A whore's life

The next day, I went back to work at the movie theater. It was uneventful. Steve was not around. The manager, Norman was an amiable young straight guy who played bass in a jazz band. Dave wasn’t working. I was assigned to be the usher. That meant I patrolled the theater to tell people not to smoke and see that nothing was wrong. I watched the weird Italian movie several times. I got a big trash bag and between showtimes cleaned up. I talked to Tom sometimes who was at the candy counter. I worked a double shift while others left at 6:00 PM, to be replaced by others. It was midnight when I was done. I walked a few blocks to the 9th Circle bar.

Having not been in a gay bar before, it was exciting being crowded around all of those men. Young, old and in the middle. It was kind of dark with lots of wood, downstairs there was a pool table with guys playing. I got a Dewar’s on the rocks from the bearded bartender. I walked around, a little nervous. I finished my drink. I went to the grungy bathroom to pee. I stood at a urinal next to tall older man and there occurred an amazing coincidence.

“Patrick! After we’re done here, I want to buy you a drink.”

“Mr. Feinberg?!” I yelled, as I looked over and saw HIM and his large cock pissing. Mr. Feinberg remembered me!

“Call me Stan” he laughed.

Mr. Feinberg had been my sophomore year high school English teacher. I was used to seeing him in a suit and tie, now he was in jeans and white T-shirt that emphasized his biceps. He wasn’t fat, he was husky. He was 41, with graying curly black hair. I never thought of him as being gay, but now it fit. Organizing trips to Broadway shows and sensitive talk about literature. I enjoyed talking with him sometimes after class about books and shows.

I soured on him though. He assigned us to write an autobiographical essay to practice for our college applications. He gave me a B and wrote, “I admire your candor, but this isn’t suitable…” I had written about my lousy parents, being poor and my feelings. Other kids wrote fake upbeat stuff about how wonderful they were to show off why they be admitted to the top colleges. I thought he could have been nicer to me, and after that I wasn’t chatty with him.

“What are you drinking?” Mr. Feinberg said when he was washing his hands. “Dewar’s on the rocks.” “A whisky man, it figures” he laughed. He returned with my drink, and a bottle of beer for himself.

“Your first time here?” “Yes.” “Next time, you should talk to Rory. He could help you with advice” he said indicating a nearby young red-headed guy. “I’m leaving for my summer trip to Italy and Greece tomorrow, so I’ll get to be your first client from here.” “Huh?”

“I know all about you. During cafeteria duty, I’d overhear boys talking about what you were doing in explicit detail. I’d get so hard. You had a lot of fans! Good for you! You weren’t bright enough for that school and not college material. It’s wonderful that you figured out what you’re meant for. I would love to have enjoyed your services, but I don’t mess around with students. Other teachers have, it always ends badly. Finish your drink, we’ll have a good time. You’ve already seen what you’ll be working on” he laughed.

Not “bright enough!” Fuck him! I passed the entrance exam by nine points! I was bright, but hours a day over years of algebra and chemistry and all that shit wasn’t for me. A lot of students had expensive tutors and cheated on tests. History and English were about the only things that didn’t put me into a coma in that school.  

"$40” I said. Ok, Mr. Feinberg, I’ll be the whore you believe me to be.

“Smart boy. Always get the money first.” He took two $20 bills from his wallet and handed it to me. We left. He hailed a cab, as we sat in the back seat, he grabbed my hand and put it on his swelling crotch. He put one of his hands down the back on my jeans and was fingering my ass. I was buzzed and breathing heavy. “I know you’re quite the cocksucker, have you been fucked?” “Yes.” “Good. I don’t have patience. I like piggy boys. Who was your first?” I told him about Adam and his pals. “Lucky you, getting broken in by four quality young men. Adam is brilliant. He decided on Princeton. He’s going places. The only place you’re going is on your knees.”

We got to the Liberty, a hotel in the meatpacking district, near the Westside Highway. It was a sleazy rooms-by-the hour joint. Mr. Feinberg lived on the Upper West Side with his long-time male lover. “Most johns don’t want to bring their tricks home. Either because they live with someone, or if they’re single they’re worried that the trash they pick up will rob them or worse. You’ll get used to places like this.” He gave the desk clerk money and got a room key. We entered a small dumpy room with a bed and a cheap table and chair. On the night table was a big jar of Vaseline.

He started taking his clothes off and so did I. He was hairy and fleshy. He sat on the bed, his legs were spread with his thick fat hard cock on display. “You’re just like the dumb micks who yelled ‘Christ-killer’ at me when I was growing up in Brooklyn. Suck my cock, tough guy.”

Mr. Feinberg was not so sensitive now. I was accustomed to verbal abuse, it went with the territory. In a twisted way it inspired and excited me. I’d been called a fag and worse by the boys at school. They wanted me to suck their dicks yet hated me for doing so. Fucked up thinking, that’s the way it was, but I wanted the sex and the money. I was no closet case and I didn’t care about The Church saying what I liked was bad.

I got between his legs, on my knees and he grabbed me by my hair, and I began sucking him. “Fuck! You are good! At least you learned how be useful at school.” I looked him straight in the eye as my mouth was stuffed with his cock and he fucked my face. “You’re a real pro. Damn, draining all of those studs’ balls in toilets and cars.” He pulled me of his cock by my hair. He reached over for the jar of Vaseline and tossed it to me. “Get us ready.” I opened it and stuck my fingers in and greased up his cock slick with my spit. I reached in for more and stuck my fingers in my ass. “Bend over the table like the cheap whore you are.”

I walked over to the table and bent over it. From the wall mirror, I could see Mr. Feinberg saunter toward me with his rock hard cock jutting forward and his meaty balls swaying. He just pushed it in and up me and it snapped into place. “Still nice and tight.”

I was used to taking cock now, so there wasn’t much pain anymore. Mr. Feinberg threw me a mean fuck, I watched him slam in and out my ass. His belly rubbing against my arched back. He was grunting and groaning as I whimpered with pleasure. He was giving me what I wanted, and he knew it. He grabbed my hard dick and balls. “You really like it, you whore!” I felt myself cumming as he kept battering away and soon I felt him shooting off in me. He had his arms and hands all over my body and was feeling me. Then he pulled out and my ass and legs were all wet with his cum.

We silently cleaned ourselves up. He hailed a cab and said he’d drop me off. We got to 14th Street. He handed me another $20 bill. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’re beautiful and in your prime. Take care of yourself. See you around.”