LA is Really a Small Town

It was 1977, a while ago now. Seems fresh in my mind. I had caught a ride to LA with a thou buried in my boots. That was a bunch of money back then. I was a young stud, and construction work was good to me. I was pretty ripped, and didn't drink or smoke the earnings away. I could weld, and that seemed to get me jobs quickly.

I knew street Mexican, too. I learned it growing up in the Central Valley, where I would build and repair migrant shacks. I could also sneak in some beer now and then, and hooch was pretty popular, too. All that was behind me.

You see, back then after high school, I seemed to tilt towards the guys. Older guys. Papis. My buddies wondered about the fact I wasn't bragging about pussy all the time. I just kept it all to myself. Why? Sometimes I was fucking their dads, and uncles. Or they were fucking me. Or I'd get some from the cholos and the migrant guys. It was always fast. Ten minute fucks. Blow jobs behind a building. Way way out in a field behind a pickup so you could hear someone coming, and make like you were fixing something should someone wonder what was going on.

The older guys treated you more nicely. The younger guys could be hot, but they had only one thing on their mind. Sometimes, so did I: Get in, get off, get out.

Now in LA, there were less opportunities until I figured out the lay(s) of the land. Venice, Santa Monica. Muscle dudes. Ripped guys. They'd do their thing during the week, and on the weekend, they'd go looking. I found them. And they found me, doing push-ups in my swim trunks that today, looked like booty shorts. I could make my package look pretty good. I started getting laid a lot.

Muscle hunks would take me to their places, and some would drill me, and some wanted to be drilled by my big dick. This made me live for weekends. By mid-summer, I had a very nice place, lots of sex, and lots of work.

Suddenly, the work ended. My crew got black listed by the unions. Turns out my chief was doing some bad stuff, but we all got canned, and three guys ended up in jail with a high bond. The rest of us became toxic. Nobody would talk to us. Nobody. I drove all around, looking for jobs. Nada.

My high rent place with a view of the ocean was now killing me. Sure, I could get laid, but I'd be out on my ass shortly if I couldn't find some more jobs. My only reference was in jail. Not looking good.

On the second weekend without work, I was at a nearby friend's place. I'd been fucking his sweet hole for a while. Hank The Hunk. Totally ripped bod, contest winner, sun bleached hair, thick blow job lips, he just loved getting boned. He had tan lines that totally made my dick hard. The only place he wasn't blessed was in the cock department, but he made up for any short-coming with enthusiasm. A moaner. After we'd finished, I sat back on his buttery leather couch and found a local sex newspaper on his coffee table.

All kinds of sex was for sale in this newspaper. Parties, swingers, chicks, and three pages full of guys. Guys like me. Guys like Hank. Hot. I asked Hank if I could take it with me.

He looked at me like I was stoned. "You? You'll never need to buy sex!"

"No, man. I lost my day job. I need some dough." I replied, still looking at the ads.

He laughed. "Sell, man. Good idea! I'd buy you!" He laughed again.

"You're mocking me."

"No no no! LA is FULL of bottoms, man. Now tops-and good tops- man, those are tough to find!!"

"Really?"

"How many guys have you met on the west side of LA that were total tops?" I thought about it. Not so many. But I got fucked pretty regularly.

"I'm good for like, maybe two or three times a day. That's all the wads I can shoot until my balls are just empty. How can you make money like that??" I asked him, seriously.

"You do it by charging two or three hun a throw. Three Benjamins. Five days a week. Fifteen hun, a grand and a half, and you have weekends free to come over here and fuck my greedy asshole. Easy, eh?" He smiled his best smile at me. Gawd is he cute.

Against all better judgment, I took part of my last pay check and spent it on an ad. Me, in sunglasses, looking pretty ripped. I had some leather on in the pic, and a necktie. Black and white. $300, please. I got an answering service for the calls. The ad would hit on Thursday morning, I was told.

Thursday morning came. Nothing happened the entire day. I did pushups, lifted weights, kept myself naked and ready to go. By Friday morning, I thought I'd pissed the money down a drain.

Then came the first call. "Be in West LA at this hotel, 4pm. Room 1313. One hour. Be clean and ready."

WOW! I showered and took the short ride to the hotel, parking down the street. I was dressed nicely. I might be a guest. I was super-excited. Fancy place. I knock at the door.

It was a guy in his 40s, in a bathrobe. I breeze inside. Huge room. There are three Benjamins on the dresser. I grab them and stuff them into my wallet.

The guy opens his robe, then tosses it. Dad bod. Average dick. Wants to be fucked and fucked and fucked. Clean as a whistle. Lots of lube. I disrobe and he's awed. Wants to touch my muscles. Runs his hands all over me. Sucks my dick. He's not bad. I'm now fully erect. I'm at least three inches longer and an inch thicker than he is.

He throws the blankets off the bed, grabs the lube and hops up on the bed. I brought my own lube. Good stuff.

I drip it on his furry little ass hole. He's almost quivering. A moaner! Big time! I haven't even pushed in his butt and he's moaning. Then I do. He doesn't do this very often and he's tight. I push harder and suddenly I'm inside his hot asshole. My cock gets hotter and hotter as I sink in. He moans like a bitch.

Deeper and deeper until I'm all the way inside. I stop and let him get used to it. It's big. Maybe the biggest he's ever had. He starts to relax. I drip more lube onto my dick and sink it in. Moans. Nothing but moans.

I look at the alarm clock on the nightstand. I'm going to fuck him for fifteen minutes, I decide. I get gradually faster and faster. I do want to shoot, but I distract myself here and there. Then I pull out and flip him onto his back, and re-drill him. Much easier this time.

I ask if he wants my nut. He gets a little alarmed. Then he decides: in his hole. His cock is straight up, hard as stone. I grab the lube and lube it up. I slip my hand on his dick and stroke him, slowing down my thrusts. He just moans continuously.

Ok, time's up. I close my eyes and think about Hank's asshole. I'm just about there and I open my eyes and tell him that.

Suddenly his derrick starts shooting huge wads everywhere, and I mean EVERYWHERE. One actually hits the ceiling. So I relax just a little bit and nut in his butt. Nice creamy load as his slows down to a dribble. His moans have stopped and he's panting really hard. I slowly extract my dick from his creamed butt.

I grab my pants and jump in his shower, and rinse the equipment for a minute. There's a big bag of pot on the counter. I grinned. No, I'm a good guy. He's still laying there, puddles of cum everywhere. I grab my stuff and pack up. I'm about out the door when he tells me to wait. He goes to his pants and pulls out his wallet and tips me an extra Ben.

"More later?" I ask him. He shakes his head no. He's leaving tomorrow.

"But I'll be back on the 25th," he says. "Look me up" I tell him.

For the next month, there's maybe eight of these a week, and one fuck party where I'm hired as a stud. I'm told to just fuck anyone that wants it. Most of the guys are white as sheets, I'm guessing from out of town. These guys seem to want to worship my bod, my cock, and must not get enough. All of them are tight as a drum head. Two get my answering service number, and I do them again the next day.

Other referrals come in. Business is steady, sometimes slim, but mostly steady.

And in each person's life, a little rain must all.

I get a hotel job. A guy answers the door in a bathrobe. What I don't see is that in his other hand is a .38. Uh oh. Another guy walks out of the bathroom. A bruiser. Nose broken and set a number of times. Built not unlike Hank.

The long and short of the encounter is that there's a tax, and I'm not paying it. In this part of LA, I'm getting a contact. Doesn't matter if business is good or bad, but $500 every week keeps me healthy. Turns out, they own the answering service, and by their description, they own most of them in town. I have no way of knowing if this is true or not.

But $500 a week isn't so bad, and I hope it doesn't increase, so I walk away, untouched, my brain glowing red with alarm. Great. For the next two days, amazingly, I can't get it up, and now it's Saturday. I see Hank and tell him about it. One eyeful of Hank's incredible glutes and I can get it up again. Whew! I fuck Hank senseless; he loves it. So did I.

And being a good guy, I get my tests. In two weeks, surprisingly, the news says I'm clean. It's the end of summer and things slow down, and the guy that picks up my $500 looks like he's half-dead anyway. Oddly, by mid-October, he doesn't come around anymore. I'm thinking he's probably croaked. This means someone new.

Doesn't take long and I get a knock at the usual hour, Wednesday at 1pm. The guy says he needs my payment. I have it ready. He walks inside my place, and nods his head as he looks.

"Nice place. Price goes up unless you give me a free fuck." I roll my eyes.

We head to my bedroom and I toss the few clothes I have on.

"Gawd damn, buddy! No wonder you're doing so well!" He tosses his sweatshirt. Has a few scars. He kicks off his shoes, then unbuckles his pants and they drop. He kicks those away. Fur. Some gray in it. Kinda cute actually. Might be 45, maybe 50. Tough to tell. He reminds me of the older guys that I used to fool around with back home.

Then he drops the tighty whities. Big upwardly curved dick! My mouth waters. I don't know if he can tell. I'm trying to be poker-faced. He knows. I know he knows.

I drop to my knees in front of him and give him my very best blow job. He moans. I finally pull back for a moment and glance at his pants; there's a small gun tucked inside a holster on his belt. I get up immediately and bounce up on my bed on all fours. I know what he wants.

The lube is on my bed and I hand it to him. Seconds later, I feel the head of his cock trying to find my hole and I snag it. He very slowly slides in. I've missed this. Big papi dick. WOW.

Strangely, he says nothing. He reaches under me and finally does say something has he starts fucking my hole.

"Wow-nice dick!" he says, grabbing my hard-on. I smile to myself. His might be almost as big. It feels big enough. And that curve is sending pleasure waves into my ass.

He pulls out and says, "Flip."

I roll on my back and then... he moves in and does something amazing- he kisses me full-on as his cock fills my ass and hits my gland with perfect precision. A ton of cock honey gets pushed out of me. My big dick is poking him in his fur. The honey makes it glide. This is good. This is very very good.

He kisses me again and I feel his cock expanding as he continues to rub my gland. I know what's about to happen.

My ass gets instantly wet with his nut. But he doesn't stop, and he doesn't get soft. He keeps it up, rubbing my hole with his juice, his eyes closed, concentrating on the sensations. Ten great minutes later, he balloons again, and I'm wrecked, he's wrecked.

We're both soaked with sweat. He slowly gets off the bed, and into his clothes. He reaches into his wallet and hands me a Benjamin. I'm in total shock. What???

"You're worth every fucking dime, kid." He says to me. It turns out he normally took $100 of the $400. Now it was $400. And I got the rides of my life, every Wednesday at 1pm. I started actually looking forward to it. I was paying HIM for stud service. It was tough to admit I was paying for sex.

Once a week, until March, he does this. In the meantime, I have a cash wad hidden away that's not quite twenty grand. One Wednesday, he doesn't knock. I've been looking forward to getting pounded by this guy, who calls himself Ed. Some weeks, he's the only guy in my ass, and I'd been loving it, so I was kind of shocked. It was he that got my best fuck. My business had been great. I'd been sweating a price increase.

That weekend, I went to fuck Hank. I explained to Hank what was going on. The blood drained from his face as I explained it.

"Holy fuck, man, disappear. Get your stuff and just get out of LA as fast as you can!!"

"Why? They'll just send a new joker to collect their stuff".

"Or there's something horribly wrong, and you're next." he said, looking at me as seriously as he could.

He was white as a sheet. Imagine this six foot guy, more muscles than is even sane, cute as a button, able to press 300lbs in about any direction, and he's looking scared-shitless.

It all sank in as I sat there, the realization that things had been, well, too good. Time was up.

I dressed and Hank followed me over to my place. I got my gear, the important stuff, and threw it into my van. Hank carried several loads. In one of those loads, as I'd later count, was over twenty five grand in cash.

I drove and parked behind his place. He gave me what he called "one last brewski". There were tears. I hate seeing people cry.

"Go, get, vamoose. Outta here. Write me. Tell me where you are and I'll drop over." He pointed to the door.

He emphasized the point by pulling a pistol from his drawer. I'd never seen it before, an old 1911 .45 pistol. Hank could be like that- volatile. I looked at his naked ripped bod, and the pistol. Fuck.

"GO. NOW". I flew out the door, a total jumble of emotions. I filled up the van with fuel and hit the freeway. Even I had tears.

Albuquerque was cheap back then. North from there was Santa Fe, and north from there was Taos, where the rich folks played. Some of them hired me. Work? Yeah, but it never was really work.

About a year later, on a warm April day, I lay out on my patio in my tiny suit, the one that gave me tan lines to die for. I barely heard the knock on my front door. I looked through the spyhole and nearly died.

Two overly-dressed gentlemen were there, smiles on their faces.

Hank and Ed.

LA is a smaller town than you might think.