Chapter 5
Since college, I haven’t really met many people. I went to school here in Richmond and stayed after graduation, but everyone I knew packed up and moved out. Went back home, mostly, or moved onto new places with new careers. Everyone but me.
I don’t really fit in with the university scene any longer—I’m not on campus, I’m not a student. Men my age either have lifelong friends they still talk to or they meet new people at work. I don’t keep in touch with anyone I used to know, except for the occasional message on Facebook, and I don’t work. Or, rather, I’m not gainfully employed. I meet plenty of guys doing what I do, but none I want to hang out with later.
Until RC.
He stays quiet, letting me think. Finally, I draw in a deep breath and admit, “You realize I’ve never done this before. I don’t usually see the guys who hire me to…”
“So I’m your first.” There’s a smile in his voice that makes me grin to hear it. “Don’t worry, I’ve never gone out with a straight guy before. I don’t even know if we’ll have anything in common to talk about.”
“I’m sure we’ll find something,” I promise.
* * * *
I change my mind a dozen times. I shouldn’t meet RC outside of an appointment. But what will it hurt? But I can’t allow myself to become friends with a client—then he’ll want special treatment, or discounts, and things will get awkward between us. But an evening out would be fun. But it’s a date, and I’m not gay.
I’m not.
In the end, I convince myself to go. He’s paying my way, sure, but it isn’ta date. I’m a working stiff—literally, just thinking about seeing RC again gets me hard—and he’s paying for my company. In a way, I’m actually moving up the sex worker ladder, from prostitute to escort. If I’m not careful, I may find myself a kept man.
Which actually doesn’t sound all that bad.
Still, I tell RC I’ll meet him at Jules instead of driving to his house first. That way I’ll have my car and I’ll be able to bail whenever I want. I don’t have to rely on him for transportation, and I won’t have to go back to his house after dinner if I don’t want to.
Even if I sort of want to.
Jules is downtown, and though there isn’t a parking lot, I easily find a spot on the street a few blocks away. I’m wearing khakis and a button-down shirt, a step up from the T-shirt and jeans I wore to our first appointment. I clean up nicely, if I say so myself. My hair’s doing its own thing, and it’s still a little damp near the scalp from my shower. I smell good—a woodsy scent, not too heavy but strong enough to know it’s there—and I look good, too. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in a darkened store window as I pass and nod to myself. Yeah, I look hot
Then I remind myself this isn’t a date. I’m not trying to look good for RC, but you never know who else might be looking.
He’s outside Jules waiting for me, impeccably dressed in a blazer and black skinny jeans. He’s looking around and when he sees me, his eyes light up all over again. “Hey, Mike,” he says, sticking out a hand my way.
I shake it without thinking. It’s such a disarming gesture, so commonplace, so real, that before I stop myself, I admit, “Actually, it’s Greg.”
“Ryan.” His hand is warm and firm in mine, and he shows no signs of releasing me any time soon. “Greg suits you better. I like it.”
Before I can get uncomfortable, he lets go of my hand but claps my shoulder and keeps an arm around me as we head inside. “What’s the C stand for?” I ask as the hostess leads us to a table.
He laughs, a breathy sound so close to my ear, it makes my dick swell to hear it. To feelit, burning into me. “Carlson. My mom’s maiden name. Just what I need, two last names.”
The table is small and intimate. As the hostess leaves, Ryan pulls out a chair and offers it to me. I sit and let him push me in a little. So much for this not being a date,I think, picking up the menu. “What’s good here?”
“Oh, just about everything.” He sits down across from me and smiles. The menu on his plate stays closed. When I look up, I find him staring at me. His voice is so low, I have to lean across the table to hear him over the din of the other patrons. “I come here all the time. If you don’t really have something in mind, I can order for us. If you want.”
Closing my menu, I shrug. “Sure. What the hell?”
His smile widens. “Is there anything you don’t like?”
I don’t know if he’s flirting or not, but I don’t want things to get toocomfortable between us. I want him to understand we really aren’tfriends, no matter what it might look like to someone else. Things are strictly business between us. So I wink and remind him, “No ass play, remember? Most everything else is fair game.”
To my surprise, his smile doesn’t falter. “Well, I said nothing sexual, but if that’s where the evening leads, I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”
So, wait…is this reallya date after all?
* * * *
Ryan orders two steaks, medium-rare, with fresh steamed vegetables and something called potato straws on the side. We split bruschetta as an appetizer and a bottle of wine. The moment our waiter leaves, Ryan leans across the table with a gleam in his eye. “So, tell me. Why does a straight guy get into the gay for pay business, anyway?”
“Money,” I admit with a shrug. Really, is there any more to it than that?
But he wants specifics, so I tell him. “When I was in school, me and a buddy used to…you know, fool around a bit. Just to get off. It wasn’t gayor anything.”
“Hmm.” Ryan nods as he sips his wine. I don’t know if he’s trying to be encouraging, or if he doesn’t believe me.