PG Prostitute

"I think you should have taken your chances with option 2."

"You're probably right."

"So you really had sex at a public beach? Near a bunch of people?"

"Yep. Let me ask you, puppy, do you think it's pleasant fucking somebody bareback in the ocean?"

"I imagine it's not."

"It's even worse than it sounds. It felt like my cock was on fire. The only good thing about it was that it had to be worse for him. I hope his hole hurt for months. I hope he got an infection. I'm lucky I didn't get anything from it myself. Anyway, I pound into him as fast as I can. I don't know if he'll be satisfied until he got off or what, so to be safe I just focused on jabbing his prostate and jerking him off. The sick fucker came in about two minutes and spat out my Speedo, grinning like an asshole."

"What happened next?"

"He swam to the shore and bolted. People screamed when they saw that he was fully nude. He got away. I didn't want to call the police because I probably would have gotten in trouble, too."

"What do you think was wrong with him?"

"I couldn't even begin to guess, little puppy."

He kissed me and I nuzzled him.

*****

I know that when it comes to the LGBTQQIAAPWXYZ-whatever-the-fuck community, aces like me likely have it some of the best. We blend in easier, come out smoother, and have almost no bigotry to deal with, mostly because we're uncommon. That being said, I find it funny what assumptions people make about me when they hear I'm asexual.

Besides the obvious (I just haven't found the right person yet), its sometimes assumed that I don't want anything to do with love or romance or anything like that. On more than one occasion, people would seem genuinely surprised if I say "she's cute" or "he looks good." I may not want to fuck anybody, but I still have eyes, and I know pretty when I see it.

Emily was pretty.

She had a great face with a nice mix of angles and softness, long brown hair that framed her face beautifully, and a great smile. She didn't have the model look, she had the pretty-girl-next-door look, which I thought was better anyway. Thankfully she was also nice, or I'd feel weird about liking her so much before she even really talked to me.

Emily was in her early twenties, not too much older than me. According to her, she recently broke up with her boyfriend of eighteen months. She didn't say why, and I didn't ask, but I was curious.

I'm 5'8", which means I'm smaller than a majority of men and bigger than most women. Girls tended to like being held, so I was on big spoon duty whenever my client was of the female persuasion. Emily was no different. I'd hold her in my arms and I could feel the contentment coming from her. She fit me well, and I enjoyed cuddling with her that weekend.

She also gave me one of the most bizarre stories I had ever heard. It was on the Sunday afternoon, almost at the end, when I asked her if she had any crazy stories. She told me that she did.

"I'm assuming that you're curious as to why I broke it off with a guy that I'd been dating for a year and a half."

I nodded.

"I don't like telling the story, because I'm almost positive nobody would believe me. It's just weird."

"I've heard some weird stories in the past myself, but go on."

"Okay, Peter was a cool guy. He had a steady source of income, treated me well, was handsome, and my friends liked him, too. He wasn't exactly the best in bed, but that wasn't a deal breaker for me."

Now I was really curious. Something had to have gone horribly wrong.

"We had been dating for a year when I noticed that he was buying bananas like they were about to go extinct. You know how in grocery stores they keep the fruits and vegetables in bins? He would buy entire bins at a time."

What the hell? Why were we on bananas now?

"I mean, we both liked bananas just fine, but it was excessive. I guess I thought that he suddenly really liked eating bananas, but he wasn't just throwing them back enough to be going through them at the rate he was."

"I'm uneasy about where this is headed."

"I'd be shocked if you weren't. Anyway, he had this whole system about the bananas he'd buy. He'd get them at different stages of ripeness, from green and firm all the way to brown and mushy. He also stored some of them in the freezer. I used the frozen bananas to make a smoothie one time and he asked me where two of the bananas went. Like he counted them every day. I told him the truth and he was oddly relieved about it."

A horribly wonderful idea about the story was starting to form.

"Then, for a month, he just stopped wanting to have sex with me. He was just never in the mood."

"Uh-huh..."

"Then one day I came home early, hours earlier than when I'd normally get home."

Oh please have this go where I think it's going...

"And I walked in to Peter masturbating into a banana peel."

I pursed my lips, trying not to laugh.

"I wish I could say I was kidding."

"What, does he have a banana fetish?"

"According to him, yes. He not only liked jerking himself off with a banana peel, he'd deep-throat peeled ones and penetrate himself with frozen bananas."

Just the idea of that was so ridiculous I had to laugh at it.

"I have never heard of a banana fetish before."

"He seemed to know that it was weird, but absolutely refused to budge on the subject. He said that bananas gave him his sexual awakening."

"Is that why you left him?"

"No, I left him because when I asked if he didn't want sex with me anymore, he said he would have sex if I put a banana peel inside my vagina."

I laughed until I cried. She laughed with me.

I was sad to go home that day.

"Don't worry, Emily. You're really nice and pretty. It shouldn't take you long to find someone."

"Thanks, Tristan."

"Just one last question, have you eaten a single banana since you left Peter?"

"I avoid looking at them."

I gave her a big hug before I made my exit.

*****

Out of all my clients, Jude was one of the most striking in appearance. He probably looked as far away as possible from the image you'd think of when you hear about somebody who would buy some guy to cuddle with for a weekend.

Jude was a 26-year-old tattoo artist, and he sure as hell looked the part. He had sleeve tattoos, a giant dragon that went up the entire left side of his chest, tribal markings on the tops of his feet, and probably a ton more I never saw. He also had the most piercings I had ever seen on anybody. There was half a dozen in each ear, and in strange places, too. Look at an ear and see all the little folds and pinches and obtrusions. Pick one, and there's a name for getting it pierced, according to him. And it didn't just stop there. At one point I asked him how many piercings he had total.

He took a deep breath, before listing them off, pointing at them as he went "Okay, five in this ear, seven in this ear, the bar in my eyebrow, a nose ring, the spider bite," he pointed at the two rings on the left side of his lip. "One stud on my tongue, two nape piercings," he had two little green jewels just hanging out on the back of his neck. "One on my left nipple, one in my navel, and Prince Albert. That's twenty-two."

I didn't know what "Prince Albert" meant, and he didn't point to anything when he said it.

"What's a Prince Albert?"

"It's one I'd be breaching our contract if I showed you."

My eyebrows shot up. "You don't mean—"

"Yes, I do. In the hole and out below the head. Getting it was painful as all fucking hell, but it increased my sensitivity. I had better sex when the healing process was over."

I had no idea why somebody would even consider doing such a thing, but he was being totally casual about it.

Okay, put together the mental image of Jude. He was tough and muscular, covered in tattoos, and had more piercings in his body than years I have been alive, one of which impaled his cock. Now what would you say if I told you he was the best cuddler I'd ever met?

No joke, he was my favorite customer. There was just something about him. It made me feel like I was a little kid with a teddy bear, except the teddy bear was big enough to hold me. He was soft, sweet, and warm. I didn't even mind the way his spider bite felt when he would kiss me. The nights when I'd sleep in his arms was some of the greatest rest of my life.

I also just enjoyed talking to him. I'm pretty sure I'll never get a tattoo or a piercing (yes, I know, no sex, no alcohol, no piercings, no tattoos. If I didn't have this job there'd be nothing interesting about me), so he introduced me to this little world I had never thought about, and he was willing to answer all my questions. One afternoon was just spent on his couch. He was on his back and I was laying on top of him, my head tucked into his chest as he petted my hair and held my torso with his other arm. We ended up having a back and forth of me asking a question and him answering.

"What was your first tattoo?"

"A cross behind my ear."

"Which one is your favorite?"

"The dragon."

I tried getting more creative with the questions.

"What's the biggest misconception about piercings?"

"That you can just go and get one. Some people get drunk and think 'oh, I'm gonna get a sick new piercing!' and aren't prepared for the consequences. You need to keep your piercings clean and leave them in as much as you can, especially at the beginning. Some people don't maintain theirs properly, and they get infections. You know those pimple-popping videos, the ones with the gigantic cysts and shit?"

I nodded.

"It's easy to get that if you don't stay on top of things."

"Are tattoos and piercings more, or less painful than people expect them to be?"

"The tattoos are usually less painful than you'd think, unless it's on a place where there's bone right under the skin, like toes or the scalp. Depending on where the piercing is, it either ranges from 'about as painful as I expected' to 'holy mother of fucking GOD that hurts.' When Prince Albert was put on his throne, I squealed like a little girl."

I chuckled at the thought of that. He pulled me up so my head was in the crook of his neck and kissed me on the temple.

"What's the weirdest tattoo you've ever given somebody?"

"One guy asked for a grilled cheese sandwich on his left butt-cheek."

I paused. "Is that a joke?"

"Nope. Dead serious."

"What possible reason could he have for getting that?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, kiddo. It's not professional to ask a customer why they're getting the tattoo they're getting. You're supposed to make the tattoo and not question it."

"Are there any types of tattoos you refuse to do?"

"Nothing beyond the cuff or above the collar, and nothing just blatantly obscene. Anything else is fair game."

"I've seen a bunch of pictures of tattoos with misspelled words on it. Do tattoo artists really just make the tattoos, knowing that it makes the person look like an idiot forever, or does the tattoo artist have to not notice it either?"

"Technically we don't have to correct mistakes, but I always do it myself. I only knowingly left a word spelled wrong once. There's a story behind that one if you want to hear it."

I nuzzled his neck. "I love stories."

"I was dating this girl for a while. She was hot, and an absolute freak in the bed. Her personality was wanting, though, and all my friends hated her. This was years ago, back when I was really stupid, so I ignored them. We'd been together for about a month when one of my friends found out that she'd been cheating on me."

"Ouch."

He laughed. "I'm not even done. She was cheating on me with not one, but two other guys. And she almost exclusively cheated on me with both of them at the same time."

"Who does that?"

"Tristan, if you knew this girl, you would be way less surprised. Getting into threesomes with two guys that aren't her boyfriend wasn't out of character. I was pissed at her, and pissed at myself for ignoring all the warnings I'd gotten. I wanted to figure out some way to get back at her."

He gently rubbed my back, and I had to make a conscious effort not to fall asleep. I wanted to hear more.

"Thankfully, an opportunity for revenge was given to me on a silver platter. She asked me to give her a tramp stamp that said "Perfection" in fancy cursive, but when I looked at her design, she spelled it wrong. It said "Perfetcion," but with the script it wasn't too obvious. This was on her lower back, too, so it's not like she would see it much. I figured an ironically misspelled tattoo was a good parting gift for the cheating whore before I kicked her out of my life."

I chuckled. "Did she ever find out?"

"If she did, she didn't come to me about it. I'm happy about that, too. I never saw her again."

I hugged him tighter.

"I've been single for a while now," he admitted. "I'm getting a bit lonely."

"All you need to do to get a new girlfriend is cuddle her once. If she's smart, she'll claim you as hers immediately."

"Look Tristan, there's a little bit more to relationships than cuddling. There's shit like compatibility and sexual attraction. I'll wait for the right girl to come along. If it's meant to be, it'll happen."

I shrugged. "More for me, then."

He laughed and kissed me, his spider bite brushing my lip.

He purchased me three times in six months, but got a girlfriend not long after. Her name is Amy, and she's awesome. Sadly, since he had a warm body who would cuddle for free he didn't have the need to buy me anymore. Still, he and I remained friends, meeting up and hanging out in our spare time. I also became good friends with Amy, who is sweet as well as hilarious. I absolutely love my job, and meeting people like Jude and Amy is part of why.

*****

One of my stranger jobs was with an army wife in her 30s named Melinda. The first time she bought me was totally normal, but a few months later I got an email from her asking for a special favor.

Any additional services would cost extra and couldn't have been a breach of rules the contract already set up. Believe it or not, I could get quite a cash bonus if I did some weird shit.

I had only done two special favors before then. The first one was for me to go out in public to a football game while working, which cost $100 more. The second one is a story all by itself that will have to come later.

Anyway, Melinda's husband was about to be sent home with a Purple Heart. He got caught in an explosion and as a result lost the use of both of his legs. He could live a semi-normal life, but would be wheelchair-bound and would need some extra help. Melinda had done all the research, but said she wanted some practice before her man came home.

The deal was that I would act like I couldn't use either of my legs and be in a wheelchair for the entire weekend. Considering her situation, and that she was one of the sweetest people I'd ever met, I offered to do it for no extra charge, but she refused to hear any of it. We settled on $500 on the weekend.

I had never used a wheelchair at any point in my life, but grew to have a newfound respect for people stuck in them in record time. It was the strangest and most grueling upper-body workout I had ever experienced. I had to learn quick how to steer and maneuver using the handles attached to the wheels. I was not proud of the number of times I asked for her to just push me around.

She was happy to help, and tried her best to take care of me. She did a good job, too. Her husband was a lucky man and I made sure I told her that.

She reminded me of my mother, the way that she loved nurturing me and making sure I felt comfy.

(By the way, my parents knew about my job ever since I set up the website. They were apprehensive, but accepted that I was an adult and could make my own decisions. They just made it clear that if I let myself get hurt they'd hunt me down.)

She didn't talk much about her husband the first weekend she rented me, but told me some more about him when I was giving her practice to take care of the real thing. His name was Cody, and according to her he was a similar height and weight to me. Considering that she was 5'11" that meant that she was considerably taller than him.

"He's self-conscious about it, but between you and me he's not short where it really counts."

I rolled my eyes at that.

I asked her how the two of them met and she laughed out loud.

"Oh, Tristan, that's quite the story. I was in 22, sitting at the bar, minding my own business, then guy I'd never met before came up to me and started hitting on me. He was cute, so I let him do it. Then he said something weird."

I rolled my hand in the go on gesture.

"Okay, just put yourself in my shoes for a sec'. This cute guy is flirting with you. He's a little on the short side, had has this normal, boy-next-door look to him. Then, all of a sudden, without any prompting, he goes 'I can open a beer bottle with my armpit.'"

I paused in shock. "I have no idea how I'm supposed to react to that."

She nodded. "Neither did I. He saw me staring at him in disbelief, and he said 'only twist-off bottles, though.' Like it's not impressive. Once I picked my jaw up off the floor I asked him to put his money where his mouth was. I got him a bottle and told him to do it."

"Could he?"

"Yeah. I asked him how he even found out he could do that, and he said he wanted to have a party trick, one nobody else did. The reason for that is likely because nobody would want to drink the damn beer once it was open."

I laughed.

"Once he twisted off the bottle using only the strength of his sweaty pit, I just knew. This guy's the one, I thought. I need to marry this man."

She was clearly joking, but there was still affection and nostalgia in her voice.

"How do you even practice that?"

"Very carefully, apparently. He drew blood when he tried one you'd normally need a bottle opener for."

I never met Cody, but I could tell he was a good guy and both of them were hopelessly in love with each other. I hoped that I could find somebody to love like that one day, but I'd have to be patient.

The weekend went smoothly, though it felt strange to just walk after it was over. Melinda and Cody were going to be just fine.

*****

It's not lost on me that this job is risky. I tried my best to cover my bases, but there were a few times where I felt unsafe. Every so often I'd get nervous when I first see my client in person, but I always did everything in my power to hide that. I knew if I paid hundreds of dollars for a guy to cuddle, I'd be pissed if he looked like he didn't even want to touch me.

The biggest holy-shit-I'm-gonna-die moment happened the split second I saw one particular customer. His name was Adam and he was on the older side, late forties or early fifties. He was also a giant. He was 6'10". A full 14 inches taller than me. Proportionally he had an average build, but for him everything was huge. I had a moment where I was painfully aware of the fact that he could break my back like a carrot.

Then he smiled and I felt more at ease. He had a warm smile that suddenly made him look not horrifying. When he shook my hand to greet me, his gigantic hand was very gentle. When he brought me to his kitchen, he offered me some sandwiches and iced tea. I immediately felt bad about judging him, and I knew he saw that moment of panic.

"Adam, I'm sorry for freaking out a bit. You said you were really tall, but I wasn't prepared."

He smiled again. "It's okay." His voice matched his look: deep and powerful, but used in a quiet, gentle way. I imagined that if he ever yelled he would be terrifying. "Most people have that initial moment of shock. If anything, you recovered quicker than most did." He still had a wistful, almost sad look in his eye. I suspected that I hurt his feelings just a bit.