The Life of a Professional
The rent stud I hired for the night screwed his thick tongue into my hole. He’d been eating me for a while. The rimming made my eyes flutter and my breath hitch. The stud took his tongue out of my hole and blew on it. The cooling sensation made me shiver. I waited for him to get back to rimming me, but he didn’t. The man whose name I’d forgotten put a finger on one of the pockmarked scars on my right ass cheek. “What is this? You’ve got them all over. Is it a tribal thing?”
I answered the meathead with as little information as possible. “It’s a burn.”
“Oh, are you into branding? A lot of the boys are doing that. Some of them are hot!”
My temper flared. I didn’t want to talk about my scars or answer any questions about my nightmarish childhood. I just wanted to get pounded into the mattress by the thick, uncut cock of the underwear-model-looking-guy I’d rented for the night. He was gorgeous, but he was dumb as shit. He was also a colossal pussy. When he met me in the hotel bar, I made a joke about the too-bright blond frosting on his meticulously styled black hair. He took offence and I had to console him for a half hour before he’d agree to fuck my ass.
I swallowed my anger and gave him another short answer. “It’s a cigarette burn. They’re all cigarette burns. I don’t like to talk about them, OK?”
My answer confused him, at least initially. “How did you get cigarette burns all over your body?” He put his finger on one after the other until his brain caught up and he figured out the reason. “I’M SO SORRY! I didn’t mean too…”
I interrupted his mea-culpa. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve had them for a long time. How about we skip it? Your tongue feels great, but I really need your cock.”
“Oh, honey, I have got a treat for you. Papi is gonna split those white cheeks so wide, you’ll never be able to put them back together.”
He crawled along the bed between my splayed legs and dropped a glob of spit between my upturned ass cheeks. He pressed his fat cock into the mounds of flesh like a hotdog into a bun. His meat felt hot and slick, too slick. “Are you wearing a condom?”
“You don’t have to worry about that with me, honey. I’m clean as a Catholic school girl.”
His words didn’t mean shit to me for two reasons. The first was, the Catholic school girls I knew from the neighborhood were all sluts. The second was, the stud made his living by having sex for money. I didn’t judge him for his occupation, but it was a job which came with certain risks that I didn’t want to share. HIV wasn’t the death sentence it used to be, but that didn’t mean I wanted to live with it. I also didn’t want any of the rest of the galaxy of STDs he might have. I groped in the pocket of my skinny jeans, which had landed next to me when he and I stripped our clothes. I found a condom and reached back with it.
The stud took the packet from my fingers and flipped it across the room onto the floor. “No gonna happen, honey. If you want this dick, you’ll take it raw or not at all.”
I made a counter-offer. “How about I cut it off and feed it to you?”
He ignored my threat. He lined his cock up with my hole and started to press in. I scrambled up, knocked him backwards on the bed, and wrapped my hands around his thick, brown throat. He struggled uselessly underneath me. I had his arms pinned to his sides with my legs, so even though he was far stronger than me, he didn’t have the leverage to throw me off. I only intended to scare him to prove a point, but my special cell phone rang, and I needed a private minute to answer it. I pressed the heels of my hands into the artery and vein which fed blood to the stud’s underdeveloped brain. He blacked out, and I answered the phone. I paced the floor while I talked.
“Where are you?” Tom asked with no preamble.
“Vegas.”
“I need you here. When can you be back?”
“The job is done, but I was planning to buy a beater and drive back to stay away from commercial flights. If you need me sooner, I’ll charter a private plane.”
“I’ll make the arrangements from here. That way all you gotta do is go to the airport. I’ll message you the flight number and time.”
“I’m about an hour away from McCarren Airport, but I’m ready to leave as soon as you say.”
“Alright. Thanks.”
“Dad, you OK?”
Tom ignored the question. “See you when you get here.”
He hung up and I closed the phone. By the time I was finished talking, my rented partner was coming around. He blinked his eyes in the dim light of the room. “Where am I?” He noticed me as I stood naked with the cell phone in my hand. “What did you do to me?”
“You tried to fuck me raw, so I put your lights out.” I saw the condom packet on the floor. I picked it up and offered it to him. “You want to start over and play the game by my rules? If so, you still get paid. If not, you can get the fuck out.”
He took the condom and eyed me warily over the top of it. “I can’t get off if I wear a rubber.”
“I don’t care if you ever get off. I want to get drilled. The longer you last, the better I like it. What’s it gonna be? Decide now. I got shit to do.”
He folded the condom into his palm and nodded his head. “I need the cash. Get on the bed.”
I laid down with my ass up and my legs spread wide like before. “You’re gonna have to eat me again. I’m all dried out from having to wait. Do a good job, and I’ll give you a nice tip.” I reached into the pocket of my jeans again and drew out a couple of lube packets. I offered them to the stud.
He took the packets and crawled between my legs. He drew back and cracked my ass with the flat of his hand. He was trying to punish me, but the slap just made me horny. He spat in my hole and rubbed it in with the pad of his thumb. “I’m gonna rip this ass apart.”
“Give it to me as hard as you can. I like it rough.”
“You gonna feel like you been fucked with a ball bat.” He licked his palm and slapped my ass again. The moisture made the slap sting. I loved it.
I used the mirrored wall behind the bed to make eye contact with him. “If you even think about stealthing me, I’ll castrate you. You get me?”
“I get you.” He said as he pulled my ass open and buried his face in it.
The stud did a nice job. He ate my ass for a while longer. He even tongue-fucked me a bit. He didn’t like me, but he was hot for my body. He rolled the condom onto his cock and let me see it in the mirror before he pressed in. The layer of latex must have really deadened his sensation because he pounded my ass like a man possessed and didn’t get anywhere near a climax. He slapped my ass until it was shiny red and raw while he fucked my hole like he hated me.
Half-way through he pulled out and rocked back on his heels to catch his breath. I flipped over and shoved him back on the bed. He was pouring sweat which I was glad of. His exertion meant he finally smelled like a man instead of a perfume sample they give you at the department store. I took some time to explore his sculpted body with my nose and my tongue. His pits were exquisitely rank. The musk got me hard for the first time since we removed our clothes.
I decided to give the poor, dumb slut a break. I rode him while I filled my nose with his musk and my mouth with his sweat. When I finally had enough, I leaned back and kept his hard cock in my ass while I made him jerk me off. I painted his smooth body and licked my load off him. To prove I wasn’t a complete asshole, once I finished, I pulled the condom off his cock and jerked him to a shattering completion.
The stud was still coming down from his orgasm high when the text came through from Tom. I needed to be at the airport for a two-fifteen AM departure. It was eleven-thirty. I had plenty of time, so I invited my rented partner to shower with me. The orgasm had mollified his anger over our previous scuffle. He accepted and we had a playful time under the hot water.
“What’s your deal?” He asked when we were lounging in the complimentary hotel robes. “How did you do what you did? How did you get me on my back and make me black out so fast?”
I checked the time. It was quarter-after-twelve. I had to get ready to leave soon, but not quite yet. I had a few minutes to indulge the stud’s questions. “I’m highly trained because of my job. A lot of it is based on Marine hand-to-hand combat work. The rest is Special Forces stuff.”
“You’re Special Forces?”
“No. I’m not with the military. We just use their training routines. I learned my craft at a paramilitary camp in New York state. Anyone who has the cash can attend. I go back for two weeks every year to keep myself sharp. My old man loves to remind me that I have most of the skill but almost none of the discipline of a real Marine.”
“What do you do that you need that kind of training?”
Usually, when I’m asked about what I do, I make something up. I’ve told people I’m all manner of things from a bull fighter, to an arctic explorer, to a bush pilot, to a rodeo clown. For some reason, I decided to tell this guy the truth. “I’m a contract killer.”
He laughed. “Bullshit.”
I laughed with him. I stood up and stretched my arms over my head. I went through my wallet and brought back his fee. I gave him a grand for his price and another grand for a tip. He was shocked by my generosity. “Why?”
“I enjoyed you. When you stopped trying to have things your way, you fucked me just the way I like. I’d like to see you again, but next time, no perfume. I like a man to smell like a man.”
He grinned. My words pleased him. “Another satisfied customer. You white boys all love my big, Papi meat.”
“It helps that you know how to use it. You throw a good fuck. Unfortunately, you have to leave now, because I’ve got to get ready to go.”
I stayed in my robe and watched as he dressed. I walked to the door with him and accepted a pleasant, tongue-filled kiss goodbye. He left with a spring in his step from a very successful night.
I got dressed, packed up the little that I’d unpacked, and checked out of the luxury hotel. I took a cab to the airport and boarded the plane for Philly and home.
* * * *
Tom was waiting for me when I landed. Somehow, he’d gotten permission to drive directly onto the taxiway to pick me up as soon as I was on the ground. I could see the parking lights of his new, 2007 Lincoln Town Car and the glow of his cigarette as the plane landed. I tossed my bag in the trunk and gave the big man a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Good to see you, Pop.”
“Same.” He rumbled in his raspy, deep voice.
He and I got in the car and headed for home. I offered to drive like I always did when it was dark outside. The sun would be up soon, but it wasn’t up yet. Tom was getting up in years and his nighttime vision was no good. He dismissed my offer with a wave of his hand and climbed in under the wheel. I jumped in the passenger seat and fastened my belt.
“You’re awfully chipper.”
“I got my ashes hauled.”
“Good for you.”
I teased him a little like I usually did. “I got plowed by a big Mexican stud. He had a cock like a table leg…”
Tom stubbed his cigarette out in the full tray and held his hand up toward me. “Alright, alright, I’m glad you had fun, but I don’t need the details.”
I chuckled at my own joke, then asked a question that had been on my mind since he called me hours before. “What’s wrong? I’ve carried that emergency phone for years and this is the first time you ever called me on it. Did something happen?”
“Some things happened, or I guess they are happening. It’s complicated. Let’s talk at home. I’ve got some papers you should see and some other stuff. This is going to take a while to explain.”
“Are you OK, at least?”
Tom wouldn’t give me the answer I wanted. “Let’s talk at home.”
He lit another of his constant cigarettes and pressed a button on the steering wheel to turn the radio on. The display lit and showed the name of the satellite radio station which was tuned in. Tom was listening to the subscription I’d gotten him for his birthday. I was pleased he was enjoying the gift, but I shook my head over the way he used it. Even though I’d paid for the most expensive package with the biggest number of channels, Tom only ever listened to one. It was called Motown Soul. I wondered if he even remembered how to change the channel if he wanted to. Even as I wondered, I knew it wouldn’t matter, because he would never want to.
Sam Cooke sang, “Another Saturday Night and…” Tom sang along in his deep, gravelly voice. He loved Motown. He would listen to Northern Soul and some of the Phil-L.A. catalogue, but his favorite music came from the decade of his teen years and his hometown of Detroit.
I listened carefully to his singing. His voice seemed raspier. He’d been a chain smoker for decades. I wondered if the cigarettes had caught up with him. I tried to get him to quit, but he never would. “They’re the only thing that quiets my mind.” He said.
I understood the curse of an overactive brain. I had the same thing, but I never told him about it. I didn’t bother him with my trouble because he didn’t know how to deal with his, therefore he wouldn’t be able to help me with mine. Tom confided in me once, that when he got out of the service after Vietnam, he drank for a long time. The killing he’d done in the war never bothered him, but some of the stuff he’d seen haunted his nights. Eventually, he was able to give up the booze, but he could never kick his tobacco habit.
I listened again to Tom’s singing and told myself that I was being silly. His voice had the same smoker’s rasp it always did. Besides, it’s not like I could hear cancer even if he had it. The music changed to one of Tom’s Phil-L.A. favorites. The tune was a brassy, upbeat instrumental called, ‘The Horse’ by Cliff Nobels and Company.
Tom patted the steering wheel with the hand that didn’t hold his cigarette. He whistled smoke from his chest along with the music. He stubbed his cigarette in the tray and slapped my shoulder with an enthusiastic hand. Even though he was pushing sixty, he was still as strong and solid as he’d ever been. His slaps shoved my whole body sideways. “I missed you, you know that? You’ve been gone ten whole days. The old house has been as quiet as a tomb. I haven’t had a good cup of coffee or a decent meal the entire time.”
“I see you’re wasting away.” I teased.
“I am!” He teased right back. “Just yesterday I looked down and I could almost see my feet!”
“Maybe I should go away for a month. By the time I came back, you might be able to see your dick.”
Tom guffawed with hysterical laughter. He slapped the steering wheel with the same hand he’d used on my shoulder. “You’d need to be gone longer than a month for that! A lot longer!”
Tom and I laughed and joked around as he drove us home. I loved how my relationship with the old man had evolved since we started working together. When I was a child, he was distant. I think he kept me at arm’s length because he didn’t want to contaminate my innocence. When I killed the junkie when I was fifteen, Tom realized that he and I were the same and that neither of us was an innocent. Since then, we’d grown far closer. We enjoyed each other not only as father and son, but as friends.
My excellent relationship with Tom was why at twenty-six years old, I still lived in his house. When I grew to be a young adult, Tom and I made some changes to the house and set some different ground rules for our living arrangement. He was the one who suggested it because he didn’t want me to move out. He paid to have the second floor remodeled so instead of having one master bedroom and two small bedrooms, it had two masters, each with their own full bath. He also agreed to make himself scarce if I ever wanted to bring a date or a conquest home.
The arrangement worked and I never felt stifled by his presence or he by mine. He still paid all the bills, and I still did almost all the chores. The only thing Tom never let me do was the ironing. I did it once as a surprise for Father’s Day. He thanked me. He even approved of the work I’d done, but he re-ironed every shirt before he wore it. He apologized for the implied insult of redoing my work. “I’m sorry, son, but I can’t help it. I’ve been doing my own ironing since I joined the Corps. I don’t feel squared-away unless I do it myself.”
I accepted his explanation and never tried to iron for him again. As for the bills, I offered to pay my share, but Tom dismissed my offer out of hand. “Save your money. I’ve got plenty. One day you’re gonna want your own place. When that time comes, you’ll need every nickel to put down. I’ll pay for this place. Hell, son, it’s your money anyway. You’re going to inherit it when I kick off. Let me spend it the way I want to while I can.”
I cringed to hear Tom talk that way. I could barely imagine the idea that someday, Tom wouldn’t be around anymore. He was such a force, like a mountain or a forest or some other permanent part of nature. I couldn’t understand how it would be possible for a world to exist that he wasn’t a part of.
‘The Horse’ faded to silence. Up next was the Detroit Spinners with one of Tom’s favorites, ‘Rubberband Man.’ The song opened with a long, piano instrumental. Tom turned the radio loud and played the dashboard like he was the pianist. The great bulk of his body pressed into the steering wheel to keep the car straight on the interstate while his fingers tickled the imaginary ivories. I laughed at his display of silliness and sang along at the top of my voice.
As we played air instruments and sang a duet of Motown classics, I decided I’d been worried about nothing. Whatever the trouble was that Tom had called me back to deal with, he and I would handle it together, like we always did. When the matter was settled, we’d go back to our lives the way they’d always been. No problem.
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