A/N: New story. Okay, I have a bunch of other stories on the go at the moment, but I've been wanting to write this one for ages. So I hope you'll forgive the indulgence of my muses and enjoy this piece.

This story will contain mature adult content, of both a male/male, male/female and possibly even female/female nature. If any of the above bothers you in the slightest, you might want to skip this one.

Reviews are always welcome and appreciated. This story is AU in so much as superstars and personalities from the WWE will be involved, but in a different context to how you normally see them. I don't have permission to use, nor do I own anything/anyone from the WWE. I disclaim as this story is not written for profit, only reading enjoyment.

Thanks must go to my mentor and friend Rae for her support and guidance, and to Ms. Shanny for being my boy on boy muse. And of course, to the person behind another great story who inspired me to write this. You know who you are. I hope your SBP makes you proud with this one.

Read and review!

---

Have you ever walked into a bar and just taken a look at the people around you? Just stopping and taking stock of the other human beings. Seriously, you must have done it at least once. No? Well, its sort of a hobby of mine - people watching I suppose you could call it. I actually really enjoy it, honing my skills over the years, just puzzling people out by looking at them across any given space. You should try it. There's a lot you can tell about a person from just looking. You can get so much from just about anything about them really. Take for example the way they're sat, what they're wearing, how their hair is styled, who they're sat with etc. You get the general idea. People are an open book if you have the right eye to read them.

I pride myself on having 'people' down to a tee, but I wouldn't class myself as a people person. Far from it actually. 'People' piss me off. I prefer one to one conversations than group socialising. There's just something about it that gets my panties in a bunch. Call me antisocial if you like, but in a choice of going to a club and staying home with a pint of ice cream and a Paul Walker film marathon? Well I'd much rather be by myself.

Given my penchant for the loner stereotype, it's beyond strange that I'm an excellent judge of character. I'm probably far too judgemental, but I honestly can't help it. I'm the sort of person who sums up a person's character within ten seconds of meeting them. If first impressions matter, then I'm your judge, jury and executioner. Once my opinion is formulated, it sticks. Other than divine intervention, that opinion stays. If you're in my bad books, that's where you stay. My friends don't know me for changing my opinions of people. I'm pretty unforgiving in that respect I suppose. I forget nothing and forgive even less. Well it's not exactly a bad attitude to have is it? Forgiveness is overrated.

So you see that woman in the corner? Yeah her, behind the woman in the red coat. Do you see her? Sat in that corner booth, pressed up against the wall. I bet you fifty bucks she hasn't had a guy, at least in the Biblical sense, for at least eighteen months. Just look at the way she sits, cradling that glass of whiskey but not drinking it. Her eyes are staring across the room but they're not really seeing anything at all. The way she's made an effort to look all pretty – the hair, the make-up and the shoes. She obviously is not out to pick up a guy. Her posture is all wrong for that. Too stand-offish and proud. She wants us to think that she's waiting for someone, that she's got a date who maybe is running late or something. My guess is the fiancé ran out on her – maybe with the secretary or something and she's never gotten over it. There! You see how she's playing the engagement ring on her finger? Classic sign.

Looks like someone is going to end up as a cat-lady.

It's sad really. The last thing that woman must want is our pity, but ironically it's all she's going to get. Pathetic. Why bother with the front? We know no-one is coming to meet you honey, why the illusion that you're not alone and unloved. I swear if I ever got that psychotic about a man I'd throw myself off something very tall.

What? You think that's harsh? I just call them like I see them. Don't pity her, she doesn't deserve it. Not being a woman myself, I can't really empathise that much, but the principle must basically be the same. A guy shits on you, you just pick yourself back up and move on. Don't wallow in feeling sorry for yourself. That's just indulging your ego. Move on, get back out there and find some dick.

Okay, maybe I'm not the best person to give relationship advice. Lord knows my track record more than speaks at my dismal attempts at romance. In fact, just the word 'commitment' tends to make me go incontinent. But I accept that about myself - the fear of commitment that is, not the crapping yourself part. You got that was a joke, right? Anyways, I'm not the kind of guy that can have a relationship. I'm just not built to settle down with anyone, and I'm okay with that. And if I'm being honest, it makes my job a whole lot easier.

Ah, I set myself up there, didn't I? Now you have to ask the question, what is my job? I suppose the correct term would be 'rent boy' although you could say call boy, hustler, hooker and all the other euphemisms that basically mean I'm a male prostitute. Now before you start pointing fingers and calling me a whore or whatever, I'll have you know I'm a high-class hooker. I don't sleep with just anyone, despite the fact I get paid for it.

And I didn't become a hooker because of my sad and terrible life. I entered the profession of my own free will. Sure, originally I did it as a way to make some quick cash because I lived alone. But back in those days, I was living hand to mouth, so a little dick to ass action was necessary to ensure the rent got paid. But I never felt degraded for what I do. My problem is that I have an incredibly high sex drive, and this is the only way I deal with it. It all started when I discovered masturbation when I was twelve. The first time I orgasmed…well it felt like I'd died and gone to heaven. And you know what they say, once you pop you can't stop? I've been fucking like it was an Olympic sport for years. That first burst of cum broke the dam and I've been leaking the stuff ever since.

I won't lie, I started out on the streets. I was eighteen at the time, and I worked the streets and bars for about three years. It was never anything depraved or dangerous. I had more sense to hang around street corners. I tended to pick the uglier people, the sort who are looking for love but won't ever get it, if we're being honest. The lonely middle-aged women sat drinking by themselves in bars, or the obese gay guys lurking by the toilets in clubs. Decent people who were just looking for a release. Being a good looking guy with a tight little body, I provided it. For a fee. Back then, it was my intention to earn enough money to get into college, and keep a roof over my head and meal on the table. But that was all before Blush came along.

Blush is the name of the service I work for. One of their escorts was meeting a client in a bar I was cruising. We got talking, and the rest is history. Blush snapped me up when I was eighteen years old and I haven't looked back. Yes, I know I said I started on the streets when I was eighteen, and worked there for three years. Well if anyone asks, I'd been eighteen years old for three years before I started working for Blush.

I won't say anymore, because you'll just become an accessory.

Anyways, Blush.

They have the highest class of clientele, with the strictest of vetting procedures. Not just anybody can employ the services of Blush, and just because you've got money doesn't guarantee you entry to our services.We don't just do escorts however, Blush has its own small chain of adult shops and are branching out to the world of erotic films next year.

But the main business we deal in are escorts.

By the way, this is all strictly confidential. I hope I don't have to tell you not to repeat any of this, because it would mean my ass. Literally. You have an honest face, so I trust you not to say anything.

So where was I? Oh yes. Blush. We provide escorts for the fabulous people – which basically means people better than you. Celebrities, socialites, politicians, pop stars, actors and the out and out rich. They all come to Blush for their satisfaction needs.

Our service is impeccable, and we cater to all tastes. If you want a blonde haired eighteen year old Swedish boy with dimples when he smiles, we can get it. Or maybe you're more into an Italian forty-something housewife, covered in 'Mamma's special sauce' spread eagled on your kitchen table and no spoon? Hell, if you want a threesome with two Thai lady-boys wearing leather and wielding a riding crop in the back of an SUV, we'll get it done. No job is too much; no sexual fantasy is beyond the escorts that Blush employs. We are the best of the best.

For that reason, we don't advertise our services. We come to you. If we feel you match the criteria for one of our clients, and think you'd be interested in our services, you'll receive our members' card. We deliver them in many ways – attached to a gift card, in your pigeon hole at work, via your assistant. It can even appear in your coat pocket, because we're that good. The card gives you the web address for Blush and a password. Your password is unique, so we know who is accessing our website at all times. There, you can browse the profiles of all the escorts at your leisure. We book over the internet, and payment must be made by discreet direct debit. We don't do cash darling. That's far too commons for us.

Once a client has made their selection, they call our number and one of our dedicated service operators will discuss what you'd like from us, including locations and any special extras. We're a very accommodating organisation for a price. Once that's done, our clients sit back, relax and wait for one of us to arrive.

I'm not going to tell you our going rate, because it honestly varies from case to case. I happen to be one of the highest paid escorts on the books, and the fee depends on what it is you want. The escort, the location, the length of the session. The boss is pretty selective on which jobs are given to me. I'm known for being versatile and accommodating. I'm booked by everyone - men and women, both gay and straight. One time, this butch lesbian booked me just so she could tie me down and fuck me with a strap on. Good times.

All I'll say is I'm well paid, and so is Blush. They take twenty-five percent of the payment, plus a five percent handling fee. However, any tips I make on the job are mine to keep. It's the only time I'll accept cash, and with good reason. Depending on which client you get, the tip can be more than the booking fee.

As I'm sure you can imagine by now, no-one so far has returned our card so far.

It all sounds fabulous right? High class service with fantastic people to choose from? Well, booking your escort for the evening is a little more tricky than that. It depends on the availability of the person (or people) you want, and your grading. We grade our customers between one and five. If you're a five, you're new to Blush and/or you only barely make the grade of client. Our more loyal customers can progress up to as high as number two, as well as the more well known personalities who can enter the system higher than five.

However, the highest grade a client can enter on is three regardless of who they are, and some never move beyond level five. We operate a loyalty scheme of sorts, so the longer you're with us the better service you get. Last time I checked? We had exactly fourteen grade ones. I don't think I need to explain, but if number one calls? You drop everything and run.

Speaking of number ones, they get more than the best service from us. There are sixteen of us escorts - a range of boys, girls and everything in between that are considered the best on the books, and reserved for the pleasure of grade one clients. That doesn't mean we don't see other clients, but our number ones get the first pick of us. Having said that, I don't remember the last time I did a number five. I'm pretty sure it was that actor dude, the Irish one who thinks he's a bad boy because he drinks and chain smokes. Yeah. Real tough. His two our session was over and done with in twelve minutes.

I guess I don't need to tell you that I'm part of the sixteen, right? Of course I don't. It's obvious.

I'm number fourteen. I'm sorry, I didn't introduce myself properly did I? My name is October. October Blush. No, that's not the name I was born with, it's my Blush name. And no, I'm not going to tell you my real name. None of the clients know it, and I doubt even the boss remembers it. I've been October for so long, I can't really remember a time when I was called anything else. I'm not a special case by the way. When you join the company, you're given a name and your last name becomes Blush. All the escorts are part of the Blush family. Just think of us as being like the Osmond family - with dildos instead of microphones.

And yes, I am here tonight because I'm on a job. I don't tend to frequent hotel bars unless I'm on a job. Of course, to me, it's obvious I'm here on a job. I bet you expected a rent boy to be dressed more provocatively - all leather pants and tight tee-shirt, am I right? Hardly. Here's a tip. Whenever you walk into a bar, look for the people dressed in business suits. It's a dead give away. I'm all in Dolce tonight because I'm working. It's a dead giveaway for prostitutes. We're always in suits.

You see that woman over there, in the red pin-stripe suit? She works for Blush too. That's September, another of the sixteen. She's a sweet girl, if a little extreme. You always know when the perverts are in town, because September is out on a job. Between you and me, she's into fisting. The weirdo in me wants to hang around and see who it is that's booked her, but I can't.

I'm meeting a client here for a quick drink, before heading upstairs to his room. He's booked me for two hours tonight, and requested I wear women's underwear. And you thought that 'panties in a bunch' line was a throw away comment. Nope. Pink lace all the way baby.

I'm actually looking forward to this one. My client tonight, he's that rock star everyone is going on about. What's his name? Well, if I tell you, you have to swear not to say. It wouldn't do to know who uses our service. Discretion is our policy. But his name is Jeff Hardy, part of that band 'Rainbow Haired Warrior'? Yeah, you know the one. He's always in the papers for being something of a heartbreaker. He's done every starlet and socialite on the block. But between you and me, every now and again, he likes a little guy on guy action.

Well it's been fun, but I have to go. It won't do for my client to arrive and see me sat talking to you. He'd be threatened that I'm sat here talking to such a gorgeous woman when I'm here to see him. Clients are sensitive that way. But I'd love to talk to you again sometimes. Here, take this card. It has your own personal password on there. Just log on and check out our profiles. Maybe next time we meet, I'll be meeting you for an evening. I hope so.

Stay beautiful.