After showering I head to class. About twenty minutes in, I get a text message from an unknown number.

 Unknown:          A mutual friend provided me with your contact information. How about dinner to discuss a proposition?

I accept clients by recommendation only. It keeps me off the radar. The last thing I want to deal with is a criminal record for prostitution. It’s only a misdemeanor, but still not good considering I want to teach physical education to middle schoolers when I graduate with my degree.

What a concept; I’m prostituting so that I can become a teacher. How many adolescents in America have sold their bodies or become strippers to afford a chance at a better life? It’s a crock of shit what some people have to do to dig themselves out of the trenches where society has landed us.

No one had mentioned to me that they were passing my number along. I wonder what kind of proposition this person has for me. I reply.

Ian: Somewhere public after eight PM. You’re buying. Time and place?

The response is almost immediate.

Unknown:           Excellent. Shomer’s Steakhouse off Sugarloaf Pkwy. 8:30 PM. I’ll find you there.

I don’t reply. It’s not necessary for this kind of communication.

After class, I pull up information on the place. It’s nice; real nice which means expensive. This person is trying to show off deep pockets; just what I like in a patron.

To finish up any outstanding coursework, I head to the law library. It’s the quietest place I’ve found on campus where I can disappear and be undisturbed. Given that Romeo is a homebody, I try to leave our bedroom to him whenever possible. It’s not so much to be nice as to avoid disturbing his routine. He becomes too antsy and can be a pain in the ass when there is too much disorder in his refuge.

On my way home, I grab a macchiato. This headache is killing me and with one week until finals I should probably be buckling down.

Art catches me as I enter the front door to our place. The guy seems to linger in the general living area of our home. He’s odd.

“Hey, man. Are you going to be … Is that another number? Seriously?”

I glance down at the cup sleeve of my beverage. Sure enough, it’s a phone number.

Call me! 706-XXX-XXXX.  Stephanie

“Guess so. Here ya go.” After removing it, I hand it over to Art. I don’t even remember the girl that took my order.

Art claims the cardboard that’s housing the woman’s prized information. “You totally suck. God, your life must be so damn easy. You get laid like it’s going out of style.”

“Give her a call. She probably gives out her number regularly. She won’t even notice the switch.”

“That’s a load of shit, but I’ll take it. Just for curiosity’s sake, how many numbers do you get in a day?”

Romeo walks in from the kitchen. “Judging by our bedroom’s trashcan, which he never empties, I’d say a lot.”

Yeah, but those handing out their number are usually looking for a relationship which puts me out of the running.

I joke with Art, “See, untapped resources. Why don’t you go empty out my trash and claim those numbers too?”

“I bet half of them don’t have names. I’d end up texting dudes and be pretty surprised when they start sending dick pics.”

Art is possibly the only straight guy that lives here. I’m actually not sure what Matt or Gerald’s orientations are.

I tease, “Forward any dick pics over to Romeo. Give him a thrill.”

Romeo protests, “Don’t you dare! I don’t want something like that ending up on my phone.”

Art kids around as he pinches Romeo’s shoulder. “You’re only saying that because you probably already have it full of Ian’s big boy member!”

He bites back at Art. “Shut up. That’s not true.”

With a playful smile, I kid, “We could fix that.”

Romeo puts his hands over his ears like a child would. “Stop it! I don’t want that. You guys are a bunch of pervs.”

Still teasing Art responds, “After seeing that picture of you enjoying a choke hold while being deep throated by Kris, I’d say you’re kinkier than me. Haha!”

I break out into laughter. You could in no way say that he was enjoying the unprovoked choke hold despite the likely enjoyment he was getting from the BJ. Romeo was actually innocent in the matter. Gerald and Kris were high as kites and hallucinating and did in fact attack him which made for a hilarious picture opportunity. About the time I took the picture, he passed out from lack of oxygen and the three of them hit the ground. It was one of the rare moments where I was glad to have Gerald and Kris around for amusement purposes.

Like I said, it’s never a dull moment around here.

Romeo chastises me. “I told you not to share that picture.”

“And pass up the opportunity to rub it in Kris’ face? Not a chance!”

Kris has always been a dick, so catching him deep throating a guy too stoned to realize what he was doing was priceless.

Speak of the devil. Kris flicks me a bird on his way outside to smoke.

In fairness, Kris has had one hell of a semester. He spent half a year taking care of some pregnant chic thinking it was his kid until it was born and turned out to be ethnically impossible for him to be the father. Then he came out of the closet with some guy that dumped him on his twenty-first birthday. He’s an asshole and probably deserved it, but that’s still a shitty semester by anyone’s standards. He’s been gloomy ever since, but he did stop doing drugs with Gerald after that photo. Hehe.

My phone buzzes in my back pocket.

Travis:   U free tonight?

Oh, Travis, you horny bastard. It’s been almost five years and he’s still a contributor to my financial well-being.

I respond.

Ian: I’m not sure, but I’ll be in your neck of the woods if I am. If you don’t hear from me by 11 then I’m busy.

He lives not too far from where I’m meeting my unknown dinner date.

Travis:   When did I become backburner?

Ian: You’re never backburner, Love Bug. I have dinner plans and I’m not sure if I can get out of dessert or not. I’ll do my best for you.

Travis:   That’s a good Pussycat.

Ian: No one makes me purr like you do. I have an hour to kill if you want to enjoy each other over the phone.

My phone rings. I take that as a yes.

I’ve tuned out Romeo and Art’s conversation, but I butt back into it. “Later guys. I’m taking the room, Romeo. I mean you can come in but …”

“No, thank you. Just let me know when you’re done.”

Sex is the only reason I ever take over our room.

“K.” I pick up my phone so Travis isn’t kept waiting. “One sec.”

I take the stairs two at a time and close my bedroom door behind me.

“Good afternoon, Love Bug.”

Travis’ voice is heard on the other end of the line. ‘Where are you, Pussycat?’

“My bedroom. Where are you and what are you wearing?”

‘The office. I’m in that suit with the green stripes that you like so much.’

If he’s still at work then he’s no doubt locked his office door to pave the way for us to play.

“Mmmm. Why don’t you undo your belt and open your pants. I want your cock in my hand.”

He and I aren’t strangers to phone sex.

‘I want you faced down in the bed. Take two fingers in your mouth and suck on them for me.’

My shoes slide off onto the floor along with my pants and underwear. Sure, there are times I fake my participation, but I could go for a release myself, so I figure why the hell not.

I reply, “I’d rather be on the edge of your desk stroking your cock with three of your fingers in my mouth.” I let three of my own fingers glide across my tongue, pretending they are his. If they were, he’d shove them in deeply, just shy of choking me. “Mmm, hmm …”

‘That’s right, Pussycat. You suck big papa’s fingers just like that. Oh, your hand feels good on my dick. Give it a squeeze … Yeah, that’s good.’

He’s in his office chair stroking his own cock no doubt.

I let my spit-soaked fingers travel below my sack and find my hole. “Your cock is nothing but a delightful tease in the hand unless you fill me with those … ahhh … fingers … ohhh, deeper … please.”

‘Oh, fuck, Pussycat. Do you like that?’

“More. I want more … fill me … pump my insides … stretch me open for you.”

‘Faster … oh … purr for me, baby.’

“Ahhrrr … deeper … deeper … there … right there … harder. Oh, Christ. I’m teeming and ready for your thick beast. Give it to me … please … I can’t wait any longer.”

I fit as much of myself into my cavity as I can muster. I don’t know what the rest of my evening entails, but I’ll get my real fix later one way or another; there’s no need to incorporate toys.

‘Take it all, Pussycat. Let it fill you.’

“Expand inside me … pack into me … Don’t play nicely. Fill me with your heat.”

‘Ahhh, shit … your sounds drive me crazy. Fuck, I’m close.’

“Not yet … just a little more. Let me enjoy the way you moan for me as you pound into my body … Make me purr just for you.”

Stroking and fingering myself, I whine for him.

‘Fucking Christ, baby. Tell me I can come … Call out my name.’

“Come inside me, Travis. You’re so thick … ahh … Oh ... yes!! Just like that … Oh, fuck, Travis!”

‘Ahh, Pussycat … Ngaaahhhh …’

My briefs are used to clean up my mess.

He never says my name on the phone. In fact, he only uses it when we’re in public together. Otherwise, I’m ‘Pussycat’ because it’s something he could call a woman. Hell, he probably calls his wife the same thing. But in person, he also delights in calling me his naughty boy or dirty boy.

Travis is the only one I ever have phone sex with. Our arrangement is a monthly one rather than a pay per visit like all my other clients. As such, I try to make myself available to him whenever I can. He wants to see me tonight.

“I’ll see what I can do about tonight, but I can’t make any promises.”

His voice is still labored. ‘I want you. You drive me fucking crazy.’

“You never have been a patient man. When you crave something, you want it immediately.”

‘And you cater to my desires beautifully.’

“I’m as covetous as you are the way you satisfy me.”

It’s a lie. He hasn’t sated my lust in years.

‘That’s my sweet Pussycat.’

“I gotta go, Love Bug. If you don’t hear from me by eleven then you won’t hear from me tonight.”

I’m at his call, not the other way around. My clients reach out to me via text and I let them know if I’m available. It’s easiest that way and means I don’t have to manage juggling a schedule more than a week or two out.

‘If I don’t hear from you tonight. I expect to in the morning, baby.’

That means his wife is out of town and he has the house to himself this weekend.

“Alright. Bye, Love Bug.”

‘Bye, Pussycat.’