1

 

 

 

"Right, you've completely lost me," said my buddy and housemate Bill as we sat in the living room of our apartment. "You move up here to be a bookkeeper, which you studied to be for eighteen months, and... hold on, let me get my head around this... now you a gigolo?"

"Uhuh. I've done it for a couple of nights, enjoyed it... two nights, fifteen hundred."

"Hot clients?"

"Not always. But, you know what they say; when sex is great, it's great. And when it's bad, it's still pretty good."

He chuckled and scratched his hair. "Erm... hours aren't very sociable."

"True. But it's cool, I enjoy it. Besides, it's not a career choice, I'll still be a bookkeeper soon, it's just that I can't spend my life getting turned down for twenty-five thousand a year vacancies because I don't have any experience and nobody will give me any. Before Tuesday night, I was down to the last hundred dollars in my account. Talk about selling your body to pay your way through college."

"I got bar work, dude."

"Eighty dollars a week, two nights... big whoop. That's bagels for breakfast, and no cream cheese. And an eviction order," I added, but Bill was already waving me down.

"Fair enough. Telling Joe and Clara?"

"Sure. They'll find out." I checked my watch. "Dinnertime. I'm hungry. What do you fancy? Nothing big, I'll be out tonight."

"Let me grab my shoes, we can drive to that Chinese the top of Todt Hill."

Being a gigolo had been easy this far, mainly because I liked sex so much, men and women (yes, both) agreed to the charges, and partly because I hadn't come across any real ugly clients, aggressive clients or cops. I knew I had to be careful and take precautions, so standing and/or walking around in a dark street in normal clothes was necessary, as was carrying a switchblade I'd bought off a drug dealer the last night I solicited.

Thursday night Bill worked at a local pub, so I waited a bit longer, put some nice clothes on and drove two miles away to near the street I had stood before. Someone else had had that spot, but now they had 'retired', the spot was all mine. The road was dark, badly lit, rarely frequented by cops who had knife and gun crime to worry about without prossers and curb-crawlers, and well-known as a red light district. I was a high-class hooker with good looks, a large penis and high charges the rich businessmen/women of New York City could come here for.

I'd been around for about half an hour when a Mercedes pulled up and the window wound down. I moved to the window, looked in and saw a pretty attractive woman in her late thirties still dressed in her suit. I had to turn on the charm.

"How can I help you, darlin'?"

"Erm... how much do you charge?" she asked slightly nervously.

"What are you after?"

"A fuck," she giggled. "Nude. Plus kissing. I got a hotel room."
"Great." I tossed my bag -- full of condoms, plus a change of clothes if needs be -- in the back and sat in the passenger seat. "Let's go, we'll work out rates on the way."

 

******

"Oh shit yes, oh shit," she moaned as, in the hotel room, she rode me in the nude. Despite the fact it was strictly against 'the rules', I'd agreed to take her five hundred and agree to kiss her and tell her -- truthfully -- how attractive she was.

"You like that, you little slut?" I asked, grabbing her tits.

"Well worth the five hundred, best fucking sex ever you fucking stud," she screamed. "Just one fuck, or can I get more?"

I was cool to bargain with them because I didn't have a pimp and I was completely independent. Prostitutes, male and female, weren't supposed to drop the veneer when around punters, but I couldn't be assed. "For your fucking hot body, I'll lick your cunt and fuck your ass."