The Mafia's Private Gigolo

Chris’s POV

Look, before you judge me, understand something first: I didn’t have a choice.

This world hasn’t exactly been kind to me. The day I was born, my mother died bringing me into it. Ever since then, my father has treated me like a curse he never asked for. Every bruise, every beating, every drunken rant always comes back to the same thing.

You killed her.

For a while, my aunt kept me going. She paid for my education, bought my books, made sure I ate, and reminded me that maybe my life could become something better. She was the only person who ever truly loved me.

Then she died too.

After that, it was just me.

Me paying tuition.

Me paying rent.

Me surviving.

Now I’m in college with nobody to lean on except myself, and honestly? Survival doesn’t leave room for pride.

That’s why I took this job.

Sex work pays well. Better than most dead-end jobs people love suggesting when they’ve never had to choose between eating and staying in school. So if you’re judging me for doing what I need to survive, maybe that says more about you than it does about me.

It was June twenty-ninth when I walked into Esteban’s office begging for work.

“This ain’t no gay bar, kid,” Esteban snapped, a cigar hanging from the corner of his mouth. “Our clients come here for women. Men pay to fuck women. That’s how Silver Slippers works.”

“Please, Esteban,” I said quickly. “You know damn well there are closeted clients out there. All you gotta do is make the option available. Give me one month. If I don’t bring in customers, I’ll leave.”

He leaned back in his chair with an irritated sigh.

“Kid—”

“Please.” My voice cracked before I could stop it. “I’ve got bills to pay. You know my dad’s useless. I need this.”

And I hated how desperate I sounded.

I was practically on my knees begging this pot-bellied bastard who sat comfortably on piles of money made from other people’s desperation. Silver Slippers was the biggest sex house in town. Rich businessmen, street junkies, politicians, “faithful” husbands — anybody could walk through those doors as long as they could pay.

The house guaranteed strict confidentiality. No names. No leaks. No questions.

Funny thing is, I’d never even had sex before.

Not once.

Whoever touched me first — whether they fucked me or let me fuck them — would be my first time.

And before you ask why I didn’t just get a “normal” job at some burger joint or coffee shop, let me save you the speech. Those jobs barely pay enough to survive, let alone cover college tuition. Silver Slippers paid its girls more money in a night than I could make in a month elsewhere.

I needed real money.

I needed a future.

“Fine,” Esteban finally grunted. “A few nights. I’ll spread the word that we’re offering male services now. If you get at least ten requests in two weeks, maybe we’ll talk about making this permanent.”

Relief hit me so hard my knees nearly gave out.

“Thank you, Esteban. I swear you won’t regret it.”

“Promises don’t make me money, kid,” he muttered. “Bring in the dough, then we’ll see.”

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “Deal.”

And just like that, my life changed.

I left his office later that night with my chest tight and my thoughts spinning. The neon lights of Silver Slippers glowed behind me as I stepped back into the filthy streets I’d spent my whole life trying to escape.

Maybe this would ruin me.

Maybe it would save me.

Either way, I didn’t have the luxury of turning back.

Mom… I know you probably wouldn’t approve.

But I hope you understand.