I left Vince at the job site, and started off in a sprint, then outta sight, I slowed down to a jog. And just kept going. It felt awesome to my legs and I get into my zone and it felt good. I ignored the stares. And yes, one re-drive by. I waved. Then she sped up.
And I started to think about the week ahead. I know he likes his job and all, but the hours aren’t working for me. I want him at home and with me so we can play and work as we see fit. Not this 7:30 to 3:30 crap. Takes way too much fun out of the evenings.
Which means that we’d need to find him a new job, which has the same or better pay and benefits and had a limited number of hours. Easy Peasy. And it kind of was. He is a good looking man. He can throw charm out as good as Scott. And he’s photogenic. Working that combo, that spells acting and or modelling. I know, I know, each job might take him away, which might be a problem. But let’s take it one step at a time. Or two steps. As I booked him for a modeling interview and for a movie audition. On Friday.
Then I’m thinking that I kind of want to make my man dinner. Or, fuck it, have him make me dinner. Fuck. Can he even cook? He’s been on the fucking street and shit. Fuck. And I can’t wait for the apartment to close and I figured I’d ask Brett where we could eat.
So I do, and Brett booked us at a chef’s table at a Thai restaurant. Which is perfect, because I love Thai food, but never know what to order, but love all of the food everyone else orders for me. Perfect.
I get some drinks sent up and some hors d’oeuvres as well. And I do some bill paying and general catching up of emails and what’s going on in the world which doesn’t involve Vince, Scott or Meg. And it was a productive day. Our balcony is great and it’s just all-is-good.
Vince gets home, dusty and happy. He cracks a beer and, big ass smiles. “The guys thought you fuckin’ rocked it – Chad saw you running up and was like, ‘that guys an athlete’ and then you stopped and waited for me, and Chad made the connection. He’s like ‘that dude has a cock’ – he says he saw it from the 3rd floor! Fuck, it was a great day!” as he pulls his shirt off. “And they want you to come next time we have drinks. Which is huge, cuz most guys don’t bring their wives…but as Todd said, ‘I like his style’ – so you are in! Isn’t that cool?” and he’s like, genuinely happy. Which is nice.
I go over and help him with his pants and shoes and I strip off my shorts and shirt and we go to the shower. “I have made reservations for dinner at a Thai place. That okay? And do you cook?” as I wash his ripped back. Fuck.
“Yeah, in fact, I often thought that I would have been a chef if my parents had lived and I had a choice for a more normal life. My Mom and Dad were both amazing cooks, and they taught me from the get-go. I could do a mean omelette by 6 and I’d cruised through most of Julia Child by, like 12. I liked it and understood it and could just wing it. Interesting, huh?” and he looks at me. “Why?” and I put my arms on his shoulders.
“Because cooking for the man you love is another way to say ‘I love you’. And I wanted to make you dinner tonight, and then I decided that I really want you to make me dinner, and then I worried that might be a bad thing, as you lost your parents and your childhood too soon. Does that make sense?” and I look into his eyes. Untroubled.
“It makes perfect sense. And don’t be afraid of shit like that with me. I am a retired hooker. I fucked whatever for money. And I’ve lived on and survived the streets of Wyoming. In WINTER. Nothing you say can or do will EVER hurt me. I don’t do hurt with you. I do healing.” And fuck it, I actually tear up. Fuck.
And I started to think about the week ahead. I know he likes his job and all, but the hours aren’t working for me. I want him at home and with me so we can play and work as we see fit. Not this 7:30 to 3:30 crap. Takes way too much fun out of the evenings.
Which means that we’d need to find him a new job, which has the same or better pay and benefits and had a limited number of hours. Easy Peasy. And it kind of was. He is a good looking man. He can throw charm out as good as Scott. And he’s photogenic. Working that combo, that spells acting and or modelling. I know, I know, each job might take him away, which might be a problem. But let’s take it one step at a time. Or two steps. As I booked him for a modeling interview and for a movie audition. On Friday.
Then I’m thinking that I kind of want to make my man dinner. Or, fuck it, have him make me dinner. Fuck. Can he even cook? He’s been on the fucking street and shit. Fuck. And I can’t wait for the apartment to close and I figured I’d ask Brett where we could eat.
So I do, and Brett booked us at a chef’s table at a Thai restaurant. Which is perfect, because I love Thai food, but never know what to order, but love all of the food everyone else orders for me. Perfect.
I get some drinks sent up and some hors d’oeuvres as well. And I do some bill paying and general catching up of emails and what’s going on in the world which doesn’t involve Vince, Scott or Meg. And it was a productive day. Our balcony is great and it’s just all-is-good.
Vince gets home, dusty and happy. He cracks a beer and, big ass smiles. “The guys thought you fuckin’ rocked it – Chad saw you running up and was like, ‘that guys an athlete’ and then you stopped and waited for me, and Chad made the connection. He’s like ‘that dude has a cock’ – he says he saw it from the 3rd floor! Fuck, it was a great day!” as he pulls his shirt off. “And they want you to come next time we have drinks. Which is huge, cuz most guys don’t bring their wives…but as Todd said, ‘I like his style’ – so you are in! Isn’t that cool?” and he’s like, genuinely happy. Which is nice.
I go over and help him with his pants and shoes and I strip off my shorts and shirt and we go to the shower. “I have made reservations for dinner at a Thai place. That okay? And do you cook?” as I wash his ripped back. Fuck.
“Yeah, in fact, I often thought that I would have been a chef if my parents had lived and I had a choice for a more normal life. My Mom and Dad were both amazing cooks, and they taught me from the get-go. I could do a mean omelette by 6 and I’d cruised through most of Julia Child by, like 12. I liked it and understood it and could just wing it. Interesting, huh?” and he looks at me. “Why?” and I put my arms on his shoulders.
“Because cooking for the man you love is another way to say ‘I love you’. And I wanted to make you dinner tonight, and then I decided that I really want you to make me dinner, and then I worried that might be a bad thing, as you lost your parents and your childhood too soon. Does that make sense?” and I look into his eyes. Untroubled.
“It makes perfect sense. And don’t be afraid of shit like that with me. I am a retired hooker. I fucked whatever for money. And I’ve lived on and survived the streets of Wyoming. In WINTER. Nothing you say can or do will EVER hurt me. I don’t do hurt with you. I do healing.” And fuck it, I actually tear up. Fuck.