by Eden Myles
Maria was less than happy with my presence and kept giving me the look of death. I got out of the kitchen and surrounding rooms as soon as possible. When I finished the gazillion rooms on the ground floor, I went upstairs where I found a gazillion more, all very spare and white and airy. For instance, there was a giant white room with just a glass table and a big stone amphora in the middle of it. I wondered if that was a rich guy thing, or if Mr. Karenina had purposely stripped his rooms down to the bare minimum so he had less to worry about tripping over.
I felt a pulse of anticipation as I stepped into the master bedroom. It was huge, with vaulted ceilings, and full of old, well-preserved Colonial furniture and more of those leather chairs and settees that Mr. Karenina seemed to favor. He had thousands of books on shelves that stretched the length of the room, but when I took one down off a high shelf and opened it up, I realized it was composed of old cassette tapes. Bigger, ring-bound books were located on the lower shelves, and when I checked those out, I saw they were in Braille. I’d never seen a Braille book before.
The king-sized bed was old, wrought iron, and full of picket-like spokes that looked faintly dangerous. A prickly bed for a prickly man, I thought with some irony and moved to the sunny window seat with the cushions that looked very broken in. I thought Mr. Karenina must spend a lot of time sitting here, reading his Braille books. I looked down upon the pavilion and spotted the man of the house sitting at a table in a long dressing gown, sipping his morning tea, a shaggy calico cat resting in his lap. He hadn’t struck me as the cat-lover type when I’d first met him, but then, I wouldn’t have imagined him having a hard-on during our interview, either.
Downstairs again, Maria said, “Mr. Karenina is planning to go into the city shortly. You can take tea in the breakfast room while you wait.” She still didn’t sound happy with my presence.
I didn’t actually like tea, but I drank it anyway and munched on a few fancy imported biscuits while I waited for Mr. Karenina. My stomach growled and I remembered that I hadn’t had anything for breakfast that morning. Ten minutes later, I heard Mr. Karenina in the kitchen, arguing with Maria in Spanish. Since I didn’t know Spanish, I didn’t know what they were arguing about, but I figured it probably had something to do with me.
Mr. Karenina looked dapper—if grim—when he finally stepped into the breakfast room. He was dressed in a fine, three-piece, pinstriped business suit that fitted him like a glove and a long, unbuttoned wool coat. He carried a heavy leather valise. “Daniel, we’re leaving now,” he said in that harsh mechanical voice, and I sprang up, a biscuit in my teeth, and followed him out into the front hallway, snatching my coat and shoving my arms into it as I hurried along. Mr. Karenina wasn’t exactly taking his time, and for a blind guy, he sure could book. Once outside, he slipped on a pair of dark sunglasses and took my arm.
He had a shockingly powerful grip. His warmth soaked into me as I walked him to an idling Lincoln Town Car waiting at the curb. A chauffeur held the door open and we both ducked inside. I slid my ass along the suede interior, leaving a reasonable distance between us, yet the moment the door closed, the dim, confined space started feeling way too intimate. The car was too warm, and I could smell Mr. Karenina’s aftershave, and a scent that was just male, just him, I think.
We’d driven along for about five minutes when Mr. Karenina said, “Did Maria give you a hard time?”
“Yes, sir. But it’s okay. She’s probably just not used to people checking up on her work.”
“Do you have a good idea of the layout of the house?”
“I think so.”
“What do you think of the books?”
I started at that, and wondered how in hell he knew I’d checked out his library. Then again, how many people would not want to check out the book collection of a blind man? “They’re interesting,” I admitted.
“Do you like classical literature, Daniel?”
“I did a paper on Tolstoy once.”
“I hope you brought along something to read. We might be a while.”
“I brought my netbook,” I told him.
I sat in silence as the car headed into Midtown. On Fifth Avenue, we parked in an underground parking garage and got out. Mr. Karenina unfolded a cane but took my arm again, his fingers digging into my bicep, and instructed me to walk him to a glass elevator that would take us to the penthouse suite of the NorthStar offices. The receptionist seemed happy to see him, and while he went off to the executive offices, she led me to a café next door that doubled as an employee lounge. I found a table near the back wall, plugged my netbook into the Internet, and spent the next four hours working on a paper I had due for Advanced Calculus. After that, I spent some time trying to draft an email to Simon that didn’t sound lame as hell but wound up playing Second Life instead.
Around four o’clock, Mr. Karenina appeared in the café to collect me. “I’m stopping at the Royal for dinner. Are you hungry?” he asked.
“Sure. I guess.”
“You don’t know?” Mr. Karenina said, sounding annoyed.
“No, I am,” I said as he took my arm and I led him back to the bank of elevators.
The Royal was one of those formal bistros you see on a lot of nighttime soap operas but figure you’ll never see the inside of. The maitre d’ seated us behind a privacy screen and Mr. Karenina told me to pick out whatever I wanted, which surprised me. As far as I knew, we weren’t exactly friends. Since the cheapest entrée on the menu was fifty dollars, I decided on just a house salad.
“You’re not hungry,” he said, sounding accusatory.
“I like salad,” I explained. He’d already stated he was paying and this wasn’t coming out of my salary, but I’d never felt comfortable dining on someone else’s dime. Midwestern pride, if you will.
When my salad arrived, the server explained it was a mix of spring greens tossed with prosciutto ham and Asiago cheese dressing, and garnished with goat cheese pesto croutons. I wasn’t quite sure what all that meant, so I just poked at the green stuff I could identify on my plate and watched Mr. Karenina. He added a dab of wasabi to one of the fresh oysters resting on the crushed ice before him, them upended it into his mouth. He savored it a long moment before swallowing it down, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He caught a bit of oyster liquor on his chin and sucked it off his finger instead of using his napkin.
“Do you like the work so far?”
It took me a moment to wake up after that performance. “Sure. It’s great.”
“Not too boring.”
“No. It’s fine. I worked on some papers, wrote some emails, and I played Second Life.” I wished I would shut the hell up already.
Mr. Karenina didn’t reprimand me this time for talking too much. “Do you think you could handle a few more responsibilities?”
I stabbed at the ham on my plate and hoped that meant he was happy with my work so far. “Sure.”
“There would be more pay in it for you, of course.”
“Okay.”
“But I might require your presence a few more times during the week.”
As long as it didn’t clash with my morning classes, I was okay with that. “No problem.”
“I’d like you to work as my courtier.”
“Is that like a valet or something?” I had a sudden fantasy of dressing Mr. Karenina like in a British TV show. Yum.
“It’s a male sexual companion.”
I dropped my fork and glared up at him in shock. Was he fucking kidding me? I started choking on my ham, but once I’d coughed the knot of meat out of my throat and into my napkin, I blurted out, “What are you, some kind of pervert?”
“I’m a gentleman,” he said.
“I don’t think so.”
Mr. Karenina removed his glasses and looked at me with his stark, almost black eyes centered on a place at about the level of my chin. “I have an admission, Daniel. The ad I placed for your position was partly because I do in fact need a ‘human seeing-eye dog,’ if you wi
ll. But I’m also seeking a courtier. A male companion.”
“I don’t understand. I thought Kate put the ad up.”
“No,” he explained calmly. “I did. I’m part of an exclusive group of professional men who keep sexual companions called courtesans, if they’re female, and courtiers, if they’re male.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“The gentleman/courtesan relationship is an old establishment going back centuries, Daniel. In fact, it goes back to the very founding of this country. Generally speaking, a gentleman favors a young woman, trains her to be his companion, and then shows her off at special Society gatherings. In the past, the Society has been somewhat reluctant in their support of same-sex relationships, but that’s changing now. They’ve become very open-minded.” He added a dab of wasabi to another oyster and swallowed it down as though he were talking sports with me, or about the weather, something mundane. “The Society has approved my request to take a courtier, and I would like that courtier to be you.”
I sat there, my heart thudding, just trying to grasp what he was telling me. I’d heard some weird shit in my time, particularly in this city, but this literally took the prize. “How exactly do you know all this?” I asked.
“I kept a courtesan for many years. Kate’s mother. But she died two years ago of breast cancer.”
“Oh,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“We were together for twenty-seven years.” Mr. Karenina’s face was hard and impassive, not like a man who felt nothing, but like a man who had accepted the inevitable. I’d seen that same expression on my mother’s face all through my dad’s illness.
“I’m just…I’m really sorry about that,” I said.
“I miss Elizabeth, of course,” Mr. Karenina explained. “We were closer than even a husband and wife can be. But Elizabeth is gone, Daniel, and I’ve mourned her for two years. I’m ready to move on now, and I know she would want me to.” He paused, not touching his oysters now, just listening to my silence. Finally, he said, “Does my offer interest you?”
I told the truth. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Are you a virgin?”
The question was so unexpected that I nearly choked again. “No. I had a girlfriend in high school.”
“That’s not what I mean.” He pursed his lips together. “Have you ever had sex with a man?”
“No.”
“But you’re exclusively gay, yes?”
“How can you tell?”
“I can tell.”
“But you’re not,” I pointed out.
“I’m bisexual,” Mr. Karenina stated simply. “Is that a deal-breaker?”
“No.”
“You don’t like older men, then.”
“I don’t know,” I told him honestly. What the hell am I saying? “I’ve never known any…in that way.”
“There’s something to be said for experience, when you’ve never been with a man…in that way.”
I couldn’t believe I was having this conversation with him.
“You’re not attracted to me,” Mr. Karenina said and took a sip of wine. He said it not in some accusatory way but like he was trying to reason through my reluctance.
“It’s not that,” I said, stumbling all over my words. A sort of morbid curiosity had settled in along with the numbness I was feeling, and I said, “What is…what I mean to say is…what’s involved in being your…courtier?”
“You want the rules.”
“There are rules?”
“Oh yes.” He folded his hands together and rested his chin atop them. “A courtesan…or, in your case, a courtier…must be absolutely obedient to his gentleman. He must put the needs of his gentleman above those of his own. And, of course, be must be sexually available to his gentleman at all times.”
I blushed at that but was thankful he couldn’t see.
“Are you really a virgin…in that way?” he asked me directly. “Don’t lie.”
“I’m really a virgin…in that way,” I said. It sounded depressing, even to me.
“That’s good. I shouldn’t want a courtier with too much sexual experience. I want to be able to train him to perform in a specific manner that pleases me.” He stopped and tilted his head as he listened to my silence. “Is this disturbing you?”
“No,” I said, making my voice sound more sophisticated than I felt. I drank down some water, almost spilling it over my shirt. My heart was running in my chest like a track and field champion. I asked the really difficult question next, “Do you…I mean…are you into really kinky shit, or whatever?”
“Define kinky shit.”
“I don’t know. Bondage?”
“Does the idea of bondage disturb you?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“What does disturb you?” he asked in a perfectly serious tone of voice. “It’s important we’re upfront about these things.”
I thought about that. “I don’t like anything painful.”
“Such as?”
I shrugged and realized how stupid that was to do. “Just…painful stuff.”
“Have you ever experienced any kind of pain during sex?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know you don’t like it?”
I was silent a long time.
Mr. Karenina stared directly at me, not blinking, but almost like he could see me. “Listen to me, Daniel. I will never do anything to hurt you. I will never scar you or damage you. You will never be forced to do anything you don’t approve of. I’m responsible, and I can be reasonable,” he said in a soft, gravelly voice. “If you agree to this, we’ll begin slow. Fully protected sex, no tools or toys. We’ll keep things simple and clean. Then, as your trust develops in me—as we begin to trust each other—we’ll explore your limits. We’ll use safe words, of course, so that that trust we have developed between us is never violated.”
I suddenly realized I was sitting in a high-end restaurant, being propositioned by a hot, retired billionaire to be his sex slave, and he was being perfectly serious. Shit, Daniel, we’re so not in Kansas anymore…
“You will be compensated for your time, of course,” he said. “I mean, aside from what Kate is paying you to look after me.” He reached into his inside suit pocket and drew out a check. He laid it on the table before me.
I looked at it. Then I looked again, thinking maybe I needed glasses. It was more money than I’d made in a year in the odd jobs I’d done in the past.
“That’s for the month. If you please me, I’ll re-double it next month.” He must have taken my extended silence for insult because he said, “If you feel it’s not enough for spending some time with me, we can negotiate a new fee.”
“It’s…fine,” I said, gaping at it.
“I have expectations, of course. I expect you to come when I summon you. I may send you instructions from time to time. I expect you to follow them exactly. I may request your presence as my escort at certain functions, and I expect you to fully submit to training before we spend any amount of time among the Society. I may need to break you in some—you seem a rather willful young man. Of course, I expect you to discontinue any romantic ties you have with anyone else.”
I squirmed uncomfortably in my seat. “I can’t see anyone else?”
“Correct. Some gentlemen are more lenient in that regard, allowing their companion to date or even to marry on the side, but I’m a greedy man, Daniel, and jealous. I should make that perfectly clear at once. I expect to have my courtier all to myself. I don’t share anything I have with anyone. If you agree to my terms, your training will begin at once.”
He turned back to his oysters and finished them all.
***
I slid into the Town Car ahead of Mr. Karenina and sat there nervously, wondering what it was I’d agreed to. The moment the door was closed and the dark, opaque glass blocked out the view of the city, Mr. Karenina turned to me, boxing me against the seat, and ran his hand up the back of my neck. The tou
ch of his fingers sent a trill down my back. He fisted his fingers in the short hairs there and bent his head to kiss me. My entire body heaved upward in response. He kissed me like he wanted to crawl into my mouth and rip the breath from my throat. He tasted like the wine he had drunk, and a little like the oysters he had eaten, bittersweet. No one had ever kissed me like that, like I was something sweetly edible. Mr. Karenina let me go long enough to say, “You taste as good as you smell, Daniel.”
“I’m not wearing any cologne.”
“Yes, I know.” He used both hands to seize my cheeks and kiss me again until the saliva had welled up between us. He licked at the seam of my lips, then probed into my mouth. His tongue slid wet and hot against mine. As he kissed me, he moved a hand down the front of my body and over my clothes, exploring me. “You obviously dress economically. I’d like you to visit my tailor in the coming week. Such a beautiful young man should have a beautiful wardrobe. And I want my courtier well dressed as well as well-heeled.”
“Okay,” I said, trying not to blush too hard in case he could tell. I reached up to grab at the back of his neck, to drag him down for another kiss, but he snatched my hand and forced me to lower it.
“Don’t grab me, Daniel. You haven’t earned the privilege yet.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Learn.”
“Okay.”
He kissed me again, roughly, so our teeth clicked together. He pushed me down onto the seat and shifted his body a little, so he half pinned me under his weight. I listened to the breathy, intimate noises we made as we kissed. His hand continued to travel down my body as he kissed me. Then he squeezed my cock through my pants, and the sudden, unexpected pain made me jump. “You don’t like that,” he mused.
“No.”
“You’ll learn to,” he answered and squeezed my balls even tighter.
I lurched and felt myself go right in my jeans. I gasped against the pressure and pain of my sudden release, my spunk running down the inside of my leg. I’d never been so embarrassed in my life.
