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a couple of false starts, when Sugar and Jynx started giggling and couldn't stop, they were almost ready for him. Christian bounced on his toes like a boxer warming up, slipping off his robe. Underneath he worse only a pair of cargo shorts.
    He was supposed to play the part of a surfer boy, just off the beach, though he didn't really look the part any more—he was too skinny now. Fortunately in the porn world, no one would even notice his pasty skin and the hollow shadows under his eyes. Too many sleepless nights, haunted still by nightmares of Kansas and Nick. Meth or E kept him up all night dancing in the clubs—this city had so many he could visit a different one each night. He hadn't been to the same one twice. And the pills: glossy black, mournful blue, calm green. Any of them, when mixed with enough wine or vodka, would feather his brain with enough comfort to allow him a few hours of restless sleep. Until, with distressing predictability, he would awake panting and terrified, terrorized by the dreams. The nightmare was always the same. Katrina rising from her lonely murder on the gurney, her remaining staring eye as black and soulless as a shark's. She would rise and approach Christian, watching him with solemn and predatory hunger, and he would stand frozen with fear. Unable to catch a breath, let alone run. Her cold fingers would be reaching for him, about to touch, when his panicked breathing woke him.
    Monty snapped his fingers under Christian's nose, and he blinked away his reverie. "Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey. You're up, pretty boy." He cocked his head and appeared to be examining Christian's face. "And you better be up, too. My gaydar is lit up like a twink in a leather bar, honey." Christian looked at the girls, sitting on the massive bed, looking bored. Sugar was filing her nails, and the brunette stared into space, chewing gum like she was being paid by the chomp.
    "And, action please." Monty stood back, arms crossed.
    Christian stepped forward, his eyes fixed on Sugar's face. She smiled up at him, cooing as Jynx reached for his cock.
    He grunted, feeling tension coil in his belly. He tried to fantasize that the girl in front of him was a delicate twink, like the kind from Thailand he'd seen online, or the pre-op sissy boys from Brazil. Jynx sucked him into her mouth, eyes tilted up to him with fake adoration. He pumped listlessly, ignoring Monty's hissed imprecations.
    "Fucking show us some action , nancy-boy!" the director said. Christian started. Monty's voice had, for a second, sounded so much like Mik. And so close, as if he were standing directly behind him. He cut his eyes to a mirror, skin crawling. No one behind him, no Mik. He shook his head and began pumping in earnest, placing his hand on the back of Jynx's head, holding her down just long enough to make her gag. He smiled at the anger in her eyes.
    "Hey, don't be an asshole," Sugar stage-whispered at him. "No rough shit."
    He grinned at her, feeling a sudden rush of power. For a moment, he felt like he could just fuck and fuck, jack-hammering away until they cried for mercy. Then he would fuck the old faggot director, just for good measure. Sweat poured down his face and dripped into Jynx's face.
    "Mm, why don't you fuck her on the bed, brother ?" Sugar said, eyes flashing. Jynx coughed and scowled at him, even as she arranged herself on the bed. He grabbed her ankles and she guided him into her.
    "Yes baby, yes." Even to Christian, their voices sounded pissed off. He looked down at the girls, at their smooth, well-fed skin, caressing each other, sneering up at him. Sudden anger stirred his guts, bubbling through him.
    "Fuck her good, big brother, that's right," Sugar said. She sounded like she was ordering a hamburger from a particularly dense counter-jockey.
    He grabbed Jynx by her pale white thighs until his fingers left red marks. In his eyes, her legs resembled uncooked cuts of chicken, juicy-plump and freshly plucked, and saliva squirted