Oh Yes, Guido's Back

We're already using the Xmas cards as roaches, thanks Eliza, Jack & Gracie. Speaking of which, Guido's back. He turned up the other day, with a big Ta Da at the front door. He's been in South America and the States, hanging out in the poorest part of L.A. He's been having a fine old time, getting poor black straight boys to jack off for him... for one hundred dollars a wank.

"Headed home because of the financial crisis," said Guido. "You know, cut costs," full body twitch, "take up a few local, um, er, opportunities that have been," full salesman smile, white pointer, "shall we say," neck twitch, "have been on the back burner."

He says he's going legit. He's going to run an Internet business. "It's the new fucken frontier." Poor Straight Black Guys Wank for money.com, or some such thing.

"Gay for pay," said Guido with his customary smile. "Good money. Crack it for a few of the really poor ones and they'll do anything for a buck." He laughed. "Any thing, buddy. Just need to trawl the poverty class... rich pickings."

That's Guido, a humanitarian at heart.

"You should see some of the fucken wangs on some of these mothers," said Guido. "Jesus fuck! Can stick their cocks up their own arses, half of them."

Guido looks great. I wondered if he'd had some work done. I mean, he's always been a good looking boy, in his own, fucked up excessive kind of way. But, some how, all the excesses in his face weren't showing any longer, now there was just smooth, tight skin.

"Why were you gone so long?"

"Oh you know." he touched his nose and ran his hand through his hair. "Sometimes it pays to keep, er, um, a low profile." Big smile. "See the world. Spend time with my guy. New meat in a new town, they fall at ya fucken feet, little fucken Ho's."

He looked kind of different. Maybe he was just relaxed. I wanted to ask him if he'd had work done, but some how it came out as an enquiry about Junior, don't know why.

"Got my name tattooed on his arse," said Guido.

"Junior?" I laughed. "That's a good image..."

"No," said Guido testily. "Troy. No more of this Junior shit."

Well! There was a change. I looked at Guido and he just held my gaze. I clicked my tongue on my bottom lip. Guido had fallen for Troy. I could see it instantly. Guido smiled a look of recognition.

"Well... you can hardly be called Junior when you've turned twenty, now can..."

"Got him gang banged for his birthday," said Guido. "On a beach in Rio. Come one, come all."

"Oh," I said. "How sweet."

"Till the snot ran out his fucken nose." Guido laughed his cruel laugh. "I've got some vids I must flip to you."

"Really," I replied. I couldn't stop my eyes from widening. They felt like dinner plates. Come one, come all?

"Yeah," said Guido. He had a look of triumph. "He learned he really likes his new, black brothers." Guido laughed again.

I shook my head, smiling, I could feel the creases in my cheeks.

"Completely under my control." Guido held up his little finger up in my face. "Like nobody else I've ever known. The kid blows me away with what he'll do."

Guido had some stories, like nobody else. Make your hair curl. "Fuck me! Is that legal in any country?"

"Legal smegal," said Guido. "It's all just perception, you know that, you're in the business."

"Is Junior, Troy okay?" I asked incredulously.

"Yeah, back on his feet in no time."

The sun was shining and the sky was blue, as we headed out the front.

"What do you know about the Internet?" I asked.

"I've got a degree in it, fucker," said Guido. "And anything I don't know, Scott and Van can pick up."

"You've got an IT degree?" I asked. I tried not to sound too surprised, otherwise Guido would be onto it in milliseconds, saying something about putting him down. Cars, houses, travel the world, he still had that chip on his shoulder from growing up in the western suburbs.

"I've got 2 degrees," said Guido. "Don't sound so god damned fucking surprised, you're not the only one."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I could have done what you do, been Mr Upright and fucken respectable," said Guido. He rocked his head from side to side and pouted his lips. "But, I find my line of work is more..." Smile. Raised eye brows. "Profitable," he said, as he stroked the bonnet of his new black 135 convertible. Killer smile. "Give your French boy-racer," he pointed at me with his chin, " a run for its money."

He hopped into the car. The door closed with a very satisfying BMW clunk. A second later he was out again. "Party. My place Saturday night." He moved as though he was getting back in the car and then stopped. "Don't bring anything." He shook his head as he spoke, then disappeared under the crisp black material, again.

The car started with a very nice burbling exhaust note. Guido was out of the car again. "Wear a decent pair of jocks."

"What?"

Smile. Wink. He was gone. The car glistened in the sun light. It's a beauty, all right, not like the ugly hatchback version. Two quick revs and the car screeched out into the street.

What?