Date: Fri, 24 Nov 2023 10:51:50 -0800
From: mecocklover@gmail.com
Subject: Confessions of a Rural State Whore:  Chapter 4

CONFESSIONS OF A RURAL STATE WHORE

Author's Note: Special thanks for Gary and Terry for their suggestions and
proof-reading.  Any inconsistencies, spelling errors, typos, or grammatical
mistakes are therefore their fault.

Further note: While I only recently discovered nifty.org, the site has been
around and archiving gay stories for more than 30 years.  Running a website
costs money, and nifty.org does not rely on ad revenue.  If you enjoy this
or other stories on this site, please consider making a donation of any
size at https://donate.nifty.org.

CHAPTER 4

PLAYING POLITICS

I had officially started renting my body for sex, and I was having a blast
(both literally and figuratively).  Jeremy and I arranged a way for me to
let him know when I was available for clients, and he would keep an ear
open for interested parties at the club where he worked.  I still had a
"day job" that paid me a regular wage, so hooking wasn't my only source of
income.  However, the extra several hundred dollars my new enterprise
brought in every month was a welcome addition.

Over the next several months, I decided to be somewhat flexible with my
pricing depending on the client and situation.  As 1996 rolled around,
though, I was regularly charging $300/night, which was a pretty nice sum in
the mid 1990s.  I didn't generally charge for any particular act of sex or
have a menu of prices ($50 for a blow-job, $200 for me to fuck you, $300
for you to fuck me, etc.), but I would take into account how much "work" I
expected to be involved.  If a client was so horned up that he shot his
load as soon as I touched his dick Ð which did happen a few times over
the years Ð I wouldn't usually ask for full payment.

For the regular $300, we could do pretty much whatever you wanted until you
popped your nut, which usually took less than an hour.  You could fuck me.
I could fuck you.  I could jerk you off while we kissed.  You could jerk
yourself off while you rimmed me out.  I was open to most anything,
including special requests, with few limits.  Condoms were required,
though, if a cock was going into someone's ass.

I was one of only a few gay whores in that region of the state, so I could
also be fairly picky with my customers if I wanted.  As my "one-year
anniversary" approached, I found myself occasionally turning some guys down
for one reason or another.  Some men just gave off a creepy vibe and I just
didn't feel comfortable or safe.  Sometimes they wanted to do get high
together on some drug or another, but I was determined to keep a clear head
for my own protection.  Sometimes they wanted to fuck in a public place
like a park or a cemetery.

I refused to screw in public for a reason, though I could have easily made
a lot more money.  It's not that I didn't feel comfortable putting on a
show if someone found us, but the police force in Portland, Maine, had a
very strong anti-gay streak and would target young men.  There were
documented cases of policemen rushing past a straight couple who were
bare-assed and grinding against each other on the beach just so they could
"investigate" two men walking hand-in-hand together.  They even implemented
a policy at the behest of a loudmouthed local politician to make it illegal
to drive the block in some parts of the city more than twice (even though
on-street parking was limited and often difficult to find) on the theory
that only gay men looking for sex would be "cruising" around the block like
that.

The local anti-gay sentiment was fueled by national events and attitudes.
Democratic President Bill Clinton had recently signed "don't ask, don't
tell," into law, which re-invigorated a witch hunt to root out any possible
gays in the military.  He would sign another law that made it against
federal law for gays and lesbians to have a legally-recognized marriage.
The "AIDS Panic" also continued unabated.

Time progressed, and I left my apartment and bought a house one town over.
I was making good money, and was able to pay off my mortgage by "working"
one night a week.  Not all of my clients wanted sex, though most of them
did.  Sometimes they just wanted a pretty face and nice conversation, both
of which I could supply.  One of those nights happened during the summer of
1997.

Jeremy had helped set things up.  One of the customers had been talking to
him one night about a gala charity event to benefit a local AIDS hospice,
but his partner had broken up with him a few weeks before.  More
accurately, his boyfriend had dumped him for a younger man.  He therefore
had no date or anyone to accompany him.  Complicating the emotional issues
involved, his ex-boyfriend was expected to be there, probably with his new
man.  A quick note was passed to me, and I turned on the charm and sidled
over to him.

Brad was in his early-50s and was intent on making his it clear to his
former lover that he was still able to attract men.  He quizzed me quickly
on various topics since I would be expected to carry on a conversation,
which I was able to answer competently.  He offered me $500 for my
companionship if I could arrange to wear a tuxedo.

That part was easy.  I had been in a concert band while in college, and our
performances required me to wear a tuxedo.  I still had mine in a garment
bag.  While my waist was now closer to 30 inches than 29, it still fit
extremely well.  My navy blue bow tie and cummerbund made my eyes pop, and
my fresh haircut looked sharp.  I was dressed to impress and ready to
mingle.

I met Brad at the venue.  He looked smashing and had obviously taken time
and care to look his best, too.  He was a little taller than me, and his
salt-and-pepper hair was neatly trimmed and styled in a conservative cut.
Hazel eyes danced as they saw me, and they obviously approved of how I
looked.  Smiling broadly, I took his arm.  We turned and entered the fund
raiser together.

It was a standard "cocktails and hors d'oeuvres" affair.  Brad introduced
me as his "young friend," throwing in occasional additional descriptions
like "enchanting," "intelligent," and such.  I felt he was overdoing it a
little, hoping word would get back to his former boyfriend to make him
jealous, but I didn't mind.  There are worse ways to spend an evening than
being complimented by a handsome older man.

About an hour into the evening, Brad brought me a drink (my preferred vodka
and soda).  A large man in an ill-fitting suit bumped into my back, almost
causing a slight spill.  "I'm sorry, young man," said a booming voice.  "My
fault.  I wasn't watching where I was going."

I turned and saw a certain local loud-mouthed local political figure that
had pushed for the "anti-cruising" initiative that targeting gay men.  I
saw Brad out of the corner of my eye as I swallowed a remark that would
have compared him to a badly dyed marshmallow.  "No trouble at all, sir," I
said instead.  "It's not even a minor inconvenience."

"Good to hear!" the bloated ragged-toothed shark exclaimed.  Noticing my
companion, he smiled broadly.  "Brad, as I live and breathe.  Is this young
man with you tonight?"

"He is," said Brad simply and politely.  "May I introduce NaÑ"

"Jim," I interrupted, extending my free hand.  "Jim Diamond."

"Like the gem?" asked the balding sack of protoplasm.  He took my hand and
shook it roughly.

"Like the gem," I agreed while gritting my teeth through a false smile,
suddenly wanting to wash my hand.

The two-legged warthog turned back to Brad.  "I had heard that you and
Reilly had broken up."  He gestured to a middle-aged man leaning on the
back of a chair and trying hard to look like he was not watching us.  The
sweating beast shook his head in mock sympathy.  "A shame that.  Still, I
bet you didn't find this one cruising around the Eastern Prom!"

I had to keep repeating to myself that I was there as Brad's companion, so
I should not embarrass him in front of this braying ass.  It was not easy
holding my temper or my tongue.

"Not quite," Brad demurred, looking uncomfortable.

The tuskless walrus motioned to another man to join us.  "Have you met my
son, Chris?"  A slender but plain-faced man of about 35 came over, holding
a martini glass.

I had not met him, no, but I did recognize him.  Just as Portland had two
gay bars, there were also two sex shops, both of which had "video booths"
in the back.  One was located right on the main commercial street, but the
other was a bit more isolated and next to Blackstone's, the small
neighborhood gay bar I only visited only infrequently.  While the store on
main street was rigorously monitored to make sure that only one person went
into each booth, the "Treasure Chest" next to Blackstone's did not.  So
long as you bought your tokens and played some porn, they didn't care what
you did or who you did it with.  I had seen Chris going into and coming out
of the Treasure Chest on multiple occasions.

I smiled broadly and more sincerely, extending my hand to Chris and
offering him my pseudonym for the night.  I watched Chris eye me down and
then back up appreciatively as I shook his hand.  I wasn't sure how, but I
was going to figure out some way to use this. First, though, there was a
certain prominent political figure that needed to be taken down a peg or
two.

"I hope you know," I said, turning to the white pumpkin that was grinning
inanely at me, "that cruising policy and its enforcement are blatantly
unconstitutional."

His smile faltered on one side, and a mean gleam stole into his eyes.  "You
don't know what you're talking about," he sniffed.

"You keep believing that," I countered.  "We discussed it in some depth in
my municipal law class.  It was number three on my professor's list of
policies where cities seemed to be begging for some civil rights attorney
to just file a suit take their money in damages."

Brad looked uncomfortable, and Chris looked amused.  The puffer-fish in a
suit in front of me slowly turned a violent shade of red as he flushed.
"What?"

"It's quite simple," I said, absently swishing my drink in my hand.  "You
are only enforcing it against men.  You can't discriminate on the basis of
sex like that."

"Gay people are not their own sex," he sniffed.

"Being gay doesn't enter into it.  If a woman with a minivan full of kids
circled around looking for a place to park for a birthday party, would she
get ticketed or arrested?"

"Of course not!""But a man driving around the same blocks a few times would
get pulled over?""Sure, because--"

"Then you've made my point for me," I retorted.  I glanced at Brad.  I
hoped I wasn't stepping over a line.  "There's ample Supreme Court
precedent saying that you need a compelling governmental interest if you
treat sexes differently.  Saying a law doesn't apply because you have a
vagina is not compelling."

"Supreme Court what?"

"Frontiero v Richardson," I recited.  "Weinberger v Wiesenfeld.  Edwards v
Healy.  Califano v Goldfarb."  I looked at the politician as he attempted
to bloviate but was unable to find any words.  "Has your city attorney
never heard of any of these cases?  Did none of you watch the Ruth Bader
Ginsberg confirmation hearings?  She was the lead attorney that argued and
won those cases in the 1970s, for Christ's sake."  I slowly raised my glass
to my lips and sipped.

My opponent had flushed so hard in his anger and taken so much offense that
he looked like a manatee with a sunburn.  I had never seen someone get so
offended by being confronted like this, and I found it almost laughable.
"I'll be talking to those teachers at Southern Maine University," he said,
naming the local college.  "They don't know what they're talking about if
they're teaching that kind of nonsense."

"Miami of Ohio," I countered, naming the first out-of-state university that
I could think of.  "That policy is a laughing-stock across the country,
sir."

The man shuddered in impotent anger.  Turning suddenly, he stalked away in
a huff.  Chris, looking thoroughly tickled, lingered a moment before
turning to follow.  It looked like he wasn't used to seeing people stand up
to his father, but he approved.

I turned to Brad, ready to apologize.  I did not mean to put him in an
awkward position, but I couldn't help myself when confronted by that
person.  It was too easy and too golden of an opportunity to pass up.

Brad looked intensely into my face.  "I am so ready to kiss you right now.
I've wanted to tell that fuckup off like that for years."

I grinned broadly, looking into his eyes.  "There's only one thing stopping
you, and I'll take care of that right now."

I turned my head until I could see the man who had recently broken up with
my date.  He was still standing by himself and trying not to be seen
watching us out of the corner of his eye.  "Hey, Reilly," I called.

He turned his head and looked directly at us.  I smiled, took both of
Brad's cheeks in my hands, and pulled him into a long kiss.  By the time we
broke away, Reilly was no longer there.

"You did that on purpose," Brad joked accusingly, beginning to chuckle.

"Damned straight," I said.  "Part of the reason I'm here is to make him
jealous, isn't it?"  A server walked by with a tray of mini-quiches, and I
took one.  "You wanted someone to show him that you had moved on, right?"

Brad looked a little awkward, but continued to smile at me.  "That wasn't
my plan, but it was a nice bonus," he admitted.  "I'm usually not that
shameless, though.  Still, it felt pretty good to be blatant like that."
He looked up as someone had waved at him to get his attention.  "I need to
go see what that's about.  Will you excuse me for a little while?"

"Of course," I replied sincerely.  "Go do what you need to do.  I'll mingle
and work the room a bit."

"You," Brad said, giving me a quick peck on the cheek, "are something else,
you know that?"

I smiled in response, and Brad left to join a different group of people.  I
popped the hors d'oeuvre into my mouth, chewed and swallowed.  This was
turning out to be a much more fun time than I had been expecting.

A few seconds after Brad left me, I felt an arm encircling my shoulders as
another man slid into place next to me.  "I saw that.  Pretty awesome,
dude."

It was Chris, the politician's son that I had seen coming out of the
Treasure Chest on multiple occasions.  "Between that and all that stuff you
said to my dad, you're on fire tonight.  I've never seen anything like
that.  You've got some balls on you."

I smiled coyly.  "Are you trying to say you want to see my balls up close
and personal?"

He leaned in.  "Maybe I am," he said conspiratorially, "but you're here
with someone else."

I turned to face him, a sly look in my eye.  "Brad's not here right now.
Besides, I'm just his arm candy tonight.  We're not really dating or
anything."

"Then follow me," he whispered.  He lifted his martini glass to his lips
and drained it.  Taking my glass from my hand, he put both on a passing
tray and began weaving his way through the crowd.  Shrugging, I traced his
footsteps, moving out of the room and into a hallway.

Chris motioned as he turned to the left down a hallway, and I followed him.
As I rounded the corner, I saw him turning a door handle and going into one
of the side rooms.  The light in the room flickered on, and I slipped in
behind him.

Chris was already leaning back against a desk with his trousers undone and
his cock in his hand.  He was already mostly rigid with a dark unkempt
bush.  There was a small freckle along the shaft of his uncut member.  He
flexed, and his dick bobbed in his grip.  "Want to take care of this for
me?"

I checked the floor briefly to make sure it was clean.  I was in my tuxedo,
after all, and it would not do to go back to the party with dirty knees.
Satisfied, I knelt down before him, opened my mouth, and took in his dick.

"Ho. Ly.  Christ!" he exclaimed louder than I would have expected.  He
paused after every syllable, making each one sound like its own sentence.
I took him as deeply into my mouth as our positioning would allow,
listening to him moan.  I cupped his balls in my hand and felt them
writhing.

He gripped the back of my head with his left hand and began to fuck my face
roughly, but he did not last long.  I barely had time to start worrying
about my jacket and shirt getting mussed.  After his tenth thrust, he held
my face hard into his cock as he began to fill my mouth with his cum.

"What the fuck is this?" I thought in distaste.  I had eaten a lot of cum
in my personal and professional life, but this was the nastiest tasting
sperm I could remember ever being in my mouth.  For only the second time in
my life Ð the first being the first time I ever blew a man to completion
Ð my instinct was to spit instead of swallow.

I thought briefly of spitting his sperm back onto his trousers and letting
him explain that to his father, but I decided against it.  That would be
unprofessional.  Instead, I forced myself to swallow the meager,
foul-tasting load down my throat and stood, straightening my clothes.

Chris panted in satisfaction.  "God, I needed that," he wheezed, grinning.

"I never would have guessed that.  That'll be fifty bucks, by the way" I
said, holding my hand out.  I had no expectation of being paid, but I had
had haphazardly thrown together a plan.  I probably wasn't going to get
another opportunity like this, so I had to improvise my way to the desired
result.

Chris continue to try to catch his breath.  "What?" he asked in confusion.

"Fifty dollars," I repeated.  "How do you think I pay for law school?"  I
had never gone to law school, of course, but I had to keep up the act as
convincingly as I could.

"So Brad--?"

"Knows nothing about how this," I finished for him.  "He invited me to this
as his guest because he thought it would be a nice distraction for us both,
and just maybe Reilly would see us and get jealous.  He has no idea I do
this for money."

"Then why did--?"

"Money is money, bitch.  Did you think you were so hot or that I was so
afraid of your dad that I'd give you a quickie for free?"

Chris looked slightly horrified.  "I'm not paying you anything," he said.

"Fair enough," I conceded.  "But you might want to have a talk with your
dad about going after gay people."

"What are youÑ"

"Because I've seen your cock."  I interrupted.  "I know about that freckle.
How would the local media respond if the son of the guy who pushed for this
anti-gay crap turned out to be having sex with gay prostitutes?  Even if
you didn't pay me, the newspapers don't know that.  All I have to do is say
I'm a whore and talk about your freckle."

Chris looked at me in a mix of dumb fascination and fear.  I knew I was
overplaying my hand and that I was taking a big risk.

"You're blackmailing me?"

"Not at all," I replied.  "But you can't have it both ways.  You can't mess
around with guys and then not say anything while your dad goes after you
and the folks you're sleeping with."  I raised a finger to cut off any
objection until I was done.  "I'm not saying you need to come out to him or
anyone else.  Whether you treat that part of your life as public or private
is none of my business.  But when your dad singles out any group, you know
that's wrong, especially when it's a group you belong to.  You need to grow
some balls and stand up to him every once in a while."

"Besides," I continued, "I already gave you some ammunition with that spiel
about sex discrimination.  The cases I mentioned are real.  A lawsuit like
that would cost the city millions of dollars to defend even if you won it."

I turned to open the door.  "Think about standing up to him, Chris," I said
sincerely.  "And you should really try to find something out about the guys
you have blowing you in the Treasure Chest.  There are a lot of people that
are a lot more sleazy than I am out there.  I'm just suggesting you think a
little before you take out your schlong.  Some guys will expect you to pay
to keep your secret."

I heard Chris gasp as I dropped this nugget.  I didn't know if that meant
that extortion hadn't seriously crossed his mind or if it had already
happened.  Without looking back, I closed the door behind me and found the
men's room.  After checking myself in the mirror to make sure I was still
presentable, I went back into the party and found Brad.

"You have made quite the impression," he said, putting a hand around my
waist and pulling me close.  "People heard you stand up to that bloated
bigot.  Some of these folks had been so caught up the `gay' part of the
cruising ordinance that they completely ignored the fact that it could boil
down to just being a law being selectively enforced only against one
gender."

He grinned put his other hand around my waist, too.  "Reilly apparently
dumped me for nothing, too.  He fell for some guy he blew at the sex shop a
few times, but that guy didn't want anything to do with him outside of
that."  Brad frowned at the thought.  "Turns out he was cheating on me and
sucking off some random guy.  He came here thinking he could try to patch
things up and get me back.  He left in a huff when you kissed me."

I smiled as I turned my head and rested it on his shoulder for a moment.  I
wondered if it was Chris that Reilly had been blowing in the back rooms or
not.  That would be nicely ironic, but the universe doesn't generally work
like that."All part of the service," I said quietly so that only Brad could
hear.  I leaned back a little, with his hands still holding my waist.
"This has been a very interesting and entertaining evening."

"I think so, too," said Brad, as he leaned in and kissed me.  His tongue
softly slid into my mouth, stiffened, and withdrew.

"Good Lord," Brad said in surprise.  "What the hell have you been eating?
That tasted awful."

I shrugged, stifling a small giggle.  "It must have been something in those
mini-quiches.  Maybe you should stay away from those."

The evening was a roaring success by my standards.  My client was
satisfied.  I had told off a bigot and perhaps convinced his son to take a
stand.  The $500 that Brad slipped into my pocket during our good night
kiss was well received, too.

Several months later, the police department issued a press release.  Due to
concerns about how the anti-cruising policy was being enforced, they were
going to suspend most of those operations specifically aimed directly at
the city's gay community.  I have no idea whether my words or actions that
night had any effect or influence on that decision, but I like to think
that they did.