You Get What You Paid For Ch. 01

The closer it gets to 5 PM, the longer I stare at the clock, silently begging for it to move faster. "C'mon, minute hand," I think. "I believe in you." Not that I hate my job. In fact, I love working in IT. Flexible hours, lax office environment, and I have a knack for computers so my job isn't exactly difficult. But I don't get enjoyment out of the typical routines anymore. I haven't for about a year.

Dave pops in and taps on the top of my cubicle, grinning at me over the partition. "Wakey wakey," he says.

I blink a few times, smiling slightly. "Just one more minute." It's 4:59. So close.

"Just one more minute until... you come out with us?" he asks suggestively.

"Don't tell me..."

"We're getting drinks," Dave says, and I sigh. I know exactly what he means when he says "drinks." It means him and the Boys (or at least, that's what they call themselves as a collective) are going to throw back a few shots of Jim Beam and peruse the local strip club.

"You know that's not my thing," I remind him. Dave of all people should know. He's the only one of the group that I've outwardly told that I'm gay - though I'm sure the others suspect something, considering how negatively I respond to their locker room talk of women and their embarrassing adoration for strippers. I used to go out with them, just for the sake of going out. But then, Miguel...

"It'll still be fun. C'mon," he insists, loosening his already half-undone tie. "Come out with us for a change."

"I'm not really in the mood for strippers," I say, and I feel that little tingle of excitement when the time switches from 4:59 to 5:00. Finally. I hastily close all the applications, log off my computer, and shut everything down for the weekend. As I stand up, Dave looks at me sadly. "What?" I ask.

"You need to get over him, Teddy."

Leave it to Dave to hit me where it hurts. He doesn't know much about my last relationship - just how it ended. He met Miguel maybe once or twice, and I'm not one to discuss the intimate details of my romantic life, so it's not like Dave really understood just how much Miguel meant to me. But even then, considering the circumstances, I find it almost insulting that he thinks he can tell me to just "get over it."

"I'm trying," I tell him, snatching up my badge from my desk.

"It was, what, over a year ago?" he asks. "Time to move on."

Less than a year, actually. "I'm trying." That's all I can tell him. I'm trying, Dave.

The thing is, I feel like I've mostly gotten over Miguel in terms of him as a person. But the feeling, the security of a relationship, the strange freedom of being yourself around another person, I miss that terribly. The openness. The vulnerability. The mutual exchange of emotions and thoughts and perspectives. It's a beautiful thing, to be in love like that. Even when I tried to "get back on the dating horse" or whatever, all I did was try and see how the guy lined up with Miguel's silhouette. Could they take his place and give me exactly what I had before? Miguel was too good to me. For me. And in a lot of ways, it ruined me. I suppose that makes me sound ungrateful, and I feel a pang of guilt whenever I think like this.

Dave sighs. "Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find us."

I try and give him an appreciative smile. "Thanks, man."

I do appreciate him inviting me out with them. They're honestly a good group of guys, as (almost offensively) heterosexual as they are. But today is just one of those days where I'm really feeling that loss. I'm eager to just get home, throw back a few glasses of whiskey, and pet my cat. Maybe rot in front of the television for the remaining hours today has to offer. That's my plan for the evening.

But Ling comes up to my cubicle as I'm packing up, slinging his arm around Dave as he looks at me. "You coming out with us, buddy?"

Dave jumps in to my defense. "He has plans."

"Oh come on," Ling says, unconvinced. "Come out with us. I'll pay for a lap dance for ya."

I force a smile. "Lap dances don't really do it for me, Ling," I say, pocketing my badge and turning off the computer monitor.

"Oh, you need the real thing?" Ling says with a grin. Then he turns to Dave. "He doesn't need a stripper; he needs an escort."

They both laugh before Dave says "Leave him alone," pushing Ling playfully off of him.

"Fine, fine," Ling says, holding his hands up in surrender. "But you gotta come out with us next time."

I just shrug, not outwardly saying "no" but definitely not saying "yes." I don't understand the appeal. Having a stripper one-on-one, sure, but aren't they all straight? What about sporting boners in a room full of other men excites them so much? I just don't get it. But whatever. You guys have your fun. I'll try and have mine.

~ ~ ~

I almost forgot about the mess. I groan as soon as I walk into my apartment, seeing my place in near-total disarray. Maxi comes up to me, meowing her little tail off as if telling me how she disapproves of the state I've let our apartment get in. But I'm a slob. It's my biggest flaw. Even one that Clark can't fix. I hope he doesn't visit soon, because he'll take it upon himself to clean my apartment for me after glaring at me with particular disdain.

I don't deserve his kindness. Clark is basically a gay father figure to me. He took me in when I was kicked out of my house after coming out to my parents. He helped me through that tiresome, uphill battle against addiction, and even paid for my rehab. He set me up here, in this snazzy apartment, since he owns the whole complex. The benefits of knowing the landlord, I suppose. Too often I feel like I'm taking advantage of him because I don't do much in return, but he constantly reassures me that that's not the case. I guess the least I could do is clean up around here.

Tomorrow, though. I'll do it tomorrow. Right now, I just want to sit. I take off my jacket and my pants and my work shirt, revealing a graphic tee and an old pair of briefs underneath. Ultimate relaxation. I'm feeling kind of horny, now that I think about it - but it's the bored sort of horny, where the thought of jacking off is only appealing because it's a way to pass the time. So, after refilling Maxi's bowl with dry cat food, I head straight to my desktop.

What to watch, what to watch... My go-to site has tons of different categories. The list is endless really, and I can spend hours sifting through videos if I want to. I'm in a particularly oral mood, so I choose the "Cum-swallow" channel and open up a few tabs' worth of videos (just based on the thumbnails) to sample them each. As expected, the first two videos aren't that hot. There's no swallowing of cum whatsoever. Either it splatters on their face and the receiver recoils (which is a turn off for me), or the guy spits it out (which is even more of a boner killer). Why is it so difficult to find decent videos with actual cum eating? So I try the third video.

On the side, though, I notice something. Usually I come across plenty of those janky ads that say things like "Hot 'n horny studs in your area" or "Slutty young teens looking to FUCK you". They always look sketchy, and I always ignore them. But what Ling said rings in my ears: "He doesn't need a stripper; he needs an escort." He had a point there. I don't like the teasing quality of stripping. I'd need to go all the way. Though the concept of escorting has always confused me. Is it not just prostitution?

This ad looks different than the others, too. It looks almost, dare I say, professional. Curiosity makes my mouse hover over the ad before I click. Immediately, I'm directed to an escort site. A dozen or so small profiles pop up on screen in a somewhat overwhelming fashion. It looks like a cam site, but that's not what they're advertising. They're selling sex. Is this... legal? When I allow the site to access my general location, it refreshes and shows me who's available in my area. Wow. I'm intrigued by all the different profiles of guys: Latin lovers, BBCs, woodsy lumberjacks, buff daddies... I spend a solid bit of time just perusing them. After sifting through a page or two, I start to realize the type that doesn't appeal to me: the type with a username like CollegeMuscles69 or HUNGDADDIXXX or (the ever original) Hunkk, all plastered with a photo of their muscled torsos, or their asses, or sometimes their hard-ons. It's all a little too self-indulgent for me. Too in-your-face.

That's what makes one profile stick out: NotTheBoyNextDoor. It makes me smile for some reason. Plus, his photo is just one of his face rather than a body shot. He's exceptionally handsome. A little scruffy, with perfectly straight teeth and an angular face reminiscent of Eastern European models. He's sexy. So, intrigued, I click on his profile.

Right off the bat, I like him. There's something about his ad. "Looking for a good time? So am I." Immediately I laugh. It's nice to see that at least someone enjoys a little humor. "Seriously though, your satisfaction is my top priority," it says before getting into his bio more. It's less self-glorifying and superficial than other profiles, I notice. I find myself interested in him. And I can tell there's an ease about him, especially in the way he says "Guess I gotta sell myself, so here's me at my most narcissistic: I'm personable, sweet, social as hell, passionate, curious, very open-minded, and I like to pretend that I'm funny." I like him. That's all I can say.

It doesn't help that he's fucking hot. I scroll through the public pictures listed on his profile and feel my cock responding to a few particularly tantalizing ones, including a nude. He looks young, tall, and tastefully hairy. And he's got a great body. Not a body builder by any means, but something more my type: in-shape. He clearly cares about his physique without being so strict about it - though his thighs? Those look pretty damn powerful.

The last thing in his personal ad says "Discretion is of the utmost importance. I respect your privacy." I start to fantasize about calling him up and inviting him over. What would happen? Would I get to kiss those luscious-looking lips of his? Nuzzle into that dark scruff along his jaw? Would he let me suck that thick, soft cock between his legs to hardness? To completion? Damn, I'm starting to get warm...

I explore his profile more. There are more details towards the bottom, like things he's "available for" (erotic massage, videos, something called "the boyfriend experience") and "into" (including anal, kissing, cum, role play, oral, stripping, rimming, verbal, daddy, bears, jocks, muscle... the list goes on). There are a few things listed under "stats" as well. Seems he's twenty-seven. Six feet tall on the dot. Caucasian. He describes his body as lean-muscular, and, when I look back at his pictures, I'd have to agree. "Orientation" is listed as "ask me", which I find interesting. There are even reviews towards the bottom. Close to thirty people have all given him a five-star rating, and every single one of them answered "Yes, definitely" to the question "Would you recommend this person?" Must be a guaranteed good time. And if this guy is recommended by people like CumslutNYC420, who am I to question?

It is tempting, though, to click on that little mail icon in the corner. What happens if I do...? I bite my lip, selecting the icon, and a pop-up appears. Seems I can email or call him. I let my curiosity take over and select call, and his number pops up on the screen, inviting me to tempt fate. I lick my lips, glancing towards my pants that are lying on the floor so haphazardly. Should I grab it? Maybe I could text him. Just to see what this is about. He seems like a nice enough guy. Probably wouldn't tell me to fuck off.

Who am I kidding? Why would he waste his time with me? And why should I waste my time? I haven't had sex since Miguel - am I really going to start with this guy? ...Maybe. Maybe it's not a horrible idea. It's not like I've been putting myself out there lately.

Somehow the temptation becomes overwhelming, and I find myself grabbing my phone from my pants' pocket, inputting his number, and typing up a message. "Hey... love your ad..." I send, and then I pause. What else should I say? What else DO I say?

But he responds almost immediately. "Aw, thanks! Looking to meet up?"

Oh shit. Meet up? I didn't think this through. "I don't know yet," I send back quickly. "I'm sorry, I've never done something like this before."

"Oh, a first timer? Not to worry," he sends, tacking on a smiley face at the end of the message. "How about you give me a call? Easier to talk that way."

Why is my heart racing? It's not like I've committed to anything yet. But I feel anxious for some reason. I think it's the prospect of a hookup. For one, I haven't had sex with anyone in almost a year. So there's that aspect of being completely off my game. Then there's the possibility that, if he DOES come over, I won't be into it. That happened the last two times I tried to have sex with someone new. Even though he's wildly attractive, who knows what will happen when I see him in the flesh. THEN there's the fact that it's through this site, which I'm assuming is not completely illegal considering the quality and availability and glaring transparency of the site... Maybe I'll just call him and see what happens. One call won't hurt, right?

So a minute later, I finally buck up enough courage to call his number. He picks up after a few rings. "Hey there."

"Hey," I say, laughing slightly.

"Didn't think you were gonna call," he says. He has a nice voice. "Cool," for lack of a better word.

"Sorry, I'm all nervous and stuff."

"It's okay," he says with a chuckle. I hear him moving around slightly. "What's your name?"

"Um. Ted. Or, Teddy if you prefer."

"Short for Theodore?" he asks.

"Nope."

"Really? So, Edward?"

"Nope," I say again. "Just Ted."

"Wait, really?"

"Yeah," I say, laughing.

"Interesting. Usually parents don't go for the nicknames right off the bat."

"My parents are no-nonsense kind of people."

That makes him laugh, which makes me smile. "Well that's cool. So, Ted," he says, saying my name in a sultry sort of tone, "I gotta say, you have a great voice."

Do I? I can't help but smile. No one has ever said that about my voice alone. "Thank you."

"Tell me about you."

"Oh. Um..." The hell do I talk about? "I'm twenty-eight. I work in IT. Um..." Suddenly, my mind goes blank. Who am I again? "What else do you wanna know?"

"What your interests are. Things like that."

Interests? I'm assuming he means sexual interests. "I don't really know, um, what I'm looking for," I admit.

"Just feeling around?"

"I suppose." I scratch my thigh nervously. Calm down, Ted. Just a phone call.

"Hm. Well, you already know about some of my interests," he says. "Anything you wanna know about me?"

"Oh. Uh... Well, one question, I guess. Or concern, rather." I turn to his profile again, scrolling to his list of things he's into. "It says you're into, like, jocks and muscles and stuff."

He laughs. "I put a variety of stuff in my interests to get more clients. It's okay if you're not some muscle stud."

That actually relieves me. "Okay, cool, because I don't look like that."

"Not to worry, Ted," he says gently. Then: "If you don't mind me asking, what DO you look like?"

I look down at myself. I go back and forth on the whole confidence thing. I know I'm not the hottest guy out there, but most days, I don't think I'm ugly. Miguel referred to me as his "bear cub." I'm a little hairy, and just a hint chubby, mostly in my stomach. Nothing crazy, if I'm being honest. Anyone sane would say I have an average body, but in the gay world, I might as well be obese. "I have kind of a dad bod," I tell him.

"We refer to them as 'father figures', now," he says, and I immediately burst out laughing. I hear him laughing on his end too. "Hey, someone liked my joke!"

"I thought it was funny," I say, resting my hand on my stomach.

"I do too, but I rarely get the reaction you gave me." He chuckles again.

I smile softly to myself. He really does seem so easy-going, like he said. So I offer something. "I could just send a picture, if that's... easier."

"You don't have to if you're not comfortable," he says. "I just like to know what I'm getting into."

"One sec," I say, standing up and heading to the bedroom. I stand in front of the floor-length mirror and bite my lip. Should I take my shirt off and just be in my underwear? Should I crop my face out of the picture too? Does it even matter? If this is happening, he's going to see it all anyway. So I quickly remove my shirt, snap a picture of my full-body, and send it to him quickly, before I can think twice about it.

When he gets it, he says "Damn, Teddy. The name fits." I smile a bit, pulling my shirt on. "Love the body hair, too. I don't know what you were worrying about."

"Thanks," I say, sitting back in the chair.

Then he chuckles. "You're actually good-looking. I'm surprised."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, my usual clientele from that site consists of men who are, let's say, less than conventionally attractive," he says.

I laugh. "I can only imagine."

"That's just part of the job," he says. "Really attractive people don't really go looking for escorts."

Now I'm curious about his actual job. "What do you do if you're not into them?"

"There's a pill for that," he says, and we both laugh. "No, but, when you're in the moment, it's not as hard as you might think," he explains. "Besides, it's not always about sex. Sometimes it's for companionship."

"Is that the whole 'boyfriend experience' thing?"

"Part of it, yeah," he says. "Sometimes people just need to feel, you know, loved." I nod to myself, completely understanding that need. Frankly, I'd probably fit in that category right about now. "It's about selling my time, not my services," he says. "Think of it like that if you're still nervous about meeting up."

"Okay," I say. Guess that explains the legality. Maybe it's a weird loophole or something. Either that, or no one cares.

"DO you still wanna meet up?" he asks after a moment.

"Um... When?"

"How about now?"

"Now?" Wow, this is happening, isn't it?

"Yeah, why not?"

"I... Um..." I take a breath. "Okay. Sure." My heart is fucking racing now. I said yes. I can't believe I said yes.

"Sweet. Text me your address then. Oh, and last thing to discuss: pricing."

"Oh." I had completely forgotten about that. I have to pay for this.

I think he sensed that in my tone because he laughs. "How much?"

I blink. "You're asking me?"

He chuckles. "It's not a fixed price."

"I don't even know like, what's fair..."

"Well, just so you know, I usually charge $150 per hour. But since it's your first time, I'll dock it down to $100."

I don't even know if that's a lot or too little. A hundred dollars' worth of anything is always a lot to me, but part of me is eager to see what this whole thing is about. Especially considering I feel somewhat... comfortable talking to this guy. Something that hasn't happened in a long time. "Cash?" I ask.

"Or any of those cash apps. I have 'em all."

I exhale. Am I really about to pay for this? To do this? Christ, I must be way lonelier than I thought. "Okay. I can do that."

"Great!" he says, and even I can sense the smile in his voice. "I'm excited to meet you, Ted."

I look down at my lap with a grin, shy as if someone is watching me. "Me too."

As soon as I hang up and text him the address (as well as send him the $100 as promised), I look around my apartment. Anxiety floods me immediately. Fuck. It's a fucking mess in here. I bolt from my chair and start cleaning up as fast as I can, first dealing with miscellaneous trash that's littering the living room. I have to ignore the dishes piling up in the sink - there's no way I can get to those in time. And my bedroom... Luckily it's mostly just clothes lying around, so, in the interest of time, I scoop up anything off the floor and stuff it into my closet. Out of sight, out of mind.