Boys are So Disgusting

The sun was sinking behind the roofs of the houses on the opposite side of the street when Oswald's old Audi saloon pulled into the Burger King carpark.

Oswald got out of the car, wearing a black hoodie and a black baseball cap over his office clothes, the sun glasses from the glove compartment of his car adding another layer to his incognito look. He had parked in the corner of the carpark furthest from the entrance to the restaurant, and he surreptitiously walked out onto the street, looking around to make sure he couldn't see anyone he knew.

He could see the sign for Platinum's above the entrance to a dirty shop front with blacked out windows in the middle of a rank of old terraced shops, a kebab shop, a tattoo artist, a barber and an off-licence. A neon sign that read "massage" glowed menacingly red next to the porch. Following the instructions he had been given, he did not head for the front door of the massage parlour. Instead, Oswald turned down an alleyway that ran between the rank of shops and the Burger King. The alleyway led round to the back of the buildings. Oswald went past the bins at the back of the takeaway and turned a corner and found himself looking into the courtyard behind Platinum's. There was a metal door in the back of the building that was open. Stood on the doorstep, casually smoking a cigarette, was a short woman with dark hair wearing black lingerie and silver coloured stiletto heeled boots. When she saw Oswald, she smiled pleasantly at him and purred a greeting: "Hello, love."

Oswald stepped down into the courtyard, looking at the woman. She was very short, maybe only four foot ten without her heels. Her hair was piled up on top of her head. Her face was caked in a thick layer of makeup, but this wasn't enough to disguise her old and tired looks. She was definitely the other side of forty, Oswald thought. Maybe the other side of fifty. Her skin was tanned and leathery from sun beds and cigarette smoke, giving her the appearance of an old cow skin handbag. Her breasts were astonishingly large and round, and they floated buoyantly in front of her torso, defying gravity in a way that immediately made Oswald suspect the handiwork of a plastic surgeon.

"Hi there," Oswald replied nervously.

"Do you want a massage?" the prostitute asked him.

"Yes," he answered flatly, staring at her chest, mystified.

Bianca flicked her cigarette away, making it explode in a shower of sparks as it hit the brick wall of the courtyard. She smirked at how the young lad stared at her. She liked being stared at. "Well, you had better come in then."

Oswald followed the old prostitute through the iron door, which banged shut behind him. They went along a dark corridor that smelled of baby oil and mould, and then up a creaking, curving flight of stairs. Oswald stared at Bianca's well-toned behind, buttocks proudly on display in a black thong as he followed her up the stairs. He could hear pop music playing somewhere in this labyrinthine house, and the rhythmic squeaking of rusty bed springs.

"My name is Bianca," mewed the prostitute, flirtatiously looking back over her shoulder at the lad as she showed him into a squalid room on the first floor. The furnishings were sparse and old. There was a double bed that had a mirror on the wall next to it, a shower cubicle, a wicker chair in one corner, a TV set bolted to the wall, and a bedside table with a box of tissues and an ashtray. "What do they call you?" she asked him.

"Matthew," lied Oswald.

"Well Matthew, have a shower and make yourself comfortable, I'll be back in a few moments, and we can have some fun."

Oswald looked in terror at Bianca, her smiling old face and enormous silicone boobs. He imagined her customers pawing and fondling her.

"Er..." he said nervously. "Are there any other girls here? It's just that I like blondes."

Bianca looked a little disappointed, but she wasn't offended by Oswald's request.

"Yes," she purred. "We have a gorgeous blonde called Katrina, but she is with another client at the moment. If you don't mind waiting for a while, I'll send her up when she's done. Do you want the TV on?"

"OK," said Oswald, relieved that he wouldn't be serviced by Bianca, but a little confused as to why she was putting the TV on, half expecting her to put on the evening news.

However, when the TV screen flickered into life, Oswald saw that it was showing pornography. He stared at the screen for a few moments, not sure what he was actually looking at.

Bianca tittered at the look of shock on his face, and tottered across the room on her high heels to the shower cubicle. "I'll let Katrina know you're here," she said huskily, and flicked the dial of the shower, turning it on. "Have a shower." Then she left, closing the door behind her.

Oswald stood staring at the screen for a few moments, partly excited and partly disgusted by the bizarre act that was being carried out by the performers in the film.

Oswald took his clothes off and carefully folded them and put them neatly on the wicker chair, putting his sunglasses in the baseball cap and putting this on top of the clothes. Once he was nude, apart from his wristwatch, Oswald stepped into the shower cubicle. The water was warm. He didn't want to touch the mildewed shower gel dispenser, so he just rinsed himself off with the warm water.

He switched the shower off and stepped out of the cubicle onto a pink bathmat. He took an old, scratchy white towel from the metal towel rail and dried himself with it. The rough towel felt good against his soft wet skin. He stared at the pornography on the TV screen as he dried himself, the abrasive towel scratching his skin. He finished drying himself and hung the towel back on the rail, then took the cigarette packet from his hoodie pocket and sat down on the bed in the nude to smoke and watch the TV.

Fifteen minutes later, Oswald was led on the bed, smoking a second cigarette, watching the disgusting film, in a state of arousal, when the door opened and a tall, elegant figure in a white lace bustier sauntered into the room. This was Katrina. Bleached blonde hair piled up in a similar style to Bianca's. Shapely figure, long legs accentuated by high heels, stockings, and suspenders. A wicked smile painted bright crimson with lipstick. She looked at Oswald with her flashing orange eyes. In fact, Katrina's gaze automatically went to her young client's erection. Her eyes lit up and she giggled. "Why hello!" she greeted him gleefully. "You look perky!"

Oswald looked down at his own aroused state and then grinned at her, blowing tobacco smoke out of his nose and across his belly. "Hi," he said sheepishly.

"Bianca said you like blondes. Well, here I am. I'm Katrina. So, do you want a massage? It's fifty pounds."

"Oh, of course," Oswald ground out his cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside table and then got up and went to where his clothes were neatly piled up on the wicker chair. He took the fifty pound note from his shirt pocket and handed it to Katrina. She took the money, tucked it into the waistband of her knickers and looked at the TV.

"You've been watching the video then. Gross, isn't it? Look at that, why doesn't she just wipe her face? It's not as bad as the one with the dwarf though. That is weird. OK, I'm just going to run downstairs, and I'll be back in two shakes of a lamb's tail. Do you want a drink?"

"No, I'm OK thanks," Oswald said, sitting back on the edge of the bed.

Katrina swept out of the door and Oswald heard her high heels clunking down the creaky staircase. He sat on the bed, filled with anticipation and anxiety. During the drive to the city, he had been worried that he would be too nervous when he was in the massage parlour, and he wouldn't be able to achieve an erection. However, the bizarre pornography on the TV had taken care of that. Now he was just anxious to get on with it. He had not been with a woman intimately for eighteen months. He had broken up with his first and only girlfriend then at the age of nineteen. Heartbroken, he hadn't been able to even contemplate being with another woman for over a year. Months of unrequited love had built a lot of sexual frustration within the young man, and now, on the verge of having that satiated by this tall, brazen professional, Oswald's anticipation bordered on mania. His heart was beating hard. His hands shook. He waited. And waited. Ten minutes passed. Katrina did not reappear, and Oswald's anxiety and excitement did not decrease. He got up and paced the floor, then lit his third cigarette in half an hour.

He sat back on the bed trying to calm his agitation, focusing on the film being shown on the TV screen, an increasingly bizarre and stomach-churning scene that nonetheless he found compelling, a brief distraction.

He heard high heeled footsteps on the staircase. He glanced at his watch, it had only been twelve minutes since Katrina had left, but it seemed like an hour or more to him. That's relativity, he thought. The door swung open, and Katrina walked back in, smiling sweetly.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," she said cheerfully, closing the door. "I stopped for a sandwich, I hadn't eaten since this morning. I didn't have any lunch, it's been so busy."

"Really?" he said. He was relieved she had returned at all.

"Yes, it's always busy when the weather gets hot. Makes people hornier, you see." She looked at him quizzically, leaning her head to one side, and asked "Are you an arse man or a tit man?"

Oswald laughed at the directness of her question. "Uh, I like both I guess."

"Most men do, but do you prefer one or the other? You must have a preference. Arse or tits?"

"Probably arse. But I like tits as well." Oswald was led back on the bed, finishing his cigarette. Katrina put a condom and a bottle of baby oil on the bedside table and shrugged off her lingerie in a business-like fashion. He stared at her body, she was now naked apart from stockings and shoes, there was a look of wonder on his face.

"Do you want a massage to start off with?"

"Uh, yes OK."

"OK, lie on your front."

Oswald led face down on the bed and Katrina climbed onto the bed and sat straddled across his back. The feeling of her bare skin against his was thrilling to him, and her weight on him pressed his erection into the mattress with a pleasant pressure. She poured a little oil on her hands and rubbed it vigorously into his back and shoulders.

"Oh, that's good," he moaned contentedly as she massaged him.

"Good," she whispered. "Relax, you feel tense. Let's get all of that tension out of you." She kneaded his flesh with her skilful hands. "You have a beautiful body," she whispered. "So sexy."

"Oh, thank you." Oswald wasn't used to people complimenting his physical form. He thought of himself as being skinny and flabby but if this lady he had paid for sexual favours thought he was sexy he was happy with that.

"How old are you?" she asked gently.

"Twenty," he replied. "How about you?"

"I'm twenty-eight."

"I've never been with an older woman before."

She giggled at this and said, "I had better make sure you enjoy it then." She led on top of him, rubbing her breasts against his oily back and putting her body weight on him. Oswald found the feeling of her boobies squashing against him and the pressure of her weight on him very stimulating.

"Roll over and I'll do your front," she whispered in his ear. She got off of him and knelt on the bed, and he rolled over so he was led on his back. "Wow, look at him!" she squealed gleefully, touching Oswald's erection with her fingers. "What would you like to do?" A thrill went through his body when her hand stroked his penis.

"What do you mean?" he said, sitting up and reaching to feel her breasts.

"Well, you've paid for full service. Do you want me to suck you, or you can massage me first if you like?"

"Yes, let's do that, I'll massage you. Lie on your front."

"Oh yes, you're an arse man, aren't you?" she laughed and led face down on the bed.

Oswald crouched over the prostitute, fondling her buttocks. He squeezed them, rubbed them, kissed them both in turn and then pulled them apart to look in between them.

"Ooh, that's nice," she moaned with genuine sounding enthusiasm.

"Can I kiss your bum hole as well?" he asked nervously, his heart beating faster as his excitement grew.

"Yes," she sighed. "Kiss it. But don't put your finger up it, I don't do that."

Oswald stared at her bum, and lent in closer, puckering his lips to kiss her pouting anus.

Just as his mouth was about to make contact with her bum hole, the bedroom door burst open. Oswald froze, shocked by the sudden opening of the door.

Bianca stomped into the room, and yelled "Stop that right now! Get off of her, you, just get up!" Oswald was shocked by the sudden interruption and the rage that was pouring from the little whore.

Oswald got up from where he had been crouched over Katrina, and knelt on the bed.

Katrina sat up on the bed. "What's wrong?" she asked her colleague.

"I'll tell you what's wrong," shouted Bianca. "This guy is a crook. The money he gave you is counterfeit!"

"What?" Oswald said. "No, it's not. It can't be."

"It's fake!" roared Bianca, holding the fifty pound note up and waving it in the air. "And you had better come up with some real payment right now, or there's going to be real trouble."

Oswald stood up from the bed. The shock of being interrupted had made him lose his stiffy. He was afraid of the angry little prostitute, even though he towered over her. "I've not got any other money on me."

"Well, give me your bank card and the pin number," Bianca snapped at him.

"I'm not doing that! Anyway, I only have about twenty-three pounds in my account, I don't get paid until Monday."

Katrina was sat up on the side of the bed. "Let me see that," she said to Bianca.

Bianca handed her the fifty pound note. "See, it's a definite fake! Not even a good one."

"I don't know how I missed that," Katrina said in a mystified way. "But you're right, it's definitely a fake."

"Look, I don't know how this has happened," mumbled Oswald. "I was given that money by a friend. I'm sorry, but I don't have any money until next week. I'll come back then and pay you, I promise."

"You're paying us now, or there's going to be trouble," Bianca hissed at him.

"I can't. I'm sorry. I'm just going to get going."

Katrina was grinning as she watched the other two argue, enjoying Bianca's anger and Oswald's anxiety.

"You're not going anywhere until we get our money!" Bianca screamed.

"What are you going to do, call the police?" Oswald's tone had become sarcastically defiant.

"Oh no," Bianca laughed bitterly, shaking her head. "We don't need any police." Then she turned to the door and called out into the corridor "Spike!"

A tall, muscular man appeared at the door, then swaggered into the room. He was very large, six inches taller than Oswald, who was by no means short. Spike was dressed in a tight red t-shirt, designer grey jogging bottoms, and an expensive pair of trainers. His tight clothing clung to the contours of his muscular physique. His fingers were adorned with gold rings, a gold pendant hung on a chain around his neck.

Oswald gasped as the bigger man entered the room, breathing in the tangy sandalwood aroma of Spike's aftershave.

The burly interloper stared at the scrawny naked boy in front him. Oswald felt a deep sense of panic rising inside of him.

"Well, well," Spike's deep voice rumbled menacingly. "I've heard you've been trying to pass off funny money on my girls."

"I don't know anything about that. Please!" Oswald jabbered nervously. "Please, I don't know anything."

Spike stepped over to the bed without taking his gaze off of Oswald, and took the paper money from Katrina's hand. He held the note up to the light and examined it with his beady red eyes.

"This is definitely forged," he said softly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know. I never would have given it to you if I had known it was a fake."

"That's fine, these things happen," said Spike, in a breezily friendly tone. "So just give us some real money and we'll forget all about this."

"I... I don't have any."

"So, give us your bank card and the pin number."

"There's no money in my account. I'm up to my overdraft limit already."

"Then we've got a problem."

Oswald gulped. "Here, here take my watch," he said, holding up his wrist and trying to undo the watch strap, his nervousness robbing his fingers of the dexterity to do so.

"I don't want your watch. Cash only."

"Please, I don't have any other money. I'll bring it to you first thing Monday."

"Monday isn't good enough. You'll pay now." Spike's voice was calm, he was making a simple statement of fact.

"I can't," Oswald whimpered.

"If you can't pay with cash, you'll pay some other way." Spike cracked the knuckles of one huge hand with the other.

"Yeah, kick his head in, Spike!" Bianca hooted excitedly. Katrina giggled. The girls were excited by the prospect of seeing some violence.

"Ooh, I love it when Spike gets rough with the customers," Katrina cooed, a look of anticipation on her pretty face. "Do you remember that guy last month who was harassing Anna, and Spike broke both his thumbs?"

"Yeah!" Bianca cawed savagely. "Do that again, Spike. Snap his thumbs like breadsticks!"

"Or that little creep at Christmas time who tried to steal Emma's shoes?" Katrina's eyes were widening as she recalled these previous episodes of retribution. "Spike knocked his teeth out then made him swallow them all, one by one!"

The girls were giggling excitedly. Spike cracked the knuckles on his other hand.

Oswald made a low, terrified groaning sound. He sank to his knees on the carpet in front of the huge thug and held out his hands imploringly. "Please don't hurt me!" he begged. "Please, I'll do anything! I'll get you the money! I'll pay you double. Just please don't hurt me!"

Spike shook his head in disgust at the other man's cowardice and rolled his eyes.

"You'll do anything?" asked Spike.

"Yes!" Oswald cried desperately.

"Kiss my shoes then," said Spike.

Oswald bowed down before the thug, and pressed his lips to one trainer then the other. He looked up at Spike.

"Keep kissing them until I tell you to stop."

Oswald kissed his fearsome oppressor's shoes again and again. Bianca and Katrina laughed at this shameful display.

"OK, that's enough," said Spike. Oswald stopped kissing Spike's trainers but stayed crouched on the floor in front of him. "Well, it seems to me, you were trying to con one of my girls into giving you a free blow job. So, in return, rather than getting a blow job, you're going to have to give one." The girls giggled and cheered at Spike's verdict.

Oswald gulped, and looked at the enormous bulge that was in the front of Spike's trousers, snaking menacingly down his right leg. "Oh no," gasped Oswald.

"Have you ever sucked a dick before?"

"No, no, no." Oswald could see the bulge in his tormentor's trousers swelling and growing.

"What do you think, girls?" Spike asked his two women. "Does that sound fair? He was trying to get his dick sucked so I should make him suck my dick?"

Bianca was grinning joyfully at this prospect and nodding enthusiastically.

Katrina spoke up "One thing though, Spike. He wasn't getting me to give him a blower. He was kissing my arse."

"Oh really?" Spike carefully considered this new information. "In that case, he can kiss my arse instead." The girls cheered this revised verdict. Oswald watched in horror as the arrogant bully turned around in front of him so that his rear end was level with his face. Spike hooked his thumbs under the waistbands of his joggers and boxers, and pulled them down in front of Oswald's eyes, baring his muscular rump in front of him.