We'd barely been home a week from vacation when my father said the worst, cruelest, most unfathomable thing in the world to me.
"Son," he said, hands on his hips like some dumbass, hefty cowboy, "it's time for you to get a job."
I almost screamed.
Okay, I did scream a little bit. I also tried to slam my bedroom door in his face, but he caught it with the toe of his work boots.
"I'm serious," he said, wedging his way past the door and into my room. "Now that you've graduated high school, you need to start earning money to support yourself."
I was hardly able to stop him from coming into my room, weak and lanky as I've always been. So I sat on the opposite side of my bed, facing the wall and pretending not to hear him.
"Look at me." I felt his warm, thick fingers on my shoulder. Reluctantly, I turned and met his gaze. "Your mother and I are happy to house you while you go to community college. We're not asking you to pay rent or anything, but you need to earn your own money for other stuff. Food, clothes, all your little accessories."
I spotted my box of scarves sitting on the ground and subtly kicked it under the bed. "I don't see why I need a job all of a sudden," I said with a huff. "You guys were fine paying for me when I was in high school. Now I'm in college and everything's changed? That's ridiculous."
"That was my fault." Dad sighed. "You've always been a... softer boy. I didn't want to push you too hard, I wanted you to feel supported. Your mother thought I was coddling you, and maybe she was right. But no more--I want you to start looking for a job on Monday."
"What would I even do?" I said, my voice getting slightly hysterical. "I have no skills."
"Well--"
"DON'T say retail. I would rather set myself on fire."
"I wasn't gonna say that." Dad gave me a small smile. "I was gonna say, you could always come work for your old man."
I raised an eyebrow. "Working construction? Seriously?"
"Well, not exactly," he admitted. "But we could use some more help in the office. Kathy could train you on the front desk, you could answer phones--"
"Hard pass," I said.
Dad sat next to me on the bed and nudged me playfully with his leg. "You know, I worked for my dad when I was your age. It could be fun."
He stared at me with those big, dumb, blue eyes of his, face stretched in a stupid, goofy grin. Just who did he think he was?
I walked over to the door and opened it, gesturing for him to leave. "I'll figure something out on my own, thank you very much."
Dad nodded. "Sounds good. I know you can do it, son."
He gave me a hug, pinning me against his thick, beefy chest. I felt his scratchy mustache on my skin as he kissed my cheek and then he was gone, leaving me with a sick feeling of dread in my stomach.
"It's completely unfair," I whined, lounging on my stomach on the bed as my BFF Gibby offered words of comfort over the phone. "I mean, talk about moving the goalposts, right?"
"I don't know," she said, her voice a slow drawl. "Maybe it's a good thing. You could save up a lot of money, especially if you don't have to pay rent."
"But what would I even do? Be a barista? I know that's every gay's calling, but I just can't picture myself in that green apron and ugly hat."
"Well," she said, her voice tinged with the promise of something juicy. "There are other ways of making money."
"Like what?"
"I may or may not know someone who made a ton of money selling feet pics online earlier this year."
I sat up, my jaw dropping. "Gibby, you slut!"
She laughed. "You'd be surprised how many pervs are out there!"
"How much did you make?"
"Mmm, I don't know. Like $20 a photo. Maybe $50 if I did something special like paint my nails or step on a piece of cake."
I stared at my toes, frowning. "That's like, nothing. Men are so cheap."
"I had a lot of guys offer to pay more for more... intimate pics," she said. "But that kind of weirded me out. It's one thing to show my feet, but to go full-on sex worker... I don't know."
My eyes lit up. "Holy shit. Gibby, you're a genius."
"Oh God," she groaned. "Why do you always take the exact opposite meaning of what I say?"
I giggled, ignoring her. "All this time I've been trying to lose my virginity by just giving it away. I'm such a stupid slut! I should be charging guys for the privilege of taking my cherry. I'll kill two birds with one stone!"
"This sounds like a terrible idea, Leo," she said, but I had already hung up. I grabbed my computer and googled "Gay Sex Worker Business Near Me High Earnings Hot Guys No Uglies."
I was surprised at just how many sites there were for gay escorts. I sorted through various profiles, trying to get a sense of what people charged and how it worked. The most popular profiles all had perfect bodies and big muscles, and most of them were tops. There were plenty of twinks and bottoms on there, but they didn't seem to get nearly as much traction, which worried me. I would do a lot of degrading sex stuff for money, but topping was a step too far.
I woke up the next morning to the sound of my dad banging on my bedroom door.
"Up and at 'em!" His booming voice made my head throb.
I pulled a pillow over my head, groaning. "You can't expect me to job search this early."
"Leo, it's 11:30. I'm home for my lunch break and thought I'd check on you. Now come on, it's time to hit the pavement. You can take my car, just drop me off on the way and pick me up at 5."
I threw on a pair of booty shorts and an oversized sweatshirt, but my dad turned me around and sent me straight back inside. "You need to look presentable," he said. "That means a collared shirt and a pair of pants."
I didn't even know if I had such an ugly combination of clothes, but after a little digging in my closet, I found a floral button-down and a skin-tight pair of Levi's. When I got to the car, my dad was beaming at me.
"You look great, son. I'd hire you in a heartbeat."
I rolled my eyes but said nothing. After I dropped him off at work, I headed for the nearest café to do more research into selling my body to strangers online for money. The place was sprawling with people sitting at tables on their laptops, sipping lattes and working remotely. How funny that I was just like them now, in a way.
I set my bag on a table and headed for the counter, where a cute barista with a nametag that read Drew stood smiling at me. "Welcome in," he said. He had bright white teeth and a wide smile, which stood out against his dark black skin. His hair was thick and textured, jutting out at every angle. He was hot as fuck.
"Hi," I said, desperately wishing I'd worn the booty shorts. "What's good here?"
He pursed his lips, then said, "Depends. What do you like?"
"Honestly? Something thick, creamy, hot..."
He grinned. "Like a latte?"
"Ugh, no," I said. "I hate coffee."
Drew laughed. "Well, that's about 90% of what we sell here. But if you like thick and creamy, how about a hot chocolate?"
I stared at his lips, full and beautiful. God, what I wouldn't give to feel them on my little pink purse. "Let's do it."
"Can I get your name?"
"Leo." I raised an eyebrow. "Why, do you want my number, too?"
His eyes went wide for a second. He opened his mouth, then sputtered. "Um... it's for the drink," he said awkwardly. "You know, when we call it out on the end of the bar..."
