Luke Bradbury - Undercover - The Adventures of a Real Life Gigolo

LUKE BRADBURY

With Catherine von Ruhland

To ‘Pretty’ for all your love and support.

All In A Day’s Work Beginnings Jenny Clare Louise Jenny Again Sasha Plus One Mark Adele Cyan Stagz Janice Mae Shelley Sasha Fiona And Martin Giselle And Friends Mae Again Sasha Farewell More Stagz Emma And Louise Bob And Deborah Out With Mae Back Home Sheena Graham Ralph, Cindy And Us Myleene David And Charley Ralph And Cindy’s Private Island Helen Original Titles from Mischief Acknowledgments About the Author Copyright About the Publisher

For fuck’s sake, how much longer? Ring the bell, you bastard!

There’s me and this gorgeous girl at it on the floor. Carrie or Emily or something, I can’t remember her name. It’s a bit of a blur by number six. It’s not as if she isn’t good at what she does. She’s been hired, after all, same as me. So she knows all the moves and is fit to boot. It’s just I don’t know how much longer I can keep it up. Literally.

I’m trying my hardest. And both of us are into our stride. Hammer and tongs, wearing the creaking floor away. It’s like we’re swimming together in our sweat, our damp bodies sawing against each other. We’re barely coming up for air, and a strand of her long blonde hair is in my mouth, and everything else is drowned out except for our panting, heavy breathing and thumping heartbeats.

And all I yearn for is the tiny silver jingle of the bell, held between Brian’s index finger and thumb. He’s silent. Watching us.

When he finally shakes it, satisfied, both of us collapse, dead spent. As we catch our breath, Brian comes out from behind the curtain and tosses us both bathrobes. I help the girl to her feet, my arm around her narrow shoulders.

‘You okay?’

‘Yeah,’ she mouths through a half-smile, catching her breath. She’s pretty. She must be about twenty-three. Same as me.

‘Luke, you stay here a while,’ Brian instructs, tightening the belt of his dressing gown. ‘Emma, come with me.’

Emma. That was it.

Brian guides her out of the room. I look at her go, her bare legs glistening.

As they leave the room, Emma turns to me. ‘Nice meeting you, Luke. See you again, maybe.’

‘You too, Emma.’

Maybe.

I stand there, waiting. A short while later, the front door slams shut, and I head to the bathroom and wash Emma off my skin. The warm jet of water is like a curtain between her and the next one.

Is that it for tonight?

I step out of the shower and dry myself down and wrap myself in the bathrobe again. I like the feel of its softness against me. I’m still tying it up when I enter Brian’s lounge again. He pulls his armchair out from behind the curtain and sits low down in it, his legs stretched out before him. He raises his beer bottle to me.

‘Cheers!’

‘Bloody hell, Brian, I thought you were never going to ring that damn thing!’

‘I thought you enjoyed sex,’ he teases.

I sit down in the other armchair across the room, and pick up the open bottle that’s been sitting there since before Emma arrived.

‘Up to a point. It’s easy for you. You don’t have to put the effort in.’

‘Guys your age are supposed to be gagging for it!’ he smirks.

I lift the beer bottle to my lips and knock some back before answering.

‘Well, yeah,’ I laugh, ‘but even so. That doesn’t mean I don’t need to come up for air!’

My muscles silently scream in agreement.

With Brian, I gave as good as I got. We’d built up a rapport since I’d started working for him. Let’s face it, we’d had to. Because although he hired both me and some girls, we weren’t all there on an equal footing. Because Brian was a voyeur. Which, I suppose, made me his Tester.

Brian had once hired me as many as twelve girls in one night. He would call me early evening and we’d have a drink together, and then he’d phone for a girl for me. And the bell was his method of communication, of control. If he wanted the sex to stop, he’d ring the bell. It might be after twenty minutes, it might be after five. She’d go, I’d stay, have another break, and then Brian would phone the agency for someone else for me. And a quarter of an hour later there’d be another girl on the doorstep.

Brian never joined in. All he wanted to do was hide behind the curtain and watch. And whatever else he got up to back there. Everyone gets their kicks some way. Sometimes the sex went on for so long that, like with Emma, I was willing that damn bell to ring. You can have too much of a good thing…

Still, I couldn’t quite believe I was getting paid to do this. My mates would be up of a morning to go to work in offices, schools and cafés, whereas I could lie in bed all day or do whatever I wanted to. Until the evening. When I might have sex with five different girls Brian had selected for me. And earn in that night what my mates would in a week. It was almost too good to be true.

Brian was looking at me. His beer bottle was empty. Mine was still half full and held in mid-air on the way to my mouth. I could tell what he was going to say. He was pushing back the armchair with his bare feet even though he was still sitting in it, even as he was opening his mouth to speak. He held his mobile in the other hand. He’d put the agency number on speed dial so it took no time at all.

‘Right, Luke,’ he said with a wolfish leer. ‘Get ready for number seven.’

Early August

‘We’ve been shafted, the bastards!’

Mark spat the words out across the kitchen table. He’d just shown me his bank statement, and the evidence was there in bright red. I looked down into my mug of tea and nodded. I knew what he meant. But the truth was, we well and truly hadn’t been. That was the problem.

‘Meet loads of girls. You’ll be sent out on six dates a week, and make £90 an hour…’

That was what the freesheet ad for the internet escort agency had promised us—and no doubt hundreds of other guys like Mark and me. Guys with too much male pride and not quite enough money to live on, who just assumed there would be women falling at our feet, and who were mugs enough to fork out £180 to register.

But in the three weeks since the two of us had coughed up our money, not one girl had called for Mark’s services. Nor mine.

I took a sip of my tea and looked across at Mark. It wasn’t even as if either of us was that bad-looking. Not that I’d ever admit I was good -looking. You got a clip for that in my family, for puffing yourself up. I’d been told that I looked a bit like the Spiderman actor, Tobey Maguire. Which was good enough for me. I was six foot tall with dark blond hair that bleached easily in the sun back home in Australia, while Mark’s hair was brown and he was slightly shorter than me. We worked out. Both of us had a reasonable Saturday-night success rate.

Mark shook his head. ‘This is London, for God’s sake. Where are all the girls?’ He took a digestive from the packet upended on the table and bit into it. He had a right to ask. It wasn’t as if we hadn’t seen enough of them falling over each other on any of our weekends out on the piss.