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She loves him but she craves more.

I was free at long last, but I needed a place to stay. Desperate not to end up at the homeless shelter, I went straight for the gay bars, scouting out a nice guy to latch onto.

I finally found a young looking guy in a suit, briefcase and a fancy car - a dead giveaway that he was stable. I chatted him up, took him into the bathroom and rode him for all he was worth and more, explaining my situation to him with fake tears. He sympathized badly and immediately took me to his loft, where he plowed me again and again. He told me I could stay with him forever, as long as I offered my ass to him - which I did. The sex was good, the place was nice, and he was really cute too, so I had no complaints.

That's when I realized I was good for one thing: sex. I began sneaking out of his place to meet up with multiple other guys, getting myself a reputation as the local slut. I didn't care. I couldn't care. I needed to do something to move upwards in life, and in my position, I had no time to be choosy. Besides, it's fun and easy to be a prostitute when you're a total bottom like me.

So I picked the road of sex, drugs, and money to advance in, although I stayed away from the drugs myself. I stopped going to school completely, shed my clean cut schoolboy look for a more urban and chic image - modeling myself after the successful gay porn stars and fashion models. With the money I was making from the street, I had enough to buy any piece of clothing I wanted.

A month and a half after getting kicked out of my parent's place, I had my own apartment, thousands of dollars saved in my bank account, and hundreds of guys blowing my phone up for a steamy night. I had to do everything I could to stay relevant, so I hopped from guy to guy as fast as I could, sometimes even pleasuring ten guys in one day. I'm a horny little critter, so I had no problems with that anyways. That's when I decided to start doing gangbangs - more guys in less time, which meant more money for me.

My first gangbang consisted of ten guys I've never even met in my life before. But I saw two big bulges in their pants - a thick wallet, and an even thicker cock. That was good enough for me. I easily made more money than I knew what to do with. Life was good.

Even though most, if not everyone, would look down on such a life path I chose and gossip about me behind my back, it wasn't so bad. I wasn't like all the other na__ve idiots who thought they could mingle around in this field of work for a quick buck, then get back to their lives. I knew exactly what kind of guys to stay away from, I knew exactly how to keep disease free and who to let inside me unprotected, and I developed a sharp tongue and mind to stay feisty. Guys like 'em feisty. And so, after having sex with a total of six hundred and forty eight guys within three years, I am still disease free and tight as ever, thanks to my dedicated Kegel workouts.

Being a whore isn't all that bad if you're mentally strong enough to shrug off the bad things people say about you. When people whisper about me to their kids or significant others, I don't really mind. Chances are, they don't know squat about me and what I've been through to end up like this, so I pay no mind.

So that's what I do. Whenever I make a trip down to the local Starbucks for relaxing latte in a cozy chair, I ignore the people talking to each other obviously about me. I mean, why else would they constantly glance my way and subtly point to me? The brick wall behind me isn't that interesting.
I remember that's how I first met Kyle and Harry. They were talking quietly to each other and hinting towards me as I sipped my drink, reading the rest of my favorite romance novel. I saw them and I made a mental note about how irresistible they were, but decided not to make a move on them, especially not in Starbucks. So I kept on reading as they kept on talking.

Finally, the tall, spiky blonde haired one, Kyle, got up walked over to me, introducing himself.

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