1: Sugar Baby Love
We were at the beach ... mid November, the temperature a balmy 82 degrees, and Aaron and I spent the early afternoon sun bathing and swimming the warm waters of the Pacific in Malibu.
Frankly, I'd never seen a shore line as beautiful as this one. In Jersey we had our beaches, our Wildwoods, our Long Beach Islands, our Atlantic and Ocean Cities ... but this was something else, this was paradise complete with palm trees, and tanned beautiful people and sand dunes ... oh man the sand dunes...
Around three-o-clock or so, the both of us pretty baked by the warm California sun, and the smell of coco butter hanging heavy, Aaron, who was lying on a blanket next to me said, "Want to go find a dune and fuck?" I was shocked for a second and said, "But won't some one see?" He smiled his crooked mischievous grin and said, "Walt, trust me, I know a couple of spots", and with in a few minutes we were packed up heading to a secluded place that was hidden by three foot tall grass and a bramble of palm trees.
We parked Aaron's car, his old V.W. van, behind a tangle-wood of flora and slipped our swim trunks off and immediately began making out. The radio played softly; "That's The Way I Like It"... no argument there, and then Aaron pulled the rear door down, spread the blanket across it and said, "Come on Jersey boy, let me fuck the melancholy right our of you!" And god almighty, did he ever.
Aaron must have noticed the look on my face the past few days, as much as I hated to admit it, I was feeling a bit homesick - But, with his cock up my ass, the sun beating down on me, the music of the Eagles playing now, the warm smell of colitas, rising up through the air, all thoughts of the Garden State were washed away...after he came, shooting his load up my ass, I said, "OK golden boy, let me show you how we do it East Coast style," and I pushed him down and mounted him and fucked him till I climaxed, "Dreamboat Annie" by Heart softly serenading us...
We stayed on the blanket kissing for awhile, and he said to me, "Bro, I can't tell you how much I am enjoying this ... this relationship we've stumbled into."
"It is kind of neat", I said stretching and tousling his hair.
"Neat? Who are you, Annie Hall?" He said roaring with laughter.
"Fuck you, Alvy", I said poking him playfully in the ribs ... and then we kissed once more before we sat up, threw our trunks back on and got back into the car.
As we headed back to Burbank, the sun starting to set, that old song, "Sugar Baby Love" was playing on K-ROCK.
I remember thinking clearly, "Fuck New Jersey" at that moment.
2: Meanwhile
I had opened up a savings account at a small savings and loan on Alameda Avenue in Burbank and in the matter of about three weeks, I had close to two thousand stashed away .... more than I'd ever had in my young life ... sucking and fucking for dollars was a lucrative way to make money I was discovering. I also gave Aaron cash to help with the rent and food and, for the first time in my life, I felt like I had some kind of control over things.
And California was a dream land...a land of potential and fantasy, the land of sex and money...
We had a routine; Mondays and Tuesdays were off days, no hustling on these days...we'd go on road trips or sometimes just lay around the house get stoned and have sex...Wednesdays and Thursdays we'd hit the corners in downtown Hollywood and do some old school hustling; this is where we made some quick easy money. The weekends were were for appointments and private parties, we'd make most of our loot over a weekend.
Yes, the Milkman's Baby had found a way to make a living doing something he was really good at.
3: Barracuda
One morning, Aaron told me that there was this record producer in Laurel Canyon that was interested in a little one on one session with me. "He saw you at the party at the movie-star's house and has been asking around. You game?" I smiled and asked, "What's it pay?"
"That's the spirit", he said handing me the phone and a slip of paper with a number jotted down on it.
As I drove Lookout Mountain Ave, I got to thinking about the rock stars that lived in this area...I wondered if I'd see Joni Mitchell or maybe Frank Zappa.
The afternoon was warm, and I noted that the sun seemed particularly bright in this part of L.A.; it was as if the smog never made it to The Canyon.
Per the directions I'd received, I drove up another little side street, and pulled into the driveway of a sprawling rancher. The front gate was opened as I was told it would be. I pulled the van up behind an electric blue Sting Ray and parked, took a deep breath and said out loud, "What the fuck am I doing here?", laughed it off and remembered what Aaron, my mentor and lover had said over and over, "Remember dude, you are in control. These guys are paying you." With that mantra firmly implanted, I disembarked the van and walked to the front door of the house...the smell of pine hung heavy in the air reminding me of home for some reason.
The Record Producer answered the door and I was instantly shocked at how young he appeared. He might have been no more than twenty five or thirty, tops. He had dark hair, and a boyish face and smiled brightly as he greeted me, "And you must be Walt," he said ushering me into his home, "Come in you hot piece of ass, come in."
He handed me a joint and said, "Take your clothes off, OK?" I did as I was asked and watched as he did the same. His body was flawless, though my eye was drawn to his left thigh that was emblazoned with a tattoo of a cross. He asked if I liked
his tattoo, and I nodded. "It was a gift for my wife, we both got tattoos when we married instead of exchanging rings", he stopped and sighed for a second, "Yeah, somewhere is a castrating bitch with a crucifix on her thigh, I pity the guy who makes it's acquaintance", and then he laughed and said, "Come on, let me show you around."
The house was big with lots of rooms and windows that let in natural light. It appeared that The Record Producer lived here alone. He showed me into his studio and my mouth dropped as I saw dozens of photographs of well known rock stars that lined the wall just left of the huge mixing board; here were photos of my host and Roger Daltrey, and Mick Jagger, and Grace Slick, as well as various other singers, most of them could be heard on the radio these days...as I stood examining the photos, he went to the sound board and flicked a couple of switches and some unfamiliar music began booming through the room, "These are some tapes of the next Stone's album, Mick dropped them off for me to hear." I nodded my head and before I could do or say anything else, he took me by the hand and lead me on out of the studio, down the hall to the entrance to his patio.
He lit that joint that he'd given me earlier with a pack of matches that sat on a small table by the door at the mouth of the garden. We both took a few healthy hits until he butted it out, and moved in close and said, "You are one beautiful fucker, you know that, don't you?" I think I might have blushed, but I tried to remain cool...whatever the case, 
his sweet talking was making my cock rise to the occasion and then he said, "If you let me fuck you, I'll give you five hundred".
I nodded, remaining cool but my heart leaped, five hundred! To get fucked by this stud, bring it on! I had no time to answer as he moved in close and said, "So can I kiss you, or don't you like that?" I said, "For five hundred, I'll kiss your wife" he smiled and said, "Oh and a sense of humor" and then we kissed.
After we kissed, he directed me down to his chest and asked me to chew on his nipples, "Bite 'em baby, suck them raw..." he said in a low tone. I clamped down on his left tit and bit at it and he let out a throaty groan and said, "Oh you fucking slut, you are going to pay for that..." Then I moved to his right nipple and did the same and pushed at the back of my head and said, "Fucker, sweet fucker, I am going to nail you so hard...keep at it, bitch".
After I made his chest sore, he pushed me down to his cock. It was uncircumcised and pretty big. It bent slightly to the right was as hard and firm as granite..."Work for your money, cock-sucker", he said as he pushed me to my knees and I happily gave him what he wanted, sucking his rod, bringing my hands around to his ass, pushing him further into my mouth. My hands on his ass, which was a hard as stone, I let a finger slip up his crack and when he felt that he roared, "Oh you little fucker, oh man, you fucking cock-sucker" ... for a moment I wondered if his neighbors might hear, but then again, that music from the studio was still blasting and if that did not bother them, surely some obscenities uttered in the heat of the moment would not... I just kept sucking the huge bent cock of The Record Producer and kept thinking of how much I was going to make for this performance.
My jaw was sore when he finally pulled me off his cock and he pushed me onto a huge lounge chair and said, "Time to get fucked, slut". I raised my ass and said, "So what the fuck are you waiting for?" He met that remark by spitting on my ass and giving me a good hard slap that actually echoed off the patio walls. I let out a yelp of surprise and pain (but you know I was digging it) and then while I lay flat on my belly, The Record Producer mounted me and proceeded to fuck me raw.
No exaggerating here, this was not love, there was no tenderness, this was an animal fuck, pure and simple, and The Record Producer was using me to get off and I was nothing more than a prop for the bastard. Every time I thought he could not possibly hurt me more with his lightening quick speed, he did. He was crushing me while he fucked me. His cock felt like a baseball bat up my ass and I started crying out, not for effect, but because this mother fucker was killing me...at one point he reached under me and started pinching my tits and in a way,that was good, because it kind of worked as a counter irritant to the fucking."See what happens to sluts who shake their asses around guys?" he said, his voice crazed with lust and anger.
I bit down at the chair's cushion and called him a mother fucker and he laughed and slapped my ass and somehow, someway, managed to go in deeper and I felt that I might scream so I buried my face in the cushion and thought about the money...and then I heard a dog barking somewhere off in the distance it sounded like a mad dog...The Record Producer was howling, saying something about being god, I figured that this guy was a major nut case and finally he shut up, pulled his cock out of my ass and shot a huge sticky load on my sweat covered back.
When he was through he dashed back in side for a minute, I sat up, sore and slimy and somewhat disoriented and then he appeared with my clothes tossing them at me, "Your money is in your pants pocket, you can use the shower in the pool house if you want...just leave by the back gate". He turned to go back inside and stopped for a second and said, "Oh, yeah your ass is pretty tight, so if you want to make few more bucks call me next Thursday, see ya" and he walked back into the house and I made my way to the shower.
After I was clean, I counted the money and there it was. Five one hundred dollar bills. I dressed and made my way back to the van and headed out back to Burbank, richer and sorer thanks to that fucking barracuda in Laurel Canyon.
