Fic: Illicit Exploits of an LA Rentboy Entry 41-55/151 (Entourage, NC-17, Vince/E, Vince/Others)
Title: Illicit Exploits of an LA Rentboy
Entries: 41-55 of 151
Status: Complete
Fandom: Entourage
Word Count:~6,700
Disclaimer: I don't own Entourage or anyone who has ever appeared on it.
Pairing: Vince/Eric, Vince/Pretty much everyone else except Turtle, Johnny, and the Golds (seriously)
Rating: NC-17 for lots and lots of sex
Warnings: AU, prostitution, mentions of past childhood physical abuse, BDSM, gay sex, straight sex, group sex, rape fantasy, fisting, wax play, a foot fetishist, mentions of daddy-kink, extremely brief mention of watersports. If any of the particular warnings are squicks for you, send me a private message and I'll tell you which entry to avoid!
Betas and helpers: guest_age, justabi, allyndra, ariadne83, pesha and deepad were all completely indispensable. Thank you so much.
Authors Notes: This inspired by Belle Du Jour's blog/books/TV series but doesnt crossover in anyway. But it is a hookerfic so I know there are a lot of warnings but I hope you guys will give it a try anyway. Minor characters from canon have links to their pictures if you need a reminder. This fic is complete and I will, baring any unforeseen circumstances, be posting a segment a day until the end of the entourage_fest.
Summary: Entries from the private journal of Vincent Chase, a high paid male escort living in Los Angeles.
Entry 1-20
Entry 21-40
Entry 41
Johnny's director calls me. He gives me his address and tells me to come over. Not asks. Tells. I go from zero to rock hard at the order.
I don't know where the fuck he got the number.
And I don't care.
The cab can't get here fast enough.
~*~*~
Entry 42
Billy's a wiry, manic bastard. He's kind of like a stray dog. Not that I've fucked a stray dog or any dog--I've got limits and zoo is one of the big ones. But he reminds me of the dogs that used to hang around the neighborhood when I was growing up: thin and hungry with crazy eyes.
And hell, maybe that's what turns me on so much about him: how intense he is. It's like he's burning up from the inside out. I want to him to burn me.
He's waiting for me in the hallway of his apartment when the cab drops me off. He grinds out his cigarette on the carpet to reach for me.
Billy grabs my hair with both his hands and drags me forward into a kiss. Our teeth click together and I haven't wanted someone this bad in years. When we break to breathe, my lower lip is bleeding. It tastes coppery and a little hot, and it just makes me want to kiss him more.
"You fucking inspire me, Vince," Billy hisses at me. He takes a fistful of my shirt and drags me into his apartment behind him. He's a director--moving people comes easily to him. I really like being moved but more than that, I like the way he moves me: rough and violent but not thoughtless. "I haven't been able to stop writing since I met you."
"Anything good?" I ask while my hands are busy undoing his belt. It's cheap, from Wal-Mart or maybe one of the Salvation Army stores because Billy isn't just unhinged enough to give me what I need, he's also got his feet in the real world-unlike the beautiful people who pay and praise to fuck me.
He bites at my shoulder hard enough to leave teeth marks through my t-shirt and then shoves me back into the door. My shoulder blades hit the wall and pain jars up and down my spine that makes me want it more. "All of it's good, Vinny. Jesus, you fucking move me, man."
He undoes the top button and zipper of my jeans and then pulls them down. He follows, taking my boxers with him. Then he's on his knees in front of me, sucking my cock so hard I slap the doorframe with the palm of my hand.
"Ugh, Jesus, Billy, fuck!"
This isn't what I was expecting. I thought I'd be on my knees for him, with his hands holding my ears or my hair as he fucked my face. The position throws me off balance, and I haven't felt unbalanced during sex since I was a kid.
It makes me nervous, unsteady, and scared-and so hot I can barely form words. I reach for his head, trying to get back a little control, but he laughs and smacks my hands away hard enough to sting.
When I've pressed my hands back against the wall, Billy puts two fingers into his mouth alongside my dick. He makes a few wet slurping noises and then pushes the wet digits into my ass. I hit the door again so hard it makes my hand hurt. His fingers twist then crook right onto my prostate.
"Fuck! Billy!"
He laughs again, then hums, and the vibrations fucking end me. I'm fucking dying, thrusting between his hand and his mouth until I come, so hard that my vision goes white, and Billy holding me against the door is the only thing keeping me upright.
He swallows and it's a loud, messy sound. He licks his lips as he stands up. His eyes are wild and I want my eyes to be like that. I want to get that far out of control. I don't think I am yet, but I want to be.
"I'm going to fuck you so hard, Vince."
He licks a stripe up my neck and bites my earlobe. His voice is deeper than before. And I want it so bad that I'm gagging for it.
"You want it, Vinny?"
"Fuck me." It's all I can manage. That's what my world's shrunk to. "Fucking fuck me."
We don't make it to the bed. We get as far as the floor three feet from the door before he's got a condom on and me on my hands and knees. The only cushion is the pile of my shirt and pants under my knees, and I don't need more than that. I plant my forehead on my forearms and can't do anything but grunt and take it as he fucks me from behind. His dick slams hard in and out, jarring my prostate and sending my body rocking back and forth.
He balances himself with one hand on my back as he fucks me. Then he reaches down with his other hand and grabs my hair, pulling me up and back so that my neck is arched and my face is upturned. He doesn't slow down to lean forward and suck a large purple hickey into the patch of skin on the side of my neck.
I beg him to go harder, faster, fuck me more, and he does. I feel like my teeth might come loose and I feel like I'm going to come again, but it's too soon and too much.
My upper arms give out on me and I end up with my chest pressed against the floor. There's going to be carpet burn on my chest and cheek as he pushes me across the room with the way he slam-fucks me. It feels good. I'm not thinking. I'm just spasming and panting and fucked and fucked and fucked.
When Billy comes, he falls down on top of me in a sweaty heap and my legs fail me, too. I crash the rest of the way to ground and it jars through my joints just enough to keep me from passing out.
We managed to drag ourselves to the couch. Billy fishes out a blunt from between the cushions and it's clear that's the closest thing to scene aftercare I'm going get. He lights it and hands it to me, dragging my feet into his lap. He curls his hand around my ankle like a shackle, and it anchors me.
I take a long deep hit and my head goes a little loopy as I hand it to him. I watch Billy's chest expand under his shirt before he exhales slowly at the ceiling fan. He passes it back and gives me a lopsided grin.
"You could be my fucking muse, you know that?"
I take another hit and his words come to me slower and then repeat, circling round and round in my head. I don't mind that I'm naked and he still has all his clothes on. In fact, I kinda like it this way.
~*~*~
Entry 43
Turtle asks me about the hickey. I don't lie but I don't tell him who gave it to me either. I say I had a wild night and leave it at that. I need a ride to my waxing and I don't want to have a fight.
~*~*~
Entry 44
Scott asks about the bruises on my back. I say I fell. He doesn't believe me. But he seems happy enough to watch me fuck his nineteen year-old boytoy on the deck by his pool. So I guess it's okay.
~*~*~
Entry 45
Billy comes over and we fuck in my bed. And then in my shower. And then we fuck again on my kitchen counter. (My foot ends up in a sandwich, I don't know how.) And once more on my couch.
He's not a good-looking guy. I've fucked many pretty people in my life and he's not one of them. But he's aggressive and passionate as hell and a natural Dom, which is actually kind of a relief. I don't have to explain that I want him to hold me down by the neck while he fucks me--he just does it. I don't have to ask.
Freddy's British and a gentleman, pretty much to a fault. He's so polite that I've been to orgies with him where we waited in line to have group sex. But Billy's an animal about it. He doesn't check if it's what I want. He doesn't say please or thank you-he just takes.
I don't have to fake the L.A. cool with Billy, either. Billy's New York. We rode the same subway trains in Manhattan and we both know about that hot dog stand on 7th. He grew up with money over in Scarsdale but he's still New York-loud and pushy and a little angry. Or a lot angry in Billy's case, whenever someone from the studio calls.
I don't mind though. Him yelling at someone else actually turns me on. I listen to his accent and try to remember what E's sounds like. I think it's kind of a mix of Johnny's and Billy's because I can't hear it in my head anymore. I used to be able to.
When he hangs up the phone, he grabs me around the waist and pushes me against the table. He puts on a condom that has just enough lube to not ruin me and then I stop trying to remember.
Billy makes me do stupid careless shit. He makes me not care that I've spent the whole day fucking when I have a client that night. He leaves fingernail marks and bites all over me. He kind of scares me when he talks about film and passion and angst and all that crap. And then I just want to fuck again.
I haven't told him what I do yet. I'm waiting for Johnny to finish filming. I don't think he's going to be happy and I don't want his reaction to fuck this up for Johnny; he needs it.
~*~*~
Entry 46
The client, Nicky, can't stay hard. He's only in his early thirties, so this shouldn't be a problem for him. He's been to the doctor and it's not physical, so who the fuck knows. Whatever's causing it, it's a source of huge insecurity for him and he blames me, himself, his ex, his childhood fuck buddy, his overbearing father, his too-affectionate high school math teacher, all the coke. But none of that changes the fact that he can't get hard and he's paid me to get him off.
"Roll over on your stomach."
"Why?"
I kiss his shoulder as an assurance. "I know what I'm doing. Just relax. I'll take care of you."
I put a condom over my right middle and index finger and lube it, making sure I've warmed it with my hands before I push into him. The poor guy just needs to come. I kiss his neck and fondle his balls with my left hand while I milk his prostate. It takes just under a half an hour for the come to dribble out of his dick, but he seems so much more relaxed that I'm kind of glad he booked me.
"Buy a vibrator," I suggest when I leave. I write a few brands down on the hotel stationary and hand it to Nicky before I walk out the door, leaving him in a relieved heap on the bed.
~*~*~
Entry 47
I'm out of peanut butter and I don't really want anything but a peanut butter sandwich. Johnny's filming another guest spot on Days, Turtle's at work, and I can't get through to my normal cab company.
This is L.A. There's gotta be someone who'll deliver PB and J right?
Edit: Found it. It'll be here in twenty minutes. God, I love this town.
~*~*~
Entry 48
I kneel at the client's feet and he tugs at the clamps on my nipples a little too sharply. I hiss and clench my teeth, but I don't look up from the floor. I don't have permission.
I don't do sub jobs often. Mrs. Ari doesn't like Ari to assign them to me. I fall into the role too easy. But this guy, Yair Marx, he's someone Ari doesn't want to lose as a client, and part of why she doesn't usually let me do it is because I'm the best.
But in this instance, work trumps worry, and I get the booking. Ari actually thanks me. That probably has something to do with the fact that I hear he's made of money and he's got a taste for prostitutes because his wife's a castrating bitch.
She also turns out to be an incredibly kinky castrating bitch. She sits in the corner of the room wearing one of Yair's shirts and nothing else, idly fingering herself as she watches me and her husband.
"Will you beg for me, my lovely? Will you cry?" He asks, tugging again. It's amazing how bad it hurts when he does that, how much it turns me on. I can barely think to answer.
I keep my eyes locked on the floor. I haven't been given permission to look up yet. "Whatever you want, sir."
"I want you hungry for my cock." He strokes my face with thick, gentle fingers. They drop down to stroke to top of my neck above the thick steel and leather control collar. There's a metal bar welded to the back that attaches to the shackles chaining my wrists behind me. It keeps me upright and completely rigid. "If you beg me pretty enough, my lovely, I'll let you have it. Go on." He tips my chin back with his hand. "Beg me for what you need."
I lick my lips, swallow hard, and the words pour out of me like liquid. "Please, sir, please fuck me, please use me, please. Please let me have your cock. I need it. I need you to use me. I need you to hurt me. Please, sir. Please. I need your cock, sir. Please, please let me have it."
His hand pulls again and again as I speak and it tugs on the chain, yanking on my nipples. My eyes water and my begging increases as, for that moment, I'm lost in the role. I really do want it, need it-to beg as much as to be used. "I promise I'll be good, sir, please. Please just let me have it. Please fuck me, sir, please. Please. I'm so fucking hungry for it. Please, God, please, sir."
"You should give the bitch what he asks for," the wife says. She crosses the room and stands behind her husband, running her hands over his chest, undoing the buttons of his shirt and tugging it off. Her hand disappears into his pants and he groans. "Fuck him, Yair," she murmurs as she takes his dick out. "Make the little bitch scream for me."
She steps back from him and walks around to me. She sneers down at me before bending down, pressing her breasts into my face. She whispers something in my ear in a language I can't understand, bites my lobe, and then Jesus fucking Christ, the nipple clamps are gone. I cry out at the pain as blood rushes back in.
She laughs, walking around behind me. With careful force, she puts her foot on my back. She gives a hard kick and I fall forward, my face hitting the carpet with a dazzling amount of pain.
My body and the floor make a triangle shape together. I've just got my shoulders relaxed enough to handle the new position when I feel Yair's fingers on my hips. His condom-covered dick presses against my asshole, but doesn't push in.
"Say please," he orders, running his hand along the bar on my back.
"Please, sir. Please fuck me." My mouth doesn't work right pressed into the rug like this, so it comes out slurred and sloppy. But they can both hear me and he pushes all the way in.
It's actually a relief. It feels good and it's enough sensation in one place that I can mostly drift off into subspace. I force myself not to go there, not to disappear into my own head, and listen to their accented voices talking to each other. It's clear from their tone who the real Dominant is here, and it's not Yair.
I'm a little surprised when she lies down in front of me on her back. It fades when she reaches down, picks my head up by the hair, spreads her legs, and yanks my face to her pussy, though.
"Make me come, little bitch." she commands.
"Yes, Mistress," I murmur before flicking my tongue towards her clit.
She doesn't let go of my hair as I eat her. It hurts like a motherfucker but I've got a tough scalp. She could find a more comfortable way to hold me but if she lets go, I'd fall into her crotch and not be able to get up.
The little gasps forced out of my lungs by Yair fucking me are muffled as they follow my tongue into her pussy. I'm having a hard time breathing with my nose and mouth pressed against her so I finish her as well and as fast as I can. She comes before Yair. I can feel it on my lips and around my tongue. When she's done, she lets my head drop back to the carpet and climbs to her feet.
I can't see anything but the thread of the rug anymore. But I can hear her. She's calling Yair names. Occasionally, I hear the sound of a hand slapping against flesh and Yair cursing in Arabic.
It feels like forever and a half before Yair finally comes. When he does, he slams his pelvis against my ass so hard I think it'll leave a mark and he shouts his orgasm.
He flops down on top of me for a few seconds before he pulls out. They leave me there, open, exposed, and hard on the floor for at least ten minutes while they go shower off. I'm about to call out for help-from Ari, from them, I'm not sure-when Yair pushes me back to an upright position and starts to undo my restraints.
The wife runs her fingernail down my jaw and over a lip once I've got my clothes back on. "We'll have to do this again sometime, Chase."
Yeah, not for a long fucking time, I think.
My back, shoulders, and neck are killing me. There are marks on my neck and wrists that I won't be able to hide. Ari's gonna have to give me some time to bounce back. And maybe an appointment with that personal masseuse I know he's got hidden somewhere.
But the tip is almost obscene.
~*~*~
Entry 49
My back is fucking killing me from last night, so I'm not getting out of bed today. There's a Steve McQueen marathon on SpikeTV, so that settles it. I'm just staying in bed. I hurt too much too get up anyway.
~*~*~
Entry 50
Johnny has finally got an agent again. Thank God for that. He's been unrepresented since before I got to L.A. He hid it and it was wearing on him.
The guy's name's Weinstein and everything Johnny's said about him makes him sound like a real asshole, but it's a start. Easier to find a job when you've got one, that's what my ma used to say.
He's talking about TV and I think that'd be good for him. Something steady. Johnny's got a bigger hard-on for the biz than anyone on earth and more than almost anything, I want my big bro to succeed. I don't think it'll fix everything for him. Johnny's a huge self-sabotager, but maybe I won't need to "loan" him money anymore and we won't have that between us. I don't mind, I can afford it. I just hate the look in his eyes when he has to borrow money from me.
Anyway, Weinstein reps the writer of the movie. I know Billy talked to him about Johnny. I love fucking Billy, but hope to Christ he didn't call Weinstein because of me.
~*~*~
Entry 51
Client's a woman in her early fifties. Her husband is a big wig at Warner Brothers who hasn't eaten box in almost fifteen years. She got sick of it fourteen years ago but they had three children, two under ten at the time, so she didn't feel like she could leave. Abandonment, she says, is permission to cheat. Or at least to buy a hooker.
She's had a few regulars with a few agencies over the years, but the one she had with Ari just retired. So she's shopping for a new one, trying out different escorts until she finds the right one to be her next regular.
"I deserve orgasms as much as the next person," she says to me even though I didn't ask her anything. "And since Alan won't give them to me, I think I deserve them from someone as handsome as you."
Then she steps out of her tailored pants suit and then lies down naked on the bed. She's not bad for her age. She's had a great surgeon. I can barely see the surgical scars.
I'm sure hers isn't the first rejuvenated vagina I've ever eaten. This L.A. But it's the first one I've ever known about before I went down. I don't know why she bothered. I can't tell the difference either way.
~*~*~
Entry 52
Turtle's found a guy, a rapper. Kelly's best friend's sister dated him or something. I don't know, I'm not really clear on the connection, but he's found this guy Saigon's demo in one of Rufus' cars and now he's trying to represent and bank roll him. He's gotten backing from like, six local businesses including Rufus' car and stereo shops, and he also managed to talk his dealer Black Hack into lending him like ten grand.
So when he actually books Saigon a gig, everyone Turtle knows is there with fucking bells on. It's in a dive in East L.A., but the place is packed. Turtle's running around talking to people, shaking hands, talking trash, and Kelly stands with me and Johnny, smiling.
I drape my arm over her shoulders and lean down so I can talk directly into her ear. "He's doing great, Kel."
She's tiny and her hair's pinned up in a complicated series of shiny black curls. She has to go up on her toes a little to answer back into my ear.
"I've never seen him work so hard at anything. He really wants this. I'm so proud of him. "
"It's pretty amazing."
"He's amazing. I'm gonna go over there." She gives me a one-armed hug around the waist before disappearing into the crowd.
I hope to God Turtle is smart about this and has the good sense to marry this woman. Yeah, her dad's kinda scary, but she loves him and not only thinks the world of him, she drives him to be better. Turtle deserves something like that in his life.
I watch them from across the club for a while before I head to the bar for a drink. Halfway through Saigon's second set, I strike up a conversation with a short girl whose got skin the color of milk chocolate, fantastic breasts, and a slightly crooked smile. The only thing I can think about while we talk is licking her all over. I smile and touch her hand at the end of the night she offers me a ride back to her place.
It's a two bedroom nearby. Despite that, her roommate is asleep on the couch when we walk in.
"She sleeps like the dead," she promises, leading me into the small kitchen. She opens the fridge and stares inside. "You want anything? Something to drink?"
"I want to taste you."
It's a fucking line, but it's also true. And I've got great delivery. She stares at me for a long moment, mouth slightly open, her hand on the refrigerator door. Then she moves forward and jumps me. Her legs wrap around my waist and her arms twine around my shoulders. Her mouth tastes like beer and I stumble forward into the open door.
It's fucking cold standing there, but she's tight and hot and it's something I've never done before. She braces her weight against the door a little too heavily when she comes, and I hear something break. We stumble as the door slams into the counter and I can hear her roommate waking up.
I don't fucking care by then though, I'm too close to orgasm and so is she. Her roommate starts screaming at her before we come. But she tells me to ignore it, ignore it, fuck me, ignore it until after we've both gotten off and are leaning against the broken refrigerator.
I get out before the fight between her and her roommate escalates to blows. But just barely.
~*~*~
Entry 53
Billy shows up at my apartment around four in the afternoon. The movie's got some location shoots that're going to take him to Vancouver, so it pretty much all ends here and I'm starting to think that maybe that's a good thing.
When we're not fucking, it's friendship with an edge of worship that freaks me out a little. I don't know what he thinks is going on, but it's more for him. It's an obsessive thing that has him showing up at weird hours in weird mental states.
He's brilliant. A serious creative fucking genius, and I envy him. I want to be able to make something meaningful like he does. But the longer this goes on, the more the eccentric side of his genius leaks out, and the more possessive he gets. The more he's around, the harder my job gets to hide and I know that, while Billy's a big fan of prostitution, he wouldn't want the guy he's fucking regularly to be one. All of it makes me pretty positive that it's time to stop, at least for a while.
I'm going to miss the sex, though. When we are fucking, I feel like at any minute, he'll rip me apart to get at my insides. It's kind of brutal, the way he talks to me, touches me. If Turtle knew the details, he'd probably say that what we've got going on is bordering on psychotic.
I can't seem to stop, though. I've only been with a couple of people in my life who make me come as hard or as long as Billy.
The D/s stuff that always happens in bed with him, it's not a game. There're no safe words. There's no gentleness. I don't call him Master, and he doesn't call me names. He doesn't want to discuss boundaries or rules or anything beforehand, and there's definitely no time for emotional rebound afterwards. It's not play. To be honest, that kind of scares me. But it's the only way Billy knows how to fuck.
And it's how he fucks me when he shows up. He drops the weed on my hall table and then manhandles me onto my couch. I burrow my face in one of the cushions as he fucks and fucks and fucks me. He has one knee on the couch and one foot on the floor and he snaps his hips forward and down, pushing his dick inside with a violence that knocks the breath out of my chest and has me tearing at the upholstery. His right hand reaches under me and jerks my dick, and I come on the sofa, leaving a mess that I'm going to have to get steam cleaned out.
I lie there for another five minutes while Billy finishes fucking me. Now that I've gotten off, he's rougher, careless and greedy, and it leaves me feeling dirty in a way that makes me wish I could get hard again. When he comes, it's with a loud groan and biting nails digging sharply into my neck. I think they might have broken the skin, but I can't tell from my face-down position.
I only move a little, so that I can see him, after he pulls out and trashes the condom. The weed's a present and we don't smoke it. But he does pull out a cigarette and offer one to me. I don't smoke or like people smoking inside, but I don't try to stop him. I just shake my head and watch him light up.
"You should come with me to Canada, Vinny. It's Bumfuck Nowhere, but it's supposed to be beautiful. Pristine Goddamn nature everywhere. You can keep me from getting so bored I kill myself."
"I can't. I've got work."
"Yeah, you're an assistant. To fucking who, Vinny? You never do anything."
"That's what makes it a good job." I reply with a grin as I reach down for my boxers.
"Look if you don't wanna go-"
I sit up and pull my boxers on, feeling a little more like myself now that I'm not naked anymore. The answer, of course, is no, I don't want to go. Things are finally turning around for my family and I want to be here to see it. Also, being alone with Billy in the frozen north? It's like the queer version of The Shining just waiting to happen. I'd give it two weeks and he'd be hacking down doors, trying to kill me with an axe.
"I don't."
Billy's whole face falls, then I can see him start to get angry. "What the fuck, Vinny? I thought-"
"Come on, Billy. Don't do this."
"Fuck you, Vince. I'm not doing anything."
"You're being fucking unreasonable and you're getting ash on my carpet. So that's two things."
"We've got something going here."
"Yeah," I sigh. "And I think we can put it on pause. Go have fun in Canada and New York or wherever. I'll have fun here."
Billy smokes the cigarette faster than usual and I can almost see the hamster running on a wheel in his brain. I don't know what he's thinking, but it makes me nervous.
"I'm gonna call you when I get back."
I shrug. "If you want."
"Christ, Vinny. Christ."
I kiss him. It's a sloppy kiss that's almost a battle. But I'm pretty sure it's the end. At least for now.
~*~*~
Entry 54
Kelly's playing her Justine Chapin album in Turtle's car when he picks up me and Johnny from Johnny's place to go for dinner with them. We tease him brutally for about ten miles until Kelly makes us stop because she likes this song and she's not driving, so she can come back there and smack us both. There's a little bit more laughing at Turtle's expense, but it somehow turns into a conversation about her alleged Pure Tour.
"She's not a virgin," Kelly declares.
"How do you know?" Johnny throws back, perpetuating the arguments brewing about her since the day Justine skanked into pop from the Christian rock scene.
"I can tell from the way she sings," Kelly says as we park the car. She slides herself under Turtle's arm as we walk across the parking lot to the restaurant. "Besides, girls can tell and that ho? She's no virgin. No virgin tattoos a snake above her pussy."
"What's the big deal anyway?" I ask. "So she hasn't fucked anyone yet. She will."
"Come on, Vin," Turtle chides me. "Your first time's a big deal."
"If you say so." I shrug. I had two. Well, I'll call it three. And they were all…what they were.
"It doesn't matter," Kelly argues. "Because she's not a virgin."
By the time we get seated, it's become a virginity tell all. The conversation's become about who did what to whom and when. I just sit and listen.
"Tracy Richter," Johnny declares. "What a mess. I always hoped I'd get to re-fuck her. Do it right. She married Lou de Carlo right outta high school, though."
"He'd break your face open if you tried." Turtle laughed.
Johnny puffed up a little. "I could take him."
"Yeah, with a loaded weapon," I added with a smile. "He kicked Dom's ass back when we were in high school, Johnny. You're better off with the mess."
"Reggie St. Fleur," Kelly sighs. She gets a distant look in her eyes and her lips curl in a half-smile.
Turtle gives her a gentle shove and then sulks back in his chair. "Hey!"
"Relax baby, it was high school. He was in the computer club and he had real delicate hands." She lifts her own hands as she talks and yeah, I have been there. I try not to grin too hard.
"I got good hands."
"You have great hands," Kelly agrees, picking up and kissing the back of one when our waiter comes by with our drinks. "What about yours?"
"Older woman," Turtle says and looks down at the table, anywhere but at his girlfriend.
"Older woman," I parrot. "Turtle, come on, Claudia wasn't that much older."
"She was a hooker in her thirties," Johnny laughs. "Didn't she decline your mom's credit card?"
"Shut up, Drama."
I say nothing, just let them fight about the hooker Turtle lost it to after a bidding war and he stole 40 bucks from his cousin. Drama accuses him of only paying thirty and I try not to think about how much my first experience with hooking was.
"What about you, Vince?"
I lift my hands. "I don't remember."
"Bullshit," Kelly harps from across the table. "Everybody remembers their first."
"Well, I don't."
"I remember, Vin. It was Cindy Davis, behind the arcade at Nathan's."
Mm. Cindy. I remember her. She was good. Early, too. I'd just turned fourteen. E was still around then. He even went steady with her friend Amy for a couple weeks.
"Yeah, you may be right."
"Yeah, you may be right," Kelly repeats, shaking her head. She points a carefully painted fingernail at me. "Bullshit, Vince. Bull. Shit. You remember your first and Justine Flat-Ass Chapin is no fucking virgin."
The food arrives then, cutting the conversation off, but I'm stuck there. It's like Kelly's finger never stops pointing at me and I can't get out of my own head.
Of course I remember my firsts. They weren't your average go-arounds and some of them sucked.
Okay two of them sucked. I did anyway, on my knees on the tile in the tunnel in the East Village. Drama doesn't believe you can get a hooker for under twenty bucks in New York anymore. I don't know if that still stands, what with inflation and all, but about twelve years ago, some guy paid me ten bucks for me to suck him off and then let him come on my face. It was hours before I could get to a sink to wash the stickiness off, so I slept with the residue on me, stretched out under the chairs in the subway. But at least I wasn't hungry.
E's cousin Sheryl was better, but nothing worth talking about. She was fifteen, I was thirteen, and it happened so fast that I didn't know what was going on until it was too late to really enjoy it. One minute we were in E's basement, waiting for him to come back from the store with his dad, and the next thing I knew we were kissing. And then she was on top of me. That lasted all of ten seconds before I came and she hopped off, unimpressed.
"Don't tell Eric about this," I said to her, feeling terrified and no more mature than I had two minutes ago.
"Don't sweat it, heartbreaker." She'd ruffled my hair like a puppy and straightened her skirt.
E came down a minute later and I felt nothing but guilty.
The only other first time worth mentioning was Jimmy, and I don't think Johnny or Turtle would like to hear it, so I wait until after we leave. Turtle's driving and Drama complains of getting carsick so I sit in the back of the SUV with Kelly.
"Jimmy Leary," I say to her softly.
"What?"
"My first, the one that counts."
"You don't get more than one, Vince."
"Then I'm gonna go with him."
"Yeah?"
I nod and glance into the front of the car. Johnny's got his forehead resting against the glass. Turtle's pretending not to tap his fingers in time to one of Justine's songs.
"Keep it to yourself, okay? It's not something the guys are going to want to hear."
"Yeah, it's between you and me." She smiles at me, enjoying the secret. "Was it good at least?"
Yes, it fucking was. The first time it ever was good with a man was with Jimmy, a theater queen I'd ignored when I was still in school. And when I came back to get my GED, there he was: taller, stronger, and broader than the fey guy he was when I left, and in his senior year of high school. We'd done some plays together before I dropped out. He recognized me when I was walking out of the building after signing up for night classes and followed me all the way to a diner around the corner.
"What've you been up to, gorgeous?" he'd asked me.
I had shrugged and mumbled something about keeping busy. He gave me the once over, studied the clothes I'd been wearing when I got off work (a tanktop and tight pants, which screamed, "Please fuck me. I'm a money hungry, cock sucking twink,"), and invited me back to his mother's. He never mentions what was keeping me busy, but it's clear that he knows.
It took less than a week of crashing on his floor for me to offer to fuck him. It took him another week to say yes. And when he did, it was good, good like it had never been with a guy. I count him because he was the first guy I ever kissed, even if he wasn't the first one to fuck my ass or my mouth. He was also the first guy I ever came with, and it was it was nice to know I could feel that. I moved off the floor and into bed with him, and that worked for the two months it took Turtle and me to find a place that we could afford while we saved up to follow Johnny out to L.A.
"Yeah, Kelly, he was a good guy."
She gives me a long look then nods. There's a lot I don't say to her, Turtle and Johnny. That doesn't stop them from knowing.
It's nice not to have to.
~*~*~
Entry 55
Client is in his thirties and married with kids. And he's so gay that it's a shock to me that he's not doing drag shows in WeHo. Seriously, he's gayer than Ari's assistant Lloyd, and fuck that is really, really gay. I honestly don't know how his wife hasn't picked up on it, but hell, maybe he fakes it at home. If he does, he deserves an Oscar.
He's not a complete stereotype, though, because he tops me pretty well. He's typical of clients in that it's all about what he wants, meeting his needs and his fantasies. And what the client wants is a man. He needs to fuck something with a dick, because that's who he really is behind the minivan, marriage, and suburban life. He smacks my ass and tells me what a great piece of ass I am. He thanks me for the good time that he's paid for, and then he goes back home to his wife.
Hey, that's what I'm here for.
~*~*~
Continue to Entry 56-58
Entries: 41-55 of 151
Status: Complete
Fandom: Entourage
Word Count:~6,700
Disclaimer: I don't own Entourage or anyone who has ever appeared on it.
Pairing: Vince/Eric, Vince/Pretty much everyone else except Turtle, Johnny, and the Golds (seriously)
Rating: NC-17 for lots and lots of sex
Warnings: AU, prostitution, mentions of past childhood physical abuse, BDSM, gay sex, straight sex, group sex, rape fantasy, fisting, wax play, a foot fetishist, mentions of daddy-kink, extremely brief mention of watersports. If any of the particular warnings are squicks for you, send me a private message and I'll tell you which entry to avoid!
Betas and helpers: guest_age, justabi, allyndra, ariadne83, pesha and deepad were all completely indispensable. Thank you so much.
Authors Notes: This inspired by Belle Du Jour's blog/books/TV series but doesnt crossover in anyway. But it is a hookerfic so I know there are a lot of warnings but I hope you guys will give it a try anyway. Minor characters from canon have links to their pictures if you need a reminder. This fic is complete and I will, baring any unforeseen circumstances, be posting a segment a day until the end of the entourage_fest.
Summary: Entries from the private journal of Vincent Chase, a high paid male escort living in Los Angeles.
Entry 1-20
Entry 21-40
Entry 41
Johnny's director calls me. He gives me his address and tells me to come over. Not asks. Tells. I go from zero to rock hard at the order.
I don't know where the fuck he got the number.
And I don't care.
The cab can't get here fast enough.
~*~*~
Entry 42
Billy's a wiry, manic bastard. He's kind of like a stray dog. Not that I've fucked a stray dog or any dog--I've got limits and zoo is one of the big ones. But he reminds me of the dogs that used to hang around the neighborhood when I was growing up: thin and hungry with crazy eyes.
And hell, maybe that's what turns me on so much about him: how intense he is. It's like he's burning up from the inside out. I want to him to burn me.
He's waiting for me in the hallway of his apartment when the cab drops me off. He grinds out his cigarette on the carpet to reach for me.
Billy grabs my hair with both his hands and drags me forward into a kiss. Our teeth click together and I haven't wanted someone this bad in years. When we break to breathe, my lower lip is bleeding. It tastes coppery and a little hot, and it just makes me want to kiss him more.
"You fucking inspire me, Vince," Billy hisses at me. He takes a fistful of my shirt and drags me into his apartment behind him. He's a director--moving people comes easily to him. I really like being moved but more than that, I like the way he moves me: rough and violent but not thoughtless. "I haven't been able to stop writing since I met you."
"Anything good?" I ask while my hands are busy undoing his belt. It's cheap, from Wal-Mart or maybe one of the Salvation Army stores because Billy isn't just unhinged enough to give me what I need, he's also got his feet in the real world-unlike the beautiful people who pay and praise to fuck me.
He bites at my shoulder hard enough to leave teeth marks through my t-shirt and then shoves me back into the door. My shoulder blades hit the wall and pain jars up and down my spine that makes me want it more. "All of it's good, Vinny. Jesus, you fucking move me, man."
He undoes the top button and zipper of my jeans and then pulls them down. He follows, taking my boxers with him. Then he's on his knees in front of me, sucking my cock so hard I slap the doorframe with the palm of my hand.
"Ugh, Jesus, Billy, fuck!"
This isn't what I was expecting. I thought I'd be on my knees for him, with his hands holding my ears or my hair as he fucked my face. The position throws me off balance, and I haven't felt unbalanced during sex since I was a kid.
It makes me nervous, unsteady, and scared-and so hot I can barely form words. I reach for his head, trying to get back a little control, but he laughs and smacks my hands away hard enough to sting.
When I've pressed my hands back against the wall, Billy puts two fingers into his mouth alongside my dick. He makes a few wet slurping noises and then pushes the wet digits into my ass. I hit the door again so hard it makes my hand hurt. His fingers twist then crook right onto my prostate.
"Fuck! Billy!"
He laughs again, then hums, and the vibrations fucking end me. I'm fucking dying, thrusting between his hand and his mouth until I come, so hard that my vision goes white, and Billy holding me against the door is the only thing keeping me upright.
He swallows and it's a loud, messy sound. He licks his lips as he stands up. His eyes are wild and I want my eyes to be like that. I want to get that far out of control. I don't think I am yet, but I want to be.
"I'm going to fuck you so hard, Vince."
He licks a stripe up my neck and bites my earlobe. His voice is deeper than before. And I want it so bad that I'm gagging for it.
"You want it, Vinny?"
"Fuck me." It's all I can manage. That's what my world's shrunk to. "Fucking fuck me."
We don't make it to the bed. We get as far as the floor three feet from the door before he's got a condom on and me on my hands and knees. The only cushion is the pile of my shirt and pants under my knees, and I don't need more than that. I plant my forehead on my forearms and can't do anything but grunt and take it as he fucks me from behind. His dick slams hard in and out, jarring my prostate and sending my body rocking back and forth.
He balances himself with one hand on my back as he fucks me. Then he reaches down with his other hand and grabs my hair, pulling me up and back so that my neck is arched and my face is upturned. He doesn't slow down to lean forward and suck a large purple hickey into the patch of skin on the side of my neck.
I beg him to go harder, faster, fuck me more, and he does. I feel like my teeth might come loose and I feel like I'm going to come again, but it's too soon and too much.
My upper arms give out on me and I end up with my chest pressed against the floor. There's going to be carpet burn on my chest and cheek as he pushes me across the room with the way he slam-fucks me. It feels good. I'm not thinking. I'm just spasming and panting and fucked and fucked and fucked.
When Billy comes, he falls down on top of me in a sweaty heap and my legs fail me, too. I crash the rest of the way to ground and it jars through my joints just enough to keep me from passing out.
We managed to drag ourselves to the couch. Billy fishes out a blunt from between the cushions and it's clear that's the closest thing to scene aftercare I'm going get. He lights it and hands it to me, dragging my feet into his lap. He curls his hand around my ankle like a shackle, and it anchors me.
I take a long deep hit and my head goes a little loopy as I hand it to him. I watch Billy's chest expand under his shirt before he exhales slowly at the ceiling fan. He passes it back and gives me a lopsided grin.
"You could be my fucking muse, you know that?"
I take another hit and his words come to me slower and then repeat, circling round and round in my head. I don't mind that I'm naked and he still has all his clothes on. In fact, I kinda like it this way.
~*~*~
Entry 43
Turtle asks me about the hickey. I don't lie but I don't tell him who gave it to me either. I say I had a wild night and leave it at that. I need a ride to my waxing and I don't want to have a fight.
~*~*~
Entry 44
Scott asks about the bruises on my back. I say I fell. He doesn't believe me. But he seems happy enough to watch me fuck his nineteen year-old boytoy on the deck by his pool. So I guess it's okay.
~*~*~
Entry 45
Billy comes over and we fuck in my bed. And then in my shower. And then we fuck again on my kitchen counter. (My foot ends up in a sandwich, I don't know how.) And once more on my couch.
He's not a good-looking guy. I've fucked many pretty people in my life and he's not one of them. But he's aggressive and passionate as hell and a natural Dom, which is actually kind of a relief. I don't have to explain that I want him to hold me down by the neck while he fucks me--he just does it. I don't have to ask.
Freddy's British and a gentleman, pretty much to a fault. He's so polite that I've been to orgies with him where we waited in line to have group sex. But Billy's an animal about it. He doesn't check if it's what I want. He doesn't say please or thank you-he just takes.
I don't have to fake the L.A. cool with Billy, either. Billy's New York. We rode the same subway trains in Manhattan and we both know about that hot dog stand on 7th. He grew up with money over in Scarsdale but he's still New York-loud and pushy and a little angry. Or a lot angry in Billy's case, whenever someone from the studio calls.
I don't mind though. Him yelling at someone else actually turns me on. I listen to his accent and try to remember what E's sounds like. I think it's kind of a mix of Johnny's and Billy's because I can't hear it in my head anymore. I used to be able to.
When he hangs up the phone, he grabs me around the waist and pushes me against the table. He puts on a condom that has just enough lube to not ruin me and then I stop trying to remember.
Billy makes me do stupid careless shit. He makes me not care that I've spent the whole day fucking when I have a client that night. He leaves fingernail marks and bites all over me. He kind of scares me when he talks about film and passion and angst and all that crap. And then I just want to fuck again.
I haven't told him what I do yet. I'm waiting for Johnny to finish filming. I don't think he's going to be happy and I don't want his reaction to fuck this up for Johnny; he needs it.
~*~*~
Entry 46
The client, Nicky, can't stay hard. He's only in his early thirties, so this shouldn't be a problem for him. He's been to the doctor and it's not physical, so who the fuck knows. Whatever's causing it, it's a source of huge insecurity for him and he blames me, himself, his ex, his childhood fuck buddy, his overbearing father, his too-affectionate high school math teacher, all the coke. But none of that changes the fact that he can't get hard and he's paid me to get him off.
"Roll over on your stomach."
"Why?"
I kiss his shoulder as an assurance. "I know what I'm doing. Just relax. I'll take care of you."
I put a condom over my right middle and index finger and lube it, making sure I've warmed it with my hands before I push into him. The poor guy just needs to come. I kiss his neck and fondle his balls with my left hand while I milk his prostate. It takes just under a half an hour for the come to dribble out of his dick, but he seems so much more relaxed that I'm kind of glad he booked me.
"Buy a vibrator," I suggest when I leave. I write a few brands down on the hotel stationary and hand it to Nicky before I walk out the door, leaving him in a relieved heap on the bed.
~*~*~
Entry 47
I'm out of peanut butter and I don't really want anything but a peanut butter sandwich. Johnny's filming another guest spot on Days, Turtle's at work, and I can't get through to my normal cab company.
This is L.A. There's gotta be someone who'll deliver PB and J right?
Edit: Found it. It'll be here in twenty minutes. God, I love this town.
~*~*~
Entry 48
I kneel at the client's feet and he tugs at the clamps on my nipples a little too sharply. I hiss and clench my teeth, but I don't look up from the floor. I don't have permission.
I don't do sub jobs often. Mrs. Ari doesn't like Ari to assign them to me. I fall into the role too easy. But this guy, Yair Marx, he's someone Ari doesn't want to lose as a client, and part of why she doesn't usually let me do it is because I'm the best.
But in this instance, work trumps worry, and I get the booking. Ari actually thanks me. That probably has something to do with the fact that I hear he's made of money and he's got a taste for prostitutes because his wife's a castrating bitch.
She also turns out to be an incredibly kinky castrating bitch. She sits in the corner of the room wearing one of Yair's shirts and nothing else, idly fingering herself as she watches me and her husband.
"Will you beg for me, my lovely? Will you cry?" He asks, tugging again. It's amazing how bad it hurts when he does that, how much it turns me on. I can barely think to answer.
I keep my eyes locked on the floor. I haven't been given permission to look up yet. "Whatever you want, sir."
"I want you hungry for my cock." He strokes my face with thick, gentle fingers. They drop down to stroke to top of my neck above the thick steel and leather control collar. There's a metal bar welded to the back that attaches to the shackles chaining my wrists behind me. It keeps me upright and completely rigid. "If you beg me pretty enough, my lovely, I'll let you have it. Go on." He tips my chin back with his hand. "Beg me for what you need."
I lick my lips, swallow hard, and the words pour out of me like liquid. "Please, sir, please fuck me, please use me, please. Please let me have your cock. I need it. I need you to use me. I need you to hurt me. Please, sir. Please. I need your cock, sir. Please, please let me have it."
His hand pulls again and again as I speak and it tugs on the chain, yanking on my nipples. My eyes water and my begging increases as, for that moment, I'm lost in the role. I really do want it, need it-to beg as much as to be used. "I promise I'll be good, sir, please. Please just let me have it. Please fuck me, sir, please. Please. I'm so fucking hungry for it. Please, God, please, sir."
"You should give the bitch what he asks for," the wife says. She crosses the room and stands behind her husband, running her hands over his chest, undoing the buttons of his shirt and tugging it off. Her hand disappears into his pants and he groans. "Fuck him, Yair," she murmurs as she takes his dick out. "Make the little bitch scream for me."
She steps back from him and walks around to me. She sneers down at me before bending down, pressing her breasts into my face. She whispers something in my ear in a language I can't understand, bites my lobe, and then Jesus fucking Christ, the nipple clamps are gone. I cry out at the pain as blood rushes back in.
She laughs, walking around behind me. With careful force, she puts her foot on my back. She gives a hard kick and I fall forward, my face hitting the carpet with a dazzling amount of pain.
My body and the floor make a triangle shape together. I've just got my shoulders relaxed enough to handle the new position when I feel Yair's fingers on my hips. His condom-covered dick presses against my asshole, but doesn't push in.
"Say please," he orders, running his hand along the bar on my back.
"Please, sir. Please fuck me." My mouth doesn't work right pressed into the rug like this, so it comes out slurred and sloppy. But they can both hear me and he pushes all the way in.
It's actually a relief. It feels good and it's enough sensation in one place that I can mostly drift off into subspace. I force myself not to go there, not to disappear into my own head, and listen to their accented voices talking to each other. It's clear from their tone who the real Dominant is here, and it's not Yair.
I'm a little surprised when she lies down in front of me on her back. It fades when she reaches down, picks my head up by the hair, spreads her legs, and yanks my face to her pussy, though.
"Make me come, little bitch." she commands.
"Yes, Mistress," I murmur before flicking my tongue towards her clit.
She doesn't let go of my hair as I eat her. It hurts like a motherfucker but I've got a tough scalp. She could find a more comfortable way to hold me but if she lets go, I'd fall into her crotch and not be able to get up.
The little gasps forced out of my lungs by Yair fucking me are muffled as they follow my tongue into her pussy. I'm having a hard time breathing with my nose and mouth pressed against her so I finish her as well and as fast as I can. She comes before Yair. I can feel it on my lips and around my tongue. When she's done, she lets my head drop back to the carpet and climbs to her feet.
I can't see anything but the thread of the rug anymore. But I can hear her. She's calling Yair names. Occasionally, I hear the sound of a hand slapping against flesh and Yair cursing in Arabic.
It feels like forever and a half before Yair finally comes. When he does, he slams his pelvis against my ass so hard I think it'll leave a mark and he shouts his orgasm.
He flops down on top of me for a few seconds before he pulls out. They leave me there, open, exposed, and hard on the floor for at least ten minutes while they go shower off. I'm about to call out for help-from Ari, from them, I'm not sure-when Yair pushes me back to an upright position and starts to undo my restraints.
The wife runs her fingernail down my jaw and over a lip once I've got my clothes back on. "We'll have to do this again sometime, Chase."
Yeah, not for a long fucking time, I think.
My back, shoulders, and neck are killing me. There are marks on my neck and wrists that I won't be able to hide. Ari's gonna have to give me some time to bounce back. And maybe an appointment with that personal masseuse I know he's got hidden somewhere.
But the tip is almost obscene.
~*~*~
Entry 49
My back is fucking killing me from last night, so I'm not getting out of bed today. There's a Steve McQueen marathon on SpikeTV, so that settles it. I'm just staying in bed. I hurt too much too get up anyway.
~*~*~
Entry 50
Johnny has finally got an agent again. Thank God for that. He's been unrepresented since before I got to L.A. He hid it and it was wearing on him.
The guy's name's Weinstein and everything Johnny's said about him makes him sound like a real asshole, but it's a start. Easier to find a job when you've got one, that's what my ma used to say.
He's talking about TV and I think that'd be good for him. Something steady. Johnny's got a bigger hard-on for the biz than anyone on earth and more than almost anything, I want my big bro to succeed. I don't think it'll fix everything for him. Johnny's a huge self-sabotager, but maybe I won't need to "loan" him money anymore and we won't have that between us. I don't mind, I can afford it. I just hate the look in his eyes when he has to borrow money from me.
Anyway, Weinstein reps the writer of the movie. I know Billy talked to him about Johnny. I love fucking Billy, but hope to Christ he didn't call Weinstein because of me.
~*~*~
Entry 51
Client's a woman in her early fifties. Her husband is a big wig at Warner Brothers who hasn't eaten box in almost fifteen years. She got sick of it fourteen years ago but they had three children, two under ten at the time, so she didn't feel like she could leave. Abandonment, she says, is permission to cheat. Or at least to buy a hooker.
She's had a few regulars with a few agencies over the years, but the one she had with Ari just retired. So she's shopping for a new one, trying out different escorts until she finds the right one to be her next regular.
"I deserve orgasms as much as the next person," she says to me even though I didn't ask her anything. "And since Alan won't give them to me, I think I deserve them from someone as handsome as you."
Then she steps out of her tailored pants suit and then lies down naked on the bed. She's not bad for her age. She's had a great surgeon. I can barely see the surgical scars.
I'm sure hers isn't the first rejuvenated vagina I've ever eaten. This L.A. But it's the first one I've ever known about before I went down. I don't know why she bothered. I can't tell the difference either way.
~*~*~
Entry 52
Turtle's found a guy, a rapper. Kelly's best friend's sister dated him or something. I don't know, I'm not really clear on the connection, but he's found this guy Saigon's demo in one of Rufus' cars and now he's trying to represent and bank roll him. He's gotten backing from like, six local businesses including Rufus' car and stereo shops, and he also managed to talk his dealer Black Hack into lending him like ten grand.
So when he actually books Saigon a gig, everyone Turtle knows is there with fucking bells on. It's in a dive in East L.A., but the place is packed. Turtle's running around talking to people, shaking hands, talking trash, and Kelly stands with me and Johnny, smiling.
I drape my arm over her shoulders and lean down so I can talk directly into her ear. "He's doing great, Kel."
She's tiny and her hair's pinned up in a complicated series of shiny black curls. She has to go up on her toes a little to answer back into my ear.
"I've never seen him work so hard at anything. He really wants this. I'm so proud of him. "
"It's pretty amazing."
"He's amazing. I'm gonna go over there." She gives me a one-armed hug around the waist before disappearing into the crowd.
I hope to God Turtle is smart about this and has the good sense to marry this woman. Yeah, her dad's kinda scary, but she loves him and not only thinks the world of him, she drives him to be better. Turtle deserves something like that in his life.
I watch them from across the club for a while before I head to the bar for a drink. Halfway through Saigon's second set, I strike up a conversation with a short girl whose got skin the color of milk chocolate, fantastic breasts, and a slightly crooked smile. The only thing I can think about while we talk is licking her all over. I smile and touch her hand at the end of the night she offers me a ride back to her place.
It's a two bedroom nearby. Despite that, her roommate is asleep on the couch when we walk in.
"She sleeps like the dead," she promises, leading me into the small kitchen. She opens the fridge and stares inside. "You want anything? Something to drink?"
"I want to taste you."
It's a fucking line, but it's also true. And I've got great delivery. She stares at me for a long moment, mouth slightly open, her hand on the refrigerator door. Then she moves forward and jumps me. Her legs wrap around my waist and her arms twine around my shoulders. Her mouth tastes like beer and I stumble forward into the open door.
It's fucking cold standing there, but she's tight and hot and it's something I've never done before. She braces her weight against the door a little too heavily when she comes, and I hear something break. We stumble as the door slams into the counter and I can hear her roommate waking up.
I don't fucking care by then though, I'm too close to orgasm and so is she. Her roommate starts screaming at her before we come. But she tells me to ignore it, ignore it, fuck me, ignore it until after we've both gotten off and are leaning against the broken refrigerator.
I get out before the fight between her and her roommate escalates to blows. But just barely.
~*~*~
Entry 53
Billy shows up at my apartment around four in the afternoon. The movie's got some location shoots that're going to take him to Vancouver, so it pretty much all ends here and I'm starting to think that maybe that's a good thing.
When we're not fucking, it's friendship with an edge of worship that freaks me out a little. I don't know what he thinks is going on, but it's more for him. It's an obsessive thing that has him showing up at weird hours in weird mental states.
He's brilliant. A serious creative fucking genius, and I envy him. I want to be able to make something meaningful like he does. But the longer this goes on, the more the eccentric side of his genius leaks out, and the more possessive he gets. The more he's around, the harder my job gets to hide and I know that, while Billy's a big fan of prostitution, he wouldn't want the guy he's fucking regularly to be one. All of it makes me pretty positive that it's time to stop, at least for a while.
I'm going to miss the sex, though. When we are fucking, I feel like at any minute, he'll rip me apart to get at my insides. It's kind of brutal, the way he talks to me, touches me. If Turtle knew the details, he'd probably say that what we've got going on is bordering on psychotic.
I can't seem to stop, though. I've only been with a couple of people in my life who make me come as hard or as long as Billy.
The D/s stuff that always happens in bed with him, it's not a game. There're no safe words. There's no gentleness. I don't call him Master, and he doesn't call me names. He doesn't want to discuss boundaries or rules or anything beforehand, and there's definitely no time for emotional rebound afterwards. It's not play. To be honest, that kind of scares me. But it's the only way Billy knows how to fuck.
And it's how he fucks me when he shows up. He drops the weed on my hall table and then manhandles me onto my couch. I burrow my face in one of the cushions as he fucks and fucks and fucks me. He has one knee on the couch and one foot on the floor and he snaps his hips forward and down, pushing his dick inside with a violence that knocks the breath out of my chest and has me tearing at the upholstery. His right hand reaches under me and jerks my dick, and I come on the sofa, leaving a mess that I'm going to have to get steam cleaned out.
I lie there for another five minutes while Billy finishes fucking me. Now that I've gotten off, he's rougher, careless and greedy, and it leaves me feeling dirty in a way that makes me wish I could get hard again. When he comes, it's with a loud groan and biting nails digging sharply into my neck. I think they might have broken the skin, but I can't tell from my face-down position.
I only move a little, so that I can see him, after he pulls out and trashes the condom. The weed's a present and we don't smoke it. But he does pull out a cigarette and offer one to me. I don't smoke or like people smoking inside, but I don't try to stop him. I just shake my head and watch him light up.
"You should come with me to Canada, Vinny. It's Bumfuck Nowhere, but it's supposed to be beautiful. Pristine Goddamn nature everywhere. You can keep me from getting so bored I kill myself."
"I can't. I've got work."
"Yeah, you're an assistant. To fucking who, Vinny? You never do anything."
"That's what makes it a good job." I reply with a grin as I reach down for my boxers.
"Look if you don't wanna go-"
I sit up and pull my boxers on, feeling a little more like myself now that I'm not naked anymore. The answer, of course, is no, I don't want to go. Things are finally turning around for my family and I want to be here to see it. Also, being alone with Billy in the frozen north? It's like the queer version of The Shining just waiting to happen. I'd give it two weeks and he'd be hacking down doors, trying to kill me with an axe.
"I don't."
Billy's whole face falls, then I can see him start to get angry. "What the fuck, Vinny? I thought-"
"Come on, Billy. Don't do this."
"Fuck you, Vince. I'm not doing anything."
"You're being fucking unreasonable and you're getting ash on my carpet. So that's two things."
"We've got something going here."
"Yeah," I sigh. "And I think we can put it on pause. Go have fun in Canada and New York or wherever. I'll have fun here."
Billy smokes the cigarette faster than usual and I can almost see the hamster running on a wheel in his brain. I don't know what he's thinking, but it makes me nervous.
"I'm gonna call you when I get back."
I shrug. "If you want."
"Christ, Vinny. Christ."
I kiss him. It's a sloppy kiss that's almost a battle. But I'm pretty sure it's the end. At least for now.
~*~*~
Entry 54
Kelly's playing her Justine Chapin album in Turtle's car when he picks up me and Johnny from Johnny's place to go for dinner with them. We tease him brutally for about ten miles until Kelly makes us stop because she likes this song and she's not driving, so she can come back there and smack us both. There's a little bit more laughing at Turtle's expense, but it somehow turns into a conversation about her alleged Pure Tour.
"She's not a virgin," Kelly declares.
"How do you know?" Johnny throws back, perpetuating the arguments brewing about her since the day Justine skanked into pop from the Christian rock scene.
"I can tell from the way she sings," Kelly says as we park the car. She slides herself under Turtle's arm as we walk across the parking lot to the restaurant. "Besides, girls can tell and that ho? She's no virgin. No virgin tattoos a snake above her pussy."
"What's the big deal anyway?" I ask. "So she hasn't fucked anyone yet. She will."
"Come on, Vin," Turtle chides me. "Your first time's a big deal."
"If you say so." I shrug. I had two. Well, I'll call it three. And they were all…what they were.
"It doesn't matter," Kelly argues. "Because she's not a virgin."
By the time we get seated, it's become a virginity tell all. The conversation's become about who did what to whom and when. I just sit and listen.
"Tracy Richter," Johnny declares. "What a mess. I always hoped I'd get to re-fuck her. Do it right. She married Lou de Carlo right outta high school, though."
"He'd break your face open if you tried." Turtle laughed.
Johnny puffed up a little. "I could take him."
"Yeah, with a loaded weapon," I added with a smile. "He kicked Dom's ass back when we were in high school, Johnny. You're better off with the mess."
"Reggie St. Fleur," Kelly sighs. She gets a distant look in her eyes and her lips curl in a half-smile.
Turtle gives her a gentle shove and then sulks back in his chair. "Hey!"
"Relax baby, it was high school. He was in the computer club and he had real delicate hands." She lifts her own hands as she talks and yeah, I have been there. I try not to grin too hard.
"I got good hands."
"You have great hands," Kelly agrees, picking up and kissing the back of one when our waiter comes by with our drinks. "What about yours?"
"Older woman," Turtle says and looks down at the table, anywhere but at his girlfriend.
"Older woman," I parrot. "Turtle, come on, Claudia wasn't that much older."
"She was a hooker in her thirties," Johnny laughs. "Didn't she decline your mom's credit card?"
"Shut up, Drama."
I say nothing, just let them fight about the hooker Turtle lost it to after a bidding war and he stole 40 bucks from his cousin. Drama accuses him of only paying thirty and I try not to think about how much my first experience with hooking was.
"What about you, Vince?"
I lift my hands. "I don't remember."
"Bullshit," Kelly harps from across the table. "Everybody remembers their first."
"Well, I don't."
"I remember, Vin. It was Cindy Davis, behind the arcade at Nathan's."
Mm. Cindy. I remember her. She was good. Early, too. I'd just turned fourteen. E was still around then. He even went steady with her friend Amy for a couple weeks.
"Yeah, you may be right."
"Yeah, you may be right," Kelly repeats, shaking her head. She points a carefully painted fingernail at me. "Bullshit, Vince. Bull. Shit. You remember your first and Justine Flat-Ass Chapin is no fucking virgin."
The food arrives then, cutting the conversation off, but I'm stuck there. It's like Kelly's finger never stops pointing at me and I can't get out of my own head.
Of course I remember my firsts. They weren't your average go-arounds and some of them sucked.
Okay two of them sucked. I did anyway, on my knees on the tile in the tunnel in the East Village. Drama doesn't believe you can get a hooker for under twenty bucks in New York anymore. I don't know if that still stands, what with inflation and all, but about twelve years ago, some guy paid me ten bucks for me to suck him off and then let him come on my face. It was hours before I could get to a sink to wash the stickiness off, so I slept with the residue on me, stretched out under the chairs in the subway. But at least I wasn't hungry.
E's cousin Sheryl was better, but nothing worth talking about. She was fifteen, I was thirteen, and it happened so fast that I didn't know what was going on until it was too late to really enjoy it. One minute we were in E's basement, waiting for him to come back from the store with his dad, and the next thing I knew we were kissing. And then she was on top of me. That lasted all of ten seconds before I came and she hopped off, unimpressed.
"Don't tell Eric about this," I said to her, feeling terrified and no more mature than I had two minutes ago.
"Don't sweat it, heartbreaker." She'd ruffled my hair like a puppy and straightened her skirt.
E came down a minute later and I felt nothing but guilty.
The only other first time worth mentioning was Jimmy, and I don't think Johnny or Turtle would like to hear it, so I wait until after we leave. Turtle's driving and Drama complains of getting carsick so I sit in the back of the SUV with Kelly.
"Jimmy Leary," I say to her softly.
"What?"
"My first, the one that counts."
"You don't get more than one, Vince."
"Then I'm gonna go with him."
"Yeah?"
I nod and glance into the front of the car. Johnny's got his forehead resting against the glass. Turtle's pretending not to tap his fingers in time to one of Justine's songs.
"Keep it to yourself, okay? It's not something the guys are going to want to hear."
"Yeah, it's between you and me." She smiles at me, enjoying the secret. "Was it good at least?"
Yes, it fucking was. The first time it ever was good with a man was with Jimmy, a theater queen I'd ignored when I was still in school. And when I came back to get my GED, there he was: taller, stronger, and broader than the fey guy he was when I left, and in his senior year of high school. We'd done some plays together before I dropped out. He recognized me when I was walking out of the building after signing up for night classes and followed me all the way to a diner around the corner.
"What've you been up to, gorgeous?" he'd asked me.
I had shrugged and mumbled something about keeping busy. He gave me the once over, studied the clothes I'd been wearing when I got off work (a tanktop and tight pants, which screamed, "Please fuck me. I'm a money hungry, cock sucking twink,"), and invited me back to his mother's. He never mentions what was keeping me busy, but it's clear that he knows.
It took less than a week of crashing on his floor for me to offer to fuck him. It took him another week to say yes. And when he did, it was good, good like it had never been with a guy. I count him because he was the first guy I ever kissed, even if he wasn't the first one to fuck my ass or my mouth. He was also the first guy I ever came with, and it was it was nice to know I could feel that. I moved off the floor and into bed with him, and that worked for the two months it took Turtle and me to find a place that we could afford while we saved up to follow Johnny out to L.A.
"Yeah, Kelly, he was a good guy."
She gives me a long look then nods. There's a lot I don't say to her, Turtle and Johnny. That doesn't stop them from knowing.
It's nice not to have to.
~*~*~
Entry 55
Client is in his thirties and married with kids. And he's so gay that it's a shock to me that he's not doing drag shows in WeHo. Seriously, he's gayer than Ari's assistant Lloyd, and fuck that is really, really gay. I honestly don't know how his wife hasn't picked up on it, but hell, maybe he fakes it at home. If he does, he deserves an Oscar.
He's not a complete stereotype, though, because he tops me pretty well. He's typical of clients in that it's all about what he wants, meeting his needs and his fantasies. And what the client wants is a man. He needs to fuck something with a dick, because that's who he really is behind the minivan, marriage, and suburban life. He smacks my ass and tells me what a great piece of ass I am. He thanks me for the good time that he's paid for, and then he goes back home to his wife.
Hey, that's what I'm here for.
~*~*~
Continue to Entry 56-58