Rough Trade (17 page)

After about a month of Mr. G doing me once a week, he called me in and said he could steer me to some real money if I was interested. We were on a new job by then, an addition up on Mulholland that doubled the size of a house that was already huge. The new owner wanted a guest wing, home theater, game room, you name it. “He’s gay,” Mr. G said. “Name’s Brian.”

“So?” I could tell by his look what he had in mind but I wanted him to say it because I saw we were crossing over into something else and he should know I might not go along.

“So he’s noticed you, keeps mentioning how good you look, asking your circumstances, that kind of thing.”

I shook my head. “I can’t believe this. You’re pimping me?”

“Harsh word, Chris. Let’s just call it keeping the client happy, and we want to do that, don’t we?”

“We’re building him an addition. That should be enough.”

“Yes, but you have to look at a bigger picture. Referrals are my lifeblood. If a client likes our work he tells another, and that’s how we stay in business. So if we cater to a client’s special needs, provide a few extras, we get a better response.”

“And I’m an extra?”

He paused to let silence cut away the resistance, then got up, came around the desk, perched on the edge. “You let me, so why not him? A hundred per.”

“You quoted a price?”

“I know what you’re worth. You stay on the site tomorrow night, tell the wife it’s OT and you’re getting paid under the table. Take her the hundred dollars. She’ll love you.”

“Easy for you. I’m the one who has to bare his butt.”

“True, and I don’t mean to make like it’s no sacrifice on your part, but it’s ready cash for what, a few minutes? This guy wants to do you and hey, when I said you were married, he lit up. The fact that you’re straight is a big draw, ya know. C’mon now, half an hour. What do you say? You already lost your cherry so what’s the big deal? It’s just a fuck.”

I got Linda in the shower that night, stuck it up her ass before she could say no, gave her a good long one and shot an enormous load. Pissed her off which got me the silent treatment which was fine with me. Same thing next morning when I said I’d be working OT that night.

The owner wasn’t around the site that day but Mr. G told me he’d be along once the crew had left. I’d only seen this guy once, at a distance from inside the newly framed game room. I tried to recall his looks but all I got was blue polo and khakis. So I parked on a chaise and drowsed poolside until I heard footsteps. I purposely didn’t respond until he came up and nudged my foot. “Tony, right?” he said when I opened my eyes.

I realized Mr. G had given me a fake name. “Yeah,” I replied.

“Nice to meet you, Tony. I’m Brian. I’ve seen you working, must say I’m impressed. Why don’t we go inside.”

He couldn’t have been more than forty and I wondered why he had to pay for it. Mr. G I understood, but with a place like this a guy could score with anybody.

“Beer?” he said from behind a marble-topped bar.

I nodded, let him pour it into a glass. He had one himself and we sat for a bit on bar stools, him asking silly questions about the work, then, like it was part of the job, getting out his wallet and putting a $100 bill on the bar. Not a word about what it got him.

He drained his beer, said to bring mine along and follow him. He led me to a huge bedroom all done in blue and gray, chrome and glass. On the wall above the bed was a big drawing of a naked man with a huge erection.

“It’s an Edward Vetter,” he said when I just stared. “Wonderful, isn’t it?”

He was undressing as he spoke and when I finally looked at him he was naked, had a hand on his cock, working the thing. I saw it was about average, realizing only then that this had a new meaning. It would go up my butt easier than Mr. G’s.

“Undress,” he said. “Take it all off.”

As I did so he crawled onto the bed and stretched out on his back, still stroking his meat. He had a different look in his eye than Mr. G, like this was routine for him. Where Mr. G had that hurry, Brian’s expression was almost mellow. I also had to admit he was sexy as hell.

When I stood naked I waited for him to tell me how he wanted it but he just lay there working his cock and I didn’t know if he just wanted to look at me undressed or if he wanted some kind of rise out of me, if maybe he was waiting to see if he turned me on.

I hated all that shit, all the never looking at guys’ dicks at the gym when everybody knows everybody looks. I’ve seen guys soap themselves until they were stiff, then walk around like they dare you to notice. Always that awareness, that undercurrent, none of it acknowledged. I went along because that’s how it is, but if I was honest with myself I saw some guys were hot. And hey, we all did stuff as kids. When did we graduate from circle jerks to being afraid to look?

So here it was then, and it brought back all the locker rooms I’d ever been inside, all the dicks and asses I’d avoided. As Brian said “come here” I felt a kind of permission and it made me think how crazy this was, how totally surreal.

“Lie down,” he said and I stretched out beside him. He started to play with my tits, which annoyed the hell out of me, but I let him rub until they were hard. He then got his mouth on one and tried to suck it while I just waited. His dick pressed against my leg and when he had himself totally worked up he stopped to get condom and lube from the nightstand and get himself ready. Then he rolled me onto my stomach, pulled up my ass, and went in. “Shit yeah!” he yelled as he started to fuck me. “One sweet ass!” He went at it for a few minutes, then pulled out, flipped me over, pushed my legs up and shoved back in. He held my legs high so he could torque down and it put his dick about a mile up me or so it felt. I was being totally drilled and I lay looking to one side as I heard him come.

He screwed every bit of dick he could into me as he let go, grinding out the last until finally he went soft. Only then did he pull out and toss the rubber. I lowered my legs, lay quiet for a minute until I felt his hand on my stomach, which caused me to bolt. Out of the bed and on my feet, I found my jeans and started to dress.

“Hey, Tony, come on, don’t I get a little more for my money? Let me suck your dick. I can come again with some encouragement and you’ve got a sweet one, my friend. Don’t waste it on your wife. Let somebody who appreciates it have a taste.”

The familiar panic now had me and I said I had to leave. He worked himself and I saw his prick was coming along just like he said. If I didn’t get out of there he was going to make me do something I didn’t want to do. “I have to go,” I told him and I didn’t look back.

Now, sitting in my truck months later, I try to recall that panic but I can’t get a feel for how any of it could have scared me. I can’t believe having a guy suck my cock was such a big deal because once I finally let it happen, it was nothing. I’ve had a dozen blowjobs since then and I came every time because if there’s one thing guys know, it’s how to give head—unlike Linda, who acts like I’m making her eat shit.

So the deal for tonight is three guys for the evening, which means they can fuck the hell out of me, then fuck me again, suck my dick, my tits, whatever the hell they want to suck. As I finish the third beer, I unzip my jeans because now I’m hard. I get out my dick, let it stand tall while I look up the street. A car passes and I wonder if that guy wants to fuck too, if the whole goddamned world is taking it up the ass, but why the hell not? I take hold of my meat, give it a few strokes as I ease down in the seat and spread my legs. I could come now and I squirm as I think about what’s gonna be up my butt in about ten minutes, squeezing my muscle like it’s already in there. Maybe with three of them one’s gonna suck my dick while I take a cock. That would really be something. I blow out a long sigh, stuff my dick back in my jeans, zip up, and get out of the truck. I’m dirty from the job, can smell my own sweat, but I know they like that. I tote my boner across the street, ready for anything.

Real

Bill Brent

~for Puma~

PORN STAR

Huge Dick

Very expensive. Worth it.

Mean 31, 6'1", 180, blond,

gorgeous. Farmboy looks,

dungeon attitude. For real.

And you?

So I was born lucky and raised arrogant.

It’s possibly my best ad yet, good enough to ensure a lucrative month. If I don’t want a job, or if a client has a particular need that isn’t my specialty, I just refer him to a colleague. I don’t take a cut for referrals; they’re good for business. My friends and I trade clients a lot. It’s pretty common. Ever since Governor Newsom decriminalized prostitution back in ’21, industry standards have steadily increased. There’s hardly a call boy in all of North California who can’t earn a decent living these days, provided he has good business sense and doesn’t snort it up his nose. All in all, the Hedonism Decriminalization Act has been a real boon to the new state’s tourism industry.

It’s been a great week, starting with my favorite couple, Gaylord and Glenn. Gaylord is a renowned opera singer, and his lover Glenn owns one of the city’s biggest travel agencies. Like so many couples in this town, they have a major boy-porn fetish. I’m sure they’ve seen most of my flicks. And they have the means to rent a hustler; in fact, Glenn “gave” me to his partner as last year’s birthday present! It started innocently enough, as a striptease, working up to a slow, sensuous j/o, but then Glenn had me fuck Gaylord over their parlor-room sofa, resulting in a few notes from Gaylord that I’m sure even his most loyal fans had never heard.

But lately, things have gotten heavier; on Monday night, Glenn had me fuck Gaylord up his wondrously tight butt while pulling his lover’s hair, torturing him with increasingly severe sets of clips and clamps, and taking him down with an endless spew of humiliatingly harsh endearments. Some of the standouts I recall were “faggot punk boypussy bitch,” and “disgusting, dick-loving cumslut.” I later told Glenn that if travel business ever fell off, he could always find work as a Master specializing in verbal abuse. Gaylord grinned and said that having a boyfriend like Glenn to push his buttons sure took the edge off of having to act like an “uppity-bitch tenor” to get what he wanted in his career. They can afford my going rate, but I usually give regulars a huge discount on special occasions. Again, good for business. But this pair is such a nasty mindblower that it’s almost tough for me to charge them full tilt!

And there was the gay fraternity initiation at USF. God, I love college boys. Especially when I get to humiliate them one at a time in front of their friends while shoving buttplugs up their tender young butts. The real test in this frat was to keep it in while being paddled by the long row of seniors—almost impossible. Expelling the plug, of course, resulted in further punishment—tied face-down to a dorm cot and reamed repeatedly with a leek, all while being subjected to an increasingly demeaning series of puns about leaking bottoms. Groan.

The enforced wearing of diapers was bad enough, but then these little pricks would fill them with eggs and kick the pledge down the line—you get the picture. Typical, puerile fratboy stuff, I know, but who am I to turn down a roomful of hot, young men just because they’re privileged little snots with a juvenile sense of humor, especially when they’re paying me and two friends top dollar to do the full leather-hood-and-crop routine? For “authenticity,” you understand.

I got a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach when my video pager went off. I can often intuit a heavy scene before I even pick up, and this one was a five-alarmer. It was deceptively simple, even typical: an older guy calls, needing to see me immediately because he’s built up this intense fantasy of me based on my ad. By the time he actually makes the call, he’s afraid that if we can’t get together right away, he’ll lose his nerve. These guys tend to be a lot of work, but treat them well, and they often turn into devoted regulars—the sweetest, most appreciative guys of all, and generous to a fault.

I saw his scan. “Hello.” A handsome, well-built man of about fifty-five.

“Uh, hi. I saw your ad, and…” He trailed off.

“How can I help?” That phrase usually puts the timid ones at ease.

“Do you own a black leather trench coat?”

“Well, sure.” Aha. A noir fetishist. The constant recycling of past decades through the culture had achieved its ultimate realization around the turn of the century: era fetish.

I subtly shifted into my best Bogart. “Not only that, my playspace is VR-outfitted, state of the art, and I have the latest discs. Everything from medieval dungeon to New York subway T-room. Also got a Sony-Philips phase-shifter, so if you wanna combine, say, Key Largo and urban construction site—”

“No. Nothing virtual, please. I want the scene to be completely real. You and me and our passions merged. Nothing more.”

“Except my trench coat.” I smirked. I had a real poet on the line. “Okay, Dante. Tell me more. What merges your passions with mine?”

“Well, I’m into jockstraps, and heavy tit torture, I like verbal abuse…and I’d like to be your cock slave.” Embarrassed pause. “Actually, I’ve been thinking about calling you for months, but I didn’t have the nerve.”

“Sounds good to me.” I was right; this one had been saving it up. “How much S/M have you done, anyway?”