Cherbourg Boy

by Henri Couesnon

  Drying off, Luc pulled on a pair of shorts. He retrieved his cell phone from the pocket of his discarded trousers, and he sat down on the couch. He supposed he ought to check his phone for text messages, and, while he was at it, turn on his laptop and read any e-mails he may have received. There could be customers trying to contact him to set up appointments. But, slightly turned off by the whole idea of sex at the moment, Luc was tempted to let that go until the morning. Instead, he thought he might see what was on television, before he went to bed and got some much-needed sleep.

  But, even as he reached for the remote control, his phone rang.

  “Shit,” Luc muttered. He wanted to ignore it, but then, impulsively, he answered. “Luc, here.”

  “Hey! I can’t believe I got hold of you right away.” The male voice at the other end of the connection sounded youthful, and the speaker slurred his words a little, as though he was drinking, or under the influence of recreational drugs, or both.

  “Lucky you,” Luc said. Luc heard music and voices in the background, and he guessed that his caller was phoning from a bar.

  “I know it’s short notice, but are you available tonight?”

  Luc thought about it. What the fuck! Business was business. No matter how tired he was, he really couldn’t afford to turn paying customers away. “As a matter of fact, I am.”

  “Good! I’m a sailor—my ship just got in this afternoon.”

  “Navy, or merchant marine?”

  “Navy. Do you like sailors, Luc?”

  “Who in Cherbourg doesn’t like sailors? Especially when they’re on shore leave, and they have their pay in their pockets, to spend.”

  The sailor laughed. “That’s a good one! Hey, before we got into port, I got on my laptop, looking for places to go here, and things to do, and I saw your website. Those photos of you are damn hot! Are they recent ones?”

  Now it was Luc’s turn to laugh. “Very recent. I’m not some older dude posting pictures of himself that are ten or fifteen years old, if that’s what you’re worried about. What you see is what you get.”

  “Do you like to get fucked?”

  “I love it.”

  “I’d like to fuck you.”

  “That’s easy enough to arrange.”

  “How much do you charge?”

  Luc’s rates were posted on his website, but presumably the sailor had turned off his computer, or he was away from it, and he had a short memory.

  “For an hour, for two hours, or overnight?” Luc asked.

  “An hour.”

  “Sixty euros,” Luc said, shamelessly. His standard posted hourly rate was fifty, but he wasn’t averse to taking advantage of the john’s memory loss. “And tipping is always appreciated,” he added, just as brazenly, “when I do a good job. And I always do a good job,” he bragged.

  “Okay. What part of the city are you in? I seem to recall—the website said, near the harbor—?”

  “That’s right.” Luc gave the man his address.

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can get a cab.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  They hung up. It then occurred to Luc that he didn’t even know the john’s name. But that information wasn’t strictly necessary. The denominations of his banknotes were the crucial data.

  Luc turned down the bed, and he made sure he had lubricant and a trick towel set out on the nightstand, within easy reach. That was the extent of his preparations to receive his visitor. The guy could take pot luck.

  The sailor must have been calling from somewhere nearby, probably one of the city’s many waterfront bars. Barely fifteen minutes elapsed before Luc’s intercom buzzed.

  “I’m here, Luc,” the john reported, over the device.

  “Hold on.” Luc pressed the button to unlock the downstairs door. “Is it open?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Come right up. Fourth floor. When you step out of the elevator, it’s the second door on your right.”

  “Got it.”

  Luc opened his door and stood there, so his visitor wouldn’t have to knock.

  He was surprised. The sailor, in uniform, was a young guy, two or three years older than Luc at the most. He was black-haired and olive-skinned, almost swarthy, and not bad-looking, but he was definitely drunk.

  “You do look hot,” he told Luc, by way of greeting.

  “Thanks. Come on in.”

  Ordinarily, when entertaining a john during an in call, Luc would offer the man a drink. But that seemed unnecessary, and indeed counterproductive, on this occasion.

  “The cab driver didn’t have any trouble finding the address, obviously,” Luc remarked.

  “No.” The sailor was trying to keep his bleary eyes focused on Luc’s face and body. He reached out and touched the hustler’s bare chest with the flat of his hand. “Damn! Nice pecs!”

  Smiling, Luc made no effort to pull away from the caressing hand. “Do you like being in the navy?”

  “You bet. I grew up on a farm near Angers. You couldn’t find much gay action there. Every goddamn seaport we drop anchor in, though—shit! I never have any trouble getting laid.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “I don’t mind paying for it, though, if I have to.”

  Luc was about to ask the guy his name, when his trick forestalled him.

  “If we’ve only got an hour, come on, get naked,” the sailor urged. “Let’s fuck!”

  “No problem. This way—” Luc led the other young man behind the screen, into his “bedroom.” There, Luc shed his shorts, and his guest undressed quickly, dropping his clothes on the floor beside the bed.

  Once they were both lying naked on top of Luc’s sheets, Luc became nothing more than a hole for the sailor to stick his cock into.

  “I want to fuck you,” the young john kept insisting. “I want to shove my dick up your ass!”

  Ordinarily, Luc wouldn’t have argued with this proposal, or sought to delay carrying it out. He had no qualms about spreading his ass for a paying customer. But, whenever possible, he did try to enjoy his work. Even though he was being paid for sex, his philosophy was that he might as well get some pleasure out of it, himself.

  But this intoxicated young number didn’t seem keen on reciprocation. He seemed obsessed by Luc’s ass, to the exclusion of just about everything else.

  Luc resisted the guy at first, trying to cajole him into giving a little something to Luc in return for what he was going to get. But it was obvious after a few minutes that this was going to be strictly one-sided sex, with the customer eventually getting his rocks off in the way he insisted upon, with no detours along the way.

  When Luc rolled his bedmate on top of his body and tried to push him down to suck his dick, the sailor countered by raising himself back up and trying to shove his own limp dick into Luc’s mouth, instead. Luc licked the flaccid member casually, and he tried playing with the man’s balls and ass, thinking he might get turned on by that. But Luc’s efforts only made his drunken young john go after Luc’s butt more aggressively, with a single-minded determination.

  “I want to fuck you!” the sailor insisted.

  “Well, you’re going to have to get it hard, first,” Luc retorted, rather tactlessly.

  “Shit—my frigging dick just doesn’t seem to want to get up—I want to stick it in your hole, anyway,” his bedmate mumbled.

  Finally, Luc stopped fighting it, and he let the other guy try to screw him. He was too bored to care who put what up whom and where any longer, and he wanted only to get it over with as fast as possible, so he could collect his money and get rid of the drunk.

  Luc put his legs up over the guy’s shoulders, and the sailor moved in tight against Luc’s butt. He was too drunk to maintain a stiff erection, though, and once he managed to get his dick in the boy, he kept slipping out, and they’d have to start the whole tedious process all over again. Finally, after the horny sailor’s fourth or fifth unsuccessful try at fucking Luc, the hustler decided he’d had
enough, and he dropped his muscular legs back onto the bed.

  “Lie on your back,” Luc grumbled. “I’ll sit on it. Maybe that’ll work out better.”

  They changed positions, and Luc squatted over the drunken mariner’s crotch. He took the lube from the nightstand and applied more of it to the man’s cock, and then he did the same to his own asshole. Holding the cheeks of his ass spread apart with one hand, Luc gripped the other man’s dick with his other hand and he began to administer a brisk hand job. Fortunately, the stubborn male organ responded to the massage by swelling and hardening. Soon, the sailor’s cock was impressively rigid, and Luc took advantage of its tumescence. He slowly sat down on it. He had to struggle to get the large cockhead in his hole, but once it was securely in there, the rest of the hard-on slipped easily inside his anus. Luc rested on the guy for a moment, getting used to the feel of the now quite potent prick in his ass.

  “How is it, buddy?” the sailor asked, eagerly. “Is it good?”

  Luc nodded his head, and he began to lift himself up and down on the cock in his butt. By doing his frequent trick of closing his eyes and refusing to acknowledge his john as an individual, reducing him to just a body and an erection, it did feel good. And, after all, Luc hadn’t been lying or exaggerating when he’d admitted he liked to get fucked. After those sixty nights of lust he’d shared with Perceur in the slammer, when his cellmate had reamed him out more than sixty times, sometimes wanting to fuck Luc twice or three times in one night, it would be hypocritical of Luc to pretend otherwise! And ever since his release from prison, anal intercourse, whether giving or receiving it, had been his most profitable stock in trade.

  Luc rode the matelot slowly and cautiously at first, until the steady, warm pressure exerted by his ass made the guy’s cock firm and hard, and Luc knew he could lunge up and down on it with harder, more energetic strokes. He rocked his hips from side to side, taking the dick from different angles, increasing the pleasure for his customer—and for himself.

  His own cock began to stiffen as Luc quickened the pace, but when he began to jerk off, the john’s hand pushed his hand away, and his fingers took over the job.

  “Let me do it. Come, stud!” he moaned. “Shoot it! Shoot it off! Let me see that big pecker of yours go off! Squirt your hot juice all over me, all over my chest. Let me see you come!”

  “If that’s what you want, then go on fucking me. Fuck the cum right out of me, dude. Fuck me!” Luc bounced faster, his cock moving inside the guy’s milking fist in the same tempo in which the sailor’s dick was plunging in and out of his asshole. It had been a day or two since the last time a john had wanted to do the fucking, and Luc’s bunghole felt tight around the guy’s tool, feeling every quiver of the cock in him pulse strongly against his stretched-open sphincter ring. “Fuck me!” Luc reiterated, almost angrily. “Come on, you horny bastard. Fuck my ass. Make us both come!”

  “I’m just waiting for you, stud,” the other young man gasped. “I’m just holding it back, waiting for you to shoot first!” His other hand cupped in under Luc’s big balls and squeezed them, while his fist pistoned the boy’s thick cock. “Come on, buddy. Let’s see that hot fuck juice come squirting out of your big dick, all over me!”

  Luc threw back his head and a choking sob of pleasure gargled up from his throat. He began to ejaculate, at last. A moment later, while Luc’s cock was still spraying its thick white droplets of jism onto the other guy’s belly and chest, Luc felt the sailor’s dick bursting wetly inside his ass, answering each hot spurt from Luc’s cock with a spurt from his.

  Luc slipped off the matelot quickly and rolled onto his back on the bed, while the john got up unsteadily, and reached for the trick towel to wipe himself off. Luc was exhausted, ready to crawl into bed and call it a night.

  “You’ve got one hell of a nice ass,” the sailor said. “I’d like stay and fuck around some more. But I have to get back to my ship.” He began to retrieve his clothes from the floor.

  “Ah, not so fast. The money?” Luc reminded the sailor, when the guy was dressed in his uniform again, and he’d turned toward the door.

  “Oh, yeah. That was sure worth it.”

  “Glad you were pleased. Thanks,” Luc said, after his trick handed over the sixty euros they’d agreed on, plus a ten euro tip.

  He walked the befuddled sailor to the door, nudged him out into the hallway, and unceremoniously closed and locked the door again.

  Luc cleaned himself up with a washcloth at the bathroom sink, and then, still naked, he stretched himself out comfortably on the bed and consulted his laptop, calling up his bank account information online.

  He was doing all right, he decided, for a guy who’d gotten out of prison only recently, and who at one point had been reduced to selling himself via street and bar pickups. By leading an austere, no-frills existence, trying to spend money only on essentials, he’d actually managed to start saving some money.

  Jean-Claude had been pissed off, when Luc had moved out of the hotel. But the desk clerk would get over it. And he’d no doubt find some other hustler, to pimp out to the horny gay men who checked into the hotel.

  Luc’s new apartment, in a working class neighborhood near the waterfront, wasn’t much, but it was an improvement on his room back at the hotel, and it was cheap. The utilities were included in the rent, because the owner had never gone to the trouble and expense of having separate meters installed for the apartments. Luc usually made his own meals in the kitchenette, avoiding eating out. Sometimes, though, a customer wanted to take him out for dinner, before they had sex.

  Hooked up now to the internet, Luc also had his own website, where he advertised his services. The website, which he’d had designed by a guy he’d met who did such things for a living, cost money to set up and maintain, but it had turned out to be a good investment. No more loitering outdoors or cruising bars to peddle his mouth, cock, and ass. Now Luc could wait for the johns to contact him—and they did. He did both in and out calls. Some johns wanted him to come to their home or, if they were visitors from out of town, to a hotel. Others wanted to come to his place. Still others wanted to meet somewhere first, to check out the merchandise in person.

  He was doing a brisk business, especially catering to the tourist trade. There was one advantage to being a call boy in a smaller city like Cherbourg. In a metropolis like Paris, Luc would be just another male whore. Here in his home town, he had less competition.

  Yawning, Luc turned out the lights and went to bed.

  He fell asleep at once. He’d enjoyed a couple of hours of sleep when a strange buzzing sound awakened him. He sat up in the bed. Confused at first, he then realized that it was the intercom.

  “What the fuck—!” Switching on the small lamp on the nightstand, Luc got out of bed and stumbled, nude, to the front door. He got on the intercom.

  “Who the hell are you, and what the fuck do you want?” Luc snapped.

  “It’s us,” an unfamiliar male voice said.

  “Who’s us?”

  “We’re friends of Matthieu.”

  “I don’t know any Matthieu. You must have the wrong apartment, or the wrong address.”

  “But Matthieu told us he was here, a couple of hours ago. He said he had a good time.”

  Luc groaned. “Let me guess. Your buddy Matthieu is a sailor? A navy man?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And you’re sailors, too.”

  “You bet. And proud of it.”

  “How many of you are there?”

  “You mean on board our ship?”

  “No, down there in the lobby.”

  “Oh. Just us two.”

  “Well, go away.”

  “Aren’t you a whore? Matthieu said he paid you to let him fuck you, and it was really great sex.”

  “I’m glad he thought so,” Luc said, sarcastically. “But I’m closed for the night. I want to get some sleep.”

  “Aw, come on, man!” the sailor coaxed. “Let us co
me up. We’ve got money. Cash.”

  Luc thought of a way to discourage them.

  “It’ll cost you eighty euros apiece,” he said.

  “Eighty! Shit! Matthieu told us you charged him sixty.”

  “After midnight, there’s a surcharge,” Luc declared.

  “All right. Eighty each it is.”

  “Damn,” Luc muttered under his breath. He was tired, and grouchy as a result of having been roused from his bed. He was tempted to tell the two men to fuck off. But he was afraid they might persist, and make a ruckus which might awaken and annoy some of his neighbors, there on the ground floor of the building. And if fate had brought a hundred and sixty euros to his door, Luc wasn’t the man who was going to turn that money down.

  Should’ve quoted them a price of a hundred each, he thought. These horny bastards would probably have been willing to pay it!

  I don’t understand why these gay navy men pay for sex. Why don’t they just screw each other, for free?

  But it’d put a crimp in my business, if they did.

  “Come in,” he said, in a resigned tone of voice. “Fourth floor, second door on your right when you get off the elevator. But for Christ’s sake, keep it quiet.” He hit the button to unlock the downstairs door.

  This was déjà vu, indeed!

  When the men showed up at his apartment door, Luc saw that they were about the same age as their shipmate, Matthieu. Both sailors were in uniform. One was a head taller than his companion. The taller guy had short dark hair, and his buddy had somewhat longer, dirty blond hair and a mustache. They’d probably been drinking, but they must’ve gotten a later start than Matthieu had, because neither of them seemed particularly impaired. Neither of them was unattractive—but at this hour of night, and in Luc’s present state of mind, that was a secondary consideration for him. His primary concern was getting them in and out, as quickly and efficiently as possible, so he could go back to bed—alone.

  “Shit, dude, you’re naked!” the taller one said, with glee. “Ready for us, huh?”