Disclaimer: I am the owner of a single share of WWE stock which pretty much only guarantees me yet another underperforming investment in my portfolio. Punk, please get your act together and make good on my investment!

The Secret Life of a Call Boy

The first thing you should know about me is that I'm a whore. Escort, hooker, prostitute, whore; it doesn't matter what you call me, it's just semantics and you should know that this is very far removed from the plan I had for my life. In another lifetime I used to be called Punk but that was before my unwilling need to change professions. Now I go by Phil. While most prostitutes go by fake names, I had never really been called by my first name in my life so it seemed fitting that I would be using it now.

I had always wanted to be a professional wrestler. It was the only ambition I ever had. I was wrestling in IWA Mid-South and was beginning to get bookings in Ring of Honor until one day when everything went so very wrong. It was a match like any other, a leap to the top rope like I had done so many times before except this time I slipped, somersaulting backwards, slamming my knee onto the steel steps. I tore my MCL, ACL and shattered my patella. I would be able to recover from even a combination of two of these injuries but all three and it spelled the end of my wrestling career.

I was devastated to have my dream ripped away, lost without any plan for my future. I lived a nomadic existence, drifting from one crummy job to another. What I had dreamed of most was to end up in the WWE, the epicenter of pro wrestling in America. Once I had attained one of those hard won roster spots I was sure that with my talent in the ring and on the microphone I would be able to make the most of the spot I had earned. To even have a chance to be called up to the WWE my reputation needed to be spotless. Besides some teenage shenanigans and a tendency to be a little self-centered there was nothing other than my skills to judge me on. If they knew the truth, that I was gay, it would have reduced my chances to zero. The only freedom my injury had granted me was the one to own my sexuality. Now I could date a man, hold his hand in public without fear of repercussions. The funny thing was that I was doing none of those things. Just as I never stayed in one job too long I also never stayed in relationships for very long. Who am I kidding? Unless you can call a one night stand a relationship then my relationship count was miniscule. And that's when I had the one night stand that changed my life.

It was like any other night in the club, drinks were flowing, drugs were plentiful and the men were easy. All I ever took advantage of was the latter. Somehow after everything that had happened I still remained committed to my straight edge lifestyle. I could have taken a drink or popped a pill and had some respite from the hell that my life had become but I didn't. The want, take, have theory of hookups in the club was what reigned, but what was different that night was that instead of being picked up like any other night, that night I would say that I was being admired from afar. Every move I made he followed with his eyes, never letting me stray far from his gaze. It was a change from the norm and I can't lie and say I wasn't intrigued. When I finally approached him he merely took my hand in his and led me out of the club into a waiting car. Most sexual transactions were likely to occur in the backroom of the club or the adjacent alley, not in a chauffeured luxury car.

I was amazed when we arrived at Peninsula hotel. It was one of the most high-priced hotels in Chicago. With my baggy jeans, sneakers and t-shirt I stood out, and not in a good way, but the hotel manager just nodded as we walked past him, as if I wasn't polluting the air of his hotel just by existing. We rode the elevator up to his room, or should I say his floor. The room was luxurious. This wasn't something that usually impressed me but I could recognize that this was a experience I was not likely ever to have again so I let myself enjoy the room service, the high pressured showers and the soft bed. I wouldn't call what happened that night making love but it was far from the fast fucks that I was accustomed to.

His name was Pierre. He had a sexy French accent with looks to match. It was the morning after that began the departure from my usual reality. I woke to find myself alone in his fancy hotel room. All of his luggage was gone. The only thing left behind was an envelope left on the bedside table that bore my legal first name even though I was positive that I had not given him that information. Inside was hotel stationary that merely said, "Thanks for a great night." What knocked me back on my heels was the $1,500 in cash accompanying the note. I couldn't hold down a minimum wage job but had just made $1,500 in one night performing an act that I usually gave away for free. I found that it didn't really bother me that I had basically sold myself for money unknowingly. I had left behind the straight edge tenet of not participating in promiscuous sex a long time ago. I was currently working the night shift at a 7-Eleven for minimum wage and the kind of money I was currently holding in my hand was more money that I would see in months.

When I flipped the page over there was a phone number with a Chicago area code. I really didn't want to return the money but it seemed like the right thing to do. I called the number and was taken aback when a female answered the phone.

"This is Darcy, how may I help you?"

"I think I have the wrong number. A man named Pierre left me this phone number."

"Ah yes, Pierre. It's quite a compliment that he would give you a recommendation. What's your name?"

"Pu…its Phil."

"How long have you known Pierre?"

"We only met last night. He left me $1,500 in an envelope on the nightstand," I said hurriedly, still shocked over the money he had left me.

"Pierre…so classy. This gets more and more intriguing. Are you free today? I'd love to meet you."

I had a pretty good idea what business Darcy was running and I had to admit I was just as intrigued with Darcy as she seemed to be with me. I took down the address Darcy gave me and agreed to meet her at 2PM. When I entered the coffee shop it was empty except for a woman who could only be in her thirty's.

"Are you Darcy?" I asked. Her eyes widened and I could tell that she was just as shocked by my appearance.

"You must be Phil. You're not what I was expecting at all but that's not a bad thing," she said with a smile, gesturing for me to take the seat in front of her.

"You seem awfully young to be a Madam," I blurted out and Darcy cracked up laughing.

"Madam is such an antiquated term. It's not like I have a fleet of courtesans running around the city. I prefer to think of myself as an agent. Are you gay or bi?"

"Gay."

"Good. My female clientele prefer their men to look like male models."

"Are you saying I don't look like a model?" I said with a coy smile.

"Ohh, a personality to match your looks. I can definitely work with that. Would you be interested in making more money than you've ever made in your life?"

"Who wouldn't be interested in that, seriously?"

"Going into business selling yourself isn't a decision that should be taken lightly. How about we arrange a try-out of sorts. I'll start you off with a easy client and we'll see where we go from there. The only thing we'll need to change is your clothes. Under all those baggy clothes I can tell you have quite the body on you."

"I used to be an athlete."

"Stamina too I hope? I have a feeling this might just work out. You just need to get some body conscious clothes to show yourself off for maximum effect." Darcy reached forward and lifted the edge of the sleeve of my shirt, taking a closer look at my tattoos. I was sure that my ink was going to be a deal breaker.

"Nice ink. Don't look so worried. Sometimes clients are looking for a bit of novelty and you definitely meet that description. How about we meet again in a few days after you've bought some new clothes and I'll walk you through the logistics."

I did exactly that with the money Pierre had left me and this time met Darcy at a high rise apartment building in the swankiest part of town. Darcy opened the door and looked me over from head to toe. She twirled her finger and I turned around in a circle.

"Your ass, Jesus Christ. Why you've been hiding that under baggy clothes is insane. Come on in. Would you like a drink?"

"I'm straight edge. I don't drink alcohol…or do drugs."

"That's a lifestyle choice I don't come across too often. I don't employ alcoholics or drug addicts…too much of a liability, showing up for a date blitzed out of your mind. How about we go through the rules. I will act as your agent, meaning I take 35% off the top."

"That sounds like a lot."

"It's the standard commission. You won't be getting envelopes bursting with hundreds but it's still better money than you'd ever make at a normal job. I vet all your clients first to make sure they're capable of paying the fee, that they're the right clients for you, and most of all, that they're not raving psychos. Let's go through your…capabilities. Top or bottom?"

"I do both."

"Excellent."

"What is your usual sex life like?"

"Pretty normal I guess, though I do like it a little rough to be honest."

"That's a good selling point. Let's go through the kinks. Bondage?"

"Light bondage is okay," I said hesitantly, thinking that a real prostitute wouldn't say no to anything.

"That's fine, really; I have employees that do that sort of thing exclusively."

"I'm really up for most everything except the really extreme things like getting pissed on or stuff like that."

"I don't really deal in that sort of thing. I leave that for other agents to deal with. I book out calls exclusively. That's when you meet them at some pre-determined place, usually a hotel. I've already set up your first date. His name is Erik and he's a long term client. He enjoys sampling the new guys before anybody else does. His preferences aren't anything out of the ordinary. You'll meet him at the Waldorf Astoria at 7 tonight. Nervous?"

"A little. One recommendation doesn't exactly assure that I'm…talented."

"We'll know before the end of the night won't we? I'll call you after I speak to Erik."

I nodded and left for home. I took a shower and shaved; my legs and chest as well. I had gotten into the habit of doing it when I wrestled and thought it showed off my body to it's best effect. I entered the lobby of the hotel, walking past reception coolly as if I had every right to be there. I rode the elevator up to the prearranged room and knocked. The man who opened the door was tall, blonde and very attractive. I thanked Darcy silently for booking my first outing with someone this good looking. I knew, more than likely, that most of my clients would not be. Erik looked me up and down, opening the door wide and stepping aside so that I could enter. I turned to face Erik as the door closed behind us. Without speaking a word Erik stepped close to me and ran his hands down my bare arms from the edge of my short sleeve shirt to my wrists. Erik moved his hands down to the edge of my shirt, lifting it over my head. Erik just stared at my brightly colored bared chest for a minute. I could see the rejection coming from a mile away. I reached out to grab my shirt off the bed where Erik had tossed it but Erik reached out to still my hand.

"Don't even think about putting that shirt back on."

"You looked…"

"What? Unappreciative of what's before me? I can assure you that's very much not the case. Just when I thought the world was being overrun by Abercrombie models Darcy sends me you," Erik said with a seductive smile, running his hands slowly down my chest, stopping at the waistband of my pants, taking his time undoing the button and fly, pulling my pants down my legs. I kicked them off and stood still while Erik walked in a slow circle around me, hands trailing over my skin. When we stood facing each other again Erik sunk his hands in my long hair, pulling me close and placing his lips on mine. I was confused for a second, every TV show and movie I had ever seen always implied that prostitutes seldom kissed on the lips. Erik pulled back and looked at me, laughing a little.

"This isn't Pretty Woman. Kissing isn't some sort of forbidden act. In fact, most of your clients are looking for intimacy as well as the sex. If you don't kiss me back I'm afraid that…"

I cut Erik off, wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing my lips to his, running my tongue over the seam of his lips which opened immediately for me. I kissed him deeply for a few minutes, letting my hands wander over his body. I didn't wait for him to tell me to undress him but took the initiative on my own. I sunk down on my knees sliding his pants down his legs and stayed on my knees. He was already hard which had to be a good sign. I wrapped my lips around the head of his dick and sucked hard. Erik moaned and tangled my hair in his hands. I slid my mouth down the length of him, tounging the vein that ran down the underside. Erik moaned again, hands tightening in my hair. I swallowed him down all the way, burying my face in his groin. I had always been able to deep throat without problems but I never thought it would turn out to be a valuable job skill. It occurred to me that I was being paid to get him off. I waited for the feelings of degradation or disgust to come over me but none of those feelings registered. As I continued to suck him off enthusiastically he began moaning louder and breathing heavily.

"Fuck…" Erik moaned, surprising me when he lightly yanked my hair, pulling out of my mouth. "As nice as your mouth is I really want to be inside of your sweet ass."

I crawled onto the bed, trying to be as seductive as possible but worrying that I just looked foolish. I looked at Erik over my shoulder but his eyes were trained on my ass. That had to be a good sign, right? His eyes finally met mine with a heated smile. He joined me on the bed, turning me over onto my back. I was surprised that he wanted to take me face to face, but it was his dime. Erik reached over to the bedside table, grabbing lube and a condom. Fuck! I wanted to plant my face in my hands in embarrassment. There were condoms in my pants but I had forgotten all about them in the heat of the moment. That wasn't very professional of me, was it? My moronacy was forgotten when his slick fingers circled my entrance and pressed inside of me. He worked me over and my body couldn't deny that it felt good. His fingers slid out of me, ripping open the condom wrapper and rolling it onto his cock. He spread my legs wider and entered me smoothly. He thrust inside me slowly at first and then began to pick up speed. If there was some rule about not enjoying yourself while you were being paid to give someone else pleasure I decided that rule could just fuck off. I lifted my legs from the bed, placing them over his shoulders. Erik gave me a wicked smile and pressed me further back on the bed until my knees were up around my ears. He circled his hips against mine.

"Oh fuck me, right there," I moaned out when he hit my prostate. Erik gave me a self-satisfied grin and began to pound me in earnest. I wanted to come so badly; Erik definitely knew what he was doing, but I held my orgasm at bay by sheer force of will. I may have forgotten the condoms but I knew I had to get him off before me…if I was going to get off at all. I tightened my muscles around him, Erik moaning loudly. He thrust inside me for a few more strokes, his hands clamping down on my hips as his body went rigid as he came. He lowered my legs from around his shoulders. I jerked in surprise as his hand wrapped around my cock, jerking me off smoothly until I came between us.

"Let's go take a shower and clean off," Erik said, pulling me off of the bed and leading me into the bathroom. While in the shower I took the opportunity to finish the blow job I had started in the hotel room, using every trick I knew to make it as good as possible in thanks for not leaving me hard and aching before he kicked me out the room. We dried off and I began gathering my clothes from around the hotel room, not sure what the protocol was for post sex behavior.

"Sweetheart?"

"Yes?" I answered quietly, waiting for the critique to come forth.

"Rule #1, get the money first."

"Fuck me, I'm terrible at this," I muttered, actually palming my face in my hand this time. How stupid am I?

"You're blushing, that's adorable. This was your first time, don't get down on yourself," Erik said, handing me an envelope. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to count it or what, so I just put it in my pocket.

"Do you mind…how was…"

Erik smirked at me and shook his head. I probably shouldn't have asked that either. He kissed me once more on the cheek and led me to the door.

"It was nice to meet you sweetheart."

I made my way back to my apartment in a sort of daze. I had just been paid to have sex and omitting the few major oversights it seemed to have gone well…I think. As I was walking through my door my phone went off. It was a text from Darcy setting up a meeting for the next morning.

A/N: While I can now say I am a veteran writer of fanfic, this is my first foray into AU. Without having the storylines of the WWE to fall back on this should be quite interesting. I'm getting my info on the sex trade from a variety of pop culture sources, the main one being The Secret Diary of a Call Girl, whose title and I opening line I completely stole for my own nefarious purposes. The initial inspiration for this fic is Xenarocks99's "Neighbours" where she used the words Punk, John and escort in the same sentence and my brain immediately short-circuited. Please review and let me know if this story interests you and is worth continuing.