Three clients, Three balls, Three days – $900.
Fire Island, Labor Day weekend – thousands of cute guys but, somehow, I get the mutants!
Fire Island ferry 
It was supposed to be a relaxing few days after a tough summer of hard-work and hard-saving. But the Agency called on Friday night to say Alexandr had cancelled due to “illness.” (These Russian boys and their made up names … he answers to Igor, but hates it when I call him that.)
Igor’s “illness” was probably a better offer from the State Senator who blows him whenever the wife and kids are in Albany. Rosa Kleb at the Agency wasn’t happy, but the prospect of being able to blackmail a future Congressman means Igor is safe in his job – but I had to pick up the slack for the slacker.
Thursday:
One of my more pleasant clients (Dr Spanky) had invited me to stay with him for four days at his “cottage” in the Grove. By cottage he means four bedroom contemporary luxury with vaulted ceilings, fireplace, pool – and my own sleeping loft. He said “no obligation” but what the Hell, I’m a pro. I slapped him silly then fucked him on Thursday afternoon after we arrived and I went with him for “past life regression” in Ocean Beach for a couple of hours on Saturday afternoon – so I got my “no obligation” obligations out of the way pretty easy.
View from my window 
The Therapist regressed us all the way back to Jerusalem in 30AD. He obviously knew who had the Black Amex because Dr S turned out to be Jesus. I played along and regressed to “anonymous soldier at the foot of the cross” but I was so tired after the night before I couldn’t think of a suitable Roman name for myself. I wanted to say Dorothy but couldn’t spoil the experience for Dr S.
Danced and drank Thursday night, recuperated Friday morning, then got the call from Rosa after lunch. She promised it would be an easy $200 for an hour’s work, she “forgot” to tell me about Mr Lonely’s problem but urged to pop a Vaigra before going.
Friday:
I took a Cialis with brunch and arrived at the crappy guesthouse at 4.00pm, 30 minutes late (guess I’m not that much of professional). The place stank of rotten seaweed. The guy looked normal – late 30s, businessman type, nervous that I wasn’t Alexandr. When we got undressed I realized why. His dick had been mangled and he only had one ball. Either it was a DIY circumcision gone bad or a nasty accident S&M accident with a blender.
The "cottage" 
When it got hard it was a lumpy stump about three inches long with just a little hole for pissing out of – scars all over it and only half a scrotum. I didn’t say anything and neither did he, but there wasn’t much feeling in the thing because I bit the end as a test and he didn’t react. It tasted of mint mouth wash which made me go soft immediately. Going limp is not normally a problem I have, but thank God for the pill this time.
Fortunately, he just wanted to be fucked, so I got back into my routine, fantasized about Tobey McGuire, got hard again immediately, flipped him over … and he came in a couple of minutes squealing like a stuck pig and seeping cum out of the stump. Praise the Lord he didn’t want to spoon for the rest of the hour so I got out of his crappy B&B and went to the Beach Hotel to rinse my mouth out with neat alcohol.
That’s 17 minutes I’ll never get back … but 200 bucks I didn’t have before.
Of course I didn’t rinse – I swallowed the alcohol – and after a few more I called Rosa to tell her she was getting no cut on this one, I was doing her a favor after all. Stupid move because she’d had another of Igor’s clients complaining about his booty call being cancelled and she begged me to go – all the way to the Pines – on Saturday at 11am. I hate having sex in the morning so I bargained away the Agency cut again. She gave in too easy … I should have known something was up ... she said “Take two Viagras tomorrow honey – you’ll be hung-over and this client needs a good performance, he’s a big player.”
Saturday:
I turned up the next day at a nice beach house, hot and sweaty after the walk and the hangover. A very young Latino boy opened the door, tight Speedos, big bulge – he looked happy to see me but just as I felt a stirring in my pants a short, chubby, older guy wearing a pink shorty-kimono walked in and said “Zank you Ferdinand” and the boy disappeared. I always offer the client to take a shower first but Mr Fat said “No, no, I like smell of fresh sweat on horny man, it make me hard like rock.” Some sort of accent – Euro-trash.
He grabbed my arm with his slimy paw and led me to a bedroom at the back of the house – tastefully decorated with dildos, leather straps, dog collars. No wonder Ferdinand looked happy, it was probably his day off from servicing the fat bastard.
I had one Cialis left so I took it while he wasn’t looking – thought I’d need it. I usually turn down guys like this but Rosa told me $400 for this one so I smiled and asked for it up front.
He opened a draw, pulled out a wad of hundreds and gave me five. “Be vorth every penny,” he spluttered into my face, stinking of garlic and cigarettes. He dropped the kimono, fell to his knees and pulled off my shorts. Apart from the sweaty bald patch on top of his head, all I could see was his spotty, hairy, belly blocking the view of my feet and a nicotine patch on his shoulder. He gave my balls a few dry licks then threw himself back on the bed and I got a proper look at him.
He had a tiny wiener and I could see no balls at all. At first I thought they had just gone up inside with the excitement, but when I got closer (doing my slinky erotic dance routine) I realized they were gone.
“Shit” I thought “another one – is this an amputee convention?” Naturally he couldn’t get it up, but he wanted me to try so I sucked the thing like there was no tomorrow – garlic again, like his whole body.
Nothing (usually) stops me from performing – that’s why I’m a great escort and a good earner but a guy with no balls? No wonder Igor cancelled these two tricks. If these are two of his regulars I have a new respect for him.
I did what I could – normally I do the dick for a while then the balls but there was so little dick and only a scar where the balls should be so I just worked on the head of the dick, grasped the base of the shaft and hoped something would happen. He groaned and moaned in some gutteral language and writhed around like he was in a cheap porno flick.
“Finger up ass” he shouted, so I rammed one up there, he reached under the pillow and pulled out a bottle of poppers – offered me some but I shook my head, I know the risk of mixing poppers and Cialis – and took a huge hit. More moaning and groaning, then suddenly he stopped, pushed me away and sat up.
Great, I thought, it’s over, but no such luck. He reached into a draw at the bedside and pulled out an auto-injector like diabetics use. Then he stretched his tiny dick and injected himself at the base of it.
“Hey no drugs!” I said, pretending to be annoyed – usually they just offer more money if you complain about some unexpected perversion.
“Not drugs, not drugs,” he threw the injector back in the drawer and pulled me back on top of him. A few seconds later I felt his dick get hard-ish. When I got back my (nonprofessional) friend the urologist told me this is an old treatment for impotence and the nicotine patch was probably a testosterone patch but God knows what the story was.
A bit more sucking and – of course – he wanted to be fucked, so I did it and he acted like he came. It took 10 minutes of hard pumping on my account – lucky I always wear two extra-thick rubbers because one of them broke even though his ass was as wide as the Holland Tunnel.
He insisted that I cum in his face so I did. After we finished and I showered, he said “What is your name, I ask again for you.” I told him Alexandr would be very angry if I took away such a generous client and he nodded wisely as though he was the catch of the year.
Then I got the Hell out of there and rinsed my mouth out again with as much alcohol as possible and got an early night. Turned my cell off – if the Agency wants any more freaks serviced they can call somebody else.