(Usual disclaimers apply)
Sydney, Australia, 1969. A time when sex was for sale in city parlours. This was an illegal activity so part of the profits went towards bribing the authorities. An evening newspaper published adverts in their Personal columns offering forbidden delights 'down queer street'. Horny punters soon worked out what was on offer and called the advertised telephone number.
I worked in one such parlour at the age of 18. This particular night the client in that dingy upstairs room was old enough to be my grandfather. His rampant prick stuck out like a poker from its bush of grey pubic hairs.
"Get down on the table" he said, hoarsely.
I dropped my trousers and bent over the table. The old man spat and lubricated his tool. Then with a grunt he pushed it up my hot, wet arse. I gripped the edge of the table with my hands until the tips of my fingers went white.
He slammed into me hard, slapping against my taut buttocks. Again and again until his prick finally exploded. showering the walls of my rectum with his spunk.
There was no affection, no emotional involvement. The man simply used me for his pleasure and then paid the owner.
My arse-ring had a chronic ache from all the men I'd serviced in the six months I had worked at the parlour. Most clients only wanted anal. Man to man sex was against the law so I guess they thought: 'might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb'.
I cleaned myself up and went into the lounge. It was a busy Friday night and all the boys were working. Nick, the owner, was on the phone.
"Yes, I'm sure you will like him. See you in half an hour". He hung up the phone and looked at me.
"Jack, I've got a kinky one for you". He hurried on, not giving me a chance to interrupt. "Remember, they pay twice as much for kinks".
"What's he want?"
"Just a bit of flage, darling". Nick always spoke in a high-pitched campy voice but, if required, he had the muscle, and the will, to break an arm or more.
"Flage?" I queried.
"He wants to smack your bum", the owner explained.
Wearily, I nodded my head in agreement.
"Good boy", Nicky purred, handing me oysters and champagne.
The man eventually arrived and Nicky sent me through to the sitting room. He was a middle-aged geezer. I introduced myself and then took him up the stairs to a vacant room.
The man pulled the leather belt through the loops in his trousers and doubled it.
"You want my pants up or down?" I asked.
"What do you think?" There was digust in his hard voice.
I quickly dropped my trousers and bent submissively over the table.
WHUP!
The leather snaked around my bare buttocks scorching a broad band of fiery pain into the firm flesh.
He only gave me half a dozen licks before dropping the belt. I heard his zipper rip open and then he mounted me, his thick dick bloating my chute. Thankfully, the excitement of using his belt on me caused him to spunk immediately. He pulled out and we both got dressed.
Back in the lounge, my backside was sore from the belting. Champagne helped ease the hurt. Nick inspected the damage.
"You'll live", he announced, before flouncing off again.
I swallowed another oyster. A floorboard above the ceiling creaked. Upstairs, a client was busy ploughing another working boy's arse.
I could hear Nick talking to a new client. Then the parlour owner came back into the lounge.
"Sid's still busy", Nick said, glancing at the creaking ceiling. "You'll have to do him, Jack".
So, I walked through to the sitting room. The client was a tall young man, not yet 30. He had a pleasant smile - all his own teeth, I noted. An unruly mop of brown hair framed his amiable face. I took him upstairs.
He told me his name was Gary. He stood in that room as if he had all the time in the world.
"What do you like to do?", I asked him.
"Get out of these hot clothes for starters".
He started undressing so I shucked off my clothes as well.
Gary's back was to me. He had a sturdy frame and the most magnificent buttocks. I felt my member stir at the sight of him. Then he turned around and I saw his massive, erect penis. Massive? I'd seen prize donkeys at the Sydney Agricultural Show who were less well-endowed than Gary.
He inspected me.
"Who gave you the belting?"
"A client".
"Mean bastard".
"Yes he was".
Gary lay down on the bed. My eyes were glued to his monster dick.
"It's ok, Jack", he said sadly. "I'm not going to attempt to root you with this big thing'. He cleared his throat. "You can play with my bum if you like".
Well, I massaged Gary's firm, taut mounds. He was completely relaxed. His cheeks parted, revealing a hairless crack and a fleshy-lipped anus. I touched the secret opening with the tip of my finger, enquiringly.
"No, Jack", he said, quietly.
"Well, uh, what do you want me to do? Time is running out".
"You can give my old fella a tug if you want".
Gary rolled over onto his back, revealing his huge uncut phallus again. I grabbed hold of the fleshy pole and gently pulled the foreskin back.
"Harder", he urged.
I lubricated myself with petroleum jelly and then gave him a hand job. All the time I was thinking about how different Gary was to the parlour's usual customers. He was considerate and nice. The other men that night had taken their own selfish pleasure. I was little more than a hole in the mattress as far as they were concerned.
"You ever root anyone with this?" I asked.
Gary shook his head, sadly.
"It's too big. I talked a girl into letting me give her one but when I tried to put in her cunny she screamed blue murder".
"You like girls?"
"No, I'm queer. I just experimented a bit when I was younger". He cleared his throat. "None of the guys who bent over for me could take it either".
I pulled my hand away.
"Gary, I want you inside me".
Before he had time to object I straddled him, positioning myself over his erection. I felt the huge knob penetrate my chronically sore sphincter. I allowed most of that giant phallus to fill my chute. It felt like a giant telephone pole had taken up residence in my backside.
"Strewth, Jack", Gary marvelled. "No one's ever been able to take me before".
The man gently flipped me onto all fours and then started thrusting. I felt his balls hit my bum-cheeks so knew he had that big thing fully lodged inside me. My arse responded to each thrust by somehow noisily expelling a tiny amount of bowel gas. Gary ignored the rude sounds while I bit down onto the corner of the sheet to stop from crying out.
His warm, pulsating fleshy pole stimulated my love-nut and soon the pain was replaced by a carnal pleasure I had never experienced before.
"I'm going to blow", Gary told me with wonder in his deep voice.
"Fuck me hard!" I yelled.
After four savage thrusts which all but knocked the breath out of me, I still managed to shout:
"Harder!"
Gary responded with maasively powerful thrusts.
'Y-E-S' !! he yelled.
Load after load of hot jism flooded my bowels. Then my own dick erupted and the sensation was the best, ever.
Gary gently lowered us both down onto the mattress, his slowly deflated penis still inside me. The man cuddled me in his arms, his mouth gently kissing the back of my neck.
Slowly, he pulled out of me with a plop.
I saw a few brown streaks on his penis.
"Sorry", I said. "I'ver never been drilled that deep before."
I got a wet cloth and washed his penis. My fundament felt empty without the telegraph pole.
Gary held me tight.
"No one's ever done that for me. No one", he said fiercely. His warm lips found mine and he kissed me gently like lovers sometimes do. "Did I hurt you terribly?"
"No, Gary", I lied. "Wish you were still up my bum".
"Come on, I know it was sore because I saw you biting the sheet".
"Well, yes. But just until I got used it. You made me cum and no punter's ever done that before".
His lips lingered on mine.
"Would you consider doing it with me again?" he asked.
"Like a shot", I replied truthfully.
We were interrupted by a knock on the door.
"That's Nick", I explained. "We must have run over the hour".
Gary and I dressed in companionable silence. The man found his wallet and a siseable roll of bank notes. He peeled off $100 and offered it to me. It was a small fortune in 1969 and I was tempted. Something told me not to take the money.
"I really enjoyed your company, Gary", I said. "But you've already paid Nick for my services".
The man put his wallet back in his coat. I wondered at Gary innocently bringing a big wad of notes into a brothel. Men had been killed for less.
He slipped a card into his hand.
"I'm at the Hilton. Please call me", he said.
Later, while I sat on the toilet emptying the last of Gary's man-juices out of my still throbbing bowels, I glanced at his card. 'Gary Stenhouse, Architect. Darwin', I read.
The next day I plucked up the courage to ring him. We met for lunch. He quizzed me at length and wanted to know how I had ended up working in Nick's parlour. When I told him about the step-father who had used me as a punching-bag, tears formed in my new friend's eyes.
"I knew you were a good 'un", he said softly. "When I offered you that roll of banknotes and you wouldn't take it, that's when I knew".
Then he suggested I return to Darwin with him. He promised to find me a decent apartment and pay for my education. In return I would be his lover.
I went to the poxy, rat-infested boarding house in Darlinghurst where I lived and packed my few belongings. It was barely afternoon but the landlady was already drunk. I paid her the rent I owed.
Then I called at the parlour and gave Nick my notice. He was not pleased but, fortunately, an altercation broke out between a client and one of the boys. While Nick was busy sorting that out, I made my escape.
That night I waited at Mascot with Gary until the flight to Darwin was called. When we were seated in the 707 I felt happy, and happiness was something I hadn't experienced for a very long time.
'Sydney Rent Boy' - from moonspender2@yahoo.com.