Yuri, the Entertainer — Chapter 1 (Patreon)

Author’s note: All my characters are consenting adults (18+). All sexual acts depicted are consensual between the adult characters.

Chapter 1 - The Dinner

I’ve always been a shy but very curious guy. 

At nineteen I was short, nerdy, glasses on, blond hair that wasn’t long so much as messy and hard to tame, and a body with almost no muscle on it. My sex life was daily masturbation. I was still a virgin, shame on me, right? I didn’t know how to approach guys, and I was afraid my family would find out I was gay. I spent hours watching crazy amateur porn and reading stories on Reddit, working up the courage to do something. 

Then I’d come, and the shame would come back with the lack of courage. Grindr wasn’t an option either. Those toned, perfect bodies intimidated me. I know gay guys can be judgmental, and I didn’t have the self-esteem to take constant rejection.

I was on a gap year, working at a comic book and merch store, with no idea what I wanted to do with my future. Career ideas crossed my mind. None of them stuck. The store didn’t get much traffic on weekdays—just regulars, and weekends when kids dragged their parents in to beg for books and figures. 

Most of my job was packing online orders and handling customer requests. I had plenty of time to read everything in the store and look up whatever I wanted on the computer. 

My boss was even more of a nerd than I was. He trusted me enough that he barely came in, spending his days gaming at home. We talked on the phone. I didn’t mind. I wasn’t sociable. The job paid well enough for someone with no expenses, and I got free books with defects.

It was a slow, mundane Thursday. I’d already finished the series I was following and didn’t feel like starting a new one. My attention went to the computer. Sometimes I wondered what my boss, Quincy, would think if he ever checked my search history. I didn’t watch porn at the store. There were cameras, and I already watched it every night before bed anyway. Even so, my searches were curious. On Reddit I read accounts of cumdumps, public glory holes, and men who said they’d been born to serve other men. I couldn’t help feeling inspired. I didn’t just want basic sex with some guy off Grindr. I wanted more. I wanted to serve a group. I wanted to be used at sex parties, bachelor parties, locker rooms. My mind went to the wildest scenarios I could invent.

Then I saw the ad on a local classifieds site, and my heart skipped.

Seeking young gay adult boy, preferably inexperienced, willing to be cumdump or public gloryhole mouth for well-paid, regular work. Contact via email with a brief introduction and real photos.

Well-paying job. Cumdump. Gloryhole. Fuck.

I didn’t think twice. I grabbed my phone and replied with nudes of me on all fours in a pair of black briefs I’d stolen from a clothing store—I was too embarrassed to buy them; don’t judge me—and a photo of the lower half of my face, just my pink lips.

My name is Yuri. I’m 19. I can say I’m inexperienced. I have fantasies about being a cumdump, glory holes, and group sex. I’d like more info. Thanks. :)

I attached the photos and hit send before I lost my nerve. I expected silence. I was short, a nerd, and I didn’t have a body worth mentioning. I was the kind of gay guy nobody gave a second look. My superpower was going unnoticed.

A customer walked in, hyped about the new Spider-Man movie, wanting every comic we had on a printed list. It took me more than thirty minutes. He placed extra orders. I made over five hundred dollars and texted Quincy.

Good job, kid. You rock.

A hundred-dollar bonus hit my account right after. Quincy was generous. I was sure he didn’t want to lose me. I never missed a shift. I never called in sick. I never stole a dollar or a book. I was efficient, fast, and neat. Outside the store I wasn’t sociable. With customers I was polite.

When I finished with Quincy, I opened my email. There was already a reply. My fingers shook before I tapped it.

Hey, Yuri. Thanks for responding to our ad. We’re a discreet gay couple, Tyron and Blake. We’re both in our late thirties and we hire young people for very well-paying jobs. We liked your photos and would like to schedule an interview. You’re in San Francisco, right? Let us know your availability.

My fingers flew.

Yes, I’m in SF. I’m available after 7. I work at a store. That’s when I close.

Less than a minute later:

Great. We get a lot of fake replies from people who aren’t even close to us. How about dinner tonight? Anyplace nearby you like?

My heart kicked. Dinner. Tonight. I’d answered the ad with no expectations. I hadn’t even expected a reply. What did I have to lose? They weren’t going to kidnap me or harvest my organs in a restaurant.

There’s a pretty cool pizzeria nearby. I can walk from the store.

Bianchi was a slightly pricey Italian place that never had many customers—more for special occasions. I’d celebrated my mom’s birthday there. Nobody knew me. I doubted anyone I knew would walk in on a Thursday night.

That sounds wonderful. Is 7:30 okay? 

Dinner’s on us, of course.

I thought about the truffle pizza. Anyone who offered to pay without checking the restaurant first didn’t care about the prices.

7:30 is great. I’ll be there.

Amazing. Save my number. You’re talking to Tyron.

The email had a cell number. I saved it.

I still had two hours to kill. I wasn’t dressed for Bianchi, but the sweatshirt was Hugo Boss and my jeans and sneakers were clean. I had a toothbrush, deodorant, and cologne in the store bathroom. I wouldn’t look homeless. I looked presentable. I wasn’t the fittest or the most handsome guy in the world, but I had a cute face.

Time crawled. I tried to read. I searched for older ads like that one and found nothing. If the couple had posted before, they’d already deleted it.

At seven I closed the store, flipped the sign to Closed, locked the door, and went to the bathroom. I combed my hair as well as it would allow, brushed my teeth and tongue, and went heavy on the deodorant and cologne. I wasn’t expecting sex. They said they were a couple. I just wanted to look decent.

At 7:15 I left and walked. A few blocks. The night was cooling off, which was lucky. I didn’t want to sweat and make the hair worse. I reached Bianchi at 7:23. Seven minutes early. I don’t smoke, so I had nothing to do with the time. I texted my mom that I wouldn’t be home for dinner. She didn’t ask questions. I had my own money, and my dad didn’t think control was the way to raise a son. They’d never asked about my sexuality. I suspected they knew, because they’d never asked about girls either.

I couldn’t wait anymore. I texted Tyron.

I’m early. At the entrance. Boss sweatshirt.

The reply came fast.

Come in, Yuri. We’re at the bar. Tell them you’re at the Parkers’ table.

I went inside and told the hostess I was with Tyron Parker’s reservation. She smiled. Very white teeth. She didn’t comment on my clothes, which was a relief. She walked me through the restaurant to a semi-private room with one round table that could have sat six and was set for three.

My hands were sweating. They got worse when two very good-looking men came in with the same hostess. Both tanned. One had well-cut gray hair, a neat beard, expensive glasses, a turtleneck that made his neck look longer. The other had shiny dark hair slicked back and a thin mustache, no beard, black shirt, white pants a little too tight. I couldn’t help staring at the bulge. It looked generous. They had money. Gym athletic bodies, not overdone. They didn’t scream gay, but they took better care of themselves than any straight almost-forty-year-old I knew.

“Yuri. Great pleasure. I’m Tyron.”

The gray-haired one shook my hand and pulled me into a hug. Strong, expensive cologne. His husband, Blake, shook my hand with more reserve and pulled out a chair for me.

“I’m Blake. Order a drink and join us for an appetizer.”

He pushed the chair like it weighed nothing.

“A Coke and a 7 Up to mix, please.”

I wanted alcohol. I couldn’t have it. She’d ask for ID, and there was no way I passed for twenty-one at my height.

Blake leaned to my ear when the waitress turned away.

“Don’t worry. I ordered you an extra Moscow Mule. Drink it discreetly.”

His breath was warm. My dick twitched. He smelled richer and sweeter than Tyron.

They sat. I sat diagonal to both of them so I wouldn’t have to keep turning my head. Blake, the one with the mustache, sat next to me. Tyron took the other side.

“We can’t thank you enough for answering so fast and meeting on short notice. You’re a very handsome guy, Yuri.”

Tyron’s voice was calm and deep. With the turtleneck he felt like a college philosophy professor. When he said I was handsome, I got a chill. No man that good-looking had ever said that to me.

“What do you do? Aren’t you in college?”

“I work at a comic book store. I haven’t decided what to do yet. I’m kind of undecided.”

“I get it, kid. I never went to college,” Blake said.

His voice was hoarse. Of the two, he was the one who turned me on more. Maybe because he wasn’t as smiley as his husband. I like to fantasize with rough men, blame it on me.

“You must be wondering what we do and what that ad means. You must think we’re a scam. We’re not. Blake, give Yuri the gift.”

Blake passed me a brown paper envelope with my name in elegant handwriting.

“Open it, Yuri,” Tyron said.

Ten hundred-dollar bills. I counted them slowly.

“This really isn’t necessary.”

“It’s a small token for your time. Even if you don’t want the job, it’s yours. Let’s not talk about it anymore.”

In one day, counting Quincy’s bonus, I had eleven hundred dollars.

“T-thank you.”

“You’re welcome, buddy. Don’t worry.”

A young male hot waiter came with a tray. Soft drinks in front of me. The alcohol in front of Blake. Blake slipped him a bill.

“Make sure no one bothers the kid while he’s drinking or asks for ID. I’ll give you another one at the end.”

“Yes, sir. Got it.”

The hundred disappeared into the waiter’s pocket.

Who were these men, spending over a thousand dollars in five minutes just to please me?

Blake handed me the Moscow Mule. I sipped. The alcohol and ginger burned my throat.

“Is there a dish you’d recommend, Yuri?” 

Tyron asked from behind the menu.

“They say the truffle pizza is really good.”

I knew it was the most expensive thing on the list.

“Then three of those and a few appetizers. What do you think?”

“Sounds perfect.”

Tyron ordered. Silence settled. I didn’t know what to say, so I drank.

“Back to why we’re here,” Tyron said. “Do you want to ask questions, or would you rather we explain?”

“What kind of job are we talking about?” I blurted. “Prostitution?”

Blake laughed, deep, wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. It made him worse. That man was sexy as hell.

“It’s not prostitution,” Tyron said. “At least we don’t see it that way.”

“We have an online business, kid. We rent entertainment for parties. We do livestreams too,” Blake said when he stopped laughing.

“Like Twitch?”

That was about all I knew about livestreams. Blake laughed again.

“I don’t think Twitch would approve of our content, kid.”

“Let me explain. Questions at the end, okay?” Tyron asked me.

I nodded.

“Ten years ago we started working with porn actors. Small agency. It grew fast. European guys. We made a lot of money. Then the market saturated. The audience wanted amateur content. Sites popped up where anyone could shoot porn without a studio. Our profits dropped. The guys wanted to go out on their own. We had to reinvent ourselves. We already knew a lot of people. We got invited to a lot of parties. Parties with a lot of men. Important people.”

I almost interrupted. I didn’t.

“One day Blake was watching a Queen concert on a plane and had the idea of creating an entertainer and traveling with him. What the song Freddie was singing, love?”

“Show must go on.” Blake replied to his hubby.

“A singer? I can’t sing for shit.”

It just came out. What did singing have to do with glory holes and cumdumps?

Blake laughed again and put an arm around my shoulder and neck.

“Ty. I like this kid. I really like this kid.”

The weight of that arm made me hard instantly. I was a virgin about to come from talking to two good-looking gay men in a restaurant. Embarrassing.

Tyron smiled.

“It’s a different kind of entertainment. We have two business models. Three, if you count the livestreams.”

“Yeah, kid. We’ve got the glory hole. We take it everywhere around the country. Parties, RVs, Airbnbs, hotels. And we’ve got the cumdump sessions, where our model gets used by groups of men. Corporate team-building, bachelor parties. That kind of thing. The site streams some of those sessions for monthly subscribers. The videos are never saved. You can’t screen-record them,” Blake said.

“So the job is to be a cumdump. And work a glory hole.”

My hands shook on the glass.

“Basically, yes. For now,” Blake said, and drank his whiskey.

“What do you know about being a cumdump? Is it something you’re into? Have you done it, or are you really inexperienced like you said in the email?”

I looked down.

“I’m a hundred percent inexperienced . If you want experience, I’m not the guy.”

“Are you kidding me, kid? That’s going to make you rich in a few months.” Blake’s enthusiasm was obvious. “You’ve never even sucked a dick?”

The hot waiter walked back in. I’m sure he heard that, because he almost dropped the cheese gratin.

“I-I’m sorry, gentlemen.”

He straightened the dish and looked at me with narrowed eyes, like he was taking me apart. I went red. A guy only a few years older than me had just heard me talking about sex with two men in a restaurant.

When he left, I answered.

“Absolutely nothing. I’ve never touched a dick in my life.”

“That’s extraordinary. And quite rare for someone your age in today’s gay scene.” Tyron said, like he was talking about an employee’s coding skills.

“Have you had a guy in this position before?” I asked.

“We had Sean. He disappeared after his first big paycheck. Liked drugs more than dick. Those aren’t the priorities we’re looking for.”

“I don’t do drugs. If you have to use them at those parties, I’m out.” I said it fast. Anxiety. I’d never even touched weed.

“He’s absolutely perfect,” Blake said, more to himself than to Tyron.

“Are you going to interview a lot more guys?”

I was already afraid of the competition. They’d find men who were better looking, more athletic, with thousands of followers online. I didn’t even have a single Instagram post.

“That depends on whether you accept the offer, Yuri.”

An offer. To be a cumdump for groups of men. To work a glory hole. To live the fantasies that got me off almost every night.

“Does that mean…?”

“Eat, kid. We don’t want you saying we treated you badly.”

Blake handed me garlic bread with the cheese gratin and tomato sauce. My fingers brushed his. I felt it in my whole hand. I looked at Tyron, embarrassed. He was smiling.

“Blake, honey. Don’t you have something to show our guest?”

“Actually, I do.”

While I was still chewing, Blake unzipped the white pants under the table and pulled his cock out. I almost choked. First time I’d ever seen a hard dick in person. And it was huge.

“Do you like it, buddy? Ever seen one in person?”

“I… I…”

I swallowed and had to wash it down with Coke.

“I’ve never seen one.”

“Yuri. Grab Blake’s dick under the table. Feel it. Tell me if you think you can handle this kind of thing every day for the foreseeable future.” Tyron said, solemn, with a small smile at the corner of his mouth.

“Touch it, kid. It won’t bite,” Blake said, hoarse.

I wiped my hand on the napkin and reached. When I wrapped my fingers around it I couldn’t help the sound that came out.

“Fuck. It’s so hot. And thick.”

“Gentlemen. Sorry to interrupt. Your truffle pizzas.”

The tall waiter was looking right where my hand was, between Blake’s legs.

“Don’t take your hand away. I think the waiter already knows what’s going on here. What’s your name, young man?” Blake said, not kindly.

“Walker, sir.”

He set the three pizzas down and stood very straight.

“Walker. Do you have a problem with young Yuri jerking me off under the table?”

Walker smiled.

“Of course not, sir. Make yourselves at home.”

“You’ll deserve a nice tip, Walker.”

“Thank you, sir. That’s very generous.”

“Walker,” Tyron said. “Would you like Yuri to touch your cock?”

“Sir, I have a girlfriend. But I can’t say I’d mind. Our relationship isn’t in the best phase right now.”

Walker was cute. Of course he was straight. Under the uniform he was tall, athletic, good trendy haircut—the kind of guy who probably had all the girls he wanted, even if here he was playing servant for tips.

“All right, Walker. After you close, come with us to our place so Yuri can practice with you. First time the boy’s ever touched a dick.”

Walker coughed, embarrassed, but his black slacks were tented. He even put a hand over himself.

“Obviously you’ll be well rewarded.”

“I’d be happy to, gentlemen. I’m off at eleven.”

“You can go, Walker. We don’t want anyone suspecting what’s going on here.”

“Correct, sir.”

He left.

My hand was still wrapped around Blake’s cock. It was rock hard.

“I’d even ask you to put it in your mouth,” Blake said, “but I think my husband has other plans for your oral virginity. Right, T?”

“You’re absolutely right. Now let’s eat. It’s going to be a long night. We need the carbs.”

I pulled my hand back from that hot, thick cock, reluctant, and looked at the truffle pizza...