Body For Rent

By Rik Francis

"Body For Rent" is based on the real life of Tim, a young male prostitute.

It also deals with the difficulties he faces with his sexual orientation. He meets a female client who deceives him into getting her pregnant so she can get her own back on her husband. The resulting twins become the focus of Tim's life. When they are killed in a car smash, he has to re-think his life. He also has to find a way to tell his mother the truth about himself and his occupation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: XinXii
• Release date: Jul 22, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476102016

Book preview

BODY FOR RENT:

Secrets of a Male Prostitute

Rik Francis

I M P R I N T

All Right Reserved:

Copyright: Rik Francis 2012

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

Although this is a work of fiction, I researched the lives of real male prostitutes. This included interviewing a number of them. These young men spoke at length about their experiences on the job. One talked about the problems he had when he started the work. Another guy talked about the fear of his parents finding out. They all agreed it was a job with dangers and also rewards. Ben’s experiences in ‘Body for Rent’ are based on this research.

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CHAPTER 1

At last I’m alone. I don’t know how I’ll cope without my family. Sure, it was difficult holding back a tear when I stood at the graveside and watched the three coffins being lowered into the ground. Lizzy was first, followed by my two beloved sons. Funny you know, how life treats us. I’m sure most of my friends see me as a regular sort of guy who looked after his family as best he could. True, I did try, but regular guy?

What the hell does that mean anyway? I know for sure, nothing in life is what it seems. Guess I need to explain. Let me go back to when I’d just turned twenty one.

God! When I think about it now it’s quite incredible!

The alarm clock, a birthday present my girlfriend gave me a month ago, screamed me out of a deep sleep. It only seemed minutes since I finally fell into that blissful state after hours of tossing and turning trying all the tricks in the book to relax. I fought to visualize myself as a twentieth century visitor in a medieval town. In the past, this fantasy had eased me into a sleep, but not last night. Finally it happened. There I was, a rower in an ancient ship suffering on a hard bench, sweating and groaning along with sixty other men as we moved the heavy vessel across an ocean. On the deck above, I could see Cleopatra being wined and dined in luxury by attentive generals.

White walls of silk flowed gracefully in the warm breeze as she reclined on a golden settee staring at the sparkling sea, while our sweat carried her to Rome to await a fantastic welcome. In the next instant, as is the way with dreams a great flood entered a house I was visiting and drowned the richly textured carpets. Only feet from the front door, the sea started to recede, then the bloody alarm jolted me awake.

I glanced at the time as I dragged myself out of the warm bed and shuffled to the bathroom. I had forty minutes before I had to clock in at the factory five miles away. I flicked the shower unit into life and had a shave while the water heated up. No time for breakfast. I could have a date scone at morning tea. What was today, ah!

Wednesday. That meant cottage pie for lunch. On Wednesday’s that was always the

‘hot special’. I had complained a few times about the gristle and the fat but it didn’t make a blind bit of difference. I sort of looked forward to Tuesdays and the savory omelets. It was the only tasty dish they managed to serve at the canteen.

Rain threatened as strong wind gusts twisted the aging branches on the oak tree which shaded the garage. I climbed into my car and backed onto the street. An ambulance screamed past me, echoing the sound of the alarm clock again as I still tried to align myself for the day. As I turned the corner to approach the motorway on ramp, I saw it was blocked by two cars in an ugly metallic embrace. They were crumpled as badly as the blood stained body I noticed on the road. I knew I would be late for work.

Until only a few weeks ago, no one knew about the car space I was lucky enough to discover. It was tucked away behind a disused toilet block and was only a three minute walk from the factory. Then one wet morning when running late as usual, I was pissed off to see a red Celica parked there.

Turned out it belonged to the new accounts boss. She’s a sour faced bitch. You know, I think I have a problem with her. She somehow annoys me to hell. I’ve pulled myself up many times when I find I’m being rude to her, but I can’t seem to help it. Half a gallon of petrol and twenty minutes later, thanks to the cow with the Celica, I finally found a park. I tried to be invisible as I clocked in. Another inauspicious start to the day!

Oh! I’m sorry, in my race to get to the bloody factory, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Tim, Tim Hudson. I’ve been on the assembly line at Walker Furniture for, well it seems like a lifetime, but I worked out the other day, it’s only been fourteen months.

Before that, I was a packer at Galaxy Ice cream. Doing these sorts of jobs, I don’t want you to get the impression I’m a thick head. I actually have a diploma in Applied Psychology. Sounds impressive, doesn’t it? Actually it’s an academic title for counseling. Unfortunately, I discovered after I graduated that it pays piss all, so I took the factory work to save some dosh to go overseas. I’ve always wanted to see the Greek Islands and visit the ancient sites in Turkey. I’m still waiting for that joy. Apart from manual work being reasonably lucrative, it also tightens up the old bod! Shortly after meeting my current girlfriend Mandy, I overhead her babbling on about me to a friend on the phone. He’s a spunky hunk with gorgeous blue eyes and a butt to die for! I remember overhearing. Well I must say it was great for the ego, but I have to admit, she is prone to exaggerate. She’s a great kid and fancies me something wicked, but I don’t know about the relationship really.

As I said at the start, nothing in life is really what it seems. Let me tell you about a time when I was about twelve. My best mate, Brian Atkinson and I went to a circus. I remember the smells and the cries of protest from a dozen different species of animal.

I remember staring in pity at a poor elephant, walking in circles trying not to stand in his own huge piles of crap. Most of all, I remember a man on the trapeze. He was dressed in a pair of skintight pink leotards (of all colours). I vividly recall how they clung so tantalizingly to his muscular frame exposing the bumps and contours of defined muscles. I particularly remember the large bulge between his legs. The sight of it thrilled me in a way I’d never experienced before. Comforting warmth enveloped my whole being and a wonderful tingling sensation rippled through me. Even at that age, I felt slightly guilty. My conditioning told me it wasn’t right to experience such elation but I willingly surrendered to the feelings and just stared at him as he swung back and forth on the wire contraption suspended above our heads. He looked like a graceful pink monkey as he demonstrated an agility that captivated his audience.

Brian got bored with the act and wandered off to see something else, but I felt an overpowering compulsion to return to scrutinize this vision of loveliness. I wanted to experience that wonderful warm feeling again. When he finished his act, my new hero jumped to the ground and stood facing me just a few wonderful feet away. I stared at his broad chest as it heaved from his exertion. We made eye contact and he smiled.

I’ve never forgotten that smile and that eye contact.

You’re late again Hudson. the assembly line foreman snarled.

Sorry John. There was a smash on the motorway and that accountant woman has pinched m’ park again.

I’ve heard enough excuses. Late two more times and your down the road. I couldn’t get angry with John, or Johno, as most of us called him. He was pretty bloody cute. I couldn’t really blame him for my tardiness. He had a job to do and if all us guys wandered in when we felt like it, the factory would never get its stuff made.

As it was, we were already behind in a shipment for Dubai, which the bosses had stressed was to be dispatched in two days or our jobs were at stake. I for one didn’t take any notice of the threats. It was just a cheap way to crack the whip.

I grabbed the staple gun and connected it to the dangling hose that supplied the compressed air. Hamel was my partner for the day. He’s fat and smokes too much but we all knew it was a waste of time to suggest to him he was killing himself.

He’s one of those guys who doesn’t give a fuck about himself and I found it hard to care for him in return. As my partner on the assembly line, his job was to feed the chair frame down to me. I would then pull the cloth covering onto it and staple it into place. It was mindless work, but it gave me time to think about other things.

Let me get back to why I slept in. Mandy, my current girlfriend of ten months was with her parents for a week, so I plucked up the courage to do something I had wanted to do for quite a while. I visited a gay bar. I’d never been to one in my life before. I’ve worked hard since my school days to establish regular relationships with girls. All this time though, I’ve secretly admired guys, many, many of them, but I guess I was frightened of my feelings no, terrified is a more accurate word. All my friends had girls and I just followed along thinking everything would eventually sort itself out.

There was one guy at school who we all called a ‘poofter’. Ron flaunted his sexuality and was actually expelled from Christian Brothers for his behaviour. Some of us kept in touch with him because he had a great sense of humour and made us laugh. I met one of his boyfriends and remember how delicate he was, almost like a girl. My mate, Brian and I actually went to the beach with Ron and his lover one day. It was quite an eye opener for me, to say the least, when the two of them stripped naked in front of us and flopped onto the sand laughing and holding hands. I ached to experience the happiness they enjoyed in their nudity and being with each other.

I believed back then it was some sort of magic reserved for others and that I was destined never to experience. I got a hard on under my swimming trunks just watching them. Brian noticed the hard line straining inside my trunks and that made me harder.

I often wished I’d just ripped those bloody shorts off. Brian had a tall lean body. I guess he still does, and I’m sure his wife loves it as much as it deserves.

Anyway, back to this gay bar. I was sitting rather self consciously swigging beer to hide my discomfort. The atmosphere was far from friendly. I couldn’t work out the lack of communication. The guys sat like untouchable lumps of meat as they darted furtive looks at each other in the gloom of the bar. I could feel eyes boring into the back of my head. When I plucked up courage to walk to the bar for another drink, I felt even more vulnerable. I made the mistake of wearing the tight jeans Mandy had brought for me. I wished I’d worn baggy pants and sackcloth. My tight t-shirt highlighted my firm torso and drew looks from all sides. Working on an assembly line has honed my muscles and I have to admit I’m proud of them.

I was waiting for my change when I felt a hand slide across my butt. I turned and saw an old guy. He must’ve been seventy. He was decked out in a leather uniform. I felt sorry for the poor bastard as I pushed myself away from him. Let’s face it though he set himself up for rejection. How can you expect a twenty one year old guy to be sexually attracted to a person old enough to be your grandfather! I guess it happens, but it’s not normal, is it?

I had to negotiate an avenue of leering eyes as I hurried back to my little table in a corner. I fell uneasily into the chair clasping my beer like a gold ingot. I tried to work out why on earth I had bothered to buy myself a refill.

I avoided all eye contact as I gulped the bitter contents. Despite the unfriendly atmosphere, a strange compulsion forced me to stay. It seemed to be some deep inner yearning that needed expression. It was as though there was another ‘me’ living inside my body.

Can I join you? I heard a voice ask.

I looked up to see a tall muscular guy smiling at me.

O.K. I said. My heart started to do gymnastics.

He pulled a chair from the table and dropped gracefully into it then reached out a strong arm. Troy Adams.

Hi! I’m Tim.

Pleased to meet you Tim.

Troy had a smile as broad as his shoulders. He looked impressively relaxed and self-assured in a non-arrogant sort of way.

Haven’t seen you here before.

Ahm! no. I replied rather stupidly, failing to hide my awkwardness.

There’s new faces in here all the time. Makes the place interesting, I guess. he smiled.

Like a beer.? I offered.

Ah. No thanks. I’m off the booze at the moment.

I drink too much. I admitted as I threw more of the stuff down my throat.

Everything in moderation. Booze is fine if you know how to handle it. I looked around the bar trying to avoid the eye contact I was desperately wanting to make with him. I couldn’t understand why I felt so awkward.

What do you do for a living? He actually seemed genuinely interested to know.

Just a factory job --- down at Walkers -----on the line.

Certainly helps the physique, or do you go to the gym? I finally plucked up the courage to stare him in the eye. I have to say, I held my breath for a few seconds as we looked into each other’s souls. It was a weird feeling, staring so intently into another man’s eyes. All that conditioning I had been fed as a kid made it feel totally unnatural to make such intimate communication with someone of your own sex. I couldn’t hold the look for more than a few seconds and had to drop my eyes back to the small brown puddle in my beer glass.

I took a deep breath and chanced another glance at his deep brown eyes. He was waiting. Now I felt really uncomfortable. I blushed. He smiled as he reached out and placed a large comforting hand gently on my wrist.

What do you do then? I asked trying to salvage some of my composure.

I run an escort agency.

An escort agency? I frowned at him. It’s not the answer I was expecting. I was thinking a Personal Trainer or a Greek God impersonator, that sort of thing.

Yes!

Our eyes met again. I have work for you if you ever get sick of the factory. He pulled a card from his pocket and slid it across the table. ‘TROY ADAMS Manager MALE ORDER AGENCY’. I didn’t read the address. Instead, I dropped it into the safety of my pocket. Something deep inside told me to hold onto it.

I’m sorry I can’t stay. I’ve got to get back to work. I saw you sitting here and wanted to make contact. He eased his chair back and stood to tower over me. It’s how I get my best boys. he added with a wink before he turned and left. I finished the beer in a sort of confused silence as I inhaled the rather intoxicating aroma of the aftershave he left impregnated in the air around the table.

I could see the little knots of gristle in the meat as I stood staring disinterestedly at the tired looking cottage pie drying out under a row of heat lamps.

Pie today Tim? the canteen attendant inquired. She knew damn well, the food she was scooping onto the line of plates that passed like a conveyer belt in front of her was bordering on the inedible. I gazed with unseeing eyes at the square of pie. Waves of synthetic potato partially covered the meat. Round rings of tomato and strips of green pepper were arranged uncomfortably on top in an attempt to make the stuff look enticing.

Hurry up Hudson. old fatty Dixon shouted three back in the queue. His bulbous stomach needed feeding, again, and was testimony to his seemingly limitless appetite.

He ate anything.

I fingered Troy’s card in my pocket as I backed away. I grabbed a tomato sandwich from the cold food display. As usual, I joined ‘our’ table. Seven of us had somehow formed the habit of eating every meal together. I took a bite of the sandwich but couldn’t muster the enthusiasm to swallow.

"What’s