The Raw Prawn
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by Connie Bailey
Category: Erotica/Gay-Lesbian Erotica/Romance
Description: When backpacker Jarold Lake runs out of money in Australia, an acquaintance gives him an address where he can find an under-the-table job without needing a work visa. He's greeted by Russ Bridger, who none too subtly lets him know that the "job" involves being filmed having sex... with a man. Jarold is open to new experiences, but when he decided to take a trip Down Under, he never expected this! Before long, Jarold is tangled up in the underworld dealings of Russ's boss, Jason Leith. Leith runs an empire on betting, pornography, and prostitution, and he is devoid of sympathy, among other human feelings. When Leith shows too much interest in Jarold, Russ decides it's time to get out of the low life, something much easier said than done. But for Jarold, Russ will take the risk.
eBook Publisher: Dreamspinner Press/Dreamspinner Press, 2011 2011
eBookwise Release Date: September 2011
6 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [135 KB]
Reading time: 82-115 min.
Welcome to the Barbee
"So how long have you been in Australia, sport?"
"About eight months."
"How badly do you want to make some money?"
Jarold sighed. "I already told you. I'm down to my last dime. I sold my airline ticket months ago. I can't get a work permit 'cause I'm on a tourist visa. I almost stole a kid's kebab last night. Does that make me desperate enough for you?"
Russ blew smoke toward the ceiling. "Desperate enough for me," he mused. "So you've slept on the beach for a few nights. You're hungry. Why haven't you wired home for money?"
"Are you trying to talk me out of this? Look, the chick who sent me here said I could make a few hundred. That would mean a lot to me right now. Are you going to tell me what kind of sleazy job it is or not?"
Russ pointed with his chin at a corner of the flat. "See that Maori carving? There's a camera behind it. Another one over there. One in the light over the futon. Video cameras. Does that answer your question, sport?"
"Not really, but it does raise a few. What are you filming?"
"Oh, it's not me, mate. It's the fella who owns this building. He edits the footage, adds some music, and Bob's your uncle." When Russ finished speaking, Jarold put a hand behind his ear as though he was hard of hearing. Russ chuckled as he picked up his drink. "You sure you don't want one of these, just to loosen you up?"
"It's porn, right? You're making fuck films."
"Told you, it's not me, but yeah, it's porno."
Jarold looked around. "Not saying I'll do it, but what does my co-star look like? Is she here already, or on her way?"
Russ got up and poured a shot glass full of tequila. "Here." He handed it to Jarold. "I really think you ought to drink this."
"I'm starting to think I ought to leave."
Russ shrugged. "That would certainly be my suggestion, but you'll do what you want. So what's it going to be, sport?"
"What is it, precisely, that I would have to do for the money... and to get you to stop calling me sport?"
"No worries, Jazza."
"That's your Aussie nickname. If you were Robert, you'd be Robbo. If you were a redhead, you'd be Bluey. If you were Barry, you'd be Bazza."
"That's a list, not an explanation."
"Yeah, but we're not here for a lesson in the etymology of nicknames of the Southern Hemisphere, are we?"
"Then tell me what we are here for."
Russ sat on the futon, leaving a little distance between Jarold and himself. "I sense that you're going to have a little trouble dealing with this, so please don't do anything like smack me."
"I'm not the kind of guy who goes straight to violence as a solution to my problems."
"Fair enough. Here's the deal: we have sex and you get seven hundred dollars."
"We"--Jarold pointed to Russ and back at himself--"have sex?" He laughed, setting the shot on the glass-topped table. "Sorry to waste your time; I'm not gay."
"Well, that's kind of the point, sport. It's easy to get two gay guys to get it on. A film of a straight guy having gay sex sells a bit better."
"Why? I don't get it."
"No worries. Have your drink and go back to Kim and tell her to find you something honest... if she knows what that is. I can't believe she sent me such a raw prawn."
Jarold reconsidered the drink, tossing it back in one big gulp. "Raw prawn? Is that some kind of insult? I'm not a chicken; I'm just not interested."
"It just means... inexperienced. I wasn't having a go at you."
Jarold felt the alcohol warming his empty belly and realized he didn't want to get up and leave just yet. This was a nice apartment; he hadn't sat on anything this clean in a while and there was nothing waiting for him outside but the pavement. "Seven hundred Australian?" he heard himself ask.
"Of course Australian. And it's a bit above the going rate, but Kim said you were prime."
"She ought to know; she's seen all of me."
"Mind if I have a look?"
"How much does it pay?"
Russ laughed. "Fair enough. I'll give you a hundred to strip down to your knickers."
"Can I have another drink?"
"Sure. How about something to smoke?"
"No thanks, I don't--"
"Not cigs," Russ said, miming a hit off a joint.
Russ pulled a tin from under the table and took out a pre-rolled joint. He lit up and the sweet grass smell wafted to Jarold's nose, reminding him of his high school parking lot. Russ passed the joint and Jarold inhaled a small amount. By the time it came back to him, he knew that two swats were all he could handle. He was already feeling floaty and he was having trouble discerning between his thoughts and what he'd said aloud.
"Hydro," Russ said, and Jarold nodded as though he were a jaded connoisseur. "So, am I going to get a show?"
"Um, should we be smoking this on camera?"
"I don't turn them on until the action starts," Russ lied smoothly.
Jarold stood and pulled his T-shirt over his head, revealing the torso of a young man who spent a fair amount of time working out. Russ ran his eyes over the flat plates of the broad chest and down the washboard abs to where the trail of dark hair disappeared into the American's jeans. Kim hadn't been exaggerating; this kid was sculpted, with long lean limbs and just enough fur. If the cock matched the rest, and Kim had assured him it did, Mr. Leith was going to be very pleased with the tape. Russ sat back and sipped his drink as Jarold toed off his sneakers and unzipped his jeans. A moment later, the soft denim was in a puddle around the American's ankles.
"Strewth, mate!" Russ whistled. "You're a ripper."
"Thanks... I guess."
Russ smiled and raised his glass. "To earning one hundred dollars," he toasted.
Jarold took a bow and Russ wished he were sitting behind the other man.
"So can I just get my money and go?" Jarold asked.
"Sure. If that's what you want. Bickie?"
Russ held out a box. "Would you like a biscuit?"
Jarold reached in and pulled out a cream-filled cookie, which he immediately popped into his mouth. "Mm, s'good," he mumbled, sitting back down next to Russ.
"Shit, I forgot; you're hungry, and I just gave you the munchies. Hang on, mate."
Jarold sat in his dingy boxers as Russ rattled around the kitchen and returned with a sandwich. "It's just ham and cheese," the Australian said. "But I sliced some avocado on there and there's salad cream." Jarold wasn't listening; he was halfway through the sandwich and eyeing the box of cookies. Russ handed him a bottle of water and sat down next to him.
"Thanks," Jarold said, taking a long swallow of the cold water.
Russ nodded, watching the muscles in Jarold's throat work. "Shame."
"Just a little self-pity. I'd really like to give you a root, and I know I could make it good for you, but I guess that's not going to happen."
"Doubtful," Jarold smiled, biting into another cookie.
"How about a blowie?"
"A blow job?"
"Yeah. Would you let me suck you off?"
Jarold licked some stray crumbs from his bottom lip as his gaze went vague. He might have said no, but the marijuana had left him directionless and disinclined to move. He didn't feel drugged; he just had no initiative. "I guess we could give it a try," he said slowly.
"Two hundred and fifty."
Jarold sat back and let his legs sprawl wide. "You'll stop if I tell you to?"
Russ snorted. "No worries. Shed your strides."
"Oh, right." Jarold shucked his boxers and dropped them on the cushion beside him.
Russ slid off the futon onto his knees, pushing the table back with his hip. Grabbing the hem of his black tank top, he pulled it over his head before moving between Jarold's thighs. Russ's skin was as brown and smooth as caramel except for the sprinkling of reddish hair around his nipples and the few stray curls that showed above his waistband.
"Nice tan," Jarold said.
"I do a lot of surfing," Russ said as he rested his hands on either side of Jarold's hips. "I'm going to touch you now, so don't freak out, right?"
Jarold didn't jump, but he did feel a slight shock when the other man laid his palms on top of his thighs. Russ's hands were warm, and he rubbed his fingertips lightly against Jarold's skin. The subtle caress was having more of an effect than Jarold wanted to admit. It didn't make him queasy. It didn't make him want to hit Russ. It made him want to slide down farther on the futon so Russ's hands would move higher. "Maybe we should stop."
"Well, yeah, but...."
Russ raised his eyebrows. "Stop, or go?"
Jarold, who never told a lie unless he couldn't help it, answered honestly. "I'm a little nervous because you're actually turning me on."
"You need a minute?" Russ asked, still maintaining eye contact.
Jarold shook his head and Russ finally let his gaze drop to the other man's crotch. The American had a handsome cock, a bit longer than average, lying in a sweet, pink curve against a thick, dark bush. Russ's tongue came out to moisten his lips eagerly as he stared at the rosy column of flesh, but he moved slowly. Running his hands up the insides of Jarold's thighs, Russ pushed his fingers into the thick pubic pelt, rubbing his thumbs over the silky skin where Jarold's legs joined his torso, touching everything except for Jarold's cock and balls. The American's breathing grew shallow and his shaft grew hard as the cautious fondling continued. When Russ ran a fingertip lightly down the underside of Jarold's arousal, Jarold moaned loudly before he caught himself.
"Easy, mate," Russ said. "It's supposed to feel good. Make all the noise you want. There's no one here but me, and I don't give a damn."
"I'm a little embarrassed. I swear to you that I'm not gay. I've never even kissed a guy, but you make me feel like I did the first time someone touched my dick."
Russ smiled. "Oh yeah. I remember that feeling. Well, it is the first time another man's touched you like this, right?"
Jarold clutched at the line Russ threw him. "Yeah, that must be it. A guy's hands feel different."
"Ready to find out if a guy's mouth feels different? Come on. I need to hear you say it."
"Yeah. Okay," Jarold said softly. "You can blow me."
Russ leaned over, his parted lips millimeters from Jarold's arousal, warm breath pulsing against the hard flesh. Jarold was amazed and a little disconcerted by how badly he wanted the Australian to close the gap. When Russ finally moved, kissing the tip of the rigid shaft, Jarold tensed as though he'd taken hold of a live wire.
"Hey," Russ murmured, looking up at the other young man. "Relax. It's just a head job."
"Right." Jarold breathed in and out a couple of times. "I'm fine. Really. You can...." Jarold's sentence ended in a hiss of indrawn breath as Russ took a firm grip on his cock.
The Australian lowered his head and took the tip in his mouth. Shuttling his hand slowly up and down the rod of flesh, Russ lavished the attention of his lips, teeth, and tongue on the head. Jarold tried to stay still, but the slippery caresses had him moving his hips in an effort to push deeper into the tantalizing wet heat. Small, needy moans rose in his throat and he let them out. Guided by the soft sounds, Russ increased his efforts to undo the American.
Making a ring of thumb and forefinger at the base of the shaft, he pressed his tongue against the fat vein on the underside and bobbed his head rhythmically. On each upstroke, he swirled his tongue around the tip, dipping randomly into the moist slit. With his free hand, Russ gently squeezed the hanging sack, rolling it on his palm like a bag of dice.
Jarold was drifting free on a cloud of sensual pleasure when Russ nudged at his ass with a spit-shiny finger. He didn't protest as the digit eased past the elastic entrance and worked deeper. No one had done this to him before, but he'd heard of prostate massages, and he felt so damned great that he didn't want ruin it by whining.
Russ found the springy bump in the front of Jarold's sheath and pressed lightly. Jarold make a choked sound and his butt came off the futon, driving his cock down Russ's throat. Russ took a long breath through his nose, swallowed a couple of times, and brushed his fingertip over Jarold's prostate again. The hot, hard flesh that filled Russ's mouth quivered as the Australian rubbed small figure eights over the sensitive spot, and he could taste the salty, bitter pre-cum that leaked down the back of his throat. At a slow, frustrating pace, he let the long rod slide from between his lips before engulfing it to the root as he toyed with Jarold's trigger.
"Please," Jarold whimpered, his voice barely audible.
Russ smiled around the taut length of flesh and increased the speed of his stroke. He felt the straining cock twitch against the roof of his mouth and pulled away. Rapidly, he pumped Jarold's arousal as he looked up. The American clutched at the cushions like a man on the tilting deck of a sinking ship, his face transfigured by pleasure like that of a beatific saint: eyes cast up to heaven, lips parted in ecstasy, limp with overwhelming glory. "You beauty," Russ said under his breath as Jarold climaxed. Leaning over, Russ let the powerful stream of cum hit him in the face, holding on as the shaft jerked twice more, dribbling warm, thick fluid over his knuckles. Jarold's fingers unclenched, and he collapsed back against the futon with a long groan of fulfillment. His eyes flew open as Russ began cleaning his spent rod with delicate little kitten swipes of his tongue.
"Ahhhh, God, stop, please, I'm begging you."
Russ met Jarold's eyes. "You don't want me to...?" He let the question hang.
"No, I don't want you to. Don't do anything. Please. That was probably the best orgasm of my life and I'd like to bask in it for a while."
Russ raised one eyebrow as he stood, levering himself off Jarold's thighs. "Suit yourself. I'm famous for my tongue baths though."
"No doubt. It's just too much. You ever hear of sensory overload?"
"No worries. Mind if I loosen this?" Russ pointed to his waistband. "It's getting crowded in there."
Jarold glanced down at the bulge in Russ's pants. "Did I do that?" he joked.
Russ unbuttoned his olive drab cargo trousers and let them drop. His complete lack of any undergarment gave the other young man a full frontal view of his endowment, and it was far from inadequate. Jarold wanted to look away, knew he shouldn't stare, but his dreamy, sated gaze was fixed on the Australian's crotch, and it was apparent that Russ did his sunbathing in the altogether. There was not a tan line to be seen on the long, lithe frame, and the nest of reddish pubic hair was bleached to antique gold at the tips. With unabashed pride, Russ's manhood curved upward, standing tall, the hooded tip pressing against his flat belly.
"What's that?" Jarold blurted, catching the wink of metal.
Russ took himself in hand, running a finger over the silver studs that pierced his foreskin. "These? They enhance clitoral and prostate stimulation, but never mind them, sport. They're not for you, are they?"
"Enhance?" Jarold repeated curiously.