Читать книгу Sweet Tormented Love - Victor Jay - Страница 5

CHAPTER ONE

“Mike, you know I do like you.” Karen’s voice was little more than a whisper in my ear. I held her tight to me with one arm and tried again to get my free hand under the fabric of her skirt. She twisted away from me again and my hand ended up on the seat after all.

I sighed and loosened my hold on her slightly. I wasn’t getting anywhere with her, and I had been trying already for half an hour.

“Got any cigarettes left?” I asked, resigning myself to my frustration. Hell, I thought, it’s no wonder I can’t make out with her, when I can’t even afford my own cigarettes.

She pulled her purse over to her lap and opened it, taking the pack of Winstons out to hand them to me. I lit two, giving her one of them, and dropped the pack back into her purse. The two dots of red glowed silently for a moment in the darkness of her father’s car.

“You know I like you,” she said again, breaking the silence.

Like hell, I thought bitterly. Oh sure, I was good-looking enough to interest any girl, and I knew that. But the simple truth was obvious to both of us; I couldn’t afford Karen. I wasn’t the only boy in or out of school that Karen was seeing, and the others could afford to show her a good time, take her to movies and dances, buy things for her, spend money on her. With an old man who only worked half the time and an old lady who drank up most of what he made, I was doing well to keep myself in school with what I made working part-time. I couldn’t even afford cigarettes most of the time.

“I guess I’d better go in,” she said finally, casting a glance at the window of her house where her mother could be plainly seen standing at the window, peering out at us. “I’d drive you home, but you know my parents expect me in by eleven on weeknights.”

“That’s okay,” I told her. “I can probably hitch a ride.” I made one more try, pulling her close to kiss her firmly on the mouth. She kissed back, her mouth working feverishly against mine, but she wasn’t having any regardless. One hand brushed mine deftly away from her lap.

“Are you still going to the prom with me?” I asked when we separated.

She looked up at me, her eyelashes fluttering. “I thought you didn’t have....”

“I’ll get the money,” I interrupted her sharply. I didn’t have any idea how or where, but I was determined that I wasn’t going to graduate from high school without going to the prom, and I intended to go to the prom with Karen. “Just don’t go accepting any other dates, okay?”

“Okay,” she agreed, leaning toward me to give me one final, brief kiss. We got out of her dad’s car, and I stood watching until she had hurried up the walk to the house and disappeared inside. Then I went down the drive to the sidewalk, wishing I had asked her for another cigarette. The one I was smoking was finished, and I tossed the butt into the street as I walked.

The side street on which Karen lived emptied into Hollywood Boulevard. To my right I could see the glitter and lights of downtown Hollywood, still bright even though it was after eleven at night. I turned to the left and walked down the street to the traffic light before crossing and taking my stand by the light, my thumb out for a ride.

A few cars went by without pausing. One of them, a carload of goofy-looking kids, honked the horn and yelled something as they passed, but I didn’t hear what it was and didn’t care. I gave them the finger and swore at them but they were going too fast to see or hear me.

A Buick crawled to a stop beside me, and the driver waved me over. Gratefully I darted from the curb to the car and slid quickly inside. It was getting cool out, and I was wearing no jacket.

“How far you going?” the driver asked, giving me a quick look as he started off again. I gave him the name of the street and leaned back against the soft seat of the car, thinking about Karen and the date for the prom, two nights away. Where in the hell was I going to get the money to take her between now and then?

“Cigarette?” His voice startled me out of my train of thoughts. We had stopped at a traffic light and I turned to see him staring across the car at me.

“Thanks, I’d love one,” I answered, puzzled by the look he was giving me. He reached the pack across to me and I took one from it. His hand stayed however, dropping lightly down on my leg. Then I understood the look. I jerked my leg quickly away as the car started up again.

“Not interested?” he asked, without looking at me. I didn’t answer, hoping he wouldn’t push the subject any further, I had never gone that route, and I wasn’t interested in starting now.

“Oh, I see,” he said finally, with a sigh. “You’re commercial. How much do you want?”

The question caught me off guard and it took a minute for it to soak in. He had mistaken my silence—he thought I wanted to get paid for it, and he was asking the price. My mind raced rapidly along this new track. I needed money for my date Saturday night, and this guy was offering to pay me to let him have a try at me. I had been around enough to know that this sort of thing happened, but I had never thought of trying it myself.

Why not, I asked myself excitedly? What did I have to lose except a few minutes of my time, and after all, it might be fun. I was still excited from my necking session with Karen, and if I passed this up, I’d only have to go home and spend a few extra minutes in the bathroom. But what in the hell did guys charge for this sort of thing? If I said too much, he might decide I wasn’t worth it, and I wanted to make it as profitable as possible.

“Ten dollars.” I said it cautiously, prepared to bargain with him if he protested. It was a lucky guess, however.

“Your place or mine?” he wanted to know, without batting an eyelash. I was sorry that I hadn’t tried a little higher. At my place we would have had only one end of the living room with drapes separating it from where my dad sat in front of the television.

“Yours,” I said.

He slowed the car and turned on to a side street, stopping a couple of blocks further on in front of a big, garrish apartment building. I got out of the car and followed him up the steps that led to the lobby where a small elevator took us speedily to the third floor.

By the time we stepped inside his apartment, I was beginning to suffer cold feet. I had no idea just what I was in for, and he would sure as hell know as soon as we started that I was a rank amateur. What if he wasn’t satisfied and didn’t want to pay the money after all?

“The bedroom’s in here,” he was saying, leading the way. There was nothing sensational about the apartment, although it was a damned sight better than what I called home. A large bed and a long, low dresser were the only furnishings in the room.

Now that I was here I was really scared, but I tried hard not to show it. He had already started to undress. He wasn’t wasting any time. Swallowing hard, I started to do likewise. He was finished well ahead of me, stretching out nude on the bed. I could feel his eyes on me as I peeled my tee shirt over my head and tossed it aside. I was down to my jockey shorts now, feeling embarrassed and nervous as could be.

I hesitated for a moment; then, deliberately, I caught my thumbs in the elastic and pushed them down over my hips, letting them fall slowly to the floor before I stepped out of them.

His eyes widened in appreciation, and I relaxed a little. I was a looker, and I knew it. My face, topped by a sea of jet black curls, was the sort that grinned out from movie magazines and record jackets, bright-eyed and full-mouthed.

I had the body to go with it too. I stood five-eleven, and I was built slender, but every ounce of flesh was just what and where it should be. The wide shoulders melted into a solid chest and strong, athletic arms. My waist was small, and my hips almost nonexistent, leading down to tapered, well-molded legs. And where he was staring, with a smile on his face, I was nothing short of sensational. I had seen almost every other fellow from school at one time or another in the gym, and if they were any indication, I was a real giant.

I smiled to myself as I started toward the bed, my confidence returning. I didn’t have to worry about how I performed. He was already convinced that he was getting his money’s worth, and my only regret was that I hadn’t said more than ten dollars.

It was a lot easier than I thought it would be. I kept telling myself that I should be angry, or disgusted, or something like that, but I couldn’t kid myself that far. It felt great, a hell of a lot better than those few minutes in the bathroom would have been.

I didn’t have to worry about my performance either. Even if I didn’t know what to do, my body did. There are some things that just don’t need lessons. I was still and calm for the first few minutes, letting him touch and fondle me, but it was plain that I wouldn’t have to fake anything. My body was hard and throbbing, eager for him to do what he wanted. His touch sent a shock wave of excitement through me, and from then on I couldn’t stay still or calm. I lunged and thrust, oblivious to the fact that I might be hurting or choking him, intent only upon reaching that breathtaking moment when my entire being seeming to explode.

I was weak from exertion and pleasure when it was over. He handed me a cigarette, and we smoked in silence for a moment or two.

“How old are you?” he asked suspiciously.

I wondered if I should lie and tell him I was older, but I decided he had probably guessed the truth after all.

“Eighteen,” I admitted. It didn’t seem to bother him any.

“Was this your first time?”

My heart sank as I wondered if I had disappointed him after all. Maybe I wouldn’t get that ten dollars that I wanted so badly. “Yes,” I said nervously.

When I glanced at him, I saw that he was grinning.

“I guess some people are just naturals,” he said, stubbing out his cigarette.

I wasn’t sure whether I should resent the remark or not, but despite myself I blushed with pride at the compliment. It was great to be told that I was a fantastic lover, even if it was by a queer.

He was out of bed and starting to dress. I got up and did likewise, enjoying the knowledge that he was watching me all the while with obvious admiration. When I was finished, he came over to where I was standing and handed me a ten dollar bill.

My relief must have been obvious, because he gave me a puzzled look and asked “What’s the matter?”

“Oh, nothing,” I told him, cramming the money into the pocket of my jeans before he had a chance to change his mind. “I thought maybe you might not give me the money after all.”

He laughed at that. “You are green, aren’t you. I tried that once, when I was just a kid myself. I got a black eye out of it and a good lesson. But I guess I shouldn’t be giving you ideas.”

“Don’t worry about that.” I told him, blushing again to realize how naive I had sounded. “I’d rather be a lover than a fighter.”

It was true, too. I had been in one or two fights, and had done all right by myself, but it just wasn’t my cup of tea. Maybe I was just vain enough not to want my looks marred by cuts and bruises, but I’d rather resort to violence only when I was left no other choice.

I thought maybe he would leave me to find my own way home now that our business was finished, but he surprised me again and suggested that he’d better get me home. As we drove, I couldn’t help studying him at every opportunity.

In the first place, he didn’t fit with the image I had in my mind of queers. There was nothing feminine or repulsive about him, nothing like the faggots I had seen in the past swishing up and down Hollywood Boulevard. He couldn’t have been too much older than I was—I guessed about twenty-two, and pleasantly good-looking. Whatever his reasons were for being queer, it wasn’t because he couldn’t have gotten women.

I told him where to turn, and he pulled to a stop outside the shabby little house that was my home. “By the way, my name’s Glen,” he said, extending a hand to me.

“Mike,” I answered, giving his hand a sincere shake. I didn’t care what he was, or what he liked in bed, I had made up my mind that Glen was an okay guy.

He left after saying that maybe he would see me again, and I started up the steps to the house. It had been a strange evening for me, and a new experience, but I couldn’t say it was unpleasant.

In fact, I told myself as I went in the front door, it had been the most pleasant money I had ever earned.