John has responded to my invitation to submit tales about hustling. He says something like this happened to his older brother, never to him. I hope some of the rest of you will submit stories as well. Check Tale #7 for details.
MM
These are short stories about male prostitution, "one night stands" involving guys. If the idea of that turns you off, or if you are underage, please read no further. Otherwise, please enjoy.
All characters and events are fictional . You can reach the author at mobilesfuntoo@yahoo.com. He appreciates your input and promises to answer all your emails.
Reading the story is free, but if you wish to keep this service available to all, please make a contribution to nifty.org. Thank you.
MY WEEK HUSTLING
by John Simpson
It was about eight years ago, but I remember everything that happened. I was sixteen at the time. Horny 24/7. I decided to try hustling.
It wasn't that I had to have the money. I was doing it just for the excitement. I'm a pretty good looking blond headed dude, and I had a nice bod for sixteen, and a hot cock, or so I'd been told. And I knew my way around. Me and Jack, my kid bro, had been getting together since before we could cum. I'd even had my share of pussy from a neighbor gal. So I was sure I could handle the Johns.
I figured I could tell my folks that I needed to go to the public library for a school assignment, and Jack had agreed to cover for me. He thought the whole thing was cool.
So Monday right after supper, I headed for downtown. I wanted to check out Dauphin Street. That's where the action was--restaurants, bars, tourists, even a couple of "alternate lifestyle" hangouts.
I wandered around awhile and spotted a couple of dudes two or three years older than me sorta doing the same thing I was. So I found me a corner and pretended I was waiting for somebody. It was September but it was still warm. I still had on my grungy school clothes, no uniform, just ratty jeans and a Levis jean jacket.
"Take off, boy! This is my corner!" The guy was in his middle twenties and looked like one mean son-of-a-bitch. So I headed down into the next block.
After I'd stood there a while, one of the dudes I'd seen earlier came by. "Ya better walk around ever so often, kid," he muttered, as he passed. "Don't attract attention." So I meandered a little.
When I got back to the place where I'd been standing, I saw two men come out of a restaurant across the street. They were both middle-aged, dressed in blazers and slacks. They stood and talked for a couple of minutes, then shook hands. One of them walked off to the parking lot nearby, got in his car and drove away. The other one, a heavy-set fella, wandered up to the corner, crossed the street, and came back down on my side. He nodded and I smiled back.
"You interested in doing anything, young man?" he asked.
Suddenly I was scared shitless. "Uh...like what?" I stammered.
"I think you know," he sniggered.
"You mean?"
"I need to get my dick sucked," he said.
So here was what I was looking for, but I didn't have the first clue what to say next. "How much do you pay?" I finally stammered.
He almost laughed out loud. "You don't know what the going rate is? Suck me off and I'll give you twenty bucks."
My grin told him what he needed to know. "Follow me," he said.
His car was in the same parking lot as his friend's was. We drove out of the bright lights of downtown and parked next to a dark square with a Confederate Hero's statue in the middle.
"I hope you know what to do," he said. It musta been too obvious that I didn't know shit about hustling.
But I did reach for his crotch and felt his half-hard cock. I unzipped his fly and pulled out his tool. It wasn't the biggest I'd seen, but I'm sure he was proud of it. I flicked my tongue over his knob and slid my lips down his shaft.
"Yeah, you know what to do," he said.
I did my best to give him his money's worth. He moaned as I had him relish the feeling of my tongue and my lips. I wanted him to know goddam well that I knew what I was doing.
He was whimpering like a puppy before I planted my mouth against his bush and felt him explode against my throat. "Oh my god!" he yelled, as his climax reached its peak. "That was something else," he panted.
So I'd earned my first cash as a hustler.
It was easier from where we were for me to walk home than for him to take me back downtown. It wasn't quite ten when I walked up the steps of our house. Dad would already be in bed. He had to be at work by seven. Mom was watching the end of her tv program. John wanted to know everything that had happened, and I told him before I hit the sack.
The next night I was back at the same spot on Dauphin. A little after seven a pickup pulled up to the curb. The driver rolled down the passenger side window and called out, "Hey!" I still didn't know shit about hustling.
"You talking to me?" I yelled much too loud.
"Yeah," he said. I walked over to the car.
"Mark told me you were damned good," the driver said.
"Mark?"
"Yeah, the dude you sucked last night. You want to do me? Get in."
This dude was at least ten years younger than Mark, if that was his name. Studly motherfucker. "Same deal?" I asked.
"He said you'd do it for twenty," he answered.
"Yeah, that's it."
He wasn't as hung up about privacy as Mark had been. He drove to a bank parking deck nearby and went up to the top level, got out of the truck and dropped his jeans. "Eat me, kid," he said.
I got on my knees and gave him as good a blow job as I'd given his friend. As I sucked, it dawned on me that I'd made forty bucks, but I still hadn't had to cum. My cum was something precious. Not an unlimited supply. So for shooting it I ought to get more than for drinking another dude's.
By eight-fifteen I was back at my spot on Dauphin. After a while I remembered the advice I'd got the night before and went around the block. I did that a couple of times before this pasty-faced dude comes up to me. He was probably thirty-five and already half bald. If somebody showed you his picture, the first thing you'd think would be "faggot." I'm sorry, but that's the way I feel about some of these soft, pasty-faced fuckers.
"Hello," he sang-songed. "Shouldn't you be home?"
"I don't think so!" He'd already pissed me off.
"Well!" he said, "I didn't mean to rile you up. But I like young boys and I like to take care of them and keep them safe."
"I can fucking well take care of myself," I said, "and I think the goddamned cops keep me safe enough."
"Oh, well...maybe I misunderstood."
I clawed my crotch. "I don't think you misunderstood," I said. "But I think you didn't figure I've got a home. I'm just not ready to go there right now.
"Just what are you looking for?" I clawed it again. "Whatever it is, it'll cost ya." With each contact I was learning more about how to sell my bod.
"Well! Like I said, I do like young boys and I especially like their hard dicks." He reached over and grasped my bicep.
"You wanna suck me?" I was still thinking. My cream oughta cost at least half as much more than his. "Thirty bucks."
He signaled me to come along with him. He had a place only a few blocks away.
Once in his little apartment he asked, "Do you have a big one?"
"See for yourself," I said.
I was beltless, so all he had to do was unbutton me, and my jeans fell down around my shins. "Oh, I like that!" he exclaimed.
I fondled my cock and couldn't help but imitating him. "I do tooo..." I cooed. That seemed to piss the hell out of him, but I already had my thirty bucks in my pocket, so he had to live with my jibe. "So you want to suck it?" I asked in my normal voice.
"I want you naked first," he said.
"Oh? That wasn't part of the deal, now was it?"
"Will you strip for another five?"
"For another ten." I wanted to play hardball, but I was also beginning to feel sorry for the fairy son-of-a-bitch.
He passed me the ten, though, and then proceeded to remove the rest of my clothes and lead me to his bed. I lay on my back and watched him strip down. His flabby bod looked like it had never been out in the sun.
He knelt, my legs between his, and played with my pecs. I let him. I even let him nibble his way down my chest and stick his tongue in my navel. I think he realized he was getting'close to the end of my cool, so he went down on me with a gurgle.
I lay still and let him do his thing. I gotta admit he was a good cocksucker. He edged me a couple of times. Seemed to be more interested in sucking than tasting cum. Finally his head started bobbing faster and faster. He wanted it and I was ready. I dumped a full day's load down his throat.
"You taste so good," he almost sang.
"Thanks," I replied.
Wednesday evening my mom got curious about my homework project. "It seems like it taking an awful long time," she said.
"Well, it's pretty complicated," I said. "About the causes of the Civil War. Mr. Higginbotham suggested we use the public library, because the school library closes an hour after school's out, and the only other time we can use it is during study hall."
She seemed satisfied.
Back on the street, I was beginning to catch on to who might be a John. One dude was about fifty but in good shape. Well dressed. He'd walked up and down both sides of the street, doing what my uncle used to call "strolling." Sort of an aimless shuffle, slow, easy, not giving a damn. The third time he passed me, I stuffed my thumbs into my jean tops, pushing them down far enough so he could see some skin. He smiled and nodded. I nodded back.
The next time he passed, I said, "Evening, sir. How're you tonight."
"Hello, young man. I'm fine. Are you waiting for someone?"
"Maybe for you," I grinned.
"Could be," he said. "I'm trying to find a rosebud."
That was something I'd never heard before, but he was obviously from someplace foreign. I figured out what he meant, though.
"How much would a rosebud be worth?" I asked.
"I don't really know," he said. "I'm not from here, you know."
I couldn't help but laugh. He seemed to be just as green as I was three days ago. "The going rate's a hundred," I smirked.
"For all night?"
"'Til ten o'clock." That's when the library closed.
"Curfew, eh?" he laughed in return. "Seventy five, then."
I nodded my agreement.
"You know the Bellingrath Plaza on Royal Street? You go in the side door. I'll go in the front. We'll meet at the elevators. You get off on my floor. We'll get together in my room."
We both left the elevator on the sixth floor and I followed him down the hall. He must've pulled the same dodge before. No way anybody woulda guessed we were goanna get together.
Once in his room he counted out three twenties, a ten, and a five, and left them on the dresser. Then he carefully undressed himself and hung his stuff in the closet.
I pretty much figured I ought to let him do whatever he wanted. Fuck. Seventy five bucks just to let some dude stick his dick up my ass! He carefully undressed me, not that there was all that much to take off.
"Sure enough," he said, "you're definitely—what do you yanks say? —`jailbait'? But I think you've been had before, haven't you mate?"
He pulled me to himself and seemed to relish my young flesh rubbing against his. He massaged my nicely muscled chest and abs. "I sure wish I could wake up in the morning spooned up on you, but I guess not, right?"
"Right," I answered.
"Come on then."
He took my hand and led me to the bed. His dopp kit contained KY and he rubbed my ass with it and dabbed a big glob on his dick. "I want to feel your young arse grip me good," he said. Then he asked, "Can you take me all at once?"
"I can try," I said.
His cock speared my ass. It wasn't the biggest I'd ever taken, but it did hurt. I didn't cry out, though, and he began to pump in and out. "Yes. Yes," he chanted. "I love the feel of young arse around my fucker. You like it too, mate?"
I could only grunt in response.
I caught the last bus from downtown and got home just before eleven.
I was feeling cocky as hell the next night. A pretty beat up old Buick pulled up. I climbed in, ready to begin negotiations. The driver was in his thirties, dressed in faded black jeans and a lilac colored sport shirt. He was friendly enough. "I've been noticing you," he smiled. "Whatcha up to?"
"Just tryin' to make a buck or two," I said.
"Whatcha willing to do?" he asked.
"Whatever," I answered. When he didn't say anything else, I added, "Suck or get sucked, fuck or get fucked. You say."
"That's enough said," a harsh voice interrupted. "You're under arrest, kid."
"Oh, shit!"
I hadn't noticed that a rug had been tossed in over the back seat. Another cop had been hiding under it.
The driver flashed his badge in my face and floored the accelerator. We rushed away from the curb as the second officer managed to cuff me, then read me my rights. The next thing I remember I was being booked at headquarters.
It was after ten when they finished taking my mug shot and finger prints and satisfied themselves that I was working by myself. Then they called home. It was forty-five minutes later that my dad finally got there. Mom had waked him up, and he'd had to get dressed.
Now me and Jack had a great relationship with our dad. Four years before this, when he gave us the big sex lecture, he'd asked us and we'd admitted that we'd been messing around. He said he'd suspected as much, but that wasn't anything to be ashamed of. He said he'd had sex with guys too, still did. So since then, there hasn't been anything we wouldn't talk to Dad about.
But when Dad got to the police station, he acted mad as hell. "Just wait 'til I get you home," he fumed. He talked to the cops a long time, and he finally got me released in his care, and he agreed to be responsible for getting me to juvenile court for my hearing. "You're goanna cause me to miss work, you little son-of-a-bitch," he told me as we were leaving.
Once we were in his pickup, though, he did a one-eighty. "You little mother fucker," he said, "I didn't think you'd been goin' to the library, but I sure as shit didn't think you were out sellin' your dick." He couldn't keep from laughing. "Anyway," he continued, "you shoulda had sense enough to stay away from Dauphin Street. The pros work Government Street, and the cops don't generally bother them.
"Your momma's really pissed, but she'll get over it."
When my court date came up, it wasn't what I expected. There was just me and Dad and the judge and a clerk at a big table. Dad and the judge did most of the talking.
I was asked to plead, and I said I did it and was sorry.
"I don't know what got into the boy," my dad told the judge. "He's never been in any sort of trouble before. Seems like he got to listenin' to older boys talkin', and just did it for a lark or somethin'. He shore don't have to have the money. And we've taught him better than to get himself involved with a bunch of que...of homosexuals."
I agreed with everything Dad said, whenever the judge asked me something.
Finally, Dad convinced the judge that he'd keep me reigned in, and she agreed to give me probation until my eighteenth birthday; but she let me know that if I got caught soliciting or got involved in any sort of homosexual activity, I'd be going to the detention center `til I was eighteen, and that wouldn't be any fun at all.
I didn't get fined, but there were court costs. Close to what I'd made on the street. Dad made me pay 'em.
Well, I served out my probation, and haven't been arrested for anything since then. I've learned to be careful.
Copyright 2013 by John Simpson. All rights reserved.