Love Starved (3 page)

He’d loved Brian with the blind, naïve passion of first love, of a lonely kid who’d had so much to give and no one to give it to for so long. He’d loved him stubbornly and patiently for over two years, despite disappointments and doubts that he kept pushing to the back of his mind. Love is worth fighting for, he’d told himself. Love is patient. Love forgives and overcomes.

Right. Talk about crashing down to earth.

Micah’s tablet pinged with an incoming reply.

Angel:
Not so fast, tiger :) Let’s talk a bit about what you would like this to be like. Night out or night in?

me:
hmmm I definitely want a date

going out somewhere

Angel:
Done. Would you like to discuss all the details first so that it feels like another date with a loving, long-time boyfriend?

me:
hm, idk

frankly, I can’t see it working like that

too many details to navigate

how about we don’t bother with a scenario?

no past history to think about, just here and now

I suspend disbelief, you do your magic

Angel:
Sure, we can do that. So what would I need to know to take you to dinner? Do you have any allergies? Food you hate? Things you never eat? Are you a vegetarian?

Micah paused with his mouth parted, the innocent question striking a once-painful chord. He was allergic to shellfish and by extension never ate seafood in general. For their one-year anniversary, Brian had taken him to the best sushi restaurant in the city and was terribly put out when Micah told him that no, he couldn’t just get over it and eat something without shellfish in it, no matter how hard it had been to get a table.

And it wasn’t as though they’d never talked about it before. Brian had even seen the EpiPen Micah carried. He’d claimed he hadn’t thought it would be a problem. They’d gone to a little Chinese place instead, but the mood had been ruined.

Already an escort was proving to be more thoughtful than his boyfriend had ever been. Then again, that was his job.

With a sigh, Micah picked up the tablet again.

me:
severe shellfish allergy, no seafood, not a big fan of Asian cuisine, but I do eat meat

Angel:
Noted. Is there anything in particular you want or don’t want to do, or would you prefer to be surprised?

me:
surprise me

all I want is for it to be really romantic

He remembered something Daphne said tonight and smiled as he typed:

like my friend once said, memories are forever

so that’s what I want, a perfect memory of one night when I felt

hmm

Angel:
Loved and cherished?

me:
yes

I can’t believe I’m talking about it to anyone

I’m going to judge myself so hard in the morning

Angel:
Well, if it helps, I’m not. No judgment here, Micah. I promise. That’s my number two rule.

me:
what’s your #1 rule?

Angel:
Safety. On that note, is there anything I have to know to avoid doing anything that might hurt you, or get you out of the mood? Any forbidden topics? Turn-offs? Sensitivities?

me:
hm, I don’t think so, I’m good

Angel:
Anything you can’t stand in men?

me:
mustaches!

and beer breath

Angel:
I’ll make sure not to have either then :)

me:
and usually you do? yikes! maybe I should reconsider

Angel:
:)

How intimate do you want the night to be?

That gave Micah a start. He frowned, absentmindedly sipping out of the bottle again.

me:
what do you mean?

Angel:
To put it bluntly: sex or no sex?

me:
oh! um… no. maybe? I don’t know!

it feels weird to think about it like this

Angel:
That’s okay. We’ll see as the evening progresses. I’ll be prepared for it to go either way. Don’t hesitate to tell me what you want, whether during the night itself or before. I’m really open to most requests, and it’s
your
fantasy, you are paying to have it perfectly tailored for you.

me:
um, speaking of paying… what are your prices, what’s the system here?

I’ve never done this before

Angel:
I don’t charge by the hour. You pay for the experience, and you pay in advance. For that price, you have me for the duration of the fantasy scenario, but no longer than four hours. You can double that time if you think you will need it, but I never stay over once it’s done. In other words, I don’t
sleep
with my clients.

me:
and the price is… ?

Angel:
Normally, I would say $1,500 for a job like this, including expenses. But since I can’t guarantee your satisfaction with the degree of certainty I usually have, how about you pay me $1,250? If you’re happy with my service, the additional $250 will be a bonus afterward.

me:
isn’t it risky for you though? how do you know I will pay you the bonus?

Angel:
I don’t. But I like to believe that people are essentially decent, so I choose to trust you to pay me exactly for what I deliver.

me:
you’re very trusting for an escort

oops. is that a bad word? I’m sorry

Angel:
No, that’s okay :) And yes, I am. Some would call me naïve, I’m sure, but I’m fine with that.

Okay, do you need some time to think before you decide? Do you want pictures to know what you’re buying?

Micah took a deep breath. This was his last chance to turn back. Except he really didn’t want to.

me:
no no I’m interested

Daphne called you gorgeous, I trust her judgment

when can we do this?

Angel:
She did? That’s nice to hear.

Well, I have tomorrow and Sunday reserved, and my next weekend is fully booked too, so unless you don’t mind meeting on a weeknight, we would have to schedule our date for the second weekend of June.

me:
oh that’s not a problem, I have a relatively flexible schedule until Friday

I don’t mind the middle of the week

in fact, I’d love to meet as soon as possible

or I might chicken out

so how about Monday?

Angel:
Monday works great. Is 8 okay?

me:
perfect

how do I pay you? paypal?

Angel:
Yes. I use this email address.

So Monday, 8 p.m. it is. I’ll need you to give me your home address so that I can pick you up like a good date would :) Unless you want to meet somewhere else?

And having your phone number would be useful, just in case.

me:
home is fine

let me send you the money first, and then I will put the info in an email

and I’ll see you on Monday

Angel:
Thank you, it was a pleasure chatting with you. Goodnight, Micah. See you on Monday.

me:
goodnight!

Micah took another deep swallow from the bottle after he’d closed the chat window, feeling giddy and lightheaded. He was going on a date. This Monday. He was going on a date and it would be perfect, exactly what he’d always dreamed about. He’d have to remember to send Daphne flowers tomorrow.

But for now, he had some practicalities to take care of.

Grinning widely, with his heart galloping happily against his ribs, Micah opened a new tab.

The alarm he’d forgotten to
deactivate pierced Micah’s head like a dentist’s drill at six in the morning. Cursing, he flailed around, trying to find his phone and silence it without opening his eyes or moving his pounding head. But the first thing his hand encountered wasn’t the phone—it was the tablet on the covers by his side. Micah’s eyes snapped open; a wave of nausea rising in his throat was due to more than the hangover.

He really, really wanted last night’s conversation to turn out to be a dream. But as he spotted the card lying innocently next to the tablet, one corner shimmering red where the early morning sunshine hit it, the last of that hope evaporated.

So he
did
chat with that escort last night.

With the alarm finally off, Micah closed his eyes again, his brain churning. Going back to sleep was a lost cause now that his mind helpfully submitted bits and pieces of the conversation, making Micah cringe. God. What had he been thinking?

Determination to assess the damage and fix it immediately won over the hangover. Micah sat up in bed and picked up the tablet.

The plan was to scroll through the whole chat—details were a little fuzzy in his memory—but when the screen lit up, it was to an email from Angel, thanking him for the payment and confirming that he would pick Micah up on Monday evening, at his apartment. Attached was Angel’s phone number.

Micah sat frozen, staring at his own message quoted underneath. So much for his data safety expertise; it had only taken some liquor and a moment of weakness for him to throw all caution to the wind and give his home address and private phone number to this man—this complete stranger who could be anyone, could use it for anything, give it to some seedy people for God knew what reason. He was a sex worker, for goodness sake! Daphne vouched for him, but Daphne was known for trusting anyone with a nice smile.

Worse still, he had paid the man already. Phone numbers could be changed if necessary, and his building had security, but he had just transferred the amount of money that was almost as much as his monthly rent to a complete stranger, on a whim. And for what? For one “date” that would surely turn out to be an absolute disaster, since the man knew nothing about him but a few random facts. If Micah really had a masochistic need to try the awkwardness of dating again, it would have been so much cheaper, if not less painful, to go to a random gay club and look around. Except now, in the light of day, when he was sober and rational, he didn’t have the tiniest desire to do that. Why put himself through that again?

But he had paid already, and there wasn’t much he could do about it now. He could hardly write to Angel—what kind of a name was that, anyway?—and ask him to send the money back because Micah had changed his mind. The mere thought made him cringe with embarrassment. What would the guy think, that he was some nervous teenager? Besides, Micah doubted this kind of service came with a refund policy. But what else could he do? Even the thought of going through with the fake date gave him the creeps.

There was no good solution. Or at least he wouldn’t find one while nursing a massive headache and growing nausea. He had time till Monday; he would figure something out later. For now, he needed a shower, coffee and some painkillers.

Micah had all kinds of
plans for this weekend—plans that included grocery shopping and cooking and a long overdue Skype session with his parents, as well as spending at least a few hours on the wide balcony of his twentieth-floor apartment, enjoying the sun and the spectacular view of Lake Calhoun while he finished the book edits. He had to keep an eye on a few trackers he had installed on a client’s company laptop, too, in case any suspicious activity occurred, but he could do it easily from his home office. All in all, it should be a nice, productive weekend at home with a bit of indulgence in life’s little pleasures. But so far, it wasn’t working. Micah was a nervous, disgruntled mess.

Walking through his favorite grocery store on Saturday afternoon, he couldn’t help but feel distaste rise in his throat. Here he was, spending more than a family of four’s monthly food budget on—let’s say it—a prostitute, something he neither needed nor even really wanted. People were starving, and that guy was charging more than a thousand bucks for a few hours of company. Micah had no idea what the usual rates for this kind of service were, but it seemed outrageous. Except his drunken self clearly hadn’t thought so, accepting the price without a blink of an eye. That was so stupid. Sure, he could afford it, technically—the company was doing great and his book had sold for much more than he’d expected—but there were so many better things to spend the money on.

In an attempt to atone for his foolishness, Micah dropped a fifty into a disabled homeless man’s hat on his way home, but it didn’t really make him feel any better.

All day, he’d been leaning toward calling off the date. If Angel told him he wouldn’t return the payment, so be it; he would rather lose the money than suffer through the stilted attempts at romance the guy would undoubtedly offer. But as he drove home from the store with the trunk of his car filled with groceries, Micah couldn’t help but think about his parents. What would they say if they knew how easily he justified wasting more than a thousand dollars, just like that? Even disregarding
what
he was wasting it on, they would probably be appalled.

His parents had never been wealthy. They hadn’t been poor, but they’d worked hard every day of their lives so that Micah and Claudia never lacked for the necessities. Micah remembered Christmases when they all limited themselves to one little gift each because business at his father’s store had been slow, and discussions about the priority of their college funds over everyday pleasures. The kids had been taught early about managing a budget, saving for things they wanted and finding cheaper or free alternatives for many expenses. The family’s only luxury when they were growing up had been a beautiful old cabin on Lake Superior that Micah’s mom had inherited from her parents and where they spent every summer.

Wastefulness was not something Mr. and Mrs. Geller would approve of.

Micah didn’t approve of it himself, either. He never wanted to turn into one of those people who just threw away money because they didn’t care, and now he thought that was where he was headed. And it wasn’t even so much about buying the… service. If he’d bought a TV on a whim and then decided it was a mistake, he wouldn’t throw it away, would he? He would try to return it and, if that was not an option, he would rather give it away than put it in the trash. Neither seemed like a valid possibility when it came to what he’d just paid for, but maybe he needed to treat this like a lesson, suffer through the consequences of his foolishness.

Once in the garage, Micah turned off the car and sat there for a moment, staring through the windshield at the gray wall.
Fine.
He would do it. He’d meet the guy, go to dinner with him and do whatever else was on the menu, if it was bearable. And then he would return home, probably get drunk in an attempt to wipe the memory of the evening clean and never ever think about it again.

He had two days to steel himself for it. That had to suffice.

Damn Daphne and her ideas.

Thoughts about his Monday “date”
didn’t leave Micah’s mind as he moved through the rest of his weekend, distracting him with incessant questions and fears.

What if he’s completely not my type?
—he wondered as he was tackling his long-neglected laundry. Angel couldn’t be unattractive, not if Daphne vouched for his good looks, but Micah knew what image porn stars usually aspired to. Not that Angel was a porn star, per se. Micah didn’t think so, at least.

Wait—what if Angel
was
a porn star and someone recognized him while they were out?

Worse
—Micah thought morosely as he cooked eggplant Bolognese for dinner on Sunday—
what if we have nothing to talk about?
Angel might be shallow and boring, trying to buy Micah’s approval with clichés and generic pleasantries. He was usually paid to be a lover, not a conversationalist, after all—he’d said so himself. Being stuck at a restaurant table with awkward silence ringing in his ears was something Micah never wanted to endure again.

Worst
—Angel probably had some expectations about how this evening was supposed to go. Sure, he’d asked Micah if he wanted to get intimate during their “date,” but sex was Angel’s job, wasn’t it? He would likely want to get them there one way or another, to the territory that must be easy and familiar for him, his everyday bread and butter. Micah had no intention to even touch him, but saying
no
clearly and unapologetically had always been his problem. He hated thinking he might offend people or hurt their feelings, so he would probably freeze if Angel attempted to initiate anything, trying to wait it out and hoping that the guy would be perceptive enough to notice and back off.

Yes, all in all, that sounded like a
perfect
date scenario.

When Micah went to bed on Sunday, the date loomed more like a dreaded dentists’ appointment than a fantasy. It took a long while of tossing and turning before he managed to fall asleep. In his dream, a ridiculously muscled naked guy with a dark spray tan on his completely hairless body chased Micah around a huge seafood restaurant, wiggling his hips suggestively and calling out things like “Let’s swap some spit,” and “Come sit in my lap, darling; I’ll make it real good for you.” Micah woke up sweaty and breathless. He had no idea a dream featuring a big, hard penis could be this terrifying.

Honestly, this was stupid, he decided ten minutes later as he stood in the shower, steady streams of hot water massaging the tension out of his muscles. It shouldn’t be such a big deal. So he didn’t have much experience with dating, and this whole fantasy date extravaganza was a big mistake. But if he was in, he could at least try to enjoy what he’d paid for instead of assuming it was going to be terrible. If it was, fine. He could survive it. He’d survived a lot of crappy experiences and lived to tell the tale. And it could still turn out to be nice. At the very least, he could try to get some fun out of it.

New determination straightening his back, Micah went to dig through his closet in search of something suitable to wear in the evening. It was supposed to be a warm day, so with no idea where they would be going, he settled for fitted black pants and a cornflower blue button up that matched the color of his eyes. He supposed he could text Angel to ask about the dress code for the establishment, but he didn’t really want to, afraid that contacting the escort might shatter his newfound confidence. He could always add a tie at the last minute, if necessary. With the outfit pressed and hung on the closet door, Micah drove to work, whistling.

After he stopped freaking out, the day turned out to be a lot more productive than he’d anticipated. Micah managed to wrap up the editing he’d failed to finish over the weekend, met with a prospective client from a large insurance company and initiated the second round of simulated social engineering attacks for the bank where he’d lectured a few weeks ago to check whether the employees were using the techniques and rules they’d been taught.

He left the office at six sharp, feeling more excited than nervous, and even remembered to give the escort’s name to the security staff in his apartment building so that he would be let in when he arrived. Showered and dressed with time to spare, Micah looked through his chat with Angel one more time. Maybe he was reading too much into it, but the man seemed thoughtful at least. That was promising.

Here’s hoping
. His doorbell rang just on time and he stepped to the door to meet his fantasy boyfriend.