Date: Wed, 30 Nov 2011 19:58:46 -0800 (PST) From: Macout Mann <macoutmann@yahoo.com> Subject: Teenaged Hustler 10 This story is fiction. A reminder: It is set in an unnamed U.S. city in the late 1970s. Any resemblance to actual places, persons, or events is purely coincidental. This story also contains explicit homosexual activity between teens and adults. If such offends you, or if you are underage, please move on. TEENAGED HUSTLER by Macout Mann Chapter 10 Time continued to tick slowly for Matt. He didn't really know why. Nothing had changed really, had it? How long did it take to create a corporation anyway? On Tuesday he got a call from Reznick. "Matt, I want you to meet me at the Wordsworth Country Club tomorrow at noon. Wear the sports outfit Austin got for you. You'll need to take a cab. The driver will drop you at the clubhouse." Some activity anyway. Matt was still bored, and that night he headed down to the block, got picked up by one of his regulars, got sucked, got paid, and headed back home. Wasn't the same for some reason. He and Jim had an especially good night together. Matt didn't realize that soon taxicabs would be the way he most often went to meet clients. The cabride to the country club was another test. The cabbie had been tipped off, and would report to Reznick. He would later instruct Matt about giving instructions and tipping. Matt passed the test on how to disembark. When he entered the club, however, he was confused. There were card rooms on either side of the foyer, where ladies were busy playing what he was later to learn was "bridge." There was no maitre d' or desk clerk. There was just a long hallway. So he walked. At its end the hall intersected another hall. There was a stairway, but Matt heard voices to his right, so he walked in that direction and discovered a dining room. And there was a maitre d'. "Yes, Mr.?" "I was to meet Mr. Reznick," Matt said, not quite stammering. "Oh yes, Mr. Edwards. This way please." So many tests. So many passed. Matt arrived at a table where Reznick was seated with a lady, he'd guess about sixty, grey hair and maybe a million bucks of jewelry. "Oh, Matt," Reznick said, "I'm glad you could join us. This is my client, Mrs. Jensen. Matt is considering a career in interior design." "Please to meet ya, Ms. Jensen," Matt managed. "So nice to meet you, young man. It's so good to see young people with ambition these days," Mrs. Jensen responded. Matt used his previous experience in ordering. He managed not to offend Mrs. Jensen in subsequent conversation. And he learned a bit about interior design listening to Reznick and his client. Driving back to Reznick's studio, Matt was praised for his handling of the situation. He was told that the time might come where a client he was with might encounter his wife or a business associate and that he would need to rise to the occasion. Follow the client's lead. He was also cautioned to use the word "you" rather than "ya," when meeting ladies of quality. At the studio Matt was taken to Reznick's private office. There was an ancient female, a Mrs. Bellingham, who welcomed them in the showroom. Matt was also introduced to Ringo, a black twenty-something, who gave Matt a knowing glance. But in the private office, Matt was treated to a repeat of his last experience with Reznick. "Victor, you're the best!" Reznick also suggested that Saturday Jim might begin his training. "It'll take a little while to get everything in place, but it'll `come to pass,'" Reznick predicted. "Meanwhile, we may as well put the time we've got to good use. Thursday, Spangler called. "Meet me at 5:30," he said. "Come to Suite 604 at the Riverside Arms. You can wear your sports outfit." Riverside Arms was a high-rise condo on the river near downtown. Matt had never even been near it. But he went as instructed. The doorman opened the door without hesitation; and when he found no one in the large lobby, he walked confidently to the elevator and punched the floor. When he knocked at 604, Spangler greeted him and embraced him. "You know, Matt," he said, "a few weeks ago it wouldn't have mattered how you were dressed, you couldn't have got passed the doorman without his having to call me. I'm really proud of you." Spangler explained that Spangler, Inc. owned Suite 604 to entertain clients and to put up very special guests of the company. It was also available when "I have to work late at the office and would like you to visit." He led Matt into the bedroom where they enjoyed relaxed and fulfilling sex. Matt's check was for only $150, but on an hourly basis that was three or four times the rate he'd expect on the block. He was also told that other clients, visiting dignitaries, might entertain him at the Riverside Arms. Spangler also suggested that it wasn't too soon to start recruiting the other youngsters that Matt had mentioned. Matt's sixteen-year-old brain was spinning. He'd never dreamed about anything like this, much less that anything like this could actually happen. On Saturday Reznick picked up Jim. Matt had told him not to expect cash, that this would be an educational session. Jim had told him in return that he already knew how to fuck and be fucked. He was wearing a sleeveless t shirt and faded jeans. He'd showered but hadn't bothered to shave. "So what we goanna do?" Jim asked. "Whad'ya think?" Reznick replied in his most down-low accent. "You goanna get a free fuck," Jim said. "Shit, motherfucker," Reznick replied, "I don't need you. Austin Spangler's been with you twice, and he don't need you. But he thinks you got some potential to make some money. And you don't need to be an uptown sorta guy to make some money. But you do need to be able to walk into a place like Cambridge House without having the house dick all over you. That's what I'm here to show you. In exchange for what I can show you, yeah, I'm goanna have your ass. Is that understood?" "I'll go along. But it's still just a free fuck." Reznick reversed course and drove to Cambridge House, stopping a half block before the entrance. "O.K., smartass," he said, "You walk in the front entrance. Sit down in the lobby. After five minutes get up and walk out the side entrance. I'll be here waiting for you." He checked his watch when Jim entered the hotel; checked it again when he came out the front door. Only three minutes had elapsed. Jim got in the car in a different mood. "What happened? Reznick asked. "Oh, I sat down like you told me. This fella comes over and asks can he help me. I tell him I'm just waiting for somebody. He asks who. I say it's none of his business. He tells me I better leave if I know what's good for me." "Yeah," Reznick said, "I could've told you that. Better you experience it for yourself." He drove to his studio and lectured Jim for an hour about what to expect from the sort of men he might be dealing with at Jobs Cheerfully Completed. Then he asked Jim to role play. Reznick would be the client, Jim the call boy. The client had asked for a construction worker to come to his house in a fashionable section of town in the early evening. What would Jim wear? How would he travel? What would he say when the john opened the door? He guided Jim through the experience, and experienced Jim's sexy body in the process. He was a sucker for hairy pits, and Jim's were ample. He licked them and licked Jim's pecs, and his navel, and his trail, and he swallowed his young dick, before he finally speared his still tight ass. It was a free fuck, but Jim had learned a lot and realized he had a lot more to learn. Back home he and Si had a conversation about what he'd been through. Si said he ought to learn well, because he had the feeling that he and Matt would be doing a lot of the training of other boys. "That is, if this fucking scheme works out." "Well, you ought to at least be getting some free boy ass yourself," Jim said. "Might," Si rejoined. "But what's the matter? You tired of me?" "Shit no! But everybody needs variety. I don't know why you won't hook up with Matt. He'd love to be fucking around with you." "I know," Si said. "It aint that I don't want to. I get a hardon every time I see him. But goddam it, I'm his old man!" "And who the hell do you think took my cherry?" Jim asked. "Not my fucking brother-in-law!" "You got it. Before I could even cum." "Sonofabitch!" - - - - - - - - - Feedback is important. Let me hear what you think, good or bad. macoutmann@yahoo.com Copyright 2011 by Macout Mann. All rights reserved.