Kept Man: Firsts and Forever Stories

I hated this part. It was awkward as hell, and it didn’t let me forget for even a minute that no matter how I dressed myself up, I was still just a rent boy out to make a buck. I sounded stiff and formal when I told him, “I do normally request my fee at the start of the evening.”

“No problem.” He pulled a manilla envelope from beneath the bar and slid it over to me, never interrupting his shaking. “Go ahead and take what I owe you. If people normally include a tip, please take that, too.”

I removed the right amount, then stuck it in my pocket as I murmured, “Most people don’t tip.”

He put away the envelope, then transferred the cocktail shaker to his other hand and kept going. “Making this cocktail is kicking my ass,” he said with a grin. “I’m actually working up a sweat. I feel like such a dork right now.”

I searched for a positive and told him, “I like the fact that you’re sticking with it.” Then I adjusted my glasses and took another sip of wine.

“I’m thinking about bailing, because my arms are seizing up. It’s been what, like four or five minutes? That’s actually kind of pathetic.”

“But if you go as long as you said you would, won’t you run the risk of turning that egg white into a meringue?”

He smiled at me, and it made his dark eyes sparkle. “You’re trying to give me an out and a way to save face, and I appreciate that.” After a few more seconds, he stopped shaking and poured the drink into a glass. “Fuck it. Let’s just call that close enough.” He clicked his glass to mine and said, “Cheers,” before taking a big sip. Then he coughed and covered his mouth with the back of his hand as he exclaimed, “Fucking hell! Did I totally fuck it up, or is it supposed to taste like bubble bath?”

Yeah, I definitely liked this guy. He wasn’t trying to impress me with how suave and sophisticated he was, unlike the vast majority of my clients. He hadn’t talked about his wealth yet either, but there was still time. Almost all these dinner “dates” were just excuses for vain, shallow assholes to brag about their money, power, and success, while I was expected to sit there and pretend to give a shit.

I asked, “Can I try it?”

He smiled at me. “Are you a masochist?”

“No. I’m just curious.”

He poured some into a shot glass for me, and I tossed it back. Now it was my turn to cough. When I could speak again, I said, “You weren’t kidding! It’s exactly like drinking a floral bubble bath.”

He retrieved a bottle of beer from the mini fridge, and as he popped the top he said, “Told you.” Then he found a pair of chunky, black-framed glasses beneath the bar and stuck them on his face. After he read the recipe, he exclaimed, “Oh shit, no wonder! I was supposed to put in three drops of orange flower water, but I put in three shots. All because I didn’t want you to see me in my reading glasses.”

“Why not? You’re very cute in them.”

“Dude, no. You look adorable in yours, but mine are a total nerd-fest. In fact, I think the style name is the Mega-Dork 5000. They came with a complementary lanyard and a VIP pass to a comic book convention. That’s what sold me on them, obviously.” I chuckled at that, and he took them off and stuck them beneath the bar as he said, “I’ll just put them back down here, next to my Star Trek action figures.”

“Original series, Next Generation, or both?”

He pressed a hand to his chest and pretended to be offended. “In what sort of unholy hell dimension would I combine the two? Jesus. It’s obviously just Spock and Kirk, arranged in a sixty-nine because I was acting out a scene from my original work of slash fiction before you arrived.”

“So, you’re literary. Nice.”

“Oh yes. In fact, after dinner I’ll be reading you my latest fan fic. It’s four hundred and ninety thousand words. You’re not offended by three-hundred-page sex scenes involving Tribbles, are you?”

I managed to keep a straight face as I said, “It’s literally all I read.” Then both of us burst out laughing.

Suddenly, he exclaimed, “Oh shit, I almost forgot the appetizers! I’m surprised the smoke alarm didn’t go off. One sec.”

He rushed out of the room, and once he was gone, I spun around on my barstool and gawked at my surroundings. Who the hell would build a totally authentic bar in their house? Well, a frat boy, obviously, but he didn’t seem the type. I couldn’t decide what his type was, actually.

The house made it obvious he was filthy rich, but he didn’t seem like a trust fund kid. He was too down to earth for that. He also didn’t seem like a CEO. Maybe I was wrong, though. He could be one of those “hip” Silicon Valley executives who encouraged everyone to bring their dog to work and rode a skateboard around the office. I could see that, actually.