New Orleans, Louisiana 1898
Storyville is the place where all the men from out of town go when the sun goes down. We are a community of the night. Vice is our specialty. If you have the imagination and the cash, we can make it happen. Luxurious dens of iniquity align the streets waiting for any eager john. The house I work is a bit different from the rest. Though, you couldn't tell by looking at the exterior of it. There are no women where I work, only men. Men of all types. Large and small. Short and tall. Muscular and slender. Black, white, and anything in between one could desire.
I know what you're thinking. How the hell could we possibly get away with such sin? Well, it helps that the mayor and a lot of our city's council men are some of our best customers. Not to mention that some of the wealthiest and powerful men in the state get a cut of the cash that flows through here. From the pulpit, man ass is forbidden but here it's worshipped. I've had customers of all ages and occupations. Just last night the good reverend of St. Anna's was in here paying me to do something that his wife couldn't or wouldn't do. His cock is of average size but you can never judge a book by its cover. Many a man here does such, but I try not to. You never know what skills a customer may have.
The good reverend knows how to use his instrument. I laid on my back, my legs spread and my heels to the heavens. I watched as he plowed me. His hips were poetry in motion. His breath on my face, I watched him as he enjoyed my hole. His face scrunched up as he approached the pinnacle of his pleasures. He gasped loudly before collapsing atop me, his manhood still hard and his juices still pumping into me. We went on like that for two hours. The reverend is one of the few that likes to be kissed. He's a very passionate man at heart but trapped by society. The minute he's gone, I wash up and go back downstairs. I like to trundle about naked. Let the customers see exactly what they're paying for. My body is a perfect specimen of raw desire if I do say so myself. I do my best to keep in shape. I've seen rent boys in the past let themselves go and their income went right along with it.
A cigarette in hand, I splayed myself against the wall. Let the passersby get a good look. Touch my chest. Stroke my abs. Fondle my balls. Examine me the way you would a thoroughbred you're about to purchase. Our boss, Ford, doesn't care how we entice the customers just so long as we get them. I get a few wanting glances but they lost interest the minute they see Caesar, who is a tall, broad-chested black man that's hung like a horse. When he first came here, we use to mess around. Many a pillow I've bitten with him inside me. His cock is long yet thick. The biggest I have ever yet had. He was gentle with me, thankfully. If he hadn't, he would've torn me limb from limb. He gets shit from the other guys from time to time but I suppose he expects that. He's the most popular among customers and Ford isn't planning to get rid of him anytime soon.
I watch as I see Caesar and his bearded, brown eyed client talk and then disappear up the stairs. If only I could be a fly on the wall during that encounter. I force my focus back on my own advertisement, giving sultry looks to the types of men I know would desire a guy like me. Older more established men tend to favor me, the ones that have lived much of their lives denying their secret yearnings. Every so often I attract a large burly man. It's usually a sailor or a carpetbagger from out of town. The sailors can be brutal. I've had a few that almost fucked the life out of me. I guess all that time at sea does something to the libido.
I jumped as I felt a hand run across my body and down about my abdomen. I had been lost in thought.
"I'm sorry. Did I scare you?"
He was tall and blond. His eyes a deep celestial blue that reminded me of a cloudless morning sky. His golden hair was slicked back. From his manner of dress, he was a gentleman. A mature one at that. I guessed that he was in his forties.
"Touch away," I smirked at him, grabbing his hand putting it back on my body. "You like what see?"
His hand crossed my chest and grabbed a nipple. "Your skin is like porcelain," he murmured.
I smiled and grabbed his hand, leading him towards the stairs. Like a curious, lost child he followed me. Room ten was free. Perfect! As he ambled in, I closed and locked the door behind us. The minute I saw him I knew I was going to enjoy this one and hoped that no one dare to disturb us. He surveyed the red duvet on the four poster bed and then his eyes turned to the fireplace. The flame on the hearth was the only light in the room.
