It was an L shaped room above a hardware store, nestled deep in the inner city. Cracked asphalt and concrete apartment blocs.
String lights were strewn across the walls which bathed the entire room in alternating patterns of red, pink and blue. Piles of clothes on the floor. Kitchen counter, unwashed dishes. Tower computer with a small monitor and headphones. A coffee table with various personal effects scattered upon it, hidden by the neon. On the wall he thought he saw the French flag.
The whore sat on the king sized bed cross legged, hands on his knees. Samuel stood there and stared blankly. His face was slightly obscured by messy black hair which was dyed blonde at the certain parts. A slight smile was playing across his face. Samuel could feel him oggling him, running his eyes up and down his body.
He had no shirt on and seemed to be wearing a schoolgirl uniform of some sort, along with a pair of striped thigh highs.
"Hey" - said the whore with a soft voice, almost a whisper.
"Hello" - said Samuel, still standing in the middle of the room with a backpack slung over his shoulder
"Get out of those stuffy clothes and have a seat boy"
In a series of hurried motions Samuel managed to place the backpack and heavy jacket in a corner. When he began to take off his shirt, the whore interrupted him.
"Hey, don't rush with that. Come and have a seat" - he tapped the bed while he spoke.
Samuel complied. His eyes darted across the room, trying to avoid eye contact.
A creak sounded from the bed and a sudden pressure spread through his thighs.
The whore sat on his lap.
A small but prominent scar on his left cheek. Earrings on both ears. A piercing on his left nipple. Dark oriental eyes, brown skin. His face was a mixture of masculine and feminine - from a distance you would probably mistake it as female, but up close you could see it. Sharp, but plump features.
"Relax."-said a voice in his right ear.
A local ad site. What a pathetic gateway into sodomy.

Sirens rang through the streets outside. Leo clung to him in a strange sort of fashion. All the movies make prostitutes into cold and emotionless types, who just leave after they get their money. Maybe that was true for women. Leo continued to kiss his neck even after he finished. It felt good.

A nervous start. No focus, clammy hands. Like humping a sack of potatoes, expect the sack was moaning. But then the groove appeared. No fear, no prejudice. Just the naked mass of flesh before him. Flipped him, so he can stare into his face. Trepidation, anxiety and a hint of boredom. And then he was lost.

Leo began to talk on his own. His father was a French merchant and his mother was a Vietnamese village girl. She married him when she was 19 and they moved to Southern France together.
Leo was studying architecture in the city, a freshman. No one knew about this side gig of his. He liked drawing, knitting, hiking and collecting postcards.
Samuel wanted to stay there forever. Right here, in this moment. He dressed without facing him, placed the money on the bed. One last look.