Filthy Friend - Gwyn McNamee Page 0,1

and need inspiration for my shows.

I stroke my dick harder and faster, twisting my wrist with each upward movement.

“You beautiful people want to see me come?”

A stampede of smiley faces, thumbs-ups, high-fives, and hearts hit the screen.

Yes HRD4U!

Give it to us!

We want to see it!

I wish I was there!

I relax back across my bed, close my eyes, and conjure a vision of Rachel leaning over me, her cascade of caramel hair a halo around my face as her lips find mine and she lowers herself onto my dick. Hot and wet. She engulfs my entire length, and her tongue slips into my mouth so I can taste her for the first time.

Fuck.

The sweet glide of our sweat-slickened skin against each other. The lash of our tongues tangling. The moans and pants. The whispered “I love yous” breathed out into the room.

“Fuck! Yes! Ride my cock, baby. Fuck me hard. Make me come.”

The dirty talk always does it for me…and the viewers. It’s become a staple of my performances as much as it has been in my bedroom since I fucked my high school girlfriend. Another reason Rach and I can never happen. As soon as I open my mouth, she’ll go running for the hills.

“Squeeze me with your pussy. Come for me, baby.”

Dream Rachel clamps down on me, and my orgasm hits me hard—a tsunami of pleasure and pent-up emotion after spending hours with her earlier. Surrounded by her scent. Her soft, light touches. The tight embraces. The easy laughs. The tears over yet another douchebag.

I shoot my load up across my abs and chest then lie panting for a few moments before I look at the computer screen.

Jesus Christ!

That was hot!

HRD4U THANK YOU!

Oh my God my ovaries just exploded.

SO FUCKING HOT!

What I wouldn’t give to have that big thick cock inside me right now. Are you single? I can be over there in five minutes.

I chuckle and lean forward, giving the viewers a show of my cum, spread out and glistening across my skin.

“I am single, ladies, but I don’t get involved with any of my viewers.” Which is why I rarely even bother to read the private messages sent to me through the site. After a quick glance, they all end up in the trash bin. One can only reply no to so many propositions before it becomes a tedious, annoying time suck. They’ll have to settle for me in virtual form. “I’m thinking about making pancakes in the morning. Check back in with me or sign up for alerts for when I go live if you want to watch. Have a good night.”

Mine is about to end with me passing the fuck out.

I click off and drop back down onto the mattress. I should probably feel like a whore for selling my body like this, letting people watch me jerk off, letting them watch me walk around my house doing things naked with a hard on. But I don’t. At least, not when I’m HRD4U. It’s a bodily function, something we’ve all done. And for me, it’s a way to make up for the money I lost in the market crash. It’s just a part of life.

So is suffering with the knowledge that I’ll never have Rachel as my own.

They’re things I have to do and learn to live with. But things could be worse. I could still be struggling to pay my mortgage, and Rach could have moved in to some other house all those years ago instead of twenty feet away from my front door here on Morgan Street in Hermosa Beach.

Having her so close might be torture, but losing her would be worse. Such is my daily agony. One I’ll start all over again tomorrow.

RACHEL

My phone buzzes on the nightstand, drawing my attention away from the display on my computer screen. The very graphic, very hot display from the very interesting website I just discovered…and immediately subscribed to.

Who could be calling at this hour?

I reach over, check it, and accept the call. “Aubrey. Hey, what’s up?”

Such crappy timing…right when I discovered HRD4U.com and had a mind-blowing orgasm while watching him work himself over.

“Nothing, what are you doing?”

My eyes drift over to my screen, and I tug the comforter up and over me. “Nothing.”

At least, nothing I’m going to admit to.

What I do in the privacy of my bedroom isn’t any of Aubrey’s business, even though she thinks it is and I usually end up telling her about it, anyway. That’s the problem with best