You need to relax, he said.

Are you willing to relax me, then?

(Long pause).

This is the classic rent-boy come-on; all blatant and scary so that it makes them check the change in their pockets. If they're not up to it, it's their chance for departure.

He didn't hightail it out of there. He just stood with his hand surreptitiously holding his cock; I stared back.

What's it take to get you relaxed he asked?

Not much, I said.

I held up five fingers.

He paused for about five seconds.

Anything else? He asked.

Man, you must know all about me, I said.

Yeah, he said, there's been talk.

All good, I hope?

Most of it.

Well I hope I won't disappoint you then.

Let's get out of here, he said. I didn't like the urgency in his voice; he needed to rethink what he was getting himself into.

Where's the fire? I asked.

I'm cool, he said.

Not cool enough, I said. If he were going to be tres intime with my ass, I'd have to fuck with his head first. Call it rent-boy payback.

He had masses of red curly hair falling over his face, large eyes, & a crooked smile.

Maybe too crooked. I suspected something wrong somewhere. To be on the safe side, I decided to run one of my 'screenings'.

The last john had thrown me out with cum all over my ass; I'd been mistaken me for someone named Louis; he got Louis, I'd merely got the cash.

So the stuff you hear about on the street, I said-true?

How about we skip the intro and get to the juicy parts, he said?

You know, I said I usually don't spend more than five minutes with guys like you.

Guys like me? He asked.

Assholes, I muttered.

Time's a precious commodity.

So I'm an asshole…?

It could be worse, I said.

You're pretty he said, but nasty as fuck. He tossed his also-pretty hair out of his eyes.

But the way I see it I'm going to have to put a sock in your mouth when we get down to it.

I frowned.

Sucking daddy's dicks?

I hadn't seen him have one drink and here he was, talking trash.

You're the one who's going to be sucking dick, I said. His eyes fell to my nether region, and hungrily pierced the fabric of my jeans.

All is negotiable, he said smugly.

Now we're talking, I said. But you should know I don't do back door, and everyone must wear a raincoat…

--and you have to be tucked in bed by ten, he said.

That's right, I said; I have a go-see I gotta be at in the morning.

He laughed murderously; I smiled, to hide the encroaching doubts. We might have a problem here. Perhaps I should continue with the Rorschach (test).

So what was the last movie you saw?

What is this? He said. I thought we were talking about dick.

We are, I said; but what do you want me to do, write poetry with it?

He guffawed; then ordered another draft.

You're ok, he said.

Yeah?

I'm ready when you are. The movie.

He scratched his head. Shit, I forgot the title. It was this Asian flick with fairies dancing in the trees…

I'd seen the film, and doubted that Romper-Stomper had too.

I said nothing, letting the paranoid cast of my thoughts grow more & more whacked out.

You wanna to go to the movies? he asked.

Why was I standing there? After all the hustling I'd done, you'd think I had a Swiss bank account somewhere, with multiples of six digits waiting for me.

What's 'a matter, you look a little pensive...

I am.

His palm slammed hard against the top of the bar; the guy had the strength of an ox.

But I went with it. Here was a brute without an ounce of good sense, & no heart from what I could see. And here I was, falling into it, acting sarcastic, only later to find my face rammed into the sheets.

While my ass took a beating.

Desire lurked in his eyes plain as day; but I was no willing victim.

He'd fuck me. I'd use him. When we were done feeding off each other we'd part on good terms.

'Bye son…

You take it easy now…

I will…

His eyes flickered over me as he consumed his beer while I played the sweet pliable lad, who could be had for a few large bills.

Now or never.

Is that supposed to be a question, he asked.

Yeah.

After I'm through with this. He palmed his glass but didn't lift it to his mouth.

Why don't we just leave, I said.

You giving orders? He said. I come here to unwind. I come here to talk to boys like you, he explained. I come here to take them home and feel their soft skin against mine.

The bastard finally drained his glass and slammed it down one last time. His hand went to my thigh. So let's rock, stud boy. I avoided the stares I might receive upon exiting. People knew, but nobody said a word. They knew I'd come back later and blow a wad on drinks for all. Did I care?

As we hit the gutter to find a cab he pulled me closer to him and gave me a smooch on the lips. A straight couple passing by reeled backwards; it was as if someone had flung shit at them.

He whistled for a cab through his teeth and threw me in the back seat when one pulled up. Hester and Grand, he said with slurred speech. What's your name, anyway?

Charles, I said. Charles? Oh, yeah. He slapped me on the thigh, which was like a blow from a sledgehammer. Hope you're ready for a good time, Charles, he said.

I smiled my half-urchin, half-fool smile but didn't focus on him. I was thinking of getting stoned and getting paid and being done with it. He was thinking of getting his, too. We were both chasing our respective dreams.

You've got an accent, he said. Where are you from?

Oklahoma.

You kidding? You're from fucking Oklahoma…?

The car deposited us at the address specified. He wouldn't let me get out, but hung onto my belt. Just stay cool he said. He was a loose cannon all right; at this point I was pure bunny.

This way, he said, pointing to a dark building, which loomed overhead. We stepped up to he entrance. He fumbled with his keys for about five minutes. We had to walk up a hell of a lot of stairs, too. I kept turning around to look at him. Just keep going, he directed. It must've been six or seven flights up before he finally tugged on my belt-Ok. More fumbling with his keys. Red hair obstructed his face like a floating mass of seaweed. This is the abode, he said. You ready for a kick-ass good time? He opened the huge door and threw the keys onto a table. I think I am, I said, trying to match his ebullience. How 'bout a drink? He asked. Magic words.

No one said I had to get lit, but we both knew which side our bread was buttered on.

His reason-- pure let go; whereas mine was to forget; like, I don't have to be here at all.

It was economics pure and simple and I was no longer slumming with the hope of finding someone who might take me under his wing and offer me a sports car to go with the condo. It was all dollars and cents and letting my ding-a-ling go ka-ching with every transaction. I'd seen enough bedrooms by now to want to spend the rest of my life homeless and I'd hung out with enough dudes to know the low-down. Most were users pure and simple. They'd stick it to you and make you work for however many hours you'd agreed to. In my opinion they'd be great at running sweatshops. Ben was one of those. He broke out the Black Label, laid out with some imported Vodka, limes and Tequila, very professional-like, & tried to get me to sample a bit of everything. But I wasn't playing pushover-pussy boy who'd swallow cum for a hundred bucks. I seemed to be doing ok in the loose change department & maybe it was time for a desk job, or a Kinko's position or even a temp job like a few schmucks had.

But I couldn't while my hours away for pennies. I had a spending habit and a god-awful earning habit and nobody knew that better than I. We were playing the game of catch me if you can; if they caught me, their money was well spent. If they never caught me, it was the 'trick gets treated'. Probably not the real reason. He stood there jack naked with a joint dangling from his lips, industrial music turned way up.

As stated the place was huge. He offered me the sofa. I took it. Was he expecting a lap dance?

Let's get down to business...

The ease with which he moved made me sick to my stomach. He wasn't expecting me to dance but made himself at home, opening his mail and talking to himself out loud. He asked if I was ok. I'd smoked the grass he'd offered. It didn't hurt to zone out. He came over and motioned with his hands for something to come off. The pants.

Off, he said; keep the shirt on. While Ben was pickling his liver I lay on the couch without skivvies. It's what I was there for. I guess he thought that if I lay there looking like a cock teaser I must be a whore. I didn't give a fuck. Sitting like a nun wouldn't get me into heaven either.

When I felt something seize my cock it took me by surprise nonetheless.

It seemed as if a steel trap had grabbed hold of my privates.

What're you doing? I yelled. I grabbed a handful of his hair. His eyes were like drill bits boring into mine from beneath that raggedy mop. He released his stranglehold on my dick. Is there anything wrong? He asked.

Look, I didn't come here to get my dick amputated… I said.

Oh really, he said. Just what did you come here for?

--Normal sex, I said.

My legs were spread and my prick, though soft as butter had become ramrod straight. He leaned over and furtively caressed my legs.

Looks like roger's enjoying it, he said.

You can't just jump on people like that…

Who says I can't?

Then he laid his head on my thigh.

Honey, I'm having you… His eyes fixated on my prick; his cock too had undergone a rigid-as-a-corpse transformation.

My prick wasn't under control. He shifted into a better position to take it into his mouth. I stared hard at the mass of red hair as it bobbed over my groin.

His fingers dug hungrily into my thighs, like he wanted to twist my balls off; I tried not to make a sound but an aah escaped me. His eyes were closed.

& I shot prematurely.

His appetite had only been whetted. To relieve the tension I got up and started to dance with my dick slanging around; he wiped his mouth and got up from his crouching position. He lowered the music and came back and sat back down on the couch, patting the space next to him.

Charles. In case you're interested, it's my turn. He put his arm around my shoulder and pushed me to the floor.

-It's my turn, he repeated.

I heard you the first time, I said.

So let's go, son.

My gag reflexes were in good working order, so I didn't lose it right then & there. When I came up for air, the utter silence around me seemed deafening. But he wouldn't let me stop.

I'll scream uncle when I'm ready, he said. My neck hurt. You don't have to squeeze my neck so tight, I said. He got up off the couch, threw his hands in the air. Ok, he said, what now? You have to call your mother? Maybe she'll give you instructions on how to suck cock? No, I was going to say; it wasn't my mother didn't teach me to suck dick.

He put his hand on top of my head and grabbed a fistful of my hair. Now go back down & try it again, he said.

I sucked for all I was worth. It's not like I'd never done this before. His other hand went around my throat and fastened on me with a python's grip. The sooner I relieved him of his sexual tension the sooner I'd be able to breathe. I worked hard at it.

Afterwards he merely patted me on the head. I sat on the floor holding my throat.

His laughter rang out before he disappeared from sight.

The gall of the prick, I thought. I'd better get my ass out of here. I'd have to think up something. I heard the toilet flushing somewhere. He came back and said-you haven't seen the bedroom. I think I've seen enough, I said.

Oh, have you? No, I don't think you have, he said. The night's just getting started and you're here for how long…? He checked an imaginary wristwatch. It seems less than forty minutes had elapsed.

It doesn't matter, I said, I'll give you a discount.

This caused him to laugh idiotically.

You scared? He asked. -Of big Ben?

I couldn't admit to it.

I want to fuck you, he said. Nothing wrong with that, is there?

--You don't think we're here to do anything else but fuck, do you?

Look, It's just that…

No, you look-you're going to have to set your sights a little lower, he said; this way you won't be disappointed… because when I say fuck, I do mean fuck…

How far was I from the door? It had a dead bolt, which would pose a problem. It was, like twenty feet away.

You ever suck your own cock? He asked.

No, I said. But added---I know someone who did. Well now you know two who have, he said, smiling. That inevitable creepy smile crept back onto his face as he fixed me with a blandly intense stare.

Well, let me have your autograph I wanted to say.

How about sucking your own? He said. I've never sucked my own, I said.

Wanna try…?

If he thought he was accomplishing anything with these sly, sleazy intimations, he was wrong.

I got off the floor and found my way to the couch. I'm not… sucking my dick, I said. You have to draw the line somewhere.

Why not?

Because I don't want to.

But haven't you ever done things you didn't want to? He asked. It's a good character builder…

It's not so bad, he added. Not like drinking piss, or eating shit.

I started to lose my composure. Maybe because Ben was a hulking mass of strength and bad vibes, with red hair everywhere.

He was sitting beside me, playing with a strand of my hair. I don't mean to scare you, he said. I'm not scaring you, am I…?

I looked up to see whether he was joking. No, I said. I'm just not feeling too well.

Oh, what can I get you? He asked mockingly. Would you like some Alka Seltzer?

No.

How about some Cocaine; Crystal Meth…?

I'd like to put my clothes back on. Your clothes? He asked. What's the rush?

You just got here. Make yourself at home. He had his hand on my leg and was squeezing it rather forcefully. Oh my, he said. How do the ladies resist you?

You look a little pale, he said. Are things ok?

Look, why don't you get me that Alka Seltzer.

He disappeared into the kitchen while I glanced around hurriedly for my clothes. They were hidden; the only thing that even remotely resembled a garment was this horrific animal rug thrown over a chair. I slinked hurriedly in the direction of the door but when I got there I struggled with the dead bolt for like two seconds before it flew open. Then I ran as fast as I could down the stairs. Before I could make it to the first landing I felt him behind me.

Whoa, he said breathlessly.

…Why…? I asked, stupidly. You can't leave without saying goodbye, he said. His hand grabbed my forearm and fastened around my wrist.

Besides, I'm not through with you yet. He dragged me up the stairs & flung the door back open with a swift movement, shoving me bodily inside. I flew across the bare shiny hardwood floor.

Now, you have to admit, he said slowly as he approached, that you're getting a little carried away; I mean, we've barely said hello and you want to skedaddle.

I got off the floor. I do that, I explained lamely-sometimes leave without saying goodbye.

Without any clothes on? He asked incredulously. Didn't your mother ever teach you manners?

Obviously not.

I can see that, he said. I know you have to be up early in the morning and all that, but it isn't like we were having such a bad time here, were we?

No, I said. I was… really enjoying myself.

So why the birthday suit escape?

I couldn't find my clothes, I said.

You're going to have to calm down, he said, and learn how to trust a person. They didn't teach you that when you were growing up, did they?

--Out in Oklahoma?

I didn't know what to say, but stood there looking like a duck who's about to go before the ax.

He dead bolted the door, keeping an eye on me, then turned up the stereo. I'm paying you for five hours he said matter of factly. So why don't you try to relax? I was sweating profusely, trying to keep a distance between us, so as not to be an easy target. Why couldn't he just let me go?

You know, I said, if you think you can't afford me… He paused for a moment to reflect.

I could lower the price, I said.

I know what you're up to kid, he said and the answer is no. I could just leave, I said and you could consider this-like, a gift.

Very funny, he said, but where does it say I'm a charity organization? Do you see a sign on my door that says Big Ben Charity Organization?

I'll even throw in another blowjob for free, I offered.

You're not getting the message he said.

C'mere, son. He patted his thigh with a meaty hand. You just sit your sweet tush on old Ben's lap. No harm in that now, is there?

He was on the couch, blowing smoke in my face.

Now give me a few reasons why life doesn't make sense. Life; I guessed this was some sort of quiz so I took a stab at it.

Well, to begin with, in life there are no real winners, I said. For another reason, no one basically gives a shit.

I see, I see; he said; but even if that's true, life still makes a little sense, doesn't it?

How? I said--After all he blew the smoke in my face again-nothing's promised. You can win or you can lose…

--& little by little the promises get taken back, maybe in ways you're not aware of.

Life robs you blind in raw daylight and you don't notice a thing.

--Is that so?

Yep. You get nailed and who's the wiser? No one. You're just dead. Twice bitten and & twice dead.

Hey that's good, he said. Where'd you get that from?

Hangin' out with losers like you.

He smiled a surprise smile, but his eyes looked disappointed. Ok, I was calling him a loser.

When I looked up he was winding what looked like a rope between his hands; I don't care what they say 'bout you being some kind of street philosopher, he said; You see this, he said, nodding towards the taut material, this is for you.

You've got to be kidding.

I'm talking about wrapping this shit around your neck and squeezing it tight; how does that grab you? Suddenly I was done with this shit. This was guy they invented the Lumberjack breakfast for. Now I was a sausage cooked on a grill. Loud music throbbed against the ceiling (he had good taste in music). The man had not had proper sex yet and his idea of foreplay was, well, it had me worried.

You into a game of playing choke the rent-boy, he asked. I tried to act disinterested. As soon as this nosebleed stops, I said, just give it a min.

He had that rope around my neck faster than you can say jack-the-ripper. I had my hands on his, trying to remove it. It's true he was choking the life out of me and I hadn't made a move to save my life.

Let me ask you something, he said in the middle of this strangulation.

Yes… (It came out-'yaaasss?)

You just consider me a john in a long line of johns--a dick, right…? He released his hold waiting for my answer.

Uh, I said, of course not. I see you as … Ben.

And who the fuck is Ben? He asked. The rope got tighter. I tried to swallow. Ugh. Well, he's someone I met tonight…

Is that the best you can do…?

No, no, I said. Ben's this gentle guy… who wouldn't hurt a fly. He loosened his grip a little. And what you gonna do for this gentle Ben, he said.

Whatever he wants me to… of course.

That right? We gonna get any more smart mouth from the punk I brought here to fuck…?

No, I said.

No, what…?

No…Sir…?

He smacked my ass hard; atta boy; knew you'd come around. Sometimes, you see, a boy needs… incentive.

Incentive for me usually meant three lines of coke waiting for me on a glass tray. Can I refresh your drink? He asked. What was it again…? I'll just have some water, I said. A real lightweight, aye… You kids, you're all the same. Just got to know who you're fucking with.

--I don't like to be fucked with.

No shit.

--Got no right to be out on the streets, either.

This nutcase turned out to be a chef, which didn't come as a surprise if you know anything about working in restaurants. I followed him into the kitchen, and there displayed along his walls were tools designed for murderous deeds. I now had the complete picture: a substance abusing, whacked out chef who'd worked in too many hot kitchens. He caught me eyeing his silverware. Nice, huh? I could do a few things with a tender shank like you, he said… holding up both his hands in the bright light. A specialist in butchering, I said. Not exactly, he said. Cooking's my bag; there's an art to it, you know. Just like there's an art to a lot of things. And now the lecture could begin. I stood there glassy eyed, drinking shitty tap water.

Let me tell you something, he said, getting excited, you'd be surprised what you could do with a decent chef's knife… vanadium steel, a good Japanese product… It can go through a piece of lean meat like slicing butter.

It can inspire you to-cut up things.

You mean carve.

Exactly. So should we play? Gut the rent-boy?

Another game. But I knew it was a ruse. What could the end result be? One or two corpses. I decided at this point I'd take that drink.

Hey, do you have any hard liquor?

Am I scaring you with all this knife business?

No, I said. I think-I might need a drink.

Well let me go get you one then, he said.

Son why do you do this? He asked, coming back and handing me the drink.

Do what?

Go out and give yourself up to strangers. It's not like anyone's holding a gun to your head.

I looked at his hands; the knife was in one again.

Not a gun, I said.

But it was no one's business why I was renting out. I took a long swallow of the drink & said believe it or not, you can make good money rolling schmucks like you… but if I went into my past, it would be another sad story… & we're here to have a good time aren't we?

You're shy, he said; so why're you in this profession…?

It's all I know, I said.

You got a nice attitude he said; I like that.

Then he smacked me on the ass and said, c'mere son, I want to kiss you…

He kissed me, then smuggled me into his bedroom. After sucking me dry he went on an ass eating tour. He didn't get medieval on my ass after all…

I mean I wasn't murdered at the point of consummation.

When we were done feeding on each other we parted on good terms.

'Bye son… you take care now.

I will…

 

© 2004 Van Scott - Contributor's Bio