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AUSTIN MANNUELO: THE CONFESSION OF A MALE ESCORT

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This is a fictional story follows my career as a male escort and how I organised a surprise birthday treat involving the target being kidnapped and used as a sex object for 24 hours. In the process my business went from strength to strength and I found love!

CHAPTER 1 – SETTING THE SCENE

I want to make one thing clear from the outset, I am proud of being an escort, damned proud indeed. Okay, I know that it’s not the most highly respected job in society, but it does have its perks and I’m the best in town by miles! I can hand on heart say that I’ve never had any complaints from my clients, you may think that this is an egotistical statement for me to make but it’s true. What is my secret? I hear you ask, the answer is simple. I interview my clients to ascertain their desires, dreams and goals and then turn their fantasies into reality no matter how hard or impossible it may at first seem. Before I talk about my most recent clients, let’s call them Scott and Ryan (for those are their real names), I guess I had better introduce myself to you.

My professional name is Austin Mannuelo but my real name is Frank Manchelle and I was born in Austin, Texas (hence my professional first name). As for Mannuelo, well it sounds more Mexican than the French derived Manchelle giving an authentic ring to the whole name. We moved from Austin when I was six years old and settled in San Antonio for the next ten years then finally to Dallas where at the tender age of eighteen I decided I was old enough and street-wise enough to make a life for myself. I did that alright, but not quite how either my parents or I expected!

Being young, blonde, handsome and quite muscular I quickly attracted the attention of modelling and film agencies as well as chicken hawks on the gay scene. Although I never had a girlfriend as a kid it had never occurred to me that I would enjoy sex with men, and oh boy did I enjoy it! Once I had tasted cock I just could not get enough of it, whether I had it in my mouth, up my arse, giving or receiving it, I didn’t care – just so long as I was getting it! In hindsight this is pretty predictable for an eighteen year old and I must have been easy prey for the older more experienced men and agencies.

Within a year I felt like I had it all, well paid modelling jobs, a couple of soft porn films under my belt and as many blokes between my sheets as I could manage. Heaven in a word! I carried on like this for several years getting more blasé about it as I went, I even told my parents, much to their horror. I guess it was when I hit my mid twenties that I started to notice the work was drying up and that younger guys were getting the jobs that I would previously been offered. As for the gay scene, I was old news and the chicken hawks were after younger prey. Fortunately for me, before my paradise came crashing down around my ears my saviour appeared from nowhere; well not literally for he had landed at Dallas Fortworth International Airport in a British Airways plane. Having cruised him in a local bar and he had bought me a drink, he told me his name was Tristan and that he was a script writer for the BBC. He was in Dallas researching material for a new series they were going to be running the following year. Over the next couple of weeks I fell in love with his self assured British mannerisms, I ignored the fact that he was in his fifties, age for me didn’t matter. He was funny, attentive towards me and paid for everything (which was a bonus as my wages were by now very modest). So when he suggested I fly with him back to London I leapt at the chance to leave Texas and see some of the world.

Our relationship lasted just over five years, by now I was thirty and definitely not a chicken any more, which was perhaps my downfall. One evening out of the blue, as we lay in bed, he calmly told me that we were finished and that he would be moving out very soon. I lay there totally numb, stunned by his announcement, not having seen it coming. I asked him why, had he met someone? All he would say was that he had grown bored of us and was looking for more excitement in his life. Sleep was impossible for me that night, I tossed and turned wondering what to do for the best, do I fly home to the US with my tail between my legs as if I have failed in some way? Or do I stay in the UK where I’ve made a life for myself and have a large network of friends?

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