Antique Romance

Chapter I: LOVELY

There's only three things I genuinely love and care about in this world: men, sex, and money. I mean, really, what else is there to love in this cold, messed up world? There are stupid people everywhere killing mindlessly, doing stupid things or just being nothing but a waste of life and space. That's why I just stick to doing just me - love only yourself, trust only yourself, and live only for yourself.

So there you have it: me, a twenty two year old stripper for Red Light, undeniably the most prestigious club that caters to gay men here in the east coast. I like it here. A lot. I love it, actually. I guess it's because I'm one of the most popular strippers here, not to toot my own horn or anything. Really, the guys that come here seem to love that 'sweet, cute and innocent boy doing something so dirty and naughty' image - the same look I have going for me. Smooth, milky skin, a slender body and a face so adorable it lets me get away with all the shenanigans I do.

For example, the managers here at the Red Light made it clear that the only thing us models (they call us models because it sounds more classy, but really who cares?) are here to do is grind the pole and make the guys jizz their pants. The only physical contact they allow us with the club goers is just a lap dance, grinding and the occasional hand jobs. But sometimes I spot a guy out there who's just so hot, I have to give him a secret blowjob in the bathroom.

I get into a lot of trouble for that, but when I give the managers one too, all their anger flies out and I'm getting a nice warm dinner. I'm lucky that they're young and hot. I'd have nightmares if I had to orally service a balding guy three times my age.

Like tonight, a nice warm Friday night. I was in the middle of worshipping some sexy businessman complete in a pinstripe suit when Harry, one of my handsome thirty year old managers comes storming in, cursing a storm up at me.

"Tobi! What the hell do you think you're doing?!" he screams at me, and I swear a vein must've popped in his head, the way it was all bulging and red. He has short brown hair shaved on the sides, where you can see every angry vein in his temples.

I got up from the fancy black tiled bathroom floor, wiping the drool away from my mouth. I hate getting interrupted when it comes to sex, but when it's your manager, what can you do?

"Just having a little fun," I replied, putting on my best 'shy and cute boy' face. Being half Asian, we're naturally young and adorable looking, so it didn't take much effort.

It must've worked because Harry's angry face seemed to calm down a little bit, although he was still pissed. He goes to the businessman I was pleasuring and apologizes, ushering him out of the bathroom.

"Hey! I wasn't done with him!" I protested. That guy had one of the most perfect cocks ever. "He didn't even--"

"And you!" Harry turned his gaze to me once the businessman had left the bathroom. He grabbed my slender wrist and pushed me up on the wall, pressing his much stronger body against mine, pinning me.

"What do you think this place is?" he hissed into my ear as he tightened his grip on my wrists.

"Ow," I winced. "Harry, you're grabbing me too tight!" I tried to squirm out of his grasp, but alas, no luck. The guy worked out almost everyday.

"This is an establishment with a high name and reputation!" he continued, nibbling on my neck. "If word gets out that our models are freely and willingly offering oral sex in the bathrooms, what'll happen to that reputation we worked so hard to achieve?"

Wow. I guess Harry's really pissed. Usually, when I got caught I'd just give him my 'shy and cute boy' face and he'd drop his pants for "reimbursement". I was never pinned against the wall.

Being in the middle of my stripper shift, I was wearing nothing but a pair of tight, lacy pink underwear and some pink Chucks with a 'cat ears' headband on, meaning my bare back was pressed up on the cold bathroom wall. Not fun.

"Harry, I'm sorry, okay?" I said, trying to avoid having my back touch the wall. "You can let me go now, please?"

"The only reason we haven't let you go is because you bring in the most money," Harry said, his voice calming down. The veins in his temples seemed to have disappeared. "You're cute, sexy, and absolutely adorable. Don't do this anymore."

He lets go of my wrists and lets me down to the floor, ruffling his hand through my tousled, shoulder length jet black hair. I spend a lot of time on my hair, making sure it's perfectly layered, tossed, and styled to look just like a model's. After all 'your appearance is your life' here at Red Light.

I nodded. "Alright, Harry. I promise I won't suck anymore guys off here. Now did you want one too?" I bit one of my fingers and looked up at him with big begging dark brown puppy eyes. It drives all the guys crazy here.

He chuckled, looked up to the ceiling before planting a kiss on my lips. "Not now, Tobi. I really want to fuck you actually, but Kyle and I have to go on a business trip soon. We could squeeze in a quickie here though. You down?"

He gives me a seductive look with his sky blue eyes. How could I even think about saying no?

Before I knew it, the 'out of order' sign was hung up on the locked bathroom door and Harry had me screaming my head off all over the place - in the stalls, on the floor, on the sink, against the wall. I clawed at his muscular back as he plunged deep inside me.

That's another reason why I love this place - I get to have sex. All the time. Kyle was the blonde spiky haired hunk that managed this place with Harry. To the public, they were the handsome power duo who ran the most successful gay club the east coast has ever seen. In private, they were a pair of freaky bisexual guys who liked to share a guy or girl together.

I was their most played with toy. Not because I bribed them or kissed up, but because they knew I was the easiest and the prettiest guy there. They knew I couldn't resist the urge for sex and get handled by hot guys. I guess that makes me a slut or something. I don't really care. As long as I get to feel good, I'll do whatever.

Harry had me gasping with my front against the wall as he unloaded onto my back. I shuddered when I felt the air rush into my hole, still wide open and moist. I almost came myself at the thought of my hot manager coming on my back. He laughed and kissed me numerous times before helping me clean myself.

I treasured moments like these - having sex with your boss in the bathroom or some other private place. It's almost taboo.

I watched him put his black suit back on as I slipped my underwear on. I could still feel the moistness between my legs. Going back out there and making it seem like I was some untouchable virgin was going to be tough with my 'just fucked' hole.

"Oh, don't think you're still going to prance around all high and mighty, Tobi," Harry said as he adjusted his tie.

I looked at him. "What do you mean? I never act high and mighty."

"Kyle and I decided to cut your gigs down," he said calmly as my jaw dropped in disbelief.

Being a stripper is demanding. You have to keep putting yourself out there and rise to the top through sheer hard work and determination. Getting multiple gigs is a dream come true for a determined stripper. Getting gigs cut is nightmare.

"Why?!" I cried out. I couldn't believe my ears.

"Punishment, kiddo," he said with a sly grin. "You can't have your way anymore. No more letting you slide out of trouble with some sex. A cute face will only go so far with us. You'll be making shows only two nights a week."

Two nights a week? I think my heart just broke.

"But Harry, how am I supposed to live with making two appearances a week?" I asked as he stepped towards the door.

"Oh, I don't know," he answered, patting me on my head. "You make almost a thousand dollars per night anyways, Tobi. I doubt you'll die." He left me in the bathroom, standing alone and shocked before sticking his head back in.

"Oh yeah, you can go home now. I'll make the announcement that you got sick and went somewhere." He gave me a wink before leaving me alone again.

Remember when I said I loved this place? I think I'm starting to hate it. What about bills? What am I supposed to do in all that free time? I have no boyfriend to mess around with, I don't have 'friends' I trust enough to hang out with, only acquaintances, and I have no family.

Well, I do, but they cut all ties with me when I told them I was gay. Typical. They told me I was this and that, and whole bunch of other typical nonsense people shout about homosexuality. And so, just a few months before my high school graduation, they booted me out from the ridiculously large and lavish mansion I lived in.

I was a wreck. Being valedictorian and homeless was kind of hard for an eighteen year old student. I was so desperate not to end up like those homeless wanderers, I was willing to do anything - even if it meant spreading my legs for money.

And that's exactly what I did during those dark times. I dropped out of school, cut ties with everyone and slept around with hundreds of men to get where I am today - a financially stable, independent twenty two year old, half Japanese, half white kid living in Diamond Heights condos, the most extravagant condo here in the city.

My place is full of sleek and fancy furniture, like the thin black coffee table for my nonexistent magazines, the wavy looking sofa chair thing, and my Japanese style futon bed. I like it. But as cool as it is, I don't think sitting here all day five days a week is going to be fun.

Since I got my Red Light appearances forcibly cut, I have to be wary of my money. I can't just go out on a whim anymore. My ridiculously expensive rent would be short all the time if I kept up my two nights a week job. And so, after much consideration, I decided to get a ... part time job. As a waiter, at a place called 'Nippon: Chinese cuisine'.

The name is probably irony at its best, but who cares? They were the only place willing to hire me on the spot. I picked it because I figured it was pretty close to being a stripper, just food oriented and much more family friendly.

My first day there consisted of getting yelled at by my manager and running frantically back and forth from the front to the kitchen. The cooks figured they weren't getting paid enough to make everything themselves, so they cooked the rice halfway, the chicken halfway, and everything else halfway, leaving me to finish the rest.

I've never even made a cookies and cream milkshake in my life, so I just filled a cup with vanilla ice cream and threw some Oreos on top, serving it out with the rest of my improvised cooking. Surprisingly, I got tipped quite a lot. The patrons saw how hopeless the rest of my crew was and decided to take pity on me. Not that I was complaining.

Somehow, I managed to survive until the end of the day, falling into a chair, exhausted. I never knew being a waiter would be so tiring. But then again, I was part waiter, part chef at the same time. Sonny, my sleazy manager, decided to split my tip with the rest of my lazy coworkers, telling me he'd pay me back if I gave him some special 'services' I excelled in.

Turns out he had recognized me right away as that cute little stripper from Red Light and was hoping he could blackmail his way into a night with me - which was why he was so quick to hire me.

So I did what other desperate folks would do in my position. I took him into his office, dimmed the lights, sat him down in his chair and straddled him, stroking his chest and crotch. While he grew ecstatic, I looked straight into his eyes and told him to "fuck himself" before hopping off him and marching out the door. With my head held high. No way I was going to service a guy just to get my tips back.

Again, I was jobless. Well, aside from Red Light, I was jobless. Back at home, I flopped down onto my bed, sighing as I reached for the newspaper. As I flipped through the pages, Pippy, my winter white Russian dwarf hamster, rolled around in his red hamster ball across the floor.

My eyes followed him when I got bored of the newspaper, locking on to him as he bumped into the tables. He was a cute little furball. I bought him a few weeks ago from a little homeless kid going door to door selling the furballs when I realized my place was too quiet. Nowadays the squeaking of the hamster wheel and nutshells cracking fill in the silence. I don't mind.

I sighed, staring straight up into the empty glass cola bottles I turned into a ceiling lamp. I had a knack for arts and crafts, it being the one thing I used to entertain myself when I was cooped up in my room back at my parent's place. So naturally, I'd be quite a creative spirit.

I closed my eyes, letting my mind wander and wade through the memories of my past. My family was one of the most wealthiest names out there, my father being a successful business tycoon and my mother, a top notch fashion designer. While anyone would have loved to be in my place, I hated it.

Being unbelievably rich, they had a bunch of equally wealthy and snobby high class friends they invited over almost everyday. And so, because they had an image and status to maintain and I had to stay out of trouble, I was forced to stay in my room all day, everyday.

I mean, yeah, I had all the latest gadgets and games but even that gets boring and tiring day by day. I wanted simple stuff, like regular kids. I wanted to go run outside and scream at the top of my lungs, to go hide behind rocks and fallen trees in the forest, using my imagination. I just wanted a friend to play with, instead of machines and technology.

I wasn't even allowed to wander around the house on my own, or even use the bathroom. I had a set time where a maid or butler would come get me and escort me down a hidden and secret hallway away from the eyes of my parent's friends to the kitchen, where I had to quickly eat. Then make the trip back up to my bedroom. A few hours later, I would be escorted to the bathroom. Back up to my room afterwards.

It was suffocating in that prison hellhole. I had no freedom, no free will, no nothing. The maids supplied me with various magazines full of colorful clothes, cars, and other stuff for me to flip through. I cut them all up and made an imaginary family of celebrities, complete with a dad, mom, and two kids.

I would play with that family all day until I grew a little too old for that. Then I used them as bookmarks for the lengthy novels I read. When I reached my teens, I had discovered I was gay, taking a liking to the boys in my school instead of the girls.

I had my first boyfriend when I was fifteen, kept secret from my family. I didn't really like him. To be honest, I didn't even know his name. I just pretended to be madly in love with him so I could get his cock. At school, I ditched classes to have sex with him in his car. Sophomores weren't allowed to park or drive to school, so he would park his red Ford Mustang at the store across the street. After sex, he'd take us for a cruise down by the beach. It was amazing.

Amazing, that is, until my parents found out because the school called them. I was forced to tell them everything - about my sexuality, my secret boyfriend and our sexual escapades. They banned me from everything, taking away my computer, phone, and other electronics. I didn't care. I never wanted them anyways. They were doing me a favor, instead.

I was to be escorted to and from school by a butler, have a maid watch my every move when I was actually in classes, and was made to sit by myself during lunch. Being valedictorian and probably the smartest kid that snobby, stuck up school has ever seen, I was pretty much hated by everybody anyways.

And that was my life, up until about three months prior to my high school graduation. My parents told me they had enough of me and my disgusting ways and had me on my merry way with just one tan satchel packed with a few of my belongings. Even though I had just gotten kicked out and disowned by my family, I wasn't crying or heartbroken. Instead, I just stood there, in front of the skinny iron gates, staring down at the brown cobblestone walkway with a blank face. I anticipated this day. I was prepared. Emotionally prepared.

What I wasn't prepared for was the harsh reality that followed. I was free at long last, but I needed a place to stay. Desperate not to end up at the homeless shelter, I went straight for the gay bars, scouting out a nice guy to latch onto.

I finally found a young looking guy in a suit, briefcase and a fancy car - a dead giveaway that he was stable. I chatted him up, took him into the bathroom and rode him for all he was worth and more, explaining my situation to him with fake tears. He sympathized badly and immediately took me to his loft, where he plowed me again and again. He told me I could stay with him forever, as long as I offered my ass to him - which I did. The sex was good, the place was nice, and he was really cute too, so I had no complaints.

That's when I realized I was good for one thing: sex. I began sneaking out of his place to meet up with multiple other guys, getting myself a reputation as the local slut. I didn't care. I couldn't care. I needed to do something to move upwards in life, and in my position, I had no time to be choosy. Besides, it's fun and easy to be a prostitute when you're a total bottom like me.

So I picked the road of sex, drugs, and money to advance in, although I stayed away from the drugs myself. I stopped going to school completely, shed my clean cut schoolboy look for a more urban and chic image - modeling myself after the successful gay porn stars and fashion models. With the money I was making from the street, I had enough to buy any piece of clothing I wanted.

A month and a half after getting kicked out of my parent's place, I had my own apartment, thousands of dollars saved in my bank account, and hundreds of guys blowing my phone up for a steamy night. I had to do everything I could to stay relevant, so I hopped from guy to guy as fast as I could, sometimes even pleasuring ten guys in one day. I'm a horny little critter, so I had no problems with that anyways. That's when I decided to start doing gangbangs - more guys in less time, which meant more money for me.

My first gangbang consisted of ten guys I've never even met in my life before. But I saw two big bulges in their pants - a thick wallet, and an even thicker cock. That was good enough for me. I easily made more money than I knew what to do with. Life was good.

Even though most, if not everyone, would look down on such a life path I chose and gossip about me behind my back, it wasn't so bad. I wasn't like all the other naïve idiots who thought they could mingle around in this field of work for a quick buck, then get back to their lives. I knew exactly what kind of guys to stay away from, I knew exactly how to keep disease free and who to let inside me unprotected, and I developed a sharp tongue and mind to stay feisty. Guys like 'em feisty. And so, after having sex with a total of six hundred and forty eight guys within three years, I am still disease free and tight as ever, thanks to my dedicated Kegel workouts.

Being a whore isn't all that bad if you're mentally strong enough to shrug off the bad things people say about you. When people whisper about me to their kids or significant others, I don't really mind. Chances are, they don't know squat about me and what I've been through to end up like this, so I pay no mind.

So that's what I do. Whenever I make a trip down to the local Starbucks for relaxing latte in a cozy chair, I ignore the people talking to each other obviously about me. I mean, why else would they constantly glance my way and subtly point to me? The brick wall behind me isn't that interesting.