by Zack
Paolo was amused by Gil’s naivety and told him that this was a hustler bar. This early in the evening they were all relaxing before the johns, their customers, came in.
“You’re a hustler?” Gil exclaimed.
“Oh yes,” Paolo replied unabashed.
“But how old are you?”
“Soon nineteen. I been doing this since thirteen. How can I live on a stevedore’s wage?”
Gil was astounded and fascinated. He had always assumed that prostitutes were a class of people apart, yet these all seemed so friendly and… well, dammit, ordinary. He was passed a cigarette and was so absorbed in his conversation with Paolo that it never occurred to him that it was already lit. He inhaled and immediately recognized that indefinable smell that he noticed on entering the bar. Dope. Gil hardly ever smoked and the effect was instantaneous, as much from the tobacco as from the hash inside. Head swimming, he passed it on to Paolo who drew heavily and held the smoke down along time before exhaling it.
“Yes, that’s good sheet,” he said, smiling sexily at Gil. “You see, the bar is filling now, the customers arrive.”
Gil turned his head and saw that Paolo was right. A thought occurred to him. “Will I be taken for a hustler too?”
Paolo grinned broadly. “Perhaps, who knows. You would fetch more money because you are fair of hair.”
By now the place was so full it was almost impossible to move. Gil noticed that a lot of trade was taking place and some couples were leaving, but as many were making their way to the back and passing the table at which Gil and his young companions were seated and into a room beyond, which he had not seen because there was a curtain in front of it.
“What’s in there, the toilet?” he asked Paolo.
The boy shook his head. “That’s the back room, where you can go. It gets very full now.”
As he was speaking a man approached them and glanced at the table’s occupants. The talking didn’t stop but Gil could see that all the kids were keeping an eye open in case. Paolo half turned and smiled amiably at the stranger. The man returned Paolo’s smile and started speaking rapidly in Italian. The rest of the table turned off their attention and continued gabbling away. Gil began to feel a bit left out. He felt Paolo pat his thigh as the boy got up. “See you in a minute,” he said. Gil watched as he disappeared with the man behind the curtain and into the back room. Gil began to wonder what it was like in there. He was soon to find out.
Another guy came up. Younger this time, about twenty-five or so, dressed in black leather and sporting a jaunty cap. He had a trimmed beard and a strong face with eyes that seemed to pierce Gil. Angel nudged Gil’s elbow. “This one—he want you,” he hissed.
“Uh… oh, I don’t know,” Gil muttered back nervously. “You go—get money and get fun.”
Gil tried not to look at the man but he came closer and those eyes drew Gil’s head around. The man smiled and offered Gil a cigarette. Gil was so jumpy he took it. The dope was making him feel unreal and the cigarette only made it worse. The man started talking in Italian and Gil shook his head. “I—I don’t understand,” he began.
The punter’s smile grew even bigger. “You no Italian—Eenglish?”
“No, American,” Gil answered quickly. He got to his feet and discovered that the guy was shorter than he had appeared. That made Gil feel slightly better. The look in the other’s eyes was frankly lustful. He fished out some money and waved the bills meaningfully in front of Gil, who tried to explain that he was not a hustler. All the boys at the table were staring at him.
“Go!” Angel insisted, pushing at Gil’s thigh. “He want you real bad.”
Gil didn’t know what to do. The Italian stood up very close and quite deliberately cupped Gil’s tightly packed crotch in his gloved hand. He winked at Gil and urged him toward the back room. Gil resisted for a second, but then gave in. They walked over to the plastic drapes and the man parted them. Gil pushed at the partly open door and stepped through. Inside it was even darker than the bar had been but not totally black. Here and there a flickering candle revealed shrouded shapes moving. The room was divided into cubicles which were open to the center of the space. Some couples were occupying the cubicles but others hadn’t bothered and were already stark naked and fucking right there in the middle. Gil stifled a sense of shock at the sight and suddenly found himself aroused by it instead. The man who had picked him up led the way to a cubicle in the corner. They had to step over the entwined forms of Paolo and his trick.
The cubicle was only just big enough to hold them and contained a rudimentary bed covered by a sheet which Gil hoped was clean. He wasn’t too sure but it seemed alright in that dim light. As soon as they were within its narrow confines, the leather john grabbed Gil violently from behind and began groping him mercilessly. He struggled in the man’s powerful grasp, suddenly alarmed by the unexpected ferocity of the attack. He could feel the stubby fingers, encased in their leather gloves, squeezing hard at his balls and his tits. The john seemed to be enjoying Gil’s discomfiture because as Gil wriggled he began chuckling quietly and only renewed his efforts.
Suddenly he clapped a heavy hand across Gil’s mouth and pulled his head back. Gil lifted both hands to defend himself and immediately he felt the other ripping his shorts down. Then he was thrust forward over the bed and held in that humiliating position. The Italian’s hand pinned his neck, while with the free hand he unbuttoned the flap at the front of his black leather trousers. Gil knew what was coming next and gasped as the man all but hurled himself up into Gil’s ass. He grabbed Gil in both arms and started fucking rapidly. It hurt. Gil stood it for a few seconds and then lost his temper.
He shoved an elbow backward savagely and caught the Italian in the ribs. That cooled his ardor and he fell back. Gil turned, almost tripping over his shorts as they clung to his ankles, and grabbed the man by the throat. They both fell over, sprawling out into the center of the full room. Gil was vaguely aware of Paolo’s surprised face close to his own, but the young hustler was laughing. Gil struggled to his knees and, pressing home his advantage, took a violent hold on the man’s protruding dick and began to rub it furiously and as hard as he was able. Almost immediately the beast was tamed and the Italian lay back quite prepared to enjoy this turn of events.
No wonder he felt sore—the guy’s cock was incredibly thick and Gil couldn’t close a hand around its circumference. He paused for a moment and undid the leather pants, pulling them down to the guy’s knees, before rolling him over onto his stomach and falling on him. With one hand he fumbled with his own cock, which was hard and ready, and then rammed it up into the Italian’s crack. The man groaned pleasurably and started bucking under Gil’s lighter weight.
It began to be enjoyable. Gil could feel the strong muscles gripping the whole length of his cock, urging it deeper and deeper, almost pulling him in to the hilt. Seeing Paolo watching his performance made Gil all the more excited. Paolo had something in his hand and Gil was barely aware of the small metal object wafted under his nose. He inhaled on the fumes and nearly choked. Paolo withdrew his hand and grinned. As the vapor took their effect Gil felt an orgasmic surge of sexual energy rush through his system. His cock felt ten times longer, thicker and his balls weighed a ton. His spine arched agonizingly as he pumped at the yielding ass beneath him. For long seconds time stood still as his entire body concentrated on the coming explosion. It was the most painfully satisfying sensation he had yet experienced. Under him the Italian moaned and writhed as Gil’s hot cum gushed into the tight passage like some vast intramuscular injection.
Gil was exhausted as the drug’s short-lived effect wore off. He fell back into an admiring Paolo’s arms. Paolo’s john was sitting there on the floor too, half dressed now, and obviously thrilled at the show he had just witnessed. Gil’s trick was still prone, begging for someone to finish him off. As Gil was q
uite beyond it, Paolo, with a professional’s love of a job well done, took over and jerked the poor leather beast off.
When the johns had paid, something which Paolo was careful to see they did—Gil would have forgotten—he was led by the young hustler to a shower room, which lay somewhere behind the back room, deeper into the maze of the bar. They cleaned up together and Paolo chatted to him about how much money he would make on the game in Rome. “Suburban bars like this be one thing…in centro, much better bars, better customers, too.”
Gil listened and laughed modestly. “I’d keep falling in love.”
Paolo was admonitory. “You must never mix up love with business,” he said severely.
“Don’t you have someone you love?” Gil asked, as he toweled himself dry.
“Of course. I have two girlfriends and they both want to marry me. I don’t know which to pick. Anyway I’m too young to marry.”
“What! and you do this for a living in the evenings. What do the girls think?”
“They do not know, naturally,” Paolo replied matter-of-factly.
“You’re not gay then?”
“What’s gay? I just like sex, and it makes money.”
“You don’t mind doing it, with just anybody?” Gil asked, still trying to grapple with Paolo’s lifestyle.
“Not anybody. I can pick and choose the ones I like better. Like you. I give you a discount sometime, if you want.”
Gil blinked in surprise. He felt a tingling in his balls that told him the suggestion was not unwelcome. Paolo smiled at his companion’s unsettled expression.
“Come, get dressed and I take you somewhere.”
Back in the bar Paolo spoke to Angel, who had not made a trick yet. The younger boy nodded his head and grinned slyly at Gil. Angel got up and the three boys left. They walked for some minutes through noisy neon-lit back streets with the two Italians chattering spasmodically and doubling up with laughter at some joke Gil could not understand.
They rounded a corner and Gil saw a building topped by a brightly lit M and the legend Anagnina below it.
“We take Metro now,” Paolo explained. “This line only just open a few months back,” he added proudly. “Very modern.”
The journey on Linea A took about half an hour until the two Italians made for the door as the train pulled into a station. Gil saw it was named Spagna. He had no idea where they were, other than they must be in the center of Rome itself. The three walked with the crowd along a lengthy passageway to emerge into the well lit street outside the station.
They strolled along for a couple of minutes, and then Paolo announced, “Here we are.”
Gil looked around. “Where are we?”
“The Spanish Steps,” Angel answered eagerly. “You not been here yet?”
“Don’t think I have,” Gil replied thoughtfully.
It was thronged with people, many of them obviously tourists, all making their way to whatever strange destinations called them, but Gil soon spotted that there was a stationary populace too—almost all youths no older than his two friends. They had that indefinable but unmistakeable quality of quiet intent, the studiedly uninterested eyes that snapped to attention as soon as a well dressed man walked past, the lounging pose that showed off what they possessed between the legs, the rather neat “ragged” look of the attractive street urchin.
“Hustlers?” Gil’s question was its own answer. Paolo nodded. “But so many, all here.”
“This is the famous place to pick up,” Paolo murmured. “It is where I started.”
“When you were thirteen?”
“Oh no, a bit older. My first time was at the cinema near where I live with my parents. There, if you sit in the back rows, there are always men who will sit next to you and start patting the knee. Then either you let them fiddle with you or you kick them in the shins. All Italian boys know this. Is not the same in America?”
“Not quite like that,” Gil replied. “Weren’t you afraid your friends might see you with a man?”
Paolo gave a short laugh. “Oh no, not really. Often I would go with two or three friends to see what we could get. Angelo here, he lives just around the corner. I introduced him to his first date at the cinema.”
Angel grinned happily and punched Paolo lightly on the arm.
“There, you see?” Paolo suddenly said, pointing across the steps.
Gil saw a youth, who he had first noticed when they arrived, talking to a tall man in a gray suit. The boy was extremely handsome, very slim and with hair worn a little too long at the back. The conversation was concluded satisfactorily to both parties as the two started strolling together. As they passed the trio, the handsome youth grinned cheekily at Paolo and gave him a secretive wave. Gil felt the man’s glance appraise him and then they were gone, off to some hotel room.
Gil gave a huge yawn, which he tried unsuccessfully to stifle. Angel saw it and looked suddenly solicitous. “You have to sleep, Gil. We work so early in the mornings,” he said by way of explanation to Paolo.
Gil found himself dozing on the Metro ride back to the end of the line at Anagnina, only coming to when Angel nudged him to show him the penultimate station. Gil’s eyebrows lifted in surprised recogition at the station’s name—Cinecittà. The two Italians walked back to the hotel to show Gil the way. They left him on the corner and, as they parted, Paolo shook Gil’s hand warmly. “Don’t forget what I said. If ever you want—I do it for you at special price.”
“Thanks,” Gil muttered, “I won’t forget. See you in the morning Angel.” He turned and entered the hotel. As he waited for the elevator car, Sheila came out of the dining room. She saw him and strolled over.
“Hi, Gil. How’s things?”
“Okay. How ’bout you?”
“Fine, but I ought to tell you, Rosen’s arrived. Flew in earlier this evening, so you’d better be sharp tomorrow.”
Gil thanked her for the warning and went up to his floor.
As he passed Mike’s door he hesitated. He was about to knock when he suddenly thought better. Perhaps Rosen was in there? No, surely Mike would go to the producer’s extravagant suite. The thought of Mike with Rosen upset Gil and he had to admit just how much Mike had come to mean to him. Stupid really. He had never thought of himself as gay and loving another man, and yet here he was, hovering outside the door feeling rotten because someone he loved was probably screwing with another guy. The whole world was topsy-turvy and nothing any longer seemed what it was. Gil thought of Paolo, a guy with two girls chasing him with wedding rings and he was out on the streets hustling his body—and doubtless, like all Italians—devoutly Catholic. It just didn’t make sense.
Gil shrugged his shoulders. He wasn’t used to philosophizing about life and now didn’t feel like a good time to start, what with Rosen on set tomorrow, watching everyone with his eagle eyes. Gil went to his own room and soon fell into a deep sleep.
CHAPTER TEN
La Dolce Vita
James Rosen was pleased with the picture. Mitchener was on time and miraculously within budget, despite the antics of the capricious Emmanuelle Lai. During the week he spent in Rome, Gil saw little of the great man as he was generally ensconced with the accountants and production office staff. But occasionally he visited the set and would stand at the edge in the shadows, watching as a scene got put together. Gil saw very little of Mike as well. In the evenings his English friend was usually out with Rosen at some important party or other.
On the Friday, however, Gil decided to eat his lunch in the studio canteen. As he left the self-service line with his tray he spotted Mike sitting by himself at one of the tables near the window. Gil went over and sat down next to him. “Long time no see,” he started brightly to cover his feeling of uncertainty.
Mike looked up a
nd flicked the dark hair from his eyes.
He smiled with pleasure and that smile made Gil’s heart leap. They chatted idly for the duration of the break with Gil taking every opportunity for his knee or thigh to push against Mike’s. Mike returned the friendly pressure. Neither of them noticed Rosen come into the canteen. It was unusual for him, as he normally dined in the executives’ restaurant. He saw the two boys and walked over to their table. Mike looked up just as he stopped to face them.
“I was looking for you, Mike,” Rosen said, eyeing Gil coolly.
“Oh, we were just talking and having lunch,” Mike answered lightly.
Rosen didn’t reply. He seemed as though he was trying to place Gil’s face. “You’re the gofer, aren’t you. Bill…?”
“Gil. Gil Graham.”
Rosen snapped his fingers loudly. “Right.” His eyes traveled from Gil’s face across to Mike’s. Mike sat back and stretched nonchalantly. Rosen looked back at Gil. “Getting along okay?”
“Yes, thank you, sir.” Gil shuffled his feet uncomfortably and then said, “I’d better be getting back, if that’s okay.”
Rosen nodded his head. Gil stood and nodded at the producer and then left. Rosen’s eyes fell back on Mike.
“Nice kid.”
Mike flicked his eyebrows noncommittally.
“I didn’t break anything up, I hope.”
“No, we were just chatting. Why were you looking for me?”
“You get along well together.”
Mike frowned. “Yes, we get on. I like Gil. Why are you saying it like that?”
Rosen leaned on the table, his eyes fixed on Mike’s.
