He was obviously a rent boy. He wore tight, ripped blue jeans, affording a tantalising glimpse of red cotton underpants encasing pert buttocks. A tight leather mesh singlet worn over a thin, wiry body, revealed his flat stomach and nipples. Across the café I could see he’d made up his lashes to highlight his dark brown sultry eyes. A slight cheeky smile emphasised dimples on his cheeks.
He leaned over the counter, not even pretending to be drinking his coffee. It was like he had a FOR RENT sign flashing on his backside.
I didn’t know that rent boys still worked the streets. I supposed it was all done on the phone now. Swipe right and within thirty minutes sex is delivered to your door. They’d come on electric bikes, like the lads who deliver fast food.
This was the first time I’d been in the café late at night for years. I used to drive my cab during the day but since my grand-daughter came along me and the missus are on childcare duty most days.
I finished my bacon roll, slurped down stewed tea and headed back to the taxi. It’s summer so business is good.
After my shift I try to get a couple of hours shut-eye, but the vision of the boy dances in my dreams; his mischievous grin, dark eyes, and red underpants enticing me closer. I reach out, caress his chest and smell his musk.
I am rescued by the screaming of a baby.
Words: Richard Rooney
Illustration: A.I.
Flash Fiction 250
Flash Fiction 250 