My story is a common one. I didn't have the balls to come out to my parents, but it would have turned out the same way anyhow. I was sixteen years old. I was blowing my friend, Oliver, in the garage while Mom and Dad were at work. Who could have imagined that Mom would be laid off ? She certainly didn't.

So there we were, me with Oliver's dick in my mouth and my dick hanging out, cumming onto the garage floor, while Oliver spurted into my mouth, when Mom drove up and hit the door opener. So, the shit hit the fan. Mom screamed, Oliver pulled his dick back into his pants, getting cum on them and ran out the door past Mom's car. I got up, pulled my dick back into my pants, stepped aside to let Mom drive in and walked out of the garage.

She yelled at me, but I didn't pay any attention and just went up to my room and locked the door. I loaded a few belongings and some underwear into a tote bag. I went downstairs and Mom screamed at me "Get out of this house, you disgusting pervert !" (This is my loving mother, addressing her only child, folks.) So, I did, without a word.

I have a friend, Virgil, a year older, whose folks kicked him out of the house when he came out to them. He rented a tiny one-room house, once a wealthy kid's play-house, over on Mitchell street. I knew he'd be home because he worked nights. Worked ? Well, actually, he was a hustler who hung around Union Place every night looking for Johns who would take him to the local no-tell motel for a romp in the hay for $100.

I knew Virgil would understand and might let me stay with him until I learned the ropes of his "profession". I doubted he'd mind the competition. I didn't have any other job skills, but I could cum four times a night and I figured I could earn a good living that way. I never used drugs, so I had no expensive habits to support. Jerking off doesn't cost anything, and, needing to save my cum for my customers, I wouldn't be doing that any more.

I ought to be popular with the Johns. I have red-blond hair, freckles, and that wholesome schoolboy-next-door look that some gay men find so attractive. Besides, I was VERY nicely hung, 8 X 1 3/8 inches.

As I expected, Virgil was home and , when I explained what had happened, he invited me in right away and offered me a beer. I told him I wanted to get into hustling since I didn't really know anything else to do and it seemed more interesting than packing bags in a supermarket or washing cars.

"Let's see what you've got to offer a John." I stood up, dropped my jeans and briefs and stroked my whang a couple of times, so that it stood almost straight up with my kiwi-fruit-sized balls hanging under it. "Wow !" exclaimed Virgil. "Y'know, Jason, it's not in my best interests to help you. You're gonna be a fierce competitor. On the other hands, I'll do almost anything for money and I'll bet there are things you wouldn't even consider doing.

So, let's see, just what DO you do ?"

"I prefer cocksucking and being sucked off. I don't mind buttfucking, but I've never been buttfucked and my asshole is very tight. I can hardly put a candle up it.

I've never fisted anybody and I'm scared shitless of letting anybody do it to me and I could never bring myself to rim a guy or felch. I'd puke. "

"What about S & M ?" asked Virgil.

"I might go for S, but never M. If somebody tried to beat me, whip me, or enslave me, I'd want to kill him."

"OK" said Virgil. "Now, y'see, I go in for all of that stuff. I don't enjoy it all, but I DO it all, for money. That doesn't disqualify you from being a hustler, though. There are plenty of dudes who won't do certain things. I make more money than they do because because about the only thing I don't go for is snuff. I'll even fuck and "eat" women." Virgil added with a shudder.

"It's not as hard to take it up the ass as you think, though, and, once you get used to it, it feels wonderful. In fact, I can't think of anything that feels better. Let me show you something." Virgil fetched a shiny instrument of some kind from a bureau drawer. It had four round stainless steel prongs about 4" long which separated parallel to each other when a screw was turned.

"What the fuck is that ?" I asked.

"It's called a speculum, doctors use it to dilate body openings like cunts and assholes. You brings the prongs together, grease them up well, insert them into the opening and spread them to stretch it. Together, they're less than 7/8 of an inch across. You've shat turds bigger than that. I used this thing to open my asshole wide enough so I can be fist-fucked. I could use this speculum on you to open your hole wide enough to take any man's cock."

"And how big is that"

"I've never seen or taken one more than 2 inches thick" replied Virgil. 'That one was almost 11 inches long."

"A black man, I suppose."

"Nope. He was white, an Australian. More black men have extremely big dicks than white men., but there are white men who can match every silly millimeter that a black man can show. I've taken both. Black men usually have thicker dicks, for the same length, than white men. Anthropologists say this is just a crock of shit. All I can say is this has been my experience. "

"Say, Virgil, if you've done all this shit, how have you avoided getting AIDS ? is it just dumb luck ?"

"Well, partly, I suppose it must be, but I never let anyone fuck me bareback. If he won't wear a rubber, I won't let him in. One dude tried to rape me bareback when I refused to let him in. I kicked him in the balls and stomped on his package until he won't ever fuck anybody again. I'm not a violent man, but NOBODY rapes me.

It seems to me, based on my own experience again, that oral sex carries less risk of AIDS than anal sex. I don't know anybody who ever got AIDS from sucking cocks.

But, I don't buttfuck anybody or let anybody buttfuck me without using a rubber."

"What do you charge ?" (Of course, I was very interested in how good a living I could make by hustling.)

"If he blows me, $100. If I blow him, $200 and I don't swallow his cum. If I buttfuck him, $200. If he buttfucks me $300. For kinky stuff, we negotiate the price.

Now, you gotta remember I'm an established pro.

In cocksucking, technique is all-important. I give superb head; everybody tells me so. That's why I can ask $200. You'd better not ask for over $100 until you perfect your technique.

In getting buttfucked, there's technique involved, too. I use my sphincter to massage his dick. I relax it when he thrusts into me and tighten it as he pulls back. That takes practise to do it right. Otherwise, your sphincter will get tired before he cums.

Buttfucking takes technique, too. Never hurt his asshole unless he tells you to be rough. Don't poke his prostate gland until he's just about to cum or he'll cum much too soon. Too many hustlers just ram in and pound away to get it over with as fast as possible. That's a good way to get a bad reputation and no repeat customers.

What I'm trying to say is, don't expect to get my prices until you're as good as I am.

Let's catch a bite to eat. I have to go down to Union Place soon, but I'll put bedding on the couch for you. If I bring somebody home, maybe he'll want to make it a 3-way for an extra 50 bucks. If so, I'll wake you up."

We stopped at K F C for fried chicken and a salad. Afterward, Virgil told me more about hustling while he fixed up a bed for me. "Hustling is a dangerous job. I'm sure your folks warned you when you were a kid never to accept a ride from a stranger. That's what we do every night. Trust your vibes and your gut feeling. If something feels wrong about him, tell him he's not your type and DON'T GET INTO THAT CAR !

There are pervs out there who like to fuck a kid and then kill him. Some of 'em prefer to cut his dick off and let him live to suffer. Of course, they're not safe, either. Johns get robbed or killed every day. I don't like to go to the no-tell motel with them. I prefer to take them home. Here, I have my own security force." Virgil went into the bedroom and emerged holding an automatic. "This is a Glock 9mm. and I know how to use it. It's easy to reach from my bed.

Well, sleep tight. I'll see ya in the morning or sooner, I hope."

Around midnight, I heard a car in the driveway and then Virgil came in with a puffy-faced middle-aged man. Virgil turned on the lights and pointed to me. "That's Jason. He's sixteen and hot to trot. Ya wanna make it a 3-way ? "

"What's he do ?" asked the man.

"Whaddaya want ? asked Virgil.

"I'd like him to blow me while you buttfuck me."

"Whaddaya say, Jase ?"

You're on." I answered

"That'll be $250, 200 for me and 50 for Jason."

"OK" said the man, "when we're done."

"Show me the money first, or ya get nothing"

Grumbling, the John opened his wallet and showed Virgil that he had 5 $50 bills. Then we got down to business. Thank God, the John's dick was clean, small too. I had more than that when I was 13.

Virgil put on a Trojan and slicked it up with K-Y as the John dropped his pants and boxer shorts. I wrapped my lips over my teeth and tickled the head of his dick with my tongue while Virgil pushed slowly up into him. Then I went down on him while Virgil buttfucked him.

The John didn't last very long. In five minutes, he was shooting down my throat. I hadn't meant to swallow his load, but I was deep-throating his whang when he went off. I was really surprised when he said that I gave great head and tipped me an extra $10.

After he took off the Trojan and pulled up his pants, Virgil settled in an armchair and said. "It seems that you have talent." I asked "Aren't you going out again ?"

"No" answered Virgil . "It's starting to rain. There probably won't be any more business tonight."

I asked "You wanna talk ? There's something that's been bothering me that I'd like to discuss with you."

"Shoot" replied Virgil.

"OK, I'm worried about my future."

"God," replied Virgil. "I doubt one hustler in a thousand concerns himself with that. Most of 'em figure they're going to die young by violence or AIDS."

"Well, it concerns me. Obviously, whores and hustlers don't work under Social Security, and I never heard of a Prostitutes' Annuity Program retirement plan. So, what happens when I lose my looks ? "

Virgil nodded. "One of two things. Most overaged hustlers work at whatever minimum-wage jobs they can find, packing bags in a supermarket, washing cars, pushing a broom, or they get into petty crime and end up in prison where they're fed, clothed, and housed by the taxpayers.

A few have the good luck to find a sugar daddy who takes the kid in while he's still handsome and potent and keeps him as a pet or his boy toy. If the ex-hustler plays his cards right, he may make his lover so infatuated with him that the man will adopt him.

That can turn out two ways. If the kid is decent, it can become a beautiful relationship. Or, if the kid is vicious, as soon as his sugar daddy makes him his heir and the beneficiary of his life insurance, he murders the old fool for his insurance. He almost never gets away with it, but it happens often enough to make men leery of adopting a boy toy.

I'm following a different direction. I don't smoke, drink, do drugs, or gamble . I invest all of my income above what I need for necessities. My old man would say that I do gamble because "The stock market is the world's biggest casino." He's right, of course, but I buy only stable, relatively non-speculative securities. Not blue-chip stocks because I can't afford them, but stocks which, though they don't pay high dividends, are secure and trustworthy.

In a few more years, I could live comfortably on the income from my stock portfolio. I'd like to go to college and maybe get into real estate. IF the risky line of work I'm in doesn't catch up with me first.

Don't stay in street hustling too long. It's easy but very dangerous. Above all else, DON'T GET HOOKED ON DRUGS . You have what I never had, fresh, wholesome, almost innocent good looks. The males in my family have always had a sallow complexion, a black beard that shows thru the skin even after shaving, and sharp

foxlike features. I wasn't as boyish looking as you even before puberty.

You're the kind sugar daddies look for. But, for the most part, they don't like to cruise around Union Place looking for boy toys. Have you ever heard of Pete's Peg House ?"

"No, what the fuck is a peg house ? "

"A male whorehouse. I've heard, but I don't know if it's true, that once, the boys sat on wooden pegs set into a bench, so as to keep their assholes open. If it ever happened, that was about 200 years ago. Nowadays, it's just any male whorehouse.

Anyhow, Peter Petty runs a peg house in town and he cruises the Union Place area looking for sweet-looking kids like you.

He pays well, it's steady work, and he protects his boys from predators and dangerous perverts. You'd make up to $600 a night as long as you kept your boyish looks. When you began to show signs of looking too mature for his customers, he'd offer you a choice."

"Between what and what ?"

"Between retaining your boyish appearence almost indefinitely or going back to working the street."

"How......?"

"By having you castrated and given a small maintenance dose of testosterone, just enough to keep you from growing breasts. The testicles would be removed through the inguinal canals and replaced by silicone prostheses (fake balls). He's got a man of 32 working for him who looks your age."

"Ugh !" I grunted. I don't know as I'd care for that."

"Show me a supermarket bag boy who makes up to $600 a day."

On that note, we turned in for the rest of the night. It was still raining when we woke up the next morning and the prospects for hustling that night didn't look good. Virgil greased up the speculum and started dilating my anal sphincter so that I could take thick dicks without pain. Throughout the morning and early afternoon, as soon as I got used to a particular opening, he would crank it open further. By late afternoon, my asshole was stretched to 2½ inches, big enough to accomodate any human dick.

It stopped raining around 5:00, so, after a quick supper at Denny's [Virgil had sent out for pizza for lunch.], we took the bus down to Union Plaza. I was wearing a pair of tight low-rise jeans that no longer fitted Virgil (and just barely fitted me) and a T-shirt of Virgil's that read "ORAL Roberts University" , a clever but safe way to advertise my preference.

There were about a dozen young men milling about, dressed much as we were, in low-rise jeans instead of the popular prison garb style with the crotch between the wearer's knees . I was the freshest-looking one there. A lot of the other hustlers looked jaded and dissipated. I lucked out early on.

A very good-looking guy of about 28 pulled up in a red Lamborghini and asked "How much ?"

"You suck, $75; I suck, $100."

"What about 69 ?"

"$150."

"Get in. Ashton Motel ?" (aka "No-Tell Motel") I nodded.

My John had black hair and blue eyes like John Travolta and ruggedly handsome features. He was wearing a pearl-grey silk sport shirt and blue Gucci shorts pulled tight over a very impressive package. "I hope you're not jail-bait" he commented.

"I'm sixteen. I have my driver's license with me to prove it." I assured him.

"You look younger."

"That's my boyish charm." I replied with a chuckle. "I suppose you've been told before, you're very handsome."

"I have to be. I'm a model."

"Calvin Klein ?"

"Among others. You've probably seen my basket more often than my face. Now, you'll get to see it uncovered and close-up. Do you use poppers ?"

"Amyl nitrate ? No, I never have. "

"It's not addictive and it greatly intensifies the sensation."

"Isn't it dangerous if you OD on it ?"

"Of course, so's aspirin."

"Isn't poppers what killed Bruce Lee ?"

"Nobody knows. By the way, I'm Bob."

"I'm Jason."

We pulled up to the Ashton Motel and Bob hired a room for two hours, for $100. I noticed that the desk clerk didn't have him sign the register. We got room 69, how appropriate.

As soon as we were inside the door, Bob took me in his arms and kissed and groped me. I groped him back and returned the kiss. He was very well hung and had a fine boner. He seemed pleased at what he found between my legs, too. I wasn't wearing any underwear, so it didn't take me long to get undressed. I guess models have to learn to change clothes fast because he had his shoirt, shorts, undershirt, and briefs off before I finished just removing my jeans and T-shirt.

We wasted no further time on preliminaries but jumped into the sack in a side-by-side 69 position. I give very good head, but Bob was even better. Both of us had our lips wrapped over our teeth and used our tongues to stimulate the coronas of each other's dickheads. When I felt that Bob was about to cum, I slowed down or even stopped. He did the same for me. That way, we kept the session going for over a half hour. Then Bob took his mouth off my dick long enough to say "I'm getting lover's nuts; lets see if we can cum together."

We came pretty close. I started to cum a little before he did, but then his love volcano erupted and we finished our orgasms together. I was almost ashamed to charge him for something that felt so good to me, but business is business. Bob kissed me again before he let me off at Union Place, $150 richer.

I strolled around looking for another John and had wandered about a block from Union Place when an old Chevy pulled up beside while I was standing under a streetlight. I couldn't see the driver's face very well, but something about him made me uneasy. Then he slid to the right and opened the window. When I saw his face, I shuddered. It was corpse-white and his canine teeth were unusually long. He looked like a vampire.

He looked up into my face and I found myself staring into the burning eyes of a madman. "Come with me." he said in a flat emotionless voice.

"Beat it, buddy; you're not my type." I answered. He reached out and grabbed my arm and said "I said come with me." He was gripping my arm very hard with his right hand. I grabbed his middle finger and bent it backward until it broke. He screamed and released my arm. I took off like a jackrabbit, running back down the street the way I had come.

The maniac did a U-turn and came after me, trying to run me down. I knew that I couldn't outrun a car. I think he'd gotten up to about 55, squealing his tires and aiming his car directly at me. I suddenly got behind a utility pole and stopped. He was watching me and not paying attention to anything else.

He hit the utility pole head-on . It was a foot thick of red pine and not about to go anywhere. Apparently, he wasn't wearing his seat belt, maybe so he could chase me on foot if necessary. Anyhow, his head went about half-way through the windshield. Blood spurted from his eyes, ears, and nose. He was pretty obviously dead.

I ran into an alley and puked. Then I walked through the dark alley very carefully, trembling like an aspen leaf in a cyclone, alert for anyone who might be lurking there. There was nobody. I came out onto Sycamore and walked back to Union Place. I could hear a police car rushing to the scene of the accident.

When I got back to Union Place, I went into the Union Diner and bought a cup of tea to calm my nerves. I began to have real second thoughts about street hustling. What had just happened was what Virgil had warned me about. I had handled myself very well, if I say so myself, but it scared the shit out of me.

With a sigh of resignation, I went back out onto the street. A fat man in a Pontiac (?) convertible with the top down pulled up alongside. I had no bad vibes about him. He stopped and said "You're a very cute kid. How old are you ?"

"Sixteen"

"Do you like street hustling ?"

"Frankly, not very much. It's too risky."

"I agree. Would you be interested in the same kind of work in a comfortable risk-free environment ?"

"Probably"

"My name is Peter Petty. I run a male brothel called 'Pete's Peg-House'. "

"Oh yes, I've heard of you. A friend thought I might be interested in working for you."

"Well, here's my card." The man removed a business card from his wallet and wrote "Hire this man. -Pete- " on the back. I carefully put the card in my pocket along with my driver's license.

"Thanks, Mr. Petty. I may well take you up on this."

Another car came along soon, a Sting Ray, driven by a homely young fellow not much older than me. He rolled down the window and asked "Are you exclusively oral ?"

"No. It's just my preference."

"You do fuck, then ?"

"Oh, sure."

"Because, if that thing in the left leg of your jeans is real, my ass is itching for it."

"It's genuine USDA certified meat."

He laughed and opened the door and I got in. "The No-Tell Motel ?" I asked.

"Oh no. Mater and pater are away for a week and I have the run of the house. The servants may gossip among themselves about whomever I bring up to my room, but they'd never mention it to 'the powers that be.' We can have privacy all night if we want it. What's your name ?"

"Jason. What's yours ?"

"Hah, Jason also. Jason A. Schuster, but you needn't tell me your family name. I know that hustlers are loath to give their full names."

"In my case, it's because my family has disavowed me, so I've disavowed them. I'm thinking of divorcing my family when I'm 18, the way McCauley Culkin did."

"You're so beautiful, Jason. I wish I were. I don't remember who, but someone said that to attract a lover, a gay man must either be very good-looking or very wealthy. I'm very wealthy, but it hasn't helped me that way."

"Well, Jason, you're not ugly and you seem to be a nice person. I should think that if you cultivate an interesting personality, you could attract a lover who would appreciate you for the person you are."

"I dunno. I've had a number of boyfriends, but they were all interested in my money, not me. So, I might as well hire someone who is unabashedly available for

money. "

I frowned, slightly hurt, though, being a whore, I really had no right to be. "Well, Jason," I said, "I won't pretend that I love you. I fuck for a living. But, I can truthfully say that I like you. I think you're being too hard on yourself. So, you don't have the looks of a movie actor or a model. Some of them are real pricks. 'Beauty is as beauty does', y'know."

The Schuster mansion turned out be on a gated estate in a gated community. Jason had a remote that opened both gates and soon the Sting Ray pulled into a garage which had an elevator which took us right up to the second floor directly across from Jason's bedroom. Nobody saw who entered or would see who left.

The walls of Jason's room were covered with pictures of naked young men and posters of well-endowed athletes. Obviously, then, Jason's orientation was no secret to his parents or the servants. "Wow. I wish I could be that open with my parents !" I remarked.

"Well", said Jason, "it's really not so much acceptance as it is indifference. I'm the "spare"; my brother Kyle is the heir. As long as I stay out of trouble, they don't care what I do or whom I bed with."

We both undressed in a leisurely way, since we had lots of time. Jason's body was a lot nicer than his face, his dick, however, was rather small, not over 4" hard. He started at mine and muttered "Now, where did I put that tape measure."

"You don't need it." I assured him. "It's 8 by 1 3/8 inches." I sensed that Jason wanted to be submissive in this encounter, so I looked him in the eyes and said "C'mere." He walked toward me shyly, almost like a young bride. I suddenly took him in my arms and kissed him, groping him at the same time. He kissed and groped me back, stroking my long hard dick.

In a moment we were on the bed, just holding each other, kissing, and rubbing our dicks against each other. "Do you take it from the front or the back ?" I asked..

"The front. That way I can look into your eyes as you fuck me."

"And I can kiss you while I fuck you ."

Jason reached into the drawer of his bedside table and fetched a condom and a tube of K-Y jelly. I put on the rubber and slicked it up while Jason put his knees up on his chest, exposing his asshole. It was clearly a very experienced one. The hole gaped open and was surrounded by a depression like the bell of a trumpet.

I mounted him and he draped his calves over my shoulders. I slid my prong into his waiting hole and slipped it in up to the hair. My nuts dangled against his buns. On the way in, I felt the hard round knob of his prostate gland, but I didn't want to work on that just yet. It'd make him cum much too soon.

I began working my dick back and forth very slowly. Jason's cock got very hard and hot bearing against my belly. I stared into his eyes and kissed him passionately.

He returned my kiss just as ardently and began breathing hard.

"Faster, faster" panted Jason.

"You'll cum too soon. I want you to get your money's worth."

"God, I already have. Fuck faster. If I get too close to cumming, I'll tell you to stop."

"I may not be able to."

"Gotta have self-control." answered Jason with a chuckle.

I speeded up my thrusting while Jason kept yelling "Faster !" until I began to wonder if my dick would catch fire from the friction. Suddenly, Jason yelled "STOP !" I did, but it was too late, Jason creamed all over both of us. Soon, I was sliding around in a puddle of cum on his belly and chest. It seemed like he just couldn't stop cumming. Cum poured over his hips onto the sheet.

I laid still on top of him, breathing hard and kissed him again. When I got up we were both had cum all over us from our necks to our thighs. It dripped off us as we walked to the bathroom to take a shower.

"Shit, Jason," I said. "Have you been saving cum for the past year ?"

"Hell, no. That's the way I always cum. I can do it again in about a half hour. Only, then, I'd like you to blow me.'

"OK, if I don't drown."

We washed each other in the shower, caressing, groping, and kissing each other. I realized that I could easily fall in love with this homely namesake of mine. But, that's something a whore can't afford to do.

We watched a shitty porno video of two bored studs trying to get it on with rubbery boners while we waited for Jason's batteries to recharge. Jason frowned.

"That's the kind of work worn-out hustlers get to do." he remarked.

"Yeah," I replied. "Those dudes are way over-aged for hustling. They must be close to thirty."

"Well, they're rugged and, if they were any good in bed, there're plenty of rich old men who'd be glad to hop into the hay with them, but I doubt they're worth shit in bed."

"Maybe they're straight." I mused. Jason laughed.

"Well, you'd think Viagra could put some starch in their wands. I think they've probably ruined their dicks using cock rings too long."

I rewound part of the tape and looked closely at the screen. "Yeah, I think you're right. They're both wearing cock rings and their dicks still aren't stiff. Well, that's a warning to me. You ready now ?"

"Champing at the bit" answered Jason in a breathy voice.

I stood in front of Jason and bent over until my mouth was level with his boner. It's the perfect position for deep-throating, though Jason's dick was too short to deep-throat. I opened my mouth and wrapped my lips over my teeth. I don't like the feel of teeth on my dick and I guess a lot of men are that way. The threat of biting it off is a little too keen.

I licked the head of Jason's cock and swirled my tongue around the corona and back-and-forth across the place where the frenum was before he was circumcised. Jason shivered. When he started lubing heavily, I took his four-incher all the way into my mouth until it touched my uvula. [the thing that hangs down in front of your throat].

Jason took ahold of my head and started fucking my face, so I let him control what I did. Jason was starting to shake and I would have liked to stop and let him cool down a bit so as to prolong the fun, but he was fucking my mouth faster and faster until he blew his wad. And, what a wad it was ! I had to swallow as fast as I could to keep from drowning in cum. A good "loving spoonful" dribbled out of my cock while he was cumming.

When Jason stopped cumming, I stood up and kissed him and he got to taste his own cum in my mouth. I hugged him warmly and I realized "I really like this kid, a lot." We both got dressed and Jason asked "How much do I owe you ?"

"$300, $200 for the fuck and $100 for the blow job."

"You're forgetting the tip. " Jason peeled off seven $50's from his wallet. "Where to ? Union Place ?"

"No, I'm not going back there. I'm planning to work in Pete's Peg-House. It's safer."

"I'll probably see you there, then. You're wild in bed. So, where do you want to go ?"

"Mitchell St. I'm rooming with a friend there."

"Virgil "

"Yes, do you know him ?"

"Yes, we've had a few romps in his play-house. Do you think he'd mind if I came in with you ? I haven't seen him in quite a while."

"I don't know. Anyhow, I'm not sure he'll be home yet."

He was. When he answered the doorbell, Virgil had a bandage on his nose and a black eye. He was obviously happy to see Jason and invited us both in. "What happened ?" I asked.

"Rough trade. Usually, I can recognize it. This guy looked OK. Just shows how deceitful appearences can be. When I tried to collect, he beat me up, called me a 'fuckin faggot whore'. I've had it with hustling. My portfolio is good enough now so that I can retire and live on the income from it."

"I'll trade ya horror stories. I met a vampire tonight. He tried to kill me and got killed himself."

Virgil brought us a couple of beers and I told him the story. Virgil shuddered and I told him. "That decided me. I met Pete Petty tonight, too and I've decided to work for him. He seems to be a helluva nice guy."

"He is, for a whoremaster, anyhow. He's very kindly and he'll treat you well."

"Well, I'm off." said Jason, rising.

"I know" said Virgil, "but nobody'd notice, if you didn't mention it." Jason punched him lightly on the shoulder, and left.

"Nice kid" remarked Virgil.

"Very" said I. "And that points out another danger in hustling. I could easily fall in love with him and that'd never work out."

Virgil nodded. "Right you are."

The following morning, I re-packed my bag, hugged and kissed Virgil, and set out for Pete's Peg-house. 129 Cumberland St. was easy to find . It's a huge old Victorian mansion sprawling over most of a 1-acre lot, the kind of place where each new owner added a room or two.

I walked up the flagstone walk to the front porch until I saw a sign with an arrow to the left saying "Employees' Entrance". I followed a narrower walk around to the west side of the building where there was a small porch with a carved black-walnut door with an oval window in it, bevelled on the edge and etched with a floral pattern around the outside.

The doorbell was as old as the building, the kind that's worked by twisting a key on the front of the door. I turned it and the bell jingled. In a moment, an old pear-shaped person answered the door and asked me in a little boy's treble voice "Yes ? What can I do for you ?"

I handed him Mr. Petty's card with the note "Hire this man" on the back of it. He looked at it and said "Come in and have a seat. I'll tell Mr. Petty you're here." The pear-shaped person [by now, I'd guessed that he must be a eunuch] waddled off. I sat down on a red velvet upholstered bench and looked around the hallway. It was a period piece out of the 1880's. Everywhere there was carved wood, polished brass, and stained glass.

In a moment, the eunuch was back. "Mr. Petty will see you. Please follow me. You may leave your bag if you wish. I set my tote bag by the bench and followed him. We came to a stop in front of a carved oak door with a brass plate that said "Peter L. Petty, Esq."

"Esquire ?", I asked. "Is he a lawyer ?"

"Oh, no" the eunuch cackled. "The lawyers stole the word 'Esquire' just recently. It used to mean any unmarried man. I find it laughable when a woman lawyer calls herself 'Esquire' ." With that, the old eunuch opened the door.

Mr. Petty was sitting at a huge double-pedestal mahogany desk. He looked up and, recognizing me from last night, stood up and said "Come in, my boy. Have a seat". He gestured to a leather upholstered armchair in front of his desk. I sat down and thought "These Gilded Age folks may have overdone the ornamentation, but they sure knew how to make comfortable furniture."

"I'm pleased that you've decided to accept my invitation so soon."

"I had a terrifying experience last night which decided me that I don't want to be a street hustler. It's too damn' dangerous." Then I told him about my encounter with the "vampire" and its deadly consequences.

"Well, said Mr. Petty, "I don't believe in vampires, but there are fiends out there who prey on hustlers just as Jack the Ripper preyed on whores. Here, you'll be safe from them. Nobody gets through the front door whom I consider the least bit sinister or unsavory looking. I do everything in my power to protect my boys from violence and disease. I must protect my clients also, so you'll be tested for STD's before you start work here.

Clients who have not been here before must present medical evidence, no more than a week old, that they are free from HIV and other STD's. I'm not above spying on them to be sure thay haven't contracted anything before they re-visit my establishment.

This house will never be raided by the police unless there is a major shake-up in the police department. And, if there is, the shaker-uppers had better have kept their noses clean or they may face the revelation of any unsavory facts about them.

All of my boys live in this house but are free to come and go as they please in their free time. They don't have to take their meals here, but I charge them only my own cost for the food we serve them, and they can't eat cheaper anywhere.

The outfit you're wearing [tight low-rise jeans and the "ORAL" T-shirt] becomes you, but it doesn't correspond to the image of you that I want to project. You'd look very cute in a boy's sailor suit and you look young enough for it not to be incongruous. I provide outfits for my boys which fit either the boy's personality, or my concept of him.

You must understand that my clients are seeking youth with a capital Y, yet, not jail-bait. Even though the age of consent for males in this state is 14, I wouldn't dare offer any boys that young. I'd be in for an expensive court battle over it and bad publicity. So, I hire older boys who look as young as my clients want them to be.

Unfortunately, this means that as the boys start to look more mature, there comes a point at which the illusion of immediately post-pubescent youth can't be maintained. Then, the boy is faced with a choice. He can return to the street, and I hate to doom him to that, or he can be made youthful-looking almost indefinitely by castration and administration of just the right combination of hormones.

This works very well for bottoms, but it requires a painful re-adjustment of life-style for a former top. There is a eunuch among my boys who can still pass for about 15 in a dim light who is actually 32 years old. He is a bottom. On the other hand, there is a 19-year-old top who is starting to look too mature. He has a hard decision before him.

"How old are you ? and are you a top, a bottom, or AC/DC ?"

"Sixteen, a bottom orally and AC/DC anally." I answered. Those are my preferences. I don't mind being an oral top, I just prefer sucking to being sucked."

Mr. Petty pushed a button on a panel on his desk and said into the intercom,"Chris, bring the necessary gear up to my office to collect blood for an STD suite."

"What's that?, I asked.

"It's a battery of tests for chlamydia, herpes, gonorrhea, syphilis, and HIV. Each of my new employees has to take it and each of my new clients does, too. I can't very well ask my clients to take them over and over, so we rely on simple precautions. In anal sex, the top, whoever he is, must wear a condom. In oral sex, the boy avoids swallowing. My clients know that spitting it out is not done to insult them but to be safe."

Chris brought hypodermic syringes with blood-drawing needles, swabs, and glass vials with rubber stoppers. He swabbed the opening of my dick twice , my asshole once, and took two blood samples.

"Search Diagnostic Labs will have the results of the lab tests back in about 3 days. I'll trust the condoms until we know. By the way, don't call me Mr. Petty . I appreciate the respect, but I'm Pete to everybody here."

Pete picked up the phone again and called someone named Pietro, who I guessed was a tailor. "Pietro ? Pete here. Have you got the time to come over here and measure a boy for a kid's sailor suit, you know, with short pants and a wide non-reg neckerchief ? Of course he's cute, would I hire him otherwise ? Yes, he's hung, too. I suppose you want to grope him while you measure his inseam. Yeah, dirty old man.

OK. See ya shortly."

Pietro wasn't really old, maybe about 40. He came in unashamed of an obvious boner. Of course, he did grope me while he measured my inseam and I got a boner and he felt the thing and gasped . "Magnifico ! Che stupendo cazzo per un giovine ragazzo." I know a little Ginny and I got the idea and grinned.

When he was done, Pietro said " Hey, cutie, I'll take 20% off for a blow job."

I wan't paying for it, but I looked over to Pete who grinned and said "I'll give you the difference, Jason."

I shrugged my shoulders and said "Sure" and squatted down in front of Pietro as he dropped his Gucci slacks and scarlet Bill Blass briefs. He had about 7 by 1¼ inches of uncut Italian salami. I cemented friendly Italo-American relations by giving him the best head I know how, which is damn' good. I couldn't help wondering if Pietro had gotten his rocks off in the past month. I'd swear he gave me a good cupful of cum. I swallowed it because he's Pete's friend.

Pietro thanked me and left saying he'd bring the sailor suit on Friday. Pete laughed and said. " He'll want to blow you now. I bet I'll get another 20% off on Friday. Well, it's time for you to meet some of the other boys. Most of 'em will be hanging around the parlor watching TV."

There were 19 young men in the parlor. Pete introduced them, and except for two, the introductions went in one ear and out the other, the way they usually do. One was Michael who looked about my age until I got real close to him . Then I noticed that his cheeks looked a bit leathery and there were crows' feet around his eyes, and I realized that he was much older than me . I wondered if he was the 32-year-old eunuch I'd heard of.

The other was named Cody and he was dressed, right out of Brokeback

Mountain, in jeans, a work shirt, a bandanna handkerchief around his neck and a cowboy hat jammed on the back of his head. He was very good looking, but was showing signs of maturity. Cody looked very worried.

I took toCody immediately. There was something so wholesome-looking about him. He seemed to like me also and we sat down together on a love seat and chatted. I told him that he looked worried and he said "I've got every reason to be. I'm beginning to look too mature, so I have 'the choice' staring me in the face. Soon, I've either got to go back on the street or get castrated so I don't develop into a man. I'm scared and unhappy.

I don't wanna give up my balls. Right now, I'm usually a top and that's the way I like it. If I get castrated, I'll have to be a bottom. I can't take enough testosterone to get it up and cum, 'cause, if I do, I'll look more and more more mature. Pete says it's like the Fountain Youth. I'll never have to grow up. He doesn't understand that, for me, the price is too high."

"Tell him how you feel. "

"I don't want him to think I'm ungrateful for all he's done for me. But, I don't really have a choice. If I go back on the street, either I'll kill somebody or somebody'll kill me. I can't take bein' dominated. I can't understand these guys who enjoy bein' slaves to some abusive sonofabitch. I'd kill anybody who tried to treat me that way. Here, they can't mistreat me. Pete won't let 'em. So, I have to stay here, but, I can't stay here and keep my balls. "

"But, aren't you a bottom here sometimes, even though you prefer being a top ?"

"Only if I'm willin'. I don't ever have to be a bottom, but once I lose my balls, I won't be able to be a top. I'll have to be a bottom. I'd hate that. So, it's damned if I do and damned if I don't. It's a bind I can't find my way out of. I guess I'll have to have the fuckin' operation, but what if I don't feel any better about bein' a bottom afterward than I do now ? What do I do then ?"

"Cody, I'll be your friend and I'll stand by you and try to do anything I can to comfort you." I said, putting my arm around his shoulder.

"Thanks, Jason, That'd sure help. But, why would you do that for me ?"

"Because, even though we've just met, I think I'm falling in love with you. "

"Oh shit, don't do that. You don't really know me. You don't know what kind of a person I am. For all you know, I'd break your heart."

"It's breaking right now Cody, seeing you so unhappy." I hugged Cody and kissed him lightly on the lips. He held me tight and there were tears in his eyes.

"You're a good kid, Jason." Oddly enough, the other guys just ignored us. I expected them to make some cynical or sarcastic remarks. Instead, they minded their own business.

Cody showed me where the cafeteria was and we had supper together. Then the other "boys" began to come in and we all gathered in the parlor to meet the clients. Pete introduced them to me, too, but, as usual, I forgot all the names immediately.

My first John was a distinguished-looking man in his mid-30's named Arthur, He wanted a blow job, and perhaps to blow me, too. Pete told him that he believed me to be free of STD's but couldn't guarantee it because my test results weren't back yet. He replied "OK, if I feel like it, you can cornhole me with a condom on."Apparently, Arthur had been tested recently and was safe.

Once we were in a room together, Arthur dropped his slacks and his tighty whiteys. His dick was long, thin, and uncut, so I bent at the waist instead of squatting in front of him and took his rod down my throat. I relaxed my mouth on the in-strokes and sucked hard on the out-strokes. This pulled rhythmically on his dick and he loved it. When it was far enough out in my mouth, I swished my tongue over the corona and back-and forth under the frenum.

I let him control the speed and depth of thrusting and soon, he was speeding up, faster and faster. Suddenly, he stopped , his balls jumped up to the base of his cock, and he shot a thick lumpy load of cum into my mouth . I tried to retain it all and spit it out. A little trickled down my throat, but I got rid of most of it into the washbowl.

He complimented me on giving very good head and asked to see what I had.

When I showed him, he whistled. My 8-incher was very impressive for a 16-year-old. "Now, that I've got to feel up inside me." he commented. I was hot to trot already, but Arthur wanted to "recharge his batteries" so that he'd have a really first-rate orgasm when I worked over his prostate gland.

I'd already earned a hundred bucks. A buttfuck would net me another one-fifty plus the tip if I pleased him (which I expected to), and the night was young !

Arthur and I sat side-by-side on the bed and hugged, caressed, and kissed each other while his batteries recharged. After 25 minutes, his boner was starting to lube a little again. Older men don't lube nearly as much as young ones, but it's a good sign that he's ready.

I got two rubbers out of the drawer of the nightstand, put one on and handed the other to Arthur. "What's this one for?", he asked .

"I figured you might not want to cum all over yourself." I answered. "Do you want to take it from the front or the back?"

"Definitely the front." said Arthur.

"Then, it'll be a lot less messy if you wear a condom, too."

"Good thinking" agreed Arthur.

Arthur got onto his back on the bed and put his knees up on his chest. I slicked up the condom with K-Y and got on top of him, putting the head of my dick against his pucker. It went in easily, though it was a rather tight fit. I started fucking as soon as I had the head inside and kept up the motions while I sank it into him up to the hair. Then I used long slow thrusts, just rubbing his prostate gland on the way by.

I took my cues from him. After a while, Arthur started getting real excited and told me to fuck faster. I obliged him, still keeping the thrusts as long as possible without letting my whang slip out of his hole.

Arthur began thrashing around and wrapped his calves around my back to pull me in as far as possible. I could feel his boner getting harder when, suddenly he started to shake. I pulled part-way out and began rubbing the head back-and-forth against his prostate gland. If I say so myself, I timed it damn' well. We both started cumming within a second of each other . He shot first and I spurted next. Because I was poking his prostate gland, he kept cumming and cumming.

Finally, we'd both blown our wads and didn't have a drop of cum left in us. Arthur's dick went completely limp and mine got rubbery and soggy. I just laid on top of him, breathing hard, and kissed him.

"THAT", said Arthur ," was one one helluva great fuck. You know why it was ? You enjoy what you're doing. You're not just going through the motions like most hustlers."

"That's because I'm a newbie. I haven't had time to get blasé yet. You were great too. You sure know how to use your sphincter to give me the max pleasure. You're not selfish; you wanted me to enjoy it, too."

Arthur laughed. "We make a great team." We peeled off our rubbers. His was even fuller than mine. After we got dressed, Arthur kissed me again and gave me a $100

tip. This was an expensive night for him. It must have cost him $600 ! And I made $350, a good beginning to my career.

These figures may seem unrealistically high, but there are two reasons why they're not. Pete's boys are carefully picked to look very young, clean, wholesome, and cute. Also, though I didn't understand it right away, Pete's Peg-House isn't an ordinary whorehouse where just anybody can come in off the street. It's an exclusive private club which caters to the very rich. Only members can visit it and a new member has to be sponsored.

The members can afford Pete's prices and they know they'll get quality attention for their money. I serviced five men that night and ended up with $800 in fees and tips. I planned to bank and later to invest $700 of it.

On Friday, my outfit arrived and I blew my stack ! I hated it. The neckerchief was too wide and looked like a foulard tie. I told Pete "I'm supposed to look like a teenager, not an 8-year old . This outfit looks as ridiculous as a 'Little Lord Fauntleroy' suit." My huge dick spoiled the little-boy illusion, if that was what he was looking for.

When he saw me in it, Pete couldn't help laughing. "No, that won't do." he admitted. "Whadda you think you should wear to be "nautical but nice ?"

"Undress whites, white cap, no insignia, and a TAILOR-MADE NECKERCHIEF. "

Pete agreed to that and I agreed to wear the silly sailor suit until it arrived, but without the neckerchief. Even in that absurd outfit, I was very cute and had plenty of business. Clients tended to reach up inside the left leg of my short pants and fondle my fondle my trouser snake; one of them called it a python. My STD test results had come back on the morning my silly sailor suit was delivered. As expected, they were negative. Now I could buttfuck clients bareback, if they wanted it that way. They did.

Pete picked up my undress whites at an Army-Navy store and had Pietro alter them for a better fit. Pietro put Sea Scouts insignia on the jumper, and that was just the right touch.

I settled into the routine at Pete's Peg-House and serviced 5 or 6 men every night. I was able to act as if I enjoyed it because I really did. Most of them were older than I would usually choose for sex partners, but I had fun with them all. Imagine getting paid well to lead a very active sex life !

Finally, the day came when Cody had to make the choice. Dr. Stonefield wasn't too happy about my sitting with Cody and comforting him while the operation was going on, but Cody wouldn't agree to it unless I did. So, I put on surgical scrubs and sat beside Cody's head with my arm around his shoulders and holding his hand, trying to distract his attention from what was going on while Dr. Stonefield ended his manhood.

Cody's balls were removed through the inguinal canals through lower abdominal incisions, leaving the scrotum intact. That way, once the balls were disconnected, Dr. Stonefield could slip silicone prostheses down the inguinal canals into the scrotum and it would take close inspection to find out that they weren't attached to anything.

The incisions looked like hernia operations and Cody looked just the way he had before the operations. His bag was full and he looked like a normal teenager. But, although it might kid others, Cody knew the truth and it bothered him. He wasn't at all happy about being castrated. He hated being impotent and he never had cared much for getting buttfucked. The maintenance dose of testosterone wasn't enough for him to enjoy sex, though most eunuchs enjoy taking it up the ass.

Cody was downhearted, apathetic, withdrawn, and just miserable. It made my heart break to see him that way. His clients noticed it too and his business fell off to 2 or 3 men a night. Most of 'em didn't care for sex with a "Gloomy Gus." Pete asked me to talk to him about it.

I told him, "Cody, you've got to at least pretend to be cheerful. Pete says you're not pulling your weight. Please, try to act as if you're enjoying it and put on a cheerful face for the clients."

"I can't, Jason, I just can't. There's no joy for me in life now. I made the wrong decision. I can't blame Pete, he gave me a choice and I made the wrong one. If I'd known it was gonna be like this, I'd have gotten a minimum wage job in a supermarket or something. Even that'd be better than this empty life."

I tried to comfort Cody. I hugged him, kissed him, and cuddled him. I told him I loved him and he said. "Don't. You're just hurting yourself."

This went on for a couple of weeks and then, one day around noon, I was called to Pete's office. I found him at his desk crying, sobbing his heart out. I rushed up to him and put my arm around his shoulders. "Pete, what's wrong ?" I asked.

At first, he couldn't answer. Finally, he said between sobs, "C....C....Cody."

"My God, Pete, what's happened to Cody ?"

"He went down to the 'Park 4 Less' ramp garage...........walked up to the top level...........and....and...JUMPED OFF !"

"Oh my God.....Codyyyyyyyy. Oh, God, not our beautiful lovable cowboy. I loved him so.......oh Cody, Cody, Cody......oh NO.", I sobbed .

I squatted beside Pete and we cried on each other's shoulders. Pete looked at me miserably and said "I loved him too, Jason. He was special to me. I loved him more than any of the other boys. Please don't blame me for what happened. I was trying to help him. I offered him what I thought would be the Fountain of Youth. I would NEVER have done anything that I thought would harm him. And, instead, I killed him !"

"No, Pete. I don't blame you and neither did he. He said that you gave him a choice and he just made the wrong one. So, don't you blame yourself, either. Do the police hold you responsible ?"

"No. They found one of my business cards, not the one with the name of this establishment on it, thank God, in his pocket. They asked if I knew him and I told him that I did , that we were friends, and that he had no family. (He might as well not have had any. Those people in Billings, MT hated him.) I said I'd take care of the

f...f...f...funeral.

I don't need Bertold Brecht to tell me that 'There's nothing you can do for a dead man.', but I want to give him a really nice funeral. He was an atheist, but I don't think he'd have objected to a Unitarian-Universalist funeral. He won't lack for pall-bearers and I've notified all of the members of his passing and that I'll tell them the place and time of the funeral. One of the members runs a funeral parlor and I've already spoken to him about the arrangements.

Were going to be closed until after the funeral 'Owing to a death in the family.' I don't think anybody's heart would be in it. We all loved him. Nobody resented or disliked poor Cody.'

I've decided on some important changes here. I'll NEVER have anybody castrated again, no matter how mature he looks unless he requests it of his own free will. He can stay here as long as the members like him. I'm changing the name of this establishment from Pete's Peg-House, which is altogether too obvious, to Peter's Club which which reveals nothing of the nature of the establishment.

None of this, of course, will help poor dear Cody in any way. He's beyond being affected by anything we can do. "

I tried to comfort Pete as best I could and made some important decisions of my own. Though I'm probably better fitted for it than Cody was (being mainly an oral bottom), I'll NEVER have myself castrated. I'll certainly never return to street hustling. Therefore, I've got to get an education and get a good job when I'm too old for hustling.

It's true that there's nothing you can do for a dead man. Funerals aren't for the dead; they're for the living, a last chance to pay tribute to a loved one. For a "nobody" from Montana, Cody had a very fine funeral. About 200 members showed up and there was rivalry among the boys for the honor of being pallbearers. I was a shoo-in because everybody knew that Cody and I were lovers. Pete picked the five others at random.

It was closed-coffin funeral. Cody's corpse couldn't be made presentable. But, there was a nice colored-pencil sketch of him standing on the coffin, done from his Montana driver's license by a well-known portrait artist who is a member. It was a study for an oil portrait of him that hung in the parlor later.

The funeral service was elegant and moving, a fine farewell to a well-loved young man. As well as Pete and his boys, many of the members were in tears. I saw more genuine grief at that funeral than at most others I've attended.

As soon as possible, I started taking correspondence courses leading to high school equivalency diploma. Then, I took a 2-year program in business at the local community college. Working at night gave me time to take courses in the daytime, and study in the afternoon. After graduating with honors from West End Community College, I transferred to City College with junior standing and completed a major in business there.

In the mean time, I invested very cent I could spare, with advice from Virgil and his stock broker. Income tax is always a problem for prostitutes, but I was listed as a "self-employed entertainer" and Pete's lawyer knew the right loopholes to keep his boys out of trouble.

At 22, when I got my BA , I still looked about 19. I finally said a sad goodbye to Pete and my friends at Peter's Club. I found a good job in real estate and, after 2 years, had my own agency.

One client who came looking for a condo was Jason Schuster. He remembered me and we got back together. His parents and his brother Kyle had all died in a plane crash returning from a vacation on Aruba, leaving Jason sole heir to the Schuster fortune. He wanted to sell the gated mansion in a gated community where he'd grown up and buy a condo. I handled both transactions for him and ended up sharing the condo (and his bed) with him.

I love Jason dearly, but I still carry a torch for Cody and always will.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Delicious ideas to please the pickiest eaters. Watch the video on AOL Living.