Paying For It


When I was in high school, there was this guy who used to hang out at the main entrance at least twice a week. His name was Brett, and he was the same age as I was. He was really handsome, well built, and I suppose, very wealthy. He offered twenty bucks to anyone who wanted to get a blow job from him, or fuck him in the ass.

Imagine that! The age of a high school student ranges from fourteen to eighteen. At those ages a boy's hormones are flowing stronger than Niagara Falls. Most of them would pay to have done to them what this kid proposed, and here he was offering to pay them. Unheard of!!!

Even as a high school freshman I knew I was gay, so I became his best customer, and I got to know him really well. In fact, we became very good friends. I might even say BFFs. It was also a way to get my rocks off without having to come out. Everyone knows what a hostile environment high school is for gay students.

Before I tell you all about Brett, let me tell you a couple of things about me. My father disappeared on us when I was seven years old. He left my mother alone with me, and two younger brothers. In order to support us, she held down two jobs as a waitress. The first job was in a coffee shop, which was open for breakfast and lunch. The second job was as a server in a fairly upscale restaurant that was only open for dinner. Needless to say, I saw precious little of my mother. My brothers and I roamed the streets after school, hardly ever did homework, and practically raised ourselves. I found myself "in trouble" with authority on more than one occasion. Needless to say I was Brett's best customer, from the third week of my freshman year in high school until I graduated. The pay was exceptional, usually $40 a week, tax free.

The funny thing is I graduated with very high grades. I absorbed knowledge like a sponge, and secretly enjoyed reading books. I read whatever I could get my hands on, classics to porn. The money I got from Brett was my secret, and it financed my reading fetish, as well as "extras" for me and my brothers.

I learned that Brett was indeed very wealthy. His family owned a chain of motels which ran along an interstate highway. The highway went through our state and several adjacent states. Brett told me that his father's dream was eventually to have motels from ocean to ocean. When he figured out that he was gay, he panicked. His parents were ultra-conservative Christians. They opposed strongly, the concept of evolution, science, and the belief that the earth was created more than six thousand years ago. Most important, they believed that homosexuality was an abomination, and the worst of all sins, because it violated God's instruction to be fruitful and multiply, along with a million other objections.

Brett attended a private Christian prep school, which was located about a half mile from our school. Classes there let out about 2:30 PM, and he rushed over to my school. Our last class was over at 3 PM. When he found a willing boy to satisfy his cravings, he took the youngster to one of his father's motels located about a quarter of a mile away, just shy of an interstate exit. He went in the back door, and into a utility closet, where he worked his magic. It would all be over in less than ten minutes, given the youth of the participants. Brett assumed that his customers were all straight, so he never asked any of them to reciprocate.

The first time Brett approached me, I was the eighth customer of his cock-sucking career. He confided that to me, when we had established some sort of a friendship. I was shocked and pleasantly surprised at his offer. I had been jacking off for some time, and this good looking guy, was offering to make my masturbation fantasies come true. I gave no thought to the possibility that he might be a serial killer, and went off with him to the motel.

Within the cramped confines of the utility closet, sex was not the best. There were no preliminaries. Brett went down on me, and got me off with a few deft strokes of his tongue. As I remember it was an amazing blow job. He pushed my foreskin back with his tongue, and gobbled me whole into his mouth. I wasn't fully grown yet, so that wasn't hard for him to do. By the time I was a senior, he could barely take half of me into him. When it was over, we left the motel through the back door, and Brett took off quickly, without speaking to me. He just shoved $20 into my hand and he was gone.

I looked for him every day after that, but he wasn't there. Nearly two weeks later, I spotted him, and ran over before anybody else could. He must have recognized me, because he smiled and said, "Craig, I'm glad it's you."

I was surprised that he remembered my name. In fact, I didn't remember telling him what it was.

"Where ya been?" I asked.

"My whole school was on a religious retreat for two weeks. I am so horny. Would you like to make $20 today?"

"You bet," I smiled at him.

Today was different than the last time. We entered the motel through the same back door, but instead of going to the utility closet, Brett walked up to a guest room located closest to the back door. He inserted a card key into the slot on the door, and we entered the room. He double locked the door. The curtains were open, and he drew them shut.

"I put a hold on the room," he explained. "I told the desk clerk that we had to do some plumbing repairs in here."

He stripped rapidly, and I followed his lead. When we were naked, he threw his arms around me, and pulled me close to him. I was pleasantly surprised and I pushed my rising prick into his. He leaned into me and started to kiss me with an open mouth, and a probing tongue. I found myself reciprocating.

"You're gay like me aren't you? I had a feeling the first time we were together," he commented.

I was dumbfounded, but I managed to mumble something that mildly sounded like, "Yes."

"Then make love to me," he whispered, "just like we were real lovers. Do to me, what I do to you, and I'll double the pay today."

A pang of guilt electrified my body. "You don't have to pay me double for something I'm aching to do," I admitted.

He didn't answer me. Instead he kissed me harder, and his tongue probed deeper into my mouth. When he released me, I could see that his cheeks were wet. He had been crying. I wiped away his tears and mumbled, "Don't you think we should get started?

Brett was the first to tumble into bed. He was flat on his back, and his youthful hard-on was facing the ceiling. I stood a moment and admired the scene before me. Then I shocked him. I lay down on top of him in a sixty-nine position. In fact, I took him into me before he took me. We were too young to delay or hold back. We came seconds apart, spilling our seed down each other's throat. Then I turned around and we lay still, side by side, holding hands.

"Shit," Brett said, "I wanted us to fuck each other."

"We will," I promised. "Just be patient."

After a very short rest, we were both hard again. Brett produced a tube of KY Jelly from his pants pocket, which was lying on the floor. Our immature cocks were able to make entry effortlessly. I fucked Brett first, and when he fucked me, I could feel that his cock was extra slippery. It was more than the jelly.

I realized that Brett had come prepared and his ass was clean. I hadn't had a BM since the night before and there was shit all over his cock. I felt awful, and started to apologize. Brett shushed me. "It's okay. I'm used to it, and I don't mind at all, especially with you." I got the distinct feeling that Brett was falling in love with me, and I didn't like that at all. I just wasn't prepared for it, love that is.

I admitted that having anal sex was the first time for me. Brett had been fucked before, but it was his first time as a top. We weren't worried about going in commando. We didn't have any condoms with us anyway. After we both came a second time, deep within our bodies, we hunkered up against each other. We kissed and fondled and dozed off.

All in all we were in the room for about two hours. We even showered together prior to giving it up. Before we opened the door, Brett stuffed two twenty dollar bills in my hand. I was filled with guilt, and wanted to return one, but I knew how badly my family needed the money, and I put both of them into my pocket.

"Thanks," I mumbled, but I couldn't look at him. Why did I feel such shame?

A few days later, I spotted him in the courtyard just as I walked out the front door of my school. Before I could get to him, he was approached by another boy. Brett said something to him, and the boy left abruptly. "I was waiting for you," Brett said as I approached him.

"I'm flattered," I smiled back at him. "Please Brett, I don't want any extra money today. The usual will be just fine."

"I'll do what I feel like doing," he stated sternly. "I know how much your family needs the money." How did he know that? I didn't tell him. Did he have me investigated? He was rich enough to employ a detective. I decided not to argue, at least not just yet.

Brett and I continued to have sex all through our high school days. We spoke of it as having sex, but we didn't fool each other. We were making love. I insisted halfway through our freshman year that he stop giving me money. I had to point out that I had fallen in love with him, and I felt guilty taking money from him.

"I love you too," he said, "but a deal's a deal." I felt guiltier than ever, because from our first meeting on, we had a monogamous relationship. Early on I tried refusing to take money from Brett, but he wouldn't hear of it. I guess he figured that if we maintained a business relationship, the money he gave me would not be construed as charity on my part.

Then one day, hardly before either of us was aware of it, we were facing graduation. I told you that I was an excellent student, and I got a full scholarship to one of our State Universities, which was located about two hundred miles from home. My kid brothers were very independent by this time, so I wasn't worried about them. My concern was strictly selfish. The thought of leaving Brett was tearing at my soul.

Brett's father had enrolled him in Oral Roberts University. Brett begged his father to let him go to State, but the man would not hear a word of complaint from his son. Not only were we about to be separated, but separated by almost two thousand miles.

We were able to delay our separation by a little over two months. Brett was going to work that summer as a desk clerk in one of his father's motels, and he got me a job as a bell hop in the same motel. He could have gotten me a desk job also, but he figured that I could make more with tip money. He was always thinking of my financial situation.

We arrived at work early and left late, so we could make love in a vacant room as often as possible. The only victory (for me, at least) was that after graduation, I got Brett to stop paying me. My kid brothers had summer jobs, with the promise of after school jobs, and things were a lot easier for my mother. On top of that, Brett said that I could work at the motel with him during all college breaks, and summer vacations.

When Brett came home for his first winter break, he had a serious talk with his father. He explained that his university offered a major in management, and that was helpful to him, but he really wanted to major in Hospitality Management. They did not offer a minor in that. He could study that at State, save his father money, and take courses more useful for his future. Then he added, "Dad, if you think I would stray from my Christian heritage at State, you sorely misjudge me. You raised me better than that."

That last statement penetrated his father's heart. He embraced his son, and gave him permission to transfer after his freshman year.

By the way," he said. "I wasn't worried about you straying from our Christian values. I was hoping that you would meet a good Christian girl at Oral Roberts," he said very shyly.

Brett laughed. "Dad," he said, hugging his father, "they have good Christian girls at State also." Father and son laughed hard together. It was a very rare and intimate moment for both of them.

Brett left it for me to look for off campus housing for our last three years. He said that he would tell his father, he was renting a room. He need never know that he would be sharing it with another student. The best part is that Brett's father would pay the rent, and make things even easier for me.

Let me interject here, that I was well acquainted with John Fremont, Brett's dad. When I began to work at the hotel with Brett, he told his father that we had become good friends, and that I had asked if I could go to church with them on Sunday. Mr. Fremont could hardly say no, and I met him the very next Sunday. He was thrilled that his son's friend had such good religious values. Better than that, he liked me. He told me how much he admired my work ethic, and how hard I was working to help my mother and brothers get ahead in the world. After we established our friendship, it was easier for Brett and me to make excuses to "socialize" together. We even dared tell him that we would be rooming together at State, and he approved, so Brett didn't have to lie to him. That was a hard thing for Brett to do.

At our graduation, Mr. Fremont met my mother. I guess I should tell you a couple of things about those two. Brett's dad is even better looking and better built than Brett, and that's saying a lot. He became a widower in our junior year, when his lovely wife succumbed to cancer. My mother kept her youthful figure, but she always looked a little dowdy. Working two jobs did not leave her much time for preening. In keeping with the joyous occasion, my mom went all out. She bought a new dress, and went to a day spa, followed by a visit to a beauty parlor.

After the ceremony, I looked high and low for her. I couldn't spot her, but I was left completely uncomfortable by some beautiful woman who kept smiling at me. There was something familiar about the lady, but I couldn't place her. Finally, she approached me with her arms wide open. "Aren't you going to kiss your mother?" she asked. She left me dumbfounded.

When I introduced her to Brett and his father, I could see sparks flying all around us. Mr. Fremont was as dumbfounded as I was. Certainly he was taken by her beauty. "I'm angry at you, Craig," he said. "How could you keep this beautiful woman a secret from me?"

We were all booked to sleep over in one of Mr. Fremont's motels and leave for home in the morning. He took us all out to dinner that night at a five star steak house. All his attention was on my mom. He wouldn't have noticed if Brett and I disappeared. I think that he might have preferred it. In fact that evening marked the beginning of the courtship of John Fremont and Virginia Gibson.


The corporate offices of the Fremont Motel chain were located in our city. After graduation, Brett became assistant to his dad in managing the chain, which had grown to seventeen locations. I had majored in finance, and Mr. Fremont had waited for us to graduate before springing a surprise on me.

He employed a wonderful man, who was head of the accounting office. Martin Brenner was Mr. Fremont's best friend. They had met in a Bible study class when they were both newlyweds. Marty had ten accountants working for him, but that was not enough, and being understaffed was beginning to drain their productivity. The chain was growing too fast. On the first Monday after graduation, Mr. Fremont called Marty, Brett and me into his office.

"Marty," he said. "I know you need more help, so hire as many men or women as you need. I'm also going to take some of the burden from you, by splitting off some of your functions to Craig here." He turned to me smiling. "Craig, I want you to organize a new department. You'll be in charge of mergers, acquisitions and construction accounting."

I was struck dumb. I started to object that it was too much, too soon.

"Nonsense," he said. "You've been like a second son to me these past several years, and I know how bright you are, and how capable. I fully appreciate your work ethic also. Marty has been doing some of that work, but he has made it quite clear that he prefers to stick to accounting."

"Craig," Marty said, "you have no idea how happy this makes me. I'll give you all the help I can. After all, I can safely say that we are all family here." He gave me a hug, and pulled me quite tightly into him. I felt his package, but thought nothing of it. I knew that Mr. Fremont had designs on my mother, so maybe Marty was right about us being family. I was not going to question my good fortune, and resigned myself to John Fremont's forceful persona.

"We are celebrating tonight," Fremont said. "I've called your mother, Craig. She's going to join us. Marty's wife, Ellen, will round out our table, since you two guys don't seem inclined to be getting married anytime soon, and don't even have young ladies to invite. I'm ready to be a grandfather," he laughed, and shook his finger at both of us.

Brett and I knew we couldn't stay in the closet forever. I would have come out years ago if Brett's dad wasn't so homophobic. I wasn't worried about my mom. She had a gay brother, and she loved him and his partner as much as she loved her straight brother, his wife, and children. We knew we would have to come out sooner or later, and if he fired us, we had enough education and experience in the business to land good jobs.

We started working on Mr. Fremont weeks before graduation. We announced that we were going to look for a bachelor pad together.

"Nonsense," he said. I began to suspect that 'nonsense' was his favorite word. "I have a six bedroom house. If you want to live together, you can each have a room. You've been sharing one for a long time. A single room should be a luxury for both of you."

"But Dad," Brett whined, "we're two young men. We need our privacy."

Fremont's face clouded over. He looked stern. "I hope you aren't planning on sleeping with good girls before marriage," he said, but it sounded more like a snarl.

"Of course not," I piped up. "It's just that it's time for us to strike out on our own, and show a little independence." We both knew that sharing an apartment was only a tiny step for mankind, when it concerned our coming out.

He must have softened, because he mumbled something that sounded like, "If you must you must, but you'll both be wanting to come back home sooner or later."

I suddenly wanted to cry. I realized he was a lonely widower who missed his wife. I couldn't say anything to him, but by now Brett was reading my mind. It was he who said, "Maybe it's time to consider scaling down a bit, Dad." Fremont shrugged his shoulders, and left the room.

So we moved in together with Fremont's reluctant blessing. Once we got started at work, we were so busy, we didn't even have time to eat lunch together. At home, we both cooked dinners. It would be more accurate to say we shared the task of nuking frozen dinners. I began to envy my mother. She still worked hard during the week, but John (Mr. Fremont asked me to call him John) wined and dined her on Saturday nights. He even got her to attend church with us on Sundays. We were indeed, as Marty had noted, "one family." He and Ellen often joined John and my mom on their Saturday night dates.

On the other hand, Brett and I loved staying home in our comfortable apartment. We made love all the time. The passage of years had not diminished our lust and our need for each other. At the same time our love for each other grew deeper and deeper by the day. We laughed a lot about all the money he had paid me to have sex with him. "With interest," he said to me one day, "you owe me over $10,000."

The inevitable day came, and John and my mom announced that they were getting married. Brett and I discussed the situation for hours. The fact that we would be brothers filled our hearts with joy, but we pondered over whether it was helpful or hurtful in our quest to come out to John.

"He'll say I corrupted you," I surmised, "and he might take it out on my mother."

"Then I'll tell him that I solicited you in front of the high school, and paid you for sex." Brett gave out an ironic laugh. "I'll tell him I corrupted you."

I wrapped my arms around Brett, and kissed him tenderly. "No, we'll tell him the truth that we've both been gay since we were born. Let's not rush the day. He and Mom are busy making wedding plans. Let's not say anything until after their honeymoon."

"Have you thought about how we might do the deed?" Brett asked.

"Yes, when they come home, I'll tell them that you and I can't wait to have a wedding as happy and loving as theirs."

The two of us burst out laughing. We could just picture the effect that would have on John.

"Wanna practice the wedding night?"

"Uh huh." I mumbled.

We stripped rapidly and rushed to the shower. We fucked each other in the shower using soap as a lubricant, and then once again in bed afterward. We finally fell asleep fondling each other's still hard cocks. The last thing I heard was Brett whispering in my ear, "I love you."

A full year passed. John's big house was filled again, and Brett and I were still in the closet. My kid brothers were welcomed into John's household with open arms. He insisted on funding their college educations. They couldn't object when he insisted that they attend his ultra conservative church every Sunday. I would often glance at them during a sermon and would catch one or both of them rolling their eyes. My mother no longer worked as a waitress, but she was not one to sit idle, so Marty put her to work in the accounting department.

Every Sunday after church, Marty and his wife Ellen, joined our family for brunch. I began to notice something odd between Marty and John. As homophobic as they both were, they had no trouble greeting each other with a hug. Often during a conversation one of them would put his hand on the other's arm. It was obviously a sign of affection, which Brett and I had practiced not doing in public. They may not have been aware of it, and others may not have noticed, but Brett and I did, and we wondered, but neither of us said anything to the other at first.

I began to observe their behavior out of sheer curiosity. I noticed that they went to lunch together at least once a week, and did not return for almost three hours. That in itself was suspicious for two such busy men. One day as they went to lunch together, I did the unthinkable. I followed them. The motel Brett used to take me to, was only three short blocks away. They were headed in that direction and went in via the back door. I was immersed in déjà vu.

I waited one minute, and entered after them. I didn't see them, but I could see a door just closing up the hall. I noted the room number and went to the desk clerk. He knew who I was, and greeted me warmly.

"We had a complaint that room 107 needed some electrical repairs," I said.

The clerk looked confused. "Nobody told me about it," he said.

"Is the room occupied right now?" I asked innocently.

The clerk checked his computer. "No," he said, "it's vacant, but you're right. There's a hold on it for repairs." I almost passed out. This was Brett and me all over again.

"Well give me the key and I'll check on it. Maybe I have the room number wrong, but if there's a problem with the electrical, I'll send a man around."

He found a blank key card, programmed it, and handed it to me. I had no intention of using it. I intended merely to be a voyeur and nothing more, at least for the moment. I viewed the room from a position away from the back door, and at the far end of the corridor. When they came out, I could easily duck around the corner. About an hour and a half later, my patience was rewarded. They left the room together. John put a maid service sign on the door, and they left through the rear.

When they were out of sight, I went into the room. Even though my heart was breaking, I had to laugh. It was obvious from the condition of the bed sheets, that these were two very rough lovers. There was no question. These two holier than thou Christians were not only cheating on their wives, but they were committing an abominable sin. My heart continued to bleed for my mother. She had presumably found happiness at last, and it could all crumble away.

"We have to keep their secret," I demanded of Brett that evening when I told him what I had observed. I don't give a shit about John and Marty, but we have to protect Ellen and my mom."

"Yes," Brett agreed, "but now we are going to come out, and God help those two if they give us a bad time. I swear, I'll expose them."

"I wonder how they will handle it. Until we find out, those guys have got me so hot, all I want to do right now is to fuck you 'til the dawn creeps over the window sill." I laughed at my weak attempt at humor.

I grabbed Brett around the waist, and literally dragged him into the bedroom. We undressed rapidly, and fell onto our bed.

"Fuck me," I yelled at Brett, "and don't use any lube. I want to feel all of you inside of me. I love you so much."

Brett got caught up in my lust. He turned me on my stomach, and entered me as roughly as I had requested. I hurt like hell. My ass was on fire, but it didn't hurt me very long. He came rather quickly, and softened so fast, he fell out of me in record time. He turned me around, and he was lying on top of me. We began to kiss, and then we sobbed hard and bitter tears.


The next morning, Brett and I got to work before either John or Marty. John arrived first. We followed him into his office, and invited him to have lunch with us.

"Shall I ask Ginny and Marty to join us?" he asked innocently.

"No Dad," Brett said softly. Craig and I need to have a serious conversation for your ears only; at least for now."

"Sounds serious," John said. "Should I be worried?"

"Absolutely not," I stated emphatically.

I was useless that morning at work. How would John react when he found out that two of his four sons were gay? For the first time I wondered if either, or both of my two kid brothers, might play for my team. Comparing notes later on with Brett, he was just as scared and non-productive as I was.

Usually time goes so slowly when you are anticipating a big event. I prayed for the morning to creep, but it went by in a flash, and I found myself entering John's favorite restaurant with John and Brett at my side. Brett asked for a table as private and secluded as possible.

"Now I'm really worried," John mumbled. I put my arm around his shoulder to indicate that he needn't be. He made no attempt to take it off. I gathered that he really cared for me, and I dared hope for the best. At least I didn't have to worry about telling him. As his natural son, Brett volunteered to do the deed.

We waited until the three of us ordered, and as soon as the waiter walked away, Brett put it as simply as he could. He was honest and forthright.

"Dad," he started, "you know that Craig and I have a two bedroom apartment."

"Yes, so?"

"Well, the smaller one is a guest room. We don't use it. Craig and I sleep together, Dad. We love each other. We've loved each other from the day we met. We would like to get married someday, and have children. Before you blame one of us for corrupting the other, Craig and I have been gay all our lives. We were born that way, and neither of us corrupted the other."

John stared at his son with the blankest face I ever saw. I could read nothing into it. I made up my mind that if he was going to disown us, I would tell him that we knew about him and Marty, and I intended on telling my mother, and getting her a divorce attorney who would bleed him dry. It was a last resort, of course, and I prayed that I would never have to do it.

The silence, to use a trite expression, was deafening.

"Please say something," Brett pleaded.

Finally John looked back and forth between us. He held out his two hands, indicating that I should hold one and Brett the other. We did, and he began to speak at last.

"I've wondered for a long time about you two. Neither of you ever date, and you spend all your time together, and alone, I might add. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure it out."

"You don't hate us?" I asked, fearing to hear his answer.

"Of course not. I love you. I still think what you do is wrong, a terrible sin, but I also have come to believe that it's something men like you can't control, a powerful urge. I also know that you are good and pious men, so over the years I have begun to exercise more tolerance." For some reason, I got the distinct impression he was defending his actions with Marty.

I broke out crying. "Thank you, John. You have no idea how scared I was that I would lose my father twice."

"Me too," Brett chimed in.

"I'll keep this our secret," John said, "if you want."

"No," Brett and I said together. John looked at us quizzically.

"We need to come out," Brett said. "We can't live in deceit anymore."

"Even if we have to attend a friendlier church than ours, this is something we have to do."

"A different church?" John asked. "Which one did you have in mind?" He was really curious. "When people find out about you two, Ginny and I might not be welcome there anymore either."

"When you and my mother were on your honeymoon," I told him, "Brett and I went to a gay church. Even the minister is gay, Dad." (I purposely called him Dad instead of John).

"I didn't think...." John's voice trailed off.

"Gays and Lesbians are not sinners, Dad," Brett explained. "And for your information, we don't believe that the physical love we show each other is a sin either."

"I get it. I can see how you two 'sinners' (smiling) love each other. Now what was all this business about getting married and having children?"

The rest of the lunch was happy and jovial. I could see how happy Brett was, and I was happy for both of us. There was one secretly awkward moment, when John said, "You guys can tell whoever you want, or not, but I want to tell Marty. After all, he's my best friend.

I could just imagine what kind of a conversation those two would have, but I was too happy at the moment to care. I knew one thing for sure. As much as John and Marty might love each other, John loved my mother as much. He had no intention of hurting her, and I had no intention of outing him. After all, he and my mother, Ginny, were parents to both Brett and me. We were the ones with the secret, and it was up to us to preserve the happiness of our family.



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