Bright Futures

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00353 515 73 20

A Modern Chaucerian Tale

As contests go this one was pretty straightforward. Whoever of the four earned the most money over the upcoming three-day weekend would have that sum matched by the other three. That would be his total winnings. In other words, if Adam, say, earned $250 by whatever means between Friday evening and Monday afternoon the other three would have to cough up a matching $250 each, and Adam’s total earnings would be a cool grand. Not bad for 72 hours’ labor.

Adam, the oldest of the roommates at 21, Terrence and Eric, the youngest at a just-turned 19, cooked up the idea while sitting around the apartment naked drinking brews and getting stoned one Saturday afternoon. Adam said, “How come we waste our weekends like this every fucking week? We should be out there earning money.”

Terrence, the ever-irreverent one: “Because we’re smart?”

“You’re right. We ARE smart. And we should be out using our brains to make some money, lots of it.”


“For one thing…,” holding the communal joint out, “so we can afford better pot than this shit?”

Eric laughed. Terrence pointed out, “We’re students, Adam. We have wealthy parents. At least they were wealthy before they had to start forking over our tuition. Being a student is a full-time job.”

“That is such elitist fucking bullshit, Terrence. Look at Larry. While we’re sitting around here jerking off he’s flipping burgers or something.”

“Stocking shelves,” Eric corrected.

“It’s my problem the guy’s poor?”

“Terrence you are the biggest asshole I’ve ever known.”

“The rumor is Eric has the biggest asshole.”

“Hey!” a wounded Eric protested. Just because he never seemed to go out on dates or have a girlfriend…

“If I’m such an asshole, Adam, why’re you holding my cock?”

“Maybe I shouldn’t.”

“Anybody else up for another circle jerk?”

“Not much of a circle, Terrence.”

“Hey, three’s a crowd…”

It was from this that the outlines of contest were formed. Larry, back from work, immediately objected. He had a regular part-time weekend job. That would put him at a disadvantage, Larry argued. But as Adam, the ringleader, pointed out, Larry had guaranteed income; the others didn’t. Plus Larry could presumably ask his boss for extra hours and maybe even earn some OT.

Eric thought they should extend things out another couple weeks, so there was more time to plan their various strategies. But both Adam and Terrence objected to this. If they waited the holiday weekend—National Armaments Day—would pass them by and a three-day weekend was ideal for the contest. Next up was Thanksgiving and then the Christmas break and weekends over those periods just wouldn’t work. Terrence wanted to increase the time-length till Monday midnight but once again it was Adam who shot the idea down. Exams were coming up and they would need Monday evening to hit the books. Hit their iMacs at any rate.

And so it was settled. The contest would run from Friday at 6 pm till the following Monday at 6 pm. Whoever made the most money during that period would have that sum quadrupled by the other three. The four shook hands. They would be on the honor system. Anyone caught cheating, Adam assured them, would be kicked out of the apartment (Adam held the lease), would lose the others’ friendship and his traitorous name and face would be plastered on three separate Facebook pages for everyone on campus to see. Overnight that asshole would become persona non grata. The roommates sealed the deal not just with a handshake, but with a four-way condomed circle jerk. Adam didn’t like people getting jism on the Persian rug his mother—a real MILF BTW—had loaned him.

A few months before this a timid, inexperienced, virginal Eric had discovered an online personals site for gays, bi’s and the bi-curious. It was called, for some reason, GoRenew. Whatever, guys posted on it by the thousands every day, and especially on weekends. So far Eric had mainly surfed the personals and looked at the dick pics, often getting a hard-on himself in the process. He’d replied to a few ads and even made the occasional, tentative “date,” but to this point he’d never worked up the courage to actually go through with anything. One thing he noticed, however, was how many of the guys posted ads looking for “younger.” Said guys tended to be older, Eric realized—thirty and up—some declaring themselves as “daddies” even, or blatantly seeking father-son encounters or proposing outright relationships. Surrogate incest, it seemed, was in big demand. There was one poster who day after day offered free room and board to someone 29 or under (but at least 18) who in return would…Well, the poster included an ominous pic of a double bed with black coverlet in a stylish bedroom. Draw your own conclusions. Some offered “roses” in return, sometimes as emoticons, and Eric quickly deduced that roses were a euphemism for…dollars. These guys professed to be willing to pay for a get-together with a “boy” in his twenties, casino oyna a surrogate son or whatever you cared to call it. Alternatively there were young guys on GoRenew who posted their own ads, offering “services” in return for “roses.” Often this involved, theoretically, doing housework or odd jobs for their “employer”—in the nude, naturally.

Even before the contest was announced Eric was intrigued. It seemed a guy his age—a mere 19—and cute and with a nice slender body, could make a fortune, relatively speaking, answering ads that offered “roses” in return for certain services—or by posting them himself. It was at long last time to give it a shot. The holiday weekend, and its foursome contest, loomed. It was less than a week away now. The pressure was on.

To post ads on GoRenew you had to join the site. And this Eric did that Sunday night (when he should have been studying) under Adam’s name. He liked the name Adam. There was something…essential about it. Fundamental. Salt of the earth. Biblical, of course. More importantly it gave him cover. Speaking of Adam, the real Adam, he had taken a nude pic of Eric’s body in skinny profile once, from the shoulders down. Eric had a hard on. Seven inches. Which he’d been inside the apartment’s lone bathroom stroking when the door flew open and the phone-camera clicked. Eric, nevertheless, had kept it, the photo, in a folder called “Economics Class” on his desktop. Cover, again. Plus it was the dullest topic he could think of. It was this explicit pic that would now adorn Eric’s ad. It took him a few tries, a few false starts, but this is what the college sophomore finally came up with:

Super cute 19 year old college student seeks older WM for for [sic] companionship, fun & games. Will also do light housecleaning, yardwork, chores, etc. Willing to dress nude for roses [emoticon]. Available entire upcoming holiday weekend. Sexy & super reliable.

Eric clicked Post. He wasn’t satisfied with the phrase “dress nude;” it was an oxymoron. But he was sick of rewriting the thing and he had a paper on Chaucer that was due Tuesday. He needed to suck down a couple of Red Bull’s and get to it. His paper was on The Pardoner’s Tale.

Needless to say he couldn’t sleep. He got up at two to check the email account he’d set up in Adam’s name. A separate, private email just for receiving responses to his sex ads. The ad had been up five hours and Eric had 36 responses. By 8 am Monday he had 49, and 12 hours later he had 65, though they were beginning to peter out. Eric was a newbie, but with experience he would learn not to post more than 24 hours out from the desired meeting time. Thursdays were good, and Fridays. And sometimes you could score a quick, lucrative, same-day get-together with a Saturday post. But that would come later when, a year or so from now, Eric had a computer address book full of clients, present and past, as well as prospects. But even this first time, posting on the worst day of the week, his ad had earned over 60 responses. The kid was floored. He sat at his desk Monday afternoon sifting through the responses, staring at all the dick pics, while stroking himself in a leisurely fashion until a clearish droplet of semen filled the eye of his cock, one he licked off a salty finger, before starting the whole process of orgasm denial, deferral we should say, again. At one point Adam knocked on his locked bedroom door. Eric didn’t answer.

Typical GoRenew, most of the responses, it must be admitted, were bullshit. One-liners. One word in many cases: “Hot!” Or “Interested!” By the time Eric weeded all these out he was down to 20 or so. He had no set criteria but as a tentative English major he further ruled out any responses by obvious illiterates. Call him elitist, but…He got down to 10. Further readings or re-readings reduced this to six. Six out of 65. Less than ten percent. Fuck! Eric was learning.

He sent out six replies. Two never answered back. More GoRenew bullshit. Four were promising for the upcoming holiday weekend. But only one truly stood out. The guy had sent a waist-up, fully dressed portrait photo of himself. No dick pic. He had a full head of silver, razor-trimmed hair. His casual clothes looked country-clubish; expensive. He wrote in complete sentences. Only one typo, and that a minor one. He mentioned he lived in a gated community. He looked…prosperous. Like the other four he asked how many “roses” Eric—Adam—was seeking. Eric took a deep breath and typed: “100.”

This gentlemen alone failed to balk at the steep price. Eric never heard from two of the four again, after replying with his rate. A third asked, “Is that negotiable?” The man in the pink Polo and chinos, with the braided brown-leather belt didn’t flinch. He asked if they could talk. Eric offered to text. The man insisted they talk. By phone. The old-fashioned way. Person-to-person.

Eric called him. His heart beating like a rabbit’s in a trap. A heart that sank, somewhat when the man—Michael—told him Friday night was out of the canlı casino question. He was going out to dinner with his ex and his college-age daughter. The soonest he would be available was Saturday morning, late. They made a date. Eleven am. Michael emailed Eric his address. His house in the gated community, clearly visible on Doodle Map, was over 30 miles away, but that was OK. By midday Saturday Eric would be a hundred dollars richer. It was a start. The Friday night slot remained. As did Saturday night, all day Sunday and Monday till six. Eric posted another ad—and immediately regretted it. His new friend Michael might see it and think he was nothing but a little slut. On the other hand Michael, over the phone, had already asked him:

“Have you done this kind of thing before?”

“A few times,” Eric lied, with invisible shrug.

“You healthy?”

“Oh, totally.”

“You like to suck cock?”

“Oh, totally.”

“Have you ever bottomed?”

Eric paused before lying. The only thing he’d ever had up his ass being the vibrator in his bedside drawer. “I’ll bottom for you if you like,” Eric replied vaguely.

“Is that included in the hundred?”

Eric found himself nodding. “…Sure. A blowjob and…whatever you want.”

“How ’bout a spanking? Can I spank that sweet little round ass of yours?”

Why not, Eric thought. “I’d love a good spanking!”

“Because you’re a slut? A little 19-year-old slut?”

Eric swallowed. He felt like someone walking across a frozen lake in winter. Not only was it slippery but the ice was thin. “I’ll be your slut,” Eric replied.

The ice broke. “We’re gonna have such fun, you and I! I can’t wait, Adam! Maybe this can become a regular thing—if we hit it off.”

It was a big, provisional if. “I’d like that.”

“Would you? Would you like to play my son, Saturday?”

“Um, sure.”

“Call me dad?”

“OK. That’s cool.”

The ice broke again, as Michael’s—Dad’s—voice shattered in laughter. Or delirium. “We’ll commit incest together, how’s that? I’ll put you over my knee—bad boy!—spank you, you’ll suck my cock, the Viagra will’ve kicked in by then…then I’ll throw you on my bed and fuck your brains out. How’s that sound?”

“Um, great.”

“Call me dad.”


“Thanks, son. I’ll see you Saturday morning. Eleven sharp. Can’t wait. Night.”

“Night, um—”

The phone went dead. Eric, trance-like, set it down and concentrated on stroking a load out of his brimming erection. It streaked under the desk, all over Adam’s floor. Fortunately it wasn’t carpeted.

Dad came so passionately, so noisily that Adam (Eric), underneath him and no longer a virgin, worried the neighbors might call 911. Heart attack in progress. His spermy, lubed, flagging cock now out of Adam’s closing hole, Dad gave the ass still red from its earlier spanking a pat and said, with remaining breath, “God you have a tight little hole, son! We’re gonna have to work on that. Not that I don’t like a tight pussy, but…”

A crisp hundred dollar bill safely tucked inside a pocket of his backpack, Eric, now a dubious entrepreneur, played the part: “I’m available tomorrow,” he offered.

Michael laughed as he threw his thickish, 60-something body backwards against the pillowed headboard. “That’s funny, son! You know how many times a week I can get an erection like that? Once. Well…it depends on the ED med I’m on. I can’t deal with those nitrates. Doctor’s orders…”

This was all Greek to his 19-year-old “son.” Nitrates? And since when is a man’s hole known as a pussy? Eric thought only females had pussies. If you had anal with a girl would you say you were fucking her “pussy?” Eric/Adam leaned back next to his dad, whose left hand landed on the boy’s skinny thigh. “Whew! Besides,” he went on, “I’ve got family shit to do tomorrow. And on Monday I’m driving down to spend Armaments Day with friends. We’re having a cookout, shooting off fireworks.” Dad looked over: “I’d bring you along but…they’re two of my oldest friends and I don’t think they’d buy the story that you’re my long-lost son. How about next Saturday this time? We’ll work on stretching that little hole of yours,” giving his leg another pat.

Eric’s little heart sank. Again. Fuck! A hundred dollars. Larry would make more than that this weekend stocking shelves at Whole Paycheck. And his GoRenew prospects weren’t looking that good. Everybody, it seemed, wanted sexual favors for free. Or worse: one guy had offered him thirty bucks. It was insulting. All Eric could do was hope for a late-arriving email or post his ad again and hope someone came through for Sunday. And then Monday. He could potentially rake in $300. But at the spermy moment that sounded like best-case scenario. What if he only brought in $200? Adam, the real Adam, was very aggressive. Eric had no idea what his roommate was doing for money but he felt sure, by hook or by crook, he’d bring in more than $200. What if he did? And what if Eric ended up stuck on $100 kaçak casino or so? He would have just sold his sweet young previously virginal body for nothing. Less than nothing! He would be more than one hundred in the hole. Talk about tight!

“You have girly legs…,” dad observed, running his hand up and down his “son’s” right thigh. “You should shave them. You ever dress in panties?”

Huh? Eric hadn’t been paying attention. Did he say…panties?

“Women’s panties?” Dad pointed: “I have a drawerful over there that I’ve collected over the years. My ex’s and even some belonging to my daughter. She’s your age, she’s cute. Hot. A student like you. I’m old enough to be her grandfather, but…I’m sure there’s a pair in there that would fit you. Might be fun for you to wear women’s panties…I pull ‘me down before I spank you. Then I pull ’em down again before I shove my cock in you. You’re not leaking by the way, are you? On my hundred dollar sheets?” Dad attempting to peek between his son’s bent legs. “No. That’s right, you’re tight as a drum back there. Good. Not that I won’t wash them anyway. Anyway, my idea about the panties, I was thinking…not today but next time…”

“Hey, dad? Can I call you dad?” Eric asked, anxious to interrupt the rambling.

“I love it when you call me dad,” giving Eric’s thigh another pat of reassurance. Eric’s body shifted slightly, right, the better to see his new patron. Or whatever you’d call it. He wanted to get back on topic.

“Dad, listen. The panties next time? Fine. Whatever you want.”



“What’s on your mind, son. You seem a little…distressed. Am I too old for you? An old fart? Do you want to-“

“No! No,” Adam/Eric insisted. “It’s not that.”

“Because I’m afraid once you begin asking folks for money you…you kinda have to take what you get, y’know? Rent-boys can’t be choosy.”

Rent-boy? Is that what I am? Eric wondered, with a shudder. Rent-boys performed sexual favors for money. People who provided sexual favors for money were…prostitutes. Hookers. Whores. Eric had performed sexual favors today—several of them—for money. Therefore…Eric had taken a logic class in his freshman year. Was this…a syllogism? He shook his head to try and clear it. He started again:

“Dad? Listen, you don’t know me very well. At all hardly. All we’ve done is…talk a little and have sex. And it was great. I enjoyed every minute of it.”

“Me too, son. I’m glad you-“

“But I’m, like, a totally honest person. One of the most honest people you’ve ever met.”

“I sense that.”

“Please don’t judge me by…” Eric squirmed: “What we did here today. I’ve actually never done anything like this before. Sex for money, I mean. I’m not a…I’m just trying to earn some extra money. In a hurry. I come from a good home. I have like a 3.75 grade average at one of the most prestigious universities in the country.”

“And I’m proud of you for that, son. Though I hope you can get it up to four.”

“I’m working on it.” Eric plunged ahead: “You…you already have my phone number. I’d be glad to give you my address. The name of my guidance counselor at school, anything. I’d be willing to sign some kind of contract that specified-“

Michael was frowning. “What are you talking about, Adam?”

Adam expelled air. His asshole felt a little raw but his thickly fucked rectum felt good. Exercised, even. It was a strange feeling, but good. Surprising. And his fake dad’s semen was lodged somewhere further up in there, forward of a constriction as tight as a fist. This too felt good. Juicy, warm and good. Fulfilling. Today I was the willing vessel for another man’s—

Dad waved a hand in front of his son’s face. “Go on. You were saying?”

Eric closed his mouth. Opened it. His jaw ached a little. From the blowjob. “Oh. I’m part of a contest,” Eric continued.

“A what?”

“A contest. Me and my three roommates. It sounds stupid, I know, but…”

“What kind of contest?”

Another sign. Eric was more nervous now than when Michael pushed him forward, legs spread wide, onto a stack of pillows. He was more nervous now than when dad’s lubed middle finger wormed its way up his “pussy.” “The contest is,” Eric began, “whoever makes the most money this holiday weekend…whatever he makes the other three have to, um, match it. So like right now, with you, I’ve made a hundred dollars. That won’t win the contest by a long shot but…let’s just say for the sake of argument it did.”


“The other three would have to cough up a hundred each and I would make a grand total of four hundred dollars. Understand?”

“This is what you do in your free time?”

Eric bowed his head. In shame.

“Zuckerberg founds Facebook and you…you and your buddies…this is the best you could come up with? You’re all out selling your bodies to strangers?”

Eric looked up. “No! No, the others…Far as I know I’m the only one,” swallow, “doing this kind of thing. Sorry.”

“Why’re you sorry?” Dad asked, his laughter catching the blushing sophomore off guard. “Sounds like the kinda stupid goddamn thing we woulda done in college, a hundred years ago. So what’s the catch, Adam?”

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00353 515 73 20

Yorum yapın