Happy Halloween Oliver Read online

  The Vicomte stands next to me. With his stooge The Banker. The Banker is the only client I have ever had that actually watches the clock and then tries to pay me in five minute blocks. As if. The Vicomte places a thumb right at the split of my sex. I slap his hand away. The Vicomte is always trying to get something for nothing from me. I won't have it. Most clients could put a hand on me and I'd consider it encouraging a sale. Sort of like handling fruit to see if it's ripe. I know the Vicomte well. I know how to encourage his business. Even if he is paying for it, I never just give it to him. I made him bark like a dog for five-euro notes just to see how far I could push him. Instead of refusing to ever see me again, he started booking me more often. Honestly. What a creep.

  He opens the front of his red velvet smoking jacket and shows me his penis. I've clearly gotten used to Oliver. I'm not going to say The Vicomte is lacking, but compared to Oliver, most men are. He tells me to blow him.

  I tell him I'm a guest and not actually working.

  He offers me fifty-thousand euros to drop to my knees and blow him right there. In front of the trannies fucking on the ground.

  I tell him I want cash up front. I know what he's like. Then I call him loathsome which makes him laugh. He loves it when I insult him. Men are all shits. Except Oliver.

  He doesn't happen to have his wallet on him, but he'll make certain I have the cash the next morning. The Banker is the witness.

  I am wearing stupidly tall shoes, but I manage to get down on my knees. I hold my hand out. Condom. It's not like I have any pockets.

  No condom. He's paying good money. He wants nothing to come between him and my tongue.

  I get back on my feet. He couldn't pay me enough money to put his dick in my mouth without a layer of latex to protect me from whatever he might be carrying.

  Like magic, a condom appears.

  I'm back on my knees. Four quick minutes later, he's holding my head and ejaculating. This is not a sign of my ability, so much as it is a sign of his sexual dysfunction. The man cannot hold back. He just can't. Not that I'm complaining, but it's almost too easy. I feel bad taking his money. But not bad enough that I won't go chasing down that 50k if it isn't delivered to me by noon.

  I stand up. The Banker takes the condom off of The Vicomte. He's probably going to put it in his pocket and save it for later.

  The Vicomte places his hand on my ass. He wants me at his side. Not because he's paying me, but because I want to be.

  I'm polite enough to make it seem as if I'm considering his offer. Then I turn him down. I'm in town for a few days. Maybe we can hook up later.

  I leave the two and wander from room to room. I'm looking for Oliver.

  There is a gathering in the library which has been transformed into a crypt. On a sarcophagus is a woman I don't know. Blond. Beautiful. But that really goes without saying. They're all beautiful. That's the point. She is on top of a man I don't know, as a man I do know stands behind her, penetrating her. Harold might be off of The Matchmaker's list, but he will always have a place in The Vicomte's heart. This is his party. He invites whomever he likes. Harold happens to be on that list.

  Harold is a pirate. A naked pirate, but the eye patch, the earring, and the headscarf are good indicators. That and he has a parrot tattoo on his shoulder and arm. I don't think the tattoo is real and I honestly don't want to get close enough to find out. His hair is much longer and he is growing a beard. That or he's just not bothered to shave in the name of making his costume all the more realistic. The Matchmaker never would have tolerated him looking so scruffy.

  The spectators in the library are gathered around the sarcophagus watching Harold fuck the girl who is fucking the guy. It is mostly silent except for the sounds of sex and held breath. I've been both the spectator and the girl on the table. This is nothing new. I watch for a few minutes. They're getting close to the end. I know how Harold works. He knows his angles and who is watching him. Everything is about the performance. He's spotted me. He's staring at me as he's fucking the girl. This makes me desperately uncomfortable, but I refuse to walk away.

  His hand comes down hard on the girl's bottom. She lets out a genuine cry of both pain and surprise. Harold never knew how to make it look real without it actually hurting. Or if he did, he never let on. The crowd likes the slap. There is muttering and clothing being adjusted. Hands are starting to wander. I look around. There is no sign of Oliver in the room. I want to move on, but I also don't want Harold to think I'm scurrying away from him. So I wait. He'll be done soon anyway.

  Harold begins to move faster. His hands hold the girl's hips as he thrusts. She's trying to make herself look pretty by arching her back and lifting her face, but Harold won't have it. He grabs a fistful of her hair and yanks. I feel for the girl. I know how rough he can be. Especially when he thinks the crowd is distracted by another person or that someone else is somehow upstaging him.

  He pulls out of the girl, let's the condom drop to the floor, then tugs on his cock until he ejaculates over her back. He shouldn't do that. If I were the girl I'd kill him. He's supposed to keep his fluids to himself. There are rules about these things. Harold has changed since leaving the Matchmaker. Not just the hair and the beard. He comes over to me. Another man, this one just a guest of the party, steps up behind the girl. He pulls a condom on and takes over for Harold. This is just the sort of thing Hortense wants to happen. This is the party starting to take off.

  Harold comes up to me. His hand takes my breast and his mouth presses against mine. He tastes like Altoids and latex. I pull away. I'm sure he's recently had a cock in his mouth.

  He squeezes my breast harder then gives my nipple a pinch and a twist.

  I'm tempted to slap him just so he can hurt a little too. Why does there always have to be hurt with Harold? Oliver isn't like that. He doesn't squeeze my nipple just to hurt me. Finally I just ask Harold why he does that thing with my nipple.

  Because he knows I like it.

  I don't like it.

  Sure I don't. He's met the new boy. Twat. English twat. Fucking English twat that thinks he so fucking superior even though, end of the day, he's a fucking whore.

  Oliver is not a twat.

  Yes he is.

  I refuse to get drawn in. I say it just like Oliver would.

  Whatever. He wants his shit back. He's already spoken to two of the girls that live in the house. He knows Oliver has moved into his bedroom. If Oliver has taken any of his shit, he'll fuck him up.

  Who has he spoken to?

  Talitha and Elizabeth.

  Of course. Who else would still be speaking to him after what he did to The Matchmaker?

  He wants his shit back. He wants me to go into his room and pack it up. Like I'm his maid.

  I'm not going to do that. If he wants something, he needs to talk to The Matchmaker. Besides, she paid for most of his stuff anyhow. It's hers to do with as she likes.

  The Matchmaker is a fool. She never saw his potential.

  How's Hollywood? Porn working out for him? He's not the only one that can pinch a nipple and give it a twist. I'm just more subtle.

  Porn is dead. It's all internet work. Private chat. That sort of thing. There's no money to be made. He's looking to get back into escorting. He's hoping to encourage a big client to take him on as an exclusive. I'm to tell Oliver to stay the fuck away from The Saudi. He's called him.

  Called him? I don't understand this expression.

  I'm just to tell Oliver to stay away from The Saudi. And pack up his stuff. He'll email me when he knows where he wants it to be sent to. He needs to work the room. Do I want to go and fuck in dining room? It's set up like Frankenstein's lab. There's this chair with stirrups.

  I'm going to pass. Where did he see Oliver?

  Twat. He was in the music room.

  I move on.

  In the music room I do not find Oliver. Rather, I a find a group gathered around two of my roommates. Talitha is bent over at the waist, her head touching h
er knees, as her hands grasp her ankles. It's hard to tell from the angle she's at, but I think she's a fairy. Kneeling behind her on the ground is Elizabeth. She's definitely a fairy. Pointy ears and her body shimmers like starlight. Her fingers have spread Talitha's sex open, exposing it for the audience to see, as she stretches her long tongue towards the pink folds of flesh. The eraser pink tip of Elizabeth's tongue darts and flicks like a paintbrush against a canvas. I quite enjoy watching this. I have been both of these girls. I'd much rather have an artful tongue lashing at me, than a crude cock pounding me.

  There is a marked difference in sensation between having and not having pubic hair. Being completely bare down below heightens the awareness of the air as I move through it, eyes as they gaze upon me, and the chill in the room. Even without the visual stimulation of watching Elizabeth lean back on her heels, her knees spread below her and her pretty cunt exposed, spread Talitha open so she can insert a slowly wriggling finger inside of her, I would be feeling aroused.

  As tempting as it is, I don't touch myself. Not because I'm concerned about someone seeing me, there isn't a person in the place that isn't either touching themselves or being touched by another, but because I like the long, slow torture of holding back. So I watch. I feel the cool air against the wetness developing between my legs. I squeeze my thighs together.

  A pinch to my nipple startles me. What is it with people pinching my nipples? I hate that. I turn my head quickly and find Mi Young smiling at me. I'll forgive her for pinching me. Her body is painted red. A painted dragon encircles her body. The tail trails down her back. Its flicking tongue snakes enticingly down to her sex. Like an invitation to take a taste. Only her face remains untouched. I bend down and kiss her mouth. I've missed her. She returns my kiss. I've missed her, but not as much as I might have before Oliver. This makes me feel bad. So I make an exceptional effort.

  My kiss is long, deep, with lots of swirling tongue. I used to think women knew best how to please a woman, but there is this thing Oliver does with his fingers. Delightful. I reach my hand down to Mi Young's sex and touch her lightly. She's artificially slick. I can tell she's already used lube that evening. Either she's been busy, or is well prepared to get to work. I look down and see my finger as it meets the tip of the dragon's tongue. Very clever the paint.

  Her skin is warm, silky, and soft. I tug, gently pinch, spread, and fondle her while my mouth holds hers. I'm making promises with my actions, I'm not prepared to keep. I know perfectly well that I have every intention of continuing my search for Oliver. This is my problem. I like Mi Young. She's pretty and sweet. End of the day, she's still a girl. I like men. Especially handsome men with dark brown hair and brilliant blue eyes that know how to scream at a wildly irresponsible taxi driver in French.

  We are drawing attention away from Talitha and Elizabeth. I have to live with these women. The last thing I want to do is piss them off. There is nothing more vicious than a prostitute who thinks you're trying to edge in on her business. And this is business. This is where the clients come from. They are being paid to attend the party. They will be tipped individually by the people they service during the festivities. Elizabeth isn't tonging Talitha because they are actually really into each other, but rather to encourage trade.

  I take my fingers from Mi Young sex and end our kiss. My eyes purposefully switch to Elizabeth and Talitha. Mi Young understands as well as I do the realpolitik of living and working with a bunch of whores. We each have chosen our path for different and varying reasons. But for the other three, much more so than for me, they need the money. I don't really need the money. I'm not going to take business from them when I don't have to.

  Mi Young and I move to the center where Talitha and Elizabeth have since changed positions. Elizabeth is on her hands and knees. Talitha is behind her with dildo. I can see that Talitha is a fairy. They have coordinated their costumes. When they are together they earn more than they do as individuals. There is room for a third and possibly a fourth in their tangle of bodies. Mi Young, with her dragon wrapped body, easily slips to the ground in front of Elizabeth. The crowd hums approvingly as Mi kisses Elizabeth. Elizabeth purposefully moves her hair so there is nothing obstructing the view of Mi Young's wide open thighs beneath her. The dragon's tongue flickering at her sex is quite pretty and very enticing. I'm almost sorry I disengaged myself before I had a chance to play.

  Elizabeth takes a finger and runs it down the length of the dragon tongue, slipping her finger into the folds of Mi Young's sex. There is some stroking and plucking of her clitoris. I take in a breath. I wouldn't mind in the slightest being in Mi Young's place. My own hand is creeping between my thighs before I stop myself. I will make myself wait for what I really want. But I continue to watch as Elizabeth removes her hand, and then traces the same path with her tongue. Lovely. Very pretty. I want to get involved and I do.

  Talitha, on her knees, works Elizabeth with the dildo. I find a place on my knees behind Talitha. By placing myself were I have, she's had to spread her thighs to accommodate me. She has no objections when press my body to hers. We may not get along on a personal level, and I know we will never be friends, but this is something we do well. We're natural performers. I take her breasts in my hands as she continues with Elizabeth. I don't pinch like Harold. I know how much that hurts. Instead I pluck her nipples as I rub my pelvis against her ass cheeks.

  My hands leave her breasts then slide down her stomach. I don't mess around. My fingers go directly for her clit. With one hand I spread her open and with the other I start stroking. I bring myself just to the edge of an orgasm, and then pull back. I push her with my twitching fingers to climax. I let her be pretty and have a moment when she comes. I'm not like Harold. I don't pull her hair or slap her too hard so there is ugly pain on her face. Just the pretty pain that comes with an orgasm. I don't need to always be the center of attention. I get that we are all trying to appeal to clients and that doesn't have to be done to the detriment of the others. Harold never got that. This is why no one liked working with him. Except for Talitha.

  Talitha's orgasm sets off a chain reaction. Mi Young is next, then Elizabeth. I'm holding out. I rise to my feet. Near me are The Billionaire and his wife. They pull me to them with a gesture. They hear I work well with the new boy.

  Talitha pushes into the conversation. Harold is back. Would they like to see her and Harold together? She knows how much they love when the four of them get together.

  Actually they would love to meet the new boy. Oliver. They saw him in the Atrium. He was talking to The Footballer. They didn't want to intrude. Very polite The Billionaire and his wife.

  The Atrium? I smile. Contact the Matchmaker. Oliver and I work very well together. Very well indeed. We're just coming off a week in Japan and need a rest, but we'll be in fine form in a few days.

  They're looking forward to it. Maybe Davos during ski season? New Year’s perhaps?

  Sounds wonderful. I'll talk to Oliver. I don't ski, but that's not really the point is it?

  We all have a laugh. Except for Talitha.

  I make my excuses and leave. Talitha will get her time with them and the accompanying tip. But she'll still accuse me of trying to steal her business. I don't care. Oliver is probably in the Atrium. That's all that matters to me at the moment.

  17

  3 the atrium

  Oliver is in the Atrium. Is it possible for a person to slouch elegantly? It has to be, because Oliver does it so perfectly. He's wearing all black again. Like Johnny Cash, Batman or the grim reaper. Maybe he's trying to hide in the shadows too. In one hand he has a drink and the thumb of the other hand is hooked through his belt. He's leaning against a wall and watching what can only be described as a carefully choreographed orgy.

  I walk up next to him. He looks away from the half-dozen or so people who have reached the end of a performance to me. He touches me with one finger then inspects it.

  I'm dry.

  Am I a storm cloud?


  A shadow.

  He nods, his lips pressed together. He puts a hand on the small of my back as I move in next to him. I curl into the curve of his body as if I belong there.

  What is he supposed to be?

  19

  Memoirs of a Gigolo – Happy Halloween Oliver

  He hands me his drink to hold, then reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pair of fangs which he pops into his mouth. I get a toothy grin. He's a vampire. He pops the teeth out. They're returned to his pocket. He takes his drink back. That is as far Oliver is willing to commit to frivolity. I say nothing to him about Hortense's request. I like my sexy brooding vampire just the way he is.

  Do I look nice?

  How could I ever think he would think I was anything less than exquisite?

  This makes me smile. I love it when he says these things. I feel like a princess. If I married him I wouldn't be a princess, but I would be a countess. I think about this often.

  Do I want to leave? He's bored. These people bore him. These are boring people that have to continuously escalate what gets them off until they are having orgies the likes of which only the Ancient Romans could compete. His greatest fear of actually running into anyone he knows from his other life will never be realized. He's certain of it.

  He's grumpy.

  Yes. The Vicomte set his teeth on edge.

  How?

  He gave him twenty-thousand just to see him naked. It was weird. Sex is one thing. Weird is another. The way The Vicomte and his friend The Banker just stared at him was unnerving. That way they spoke about him was creepy. If he goes missing, tell the police to question those two wackos first.

  I laugh. I lean into him, place my hands on his shoulder, then my head on my hands. My leg slips between his thighs. My pelvis presses nicely against the fabric of his trousers. I watch what he's watching. The next performance is beginning. Two people. One man and one woman. They are like us. Dark hair and long limbs. They move together as if there is no audience. As if they are alone and unaware of the eyes on them. I'm not unaffected by what I'm watching. That is the point of these displays right? To get everyone fired up.