As the first year of the new millennium drew to a close, Challis Andrews - Charlie to his friends - was at the peak of his sexual powers and settling into his new life as a paid escort to rich, lonely or adventurous women.
Charlie had several years to go before he would reach the zenith of his beauty; it would be some time yet before his face lost the soft roundness of youth and acquired the more chiselled perfection of manhood. Not that this mattered greatly to anyone he encountered in his new career - the looks were a plus of course, but his greatest asset lay between his legs; not only was his cock over nine inches in length, but it also had gravitas - it had weight, it had heft and it was incredibly, almost destructively thick.
Charlie's "Aunt" Poppy - a long-term friend of his late mother and, like her, an ex-prostitute - was also his "manager" and business partner. In the first few weeks of their joint venture, there was much for Poppy to manage. It was she who placed discreet advertisements and it was she who fielded an ever-increasing number of telephone calls with equal discretion. Less than three months in, however, the need for promotion was gone; repeat business and word-of-mouth recommendations soon made advertising unnecessary.
It would be tedious to examine every business activity in which Charlie participated. Many were exactly as one might imagine - a vigorous fuck-fest in return for hard cash. A dinner or a movie or a gala event usually preceded each joust, but not always. Sometimes Charlie went straight to a hotel room or the lady's house where he was immediately set upon or else encouraged to play the predator. Sometimes he accompanied women on a brief overseas holiday, joining the mile-high club en route and rarely getting to see much beyond a resort bedroom. And sometimes Charlie was asked to expand his repertoire.
Over time, Charlie found himself performing while a complaisant husband or lover watched. Occasionally, he and the guy might take turns fucking a voracious and tireless woman. In time, he acquired the skills needed to achieve a seamless and rhythmic double penetration. And, yes, eventually Charlie had to decide whether he was willing to get down and dirty with the other guy as well. There were women who wanted to see their husband's lick their juices from Charlie's cock; there were women who wanted to watch Charlie fuck their husbands; there were women who wanted to be impaled by their husbands while their husbands were impaled by Charlie. Over time, Charlie found it within himself to accede to all these requests. But he drew the line at allowing himself to be penetrated by anything other than the occasional flick of a tongue or a well-greased finger; and he also drew the line at swallowing another guy's cum. He licked out many cunts but never when another man's seed lay within.
And all the while, Charlie and Poppy were accumulating cash beyond their wildest dreams. Very little of it went into bank accounts in their own names but it remained at all times accessible enough to fund a nice car, new furniture and expensive clothes. Poppy discovered talents she'd never known she possessed and she became increasingly knowledgeable about off-shore accounts, investments and even gold bullion. Imagine the exhilaration of playing real-life Monopoly in one's sunset years!
The thing that weighed most heavily on Charlie's mind throughout his glory years was the loneliness of having neither time nor sufficient trust to establish friendships. Even though he fucked endlessly, he had no girlfriend, no lover to spend time relaxing with, no one in whom he could confide. His sole confidante was Poppy and she was enjoying herself far too much to realise that Charlie's enthusiasm had begun to wane after some seven years in the business. She did not lack understanding or compassion, but - having never experienced it herself - she could not relate to what Charlie found lacking in his life ... intimacy.
To alleviate the growing loneliness - to divert himself from sorrowful introspection - Charlie grew increasingly eager to take on new challenges. A growing number of his appointments were with men - men he had first encountered when he fucked their wives or lovers; men who wanted Charlie and his giant cock all to themselves. Poppy did jokingly ask whether he had turned gay, but she was not unduly perturbed. It was all just business to her, and a versatile worker only increases business opportunities.
For Charlie, the good thing about being with guys was that he was never expected to flatter or charm. No social skills were required of him at all really. There was no camouflage such as escorting someone to a grand social occasion. He did not have to dress up in formal attire. He just had to be available and erect. It seemed to be part of so many men's fantasies: don't speak, don't think, just be there - hard and thick - and fuck me or let me suck your cock. Impersonal coldness was what they wanted. It was as if, by taking all humanity out of the act, these men could believe they had been totally detached and had no emotional involvement whatsoever. There had been no exchange of feelings, merely a series of sensations. This was easy money, but it also exacerbated Charlie's longing for intimacy.
Poppy proved the unlikely catalyst for change. She abruptly became very ill and it was soon apparent that she would not live long enough to fully enjoy the fruits of their joint enterprise. Through Poppy's illness, Charlie lost his "manager", the person who had established the elaborate framework of bank accounts and investments that kept their growing wealth from the taxman's reach. With Poppy's help, he was able to grasp the financial fundamentals needed to carry on once she was gone. What he did not grasp - what he lacked the skills to execute - was an understanding of how to conduct business as discreetly as Poppy had. Gone were her careful screening mechanisms and gone was her uncanny ability to evaluate opportunities and risks.
After Poppy's death, Charlie suddenly felt very exposed and vulnerable. He began to take fewer bookings because it was all too difficult. He had never had to worry about the finances before and he soon realised that he could not carry on alone. He was not upset that there were fewer inquiries - he had always known that another heavenly body or another massive schlong was just around the corner. Indeed, he was almost grateful to be retiring at a time of his choosing rather than at a time when his popularity had waned. He appreciated his good fortune at having had such a good run, and he was relieved that he was no longer required to be eternally hard and eternally ready to offer up his cock in return for money.
Money was still a consideration, however. All up, Charlie had almost half a million dollars squirreled away but he knew this would not sustain him for the next fifty years. He could recall having once joked that he would go back to being a mechanic if his career as an escort did not take off. But a lifetime spent either under or draped over a car engine did not appeal greatly after so many years spent between silk sheets or draped in Armani.
Charlie knew that his only usable skills in the real world were derived from his training as a mechanic. He appreciated that his face and body might still earn a fortune in some way; he was dimly aware that he might take on a modelling or acting career, but he also knew that there would be people out there who might expose his past if he became a visible celebrity of any kind. Anyway, on balance, Charlie was worn out with being a commodity and he eventually decided to return to something practical and undemanding.
Challis Andrews remains a fortunate man to this day. He has an expanding home handyman business in the suburbs and he even pays taxes! Now thirty, Charlie enjoys the variety of a typical day. He unblocks drains, replaces tap-washers, cleans pools, installs reticulation, repairs lawnmowers and performs a vast number of other routine maintenance jobs. He employs a middle-aged lady to do the accounts and take the bookings and she mothers him at every opportunity, telling him it's high time he got married and started a family.
Countless householders still have the opportunity to watch Charlie at work. He is still beautiful and the bulge in his work shorts or overalls still excites those who watch him unblock their sink or repair a flyscreen. He is well aware of such scrutiny. Sometimes his cock starts to harden and he is tempted to offer additional services.
I have no doubt whatsoever that Charlie's good fortune will continue. Surely he will eventually meet a girl and marry. They will have beautiful children and his wife will never know how many others appreciated her husband's face, body and enormous cock before she did. She will be, perhaps, a fortunate woman.
Charlie had several years to go before he would reach the zenith of his beauty; it would be some time yet before his face lost the soft roundness of youth and acquired the more chiselled perfection of manhood. Not that this mattered greatly to anyone he encountered in his new career - the looks were a plus of course, but his greatest asset lay between his legs; not only was his cock over nine inches in length, but it also had gravitas - it had weight, it had heft and it was incredibly, almost destructively thick.
Charlie's "Aunt" Poppy - a long-term friend of his late mother and, like her, an ex-prostitute - was also his "manager" and business partner. In the first few weeks of their joint venture, there was much for Poppy to manage. It was she who placed discreet advertisements and it was she who fielded an ever-increasing number of telephone calls with equal discretion. Less than three months in, however, the need for promotion was gone; repeat business and word-of-mouth recommendations soon made advertising unnecessary.
It would be tedious to examine every business activity in which Charlie participated. Many were exactly as one might imagine - a vigorous fuck-fest in return for hard cash. A dinner or a movie or a gala event usually preceded each joust, but not always. Sometimes Charlie went straight to a hotel room or the lady's house where he was immediately set upon or else encouraged to play the predator. Sometimes he accompanied women on a brief overseas holiday, joining the mile-high club en route and rarely getting to see much beyond a resort bedroom. And sometimes Charlie was asked to expand his repertoire.
Over time, Charlie found himself performing while a complaisant husband or lover watched. Occasionally, he and the guy might take turns fucking a voracious and tireless woman. In time, he acquired the skills needed to achieve a seamless and rhythmic double penetration. And, yes, eventually Charlie had to decide whether he was willing to get down and dirty with the other guy as well. There were women who wanted to see their husband's lick their juices from Charlie's cock; there were women who wanted to watch Charlie fuck their husbands; there were women who wanted to be impaled by their husbands while their husbands were impaled by Charlie. Over time, Charlie found it within himself to accede to all these requests. But he drew the line at allowing himself to be penetrated by anything other than the occasional flick of a tongue or a well-greased finger; and he also drew the line at swallowing another guy's cum. He licked out many cunts but never when another man's seed lay within.
And all the while, Charlie and Poppy were accumulating cash beyond their wildest dreams. Very little of it went into bank accounts in their own names but it remained at all times accessible enough to fund a nice car, new furniture and expensive clothes. Poppy discovered talents she'd never known she possessed and she became increasingly knowledgeable about off-shore accounts, investments and even gold bullion. Imagine the exhilaration of playing real-life Monopoly in one's sunset years!
The thing that weighed most heavily on Charlie's mind throughout his glory years was the loneliness of having neither time nor sufficient trust to establish friendships. Even though he fucked endlessly, he had no girlfriend, no lover to spend time relaxing with, no one in whom he could confide. His sole confidante was Poppy and she was enjoying herself far too much to realise that Charlie's enthusiasm had begun to wane after some seven years in the business. She did not lack understanding or compassion, but - having never experienced it herself - she could not relate to what Charlie found lacking in his life ... intimacy.
To alleviate the growing loneliness - to divert himself from sorrowful introspection - Charlie grew increasingly eager to take on new challenges. A growing number of his appointments were with men - men he had first encountered when he fucked their wives or lovers; men who wanted Charlie and his giant cock all to themselves. Poppy did jokingly ask whether he had turned gay, but she was not unduly perturbed. It was all just business to her, and a versatile worker only increases business opportunities.
For Charlie, the good thing about being with guys was that he was never expected to flatter or charm. No social skills were required of him at all really. There was no camouflage such as escorting someone to a grand social occasion. He did not have to dress up in formal attire. He just had to be available and erect. It seemed to be part of so many men's fantasies: don't speak, don't think, just be there - hard and thick - and fuck me or let me suck your cock. Impersonal coldness was what they wanted. It was as if, by taking all humanity out of the act, these men could believe they had been totally detached and had no emotional involvement whatsoever. There had been no exchange of feelings, merely a series of sensations. This was easy money, but it also exacerbated Charlie's longing for intimacy.
Poppy proved the unlikely catalyst for change. She abruptly became very ill and it was soon apparent that she would not live long enough to fully enjoy the fruits of their joint enterprise. Through Poppy's illness, Charlie lost his "manager", the person who had established the elaborate framework of bank accounts and investments that kept their growing wealth from the taxman's reach. With Poppy's help, he was able to grasp the financial fundamentals needed to carry on once she was gone. What he did not grasp - what he lacked the skills to execute - was an understanding of how to conduct business as discreetly as Poppy had. Gone were her careful screening mechanisms and gone was her uncanny ability to evaluate opportunities and risks.
After Poppy's death, Charlie suddenly felt very exposed and vulnerable. He began to take fewer bookings because it was all too difficult. He had never had to worry about the finances before and he soon realised that he could not carry on alone. He was not upset that there were fewer inquiries - he had always known that another heavenly body or another massive schlong was just around the corner. Indeed, he was almost grateful to be retiring at a time of his choosing rather than at a time when his popularity had waned. He appreciated his good fortune at having had such a good run, and he was relieved that he was no longer required to be eternally hard and eternally ready to offer up his cock in return for money.
Money was still a consideration, however. All up, Charlie had almost half a million dollars squirreled away but he knew this would not sustain him for the next fifty years. He could recall having once joked that he would go back to being a mechanic if his career as an escort did not take off. But a lifetime spent either under or draped over a car engine did not appeal greatly after so many years spent between silk sheets or draped in Armani.
Charlie knew that his only usable skills in the real world were derived from his training as a mechanic. He appreciated that his face and body might still earn a fortune in some way; he was dimly aware that he might take on a modelling or acting career, but he also knew that there would be people out there who might expose his past if he became a visible celebrity of any kind. Anyway, on balance, Charlie was worn out with being a commodity and he eventually decided to return to something practical and undemanding.
Challis Andrews remains a fortunate man to this day. He has an expanding home handyman business in the suburbs and he even pays taxes! Now thirty, Charlie enjoys the variety of a typical day. He unblocks drains, replaces tap-washers, cleans pools, installs reticulation, repairs lawnmowers and performs a vast number of other routine maintenance jobs. He employs a middle-aged lady to do the accounts and take the bookings and she mothers him at every opportunity, telling him it's high time he got married and started a family.
Countless householders still have the opportunity to watch Charlie at work. He is still beautiful and the bulge in his work shorts or overalls still excites those who watch him unblock their sink or repair a flyscreen. He is well aware of such scrutiny. Sometimes his cock starts to harden and he is tempted to offer additional services.
I have no doubt whatsoever that Charlie's good fortune will continue. Surely he will eventually meet a girl and marry. They will have beautiful children and his wife will never know how many others appreciated her husband's face, body and enormous cock before she did. She will be, perhaps, a fortunate woman.
