excerpt ~ JUSTIN: Boy, Interrupted



     “C’mon, baby, can’t you get it up any more than that?  I mean, I feel like I’m sucking some old dude’s cock,” the john complained sheepishly.  He then made a second attempt to get my dick hard but I quickly shook him off.

     “Get the fuck off!” I said shovin’ the john back by his shoulder.  I quickly got up from the edge of the bed and stuffed my dick back into my jeans.  “Date’s over, sweetheart!” I stated matter-of-factly.  I pulled the john’s cash from the front of my jean pocket and tossed it at him.

     “What?!” the john fell back on his knees and stared up at me appalled while his money showered down over him.  All he needed now was a fucking Oscar!

     I ignored the john and headed for the door thinkin’ how I desperately needed to quit hustlin’ the skids and find somethin’ else that was a bit more productive money wise.  I was sixteen, nearly homeless and almost broke.  And comin’ to think of it, I actually had it better livin’ with my fucked up folks.

     “You’re a real piece of work, aren’t you, boy?!” the john retorted in disgust a second later, haltin’ me in my footsteps.  I abruptly turned around just as the john was pickin’ up his money from off the floor.

     “What’d you call me?  Did you just call me boy?” my teeth had clenched and I actually felt rage.

     “Yeah, what of it?” the john then retorted questionably.  He hadn’t glimpsed the madness radiating off my face ‘cause the cocksucker was too busy tuckin’ his money neatly into his wallet.

     “‘What of it?’” I repeated, practically shoutin’ it.  The john suddenly looked up.  And he must’ve thought that the Devil and his forked pistol was chargin’ in his direction just by the way the cocksuckin’ son-of-a-bitch started to cower in his skin.

     “What the. . .fuck!?” the john gasped through the widest of eyes.  I actually thought I saw tears.  And as bad as he started to shake, I was sure the bastard was goin’ to shit and piss himself.

     I leaned over the john, grabbed the back of his head by his hair and shoved the barrel of my G30 just beneath his chin.

     “P – please,” the john then staggered.

     “There’s only two other people in this fuckin’ world who can call me “boy”. . .and you faggot ain’t one of them!” I seethed.

     “I. . .I. . .I’m sorry,” the john choked his apology.

     “Fuck your apology!” I gritted, shovin’ the john’s head against the edge of the bed.  His head bounced off the mattress hard, and I left.


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