The Darker Side of Trey Grey (22 page)

“Get me shootin’ and you’ll get your money.” He laughed and it sounded almost bitter.

“Don’t take offense, but I have to ask, is this a Viagra problem?”

“Fuck no, I don’t need that shit,” he said less offended than I thought he would be.

Damn, now I knew why he was here. I’d had a john like him a few years back. An hour later I was still blowing the guy. What’s the damn word for this? I looked it up once. Priapism I think.

“Why not a girl?” I asked.

“I already tried a girl, didn’t work, and she was a pretty thing too.” He shook his head. “She suggested a male prostitute. Said you boys know how to handle a man. Took me awhile to get up the nerve, a guy touching me and all... not my cup of tea, no offense,” he said, and I admired the guy for being able to talk to a total stranger about this.

I couldn’t imagine going through what he was. But then, the only times “IT” became uncontrollable were around Justin. As dicks go, “IT” had always been as dysfunctional as one could get.

The guy wasn’t dangerous, just extremely exasperated, and I did give a damn fine hand job. I climbed on the bike, sure I could get him off. At least the guy smelled decent, like green apple Jolly Ranchers. I grinned. I seemed to have a fruit thing going on tonight.

The guy rolled the condom on himself before we launched off. Somehow I managed to hold onto my lube, not fall off the bike, and actually squirt a dollop into my hand, all while remaining covert. When I reached around and took hold of the skinny thing, I almost jerked my hand away. It was fucking cold, like a Popsicle. How the hell did he maintain an erection with it so cold? I decided not to ponder that one. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer. 

I went to work, and slowly the pricksicle warmed as the Harley ate up the glistening ribbon of tar. When the biker banked onto I-5, I became apprehensive. It might be more obscure, yet fifty-five-to-sixty on a bike when a guy comes seemed a bad idea. He sensed my pall, and elbowed me firmly in the ribs. An image of me splattered on the pavement flashed before my eyes, forcing my thighs to tighten down. They refused to relax from there on out.

I worked every angle and charm I had, and he wouldn’t give it up. Not even a twitch. The biker finally shot off the freeway onto DesMoines Memorial Drive and headed back up the hill to the Avenue. This section belonged to the dealers, and a few meth whores. During the day it wasn’t bad. Decent little cafe’s, travel agents, and stores that sold vacuums swallowed the sidelines. You wouldn’t want to break down here after the sun dropped from the sky though.

We had just passed Ihop when he turned right and ducked onto the unlit side roads. Both my hands were beginning to cramp, and I was just about done with this. He turned into an alley much like the one I used to turn tricks, only most of the businesses here were deceased, with several of the windows and doors boarded over.

“Stop... get off,” he said gruffly, and for several terrifying moments I wondered if this would be my end. I could run. He could easily run me down on his bike before I reached the Ave, but maybe I could make it.

He stayed on the bike and pulled out a pack of smokes. He lit up and drew deeply.

“Listen, I’m at wits end here. I’ve had this fucker for half the day and can’t— anyway, I thought a professional could help.” He paused and puffed on his cig, holding the smoke for several moments in his lungs. “Kid, if you have any ideas, I’m all ears here.” Puffs of pale blue mingled with his words.

“Maybe you should go to the hospital. I know they can help.”

“I’m not letting them stick a needle in my dick. Besides, I don’t have health insurance and you’re a cheaper option, if it works.” He hadn’t looked at me, but he did now, and his eyes were desperate, pleading. “It’s beginning to fucking hurt. What you were doing felt good to start, then it got uncomfortable.” 

“You know, that sucks, but honestly the only other thing I can offer a straight man would be a blow job. I’m willing to try, and if it doesn’t work you don’t have to pay me,” I offered, feeling for the guy.

That’s two fucking charity cases tonight. I’m on a roll.

“Um... okay, I guess I’m willing to try anything at this point. I don’t want you touching me though. No hands— that would gross me out.” He made a face and shivered.

“Not a problem. A lot of guys close their eyes. Might help if you imagine someone else,” I suggested, and he nodded as he swung his leg off the bike. 

He stood rigidly, hands fisted, and eyes closed as I knelt on the ground in front of him. The poor guy’s dick wasn’t looking so good. Purple at the base, and I could see the tip was red and pissed off even through the condom. If this didn’t work, he better bite the bullet and get some medical help.
 

I closed my lips over his tip, tasting the slight saltiness of the KY I used on johns. It was the only product I had found that, after a long night, didn’t make me itch. Justin liked one of the more costly slicker lubes, and I was becoming rather fond of it myself, if the truth be told.

The thought of Justin would have made me laugh if I could have. Not that this guy would let me stick a finger up his ass, but I would bet my night’s haul it would do the trick.

His fists unclenched, and I saw a spark of hope. A glance up showed me his mouth was open under his pale moustache, and his head was tipped back a bit. I worked the shaft, and his hips made a short, hesitant kick. Another minute and he let out a tiny hum. I unsheathed my teeth, teasing them along, and his hips jerked so hard, I had to open my mouth so I wouldn’t bite him.
 

His hands fisted quickly into my hair, and the man began to pump. He moaned as his member pulsed. His hips thrust, pushing his prick into my throat. For some reason it had always been easier for me to deep throat a thick dick than a thin one, and this guy’s was like a finger poking into the back of my throat. I had a hard time controlling my gag reflex.
 

His tempo picked up, and he started humping my mouth erratically, like a dog humps a bitch. Fast, sharp, strokes of desperation. It wasn’t anything new. Spastic, nervous fellows did this, and some even raised or kicked a leg out as they climaxed. It was funny as hell.

When I smelled the tang of sweat mix with the apple scent, I glanced up again, and saw his face deepening to red. Just then his knees buckled slightly, and I latched my hands around the back of his thighs to hold him up.

A sledgehammer hit the side of my head sending me across the broken asphalt. I landed a few feet away in a rumple. White spots appeared in my vision, then turned to black, as a high pitched whine rang in my ears.
Fuck, that hurt.

“Why the hell you go and touch me, you prick. I was almost fucking there,” the guy yelled, and my night got worse as his slim toed boot came up between my legs.

I’ve been kneed a few times, and had some other odd accidents to the area, but nothing had prepared me for the gut-wrenching pain of a kick. We’ve all seen it happen. A guy takes a blow to his balls and falls over. Why doesn’t he scream?
Because the fucking pain hits your lungs like a wrecking ball and forces all the air out of you.

I curled up, squeaking like a rat run across a cheese grater, as my hands cupped my balls instinctually trying to protect them. I’m pretty sure tears were running in torrents down my cheeks. My eyes were locked shut, so I wasn’t positive. In my cloud of pain I think I heard the guy whacking off, then groaning for several seconds.
 

It seemed like hours, yet was probably only a minute or two after the groaning stopped, when a hand took hold of the back of my jacket and another clutched the waistband of my jeans. I was hoisted up over the gas tank of the Harley. As my jeans cinched down I think I blacked out for a moment, and I know I whined like a kicked puppy.

Before I could make heads or tails of what was happening we were moving through the dark side roads, and the guy kept grabbing me to keep me from sliding off. Right now hitting the pavement wouldn’t feel much different than I already felt.

Vibrant dots blinked in and out of my vision in time with the pain pulsing under my hands. I couldn’t seem to let go, and even “IT” was telling me he was hurting now too. Either the guy hit higher than I originally thought, or the bruising was traveling into “IT’s” shaft.
 

Suddenly and without warning the guy slowed, flinging me off the bike in one swift movement. Mother fucker was strong. I hit the pavement and rolled. Thankfully the building stopped me. I didn’t move.

Cased in shadows, surrounded by the smell of old piss, I didn’t move for a long time. Something, probably a rat, skittered over my ankle at one point, but I couldn’t move to knock it away. Not yet— maybe soon.

“Ah Fuck, MARIE, I found him. MARIE!” a man’s voice, deep and very loud slammed into my head along with the realization someone had found me. I couldn’t believe how relieved that made me. Then I opened my eyes.

The solicitous face staring down at me, I recognized. Thor loomed over me.
What the hell was Freddie Fangor doing here?
I hadn’t seen him since that fateful night we spent together. Come to think of it, I hadn’t seen his sister, Molly, since then either.

And then I didn’t give a damn. I didn’t care who had found me, didn’t care if I went to the hospital. I just wanted the hurt to go away, and this rummy night to end.

“Stay still. Jesus, Trey, what the hell happened? What are you doing down here?” Freddie asked, breathing like a dragon.

“Aaaaooh,” Marie exclaimed in a shrill tone. “OhmiGod, Trey, you poor thing.”

I found my voice, sort of. “I’m okay I think.”

Marie helped me into a sitting position against the wall. I winced and leaned onto a hip. It only helped a little. I felt like a baby with a full diaper. Except the overly warm load I was packing throbbed painfully, and felt like it was full of glass shards every time I moved.

“You look less than okay, my friend,” Freddie said as he inspected my face.

Friend?
He had to be kidding.

“Trey, you have blood on your lips. Where is it coming from?” he asked.

How the hell should I know?
I ran my tongue around my mouth, finding a rough sore spot on my left cheek.

“I must have bit my cheek.” I finally looked around. The asshole had at least brought me back to my corner and dumped me near the loading dock. A light colored Escalade idled twenty feet away. It must be Freddie’s, and for some godforsaken reason I wondered why he wasn’t driving the Masserati.

He was inspecting my hands. I glanced down to see the knuckles broken open. They were red and damp, but not bleeding. The backs of my hands must have grazed the pavement when I rolled. Other than a weensy sting, they didn’t really bother me right now. Too many other areas scrambled for the attention of my pain receptors.

“Honey, anywhere else you’re hurt?” Marie asked softly as she moved my hair off my face.
Everywhere— I hurt everywhere.

“Other than a kick to the groin, I don’t think so. Only bumps and bruises,” I said, not wanting to worry her. Then knowing it would be the next question, I added, “Fucking hippie-biker. Couldn’t get off, so he took it out on me.”

“Do you want me to call the cops?” Freddie asked, and both Marie and I shot him an; are-you-fucking-kidding-me glare.

“All right, no cops.” He held up a hand defensively.

“What are you doing here, Freddie?” I asked, staring at him skeptically. 

“Molly told me where to find you.”

Damn her.
He straightened onto his feet, running his hands over the back of his neck.

“I came down here to ask you out—”

“NO! Besides I’m seeing someone.”

“What? You didn’t tell me you met someone!” Marie exclaimed.

I grinned sublimely and nodded at her while Freddie ignored her outburst.

“A business proposition then.”

He stared down at me with his thick arms crossed over his chest. A few golden strands had escaped from his ponytail and were blowing across his sculpted face. He really did look like Thor standing there. Virile, God-like, and imposing.

“You might want to hear me out... considering,” he added laconically.

The only business proposition I could see coming from Freddie would be as a paid sex slave, which I always said I would never be. However, I was at particularly low point right this moment, and the idea didn’t seem so ludicrous. I would probably regret this
but
.

“Get me food, coffee, and some pain killers, and I’ll let you talk,” I told him.
 

He grinned, a flash of white in the shadows, as he reached down and helped me to my feet. Once my equilibrium stabilized and I could balance between Marie and the pee riddled concrete wall, I pulled out a smoke and lit up. Freddie went over to the Escalade and riffled around, returning with a partial bottle of water and two Vicodin.

I rinsed out my mouth, swallowed the painkillers, and sucked down the rest of my smoke before waddling to the SUV. Marie helped me climb into the passenger seat while a barrage of gritty cusswords escaped through my clenched teeth.

She smiled at me as she brushed my hair off my face again. Marie would make a good mom. Well, better than mine had been anyway. She was always trying to comfort during a crisis, and she had been there for me on a few occasions over the years.

“I’m okay, Marie. Thanks for everything. I don’t think I tell you that enough.”

“Trey, baby, it’s been a long time since you’ve been hurt. That’s something to think about. I’m just glad it was hurt and not dead. That’s something else to think about.”