For Rent

Author's note: This is intended to be a slow burn told over many parts that will be released regularly. The sexual elements will escalate as we progress. If you want something quicker, or more immediately graphic, then perhaps this isn't the story or series for you.

Chapter 1: Tyler Knox: Down to Nothing

Tyler didn't even hear the eviction notice hit the floor. It fluttered through the mail slot like a paper guillotine, slicing through his thoughts, landing just inches from a half-empty beer can and a pile of old betting slips. He stared at it, unmoving, eyes dry, heart thudding the way it always did after a loss -- that ugly, sharp rhythm of consequences finally catching up.

The silence in his apartment was suffocating. No music, no TV, just the hum of the fridge and the hollow echo of failure. Rent was two months overdue. His credit cards were maxed out, and the last guy he borrowed money from had started sending voice notes instead of texts. Angry voice notes. Threatening ones.

He stood slowly, barefoot, the floor gritty under his soles, and bent to pick up the letter. One week. Then the locks changed.

Tyler ran a hand through his thick brown hair and looked around. There wasn't much left to sell. His TV was already gone -- pawned. His guitar too. What remained was a shitty couch, a mattress on the floor, and a laptop too old for games but good enough for porn and betting. He used to be someone. Played baseball in high school. Good-looking, confident. People used to ask if he modelled. Now he barely recognised the gaunt man in the mirror -- eyes ringed in red, stubble unshaved, always sweating under the pressure of debt.

He opened his laptop, hands shaking slightly, and searched "quick cash jobs NYC". The listings were bleak: food delivery, warehouse shifts, surveys that paid in gift cards. He needed hundreds -- by Friday. His thumb hovered over the touchpad, scrolling, scrolling--

And then it stopped.

"Adult video content company seeking solo male performer. Must be over 18. Well-endowed. High pay. One-day shoot. Discretion assured."

There was a phone number. No company name. No email. Just a photo of a toned guy in a fireman outfit, shirtless, holding his cock through red suspenders.

Tyler blinked.

He closed the window. Reopened it. Read it again. High pay.

He looked down. He was well-endowed. That had always been part of his appeal. Girls had commented on it. Guys had stared when they thought he wouldn't notice. It had never done anything for him but stroke his ego -- until now, maybe.

He imagined what it would feel like. Standing in front of a camera. Stroking himself. Getting hard while someone filmed. For other men to watch.

"No fucking way," he muttered.

But the notice was still on the floor. The rent was still due. And the sports betting site was still open on another tab -- flashing live odds, tempting him like a siren.

He stared at the number. Then picked up his phone.

***

The studio wasn't what he expected. No sleaze. No neon. It was an industrial loft in Bushwick, clean and minimalist. The receptionist was a dude in skinny jeans and a cardigan, sipping a matcha latte.

"Tyler Knox?" he said, barely looking up.

"Yeah."

"Jayden's expecting you."

A few minutes later, Tyler stood in a small dressing room, staring at the fireman costume laid out on the chair: suspenders, trousers, boots, and nothing else. No shirt. No underwear.

He ran his fingers over the fabric. It felt expensive. The boots were polished. There was even a helmet.

Jayden knocked and stepped in. Mid-thirties, calm, well-dressed in a soft black sweater and gold chain. Black. Polished. Professional.

"You nervous?" he asked, as if he already knew.

"I just... this is for a gay site?"

Jayden smiled. "It is. But it's solo. You won't touch anyone. No one touches you. You're anonymous. No face shots unless you say yes. We've got a steady fanbase for straight guys doing solo stuff. The more reluctant you look, the more they eat it up."

Tyler swallowed.

"How much?"

"$750. Cash. Today."

That was more than he'd made in three weeks of odd jobs.

Jayden handed him a release form. Tyler skimmed it. Too fast. He didn't want to look like he was stalling. He signed.

Thirty minutes later, he stood under the soft studio lights, shirtless, boots on, helmet crooked on his head, cock already semi-hard from the lube and the producer's distant voice directing him gently: "That's it. Real slow. Don't look at the camera. Just imagine you're alone."

He didn't have to imagine.

His cock was thick in his hand, warm and reluctant. It wasn't like jerking off at home. It wasn't even like sex. It felt performative. Shameful. Like every tug was selling a piece of himself.

It took him longer than usual to cum. He felt nothing when he did -- just a hot, empty spasm and the slight, satisfied sound of the cameraman shifting the tripod.

"Good work," Jayden said afterwards, handing him an envelope. "Let us know if you're ever interested in something more."

Tyler didn't reply. He walked home in silence, $750 in his jacket pocket. That night, he logged into the betting site. He thought maybe he could flip it. Just once.

By 2:12 AM, he had $14.82 left.

He sat in the dark, the glow of the screen reflecting off his tired eyes, one hand clenched against his mouth. The envelope was empty on the table. Already.

He didn't move. Didn't curse or cry. Just stared. The porn site was still open in another tab. So was the betting slip -- blinking, taunting.

He closed the laptop.

And sat in silence.

The air in the apartment felt colder than before. Emptier.

He wouldn't call Jayden tonight. He couldn't. Not yet.

But the thought was there. Heavy.

Waiting.

Chapter 2: Not Alone

Tyler didn't call the next day.

He told himself he wouldn't. Told himself he'd find something else. A delivery shift. A warehouse job. He even refreshed Craigslist twice, scrolled past the same dead listings. One paid fifty bucks to model for a drawing class. Another needed someone to clean out a hoarder's attic for minimum wage.

He lay on the couch in sweatpants, scrolling. Eyes dry, stomach hollow. He hadn't eaten since yesterday. A crust of dried cum still clung to his thigh from the shoot -- he hadn't even bothered to clean it properly, just pulled his jeans back on and left.

The envelope was still on the table, torn open, accusing. He could still smell the latex from the gloves they made him wear. Still hear the soft mechanical whirr of the camera.

Just once, he'd told himself. Just this once.

But the money was gone, and the landlord had slipped another note under his door -- this one pink.

By the second evening, he found himself scrolling porn.

Not the usual stuff. Not women. Not amateur videos with bad lighting and bored girls faking moans.

No.

He searched the name of the site Jayden had given him. Found it. Clicked through.

He saw himself in the thumbnail -- cropped from the shoulders down. Just the suspenders. The helmet. His cock in one hand, thick and slick, one drop of cum frozen in mid-air. The video was titled "Straight Fireman Jerkoff -- Reluctant First Timer."

He clicked.

The page loaded fast. Hundreds of comments.

"God, he's hot. You can see how much he hates it."

"That build, those thighs. And that dick?"

"He's straight, you can tell. Please bring him back."

"He looks like he's gonna cry. I came so hard."

"Next time with another guy. Or a trans girl. Come on."

Tyler stared at the screen, pulse rising. A queasy heat crept through his chest.

He slammed the laptop shut. Stood. Paced.

He didn't want to go back.

He couldn't.

But at 9:47 the next morning, he texted the number. Just two words:

"Is there work?"

Jayden replied an hour later.

"Come in today. 2 PM. Easy shoot. Same rate."

That was it. No details.

Tyler stared at the screen for a long time, then pulled on a clean shirt and headed for the shower.

***

The loft was the same -- clean, quiet, professional. Jayden smiled when Tyler walked in, that same unreadable expression on his face.

"You look tired," he said.

Tyler said nothing.

Jayden handed him a bottle of water and gestured toward the back. "You're with another guy today. Just a side-by-side scene. No touching. You won't even look at each other if you don't want to."

Tyler froze.

"I thought--"

Jayden cut him off. "It's easy. You'll both be in frame, jerking off. You don't have to talk. Just stroke it. That's it."

"I'm not gay," Tyler said, a little too loudly.

Jayden smiled again, slower this time. "Didn't say you were. We market it as two straight guys getting off. That's what they like. The tension. Trust me -- you'll do fine."

Tyler hesitated, fists clenched in his hoodie pocket.

"Do I get the same rate?"

Jayden nodded. "Cash. No face shots. Unless you want the bonus."

Tyler didn't reply.

***

The other guy was already in the room. Early thirties, pale, short buzzed hair, lean but built. He nodded at Tyler, awkward, nervous too.

"Hey."

"Hey."

They didn't shake hands. Just stripped in silence, like two strangers at the gym avoiding eye contact in the locker room.

Tyler sat on the left side of the set -- a fake bedroom, soft lighting, lotion on the nightstand. He felt the camera click on. Red light.

Jayden's voice came through the speaker: "Alright. You both look great. Just start when you're ready."

Tyler gripped his cock.

It took longer than usual.

It felt wrong. Like being watched in a locker room. He kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling. The other guy breathed louder. Their thighs weren't touching but they were close.

The tension was unbearable.

He stroked faster just to end it.

He came before the other guy. Not dramatically. Just a low grunt and a spasm that made his neck tense. He reached for the tissue. Didn't speak.

The other guy finished a minute later.

Jayden's voice crackled. "Nice. That's a wrap. Good work."

Tyler dressed quickly, sweat on his lower back, the waistband of his briefs damp. The envelope was waiting for him at the front desk. Same weight. Same feel.

He didn't look Jayden in the eye as he left.

***

That night, the video went live.

It was titled "Two Straight Studs Jack Off -- The One on the Left Looks So Fucking Ashamed."

Tyler didn't click on it.

But he read the comments.

He always read the comments.

Chapter 3: It's Not Gay If...

The money didn't even last the week.

That night, Tyler bet it all on a three-leg parlay. The first hit. Then the second. The third? A fumble on the one-yard line. Gone.

He punched the couch so hard his knuckles bruised.

By morning, he was out of groceries and hadn't paid his phone bill. The screen glowed with that warning banner again: "Service interruption pending."

He didn't call Jayden this time. Didn't even text.

Jayden texted him.

"Another shoot. Easy money. Interested?"

Tyler stared at the message, pacing his living room in socks and boxers, hair greasy from days without washing. He tried to tell himself no. That he'd find something else. That the line had already moved too far.

Then Jayden sent the offer.

"$1,200. One hour. No face."

He didn't ask for details. Just replied:

"Time?"

***

The studio felt colder this time.

Tyler sat in the dressing room with the envelope already prepared on the counter, like bait.

Jayden knocked once and entered.

"You look like shit," he said, almost kindly.

"Thanks."

"You'll clean up fine."

Tyler didn't answer. His throat was dry.

Jayden leaned against the doorframe. "I'm gonna be real with you, Tyler. The solo scenes? They're good. But the fans want more. They want to see something. Feel something."

"What does that mean?"

Jayden held his gaze.

"This one's mutual."

Tyler didn't move. He blinked, slow and heavy.

"I touch him?"

"You touch each other. But it's just hands. No kissing. No sucking. Nothing you don't initiate."

"I didn't say I'd initiate anything."

Jayden's expression didn't change.

"They want to see tension. Reluctance. You don't have to fake that. You've got it already. Just lean into it."

Tyler stood. His mouth tasted like metal.

"I'm not fucking gay."

Jayden gave a short nod. "I know. That's why you're perfect."

***

The other performer was already on the bed -- shirtless, legs spread, scrolling his phone like it was just another Tuesday.

He looked up and grinned. "You the new guy?"

Tyler didn't answer.

He undressed slowly, eyes fixed on a crack in the studio ceiling. When he sat beside him on the bed, the mattress dipped. Their thighs were close enough to feel the warmth. No music. No dialogue.

Just the low hum of the lights and Jayden's voice again, soft as before:

"Go ahead whenever you're ready."

***

It started like the last shoot. Silent. Focused. Tyler stared at the ceiling and stroked himself, trying to summon something -- an image, a feeling, even just enough friction to fake it.

The other guy made it easy. He moaned, low and quiet, like he was doing it for real. His hand was slow, confident.

Tyler tried not to look.

But then he felt it -- a hand brushing his thigh. Light. Testing.

He flinched.

"I'm not into this," he muttered.

The guy didn't answer. Just murmured, "It's not about that. Just chemistry. Make it look good."

Another hand. Closer now.

Then fingers wrapped around his cock.

Tyler froze.

The sensation was foreign. Rougher than a girl's hand, firmer. But... not bad. Not good. Just real.

He didn't pull away. Couldn't. The camera was rolling. Jayden was watching.

And his cock was getting harder.

He hated that.

The guy stroked him slow, then guided Tyler's hand down in return. The shaft he touched was thick, hot, veined. Tyler gritted his teeth, every instinct screaming don't -- but his fingers curled anyway.

Back and forth.

Two strangers jerking each other off, faces stony, eyes not meeting.

"Faster," Jayden said through the mic. "Finish if you can."

Tyler didn't want to. But it was building -- involuntarily, as if his body had made its own decision. Shame coursed through him with every slick movement, every accidental brush of thigh or grunt of pleasure from the man beside him.

He came first, thick and fast, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. His cum landed across his abs and hipbone, hot against the cold studio air.

The other guy followed a few strokes later, exhaling through his nose like he was done with a workout. No eye contact. No words.

Jayden's voice came back on. "Perfect. Thanks, guys. You can clean up."

***

Tyler didn't speak to the other performer as he dressed. He pulled his hoodie over his head and grabbed the envelope without looking.

He'd never felt dirtier.

And yet--

That night, when he got home, he opened the site again. The video was already up.

"Reluctant First Mutual -- Two Straight Boys Go Further"

The comments exploded.

"Holy fuck, this is HOT."

"The tension. That hand shaking..."

"He looks so uncomfortable. I need more of this."

"Next time he's getting sucked. Bet on it."

"Bottom energy. He doesn't even know it yet."

He scrolled.

One caught his eye.

"Imagine him with Victoria. He wouldn't survive."

He closed the laptop.

And jerked off.