Nothing makes you forget about love like sex." ~ Staci Beasley 

*****

Friday, February 11, 2005

Brian flipped his ringing cell phone open and pressed it against his ear. "About fucking time you called me back," he barked in greeting.

"If you hadn't decided to leave a five minute message bitching me out, I might've been able to get through to your phone two seconds after you called," Cynthia replied, not one to back down in the face of her boss' bullshit. "Now tell me what the problem is," she spoke impatiently.

"The problem! I fucking left you a message detailing exactly..."

"If you don't lower your tone of voice right now I'm going to hang up," Cynthia interrupted Brian. "I couldn't understand half of your message and I've got a migraine from staring at the computer researching what you asked me to find."

"Never mind that," Brian told the woman, pacing the marble floor of the penthouse suite. "I've got a bigger problem."

Cynthia groaned, "What?"

"Randall Lewis didn't meet me."

"Brian, I made sure to confirm the appointment before your flight this morning."

"I know you did," he replied. "While I was in the air his wife, who is vacationing in Hawaii, sprained her elbow while practicing surfing."

"Surfing? That woman has got to be almost sixty!"

"Which probably had something to do with her losing her balance and spraining her elbow when she fell into the sand," Brian snickered.

"The sand," Cynthia gasped, "but sand is soft!"

"That may be the case, but the point is he had to rush to his wittle wifey's side so that he can personally escort her back to Chicago on Monday."

Cynthia swore under her breath and replied, "This sucks."

"Exactly," Brian growled. "Why is it that out of all the clients and potential clients Kinnetik has, Randall Lewis has to be not only the richest and most profitable CEO, but also the most faithful and whipped?" 

"Well let's just hope that his faithfulness will apply to Kinnetik once you get the account."

"Which is the reason I called."

"I'm looking up flights now," Cynthia told him.

"Hold off on that," Brian told her. "I can't leave until after I meet with Lewis sometime Tuesday afternoon."

"But you can't stay there. You've got to be here tomorrow afternoon to meet with Rollins."

"Right, well there's a problem with that."

"What?" Cynthia asked hesitantly.

"Do you remember the tactic I used to get a meeting with him?"

"Oh yeah, that," Cynthia spoke, sighing deeply. "That wasn't a ‘tactic', Brian. It was a lie."

"Precisely," Brian replied dryly. "He thinks I'm in town visiting my fiancé for the holiday weekend. Consequently, I should have no problem staying in Chicago an extra day or so until Lewis can meet with me."

"But there's a huge fucking problem! You can't stay there," Cynthia retorted. "You have three meetings on Tuesday with our three biggest clients!"

"I can't leave. He assured me that he would not meet with me or anyone else from Kinnetik if I didn't stay."

"Shit," Cynthia groaned.

"That's not the worst of it. He wants me to invite my fiancé to stay at the hotel and he's informed the staff to take care of the tab. Randall thinks it's a great idea for me to become accustomed to the services that Lewis Hotels and Enterprises give their partners and guests. He says it will give me a feel for the overall design of the campaign."

"Does he know that you already have the preliminary campaign worked out?" Cynthia asked, exasperated at Randall Lewis' demands and the trouble they were causing Kinnetik.

"No, because when I showed up to meet with him, he'd already left. His secretary got me on the phone with him and I could barely get a word in about the campaign."

"Brian, what am I supposed to do about the clients you're scheduled to meet with on Tuesday? Ted won't be back from his vacation until Friday so there's no way that I can get him to cover. They've all requested to meet with you personally."

"Their accounts in one year won't bring in a fourth of what Lewis Enterprises will bring in for us in a quarter. Try to reschedule with them and if you can't, I'll call them myself."

"Rollins has already rescheduled with us twice," Cynthia reminded him.

"Then he should understand when family emergencies take precedence."

Cynthia laughed. "But it's not your family's emergency."

"Need I remind you of Gus' college fund?" Brian asked.

"Need I remind you that he's four years old? You'll have plenty of time to put away for that, not that I believe you haven't already," Cynthia retorted.

"Whatever. Try rescheduling those other meetings, email me the revised schedule and let me know if any of them say they won't take another meeting," Brian told the woman.

"You do know that I'm not your assistant, right?"

"Of course I know that, Cynthia. I'm reminded of that every time I split Kinnetik's profits with you and Theodore."

"Right, boss," Cynthia snickered. "So what are you going to do for the rest of the evening? Pretend to wine and dine your fake fiancé with hotel favors?"

"Very funny," Brian barked. "Actually, it's been a long time since I've hit the clubs here. I think I'll look up an old friend."

"Just be careful who you take back to the hotel," Cynthia warned him. "You don't want it getting back to Lewis that you've had an orgy in your room while he was away."

"Thanks for the advice," the brunet sneered in a fake happy voice and snapped his phone shut.

*****

Brian opened the hotel room door, looked at the boy before him and laughed. "You've got the wrong room. I think the little high school party is a few floors down."

The blond took a step back, looked at the penthouse number plate beside the door, and then turned his gaze back to Brian. "You're Mr. Kinney, right?"

Realizing that his worst fears were coming true, he cautiously replied, "Yeah, why?"

"Then I'm in the right place, Mr. Kinney. I'm not here for a high school party."

"You're from the agency?" Brian barked out a growling laugh, doing nothing to hide his distaste.

The elevator doors down the hall across from his room opened, and Brian saw a room service waiter turn out and head their way. The last thing he needed was someone from the hotel to know he'd hired a teenage hooker and have it get back to Mr. Lewis. He had gone so far as to specifically request for the trick to arrive in nice clothing so he wouldn't draw attention to himself. The blond wasn't dressed in chaps and a mesh top, but he looked like a kid.

"So?" the blond ran one of his hands over his chest and the other cupped his dick.

"Get in here," Brian, growled, shutting the door and pulling the hustler into the living area.

"Jesus shit, man! If you wanted someone who likes it rough, you should've requested it. I'm not some fucking...."

"Shut up," Brian hissed. Hearing the expected knock on the door he placed his hand over the prostitute's mouth and whispered, "That's my fucking food and I don't need the waiter seeing me with a..."

"A man," the blond finished what he thought was a predictable end to the older man's sentence. He pushed Brian away from him and laughed. "It figures."

"I was actually going to say teenager," Brian snickered back. "I could care less if they see me with another man."

"I'm not a..."

"You came early so you need to be quiet," Brian interrupted the blond, taking him by the arm and leading him into the bedroom of the suite.

"I always come on time," the blond defended and glanced at his watch. "Lucas said to be here at nine. It's..."

"Just be quiet and stay in here until the fucking waiter leaves," Brian spoke, exasperated. He shut the bedroom door and quickly made his way to the suite's door. "Just a second," he called when the knocking became more persistent.

Brian opened the door and ushered the waiter inside. "Just put the cart over there," he directed, motioning to the alcove behind the dining table.

"You can leave the cart in the hall when you're finished and someone from the staff will pick it up," the waiter told Brian. He gave Brian a smile that was far too happy for Brian's preference.

Brian dug into his jeans pocket and handed the man a twenty-dollar bill. "Thanks."

"You're welcome, Mr. Kinney. Have a nice evening," the man replied, walking into the hall.

Brian made a point to turn the sign hanging on his door handle to ‘Do Not Disturb', and closed it. When he turned around, he saw the hustler provocatively standing against the wall beside the bedroom. One hand curled around his thin hip, the other hand twirled in his hair and he was jutting his crotch forward. 

The blond inquired, "So, are we going to start this before or after you eat?"

Brian impatiently rolled his eyes. "We're not going to do this at all. I asked for a young man, not a kid."

The hustler grabbed a piece of paper out of his pocket and opened it. "Mr. Kinney, Lewis Hotel, Penthouse 2, wants a young blond, nicely dressed." The prostitute motioned to himself. "That's me. Services include full night package, available until ten a.m., no leather, no toys, and piercings are okay." He looked up at Brian for a moment then continued to read, "Sometimes, you like it dirty, you like to be in control but you also want a big cock just in case you decide to be on..."

"Okay!" Brian yelled. "Fuck! I know what I fucking ordered."

"I am not a fucking bowl of soup. I'm a human being," the hustler declared, straightening his stance. "You didn't order me. You requested me."

"I fail to see the difference," Brian replied and grabbed his cell phone off the table. "It doesn't matter because you're leaving."

"Are you kidding me? You can't fucking just kick me out! This is Friday night and all of my appointments are canceled because I'm here to fucking fulfill your fantasies."

Brian laughed at the blond and roared, "You are not part of any fantasy I've ever had."

"I suppose you go for guys that have huge muscles and are much older than yourself? This way you can feel dominant and young at the same time," the blond spit. "Fuck this, I'll just leave and have the agency fucking bill you and then blacklist you for this shit." He stalked past Brian and started for the door.

Brian watched the blond's stellar ass sway as he walked to the door and his neglected dick betrayed him, jumping in his pants and begging for the ass his eyes followed. "Fuck," he mumbled under his breath. "You don't have to leave, you can stay," he growled.

The blond turned sharply on his heel. "You'll treat me like I'm a human being, not a bowl of fucking chicken soup?"

Brian had never heard anything more preposterous. Hell, the whole situation and conversation they were having was irrational. However, he still felt compelled to question snidely, "I thought chicken soup was good for the soul?"

The blond cracked up laughing and gave Brian a smile he had never before given any customer. "I bet my cream sauce is better," he teased, walking back toward Brian and unzipping his blue-gray sweater. "You wanna taste me?" he asked, cupping his crotch over his jeans.

Brian put his hands on the blond's shoulders and stopped him before their bodies touched. "I'm going to eat real food first. Why don't you take a shower?"

"What? Do I stink?" The hustler lifted his arm and smelled his pit.

Brian laughed and sniffed the prostitute's neck. "No, you don't stink. But I'm not fucking an ass that still has lube from another fuck, which I'm pretty certain yours has."

"Fair enough," the blond said, shrugging his shoulders. He wouldn't deny the fact that he'd left his last appointment without taking a shower and went directly to the man's hotel room when his boss had called him. "Where's the bathroom?"

Brian pointed to the door beside the bedroom. "Through there," he directed. Remembering that he'd left his wallet and watch on the counter top in the bathroom, he retrieved it before allowing the hustler to walk in.

"I wouldn't have stolen anything," the younger man balked. "It could get me fired."

"Whatever." Brian shut the door behind the blond and wondered what the fuck he'd been thinking when he called the agency.

He'd looked up his friend Clyde from college earlier that day to see if he wanted to hit the club circuit with him. However, Clyde had already arranged for a hustler for himself that night. He had invited Brian to participate, but after hearing about how ‘reputable' the agency was, Brian had asked for a referral and called the agency for his own personal entertainment.

The blond hustler was much younger than what he'd asked for. He distinctly remembered saying that he wanted a man between the ages of twenty-four to thirty. The hustler that was now in his bathroom showering definitely did not look anywhere near twenty-four. He guessed that the kid had probably lied about his age to the agency. Brian knew that he had to make sure that the kid was legal before he touched him.

He walked over to the tray of food and lifted the lid. "Son of a bitch," he gasped when he saw the array of items on the plates. He looked on the second level of the cart and saw two bottles of wine, which he didn't order, and the fifth of Jim Beam, which he had. Looking back on the top tray, he saw a card that read: ‘With compliments of Lewis Hotel & Enterprises'. There were more plates of food than he could ever eat and he was sure that the chef had prepared a sample of almost everything on the menu, including the plate of shrimp and steak he had ordered.

*****

Justin had expected a much different man when he'd knocked on the door of the penthouse suite. Usually the men that stayed in penthouses were fat, old and married. They claimed, as most of his customers did, that they weren't gay. They somehow drew the conclusion that they weren't cheating; they fucked a man as opposed to a woman. That excuse and many like it were usually what greeted him when he met the customers. Occasionally a good-looking man would fuck him, but again, they usually preceded the fuck with some sort of excuse about why they hired him. Justin was sure it was because they wanted to remind him of his place in life as well as their own place in life. When the greetings were complete, the men would order him to strip, tell him how hot his body was and describe exactly what they wanted to do with him.

Mr. Kinney had done neither. In fact, he seemed to be less than impressed with his boyish features. He hadn't rushed him into the bedroom because he was afraid of anyone finding out that he was a homosexual or because he looked like a hustler. The reason had been that he didn't want anyone to see him with someone who looked as young as he did.

What he had assessed about the man's sexual partners, he figured was probably true and the man hadn't denied it. Yet, he'd never met a customer that didn't enjoy his young body and that perplexed him. Even more perplexing was that Justin had never met a customer whose words had actually gotten under his skin. From his first customer, he'd always let their words and actions slide off him. It was different to hear it from such a gorgeous and intense man. The man was hot, which affected him too; it had made him hard without him having to work at it, and that fact annoyed the fuck out of him.

Justin cleaned himself and then dried his body off with one of the thick, large hotel towels. He wiped the fog from the mirror and looked at himself, wondering if he should use the man's razor and shave the stubble he saw on his cheeks and chin. He decided against it, realizing that the reason he usually shaved so often was that men usually wanted to fuck a boy who looked innocent. Mr. Kinney definitely didn't want that.

Justin looked at the clothes he'd placed on the granite counter, the same place where his customer had grabbed his watch and wallet in a hurry. He laughed to himself as he considered if he should put back on his clothes or walk out naked. In the reflection of the mirror, his eyes caught the white terry-cloth bathrobe hanging behind him.

*****

Brian looked up from his plate as the blond exited the bathroom. His mouth watered, but not because of the strawberry he chewed. The hustler was dressed in an oversized white robe, walking toward him with the sexiest ‘come hither' expression Brian had ever seen.

"Are you expecting more people?" the blond asked worriedly, glancing around the room to make sure there was no one else in it.

"No," Brian assured him. "They sent me food to sample." He gestured to the array of plates he placed on the dining table. "Feel free to dig in to whatever you want," he offered.

"Cool," Justin spoke, sitting down in the chair across from Brian. "So, Mr. Kinney, are you a food critic?"

Brian snickered, "Not professionally, no. Could you stop calling me, Mr. Kinney?"

"Of course," Justin said around a mouthful of chocolate soufflé. "What would you like me to call you?" He silently hoped that the man wouldn't say something cheesy as many customers did.

"Brian," the older man answered.

"Let me guess," Justin spoke. "It's the first name of your favorite actor?"

"What?" Brian was sure that his time with the blond was the weirdest experience he'd ever had with a hustler.

"Uhm... your favorite author?" Justin queried.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Brian asked, dabbing his lips with the cloth napkin.

"Your ‘code name'," Justin explained.

"Code name?" the brunet snarked. "I'm not a fucking spy. It's my first name."

"Oh," Justin gasped in surprise. He only ever knew the last names of customers, and that was usually only those who were regulars and would at times buy him ‘special gifts,' or treat him better than the other clients did. He definitely never told them his first name and never inquired about theirs. However, he found himself speaking and couldn't stop himself. "I'm Justin."

"I don't usually learn the names of the guys I fuck," Brian admitted, taking a drink of his whiskey.

"Me neither," Justin told him, looking down at his plate. "Fuck. The only time I ever had a half-way meaningful conversation during dinner with a customer is when this one guy had me put on a dress and wanted me to reenact the night he first fucked a girl. He had champagne chilling, dinner on the skanky hotel room's table and roses covering the bed."

"What?" Brian snickered and put his hands over his eyes. "I really didn't need that mental image, not when I might be fucking you in a few minutes."

Justin laughed. "It wasn't so bad. The guy paid me double and I was able to sell the diamond necklace he made me wear too. It paid my rent for two months and I got to splurge on some new pencils."

Brian was afraid to ask but he did anyway, "Pencils?"

Justin sighed. "I used to be an artist."

"You used to be?" Brian asked.

"I used to attend The Art Institute here," Justin, admitted. "I used to sell my sketches in Grant Park, but I don't have time for that anymore."

"Why don't you have time now? Too many dicks to suck?" Brian asked boldly.

Justin dropped his roll and pushed his plate away. "No. I just don't have the time. By the way, time is ticking," he spoke haughtily. "So whenever you're ready..."

So I hit a sore spot, Brian thought, almost caring about why he had. Betrayed by his cock and another thought he asked, "Can I see your I.D.?"

"Why?" Justin asked worriedly. "Are you planning on stalking me?"

"No, I want to make sure that you're eighteen."

Justin groaned. "Let me see yours first," he said.

Brian rolled his eyes but grabbed his wallet from his pocket and slid it over to the blond. "Don't steal any of that money."

Justin laughed. "You're like sitting across from me. Besides, it's probably mine anyways," he reasoned, reading the I.D. card. He itched to flip through the other business cards and photographs but stopped himself, handing Brian back the wallet. "You don't look like you're almost thirty-five," he commented, grabbing his license from his backpack and handing it to Brian.

"What about your earlier attempt to joke about my age?" Brian queried. Satisfied to see that Justin was actually a week away from turning twenty-three, he handed the man back his license.

Justin shrugged. "It was true, wasn't it?"

"Partly," Brian admitted. "And for the record, I'm not afraid to be seen with another man or a hustler. I just have an aversion to being arrested."

"You're not afraid to be seen with a hustler?" Justin laughed in disbelief.

"I couldn't give a fuck what people think. However, this weekend I have business here and I don't need the staff informing the uptight, oh-so-faithful CEO that the head of his potential ad agency was seen fucking a boy prostitute."

"Understandable," Justin commented, rising from the table. He walked around it and sank to his knees beside Brian's chair. Running his hands up Brian's legs he asked, "So now that you know I'm not jailbait, do you wanna tell me what you want to do?"

Brian grinned down at Justin and took a sip of his whiskey as he thought about it. He placed the glass back on the table and used his free hands to run them through Justin's long golden strands. The younger man had the silkiest hair he'd ever had the pleasure of touching and Brian kicked himself for thinking something so lame about a prostitute. His hands roamed a path down the blond's pale neck and rested under his chin while his thumbs ghosted across Justin's pink lips. He considered his next move while he imagined how hot it would be to have Justin's lips stretched around his cock. "Stand up," he ordered gruffly, deciding upon his next course of action.

Justin's eyebrows drew together in confusion. He actually hoped to have a look at Brian's cock and was surprised when the man hadn't jumped at the chance to have him suck him off. Brian probably wasn't the sort of man that needed to hire escorts to get his dick sucked though. Justin figured Brian had only called for a hustler because the man wanted an easy fuck. He obeyed Brian's request and stood above him, a rare position for him to be in with a customer. "What now?" he asked, feeling the ebb and flow of unwanted anticipation sizzle under his skin.

Brian smiled saucily and directed in a husky tone, "I want to watch you strip that virginal robe off as you walk into the bedroom." Seeing Justin frown he added, "I'll be right behind you."

Justin slowly turned, walked one step, loosened the robe's tie a little and pulled the fabric so it revealed his shoulder. He looked over his exposed body part, met Brian's eyes and licked his lips.