by Livia Ellis
What sets this one apart? What could it be about this one that gets my panties in a bunch? Could be… Let’s see… He’s… he’s got it. My foxy date is not the only one pretending. I am too. Oh that’s it. His guess is – and his guesses are usually pretty good – my foxy date is my one client that truly deep down doesn’t make me feel like I’m doing something I wouldn’t do if money changed hands.
I have no answer.
Good looking, age appropriate gay male – I’d date him even if he didn’t pay me for the privilege.
I’m getting a cab and sending him home.
Elon slips past me (without washing his hands) and heads out of the men’s room.
I follow him back to the table.
He’s taken a seat on the banquette next to the MMME.
I will give the MMME credit – this man with a penchant for V-neck sweaters and wire rimmed glasses – he’s taking all of this in stride. Elon is right. I would date him. If I decided I truly had a preference for men over women I would be more likely to date the MMME than Elon. He is solid, grounded, intelligent, and most important of all, acts his age.
Get off of him! I swat my napkin at Elon like he were some randy dog.
It’s fine. The MMME truly doesn’t seem to mind that a slobbery drunk Elon is attempting to devour his neck.
I need to get him home.
Yes – Elon actually bites the MMME’s earlobe – take him home and put him to bed. They can lose the stiff.
If I am the stiff – which I am not stiff – then there will be no losing me.
The MMME pulls himself away from Elon and rises. He pulls Elon up with him. They’re going to get a cab. They’ll meet me out front.
He really doesn’t have to do that. Honestly. I can call someone to pick up Elon.
Get the bill. He has friends. It’s not the first time he’s had to pour someone into a cab and see them home. When that’s done we can maybe still make it to the late concert he has tickets for.
I’ll get the bill.
Elon grabs the nearly full bottle of sauterne from the ice bucket and the hunk of chocolate cake that was the MMME’s dessert before he’s dragged out of the room.
The manager is at my elbow with the check. Like so many problems, I toss enough cash at it and it’s gone.
There is a drizzling mist on the street when I exit the restaurant. The MMME has a car for us. Elon is shoved into the back seat with his wine and cake.
I give the driver Elon’s address.
Unreal. I cannot apologize enough to the MMME.
He assures me he’s been in my shoes. Besides. This is much more fun than jazz.
Elon offers each of us the wine. Apparently the cake is superb. He kisses the MMME. He offers to rock his world. Repeatedly. For free.
I swear I could push him out of the car into traffic.
The MMME is not objecting to any of this. Part of me wonders if he just might be attracted to Elon. And why not? Elon is beautiful and fearless. Like a Norse god. I can understand why a normally reserved man would find the sort of attention Elon is thrusting upon him sexual and alluring.
Elon chugs from his bottle of wine after finishing the last of his cake.
So. What is your name darling? And do you like blonds with enormous cocks?
Roland. And yes. He does like blond men with enormous cocks.
