Show It Off!






































 Art by Michael Kirwan 

 Story by W.C. Clark


— originally published in Playguy Magazine - August, 1991 issue —


— The bizarre night of a Hollywood hustler...  —


For starters, I work in Hollywood. To be specific, Santa Monica Boulevard. I'm a hustler. Best spot for me is outside the bookstore on the corner of Genesee Street. The guys there want kinky, out-of-the-ordinary sex. For a hundred bucks I'll do things other hustlers only dream about in their wildest jerk-off fantasies. And when I think I've tried everything, I always find a new thrill on that corner.


I'm a short brunet, nineteen, about five-eleven. I work out a lot, shave my body hair to look younger. I keep my mustache though, 'cause that brings in more bucks. I dress old-fashioned cowboy. You know--boots, jeans, red flannel shirt, big old Wranglers, hat. Makes me stand out in the crowd.


The OK Dog is where I hang out, down on Santa Monica. It's covered by a jungle of tropical plants to hide the ugliness of the building. Sometimes I turn a trick from the Dog, but they're just low-paying suck-jobs. The owner is okay, though; he never hassles a working boy--not like the guy at Astro Burger across the street. I want action with an edge, so I work outside the sex-toy shop by Genesee.


Near midnight, watching the street through the jungle at the Dog while trying to stomach the greasy fries, I see a shiny, new, black BMW cruising around with tinted windows. Can't see who's driving; bet he's old, and rich.


Leaving the Dog, I stop at a bus bench near the sex-toy store to wait. No BMW, though. I go into the store to buy some rubbers, just in case. Hit the street again, this time walking up Spaulding to Sunset. I check it out with the hookers. Did they see the BMW? Then back on Genesee, and--bingo--near the end, there's the new BMW. I check it out; empty. Where's the driver? Maybe at the bookstore.


I get a soda at a laundromat, perch on the fire hydrant across from the bookstore, waiting, thinking about kinky sex so much it puts a bone in my dick. Sometimes thinking about sex is better than doing it.


People come and go, then a tall, older man with snow white hair, and cold blue eyes above an expressionless face comes out. He's neat appearing, wearing a blue business suit, and black wing tips. He looks like money; he looks like he belongs in a BMW.


The man shifts his feet waiting for traffic. I shift my dick so it shows good, pointing toward my pocket. A cool breeze blowing in my open shirt makes my nipples stand up. Give the guy a show. I'll ignore him, while at the same time make him notice me.


He passes; I turn, sure he's getting in the BMW. I cross the street, make it easy for him to discreetly pick me up. The traffic light turns red for him. He's slow enough getting to the corner; I know he's interested.


The electric window glides down. "You want to go for a ride?"


"What you got in mind? I'm not just hanging out," I answer politely, letting him know I'm interested, but working.


"That depends on you. I'm looking for someone who's not afraid."


"Afraid of what?" I say, going to the car, watching where he looks.


"Doing something different, like being an exhibitionist."


"That's interesting. You a cop?"


"Driving this?" He cast a thin-lipped smile. "Let's go before the light changes red again."


Running around the car, I toss my soda in a trash barrel as the button pops up, letting me in. The delicious smell of new leather fills my nostrils.


We head west on the Boulevard, windows rolled up, doors locked. There's an electronic jazz sound coming softly from the rear speakers.


"Let's get down to business. I'm interested in playing an exhibitionist's game. A game of daring, topping yourself each round played. Let me see what kind of equipment you have. The game's no good unless you're hung."


"I'm hung," I said opening my jeans, pushing down the J.C. Penny underwear so my uncut cock pops out, half-hard.


"Okay ...," he said, smiling. "Jerk it 'til it's full-hard."


"No sweat, but we got to talk terms."


He pulled half a hundred-dollar bill out of his shirt pocket; placed it on my knee. "A whole bill for each game completed."


"Sounds fair enough." I pumped my cock to its long, full, fat hardness.


Going east on Melrose, I thought to myself: Jerking off in a tinted-glass car is nothing. "Is this it, just jacking off in the car?" I asked him. I was bone-hard as we turned onto Highland. He reached over and pinched my wet cock-head gently.


"No, no. I want a real show-and I'm prepared to pay for it," he said. We turned onto Santa Monica heading west, then right onto Gardner. Circled the Astro Burger and parked across from the OK Dog.


"Here's the rules," he said. "I sit here watching you with my binoculars. You go over to the OK Dog, pull your cock out, and jerk off." He handed me a rubber. "To be sure you don't fake anything, you'll wear this. Hope you like 'em lubricated."


I looked sideways at him. I'm wild but not crazy. "Man, flashin' in a men's room is okay, or fuckin' in a parked car, but there's real people out there."


"You aren't ashamed of your body, are you?"


"No. But ..."


He picked up the half-hundred. "All talk and no balls."


"How much of a time limit?" I asked trying to keep the deal alive.


"None really, but you shouldn't be long filling the rubber. I'll be watching every stroke on that beautiful, fat, dripping cock."


Pushing my rod and nuts back into my shorts, buttoning my jeans, I stepped out of the car as I tucked the rubber in my waistband. The guys outside the Dog asked about the man in the new car. I shrugged, told 'em he was weird. They know me; if I say somebody's weird, they are.


I got a large Coke, walked around the forest of palms and tropical bushes, sat on the bus bench for a minute, thinking things out. Then it came to me.


I headed over to where there were three large pots, each over two-feet tall. I sat on the pavement with my back to the middle one; I pushed against it. At first the pot wouldn't move. Then, with a little straining on my part, it slid back the width of itself.


Smiling, I looked at the car, directly across the street, spread my legs, and set the Coke down. I checked for walkers; none in sight. I opened my 501s, pulled my whanger out, let my nuts fall so they scraped on the sidewalk.


I could feel his eyes on me, even though nothing was visible through the windshield. I picked the Coke up in my left hand, dangling it from atop my drawn-up knee, so anyone passing by would have a somewhat obstructed view.


After biting into the tinfoil package, pulling the rolled latex out with my teeth, and sliding the cool moist cover over my hot cock, I was amazed that what I was doing had turned me on so much. Suddenly I froze as a couple of hustlers walked by.


But they were only interested in the cars and didn't look my way. I breathed easier. When the slick sheath was rolled all the way down, I took hold with the thumb and forefinger of my right hand, and began stroking.


A bus pulled up. I dropped my cock, let the Coke sag between my legs. People were coming and going, fortunately paying little attention to this pseudo-cowboy sitting near the sidewalk.


My full fist was around my thick boner when the bus pulled away, leaving me in a cloud of exhaust. I stroked at a steady pace, balls pulling up. The lube was just right, like warm spit.


The scene was right too; my heart was pounding. I watched the cars stop for the light, my head swimming. Could a driver see? I wanted to give drivers hot flashes.


An old lady passed, walking her dachshund. The damn animal was low enough to see. Christ, I didn't want help from a curious dog. I broke out in a cold sweat, toes wiggling, visions of the dog nipping at my sausage, and the lady fainting as she sees my dick.


I got hotter, felt the cum rising from my balls, felt the trigger go off. I threw my head back into the ferns. I was panting. Legs opening and closing spasmodically. I let go of my dick. It was bouncing in the air, filling the latex sheath. I was paralyzed with excitement.


I don't know if anyone saw the end to my show, but when I regained my senses, I tucked my cock and balls away. Standing, a little weak-kneed, I set the drink down. Jumping at a break in traffic, I dashed across the street. The passenger-door lock sprang up, and I hopped in as the car glided into the street. His large dick was hanging out of the suit. I got the new Ben Franklin.


"I was sure you'd figure out a way to do that. Now to see if it was real."


"It was real enough. Hell, that dachshund almost made me shit!"


"Pull the rubber off carefully--don't spill anything---then dip your finger in, and lick it. I want to make sure it's cum--not liquid soap or something."


"It's cum," I said, lifting the tight fitting cover from my still-hard cock. When it was off, I did as I was told. Licked my finger, then stuck my tongue in the rubber for good measure. I didn't taste half-bad.


"Go down on me," he said, as we headed west on Santa Monica again. "Then when I'm stiff, slip the rubber over my dick." We turned right onto Fairfax.


His cock was not the first cock I had sucked. Not by a long shot. I masturbated him when the rubber was in place. We turned onto Sunset and headed toward downtown L.A.


"How long can you keep a hard-on while you're naked?" he asked.


"That's easy; a long time," I bragged.


We stopped in a parking lot.


"Get out and strip," he said coldly.


I slid my boots off and got out, my already-open jeans sliding down. Unbuttoning my red shirt, I looked over my shoulder, wondering if he would leave me there, bare-butt naked. The last thing off was my tan velour cowboy hat. I hopped back in and we drove on­ to Highland, then turned into the Carl's Jr. Drive-Thru.


"You must be hungry after all that work," he chuckled.


"I am sure the girl has seen naked guys in this line." I said confidently, hoping the stiffness wouldn't leave my dick.


"Yes, but she will be a he, and I have some unfinished business with him­-which you will help me finish." His smile, that same thin lipped smile, seemed nasty, like sneering.


Cars moved forward, orders were handed out through the window; we neared our turn. I was hungry for the food, but for something else too. Again I was excited by the fact a stranger would see my dick. I didn't have to handle myself at all to stay hard, just spread my legs, and slouched in the seat, my crotch in full view.


"That will be, uh, $7.49," the middle-aged man at the window said. Then he looked up. "Milton! You're disgusting; you don't care what you do to people, just so you win."


"I bet you I would have a naked chicken in my car before midnight, on my first day driving this sharp BMW," the gray haired man said calmly.


"I hope you've paid him well."


"Yes, a lot more than you can afford. I paid him by the inch. I believe the meal will be free?" Milton said in a nasty tone.


The food was shoved into the car window, and the man turned away. Milton laughed as he handed me the bag, then reached into his pocket and laid the half-hundred on the dash.


''Are you good at running?" he asked, again heading west on Santa Monica.


"Sure, running's saved my butt more than once." I started in on the burger.


"Good," he said, wearing that nasty smile. "Better pull on your boots."


"Why?" I asked, not sure I really wanted to know. The second game was now definitely underway.



"How many blocks do you think you can run?" he asked, turning up Fairfax.


"Don't know. Depends on who's chasing me," I answered honestly. "Ten, twelve? I don't know.'' I sipped on the Coke, eyeing him suspiciously.


"It's twenty blocks between Fairfax and Highland, on Sunset. I've often wondered how surprised the whores would be, if a good-looking young man went running, naked, down the street-jerking off and shouting 'here I cum.' Would they laugh? Be shocked? I wonder." He smiled wickedly, teaching over and pinching my firm wet dickhead again,


"Shit. Where are you gonna be during this marathon?" I started to pull on my boots.


"I'll drive on ahead. If you should get to Highland first, just wait. I'll get there, eventually.'' He glared this time, challenging me. "Well?" His voice had the same evil tone he'd used to put down the Carl's Jr. guy.


I can always use money. There was a churning in my guts, an electric charge in my dick. Did I have the guts to do something as crazy as this? My cock said go; my mind said no.  We got to Sunset. Grabbing my hat, I bolted from the car, crashing by people, dashing headlong, glad that the overhanging trees shadowed the sidewalk.


This was exciting, turning me on like no aphrodisiac could. I heard the slapping sound of my hard dick flopping against my belly with each stride. I dodged between hookers and johns in the first block, their mouths open, silent with disbelief, or just too surprised to laugh.


Crossing the next street, I darted be­ tween cars, flipped off the front of a taxi, his brakes squealing. There were cute remarks being yelled; no time to respond. The wind whirred in my ears. Tooting traffic passed on the street. I grabbed my cock, yelling, "Here I cum!" No need to stroke it. The BMW drove past me.


The next blocks flew by. This was a better head rush than any drug. I was looking for a black-and-white, not sure what I'd do if one appeared. If a cop said, "Freeze," would I? Or could I zigzag away, hop over a fence?


Holding my prick, I passed the BMW in line at a light. As it changed, I ran across the intersection. The first car turned toward me, jammed its brakes to avoid me--and got rear-ended by the next car. I sprinted away, as a loud stream of screamed obscenities followed my trail.


In the next block a convertible carrying several guys pulled alongside, hooting insults I couldn't quite understand. My heart was pounding, the wind whistling in my ears. I was flying. I couldn't hear, didn't care what they were saying.


I felt near to shooting a load without touching myself. I was on a sex high, pre-cum juice oozing from the tip of my cock-head, leaving tracks on my skin wherever it slapped. Balls pulled up tight to my pelvis, I was ready to cum. A wave of goosebumps swept over me, my nipples hardened, I felt the breeze on my naked, tingling butt cheeks.


As I got to Highland, there was no sign of the black BMW! I jogged in a circle back to Sunset, looking for the car, but the convertible was there. I could hear the crude suggestions of what they'd do to my faggot butt. Getting scared, I ran down Highland a ways, fear overwhelming me. But my cock stayed hard. The convertible followed me around the corner. I doubled back, leaving them going away. They pulled to the curb. I heard more shouting, then footsteps--one guy dove for me at the corner, but I dodged him. Suddenly the BMW appeared, door swinging open as he slowed down rounding the corner. I jumped in. We took off down Highland amid yells and gestures. I gave the convertible's passengers the finger as we passed.


"Either you have the same passions I do, or you're even crazier than me," my gray-haired benefactor said, handing me a whole Franklin.


"A little of both," I blurted, catching my breath, gulping my Coke, sliding down in the seat. "I'm glad I don't smoke, I never could have made it."


We pulled into the Carl's Jr. parking lot. He was still hard, and didn't stop me when I reached over to stroke his big cock. When we were parked he pulled my face down toward his rubber-covered dick. I didn't resist.


His stiff hard-on wasn't as fat as mine, but it was longer. I wet the latex with lots of spit, and it slid over my tongue, down into my throat with ease. My dick was throbbing against my belly, oozing, ready to cum.


"Just suck, don't try to get me off yet. I'm not ready. Just keep me hard," he instructed. I sucked the covered cock as he finished his meal, bagging the garbage. "Be a good boy--run this over to the trash can."


He was smiling again. This was a different story. The lot was brightly lit, and there were people hanging around the cars. I noticed the convertible in the drive-thru line.


"What the fuck. Might as well die in a Carl's Jr. lot," I said, opening the door. I calmly walked the fifty or so feet to the can, hoping a walking nude might be less obvious than a running nude. I was almost back to the car when someone saw I was naked, save for my boots and hat. It was then the hooting began.


This alerted the guys in the convertible. The burly one, who had fallen, leapt from the back seat and headed for me. I moved faster, slamming the door just ahead of his fists pounding on the roof.


Milton slowly inched the car forward, nudging the enraged young man aside, then pulled away fast. "I think you should flip him the bird," he said as we waited to pull into traffic on Santa Monica. I opened the window, fingering air.


"I gotta take a leak, man. This Coke is going through me."


"I want to see you cum again. Can you?"


"Sure, as soon as I get rid of the piss."


We turned at the fire station, and then into the alley that runs between Spaulding and Genesee Streets. He stopped behind the sex-toy store building. I got out and pissed against the wall. I shook off the last few drops, then turned to get back in the car. I heard the door lock click shut. "What the fuck you doing?" I yelled. Panicking, I ran to the driver's side.


"You don't need to be in here, but you must do something else. There'll be another hundred in your pocket when you're done.


I wanted to say something, but he had me by the balls. I was excited, standing outside the car, naked. Ticked off at his attitude, but still, I wanted all the money I could get.


'Tm going to get off now," he continued. "I'll jerk off in here. I want to watch you beat your meat out there."


My cock had been hard for what seemed like hours. I couldn't understand what was keeping it that way. My heart was pounding, my hands as wet as my dick-head. I leaned back against the cool cinderblock wall. I knew it wouldn't take long.


He flicked the light on inside the car. I watched him through the open window, pumping his big bard-on in a steady rhythm. I matched him stroke for stroke. Our eyes met. I love him, I hate him, I need him.


"Go to the front. Stand on the bumper," he said tersely, close to shooting off.


I went without question. He'd led me through the most erotic evening of my life. Maybe I didn't like him, but he'd gotten me so hot that, for me to cum, I needed to be his object. Needed him to use me.


My cock was at its absolute fattest. Veins sticking out, balls rising, pulling up tight, my knees pressed against the hood. I was cupping my nuts with my left hand, fingering my hole a little, damn near ready to explode.


The car moved slowly forward, just onto the sidewalk. I was in the bright glow of the streetlight, fully visible from the boulevard, or to anyone driving on Genesee Street.


I pumped my cock, head thrown back, all my muscles tensed. Balls bouncing and butt-naked. This was wilder than anything I ever imagined. I was breathing fast, near to blasting a load. I could see him sitting rigid in the seat. Then his face began contorting. He shuddered once as I watched his cum fill the rubber.


I shot my juice in spurts all over the hood. It was like I was watching it in slow motion. I was floating away with the sensation, my cock spewing gobs of thick white cream. I was hyperventilating, close to blacking out. The strings of bright liquid glistened on the black paint in a wild zigzag pattern.


I couldn't hold my balance any longer. I jumped down off the bumper, staggered back to the wall, slumping there to regain my breath. When I focused again, I saw my clothes on the ground. He was driving away, his hand out the window. Panicking, I grasped at it, snatching something from his grip--the used rubber!


"Thanks for the christening," he said, as he spun off, disappearing into the dark forever.


Sweating all over, trembling, I slid down the wall until I was sitting. I felt for the three bills in my Levi's pocket.


They were there. Whew! But then I realized even if they hadn't been, I was satisfied. I'd learned that there was more to sex than money. And I don't mean love. I mean the sharp thrill of being stripped naked. Exposed. Possessed. I squished the contents of the rubber around in my hand, and felt thankful for. Milton's gift: three hundred bucks worth of kink!


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Any images, writings or other content on this website may be copied for personal viewing only.
They may not be: redistributed; sold; altered; enhanced; modified by artificial, digital or computer imaging;
used on another website or blog; posted to any internet or computer newsgroup, forum or media sharing site;
nor used for any other purpose without the express written permission of the artist or