Rent Boy

  ‘Rent Boy: Inspired by True Events’.

  Written By: James Anthony Ford.

  Contents

  ______________________________________________________________

  Prologue

  Chapter 1.......Just all Sex, Drugs and Rock ‘n’ Roll.

  Chapter 2…..Sugar & Spice and all Things Nice

  Chapter 3.......A Dance with the Devil

  Chapter 4.......Getting Down to Business

  Chapter 5.......A Prayer for the Dying; A Song for the Living

  Chapter 6.......Head On

  Chapter 7.......Sausage Rolls

  Chapter 8.......It’s all about the music

  Chapter 9……Four Parties and Almost a Funeral

  Chapter 10......Rent boy.

  Chapter 11.....An Urban Myth?

  Chapter 12.....Life; or Something Like it

  Chapter 13....The Special Two

  Chapter 14....Personality Killed the Cat

  Chapter 15....Punishment

  Chapter 16....The Deed to be done

  Chapter 17....Someone flies over the Cuckoo’s

  Chapter 18…Apartment 666

  Chapter 19…So who do you love now?

  Chapter 20....The Final Chapter and it’s Only the Beginning

  Epilogue

  Any similarity to public figures, services, products or events are purely coincidental.

  PREFACE

  Writing this book was a cathartic experience when you write a suspenseful drama with some events inspired from real life. I know, I know, it sounds like a cliché and a writer trying to be something they are not. Well, to be honest, the latter may be true. This story is from the point of view of just another Aussie guy, named as Jay Beau Andrews, struggling to come to terms with many things from childhood to manhood. This story is not just about another guy who worked as a rent boy, or male escort, in the prime of his life, but it goes deeper than that. Very deep.

  This story is an uninhibited and very brave confession.

  He considers himself as ‘rented’. He feels he has been used for the sake of others gain without any real reward in return.

  In a nutshell, he was a shy boy who was taken for granted by his stepfather who wanted a type of son he could never be, so he paid for it in the most brutal way. This was kept as a painful secret until he reached the age of eighteen and fight back. But soon the sense of revenge kicked in as much as his ego.

  He never considered himself as attractive but he was always told he was. Very much so that he became superficially obsessed, some may say possessed. So what’s a boy to do when you want money fast, with ease, but most of all, to seduce other men he saw as his father figure? He becomes a male escort and good one at that. He becomes consumed in this world of being paid in cash and compliments; all the things a ‘real’ father should have done.

  But a male escort has a short shelf life and retirement is way too early but inevitable. He retires in his thirties but he has make a living in the real world. Suddenly he is on his own, maturing but wiser and faces the nine to five world. He just wants to develop a career and his own home. But what occurs is the unthinkable.

  Somehow his past has come back to haunt him. Word has leaked about his past life working in the adult entrainment industry and he faces the cruellest bullying and discrimination.

  He was labelled as a ‘whore’. A word that hits so hard it is too painful to articulate. He experiences this bullying from workplace to workplace and home to home. It seems, and does, follow him wherever he goes. It is not that he is ashamed of his past, he just wants to move on. But most of all just live a decent peaceful life.

  So what’s a guy to do? Stand tall, be brave, and stand up for yourself. But it all seems hopeless due to the stigma.

  This story reveals everything and Jay does not hold back as what is revealed here is just a tiny speck of the actual shocking details. There is light at the end of the tunnel but which one?

  The finale will either surprise or shock you.

  But then again, the brutal truth normally does both as the damage is done.

  Not just yet.

  …………………………………

  Chapter one.........Just all sex, drugs and rock n’ roll.

  ‘Freakazoid Nightclub’, Melbourne, 15th February 2000, 12:15 am

  Another night, and day, of hard-core clubbing was approaching second by second, as he sits in the back of a Melbourne taxi, craving the anticipation of sex, recreational drugs and underground house, deliberately compensated from rock ‘n’ roll. The city street lights glow like oversized orbs, and life was awesome and inflated, almost overwhelming. The mirror reflects a neatly presented masculine guy who has a taste for designer clothes and hair gel. According to society this labels your sexuality, but he disagrees firmly as he faces the glistening glass. Overall he did not wanted to wanted, but more like wanted to be needed and craved.

  This guy was just an Aussie bloke and constantly consciously told himself of this fact. He saw himself as a cool ‘straight acting’ guy masking his discrete thirst for a random masculine body up against his. Only a few minutes in some back alleyway, in a rough tumble, was enough. Enough to still sustain his masculinity, and ‘coolness’, and deny the fact he likes guys too. He is not gay, nor straight. Whatever he is, there is no label for it, though he knew in reality what it was. Reality is absent tonight though. So, whatever.

  He snaps out of this hypnotic thoughts of what could happen this night. His grinding jaw and jittery legs, influenced from the chemicals flowing throughout his sculptured physique, created even more anticipation for the euphoria he knows he was about to endure. But it could not come fast enough. So he perseveres with his patience before his trance-like thoughts were interrupted by ‘nosy’ cab driver.

  “So what’s on for tonight?” says the taxi driver as he takes a glance in the rear view mirror. There was only way to describe it with a slightly aloof stare.

  “None of your business mate.”

  No reply from the cab driver apart from a raised eyebrow. It was a gesture like ‘Freak’. But probably because he had no idea what he meant, nor was he meant to. He is not with the ‘in’ crowd.

  This determined hunger for attention and euphoria dominated on this guys’ mind as he continues to sit in the back of the cab, edging to enter underground party paradise. Feeling quietly confident, and mildly anxious, he licks his lips as the subtle rush of sexual adrenaline flows freely through his body. He knows all eyes will be on him as he enters the dark, smoky club, with the slight scent of sex in the muggy midnight air of Melbourne’s odd summer climate.

  He anticipates the spontaneous vivid strobe lights, in-sync with the base of the music, and being squashed amongst a mass of sweaty bodies on a dancefloor, all adding to chemical energy just starting to erratically pound through his body. He is on the verge to another night of debauchery, reminiscent of last weekend.

  He arrives, pays the driver and departs the cab. His eyes are sharply directed to the entrance of the club, that iconic red velvet rope of privilege. He does not walk, he does not mimic Travolta, nor does he need to. There’s a queue outside but this is no issue as all it takes is a quick flash of his sculptured abs and he is ‘in’. He looks cool and content. He is handsome, as everybody tells him, even though deep down, he does not think so. But if people say he is, then it must be true, so he goes with the flow and flaunts it.

  He is twenty six years old but everyone says he looks younger than that. He guesses it may be a compliment, but perhaps they mean he is baby-faced, which clearly he believes he is not. Nor did he want to be. The age of twenty six is everyone’s prime age, and this guy knows how to take advantage of youth for his own personal gain. The world is his oyster and being in your twenties is
the only time you can do that. That’s what he believes anyway.

  He considers himself, and wants to project an image of Aussie masculinity, with a touch of style. If that, was at all possible. He does try to impress though, which in reality is a sad fact.

  At the moment he has the looks, clean shaven, good taste in designer clothing but with a touch of masculinity, and has the body, but an attitude to create ambiguity. He is bursting inside like a party time bomb. Any trigger would set him off into a euphoric tsunami.

  As he gets closer to the club he flexes his biceps and chest to ensure they are pumped up; ready to be admired, like always. His vest is slightly open but the intention is to rip it off as soon as he approaches the entrance to heaven.

  Then he arrives; feeling like a rock star and ready to rumble. Nothing can upset him tonight and nobody would dare to get in his way. Already he approaches the entrance which is identified with vivid sporadic flashes of white light and the slight scent of smoke coming from the club. The bass could be felt through the concrete. Then, the sounds of Melbourne’s clubbing scene, begins to surface. In the distance, this was the first sound of a masculine sounding bouncer expressing his authority amongst an anxious bunch of ‘non-member’ clubbers; waiting to get in Melbourne’s coolest club at this time.

  The beefy bouncer takes charge of the outside mass of ‘wanna-be’s;

  “If you guys don’t line up properly, then ya not fuckin’ getting’ in…get it?!”

  “Line up against the side of the wall….. and stop fuckin’ around!” , he continues with angst but with a sense of cheekiness.

  “If ya not a member…..then ya gotta wait, so shut the fuck up!”

  Then some girl in amongst the queue yells out, “Do blow-jobs count?!” Not much of a response from the other patrons in the queue as they were all probably beginning to ‘peak’.

  Then a slow reply by the bouncer, “I’m not gay at this hour. Try again once it kicks in!”

  As he walks slowly around the queue he hears the chatter of the waiting clubbers outside. He takes off his top and stuffs it in the back of his jeans pocket. His perfectly buffed, muscular and slightly oiled up torso glistened in the moonlight and caught everyone’s attention. He plays it cool, trying not to look phased by the attention he was getting. The thick gold chain around his neck complimented his perfectly sculptured chest and abs. He looked like a super-star, even though he is not.

  He slowly makes his way to the entrance with a very cool strut, consciously careful not to look like a ‘tosser’. He catches the eye of the hot looking bouncer where every weekend they have innocently flirted with one another. He is muscular blonde, and tanned, and very masculine; just his type even though he also likes a hot girl once in a while. The keyword which was the epitome of sexual attraction was masculinity, not ‘bogan-like’, but manly-chic’ and ‘unpretentious’.

  After a couple of years they have still not had an opportunity to fuck. Perhaps his attitude got in the way of this. He will never know.

  He can suddenly feel the thumping of the bass more intensely through the concrete. The music sounded awesome and his heart began to beat faster, almost in rhythm with the tunes. His ‘e’ was beginning to kick in and his adrenaline was pumping and he was hot to trot.

  The hot bouncer always innocently flirts with this guy and lets him straight in the club without waiting in the queue. The bouncer noticed him approaching and he could feel his sexy stare. The bouncer began to lick his lips he got closer.

  The coolest of cool in Melbourne’s underground club land was here, and the next step is getting in without paying a cent. That would be a breeze, he thinks to himself.

  Taking a moment to be real, he knows he is a ‘wanker’, pretentious, and one with a lot of attitude. But why?

  But right at that time at the age of 26, he didn’t give a toss. He did look hot, even though deep down he knew he was not. This superficiality was the perfect mask of some sort of denial. Nothing mattered anymore except sex, drugs and underground house music.

  The bouncer subtly checks my pockets to ensure his cash and drugs, ecstasy and speed, were tightly squashed in the edges of the pockets just to confirm their security. Totally out of so-called ‘security’ policy he smoothly feels his athletically muscular bod from his abs to his impressive chest and admires it with a smirk for just a second. He was ready for action and anything goes.

  His eye contact with the bouncer made his heart beat just that little bit faster in unison with the thumping beat of the music from the club. It was making him horny with the ‘e’ just starting to take control. It sounded like it was rockin’ inside and totally goin’ off. He was getting excited and felt sexy.

  The process of just getting inside seemed like a lifetime, the clubbers in the queue began to look at him up and down with sexy looks. He can hear guys and girls mumble to each other with comments like;

  “Yum”, “He is hot” and “Come here baby”

  He loved it. He craved for it. He thought he was it; the one that every guy and girl wanted to fuck. But he wanted to be untouchable and had an attitude. He was a hard-core underground clubber and this territory was his. He couldn’t give a shit for love or romance; in fact, he never knew what love really meant. His theory was ‘fuck ‘em and leave ‘em; especially when it came to men.

  He loved a hot looking guy that was attracted to him but he also hated their guts. He loved the superficiality of a hot looking guy, or girl, but despised them.

  This was the beginning of a typical Saturday night that led into another drug fucked Sunday that led into a week of ‘coming-down’ hell. That was the down side but right there and then. But he was not concerned about it. After all, what goes up, must come down. Or does it?

  “How ya doin’ man?” The blond bouncer said in a sexy, masculine voice.

  “Yeah….cool,” he says with a half cute, and sexy smile.

  He un-clicks the velvet rope and the clubbers in the queue look at him like he was some sort of special guest, or celebrity. He is not. Not yet.

  The bouncer gently patted his bum as he walks in, as a bit of innocent flirting.

  “See ya in there later, yeah?” the bouncer said.

  “If I’m lucky….I guess so,” he replies, trying to play it cool.

  “If I’m lucky you mean?” The bouncer replied with a cheeky smile.

  He walks inside the club corridor in as the bouncer licks his lips again. Every Saturday night they meet each other at the entrance and he lets him in every time without hesitation. The general rule is; if you’re hot, you’re in. It was that simple. You had to be a ‘somebody’ to walk into Melbourne’s coolest clubs, past the crowds. But the reality is, is that he was a nobody. But nobody realised that, he just went along with it. He pretended to be a super-star when he was really a void. He was living in somebody’ else’s skin and he seemed to lose touch with his actual internal emotions. Yet at this time of his life, he didn’t care. Everyone thought he was ‘somebody’ due to his looks and perfect sculptured abs and chest. But he was hiding something and it was brewing inside.

  This superficiality of this cool club is what made it ultra-cool and allusive. This place was a meeting place for Melbourne’s clubbing elite. It was almost an ecclesiastical event in a clubbing sense.

  The first steps inside the club had a pounding beat that thrusted throughout his body. The music sounded hot. This was real underground deep house at its best. This was no mainstream, commercial ‘Top 40’ crap and there was not a ‘bogan’ or ‘normal’ person in sight. Although there were bars inside, the clubbers choice of beverage was the famous over-priced ‘raspberry water’. Clubbers rarely drank alcohol but if they did, it was not much. That’s probably why there was never any violence in these clubs. It was all peace, love and happiness. Think about it.

  This was a club that only accepted beautiful people. There was no such thing as ‘gay’ or ‘straight’, in fact, there were no labels in the cool clubs. Everyone seemed to be bis
exual as it was the cool thing to be. It was all mainly thanks to the magic pill; Ecstasy.

  He makes his way to the ticket payment counter. The ‘faggy’ acting guy behind the counter looked him up and down and said;

  “No you’re right luv……on the house”

  He smiles, but it was fake. He thinks he wanted something in return. He had no hope. He does not go for effeminate guys but he appreciates the free entry.

  “Thanks buddy,” he replies in an assertive and masculine voice. Then with no time to waste he walks on into the club in a very cool way.

  He walks past a few clubbers walking past him, totally peaking on their ‘e’s’ and making sexy compliments about him. He ignores them in an aloof manner even though he loves it. Then he enters paradise.

  The darkness of the entrance corridor broke into a warm room flashing with sparkle and smelt like sex, drugs and rock n’roll. Except in place of the rock n’roll was the best house music in town and a DJ that was tearing the place apart with a bass-line that moved your hips like a remote control.

  He overlooks a sea of half-naked, sweating bodies, guys and girls, swinging their hips to the pumping tunes. This was his place and it was all his; so he thought. He was in the mood to party and do it hard. He is a hardcore clubber and he made his presence known at every appearance.

  He tries to contain his excitement by looking cool. People on the dance-floor stare at him as he makes his way to the dance floor. He does not know where his clubbing friends are and he didn’t care. His ‘e’ was beginning to get more powerful, permeating into every part of his buffed body, with intense power and all he wanted to do was dance.

  He makes his way to the centre of the dance-floor amongst a bundle of hot muscular guys. Their half-naked warm, sweating bodies gently rub up against each other. It was like ‘accidental’ as the floor was packed, but it was deliberate flirtation. He subtly dances his way into the middle as he felt a hand or two touching his arse and wiping their hand over his chest and abs. He shows an aloof sign of attitude as if to say;