“Ten dollars.” I said it cautiously, prepared to bargain with him if he protested. It was a lucky guess, however.
“Your place or mine?” he wanted to know, without batting an eyelash. I was sorry that I hadn’t tried a little higher. At my place we would have had only one end of the living room with drapes separating it from where my dad sat in front of the television.
“Yours,” I said.
He slowed the car and turned on to a side street, stopping a couple of blocks further on in front of a big, garrish apartment building. I got out of the car and followed him up the steps that led to the lobby where a small elevator took us speedily to the third floor.
By the time we stepped inside his apartment, I was beginning to suffer cold feet. I had no idea just what I was in for, and he would sure as hell know as soon as we started that I was a rank amateur. What if he wasn’t satisfied and didn’t want to pay the money after all?
“The bedroom’s in here,” he was saying, leading the way. There was nothing sensational about the apartment, although it was a damned sight better than what I called home. A large bed and a long, low dresser were the only furnishings in the room.
Now that I was here I was really scared, but I tried hard not to show it. He had already started to undress. He wasn’t wasting any time. Swallowing hard, I started to do likewise. He was finished well ahead of me, stretching out nude on the bed. I could feel his eyes on me as I peeled my tee shirt over my head and tossed it aside. I was down to my jockey shorts now, feeling embarrassed and nervous as could be.
I hesitated for a moment; then, deliberately, I caught my thumbs in the elastic and pushed them down over my hips, letting them fall slowly to the floor before I stepped out of them.
His eyes widened in appreciation, and I relaxed a little. I was a looker, and I knew it. My face, topped by a sea of jet black curls, was the sort that grinned out from movie magazines and record jackets, bright-eyed and full-mouthed.
I had the body to go with it too. I stood five-eleven, and I was built slender, but every ounce of flesh was just what and where it should be. The wide shoulders melted into a solid chest and strong, athletic arms. My waist was small, and my hips almost nonexistent, leading down to tapered, well-molded legs. And where he was staring, with a smile on his face, I was nothing short of sensational. I had seen almost every other fellow from school at one time or another in the gym, and if they were any indication, I was a real giant.
I smiled to myself as I started toward the bed, my confidence returning. I didn’t have to worry about how I performed. He was already convinced that he was getting his money’s worth, and my only regret was that I hadn’t said more than ten dollars.
It was a lot easier than I thought it would be. I kept telling myself that I should be angry, or disgusted, or something like that, but I couldn’t kid myself that far. It felt great, a hell of a lot better than those few minutes in the bathroom would have been.
I didn’t have to worry about my performance either. Even if I didn’t know what to do, my body did. There are some things that just don’t need lessons. I was still and calm for the first few minutes, letting him touch and fondle me, but it was plain that I wouldn’t have to fake anything. My body was hard and throbbing, eager for him to do what he wanted. His touch sent a shock wave of excitement through me, and from then on I couldn’t stay still or calm. I lunged and thrust, oblivious to the fact that I might be hurting or choking him, intent only upon reaching that breathtaking moment when my entire being seeming to explode.
I was weak from exertion and pleasure when it was over. He handed me a cigarette, and we smoked in silence for a moment or two.
“How old are you?” he asked suspiciously.
I wondered if I should lie and tell him I was older, but I decided he had probably guessed the truth after all.
“Eighteen,” I admitted. It didn’t seem to bother him any.
“Was this your first time?”
My heart sank as I wondered if I had disappointed him after all. Maybe I wouldn’t get that ten dollars that I wanted so badly. “Yes,” I said nervously.
When I glanced at him, I saw that he was grinning.
“I guess some people are just naturals,” he said, stubbing out his cigarette.
I wasn’t sure whether I should resent the remark or not, but despite myself I blushed with pride at the compliment. It was great to be told that I was a fantastic lover, even if it was by a queer.
He was out of bed and starting to dress. I got up and did likewise, enjoying the knowledge that he was watching me all the while with obvious admiration. When I was finished, he came over to where I was standing and handed me a ten dollar bill.
My relief must have been obvious, because he gave me a puzzled look and asked “What’s the matter?”
“Oh, nothing,” I told him, cramming the money into the pocket of my jeans before he had a chance to change his mind. “I thought maybe you might not give me the money after all.”
He laughed at that. “You are green, aren’t you. I tried that once, when I was just a kid myself. I got a black eye out of it and a good lesson. But I guess I shouldn’t be giving you ideas.”
“Don’t worry about that.” I told him, blushing again to realize how naive I had sounded. “I’d rather be a lover than a fighter.”
It was true, too. I had been in one or two fights, and had done all right by myself, but it just wasn’t my cup of tea. Maybe I was just vain enough not to want my looks marred by cuts and bruises, but I’d rather resort to violence only when I was left no other choice.
I thought maybe he would leave me to find my own way home now that our business was finished, but he surprised me again and suggested that he’d better get me home. As we drove, I couldn’t help studying him at every opportunity.
In the first place, he didn’t fit with the image I had in my mind of queers. There was nothing feminine or repulsive about him, nothing like the faggots I had seen in the past swishing up and down Hollywood Boulevard. He couldn’t have been too much older than I was—I guessed about twenty-two, and pleasantly good-looking. Whatever his reasons were for being queer, it wasn’t because he couldn’t have gotten women.
I told him where to turn, and he pulled to a stop outside the shabby little house that was my home. “By the way, my name’s Glen,” he said, extending a hand to me.
“Mike,” I answered, giving his hand a sincere shake. I didn’t care what he was, or what he liked in bed, I had made up my mind that Glen was an okay guy.
He left after saying that maybe he would see me again, and I started up the steps to the house. It had been a strange evening for me, and a new experience, but I couldn’t say it was unpleasant.
In fact, I told myself as I went in the front door, it had been the most pleasant money I had ever earned.
CHAPTER TWO
My dad was sitting watching television as usual, the gray screen the only light in the room. He grunted and took another swallow of beer when I came into the room, his usual cheerful form of greeting.
I grunted an answer and started in the direction of the kitchen. “Your mother’s in bed with a headache,” he said as I left the room. “Don’t make a lot of noise.”
I grinned bitterly as I turned on the kitchen light. Her headache, I knew, had more to do with the two empty wine bottles in the garbage than anything else. I had tried, for a lot of years, to feel sorry for her, and even for him, but that feeling had long since departed from me. There was no reason why I should feel sorry for either of them. They had both