Fic: Illicit Exploits of an LA Rentboy Entry 127-140/151 (Entourage, NC-17, Vince/E, Vince/Others)
Title: Illicit Exploits of an LA Rentboy
Entries: 127-140 of 151
Status: Complete
Fandom: Entourage
Word Count:~4,800
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 de 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 41-55
Entry 56-58
Entry 59-70
Entry 71-85
Entry 86-105
Entry 106-120
Entry 121-126
Entry 127
I call Ari afterwards and I ask him to rework the deal. I don't know if I can keep it up with E like this, but if I'm going to try, I need some things.
"What things? Chase, baby, You don't give orders to a client, they give them to you."
"Just ask him, all right? If he won't agree, I already fucked him, so you keep your deposit and all you're losing is January, which you don't even have yet."
"Fine. What do you want?"
"I want them to be overnight jobs." I can pretend we're something else if I stay the night. If I get to sleep with E, hold him and be held by him, then I can pretend that we're something neither of us can let us be. And I can have the boyfriend experience for myself.
Ari looks at me like I've grown a second head. "I can't ask for more money for that. He's already playing twice what you'd make if he were paying your regular fee."
"I know. But it has to be overnights, or I can't do it."
"All right. Anything else, your highness?"
"He's not allowed to pay me in cash. Not ever."
"What? You know it doesn't show up on your taxes if he pays the other twenty grand in cash. Why would you do that to yourself? The U.S. government doesn't deserve seven percent of the money you make on your back when those old, wrinkly, hypocritical, Conservative fuckwads are finger-fucking your pretty ass with one hand and writing legislation against what we do with the other."
"Ari, I'm not playing around here."
"Fine. I'll call the little leprechaun motherfucker and make sure he mails in his check, you diva primadonna cockmunch," Ari snaps. But he has Lloyd make a note anyway.
~*~*~
Entry 129
Ari comes back with a reneg. Overnights, upped to three times a week, for an even ninety. Ninety fucking thousand. The number makes my head spin. It's seventy five hundred a night. The fact that E would fork over that kind of money for me is just…it's literally mind-boggling. My mind is boggled.
But then, E runs Warner Bros. I guess he can afford me.
No, of course he can afford me. He can more than afford me. He can afford to overpay by half.
It makes me feel cheap like I haven't since I was giving ten dollar blowjobs and tricking out my ass for twenty bucks a fuck in the Village.
But there are deep bruises on my hip that make me shiver every time my skin rubs them wrong that tell the obvious-that I can't stay away from him.
~*~*~
Entry 130
"When did you start?" E asks me. It's different this time, the question. It's not angry and it's not blaming-it's just curious. Like he's trying to understand. And wrapped up in thousand thread count cotton sheets in our room in the Peninsula, there's something almost sweet about the question.
"I was nineteen. I went home with this hot guy in his late thirties where we had unbelievable, toe-curling, consensual sex and just…he paid me when I left. Turtle and I were sleeping on Johnny's floor and living on Top Ramen. So I took it. And a couple months later, instead of a hundred dollars a fuck, I was charging five hundred to a thousand for just a blowjob and…well, suddenly I had a life that didn't involve Ramen."
"What about acting? You were going to be a star, Vince."
"It wasn't happening. It wasn't going to happen. And we were starving while we waited. So, I took care of it. And I was good, E. I'm the best."
"And that was the first time?"
"No. But that's when I started making real money."
"Vince-"
I sigh and roll over closer to him, planting my chin on his shoulder. "You don't want to talk about New York. New York is the past and the past sucks. The present is you and me and an economy-sized box of condoms and jumbo bottle of lube, and twelve hours until checkout. "
He strokes my hair off my forehead and shakes his head. "I do want to talk about it."
"E…"
"Please, Vince. Talk to me." The shitty thing about him buying my time-besides the fact that well, you know he's paying for it, period-is that the professional in me will kick in every now and then, and I won't be able to say no. What the client wants, the client gets. After all, the customer is always right.
"I was sixteen. It wasn't good, but it was better than staying in Queens and letting the old man break my face open. It was what it was E. Leave it be."
"Vince, I'm sorry."
"Yeah, and that's the problem. I don't want you to be sorry, E. It's not your fault. I knew what I was doing."
He pushes a few curls back and shakes his head. "Why don't I believe you?"
"I…E, it's ugly okay? It's not something I'm happy about, but I'm not ashamed, and I'm not going to let you…let you…I don't know, judge and pity me."
"I don't."
"You do. You're thinking about the time Pop pushed me down the stairs and broke my arm. Or the time he cracked my head on the bureau and I ended up in a coma for two days. You're wondering how much worse it got if I'd let some creeper fuck me in an alley for a twenty. And you're pitying me."
"Jesus," he whispers. And I can see in his eyes that I'm right.
"I got tired of being afraid, it's that simple. I figured if I was going to get killed, I wasn't going to let it happen because of that hateful old fuck, and I left. And I don't regret a single second. And if I had to choose right now between going back to tricking in the Village or his house with him like he was when I was sixteen, it's no fucking question."
"Vince, if I had known," he mumbles. Then he wraps one of his arms around my waist and gives me a tight hug.
I sigh and roll away from him. "You couldn't have done anything about it, anyway. I told you. I told you that you didn't want to know. The past is bullshit E. Why do you want to dig it up?"
"Because it helps me understand."
"What's to understand? I am what I am. I can't change and I'm not going to, so you don't need to psychoanalyze me when could be doing something fun like blowing each other or using that ridonkulous tub."
"I'm just trying to get why you can't stop."
"And do you?"
He shrugs. "A little more, yeah. I mean, you clawed your way out to take care of yourself. I can see how you wouldn't be able to lose that. I think that you should see that quitting this isn't the same as going back to your dad's, but I can see the connect." He squeezes me again.
I push myself up on my elbow and stare at him. I really didn't expect him to get it. It kind of blows the top of my head off that he hit the nail right on the head. "Yeah. Jesus, E, you sure moviemaking's the job for you? You'd make a good shrink."
"I can see it, not fix it. And moviemaking's not my job. Corporate management is. John’s been grooming me to be his replacement when he retires since the day we met. The studio head position at Warner Brothers is just a test to prove to him I can run a company on my own. I've got to pass it before I can move forward in the company. "
"Studio head's just a step? Jesus, E. That's…that's insane."
"No crazier than what you do, and really not the point here. I just…Vince, I wish that you didn't feel this way. I want you could see that what I want with you isn't like that."
‘"E, isn't this good?" I ask, dropping down so that my body is pressed against his. "It's not perfect, but right now, here with me, doesn't it feel good? Why do you want to drag this moment through shit?"
He buries his hand in my hair and rubs his fingers in little circular motions on my scalp. It makes me want to start purring. "It's good."
"Then let it be. Please."
"I just keep thinking that you could've come and stayed with me when things were bad. Maybe if Ma hadn't moved, I could've taken care of you and we wouldn't be in this mess."
"I don't play the what-if game, E. You shouldn't, either. It's just asking for trouble."
"I know, but-"
I kiss him and roll on top of him, grinding against him. It's the only thing I can think to do to stop him, and it has to stop. It has to. Because we've broken each other's hearts enough for one night. We don't need to go breaking things more.
~*~*~
Entry 131
Christmas time in LA is weird, mostly because it doesn't actually get cold. Yeah, you need a jacket when you leave the house, but compared to New York? It's balmy spring weather.
It throws off the rhythm, makes the sound of Christmas carols-and occasionally the Adam Sandler "Hannukah Song" -in stores and on the radio feel out of place and wrong. Granted, the fact that it starts before November ends would throw me off no matter where I was, but the California weather makes it worse.
On the other hand? It puts a spring in Johnny's step. Johnny Drama's a Christmas guy, though. Always has been, even when I was little. Out of everyone in the family, he was the guy who always had presents for everybody, no matter how strapped for cash he was or which of my brothers he was fighting with that week. He was the one who made sure we always pulled the plastic tree out of storage and decorated it with the care of Michelangelo painting the freaking Sistine Chapel.
When we were kids, he was kind of sneaky about it. He'd plan six months in advance, saving and scheming so we all got what he wanted, because I think he likes being the hero. When she was ten, he got our little sister Theresa this necklace she spent the whole year swooning over that must've cost him at least a month's salary. Last time she emailed me a picture of her and her kids, she was still wearing it.
Terri's still in New York, but she married up-a doctor-and lives in Brooklyn. After they got married, he paid for her to go back to school, and she's the only one of us to've finished college. How proud everyone is of her is one of the only things I can actually talk to Ma about civilly. I don't give a flying fuck so long as she's happy, and she seems like she is.
Aside from Johnny, she's the only one in my family I can talk to without feeling the need to get blind drunk during or after, and only then, around the holidays. She sends me Christmas cards and holiday cartoons from websites her kids find and forward to her.
I don't always answer. Terri was the only one left at home when shit got bad. She was eighteen months younger than me, and she talked Dad into taking her to the movies so I could get a little of my shit out of the house, then kissed me goodbye on her way out the door. We didn't really talk to each other again for almost ten years.
It's hard to think of what to say to her, knowing how we left it. And I didn't go to her wedding. Johnny took my present to her for me. The old man was still alive and I just couldn't.
She keeps asking me to come visit. I tell her that she should just come out to L.A.-winter's warmer here, like I said. When the kids are a little older, she says, and I don't blame her. She's got a two-year old, a five-year old, and a seven-year old. L.A.'s not really fun until you get old enough to like movies.
I buy her kids some stuffed fish from the Disney Store in Beverly Hills out of that Nemo movie and I give them to Johnny to send. Christmas is his thing. And it's only two days into December and he's already pestering me about Christmas Eve.
~*~*~
Entry 132
RJ wants me to be Hulk this time. The green edible body paint goes on easy, but it makes my chest ache because it makes me think of Halloween and E, and how our appointment tomorrow is nothing like how it used to be.
He pays me in cash, but he also tends to give me comics based on whom I'm playing that day. I don't always read the more obscure stuff, but I kind of feel for the Hulk. He's this big green monster and he's this regular smart guy, and they're both part of him, but everyone hates him for it. It sucks, and it's not fair. I tell RJ so and he grins at me and adjusts his glasses.
"You're well on your way, Chase. I'll make a fan of you yet."
I'm not sure about that, but he kisses me and I don't have a chance to argue.
~*~*~
Entry 133
"I'm going to Boston for Christmas."
"Yeah?"
E nods. My head rests on his chest. "Grandma Gallagher, she's kind of big on Christmas and I haven't seen my ma since last year so, I figure, I owe her a trip."
"That's nice. It's good you're close with your mom, E."
I mean it. I miss Ma sometimes. A lot, actually. But the one time I tried…I don't need to be around people who look at me the way she does.
"Hey do you…" he starts, and stops. He was going to invite me to come with him. I can feel it in the way his chest hitches under my head.
It's so easy to forget what this is. That's kind of the whole point, to be able to forget how broken we are. But going home with him? It crosses a line we can't even look at right now.
"Johnny's crazy about Christmas. He drags everyone to his condo and makes a big thing of it. He'd gut me if I missed it."
"He always was kind of a Christmas nut. Didn't he steal decorations out of Macy's one year?"
"Yeah. I still don't know how he got 'em out the door."
E laughs and rubs the back of my neck. "He robbing Barney's this year?"
"I don't thinks so. Now that he's working, he's probably going to go through more legitimate means."
"Well, you should take pictures. Let me know if he does something like get live reindeer in the apartment."
"Any livestock, and I promise I'll let you know." I press my lips to his tattoo and a few seconds later, he's tugging me up by the hair. I'll never get tired of kissing him. Never.
~*~*~
Entry 134
I get another booking with Billy, and this time, I just fucking take it. I make sure that Ari is clear that this is an escort client and not a full-service fuck, and then I just fucking sigh and agree. I've been avoiding him and his continued stalking for almost a month and enough is e-fucking-nough. At least this way, I make a profit off of dealing with him.
"Vince," he says, reaching out for me when I walk in the door, and I smack it away.
"You paid for my time, Billy. You've got," I check my watch. Cartier. A gift from a grateful client a couple years back. "Fifty-eight minutes."
"You know what I wanna do with it."
"Yeah, you know, I really don't care what you want anymore, Billy."
"Vince," he gives me big sad eyes and for a split second, I see the guy I used to fuck. The tortured artist with the sharp teeth and the hot hands. It's as sexy as it used to be, but it's empty.
"What?"
"I know you're angry still. But we can be good together. I'd be good for you. I could make you happy."
That floors me. It takes me a minute to recover and when I do, I'm fucking angry as hell.
"You fucked my happiness, Billy. I was happy with E. I was happy like I've never been in my miserable life, and you wrecked it. I was loved, Goddamn it."
Billy tilts his head like a confused kid. His eyes get big and everything. And then he speaks, real gentle, like I'm the kid. "Vinny, if he don't love you like you are, then it ain't real."
I hit him. I haven't punched anyone since I stopped tricking in the Village. It hurts in my knuckles and all the way up my shoulder but fuck it, it feels good, too.
The pain spikes my nerves and makes me hot everywhere and Goddamn it, I'm hard. I've never been that kind of guy, but there you go. Learn something new every fucking day, don't you?
"Go fuck yourself," I curse, shaking my hand out and trying to get that quick, rising arousal to go the fuck away.
Billy grins at me with bleeding lips. "I want ya anyway, Vinny." He licks the blood off with the agile tongue I've had inside me. I swallow hard and he smiles with all his teeth, tinted red and carnivorous.
"I don't care what you want."
"Yeah, you do. You care, or you wouldn't be here. You'd have passed me off to that shit-fuck kid again. Hooking and punching, I still want you."
He reaches out and touches my face. I flinch because Jesus, it turns me on and makes me feel like hitting him again at the same time. He runs his thumb over my lower lip and almost against my will, my lips part just the slightest bit.
"Just like fucking this, I'll always want you, Vinny. It's why I'll always be better than that fucking suit."
"He's not a suit, you son of a bitch," I hiss, and then I grab him by the back of the neck and pull his face to mine. It's not a kiss. There's too much violence and teeth for it to be a kiss. It's a clash of lips and tongue and the taste of blood.
I push him to the floor and for a moment there, it's old times. Too fucking desperate to go the extra foot to the bed. But everything's flipped, and I'm on top of Billy for once. He's got a condom in his pockets, of course he does, and I fuck him hard with nothing but spit and the lube on the condom to ease things because I'm angry and I hate him, and I fucking want him.
"Vinny, Vinny, Vinny," he pants over and over again.
"That's not my fucking name," I growl, slamming into him hard enough that my back is starting to hurt. "You don't call me that. I'm Chase. Fucking call me that here."
He comes on a loud curse and I follow seconds later. It's just like everything else with Billy, harsh and sudden. I feel tired, sick, and sore when I'm done.
"Hour's up," I say, climbing to my feet and pulling my clothes back on.
"Vince…" He reaches for me as I go and I step away from him.
"We're done, Billy."
"No we ain't. Vince-"
"Yes, Billy, we are. You said your piece, you got your farewell fuck, and now it's over. Don't contact me again, you understand me? Stay the fuck away from me or I'll make you wish to Christ you had."
It's not an empty threat and I think Billy knows it. E isn't the only one in town with pull. I've fucked my way through the industry, privately and professionally, and my silence and skills have gotten me a lot of unused favors over the years.
He looks at me, wild eyes burning. Then he nods. "It wasn't supposed to go this way."
"Story of my life."
He laughs at that, like it's funny or something. "Everybody's story. If you're sure, you take care of yourself, Vince."
It cracks something in me. I'm not sure what. But I manage to give him a nod.
"You too, Billy." I mean it when I say it. It makes walking out the door that much easier.
~*~*~
Entry 135
Steve comments on the bruises on my hips. I tell him that I was cleaning my apartment and walked into some open cabinet doors.
He "hmms" and asks me if I need help. I want to laugh because yeah, I need help. Just not the kind Steve Parles could give me.
"Let me know if you need anything, Chase. Anything at all."
I nod and go back to sucking his cock.
~*~*~
Entry 136
"Do you want to do gifts?" I ask.
E and I are sitting, facing each other, in the Jacuzzi-sized bathtub in bathroom of the suite we always rent.
"Like for Christmas?"
I flick some bubbles at him. The bubbles were his idea. They smell like flowers. He's such a fucking chick about some shit. Granted, we're both a little stoned (Turtle hooked me up with some really primo shit this afternoon), but still…
"Yeah. It's Jesus' birthday and since he's not here to get a present…"
"Like actual gifts or creative sex?" he asks with a small smile.
"We're already pretty creative."
"Nothing over 100 dollars," E says. He's all about limits. We both are. Limits and rules make this, whatever the hell this is, is work.
"Okay. My salary can't really afford much more anyway," I say with a cheeky grin.
E's face falls like a lead balloon. "Okay."
I slide my foot up his leg and he comes back to me. He catches my ankle and pulls me forward, splashing water onto the floor.
Later, when we get out of the tub, E fucks me spooned up behind me. His arm wraps around me and his fingers tangle with mine on my chest. His breathing is hitched and not like good, desperate, sex panting.
It's something else, deep inhalations through his nose, his face buried in my shoulder. Wet. And not from the shower.
"E," I murmur, reaching back with my free hand.
He chokes out my name, and fuck. Fuck. I am too high for all these feelings. I can't process them right because I should not be crying. I shouldn't be, and neither should he.
This is all fucked up, and I am not this person. I spent ten years getting away from this person to the point where I don't even know who he is. But he's not me.
"Love you, E," I gasp when I come and it occurs to me, through the haze of endorphins and TCH, that it's the first time I've said it to him this way. On purpose. With intent and honesty and shit behind it. And I can't deal with that on top of the tears, on my face and on my shoulders and back.
He comes less than second behind me, squeezing my hand so hard it hurts, his forehead pressed tight against the back of my neck. Then he pulls out and rolls out of bed. I hear the bathroom door shut with a soft bang followed by the click of the lock.
I wipe my face and get dressed. I fix my hair in the mirror and stare at my reflection. I look tired, thinner. I don't recognize myself and it's getting harder to pretend.
I wait for him to come out for an hour, and then I leave. I don't sleep that night.
~*~*~
Entry 137
I go out and I pick up a girl. She's the professional type, long black hair and thick lips under a suit skirt and blouse that she clearly wore from the office straight to Prey.
She says her name's Amanda and I lie about my name. I don't want to be me right now. Any version of me.
She sips a martini and regards me critically. Then says, "You're very attractive. Want to have sex?"
Direct, to the point, and honest. I know fags all over West Hollywood who would be jealous of her style. I nod and she takes me by the hand to one of the couches in the VIP section.
She has a condom. Of course she does. A woman like Amanda who will ask flat out for a fuck would never go anywhere without her own protection. She unzips my fly, covers me, and lowers herself onto my cock, pulling her thong to the side.
It's been a while since I fucked a girl. It's still good, still hot. Amanda is good. Very good. And she takes me home with her, which is a relief because I haven't been feeling like going back to my apartment lately.
"I'm only going to fuck you one time," she says, throwing her car into drive.
"Works for me. But didn't we already have one time?"
"That one time doesn't end until you go home."
I slide my hand up her thigh and dip my fingers inside. She's still wet and she gasps a little as my knuckles brush her clit. Her fingers tighten on the steering wheel. "Like I said, works for me."
~*~*~
Entry 138
Amanda is beautiful. She really is. And in another life, maybe I could've found something more with her. But as it is, I find more than I deserve when she gives me a really solid piece of advice.
We're in her house, which is fucking ridiculous. We're in the shower-an obnoxiously luxurious number with four showerheads-and I ask her how she got all this since she's no more than five years older than me. Ten, tops.
She's an agent. A great one, apparently, if the fact that her bathroom is bigger than my bedroom is any indication. But the key, she says is, "Do what you need to do for yourself. Everything else has to follow that, because if you can't take care of yourself, you can't really do anything."
Like I said. Good advice.
~*~*~
Entry 139
from: kellys_sneaks@yahoo.com
to: boyfromqueens@gmail.com
date: Dec 12, 2009 at 7:57 PM
subject: Merry Christmas
Vince,
Baby brother finally loaded his pictures from his digital camera onto the family computer. I thought you might want these. They came out really good, don't you think?
Love you.
Kelly
In the attachment is the answer. All it needs is a frame, and that shouldn't cost more than ten, fifteen bucks. I save the file to a flash drive and head to the local photo place.
Sometimes-not often, but sometimes-things are easy.
~*~*~
Entry 140
Scott throws a holiday party for his friends. It's me and a bunch of other guys from Gold Standard-young guys, guys who weren't here last year. They're all over eighteen, but less than a handful are over twenty-five.
For the crowd he's having over, the "waiters" he's hired are perfect. And that we're all in these little red and white Santa-esque G-strings really just sets the tone. But it's a balmy seventy-three out so it's not too bad, and for the first time, I'm grateful for L.A. winters. This same party in New York would be hell.
"Be good," Scott tells all of us. "Be friendly." Later, but before the guests arrive, he pulls me aside. He runs his fingers over my bare shoulders. "Not all my friends share my…specific tastes. And besides, I've talked you up to a few people."
He introduces me to those "few people" over the course of the night. An up-and-coming agent with a short, fat dick who I suck off behind the bar. A record exec who fucks me in the bathroom, bent over the sink. A studio mogul who probably works with E, who I jerk off until he comes thick and sticky on my face out in Scott's back yard.
I snag a Santa hat from one of the party goers early on and I keep the tips they palm me tucked inside. It covers my utilities for December and leaves me with enough to buy a new computer.
~*~*~
Continue to Entry 141-151
Entries: 127-140 of 151
Status: Complete
Fandom: Entourage
Word Count:~4,800
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 de 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 41-55
Entry 56-58
Entry 59-70
Entry 71-85
Entry 86-105
Entry 106-120
Entry 121-126
Entry 127
I call Ari afterwards and I ask him to rework the deal. I don't know if I can keep it up with E like this, but if I'm going to try, I need some things.
"What things? Chase, baby, You don't give orders to a client, they give them to you."
"Just ask him, all right? If he won't agree, I already fucked him, so you keep your deposit and all you're losing is January, which you don't even have yet."
"Fine. What do you want?"
"I want them to be overnight jobs." I can pretend we're something else if I stay the night. If I get to sleep with E, hold him and be held by him, then I can pretend that we're something neither of us can let us be. And I can have the boyfriend experience for myself.
Ari looks at me like I've grown a second head. "I can't ask for more money for that. He's already playing twice what you'd make if he were paying your regular fee."
"I know. But it has to be overnights, or I can't do it."
"All right. Anything else, your highness?"
"He's not allowed to pay me in cash. Not ever."
"What? You know it doesn't show up on your taxes if he pays the other twenty grand in cash. Why would you do that to yourself? The U.S. government doesn't deserve seven percent of the money you make on your back when those old, wrinkly, hypocritical, Conservative fuckwads are finger-fucking your pretty ass with one hand and writing legislation against what we do with the other."
"Ari, I'm not playing around here."
"Fine. I'll call the little leprechaun motherfucker and make sure he mails in his check, you diva primadonna cockmunch," Ari snaps. But he has Lloyd make a note anyway.
~*~*~
Entry 129
Ari comes back with a reneg. Overnights, upped to three times a week, for an even ninety. Ninety fucking thousand. The number makes my head spin. It's seventy five hundred a night. The fact that E would fork over that kind of money for me is just…it's literally mind-boggling. My mind is boggled.
But then, E runs Warner Bros. I guess he can afford me.
No, of course he can afford me. He can more than afford me. He can afford to overpay by half.
It makes me feel cheap like I haven't since I was giving ten dollar blowjobs and tricking out my ass for twenty bucks a fuck in the Village.
But there are deep bruises on my hip that make me shiver every time my skin rubs them wrong that tell the obvious-that I can't stay away from him.
~*~*~
Entry 130
"When did you start?" E asks me. It's different this time, the question. It's not angry and it's not blaming-it's just curious. Like he's trying to understand. And wrapped up in thousand thread count cotton sheets in our room in the Peninsula, there's something almost sweet about the question.
"I was nineteen. I went home with this hot guy in his late thirties where we had unbelievable, toe-curling, consensual sex and just…he paid me when I left. Turtle and I were sleeping on Johnny's floor and living on Top Ramen. So I took it. And a couple months later, instead of a hundred dollars a fuck, I was charging five hundred to a thousand for just a blowjob and…well, suddenly I had a life that didn't involve Ramen."
"What about acting? You were going to be a star, Vince."
"It wasn't happening. It wasn't going to happen. And we were starving while we waited. So, I took care of it. And I was good, E. I'm the best."
"And that was the first time?"
"No. But that's when I started making real money."
"Vince-"
I sigh and roll over closer to him, planting my chin on his shoulder. "You don't want to talk about New York. New York is the past and the past sucks. The present is you and me and an economy-sized box of condoms and jumbo bottle of lube, and twelve hours until checkout. "
He strokes my hair off my forehead and shakes his head. "I do want to talk about it."
"E…"
"Please, Vince. Talk to me." The shitty thing about him buying my time-besides the fact that well, you know he's paying for it, period-is that the professional in me will kick in every now and then, and I won't be able to say no. What the client wants, the client gets. After all, the customer is always right.
"I was sixteen. It wasn't good, but it was better than staying in Queens and letting the old man break my face open. It was what it was E. Leave it be."
"Vince, I'm sorry."
"Yeah, and that's the problem. I don't want you to be sorry, E. It's not your fault. I knew what I was doing."
He pushes a few curls back and shakes his head. "Why don't I believe you?"
"I…E, it's ugly okay? It's not something I'm happy about, but I'm not ashamed, and I'm not going to let you…let you…I don't know, judge and pity me."
"I don't."
"You do. You're thinking about the time Pop pushed me down the stairs and broke my arm. Or the time he cracked my head on the bureau and I ended up in a coma for two days. You're wondering how much worse it got if I'd let some creeper fuck me in an alley for a twenty. And you're pitying me."
"Jesus," he whispers. And I can see in his eyes that I'm right.
"I got tired of being afraid, it's that simple. I figured if I was going to get killed, I wasn't going to let it happen because of that hateful old fuck, and I left. And I don't regret a single second. And if I had to choose right now between going back to tricking in the Village or his house with him like he was when I was sixteen, it's no fucking question."
"Vince, if I had known," he mumbles. Then he wraps one of his arms around my waist and gives me a tight hug.
I sigh and roll away from him. "You couldn't have done anything about it, anyway. I told you. I told you that you didn't want to know. The past is bullshit E. Why do you want to dig it up?"
"Because it helps me understand."
"What's to understand? I am what I am. I can't change and I'm not going to, so you don't need to psychoanalyze me when could be doing something fun like blowing each other or using that ridonkulous tub."
"I'm just trying to get why you can't stop."
"And do you?"
He shrugs. "A little more, yeah. I mean, you clawed your way out to take care of yourself. I can see how you wouldn't be able to lose that. I think that you should see that quitting this isn't the same as going back to your dad's, but I can see the connect." He squeezes me again.
I push myself up on my elbow and stare at him. I really didn't expect him to get it. It kind of blows the top of my head off that he hit the nail right on the head. "Yeah. Jesus, E, you sure moviemaking's the job for you? You'd make a good shrink."
"I can see it, not fix it. And moviemaking's not my job. Corporate management is. John’s been grooming me to be his replacement when he retires since the day we met. The studio head position at Warner Brothers is just a test to prove to him I can run a company on my own. I've got to pass it before I can move forward in the company. "
"Studio head's just a step? Jesus, E. That's…that's insane."
"No crazier than what you do, and really not the point here. I just…Vince, I wish that you didn't feel this way. I want you could see that what I want with you isn't like that."
‘"E, isn't this good?" I ask, dropping down so that my body is pressed against his. "It's not perfect, but right now, here with me, doesn't it feel good? Why do you want to drag this moment through shit?"
He buries his hand in my hair and rubs his fingers in little circular motions on my scalp. It makes me want to start purring. "It's good."
"Then let it be. Please."
"I just keep thinking that you could've come and stayed with me when things were bad. Maybe if Ma hadn't moved, I could've taken care of you and we wouldn't be in this mess."
"I don't play the what-if game, E. You shouldn't, either. It's just asking for trouble."
"I know, but-"
I kiss him and roll on top of him, grinding against him. It's the only thing I can think to do to stop him, and it has to stop. It has to. Because we've broken each other's hearts enough for one night. We don't need to go breaking things more.
~*~*~
Entry 131
Christmas time in LA is weird, mostly because it doesn't actually get cold. Yeah, you need a jacket when you leave the house, but compared to New York? It's balmy spring weather.
It throws off the rhythm, makes the sound of Christmas carols-and occasionally the Adam Sandler "Hannukah Song" -in stores and on the radio feel out of place and wrong. Granted, the fact that it starts before November ends would throw me off no matter where I was, but the California weather makes it worse.
On the other hand? It puts a spring in Johnny's step. Johnny Drama's a Christmas guy, though. Always has been, even when I was little. Out of everyone in the family, he was the guy who always had presents for everybody, no matter how strapped for cash he was or which of my brothers he was fighting with that week. He was the one who made sure we always pulled the plastic tree out of storage and decorated it with the care of Michelangelo painting the freaking Sistine Chapel.
When we were kids, he was kind of sneaky about it. He'd plan six months in advance, saving and scheming so we all got what he wanted, because I think he likes being the hero. When she was ten, he got our little sister Theresa this necklace she spent the whole year swooning over that must've cost him at least a month's salary. Last time she emailed me a picture of her and her kids, she was still wearing it.
Terri's still in New York, but she married up-a doctor-and lives in Brooklyn. After they got married, he paid for her to go back to school, and she's the only one of us to've finished college. How proud everyone is of her is one of the only things I can actually talk to Ma about civilly. I don't give a flying fuck so long as she's happy, and she seems like she is.
Aside from Johnny, she's the only one in my family I can talk to without feeling the need to get blind drunk during or after, and only then, around the holidays. She sends me Christmas cards and holiday cartoons from websites her kids find and forward to her.
I don't always answer. Terri was the only one left at home when shit got bad. She was eighteen months younger than me, and she talked Dad into taking her to the movies so I could get a little of my shit out of the house, then kissed me goodbye on her way out the door. We didn't really talk to each other again for almost ten years.
It's hard to think of what to say to her, knowing how we left it. And I didn't go to her wedding. Johnny took my present to her for me. The old man was still alive and I just couldn't.
She keeps asking me to come visit. I tell her that she should just come out to L.A.-winter's warmer here, like I said. When the kids are a little older, she says, and I don't blame her. She's got a two-year old, a five-year old, and a seven-year old. L.A.'s not really fun until you get old enough to like movies.
I buy her kids some stuffed fish from the Disney Store in Beverly Hills out of that Nemo movie and I give them to Johnny to send. Christmas is his thing. And it's only two days into December and he's already pestering me about Christmas Eve.
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Entry 132
RJ wants me to be Hulk this time. The green edible body paint goes on easy, but it makes my chest ache because it makes me think of Halloween and E, and how our appointment tomorrow is nothing like how it used to be.
He pays me in cash, but he also tends to give me comics based on whom I'm playing that day. I don't always read the more obscure stuff, but I kind of feel for the Hulk. He's this big green monster and he's this regular smart guy, and they're both part of him, but everyone hates him for it. It sucks, and it's not fair. I tell RJ so and he grins at me and adjusts his glasses.
"You're well on your way, Chase. I'll make a fan of you yet."
I'm not sure about that, but he kisses me and I don't have a chance to argue.
~*~*~
Entry 133
"I'm going to Boston for Christmas."
"Yeah?"
E nods. My head rests on his chest. "Grandma Gallagher, she's kind of big on Christmas and I haven't seen my ma since last year so, I figure, I owe her a trip."
"That's nice. It's good you're close with your mom, E."
I mean it. I miss Ma sometimes. A lot, actually. But the one time I tried…I don't need to be around people who look at me the way she does.
"Hey do you…" he starts, and stops. He was going to invite me to come with him. I can feel it in the way his chest hitches under my head.
It's so easy to forget what this is. That's kind of the whole point, to be able to forget how broken we are. But going home with him? It crosses a line we can't even look at right now.
"Johnny's crazy about Christmas. He drags everyone to his condo and makes a big thing of it. He'd gut me if I missed it."
"He always was kind of a Christmas nut. Didn't he steal decorations out of Macy's one year?"
"Yeah. I still don't know how he got 'em out the door."
E laughs and rubs the back of my neck. "He robbing Barney's this year?"
"I don't thinks so. Now that he's working, he's probably going to go through more legitimate means."
"Well, you should take pictures. Let me know if he does something like get live reindeer in the apartment."
"Any livestock, and I promise I'll let you know." I press my lips to his tattoo and a few seconds later, he's tugging me up by the hair. I'll never get tired of kissing him. Never.
~*~*~
Entry 134
I get another booking with Billy, and this time, I just fucking take it. I make sure that Ari is clear that this is an escort client and not a full-service fuck, and then I just fucking sigh and agree. I've been avoiding him and his continued stalking for almost a month and enough is e-fucking-nough. At least this way, I make a profit off of dealing with him.
"Vince," he says, reaching out for me when I walk in the door, and I smack it away.
"You paid for my time, Billy. You've got," I check my watch. Cartier. A gift from a grateful client a couple years back. "Fifty-eight minutes."
"You know what I wanna do with it."
"Yeah, you know, I really don't care what you want anymore, Billy."
"Vince," he gives me big sad eyes and for a split second, I see the guy I used to fuck. The tortured artist with the sharp teeth and the hot hands. It's as sexy as it used to be, but it's empty.
"What?"
"I know you're angry still. But we can be good together. I'd be good for you. I could make you happy."
That floors me. It takes me a minute to recover and when I do, I'm fucking angry as hell.
"You fucked my happiness, Billy. I was happy with E. I was happy like I've never been in my miserable life, and you wrecked it. I was loved, Goddamn it."
Billy tilts his head like a confused kid. His eyes get big and everything. And then he speaks, real gentle, like I'm the kid. "Vinny, if he don't love you like you are, then it ain't real."
I hit him. I haven't punched anyone since I stopped tricking in the Village. It hurts in my knuckles and all the way up my shoulder but fuck it, it feels good, too.
The pain spikes my nerves and makes me hot everywhere and Goddamn it, I'm hard. I've never been that kind of guy, but there you go. Learn something new every fucking day, don't you?
"Go fuck yourself," I curse, shaking my hand out and trying to get that quick, rising arousal to go the fuck away.
Billy grins at me with bleeding lips. "I want ya anyway, Vinny." He licks the blood off with the agile tongue I've had inside me. I swallow hard and he smiles with all his teeth, tinted red and carnivorous.
"I don't care what you want."
"Yeah, you do. You care, or you wouldn't be here. You'd have passed me off to that shit-fuck kid again. Hooking and punching, I still want you."
He reaches out and touches my face. I flinch because Jesus, it turns me on and makes me feel like hitting him again at the same time. He runs his thumb over my lower lip and almost against my will, my lips part just the slightest bit.
"Just like fucking this, I'll always want you, Vinny. It's why I'll always be better than that fucking suit."
"He's not a suit, you son of a bitch," I hiss, and then I grab him by the back of the neck and pull his face to mine. It's not a kiss. There's too much violence and teeth for it to be a kiss. It's a clash of lips and tongue and the taste of blood.
I push him to the floor and for a moment there, it's old times. Too fucking desperate to go the extra foot to the bed. But everything's flipped, and I'm on top of Billy for once. He's got a condom in his pockets, of course he does, and I fuck him hard with nothing but spit and the lube on the condom to ease things because I'm angry and I hate him, and I fucking want him.
"Vinny, Vinny, Vinny," he pants over and over again.
"That's not my fucking name," I growl, slamming into him hard enough that my back is starting to hurt. "You don't call me that. I'm Chase. Fucking call me that here."
He comes on a loud curse and I follow seconds later. It's just like everything else with Billy, harsh and sudden. I feel tired, sick, and sore when I'm done.
"Hour's up," I say, climbing to my feet and pulling my clothes back on.
"Vince…" He reaches for me as I go and I step away from him.
"We're done, Billy."
"No we ain't. Vince-"
"Yes, Billy, we are. You said your piece, you got your farewell fuck, and now it's over. Don't contact me again, you understand me? Stay the fuck away from me or I'll make you wish to Christ you had."
It's not an empty threat and I think Billy knows it. E isn't the only one in town with pull. I've fucked my way through the industry, privately and professionally, and my silence and skills have gotten me a lot of unused favors over the years.
He looks at me, wild eyes burning. Then he nods. "It wasn't supposed to go this way."
"Story of my life."
He laughs at that, like it's funny or something. "Everybody's story. If you're sure, you take care of yourself, Vince."
It cracks something in me. I'm not sure what. But I manage to give him a nod.
"You too, Billy." I mean it when I say it. It makes walking out the door that much easier.
~*~*~
Entry 135
Steve comments on the bruises on my hips. I tell him that I was cleaning my apartment and walked into some open cabinet doors.
He "hmms" and asks me if I need help. I want to laugh because yeah, I need help. Just not the kind Steve Parles could give me.
"Let me know if you need anything, Chase. Anything at all."
I nod and go back to sucking his cock.
~*~*~
Entry 136
"Do you want to do gifts?" I ask.
E and I are sitting, facing each other, in the Jacuzzi-sized bathtub in bathroom of the suite we always rent.
"Like for Christmas?"
I flick some bubbles at him. The bubbles were his idea. They smell like flowers. He's such a fucking chick about some shit. Granted, we're both a little stoned (Turtle hooked me up with some really primo shit this afternoon), but still…
"Yeah. It's Jesus' birthday and since he's not here to get a present…"
"Like actual gifts or creative sex?" he asks with a small smile.
"We're already pretty creative."
"Nothing over 100 dollars," E says. He's all about limits. We both are. Limits and rules make this, whatever the hell this is, is work.
"Okay. My salary can't really afford much more anyway," I say with a cheeky grin.
E's face falls like a lead balloon. "Okay."
I slide my foot up his leg and he comes back to me. He catches my ankle and pulls me forward, splashing water onto the floor.
Later, when we get out of the tub, E fucks me spooned up behind me. His arm wraps around me and his fingers tangle with mine on my chest. His breathing is hitched and not like good, desperate, sex panting.
It's something else, deep inhalations through his nose, his face buried in my shoulder. Wet. And not from the shower.
"E," I murmur, reaching back with my free hand.
He chokes out my name, and fuck. Fuck. I am too high for all these feelings. I can't process them right because I should not be crying. I shouldn't be, and neither should he.
This is all fucked up, and I am not this person. I spent ten years getting away from this person to the point where I don't even know who he is. But he's not me.
"Love you, E," I gasp when I come and it occurs to me, through the haze of endorphins and TCH, that it's the first time I've said it to him this way. On purpose. With intent and honesty and shit behind it. And I can't deal with that on top of the tears, on my face and on my shoulders and back.
He comes less than second behind me, squeezing my hand so hard it hurts, his forehead pressed tight against the back of my neck. Then he pulls out and rolls out of bed. I hear the bathroom door shut with a soft bang followed by the click of the lock.
I wipe my face and get dressed. I fix my hair in the mirror and stare at my reflection. I look tired, thinner. I don't recognize myself and it's getting harder to pretend.
I wait for him to come out for an hour, and then I leave. I don't sleep that night.
~*~*~
Entry 137
I go out and I pick up a girl. She's the professional type, long black hair and thick lips under a suit skirt and blouse that she clearly wore from the office straight to Prey.
She says her name's Amanda and I lie about my name. I don't want to be me right now. Any version of me.
She sips a martini and regards me critically. Then says, "You're very attractive. Want to have sex?"
Direct, to the point, and honest. I know fags all over West Hollywood who would be jealous of her style. I nod and she takes me by the hand to one of the couches in the VIP section.
She has a condom. Of course she does. A woman like Amanda who will ask flat out for a fuck would never go anywhere without her own protection. She unzips my fly, covers me, and lowers herself onto my cock, pulling her thong to the side.
It's been a while since I fucked a girl. It's still good, still hot. Amanda is good. Very good. And she takes me home with her, which is a relief because I haven't been feeling like going back to my apartment lately.
"I'm only going to fuck you one time," she says, throwing her car into drive.
"Works for me. But didn't we already have one time?"
"That one time doesn't end until you go home."
I slide my hand up her thigh and dip my fingers inside. She's still wet and she gasps a little as my knuckles brush her clit. Her fingers tighten on the steering wheel. "Like I said, works for me."
~*~*~
Entry 138
Amanda is beautiful. She really is. And in another life, maybe I could've found something more with her. But as it is, I find more than I deserve when she gives me a really solid piece of advice.
We're in her house, which is fucking ridiculous. We're in the shower-an obnoxiously luxurious number with four showerheads-and I ask her how she got all this since she's no more than five years older than me. Ten, tops.
She's an agent. A great one, apparently, if the fact that her bathroom is bigger than my bedroom is any indication. But the key, she says is, "Do what you need to do for yourself. Everything else has to follow that, because if you can't take care of yourself, you can't really do anything."
Like I said. Good advice.
~*~*~
Entry 139
from: kellys_sneaks@yahoo.com
to: boyfromqueens@gmail.com
date: Dec 12, 2009 at 7:57 PM
subject: Merry Christmas
Vince,
Baby brother finally loaded his pictures from his digital camera onto the family computer. I thought you might want these. They came out really good, don't you think?
Love you.
Kelly
In the attachment is the answer. All it needs is a frame, and that shouldn't cost more than ten, fifteen bucks. I save the file to a flash drive and head to the local photo place.
Sometimes-not often, but sometimes-things are easy.
~*~*~
Entry 140
Scott throws a holiday party for his friends. It's me and a bunch of other guys from Gold Standard-young guys, guys who weren't here last year. They're all over eighteen, but less than a handful are over twenty-five.
For the crowd he's having over, the "waiters" he's hired are perfect. And that we're all in these little red and white Santa-esque G-strings really just sets the tone. But it's a balmy seventy-three out so it's not too bad, and for the first time, I'm grateful for L.A. winters. This same party in New York would be hell.
"Be good," Scott tells all of us. "Be friendly." Later, but before the guests arrive, he pulls me aside. He runs his fingers over my bare shoulders. "Not all my friends share my…specific tastes. And besides, I've talked you up to a few people."
He introduces me to those "few people" over the course of the night. An up-and-coming agent with a short, fat dick who I suck off behind the bar. A record exec who fucks me in the bathroom, bent over the sink. A studio mogul who probably works with E, who I jerk off until he comes thick and sticky on my face out in Scott's back yard.
I snag a Santa hat from one of the party goers early on and I keep the tips they palm me tucked inside. It covers my utilities for December and leaves me with enough to buy a new computer.
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Continue to Entry 141-151