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- Herausgeber: Cruz Publishing
- Kategorie: Erotik
- Sprache: Englisch
Rent’s due in a week, and Joe’s bank balance hovers perilously close to zero. What’s a hustler to do when his phone remains silent?
Shake That Ass
Desperate for cash, Joe hustles until he finds not just one man to satisfy, but a room full of hungry, powerful men in our nation’s capital. These men make laws that govern us all, and hide their true desires from everyone- except Joe.
Public Performance
Determined to extract every dollar he can from the corrupt elite, he dances his way into their fantasies, putting on a show that leaves them begging for release.
Always Leave Them Wanting More
Hitting the stage for an encore, Joe and a fellow dancer put on a sizzling performance no one in the voyeuristic audience will ever forget. One night on stage doing what we all do in private guarantees he’ll never have problems making rent again.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018
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GAY4PAY Vol. 2
Luke Jameson
Copyright © 2018 by Luke Jameson
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
1. Money is Tight
2. Private Dancer
3. Performance
About the Author
Also by Luke Jameson
1
Money is Tight
The holidays were a drag. Dudes spending time with their wives and rugrats meant little to no time for guys in my business. I welcomed the vacation, though I’d spent most of my savings on rent and other bills. I was good through January, but unless business picked up, February was no bueno.
My phone vibrated next to me on the bed. I snatched it up, hoping it would be some random horny dude.
Damn.
Phone bill due in a week. Thanks for the reminder, overpriced cell phone company. Anger surged through my limbs. Feeling helpless, like everything was out of your control was the worst.
My wrist lifted over my head without thought. I was micro-seconds from smashing the phone against the wall, but a little voice in my head stopped me.
How are you going to find a trick without your phone? Dumb ass.
A single glance at the screen told me all I needed to know; no messages on any of the dating apps. No emails, and no direct messages.
I reached into my shorts, grasping my thick cock firmly in my hand. It gave an anemic throb, a half-gasp of need. My dick wasn’t used to this semi-retired kind of life, and I was getting horny.
Too much self-love didn’t leave enough desire for clients, so I usually kept my paws to myself. When your job depended on fucking dudes you’d never look twice at in real life, you left the beast alone. Otherwise you’d have nothing left for tricks. It was hard to get it up on demand, and I preferred to save the little blue pills for extreme circumstances. Over reliance on them was expensive.
I tugged gently on my nuts, felt that familiar warmth building up at the base of my cock, and let go. I was going to lose my mind sitting around waiting for some horny dude to call. I needed to get the hell out of my head for a while.
I couldn’t afford to do anything, which was a huge problem. Normally during slow times, I could nurse a drink at the bar. Usually a guy would buy me a couple of rounds, and if I was really lucky, he’d want a little action.
I leaned over the side of the bed and picked my jeans up off the floor. I pulled my wallet out of my front pocket, opened it, and took a quick inventory.
Fifty bucks.
Except for the few dollars in my checking account, this was it until I found a gig. I lay back on my pillow and stared at the ceiling, my hand wandering back to my frustrated dick.
“Dude, you need to get the hell out of here before you give in and jerk one out. Fuck it. A pitcher of beer costs five bucks, and it’s happy hour. You might even get lucky and find a trick.” My voice echoed around the nearly empty room. If I didn’t get outta here, I was gonna lose more than a load. I’d lose my freaking mind.
The lights were on at The Broadway. I saw Manox’s car in the lot. Unfortunately, it was the only one. The windows of the bar were decorated with cheap tree lights year round. They were almost the only illumination in the dark, old building.
I pushed the heavy wooden door open, and was instantly serenaded by an old disco song blaring from the speakers. I was the only customer, so I guess Manox was reliving his youth or something with the screaming diva tunes.
The place looked empty, Manox nowhere to be found. Booths lined the wall across from the bar, each table decorated with faded plastic flowers, and a thin layer of dust.
My feet nearly tripped on the threadbare carpet as I trudged down the aisle to my usual seat. Everywhere I went, it was always the last one at the end of the bar. I liked to see guys as they came in, whether they were worth my trouble or not. Usually, it was a decisive NOT, but my bank account was making me slightly reconsider my standards.
The bar stool wobbled as I sat my ass down, leaning back a half inch too far for comfort. I placed my hands on the bar to keep myself upright until my body got used to the imbalanced seat. There was a reason it was so cheap to drink here. They hadn’t redecorated since it first opened in the 70s.
The thumping beats faded away, and I heard feet coming down the stairs. Manox must have been in the office above, and saw me on the hidden camera.
“Dude, long time no see.” Manox gripped my shoulder in his meaty hand and squeezed. He sat down on the stool next to me instead of going behind the bar. His red beard glistened in the flashing Christmas lights. His full lips looked wet, like he’d just licked them. Every time I saw him, it became harder to resist the urge to kiss them.
“What’s up, Manox?”
“You’re just the guy I wanted to see.” His eyes dragged from my face to my crotch, stayed there for a beat, then climbed back up my body. I smiled. The admiration was mutual.
“I’m going on vacation the second week of February, and I need a replacement. You ever bartended before?”
“No, but I’ve never seen you do anything fancier than fill a pitcher of beer or pour a shot. I’ll do it, unless something else comes up. You sure you don’t want to go on vacation sooner than that?” I muttered, looking down at my feet.
“It’s my folks’ 50th wedding anniversary, and I don’t think they’ll move it even for me.” His hand found my shoulder, squeezed it a couple more times, then he stood up. He went behind the bar, poured me a pitcher and placed it and a glass in front of me.
“I need you to be nice to the guys who come in, but not as nice as you usually are, if you know what I mean.”
I smirked, picked up my glass and got a snout full of foam.
“Shit.” Half my face was covered in foamy beer. I grabbed a napkin and wiped it off. Manox leaned back against the shelf behind him and shook his head. He looked concerned.
“What’s up? Something’s not right here. Where’s the smartass who usually inhabits that hot body?”
“I’m like on my last fifty bucks. I don’t know what the hell is wrong, but nobody in RVA is after my ass. I’ve paid my bills through the end of January, but after that…”
My words hung in the air. Manox looked me in the eye for a few silent beats, then spoke.
“How do you feel about dancing?”
“Huh?” I shrugged my shoulders.
“You know, working parties, dancing for a room full of guys waving dollar bills at ya?” He shook his hips as he spoke.
I laughed. I dared just about any flimsy thong on earth to keep my junk in place.
“Man, I don’t know…” I shook my head, mentally kicking myself for even considering turning down work.
“Look, the gig I’m talking about is different. It’s not a bunch of girls at a bachelorette party, or a room full of silly queens. It’s in D.C.” Manox poured a shot of Fireball and placed it in front of me. I downed it, then he continued.
