Fyn Alexander - Rentboy.pdf - ★ ♂♂ Romance - stevieisstillatomboy

RENTBOY

Fyn Alexander

www.loose-id.com

Rentboy

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eISBN 9781623000783

Editor: Christine Pacheco

Cover Artist: Fiona Jayde

Published in the United States of America

Published by

Loose Id LLC

PO Box 809

San Francisco CA 94104-0809

www.loose-id.com

This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing

locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s

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Chapter One

Soho, London

The alley behind the shops on Tisbury Court smelled of refuse and urine. At nine o’clock on a

June evening it was just growing dark, and after the warm, humid day the stench was overpowering.

Dr. Edward Atherton did not want his first sexual experience to be with a prostitute, but time

was running out. His birthday was approaching at the speed of a Formula One race car, and as his

sister had so succinctly put it just the other day, “If you don’t get your end away soon, Bro, you’ll

join the ranks of the world’s biggest losers. You’ll be a thirty-year-old virgin. And that is well

depressing.”

Scratching sounds from a large cardboard box twenty feet farther on brought Edward’s attention

back to the moment. His heart pounding, he stood rigidly still. Laboratory rats in plastic cages were

manageable. He dealt with those every day in his work. But undomesticated rats in a Soho alley were

terrifying.

Slowly a dark figure rose from the box. Edward stopped breathing completely for at least thirty

seconds, only gasping for a labored breath when he realized he was about to faint. The shadowed

outline took form, and he saw with relief that it was not a giant rat but a person. The relief was

momentary. Was he about to get mugged or beaten to a barely recognizable pulp? Every possible

scenario ran through his brain, including a headline in the Mitton Monthly Review . LOCAL MAN

MUGGED IN SOHO ALLEY AFTER SOLICITING MALE PROSTITUTE.

If he survived the incident, his parents would kill him.

“Twenty quid for a suck. Fifteen for a wank.” The voice was male and sounded young.

“Erm…” Edward’s brain wouldn’t function. Wasn’t this what he wanted—sex…with a man?

“Make up your mind, mate. I haven’t got all night,” the figure said.

The accent was rather like Nik’s recently acquired one, slightly cockney, but at the same time

pleasing.

“Yes, all right, but must we do it here?” Edward whispered.

“Yes, all right, what?” The young man imitated Edward’s accent. “A wank or a suck?”

Confused by the sudden turn of events, Edward hesitated. “I’m not sure.”

“He’s not sure. And he doesn’t want to do it in a back alley. Do you have a suite at the

Dorchester Hotel, mate?” The young man was beginning to sound impatient, causing Edward to fear

he would lose the opportunity.

It was only lately Edward had been able to detect sarcasm, and only if it was blatant, but he

wasn’t at all adept at witty comebacks. “No, but I have a flat in a house on Great Russell Street. It’s

only half an hour’s walk.”

“Bloomsbury? Very posh.” The boy stepped out of the box, slinging a backpack on his shoulder.

“Let’s go. But you’re paying me for the exercise as well. Add on another ten quid.”

“Certainly.” Edward fell into step beside the young man. “What’s your name?”

“Fox.”

They emerged from the dark alley into the street. Nervous, Edward glanced sideways. In the

light of the street lamps he saw a very thin, very pale young man with short black hair that was longer

on top and spiked up. His clothing was all black. Around his eyes he wore thick black eyeliner. “Are

you a Goth?”

“What if I am?” Fox asked.

Edward had often found groups of Goths on the street to look quite frightening, but he didn’t feel

afraid of Fox despite his awareness that taking a complete stranger home for sex was probably not his

wisest move. “Just asking.” They continued on in silence to Great Russell Street. Struggling for

something to say when they neared his flat, Edward piped up, “Charles Dickens lived on this street,

you know.”

“No shit. Is he still here?”

Confused, Edward looked at him. “Dickens died in 1870.”

“I know. It was a joke.”

“Yes, of course.” Edward opened the front door and led the way up the long, narrow, uncarpeted

staircase to his flat. It was expensive despite being only a living room with a small bedroom, an even

smaller kitchen, and a tiny bathroom that could accommodate only a shower, a toilet, and a sink

crammed together so closely that he could shave while sitting on the loo. Edward flipped on the

standing lamp beside the front door. “Would you like a cup of tea or perhaps something to eat? Ham

sandwich?”

The black-rimmed eyes were a startling blue. In the light from the lamp Edward noted again the

young man’s slenderness, his thin face and straight, dark eyebrows. His hair appeared to be dyed.

“I’m a vegan. A wank or a suck?” He glanced around the living room as he spoke. “It’s a bit

messy, isn’t it? Don’t you ever tidy up?”

Edward was not usually prone to a bad temper. In fact it took him ages to get annoyed with even

the most annoying people he knew, but the remark seemed ill placed given that he had just picked the

young man up in a filthy, foul-smelling alley. “You’re hardly one to talk. You live in a box.”

Fox wandered about the flat, looking at things. “Yeah, well, I’m still getting my act together.”

“What act? Do you perform?”

Fox looked at him for half a second. “You are weird, mate.” Strolling over to the couch, he

removed the latest copy of Science magazine, tossed it onto the cluttered coffee table, and sat down

with his feet on top of the magazine. “Got any beer?”

Edward hurried to the kitchen to grab two cans of Stella Artois from the fridge. Anything to

avoid getting to the sex thing. He wanted the sex; he just didn’t know where to start. “Oh God, what

am I going to do?” Turning abruptly with the beers, he bumped chests with Fox, who stood in the

doorway of the minute kitchen. “Ahh! You scared the life out of me. I thought you were on the couch.”

Fox took a can from his hand and popped the ring pull. “You are so weird.”

“Yes, you keep saying that.” Edward followed him back to the living room, where the young man

thumbed through the CD collection and put on, surprisingly, Handel’s Water Music . He sat down

again, put his feet up on the coffee table, and looked at Edward.

“What’s your name?”

“Edward Jolyon Atherton. Is Fox your real name?”

“Yeah.” Fox drained the can while Edward looked intently at the young man’s smooth white

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