I am 32 years old, British/Australian living in London and working as a lawyer.
My authoritarian-themed fantasy series is called "Dude's gotta pay his debts". My next series, "Dirt in the dunes", is about my real gay encounters as a young guy growing up on the beach in Sydney. I followed that up with "Backpacking butt slut", in which I relate my adventures travelling around Europe on a career break when I was 24 years old in 2017.
In this series I share some of my encounters as I was settling into life in London from late 2017 onwards.
I was born in November 1992 in Sydney, Australia. I'm 5'11" and about 82kg. My hair is dark blond (with lighter streaks when sun-bleached in the summer), and facially, I am of average attractiveness under normal conditions; "nice-looking" I guess. My cock is average length, maybe around 6.5 inches and cut, but pleasingly thick. A medium covering of dark blond hair fans out over my pecs and narrows to a trail down to my pubes. I've got a little hair on my shoulders and upper back but not a lot, aside from a patch at the base of my spine over my ass crack. My pits, arms, legs and crack are pretty hairy. I've got broad size 11.5 feet. I generally trim my bush and shave my sack but I don't usually touch any other body hair (though like most guys I've experimented with manscaping from time to time). I've been into working out since my mid-teens and I'm pretty proud of my athletic muscular build and flat, hard belly, with a shadow of a 6 pack.
I don't have any piercings other than a silver ring in my right ear, but I do have a scattering of small, random tattoos around my body that I've picked up over the years. Back in 2017 when this story starts, I had eight of them: right side of my groin, inside of my left ankle, left pec, upper back, and four around my right forearm. Also, at that time my hair had grown well past my shoulders and I often wore it in a man-bun; to complete the lumbersexual image, my beard was big and thick after nearly a year's growth, though I got it shaped every so often. When otherwise naked I wore a silver St Christopher's medallion on a chain around my neck, and back then I had a collection of woven bracelets on my right wrist, and a single woven bracelet around my left ankle.
I'm bisexual, and as readers of "Dirt in the dunes" and "Backpacking butt slut" will be aware, when I was a university student I got into casual sex work to supplement my income and I'd picked the habit up again to help pay my way around the European backpacking circuit.
****
In early November 2017, not long before my 25th birthday, I ended eight months of backpacking around South-East Asia and Europe by rocking up in London. I wasn't sure what my next steps would be but I wasn't ready to go home - I had a mind to spend Christmas in the cold weather for once - so I found a central London hostel with access to a basic but well-equipped gym and started exploring the city. My cash reserves were OK but I didn't like not earning, so I realised I was going to have to get a job, resume hustling, or both.
I couldn't stay in the hostel forever and I was looking at online notice boards for somewhere to rent a room. After checking out a few places I didn't like, on one of the more alternative sites I found a posting from a guy who lived in Peckham, south-east London, who wanted a "broad minded, ideally gay or bi" male flatmate. I texted him and arranged to visit. It was a privately-owned flat in an ex-council block, so looked modest from the outside, but it was spacious, light and airy inside with two good-sized bedrooms. Ryan turned out to be a Kiwi (i.e. a New Zealander) who had rented this place for a couple of years and was sub-letting the spare room. He was 26, good looking with short blond hair with a trendy high fade, wearing a hoodie, gym shorts and sport socks. He was a personal trainer with a side hustle in sports massage that he did from the flat (using his bedroom when he had a flatmate living with him).
"Actually mate I'm going to be up front and honest with you. I wanted a broad minded male flattie, yeah? Well look, most of my massage clients are men, most of them are after a happy ending, and some of them want more than that. I'm straight really but, you know, they pay well. I even advertise online. So if you aren't cool with that, if it makes you uncomfortable..."
I held up my hands and smiled. "Mate, I'm bi and I've been giving this ass up for cash since I was 18, on and off. It is totally cool by me." Ryan seemed surprised but immediately relaxed. As we kept chatting over coffee, I asked if he would be bothered if I brought guys back to the flat myself, and he seemed very chill about it. So we shook hands on a deal, and I moved in the next day.
Ryan and I became good mates and we worked out and socialised together quite often. He had a circle of friends who were decidedly in the dark about Ryan's sideline and I absolutely respected that secret, as he did mine. There was a girl Ryan had a "situationship" with and she spent a little bit of time at the flat, and I even went back to another one of his female friend's places and spent the night with her a few times. I'd known this little group for less than two weeks when they helped me to celebrate my 25th in our local pub.
Being typical young, fit, confident, bi slash hetero-flexible guys living together, it wasn't long before we were completely comfortable seeing each other naked, and quite a few lazy days were spent playing PlayStation in our underwear. He had a good muscular body, as you'd expect of a PT. He shaved his chest and abs and kept the rest closely trimmed, and was amused by the fact that I didn't. He was a cleanskin but was curious about my little collection of tatts.
Ryan was very cute and took an enthusiastic interest in helping me to set up as a London rent boy. He pointed me to the best sites to post my profile on, advised me on going rates, shared his tips for staying safe, and even took my shirtless and fully nude neck-down pix with his iPhone for me to include with my profile (plus erection and ass shots to send privately to punters, though I took my own of a load of cum on my hairy abs). He directed me to the nearest public sexual health clinic where I could get free condoms and have monthly STI screenings, and he got me a sneaky student discount at the nearby gym he worked from as a PT. Fuck, he even set up a shared Google calendar we'd use to schdule our appointments so we could minimise clashes, and we'd text each other if a client or hookup visited at late notice. Generally when he had a client visit, if I was there I'd keep to my room or the kitchen until they went to his room. He'd usually greet his punters wearing a gym vest, either jogging bottoms or gym shorts, and sports socks. Sometimes, when he showed them out, he'd be wearing nothing but briefs, so then I would definitely know it wasn't just a massage he'd delivered, or maybe they'd skipped the massage entirely. He still insisted he was gay-for-pay, and though he was willing to get his cock sucked and fuck ass, he drew the line at putting cock in his own mouth and his asshole was strictly off-limits.
In the first few weeks, we got drunk a few times on the sofa and even got a bit handsy with each other occasionally, but it was just "lads being lads". We'd tease each other about the obvious hardons in our undies but the unspoken agreement was that nothing would happen. Eventually though we crossed the line. We were on the sofa in our pants one Sunday morning, just generally messing about and being dickheads, and one thing led to another and I got his cock down my throat. He only touched me to rest his hand affectionately on my head, and as he shot in my mouth I jerked my own load out onto my thigh. There was a little uncomfortableness afterwards but we quickly got over it. We got comfortable knocking one out next to each other while watching straight porn, and occasionally I'd blow him if there was some silly excuse, such as I had to pay him back if I left a mess in the kitchen or didn't take the bins out, or I lost some bet or another.
He gave me mates' rates for the occasional massage, and though he was very good, they were very much "sports" massages. Though they never got truly sensual like Mitch's used to, they still ended up in the right place. Amusingly, Ryan always insisted on draping me with a towel even though he saw me naked all the time, and even if it was very warm, he never wore less than a pair of gym shorts. But once he had me on my back, my boner would always be obvious even through the towel, and he'd give me the same happy ending handjob he gave his other clients, plus let me suck him off.
****
One day, I think it would have been January 2018, I'd just got back from the gym and showered. I was hanging out in the flat wearing jogging bottoms commando, a zip-up hoodie unzipped over my bare torso, barefoot, my long hair hanging down to finish drying. Ryan was expecting a client, so when the doorbell rang I got up to make myself scarce in the kitchen. I wasn't quite quick enough, and I glimpsed the punter: 30's, quite good looking in a City trader kind of way, balding scalp buzzed to a zero, carefully trimmed dark stubble, business suit. He glimpsed me too and I just smiled and nodded as I stepped out of sight.
I took my cup of tea back to my room and lay on my bed scolling on my phone and reading a book for half an hour or so. I reckoned I could hear some noises through the wall that definitely suggested they'd moved beyond a mere massage; getting a bit horned up, I stripped my kit off, brought up some porn on my phone and started to wank.
Suddenly my WhatsApp pinged; it was Ryan. "Up for a 3way? £100." "Fuck yh", I replied in a flash. I got up and padded naked towards his room, my hard cock waving about ahead of me; I could hear the sounds of his punter's moans coming down the hall. I slowly opened the door: They'd moved from the massage table to Ryan's king sized bed, and he was fucking the dude doggie-style. He was pretty fit, obviously a gym-goer, ink-free and manscaped. The punter looked over at me with a full-on sex face and licked his lips as I leaned in the doorway for a bit, wanking my throbbing hardon. When he finally noticed me, Ryan grinned and motioned with his head for me to come in and join them, then slid out of his client's asshole and stood aside for me. I squatted and inspected the dude's smooth, puffy wet hole and spent a minute probing it with my tongue as Ryan watched, then I spat on it. Standing, I rubbered up and lubed myself, slid into the punter's guts, grabbed his hips and started to fuck. I leaned forward and kissed his upper back and shoulders as Ryan knelt on the bed and firmly gripped the dude's throat, before I pushed the bottom's chest down onto the bed, gripped his shoulders and leaned in to give him a good hammering as Ryan got at the head end and fed his client his sheathed cock so the slut got a good taste of his ass juices on the latex. I got my feet up on the bed by the bottom's hips and pulled my cock in and out of his fuckhole a few times then started piledriving my strokes down into his fucknut.
We swapped ends, Ryan flipping the dude onto his back, hauling up his legs and stuffing himself back in, while I got on all fours over the slutty client's face and fucked his throat. As Ryan had, I kept my condom on because we were going to be swapping ends quite a bit and anyway it would help me to last. I broke from fucking his throat to kiss the fucker wetly, then I squatted over his face so he could eagerly lick my sweaty anus (I pushed my gut muscles down to open it up for the slut) while I pulled his legs back by his bare feet for Ryan. This was mind-blowing for my mate, as it was his first all-male three-way and most of this stuff he'd never experienced or even watched in porn (so he said, anyway). Still, he seemed be enjoying it as much as me and his slutty punter were. After I'd been rimmed for a bit, Ryan wanted a break so I got down between the cunt's legs and started to plough him missionary-style while we kissed some more and Ryan stood to the side, watching, wanking, holding one of his punter's legs back by the ankle, before he knelt at the head end for a face fuck.
We did that client for a solid 45 minutes together, swapping ends periodically. Sometimes when I was fucking, Ryan would just stay by me with his sweat-slick, muscular arm around my shoulders. At one point, as we were all a sweaty mess and needed a break, Ryan knelt over his punter's face and held his legs back for me while I rimmed the dude's open cunt and he sucked on Ryan's shaved balls. When we were ready again, the client flipped into doggie mode, and as Ryan lined up behind him to take his turn, I surprised him by bending down and taking his sheathed ass-slick cock in my mouth for a few deep sucks, then spitting on it and guiding him home up the slut's swollen shitter. We were getting increasingly rough with the punter, treating his ass and face to a few light slaps, lightly choking him and spitting in his open gob, but he loved it. Eventually we flipped him on to his back and while Ryan fucked him some more, I jerked my load out into the cunt's slobbering mouth. After he'd swallowed and sucked me clean, the punter reached down, took Ryan's cock out of his ass and tugged off the condom. "Cum on my hole," he moaned. Fuckin' slut! Always one to keep his customers happy, Ryan spat on his cock and wanked until he spaffed all over the dude's open cunt and slick shaved ballsack. Like a pig, the guy dabbled his fingers in the gravy and tasted it, then smeared it up over his junk to lube his stroke as he brought himself off, his impressive jets of scum splashing over his trimmed belly and thighs.
Panting, I snogged the cunt then high-fived Ryan. "Wanna shower dude?" I asked the customer, and when he said yes, I winked at Ryan and frogmarched the happy slut to the bathroom. I made him get in the tub on his knees, and fuck me, the dude looked excited as he realised what was about to happen and opened his mouth. I unleashed a powerful stream of fragrant, golden piss into his gob, much of the flow spilling out over his chest and junk. Ryan came up behind me, fascinated, and when I was empty he took his turn. I shook off my last drips and left them to it. I went and flopped naked and sweaty on the sofa, doom-scrolling on my phone, and when Ryan - wearing just jogging bottoms - led his now-dressed client to the front door, the client said "Cheers mate, that was so fuckin' good," and handed me four twenties and four tens (yay, I got a tip!).
****
For two years I'd live with Ryan, and they were good times. We are still mates to this day, loyally keeping each others' secrets.
****
I stocked up on those free condoms, bought a selection of lubes, poppers and a few anal toys, treated myself to an instant STI screening (all clear) then waited for the messages to come. And come they did, like, within 24 hours of me going live on the profile sites. From late-November to the beginning of February 2018, I had at least half a dozen punters a week. Some days were barren, on others I'd see three guys; some guys paid the minimum for a quickie and didn't tip, but outcalls in the punters' hotel rooms usually took 2-3 hours and tipped well. On average I pulled in anywhere from 500 to just over a grand a week, tax free of course.
I bought myself a cheap laptop and a woollen balaclava so I could do some webcamming as well. To be honest, punters wanted to see cam boys' faces, so I probably didn't pull in as much as I could have if I'd been braver, but it was a fun way to earn a few quid if I was bored. Besides, the punters got an eyefull of the rest of me and I was very happy to play with my ass and put those plugs and dildos to good use.
****
I was half inclined to stay in London longer, even though I was due back in Sydney by March to resume my job after my year off. I had a UK passport and was determined to use it. But I liked the law and didn't want my experience to get stale. One day in late January 2018 I came across a high street firm with a network of London offices, including one in Brixton. I put in an application for a paralegal role but made it clear I was actually an "Overseas Qualified Solicitor", and blow me down if I didn't get invited for an interview.
With some reluctance, I headed to the barber and had my long hair cut and styled. I went for a high-fade with the hair on top mid-length and choppy, ruffled up with wax. I had my big beard trimmed and shaped down to a shorter professional style. I swapped out my silver earring for a discrete silver stud and bought myself a cheap interview suit from M&S, plus a shirt, tie, black shoes and socks.
Rebelliously, I attended the interview wearing my jock under my suit trousers. Maybe it was a lucky jock, because I got the job, in fact they expanded it to reflect my experience, and a few months later I did the exam to transfer my New South Wales qualifications to England and was a fully-fledged lawyer with the firm. It was a bit more down-market than I was used to in Sydney but it was fine; I called my old firm to let my old job go, but on very good terms.
I dialled back my rent boy work a little bit and saw clients a couple of nights at most during the work week, with more flexibility on weekends, but I was enjoying it too much to give it up and I started packing the money away. But there are more rent boy stories I can tell, so keep your eyes open for my next chapter.
As promised, this is a true account of my experiences as I remember them. I'd love to hear what you think of it, so email me if you want at [email protected]
