My hips kept slamming against that smooth butt, thrusting harder and harder, bringing more and more pleasure to the cute young man folded double under me. We'd been at it nearly half an hour in any number of positions and I had begun to work up a sweat. We were both panting and Kyle's eyes were a bit glazed over but the grin on his face assured me that he was still thoroughly enjoying himself. He gasped, a sign that he was nearing his climax, so I shifted my weight to my left arm and grabbed his rock hard dick with my right hand. Two strokes and he exploded all over his stomach and chest. Halfway through his orgasm I thrust deep into him and gasped myself, making the sounds and movements of my own orgasm.

I collapsed on top of him and lay there for a minute to catch my breath then got up and went into the bathroom. I removed the empty condom and flushed it, then wet a washcloth. Before heading back into the bedroom I flicked the head of my dick a couple of times to make the hard-on go down a bit.

I sat on the side of the bed and cleaned up Kyle's abdomen. He smiled as he looked down at my cock.

"Doesn't that ever go soft?"

"It's what you do to me, babe."

"You were great, Paul. You're always great."

"No better than you, kid." I took a few steps back toward the bathroom and tossed the washcloth through the doorway, then went back to the bed. I lay down on my side, propped up on my elbow and looked down at him.

"I can't get over how much you look like him. You must get tired of hearing that."

I shrugged. "It's a compliment. He's a good-looking guy."

I'd never even seen the resemblance until Kyle had picked up on it. No one else had ever said I looked like Paul Walker. I was a few years younger than him and thought I looked young for my age. But you could never tell what others would see in you. I had another client who swore I looked like Eric Szmanda from CSI and he was shorter, thinner and less blond than either me or Paul.

"You sure you're not related to him?"

"Could be. My mother's maiden name is Walker and she was from Southern California." Actually, her maiden name was Russell and she was from New Jersey but there was no harm in stringing Kyle along. He was the one paying for a 'fast and furious' pounding by his favorite movie stud, after all.

"You sure you can't spend the night?"

"Sorry, babe. " I leaned toward him and nibbled on his ear. "Besides, we don't want to destroy your bank account."

"It'd be worth it," he smiled, a bit sadly.

"Maybe another time."

I got up and began to get dressed, keeping an eye on the sexy naked boy in the bed, giving him what I hoped was a sexy leer. He was younger than most of my dates, somewhere around 25. He was apparently some kind of computer genius, getting his masters degree at 21, working as a systems analyst for IBM, so he was able to afford me. On our first date I'd asked him why a cute young guy like him would pay for sex.

"Because then I get exactly what I want," he'd replied..

That was pretty much why all of my clients paid. They knew what they wanted and were willing and able to pay for it. That put them one up on me. I had no idea what I wanted, though I would have been able to pay.

Kyle threw on a robe and walked me to the door. As I kissed him goodnight he slipped a bill into my front jeans pocket - not my payment, that had already been taken care of - just a tip. It wasn't necessary but most of my clients insisted.

I took the subway down to Chelsea, stopped at a bar around the corner from my Eighth Avenue apartment and let Kyle's Franklin buy me a martini. I looked around the bar as I sipped my drink. Considering that I'd spent the evening in bed with a hot, naked young man and hadn't come, I wasn't very horny. I couldn't usually fake an orgasm with my clients so I usually did come. Sometimes it was required. This was the first time I'd faked it with Kyle. I enjoyed sex and it was good with Kyle, but I just hadn't been in the mood. I took my time with my drink, left a five dollar tip for the bartender and went home alone.

At home, I stripped down to my boxers, popped Bullitt into the DVD player and crawled into bed. Though I didn't think I looked like him at all, the next week I was going to be Steve McQueen and so I had to study his mannerisms.

Friday morning I spent an hour at the gym, then stopped at Starbucks for a decaf latte. When I got home I checked in with the office.

"Hey, Karen, what's new?"

"Silas!" She gushed. "How's my favorite two-bit whore?"

"Aw, I'll bet you say that to all the guys. I meant to remind you that now that school's out for the summer I'm available for more day work if you need me."

"You told me that last week and I've made a note of it. When are you going to be done with school for good? I know it's not polite to bring up a girl's age but isn't it a little odd to still be a student at 32?"

"You know me, I crave knowledge."

"Yeah, especially the carnal type."

"You have a dirty mind, lady."

"And what other kind should I have, working in a place like this?"

"Well, at any rate, you fit right in. So what's up?"

"You, probably, from what all of your clients tell me."

"I'm blushing." This repartee was pretty routine but I always enjoyed it. "Any changes in my schedule?"

"No, but I think we've got a new kink, so to speak, for your act with Richard Townsend next week."

"Ooh, kink. Do tell."

"Well, I think we're going to be able to do a twofer. You know the usual routine with him hasn't been exactly what he wanted but it was the best we could work out with just you on the job. But I think we've got a solution."

Mr. Townsend was a hot shot lawyer in his late forties, not bad looking, in shape, always very professional looking in his tailor-made suits. He was married and had three daughters, one in college, two in high school. He made tons of money, advised the mayor, his wife was active in all the right charities. His life was perfect, with one exception. No son. That's where I came in. A couple of times a month I'd get all dressed up in a prep school blazer, gray slacks and his old school tie, toss a knapsack filled with 'school books' over my shoulder and go have dinner out with him. He'd ask me about school and give me all sorts of fatherly advice. Then we'd go back to an apartment he kept for business and extracurricular personal activities.

That's where the snag came in. I was playing his son and he didn't want to have out-and-out incest, so the sex was a little tricky. He'd send me to my room to study. Instead I'd strip down, take out a male porn magazine and begin to jerk off. He'd come into the room in a silk robe, catch me in the act and pretend to be horrified. Then he'd sit down, drag me over his knees and spank my naked ass. I'd let my hardon rub against his bare legs as he spanked. At some point the friction of my body rubbing the silk robe over his erection would bring him to orgasm. He'd then be appalled at what I'd 'made' him do and force me to masturbate in front of him as the rest of my punishment.

I actually rather enjoyed it. While being spanked wasn't something I'd ever go out of my way for, it was interesting and definitely wasn't a turnoff. All in all, the scene wasn't perfect, but it wasn't bad. I was interested to hear what Karen had in mind to alter it.

"Ed talked to a young man yesterday who had a fantasy that might work into Mr. Townsend's." Ed was the boss, the owner of Dream Date Escorts, my employer. Karen was the office manager and scheduling coordinator. "His name is Dan and he's in his early twenties. His father is one of those disgustingly rich hedge fund people. Anyway, Dan used to fool around with his best friend all through high school, but his real lust was for his friend's father. He always had this fantasy that the father would catch the two of them in the act and join in. So Ed is thinking of working Dan into your scene with Mr. Townsend. You could use each of them to satisfy the other's fantasy and get a double payday."

"It sounds like fun and I've never object to a double payday. Has Ed worked out the details?"

"He'll email you the scenario when he's got it ironed out. He'll let them both know how it's going to go down as well, but there's no reason they have to know they're both paying for it."

"Of course not. We'll all stay in character and neither of them will know the other isn't working with me."

"How'd things go with Kyle last night?"

"Another satisfied customer, the only kind I have."

"You're right there. Ed was just saying this morning that his fantasy would be to clone you a few times."

"I don't know, from what I've seen and heard the other guys are pretty popular, too."

I'd only met two of the other escorts in passing at the office. We weren't the kind of company that had Christmas parties or a summer picnic.

"Yes, Ed has a knack for picking only the best. Well, I'd better get going. I've had two calls go to voice mail while we were talking."

"Okay, I'll keep in touch, Karen. And don't fuck anyone I wouldn't."

"That's not limiting me very much, is it, dear?"

I hung up the phone smiling, thinking of the portly 60 year old grandmother who practically ran Ed's business. I guess it's true that you can never tell a book by its cover.

At noon I walked to Broadway and 13th to meet my best friend, Livy, for lunch at Cosi. She was probably my only friend, with the exception of a few close acquaintances from some of my classes over the years. She was the only one who was a part of my daily life, at any rate. She was twenty minutes late, as always. I'd already ordered my Bombay chicken salad with balsamic vinaigrette and her Cobb salad when she arrived, out of breath. One of her basic rules of life was that it was okay to be late as long as you acted as though you'd been hurrying.

"Why don't you splurge and just once get that with the peppercorn ranch dressing?" She asked as we dug into our salads.

"Gotta watch my figure. A few extra pounds can hurt my business."

"I don't see why. I never watch my weight except when I'm with you, and I have a fabulous sex life."

"Olivia, you're a dyke. Of course weight doesn't affect your sex life. It's not quite the same with gay men."

"What about chubby chasers and guys who are into bears?"

"Supply and demand, my dear. Lots of fat men, not so many who want them, so they don't have to pay ridiculous sums to have sex."

"I'm glad you're the one who said ridiculous, not me. I can't believe what these men pay to get your skinny body in bed."

"I'm the first to admit I'm well-paid, but nowhere near what ex-Governor Spitzer's girls got. I can't imagine what they did in bed to make them worth that kind of money."

"And I can't imagine what you do, and I'm not sure I want to."

As a lesbian Livy wasn't at all interested in what two men did in bed but it drove her crazy that I wouldn't fuck and tell. I had no qualms about telling her in general terms about the fantasies of some of my clients but always left out the sexual details, the juicy stuff as she called it.

"C'mon Liv, everyone knows you've got a great imagination and it's not too hard to figure out what two men can do in bed."

"Of course I know there are a couple of slots you can insert your floppy into, or have one inserted into, but I want to know the details."

"Well, you're not going to get them out of me. At least not until I write my memoirs."

"And that won't happen until you've given up this tawdry business. Will that be soon? Does this mean you've decided what you want to be when you grow up?"

"I haven't studied everything I want to yet."

"I should be the last person to criticize all the time and energy you put into school. After all, if you hadn't taken my photography class at the New School we never would have met. But you can't be an escort and a student all your life."

"I could probably be a student lots longer than an escort, but then who would pay the bills?"

"That's what I mean. Nobody is going to pay for a wrinkled old hooker. Isn't there anything in all of your studies that interests you?"

"The problem is that everything I've studied interests me, but nothing enough that I want to spend the rest of my life doing it. My therapist says I've got ADD."

"I don't know why you waste your money on therapy."

"Um, excuse me, but aren't you the one seeing an actual psychiatrist, not just a psychologist?"

"That's only because I need drugs and therapy to keep my shit together. And I don't think therapy is a waste, except in your case, because you're supposed to be honest with your therapist."

"Are you accusing me of lying to him?"

"Not exactly, but from what you've said you treat him like you do everyone else. You tell him what he wants to hear. You crave acceptance so much that you don't ever want to disappoint anyone."

"I'll admit I do that sometimes, but not with everyone. Besides, that's what makes me so good at my job, sensing what others want and giving it to them."

We'd had this conversation a hundred different ways in the six years we'd been friends. She understood me better than anyone and while I'd never admit it to her, our conversations probably helped me more than the sessions with my therapist.

"Good old Silas, giving until it hurts."

"Please, I'm not into pain. Mild kink is as far as I go."

"And that still covers a lot of territory you won't let me in on."

"That's right, dear. So drop it."

"How about doing some serious drinking this afternoon? I've got nothing planned."

I enjoyed a few drinks now and then but Livy could drink me under the table anytime.

"Sorry, I've got a job later and it wouldn't do to show up stinking of booze."

"So stick to vodka."

"No, I can't take a chance on booze affecting my performance. That happens to guys sometimes, you know."

"And I also know there's a little blue pill to correct that."

"I don't need chemical enhancement, love. Besides, I have to go home and change for the job."

"Anything exciting? Leather, lace, chiffon?"

"Leather, if you must know."

"Ooh, should I come by later and check for bruises?"

"Like I said, I'm not into pain. And this is really just a quickie. The leather is just for effect."

"You see, you always do this, tell me just enough to pique my interest but never quite enough. You're a tease."

"I don't mean to, but that's pretty much the story of my life. Everything interests me, just not enough."

The quickie was just that. It probably took me longer to dress up in the whole leather man get-up - wraparound reflective sunglasses, black tee, motorcycle jacket and cap, jeans with the crotch cut out, leather chaps and codpiece and black boots. Before leaving the apartment I checked the effect in a full length mirror. The darker the image the better. The gel I'd put on my short blond hair darkened it a bit, but the hat covered most of it anyway. I'd replaced my regular contact lenses with ones tinted brown, hiding my light blue eyes, just in case I took the sunglasses off. Thanks to the time I spent in the gym I was muscular, though at six feet and 165 pounds I was still slim. The jacket helped bulk me up a bit. I decided I was both threatening and sexy enough and left the apartment.

The outfit would have been more appropriate late at night but the client had made the appointment for eight o'clock, just before dusk. I got some weird looks on the subway but once I was on the street in the Village I didn't attract as many stares.

I walked down to the Hudson River and leaned against a light post on West Street a couple of blocks south of Christopher. I checked the time on my cell phone and saw it was 7:59. Precisely one minute later a limo with dark windows pulled up and stopped. The right rear window went down and my client's head appeared. We'd done this twice before and I still didn't know his name. Then again, he didn't know mine either. I thought of him as PDB, the Pillsbury Doughboy. He was in his sixties and quite plump with pinkish skin and short white hair and wore a dark gray suit.

"Need a lift, young man?"

I grunted and moved toward the car. He opened the door and slid across the back seat to make room for me. I don't know if it was fear or anticipation but he was trembling. I glared at him as his shaking hand reached out toward my crotch.

"P-please, may I?"

I sighed, reached down and ripped the codpiece off, exposing my half-hard dick. He put his hand on it as he leaned forward. I roughly placed my hand on the back of his head and pushed him down toward my crotch. He licked my dick for a minute, then took it in his mouth. He could only take half of my seven inches but wrapped his hand around the base, sliding his fist up and down as his mouth sucked me.

This was one of those instances where coming was important. Faking it was not an option in a situation like this. Usually, just looking down at some guy giving me head was enough of a turn-on, but the white head of PDB didn't do it for me. So I had to conjure up a little fantasy of my own, one that always did the trick - Declan Kelly.

Declan was the star of my high school soccer team. I didn't care much for the sport but I attended every home game just to watch him run around in his shorts. I guess you could say he was Black Irish. Whatever, he had black hair, pale skin, cute features and the deepest blue eyes I'd ever seen. In class it was his eyes that drew me in. I couldn't look directly at him or I'd begin to stare. In the locker room before and after gym class, it was his sweet white ass I couldn't take my eyes off. He had slim hips and a perfectly rounded muscular butt with skin like white silk. I was a naïve virgin at the time and had never heard of anal sex, much less rimming, but every time I saw that ass I wanted to bury my face in those cheeks.

The image of Declan's ass in my mind was enough to push me over the edge. I thrust my hips up, shoving my dick deeper into PDB's mouth, making him gag a little as I started to shoot. He pulled off until just the head was in his mouth and hungrily slurped down every drop of my juice. He brought his head up, licking his lips, smiling.

"Thank you, sir."

I grunted as I snapped the codpiece back into place. He picked up a microphone and spoke to the driver.

"Anywhere along here is fine."

A few seconds later the car slowed to a stop. I opened the door and he grabbed my hand, pressing a bill into my palm. I got out without a word and the door slammed shut behind me as the car drove off. I looked around and saw I was on Washington St. near Little W. 12th St. Not too far to walk home, but even closer to The Lure. I'd worked up a thirst and could manage a beer or two. It was early but I was dressed for the leather bar and it was on the way home, so what the hell?

I had no dates scheduled for the weekend and I'd been hoping for a beautiful May day to enjoy the city but it rained all day Saturday. Aside from a trip to the gym I stayed in, doing laundry, paying bills, reading and watching another Steve McQueen flick. Sunday turned out to be the beautiful spring day I'd hoped for. Livy and I had a date for brunch at noon. She arrived at my apartment at 12:20, right on time, huffing and puffing. Before we went out I offered to let her sniff my leather codpiece in lieu of telling her the juicy details of my quickie with PDB Friday night, but she wasn't amused.

Because it was early we managed to get a table on the sidewalk at a café down the block from my apartment building. The rain had left the air smelling fresh. Sometimes it was just the opposite, with the rain seeming to stir up all of the city garbage and smells. Livy looked like she'd had a rough night but I felt great, having stayed in and gone to sleep early. We settled in, content to spend the afternoon at our table, eating and drinking, watching the city around us.

Halfway through my western omelet my cell phone rang. I took it out of my pocket and looked at a completely unfamiliar number. I debated whether or not to take the call.

"Oh, just answer the damn thing. That ringer tune is altogether too cheerful to keep listening to." Livy was a bit of a crab when she had a hangover, but then, who wasn't?

I flipped the phone open and said hello.

"Hello, is this Silas Willson?"

"Speaking. And who is this?" I asked a female voice I didn't recognize.

"This is Tina Spelling at St. Clare's Hospital in Sussex, NJ. I'm not sure if you've been told but your father was brought in here last night after having had a major heart attack."

"My father?" My first thought was 'why are you calling me about it?' but I held back from blurting that out.

"Yes, Sam Willson. He is your father, isn't he?"

"Yes, but I think you should probably call my sister, Barbara. I haven't had any contact with my father in a dozen years."

"I just spoke to her. She's the one who gave me your number and suggested I call you." What the hell was wrong with Babs? She knew better than that.

"Is he all right?" I didn't really care but I had to say something. And, as Livy was always saying, I was good at saying what other people expected to hear.

"Well, he's stable. But the cardiologist would like to talk to the immediate family. I understand your sister is on the West Coast and you're the only relative nearby."

"Yes, that's true, but I really don't know. Look, can I call you back in a few minutes? I'd like to talk to my sister."

I made motions at Livy indicating I needed a pen and paper. She whipped a pen from out of nowhere and slid a napkin across the table toward me, not even trying to disguise her interest in the call at all. Ms. Spelling sounded very disapproving of my attitude as she gave me her number.

I hung up and started scrolling through my contact list for my sister's phone number in Portland.

"Your father? And sister? How about that? The happy hooker has a family after all. And here you always pretended you were an orphan."

"Shut up, love. I can only deal with one bitch at a time and it's not your turn," I said as I hit the send button. The phone was answered halfway through the first ring.

"I had a feeling you'd be calling, Silas."

"You're damn right! What were you thinking? Get your ass on a plane and get out here."

"Silas! Calm down. I know how you feel about the old man but I need your help. I've got a job, a husband and three kids. I can't just drop everything and fly cross-country. You're only 60 miles away. I'm not asking you to visit him, just go talk to the doctor, find out the situation and let me know."

"You can't talk to the doctor on the phone?"

"Of course I can, but it's always better to have someone there in person. And if you don't care about Dad or me, think of the cows."

"The cows?" I said, as Livy's eyes bugged out.

"Wake up, idiot. If Dad was taken to the hospital last night that means they haven't been milked today. They must be about ready to explode."

"But I haven't milked a cow in years." From the look on Livy's face I thought she was about to have a cow.

"And it's been lots longer for me but I could do it in my sleep and I'm sure you could as well. I know you care more about those animals than you do about Dad, so at least go out there for them."

"And as long as I'm out there I might as well talk to the doctor, right?"

"Well, yeah."

I took a deep breath. She was right. The cows had to be taken care of and there was no one else.

"Okay, I'll go. But I'm not going to see him."

"That's up to you. Call me as soon as you know something."

I hung up and turned to Livy.

"Your father's sick? Where are you going? What can I do to help? And no, I can't milk a cow."

"My father's had a heart attack. Do you know where I can rent a car around here?"

"Yeah, there's a place on Tenth Avenue I rented one once."

"I've got to go home and pack an overnight bag. Then you can show me where to get the car. Let me call the hospital back and I'll explain it to you on the way."