midnight whisperings ||| ryden oneshot

♡ midnight whisperings ♡

The cold November air made Brendon sick.

There, at his corner of the street, he stood, like a vulture waiting for it's prey, hoping that someone, anyone, would remove him from the condition he was in and let him stay the night and charge them for more than he was worth. His red leather boots were literally choking his thighs and his fishnets caused him to feel itchy, and the wind made the hair on his arms stick up. Brendon's idea of a perfect hooker outfit was surprisingly uncanny: the only other thing he was wearing was a tight fitting black crop top, and some spandex, which made his ass look amazing, by the way.

He became a prostitute when he was only 22, having been kicked out by his Mormon parents because he wasn't religious enough to stay under their roof. They meant well, that's what Brendon told himself, but deep down, he knew he'd never see them again - or live in their home, rather. He'd seen imaginary scenarios in his head, of him walking into the nearby Walmart, passing his father, whom he hadn't heard of since, waving hello and goodbye remorsefully, and that would be it. That would be the only contact they would ever make again.

And then his father would go home, to his little Mormon household, and tell his mother about how his son was even more flamboyant than before. Then they'd pray together and sit down at the dinner table, pray some more, thank God for their bread and butter, and proceed to eat baked chicken and vegetables, the only thing his mother ever cooked. They'd laugh at some corny joke, and then repeat the same thing all over again the next day.

All without their son.

After being evicted from his own home, Brendon had been resorted to sleeping out at his friend Jon's house for a little bit, until he found a man named Bert McCracken (A friend of Jon's) who was involved with the prostitution business, a pimp, if you will, and had no problem giving a suggestion to Brendon that he should become a hooker. He was offered a permanent place to stay, food on the table, and a reasonable pay, and his only rules were that he couldn't come back to the house without any money earned. Brendon was sold right there.

He wish he would've realized what he was getting himself into, because prostitution is not at all fun. He picks up a lot of men, (or women) for sure, but they're usually old, and need Viagra to get their cocks hard, and a lot of the time, they'll get angry because Brendon's rules are that you need a condom or you're not getting a fuck. And, getting checked for STD's every week just in case is a nuisance, and a waste of money.

Brendon also kind of hated the place he was staying. It was a shitty motel, and Bert was never there, so there was never any actual food on the table, just money for takeout, and he never got his pay until the end of the week, which was mediocre at best, making Brendon even more furious about this whole situation, but, the amount of money he makes selling his body pays off for whatever the fuck Bert gives him. And, he couldn't lie. Bert wasn't a bad guy, people just made him out to be one. He just reminded Brendon of a shitty landlord.

Whatever. It was better than his life beforehand.

Being a prostitute reminded Brendon of high school. He went to an all boy's Mormon school, where he started off his lifestyle of being a slut. He would suck classmates off in the bathroom in secret after school and get paid to keep his mouth shut because teenage boys have angst pent up in their systems and need release, so, they would come to him, the only known person in that school that had no problem going down on a guy. If he thought hard enough about it, he'd been a prostitute for a good 5 years.

Shivering, he pulled out his phone from his right boot to see if he had any messages, which he did, three from Bert, two from Jon, and a Snapchat from one of his regulars, Dallon, but ignored them and checked the time.