[I wrote this in 2000, evidently. All I remember is thinking "I need to write something", sitting down to do so, and then coming to some hours later and this was on the screen in front of me. I had absolutely no memory of writing it then and still don't remember anything as far as how this story came to be, but here it is.]

The clock read 10pm as I pulled my black Mazda out of the parking place where it'd been
sitting since I checked in. The roads were still wet from the rain earlier, but that was to be
expected. A summer day in the south wasn't complete without at least a few minutes of drizzle,
and it was shaping up to be a gorgeous night. The sky above was nearly obscured by the bright
city lights as I drove down one of the main strips. Although the night was ripe with activities
ready for picking, I had one goal in mind, and it was my project that led me to turn from the main
thoroughfare to the quieter sidestreet. Away from the bright lights and noise of the four lanes
I'd just left, Lafayette seemed almost sedate in comparison, a mere two lanes wide, the shop
windows that lined either side filled with baked goods, toys, or antiques. Young lovers waiting for
buses already occupied the benches that lounged under the city trees in their protective cages,
but I was not interested in playing voyeur to their public displays of affection. My attention was
turned to the roving band of prostitutes that relentlessly scoured the passing traffic with hungry
eyes, strolling with exaggerated hip movement to any car that looked as if it might be slowing.
I'd been down this road before, I'd spent a few hours on an empty bench alone, studying
them, learning their names and their proclivities. Like Janine, a brassy redhead who had a
penchant for animal prints and thigh-high vinyl boots. Or Susan, a shy blond who preferred
babydoll dresses and lace, her shoulder length hair usually in pigtails. Then there was Maria,
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a spitfire Latina with gorgeous black curls that fell almost to the small of her back and deep
olive skin with a red-lipped mouth that looked ready to suck you dry or swallow you whole. She
seemed to be the leader of the little group, as was evidenced by the way she stood and how the
other girls deferred to her. Maria got first choice on the passing motorists, and she had her eye
on a red Yugo, sidling up to it and leaning seductively on the door as she conversed with the
driver, negotiations taking only a few minutes before she climbed aboard and disappeared.
I parked the car at the far end of the street and began a bit of a stroll myself on the opposite
side of the street, ignoring the calls of the girls across the street. I was surprised that
they hadn't recognized me by now, I'd been here enough. Maybe they figured I wasn't worth
remembering. It didn't bother me one way or another, I was in search of more impressive prey
than the girls. As I approached the local Dunkin' Donuts, I happened to look towards the stop
sign that leaned at a crazy angle at the end of the street, and I saw someone I hadn't seen before.
A slender figure whose silhouette was breathtaking in itself, its arms wrapped around itself as
if trying to keep warm even in the seventy degree heat. I walked behind it, trying to catch a bit
of light to see it better when the figure suddenly snatched up the backpack that slumped at its
feet and nearly fled into the donut shop. I lingered for a moment and turned to watch as the
lights from the shop collided violently with the person's features. I wasn't prepared for what I
saw, and had to lean onto the stop sign for support. This was exactly what I had been looking
for. Long satin black hair slid down his back, shoulders not too broad, a slender waist, and
boyish hips. He turned and looked out at me through the window, and I caught my breath. He
was absolutely stunning, and he smiled at me through the rain-spattered window. I couldn't
breathe for a minute, then I remembered myself and smiled back. He ordered something at the
counter and kept watching me through the window while I stared back at him, sizing eachother
up. His eyes were almost feral in their examination of my body, yet he didn't seem to be afraid,
just cautious. I couldn't tell if he liked what he saw, but I knew I did. The waitress handed him
a cup of coffee and he paid her, slipping back out into the night and walking up to me.
"Hey," he began, the ring in his lip catching the neon glow of the sign above our heads.
"Hey yourself," I managed, nodding a little as I sighed and looked him over again. He caught me
looking.
"See something that interests you?"
I blushed almost immediately and smiled a bit, thankful for the partial darkness.
"Maybe."
He smiled and took a sip of the coffee. I could smell it from here.
"Maybe, if you're interested, you could see quite a bit more."
It was my turn to smile this time.
"Lovely night for a drive, don't you think?"
It was just that easy. He gestured and I set off walking, him falling into step beside me. I
watched the way he walked, putting his feet carefully one in front of the other and moving in slow
strides. He was taller than I was, but that was probably the platform boots he wore that were so
popular with the kids these days. He was wearing a black T-shirt with the letters TSD where the
breast pocket would be and what looked to be black vinyl pants that gleamed a sudden candy
apple red in the light of a passing car. I inquired about the TSD as we walked. He took another
sip of the coffee and nodded.
"Traumatic Stress Discipline. Group of men and women who stage suspension demonstrations.
They put 8-guage fishhooks through the muscles in their shoulders and hang themselves by
them with wires."
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I winced.
"You a big fan?"
He nodded
"I saw a few shows here and there. Pretty awesome stuff. They were on Ripley's a month or so
ago."
The conversation ended as we reached the car and I unlocked it. He opened the door and bent
himself into the small front seat, neatly removing the tape recorder I had left there and putting
it on the floor to avoid crushing it beneath him. I settled into the driver's seat myself and started
the car, glancing over at him. He'd belted himself in, to my amusement, and was staring out the
window as we pulled away from the curb, eyes taking in the procession of hookers that slid by
us like a slideshow.
"So what kind of a party were you looking for, mister&?"
I let him dangle.
"Actually, I'm doing an article on male prostitution and I was hoping you'd be able to help me
out."
He glanced over at me with a quickness that was unsettling, suddenly on the alert.
"My time is valuable. I don't have all night to sit and chat, as much as I'd like to."
"I'm willing to pay you. How much do you charge?"
"Depends on the party. Blowjobs are thirty bucks. Anything else is a hundred an hour."
"This shouldn't take too long, I just need to ask some questions, then I'll pay you and you can go
on your merry way."
"That's fine." He sighed and looked back out the window, giving me the opportunity to look him
over. He wasn't as delicate as he looked and his knuckles were dotted with scars, probably from
street fighting, but he looked to be in good shape, rather healthy. I reached over and hit Record
on the tape player on the floor.
"What's your name?" He didn't move at the question.
"Brian. What's yours?"
I laughed.
"I get to ask the questions. That's the rules."
Brian (his name fit him like those pants did) nodded and squirmed in the seat, readjusting his
weight,
"It's your party."
"How long have you been working the streets, Bri? Do you mind if I call you Bri?"
"About six months, and you can call me anything you like."
We stopped at a stop signal, and in a pool of streetlight I realized he was wearing purple lipstick,
and his eyes were green.
"What made you get into prostitution?"
"Bills, mostly. I'm trying to get a band together, and that costs money. Plus I'm in school, and
that's a massive drain on my bank account. I figured it'd be good easy money and it'd give me
some experiences I could write about when the band picks up."
"You look pretty young. How old are you?"
His eyes flicked briefly over to me before he refolded his hands in his lap. I realized he'd lost the
coffee somewhere in the transition from outside the donut shop to my car. I also realized that he
would taste like coffee now, and I was curious if he'd had cream and sugar.
"I'm legal. Twenty two, to be exact."
"I wasn't insinuating that you weren't legal. I just need to know for the article."
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"Okay." He paused and licked his lips. He had gorgeous teeth, from what I could see of them. "I
suppose you want to know about my childhood and what could have led me to this lowly state."
"Anything you'd like to tell me will be fine."
He nodded again and sighed as if he'd told this story a lot, sinking back into the charcoal gray
interior of the car.
"My parents moved down here from the north when I was a kid. I moved out on my own two
years ago when I started going to school, out on my own. Did a little drugs, did a bit of partying.
Still pulling a 3.5 in school, majoring in journalism. Concentrating on my music though for the
moment. I need the cash to buy equipment, studio time when the need arises, shit like that. I
didn't have a bad childhood or anything, don't get me wrong. I saw some fucked up things when
I was growing up, but I don't think I turned out too badly. And I'm not gay. Anyone who knows
me knows I like girls."
I turned into the parking lot of the hotel and found the spot by the door that I'd abandoned
an hour ago, turning off the ignition and reaching over to turn off the recorder. My hand
brushed his leg as I leaned over the seat to pick it up off the floor, but he didn't flinch away. He
touched my arm, fingers playing over the swirl of black and gray that made up the crow that I'd
had inked on my bicep. I froze.
"Personal symbol for you, or do you just have a thing for birds?"
I smiled and straightened up as he let his fingers drop from my arm, shrugging a bit as I opened
the car door and got out.
"You could call it a thing', I suppose. I read a lot of comics."
"O'Barr?"
I looked over at him in surprise and he grinned conspiratorially at me, reaching into the abused
black leather backpack thrown over his shoulder and extracting an equally battered paperback
copy of O'Barr's "The Crow". I grinned. He mirrored the grin and put the book away. "I sort of
"borrowed" it from the local used bookstore. Good read."
I nodded again and gestured to the door of the Holiday Inn. He nodded again and followed me
into the hotel, leading me through the lobby towards the elevator with ease. Evidently he'd been
here many times before. I followed him into the elevator and pressed the button for the second
floor, again marveling at the grace with which he moved. People overused the term feline grace'
at times, but if it ever fit anyone it fit Brian. The elevator rose smoothly and stopped at the
second floor and opened the doors with a muffled whoosh and a polite chime, the two of us
stepping out, Brian lagging behind as I led him to 213 and dug in my pocket for my key card.
His thin brows went up and he grinned, muttering something to himself.
"What was that?"
"You're in Jeff's room. Dahmer's apartment number was 213. I'm writing a song about him." He
watched my face for a sign of recognition, rolling his eyes when I looked at him blankly. "Jeffrey
Dahmer. Milwaukee. Killed and ate a bunch of guys before they caught him. The serial killer?"
His voice was incredulous by the time I nodded and grinned.
"I'm a fan of Albert Fish, myself. The one who killed and fucked and ate Grace Budd. He had to
be seventy years old and a mentally ill masochist at that. Sick fucker."
Brian nodded and smiled, evidently he'd heard of him.
"The best part was when he wrote the letter to Grace's parents, telling them how he caught and
killed her and how she tasted. That was fantastic!"
His eyes glinted as he rambled on and on about his favorite killers, their methods of operation
and the list of victims coming from his lips in a well-practiced sermon as I smiled and
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unlocked the door, ushering him in and closing the door behind us.
"I've got some Coke, if you're interested."
He was. I walked to bathroom and pulled two cans out of the sink that I'd packed with ice earlier,
tossing one to him as I walked over and sat on the bed opposite him. Brian caught the can and
cracked it open, smiling as he set down the backpack on the bed.
"For a minute, I thought you meant cocaine. Tease."
I laughed and set the recorder on the dresser again, turning it back to Record.
"Sorry. The best I can do is half a joint, but it's a thick one."
Brian nodded and set the can down on the dresser, his backpack sitting lumpily behind him
on the bed. I slid open the dresser drawer and opened the jade green Gideon's Bible that lay
inconspicuously on the bottom. Someone had hollowed out a compartment in James and some
of John and that was where I'd left the joint, waiting for the proper moment. I handed it to Brian
and took a sip of my Coke as he rummaged in the backpack and pulled out a lighter, working at
convincing the joint to light. He didn't have to wait long and he took a drag of the smoke before
passing it to me, his fingers brushing mine. The paper was stained purple from his lips and I
hesitated before taking a hit myself.
A half hour later the weed was gone and Brian was laughing as I told him a story I'd
heard on the Internet last week, his graceful frame stretched out on the bed, completely at ease
with the Coke and the pot.
"So it turns out when she was fucking the lobster, it shit all these shrimp eggs into her, and the
temp and the wetness was perfect for incubation, and they all hatched and started growing at
some insane rate, like, doubling their size every ten minutes. Can you believe that?"
Brian couldn't. He was laughing so hard now that he couldn't speak, gesturing in the direction
of his stomach and the bathroom. I could make out a few words here and there like ow and
squirt and twitching. It took quite awhile before he was capable of coherent speech again and he
sat up, eyes watering as he took a long drink of Coke, giggling now and then. I reached over and
checked the recorder again, smiling.
"Maybe we can continue then, Bri. As we're on the topic of funny stories, maybe you could tell
me something amusing that happened to you since you started working."
Brian's color was almost back to normal as he rolled his eyes skyward, searching the ceiling for
the answer to my question, his fingers tapping against the can as he thought.
"I got hired once by this girl who wanted me to piss on her. That was probably the strangest
thing that's happened. There's always a few guys who want to see me in a dress, or they want
me to model shoes for them. I got hired once for a fetish party, they got me all dolled up in a
maid's uniform and paid me a grand to serve drinks. That was probably the best time I had
since I started. As for amusing? I don't think anything about this job is funny. At least I haven't
found anything funny about it yet. I'll let you know when I do."
I nodded. It was a fair answer.
"How did you get into this business anyway? Did you just wake up one day and say, I think I'll
go hustle down on Elm for awhile'?"
Brian finished his Coke and set down the empty can next to the recorder, smiling coquettishly.
"I can't remember. Maybe if I had some more Coke, my memory would improve."
I grinned.
"Mi casa es su casa. You know where I keep it."
I watched him as he retrieved a Coke from the bathroom and brought me back one as
well, settling onto the bed beside me this time as he tucked one leg under him, sighing.
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"It was Halloween and my girlfriend at the time wanted to go as a married couple, so I convinced
her to wear a top hat and tux and carry a cane, and I found a secondhand wedding dress in
the paper for $100. So we went to the party like that. I'd been practicing doing my makeup for
months, so I looked great. The eyeliner and lipstick and all. I love to wear makeup, the taste of
lipstick. It usually gets me called a fag but hey, I think it looks good." I nodded in agreement
and reached over, brushing away a smudge at the corner of his lips. He smiled and allowed this,
continuing. "We had a great time at the party, lots of jokes about how the consummation of the
marriage was, if she had a strap-on to go with my fake breasts. Which, of course, she did. For
the judging at midnight she bent me over the bar in front of everyone and fucked me. She was
just supposed to pretend to, but we were all very drunk and I was stoned and almost completely
out of it. There were..just..all these people watching us, and she wasn't just miming it she
actually had the dildo up my ass in front of everyone. She knew I liked being touched there and
I guess she just went overboard, but I don't know. I think I came, but I don't remember that
either. I do remember that we won for Best Pair Costume. Two hundred dollars each, most of
which went for rent and drugs. We broke up the day before Christmas when she caught me
making out with one of the girls I worked with back when I worked on campus. She was in the
process of collecting her things to leave when I asked her for her share of the month's rent. She
told me if I needed money that I should consider prostitution, seeing as how I loved taking it up
the ass. That shut me up pretty quick, as neither of us had ever mentioned what happened on
Halloween, never felt the need to. So after seeing that HBO special on "Women of the Night", I
hit the streets."
I sat transfixed. It was a wonderfully terrible story, and I'd listened to a lot of stories in
my time, my Coke sitting forgotten between my knees as I watched Brian nervously toy with the
black jelly bracelets on his wrist.
"What was it like&your first guy?"
He looked at me solemnly and shrugged, sighing as he took a sip of the drink and returned the
can to sit next to its empty counterpart on the dresser.
"I met him in one of the dance clubs over on Market. He was all gothed out in lipstick, eyeliner,
leather&the works. He was gorgeous. I think his name was Matthew, and he was shorter than
I am but had a great body: built but not obnoxiously so, good definition, no hair, very pale. We
made out for awhile on the dance floor before we ended up somewhere behind the stage in one of
the storage rooms. He took me up against the wall behind a stack of paper towel boxes. It hurt,
but he knew what he was doing and he tried to be gentle. I could feel the bass from the music
coming through the wall and he was fucking me in rhythm, making the most incredible sounds
against my ear while his hands moved over me. He didn't leave me unsatisfied, and when it was
over he handed me five twenties, kissed my cheek, and walked out. That was it."
"Was it what you expected?"
He nodded, slowly.
"I cleaned myself up, got dressed, went back out to the bar and drank until I couldn't see
straight. I still don't know how I ended up back home the next morning." His eyes looked me
over curiously. "What's your story, mister reporter who won't even give me his name? You got a
thing for androgynous boys?"
I laughed.
"As a matter of fact, I do. But right now, I'm working."
His eyes glittered.
"You need a break."
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I never saw him move. One minute he was beside me and the next I was staring up at
him as he straddled my waist, his hands busy unbuttoning my shirt and peeling me out of it.
He smiled down at me as I reached to touch his hair, pushing my hands into the thick black
softness that fell down around my face as he leaned down and licked my lips, avoiding my kisses.
Stretching out on top of me, he moved under my chin and nibbled at my neck, hands roaming
expertly over my chest and tweaking my nipples, causing me to groan and push at him, pulling
his teeth closer to me. Brian's nails slid down over my sides to my belt buckle, loosening it with
the faint clink of metal and the hiss of leather through belt loops as he pulled it free and moved
down my body, lipsticked mouth leaving bruiselike marks on my skin. His tongue dipped into
my navel and I shuddered, my cock hard under my jeans as he yanked roughly at the button,
pulling it open and working his hand inside my briefs. I groaned as he touched me, my body
responding to the delicacy with which he wrapped his fingers around the shaft, stroking and
teasing as I squirmed to get closer to him. Brian glanced up at me and grinned as he withdrew
his hand, letting the elastic band snap against my stomach as he leaned down and pulled off my
shoes, working the jeans off my legs in a series of impatient jerks, my underwear following them
to the floor. I lay beneath him completely stripped and he had yet to even remove his shirt.
Smiling, I reached up and tugged at his shirt, prompting him to pull it off over his head
and toss it to the side. He did not disappoint. His chest was smooth and hairless, I could trace
each of his ribs through his skin, his nipples a light rose color and like tiny pebbles under my
fingers as I touched them, moving lower to his abdomen. There was only a thin line of hair here
that disappeared into the vinyl and I held him in place above me as I lifted my head to taste the
four tiny moles like a constellation on his stomach. Brian sighed softly and touched my hair,
stroking it as he reached down and touched his zipper. I could see the outline of his cock, hard
and cut under the vinyl. I moved further down, ignoring the strain on my neck as I kissed him
through the plastic. He groaned softly and opened the button and then the zipper, exposing
himself for my eyes. His cock stood out from the soft thatch of black hair, of average size and
girth, the head smooth against my tongue as I took him into my mouth, tasting the salty droplet
of pre ejaculate that had formed. He groaned louder and fought with the laces on his boots,
struggling to get both them and the vinyl off as I took him as deeply as I could at this angle, my
cheeks hollowed as I sucked him off. Finally he was as naked as I and he pulled my head up off
of him, eyes hazy as he looked down at me.
"Is this all you wanted from me, or was there something else?"
I looked up at him and licked my lips, grinning as I leaned back on my elbows.
"There's always something else."
Brian nodded to me and got off of me, reaching over to the other bed and pulling over the
backpack of mysteries, opening it and pulling out two condoms and a bottle of lubricant. Before
I had time to see what else was in there he tossed it to the other bed and ripped open one of the
condoms, arranging it on the head of my cock. As I watched, he leaned down and wrapped his
lips around the shaft, his breath warm on my skin as he pushed the sheath down over my cock
with his lips, feeling the faint graze of his teeth as he fit it onto me before straightening up again
and licking his lips.
"Licorice flavored."
I nodded. This was logical, as the condom was black. He reached for the lubricant and squirted
a bit into his palm, spreading the clear liquid onto me. I groaned and pushed against his hand
as he worked my cock, making sure I was well covered with the stuff before he straddled me
again, turning around so his back was to me. I shivered and watched through half-closed eyes
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as he took a firm grip on my cock with one hand and spread himself with the other, carefully
aligning my cocktip with the tiny pucker as he lowered himself onto my cock, pulling a moan
from both of us. He hadn't been in the business so long that he'd been stretched out, and I
could easily imagine him to be a virgin as he alternately clenched and loosened around me, his
thighs squeezing my legs between them as he began to ride me. I reached for his waist, trying
to give him support as he rose and fell over me, leaning forward and holding himself up with
one hand, the other stroking himself slowly with the rhythm. I pressed up into the heat of his
body, watching as his ass swallowed me over and over, pulling me in and then pushing me out
again with a smooth motion, the lubricant doing its job as he rode me faster. I tried to ignore the
feeling that began in my balls and slowly spread to the tips of my fingers, my eyes glued to his
ass as he rode me harder, listening to the way he breathed as he worked, his long hair swaying
with the motion of his body.
I fought to straighten up to a seated position, wrapping my arm around his waist as I
readjusted, pushing him onto his hands and knees without separating us. He did not question
me, holding the position as I knelt behind him and started controlling the thrusts, making them
not so deep and slowing them down. Most men probably just took what they wanted from him
and left. I wanted to be different, I wanted to make this less work for him. Brian pushed back
against me softly, his head bowed until his hair pooled on the bed, moaning as he arched his
back. I began to give it to him harder now as he dictated, sliding smoothly into his heat, feeling
his body clutch at me as I moved out of him. He moaned again and said something to himself
as I reached under his body and took his cock into my hand, squeezing it lightly, feeling how it
throbbed in my fingers. He wanted me, he wanted this. I could feel how close he was as I began
to fuck him more roughly, my hips slapping against the bony contours of his ass as he clenched
and relaxed around me, his moans coming louder now as he slammed back onto my cock. I
reached up into his hair and gathered a handhold for myself, drawing his head back as I pulled
hard on it and slammed into him once more, Brian crying out sharply as his cock pulsed in my
fingers, feeling him shake inside as he came, coating my fingers, his stomach, and the bed with
the hot stickiness of his semen. I moaned in answer, pushing again into him as I gave up the
struggle, feeling my own come rushing from my balls into the heat of his body, the two of us
momentarily frozen in time.
After we were back in our clothes and the cleanup was finished, we broke open two more
Cokes. Brian was putting his things back into his backpack while I flipped through the basic
cable, eventually settling on tomorrow's forecast courtesy of the Weather Channel. Brian tossed
the empty cans into the trash and turned to me, his hair still wet from the shower he'd taken.
"I really ought to be getting back."
I nodded and sighed, reaching into my pocket and pulling out my wallet, checking the time as I
counted out six fifties and handed them over. Good thing my job paid well.
Brian looked at the money and counted it to himself, nodding as he slid it into the pocket of his
vinyls.
"It's been a pleasure, mister reporter. I'll see you around."
I looked up at him curiously.
"Don't you want me to take you back to Lafayette?"
He shook his head.
"No need. It's not that far, and there's a convention in the ballroom that might prove profitable.
And it's not like I don't have cab fare."
I nodded, disappointed that the evening was ending differently than I'd planned. Brian primped
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once more in the mirror behind the television and looked down at me, bending and hurriedly
pressing his lips to mine. It was the first time we'd kissed.
"Goodbye, Brian."
He straightened up and nodded again before backing away from me and walking to the nightstand
where the recorder lay, still in the Record position. I turned to watch him as he looked at
it for a moment, reaching down and pressing the Stop key once, then again until the lid popped
up. There was no cassette in the machine. He whirled and looked at me with an expression
I couldn't quite read, his features crossed by a myriad of emotions. I stared back at him, my
own face a mask. Abruptly, the parade of emotions stopped as if he'd flicked a switch, his eyes
hardening, almost cold as he brushed brusquely past me and turned on his heel, pulling the
room door open and disappearing into the artificial light of the hallway. The door closed, and I
was alone.