Rentboy

RENTBOY

    Fyn Alexander

    www.loose-id.com
    Rentboy
    Copyright © November 2012 by Fyn Alexander
    All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of
    this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without
    prior written permission from Loose Id LLC. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of
    copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
    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
    imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business
    establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
    Warning
    This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to
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    * * * *
    DISCLAIMER: Please do not try any new sexual practice, especially those that might be found in our

    BDSM/fetish titles without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. Neither Loose Id LLC nor its
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    contained in any of its titles.
    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