the book of fluff (that usually isn't)

the five types of men

i've been writing quite a lot lately what's gotten into me

also this part has the worst ending i have ever written

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Mitch sighed shakily and gathered his courage as he walked into the unassuming building. He pulled his sleeves over his hands and made his way up to the front desk, fidgeting nervously. "How may I help you, sweetie?" the man there asked, winking at him. Mitch blushed and took a deep breath. "I need a job."

Mitch didn't want to become a prostitute, but he didn't have a choice. He had almost no money since his parents kicked him out, and he needed to eat and somewhere to stay. He was desperate.

Immediately, the man's seductive demeanor changed. "Are you sure about that, sugar? You're awfully young," he said, frowning concernedly. Mitch sighed shakily and nodded, wrapping his arms around himself. "Y-Yes, sir. I need the money." The man nodded sadly and stood. "Alright, doll. Follow me."

Mitch followed him into the back of the building, passing various rooms where the other prostitutes were waiting to be called. They reached a closed door, and the man raised his fist and knocked. "Boss? We have a new one," he said, and a few moments later, an older man opened the door. He looked to be in his late forties, but he had aged well. He nodded and looked down at Mitch, trailing his eyes up and down his body. However, it wasn't in a sexual way — he was merely seeing what he had to work with. "Alright. Thanks, Will." The first man nodded and went back to the front desk.

"What's your name, little one?" the man asked, meeting Mitch's eyes.

"M-Mitchell, sir, but everyone calls me Mitch."

"Okay, Mitch. Come inside."

Mitch hesitated, but he stepped into the office, the man following him. He sat down on a chair and gestured to the couch across from it. "Sit." Mitch slowly sat, playing with his fingers nervously. The man studied him again, almost thoughtfully. "How old are you, Mitch?"

"I'm eighteen, sir."

"Are you a virgin?"

Mitch blushed slightly at his bluntness, but nodded. "Y-Yes, sir."

"Sexuality?"

"I-I'm gay, sir."

The man nodded slowly and stood. "Alright. My name is Harry, and I'm the boss around here. I'll hire you. When can you start working?"

"As soon as I'm needed, sir," Mitch murmured, relief washing over him.

"Great, you'll start tonight. Come."

Mitch followed Harry out of that room and into a different one a couple doors down the hall. Racks of lingerie lined the walls, in every size and every color imaginable. There were makeup stations and shelves of revealing clothes for wearing over the lingerie — only customers who had paid were allowed to see the prostitutes underneath their clothes. Mitch looked around with wide eyes, wondering what was happening.

"What's your size?" Harry asked abruptly. Mitch jumped at being addressed, but he hurriedly turned his attention back to his new boss. "I-I'm a medium, sir." Harry nodded and scanned the racks for a moment before extracting an outfit, a small smile on his lips. "Put this on, please," he said, passing it over to him. Mitch hesitated, but he changed right there in front of Harry. The boss wasn't fazed, nodding approvingly. "Yep. That'll be your outfit. You look gorgeous," he murmured, but he didn't wait for a response before he got a mint green sweater from the shelves and threw that Mitch. "Here." Mitch gratefully slipped it on. It only went down to his thighs.