by Ned Williams
I don’t think it helped that neither of us could stop giggling. Eventually, we agreed to let my penis have its way and gave it up as a bad job. Perhaps next time its response would be better.
It was.
Over the coming months we continued to persevere with the act of fertilization. It went on for so long; I soon forgot the pressure of performing to order and merely enjoyed making love to her.
Even if, as I suspected, my sperm couldn’t be bothered to plunge on and power–swim to Marti’s egg, I was having a lot of fun firing the starting pistol.
Racking
Throughout all the various turmoils of Winston’s family as well as with Marti and Matthew, there was one constant in my life – I continued my occupation as a rent boy. However, because there were so many sexual demands being made away from my haunts, my ‘racking’ was infrequent. Indeed, I only worked a couple of days/evenings a week unless, of course, I was broke and necessity demanded a more regular series of visits.
Even Renata and the Italian brothers from ‘Alfio’s’ noticed that I wasn’t so much in evidence. They complained bitterly, especially Renata who was stockpiling so many messages for me that she was thinking of opening a new box for my exclusive use.
“Don’t worry about Carl,” shrugged Andy to the others. “He’s growing up.”
I told no one about my other lives – not that they would have been very interested anyway.
It was one of those periods where very little happened of a strange or comic nature. Most of my encounters were pretty routine and uneventful. By now, my face was as familiar to the clients as the pick–up places which I cruised and decorated.
Many newer, younger and fresher boys had started working the scene. Even at the tender age of sixteen, I was beginning to feel like an old hand at the game. I must admit that it definitely made me feel a little bitter. Before I made my first journey to the centre of the city, Stewart had warned me that I would face resentment from the established rents, now I understood why. I could have followed Paolo’s path and become paranoid about any competition but, instead, I followed Andy’s example and took a select few of those wide–eyed individuals under my wing for their protection. With each of them, I felt it was my duty to first try and put them off pursuing the life they were choosing. To frighten them, I pointed out some of the dangers and told them a few anecdotes about my own experiences not just what I had done, but also what I had seen others do. I made particular mention of ‘The Evil’ – elaborating a little on the facts to make it appear even more dangerous than it actually was. There were a couple of lads, I’m pleased to say, who I actually succeeded in terrifying so much, they went scuttling back to their homes – never to return. Never the less, there were many others who were more determined and refused to be intimidated. These, I hoped, in some small way, I saved in much the same way as Andy had saved me. As usual, the pimps showed their resentment at what they perceived as interference in their own private and personal business.
‡‡‡
Two young lads, who were an affair, broke onto the scene. They were both exhibitionists but they didn’t want anyone else involved in actual physical sex. They offered Tableaux Vivant which entailed them posing, frozen in set pieces of a highly sexual nature so that the clients could get off on the vision the lads created. I suppose you could think of them as performance artists who had become living pornographic photographs. All their ‘pictures’ were highly elaborated and catered to any fantasy their clients desired. Their motto was ‘Look – even closely, but don’t touch.’
During this same period, Zenda began to feature quite heavily in my life. One evening he sidled up to me and whispered an admission which, to someone in the sex industry, was even worse than catching the clap.
“Carl, er – I think I’ve become – er – impotent.” He began to screw up his face in confusion.
“Really?” I was surprised. Because Zenda was only seventeen or thereabouts, it didn’t occur to me that he could be struck with such a problem.
When he saw that I was taking his worry seriously, he continued. “My cock’s become incapable of functioning on its own.” Were those tears in his eyes? “What can I do about it? I mean – that’s an old man’s disease, isn’t it? Then why is it happening to me, for fuck sake?”
I thought, ‘Why ask me?’ True, my own ability to function was becoming seriously impaired – but that was through too much use, not because the thing had expired of its own volition. For his entertainment, I mused jokingly, “Like Don Juan, the fire is burned out. All there is left is an empty, cold hearth.” It was an automatic response. Luckily, he either didn’t understand what I said, or he chose to deliberately ignore it.
“Huh?” was his sole response.
“Doesn’t matter, Zenda.” Why did I bother?
“My regulars are beginning to notice and they are getting fed up with it. And so am I!”
“Not getting their money’s worth?”
He raised his eyes to the ceiling. “And how! Imagine – impotent – at my age!”
“It’s understandable, I suppose. We have so much sex that, presumably, we will all, eventually, end up the same way.” Why did I insist on being so infuriatingly philosophical about everything?
Zenda sneered. “Thanks, Carl. A great comfort you are!” Oh dear. He’d noticed.
To make amends, I asked, “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“There is, as a matter of fact.” He stared intently into my face to see if he could spot if there was any sign that I might be amenable to whatever suggestion he was about to make.
“Well?” I asked in an attempt clear the cringing silence. He looked so eager and embarrassed that I had to smile.
Suddenly, he plunged into his solution. “I’ve got this trick, you see, who I’m supposed to be seeing – in…” he looked at his watch, “...a quarter of an hour.” He stopped and stared at me again as if this piece of information explained everything.
“I see. And you want me to take him over?” This was not a usual occurrence.
“Not on your Nelly! He pays too well for me to give him over to a complete stranger.”
I feigned hurt. “A complete stranger? I see. Thank you very much!”
“No, no, you silly queen. I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just…”
I was wishing that he would stop dithering and come out with it. “What, then?”
“Look, Carl. He’s a bloke of some importance. He’s all right, provided he, in the final bit, well – he sees me shoot my spunk.”
“And, at the moment, you can’t! Uh–ho. Now I can see your problem – and it’s a whopper.” I gave a sagacious nod. Zenda was squirming and, bastard that I was, I was letting him suffer.
“I’m sure I can persuade him to hire you as well. We could make it a threesome.” I could hear a break in his voice. The tears were threatening to break out again. “We’ll split the cash down the middle – evens – fifty–fifty.” I deliberately didn’t answer. “Oh, and he likes a bit of S&M as well – as an extra, but I can deal with that. He pays more for it and I’ll even split that with you – although you don’t need to get involved in it. All I ask is to let him watch you shoot.” His desperation forced him to speak faster and faster, all the while becoming less and less coherent. “I can’t afford to lose him as a client, honest. I really am terrified that I won’t get an erection, let alone actually being able to cum my load. Will you join me, if it’s all right with him? Please?”
I decided that the time had come to put him out of his misery. “Of course,” I smiled, “you only had to ask.”
He grabbed my arm and clung on like a leech. “Thank you, thank you. If there’s anything I can ever do for you – just say the word.”
“Hold on. Don’t jump the gun, me ol’ mate. You have to make sure that your Miss Kinky is up for it first.”
Before I could change my mind, not that I had any intention of doing anything of the kind, Zenda rushed to the nearest phon
e box to give his trick a call. Luckily for Zenda, his client was reasonably willing to go along with having an extra heaving body in his grasp. So, for the moment, Zenda’s arse was saved.
“Phew!” he sighed when he returned from the call. “I can feel the pressure lifting by the minute.”
Mr. VIP, who turned out to be a reasonably famous television personality, lived alone in a bachelor flat in a new, luxury development. The walls were very thick – which, as I subsequently found out, was just as well. Either Zenda had a low threshold of pain or he acted his tight little bottom off. I think that it must have been the latter for the smacking and the caning he received from his trick onto his trousered backside – well, even I could have stood it. I watched dispassionately as Zenda’s trousers were lowered and the punishment was administered to his bare buttocks. I was called over to receive a blowjob from the ostensibly suffering Zenda.
After about fifteen minutes of this, the moment of truth came. It was now the client’s turn. Zenda began to look apprehensive. Obviously, this was the moment he had been dreading. VIP stripped off and lay on his back on the floor. Once his legs were pointing to the ceiling and his backside was ready for its punishment, Zenda picked up a thick cane that was reclining innocently on an ornate marble coffee table. I winced in sympathy as Zenda began to administer a vicious thrashing onto the prone presenter’s proffered bum. Zenda laboured so manfully with the sculpted branch, wielding it like a demented dervish, beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. TV presenter bit into a convenient pink, leather cushion in order to suppress his cries. Each blow made me shiver. Great welts were appearing on his buttocks. I had to hold his legs so they were over his head. Some of the blows fell on his testicles. At these moments, a sympathetic tear definitely came to my eye. Didn’t Zenda say something about MILD S&M? ‘Well,’ I thought, ‘if this was mild – what must ‘heavy’ be like? They can keep it!’ I began to feel a little squeamish and my sympathy went out to our poor victim – not that our client needed it – quite the opposite, in fact. As he continued to receive his exquisite punishment from Zenda, VIP, started to manipulate our cocks. I soon had a rampant erection but I could see that Zenda was not responding. I also noticed that Zenda was sweating even more profusely – and, I suspected, not just from his exertions with the cane whooshing. Soon, the VIP ‘slave’ “AAAHed” his way through his ordeal, and, without anyone having to touch his penis, he shot his load. With some satisfaction, I noticed that the perspiring Zenda was actually getting hard. I was so fascinated by the spontaneous ejaculation from the client that I promptly responded to his manipulations and added to the mess that was already splashing over him. Zenda was watching all this with intense concentration, and, much to his surprise, relief and joy, joined in the group release. I grinned my approval at him and gave a friendly wink at his obvious delight.
The trick had never been involved in a threesome before and, after we’d cleaned up, paid both Zenda and myself the full fee. Looking at the thick wad of notes, I could understand why Zenda was so loathed to give up this particular client.
After the experience, Zenda believed that he was completely ‘cured’ and tried to go ‘solo’ with some of his other, regular clients. It was a wretched experience. Literally, crying with desperation, he asked me to repeat the Mister VIP situation and join him on another of his dates. Anything to oblige! I did, and, as before, all went well.
By now, he had got it into his head that I was the chief aphrodisiac which allowed him to perform. He soon began to make bookings with the proviso that I was allowed to work with him. So, for a while, I was spared the indignity of pinning myself to the meat racks and enjoyed the luxury of having my own benign pimp.
Zenda became even more efficiently performable when he was involved in an orgy – but, I had to be one of the participants. I didn’t mind, as he made the bookings – all I had to do was turn up. Conversely, I often wished he’d checked my availability before going ahead and filling his busy diary.
‡‡‡
One Saturday afternoon, when, unusually, I was alone in the city, I did a very foolish thing. I stupidly ignored all the safety rules and regulations we had developed for our self preservation and made a pick–up which caused me to fear for my life.
The bashful guy, who looked in his early twenties, appeared gentle and with a shy smile that would have endeared him to anyone. Judging him to be as safe as houses, I took the risk. Without any of the gang seeing me, I went off with him.
Our destination, after a short walk, was the first floor office in an empty, modest, old warehouse. All there was in the room was an ancient, rusting filing cabinet and a bed.
He paid my fee and said, “Afore we start, can I tell you something?”
Was he a talker? Many of our clients were lonely and all they required was a sympathetic ear. Although these dates usually ended in a rushed sexual session, the main reason they picked us up was for someone to talk to. “Of course you can.” I sat on the bed and arranged my expression to listening mode.
“I like to explore young men’s bodies but I don’t like to be touched.” There was nothing unusual about this. “No problem.” I lay back and closed my eyes to enable him to get on with it.
“How can I be sure you won’t start – er – you know – er – feeling me?” Without opening my eyes, I could feel that he was sitting beside me. He sounded like a scolded schoolboy.
I moved provocatively, “Look, there’s no problem. It’s not the first time I’ve come across this. Believe it or not, you are not unique. I promise you – I will just lay here and only move when you push me into a new position.” I opened my eyes and looked at him to see if my words had registered.
He was staring at the floor. “I’m not sure. There is something else.” He shifted his gaze to me. “Can I tie you up a little bit…?” I must have shown some reluctance. “Please. I’ll give you extra money for it.”
As he thrust another five pounds into my hand, I quickly sat up. “Whoa! I’m sorry, but no! It’s completely out of the question.” I stood up to leave. As far as I was concerned, the whole transaction was at an end. I dug into my pocket to return the fee I had already received.
“No, no, you’ve got it all wrong,” he pleaded. “I don’t want to actually tie you up proper, like. I just want to loop some ropes lightly round your wrists. It’s what I like, see? You’d be able to slip your hands out any time you want.” He was sounding pathetically desperate.
“I’ll tell you what, let me see the rope and I’ll think about it.”
From under the bed, he produced four looped ropes, each about three feet long. The diameter of each loop was far too big to hold both wrists, let alone one. I checked to ensure that there wasn’t some sort of slip knot which might have, somehow, been ingeniously incorporated into the knot. As far as I could make out – there wasn’t.
He saw that I was beginning to capitulate. “It’s only for my benefit. It’s my private kink. As you can see, you can easily free yourself at any time.”
“I’ll tell you what. Sort out one limb first and I’ll see how it feels.” I was still a little apprehensive.
He attached the non–looped end of one of the ropes around a bedpost on the headboard and easily slipped the loop over my hand and onto my wrist. To keep it in position, I had to hold on to the knot or the rope would have slipped off. As it was so easy to slip out of the bond, I couldn’t really see the point of it – but if it was something that turned him on – who was I to criticise? Another thought occurred to me. Did he, indeed, want me to be tied up to fulfil his fantasy – or did he want me to ‘escape’ from my restrictions and sexually surprise him? ‘Play it by ear,’ I thought.
I allowed him to restrain one of my ankles. Still, all was fine. Next came my other ankle. His sheer boyish delight at my almost complete compliance was a joy to see. I checked that I was still able to easily free myself – and I could. He must have registered my investigation. “You see? What did I tell you?” As I wat
ched him attach and secure that last, final insecure rope, I double tested it to ensure I wasn’t in any danger. I was so tightly bound; I had difficulty keeping my hands and feet inside the loops. To get him going, I closed my eyes and began squirming as if I couldn’t break free. I could hear his heavy breathing. I felt him sit beside me and start to caress my chest. Oddly, it was fun. Little did I realise that I was being lulled into a false sense of security. I soon found out for, totally without warning, his hands went up to my wrists and, before I realised what was happening, he gripped the loops around my wrists so they reduced in diameter. With this one, swift move of his, I was no longer able to pull my hands free.
“Here, what the fuck are you playing at? Let me go!!” I yelled. A sudden fear gripped my stomach.
“Got him!!” yelled the trick. The door to the wrecked office opened and two more young men came in. I froze. I had entered that mental world where any action appears to be in slow motion and I actually began to believe that it was all a dream and I would soon wake up. Through this numbed reality, I stared at them in bewilderment. All three were grinning like idiots.
“What is all this? What the hell’s going on?” I wondered from where I found this calm. I knew that I must try and think so I could talk myself out of this – if it was at all possible. The restricting ropes around my wrist were starting to bite into my flesh. However, it slowly impressed on my racing brain that my feet were still free. I tried to shake off the ropes but the bloody things had, somehow, become tangled around my ankles and refused to be of any help.
“Get over here!! Get his feet!!” ordered my bondsman. Gone was the ‘little boy lost’ voice. It was now a hard, angry sound which snapped the order. They came over and, between them made me even more incapacitated. As the scene was developing, I knew that I was in real danger. My instinct for self preservation began to take over.