PARLOR DAZE.....(part 3).

This is the happy house
and we're happy here in our happy house.
We've come to play in our happy house.
And waste a day in our happy house.
We're all quite sane.....

So much happened in such a short time period.  Through good days and bad days, busy days and quiet days we lived in our own world of sex and drugs, but  above all friendship.

After my 'incident' with the client Graham gave me an extra job.  Every Friday I would start work at 8am cleaning the Tranny Parlor and then walk around to his private house and spend another 3 hours cleaning and ironing for him.

It was here that I got to know Graham  really well.  His lifestyle, his other 'businesses' and his vulnerability.  He was a weak man living in a tough world.  My shift at his house was always the same.  I would arrive to find him cutting up his weekly shipment of cocaine (of which he would promptly give me 2 or 3 lines) and then start with the ironing, the dusting, the vacuuming and then clean the bathroom.  Every week was the same and every week Tony would be with him - Tony was the strong man in the business.

The house had secret caches of drugs hidden everywhere.  I could easily have helped myself to any of these but never did.  I knew Graham was trying to look after me so I made sure I did the right thing by him.

So I was amazed one afternoon, high as a kite, when a truckload of police arrived at Graham's with a search warrant for drugs.  I denied any knowledge of Graham dealing in drugs and was really amused when the police 'searched' the house and returned with the remains of a joint which they said they found in Graham's bedroom.  Graham never smoked grass but having been tipped off the DEA had to return some evidence.  Graham was paying the right people!

I also started to get given more responsibilities at Brett's Boys.  Often Tony would be busy with Graham and I would take over all or part of his reception shift.  On other days I would be called in on my days off to be the receptionist at Diamond Lil's.

I was part of a big happy family.  Here I would meet my best friend Brett who would become my closest companion.   A vibrant optimistic and loyal country boy from the outback.  We became a team.  Betty and Constance!  In the times ahead we would share many fun times, comfort each other at other times and end up running the whole show (that will come later).

One night Michael, the receptionist, came in really stoned and plonked himself down on the glass top coffee table. Crash!  He went right through it and ended up on the floor in a pile of broken glass.  Betty and I used two broomsticks to hold him still while one of the other boys swept up the glass before we could get him standing and attend to his thankfully minor cuts.

Another night one of the boys crashed back into the parlour after a 3 hour session with a client which had obviously involved lots of alcohol and drugs.  The poor boy made it to the back courtyard before passing out. One of the drags decided to undress him, place his hand onto his cock and blob yoghurt in a trail up his stomach and chest........he was still in the same position at 10am the following morning when he woke up - with a cheering crowd of us laughing and taking polaroids.

Working the tranny parlour was always fun.  The drags always had the best drugs which they would share in abundance.  The street girls and their clients were always a good source of amusement too.  Each room had an intercom so we could buzz them when their time was up.

Most of the girls were junkies and their clients were often drunk so there were many occasions when we would find either the girl or the client passed out in the room - sometimes both.  Then it was always a dare for one of us to go upstairs and throw a jug of water over them....and run back downstairs like hell!  The girls or clients would eventually come down dazed and demanding to know what had happened.   Dripping wet, we would all sit there and deny all knowledge. Often having the temerity to demand an extra $5 for going overtime - this would become our 'grass money' which we would save and then  buy another stick to smoke during the night.

On many occasions we would have to drag some passed out street girl down the back lane and dump them on the street corner a few houses away.  There were a few occasions when we were pretty sure the girl (or  boy) had overdosed then we would make an anonymous phone call to the emergency services and hope the ambulance arrived  in time....

One of the funniest events was when I answered the door to find the police holding one of our boys.  They were explaining to me that the boy had stolen a car and crashed it and that as he was under age and had given our address as his home address where his parents were (I'm quite sure they knew it was a brothel).  Before I could even think of an answer, Betty came running down the hall and loudly told the police officer 'Never seen him in my life before Sergeant'! Then abruptly slammed the door shut in the police  officers face.

We never saw the boy or the police again.

Over time, both Graham's and Tony's involvement in the business lessened to the point where most of our contact was little more than 10 minutes a day when Graham or Tony would come to collect the daily takings.  One day Graham announced that he had bought a 'girls parlour' out in the suburbs and that Tony would be running it.  To my surprise, I was not only offered the full time position of receptionist, but given Tony's shifts.  This actually meant that I had the full running of the parlour.  From rostering shifts and employing new boys to being in charge of the daily takings which I would take to Graham's house once or twice a day depending on the amount of money.  I was even given a key to let myself in and deposit the money into his safe.....

Life was taking on a new turn.

DEATHLY DAZE.....(part 2)

Although my days at Brett's Boys were some of the best times of my life, there were a few times that they became my worst.

As I related earlier, I would make a near fatal mistake in 'reading' a client and it was only my sheer determination to live, combined with a few other factors, which ultimately saved me from an early death.

Graham had sent me on an out call.  The client lived in the Sydney beach suburb of Manly, or rather had an apartment there which I felt certain was used only for his dalliances with boys.  Being a Saturday night I went with one of our drivers, rather than taking a taxi.  Arriving at the apartment which was located on the 10th floor of the building I was greeted by a very drunk and very large middle aged man.

As per custom we always rang in as soon as we had arrived at the clients place.  This was for both safety and timing reasons.  The client was not particularly pleased with me as he had asked for a 'straight looking, muscular boy'.  Graham, as usual, had sent me and told me to 'act the part'.  I apologised to the client and explained that it wasn't my fault but would be happy to return provided he paid the money for the driver.  The client softened at this and decided to keep me, told me to ring back and say that he would have me for 2 hours.

Cleverly I asked for the money in advance, which he gave me, and we spent the next two hours drinking whiskey, getting naked (and not much more) and then when the whiskey ran out, walking down to the nearest liquor store to buy another bottle.  When the time was up I rang the parlour to let them know I was ready and they beeped the driver who was waiting outside for me.  Graham asked me to remind the client that he still owed $200 for a previous call and that I was to bring that money with me.

When I asked the client for this money he suddenly went into a blind rage.  Before I knew what was happening he had punched me in the face, knocking me back  down onto the bed, then jumped on top of me and started to strangle me.

I managed to bring my knee up hard into his testicles and jump from under him.  I was desperately trying to reach the door, but he caught up with me and pushed me down the small flight of stairs leading from the bedroom to the lounge / kitchen area.  Then he pulled me up and pushed me straight towards the balcony sliding doors.  It was a small 'juliet balcony' less than a metre wide.  He was going to throw me over the edge!  

How I managed to stop him, I really don't know.  I remember desperately holding onto the wall and the side of the glass door as he repeatedly screamed and tried to push me out and over the balcony.  I guess being so drunk he was not as in control as he thought and I managed to push back against him, loosening his hold on me.  I hit the floor and crawled between his legs, again making a dash for the door but he was behind me in a flash.

The next few minutes were like a scene from a Charlie Chaplin movie.  Me running into the small kitchenette and leaping over the breakfast bar with him behind me.  I managed to do this 3 or 4 times before he stopped and double backed on me again pushing me down onto the ground.

On the wall he had an ornamental curved sword which he grabbed for and started swinging at me.  Using my legs I kept kicking him, trying to keep him and the sword away from me.  Finally I managed again to get a good blow to his balls and ran for the stairs.  He was on me in a flash, the sword swinging closer and closer with every stroke as I desperately tried to push him back using my legs.

Two miracles happened.  I heard the driver outside banging on the door and calling my name.  By this time I was screaming wildly, death by sword was inches away.  Then with an almighty crash the driver kicked the door open, pushed the client over the top of me and grabbed me by my shirt collar and dragged me out the door.

We went straight to the local police station where I spent the next hour telling a not very interested police officer my story.  It would only be later when Graham rang the police that they would press charges against the client.  For the first time ever, Graham, not only admitted his mistake in sending me, but also gave me a mogadon pill and let me sit out the back of the parlour with the other boys and get stoned.

The second time I felt sure I was about to be killed actually happened with one of the boys.  Funnily enough this was one of the boys I was closest too.  He was a big, muscular, rough looking boy but with a heart of gold or so I thought.  At the time he was probably one of my closest friends and constant smoking partner.  He used to call me 'little buddy'.

I was on the phone talking to a client (at this stage I had been promoted to receptionist by Graham) when the door  bell rang and down the hallway came the boy.  Whatever drugs he had taken had turned him into a raging lunatic.  He was yelling and punching the walls as he stumbled his way into the kitchen where our phones were.

Because it was him, I thought I would be able to calm him down.  With my hand over the receiver I abruptly and loudly said ' Allen, shut up, I'm on the phone to a client'.  Allen lunged at me and with all his force grabbed my head and smashed it into the side of the counter. Not once, not twice, but three times.  I was dazed and bleeding profusely.

It took 3 other boys to pull him off me but he was still screaming at me and trying to get at me.  I managed to run through the back door and jump the fence into the lane way where I headed for Diamond Lil's, screaming at my friend Brett to lock the door as I ran inside.  

Brett locked and bolted the door but the next thing we knew Allen kicked the door in with one almighty crash, he was holding a kitchen knife in his hand!  I made a rush up the hallway for the front door but was not quick enough.  As I reached the door Allen had me by the hair with one hand and as he swung his other hand back with the knife, unbelievably Brett grabbed the knife from him.

Allen didn't even register this and just swung at me.  I instinctively ducked and Allen's fist went straight through one of the door panels.  With Brett bravely trying to hold Allen back, I squeezed myself through the jagged opening in the door, my shoulders getting raked by splinters, blood everywhere and made it out onto the street.  Amazingly there was a taxi in the street which I managed to flag down and jump into.

I went straight back to my new terrace house.  Shock and horror etched all over me.  I even pushed the fridge against the front door, terrified that Allen would come after me.  I spent the next few hours absolutely terrified and getting stoned in between bouts of uncontrollable shaking and sobbing.

Later in the day, Graham rang me and asked me to come back to the parlour as Allen had 'recovered' and was mortified at what he had tried to do to his 'little buddy'!   It wasn't easy to do it, but with all the boys and Graham assuring me that Allen was truly sorry I approached him in the room alone.  He was crying and trying to apologize.......eventually we fell into each others arms.  Until the day he left he looked after me, brought me grass to smoke and wouldn't let any
one say a bad word against me.

The third time was so unreal that it was actually funny.  Graham had asked Brett and I to go over to Diamond Lil's (the Tranny Parlour) as both girls had been called away on an out call.  Brett was sitting at the back reception area, where the street girls and their clients paid there $5 room hire, and I was in the front room cleaning.  The trannies were notoriously lazy when it came to cleaning so I decided to give the place a good going over.

Over the noise of the vacuum cleaner I heard the door bell ring.  This was unusual as most clients came through the back entrance.  By the time I had switched the vacuum off and opened the front door, Brett was already halfway up the hallway.

Standing at the door was a very desperate looking junky guy holding a gun.  He had it pointed straight at me and said something along the lines of 'give me your money'.....(with the street girls calling all day, plus the tranny clients, it wasn't unusual to have quite a few hundred dollars in the 'till' at any time.  I totally froze and the next thing I know Brett pushes past me, tells the guy to 'fuck off' and with one hand slams the door shut and with the other hand pushes me and himself onto the floor.  BANG!  The bullet goes straight through the door and down the hallway where we eventually found it embedded in the back wall of the kitchen.

My next encounters with near death would come both unexpectedly and from the person I least expected. 

MUGS......(part 1.)

Naturally the main focus of Brett's Boys were the clients. Mugs as we used to call them.
They come in every shape and size, from all walks of life, from every culture and from every age.
From 18 to 87, gay, bi or 'straight'.  Some are wonderful, charming fun people, others are horrible bastards.

I've got at least 101 individual stories I could tell you but it's more concise to give you a cast of characters who I or my friends dealt with.  There are hundreds to choose from and others will be mentioned down the track.  

Generalizing extremely you get your regular gays.  Open and easygoing.  The richer the harder to please.  Sleazy gays.  Dirty old men who look revolting, smell revolting and are revolting.  Hey it's a job and you get used to it or turn off.  Nice guys living a straight life in the suburbs, some often married, but who come for gay sex once a week or once a month.   Finally you get your kinks.  They again come from all walks and types.

One of my favourites (there would be many) was one of my earliest regulars.  A young suburban boy in his early 20's. Great body, good looking and great fun.  He would bring a bag of  cocaine and we would snort and cavort for 2 hours every Friday for 3 or 4 months.  We had great sex, fun chat and a good time.

I went on an out-call to a local hotel one night.  The mug was a businessman, 40'ish, fattish and cosnistently during the very boring sex, he kept getting up off the bed and opening the room door and peering, half naked down the hallway.  Afterwards, or rather as I was getting dressed and he was standing naked looking down the corridor he  told me...'I'm sure there must be other men like me in hotels.  You know, married men who just want to have sex with another man?'  Yea, I'm sure there are but I didn't want to dissolution him with what I actually thought.

Colin was a regular at least twice a week.  Probably in his 30's, small and extremely overweight and unfortunately not quite right in the head.  He always chose either myself or another boy called Bobby.  He came dressed in a boy scouts uniform and had many kinks.

His main desire was for humiliation.  We could undress him, make him sit in the corner, sometimes for over 30 minutes, hit him, urinate on him (he was begging for it).....it was really sad and pathetic but he was an easy and regular client.

I once spent two hours with a rich young gay guy in an amazingly (for me) penthouse apartment.  Admittedly naked, but we spent the whole time smoking dope, snorting cocaine and talking about his collection of porcelain antiques.

A Queens Councillor who was also a weekly regular.  Always took a big strong boy.  Always arrived in a taxi, so drunk that I would have to take his wallet out of his pocket and pay the driver, and so drunk that it took 3 boys to get him upstairs.  Regular as clockwork, 6pm every Friday evening.  Must have been a tough day at Court.

There were minor and some major celebrities amongst our clientele.  Again a mixed bunch.  Some regular in their desires others way off the deep end in the kinkiness.  Privacy is something I respect so I would never reveal names or fetishes.

Everyone's favourite was big in the Australian music industry.  Mid 50's, pleasant and jovial.  His apartment was lavish, as was his lifestyle.  He would call at least twice a week and always hire 2 if not 3 drag queens and one or two boys.  The next 3,4,5 hour, and sometimes longer sessions would all involve lots of cocaine.

The drag queens would then parade a number of dresses like models.  Naked underneath and changing on the spot.  They boys would also be naked, watching.  Sometimes the client liked to watch the boys and drags having sex, sometimes not.  Everyone was paid well and had a great time.
One client was one of the original 'organic' store owners in Sydney.  He had a store in Bondi Junction, which was then the main commercial centre for the wealthy and trendy Eastern Suburbs set.  His clientele ranged from hangover hippies to wealthy Jewish matriarchs of many of Australia's wealthiest and famous families.

One of his products was home-cultured natural yoghurt.  It was one of his biggest sellers.  Little did the clients know that at least 3 times a week he had some young, boyish looking male prostitute jerk off and cum into the yoghurt!

One evening I found myself in a cheap hotel room with the most obese man I had ever seen. He honestly took up so much of the bed that I had to lie as best I could on the small strip left with one leg on the floor supporting me.  There wasn't much but fat down there and the sex was easy and quick.  The mug was wheezing and gasping so much at the end I thought he was dying.  Even worse when he finally stopped gasping and started to sit up he had another attack and I thought he was going to fall back on me and the newspaper headlines would read ' anorexic male prostitute crushed to death by 200kg client!'

Another time I was on all fours on a cheap bed in a run down bedsit with a 60+ smelly and not too clean man.  He jerked himself off while he spread my buttocks apart and probed my bottom with his fingers.....'I really wish you had worms', he kept saying over and over.  'I'd love to see a white, wriggly worm coming out of your bottom'.....his fetish ever since childhood when apparently his mother used to kneel him and his two sisters on the kitchen table and check them for worms!

For a fortnight we had a middle aged man and his 'guardian'.  A young boy who had been orphaned at an early age.  This guardian was not related but had been raising him since he was six.  They were on holidays from Canada. The boy had just celebrated his 17th birthday and his 'guardian' was taking him on a world tour.  It was actually a 'gay world tour' as I would find out the itinerary was San Fransisco, Sydney, Amsterdan and London, with a stop at all the gay brothels and bars on the way.

The poor boy was not only shy and akward, but he was not pretty either.  Oily, stringy long blonde hair, glasses, buck teeth and acne.  He was a nice boy and took an instant like to me, choosing me everyday for the hour that they came over a two week period.  He was nervous, but keen to explore.  I gave him a few small puffs of a joint then gently let him relax while I delighted him in a variety of sensitive and pleasurable ways.  

We became friends of a sort and on my day off I invited him to spend the day with me.  I took him down to the harbour.  We walked around The Rocks, Circular Quay and the Opera House then took a ferry ride to Manly, had fish and chips for lunch and then a ferry ride back.  We finished at my,by then, shared terrace house.  He had paid for the entire day and I had spent nothing.  I didn't want to spoil it by charging him for the sex we had on that day.

Their last day and they both arrive at the parlor.  This time the older guardian picks me, much to my surprise, especially as the young boy seemed fine with this.  Of course what pursued was a sad and slightly sickening experience.  We did everything, the whole time he kept telling me how young and soft I was.  Eventually while he was coming inside me (condom on) he kept moaning the young boy's name over and over again........

We had 'straight' young guys, who would all come looking rugged and macho, get you into the room and simply unzip there fly and flop it out while you gave them a blow job.  No touching no reciprocation.  

Mostly, gay, bi or 'straight' the clients were just regular guys from all works of life who just wanted a fun time with a young guy without any hassle - of course that wasn't always the way.  From Graham I learned to never sell a product unless you know it is what the customer wants.  We were constantly getting rejected by out-call clients whenever Graham answered the phone.  They would ask for a particular type, and even if that 'type' was not available, Graham would send anyone telling them to 'act the part'!  When your slim, petite and pretty it's hard to pretend your a pumped up straight boy and vice versa.

I learned also to judge clients by simply looking at them and interpreting their initial greeting.  Whether it's a physical or a subconscious look, you learn quickly to size up a 'mug' by appearance and manner.  I would make a near fatal mistake in the coming months.........