Part One
The Raw Prawn

"So how long have you been in Australia, sport?"

"About eight months."

"How badly do you want to make some money?"

Jake sighed. "I already told you. I'm down to my last dime. I sold my airline ticket months ago. I can't get a work permit 'cause I'm on a tourist visa. I almost stole a kid's kebab last night. Does that make me desperate enough for you?"

Heath blew smoke toward the ceiling. "Desperate enough for me," he mused. "So you've slept outdoors for a few nights. You're hungry. Why haven't you wired home for money?"

"Are you trying to talk me out of this? Look, the chick that sent me here said I could make a couple hundred. That would mean a lot to me right now. Are you going to tell me what kind of sleazy job it is or not?"

Heath pointed with his chin at a corner of the flat. "See that Maori carving? There's a camera behind it. Another one over there. One in the light over the futon. Video cameras. Does that answer your question, sport?"

"Not really, but it does raise a few. What are you filming?"

"Oh, it's not me, sport. It's the fella that owns this building. He edits the footage, adds some music and Bob's your uncle." Jake put a hand behind his ear as though he hadn't heard. Heath chuckled as he leaned forward in his chair to pick up his drink. "You sure you don't want one of these, just to loosen you up?"

"Porn, right? You're making fuck films."

"Told you; it's not me, but yeah, it's porno."

Jake looked around. "Not saying I'll do it, but what does my co-star look like? Is she here already, or on her way?"

Heath got up and poured a shot glass full of tequila. "Here," he handed it to Jake. "I really think you ought to drink this."

"I'm starting to think I ought to go."

Heath shrugged. "That would certainly be my suggestion, but you'll do what you want. So what's it going to be, sport?"

"What is it, precisely, that I would have to do for the money and to get you to stop calling me sport?"

Heath sat on the futon, leaving a little distance between Jake and himself. "I sense that you're going to have a little trouble dealing with this, so please don't do anything like hit me."

"I'm not the kind of guy that goes straight to violence as a solution to my problems."

"Fair enough. Here's the deal: we have sex and you get seven hundred dollars."

"We," Jake pointed to Heath and back at himself, "have sex?" He laughed, setting the shot on the glass-topped table. "Sorry to waste your time; I'm not gay."

"Well, that's kind of the point, sport. It's easy to get two gay guys to get it on. A film of a straight guy having gay sex sells a bit better."

"Why? I don't get it."

"No worries. Have your drink and go back to Naomi and tell her to find you something honest. If she knows what that is. I can't believe she sent such a raw prawn."

Jake reconsidered the drink, tossing it back in one big gulp. "Raw prawn? That some kind of insult? I'm not a chicken; I'm just not interested."

"It just means… inexperienced. I wasn't having a go at you."

Jake felt the alcohol warming his empty belly and realized he didn't want to get up and leave just yet. This was a nice apartment; he hadn't sat on anything this clean in a while and there was nothing waiting for him outside but the pavement. "Seven hundred Australian?" he heard himself ask.

"Of course Australian. And it's a bit above the going rate, but Naomi said you were prime."

"She ought a know; she's seen all of me."

"Mind if I have a look?"

"How much does it pay?"

Heath laughed. "Fair enough. I'll give you a hundred to strip down to your knickers."

"Can I have another drink?"

"Sure. How about something to smoke?"

"No thanks, I don't…"

"Not cigs," Heath said, miming a hit off a joint.

"Yeah, okay."

Heath pulled a tin from under the table and took out a pre-rolled doobie. He lit up and the sweet grass smell wafted to Jake's nose, reminding him of his high school parking lot. Heath passed him the joint and Jake inhaled a small amount. By the time it came back to him, he knew that two swats were all he could handle. He was already feeling floaty and he was having trouble discerning between his thoughts and what he'd said aloud.

"Hydro," Heath said and Jake nodded as though he were a jaded connoisseur. "So, am I going to get a show?"

"Um, should we be smoking this on camera?"

"I don't turn them on until the action starts," Heath lied smoothly.

Jake stood and pulled his T-shirt over his head, revealing the torso of a young man that up until lately had spent a fair amount of time working out. Heath ran his eyes over the flat plates of the chest and down the washboard abs to where the trail of dark hair disappeared into the American's jeans. Naomi hadn't been exaggerating; this kid was sculpted, with long lean limbs and just enough fur. If the cock matched the rest, and Naomi had assured him it did, Mr. Crowe was going to be very pleased with the tape. Heath sat back and sipped his drink as Jake toed off his sneakers and unzipped his jeans. A moment later the soft denim was in a puddle around the American's ankles and he stepped out of them.

"Strewth, mate!" Heath whistled. "You're a ripper."

"Thanks… I think."

Heath smiled and raised his glass. "To earning one hundred dollars," he toasted.

Jake took a bow and Heath wished he were sitting behind the other man. "So can I just get my money and go?" Jake asked.

"Sure. If that's what you want. Bickie?"

"What?"

Heath held out a box. "Would you like a biscuit?"

Jake reached in and pulled out a cream-filled cookie, which he immediately popped into his mouth. "Mm, s'good," he mumbled, sitting back down next to Heath.

"Shit, I forgot; you're hungry and I just gave you the munchies. Hang on, mate."

Jake sat in his dingy boxers as Heath rattled around the kitchen and returned with a sandwich on a paper serviette. "It's just ham and cheese," the Australian said. "But I sliced some avocado on there and there's salad cream." Jake wasn't listening; he was halfway through the sandwich and eyeing the box of cookies. Heath handed him a bottle of water and sat down next to him.

"Thanks," Jake said, taking a long swallow of the cold water.

Heath nodded, watching the muscles in Jake's throat work. "Shame."

"What's that?"

"Just a little self-pity. I'd really like to give you a root, and I know I could make it good for you, but I guess that's not going to happen."

"Doubtful," Jake smiled, biting into another cookie.

"How about a blowie?"

"A blow job?"

"Yeah. Would you let me suck you off?"

Jake licked some stray crumbs from his bottom lip as his gaze went vague. He might have said no, but the marijuana had left him directionless and disinclined to move. He didn't feel drugged; he just had no initiative. "I guess we could give it a try," he said slowly.

"Two hundred and fifty."

Jake sat back and let his legs sprawl wide. "You'll stop if I tell you to?"

Heath snorted. "No worries. Shed your strides."

"Oh, right." Jake shucked his boxers and dropped them on the cushion beside him. Heath slid off the futon onto his knees, pushing the table back with his hip. Grabbing the hem of his burnt orange tank top, he pulled it over his head before moving between Jake's thighs. Heath's skin was as brown and smooth as caramel all over except for the sprinkling of reddish hair around his nipples and the few stray curls that showed above his waistband. "Nice tan."

"I do a lot of surfing," Heath said as he rested his hands on either side of Jake's hips. "I'm going to touch you now so don't freak out, right?"

Jake didn't jump, but he did feel a slight shock when the other man laid his palms on top of his thighs. Heath's hands were warm and he rubbed his fingertips lightly against Jake's skin. The subtle caress was having more of an effect than Jake wanted to admit. It didn't make him queasy. It didn't make him want to hit Heath. It made him want to slide down farther on the futon so Heath's hands would move higher. "Maybe we should stop."

"Feeling nervous?"

"Well, yeah, but…"

Heath raised his eyebrows. "Stop, or go?"

Jake, who never told a lie unless he could help it, answered honestly. "I'm a little nervous because you're actually turning me on."

"You need a minute?" Heath asked, still maintaining eye contact.

Jake shook his head and Heath finally let his gaze drop to the other man's crotch. The American had a handsome cock, a bit longer than average, lying in a sweet, pink curve against a thick, dark bush. Heath's tongue came out to moisten his lips eagerly as he stared at the rosy column of flesh, but he moved slowly. Running his hands up the insides of Jake's thighs, Heath pushed his fingers into the thick pubic pelt, rubbing his thumbs over the silky skin where Jake's legs joined his torso, touching everything except for Jake's cock and balls. The American's breathing grew shallow and his shaft grew hard as the cautious fondling continued. When Heath ran a fingertip lightly down the underside of Jake's arousal, Jake moaned loudly before he caught himself.

"Easy, mate," Heath said. "It's supposed to feel good. Make all the noise you want. There's no one here but me and I don't give a damn."

"I'm a little embarrassed. I swear to you that I'm not gay. I've never even kissed a guy, but you make me feel like I did the first time someone besides me touched my dick."

Heath smiled. "Oh yeah. I remember that feeling. Well, it is the first time another man's touched you like this, right?"

Jake clutched at the line Heath threw him. "Yeah, that must be it. A guy's hands feel different."

"Ready to find out if a guy's mouth feels different? Come on. I need to hear you say it."

"Yeah. Okay," Jake said softly.

Heath leaned over, his parted lips millimeters from Jake's arousal, warm breath pulsing against the hard flesh. Jake was amazed and a little disconcerted by how badly he wanted the Australian to close the gap. When Heath finally moved, kissing the tip of the rigid shaft, Jake tensed as though he'd taken hold of a live wire.

"Hey," Heath murmured, looking up at the other young man. "Relax. It's just a blow job."

"Right." Jake breathed in and out a couple of times. "I'm fine. Really. You can…" Jake's sentence ended in a hiss of indrawn breath as Heath took a firm grip on his cock. The Australian lowered his head and took the tip in his mouth. Shuttling his hand slowly up and down the rod of flesh, Heath lavished the attention of his lips, teeth and tongue on the head. Jake tried to stay still, but the slippery caresses had him moving his hips in an effort to push deeper into the tantalizing wet heat. Small, needy moans rose in his throat and he let them out. Guided by the soft sounds, Heath increased his efforts to undo the American.

Making a ring of thumb and forefinger at the base of the shaft, he pressed his tongue against the fat vein on the underside and bobbed his head rhythmically. On each upstroke, he swirled his tongue around the tip, dipping randomly into the moist slit. With his free hand, Heath gently squeezed the hanging sack, rolling it on his palm like a bag of dice. Jake was drifting free on a cloud of sensual pleasure when Heath nudged at his ass with a spit shiny finger. He didn't protest as the digit eased past the elastic entrance and worked deeper. No one had done this to him before, but he'd heard of prostate massages, and he felt so damned great that he didn't want ruin it by whining.

Heath found the springy bump in the front of Jake's sheath and pressed lightly. Jake make a choked sound and his butt came off the futon, driving his cock down Heath's throat. Heath took a long breath through his nose, swallowed a couple of times, and brushed his fingertip over Jake's prostate again. The hot, hard flesh that filled Heath's mouth quivered as the Australian rubbed small figure eights over the sensitive spot and he could taste the salty/bitter pre-cum that leaked down the back of his throat. At a slow, frustrating pace, he let the long rod slide from between his lips before engulfing it to the root, as he toyed with Jake's trigger.

"Please," Jake whimpered, his voice barely audible.

Heath smiled around the taut length of flesh and increased the speed of his stroke. He felt the straining cock twitch against the roof of his mouth and pulled away. Rapidly, he pumped Jake's arousal as he looked up. The American clutched at the cushions like a man on the tilting deck of a sinking ship, his face transfigured by pleasure like that of a beatific saint: eyes cast up to heaven, lips parted in ecstasy, limp with overwhelming glory. "You beauty," Heath said under his breath, as Jake climaxed. Leaning over, Heath let the powerful stream of cum hit him in the face, holding on as the shaft jerked twice more, dribbling more warm, thick fluid over his knuckles. Jake's fingers unclenched and he collapsed back against the futon with a long groan of fulfillment. His eyes flew open as Heath began cleaning his spent rod with delicate little kitten swipes of his tongue.

"Ahhhh, God, stop, please, I'm begging you."

Heath met Jake's eyes. "You don't want me to?" he let the question hang.

"No, I don't want you to. Don't do anything. Please. That was probably the best orgasm of my life and I'd like to bask in it for a while."

Heath raised one eyebrow as he stood, levering himself off Jake's thighs. "Suit yourself. I'm famous for my tongue baths though."

"No doubt. It's just too much. You ever hear of sensory overload?"

"No worries. Mind if I loosen this?" Heath pointed to his waistband. "It's getting crowded in there."

Jake glanced down at the bulge in Heath's pants. "Did I do that?" he joked.

Heath unbuttoned the brown velvet trousers and let them drop. His complete lack of any undergarment gave the other young man a full frontal view of his endowment and it was far from inadequate. Jake wanted to look away, knew he shouldn't stare, but his dreamy, sated gaze was fixed on the Australian's crotch and it was apparent that Heath did his sunbathing in the altogether. There was not a tan line to be seen on the long, lithe frame and the nest of reddish hair was bleached to antique gold at the tips. With unabashed pride, Heath's manhood curved upward, standing tall, the hooded tip pressing against his flat belly.

"What's that?" Jake blurted, catching the wink of metal.

Heath took himself in hand, running a finger over the silver studs that pierced his foreskin. "These? They enhance clitoral and prostate stimulation, but never mind them, sport. They're not for you, are they?"

"Enhance?" Jake repeated.

Read Part Two of Ten of Bailey's The Raw Prawn