Fifteen Shades of Gay (For Pay) (11 page)

Andrew did as he was told, relieved the bureau was only dark wood and brass knobs, free of any hellish sexual decorations. As he guessed, the taller stack of cash totaled the exact sum Paresh had offered him. The smaller pile was another thousand dollars in twenties and fifties.

“What’s the extra thousand for?”

“My. Don’t you sound suspicious. It’s a bonus, Andrew. If this goes well, you’ll have the opportunity to earn it. If not, well, you’ll still receive the amount originally promised.” Shrugging out of his suit jacket, Paresh draped it over a straight-backed chair softened by a single velvet pillow. “Would you like to see the toy I selected for you?”

“Sure.”

Going to the bureau, Paresh opened a drawer and removed a silver box. At least a foot long, it reminded Andrew absurdly of Cormac’s chili dog. He pressed his lips together. If “impertinence” was a deal breaker, hysterical laughter would surely put him on the next train home.

Slowly, Paresh opened the box’s hinged lid. Lined with black silk, the box contained a silicone dildo, at least nine inches long and quite thick, with realistic head and veins. Again, Andrew thought of Cormac, but now without any temptation to laugh.

“Isn’t it perfect?” Paresh prompted.

“Yeah. But on the phone, you mentioned lube…?”

“Soon. Just thought I’d give you a look at what’s in store. Now. I’ll sit down and you’ll undress. Slowly.”

Settling himself in the straight-backed chair, Paresh loosened his tie and kicked off his shoes. He fixed Andrew with an expectant gaze.

Anticipating this moment, Andrew had worn more clothing than usual. The only item he’d forgone was his socks. As an actor, he never approached a role without practicing every significant action ahead of time. If there was a sexy way to peel off socks, he hadn’t found it, so he’d decided to leave them at home.

Smile. Think of paying off that credit card….

Careful not to muss his hair, Andrew pulled off his outer T-shirt and dropped it on the floor. His inner T-shirt, long-sleeved, was a size too small, clinging to his biceps and pecs. Smoothing it needlessly as he kept eye contact with Paresh, Andrew slid a hand between his thighs, readjusting himself slightly. Then he unbuckled his belt, sliding it off slowly, unrushed. Stepping out of one shoe, then the other, Andrew smoothed his T-shirt again before removing the leather thong at his throat.

“You’re a born tease,” Paresh said appreciatively. Unknotting his tie, he cast it aside. “Take off the shirt. I want to see those pink nipples again.”

Wriggling out of the T-shirt, Andrew managed to make the operation twice as long as necessary. He was surprised when Paresh made a little sound of disappointment.

“Why aren’t they erect?”

Andrew fingered his left nipple, working the nub till it stiffened. As he repeated the process on the right side, Paresh divested himself of his own shirt, dropping it on the floor.

Here goes….

The fact Paresh had already seen him nude, had already gone down on him, didn’t stop prickly heat from creeping up Andrew’s throat. Opening his fly button by button, Andrew pushed down his jeans, frustrated he wasn’t hard yet. When he worked his boxers down, stepping out of them with all the finesse he could muster, Paresh chuckled.

“You white boys blush like little girls. I adore it.” Paresh had also worked himself free of trousers and shorts. As he pulled off his socks, obviously unconcerned with whether the act was seductive or not, Andrew realized the other man was soft, too. Was this encounter turning into a failure?

“If you hope to excite me, you’ll have to do more than show me what I’ve already sampled,” Paresh said, as if reading Andrew’s mind. “Lie on the bed. Let me turn on the TV. In honor of your very first time, I’ve queued up the perfect inspiration.”

Andrew stretched out on satin sheets, unsure if he liked the cool slickness against his bare skin or not. When Paresh turned on the flat screen, Andrew braced himself for the sort of porn he’d always avoided, except for a few accidental glimpses: hairy men with moustaches and bald heads, tricked out in leather and humping to the beat. To his surprise, he saw a very pretty brunette, nude except for her garter belt and stockings, grinding on the lap of a generic porn dude. When the dude mumbled something about needing punishment, the brunette strapped on a mammoth black dildo, shiny with lube. Bending her man over, she worked it slowly up the back door, reaching around to give him an occasional hard tug. When she started thrusting in earnest, full breasts bouncing, Paresh cut off the TV.

“Is there any blood left above your neck?” He grinned at Andrew.

“No.” Andrew was so hard, he could barely get the word out.

“Here.” Pressing a plastic squeeze bottle into Andrew’s hand, Paresh settled back into his chair. “Get yourself ready. No need to rush.”

Wetting his fingers with the clear lubricant, Andrew let his right hand slip into mostly undiscovered territory. Once or twice he’d tried to explore himself this way—furtive touches done in haste, as if the masturbation police might break down his door at any moment. Now that he was nude with legs spread, erect as a telephone pole and getting paid to continue, how could he deny himself?

“Mmm,” he heard himself moan, opening his legs still further. His index finger circled and pressed, circled and pressed. Amazing that he’d denied himself such a simple pleasure for so long.

“Insert a finger,” Paresh ordered. From his vantage point in the chair, Andrew suspected the other man could see straight down the barrel.

The finger went in only a little. Bearing down, Andrew managed to push it all the way up. It felt so good, his left hand crept to his member.

“None of that,” Paresh said. “No cheating. If you want more sensation, insert another finger.”

Andrew worked both his middle and index fingers inside. Despite the lube, the action burned and stung. How bad would that huge dildo hurt? Would Paresh really make him go through with it?

“Don’t forget to bear down,” Paresh reminded him. “Three fingers now, all the way up. Push as hard as you can. See if you can find the g-spot.”

Locating the squeeze bottle with his left hand, Andrew squirted another cool, clear dollop between his legs. Grunting in pain, he drove three fingers inside himself, as far as they would go. As the throbbing receded, Andrew experienced a tingle of alien pleasure, impossible to localize.

“You’re panting,” Paresh said. “Push up again. Try and find it.”

Andrew did, arching his back and twisting his lower half. His reward was another faint tingle, nothing more.

“You need something longer.” Paresh opened the silver box. Removing the dildo, he coated the head with lubricant, leaving the realistic veined shaft bare. “You’ll find some friction makes it better, I promise.”

Andrew withdrew his fingers all at once, surprised by the little burst of pleasure as they popped free. Taking the dildo from Paresh, he didn’t let himself question what he was doing. Jabbing the slick toy between his legs, he pushed hard, gasping as it disappeared halfway up. “It hurts,” he choked.

“You like it, though, don’t you? Feeling so full?”

Still riding out the pain, Andrew managed to nod.

“Be brave. Push again. Find that spot,” Paresh commanded.

Closing his eyes, Andrew obeyed. Almost instantly, a shudder of pleasure rippled through him, so intense he gasped. His left hand went instinctively for his member again, but Paresh slapped it away. Frustrated, Andrew plowed into himself with the dildo, squeezing his thighs around it and groaning with each stroke.

“Andrew. Open your eyes. Look at yourself.”

He did. The toy was buried inside him up to its flared base. The sight shocked Andrew so much, his balls firmed. Paresh chuckled as a bit of pre-climax fluid appeared.

“And now. Let’s discuss your bonus. Pull it out, Andrew.”

Biting his lower lip, Andrew withdrew the dildo. It was no longer spotless, which would have humiliated him, except Paresh seemed so delighted. Putting the toy aside, Paresh positioned himself directly between Andrew’s still-spread legs, lifting himself as if making an offering.

“To earn the sum agreed upon, you need only finish what you started. No hands on the joystick, just you and the dildo. Or….” Paresh smiled. “Let me finish you and the extra thousand is yours, too. You’re already wide open. I could slip right in.”

“Condom?” Andrew mumbled. Gripping a handful of satin bed sheets in each hand, he hardly cared if the answer was yes or no, it was all he could do not to touch himself.

“Of course.” Taking one from the bureau, Paresh slid it on by feel, gaze still on Andrew’s face. “But keep those hands where they are. When you come, I want you to know it was me that made it happen. Nothing else.”

“Oh, God,” Andrew cried as Paresh mounted him, sinking all the way inside. For a moment he nearly panicked, terrified by the sight of Paresh atop him. Handsome as Paresh was, cultured and experienced as he might be, there was no real connection between them, nothing but lust and money. Desperate, Andrew closed his eyes, trying to conjure up some fantasy to make this bearable. The strap-on brunette, perhaps, or Monica wearing her own black rubber phallus….

“You’ll see God before I’m done,” Paresh said, kissing Andrew’s throat as his hips found their rhythm. “Never had a white boy as pale as you. Never….”

I’m sorry… I’ve never….

The memory returned to Andrew as if from decades before. Impossible to believe his date with Cormac was less than twenty-four hours ago.

“Oh,” Andrew whispered, wrapping his legs around Paresh’s waist and lifting with each thrust. “Oh… oh…
oh
….”

He felt himself clamping down inside even as the rest of him let go. Paresh made a guttural sound, grimacing with his own pleasure as Andrew’s inner grip made climax inevitable. When the other man finally pulled out, he’d regained a measure of composure.

“Now you really are gay for pay. A prostitute in the true sense,” Paresh said with satisfaction. “My cock made the little straight boy come.”

Relieved and sated, Andrew offered Paresh nothing but a vague smile.
Your cock was there, yeah. But it was Cormac who pushed me over the edge.

Chapter 7

“I don’t see why you don’t just move in. Not only could you help your sister, you could economize.” Jake Reynolds sounded disapproving.

“I could,” Andrew replied, careful to maintain an equitable tone. “But what about when Marie is well? We have our own lives. How could she bring a date home if I was in the spare room with a date of my own?”

Jake scowled. About Andrew’s height, he had highly individual features and a full head of gray hair. His powerful manner of speaking, honed through years of debate as a public defender, bullied many listeners into instant agreement. “When Marie is well, you can both reassess. First things first, Andrew.”

“I think Andrew’s done a remarkable job.” Hugh’s tone was conciliatory, as usual. “There are plenty of siblings in this world who wouldn’t go to half so much trouble.”

They were gathered in Marie’s apartment, or as Jake put it, a “shoebox with love beads.” Andrew had ensconced her on the sofa, draping a quilt over her lower half to hide the bedpan. Using a walker to reach the toilet every time she had to pee was just too exhausting. The vomit bucket was clean—this was a good day—and Marie had put on her blonde wig and a little pink lipstick. Andrew, Jake, and Hugh sat on folding chairs borrowed from the super, as Marie had hocked all her extraneous furniture weeks ago.

“Well, let’s not nominate Andrew for sainthood yet. Wouldn’t want him to get the big head,” Jake said. For as long as Andrew could remember, Jake had monitored his children for signs of overconfidence, squashing praise whenever it was issued in his hearing. He was a firm believer that no student should ever receive one hundred percent, because it suggested there was no room for improvement. “He gets to live in the big city, doesn’t he? Starve to death somewhere more glamorous than Wichita.”

“Dad.” Marie fixed him with a pointed smile. “Andrew gave up a TV job to come here. He was never in danger of starving in Kansas. He could have—”

“Much as I love being discussed like I’m not in the room,” Andrew interrupted with phony good cheer, “why don’t you two catch us up on what’s happening at home? Hugh.” He turned to his former English teacher, who’d recently celebrated his fiftieth birthday but was still fit and handsome. “What’s going on at school? Kill any students yet?”

“No, my anti-depressants are working.” Hugh’s smile was warm. Probably Marie had told him about Andrew’s determination to keep this visit friendly. That, or Hugh was keen to mend their decade-long rift. “Even so, I’m thinking of giving up high school English and teaching online for a web-based degree program. I’ve had it with teenagers skulking into my classroom like they’re going before the firing squad. At least adult learners are motivated. I could start with remedial English and GED preparation, branch out from there.”

“You should go back to University, finish your doctorate, and get on the faculty of a private academy,” Jake said. “End your career teaching the best and brightest.”