This is a long-term story with potentially an infinite life in it, and it revolves around a man (written from a first-person perspective) finding himself in deep financial trouble and finding money and enjoyment in becoming a high-class male hooker. This chapter, as well as the ones to follow, will hit on more than one particular genre, which is why it's been filed here instead of anywhere else.
If you are open-minded, like something different and are not easily offended, please read on and give me your honest, constructive views. This series will contain scenes of lesbian, gay, teen, first time, group, interracial, mature and incestuous sex.
*
"Right, you've completely lost me," said my buddy and housemate Will as we sat in the living room of our Cockfosters 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... a gigolo?"
"Uhuh. I've done it for a couple of nights, enjoyed it... two nights, fifteen grand."
"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 g's 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 quid in my overdraft. Talk about selling your body to pay your way through college."
"I got bar work, dude."
"Eighty quid a week, two nights... big whoop. That's bagels for breakfast, and no cream cheese. And an eviction order," I added, but Will was already waving me down.
"Fair enough. Telling Joe and Claire?"
"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 Mount Pleasant."
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 Will 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 kerb-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 Central London could come north 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 shag," 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 grand and agree to snog her and tell her -- truthfully -- how attractive she was.
"You like that, you slut?" I asked, grabbing her tits.
"Well worth the five grand, best fucking sex ever you fucking stud," she screamed. "Just one shag, 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 arse."
"Evening," I was greeted with as I stepped out of her car back at the spot. I'd given her what I'd promised, plus letting her suck my dick for five grand and her moist panties. Those panties plus the five grand in a hundred fifties were in the bag, and the person greeting me was a lady prostitute; a 18 year-old girl called Hannah was a little dirty, but popular and quite well minted because of it.
"Hey baby," I replied, meeting her and snogging her with my hands up the back of her short skirt. "Good night so far?"
"Not bad. Old dude with a grand shagged me hard, I actually almost came. You?"
"Fit bird from Central, real tight cunt. Not as tight as yours, though."
"Bet her tits were smaller too," she grinned. I groped them; large, pert double-D cups attached to her otherwise thin body. "Around the corner for coffee?"
Another car pulled up; an old Audi convertible driven by a good looking guy. "Doesn't look like it. One for you, I think." Unsurprisingly, he called Hannah over and they soon drove off.
A problem I was having money wise was all the cash I had built up in three nights so far; thirty-two grand in total, with no bank account to put it in. Knocking up to my local branch of HSBC on High Barnet High Street every day with five figures worth of money in hard cash would look dodgier than a Mafia godfather hanging out the window of a Beemer 3-series holding an Uzi.
I had to think up a plan.
As I drove back from the road to the flat, Hannah in tow as she was going to stay the night away from her crappy parents, I formulated a plan involving myself, computers and the world wide web. If I created a website, I could hand my clients my business card, and they could check me out and maybe make advance bookings for all-night sessions. Then if I carried my laptop around with me, I could do exchange internet banking with relevant clients and get the cash straight into my account.
The next day, a Friday, Will was at lectures until early afternoon, so I stayed in bed fucking Hannah until late morning, and drove us into Enfield Town. She went house hunting to use her ninety grand nest egg to put a deposit on a nice place, and I went to my branch of HSBC with two grand, paid it in and moved my money into a business account with a 8.9% interest rate (with at least £1,500 paid in per month), telephone and internet banking. I treated myself to some CD's, DVD's and Xbox games (spending about a grand), met with Hannah who had as yet had no luck, drove her to her folks house and returned home to chill with Will.
Again, that night, I headed on out and was sitting on the bone dry kerb reading the classifieds -- looking for something new to move onto before I got too attached to this life -- when a fellow guy gigolo came up and sat next to me. His greeting of a snog was slightly forced, but enjoyable and afterwards, he introduced himself formally as Matt, although I already knew him as Hannah's cousin.
"How long you been doing this?" I asked, putting the newspaper down behind me. There it would stay; my bag was primed for more cash and was already carrying my laptop and business cards.
"Twenty months," he replied.
