1 Chapter 1

When he logs online, there are fifty-six new comments on Ritchie’s latest video post. He scrolls through them eagerly, savoring the ones that hail him as the next best thing online. One chick even wroteI want 2 have UR babiez!!and he pauses long enough to reply, sry babe, im GAY. Halfway down the page, someone else wrote something similar, but the user name is male andthe profile pic…well, Ritchie doubts that’s really some loner wanking off to his vlog, but the guy is hot. Young and hung, as Ritchie likes to say. To hiscomment, Ritchie responds, ne time, ne ware. im urs.

Not that he’s serious. At twenty, Ritchie’s been online most all his life, and he doesn’t take anything said in cyberspace as fact. He knows the person who posted the comment looks nothing like the avatar beside it—most likely it’s some fat-ass dude taking a breather from World of Warcraft to check out Ritchie’s latest post. Or worse, one of the older women his grandma’s age who seem to troll his boards looking for sex tips to spice up their fan fiction. He’s never met anyone online who looks half as good as they claim.

Hell, he’s not exactly Justin Timberlake himself. With a thatch of dark hair a little too longin the front, wide-spaced brown eyes and an even wider mouth, he knows exactly what he looks like on the internet—he sees himself staring back from the cam feed on his site every time he logs on. He posts a video blog entry every other day, ranting about whatever’s on his mind or flirting with the webcam, or just goofing off, being stupid, and it still surprises him he has fans. Over two thousand on Facebook, not including the five people he actually knows in real life, and about the same number of Twitter followers, too. And his videos are always rated highon YouTube. What can he say? People love him. The comments on his newest video prove it.

Standing up to tuck his right leg under him, Ritchie sits down again in front of his desk. He rocks back a little, just enough to prop his foot on the computer tower under the desk. A steadyred light above the monitor assures him the webcam is live, streaming live to his site. Every move he makes is calculated—he knows he’s being watched. He enjoys it, and affects a bored expression as he scrolls through the rest of the comments. He doesn’t look at the cam, but he’s constantly aware of its unblinking eye and keeps his left hand away from his face to avoid blocking the view.

When he’s online, he feels like a star.

With a glance at the clock on his monitor, he toys with the idea of posting another video. He doesn’t really have anything he wants to chat about, but his fans have him stoked. But he only has about an hour before his boyfriend Doug comes home, and he knows he’ll never manage to get the video recorded, edited, uploaded, and pimped in that amount of time. He could start, but heknows himself too well. When Doug walks in, Ritchie won’t want to get offline, and Doug will get pissed. He doesn’t like Ritchie’s cam-boy habit as it is. Ritchie thinks it’s because Doug isn’t exactly computer savvy—he’s an electrician’s helper at a local construction company, and though he’s only thehottest guy Ritchie has ever seen, online or off, he has a major inferiority complex. Ritchie can’t understand why…they’re perfect together, Ritchie tells him all the time, but Doug always thinks Ritchie’s going to leave him for someone smarter or better looking. Someone online, even. He’s said as much before.

Ha!That’s a laugh. Like he’ll ever meet anyone remotely as awesome as his Dougie. The guy’stoo good for him, he knows. Works hard, and takes classes at the community college on Thursday nights so he can get his journeyman’s card some day soon. At six foot two, Doug is a slim, lanky man who played basketball in high school and can still score from the free throw line. He has a soft voice that holds just a hint of a Southern drawl and heavy eyelids that hide his pale eyes, giving him a sleepy appearance. His short blond hair seems to defy gravity, and there’s nothing Ritchie likes more than to lie with his lover after sex, their sweaty bodies entwined together, as he smoothes those spiky strands. They just won’t stay down. Even fresh from the shower, wet and slicked back, they pop up one by one as Doug’s hair dries. Ritchie loves it.

Thinking of his guy makes Ritchie’s pants tighten around his stiffening dick. He shifts in hischair and grins at the surge of lust that jolts through him. Another hour and Doug will be home.Tired from school, probably looking for a quiet evening in front of the TV with a beer in one hand and a slice of cold pizza in the other. Ritchie can’t wait to cuddle up beside him on the couch. Once the pizza’s gone, he’ll see how long it takes to turn off the TV and turn Doug’s attention where it belongs.

On him.

As he clicks the shortcut link to Facebook on his toolbar, a new instant messenger dialog pops up. Ritchie glances at the username, but it isn’t anyone he knows. He’s used to that—he getsa lot of IMs from random strangers, people who visit his site and watch his vlogs. Some don’t want to comment publicly on his videos, while others try to chat him up, see if they can’t get to know him better. Because he doesn’t want to piss off anyone who likes his stuff, he’s mostly polite. But sometimes…

luvU12345: hey sexy why the smile?

Ritchie glances at the webcam, which had recorded his grin at the thought of getting with Doug later and had promptly broadcast it on his site. He wonders if the next message would be so perky if he flicked off the cam. But there’s nothing overt in the IM, nothing but the word sexyand hell, that could just be someone shooting the shit.

richcamboy: thinking bout my man. who r u?

luvU12345: asl?

What the fuck? Ritchie closes the IM window in disgust. If this joker had seen him grin on the cam, then whoever it is could take a moment or two to read his stats, posted just below the video feed. gwm 20 richmond, sex: as often as possible, looking for: already found him. Ritchiethought that answered the age-old online pick-up line “age sex location” rather succinctly.

A few minutes later, when Ritchie’s checking on his Farmville game, another message pops up. It’s from the same person.

luvU12345: u still there?

Niceties go out the window. Miffed, Ritchie glares at the webcam a moment and hopes whoever is on the other end of the internet catches that.

richcamboy: what?

luvU1234: u didnt answer. asl?

richcamboy: read my page, dumbass.

Two seconds later, the time it apparently takes for luvU to figure out what he’s talking about, comes the question:

luvU12345: o ur gay?

Ritchie doesn’t have the patience for this. He types one word into the message box—blocked—then does just that, blocks the user from contacting him again. This isn’t the first time he’s blocked someone for being stupid, and he suspects it won’t be the last.