Trey Grey Excerpt

It had been a slow night and I’d sucked down half a pack of smokes waiting for another trick.  Leaning against a lamp post along Pac Ave, I took a long, satisfying drag, drawing smoke into my lungs, and thumbed the ashes to the ground.  Everything was beginning to blur.  Traffic, airplanes, noise... everything.  Maybe it was time to call it.  One fucking trick. I shook my head, then paused.

“Hell-loo...what do we have here?” I muttered, catching the slow crawl of an ivory Cadillac riding the white line of the avenue, trawling.  I didn’t move, appearing disinterested, one hand wedged tightly in my front pocket while my smoke rested in the other on my narrow hip.

The car rolled to a stop fifty feet from me and I gave it a sidelong glance, just a flick of my face so the driver could see the goods.  I was everyone’s type whether they knew it or not.  Once they caught sight of my pretty boy looks, they usually stopped.

The caddy didn’t disappoint and came cruising forward to halt in front of me.  Taking one last long draw to the filter, I inhaled and flipped the cigarette to the pavement.  Releasing the toxins through pouted lips, I swaggered to the car.  The passenger window came down with a murmured hum.

I dropped down onto an elbow and leaned into the car, giving the well dressed, if porkish gentleman, my best impish half-smile.  His eyes were sloppy and darted from me to the floor, to the windshield and the rear view mirror.  First timer.  But I had him.  His fingers were digging into his thigh and stipples of sweat were appearing on his upper lip.

“I made a mistake.” But he hadn’t.  “I...I was looking for someone.  Yes, someone else,” he fumbled, his knuckles rounding as he licked his lips. 

“Too bad.” I stood and flicked the top button of my jeans open and said, “For three-fifty I could have made all your fantasies come true.”  I never begged.  I never had to.  Turning away, I swung my hips and headed back to the light pole I had been holding up.

“Wait...” I smiled but didn’t turn around.  “What...what does three-fifty buy me?” 

I glanced over my shoulder at him, licked my lips slowly and said, “Me, anyway you want me.”  He nodded, his basset hound neck wobbling. 

I pointed discretely to the corner.  “Meet me in the second alley.”  I strode around the concrete building with my hands shoved into my jeans pockets, fondling the merchandise and getting it ready to show.  “IT” knew his job and stirred to life.

Ten minutes later and five hundred richer, I headed the two blocks to my Camaro parked in Paradise’s lot. God I loved johns like that.  Living out a gay fantasy that’s been brewing since they got their first woody. Let them slide in and seconds later they’re a quivering mess, crying from shame and a satisfaction they had longed for, for far too many years. He’d be back— ones like him always came back.

The black cinderblock building squatted in the shadows and I pushed through the fuchsia door into the bedimmed strip club. I tipped my chin to the bouncer standing guard inside the entrance. 

“Hey Benny, where’s the boss?” I asked.  Benny wasn’t too bright, but he had big muscle and an overly sweet affection for anything female, which made him one hell of a bouncer, and well liked by the dancers to boot.

“Trey, my man, you do okay tonight?”

I nodded pointing towards the bar on the left, then swinging my finger to the right and up at the invisible office door located at the top of a short staircase. Questing Salvo’s location.    

“Bar.” He gestured towards it.

“Thanks Benny,” I said, slapping his shoulder on the way in.

I had barely settled onto a padded stool when a shot of Stoli slid down the top of the bar. I grabbed the glass before it slid past and threw it back. Salvo finished with his customers and headed my way, snatching the neatly folded twenty five bucks from my fingertips and dropping my keys onto the bar.

“Want another?”

“Yeah, maybe.” I said as Salvo grabbed the bottle and poured the clear liquid into the glass, all the way to the brim. “Thanks for watching kitten.” I always thanked him even though I had been parking her here, and paying him, for four years now. Ever since I could drive. But kitten was the closest thing to a relationship I had and she was precious to me, so worth the expense.

He grinned. “I can’t believe you call that beast of a car kitten.” He shook his head.

“When I stroke her just right, she purrs like crazy,” I told him seriously.

“Speaking of, Georgie wants to see you.”

I waved my hand dismissively, not in the mood for Georgie’s drama right now.

“Not tonight. I’ve got classes in the morning. Tell him I’ll catch him Friday.”

“You said almost the same thing two nights ago,” Salvo pointed out.

“I know I did. It’s still two hours to close and I’m not letting him fuck me in my car.”

“He’ll be upset—”

“Yeah? Well, he’ll get over it. Tell him to get rid of that piece of shit bike and buy a decent car, then we’ll talk,” I frowned and added. “Besides I don’t like risking your business, even after hours.”

“Now that’s touching—”

“Fuck off.”   

His eyes perused me as his lips quirked up. I’d known Salvo longer than anyone and I liked to think he was my friend, yet would bet my cherry ass if I ever fucked him over it would be a mistake I would never forget. So, I tried to keep things on a low frequency with him. Doing a john in his club always made me nervous, even if it was one of his employees and he said he was okay with it. I wasn’t. One slip and he could lose everything. Cops don’t look too kindly on actual sex in strip clubs.

“Sorry, you’re not my type. Your tits don’t impress me and your ass is too muscular,” Salvo said.

“I’m everyone’s type once they’ve had me.” I downed the shot of Stoli and placed my hand over the glass when Salvo went to fill it again.  “I’m outta here.”

“Back to the other woman?” he asked.

“Something like that.”  The other woman being college.

Back in my dorm room at UW, I headed for the shower, evicting clothes as I went. Turning the shower on, I climbed in, letting the hot spray work on my strung out nerves. After almost seven years turning tricks I still get the shakes at the end of the night. No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t wash the memories of those first years under Willie from my mind. I worked for no one but myself now. Even so the horrors were as vivid as if they had happened yesterday. 

I grabbed the plastic bristled brush and scrubbed myself down until my skin rosed and felt raw. Soaping up and rinsing off twice in the process. It was a tick I had had since I was twelve. No matter how much I scrubbed, or how many showers I’d taken since, I never felt clean.

I slammed the Lucite handle off and grabbed the clean towel off the bar. Once I had myself dry, I threw the towel in the basket and headed to bed, ragged.

“No...stop...ouch, it hurts.” I woke with a start and felt him on top of me, pushing into me, and I was sobbing into the pillow, my face pressed there by a large hand fisted in my hair. It took me a full minute to realize I was the one jerking my dick roughly, not Willie, and this wasn’t really happening. Just another nightmare. 

I let go of myself and rolled onto my back but felt to exposed and vulnerable, so I curled around a pillow on my side and waited for the phantom pain to subside and the juddering fear to abate. That was three in as many nights. Not a record but not good either. Just when I thought I had control again, the devil came a calling. The dream sloughed off and I fell back to sleep.

Dawn slanted through the East window, but that’s not what woke me this time.  “IT” was demanding attention.  An occupational hazard.  I didn’t get off doing tricks.  I never had.  And because of my past, recreational sex didn’t hold any charm for me.  My tool didn’t demand often...every once in a great while, and this morning “IT” was screaming obscenities at me.  A glance at the green digital clock on my nightstand had me throwing myself out of bed.  Wincing, I tucked the weighty appendage against my belly and grabbed the plastic stool near the bathroom door on my way by.  

I settled the stool into the corner and grabbed my lube from the rack hanging on the shower head. Sitting on the stool and leaning against the cold tiles, I didn’t waste a second. Squirting a generous dollop into my hand, I went to work. I had forty fuckin minutes to get out my door if I wanted to eat this morning, and since I don’t eat before work, I really needed food. My stomach growled angrily at the possible injustice of remaining empty, and as if threatened, “IT” deflated a bit.

“Damn it.” I sighed heavily and coaxed apologetically. “IT” had a mind all his own and would find it terribly amusing to refuse satisfaction, only to stiffen to painful intensity the second I walked into class then remain so all fucking day long. Wandering through the day with an obscenely large lump in my pants wasn’t my idea of a good time.

I had a full load of classes today and wouldn’t have time to come back to my room and pay homage. Another tick I had. I could only shoot off in my own shower and had to disinfect the thing when I was done.  Even my own semen was pestiferous, in my own twisted way, and often times made me gag.

Closing my eyes, I blanked my mind and concentrated on the sensation of my own hand sliding along my length. I felt the large veins begin to pulse then throb and my relief was tangible. When my thumb caressed the tip, my breathing quickened with my body. A few more minutes of rough handling had my leg kicking out and my ass clenching severely. Aiming towards the drain, I came harder than usual and the milky fluid hit the far wall. I began to gag and squeezed my eyes tight to the sight of it sliding down the salmon tile.

I was off the stool seconds later and pulling the plant sprayer of bleach mixture from under the sink. I hosed the shower from top to bottom, making sure I soaked the stool. When I turned to the wall I began to gag again. I bit my cheek until it bled to keep from throwing up.  I rinsed the shower down with scalding water and when I was comfortable it was clean, I adjusted the temp and climbed in.

Standing out of the spray, I soaked my privates with bleach and waited a minute, then began the routine of scouring myself.

Running the brush methodically over my skin, I noticed the water ringing the ivory drain was tinged pink.

“Stop...stop...stop,” I told myself and willed my fingers open, letting the brush hit the floor with a thunk. I rinsed myself off without even looking at what I had done to my own body. I already knew.

I grabbed a towel from the stack on the small table next to the shower, threw it out over the rug and stepped onto it. I dried myself off with another from the stack, then threw the blood speckled towel into the garbage. I swiftly talced my chest and legs to arrest the seeping.

Dressed in dark colors, I picked up my wallet and keys from the tray near the door and headed out with fifteen minutes to spare. 

I ordered two Caramel Macchiatos, one drinking temp and one extra hot from Starbucks across fiftieth. I added a coffee cake to the order at the last second. The first coffee was down my gullet in two minutes and I chased it with the coffee cake. It all settled in a sticky lump at the bottom of my stomach.

The events of the morning had me sullen and a little raw, emotionally. I was getting bad again. I needed a week, maybe two, off. I could manage that if I worked Thursday this week, too.

I lit up a smoke and headed towards my economics class, needing to throw myself into something difficult yet completely normal.