Ruin me Straight Boss

(DANIEL)The beat from Cardi B’s most infamous anthem, WAP, hums in the car: crude and profane. I’m a certified Bardi, but that song is nothing compared to what Gareth will do to me.Pulling up in the garage, I snag the package from the backseat. My fingers skim the pistol I keep under the seat. London’s dangerous for queers like me. I’ve had it since the mugging last year.I kill the engine. The car beeps twice as I sashay into my compound. Sorry, our compound. Gareth and I. I work for the cash, he fucks my brains out. Proper division of labour.I snicker, twisting the knob of our apartment. Life has never been better than this.The usual rich kid’s home: Expensive furnishings, flashy interiors, with a junk-infested kitchen. Trying too hard and insufficient at the same time.Oh, I miss Mama, but that ship sailed a long time ago.Dashing through the parlour, I take the stairs two at a time, my pulse thrumming in anticipation.I’ve emptied my savings, even taken bank loans to get Garet

PRESENT DAY. (DANIEL) In my safe place there are many dangers. Machos parade their large cocks with their masks on, nicotine and mixed colognes swirl in the air, as party comers dance on the strobe light floor. Loud jazz buzzes from the subwoofers, rattling my bones. I knock back my martini, the alcohol burning down my throat. Fuck. I need cock. The faster I get fucked, the better. “You’ve had too much. You’ll lose yourself.” Clara says, shaking the drink hard before pouring it into a glass of ice. “For the fact this is a secret society doesn’t guarantee you waste yourself. You lose your guard, your identity suffers.” She’s right. You have to sign an NDA. Mask always, clothes optional. Their acceptance rate is brutal, but Clara helped me maneuver my way in. And since I came back from jail, I’ve been getting premium dicks here. “Cheers to best friends,” I raise my glass, words slurry. “Or Mama wannabe. Don’t tell me shit bitch.” Clara slides three shots across the bar t