Date: Sat, 04 Jun 2016 14:56:12 -0500 (CDT)
From: rbrbrb163@verizon.net
Subject: Academy RB 3

Academy RB 3

The next day after school and in between his appointmentsÑhe had five
clients that dayÑwe went out for coffee.

"About last night," I said.

"That was just last night. We're friends. That's all."

"OK, cool. Uhm?"

"Uhm, what." It was taking me some time to get used to Brandon's sarcastic
and abrupt tone.

"I have something to ask you?"

"Go ahead."

"Don't get mad."

"I won't get mad. I am not your mother, or your father."

"That's good. OK, well here it is. I have to figure out how to live. I
can't go home again. That's over. I have to support myself. Money. And I
need my own place, because if I keep living with you I am going to fall in
love with you. I want to keep in school, too."

"Don't fall for me, dude. I am not the marrying kind."

"So I want to have what you have, I want to do what you do. Do you think I
have what it takes?  How do I start?"

"Staying in school is smart. You are going to need that some day. That hot
ass of yours isn't going to las forever and forever is a short time in this
business. So you want to be like me."

"Yeah, like you."

"You are a little shy, but I think you can come out of that. You are surely
cute enough, well, gorgeous. You probably need to work out more, get some
muscles in your core and on your arms. Not too much. You don't want to lose
the twink in you. Your ass is perfect, but it can get perfecter."

"How? How do I start out?"

"OK, you can't tell anyone about this, even if you decide not to do it.
OK?  Promise?

"Yes, absolutely."

"As I told you, when I was your age, I was in the same place. Horrible
mother, dead father, mean sisters, doing horribly at school and doing
drugs. In a way, the mean sisters were the worst. They were evil. I felt
like Cinderella. My mother was drunk all the time, but my evil sisters
weren't. So when I had to leave home, and I was desperate. Instinct told me
that the only way I could survive was to use what I had to survive. There
was begging for money, stealing, working in retail or as a barista at
Starbuck. Not much more.

"And when I looked in the mirror at some bathroom I was using to clean
myself up the best I could, I saw that my best asset was my ass. I pulled
down my underwear and looked at my cock in the mirror, and it got hard just
me looking at. Pretty nice, too, I thought to myself.

"Retail or Starbucks was bullshit, and I was too stupid to steal. Knowing
me as little as I do, can you see me prancing around Banana Republic asking
people if they'd `like to try that on?' Back then, before he died, even
though my father's best excuse to beat my or holler at me was saying I was
a faggot, I didn't quite know that, even though I had shared blow jobs with
a few boys in school. So there was my ass, my pretty dick and my creative
mouth.

"I also had some instinct, like you have. Go near some gay bar and get in
one if I could and see what would happen. I looked up on-Iine in Yelp where
a gay bar was and I went there. It was `Billy's,' which is now closed. I
walked around and around, saw a corner a block away where there were a few
other guys hanging out. I didn't know but I knew that they were selling
their bodies. And I was better than any one of them. I kinda mocked
them. Leaning on a storefront with one leg up. I had boosted my junk in my
underwear, to show some kind of bulge. And I was had the beginnings of a
hard on, because this was scary and exciting.

"Not five minutes after adopting my pose on Market Street, this tall guy
came up to me. He was wearing tight jeans and a white tank top or wife
beater with tears in it, one that exposed his left nipple. `Hi,' I
said. `What's up?'"

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Just hanging out. Same as you. Maybe meet someone, you know."

"No, I don't know."

"I was now scared and didn't respond. The guy said to me, `You see it's
this way. This is our corner, just the three of us.' He pointed to the two
other guys on the corner. `We don't need any company. You dig?' They were
watching me and if looks could kill I would have been six feet under. He
had a black accent, sort of, even if he was white. He was a white dude but
I guess he thought the way to intimidate me was to put on like he was a
black dude. I didn't budge. I held my ground."

"Find another corner, OK?" he threatened, but he walked away. I stayed
put. Few minutes later a car drove up facing where I was standing. I
watched, but I didn't move. I didn't quite know what was going on, but in
my gut I really did. And I thought the right thing to do was to play a
little hard to get. The other three guys were watching the scene.

"The guy put down the driver's side window, and waved at me. He asked if I
wanted a ride. I responded in a way to be fresh, "My mom told me never to
accept rides from strangers.' He said, `I don't see your mom here.' I
opened the door and slid in. I noticed that the other three guys were
watching me."

"The guy took me to a hotel where he was staying. We had worked it out that
yeah, I was new at this, that yeah, I was never fucked before, yeah, that
he could fuck me, and yeah, he'd be gentle. He actually was, and after
awhile I liked it. He had a relatively small dick, like 5 inches, big
mushroom head though.

"We went out for coffee afterwards. He said, `You're pretty good. But you
need some help, if you're going to do this. You probably shouldn't do
it. But if you are, you might as well do it up right.'"

"'What's right? What kind of help?'"

"'He said, `I don't do this often, really, I don't. I'm not ashamed, but I
Iike young bodies. And every once in a while I do this. And I saw a guy a
few times. He was `fly' as they say. Very cute.  Very good at what he
did. And he told me that he learned the ropes in a sort of school. Boys who
used it called it `Rent Boy Academy' or `Academy RB.' He told me that guys
stayed at this place in a large private home for a month and they taught
him everything. Everything from how to dress, to tease, how to strip, how
to exercise to accentuate the best parts. Like they do exercises to build
out their butts so it's a nice, sweet bubble butt, not hard and
muscley. Which this guy had. A perfect ass. They taught kink and `vanilla.'
They taught how to stay safe from dangerous dudes and about safe sex. He
called the safest safe sex."

"Was this like a, a . . . "

"A whore house? No, when the students `graduated' they were on their own,
but owed the service $1,000. Not so bad. After the $1000, they were
free. He told me all kinds of things. The admission process is
interesting. The `chancellor' would interview candidates and have them take
all their clothes, but he didn't touch them, make them give him a blow job
or anything.  And the way they auditioned was to sit around with the class
of five or seven boys, and end up making out with one of them. They have
sex and it's taped. When he was finished, I was so fucking horny I couldn't
walk straight. I told him that I needed to have another go, and we went
back to my hotel. I appreciated the blow job a little more than before
because I knew he learned how to do it in the Ivy League of boy escorts. He
fucked me and I've never had it like that since. Sorry, that wasn't you,
but maybe some day it will be."

"Wow, I'm pretty horny now too." He laughed, so did I. "Like, how do I get
in?"

"I stayed in touch with him. I can see if he'd meet you, or at least make
an introduction."

"That would be amazing."

"You think you want to do this with your life."

"I don't know what else I'm going to do.' I said. It's like in that movie,
`When Harry Met Sally.' I want what he's having."

"Yeah, well, like, I want what she's having too."