New American Gigolo

[This story was inspired by the work of another Literotica member; see link here. I am grateful to 2words1fiinger for granting me permission to use his characters.

NYU is New York University, which is not part of the city university system.]

*****

Hakeem Yazbek was twenty-three years old when he arrived in New York City. He grown up in Dearborn, MI and had graduated the previous year from the University of Michigan, Ann Arbor with a degree in communications. But his ambition ran in another direction, for he wished to be an actor. He knew how difficult it was anyone to get a break in that field, much less became self-sustaining and, beyond that, successful. The fact that he was of Lebanese descent also weighed on him. Would his Arab ethnicity be an asset or a liability to the fickle American audiences of movies, television and the theater?

The one person in his large family who believed in him was his Aunt Rima, who lived in New York. She would should say, "Look at Omar Sharif, he did it."

He would reply, "But he actually was Egyptian."

"All right, Danny Thomas, he was Lebanese. And so is Ralph Nader." He didn't point out that the latter was not an actor, although he certainly had a flair for self-dramatization.

Aunt Rima had some specific help she could offer Hakeem. She taught graphic design at the School of Visual Arts and over the course of more than three decades had made many contacts among the more hip layers of a certain generation of New York's cultural society. As a young woman she had gotten to hang out with Warhol during the last years of his life. She had social interactions with people like Laurie Anderson, Tama Janowitz, and Patti Smith. On certain days she had lunch with Tom Wolfe and his wife Sheila at the Regency Hotel.

Hakeem had some dilemmas to solve. He thought spending some time in New York would be good for taking acting classes and maybe getting some theatrical experience. There were also advantages to being in Los Angeles and at the center of American show business.

Wherever he was, he would need money to survive in an expensive city. A lot of aspiring actors and artists waited tables or tended bars while trying to gain entry into their fields. He did have a degree, but in a field that didn't offer the most lucrative jobs.

His Aunt Rima called him one day and told him she had made some inquiries around New York. She located several older women with resources who were willing to pay to have a handsome young man be their companion.

Hakeem asked, "What exactly does 'companion' mean? That could have a number of meanings."

"Of course it does, dear, it depends on the woman herself, her own ideas of what she needs from you. You have to be prepared, be flexible."

She had already lined up a couple of prospects for him, and when he heard how much they were willing to offer Hakeem was intrigued. Perhaps he could do more than merely survive in New York; he might also build up a grubstake to get him over any career setbacks.

Hakeem not only was good looking, he worked out frequently and his body was toned and fit. He had a sort of natural charm, a low-key but easy-going personality that had given him good results with women so far.

On his aunt's suggestion he decided to come east and see what the situation was. New York was perhaps a good choice for getting started; it was less insular and less dominated by the entertainment business compared to Los Angeles.

Aunt Rima advised him just before his trip, "Never refer to these women as your 'client' when you are with them. Just the word 'friend,' if need be, is enough.

**********

His first contact was a well-known actress named Cynthia Delta-Yates. Now forty-eight, she had come out of modest background in Sheffield, England and in her first fifteen years in the business had had a sensational career. She had won a best-supporting actress Oscar and a Tony award but then had more difficult times as she passed through and beyond her thirties.

Her husband of eighteen years was the famous actor Jeffrey McDonnell, himself the son of Hollywood icon Stewart McDonnell. Jeffrey was twenty-four years older than she was, but the marriage seemed to have gone very well until the last couple of years. Now there were indications that they were actually living separately although no official estrangement had been announced.

Among their several homes in various places the McDonnell's maintained an apartment on Central Park West a few blocks north of the Dakota. This was where Hakeem would meet Ms. Delta-Yates. He was very enthusiastic about it because he had been a big fan of hers as long as he could remember and he thought she was one of the most beautiful women ever to be in the public eye.

He considered how he would get there and turned down the idea of using either a taxi or a ride-hailing service. Even though only the door staff would see it, he didn't want to pull up in a yellow Nissan or a black Toyota. Instead he arranged with a limo service to hire a Range Rover for transportation that evening.

About six on a warm afternoon in June Hakeem was let into the apartment by Cynthia Delta-Yates herself. During the their greetings, which included her offering her hand for him to kiss, she said, "I've sent all of staff home tonight so we could have the place for ourselves."

Hakeem looked her over, this woman he had seen so many times on movie screens and TV sets. He thought of a line from Philip Roth, about what it was like the first time he met his future wife, Claire Bloom, "It was like a billboard had come to life." Cynthia was tall and voluptuous, and her hair was dark, almost black. People often thought she must be of Spanish or Italian descent although she knew of no such recent connections in her ancestry.

Tonight she dressed rather simply for a movie star. She had a sleeveless blouse, a cotton skirt that ended just above her knees, and a pair of white sandals. Her thick hair was simply styled and came down just below her shoulders.

While he looked her over, Cynthia was also looking back. She was pleased with her first impression of him but than an anomaly struck her. It seemed so unlikely that she had to lean forward a bit to check again. There was a small green parrot perched on Hakeem's left shoulder. While she was staring at the bird, it said to her, "Hi Cynthia, pleased to meet you."

"Oh, you've taught him to talk."

"He didn't teach me anything, I learned it myself."

Hakeem said, "I want you to meet my avian friend, I've named him JB."

"Ok, so what does, ah, JB mean?"

The parrot answered, "For one thing, Just-a Bird." Then he squawked and made a sound like, "Ack, ack, ack."

"What are those noises he's making?"

Hakeem said, "That's the way he laughs."

"He laughs?"

"Of course I can laugh. Hakeem, tell her what JB stands for."

"You see, he can actually sing quite well, so I named him after Justin Bieber."

JB said, "Not that I really like Bieber that much, he's sort of meh, but that's the name I'm stuck with."

Cynthia was not sure how to handle the parrot situation, "Maybe later we'll hear his, singing or whatever, but meanwhile, let's have drinks. The staff isn't here, but I'm quite the mixologist myself."

Hakeem said, "Just a glass of white wine would be fine for me."

"That's great, because I'm going to have a wine spritzer myself."

JB said, "I'd like a Manhattan, please."

"A what?"

"A Manhattan. You take some rye whiskey . . ."

"I know what it is." She looked over to Hakeem for guidance.

"That's fine, he can have one."

"Okay, well then, take a seat, make yourself comfortable, and I'll be right back,"

As she got up to get the cocktails JB said to her, "I'd appreciate it if you remember the cherry, please."

In a moment they could hear her moving things in the kitchen. JB hopped down and perched on the arm of Hakeem's chair. He said quietly, "So what do you think so far; going well?"

"Oh yes, she's even more lovely in person."

JB made a whistling noise, "I'll testify to that."

In a few moments Cynthia was back with the drinks. She looked a bit confused about what to do with the Manhattan. Hakeem gestured towards a coffee table and she put it there. JB hopped over and started sipping it.

Cynthia sat in a chair opposite Hakeem but she then looked at the drinking bird. JB realized he was being stared at and said, "What's the matter, you never heard the expression, 'wetting my beak?' "

"No, I can't say that I have."

JB decided to explain, "Remember in The Godfather, Part II, when the older mobster, Fanucci, says to the young Vito Corleone. . ."

Hakeem interrupted him, "JB, we're guests here, please don't dominate the conversation."

Cynthia said, "There is one thing, I do want to hear him sing . . . assuming he can really do it." She was thinking, there's some gimmick with this parrot and I'm going to find out what it is.

JB was unruffled, "Sure, I even take requests if you have one."

Cynthia thought about this and said, "How about, 'Mary Had a Little Lamb?' "

Some sound came from the bird and Hakeem interpreted it, "He's snickering."

"Actually I do have a song in mind." Then he emitted more noises.

"Is he choking on something?"

"No, he's just clearing his throat."

JB seemed to adjust himself on the table as if it was a stage. A few seconds later he started singing in his high parrot voice.

"Outside another yellow moon
Has punched a hole in the night-time, yes
I climb through the window and down to the street
I'm shining like a new dime
The downtown trains are full, full of all those Brooklyn girls
They try so hard to break out of their little worlds"

"Is it possible, is he really doing this?"

"Please, don't interrupt him." JB meanwhile really seemed to be getting into the song.

"Well you wave your hand
And they scatter like crows"

With that line he raised a wing and swept it through the air.

"They have nothing that will ever capture your heart
They're just thorns without the rose
Be careful of them in the dark
Oh if I was the one
You choose to be your only one . . . "

"I think I get it already," Cynthia said.

"It's okay, I know him, he's just going to do the first verse."

"Oh baby can't you hear me now, can't you hear me now?
Will I see you tonight?
On a downtown train?
Every night it's just the same
You leave me lonely now."

And this point Hakeem clapped and JB appeared to take a bow. Cynthia was too surprised to say anything, but then she blurted out, "I know, that was a Rod Stewart video."

"But Tom Waits actually wrote it first," JB explained.

Hakeem said, "He's a bit of a music snob."

"I just know what I like." He shook his head, "Crows, nasty birds, and stupid too."

Hakeem realized that it's time to rein in his friend and get Cynthia comfortable again. "So Cynthia, it really is exciting for me to get to meet you in person. How are things been going with you?

For the next thirty minutes or so she told him. The first topic on her list was her career, or rather the lack of one recently. At one point she said, "When you're an older actress, unless you happen to be Meryl Streep or Helen Mirren, roles start to become rather thin on the ground."

JB thought, but for Hakeem's sake didn't say, I know, you're still big, it's the pictures that got small.

"I admit, I have made a few unfortunate choices. I should never have agreed to do The Haunting II: The Ghost of Nell, but Steven is such a dear friend and he talked me into it."

At this JB couldn't restrain himself, "There's a certain bird that describes a movie like that."

"And what would that be?"

"A turkey! Ack, ack, ack."

Hakeem intervened, "So who is Steven?"

"Spielberg, of course. I am grateful for all he's done for me over the years."

She was about to get into complaining about her feckless husband when she decided to go to the kitchen to freshen her drink. When she came back she said, "I decided to spike it a bit by adding a touch of vodka."

JB asked, "Wine and vodka? What do they call that, a West Side boilermaker?"

Hakeem jumped in, "So you were going to tell us something about Jeffrey?"

Cynthia leaned forward as if to make a more intimate connection with him, "I know what you're thinking, his advancing age has reduced - well, it has a tad, but what he has left he uses for . . ." She considered how to phrase the next statement. "When you're a man as famous as he is, you're surrounded by, call it legions of these young little snips. I can almost understand why he's unable to control himself and remain faithful for me."

After detailing several of Jeffrey's recent infidelities she said, "You see Hakeem, it's not just his philandering, when he comes back to me he's completely depleted. And frankly, I'm a woman still in her prime, I need a man's attention just as much, if not more so, than ever. Which, among other things, is why I've invited you into my life."

"Cynthia, I understand completely. Ever since I first saw you in a movie, when I was still I boy, I thought you were the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen."

"Oh Hakeem, that's so sweet of you." She glanced over at the parrot to see his reaction but he sat there impassively. "Let's go into the bedroom, we can be more comfortable there if you know what I mean."

JB said, "You can get into something more comfortable too, although of course I already am!"

Hakeem ignored the bird and said to her, "Sure, I'd be delighted."

Once in the bedroom Cynthia sat at the foot of the bed and indicated that Hakeem should sit near the head. JB flew in and perched on the nightstand.

"Hakeem, one thing, you're not playing with me about this parrot? I mean, it doesn't appear so, but you aren't a ventriloquist, are you?"

"Oh no, Cynthia, I certainly am not. I could prove it if you would spend some time with JB alone."

"I suppose that won't be necessary. But, really, is it necessary for him to spend the entire time in here with us?"

JB broke in, "First of all, please don't talk about me like I'm not here. You can't see them, but I do have ears . . ."

Hakeem seemed a bit embarrassed as he said, "Cynthia, there's something I want to say. . ."

JB said, "I'll make it easier for you Hakeem, I'll explain it to her."

She thought, What kind of bullshit is this guy and his parrot trying to pull off here?

"I'll make this concise. Obviously Hakeem is popular with the ladies, so we've been through this before. So, when you see his manhood - you know what I'm referring to?"

"Of course I know."

"Well, if you see it, and you're not completely impressed, I mean really stunned by it, I'll leave the room. Otherwise . . .

Hakeem is a good-looking guy, but what is the deal here? Did I make a mistake in bringing him here? Her curiosity got to her and she said, "All right, I'll call your bluff. " She said, "How about I do this for myself?" She slid down the bed until she was sitting next to him.

Hakeem said, "Of course, I'd be very pleased in fact." In a very direct move she unzipped his pants, reached in, and brought his cock out.

All three of them were silent for a moment. Cynthia remembered her first sight of a penis, one that belonged to some skeezy bloke from her Sheffield girlhood, and the same thought came to her this time, That is never going to fit into me. Almost without thinking she said, "Oh my God, it's the most magnificent schlong I've ever seen, and I have seen my share. . ."

"I'm not even aroused yet," Hakeem said. "What you like to see it in its most extreme state?"

Cynthia seemed almost shy, "Oh yes - may I be the one to bring you to that state of perfection?" Without waiting for an answer she reached down and grasped his cock, then began to slowly stroke it along most of its length.

"Cynthia, your hands are so warm and moist, you have the perfect touch."

JB decided to seal the deal, "So the parrot stays in the picture?"

Her mind was already in another place and she barely noticed him now, "Yes, yes, whatever."

"Ok, I'll give you kids a little break, I'll go over to the window so you two have some room to maneuver." With that he flew over and perched on the curtain rod. He looked down and seemed to be watching the traffic on Central Park West.

Cynthia asked Hakeem, "Is it true that men who are so well endowed are also, you know, able to perform more consistently - have more stamina I should put it?"

"I suppose so, as best as I can tell from my own experiences."

"Because, Hakeem, I think I'm really going to put you through your paces tonight." She seemed girlish and giggly now. As his erection increased in her hand she thought, every time I think it can't get any longer and thicker, it does!

JB looked back from his perch and was inspired to say, "When he goes to Blimpie Base and they ask him, 'Do you want a footlong?,' he responds, 'No thanks, I already have one.' "

"JB!" For the first time Hakeem seemed really annoyed at by his companion's remarks.

"Sorry chief, that may have been a bit much."

Cynthia didn't notice this exchange; she was entranced by Hakeem's increasing size and stiffness. She had made a decision about her next move. "Hakeem, to start this off, I would be honored to give you a blowjob. Of course, you realize that I won't be able to get more than a small portion into my mouth."

"I understand, that's completely fine." He had dealt with this issue many times before.

"I do promise to delight the rest of your shaft - no, call it your column! - with all the licks and kisses I am able to bestow on it."

Within a few moments she was kneeling on the floor in front of him as he sat on the edge of the bed. He ran his hands through her hair as he said a few endearments to encourage her. Not many words were necessary at this point to spur on Cynthia's enthusiasm.

JB glanced back into the room. He did have a considerable curiosity about human mating habits. It seemed that Hakeem had achieved a particularly awesome size tonight. Some lines from a song run through his mind and he really had to stifle himself from singing them out loud.

Mister Mojo rising
Mister Mojo rising
Got to keep on rising
Mister Mojo rising. . .

When Hakeem was about to reach his orgasm he thought to warn Cynthia against attempting to swallow all of his first cum of the evening. However, he was too excited to speak a coherent sentence. For her part Cynthia could feel with her lips the gathering salvo within his penis. Some intuition told her to move her mouth to the side and not receive a direct shot.

Hakeem shouted some loud noises during his climax; JB was reminded of similar sounds from Jim Morrison on the soundtrack of the song. I never can remember the exact sequence of what he does at that point, but it certainly sounds as if he's coming.

Cynthia had guessed correctly; she watched Hakeem's cum jet past her face and then she instinctively looked upwards. The full load spattered down all over her face and shoulders. JB sang softly to himself, "All my dreams, all my dreams, they fall like rain, on a downtown train."

Hakeem was aware that his role was to please Cynthia, not necessarily himself, and he was chagrined by the considerable mess he had made on her. "Oh, I'm so sorry . . . "

"It's okay, really." She put her hands out, "I could use a handkerchief though so I can see what I doing."

She stood up to wipe herself with the cloth he had offered and realized that another part of her body had been affected. Amazing, my panties are soaked and I've had no contact there yet. It's like being twenty-years old again! "Hakeem, you've performed superbly so far, but I'm going to ask more of you - I have my own needs to satisfy, and I mean right now. Don't worry, I'll supply most of - call it the motion. All you have to do is maintain your present state!"