The Escort

At twenty-five, Travis Sheppard knows all about taking care of himself. He’s been on his own since the age of seventeen, and he learned long ago how to use his assets and natural-born talent to get what he needs…and wants. Travis is a hustler, a male escort, and he caters to men of means who like to shower him with gifts and cash in exchange for his affection—sometimes for his mere presence.

When Travis accepts an overnight gig with a new client, he’s surprised by the fact the customer has pre-paid. When Travis arrives at the gentleman’s surprisingly modest home, he learns that his client is an accomplished, best-selling author. Darren, otherwise known as DJ Torrent, makes Travis a proposal. He wants Travis to accompany him to a gay literature conference. The catch is that for their five days together, Travis is to be more to Darren than just his escort. Darren wants Travis to pose as his husband.

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

The Escort

Copyright © 2016 Jeff Erno

Cover art by Martine Jardin

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

Published by Jeff Erno

Look for my books online online at:

www.jefferno.com or www.seatoskybooks.com

The Escort

By Jeff Erno

Forward and Dedication

This story, The Escort, evolved in much the same way most of my stories have. Generally, I think up ideas for stories that occur in settings with which I’m familiar. Being I’m not exactly well-traveled, I’ve often felt limited. For the most part, I try to write what I know.

But I do take at least one week of vacation every year where I try to travel to someplace I’ve never been. I’ve attended all but one of the Gay Romance Literature retreats, and these trips have often inspired me to write stories set in the locales of the conferences. I wrote an entire series of books called the Men’s Room that was set in a fictional New Orleans gay bar. I’ve written stories that were set, in part, in Atlanta, Albuquerque, and San Diego.

The Escort is the first story I’ve written that was set inside the conference itself. One of the central characters is an M/M author named DJ Torrent. DJ is a pseudonym, his real name being Darren James Kinney. The conference is not set in a location where any of the GRL conferences have been held, and DJ Torrent does not represent any real-life author who has ever attended the conferences. In the story, the name of the conference is GRR, or Gay Romance Retreat.

As with all my stories, there are scenes and interactions that resemble incidents I’ve experienced or observed in real life. In this story there is one particular scene where one of the authors pulls a huge, oversized dildo from his valise while in the middle of his author reading. This actually happened at GRL, and it was so funny that I could not resist including it in my fictional story. However, the fictional author in no way is intended to depict, make fun of, or serve as any kind of commentary on the real person who actually did this. In fact, the character in the book is very different than the real author, who happens to be a friend of mine.

There are two friends in the story, secondary characters, who intentionally resemble people I know in real life. These characters are Lou and Jan. They become very close friends to the main characters, and I tried very hard to write realistic dialogue that is close to what I’d expect them to say in real life. However, none of the plot occurred in real life. None of the actions of these fictional characters happened in reality.

This is not the first time I’ve used real humans to inspire my characters. In my early books, Trust Me, Dumb Jock, and Puppy Love, there are multiple characters who possess physical and personality traits that are identical to or at least similar to people I’ve known. But I’ve never written anyone into my stories as some sort of passive aggressive commentary or to sarcastically mock or mimic them in any way.

I’ve never fashioned a villain or nemesis character after a human being I’ve known in real life. I’ve never made fun of a real human through my writing (except for maybe a famous politician or celebrity, the references being deliberate and obvious).

When I first submitted this work to my publisher, I was extremely excited. I love the story, and I fell in love with characters. I was anxious to get it published and didn’t have any inkling that there was even a possibility the publisher would reject it. But they did. They said it was obviously about the Gay Romance Literature conference in Kansas City and they were afraid that readers would potentially see themselves in the characters and feel as if they were being made fun of. So the publisher declined to publish it.

I want to be clear that this story is NOT about the GRL conference in Kansas City. The characters are fictional and are not representative of people who attended that GRL conference. Although I initially used Kansas City as my setting for the reasons I stated above, I have since changed the location entirely. The structure of the fictional conference does resemble GRL, but this is because GRL is the only conference I have ever attended. I did use generic events and terminologies to set the backdrop for the story, but this was for the sake of authenticity, not to mock.

With all that being said, I would like to dedicate this fictional story to my real-life friends and family who I know from the GRL conferences. I love you guys with all my heart, and I hope you enjoy the story and recognize it for what it is. It’s a sweet, happily-ever-after love story with some pretty hot sex (including a hotel elevator blowjob) and a big dose of emotion along with a heaping side of angst.

Thanks so much for your continued support.

Chapter One

You sure this is the right address? Travis peered out the window from the backseat of the Uber car as they pulled into the driveway of a modest, Tudor-style home. Though it certainly was nothing to sneeze at—not ghetto or even close to trailer trash—it wasn’t what he’d expected.

Most of Travis’s clients were men of means. They usually lived in stylish suburban homes or penthouse apartments, not rustic little three-bedroom family-style dwellings like this one, wedged in between two similar homes and separated merely by a chain-linked fence. Travis advertised himself as catering to up-scale gentlemen.

But what the hell, the dude had paid in advance, five hundred bucks for an overnight. He’d even arranged and prepaid Travis’s transportation. Hopefully he wasn’t some sort of psycho or something. What if he were another Jeffrey Dahmer? Wasn’t he the one who lured young guys into his home before murdering and eating them?

Travis had packed an overnight bag which sat beside him on the seat. He slid his arm through the shoulder strap and prepared to push the door open. But before he could grasp the handle, the door swung open. A smiling face appeared, offset by a pair of square plastic-framed glasses. You must be Travis.

Darren? Nice to meet you. The guy didn’t look old enough. Most clients were at least middle-aged, and this dude couldn’t be more than thirty-five. Not bad looking, either. Though perhaps a bit scrawny and somewhat a nerd, he didn’t seem the type who’d have to pay for sex.

I’ll take your bag.

Oh, I got it. Travis smiled sweetly, skillfully maintaining eye contact. He could feign attraction toward anyone, and he realized how critical those initial few seconds were when establishing a positive first impression. Darren hadn’t mentioned any weird kink during their introductory conversation, but it seemed odd a younger guy like this would hire an escort to come spend the night unless he couldn’t otherwise find a willing partner. Travis was going to have to make sure he knew exactly what he was getting into before he got locked alone inside the house with the stranger.

Darren turned to the driver, handing him a bill through the open window. Oh sir, it’s already paid.

Your tip. Darren nodded and smiled.

Dude! You can’t be serious. Thanks, man!

Travis hadn’t seen what he’d handed the driver, but by the guy’s reaction, it was probably a Benjamin. Whatever Darren’s deal, he certainly wasn’t stingy with his money. As Travis slid out of the car and closed the door behind him, he maintained his composure even as the Uber driver backed out of the driveway. He’d endured moments like this countless times, those few awkward seconds when he at last was finally alone with a client.

Come on in, Darren said. He stood about five-foot-eight, a good five inches shorter than Travis. Maybe he was some sort of computer geek or something, perhaps an engineer. He probably suffered from social anxiety and found it easier to just hire a hustler for no-strings-attached intimacy.

Sure, but I have a question. Travis slid his hand onto Darren’s shoulder and looked him directly in the eyes. What exactly is it you’re into? You’re not down with bondage and pain play or anything, are you?

Darren’s mouth dropped slightly open, and then he laughed. Um, no! No, not at all. In fact, I’m not even sure I want any sex. I…um…I just want your companionship.

Seriously?

I know what you’re thinking. He slid his hands in his pockets and took a step away from Travis. Why’d I pay you so much money?

Well, seriously, man…why did you? I mean, if you just needed to talk, you could have hired a shrink for less.

He shrugged, and as he stood there, his cheeks began to brighten just a bit. He looked down at the ground and shuffled his feet awkwardly. I don’t know. I was lonely, I guess, and when I saw your pictures you reminded me of someone I used to know. I wasn’t seriously going to hire an…um…an escort. I was just checking out the website.

It’s okay, man. Travis moved closer to him, this time wrapping his arm completely around the shorter guy’s shoulder. He was becoming more convinced by the second the man was harmless. I’m glad you did. Let’s go inside. I can give you a massage if you want, help you relax.

Oh… Darren looked up at him, astonishment registering on his face. I don’t think that’s necessary. But I can get you a drink. I just made iced tea, freshly brewed.

Travis laughed. Unsweetened?

Yeah, is that okay? I have sweetener.

Unsweet, and we can talk more. He walked with Darren toward the portico, and as he did, he noticed a slight tremble coursing through the man’s shoulders. It was kind of cute how nervous he was, like maybe this was his very first time with another dude.

But once they stepped inside, Travis realized Darren wasn’t a thirty-year-old virgin. At least it didn’t appear to be the case, judging from the photos on the wall in the living room. A professionally posed photo of Darren with another man hung prominently above the fireplace. Other photos of the same couple wearing tuxedos lined the mantle.

My wedding pictures, Darren explained. But we’re not together anymore.

He’s the one I remind you of? Travis immediately noticed the physical features he shared with the man in the photographs. They both were taller than Darren, dark-haired with similar eyes. But the man in the pictures was a little older, and Travis, of course, had a better physique. He worked out daily at the gym.

Yeah, actually. No offense.

And you two are no longer together? He walked to the fireplace and removed one of the pictures, holding the frame in his hand. He slid his bag from his shoulder and deposited in a nearby chair.

Darren moved toward the fireplace as well and retrieved two gold rings from the mantle. No longer together. He held them in his palm, staring for a moment, then slid them back onto the shelf in front of a picture where they were exchanging vows.

Sorry to hear that. So you want me to be your ex for a day? You think being with me is going to be the same as being with him—that it’s going to help you get over him?

No, not at all. Nothing like that. Like I said, we don’t even have to do anything. I just… I just want companionship.

He wondered for a moment how healthy any of this was. This guy was obviously still in love with his ex, and he’d hired Travis simply because they shared a resemblance, sort of. Was Darren going to snap? Was he psycho? He didn’t at first seem to be the type of guy who lived outside the boundaries of reality, but then again, they didn’t really know each other at all.

I’m not your ex. I’ll give you what you paid for. I’ll even do scenes, roleplay, whatever. But I can’t be him. You realize that, right?

Darren nodded. I know. He turned and walked across the room. Let me get your iced tea.

Travis stood in the archway of the kitchen, watching as Darren prepared two glasses of iced tea. The kitchen, far from modern, smelled clean and bleached, the checkered tile floor gleaming to the point one could eat off it. OCD, maybe. Darren seemed like the sort of guy who’d be obsessed with everything being returned to its proper place, always neat and tidy. Even his attire, a crisply pressed dress shirt and smooth, wrinkle-free khakis, suggested the guy might be a tad anally retentive.

Ceylon Gold black tea, Darren said as he used a set of tongs to deposit exactly six ice cubes into each of the two glasses. Dan used to special order it for me. It’s an import from India.

Fancy schmancy. Travis raised an eyebrow. Whatever. As far as he was concerned, tea was tea.

But to be honest, I like just plain ol’ Lipton tea bags myself. Maybe Dan was a bit more pretentious than me.

Travis stepped into the kitchen, sidling up beside his client. Gracefully, he slid his fingertips against Darren’s back and leaned in, knowing full well the effect of his touch on the timid introvert.

You…um… Darren turned, holding up one of the glasses for Travis. You smell so good.

You smell pretty good yourself. Travis offered his warmest, most sincere smile. And you’re kind of cute.

Darren laughed. You realize I’m probably twice your age, right?

I doubt it. And Travis did doubt it. At twenty-five, he surmised Darren couldn’t be more than five or ten years his senior. How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?

Forty-four.

You’re shitting me. The guy truly did not look it. Do you, like, have an aging picture of yourself hanging somewhere? Like maybe your bedroom closet.

Darren laughed. It surprises me a guy your age even knows that story.

I love Oscar Wilde. I loved all the classics when I was in high school. It was true. Travis had always loved to read, and he’d imagined himself eventually becoming an English professor. Life had interfered, and now here he was, doing this. He pushed the nostalgic thoughts to the back of his mind and continued to trail his fingers up Darren’s spine.

The Picture of Dorian Gray was his only novel, you know. But he wrote several short stories.

And went to jail for being a fag. Travis took the glass of tea with his free hand, and sampled a small sip. "Oh, wow. This really is good."

I’ve often wondered what else he might have produced in his lifetime had he not been persecuted for his sexuality. Darren took a sip of his own tea then placed the glass back onto the counter. You’re giving me goosebumps, the way you’re touching me.

Maybe you just got a chill from the tea.

Darren laughed, and Travis had to smile. He really didn’t seem older at all. In fact, his bubbly, giddy laughter made him seem almost childlike in a way.

You sure you don’t want a massage? I’d be happy to oblige.

You’re so much hotter in person than in the pictures. Darren looked into his eyes. With one hand he reached up, placing it softly against Travis’s cheek. It was still cold from holding the iced tea glass. And you’re smart, too.

I’m here to please you. Travis slid his glass onto the counter next to Darren’s and placed both hands on either side of the other man’s waist. He stared into Darren’s blue eyes. And thank you for the compliment.

But I don’t want a massage right now. Let’s go sit outside, out on the back porch. We won’t have many nice fall days left to enjoy.

Sure.

Plus, you’ve made me jittery, and I think I need a cigarette.