Filthy Lucre - Ryden

3

Ryan Ross and Gabe Saporta in sex-romp shocker!
"They were more into each other than they were me," says model. 

Brendon scanned over the tabloid headline and rubbed at his eyes. He was tired and it was late. Hotel bars at 1AM sure were depressing places to be. The newspaper was a couple of days old; that's how Brendon generally found out what was going on in the world these days; from old newspapers left behind in hotel lobbies. Ryan Ross was in the papers again – for an apparent threesome he'd had with that Gabe Saporta. Jesus, Brendon thought to himself, some life that guy must lead. He turned to the puzzle page, but the Sudoku had already been filled in.

Recently, Brendon stumbled on some good fortune. After six years of trailing the streets of New York, he worked his way up the ranks - from the quick blowjob-in-an-alleyway and handjob-for-ten-bucks - he progressed to two, sometimes three hour-long sessions at some of Manhattan's most expensive hotels.

Years ago, Brendon's specialty was deep throating and his skills were still second-to-none. When he first moved to New York City, that'd been all he'd done – suck off tired cab drivers before they went home to their wives or give head to sexually curious young men after they'd been drinking all night. Naturally, over time, he'd become almost perfect at it. There was no dick too big or too thick. He found that if he was willing to let these men ride to the back of his throat, swallow them down like it was his one and only goal in life and let them fuck his face as they pleased, then they tipped pretty well.

When Brendon met Jon, that's all he was doing – giving blowjobs when he needed the cash. When Brendon was twenty, Jon entered his life like a hurricane. He was strong and handsome and charismatic, only a couple of years older, but a million times wiser. They looked out for each other; they even shared the same pitch at one point and Jon used to return from seeing clients with hundred dollar bills in his pockets, talking fast and rubbing at his nose, his pupils blown.

Brendon may have been reasonably naïve when he was younger, but he wasn't stupid enough that he didn't know Jon was using drugs. Brendon dabbled before, with nothing harder than a few tabs of acid or tokes of a joint from the few acquaintances he'd met when he arrived in New York, but he never mixed with the drug crowd when he was in school - he never really mixed with anyone - but not long after meeting Jon Walker, they'd taken coke together in Brendon's small, rundown apartment. Jon had pushed his hands against his face to relieve the ache and scrubbed them over his beard.

"How are you paying rent, Brendon?" Jon asked him.

At the time, Brendon was renting a small room in a neglected old hotel in Chinatown. He managed to pay his rent every month, but only just. He kept low bills and lived off cheap ramen and discounted TV dinners, but things like new clothes or evenings out were a luxury that he could rarely afford. Jon seemed to be doing okay though. He always had enough money for things like cigarettes and take-out and getting high.

"I manage," Brendon shrugged. He remembered feeling breathless because of the drugs. He could still remember how fast his heart was beating and that unnerving sense of panic creeping up his spine, the feeling that he wasn't really in control.

"I'll bet you've got to suck a lot of dick to pay your bills. Have you ever thought about taking it a little further? People pay way more money, you know?"

Brendon blushed and his head surged at the thought. He couldn't lie, it had crossed his mind before, but he wanted it to be his very final option. Prostitution was hardly something he was going to enter into lightly.

His parents would be so ashamed of him, he thought in that moment – they were respectable, religious folks. They'd given him a good childhood. They really loved him. If they had any idea that their youngest son was living alone in New York City, sucking dick for cash and doing drugs, they'd probably both have a breakdown.