East Coast, USA
Part 1
Written by Mr. B

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Waiting tables in a cafe initially seemed a cool way to earn cash during the summer, but it wasn't long before the job was boring me out of my fucking wits. I was used to much more interesting and stimulating things -- music, theater, sport, reading and working out at the gym. There was a time during my early school days that I was the typical fat kid at 200 pounds. Regular exercise and a healthy diet, though, soon reduced that to a respectable weight-for-height level, and I was very proud of my new trim, athletic image. But what became immediately obvious, even back then as a kid, was the attention I was attracting, especially from other guys.

"Thanks for the tip," I said as I took the plate of money from the table.

"There's a bigger one if you're interested." The guy was maybe in his late thirties or early forties, and was pretty much indistinguishable from any of the regular diners, except for his clothes. He gave the impression that money was something he had plenty of.

"How do you mean, sir?"

"There's a hundred in it if you let me blow you."

"I'm off work in two hours. I'll meet you at the door."

Having a guy wanna blow me didn't faze me at all. Heck, before my family moved here from the south, I was often being blown in the bathrooms at the university where my mom worked. It was there that I had my first sexual experience with a soccer player in one of those very stalls. But today's situation was different. I'd never been offered money before. I'd always done it just for the pleasure -- not only the physical pleasure, but also for the feeling of elation that was an integral part of being worshipped.

As arranged, the dude was waiting for me at the door when I'd knocked off work for the day. "I've got a hotel room just up the street." Hardly a word was spoken as we headed on foot to the hotel, then took the elevator to his floor. The room was maybe three star and quite pleasant, with a large bed in the center, a small bar in one corner, and a table with two chairs. "Drink?"

"Bourbon. Ice and Coke."

As I watched the guy pour the drinks, I couldn't help feeling excited about what was happening. This was a whole new experience. I was being treated like somebody special and being paid for it! Woohoo! This beat the hell outa waiting tables, and certainly beat the hell outa being blown in a university bathroom!

"Do you do this kinda thing a lot?" I asked as I took the glass from his hand.

"Do you?"

"First time. I mean, first time anybody's offered me money."

"Really? I find that hard to believe. You're very good looking."

I didn't know how to respond to that remark, 'cause I'd always found it quite bizarre that anybody would think so highly of me. Sure, I wanted to be special, but deep down I didn't believe that I was. "You didn't answer my question."

"No," he laughed, "I don't do this very often. Guys like you don't grow on trees, y'know. When I saw you in the cafe, I couldn't take my eyes off you. There was something about you -- the way you walked, the way you smiled." He took a sip of his bourbon and studied my face over the rim of his glass. "Am I embarrassing you?"

"No," I shrugged. "I guess I like to be complimented." I placed my drink on the table and tried to think of what to say next. "What do you want me to do, exactly?"

"How much does $100 buy?"

"How much does it normally buy?"

"You really are quite naive, aren't you?" he smiled and sat down on a chair beside the table. "I'd like to watch you take your clothes off, if that's OK."

"Sure." As I rolled my shirt off my shoulders, I watched his eyes follow my every move. His attention was absolutely riveted to my skin as I bared a little more at a time. The satisfaction I was getting from his profound interest was awesome, and led to a major stirring in my loins. By the time I'd dropped my pants, my boxers were bulging big time with my hard seven inches. "I'm gonna have to sit down to take off my shoes."

"Allow me."

I sat on a chair and placed my feet on his lap, making sure that one of my shoes was rubbing against his crotch. Then he untied the laces and removed each shoe before placing it to his nose and inhaling deeply. "Ah, the erotic odor of sweat," he sighed. "It's magnificent." I watched him peel each of my socks from my feet and sniff those, too.

When he was done, I stood up and was about to step out of my boxers when he asked me to stop. "Leave those on for the time being. I'll get undressed." He gulped the remainer of his bourbon then proceeded to rip off his clothes as if they were on fire. Once the last of his garments was flung onto the bed, he knelt before me. "I see you've got a wet patch of cum on your shorts."

He began by licking the jizz stain, then running his tongue along the length of my throbber, which was still hidden behind the white cotton material. Soon, he was burying his face in my boxers, licking, kissing, sucking and just moving his face around my crotch, pausing every few moments to inhale my scent.

By this time, I was getting mighty fucking horny and wanted to ask him to blow me before I offloaded into my shorts. "You don't want me to waste my juice do you?"

"No!" he cried, looking up at me. "No! Don't waste a damn precious drop!"

I slowly unbuttoned my fly as he stared transfixed at the partial sight of my boner and blonde pubes through the narrow opening in the shorts. "Oh, my God," I heard him sigh. Then I placed my thumbs between my skin and the belt-band and slid the boxers down my hips until the base of my cock was exposed. The guy's eyes were almost on springs, and I could sense the tension in his hands as he caressed my thighs. His heart must have been pumping like crazy.

With a final tug of my shorts, my throbber bounced out of its confines and slapped the dude's face, flicking silvery pre-cum over his cheek and lips. His hand cupped my balls and the base of my boner while his eyes feasted on my rock-hard teen meat, and it's cut, swollen knob. He licked the glistening pearl of pre-cum from my piss hole, then sent his lips down the length of my shaft until his nose was pressed against my patch of blonde pubes.

Instinctively, I placed my hands on the back of his head and bent my knees slightly. I was naturally aggressive during sex, and I much preferred to fuck a guy's face than to passively allow him to suck me.

I held his head tightly as I sent my thick, seven inches back and forth between his firm lips. Shit, it felt wicked! I could feel his tongue lashing my sensitive knob with each of my retreats, then ride the length of my shaft as I plunged my throbber back down his gagging throat.

Pretty soon, I was into a regular pelvic thrusting motion as I gripped his head and dug my fingers into his scalp. It never occurred to me whether or not he was enjoying it -- I was far too preoccupied with the incredibly pleasurable sensations that were centered around my crotch, causing my entire being to focus on what I was doing. I was in a hedonistic world of my own.

I did notice, however, that the guy had reached around behind me and was clutching at my buns, pulling them apart and running his fingers around my hole.

After a few minutes, my balls rose up and hugged the base of my shaft. I could feel the avalanche of electrically-charged cum roaring down the mountain as I arched my back and pulled the guy's face to my groin. At the same time, the guy's finger penetrated my rosebud. Momentarily, all strength abandoned my legs and cause my knees to buckle as I struggled to maintain my balance. "Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!" My voice had risen an octave and was quivering as the first wad of boy juice catapulted from my knob, and my ass muscles squeezed the dude's finger. I continued to roar like a wild beast with each successive eruption of my sticky nectar. But even though I was making enough noise to wake the dead, I could still hear the guy gagging and swallowing as my boner continued to thump the roof of his mouth and jet a gallon of its thick, creamy load down his throat.

"You're home late, dear."

"Yeah, mom. I worked a bit of overtime."

I headed straight for the piano and the comforting solace of my music. I needed to bring myself back to the reality I knew best, the reality I could understand. Music. I played some Bach and Beethoven until my mind had cleared and become sane again.

After dinner, I sat on the fire-escape just outside our apartment and gazed at the city skyline. It was one of my favorite places to think -- a sort of private place, but one which gave me a commanding view over the rooftops where thousands of people were living their normal, ordinary lives. Somehow, I wasn't normal and ordinary, and the truth was, I didn't really wanna be. I was a self-diagnosed basket case, a thought which made me giggle to myself.

I contemplated Charles, the guy who gave me the $100. He wanted to see me again, so I gave him my home phone number and told him to call any time. And on the way back from the hotel, I'd stopped by the cafe and gave my notice. I figured there must be a whole bunch of guys like Charles out there who would pay for my services. Would that make me a prostitute? No, I reasoned. I was a gentleman's escort. I had style, intelligence and I was discriminating. A dude needed to have some class to suck my dick. I was certainly not some common prostitute.

As I gazed out over the city in the dying hours of an extraordinary day, I wondered about myself -- about the kid who grew up in the rural heart of the south; who excelled at everything, whether it was sport, music or scholarly pursuits; who was president of the school, captained the academic teams and had the leads in all the school plays; who came from a normal, respectable family with high moral values. And yet during all that time, I was being blown by every second kid at school. There was something about me that drew an inordinant degree of other peoples' attention to my cock. What was it? Well, whatever it was, it was gonna take the place of waiting tables. I just wasn't cut out to work a regular job.

Within a few months, my clientele had grown steadily as I was introduced to friends of friends. Most of them were purely interested in sex and had little time for anything else. A few would spend time wining and dining me, but they were definitely the exception. Still, that didn't bother me in the least. I wasn't interested in forming any romantic attachments, especially with clients. Of course, a lot of them weren't satisfied with blowing me -- they wanted more. But I was always in control and let them know that I was strictly a "topper". As for kinky stuff, I saved that for the younger, hot guys I'd meet from time to time.

I'd always been a big fan of Truman Capote's books, and had been fascinated by his character in "Answered Prayers". As I became more comfortable with and confident of being an escort, I began to dream of moving in the top escort circles and living the high life. In order to achieve that, though, I'd have to move to a bigger city where there were more opportunities.

I was sitting on the fire escape again one evening when mom called out. "You're wanted on the phone again, Eric. Maybe you should get one of those cell phones. Seems like every time the damn thing rings, it's for you!"

"Sorry, mom," I mumbled as I headed inside. "Hello?"

"Hi, Eric, it's me, Charles. I've got somebody who wants to meet you. He's a cameraman and he... well, he kinda specializes in guys like you."

"Porno?"

"Yeah."

"When?"

"Tomorrow night at Darcy's Bar. About 8."

"Cool. See ya."

Yeah, I'd thought about porno before but didn't really know how to get into the business. I'd often looked at guys in mags or vids and wondered how it would feel to perform in front of a camera. Whoa! I mean, it was totally cool to have one guy idolizing your bod, but thousands? Or maybe even millions? Fuck! My head was spinning already. Woohoo!

Continued in MrB members area.

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