Cumstain.

At eighteen, he was living the dream. There was a roof over his head that he didn't have to pay for and an internet connection that allowed him to watch buffer free porn for hours at length. Don't get me wrong, Max wasn't a porn addict, but when its summer and you have nowhere to be and nothing to do, lazy masturbation is almost instinctive, well, sometimes. Max didn't even enjoy porn as much as he did his imagination, because let's get real, the only thing more evidently faker than the boobs is, well, pretty much everything about it. But in the end of the day, much like everyone else, he didn't care as long as it got his dick up. 

So how'd Max go from jerking off to 'slutty teenager gets spanked by strict priest' in 1080p to standing on the edge of his high school's roof three months later with the sole intention of killing himself?

Well, it started one fine afternoon right after he had shot cum all over his sheets courtesy of 'busty blonde fucks pool boy'. After what seemed like hours of masturbating, he was tired and really craved some chicken nuggets. So he took his beat up car and went to the nearest McDonald's, but right after passing through the doors he realised there was a cumstain on his pants and despite McDonald's not being the most respectable joint, walking around with dried semen on your pants is downright sleezy in his opinion and, well, his classmate was at the cashier's counter. Like the independent young man Max liked to think he was, he headed to the washroom that smelt like two parts stale urine and one part grease with just the slightest hint of minimum wage (which smells a lot like fresh salty tears with the wafting undertone of teenage pregnancy.) 

In his eighteen years of being, Max had learnt one truth to be objectively true. All public washroom stalls hold secrets. Most dudes just pee in the urinals, the ones that don't either need to take a shit or bust a nut and some do both and most of them always leave a little evidence behind, or a lot in some unfortunate circumstances. But there are times you find surprising things in urinals, like banana scented candles or a diary that belonged to a nun with some latent sexual desires. (The confessions of Sister Mary Alice makes for a really nice bed time read, in Max's opinion.)

This time, the public stall had surprised him again. There was the usual shit stain in the corner but what caught his attention was the amount of toilet paper that had been stuffed down the toilet. Max didn't even need to pee, but there was something satisfying  about the thought of his crappy classmate James who worked there cleaning the mess of a clogged toilet. So he flushed it all down again and again and again. He could've literally gone on all day because he had nothing else to do but the door of the stall  was smashed open and he found himself slammed onto the ground by a stranger who really seemed to be in a hurry to take a shit or whatever the fuck. It was when the stranger was knelt over digging through piles of almost disintegrated toilet paper in a puddle of suspiciously coloured liquid that Max had the opportunity to take in his appearance. He looked somewhat tall and was wearing a really tight black t-shirt. As he listened to the large guy curse in what seemed like Russian, Max realised he had pulled something out. It was a clear plastic bag with some white substance in it. It hit him. It was coke in a bag that had given away and the coke was now mixed with piss-water. The Russian guy was looking his way and looked incredibly angry. Now Max was no drug expert but he was almost positive that the now piss scented coke was of no use.

He wasn't a big guy, and the only form of combat he had ever been exposed to was the stuff on Power Rangers. Since posing in a dry field to trigger explosions was not something he could pull off in the tiny washroom, he went with his most primal instinct. 

He cried.

He cried as the Russian whose name he later learnt was Igor body slammed him and constantly repeated, "Money!" Or it could've been 'my knee' because his accent was a bit hard to comprehend. But the message he got from the gun that was pulled on him was loud and clear. So long story short, Max let Igor throw him into his surprisingly fruity smelling car as he continued to cry. He thought about his options as Igor drove into the city and realised that there were no options to weigh when an angry Russian with an earring and loaded gun are involved.

He expected to be taken to a lot of places, like a dark alley or a cold storage space but what he hadn't anticipated was that he'd wind up at his favourite dumpling place in Chinatown. As Igor pulled him out of the car with the gun still pressed against his back, he knew running or screaming for help was not on option. Once he was inside the familiar joint that had a 'closed' sign hung up, he thought the only person who could help was Mr. Chow, or at least that's what he thought the guy who owned the place was named given the fact that it was called 'Mr.Chow's Dumpling Palace.'

Max hadn't believed in God since he got rejected by his crush back in second grade but when the small chubby Asian man who made dumplings so very flavourful came into view, he decided that God was definitely real, maybe a bit of a dick sometimes, but real nevertheless. But when said chubby Mr. Chow  pulled Igor into a hug he was plain confused.

 "Um-Mr.Chow?"

"Ah, Max! When Igor told me about his, um, inconvenience, I didn't expect to see a familiar face. I guess I can help you after all. Look, I know about your little drug situation and Igor was mad when he hit me up," he said in his heavily accented squeaky voice. He then sipped on his tea and continued, "Look sweetie, I ain't gonna sugar coat this, Igor is going to kill you if you don't pay him back."

"Well then I'll pay him! Just tell him not to kill me!" 

"You've got 10 grand on you?" He asked monotonously, sipping his tea. 

"Look, I'll ask my parents or something, or I'll sell my kidneys!" 

Mr.Chow just looked at Max, dead in the eye and then laughed. For a solid three minutes, not that Max counted. "Look kid, we can't have you going around announcing you need money to pay off a drug dealer. But I can't leave my man Igor hanging. You cost him, a lot. But you come here almost every week and buy my dumplings and then tell me I make nice dumplings, so I'll help a- what is the saying? I'll help a brother out, you feel me?" 

"Look, I'll do anything," he said as he wiped away more tears and mucus as Igor, for reasons unknown to him, began doing some push ups without a shirt on.

Mr.Chow looked at the surprisingly hairless Russian for a moment and then back at Max. "Are you eighteen?" 

"Yeah, my birthday was last week. Don't you remember me coming in last week and ordering seven plates of dumplings?"

"Kid, you do that every week."

"Well, it was my birthday."

"Look, I can give Igor the 10 grand, but you've got to work for me. It's just a one time thing and you can go back to the suburbs scot-free. How does that sound?" 

Max thought his day was looking up and finally stopped crying or maybe it was a lack of hydration. "I will wash your dishes forever or chop onions-." 

"Eh- I had something else in mind. Look, being the dumpling master has it's perks, but your boy's gotta have some fun, ya' know? So couple of years ago I started a little.... side business that really took off. We work mainly out of the basement here, but we do venture out sometimes," he said proudly as he led Max to the basement along with Igor, still shirtless and exceptionally hairless.

He was expecting a meth lab or something ridiculously illegal, but instead as Mr.Chow flipped the lights on he came face to face with a staggering amount of posters of naked men in compromising positions. 

"Welcome to SugarDaddy Productions!"

..........

When he was sixteen, Max got his first job at an ice cream shop. He really liked working there, until a six year old vomited all over him. He decided to get a job only when he really needed it, maybe once he got into college and preferably somewhere like a library or shoe store where children and food would be less likely paired. However, he never anticipated he would end up working as a pornographic artist for SugarDaddy productions, trademark pending, as Mr.Chow put it.

He found himself back in his room later that day looking at the business card Mr.Chow had given him.

Eugene Park

CEO, SugarDaddy Productions.

Max didn't know what threw him off more, the fact that Mr.Chow was not really his favourite dumpling provider's name or that he was going to star in his first ever role in the pornographic industry. Sure, starring in a low budget porno wouldn't look great on his job applications, but it still beat dying a shameful death under the hands of Igor the not so friendly Russian who smelled really nice for some reason.

Mr.Chow, or Eugene, didn't say much about the job. All Max was told was that he had to keep an open mind. Now Max was no virgin, but from the his vast experience on the other side, he knew it wouldn't be anything vanilla. He went to bed just as he realised he never got rid of that cumstain.

...

Having a warm and wet mouth around his cock would have given Max a hard on any other time. But as a heterosexual male, having a guy with more facial hair than he did give him a blowjob gave him more shrinkage than dipping his dick in icy water. Mr. Chow conveniently forgot to mention that his company specialised in ameteur gay porn the previous day. It should have been evident by the plethora of pictures of butt naked men on the walls of Chow's basement, but Max had never been very observant. 

He had Igor on his knees, yes, big Russian Igor, slapping his dick screaming "Hard now!" Then there was Mr. Chow sipping his tea which had been smelling less like tea and more like vodka along with the camera and sound guys checking their phones with disinterest that was downright offensive in Max's eyes. 

After almost an hour of dick slapping and numerous profanities aimed at his dick, Chow decided young Max needed some help and handed him a little white pill. "Look kid, it's going to wear off in a couple of hours. Igor looks really pissed you didn't appreciate his expertise and I have dumplings to make and the camera guy, well, I'm sure he doesn't want to keep looking at you flaccid dick."

That's the story of the first time Max took ecstasy. 

He also learnt two things that day: Igor liked to slap his own ass and things aren't always as they seem. Not necessarily in that order. 

After the ecstasy, things really took off. Igor went in deep and Max came all over his face in 5 minutes 42 seconds. After about an hour of formatting and editing footage, Max's first pornographic film 'Twink gets blown by Russian studmuffin' made it to subscribers of SugarDaddy productions who paid $1.95 in 1080p and the rest of the world watch on PornHub for free in 720p.

Mr.Chow kept his word. He paid Igor off and even gave Max some free dumplings as he sent him home. Igor, well Igor was still a little upset that Max hadn't reacted well to his...talents. Max made it back home and found himself back on his bed with a hard on from the ecstasy still present in his system. As much as he wanted to do something about it, he thought he'd stay away from all things porn for a while longer.

.......

Usually when Max woke up, he'd pee and brush his teeth and then eat the unusually burnt yet runny eggs his mom managed to whip up before heading to work. However, the day after his little porn-scapade, he woke up to numerous calls from Chow. As he hoped his morning wood was not a result of viagra he called the little Asian.

"Max! You're a star!"

"What?"

"You blew up! You're at six million on PornHub! People are blowing up SugarDaddy's Twitter. They want to know who you are."

"Dude! I specified I wanted to stay anonymous!"

"Kid, you're not getting it! The guys loved your whole 'hetero but not really' thing and they want more. Look, I'm heading over to the restaurant and I want to you to come meet me as soon as you can, I'll even whip up an early batch of dumplings."

With that, he cut the call and Max put on some pants that didn't smell terrible and found himself back at the little establishment that he once associated with solely dumplings. If there was one thing he had learnt about the Asian over the last two days, was that he loved his dumplings as much as he did his naked men, which was a lot judging by the not so subtle looks he kept giving Igor the previous day. He also appreciated people appreciating food, that's why he waited until after Max downed close to 20 dumplings to discuss business.

"Porn and dumplings aren't all that different-" 

"Ew"

"-they really aren't. The key to a good dumpling is good meat, good meat is always fresh meat. You Max, you are fresh meat. Rather, you're a good dumpling, you've got fresh meat."

Max was not a fan of Chow's analogy, but he was too full to really think so he let him continue. "You keep coming back for my dumplings, right? The people want to come back for you. Look, you're already out there on the internet and so is your dick. You think your buddies aren't going to find out eventually? Now you can either be exposed, or you can come out."

"What are you asking me?" Max asked Chow as he ate another dumpling. "I'm not asking Max, I'm offering. You can make a few more videos with us and we'll give you an alter ego- Johny CumSlut, or something-"

"That was oddly specific."

"That's not the point. Basically, you can make big bucks and so can I. Right now there's a gap in the market for someone like you. You can be the Justin Bieber of the gay world."

"Isn't Justin Bieber the Justin Bieber of the gay world?" 

"Fine, gay porn world," taking a sip of vodka from his teacup he continued, "We can make you a pornstar like no other. You can post pictures of yourself getting coffee or something more white girlesqe and then post a video of yourself getting fucked on a coffee counter or something. People will feel like they're actually a part of your world. At the same time, you'll be unattainable, keeping the fantasy alive. People want to live out their fantasies of fucking their hot Instagram crushes not just watch a bunch of fake orgasms in quick succession. You millennials are especially hard to please. First it was the music industry, now the porn industry has been feeling the heat too."

"Geez bud, that's a lot of thought," Max said a little surprised.

"I'm a Psychiatrist."

"Dude-"

"I'm Asian, what else did you expect?" he asked not expecting a response as he whipped out his phone and showed him some texts. "Read these texts kid. I've got guys from all over hitting me up about you. Look at how much they're offering. Porn needs to change kid. Some titty flashes and the usual shit doesn't fly anymore. People get bored."

"And I'm not going to bore them?" Max asked flatly.

"I remember being young and waiting for my favourite show to air once a week when I was younger. I remember the hype, the anticipation. Now you've got Netflix and all that shit's gone. Same with porn. Now twelve year old me didn't know boobies wouldn't do it for me, but the thrill of it all made me cum all over my first Playboy magazine that I had bought from an older kid for three dollars and a half eaten grilled cheese sandwich despite my now very evident homosexuality," Chow said as he pulled out a file from one of his dumpling steamers. "Porn needs to evolve, and I don't mean that gizmatic VR shit or anything. People watch porn to fulfil desires that they cannot have. They live their fantasies off the other side of the screen. But now porn is more easy to access than cereal. The thrill is gone, but the fantasy isn't. We're going to use that."

Max's interest was budding. As he made little origami birds with some tissue he asked, "How do you suppose we do that?"

Chow looked like a kid on Christmas, well if the kid was a chubby Asian man with questionable fashion choices who looked forty and reeked of cheap vodka.

"I thought you'd never ask."

......

In three weeks Max had moved out of his parents' house, garnered a million followers on Instagram and Twitter and Buzzfeed had written a couple of articles about him.

Chow's plan had worked exponentially better than either one of them had anticipated. The first step was to introduce Max into the world with the cliche stage name 'Johny Cumslut', but ironically because it's 2017 ya' know? The next step was to get Johny and his followers acquainted through pictures of him getting lattes and buying clothes and other mundane shit that made him seem like your everyday guy, unattainable nevertheless. The base was in place with about ten thousand followers. But the time had come for him to make his first big career move as Johny. Since pay-per-view is almost as archaic as low-rise jeans, they used his social media accounts to hype a live session on SugarDaddy Production's website. 

More people followed his social media accounts and the surprise live streams happened from places like music festivals to grocery store storage rooms. In two weeks it was a social phenomenal. People on social media were trying to predict where the next live streams would occur. He was trending on Twitter in 36 countries and ISIS had promised to behead him. Millennials saw Johny as a self aware guy breaking conventional occupational stereotypes making his money without a college degree with endless avocado toast at his disposal. He was advertising FitTea and selling autographed dildos to his followers and was making more money than he ever anticipated to in a mere three weeks.

His friends were blowing up his phone and his parents' weren't answering theirs. He figured they'd come around eventually. If you were wondering how he felt about his new found fame, well, he felt famous. How'd he feel about being an 18 year old that the internet was obsessed with? Take a wild guess. 

Sure, he couldn't stay in bed for long periods of time anymore, had to get literally every inch of his body waxed and he was developing a questionable looking rash, but aside from that Max felt something he never thought he would feel in his teenage life: motivated. So that's why when he saw a bunch of tweets from some fan accounts about how they're disappointed he hadn't gotten fucked in the ass yet, he slapped on some moisturiser and concealer, neither one on his face, and set out to record a video that marked the beginning of the end of his three month career.

-------

Cosmopolitan's 11 tips for great anal sex that Max read on the way to his shoot and a few sips of vodka from Chow's unattended teacup was not nearly enough to prepare him for what was going to happen later that day. Not only was he drastically unprepared, but so was Chow. He wasn't delighted that he had to arrange for some lube at short notice, but he was excited because he knew this was exactly what would boost Johnny's presence in the porn-sphere. 

It started out great. 120,000 people tuned in within the first ten minutes of foreplay. Chow waited just until people were getting impatient to signal Max's costar to get to it. 145,000 people watched the exact moment when Max got into a doggy style position and got rimmed gently. The views were going up and so was Max's apprehension as his bowels began to feel questionable. In moments, with 210,000 people watching live, remnants of his breakfast burrito got all over his costar and in minutes, was all over the internet.

-----------------

"Just, please explain why you failed to let me know you weren't potty trained when I hired you!" Chow exclaimed as he gulped down the entire contents of his vodka-teacup.

"I don't even know what happened! I was feeling fine this morning. I think I have a stomach bug or something, all I had this morning was a burrito and some of your vodka-" 

"Wait- what vodka?" Chow interrupted. "That shit you keep sipping on all day-"

"Holy fuck, you idiot!" Chow proceeded to pull something out from one of the dumpling steamers and placed it on the table in front of Max. It was a 'super strength laxative'.

"Great, now I have to deal with your shitty situation and I have to do it constipated thanks to you," Chow walked out of the restaurant leaving Max alone with his thoughts and hyper aware of his bowel moments.

--------------

Up until that day Max had been fine with the fact that people could pull up videos of him naked in seconds. But for the first time since this whole thing started, he was embarrassed. The live diarrhoea thing was a PR nightmare. But when it comes to porn, there's only so much that can be shamed. Within a few hours, it had become the new 'two girls, one cup', and Johny was trending again. Chow released a statement that Johny had a stomach bug and was recovering and surprisingly the internet had his back, aside from Westboro Baptist Church, they continued to send him Bibles and death threats.

He had to lay low for about a week, but got back to his routine in no time. The internet was filled with memes about the burrito incident and there were even a few national news networks covering the story. Suddenly, it wasn't just about explosive diarrhoea streamed live, instead it was becoming about pornography and it's mainstream influence, which had become increasingly evident ever since Max came into the public eye. Some people were blaming Max, while others believed he was simply a manifestation of an issue that's always existed.

However, with sales of his merchandise steadily plummeting, Max began questioning the longevity of his career. He thought maybe getting a nose job would help. After all, there's nothing plastic surgery, viagra and endless lube, the holy trinity of porn, can't fix.

...................

After being in the porn industry almost three months, Max had managed to become a household name. Sure the way his name was brought up differed, but nevertheless, people knew him. A few film schools were even doing research on what made him and his accent to fame unlike any other porn star. What is the timing? Or was it the means through which he reached the people? Nevertheless, one thing was becoming more evidently clear: Max was a star. Not just a porn star, but a star. However, all stars, no matter how bright, dim eventually.

"You feeling okay?" Chow asked after they wrapped up after shooting in a Planetarium. Max seemed like he hadn't heard the question until he answered without looking back at him. "I forgot to take the ecstasy you gave me earlier."

"Wait- how'd you get through the shoot?'' Chow asked and then continued, "You just fucked two guys who look like Greek statues, I mean, everyone has a little gay in them-"

"I liked it. Not the fact that the guys looked good, or whatever. It was the fact that almost a million people were watching me. They left whatever the fuck they were doing, to watch me. I really liked it. I liked it enough to fuck two guys without ecstasy." Max said,

Chow was confused, "If this is about you questioning your sexua-"

Max stood up and began to pace around, "You're not hearing me Chow. I'm not gay, I'm straight. It's just, the last few days I've been feeling a little different when we shoot. Initially, I'd just wait for them to be over, but now I can't wait to do it again. I thought it was because I was bi-curious, or whatever, but I think it's because of the people watching. I tried watching porn the other day, it didn't do anything for me"

Chow got up too, "I get it. Sex, it's not always as simple as sexual contact physically. Sexual desires are fuelled to a greater extent by just plain desires people don't even know they have. In your case, the idea that people are watching, that they are tuning in to watch you, with a majority of them getting off because of you is giving you a hard on. It's normal. Look on the bright side, at least you're not getting off dolphins or something."

Max seemed more relaxed and after a while said, "I forget you're a shrink sometimes."

"Was," Chow said as he offered him his teacup. "I mean, I was even a stripper for a while. Ah- good times."

.....

It's relatively easy to get famous on the internet, post a funny cat video or get a bad spray tan and run for President. However, it is exponentially difficult to stay famous. Max was beginning to feel the heat of being irrelevant with people unfollowing him on social media and lesser people tuning in to watch his live streams. It seemed the internet had forgotten about him and had moved onto other things, like colourful doughnuts and well, more cat videos. 

"Max? I bought you some dumplings." Chow said as he sat next to Max at the basement of his restaurant. "Oh-thanks Chow, but I think I'll pass. I think I need to get leaner," Max refused and laid on the beat up mattress.

"Igor told me something yesterday," Chow began. "He told me that you bought coke from him, is that true?"

"Oh yeah. I was feeling fucking tired before the shoot and I thought I could use a little boost," he said with his eyes still closed.

After a couple minutes Chow began cautiously,"Max there's something I need to talk to you about." 

"Can it wait, I'm tired as fuck-" 

"We're done with you."

Max sat up straight dumbfounded, "What the fuck?"

Chow started to pace around. "We've been looking at the stats and people aren't as interested in our streams anymore and we think," he paused before he continued, "We think it's because of you. We've been reading comments and people want to see someone new and you've been looking tired lately-"

Max began to laugh manically, "Oh and you care about me being tired? Lay it down as it is. You can just get some new twink to bring in money and you won't have to pay him as much. I fucking made you."

"Max- look, your break is temporary. The last thing we need is to have people find out you're doing coke, that'll ruin the company."

"No- I'm done. Your 'company' is still a fucking basement. Let's see you make anything but dumplings once I leave."

...............

Max is vengeful statement didn't hold true. Chow introduced SugarDaddy Production's new guy and well, people forgot Johny. None of the other production companies wanted a porn reject and he lost his social media accounts to Chow due to the production house owning the rights to his social media accounts from the start. His family didn't want to see him and it seemed as though no one recognised him, despite having once felt like the entire world was watching him. But he wasn't going to go down without a fight. He was going to release material to show the word that he was still very much open for business, so he called one of his nicer costars and booked a motel room.

"Let's just keep things simple." Max said to his costar as he snorted a line of coke off the cheap dresser in the motel room he had booked.

"Yeah, I got it. Hey, can I bump a line?"

Max was impatient, "Yeah, whatever. Just do it quickly"

From there, shit hit the fan. They started having awkward disoriented sex and there was no way to check if the angles were right without a camera guy. In order to calm his co-star down he encouraged him to bump another line. In a few more minutes the only sticky white substance coming out of his friend's body was frothy vomit as he began seizing on the floor, seemingly from an overdose. Max had two options. Call an ambulance and get busted for the coke or just leave and hope for the best.

Six hours later he found himself drunk and alone on the roof of his old high school. It was his go to place when he didn't want to attend Chemistry classes because he got assigned a seat in the first row and the teacher's spit would practically baptise him. It seemed so long ago but in reality it had been only a couple of months. Just as he took another swig of alcohol, he realised that there was a cumstain on his pants. He laughed for a while and then he cried, for a while. 

The last few months had been like a quick jerk off session before going to bed after a boring day. All you can remember from the day is the little mess you made. Only, he couldn't remember his entire life before the last three months. He could recall it, but in the same way one does a movie, as an outsider with a different reality. The worst part was he didn't want to kill himself. He didn't want to die as some fucking nobody who was once a somebody. 

He jumped. 

It wasn't like they show it in the movies. His entire life did not flash before his eyes. He didn't see the guy he just left to die or his parents or Chow or Igor or his high school crush as some serene song played in the background with gradual buildup. He jumped and in a little more than three seconds and a little less than four he was on the ground. In a few more seconds he was reduced to a corpse and a pool of blood. Some poor fucker would eventually clean up the mess in the morning and he could even start trending on Twitter again, but in the grand scheme of things, he would just be a mild inconvenience, but insignificant nonetheless. He was just a fucking cumstain.

......