A Night's Work

My name is Arnie Jordan but on the street I'm known only as 'AJ'. Keeps things safer, you know? I'm going to be 19 in three months but I like to think I'm more mature than most guys my age.

It's the middle of summer in LA - it's past sunset but it's still pretty warm out so I've gone with a lighter layer of fuck-me clothes: a jersey-mesh half-shirt (it's blue; my favorite color) that shows off my toned middle and an old pair of cut-off shorts, so frayed they almost show my ass in back. The johns like that.

I'm clean; I'm real intense about that. My hair's still damp from the shower -- I keep it cut short so the guys don't pull on it so much but there's some who're dedicated enough to do it anyway. My legs are shaved but I'm not a sissy. I just like the smooth look. It defines my muscles and shows off my California tan.

I hit the sidewalks outside my motel and for a moment I'm dazzled by the brilliance of the street lights against the black canvas of night. The darkness has brought with it the regular compliment of pushers and whores and I head out to join their milling ranks.

I'm hoping tonight I'll score with an older guy with lots of dough he wants to spend. I like feeling taken care of, you know? I'll do just about anything for a john who's willing to drop a lot of cash. Even the rough stuff but he'd better pay real well.

I've barely gotten to my regular post under the neon sign of the liquor store when I see a guy heading my way. No doubt about it, he's coming straight for me. Tonight's my lucky night.