Bender

By Gene Gant

Nineteen-year-old Mace Danner is a college freshman—and a male prostitute. He specializes as a submissive-for-hire to dominant clients. Mace has never experienced any erotic longings, but his profession satisfies much darker needs. He believes he deserves the abuse because he was responsible for the death of his brother. When ill-treatment at the hands of customers isn’t penance enough, Mace turns to the bottle, hoping to drink away the demons still plaguing him.

RA Dex Hammel doesn’t like the road he sees Mace going down, and he offers his help before it’s too late. There’s no denying the chemistry between the two young men, but a lingering lack of physical desire continues to confuse and upset Mace. He seems set on destroying himself, and Dex might not be able to save him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harmony Ink Press
• Release date: Jun 16, 2016
• ISBN: 9781634768849

Book preview

Bender

By Gene Gant

Nineteen-year-old Mace Danner is a college freshman—and a male prostitute. He specializes as a submissive-for-hire to dominant clients. Mace has never experienced any erotic longings, but his profession satisfies much darker needs. He believes he deserves the abuse because he was responsible for the death of his brother. When ill-treatment at the hands of customers isn’t penance enough, Mace turns to the bottle, hoping to drink away the demons still plaguing him.

RA Dex Hammel doesn’t like the road he sees Mace going down, and he offers his help before it’s too late. There’s no denying the chemistry between the two young men, but a lingering lack of physical desire continues to confuse and upset Mace. He seems set on destroying himself, and Dex might not be able to save him.

One

I OPEN my eyes in darkness. A muffled vibration pulses against the left side of my face. My phone, buzzing like an angry insect.

I lift my head and look at the digital clock on the nightstand. It’s 2:39. In the a.m.

I’m on call during the late-night weekend hours. At once I stick my hand under the pillow and retrieve my vibrating phone. My eyelids feel as if they have glue under them. I blink several times and clear my throat. It’s important that I sound alert and ready.

Hi. This is Mace.

It’s a man’s voice on the other end, deep and authoritative. He isn’t shy and doesn’t waste words. He lays out the parameters of what I have to do in a few sentences. I lay out my requirements. After that, it’s just a matter of the when and the where. The when is an hour from now, which doesn’t leave me a lot of time.

In the bathroom I clean myself inside and out. I blow-dry my short, thick hair, running my fingers through it to fluff out the strands. My hair was blond until I left home a year ago. Since then it’s darkened to this murky brown color. Maybe that’s my body’s attempt at camouflage. When I’m done with the blow-dryer, I shave, brush my teeth, and gargle with an antiseptic mouthwash. At the mirror I inspect my body front and back, making sure I haven’t overlooked anything. I slip into black cotton boxers and a black T-shirt. Then I dress in black jeans, black boots, a black jersey, and quickly shrug into my thick leather jacket. I grab my wallet, my keys, and the items I’ll need for the job, and I’m out the door.

I move quietly down the hall, down the stairs. There’s always someone awake in the dorm, studying, watching TV, sexing it up, but there are also plenty of guys here who are sleeping. I don’t want to disturb anybody, regardless. Once I’m behind the wheel of my car, I plug the address the man gave me into my GPS unit just for the hell of it. I have a good idea where I’m going but use GPS to be sure.

I drive carefully, following the directions. It’s January in Chicago. Several inches of snow cover the ground, and thick gray clouds blanket the night sky. Flurries whip through the air, shimmering in the yellow haze of the streetlights. My stomach tightens and flutters, tightens and flutters. I always get nervous on the way to a job. I put on some music. Coltrane. Other guys my age are into rock and hip-hop. I don’t think it’s pretentious of me, but I suppose it is a little weird that I’m so heavily into avant-garde jazz, with its free-flowing, take-no-prisoners rhythms. What the hell. It relaxes me like nothing else.

Traffic is heavy downtown. Lots of people are on foot, partiers and late-night daters. It’s Friday night—actually early Saturday morning now. Last weekend I was booked solid, but this weekend there is so far only one appointment, late Saturday night. So I’m grateful for this out-of-the blue call. I need the money. Paying my tuition, dorm, lab, and parking fees this semester, along with buying textbooks, practically cleaned out my bank account. In a couple of weeks, payments on my auto loan and insurance are due. Then there’s the little matter of feeding myself; I don’t dare look thin or sickly. I’ve got to build up my account again, and fast.

The hotel is on Michigan Avenue, one of the ritziest in the city from the looks of it. I pull up to the main entrance. A valet in a long black wool coat with red lapels and a red wool cap is there almost immediately. Leaving the engine running, I open my door and climb out, grateful I won’t have to worry about my car. Finding a place to park downtown, even in the early morning hours, can be a nightmare. The valet smiles, welcomes me to the hotel, and slides behind the wheel. He doesn’t look much older than I am.

The doorman solemnly opens the way for me, and I walk through into a huge, ornate lobby. People are all over the place. I slip past the front desk and go straight to the elevators. The ride to the thirtieth floor seems to take forever, and my stomach starts flip-flopping again. Anxiety tingles through me, making my arms and legs tremble. Jesus, I have to pull it together. I can’t show up for the job looking like some junkie on a tweak. Deep breathing calms me down a bit.

The elevator door slides open, and I walk down the hall. Room 3014. I knock once, a sharp but discreet rap. As I wait I take another deep breath, blow it out. The lock clicks, and the door swings open. The man standing there is wearing a long, white, terry cloth robe. His legs and feet are bare. His head is bald, but he has a bristly mustache and beard, the hair black with just a touch of gray. I’d put him in his midforties. He looks me over quickly and then raises his thick, dark eyebrows.

Mace, he says, his voice a growl. Get in here.

He steps aside, and I walk into the room. It’s actually a suite, with a living room and, to the left, a dining room. The layout makes me nervous; I can’t be sure no one else is here. I stop in the living room and wait, since I have no idea where this man intends to conduct our transaction.

He closes the door, his eyes on me. One corner of his mouth goes up in a smirk. You look exactly like your pictures, he says. That’s good. Nothing pisses me off more than having one of you guys show up looking fifteen years older than your ad shows. Bedroom’s through there.

He points to the right, where there’s a hall. I don’t like turning my back on anyone in a situation like this, but he’s not leaving me much choice. He apparently doesn’t want to turn his back on me. I walk down the hall with the man following.

The bedroom is easily three times the size of my dorm room. The king-size bed is still made, with welcoming mints on the pillows. On the dresser, laid out in a row and easily visible, are five hundred-dollar bills. Just as I’d instructed. I stop in the middle of the room, turn around, and wait. The man made it clear on the phone; he likes calling the shots.

He stops in front of me. I’m six feet tall. He’s at least six four, a real bear. His middle is thick with the beginnings of a beer gut, but the rest of him is pure muscle. He looks like a pro wrestler or weightlifter. On his left hand, he’s wearing a thick gold wedding band. I admire the fact he didn’t take it off. He doesn’t give a shit what I think of him.

Get those clothes off, he snaps. Throw ’em on the floor.

I undress slowly, dropping every item around me as it comes off. When I’m naked, I stand there, letting him look me over. That smirk comes to his face again. He likes what he sees. That relaxes me a bit more.

Come here. His voice is soft, low, but still commanding.

I walk up to him. He just stands there, looking down at me. The scent of cigars is thick on his breath. It’s somehow disgusting and inviting at

Reviews for Bender

[FantasyLiving · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I don’t know how I haven’t come across this author before but I am addicted to his writing style now.

This story is a little dark and may be tough for some readers, but the writing is clean and I enjoyed reading Mason’s journey.