My Best Offer

Business has been slow. Very slow. I’m used to it now. Sort of. I know enough not to freak out when I go a while without any work, but it still stresses me a bit. Today is Friday, and before today, I’d only had two jobs this week. So yes, already, I’m making almost twice as much as my desk job, but it seems since I make more, I’ve been spending more. But not frivolously, I have to say! Shortly after I started this career, my car died. I bought a rather inexpensive replacement, borrowing the money from a friend. Because of my perceived income, I have a rather ambitious payment schedule on it. I also had to take a couple weeks off at the end of January. So, although I’m making way more, money is still a little tight.

I got a call to work around lunch time. It was a repeat. The address was familiar, but the name was not. Granted, I’m bad with names at the best of times, but I was pretty sure that this was my Richard Gere. It was confirmed when I arrived at his upscale penthouse near downtown. “Why did you use a different name?!” I’d asked him when I took off my coat. He laughed and scratched the back of his neck, “I don’t know! I just said it.” We had a really nice time together.  He told me that he has a date this evening. He doesn’t even remember what this girl looks like. They met last week, and have been texting. “She seems really desperate” He tells me. I feel bad for her. “You don’t know. She may be wonderful. You may discover you love the way she sips her drink and you can’t resist her!” I’m trying to be encouraging. “I don’t think so!” He says, rolling over and wrapping his arms tight around me, “You should just stay here, I’ll order pizza…” “Chinese,” I correct. “I’ll order Chinese, and we’ll watch movies on my tv right there, and we’ll lie in bed allllll day” And he nuzzles into me some more. “We’ll get some duck. Have you tested out my couch? It’s sooo comfortable.”  Not going to lie, it was seriously the best offer I’ve had in months. And this guy, frick, he’s cute, and he’s young, and he makes serious cash (in a respectable profession), and frankly, his cock is perfect. Perfect. The catch is, there’s just enough straight in me to enjoy my job, but the rest. Gay. Gaygaygaygay. Yes, I know the term for that is bisexual, but there are perceptions on bisexuality that just don’t apply to me. So I prefer the term, ‘Mostly Gay’. Of course I telling him this would be bad for business, so I tell him the agency has rules; I can’t date  clients. It’s my life saver line “I can’t, it’s against the agency rules” I can say with such regret, and sadness, like I really want to. It’s gotten me out of a million different sticky situation Ha ha. And every time it’s followed up with “they don’t have to know” It’s like a dance. I stayed too long at Richards house. Like an hour and a half extra. I shouldn’t have done that. It was just nice, spooning with him, and playing in bed. Bad Alison. He kept asking me to come over after his date tonight. And I kept telling him no. “Not even Maybe? Just say maybe.” And I’d smile, and say, “Do you want me to say ‘Maybe’?” “No! I want you to tell me the truth, don’t lie” he laughed. “See, I’m not that girl, I don’t lie” Total lie.

My phone rang as I was walking out the door. It was an other repeat client. I call him Six Fingers. Well not to his face of course, but you shall know him as Six Fingers. This would be my third time visiting him. To say he has six fingers is a lie. He has eight, like the rest of us, and three thumbs. But the two thumbs are not opposable. So does that mean they’re not thumbs? I don’t know. Really there are so many jokes that can be made about this. He was one of my first clients, back in December or early January. He was out of the norm. Not the young rig-pig types. I think he might be in his 50’s. Alex wrinkled his brow when I told him about Six Fingers. “Old and weird, I don’t think I could do it.” Mmm, yeah, I see that. But I respect him. He’s a sweetheart, with a really gentle spirit. There are young hot guys who fuck the shit out of me with no regard for my well being. That’s work for me. There’s no respect there. I’ll take Six Fingers over them any day of the week. He really just likes to chat, and hug. And by hug, I don’t mean cuddle, I mean hug. Intense, deliberate, long lasting hugs. I say whatever, I’m down. No big deal. My first visit I swear it was at least 30 minutes before I realised his extra thumb. Then it was like I was fixated on it. “Six fingers… the dude has Six Fingers!” It was all I could think about. Over and over again in my head like a broken record. “The dude has six fingers!” It then became my primary goal not to look at it. Later on, he gave me a massage, and I swear, I could feel all eleven of them.