money. C'mon man, let’s settle up,” I insisted.

Curt came over with the machine. He was pretty surprised when it came back approved.

“Whoa!” he shouted, clutching at the bar.

“Dude, what’s up?” I asked.

“Earthquake! You didn’t feel that?”

“Nah,” I shrugged. “But I’m pretty drunk.”

“Babe, everyone musta felt that,” Curt laughed easily. “That was like... huge.”

“Yeah, well... six beers,” I joked.

“Uh, honey, you had three cocktails,” Curt said, throwing a towel over his shoulder. I gotta admit, I was pretty drunk but... Curt looked different somehow.

His t-shirt was stretched tight across his chest, so tight I could see his nipples through it. His hair was styled up instead of the shaggy fringe that usually covered his eyes. And his skin... Curt looked like he’d been moisturizing since birth.

“What’s wrong baby, can’t hold your liquor?” he chuckled. “You wanna come upstairs to my place? Sleep it off?”

“I uh... huh?” I asked drunkenly. I looked down – my empty pint glass was gone, and a fancy cocktail glass had taken it’s place.

“Maybe we could get some exercise,” Curt suggested with a wink. “Burn off those calories.”

“Dude... you’re looking uh... different,” I stammered. What was going on with Curt?

“Thanks babe,” he said, giving me a little flex of his bicep. “Been working out a lot lately. And don’t worry, I’ve been eating my pineapple.”

“Huh?”

“Makes your cum sweet,” he said with a sexual smirk. “Besides, you’re looking good yourself. I’m loving the vintage,” he said, pointing at my shirt.

“Uh... I gotta go,” I stammered, lurching from my stool. “I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Don’t be a stranger,” Curt sighed with a disappointed tone. “My back door’s always open.”

I stumbled out of the bar and started the walk home. What just happened? I’ve known Curt for at least a couple years. I’ve been drunk in front of him plenty. That’s the first time he ever made a pass at me.

I could have sworn he’s straight. The dude brags about his hookups on the regular. And the way he looked... I’ve never Curt cleaned up like that. I’ll admit, I don’t spend a lot of time staring at other dudes, but I knew Curt hadn’t looked that good the last hundred times I saw him.

It was only when I swiped my card. Paid that tab. Suddenly Curt was acting like a queer. Inviting me back to his place.

The earthquake. Curt felt something and now my empty beers were cocktails. The clerk in the t-shirt shop felt it, and now I own a boyband tee. And the girl at the coffee shop? Right before I got my mint mocha...

Holy shit... the rainbow card. It was turning the stuff I buy... gay?

Can stuff be gay?

A black Stones tee. A purple N*SYNC tee. One of those was definitely gayer.

Beer or cocktails. Black coffee or a mint mocha with sprinkles.

Yeah... the card was turning all the shit I bought gay.

The pineapple in my groceries. To make my cum taste sweet.

And Curt... it wasn’t just turning the stuff gay. It was turning people gay too.

Impossible. But it was totally happening.

Was it turning me gay?

I didn’t think so? I mean... if I was gay, I’d have gone home with Curt, right? I’d have wanted to fuck him?

I didn’t want that. I was sure of it.

Maybe I should cut up the card. Stop whatever fucked up magic was screwing with my life. Just go back to work tomorrow and forget it ever happened.

Should I?

Why?

I’m not a homophobe or anything. I don't have anything against gay people. Curt was still a good guy, even if he wanted my dick.

It’s not like I’m ruining anyones life either – Curt would take plenty of guys home. It’s 2028, gay people have rights and everything.

I’m not to blame for anything. I’m just a guy who got tangled up.

So why not keep going?

Well, for starters, if I kept using the card it was probably gonna turn me gay too.

But would that be the worst thing? I told you about my dry spell... the truth is, it’s been years since I got laid. Waiting for your big break is sexy at 26. At 33, the girls are kinda over it.

If I was gay, I’d be fucking Curt right now. The card would keep turning dudes, which meant I'd have an endless supply of eager guys. And I always heard gay dudes were easier anyway, they’re just looking to have fun, none of that marriage or kid crap.

What about my music career? Curt was still a bartender. He was just a sexy gay bartender. I'd still be a rocker. Just a sexy gay rocker. It might even be easier to catch my big break. Labels love that diversity shit.

It was decided. I was gonna keep using the card. Let it turn me gay. Really embrace the changes.

I fell asleep with my shoes on.

-------------------

I woke up early the next day. The first day of the rest of my life.

It’s a weird feeling, knowing that you’re going to dramatically transform. A week ago this would have seemed unthinkable, but I woke up with even more resolve. By using the card to turn myself gay, I was going to unlock a perfect life.

Rich. Sexually fulfilled. If I played my cards right, maybe even famous. My whole life, being a straight white guy has held me back. But a gay white guy? That was marketable.

I had a vague idea of what I needed to do. Big purchases seemed to cause the biggest changes – like Curt at the bar and my three thousand dollar tab. So if I went out and bought a ton of the gayest stuff I could find, that should turn me gay, right?

I wasn’t scheduled to work til noon, and I hadn’t gotten home til two, but I was showered and dressed by eight AM. I’d be done in no time, but I wanted to give a few hours, just in case.

Who knows? Maybe I’d call Curt, take him up on that offer? Or maybe gay tindr? That had to be a thing.

I hailed a cab outside my building. I slid into the front seat – the cabbie looked unimpressed, like he’d rather I sat in the back. Whatever, I didn’t need to impress him. I just needed to get the job done.

“Take me to a sex store,” I said.

“It’s eight-thirty in the morning,” he shot back, giving me a disgusted look.

“So?” I said. “Here, I’ll pay in advance. With a big tip.”

He sighed and pulled out the machine. He punched in a hundred dollars for the ride. Probably figured I’d fuck right off. I punched in another hundred for the tip and ran my card through. I kept my eye on him while the machine confirmed it.

“Whoa,” he said, gripping the wheel tightly. "Did you feel that?”

“Yeah,” I lied. “Earthquake or somethin’, right?”

“Yeah, glad I was parked,” he laughed.

I glanced around the cab. Things had changed a little bit. A rainbow flag sticker on the windshield. The cabbie was wearing a bracelet with rainbow beads too. And that little diamond stud in his right ear... that meant something, right?

“Sorry bud, where did you wanna go?” he asked, giving me a cheeky grin.

“Take me to a sex store,” I said. “One that sells lots of gay stuff.”

“I got you,” he grinned, shifting the car into drive. “You picked the right cab – I know all the best places in town,” he laughed.

“I bet you do.”

While we drove, he kept glancing over at me. Checking me out. It was subtle, but compared to the disgust he’d been projecting a few minutes ago, it was a whole new attitude.

“So, you live around here?” he asked.

“Yeah. Just where you picked me up.”

“No shit,” he laughed. “I’m in this neighbourhood a lot. Maybe I’ll... uh, pick you up again.”

Oh man, he wanted my dick so bad. I couldn’t wait until I was gay too. I was gonna get so much action.

“I’d like that too,” I lied. It would be the truth soon enough.

He dropped me off at this sex shop downtown. He’d given me his business card and scrawled his personal cell number on it.

“In case you need a ride... late at night,” he added.

I had a spring in my step when I entered the store. The clerk looked surprised to see me. I doubt they get many customers this early in the morning.

“Can I help you find anything,” he droned at me with tired eyes. The guy looked beat, like a law school student who’s just trying to get through exams. Or maybe just another guy like me who hates his shitty retail job.

“Sell me the gayest shit you’ve got,” I grinned.

The clerk sighed and rolled his eyes. I’m sure he thought I was buying a gag gift or something, but he led me around the store anyhow.

“This is pretty gay,” he said, pointing at a dildo in a plastic package. It was huge and had big balls attached to it. Weird – I know a few girls who use these, but I’ve never seen one with balls before. He caught my expression and shrugged. “Some guys like to feel the balls hitting their ass. We got cheaper ones too.”

Two hundred bucks. I grabbed it off the shelf.

“What else,” I asked.

“Uh...” he said, glancing around. “Oh, I know."

He showed me a package of six jockstraps. Each one of them was a colour of the rainbow.

“Not seven?” I asked. Did I remember rainbow colours wrong?

“That's the regular rainbow,” he said. “The gay flag only has six colours.”

“Oh, okay,” I grinned and added the jockstraps to my order. “Yeah, then I guess that’s pretty gay. Hey, do you have any of the flags?”

“Yeah, totally. Which one do you want? We’ve got the pride flag, the gay male flag, the lesbian flag, the bi flag, the trans flag, the inclusive pride flag, the bear flag, the –“

“Uh, just the rainbow one,” I said, cutting him off.

“Yeah, that’s a classic,” he shrugged, pulling a wrapped flag off the shelf and handing it to me.

He rang it up and got out a big bag for me. I swiped my card, eager to feel the earthquake.

“WHOA!” he laughed, grabbing for the counter. "Did you feel that?”

Dammit. No, I hadn’t.

“Oh my god... that was like... the biggest earthquake!” he said, waving his hands flamboyantly. His tired eyes were gone, replaced with a manic look under plucked eyebrows. His flat hair had bleached into a platinum blond and spiked itself into the latest trend.

“Mmmm... you’re gonna love this,” he giggled, waving the dildo at me. “I’ve got the same one at home. Like... the real thing’s still totally better, but when you want a quiet night,” he said, letting out another giggle.

He grabbed an iced coffee off the counter and took a long sip.

“Sorry,” he laughed. “I was out clubbing til like... I dunno. My last two brain cells need all the coffee they can get. Whatever, right? You’re only young once!”

“Yeah,” I mumbled. Shit... if buying all this gay stuff didn't work, what would?

“These jocks are gonna look so hot on you,” he said, dropping them into the bag. “I hope you’ve got an OnlyFans!”

“Huh? No, I don’t.” I shrugged.

“Too bad,” he winked, shoving my bill into the bag. “See you around bitch.”

“See ya,” I said.

Dammit.

------------------

I sat at my house, completely befuddled.

The card worked. I know the card worked. The cab ride home had resulted in yet another pride flag in the window, yet another phone number in my collection. The cabbie had started the ride in a plaid button-down, by the end he was wearing a tanktop.

This card turned everyone out. Everyone except me.

I’d pulled out my purchases. That dildo? It was made out of neon pink silicone. The jockstraps were made out of a thin mesh fabric. Even the pride flag had glitter embedded right into it. Somehow the card made a pride flag gayer. I didn't think that was possible.

I bit my lip and stared at a blank wall. Okay... think it through. Whatever I bought ended up as a gayer version of itself. And whoever I bought it from also ended up gay. A bartender, two cabbies, a sex shop worker... all of them were blatantly gay now.

And I was totally straight.

If I couldn’t figure this out, I was gonna stay straight forever. And every dollar I spent would result in more and more gay dudes wandering the streets. If I didn’t turn myself gay, I was gonna have to stop using the card. Either that, or be the one straight guy trapped in a gay fantasy.

And I didn’t want to stop using the card. As much as I rally against the capitalist agenda, life was a lot easier with money to ease the pain. I could quit my job, focus on my music... maybe buy a really nice stereo and give Cody the fucking he so richly deserved.

None of that was gonna happen. Not if I couldn’t figure this out.

I stared at the neon dildo. I was fucked, whether I used it or not. Was this the way my life was gonna go from now on? Every store clerk and cab driver gets to turn gay for me, but the card is giving me some sort of karmic punishment. Keeping me straight, just cause I stand outside the capitalist machine?

No matter how easy it made my life... maybe it was time to cut it up, forget about the whole thing. It’s not like I can buy myself.

Except... what if I could?

My band put out a CD last year. I know, CD’s are totally retro, but we still paid for 500 copies to get pressed. We sold a total of 22... trust me, that's a number that sticks with you. The other 478 were sitting in my bedroom closet, gathering dust and staring me down every morning.

What if I bought a bunch of the CDs? I’d be the buyer, but all the e-commerce stuff was set up so I'm the seller. Plus I’m sorta the product too. That's the trifecta, isn't it?

It had to turn me gay. It had to.

I grabbed my laptop – it’s a piece of junk. I should totally get a new one.

I opened up the bands website.

There’s a big link right up top that says ‘BUY MERCH!!!’ I thought it was tacky, but Dante kept insisting the more records we sell, the more fans we have. The more fans we have, the more people come to our shows. And if you can sell out a show... call an agent, we're going on tour.

I clicked the link and quickly filled out the form. I bought a hundred copies of the album – that should be enough, right? If I bought all 478, I was pretty sure I'd end up too gay. The kind of gay that made Elton John look straight.

Besides... I could always buy more.

I was shaking with excitement when I clicked the purchase button. It was gonna work this time. I was sure of it.

The ground thundered under my feet. I grabbed for any handhold I could find. I might have been expecting it, but there’s no such thing as ‘prepared’ when the ground decides to dance.

My heart felt like it was gonna burst outta my chest.

I grabbed for my phone. Our group chat was already lighting up, every dude in the band checking in with each other.

> 10:44 AM - Randy

> OMG GUYS did u feel that??

> 10:44 AM - Spencer

> yes!!! that was soooo scary

> 10:45 AM - Angel

> is everybody ok??

> 10:45 AM - Scooter

> yah we’re good! wow!!

I texted back instinctively.

> 10:45 AM - Matty

> im ok!! so happy u guys are safe!!!

An earthquake. I mean... it’s LA, it happens, but still...

Wait a sec. I knew it was gonna happen. I knew cuz...

Cuz I caused it! Cuz I wanted it! Cuz I needed to suck cock!

Two sets of memories were fighting for space in my brain. I was Matty, the best dancer in OTR.  No... I was Matt, the lead guitarist in BREAK THE MACHINE. I was a scuzzy rocker. I played a mean guitar.

Why would I play guitar? Boybands don’t have guitars.

I ran for the bathroom and flicked on the vanity lights. Mmmm... I’m so fuckin’ hot. Years and years of the best diet and exercise. Skin care routines and expensive stylists. But it’s all worth it, right?

I wasn't a skinny rocker. I was a buff hottie. I started going to the gym when I was sixteen, and by college I was lifting more than anyone I knew. The muscle made me hot. Not to mention all the blowjobs I gave in the showers...

I grinned at the memory. It felt like forever ago, freshman year when I’d set a goal of blowing a different jock every week. Word got around, and by December I was blowing a new guy every day. Sure, not all of them were varsity, but I just love cock.

The variety is good. After all, how many big dicked football players can you blow? Sometimes you gotta switch it up, blow a big dicked gym rat or a big dicked music major.

That’s how I met Randy. He was studying bass in the music department. After I sucked his dick a couple times, he invited me over for more. I danced for him that night, and we harmonized in the morning.

And that’s how we started OTR – Over the Rainbow. The hottest boyband around.

I ran my hand through my short spiked hair and stuck my pierced tongue at the mirror. Yeah, I’m a slut, and I owe my career to it.

I looked at my laptop. For a weird second, I expected to see a black-themed metal site, but the OTR site is colourful and campy. Bold neon colours. That’s our trademark.

There’s a group shot of us on the front page – I’m wearing a neon purple tee that stretches across my chest. It’s a crop top, so you can totally see my abs. If you got ‘em, flaunt em, right? Our manager had us wear black leather pants for that photo shoot. Randy thinks it’s ‘too gay’, but come on, we’re OTR. ‘Too gay’ is our brand!

We looked totally hot, too bad we can’t wear leather pants on stage. It cramps my dancing.

Yeah... the website was like... totally awesome. I felt happy just looking at it, and I know our fans loved it too. Plus... there’s a new TOUR DATES link. We’ve got sold out shows all over the country.

Why did it feel so wrong?

Wasn’t this everything I wanted?

I heard the lock on my apartment click open. Another confusing memory stampeded through my head. It was Dante? My metalhead bandmate? The wannabe Mick?

Or was it Angel? The ‘shy one’ in OTR. Also my twunky boyfriend – a few years younger than me, and way more flexible.

Whatever his name, he brought groceries. I’m eating vegan these days. It’s so hard to keep enough fresh produce in the house.

“Hey babe, you doin’ okay?” Angel asked, giving me a look of concern. “Did the earthquake scare you?”

“No,” I said shakily. “I’m just... I dunno, I just feel a little confused.”

“What else is new?” Angel laughed. Fuck he was hot, that deep laugh that contrasted with his vocal-fry voice. It’s an affectation – it’s got to be – he drops it when he sings.

It’s not just his voice that’s hot. Angel puts in plenty of hours at the gym. He hasn’t been working out as long as me, but he fills out a tanktop better than any twunk I’ve met. Today he’d picked a red one with white piping for his shopping trip. I hoped he turned plenty of heads.

“Hey, Earth to Matty,” Angel said, waving his hand in front of my eyes. Whoopsie, I must have zoned out again. That happens sometimes, especially when I’m around hot guys. Which... let’s be honest, I’m a pop star. I’m always around hot guys. Rough life, huh?

“Hey,” I grinned.

“God, you’re such a space cadet,” he laughed. “It’s lucky you’ve got a hot body. Here, let me put these groceries away, I think we’ve got time for a workout before rehearsal.”

“But it’s a rest day!” I reacted instinctively.

“Not the kind of workout I’m talkin’ about boo,” Angel laughed.

------------------

Angel slammed me against a wall. I’m bigger than him. I could totally take him. But I like the way he pushes me around.

I stared into his beautiful blue eyes until he kissed me. I kissed back automatically. I’m such a slut for a hot makeout session. I’m lucky Angel indulges me. I can tell, he wants to fuck my ass right away.

We groped each other for a while and swapped spit. Then he was tugging my shirt over my head, leaving the neon scrap of fabric on the floor. A lot of people think we just get dressed up in our signature colours for concerts, but I wear neon purple every day.

It’s just like... who I am.

Angel whipped off his tank and dropped it beside us. He’s got the cutest little pecs, all tight and round. Mine are more like plates of muscle. I know he wants thick pecs like mine, but that takes time, and Angel’s still only in his 20’s.

“Mmmm...” he moaned, sucking on my right nipple. That was the first one I got pierced, and then the second one a year later. My shirts are so tight, it felt weird only showing off one piercing.

I grabbed his shaggy blonde hair and guided him down towards my dick.

Angel unbuttoned my jeans and tugged them off. A second later my jockstrap was on the ground and I was totally naked. It didn’t seem fair... me getting a blowjob while he did all the work. But you know what, he’s the one in charge. If he wanted to change it up, I'd do anything he wanted.

Angel might be ‘the shy one’ on stage, but in our bed he’s 100% alpha.

So I relaxed against the wall and he sucked my cock like a possessed man. After a minute, he snuck a finger behind me and started loosening up my hole. It doesn’t take long – I’ve had lots of practice.

“Get on the bed,” he finally said. I jumped for the mattress, planting my elbows firmly and waving my muscle-butt in the air. The blinds were still open, and I prayed that some paparazzi would snap a photo or ten.

I heard him unbuckle his belt and drop his pants to the floor.

“That’s what I want,” he growled.

“Fuck me!” I begged. “Fuck me so hard I can’t dance!”

“C’mon babe, you know I can't do that,” Angel laughed. “Sam would kill me.”

Sam’s our manager. He’s talked with Angel about our sex life a few times. There are so many rules now – no more rope burns, no more hickies, and Angel had to stop leaving hypnotic triggers in my subconscious. You go ridiculously hard in the middle of one concert, and boom... new rules for the bedroom.

In fairness, Angel didn’t know that fan was gonna scream my trigger word.

Angel pressed his fat cock up against my hole. He likes to take a second and just savour it. That first push in, he says it feels amazing. I wouldn't know – I’m a lifelong bottom.

I love bottoming. Angel was thrusting into me. I could feel his balls slapping my ass. That’s like... the best. I’ve tried dildos, but nothing comes close to having a real cock in your hole.

“Fuck me,” I whined under him. “Fuck me!!”

“Louder,” Angel ordered.

“FUCK ME!” I screamed, loud enough for the neighbours to hear. “FUCK ME HARDER!!!”

“That's right,” Angel laughed happily. "Everyone's gotta know what a slut you are.”

I grunted under him, lost in the rhythm.

I could have stayed like that for hours. But we have rehearsal. Just a few more weeks and we’re gonna be on tour.

“Okay babe,” Angel said clearly. “Longboard”.

I screamed in joy as my cock pulsed, emptying my load all over the bed.

Angel took out *almost* all the hypnotic triggers. This one only works when his cock’s inside me, so he figures it’s safe enough. Whatever he wants, I’m there for it.

“Mmmm...” I moaned, triggering him. “Inferno”.

Angel lost control. He flooded my hole with cum and collapsed next to me on the bed.

It took a minute before I could move again, but eventually I rolled over and wrapped Angel in my thick arms. He’s in charge during sex, but I like him as the little spoon. Besides, if his cock rubs up against my hole, I’m ready to go again.

Like I said, we took out *most* of the triggers.

“Mmmm...” I mumbled. “That was really good.”

“Yeah babe,” he said. “You’re the best.”

“Do you ever wonder...” I hesitated. “Um... like, do you ever wonder what life would be like if we weren't gay?” I asked.

“Huh?” Angel said, raising a plucked eyebrow.

“Just... like, what if we were straight guys?” I asked.

I felt Angel shiver in my arms.

“I don’t even wanna think about it,” he said. “I mean... OTR only took off when we started being really authentic on stage. Remember when we tried to pretend like we were just a straight boyband?”

“Yeah,” I chuckled. “You were trying to be all metal.”

“And you had that stupid rocker persona,” Angel laughed. “We’d probably still be some shitty wannabes if we were straight.”

I held him closer in my arms.

“Why?” he eventually asked. “Have you been worried about that Matty? Cause I gotta tell you... sexuality isn’t like that. You can’t just flip a switch.”

“Yeah, I know,” I sighed. “Just a stray thought.”

“Okay babe,” Angel said, turning around and facing me. He gave me a tender kiss. “Why don’t you leave the thinking to Sam, okay? You and me, all we gotta do is sing and dance and look hot, okay?”

“Yeah,” I sighed happily. “You’re right. All I gotta do is sing and dance.”

“And look hot,” Angel said, squeezing my cock. “Let's be real... that’s what the fans wanna see.”

I chuckled. He was totally right. Gotta sell what they’re buying.

“Now come on,” Angel said, rolling out of my grasp. “We got rehearsal in an hour. Let’s hit the shower.”

-------------------------

Our private plane was on final approach to New York. The sun was just coming up over the horizon. It was still the middle of the night in LA. A lot of people think pop stars don’t work hard – nothing could be further from the truth. I only got eight hours of sleep last night.

Sam was going around checking our seatbelts. He likes to check – he says we’re too valuable to lose.

It was the kickoff to our worldwide tour. OTR was playing Madison Square Gardens and I could barely stop vibrating. I was so excited. I've dreamed of playing this venue ever since I was a freshman, working out that first choreography with Randy.

I always knew I was gonna be famous.

The plane touched down with a gentle bump. It was early, but the tarmac was swarming with people already, barely held back by security. I hefted my backpack and plastered on a big smile. The car wasn’t that far, but hundreds of fans were waiting to catch a look.

It’s kinda sweet when you think about it. All those people, here for us.

“Hey guys!” I shouted and waved as we walked towards the car. Maybe that’s sexist, I dunno, but I guess like... 95% of our fans are men? They were waving signs and taking photos, trying anything to get a moment of our attention.

I saw one sign that said “I LOVE YOU MATTY!!!”

“Look at that,” I said, pointing right at it.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Angel laughed. “I love you too, okay?”

Then we were in the car and at the hotel. We were in the penthouse but I could hear the dull scream of our fan club surrounding the building. Most of those guys would kill for a selfie with us. It’s like... guaranteed likes.

But Sam picked this hotel cause it's got a hidden tunnel to some underground parking. Our car snuck out a block away from the nearest fan. Too bad... I’d love to sign some autographs, we just don't have the time.

First it’s sound check and prep. At least at the venue we get to stop and say hi to a few fans. Sign their t-shirt or their pec. I always wonder... do they just like... never shower again?

Whatever. “I LOVE U TOO!!” I wrote on one particularly beautiful chest. “MATTY M”.

“Dude, come on,” Scooter urged me. “We got sound check.”

It was less frantic inside. The crew still likes to get selfies and stuff, but they're pros. They know how to wait for the right moment. Then it's off to hair and makeup, and the next thing you know it’s time to hit the stage.

“I can’t believe we’re here,”I whispered to Angel.

He squeezed my hand and gave me a careful kiss on the cheek. Someone showed up to fix my makeup a second later.

I loved the fans. I loved their energy. I loved everything about this moment.

The lights flashed on.

“Hey,” I said confidently. My mic picked up my voice and amplified it for thousands of people. “I’m Matty M, and you’re going Over The Rainbow! Let’s Do It!”

The music flowed across the crowd like a wave. I jumped and posed, hitting my first mark with ease. Just like we practiced. I didn’t need to look at my bandmates, I knew they were seasoned pros. Just like me.

We were born for this.

The crowd went wild.

-------------------

It was late. The show had ended an hour ago, but the adrenaline was still coursing through me. I love this feeling.

Angel and I were dressed to avoid being recognized. He had a blue baseball cap pulled down over his eyes. Mine was neon purple. Like I say, it’s who I am.

But we’re bringing neon back. So many guys have started wearing one of our colours, so I didn’t feel at risk. Anyone who saw me would think I was a fan, coming from the concert and hitting up a bar afterward.

The truth is, sometimes you need to step outside your bubble. Feel the street under your shoes. Grab a drink at a shitty dive bar and sleep late the next day. We were doing three days worth of shows in New York – staying in one place is a rare luxury.

“Oh my god,” I laughed, staring up at a billboard.

Angel rolled his eyes.

The billboard had a photo of the five of us on stage. I was front and centre, posed in one of my signature moves. Somehow I looked wholesome and sexual at the same time.

“Excelsior Bank Helped Make My Dreams Come True! – Matty M” the billboard read.

“Oh my god is right,” Angel said. “Why did you ever agree to that stupid ad campaign?”

“C’mon,” I said, pulling him down the street. “Let’s get that drink. My treat.”

I loved buying. I’ve got a knack for making friends with bartenders.

By the time we leave, I’ve got a new fan.