The Rent Boy Murders
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by Robert Cummings
Category: Erotica/Gay-Lesbian Erotica/Romance
Description: The latest entry in John Simpson's popular gay cop series that began with Murder Most Gay partners Simpson with coauthor Robert Cummings and finds policemen Hank Capstone and Pat St. James on the trail of a serial killer who targets young male hustlers. While Hank and Pat are very happy with their home lives and their husbands, the police work has become more perilous and unpleasant. Though Hank and Shawn, along with Pat and Dean, enjoy a weekend at Gay Pride in New York City, they know their investigation into the brutal murders of rent boys will be waiting when they return home. Along with trying to investigate the murders, they must also deal with Pat's old training officer who is now working in the detective bureau. Blinded by ambition and alcoholism, Flanders wreaks havoc on an otherwise solid case against the killer. When their sergeant's gay nephew, Clay, is lured into a meeting, then drugged and raped, the sergeant asks for Hank and Pat's help. Clay is reluctant to talk to the cops, but Hank and Pat will need to gain his trust once they discover his attack may hold clues to catching the killer and closing the case that a dozen other detectives are trying to solve.
eBook Publisher: Dreamspinner Press/Dreamspinner Press, 2011 2011
eBookwise Release Date: January 2012
4 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [326 KB]
Reading time: 213-299 min.
Christmas in the City
"It's hard to believe that our second wedding anniversary is here already," Shawn said.
Hank Capstone smiled as he watched his hot, young husband climb a small ladder to put the star on the Christmas tree in the living room of their first house together.
"It does seem like only yesterday that we were boarding the Queen Mary II to set sail on our honeymoon with Pat and Dean."
As Shawn stretched to set the star just right, Hank moved over to the ladder and hugged him around the waist, burying his face in Shawn's ass as he squeezed.
"I love you even more today if that's possible," Hank said with tears forming in his eyes.
"Okay, let me down before I fall off this thing and into the tree I just spent three hours decorating so carefully," Shawn said as he twisted around to look down at the top of Hank's head.
Hank released his hold on Shawn and guided him down the rungs. When Shawn was on the floor, he turned in Hank's arms and a mutual hug ensued. As they held each other, they turned their heads and admired Shawn's work on the tree.
"Beautiful, hon, just like you," Hank said.
"Thank you, love. You're awfully romantic tonight. What's up?" Shawn asked.
"Nothing, I just realized how great life is with you. I'm a police detective in the Prince Georges County Police Department in Maryland, earning good money. Now that you've graduated with a degree in finance, you're about to leave the 7-Eleven to go to work at Dean's bank, and we're in our first house before Christmas. What more could I ask for besides a great work partner that I love like a brother and who watches my ass?"
"He does, does he? Well, just make sure watching your ass is all he does!" Shawn said with a smile and a twinkle in his eye.
Hank slapped Shawn on the ass and said, "You know where things stand. Now behave, young man."
"How about I fix us a light dinner tonight--say sandwiches and potato salad?"
"Sounds great, husband," Hank said with a huge smile that told Shawn he wanted to exercise his marital rights later that night.
"Well, let me go or we'll go hungry!"
"We'll never go hungry. We can survive on love."
"Oh, puhleeze," Shawn said.
* * * *
Across town, Pat St. James and his husband were also sitting down to dinner. Their tree had gone up the day before, and they were taking it easy.
"So are you excited or worried about having Shawn working at the bank?" Pat asked.
"I think he'll do great," Dean said. "He's going into the loan department the first of the month. With his degree, he should do fine. I'll keep an eye on him to make sure he doesn't get out of his depth."
"I guess he'll be glad to leave the 7-Eleven, and I know Hank is thrilled to have him out of that stop and rob. Plus, the pay raise will come in handy now that they finally bought a house. It's pretty nice too, don't you think?"
"Yeah, especially their backyard. It's private, they have a pool, and there promises to be skinny-dipping next summer," Dean said.
"Skinny-dipping? You just want to see Shawn naked again--I know you!"
"Ha, that's not it at all, and you know it. I enjoy swimming nude when it's just close friends like the four of us. If it was full of strangers, I wouldn't be comfortable."
"Okay, honey. That sounds like fun, especially on hot nights. Nothing like getting into the water and cooling off," Pat said.
"We're going over to their house tomorrow, right?"
"Yep. Christmas dinner at the Capstones. I put their presents in a bag and left it by the door so we don't forget it." Pat raised an eyebrow. "Who's doing the cooking?"
"Neither actually. They've ordered one of those fully cooked dinners from La Maison du Jardin. All they have to do is heat it up."
"Hmm, their food is incredible! Now I'm really looking forward to Christmas dinner," Pat said. "We shouldn't go empty-handed. What do we have?"
"We're supplying the after-dinner brandy and the wines for the different courses," Dean replied.
"Okay, that's more than fair. Well, I'm finished here. Can I help you clean up?" Pat asked.
"In fact, yes, since you rarely ask. You can clear the table, and I'll stack the dishwasher," Dean replied with a smile.
Pat watched his husband walk away into the kitchen, admiring his ass all the way. Hmm, gonna get me some of that tonight!
As Pat finished clearing the table, the phone rang, and he answered the call in the living room.
"Pat? Merry Christmas, buddy!" a slightly inebriated Hank said.
"Merry Christmas, Hank, and to Shawn as well. How's he doing?"
"Right now, he's a little sore," Hank replied, laughing loudly.
"I see. Been imbibing a little in the Christmas spirit?" Pat asked, chuckling.
"Damn right! Nothing better than ass and vodka!"
"I see. It sounds like you've been doing more than just a little imbibing. I'm looking forward to coming over tomorrow to see you and have dinner. What time should we get there?"
"How's one o'clock sound?" Hank asked.
"Sounds good. We'll do presents first and then relax until dinner."
"Okay, wish that hunk of yours a Merry Christmas from Shawn and me."
"You bet. Stay inside tonight, nice and warm and safe."
"The house is locked up and it's gonna stay that way until we open the front door for you guys. Have a great evening, my friend."
"Okay, Hank, Merry Christmas."
* * * *
Pat hung up the phone, smiling at the thought of his partner and friend. All was well in the Capstone house.
"Who was that, honey, not work, I hope?" Dean asked as he came into the room with two cocktails.
"No, it was a slightly drunk Hank."
"Oh? How are they tonight?"
"Well, it appears that Shawn has been ravaged, and they're now drinking to the season, as Hank seemed to be three sheets to the wind," Pat replied.
"Good for them! Hank needs to take care of that boy. It's a husband's duty!" Dean said. His eyes ran down Pat's body as he caught the signal.
"Yes, well, I fully intend to do my duty to you in about an hour. So never fear, Pat is here."
"I hope so, lover boy, I need it. All this snow, and trees, and liquor just put me in the mood. I wanna eat you alive," Dean growled.
Pat looked at him in surprise. Dean wasn't usually this aggressive unless he was drinking. Pat smiled at the thought of an aggressive Dean in bed.
They watched a Christmas special on TV while they sipped their cocktails, and then an idea occurred to them: why wait?
"I've seen the Grinch save Christmas more times than I can count--let's fuck!" Dean growled, tearing his partner from the couch and nearly spilling his cocktail.
"Hey, watch it, mister, that's alcohol abuse!"
The boys started tearing off their clothes halfway up the stairs and made it a more-than-merry Christmas.
* * * *
"Honey, can we go to bed? I'm tired, and we need to be up in the morning to touch up the house before Pat and Dean arrive. Besides, you already had what you wanted earlier," Shawn said as he rubbed his ass.
"Yeah, that was fun! Okay, babe, if you wanna go to bed a little early, that's fine. I'll double-check that the house is locked up, and I'll be up in a minute," Hank said.
Shawn smiled appreciatively and went upstairs as Hank went around turning off the lights and checking doors. When he got into the bedroom, he found Shawn naked on the bed, but non-erect. He had just fallen asleep before getting under the sheets.
Hank pulled the comforter over his naked, sleeping husband and climbed into bed. After rolling over and putting an arm over Shawn, he fell asleep.
* * * *
The next day, everyone was up early, enjoying a snowy Christmas Day.
"Okay, let's open presents," Dean yelled like a twelve year old.
"You got it, babe," Pat said as they headed into the living room.
Both men sat down in front of the tree in their underwear and T-shirts.
"You first," Pat said as he chose a package and gave it to Dean.
Dean shook the box like the sound would tell him what was inside. It didn't. He tore off the paper and saw that it was from Neiman Marcus.
"Oh, Neiman's!" Dean exclaimed as he tore open the box. Inside he found a cashmere scarf, gray in color and elegant in appearance. "It's beautiful! It'll go so well with my black overcoat. Thank you, honey," he said as he leaned over and kissed Pat. "Now it's your turn," Dean said as he chose a package and handed it to Pat.
Pat didn't bother with shaking it. He just tore off the paper. Inside the box, he found four long-sleeved Polo Ralph Lauren shirts in various colors, his favorite shirts to relax in. Dean got a kiss for that package.
Dean took his next present, which was a small box. When Dean took the paper off, he saw that it was a black velvet jewelry box. Dean was shocked and let out an audible gasp when he opened the box and found a diamond and sapphire ring set in white gold. It was a stunning ring, and Dean became moist around the eyes as he stared at it.
He took the ring out of the box, unable to say a word. He slipped it on the ring finger of his right hand and it fit perfectly. As the light bounced off the diamonds and sapphires, Dean said, "It's breathtaking. It's one of the most beautiful rings I've ever seen, darling!"
He threw himself into Pat's arms, knocking him over flat on the floor.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Dean said as he punctuated each thank-you with a kiss. He sat back up and admired the ring once more. "My God, this is a thing of beauty."
"It matches the man who wears it," Pat said as he sat back, enjoying the moment.
Dean's head snapped around to Pat, and he said, "That's one of the most beautiful things you've ever said to me." Dean was now crying while looking at the ring.
Pat put his arm around his man and held him close. "Only the most beautiful of things for you. You deserve them. I love you," he said.
Dean wiped his eyes as he pulled a small package from under the tree and gave it to Pat.
Pat took the very light package and removed the paper. As he ripped the paper away, he saw a light blue box with the words "Tiffany & Co."
"Oh, my favorite," Pat said with a huge smile. "What the hell could you have possibly gotten for me from there?"
Pat opened the first box, pulled out a jewelry box, and opened it to find a pair of cuff links fit for a king. These were by no means ordinary cuff links, but an extremely rare and expensive pair of acorn cuff links with cultured pearls on each end. Adding to the value were a pair of diamonds set in eighteen-karat gold and platinum. The links were especially designed for Tiffany & Co. and were available nowhere else in the world. From knowledge gained on a high-end jewelry-theft case, Pat knew that the links cost north of ten thousand dollars.
It was Pat's turn to be stunned. He looked up at Dean and was speechless. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. He looked at the cuff links, and then back at Dean.
"These are... they're incredible and very expensive. You didn't have to do this for me, honey!"
"I wanted you to have fantastic cuff links the next time we went somewhere in tuxedos or you wore a French cuff shirt to something important. I guarantee you won't bump into another guy wearing those links. They are the only pair that were made. They're only a small expression of my love for you." Dean leaned in and kissed Pat who was now emotional.
"I don't know what to say, Dean. No one has ever given me anything like this in my life. I'm gonna be afraid I'll lose 'em!"
"Don't worry. They're insured. Now, because of the quality of that gift, the other boxes under the tree are fake," Dean said in an apologetic voice.
"Believe me when I say that I don't expect anything for the next year, either, honey. I'm gonna wear these today to Hank and Shawn's and see if they notice them."
Dean smiled broadly. "I had all your new Brooks Brothers French cuff shirts dry-cleaned, just in case."
"My God, my gift seems so inadequate now," Pat said.
"Inadequate, my ass! It's the most beautiful ring I've ever seen with the exception of my wedding band. Now I don't wanna hear that come out of your mouth again, mister! There have to be some advantages to being married to a banker who just got a big promotion to vice president."
"Oh my God, look at the time! We're due at Hank's in thirty-five minutes!" Pat said as he grabbed the cuff links and dashed upstairs to get dressed.
Dean sat for a moment, pleased that he had gotten his friend at Tiffany's to hold those cuff links for him. They were beautiful, exactly the right present to show his husband how he felt. He got up and followed Pat to get dressed for the day.
* * * *
Hank and Shawn had tidied up the house, showered, and dressed. Dinner was put in the oven on low to keep the turkey, stuffing, and other assorted goodies warm. As they stocked the bar in the dining room with ice, the doorbell rang, and Hank opened it to find the smiling faces of his friends.
"Merry Christmas!" Dean and Pat said at the same time.
"Merry Christmas," replied Hank with a big smile.
Even though Pat and Hank saw each other day after day at work, they were friends and genuinely enjoyed seeing each other off the job. The fact that they married their lovers at the same time made that bond all the stronger.
"Honey, Pat and Dean are here!" Hank shouted. "Here let me take your coats and gloves," he offered.
"Hello, Merry Christmas, guys!" Shawn said as he entered the hallway. "Would you like a drink? We've got a fully stocked bar," he declared as he took the wine Pat had brought.
"Sure, I'll have a Grey Goose screwdriver, if you have it," Pat replied.
"And I'll have a glass of white wine, please," answered Dean.
"Coming right up."
"Can I help with anything?" Dean asked.
"Nope, everything is under control," Shawn replied.
"Come on, guys, let's go into the living room. You can see the tree and put down that large bag that's bursting with presents!" Hank said, like a little kid.
"Beautiful! Did you do that, Hank?" Dean asked.
"Me? Hell no. I'd have ended up wearing the entire tree, balls and all. No, this is Shawn's work, and I think he did a fine job," Hank said proudly.
"We'd have to agree," Pat said as he admired the way the tree sparkled.
"Here ya go!" Shawn said as he brought the drinks in, and everyone sat down.
They exchanged presents, and everyone seemed pleased with their gifts. Shawn started to laugh, and when everyone looked at him, he had to tell them what was funny.
"Hank, you're the only guy I know who gets all excited at Christmastime because he got a new off-duty holster from Pat! A holster!" Shawn said with a laugh, as Dean joined in.
"Yeah, well, it's not only a nice holster, but it's something that I needed. Not that you'd understand," Hank said with touch of superiority in his voice.
"Yeah, cops are not like other people. Different things can get us excited, unlike you and Dean, who just like pretty," Pat said with a smirk.The conversation went on for a while until everyone smelled the turkey, then they grew hungry and sat down to dinner. When it was over, everyone was extremely full and feeling lethargic. Pat actually fell asleep in the living room.
"Wake up, honey, time to go home," Dean said gently.
"Oh, sorry, didn't mean to zone out like that. It must have been the turkey."
Hank got their coats and gloves and handed them to their guests. After putting on their outerwear and collecting their presents, Pat and Dean headed out the door.
"Well, partner, we're back on duty tomorrow, so see ya at the cop shop," Pat said.
"You got it. See ya in the morning," Hank replied.
As they carefully walked to their car on the icy ground, Hank closed the door and said, "Nice Christmas. No better way to spend it than with family or close friends."
* * * *
On the Hunt
Hank and Pat finally completed their one-year probationary period as detectives. The day after Christmas was the last day they would be called "rookie detectives" in the bureau.
Thanks to the efforts and understanding of their old patrol watch commanders, Detective Sergeant Capparell and Detective Sergeant Durkin, the boys had bonded and become an effective team. The other officers and detectives called them Starsky and Hutch and teased them about being connected at the hip.
There had been intermittent chatter in the department about the guys' personal lives, but no one ever asked them about it directly. Hank and Pat had earned the respect of the other officers through their hard work, and they had also been known to pull guys out of the line of fire on the job and off.
Detective Sgt. Durkin had given Hank and Pat a wedding gift before they left for Boston to get married, so they were sure that he knew they were gay. Capparell had congratulated them with a wink when they returned to duty after their honeymoon aboard the Queen Mary II, but had never clarified what the congratulations were for.
When Hank and Pat had received an open invitation to a barbecue at Durkin's house for Lieutenant Farrell's retirement party the previous August, they were informed that they were welcome to bring guests. This was the occasion where they met Durkin's wife, Trish, and the sergeant's gay stepbrother, Clay.
Clay was twenty-one years old, five foot eight, and one hundred and fifty-five pounds of red-haired, green-eyed hotness. He was flamboyant and had probably never seen the inside of a closet in his entire life. Meeting the little party boy had answered most of the questions Hank and Pat had about Durkin. The sergeant definitely wasn't gay, but he was an understanding supervisor and ally.
Hank and Pat had assisted in investigating exactly one homicide since their appointments to the detective division, a case that stemmed from a domestic incident that occurred just before their honeymoons. However, the aptitude that they had shown in that investigation as well as their dedication in the various facets of other investigations had already cemented their place in the division.
Since they had proven themselves worthy in the eyes of the chief of police, the two-year requirement had been waived, and both men tested for and received permanent civil service promotions to the detective division three months after their honeymoons. Then they were assigned the primarily "newbie" task of trolling for hookers and property crimes along with the occasional assault assignment.
Detective Sergeant Capparell, who had been running the detective division since the retirement of Lieutenant Farrell, called Hank and Pat into his office. When Lieutenant Farrell had retired, Capparell was ready to get out of patrol, so he jumped at the opportunity not only to work cases but to possibly make lieutenant.
"How's my dynamic duo today?" asked Capparell. "You rookies ready to start being real detectives and stop carrying the water for the rest of these guys?"
"Yeah, my back is killing me from carrying these guys." Hank laughed.
"You know it, Sarge," Pat said. "If I have to do one more canvass of a neighborhood for someone else's case, I'll lose my mind. It's been great training with the other guys and learning the ropes, but we wanna start running our own cases." As he finished speaking, he sat down in the comfy leather chair. It was the same chair he had sat in over a year ago during a tense meeting with Lt. Farrell.
"Pat, you still with me, or am I boring you?" asked Capparell.
"Sorry, Sarge, kind of faded for a second," said Pat.
"I hear you two bozos aren't the only ones being promoted," said the sergeant, beaming with pride. "I took the lieutenant test and passed the bastard. I'll be promoted next week. This desk has become permanent!"
"Congratulations," Hank and Pat said simultaneously.
Just then Durkin knocked on the office door.
"Hey, rookie, I need you to make a run to the forensics lab. The sicko on this case tried to erase his computer drive when we raided his house looking for kiddie porn. I wanna see what they recovered." Durkin handed Hank a chain-of-custody sheet to take to the clerk so he could retrieve the requested evidence.
"All right, Sarge, no problem," said Hank.
"Take your wife with you. I wouldn't want Pat to get lonely. One more thing, guys, there's about ten boxes of evidence that they processed for me that needs to be brought back to the lock-up. So bring them back with you, pretty please," said the sergeant, smiling broadly.
"I knew there was no way you were sending two of us to pick up one hard drive!" Pat said, laughing.
"Hop to it, rooks," Durkin chided and closed the door.
"Okay, guys, get that done and finish up whatever else you have on your plate today. All operations are cancelled this week as we're way too short on personnel to safely pull off any officers. Half the division is on vacation or personal days," sighed the soon-to-be lieutenant.
Hank and Pat left the office, drove to forensics, and secured the hard drive from the evidence clerk, a heavy-set older cop too smart to be out there running after gang bangers who were barely eighteen.
From the start, Durkin had explained to Pat and Hank that the best way to learn to be good detectives was to do the job for themselves, not have someone else do it while they sat by and watched.
Hank and Pat's promotion into the detective bureau was temporary at first. The chief had waived certain requirements and caused some tension between the boys and patrol officers in the department who were also hoping to be promoted into a detective slot. Many of the officers who had been passed over had been on the job a lot longer.
Durkin knew of the animosity over the assignments to the detective division and wanted to make sure that Hank and Pat got a fair shake, because they had earned it. They had been through the two successful serial-murder operations and placed their lives in very real jeopardy, showing intestinal fortitude that many of the angry officers lacked. Pat and Hank weren't given anything; they had earned their places in the detective bureau.
Durkin had watched their backs and covered their early mistakes without their knowledge. He was a good man even if he liked to dump on Hank or Pat occasionally just for kicks, which wasn't at all unusual in a police department. Sgt. Durkin had been a patrol officer and then transferred into the detective division long before Hank and Pat had joined the force. He went back into patrol, and it was only within the last year and a half that Durkin had decided that it was time to return to the detective division. It was a sudden decision. He just requested the transfer one day, without explanation to those he supervised. Durkin refused to talk about why he went back to patrol; there were always whispers and rumors, but the only person who knew for sure was Durkin.
"Ten boxes, you know he's going to make us log it in to the evidence clerk too!" Hank complained.
"I thought you liked being the whipping boy... at least that's what Shawn tells me," said Pat.
"Ha... ha... haaaaaa!" Hank pretended to laugh and playfully slapped his knee.
Hank and Pat pulled out of the parking lot and headed back to the station. During their trip, they passed a marked patrol unit that was conducting a vehicle stop, and they stared as the uniformed officer issued a citation to the angry driver.
"Can't say I miss those days. No one likes you when you pull them over, that's for sure," remarked Pat.
They passed the DUI processing center that Hank and Pat had gotten to know well during their not-too-distant patrol days. Pat's eyes widened, and Hank could tell something just popped into his partner's mind.
"Hey, do you remember that drunken college boy in the white Corsica? The one we let go on the weed?" asked Pat.
"Yeah, bumper-sticker boy, what about him?" Hank replied.
"I'm guessing he came out of the closet or whatever, because I saw him on the news at the Gay Pride festival in June. He was all out and proud and even did an on-camera interview. I forgot all about it until we drove by that DUI center," Pat said, shaking his head and smiling.
"I wonder if he ever took the bumper stickers off that piece-of-shit car," Hank said, laughing.
"I dunno, but I hope he got his shit together finally. He was one of the first and last people I felt sorry for and gave that big of a break," Pat said as they pulled behind the building into the station parking lot.
Hank and Pat carried the items from the car into headquarters. It had taken two hours just to get all the evidence together from the lab, and it was going to take even longer to inventory it with the station's evidence officer.
The rest of the shift was spent inventorying and logging the ten boxes of evidence back into storage at the station. As Hank and Pat were logging in the boxes, Durkin walked past and smiled.
"Good night, detectives, see you tomorrow," Durkin said, waving good-bye as he walked out the door.
"Prick!" Hank shouted teasingly.
The evidence sergeant took custody of the latest box to be inventoried, signed the chain-of-custody form, and took it into the other room to secure it in the evidence vault. Pat saw that he had a free moment and called Dean on his cell phone, putting the call on speaker.
"Hey, hon, what's up?" Dean asked as he answered the phone.
"Another late one tonight, I'm afraid. I'm logging in evidence, but it shouldn't take more than two or three more hours. Do me a favor and make reservations for us for dinner somewhere? Surprise me!"
"Oh? Celebrating getting stuck at work again, are we?"
"No, smart aleck! Today is my last day on probation, remember? As of the end of shift tonight, Hank and I are full-fledged detectives." Pat beamed with so much pride that Hank could feel it across the room.
"Well, that's another Christmas present, then. Someone must have been really good for Santa to be sending this many gifts his way," Dean replied.
Hank just shook his head and smiled, though he was just as proud of the achievement as Pat. It was a momentous occasion for both of them, and they would never have to do patrol again officially--unless special circumstances hit the county that required all personnel in uniform.
"All right, babe, congrats. Be safe, and I'll see you when you get home. Love you," Dean said as he hung up.
Hank was a little bit more of a technophile and preferred to just send Shawn a text message making the same proclamations. Shawn's reply was just as loving and made Hank eager to get home.
Hank and Pat were lucky they'd tied these boys down, or they might have gotten away.
"All right, your turn to get coffee. I'll crack open the next box so we can get the hell outta here, because I'm starved," exclaimed Pat.It was around 10:00 p.m. when Clay saw the ad appear on the personals website Adam For Steve. It read, "Generou$$$ guy looking for younger--reply to MSfan31@gmail.com, looking for tonight, red hair and green eyes move to the front of the line." Clay knew what that meant: it meant some poor slob who couldn't get laid had to pay for a fuck.
These kinds of guys always wanted a cute little twink boy like him to fuck, and Clay was all too willing to fulfill that need for the right price. He fit the bill for MSfan31's request: twenty-one years old with strawberry-blond hair, green eyes, and a body that looked like it had been chiseled from stone. God had blessed Clay with a smooth, tight little body, but no moral compass and very little brains. He used every inch commercially to support his nastier vices.
Clay couldn't care less about the men who fucked him as long as they paid well. Usually it was some overweight, smelly old man, or a married closet case looking for action that they couldn't get unless they paid for it.
All he had to do was tell these generous men how hot they were, and how he couldn't wait to have them inside of him. Clay would take off his tight little shorts, and then he would just lie back and let them fuck his ass, or anything else they wanted, as long as they had the cash to pay. Luckily for Clay, the guys usually came pretty quickly.
"Oh, baby, it's so big, yeah, give it to me." Clay laughed as he recalled the many, many men that had paid him for the chance to be in his tight little hole. Clay swallowed another OxyContin painkiller, took another shot of Jameson Irish Whiskey and began typing his reply to the generous man.
I'm 21 y/o, red hair and green eyes and completely smooth. I'm five foot eight, one hundred and fifty five pounds and into pretty much anything a "generou$$$" guy would like to get into and if there's a fourth "$" you might be able to hit this raw. See the attached pic of my cock and ass ;) I'm available for the next two hours. I can't host.
In the time it took Clay to pour himself another shot of Jameson, a chime from his computer speakers had informed him that MSfan31 had replied to his e-mail.
Hot pic!! Definitely $$$$ call me at 555-9900 if your serious. My fantasy is sex in a park if that's cool with you. Can't wait to get my hands on you!
The OxyContin that Clay had consumed, combined with the large amount of Jameson coursing through his hot twenty-one-year-old body, left him totally uninhibited. It also contributed to his extremely poor judgment.
Clay dialed the number, and a man picked up the phone and said, "Hello, is this Clay?"
Clay had once been arrested for prostitution, so he knew he had to be careful about what he said on the phone. It was hard to prove who sent an e-mail from a computer, but a voice on a recording made it a lot easier to prove the charges in court.
"What's up, MSfan? I'm sooo bored and horny! I need something or someone to do!" Clay said, making himself sound as ready to go as possible.
"Not much, just looking to hang out. Wanna meet up?"
"We can do that, but I'd like to meet somewhere in public first. I want to make sure you're not a psycho or something," Clay said with a slight laugh.
"Same here, how about the Starbucks near the university?"
"Okay, cool. I only live about five minutes from there. How about I meet you in fifteen minutes?" Clay asked.
"Great, see you then. I'll be wearing a college coat with a Pegasus on the front, so you'll know it's me."
"What's a Pegasus?" Clay asked.
The killer sighed. Uneducated idiot! "It's the flying horse from mythology," he replied.
"Okay, since you've pretty much seen every inch of me, you'll know me," said Clay.
Yes, I will, and I can't wait!
The killer did a quick reverse phone number look-up and found Clay's address. Now he knew where his target lived and decided to pay a quiet little visit to the rent boy's house.