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Thank My Lucky Scars

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Thank My Lucky Scars | Tia Fielding

Thank My Lucky Scars

Matt

T ALL

started when my best friend Jon wanted me to try out

Twitter because he himself was temporarily hooked on the
damned thing. Now you have to understand, I was in an
accident about two months before. Being a bicycle
messenger in a city like London has its risks. One of those
risks caught up with me one fine spring day, and there I
was, flying over the hood of some rich guy’s Mercedes.
Apparently I bounced off the windshield and landed at a bad
angle, at least if you ask my surgeon. I was just happy not to
have landed on my head. That led me into a long rehab
because not only was my leg broken, but it also had serious
nerve damage. Fun times.

Anyway, it took me one evening to get hooked and Jon

three days more to forget it existed. So without him there, I
was a bit lost for a moment. I was following a few other
friends who knew I was gay—after all, I didn’t want to flaunt
my “gayness” at unsuspecting Internet citizens—some of my
favorite comedians and actors, a few bands and musicians,
you know the deal. It wasn’t until I realized most of my
favorite porn stars were there too that my life changed.

It was actually a female friend, Trina, who retweeted

something funny a guy she followed had said. I went to his
profile and took a look at the list of people he was following,
and bam, there I was, lost.

I had all the time in the world to stalk people on Twitter.

I was on the mend and going to physical therapy twice every

Thank My Lucky Scars | Tia Fielding

week when I saw one name on that random guy’s follow-list:
@BrianEnolaXXX.

Brian Enola was one of the most popular gay porn stars

in the US and my personal favorite. He was about five years
older than me, from one of the southern states. He liked
dogs but because he traveled a lot he couldn’t really have
one. He had the most delectable body with well-placed ink,
and he was too smart for me.

A smart porn star? Oh yes. See, there was this thing

about all Brian’s interviews. He had a reputation for being a
bit of a jerk, but when I watched the interviews where he
blatantly made fun of the interviewer with that sort of cocky,
sarcastic smirk on his face, I knew. He was just like me,
someone too intelligent to be stuck doing something he
clearly didn’t enjoy as much as he would have liked.

Okay, so maybe it was silly to compare being a bike

messenger to being an adult entertainment performer, but
hey, I knew the guy’s pain. If he had any, of course. I might
be wrong, though I was fairly certain I was right.

So suddenly, following his every word became my

obsession. I already followed his sporadically updated blog,
but now I was more in tune with his real life, in real time.

Tweets like @BrianEnolaXXX Being bad and having a

burger after gym. Who’s gonna know, eh? made me extremely
happy for some reason. That meant he still did “bad” things,
even if it was just eating junk food.

From his tweets, I learned that he lived with a

roommate, another porn star with the stage name Will Hung.
Yes, ridiculous, but most porn names are. He also visited his
aunt in Texas every now and then. The thing that struck me
the most, and set the bar really high, was that he seemed

Thank My Lucky Scars | Tia Fielding

very pleasantly surprised when someone said something
genuinely witty to him. Now if only I could be truly witty and
sound smart while tweeting to him.

It didn’t work, the being witty thing, so I didn’t tweet to

him at all. Better to be quiet than to be considered a stupid
pest. Then one early morning, after a very poorly slept night,
I was watching a movie in bed. Not porn, mind you, just
some thriller I remembered Jon had liked. I had my Twitter
application on, and after a while there was a tweet from
Brian. It wasn’t addressed to anyone in particular, but the
tone seemed annoyed.

@BrianEnolaXXX How many times do I have to tell you, I

won’t explain my stage name to you?

I had seen him tweet about the same thing many times,

usually when someone asked him about it, and he was
clearly getting frustrated.

For a moment I thought about it and then tweeted:
@FlashNotGordon @BrianEnolaXXX I have you figured

out. It’s kind of sad you still get asked, though. Not such a
puzzle.

I went back to my movie, having no illusions about him

possibly answering me. I had never tweeted him before, so I
didn’t get my hopes up. No matter the content, Brian always
seemed to wait for people to tweet him a few times before
commenting on anything they said.

Ten minutes later, I almost dropped my laptop to the

floor when there was a tweet for me.

@BrianEnolaXXX @FlashNotGordon Really now? Aren’t

you a bit optimistic there, Flashy?

I snorted at the “Flashy” and typed:

Thank My Lucky Scars | Tia Fielding

@FlashNotGordon @BrianEnolaXXX It’s not optimistic if

you know you’re right. Just certainty. Would tell you but want
to keep your secret. ;)

A few minutes later he replied to me. My stomach made

strange fluttering motions, and I squealed internally, being
the fanboy I am.

@BrianEnolaXXX @FlashNotGordon For now I’ll hold you

responsible for my secret, but you’ll have to tell me your guess
eventually.

@FlashNotGordon @BrianEnolaXXX Will do, sir. I am

certain I’m right, though. It isn’t Enola that’s gay.

For a moment I thought I’d said too much, and then,

after some minutes of waiting and biting my already short
nails, a tweet:

@BrianEnolaXXX @FlashNotGordon You’re a clever boy,

Flashy. Kudos.

WAS

documenting the whole healing process in a blog I had

started a week or so before the accident. The link to my blog
was in my Twitter profile, with the description “London’s
fastest bike messenger who lost a round to a rich man’s
Mercedes. Not so fast anymore.” I was surprised by how
many people were responding to my story.

In the first three weeks of my forced “vacation,” I learned

that a man can only jerk off so much before it starts to lose
the charm it had, and he might get chafed. I needed other
things to do, so I wrote about things like how hot my
physiotherapist, Terry, was and how I needed suggestions for
other things to do.

Thank My Lucky Scars | Tia Fielding

Figuring out Brian’s stage name kept him interested in

me. It was enough for him to usually reply to my tweets at
him, at least to those I sent when he happened to be around.
I still tried to keep the tweeting to a minimum. I didn’t want
to turn into the pest that I had avoided being thus far. The
time zones were a bitch, and I have to admit that at some
point I changed my daily rhythm into a less convenient one
in favor of stalking Brian online.

I wasn’t obsessed in the insane kind of way. I just

thought the guy had more depth than people gave him credit
for, and he was fuck-hot.

’

been tweeting casually back and forth for about two

weeks when I found out Brian was coming to the UK. He’d
been here before, but I hadn’t been in London at the time, so
I’d missed seeing him perform live. There wasn’t anything
special planned for this trip. One of the UK studios wanted
him for a scene, and he’d be making an appearance at one of
the gay clubs, Room Service, for one night.

Two evenings before he was to arrive, I drank a few

pints at the corner pub with Trina and pondered what the
hell I’d do.

“First of all, there’s no way Terry is going to let you go to

the club. There’s too big of a chance of you getting pushed or
something. I mean, it will be packed with Brian there,” Trina
said over her own pint.

“And secondly?”

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“I haven’t a clue. I suppose I’m thinking Terry will advise

against it, and that’s it. And also, do you want to go and see
him and get even more obsessed?”

“Not obsessed…,” I grumbled and sighed into my pint.
“Yes you are. Not in a Fatal Attraction way, but still. It’s

like, what, two weeks until you have the cast off and possibly
weeks or even months of more rehab before you’re
functioning?” my best friend asked, reminding me of the
cold, harsh truth.

“Oh believe me, I’m functioning…,” I had to purr at her.

She really was asking for it.

“For fuck’s sake, Matty….”
I dug my iPhone from my pocket and checked my

Twitter while Trina chatted with the barmaid she knew from
school.

Before the wicked witch could prevent me, I tweeted:
@FlashNotGordon @BrianEnolaXXX If you need hints for

sightseeing or anything when you’re here, tweet me. Can’t
come with for obv reasons, though.

I left the phone on the table and then forgot all about it

when Jon walked in and began to chat with me while eyeing
Trina’s ass not so subtly. She was talking to her friend,
leaning on the counter so her cute little butt jutted out
suggestively. Winding people up was her specialty, and
frankly she got more out of messing with poor Jon than she
should have, especially while claiming not to be interested.

“So, your porn guy coming to town?” Jon asked

suddenly, and I lost all ability to speak. Fortunately, I was
saved from having to answer that when Trina walked back to
us with fresh pints.

Thank My Lucky Scars | Tia Fielding

“’Ello, Jonny-boy. Had I known you were here, I

would’ve brought you one too,” she said, even though we all
knew very well she’d known Jon was sitting with me before
she paid for the pints.

“Don’t worry, darling, I’ll get my own, and you can check

out my ass in turn,” he stated, got up, and walked to the
bar.

“Bloody hell, you did take a look there,” I chortled at her

when she tried to hide she had, indeed, checked out Jon’s
ass. “It is a fine ass, not saying it’s not, but you two need to
stop this dancing-around-each-other shit eventually.”

The rest of the evening went as expected. Everyone but

me got a bit tipsy, but before things could get out of hand,
Jon dragged me home, just in case I needed help with
anything. The cast was awkward but easier to manage now
that I’d had time to practice. I did appreciate the effort and
the thought anyway.

“So talk, man. Trina kept mentioning this Brian fellow.

He’s coming to London?” Jon asked me in the lift of my
building. Obviously he wasn’t going to let it go until he got
an answer.

“Aye, just that he’s going to the club, and no way can I

go there and all that.” I shrugged and tried not to show how
annoyed I really was.

When we got to my flat, I hobbled to my couch and

checked my Twitter, while Jon made us some sandwiches
and got some water to avoid any possible hangover-like
feelings in the morning.

The application loaded and showed my new tweets.

“Holy shit….”

Thank My Lucky Scars | Tia Fielding

“What?” Jon walked to the couch and sat down, trying

to look over my shoulder.

I showed him the screen.
@BrianEnolaXXX @FlashNotGordon Yeah I read your blog

the other day. I could come by with chicken soup on Tuesday?
No wait, does that help for broken bones?

“Holy fucking bloody hell,” Jon whispered and then

looked at me wide-eyed.

“What do I say?” I panicked a little bit.
“Give me the phone; how do you use this thing? Oh,

okay….” Jon grabbed the phone and began to write the
message, muttering about 140 characters while doing so.
“How’s this?” He handed over the phone.

@FlashNotGordon @BrianEnolaXXX Not sure, can try?

Company is always good. I’m free on Tue, not moving much
from my place anyway.

I hit send before I could change my mind, and stared at

Jon for a moment before he broke the stunned silence.

“You gotta show me what this miracle man of yours

looks like.”

“Get the laptop from my bed,” I said, and he went to do

as told.

“Nothing… like—no porn, don’t need to see his cock,”

Jon mumbled when he came back.

I clicked into my favorite folder, one that had a nice

photo shoot of Brian with his clothes on. Well, mostly, but
no cock as per request from my straight companion.

While Jon looked at the photos, I dug into my sandwich

and drank my water.

Thank My Lucky Scars | Tia Fielding

“Have to say… he’s got looks. Like the tats; they look

good on him. I can see why you fancy him,” Jon said and
shrugged.

The Twitter program on my laptop pinged.
Jon tossed aside the sandwich he had just taken into

his hands and grabbed the computer he had just put on the
table.

@BrianEnolaXXX @FlashNotGordon Will DM you for

address. Consider it a date, Flashy.

My e-mail pinged for an alert that Brian Enola, my

favorite porn performer, was now following me on Twitter. He
sent me the direct message immediately, asking my address.
I had Jon type it but stopped him from adding “something
sexy” to the message when he suggested it.

“Okay, fine, but please tell me you’re not going to choke

when he gets here,” he said and then snorted a little bit.
“Or….”

“Fuck off, seriously. Go home. Let me get to bed,” I said.

The buzz was leaving my head, and I was getting cranky. His
innuendos weren’t helping at all.

“Fine. Call me if you need anything,” Jon said as he

helped me hobble to the bathroom.

“Promise. Now go.” I prevented myself from snapping a

bit but then called out, “Thanks, man,” over my shoulder.

“Yeah yeah…,” Jon mumbled and let himself out of my

flat.

VERYTHING

would have been fine despite my nervousness,

but it turned out that Tuesday wasn’t a good day for me

Thank My Lucky Scars | Tia Fielding

when it came to the leg. It could be good for days and then
ache like hell for a day or two, just to spite me. And as my
luck would have it, Tuesday was a bad day, with a generally
crabby feeling every time I had to get up from the couch and
even when I sat still.

Brian sent me a direct message on Twitter to tell me

he’d probably be later than he thought because suddenly
one of the British porn blogs wanted to interview him. That
made me feel more anxious because now I had no idea when
he’d be by or how much pain I would be in when he finally
arrived. By the time it hit five in the evening, I was a
nervous, in-serious-pain wreck, but taking proper painkillers
wasn’t an option because they made me loopy. That was the
last thing I needed to be when I was already feeling nervous
and shaky.

I had decided to dress lightly because I wasn’t feeling

good, and my flat is always hot during the summer, and
maybe I wanted to show off a little bit. It wouldn’t hurt to
look good for someone I’d fancied from afar for a long time.
So there I sat, on the couch with a bottle of water nearby, my
laptop next to me on the cushion, my leg propped up on the
table and beads of sweat rolling down the side of my face
and down my neck. My comfy white-and-lime-green board
shorts looked good on me despite the ugly cast, and the tight
white T-shirt that complemented the shorts was okay too, at
least as long as I didn’t spill anything on myself.

I was replying to Jon’s third e-mail of the day—

apparently he had time to write harassing e-mails from the
office where he worked full time, despite trying to help out at
his dad’s garage half-time—when the buzzer for my flat went
and I almost dropped the laptop.

Thank My Lucky Scars | Tia Fielding

Closing the laptop, I set it on the table and struggled to

my achy feet. I didn’t always use, or need, my forearm
crutches, but I snatched one from where they were propped
up against the back of the couch, and limped to the door.

I pressed the button and stupidly said “Yes?” to the

intercom.

There was the familiar little crackle of the old equipment

and then a sexy voice drawling, “I have a delivery for Flashy.”

I gulped, then pressed the button again. “Erm… come

right up,” I said before buzzing back so that the door
unlocked for him.

For the few minutes it took him to get up to my floor, I

wanted to pace but couldn’t. Instead I glanced at myself in
the mirror by the door and ran my fingers through my messy
mop of blond hair, and then it was time to face him.

There was a knock on the door, and I swallowed hard,

grabbed the last shreds of my nerves, and opened the door.

There was a glimpse of something almost like

nervousness in the eyes of the man behind my door. The
look went away, and I saw a sort of mask fall into place as he
looked me over from head to toe, quite blatantly checking me
out.

“Well, well, Flashy, you should have some photos of

yourself on your blog,” Brian said appreciatively.

“Will keep that in mind. Nice to meet you,” I said,

managing to sound sane enough as I hobbled to give him
space to get in.

“Nice to meet you too,” Brian agreed as he walked in

and waited to see that I could close the door fine. He didn’t

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offer help, which was nice. I was kind of tired of people
hovering.

When I turned I saw him standing there, looking around

my flat. I noticed he had a bag from one of the better-known
delis in London in his hand.

“You seriously brought me soup?” I asked him, probably

sounding just as surprised as I was.

“Hell yes. I always keep my word.” His gorgeous gray

eyes turned to me, and I saw another glimpse of him I had a
feeling not just everyone got to see.

“Well then, I’m hungry, so nice timing.” I smiled, trying

to get over the nervousness and the fact that I had Brian
Enola there in my flat! Seriously!

I made my way to the kitchen, and he followed me,

taking the food out of the bag and helping me with finding
drinks. He had brought enough food for both of us, and I
teased him about his overly healthy choices.

“Is it easiest for you to sit on the couch?” he asked.
“Yeah, I need to get my leg up anyways,” I said, frowning

because the pain was getting worse.

“Pain?” he asked and carried our food to the living room

before coming back to get the drinks. By the time he had
everything ready, I was just settling down on the couch, and
I couldn’t help the whimper that bubbled through my
clenched teeth.

“Just… a bit.” I tried to grin, but Brian looked at me

seriously.

“You got to have some decent pain medication here,

right?” he asked and I nodded. “So why aren’t you taking it?”

Thank My Lucky Scars | Tia Fielding

“Because it makes me loopy and sleepy.” I tried to shrug

it off and took the plate he offered to me.

“Why didn’t you take them anyway? Because I was

coming over?” he asked, settling to eat his own food.

He had turned to sit sideways so that he could look at

me while we ate, and it was more than a bit unsettling. His
intelligent gaze was fixed on me, and there was an
accusation in his eyes when he realized how much I was
truly hurting.

“Yeah… I mean… I wasn’t in this much pain earlier, and

usually I manage, but a few hours ago….” I shrugged again,
careful not to spill chicken noodle soup on my lap.

“Shit, Flashy… you should make sure you’re okay. I

could’ve come by tomorrow or something,” he said, shaking
his head at me, but he didn’t seem to be angry.

“Well, I can be out of it with painkillers any day. It’s not

like you’re here all the time, and you have other, more
important stuff to attend to while you’re in town.” I said it as
I saw it, and that seemed to settle the deal.

For a few minutes, we ate in a companionable silence,

just humming at the food, which was really, really good. It
was also something I could never afford to buy for myself,
not even as a treat.

“So, tell me about your theory? And by the way, I can’t

call you Flashy forever….” Brian raised a brow at me.

“My name is Matthew Rooney, but my friends call me

Matt or Matty, if I allow them,” I said, then clumsily placed
my spoon on my plate and extended my hand. “Nice to meet
you.”

Thank My Lucky Scars | Tia Fielding

I didn’t expect to get his real name, and he didn’t give it,

just a firm handshake and a little grin.

“And yeah, I figured Enola is alone spelled backwards. I

do have an idea about Brian too, but I’m not sure about
that,” I admitted and looked at him for some sort of
confirmation.

“You really are a clever boy, Matt,” Brian admitted and

looked down at his plate. It seemed like he was suddenly
almost timid for a moment. “So, the theory about Brian?” He
cleared his throat and looked at me expectantly.

“Well, if I was to figure out what the name meant for me,

and what I know about you so far, I’d say it’s a Queer as Folk
reference.” I scooped the rest of my soup into my spoon and
turned to look at the suddenly dead silent Brian.

He was frozen on the spot, staring at me, and then very

slowly he grinned.

“Wow…. Well, I suppose I knew from reading your blog

that you’re intelligent, but that was really, really good.”

I had to grin back, his expression was so infectious. He

shook his head amusedly and then helped me put my plate
back on the coffee table.

“Did you know there was a song called Enola/Alone?” I

asked as I watched him finish his chicken and veggies.

“There is?” He sounded interested, so I made a grabbing

motion with my hand toward my laptop.

“Gimme.”
Brian gave me the laptop and went to take our dishes to

the kitchen while I searched my iTunes for the song. When I
found it and cranked the music up, Brian walked back with
a glass of water and what looked like my pill bottle.

Thank My Lucky Scars | Tia Fielding

“Half now, half later? Please?” he asked and put on a

puppy dog face that made me laugh and then surrender.

“Fine, but if I go all mushy and loopy and try to fondle

your assets, it’s not me, it’s the drugs.” I huffed and held out
my hand for the pill bottle. “I’m supposed to take two, so I’ll
take one. Look.” I made a show of taking one pill from the
bottle, placing it on my tongue, and then swallowing it with a
sip of water.

I caught, just for a second, Brian watching my throat as

I swallowed, but then he walked around the coffee table to
sit down again.

“It’s an interesting song,” he said, listening with his

head tilted a little, and then he grinned. “And you’re stating
you wouldn’t want to, quote, ‘fondle my assets’ if you weren’t
under the influence of some nasty medication?”

His expression was so teasing, so perfectly what I had

thought he was like, that I wasn’t sure if this was the real
him or the Brian he usually showed to people he didn’t
know. Fanboys like me.

“I wouldn’t go that far, but I’ve pretty much resigned

myself to the idea that I won’t be doing any… fondling, for a
few months at least.” I rapped my knuckles on my cast.

“Oh, right, that does put a damper on things.” Brian

nodded and gestured at my laptop. “Can I show you
something?” he asked.

“Sure. And besides, I read the blog of that one porn

fanatic guy—he said you don’t fondle your fanboys anyways,”
I said as neutrally as I could while I settled a bit lower in the
corner of the couch. I wasn’t getting loopy yet, but I was tired
from the pain, and it was beginning to show.

Thank My Lucky Scars | Tia Fielding

“Oh yeah, I read that one too. There’s nothing attractive

about him, not for me. He’s not ugly or anything. He just
does the whole gym-bunny thing, and I don’t really find it
attractive. He’s actually orange from a bad spray tan, and all
his clothing seems three sizes too small.” Brian stated
nonchalantly, “Besides, he’s an idiot. I talked to him once,
and he didn’t really care about anything but getting into my
pants so he could add my name to his little black book of
porn stars he’s been with. I’m not into that. Now, listen to
this one.” Brian turned the laptop to show me the song he
had searched from YouTube.

I had heard it before. I was sure because the melody

sounded familiar, but I couldn’t really remember the lyrics. It
was pretty much a story about someone who felt lonely
wherever he went and was searching for a place to call home.
Touching, really, and I could understand how it might relate
to someone like Brian.

Smiling slightly, I closed my eyes a little and leaned

back, letting Brian take over my laptop. For at least half an
hour, we just lounged on my couch and listened to music,
rarely commenting on anything. Every now and then I
pointed out a song and he’d find it for us to listen to, but
that was it.

I was surprised, to say the least, by the way we both

seemed to get over the awkwardness of meeting someone for
the first time so easily. I got the impression Brian was
enjoying himself, and I was sure his mask was sliding down
little by little when he realized that despite being a self-
proclaimed fanboy, I wasn’t one of the creepy ones.

“Where are you staying?” I asked eventually. I was

feeling happier, the pain had faded a lot, and I definitely was

Thank My Lucky Scars | Tia Fielding

getting to the goofy, giggly side of things. Luckily, with this
dosage, it wouldn’t get out of hand.

“I was supposed to stay with Ronny… Ronny

Watson…?”

I nodded. I knew who he was talking about.
“Anyway, I was supposed to stay with him, but his sister

made a surprise visit, so his apartment is a bit crowded.”
Brian frowned.

“Flat,” I corrected him and then added, “You can stay on

the couch if you want, for tonight I mean. Not a big deal
because once I take my other pill, I’ll be more or less out of it
until the morning.”

He looked a bit confused for a moment but then nodded

slowly. “Oh, right. Flat,” he said before grinning at me a
little. “Well, I suppose that’s okay. I just need to call Ronny
and tell him I’ll stop by in the morning.”

Ronny was one of the British porn performers, a

bisexual porn performer to be exact, who had a huge
following of both sexes. I knew, based on Brian’s tweets to
Ronny and vice versa, that they had met at the Black Party a
few years before and had hit it off immediately.

“Okay,” I said, nodding, and he got off the couch and

walked to the kitchen. I could hear him make the call.

Part of my brain was squealing. I had my biggest porn

crush in my flat, and he was going to stay the night! And
then there was the other part of me that was certainly very
happy but wanted to behave. I didn’t want to blow this, pun
intended.

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“Okay, done.” Brian came back to the room and walked

to the windows. The best part of my flat was that it
overlooked one of the little parks scattered around London.

“Wanna watch a movie?” I asked, because it wasn’t late

yet. “And what’s your schedule for tomorrow?”

“Just a photo shoot in the afternoon and the gig in the

evening. I think I might be able to sleep in. Ronny’s sister is
loud, and if she’s not there, then I bet he’d hook up with
someone, and I wouldn’t have gotten any sleep, anyway.”
Brian frowned a bit but then perked up. “What kind of
movies do you like?”

“Horror, mostly. Cheesy or not, depending on the mood

I’m in. I have some on the laptop, but there’s more on that
bookshelf,” I said, nodding at the side of the small lounge,
where my books and DVDs were arranged on the shelves.

“Dude, did you organize your books by color?” Brian’s

disbelieving voice snapped me out of staring at his firm,
gorgeous ass encased in a fine pair of cargo shorts.

“Oh, that wasn’t me. I was visiting my folks in Oxford a

few months back, before the accident, and my friend Jon
was housesitting, and he decided to play a prank.” I
shrugged. Then a thought entered my head. “You could’ve
always gone to Ronny’s and hooked up with him.”

Brian was surprised by the subject change, but he

turned around to look at me blankly. “Nope, I mean, sure, we
did fool around at some point, but he’s so not my type and
just… no.” Then he turned around again and began to
browse my DVDs.

“Do you have a type? I mean, obviously you work a lot

with certain kinds of guys, but that probably means

Thank My Lucky Scars | Tia Fielding

nothing.” At least that was my impression of how things
worked in the industry.

He picked three DVDs and walked back to the couch.

“Pick one. And yeah, sort of. I mean, it’s tricky to have
anything like a relationship if the guy doesn’t get my less
respectable job, but I’d say a bit younger, around your build,
and dark hair with pale skin. That’s my weakness. But no
twinks, seriously. I’m so over that….” He chuckled a little as
I was trying to pick a movie and look like I didn’t care that he
just basically said he didn’t like blonds. Excellent.

“This one. It’s stupid but funny stupid.” I handed him

one of the horror movies, and he got up again to take it to
my player.

“How about you?”
For a moment I wasn’t getting his question, and then I

realized what he was asking. “Eh… older. Tattoos are a plus,
but mostly, and I do know this sounds stupid given the
situation we’re in”—I gestured between myself and him, my
porn crush—“I really do think it’s personality first. I mean,
don’t get me wrong, I like a nice strong guy with a thick
cock, but it’s not everything.” I shrugged and pointed at the
few photos I had placed on the windowsill.

Brian looked at them curiously before going to inspect

them.

“First one is me and Jon. He’s very straight and totally a

guy I’d have as my best man if I ever got married, but I
wouldn’t want him to throw me a stag night. He’d take me to
a titty bar for sure.” My exasperated tone made Brian
chuckle.

“Those are my sisters and my parents,” I told him when

he picked up the second frame. “From three years ago. The

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girls are twelve in it. They were sort of a surprise because my
mum was forty when they were born. They were hoping for
one baby but got two. I helped with them a lot when I was
still living at home.”

To be honest, I sometimes missed my family a lot.

Having grown up in a loving, warm household and having
had the little ones around, it was sometimes too quiet in my
flat. Sure, I could’ve lived with a few other people like many
of my friends did, but I had gotten my flat through some
connections, and it was too nice to pass up.

“Do you want a family one day?” Something about

Brian’s tone was almost wistful, and I wondered what it was
about, but I couldn’t ask him. After all, we were as good as
strangers still.

“I don’t know. Depends on what kind of guy I end up

with. If he didn’t want any kids, I could live with that. I have
a feeling my sisters will end up with a bunch, and we could
always borrow theirs.” I grinned, feeling relieved when Brian
smiled at me and the sadness was gone again.

“You look happy in this one.” He raised one of the

photos at me.

“Oh, yeah. That’s me and my ex, Harry, at Loch Ness.

His family had a cottage about fifty miles from the loch, so
we went to visit.” I smiled at the memory and didn’t
immediately notice that Brian was looking at me while I was
looking at the photo.

“What broke you up?” His question wasn’t intrusive at

all, just curious.

“There was the age difference—he was twelve years

older. I was only twenty when we started dating. After two
years he realized he wanted to have a family and everything.”

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I managed without much bitterness until I said the last part.
“And that he didn’t want it with me.”

“Shit, sorry….”
My eyes fixed on Brian again, and I shook my head. “It

was two years ago, ancient history in gay relationship years.”
I tried to smile.

I took the remotes Brian handed to me and turned on

my TV. It was a small flat screen, but at least it took up very
little space. Besides, I usually watched movies either on my
laptop in bed or at the cinema. It wasn’t like I needed a huge
TV, unlike Jon, who had a forty-two-inch one just so he
could watch football and rugby on it.

“I think there might be ingredients for popcorn in the

cupboard if you want some.” I remembered just as Brian was
sitting down.

“What? You mean like microwave popcorn?” he asked,

frowning a little.

“No, like the real stuff, unpopped corn and oil?” I’d

thought it was a rhetorical question, but Brian was clearly
lost. “You’ve never done your own popcorn from scratch?”

“Erm… no?” Now that was a rhetorical question,

obviously.

“Okay, so we’re going to do this properly, then. Help me

to the kitchen.” I held out a hand, both because I wanted to
feel him touching me and because I didn’t like the hassle of
the crutches in my small kitchen.

Brian helped me up and hovered close by for support,

which I appreciated. He wasn’t that tall, but he was still a
couple of inches taller than me, and it was kind of nice.
Besides, he was more muscular and had the whole

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masculine thing going for him. I felt safe around him. Not
that I felt unsafe otherwise, it was just something I noticed
now, being in such close proximity to Brian.

“Okay, there should be a very big pot in that cabinet

there.” I pointed at the correct one. “Make sure it has the
cover too.” I reached for the oil from the shelf and the corn
from the cupboard while Brian noisily rummaged through
the cabinet next to my feet. It was a small kitchen, and there
wasn’t much space.

“This one?” He showed me a pot.
Suddenly I was very conscious of having the man of my

wet dreams crouching next to my feet. I swallowed once and
nodded. “Y-yeah,” I managed as I turned the stove on.

If Brian noticed my stuttering, he was polite enough not

to make a deal of it. Instead he got the right cover for the pot
and closed the cabinet door again.

“So, put the pot on the stove here,” I said, slipping into

my best cook mode. “Right, and then we’ll put some oil in it.
You pour it.”

Brian did as he was told.
“Not too much; that’s fine. Yeah. Now take one kernel

and drop it in. Just one.” It was almost funny and definitely
endearing how he concentrated on the task of making
popcorn in a way I had done it since I was little. Naturally
back then it had been my mum who had done it—hot oil
included and all that—but it was definitely something that
was familiar to me by now.

“And then?” Brian turned to look at me, excitement

shining in his eyes.

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“Then we wait for the kernel to pop. That’s how we know

it’s hot enough. We need to be sure the oil won’t overheat
because then it burns the corn, and that just smells nasty.” I
wrinkled my nose.

“Okay.” Brian grinned. He looked at me for a moment,

like he was searching for something. Somehow it didn’t feel
like a thing I could ask, so I didn’t. Instead I just looked
back, and we stood there, taking up most of my kitchen floor
space.

When the corn popped inside the pot, we both jumped a

little and laughed out loud in the way slightly uncomfortable
people do.

“Okay, ready. Now let me do this so we don’t drown the

whole kitchen in popcorn,” I stated and took the bag of corn
from Brian, who was pouting. “You get to do it the next time,
so pay attention,” I demanded, and to his credit, he did.

I poured an even layer of corn into the pot, and Brian

quickly put the cover on.

“Is that enough?” he asked, peering through the glass

cover.

“You’ll see.” I grinned. He was really a big kid about

this. “Just don’t open the cover or they’ll fly all over.”

While I got some sodas for us from the fridge, I

instructed Brian how to shake the pot a little so that the
corn wouldn’t burn and most of it would pop properly. He
was smiling and doing as I said, eyes fixed on the pot in his
big hands. He was careful not to burn himself, using my
knitted kettle holders as buffers between the heat and his
hands.

“Now, when the popping calms down, turn the heat off

completely, but don’t stop shaking the pot. When there’s a

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few seconds between pops, you can pull the pot off
completely.”

I found a huge bowl and then looked at Brian seriously.

“The question is, do you like sweet or salty popcorn?” I
narrowed my eyes at him.

Brian moved the pot from the heat and turned to look at

me before theatrically swallowing and gnawing at his lower
lip. “I… uh….” He tried to figure out the correct answer to my
question. “Salty?” he finally uttered.

“Excellent. You can stay.” I smiled widely as I reached

for the salt from the shelf next to the stove and again
instructed Brian to be careful with the pot cover that had
gathered moisture.

He poured the popcorn into the bowl, and I lightly salted

it. “I don’t like it too salty,” I explained, and Brian just
nodded. He was a good student, wasn’t he?

Brian got the bowl and drinks while I hobbled toward

the couch. “Can’t wait to taste this,” he said, eyeing the bowl
hungrily as we settled down once again, and I finally put the
DVD on.

The movie was as funny as I remembered it being. The

best part was having someone who laughed at the same bits
watch it with me. The bowl was sitting between us on the
couch, and the first time I reached for some popcorn and my
hand touched Brian’s, I exhaled so loudly he heard it even
over the movie. He smirked a little, never taking his eyes off
the screen.

The second time it happened, it was his turn to react.

His hand twitched, and even though he tried to play it cool,
when I looked at him, he was blushing a little. Eventually
the awkwardness faded, and we just acted like it didn’t have

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any effect on either of us. It did have some on me, though. I
doubted it did on Brian, and I sure wasn’t going to ask.

NCE

the movie was over, I turned to look at Brian. “Good,

eh?”

“Oh yes, very funny. Can’t believe I hadn’t seen it

before.” He smiled and then yawned widely.

“And I think it’s time for my second pill and some sleep.

You’re beat, and I think I need to get horizontal or I’ll be even
more sore tomorrow.” I sighed.

It was early, but I guessed part of Brian being tired was

jet lag. Mine was excitement, pain, and chemicals.

We managed to clean up the kitchen, and I took the first

turn in the bathroom while Brian was figuring out how to
turn my couch into a bed. When I got back, there was a pain
pill and a glass of water sitting on my bedside table. I smiled
a little. It felt surprisingly nice to be taken care of, even in
these little ways.

There was a knock on the bedroom door. “You decent?”

Brian’s deep voice asked.

“Oh yes, still figuring out if I want to wear a shirt for

bed.” I frowned. It was warm in the room, and I didn’t really
need further annoyances with the leg acting up.

“I vote for no shirt,” Brian said, smirking as he opened

the door. “You done with the bathroom? Can I borrow a
towel?”

“Ha-ha. Yes, in the cabinet where you found the

pillows.” I rolled my eyes at his mischievous expression and
tugged my shirt off as soon as he went to find the towel.

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His flirting seemed a little more… genuine now. It wasn’t

the flirting with a fan thing he’d done when he arrived. Now
it was more like flirting with someone he might actually be
interested in. At least I damned hoped so. Not that I could do
anything about it, or really wanted to either. Fantasies were
just that, figments of your imagination and dreams. Too good
to turn into reality, especially when the person you were
fantasizing about lived on the other side of some pretty vast
and deep saltwater. That, and was totally out of your league.

I was just settling down in my bed, something that was

easier after the practice I’d had as well, when Brian called
out from the living room. “You need the laptop there?”

“Oh, yeah, sure, thanks.” I wasn’t ready to fall asleep

anyway, and checking my e-mails and dodging IMs from Jon
would keep me occupied until then.

Brian walked back into the room with a towel over his

shoulder, my laptop in one hand, and wearing only his
underwear, which, just my luck, was a jockstrap. I must
have stared. And possibly drooled a little bit.

Brian’s expression was amused as he walked to the bed

and leaned to place the laptop next to me, in the middle of
the bed. Probably for my benefit, he didn’t say anything, just
shook his head a little and then dragged the very tips of his
fingers across my stomach when he pulled away from the
bed.

I whimpered. I bloody whimpered as his touch spread

heat all over my body. Naturally my cock took interest,
despite my best efforts to think of Great-Aunt Rose naked.

Brian smiled, something unexplainable in his eyes, and

then backed away from the bed before vanishing into the
bathroom.

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Jesus fucking Christ….
I opened the laptop with unsteady hands and, as I had

predicted, was immediately pinged by Jon.

Brian

HERE

were things in life I wasn’t prepared for. Like actually

paying attention to what a fan had to say and deciding he
was intriguing enough for me to stalk his blog. I didn’t
realize how intrigued I was until my fingers typed the
suggestion that I bring him soup when I got to London.

As per my usual luck, Ronny was having a family crisis

when I arrived, and I so didn’t look forward to being either in
between him and his annoying sister, or him and his fuck for
the night. I had decided to worry about where I’d sleep later.
Finding a B&B in London wasn’t that difficult, and I could
also go to a hotel to splurge a bit if I wanted to. Sleeping over
at Flashy’s wasn’t my plan. Not at all.

I pretty much coasted through the day before going to

meet Flashy, battling jet lag and just general fed-upness with
the industry I had worked in for the last five years. Some
guys did this for a decade or more, and I couldn’t
understand how they managed it. Sure, the three Fs of the
porn business—Ronny’s favorite phrase, fame, fans, and
fucking—were okay at first, but after a few years, it got old.
For me it had been old for the last two, and I had just had
my real breakthrough a year ago. There was neither rhyme
nor reason for it. Some guys were instant stars. Some were

Thank My Lucky Scars | Tia Fielding

doing tiny studios, bad terms, and crappy contracts for a
long time.

For me the key was my day job. I was a business major

in college, and when I graduated, I began to invest some of
my own and my friends’ money, and gradually I took on a
few clients. Nothing big, but I have a knack for figuring out
the market, and I didn’t want to be a stockbroker for any
company. I wanted the freedom to do as I wished, and I
make decent money if I put my mind to it. It was a satisfying
job on some level, but since I was a very sexual being and a
friend of mine worked in porn…. The thought of having a bit
of something more exciting, more… forbidden, was there for
a while before I first sent my application to a studio I liked.

I figured none of my clients would know, and for five

years that had worked. I had a stage name and rarely met
clients face to face. I was secure with my income. I didn’t do
porn for money, not that there’s that much money in porn
anyway. It seems easy, sure, to get a few hundred bucks for
fucking or being fucked on camera, and then doing it again
and again and again. But you don’t build a real career in
porn by doing the same scene over and over, and you sure as
hell won’t get where I am like that.

Now, I was not very competitive or ambitious. I just

wanted to get paid for the job I did, a job I was good at.
That’s it. I didn’t want my own company, for either of my
careers, even though I could. Neither one interested me
enough. Sure, I could do a scene here and there, photo
shoots, some modeling even, but I didn’t want to be the top
dog in porn either. As long as I had some fans and I was
having fun, things were okay.

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By the time I met Flashy…. Let’s just say I was getting

tired. I had been working exclusively for Zeus Studios for
about ten months. They had snatched me right after I won
one of the surprisingly prestigious porn awards for the best
newcomer a few months before. I was quite happy with
working with Zeus because they were very professional and
gave me a say in what I did and when I did it, but the
traveling was annoying. Not these European gigs, no. I did
most of these on my own, like Gay Pride events and promo
tours when those were offered to me. It was fun to travel all
over the world. I just disliked the constant hopping between
cities in the US.

So there I was, in London, fed up, tired, and waiting for

something exciting to happen that would take my mind off
everything… porn. After meeting with the organizers of the
next evening’s party, I headed to a deli Ronny told me was
the best in town. How anyone could call London a town was
beyond me, but I still took his hint and shopped for soup for
Flashy.

I hadn’t been interested in anyone in ages. At least not

in a way that didn’t result in a quick fuck against the closest
surface and never seeing the guy again. Not like I was
interested in Flashy. I’d hoped that he wasn’t attractive, that
there was something repulsive about him I could concentrate
on while meeting him. That thought flew out of my mind
when he opened the door to his apartm—his flat, and shyly
smiled at me.

It hit me that I didn’t know his real name, but then

again neither did he know mine, so it was okay, I supposed.
The trouble started when I realized that not only was he
pretty damned gorgeous, he was also witty, funny, and didn’t

Thank My Lucky Scars | Tia Fielding

act like a fanboy. And then I had to ask him his name, and
by the time I was calling him Matt in my head, I was a lost
cause.

Naturally I was trying to ignore it. Being attracted to

someone interesting and gorgeous was… dangerous. It was
just that Matt kept surprising me somehow. He fascinated
me, and a great big part of me wanted him to be free of the
cast and ready to be fucked into oblivion by yours truly.
Somehow I knew it would be even more dangerous, fucking
him.

After two dozen exchanged tweets, reading his blog, and

spending an evening with him, I knew. I panicked, in a way,
but I managed to force myself into the bathroom before I let
myself touch him more than the little swipe of my fingertips
across his slightly muscled stomach when I took the laptop
to him.

There was no way to resist touching him completely. In

his boxer shorts and cast, he was still desirable, and when I
saw his cock twitch through the fabric, I really had to flee.
Something about this man was calling to me, and I could tell
he was interested in me, and not in the usual way fans were.
He didn’t want to bag Brian Enola. He wanted to know me,
and that was something I didn’t let people do. Or maybe I
couldn’t, who knew?

As I showered, having left Matt in his bed with the

laptop, I wondered what the hell I would do. I wanted him.
Like really, truly wanted him. To get to know him, to—
fucking hell!—date him, to take care of him. I was already
doing the last one. He was self-sufficient even with the cast,
but I was still pissed off at him for not taking his pain meds
just because he wanted to be lucid when meeting me. He

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had been through so much pain because of his injury I
didn’t want to add to it, even if indirectly. I had read his blog,
twice, and I had learned a lot about what kind of man Matt
was.

The layer of sarcasm was pretty much there in all of his

blog posts—whether it was about his physical therapist, the
surgeries he’d had to have in the very beginning, the rich guy
who had run him over, or trying to deal with the fact that his
leg might never work right again. Sure, he had nice
insurance and so did the rich guy, or so he had written in
one entry, but his messenger days were surely over, and he’d
have to figure out something else to do. There were
moments, phrases in his writing that told me he missed his
family but didn’t want to be a burden. He wanted to live in
Oxford, not in London, and luckily the distance wasn’t that
great. After living in London for a few years, he had his
friends and his social life there. Leaving all that behind
wouldn’t be easy but neither was staying. I wished there
were a way for him to have both.

I didn’t have my bags with me—those were at Ronny’s—

so I literally had nothing clean to wear. I was done with the
shower, the nice lime scent floating around me in the steamy
bathroom, when I heard Matt chuckle in the adjacent
bedroom.

With the towel around my hips and nothing else, I

peeked into the room. He was gesturing at the laptop.

“Yes, sure, I mean, if I can drag the cast over, then why

not? I need to go out, and that would be a good idea,” he was
saying to someone.

I heard the quiet sound of someone talking to him,

probably Skype or some IM program. Stepping into the room,

Thank My Lucky Scars | Tia Fielding

I got a secret thrill from the way Matt raised his eyes from
the screen to me and his jaw dropped.

“What?” the someone who was talking to him asked.

That I heard loud and clear.

“I… erm… Brian’s just come out of the shower,” Matt

managed, swallowing hard.

“Is he naked? If not, then tell him to come say hi. I won’t

believe he’s there unless I see him myself,” the male voice
said.

“It’s my friend Jon,” Matt said, and his expression made

me chuckle.

“Oh…. Well then.” I grinned and pretended to drop the

towel.

“Jesus fuck—” Matt gasped.
“What’s he doing? No, don’t tell me….” Jon’s voice

carried from the laptop’s speakers.

Grinning, I walked to the other side of the bed and

moved to half recline next to Matt. I made sure the towel was
covering the bits that a straight guy wouldn’t appreciate, the
same bits that were taking interest in Matt.

“Hello, Jon.” I waved at the screen.
“Wow, you’re really there.” He looked suitably surprised,

especially when he noticed what I was, or wasn’t, wearing.

“It would seem so, yes.” I nodded and leaned on Matt’s

shoulder to be better in the frame of the laptop’s internal
webcam.

“So, I was just telling Matty that we’re having a picnic in

Hyde Park on Saturday. He should come. Will you still be in
town? If so, you should come too,” Jon chattered.

Thank My Lucky Scars | Tia Fielding

“I’ll fly out either Saturday or Sunday, I think. I haven’t

decided yet.” I shrugged, quite enjoying the feeling of Matt’s
skin against mine where our arms were connected.

“You don’t have to; I mean, if you have something else

or need to fly on Saturday…,” Matt said, and I turned my
head to look at him.

“I know. I’ll see what I have next week and figure it out,

okay?” I smiled, and somehow we ended up just looking at
each other, like we’d done once before that evening, until
Jon coughed.

I turned my head fast and looked at the screen. Matt’s

best friend was grinning a little. The bastard could see it, I
was sure.

“Excellent!” he exclaimed. “Now I need to go, but you

two do everything I wouldn’t do, just mind the leg. Bye!” With
a final wink, Jon disconnected the video and logged off.

Okay, then….
I cleared my throat, fought the weird feeling of blushing

for the first time in who knows how long, and turned to look
at Matt.

He was looking at me, and for a moment my whole being

wanted to get closer to him. My gaze strayed from his eyes to
his mouth and back, and when he licked his lips,
consciously or not, I pulled myself away from the delicious
skin contact. Fuck.

“I better go to bed, early morning tomorrow,” I said,

realizing that he’d know the lie as I’d already told him I
didn’t have to be anywhere before later. Double fuck.

“Okay,” Matt said so softly I barely heard it. He turned

his disappointed gaze away from me and closed the laptop.

Thank My Lucky Scars | Tia Fielding

He was placing it on the nightstand when I turned to say
goodnight from the doorway.

“You took your pill?” I asked, though I saw that it was

gone, and the glass of water I’d brought for him was half-
empty too.

“M-hmm,” he hummed and settled down slightly

awkwardly.

“Okay, see you in the morning, then,” I said, sighing.

“Night.”

“G’night,” Matt replied as he turned his head to face

away from the doorway.

I had been dismissed, and I’d brought it on myself.

next morning I woke up on a strange sofa bed… where

was I? Oh, right, Matt’s place. London. Matt, whom I’d
almost kissed last night.

I scanned the room, looking for a clock—nine o’clock. I

couldn’t remember the last time I’d fallen asleep as fast as I
must have last night or slept through an entire night.

I listened for a moment, deciding that either he was

being very quiet or wasn’t up yet, and went to make coffee in
the kitchen. I liked that he had a nice coffee maker. Not one
of the really expensive and complicated machines, but still a
decent one. I hated the show-off coffee makers, the kind that
nobody in the house could really use and cost more than
your laptop but you just had to have because they looked
cool on the countertop. And don’t get me started on instant
coffee. Just… no.

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As soon as I had the coffee brewing, I snuck into the

bedroom, because it was the only way to the bathroom, and
tried not to ogle the sleeping Matt. I managed but not
without a proper eyeful of the kindest and most interesting
man I’d met in… maybe ever.

Luckily there was a new toothbrush I could use. I hated

not being able to brush my teeth in the morning. When I was
done with my morning routine, I tried to sneak out again,
but Matt seemed to sense me moving about, as he twitched
in his sleep and woke up in a very adorable, childlike
manner. He rubbed his face and blinked a few times, looking
confused for a moment. Then something like joy brushed
across his features, and then… then he looked at me, and
the happiness was suddenly gone.

“I hope I didn’t wake you up,” I said just to say

something.

“No….” He coughed. “It’s okay. You made coffee?” he

asked, looking hopeful.

“Yeah, should be done soon.” I smiled a bit, feeling good

about being helpful again. It was something I craved in some
weird sense—taking care of someone, making sure they were
okay. My friend Greg sometimes laughed and said that if I
wasn’t an Alpha male, I’d make a really good sub for
someone. Yeah, right.

“Great, well, I’ll do my thing and follow the scent of the

caffeine, then,” Matt said, smiling just a little as he struggled
to get up.

I took a step so that I was halfway out the bedroom

door, but I kept an eye, or rather an ear, on him for just a
moment so I could help him if he needed me. He couldn’t be
that comfortable with the cast first thing in the morning.

Thank My Lucky Scars | Tia Fielding

When he got up okay and began to make his way to the
bathroom, I casually walked to the kitchen and poured
myself a mug of coffee.

What the hell should I do? I knew now I had never felt

this sort of pull to anyone, at least not this fast. It felt like I
had with the first boy I ever dated in college. Gosh, I had
been head over heels. Zeke Carter… oh yeah. He had been
hot, and I’d thought that he was out of my league, but I
guess not. It wasn’t until he turned out to be a cheating,
lying bastard with control issues and a knack for using my
money instead of his own that I’d figured I was out of his
league instead.

Standing there in Matt’s living room in yesterday’s

jeans—commando because I didn’t have anything to change
into, and Matt was much smaller than me, so borrowing was
out of question—with a mug of really good coffee in my hand,
looking out the window into a little park, was probably the
nicest moment I’d had in quite a while.

Somehow I felt at home here, not necessarily in Matt’s

place, but in London. The more I saw of the UK, the more I
liked it. I could see myself settling down here, if—

“You make good coffee,” Matt said from the kitchen,

cutting my thought short, for which I was very, very glad.

“Uh, thanks.” I smiled when he carefully hobbled to the

living room and parked himself on the couch.

He took a sip of his coffee and hummed contently before

closing his eyes for a moment. His hair was still in disarray. I
could picture him as a kid, looking exactly the same after
waking up from a nap. I tore my gaze from him and looked
out the window again.

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“About last night…,” Matt said suddenly, and I could

hear the hesitance in his voice.

“It’s….” I sighed, trying to find the words. Then I turned

to face him and leaned on the windowsill. “I really wanted
you,” I said honestly, because I didn’t believe in lying and he
deserved the truth.

“But?” he asked, hiding behind his mug a little.
“But we live on different sides of the world. If we… if

something happened between us, something good, and then
I’d be leaving on Sunday…. I don’t think I can deal with
that.” I looked at him, trying to gauge his reaction but not
knowing him well enough to read him.

“So you’re saying that if I didn’t have the cast and if we

lived closer to each other, you’d consider it?” The disbelief in
his eyes was so surprising I just stared at him for a moment.

“Yeah, I would. I think… no, I know there could be

something here. If you were just some guy I met back home,
I’d ask you out.” I shrugged. It didn’t seem like a big deal to
me.

“Jesus….” Matt exhaled and looked away. “I never

thought—I mean, you’re so out of my league, Brian.”

“Nicholas Dorrell,” I said quietly. “And no, I’m not.”
For a moment he just looked blank before his morning

brain caught up to it. His eyes widened, and he nodded. I
assumed it was half surprise and half giving up, not wanting
to challenge my words.

“So, will you come to the picnic on Saturday?” he asked

suddenly, and again I couldn’t read him.

“I’ll try to be there. I need your phone number, though,

so I can call you for directions or if I can’t make it at all. Jon

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seemed cool, like a handful to say the least.” I grinned, trying
not to dwell on the feeling I was passing up something
potentially incredible.

We exchanged numbers and chatted some more, and I

made him take his pain meds, and made a quick grocery run
for him so he didn’t have to go anywhere unless he wanted
to.

“I wish you could come tonight, but I don’t want you

risking it. It will probably be packed. It was last time, and I
wasn’t this popular then.” I frowned because I really
would’ve liked to see him loosening up and having fun in a
club. Then again, part of me didn’t want him to see me like it
would be tonight, being groped and with all my masks on to
please the crowd I didn’t really care that much about.

“Yeah, I think it would be pretty bad. My

physiotherapist would kick my ass for putting myself at risk
like that. But thanks anyways.” His smile was genuine, and I
had to turn away again.

I had thought I was over the whole romance thing. I

mean, seriously, I was one of the most “guy” gay men I had
ever met. There was no ounce of queen in me, and here I
was, crushing like a teenager and wanting to buy him
flowers and write fucking poetry…. Actually, fucking poetry
might have been interesting….

The thought made me groan inwardly, and after hanging

out with Matt for a while longer, I made an excuse and left
his place, despite wanting to stay there.

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club gig was the usual. Some other, local porn

performers were there, dancing on the bar and shaking their
asses, gathering some nice tips. I didn’t do that. I was too big
to look even remotely good dancing on a platform of any
kind, so I merely walked around, chatting to people. I wasn’t
doing this for the tips, after all, but the publicity.

As I had known there would be, there were guys in all

shapes and sizes, from barely legal to grandpa, wanting to
talk, touch, and do other things with me. I was polite, tried
to get rid of the grabbiest ones, and even kissed a few of the
nice ones for the camera. Since I had a deal with a clothing
company from London, I was wearing their clothes: a black
tank top with their bright green logo and a cool-looking jock
in the same colors. And my combat boots, but that was it.

The club was nice. Ronny had already filled me in, and

I’d seen their ads online. I wasn’t big on the club scene these
days, but I liked the clean look of this place. Sadly, the
crowd had a dirty mind. There was constantly someone’s
hand on my ass or someone ready to kneel down behind me
and rim my ass if I wanted it.

Hell, had I been after a quick anything, I would’ve had a

line waiting to serve me for sure. But I didn’t, and Ronny,
who was making a non-work-related appearance at the club,
noticed it.

“What’s up? Why aren’t you…?” he asked me when I

was having a little break and rehydrating at the bar.

“Don’t feel like it.” I tried to shrug it off.
“What? You’ve never been shy to take what they’re

offering.” He frowned, trying to figure me out. “Wait, you’re
not… sick, are you?” he asked, leaning close enough for me
to hear his words and to keep them from others’ ears.

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“Hell no.” I snorted at the thought. I was probably the

most responsible guy out there.

“Then what? You’re being weird, man.”
“Just don’t feel like it. Leave it at that.” I shrugged and

wiped sweat off my forehead. “Hey, can I sleep at yours if I
don’t leave until Sunday morning?”

“Sure. Sis left this morning, luckily. Did you get another

gig?” Ronny asked as he waved for another beer.

“Nope, just going to meet some people for a picnic on

Saturday.” I acted like it wasn’t a big deal, but Ronny knew
me better.

“Wait, wait… the kid from yesterday? The fanboy?

What’s his Twitter handle again? Gordon something?”
Ronny’s expression promised no good things.

“Yeah, him. He was really—”
“A really good fuck? That’s why you’re this weird—you

want him!” Ronny laughed out loud.

“No! We didn’t—”
“Yeah, right! Man, he must have a sweet ass for you to—

”

“Cut it out. It’s not like that. I’m gonna go mingle,” I

snapped at him, and for a moment he looked serious and
inquisitive at once.

I left him standing there before he could ask anything

more, put on my game face, and went to entertain the grabby
masses.

Thank My Lucky Scars | Tia Fielding

HURSDAY

morning I had a mild hangover, but for once,

no regrets. I was going to a shoot later, a gig for what my
boss in the US called our “sister studio” in the UK.
Sometimes they swapped models for fun when the British
guys were in the US or one of us Americans came to the UK.
It was good promo, and it was always fun to work with new
guys, especially professionals like I’d be shooting with today.

I left Ronny’s before he got home. He’d hooked up with

some chick at the club.

While I was waiting on the set—my costar was obviously

late—I decided to check on Twitter.

@BrianEnolaXXX

Waiting

shoot

with

hottie

@TadGriffinUK. London has been good for me. Thanks
everyone who was at the club last night, was a blast!

There were a few tweets from regulars. Some of the

crowd that had been partying last night and some industry
guys were sending direct messages to me to ask if I wanted
to hook up. No, I didn’t want to, so I didn’t reply to their
tweets.

I wasn’t sure why I was expecting a tweet from Matt, but

the fact that he didn’t react to my tweet made me feel lousy.
God, I was being pathetic.

“Okay, Brian, Tad just got here, so we’re ready when

you are,” the director said, and I closed my phone.

After we were done filming, which took most of the day, I

was honestly fucked out. The director kept changing the set,
and staying hard was getting to me. When it was finally over,
all I wanted was to go get some dinner and then head to
Ronny’s for what I hoped would be a quiet night.

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“Brian? Care to come with me and some mates to

dinner?” Tad asked as we emerged from the locker room
about the same time.

Thinking quickly, and because I really didn’t need the

temptation of calling Matt, I agreed. I got a ride with Tad,
and we met the other guys and two girls in a noisy little
Italian place, which had the best food I’d tasted in London
yet.

It was a fun evening. I was definitely enjoying myself

and the surprisingly intelligent younger crowd I was
surrounded by. Tad was barely twenty-four, and his friends
were all his age or younger. I felt old as hell, but that
couldn’t be helped. At least they were cool about what I did
in front of the camera and didn’t ask stupid questions. I
assumed Tad had answered them already, and I was
grateful.

Some of the gang wanted to go to a pub after dinner, so

I tagged along after sending a text to Ronny. I needed to
know if he was planning on fucking at his place that night or
going somewhere else.

The pub was quieter, and one of the girls, Ann, said that

it was her neighborhood pub. It seemed like Tad’s gang was
known there, and they were liked despite being younger than
most of the patrons.

I was having my second pint, barely listening to the

conversation, when Ronny sent me a text. He wasn’t, in fact,
with anyone and asked me to hang out at his place when I
was freed of the “kiddy gang.” I sent a quick message back
and checked my Twitter account while I was at it.

@BrianEnolaXXX At a proper British pub with

@TadGriffinUK. Almost time to call it a day. Need bed soon.

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Before I had time to close the application, one of the

usual “comedians” made a comment about me and Tad
needing a bed.

“Brian, you heading out?” one of the guys, Oliver, asked.
I closed the app and pocketed the phone. “Yeah, I

promised to go hang out with my friend.”

“I’m taking Tad’s car to my place, so I can drop you off if

you want,” Oliver offered, and I readily agreed.

After saying bye to everyone, I climbed into Tad’s car

with Oliver. I told him where Ronny lived, and he began to
drive.

“So, wanna hook up?” he asked after a few minutes’

drive.

“I… uh….” It was almost funny I got so tongue-tied.

Then I got a hold of my tired brain. “I’m all fucked out, to be
honest. The shoot was brutal. And I sort of… have someone.
But it’s so not official, so don’t tell anyone. You’re hot and
all”—and he really was—“but I’ll take a rain check, okay?” I
tried to grin in a way that told him I was being honest.

“Okay.” Oliver just smiled, not offended about the rebuff

or anything. After a few moments, he launched into a very
one-sided conversation about what he thought about people
in relationships doing porn and how he assumed it would be.
I didn’t have to comment much because Oliver seemed to
think he was right, and I wasn’t going to correct his
assumptions, but I was seriously happy to get to Ronny’s.

Surprisingly, the version of Ronny that was waiting for

me inside was a contrite, serious one. He handed me a beer,
and we sat on the massive leather couch.

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“So… I just wanted to say that I really overstepped last

night. I know nothing about the fanboy, Flashy, right?” He
briefly looked at me to see me nod. “And it was wrong to joke
about him when you obviously feel something you haven’t
since… well, Cliff, I think.”

Cliff was the guy I was with when I first met Ronny. He

was in the business, a cameraman for a smaller studio, and
he was fun for a while.

Clearing my throat, I mumbled, “Never felt like this for

Cliff.” Then I sighed, took a sip of my beer, and looked at
Ronny. “First of all, thanks. It’s… touchy. I have no idea
what the fuck is going on. And secondly, I’m freaking the
fuck out, Ron.”

Some tension left him, and I immediately realized he

had truly been worried about me. We had been really good
friends for the last few years despite being very different, and
I knew Ronny’s personality was a bit too much for most
people.

“What are you going to do? And did you, like… do

anything with him?” Ronny went to get us fresh beers.

“No, we didn’t do anything. He has the cast still, and he

was in pain. Besides, it just felt….” I rubbed my face with my
palm. “It seemed like if I did something, it would be too
much. I don’t fucking need a connection with someone who
lives on the other side of the world,” I half growled.

“Oh, I remember that.” Ronny grinned, reminding me of

when we had actually had that conversation one day after we
first hooked up.

“As if we had any real chemistry anyway.” I rolled my

eyes.

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“True, but you have that with the kid?” he asked,

replacing my bottle with a cold one and taking a sip of his.

“Yeah… I mean, I felt like a fucking teenager. So not

funny,” I grumbled when he chuckled a bit.

“No, sorry. It’s not, but what’s to say it wouldn’t work?

It’s not like you have anything to keep you in the States. You
fucking hate porn, and you can do your trading online from
wherever you are,” Ronny reasoned.

“But my aunt—”
“Your aunt is healthy, not that old, has more social life

than you have, and would kick your arse to know you’re
considering her something that keeps you from trying to see
if you found the real thing!”

Fuck, the man knew me and Aunt Talia a bit too well.
“Fine. I’ll think about it. But please leave it be for now?”

I glanced at him cautiously.

“Okay, I won’t push, but if there’s a connection with the

guy, you know that’s rare. Don’t fuck this up, Nick.” Ronny
used my real name only when he was making a point.

“So what was your sister’s problem?” I asked just to

make him talk about something else, and he knew it.

“She’s only twenty, yet she’s, like, this… fucking slut!”

Ronny snorted and shook his head.

“Aww, wasn’t that kind and generous.” I smirked,

having heard this argument too many times. The girl was a
wild child, sort of a modern-day hippie, and it bugged
Ronny, but there was little he could do. “Kind of like she is,”
I deadpanned.

Ronny looked at me for a moment and then burst into

laughter that made his frame, along with the couch, shake.

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It was a nice rest of the evening, and since Ronny didn’t

have work on Friday, we took a trip to the seaside town
where his parents lived. They really liked me, his folks, and
his mom always mothered me to the point of smothering me.
I liked it too, having never really known my own mother.
Despite my auntie being a mother figure, she wasn’t my
mother, and we both knew that. Ronny’s mother, Elise, was
the sort of mother who would call you at least twice a week
no matter how old you were, and made sure you never left
her house without your belly almost bursting.

As we sat on the grass of one of the Old Town’s hills,

looking at the sea and just enjoying the weather after
escaping Elise’s lunch table, I decided to take a look at
Twitter.

Since I was now following Matt, I could see his few

tweets, but none of them were directed at me. I wondered
what had changed and if I were really still invited to the
picnic the following day. I wasn’t ready to make my feelings
public knowledge, so I sent him a message privately. For
some reason I felt like texting him was too personal, and
returning to the way we had first made contact seemed…
safer.

D FlashNotGordon How’re you? I’m in Hastings with

Ronny, enjoying the weather. We still on for tomorrow?

I must not have paid attention to Ronny’s quiet chatter

because he suddenly nudged me.

“Huh?”
“No word from the boy?” He raised a brow and then

turned to flirt with a young woman who was passing us by
with a terrier of some kind.

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“Nope… sent him a message, though. I don’t know….” I

sighed, defeated.

“That’s the problem. You don’t know him yet,” Ronny

said in a surprisingly sensible manner.

I muttered something that could’ve been translated as

agreement and checked my Twitter again. He had replied.

FlashNotGordon: I wasn’t sure if you still wanted to.
I quickly sent a message back, hoping he was on his

laptop and wouldn’t drop the conversation in between
messages.

D FlashNotGordon: What do you mean? I asked with my

heart doing a weird lurch.

FlashNotGordon: I saw your tweets, thought you were

spending time with Tad.

What the…? I went back and looked at my own tweets.
“Son of a—”
“What?” Ronny snapped his attention to me.
“Look at my tweets. This is why he was quiet, and I

fucking never realized!” I almost wailed at my own stupidity.

Ronny took the phone from my hand and looked at the

screen for a moment. Then he made a funny sound and
shook his head at me. “Stupid git. Explain yourself to the
kid. He’s not Zeke, you know.”

That was what made me realize how well Ronny knew

me. No, Matt wasn’t anything like Zeke, and I needed to keep
that in mind from now on.

D FlashNotGordon: Fuck no. I see now how it looks, but

no. Nobody here I’m interested in but you, Matt.

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I tapped my fingers on my leg while I waited for his

message. I knew Ronny was holding himself back from
commenting on my jittery behavior, and I was thankful. I so
didn’t need the ribbing from him.

After the longest three minutes of my life, there was a

direct message from Matt.

FlashNotGordon: Ditto. Tomorrow at two, meet me at my

building and we’ll go together?

I must’ve made a little whooping sound because Ronny

laughed at me heartily and patted my back hard enough for
me to almost lose my phone.

D FlashNotGordon: It’s a date. Expect flowers.

Matt

O SAY

I was nervous when I woke up on Saturday morning

would’ve been an understatement. I was vibrating with
tension and almost fucked up making the sandwiches I had
promised to bring to our picnic because I just couldn’t
concentrate enough not to chop off my fingertips. Somehow I
managed, though, and I was quite glad of that. With one
bum leg, I needed all my fingers intact.

It had been a strange few days. The almost-kiss with

Brian, or Nicholas, as I was now trying to call him in my
head, had left me aching, and not only physically. When he
had backed away from the kiss… I hadn’t felt
disappointment like that in, well, ever.

The next morning had been weird. But at least we

parted on good terms. Sort of. If you can call “yeah, I want

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you, but I don’t want to do anything about it” good. I vented
at Jon and Trina, and Jon was curiously quiet about it. He
hadn’t actually met Brian, but he sure had seen us together
on the webcam. When Trina asked him about that, Jon
clammed up.

I tried not to obsess about Brian’s tweets either. They

were…. Even Trina was skeptical about them, but she,
despite her snarky nature, tried to see the positive in most
things.

“He doesn’t say he’s going to fuck Tad, you know. It’s

the fans who are saying it,” she pointed out helpfully.

“He isn’t the type who would actually say anything like

that, so who knows. I don’t…. Let’s just leave it. Maybe he’ll
contact me about the picnic, maybe not. Was too good to be
true anyway.” I sighed, Trina pulled me under her arm, and
the unusually quiet Jon brought me a pain pill.

T HAD

been a bit of a shock when, on Friday afternoon,

there suddenly was a DM from Brian. The following
conversation left me a trembling mess. Was I relieved? Yes.
Was I nervous and scared out of my fucking mind? Hell yes.
For some reason I didn’t tell either of my best friends about
it. Let them be surprised for once.

So come Saturday morning, I was trying not to slice my

fingers off and nervous about what to wear. I did take my
pain meds, not the knock-me-out kind but the milder ones
that took the edge off the pain so I could walk around. I
packed the sandwiches, a shitload of them, my pain meds, a
few bottles of water, and sunscreen—and then obsessed over
what to wear.

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The day was sunny and nice. The weather seemed to be

holding, for now, at least, so I figured T-shirt and sweatpants
it was. I didn’t want to get the cast dirty, and sitting on the
ground, even on Trina’s super blanket, was risky. Pants
instead of shorts were a better choice. Luckily I had a pair of
very nice sweatpants. They clung a bit to my ass and thighs
but had buttons on the side so I could open them enough to
give the cast some room. The T-shirt was one of those
variations on the old “Keep Calm and Carry On” posters.
This one had a bicycle on it, and it read “Keep calm and ride
on.” Jon had gotten it for me after the accident. Yes, his
sense of humor was a bit on the questionable side, but that
was a part of the reason he was my best friend.

At 1:55 the buzzer sounded, and I hobbled to answer it.
“Matty?” The combination of my more intimate

nickname and Bri—Nick’s voice made my heart jump.

“You’re early,” I blurted.
“I thought you might need help if you’re carrying

something,” he said into the mic downstairs.

“Uh… yeah. Good thinking. Come up.” I buzzed him in.
I opened the door for him and left it ajar while I went to

fetch my crutches. I’d need both of them today, I was sure,
and not being at the door when Nick walked in seemed to
calm my nerves a bit.

Just as I managed to fish one of the crutches from

under the couch, I heard him close the door.

“Hi,” he said awkwardly and just stood there near the

door, not quite looking at me. It seemed like neither of us
quite knew what to do or say or how to act.

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After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, I sighed,

leaned on the back of the couch, and gestured at Nick.
“Come here.”

He looked curious, tossed a small bouquet of daisies I

hadn’t noticed at first on the end table, and walked closer
and stopped right in front of me. He was wearing a deep-
green T-shirt with short sleeves that made him look
mouthwatering.

I reached out with one hand, clutching the crutches

with the other, and touched his arm carefully. There was
something there, yes. He was scared, I could tell, and so was
I, because in what world was this a simple equation? I had
had time to think about what would happen after he left
tomorrow morning, and I knew what I wanted if he’d just
agree on giving it a go.

I trailed my fingertips down his arm, then linked our

fingers and tugged him toward me. He stepped in close,
between my feet, and I leaned into him. The height difference
we had normally was enhanced by the fact that I wasn’t
standing, so my nose fit perfectly against the skin uncovered
by the V-neck of his shirt. I just rested against him, soaking
in his warmth and the fact that he wasn’t pulling away.

His arms came around me, and we stayed there like

that for minutes. Finally, after the clock on the wall showed
that it was almost 2:10, I sighed deeply. “We need to go, or
they’ll call and make funny remarks about why we’re late.”

Nick chuckled, the sound vibrating under my head, and

then pulled away enough to look at me. I could tell he
wanted to kiss me, but for some reason he didn’t. To my
utter surprise, it felt right. This wasn’t the time, and we
really had to go, not get distracted.

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After making sure the flowers—he had remembered

them, and I was impressed, even more so because they were
as simple as plain daisies—were in water, he took the bag
from the kitchen, and I hobbled along with my crutches. We
left my flat and headed to find a cab. I could’ve used the
Underground, sure, but I didn’t want to tackle the escalator
with the cast.

We made a pit stop to get some wine. Nick insisted, and

I couldn’t help but feel warm and fuzzy about his
considerateness. He wanted to get to know my friends too
and make a good impression. Maybe he really wanted to give
this a proper go?

When we finally got to our picnic spot—not the usual

one, but one closer to the park’s entrance so I didn’t have to
walk for too long—I saw Trina and Jon sitting on the blanket
together under a tree. They didn’t notice us at first, so I
stopped, tilted my head, and examined the situation.

“Didn’t you say they’re just friends?” Nick asked me. He

had stopped to look too.

“Yeah, I’ve been telling them to stop stalling the

inevitable for two years now. They flirt like crazy and are
perfect for each other, but….” I shrugged and shifted my
weight to my good foot to rest a little.

“Well… maybe it’s time for changes, then.” It wasn’t a

question, even a rhetorical one, and I got the impression he
wasn’t just talking about my friends. I decided to let it slide
for now and continued my hobbling toward the blanket they
had spread in the partial shadow.

“Hello,” I said pleasantly, and they moved apart fast

enough to look like I had jolted them with a cattle prod.

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“Uh, hi!” Trina recovered first, and then her eyes

widened as she noticed Nick.

“Guys, this is—” and suddenly I didn’t know how I

should introduce him.

“Nick, nice to meet you both. In the flesh,” Nick said and

grinned charmingly at Trina and nodded at Jon.

“Hi,” Jon said, and something about his expression told

me he was feeling pleased about Nick being there.

Trina and Jon made space for us on the blanket, and

Nick helped me sit down and get comfortable. He sat sort of
behind me so that I could lean into him a little.

Trina grinned at us when she noticed it, but she didn’t

say anything. We began to chat, and my friends were
suitably impressed by Nick’s choice of wine (he also bought a
corkscrew, which made things much easier because, as I
had guessed, the wine Jon brought was in a box). It was so
very nice to sit there, leaning on Nick and feeling the hum of
something between us.

We talked about everything and nothing, and gradually,

as the wine was being drained, Jon and Trina sat closer to
each other again.

“So, are you guys going to give it a go, then?” Trina

asked Nick.

“Are you?” Nick countered the question, and Trina

blushed.

“Yeah, I think we might be. We don’t have the details

yet, but this feels… I don’t know. Good,” I said, instinctively
knowing that I was speaking for the both of us.

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“D’awwww,” Jon crooned, and Trina surprised us all by

elbowing him in the ribs and then promptly kissing him to
shut the whining up.

Both Nick and I chuckled and just sat there, trying to

pay no attention to the kissing couple.

When I needed to take a pain pill, Nick asked me if I

wanted to leave.

“In a bit,” I told him. We were having fun, and I still

wanted to hang out some more. “The pills take effect quickly,
so I’ll be fine for another hour or so,” I promised.

“When do you have your next physio session?” Jon

asked, grabbing some grapes from the basket Trina had
brought.

“Monday morning. They’re trying to figure out if the cast

can come off this week. It won’t be completely off, I think.
Maybe put a lighter one on or something.” I shrugged. I
hated the cast, and I couldn’t help wanting to get rid of it
despite knowing I needed it for now.

“When will you leave?” Trina asked Nick, who sighed

and unconsciously leaned into me a little more.

“Tomorrow around noon. I need to go for a few shoots in

the States, check up on my aunt, and figure out my day job
too,” Nick said, and I reached out to link our hands like I
had done at my place.

“Sucks.” Trina frowned. “Will you be back soon?” she

asked hopefully, a clear indication that she had accepted
Nick into the very small circle of people she really liked.

“I haven’t a clue. Soon, I wish, but I’m on contract with

the studio, so….” He shrugged, but I could feel the tension in
his body.

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We needed to have a conversation about what we’d do

once he left and when we would meet again. It was just that I
didn’t really want to think about him leaving at all. I felt so
content there with him, the connection between us
thrumming. I had never felt anything quite like it before. I
wasn’t ready to let go, but time was running out.

Around five thirty, clouds were beginning to gather, so

we decided to head out of the park.

“I need to go help my mum with her garden,” Trina said,

sighing. Suddenly she looked very sneaky as she glanced at
Jon. “I don’t know, though. She said she was cleaning the
shed too, and there’s some really old car parts and stuff in
there from when my dad was still living with us. I might have
to call my cousin Marty to come and help us move them to
the bins.”

Jon, a car nut, perked up immediately. “Oh, I’ll help

you!”

Nick looked at me with a barely concealed grin and got

to his feet. He helped me up, and a very self-satisfied-looking
Trina and Jon, who thought he had a great deal for free car
parts, cleaned up after our picnic.

Nick steadied me while I stretched a bit to be able to

walk better. Both Trina and Jon were obviously a bit
bummed to know they wouldn’t see Nick anytime soon. It
was touching for sure, and it was good to know they
approved, even if there wasn’t anything real to approve of
quite yet.

As we walked slowly toward the exit, Nick offered to go

hail us a cab so that I wouldn’t have to stand for a long time.
He hugged Trina, shook Jon’s hand, and let me walk the rest
of the way with my friends.

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“He’s really a great guy,” Jon said.
“But?” I asked, immediately feeling defensive.
“No buts, just worried’s all,” he mumbled.
Trina walked on my other side and, unable to take my

hand because of the crutches, squeezed my arm instead.
“We’re here for you, just so you know. Whatever happens.
And if you need us, you’ll call us, okay?” she pressed on.

“Yeah, sure. I’m just afraid you two will be otherwise

occupied.” I smirked at them, and Trina blushed again.
“About time, honestly. But yeah, I’ll call,” I promised.

In the cab to my place, Nick was quiet. We didn’t

communicate at all, other than him insisting on paying for
the cab, holding out a hand for me to get out of it safely, and
asking if I was in any pain. I grunted a little, but I really
wasn’t in pain, so he was happy with the response, and we
got to my place just fine.

“Coffee?” I asked, and he went straight to kitchen to

make it for us. “You’re very well trained, did you know that?”
I teased him as I went to use the bathroom.

“Yeah, I know. I lived with my aunt for a few years in my

teens. She made me a proper gentleman; she’s a Southern
belle,” Nick called out.

I smiled a little, wondering what kind of a woman the

aunt was, and then I realized she’d be someone for Nick to
stay in the US for, even if he wanted to spend more time in
the UK. Sighing, I washed my hands and went back to the
living room to sit on the couch. I was getting tired of the
couch that I’d loved when I first bought it.

“What’s the prognosis for the leg?” Nick asked from the

kitchen doorway as he watched me trying to get comfortable.

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“They won’t know until next week for sure. I mean, it’s

always been tricky. It was very touch and go at the
beginning. They warned me about amputation too.” I still
cringed at the memory. “But they managed to fix it, operated
on it twice. They’ll figure stuff out on Monday after my
physiotherapy, which will probably continue for months and
months even when the cast comes off. Apparently ‘mobility is
the key’,” I said, quoting Terry.

“A lot of work.” Nick nodded. “Is there a chance it will be

back to normal one day?”

“Not like it was, no. I might limp forever, but at least it

should turn out well enough. Unless there’s some sort of
surprise complication nobody could predict.”

The percolator made a familiar gurgling sound, and Nick

went to get our coffees. When he got back, he sat right next
to me and pulled me to lean against his side. Being under
his arm felt nice, safe.

“What are we going to do?” I said after stalling for half a

mug.

Nick sighed. “I need to go home tomorrow. Figure things

out. You need to work on your leg, get mobile, and get
healthy. I’ll come back as soon as I can, for a proper
vacation, not like this. The next time I’d really like you to be
the only guy I fuck here.”

I stilled for a moment and then turned my head to look

at him. There was still fear in his eyes, but he didn’t pull
away from me, and the heat of his body reassured me
further. He was here, even if not for long this time, and he’d
be back when he could.

Smiling, I pressed my temple against his shoulder and

just sat there, soaking in his presence.

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“I can’t explain it,” I said when Nick took my empty mug

and placed it on the table.

“What?”
“This.” I gestured between us.
“Chemistry and attraction.” He shrugged like it was

nothing.

“Yeah, but why us? Would this have happened if we’d

met randomly in a club somewhere, instead of me, uh, liking
your work,” I said, turning a little to see him better, “and
social networking?”

He looked back, giving me a full-body check, and then

smirked. “Oh yes. I’d have picked you up in a heartbeat.”

My heartbeat decided to skip once as I took in his

expression. He really honestly thought I was attractive. I
shook my head a little. “You do realize that not that long ago
I was gathering courage to tweet to you because I thought
you were the hottest man I had ever seen, and probably one
of the most interesting too.”

When I tried to avert my gaze from him, he gently

cupped my face and looked at me seriously. “Matt, Flashy”—
his eyes danced with mirth for a brief moment at my
nickname—“you do realize that you’re gorgeous, just my
type, and you’re probably one of the wittiest people I ever
met, right? You’re also kind and generous, and you don’t
look at me like I’m something special, or disgusting, just
because you first saw me in porn.”

Then he leaned into me, touching his lips to mine

briefly. There wasn’t any sort of electric spark there, unless
you count the jolt of excitement that zipped through my
system and settled somewhere deep in my belly, but there
sure was the overwhelming feeling of rightness. This was it,

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what I’d been looking for, partially without knowing it.
Maybe I hadn’t believed it was Brian, Nick, who would be the
guy I’d have the connection with, but it was undeniable and
so very exciting.

Nick looked into my eyes from the close distance. A

smile quirked his lips a little, and he leaned in again,
cupping my cheek with his large palm. This time his lips
pressed to mine, gently opening so that mine would
accommodate them as he tilted his head a little. I inhaled
sharply when he moved his other hand and placed it on my
waist, his thumb exactly on the little spot that could drive
me wild, near my hipbone.

He froze, leaned back, looked at me inquisitively, and

then very deliberately rubbed his thumb over the spot again.

I bloody whimpered. I couldn’t help it. It had been a long

time since anyone touched me anywhere, let alone my sweet
spot, and I just…. He kept up the pressure, rubbing gently,
and my head lolled back as pleasure radiated all over me. My
cock began to take too much interest, and then suddenly
Nick’s chuckle penetrated my hazy mind.

“You’re mean,” I gasped as he pulled his hand away.
“Nah, just don’t think you are up for what I have in

mind yet. But good to know about that spot.” He smirked
wickedly. Then he promptly pulled me into a kiss that melted
the rest of my brain.

Finally, after Nick mumbled something about “doing the

teenager thing” between kisses, we stopped necking and
watched a movie together.

We debated over which one to watch but then came to

the conclusion that something funny and gory like Shaun of
the Dead would be best for the mood we were in. So for the

Thank My Lucky Scars | Tia Fielding

next hour and a half, we cuddled, laughed, and had an
extremely good time just being together. It was very simple
and, again, very right. I tried not to look forward to evenings
like this because I didn’t know when I’d get another one.

“Will you stay?” I asked when bedtime crept around.
“You can try to kick me out, but you won’t succeed.”

Nick grinned.

Because I wanted a shower, Nick helped me cover the

cast with plastic and then promptly got rid of his own clothes
before joining me in the shower.

I had one of those shower benches, so I sat down while

he washed my hair with strong, gentle fingers rubbing my
scalp. I wanted to get aroused because I might have talked
him into some mutual pressure release, but my body was
giving up after the strain of the picnic and the comfort of
Nick’s touch.

He ushered me out of the shower after I was clean, and

then left me brushing my teeth while he showered.

“You know, I don’t think I’ll bathe before I absolutely

have to,” he said quietly when he stepped out of the little
cubicle.

“Why?” I asked as I put my toothbrush away.
Nick ducked his head. “Because of the shampoo. It

smells like you.” And then he blushed a little.

As cocky, sarcastic, and even cold as Brian could be,

there was a certain kind of shyness and something almost
childlike about Nick. Especially when he thought no one was
watching. It was endearing, and it made me feel proud and
happy to know he was showing me this side of himself, a
side I was sure not many people got to see.

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I smiled at him and opened a little cabinet where I kept

all the extra bathroom stuff that wouldn’t fit in the cabinet
behind the mirror. “You’re in luck, mister,” I informed Nick,
and took one of the four bottles of shampoo there and
handed it to him.

“You stocked this stuff?” he asked, slightly in awe.
“Yeah, well, see, my friend was working in the shop that

sold these, and he told me that they would stop
manufacturing them soon, so I bought a box. This is what’s
left.” I shrugged.

“Oh….” Nick blinked and then frowned a little. “Shame

this is all there is, though. I like the scent, even without you
included in the effect.” He blushed again.

“Okay, now you go put some clothes on and find me

some of the better painkillers, and meet me in the bedroom.”
I made a shooing gesture at him.

Grinning, Nick walked out of the bathroom, drying

himself with a towel. I had my dream man in my flat, naked
as the day he was born, and I was telling him to get dressed?
What was with that?

Luckily, he had brought a change of clothes with him. I

was happy to know he wasn’t just going to bolt. We had so
little time that every minute counted, even if we’d be asleep
for most of it.

I slipped into a pair of loose sleep shorts and settled

myself in bed. Nick returned in boxer shorts, carrying a glass
of water in one hand and two pills in the other. Suddenly we
were silent, just going through the motions of getting to bed,
preparing to sleep. It felt almost domestic and so very nice.

It got even better when Nick settled down on the bed,

maneuvering so that we managed to get comfortable, and I

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could rest against him without making my leg feel worse. He
reached over me to turn off the bedside table lamp, and I
inhaled his scent.

“Are you sniffing me?” His tone was amused and quiet.
“M-hmm….”
“Well then,” he said matter-of-factly, leaned back, and

promptly buried his nose in my hair. His breath tickled my
scalp, and I knew it was one of the single most romantic
things I’d ever experienced.

We fell asleep like that: my head on Nick’s shoulder and

his face in my hair. It was the safest I’d felt in my adult life,
and the best thing I’d ever experienced.

And then the morning came, and it was the worst thing

I’d ever experienced.

We spoke very little, touched a lot, and then it was time

for him to go so that he could get his stuff from Ronny’s and
still get to the airport in time. The last thing we did before he
closed the door behind himself was kiss. My leg was aching,
and he knew it too, but neither of us cared. I just couldn’t let
him go yet, and for a moment I yearned so much to get
closer, to make love to him, to have that ache to remember
him by. But we didn’t have time, and realistically I knew it
would only make things worse.

There were no words when the last kiss ended. He just

looked at me with sadness in his gaze and left.

I held it together for hours. When I finally grabbed my

laptop and went to sit on my bed instead of the couch, I
thought it wasn’t that bad after all.

Thank My Lucky Scars | Tia Fielding

My Twitter program started automatically and opened

on the screen, and I saw the one tweet that made me break
down completely.

@BrianEnolaXXX I just left my heart in London.
Blindly, I reached for the pill bottle on my nightstand

and took three pills. It was too much, but I didn’t care. I
needed the escape.

HERE

was a DM from Nick when he landed on his native

soil again, and I was glad to know he got there safely. I
replied to the message but didn’t contact him further for a
few days because I wanted him to have the freedom to get
everything together.

UESDAY

I was freed from the cast. My leg underneath

was pale, the muscles gone, the scars disgusting, and it
stank. Terry, my physiotherapist, laughed his ass off at my
“chicken leg” and then at my pout.

Come Wednesday, Nick had begun to tweet again,

sounding almost normal, answering fans’ questions and
doing his usual slightly snarky thing. But he wasn’t the
same, and I could tell. Ronny tweeted him a few times too,
managing to sound worried in 140 characters or less.

I had a new therapy schedule arranged for the leg, and I

was learning to walk without the cast again. Jon and Trina
were officially together and dragged themselves to my place
almost every night in a poorly disguised attempt of keeping

Thank My Lucky Scars | Tia Fielding

an eye on me until I told them I’d call them and to go have
couple-y fun instead.

Nick e-mailed me every few days, and we started a

routine of trying to match our schedules to Skype every
other day. It was trickier with my new therapy because I had
to figure out how to keep up with it and my social life, which
was on the other side of the world.

About a month after Nick left London, I hit rock bottom.

Nick was on some tropical paradise shoot in Hawaii with
some of the hottest guys in the business, Trina and Jon were
on a weekend getaway in Paris, and I was alone. My parents
had asked me to come to Oxford for the weekend, but I had
to drag my ass to see Terry first thing on Monday morning,
so I couldn’t go.

I was feeling sad, pathetic, and so fucking alone.
I tried to distract myself, but I couldn’t have told which

movies I tried to watch (even the one I went to see in a
theater on Saturday evening), what book I was reading, or
what was on TV. Naturally I knew Nick wouldn’t be calling
me on Skype or tweeting either because he was working. I
had seen one of the other guys at the shoot tweet something
about the location, but no tweets from Nick.

Late Saturday evening I was lying in bed, feeling numb,

when the laptop next to me on the bed pinged. There was a
new e-mail.

For a moment hope flared within me—maybe it was

Nick?

When I saw the e-mail was from Jon, I felt disappointed

as hell, only to scold myself over feeling like that when my
best friend e-mailed me from his romantic getaway with my
other best friend.

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Matty,
I thought you might need this. I know you recognize the
picture I’m attaching.
It’s been just like that from the very beginning, and that’s why
I was worried at first.
Keep on waiting and believing, and he’ll come back to you.
We love you,
Jon & Trina

I looked at the attached picture. It was a grainy screen

cap from the first time Nick came over to my place and we
were talking with Jon online. Nick was leaning to my side,
half-naked and gorgeous. But that wasn’t what struck me
about the image. It was the way we were looking at each
other. Even from the funny view of the webcam, we looked
completely engrossed with one another. It was the same way
Jon and Trina looked at each other all the time nowadays.

Taking a deep breath, I saved the picture and made it

my desktop background. I needed to remember. Before I
closed the computer, I checked my e-mail (only one from my
sisters) and sent the photo to Nick. Then I put the laptop
away and settled down to read a book. I felt more relaxed
than I’d been in weeks.

Nick

EAVING

the UK and going back to the US was the hardest

thing I’d ever done. I was halfway to what I used to call
home, somewhere over a hell of a lot of seawater, when I

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realized I was moving away from home, not toward it. The
next thought I had was I’m in love with him. It wasn’t so
surprising, really. After all, Matt was pretty much the most
amazing guy I’d ever met. I just hadn’t thought I had it in me
to fall for someone.

The first days at home were difficult. I was picking up

the slack trading-wise. I was on the phone with my aunt,
then my boss at the studio. It was hectic, and I was
operating with half of my heart intact.

The little contact I had with Matty was too little, and I

worried he’d change his mind. I went through the motions of
everyday life, of shooting in Hawaii, something I’d taken as a
working holiday before I went to London, and now… nothing
felt like anything because Matt was too far away.

Jon e-mailed me regularly, something that we had

neglected to tell Matt because he wouldn’t have liked it. I
wanted Jon’s opinion because he knew Matt better than I did
and I needed “eyes on the ground.” Jon’s updates on Matt
were more honest, and I found myself being more honest
with him than I was with Matt. Our “middleman” was very
sensible, and he loved Matt very much. We had that in
common, even if there wasn’t much else.

After suffering with my thoughts alone for a while, I

finally traveled to Texas to spend time with my aunt and to
ask her advice. She had always been the smartest woman I’d
known and the only mother I’d really ever had.

I could function alone—my day-to-day life hadn’t

changed that much—but there was this weird hole in my
chest where part of my heart had been before I left London. I
would be sitting in a restaurant with friends or at home with
my computer, checking the stocks, when I suddenly shook

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myself out of what I began to call my “miniature comas.” I
would just zone out and not even realize it. I missed Matt
more than I wanted to admit to myself because in some ways
I still refused to let all of it make sense to me.

The second morning after I’d arrived at my aunt’s little

house, I sat there at the worn out kitchen table while she
made me pancakes. It had been like that since I was seven
years old.

“So, spit it out, Nick,” she said, flipping a pancake.
“I told you about Flashy, didn’t I?” I sipped my coffee.
“The boy on the Internet, a fan of Brian’s?” She looked

at me over her shoulder, and I nodded.

It was funny how I could tell her everything. Being gay,

doing porn, literally everything. She never judged, but she
made it clear that while Nick was gay, it was Brian who was
doing porn and that there was a separation between the two
men, despite the fact that they were both me.

“I met him in London.”
That was all I needed to say. I heard my voice waver in

the last syllable, and suddenly she was there, hugging me to
her chest while I cried like a baby. She told me everything
would be okay and that we’d figure it out. Once I stopped
crying, she refilled my mug, went back to the pancakes, and
began to ask questions.

The one she didn’t ask was “Do you love him?” and I

knew it was only because she had known the answer as soon
as I started talking.

“How long do you have on your contract with the

studio?” she asked. She sat down with our pancakes, and we
began to eat.

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“Six months for this studio, after that nothing concrete.

I’m thinking of quitting porn,” I said, knowing that it was the
truth only when the words came out.

“Can you do the shoots now and get out of the country

as soon as possible?” she asked so casually that I actually
thought about whether they’d let me do it for a moment—
before I realized what she was saying.

“W-what?”
“Well, it’s all obvious to me.” She grinned in a way no

old lady should grin. “You need to go to London to be with
your guy. You can visit me, and I can visit you, but don’t you
dare make this about me or I’ll disown you, boy!” By the end
of the little rant, she was looking deadly serious.

“Okay.”

T WASN

’

a goodbye when I left my aunt’s house a day later.

It was a “see you soon.” I began to make plans, work things
out with the studio and my day job clients. It was all going
quite smoothly; I’d keep the house I had bought a few years
back and rent it to a friend from college, Maria. My
roommate, Will, had moved out while I was in London. He
wanted more space to entertain. What he really meant was
“you’re not any fun because you don’t let me have parties at
the house.”

Maria was now the proud owner of her own arts and

crafts store and needed a place with enough room for her
experiments, as she didn’t sell anything craft related she
didn’t try out first herself. My house wasn’t big, but it had a
large living room and a nice room in the basement I’d used

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as my home gym. Maria was ecstatic, and I was happy
because I knew I could trust her with my house.

While I was planning to move—I was calling it a long

holiday, and really, that was all it could be for now—I kept
contact with Matt, who had both good and bad days, just
like me.

Two weeks before Maria was to move into my house and

I was to leave for London, I shot my last scene with the
studio. They had agreed to let me go early because of all the
hard work I’d done for them in a short time frame. They were
understanding but asked if I would still do scenes for the
British sister studio. I wasn’t sure, so I said no for now.

On my last night in the States, I used the last of Matt’s

favorite shampoo. I had been rationing it, using it only when
I missed Matt the most, and had managed to stretch it for
months. After my shower I sent an e-mail to Jon to make
sure Matt was fine and that he wouldn’t know what they
were doing at the airport.

Four and a half months after leaving the UK, I was on

my way back, at least for the next six months. I couldn’t stay
longer than that because I only had a temporary visa, but six
months would tell us enough. It would tell us whether we
were compatible in a long-term kind of way or not.

I was jittery when the plane began its descent to

Heathrow. I had no idea how Jon could’ve gotten Matt into a
car and to the airport just before eight in the morning local
time, but I had faith in him.

When the plane touched down, I felt relief wash over me.

I was almost home. I wasn’t used to feeling this choked up so
often, but apparently falling in love can do that to you. For
the last month I had been trying not to give anything away,

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and it had resulted in talking with Matt less. Jon had
reassured me that despite Matt being sad over not talking to
me so much, he wasn’t giving up hope. I knew better. I knew
Matt was beginning to have doubts.

So by the time I got through the baggage claim to where

they would be waiting, I was nervous as hell. Would Matt be
there? What would he think? What the hell was I thinking,
showing up like this?

My doubts were put on hold when I saw Jon standing to

the side of the throng of people passing toward the doors.
For a moment I thought he was alone, but then I saw a
familiar figure standing with his back to me and gesturing at
Jon wildly. I walked closer to them, and Jon noticed me but
let his gaze slide past me like he hadn’t seen me at all so as
not to alert Matt.

“So who is this guy? I mean, why are we picking up

some friend I don’t even know? Why do I need to be here?
And why international flights? Is he someone you met in
France?” Matt was shooting questions at Jon at an alarming
rate and in a pissed-off tone.

“No, it’s someone he met in Hyde Park,” I said and

lowered my luggage to the ground.

Matt whirled around at a speed that surprised me, even

though I knew he was now allowed to walk without the
crutches and was doing pretty well in his rehab.

I looked at him, noticing the small ways he had

changed. There was scruff on his jaw, probably because he
hadn’t had time to shave that morning. His hair was shorter
than the last time I’d talked to him on Skype, and he looked
so surprised I knew he hadn’t had a clue that I was coming.

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“N-Nick?” he asked, voice shaky, as if he was looking at

a hallucination.

“Live and in the flesh.” I tried to grin, but even I could

tell how insecure my voice sounded.

Fresh doubts flooded me as Matt just stood there,

staring, but then suddenly he launched himself to my arms
and everything was fine again.

Matt babbled incoherently into my neck, just hanging

on to me while climbing me to get as close as possible. I
chuckled and held on, hugging him even closer, and I
realized I was crying when I marveled at the wetness of
Matt’s tears soaking my shirt.

“Okay, then, loverboys, let’s get going before we attract

even more attention,” Jon said and picked up my bags. He
herded us through the airport to where they had parked,
carrying most of my stuff while I carried the rest in one
hand. The other was being hugged by Matt, who refused to
let go. Walking with him attached to me was tricky, but I
wasn’t ready to take even a step away from him. I was home
now, and that was what mattered.

The hour-long drive back was quiet, only Jon’s favored

radio station was playing, while I sat in the back with Matt
cuddled under my arm. His mood seemed to be almost
subdued, and even though I knew he was happy that I was
there—I could tell by the way he was clutching my hand and
my shirt in his fingers—I wasn’t absolutely certain what he
was really feeling.

Jon dropped us off at Matt’s building.
“You need help with your stuff?” he asked, but Matt

grabbed some of it and shook his head.

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“No, we can handle these,” I said, and Jon nodded at

me, shot a glance at Matt, who was still quiet, and then
sighed.

“Okay, well, call me if you need us,” Jon said, and was

soon merging into the traffic.

Worry was beginning to swallow me as we made our way

to the elevator, in which we barely fit together with all my
luggage. Matt was still too quiet, too thoughtful. We went
into his flat, put our coats in the closet, and left the luggage
by the door.

Matt walked to the couch and turned around to lean on

the back of it. It was a familiar scene; this time there was no
cast and no crutches.

“You’re really here, aren’t you?” Matt said in an almost

dreamy voice.

“It would look like that, yes.” I nodded, standing

awkwardly next to my luggage.

“How long are you here for?” his voice inquired, but his

eyes avoided mine, and I could tell by his body language that
he was afraid of the answer.

“Well, the visa is for six months…,” I said, shrugging

nonchalantly.

“What?” Matt’s tone was surprised and shocked and

strangely, cautiously hopeful at the same time.

“I have nowhere to go. I rented out my house, and my

aunt practically kicked me out of the country.” I smiled a
little.

Matt blinked at me and then held out his hand like he

had once before.

I walked right into his arms, and this time I kissed him,

like I’d wanted to do on the day of the picnic.

Thank My Lucky Scars | Tia Fielding

I’d had a lot of sex and even some extremely good,

explosive relationships, where things took off immediately
after a kiss. Sex that started with buttons flying and fabric
ripping… yeah, I’d had that, a lot. Somehow, this time it was
different. The need was just the same, the physical reactions
of hearing the rush of blood in my ears as my heartbeat
worked overtime and my cock getting hard in an instant. I
needed to be close to Matt right that instant, but the urgency
was very different than with other people.

We kissed languidly, then struggled with getting clothes

off, especially because the buttons of my shirt were small, he
was wearing a T-shirt, and we were reluctant to end the kiss
for any reason. When I finally managed to pull the T-shirt
over his head and we went back to the kissing at the same
time, it was with a bit too much force behind the
movements. His top lip got banged between his teeth and
mine, and for a moment we stopped and stared at each other
when his lip began to swell up.

And then just like that, we were back to undressing

each other, trying to move toward the bedroom and stay
upright enough not to stumble. I hit my elbow on the
doorframe and hissed with the sharp pain, and he almost fell
down before we got to the bed. It was like a bad comedy or
something, but we needed this right now!

Eventually, and without getting too badly hurt, despite

some poorly placed knees and elbows in our scramble to the
middle of the bed, we stilled and stared at each other. I was
on top of Matt, between his spread legs, and suddenly I
remembered his leg. I pulled back to my knees and ran my
hand down his thigh and to his calf. There was scar tissue
both on his thigh—I had seen that before—and on his calf,
close to his ankle. I could see where the bone had been fixed

Thank My Lucky Scars | Tia Fielding

in the middle of his leg. He had told me there were metal
plates keeping his leg together now.

He tried to pull the leg away and get up, but I pressed

his leg down against the bed with a well-placed hand on his
thigh and traced every scar with my fingertips.

“What are you doing?” he asked after a while.
“I’m thanking the scars,” I stated, and Matt let out a

surprised little huff.

“You what?”
“If these weren’t here, you might not have been on

Twitter to stalk me, and I might have never found you,” I
said before kissing a scar below his knee and turning to look
at him again. “You don’t limp much at all,” I suddenly
realized.

“No, it’s gone okay. I concentrated on the physical

therapy when you weren’t here.” Pain flashed in his eyes, but
I could tell it was at the thought of us not being together.

“Yeah, Jon told me you have only monthly checks from

now on.” I nodded.

Matt cocked his head a bit, looking at me thoughtfully.

“You know, I don’t know how you kept this a secret, coming
here and everything. But I’m more amazed that Jon or Trina
didn’t spill the beans on the plan. They can’t keep a secret to
save their lives, especially Jon.”

“I might have threatened him with castration and

promised to invest some money for him and Trina when they
have gathered a bit of funds for some stocks.” I shrugged.

“Could you take condoms and lube from the drawer,

please?” Matt asked suddenly, and I obeyed as fast as I
could.

Thank My Lucky Scars | Tia Fielding

“Good boy,” he crooned like I was his favorite pet and

had just done something amusing but very good.

“How do you want to do this?” I asked him after getting

the supplies and settling back on my knees.

“On my back?” he asked, wanting my opinion.
“If you want, you can fuck me too,” I said, tossing the

option out there, and his eyes widened a little. “The fact that
I rarely did it in porn had nothing to do with what I like in
my personal life,” I said and sighed a little. This was a
misconception many people had with porn performers. It was
performing, not having sex like we did in our personal lives
and certainly not making love.

“Oh… well….” He seemed to give it a thought. Then he

looked me in the eyes and said, in a husky tone that
somehow made his British accent stronger than ever, “I want
you inside me, Nick.”

I was in such a rush to get to him that I accidentally

flung the lube across the bed, and he barely ducked to avoid
it hitting his temple. We both froze, looked at each other, and
then burst out laughing.

When we finally calmed down, I reached for the bottle

from between the pillows and kissed Matt while I was leaning
over him. It was so sweet, so perfect, and so damned hot to
be kissing him with leisure like this. The urge to fuck him
through the mattress was there, sure, but it was more about
making love than anything else, and it’s a bit tricky to start a
sexual relationship with making love through the mattress, if
you know what I mean? Not that that’s not possible in time,
when you get to know the person you’re with.

I watched him closely as I prepped him as gently as I

could. I really wanted it all to last for a long time, but the

Thank My Lucky Scars | Tia Fielding

urgency returned as soon as I had two fingers in him,
rubbing his pleasure spot gently.

“If you don’t fuck me right now I’m going to do

something desperate,” he hissed through his teeth after a
few minutes.

“Fine, fine….” I rolled my eyes and reached for the

rubber he was holding for me.

As I was ripping through the foil with my teeth, the

thing slipped somehow, and I ended up watching with wide
eyes and the foil between my teeth as the condom flung
across the room and ended up somewhere on top of or
behind his dresser.

We froze again. Then suddenly Matt’s serious voice

asked, “Are you absolutely sure you’ve done this before?”

I realized that with all the fucking I’d done on and off

camera, I had never laughed so much while my cock was
hard and ready to go. The thought made me laugh more, and
Matt caught my hysteria, and after minutes of laughing so
hard my abs began to hurt and tears were streaming from
my eyes, we lay on the bed, side by side, trying to calm the
fuck down.

“Let’s try this again, shall we?” Matt asked, reached for

another condom from the bedside table drawer, and
managed to open and roll it down my cock (which was still
hard against all odds after the laughing) without casualties.
He slathered me with lube and looked at me expectantly.

“Do you think you can manage to fuck me without

much bodily harm? I’d ride you, but I think my leg won’t like
that yet, and I just don’t want to fumble this time.”

I didn’t answer with words. Instead, I flipped him on his

back, got between his legs, and placed my hands behind his

Thank My Lucky Scars | Tia Fielding

knees to push him back. When his gorgeous ass was in
position, I guided my cock to his hole and pushed in without
further ado.

I knew it had been a long time for him and that I

should’ve probably insisted on the prepping and used more
time to stretch him, but he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he
made a sound that was half growl and half whine, and
twisted his legs from my grip to use them to pull me closer
and deeper. I moaned as his body pulled me in. The
connection was so far from being just physical that it made
me feel dizzy for a moment. Keeping still, I tried to give him
time to adjust, but he opened his eyes and looked at me
fiercely.

“Move!” It was a command I had to obey for both our

sakes. In no time I was fucking him, slow at first, then
harder and faster, searching for the keening sound he made
every time I nailed his prostate. His arms reached around
me, keeping me close and, as a result, trapping his cock
between us. I nipped at his throat and neck while fucking
him in short, powerful jabs that drove me out of my mind
with pleasure.

Suddenly he reached to grab my ass with both hands, at

the same time thrusting up against me and pulling me close,
keeping me there with strength I didn’t know he possessed.
With his chin tilted up, eyes rolling back, and a long drawn-
out moan escaping his open mouth, Matt came in hot
bursts, painting both our stomachs and chests with his
seed. He clung to me, body contracting around me, and my
climax barreled through me like never before.

I had no idea how much time passed when I finally

opened my eyes and looked at Matt. His eyes were closed,
but he was smiling and didn’t seem to be bothered about the

Thank My Lucky Scars | Tia Fielding

fact that most of my weight was resting on him. He looked
happy, especially when he opened his eyes and fixed his gaze
on me.

“That wasn’t fucking,” he stated, smiling a little more,

looking very certain.

“No, no, it wasn’t.” I shook my head.
Leaning to kiss him, I felt the bump on his lip where we

had managed to almost split it earlier, and I laughed into his
mouth.

“At least we’re both in one piece?” I chuckled at his

puzzled expression before licking the swollen lip.

He grinned at me and pushed my shoulder, both to

admonish me and to get my weight off him. I reached over
and got hold of the condom before rolling out of bed and to
my feet, using the momentum of Matt’s push. As I walked to
the bathroom to clean up, I heard Matt sigh and get up as
well. He walked in just as I was starting the shower.

“I ran out of your shampoo right before I left home,” I

confessed and blushed again. “There’s something in the air
of your bathroom. I’ve never blushed this much anywhere
before.”

Matt chuckled and joined me under the hot spray. We

washed each other lazily, not caring about the slow-building
arousal.

“I think we should get tested,” I blurted suddenly.
Matt froze. Then he moved his head out of the spray and

looked up at me. “Oh?”

“Well, I’m supposedly clean. I get tested all the time, but

I want to be sure. I don’t want to have you at risk. And now
that I’m not doing porn anymore—”

“What?” Matt squeaked.

Thank My Lucky Scars | Tia Fielding

“I ended my contract, and I’m done with porn?” It came

out as a question, but Matt didn’t care. Instead, he turned
the water off and pulled me out of the shower.

“When did this happen? How come it’s not public

knowledge yet? Are you sure? Like really sure? You’re not
doing this just to be with me?” He shot out question after
question as we dried ourselves and went back to the
bedroom.

“I had only a month or so more left, but I shot all the

scenes I needed to fill the contract to their liking, and I’m
done now. It will be announced when my next scene comes
out in two weeks. I’m absolutely sure. Porn is getting old for
me, and the decision was long coming. Even without you, I
doubt I’d have continued it for more than another six
months, if that. I’m done,” I answered in the same style,
raising my voice while I was getting us sodas from the fridge.

Matt waited for me in bed, looking thoughtful. “Okay,”

he said when I gave him his can of soda and climbed in next
to him.

“Okay?” I asked, wanting to be sure we were talking

about the same thing and that he was sure it truly was okay.

“Yeah, I mean, it’s your decision, and it’s not like I’m

going to be against having my boyfriend stop fucking other
guys, even if it is part of his job.” He shrugged.

He hadn’t had a problem with it when we met, mostly, I

figured, because he understood the nature of the porn
business. But I’d seen it surface a couple of times after I left
London—the insecurity he felt when he knew I was working,
using my cock and ass for money instead of my brain and
the latest info from the stock market.

Thank My Lucky Scars | Tia Fielding

“Okay.” I nodded, smiling at him. He leaned over to kiss

me, tasting like his soda and just him, and I almost poured
my own can on myself when my body tried to take over the
situation. My cock was hard again, and it seemed like all the
blood was traveling south, no matter the fact that I was
thirsty as hell.

Matt pulled away first, grinning, and took a long pull

from his can. His Adam’s apple bobbed enticingly, and I
wanted to get my lips around it as soon as possible. I
resisted, though. Instead, I took care of my thirst and placed
the nearly empty can on my bedside table. Mine, as in my
side of the bed. It felt weird, but so fucking good.

weeks later I sent out my last tweet.

@BrianEnolaXXX Yes, the rumors are true. I’m retiring.

I’m also in Europe for now, happier than I’ve ever been, with
my gorgeous boyfriend @FlashNotGordon

Matt, who was at the pub with Jon and Trina, tweeted

almost immediately.

@FlashNotGordon Yes, the rumors are true. I’m not even

limping anymore. I’m also happily in a relationship with my
dream guy @BrianEnolaXXX.

I laughed out loud, closed my laptop, and left our flat to

go join them for a pint or two.

Life was good.

About the Author

IELDING

lives in a peaceful little town in a small

country in northern Europe. She loves nature, her horses,
cats, and even the yappy little thing that occasionally gets
called a dog. Tia learned to read before she went to school at
age six and began writing as soon as she figured she had
stories to tell around the mature age of seven. Stories about
horses, adventures, and ghosts might have turned into hot
GLBTQ-romance, but she still has a wicked imagination and,
hopefully, more stories to tell.
Visit her at

http://www.tiafielding.com

and by Twitter @tiafielding.

Also by

IELDING

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com

Published by
Dreamspinner Press
382 NE 191st Street #88329
Miami, FL 33179-3899, USA

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the
authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover Art by Anne Cain

annecain.art@gmail.com

Cover Design by Mara McKennen

This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is
illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon
conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No
part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the Publisher. To
request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press at: 382 NE 191st Street
#88329, Miami, FL 33179-3899, USA

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

Released in the United States of America
April 2012

eBook Edition
eBook ISBN: 978-1-61372-468-2

Document Outline

Thank My Lucky Scars
About the Author
Also by Tia Fielding
Copyright

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