Campus Call Boy, page 3
I pry off the condom, straddle his narrow hips, and whack out my load while he shrieks into the wadded glove.
Chapter Five
TUESDAY NIGHT I get together with Darius at his place. It’s become our regular thing, kind of like old times when we were working at the diner. We both have crazy schedules. I’ve got classes Mondays through Thursdays, and he’s been taking care of his grandmother who’s had a bunch of health problems. The weekend is our prime time for clients. It’s nice we still find time to hang during the week even if it’s just a couple of hours watching some reality show on Bravo or playing a game on Xbox. Yeah, we’re still like kids when it comes to video games. Darius usually kicks my ass, though I josh him he gets in a lot more practice than me.
This night, we order in a pizza and suck down the beers I brought over. Darius looks pretty beat in his t-shirt and pajama bottoms, and I’m right there with him. I finished my midterm for Organizational Behavior that morning, got a workout in, went to two three-hour classes and started studying for my exam in Finance I on Thursday. We chomp down pizza on his couch while watching a Netflix sci-fi series he’s into.
I ask about his grandmother, and he says she’s doing okay. He’s pretty much become her main caretaker since his mom works days as a teacher’s aide, and she’s got his younger brother’s kids staying at the house. I’ve got some things on my mind I’ve been dying to get his opinion on. When there’s a break between episodes, I lay on him my dilemma with Philip.
“He’s giving you four grand, and you complainin’?” Darius rolls his eyes. “Damn white boy problems.”
I’m kind of floored by his reaction and wanting to understand what he means.
“You don’t think I should talk to him? I mean, he’s my best client, but I don’t want things to go south.”
“That guy’s money in the bank.” He looks away and snorts. “You know what I was doin’ Saturday night? Meetin’ up with some fat trucker with a Confederate flag tattoo in a Motel Six. Dude was high on meth and wanted me to suck him off while calling me his ‘boy.’ Then the fucker shorts me forty dollars. Made twenty bucks for that shit.”
I cringe inside. I guess I picked the wrong time to ask his advice about managing wealthy clients. Darius is turning tricks for sixty bucks? I had no idea.
He comes back to me, and I’ve never seen him looking so off, so world-weary. “You’re young. You grab all the cash you can ‘cause I’m telling you this shit is hard. Don’t get any easier.”
I don’t say anything. I hadn’t expected things to get so real that night. And Darius, he’s like my mentor, my personal hero. He’s always in control. Never gets rattled by anything.
It hits me then his basement apartment is kind of a mess. Dishes piled up in the sink. His dining table is completely covered by unopened mail. His TV and console are looking grimy, and the coffee table is sticky from some spill and has an ashtray overfilled with butts.
Darius picks out a cigarette from his box of Newports and lights it. He points the box at me. I’ve all but given up smoking. I’ll have one when we’re hanging out. Doesn’t seem like a bad idea right now. I prop a cig in my mouth, and Darius leans over with his disposable lighter to spark it up. Then he sits back on the couch with one long arm tucked behind his head, staring vacantly at the TV while he puffs on his cigarette.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him.
“What you sorry about?”
“Just sounds like you’re going through a rough time.”
“My Gramma…” He cracks a grin. “She’s one stubborn lady. We finally got the insurance company to pay for an aide to help her out a couple times a week. She’s going through them like old newspapers. Says this one copped an attitude with her. Another’s stealing her money. Only time she won’t fight with them is when I’m there to supervise. Then what’s the point having the aide?”
Now I get why his place is such a disaster. He must be spending all his time running back and forth to his grandmother’s house.
“What you gonna do?”
He snorts. “My moms says she’s going to a nursing facility. They never got along. But she’s got power of attorney. Wants to sell her house and take the cash so she’ll qualify for Medicaid. Put her in this county home some friend of hers told her about. It’s an hour out of town. Looks like somewhere poor folks go to die.”
“Damn.”
Darius takes a long draw on his smoke and stubs it out. “I can’t do nothing about my moms selling the house. But ain’t no way Gramma’s goin’ to some dump where ain’t nobody goin’ to visit her. They got a private, skilled facility right here in town. I tol’ my moms I’ll pay for it. Problem is, it’s steep.”
I wish I had something helpful to say. I’m feeling pretty shitty about having told him my big problem is some john trying to bargain for more from me with expensive gifts.
“How many meets you doing a week?”
Darius frowns. “Fifteen? Twenty?” He glances at his phone. “I probably ought to be out there right now.”
Makes me jumpy imagining that volume. “You’re getting all those calls from the Amsterdam site?”
He scowls. “I’m on three sites now. Ain’t even making the rent from Amsterdam.” He peeks at me. “Bet you can guess where I met that good ol’ boy trucker.”
When Darius first helped me get established, he made me promise to steer clear of this hookup site called GO, which is an abbreviation for Get Off. It’s a mix of guys looking for free sex and pros looking to get paid, but since there’s no middle man, there’s no verification or any kind of regulation. GO’s got the sleaziest of reputations, and some of its “pros” charge as little as twenty bucks. It’s also a great way to get beat up or killed by some homophobe who’s using the app to lure gay guys into trouble. I have to figure that’s what Darius is talking about.
“GO?”
Darius nods.
“You told me yourself—”
He cuts me off, loudly. “I ain’t makin’ money. It’s not like it is wit’ you.”
Ouch. I ought to keep my mouth closed, but words come out. “I’ve been working for not even two years. I learned everything I know from you.”
“You a college boy. A white college boy.” He gives me an ugly sneer. “You don’t even know what it’s like.”
I get what he’s saying. Somewhat. Still don’t see any reason why he should be working on the sketchiest of platforms for sixty-dollar gigs. Yeah, he’s pushing thirty, but he doesn’t look it, and he’s got a sick face, and he’s in good shape. I think about offering to loan him some money. I could skip a payment or two to my graduate school fund, make it up somewhere down the line. Though the vibe I’m getting from Darius is that would insult him, after I’ve already insulted him apparently. Instead, I get up, go to the kitchen and crank on the hot water at his sink.
I find his dishwashing detergent and a sponge and start getting the stack of dishes soaked and soapy. Darius wanders over.
“What-chou doin’?”
“Getting your place cleaned up before it gets condemned by the Board of Health.” I grab one of his mugs and scour it inside and out with the sponge.
I catch a puzzled look on his face in the corner of my eye.
“Don’t do that,” he says. “I’ll do it in the morning.” He swipes his brow. “I didn’t mean to be a buzz kill. Let’s watch the show. It’s Tuesday Chill Night.”
That’s what we’ve always called it, but I find his wash towel and dry off the mug. “We’re starting new traditions.” I set the mug in his empty dish rack and grab a dirty glass in the sink to work on. “’Sides, I can’t help myself. You know I got my start washing dishes at a diner.”
That brings out Darius’s killer smile. He joins me at the sink. “All right. You wash, I’ll dry.”
We work our way through the stack of cups and plates, and it feels good, just getting some stuff done with the guy I consider my best friend. I flick some soapy water in his face, and he snaps me in the ass with the wash towel. We laugh and take some digs at each other, and pretty soon, the sink is empty. I hunt through his cabinet underneath and find some scouring powder and a steel wool to scrub the sink clean.
Meanwhile, Darius ties up a bag of trash from his kitchen garbage can. I’ve still got things on my mind and decide to ask him.
“Hey. You ever had a boyfriend?”
He gives me a crooked glance. “I got boyfriends every day of the week.”
“Not like that. I mean somebody you really care about. Somebody you do things with besides hooking up for money.”
Darius drops the trash back by the door. “Yeah, I had somebody like that. Been a long time though. I was nineteen, twenty years old?”
He never told me about that. Darius talked vaguely about his “Sugar Daddy” when we were first getting to know each other, and it turned out it was this older guy who was paying him cash to fuck him.
“What was he like?”
“He was awright,” Darius says with a smirk. “His Daddy was a preacher. Had him pretty screwed up in the head, though he sure liked gettin’ down. Anyways, he ended up going away to Bible school and we lost touch.”
“How long were you together?”
“’Bout a year.” He looks at me funny, maybe reading the stars in my eyes. “What you got goin’, Noah? I ain’t heard you talking ‘bout boyfriends for a minute.”
Darius knows I put that possibility on hold all the way back freshman year. I tell him about Carlos, and I’m surprised how shy and gawky it makes me feel. The dude already texted me Monday, following up about getting together for coffee. I didn’t answer. Yet. I end up leaning against the counter going on about it while Darius grabs two beers from the fridge, uncaps them and hands one to me.
I take a guzzle. “What do you think I should do?”
“White boy problems again,” Darius teases me.
I look down at my feet. Yeah, he’s got a point. I’ve got nothing on my plate nearly as serious as him. Though problems are problems, aren’t they?
“What would you do?”
“If I had a cute alt Latin boy chasin’ me all over town, I’d probably fuck him.”
“Would you tell him about the sex work?”
“Hell no.” He gives me a crooked glance. “Why’s he need to know? He ain’t proposing marriage. Asking you to move in with you and make babies together.”
Funny. Carlos had said almost the same thing. But I’ve still got cold feet. Even if we just went out for coffee, I’d feel guilty about leading him on and worried he’d end up hating me. I set the matter aside, grab the sponge from the sink, and get working on cleaning Darius’s kitchen table.
“You got a mop?” I ask him.
Darius lets out a razz, sets down his beer.
“When’s the last time you cleaned the floor?”
He surrenders and goes to his closet to bring out an old sponge mop and bucket. His linoleum-tiled floor is pretty dingy and gross. I’m wondering if he has bleach.
While I’m pushing the table aside to clear some room, Darius comes up behind me and hugs me.
“You a good friend, Noah.”
I get a lump in my throat. “Love you, D.”
He kisses the back of my head. “Love you, too. The little bro I never had.”
That makes me smile. We spend the rest of the night mopping his kitchen floor, wiping down the cabinets, and vacuuming and dusting his living room. I rib him about his pig sty, and he sasses me back about being an uptight prick. Strange, it turns out to be the most fun we ever had together on a Tuesday night.
Chapter Six
THAT FINANCE EXAM on Thursday is a bitch, and I’m praying for the best when I turn it in after two hours and stagger out of the classroom. I stayed up studying until two in the morning, set my alarm for nine to get a nice, relaxing workout in, and I got another two hours of studying in that day before the one o’clock class.
I’m feeling like I just want to go back to my apartment and bury myself in my bed. I overheard some of my classmates talking about blowing off our next class, Oral Communications. It’s really tempting, but I’ve got a perfect attendance record. Just something that’s important to me. I drag myself to Oral Communications, and I’m not complaining when the professor lets us out a half hour early because only four of us showed up.
That leaves me with an hour and change to grab something to eat, take a nice, hot shower to steam away the stress that day, and get dressed to meet up with Philip at seven o’clock. His wife took a flight to Tokyo that morning, he had told me. He booked me for Thursday and our usual Saturday.
I moisturize, pick out some sexy briefs, get a pair of joggers on and a fresh Polo shirt. He likes me looking clean cut, nothing too fancy. Though we never leave his house and my clothes will be off five minutes after I get there, I’ve always got to think about looking my best. I use some gel to shape my thick blond hair, just a little. I brush my teeth with whitening toothpaste and gargle with mouthwash. Checking myself out in the mirror, I’m a bit disturbed by a little blotch on my cheekbone. About to break out with a pimple. I knew I should have changed razor blades when I shaved. The dull ones irritate my skin and that leads to breakouts. Nothing I can do about it now.
I grab the Bell and Ross watch, put it on and fast-track to my car because I’m running late. Ironically, we live less than half a mile away from each other. He’s in the flush part of town on the other side of campus where the university has big mansions for deans and higher-ups like him. His house has a partial wall and tall hedges around it, so it’s fairly discreet to pull my car up the driveway, especially at night. It’s a quiet neighborhood. I only once saw someone on the street walking a dog when I drove over.
You’re probably wondering what I decided to do about the guy. I’m wondering, too. Mostly, I haven’t been thinking about it, though after that conversation with Darius, I guess I’m leaning toward leaving things be. Darius had a point about earning money while I can. You never know what’s up ahead. I happened to get a message that week from one of my other regulars canceling our Friday, and he didn’t say anything about rescheduling. He’s another married guy who’s one panic attack away from calling things quits, or who knows, he might be looking for more variety or maybe he can’t afford it anymore. Clients come and go, and if I’m going to stay on track to have tuition set aside for graduate school, well, as they say, maybe I shouldn’t be looking a gift horse in the mouth.
I get out of my car and walk over to the back door of the house. The backyard’s really nice. There’s a stone-laid terrace with an in-ground pool and a big garden with rose bushes. Philip also has a backhouse, which I guess is for the help, at least back in the old days. I’ve never seen any sign of a maid living on the premises. It doesn’t feel like a place I belong, but it’s a lifestyle I could get used to.
Philip is at the door right away with a smile on his face. He’s got his dress shirt unbuttoned a little, and he’s wearing a pair of slippers. I grin and say hello, and he steps aside to let me in. He closes the door and locks it, and then he comes at me with a firm and lingering hug.
His beard brushes against my face. “So good to see you,” he mutters in my ear.
“Good to see you too.”
He’s sealed against me. I’m bathed in his cologne, and this welcome hug is turning into something more, his hands wringing my back, his lips grazing my neck. I feel Philip’s heat and hardness between my legs.
“Want to devour you,” he tells me huskily.
I laugh lightly. “You’re really horny tonight, aren’t you?” He definitely took his pill. He grips my butt hard. He might have taken a double dose.
“Always horny for you,” he says. He slips his hand between my legs and gropes for me over the crotch of my joggers. He’s getting me turned on, too.
Philip bullies me against the wall and drops down to his knees to tug down my pants and underwear. When he claims my cock with his mouth, it socks the breath out of my lungs. Feels amazing when I relax into the sensation. He sneaks one of his hands up my shirt to touch my bare belly, reaching farther to feel my chest while sucking me wild and sloppy.
“Aww…Philip,” I croon to him.
He’s never been so eager and spontaneous before. We always just go upstairs to his bedroom, I take a shower, and he gets ready for me in bed. Tonight, he’s siphoning for pay dirt. I don’t mind. He’s winding up that spring between my legs, making my whole body throb.
“You’re gonna make me cum,” I warn him.
He goes at me harder, and fuck, he breaks the dam, and I whine and catch the wall to stay up on my feet while I erupt inside his ruthless mouth.
I gather my breath when he releases me. Horny dude is a little stiff pushing himself up to a stand, and his chest is heaving when he gets up to me at eye level.
I yank up my underwear and pant for breath while he stands in front of me. Philip looks off-balance, kind of struggling with himself, leaning toward me like he wants to embrace me again then rolling back. I place my hand on his upper arm.
“Hey, that was really good.”
He nods and brightens a little. With my hand placed so, the wristwatch he bought me is prominently on display. I swear I hadn’t planned that. Not consciously at least. Philip takes my hand and kisses it. He shrugs his head. “C’mon. I’ll get you a drink.”
I follow him down the hall into the kitchen. I’ve seen my share of fancy houses and apartments since I started catering to a wealthy clientele, and I still like Philip’s house the best. It’s got high, molded ceilings, hardwood floors, embroidered carpets, and wood frame transom windows. I’m setting myself up for a joke by saying I’m attracted to old things, but it’s true. I dig old school sophistication, and Philip’s Victorian mansion still feels homey. The kitchen is open-plan with a huge, marble island counter and a tall wall of white, painted cabinets. There’s a seating area at one end of the counter with leather cushioned stools. When I strike it rich, I want to get myself a big, old house like his.
