Boy Toy Chronicles
Page 20
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“It was nothing.”
She sighs. “Tyler, you brought me up to the roof because whatever you wanted to tell me was important. So tell me?”
I shake my head as I look down at her. Her eyes are pleading—but I don't know what for. I lie. Because it seems to be the thing we do to each other now. “I just wanted to tell you that I got a job as a male escort.”
Her nose scrunches. “So you get paid for sex?”
“Yep.”
“Um…” She backs away and fingers the car door handle. “Congratulations, I guess. If you're happy, then that's all that matters.”
She opens her door and starts to get in.
“Wait!”
She faces me again.
“I know you said that you wanted time. But I still want to be able to talk to you. It's kind of giving me anxiety thinking about not—”
Her pity smile cuts me off. “Sure, Ty.”
Without another word, she gets in her car and drives away.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I call her. She never answers. Occasionally, she’ll text me back and say she's busy and that she'll call me later. She never calls.
This goes on for a week; me calling and waiting, and calling and waiting some more.
By the second week, my calls decline from ten a day to five. I get the same pity excuse of a message back each and every time.
And by the third week of no Allie, I end up staring at my phone for a good hour trying to reason with myself if it's even worth calling her. I always decide that it is—even if it's just for her fifteen-second voicemail. It's the only time I get to hear her voice.
I know she asked for time—and I know I should give that to her—but it's hard to live without the one constant in your life.
She’s stopped replying to any of my messages.
And the pain? It's equivalent to a punch in the junk.
Or the heart.
In the back of my mind, I know I'm being selfish. I know that my need for her outweighs my logic. It would’ve been so easy to tell her the truth—to say that I’d felt the same way she has for as long as I could remember.
But I was a coward.
She wanted distance and time.
And I let her walk away and have both.
Stupid, pathetic coward.
***
I continue with my life as if my world's still spinning. It's not.
I throw myself into my schoolwork and into Boy Toy Corporation.
Thank fuck for BTC, because it's a damn good way to let out my anger and frustration in a way that seems completely justified. I take on as many clients as possible, sometimes even twice a day. At one point, I had to fake an orgasm just to end the session. When she asked about the lack of cum in the condom, I fumbled something about a botched vasectomy. Luckily, she bought it.
I keep my major clients. Mrs. um…Ma'am, Cynthia and Mrs. Fletcher.
Mrs. Fletcher has started to loosen up a bit. She still isn't ready for sex, but she enjoys making me feel good, and I enjoy her. Not even in a sexual way, but I enjoy her company. She tells me about her husband—things that he did that made her fall in love with him. And I tell her about Allie. I tell her everything about Allie. Including the fact that I love her. And that I lost her. “Keep trying,” she always says, “True love has no time limit.”
Believe it or not, in the time since Allie left a hole in my life, Mrs. Fletcher has become my best friend. My confidant. I spend longer at her house than necessary. Free of charge, of course. I help her fix things around the house that her husband used to do and she pays with sweet tea and a decent meal. I even get to know the name of her seventeen cats.
She's a lot more comfortable around me now, and I'm grateful for the time I have with her. Because it's sure as shit better than being in the frat house under the constant scrutinizing glare of the brothers.
***
“Hey,” Chase says, tapping on my open door.
“What's up?”
“Mrs. Fletcher's on the phone...”
I check my phone to see if I have any missed calls. She's started calling me directly whenever she needs me.
“…She wants to make an appointment with you.”
My eyes narrow in confusion and I take the phone from him. “Mrs. Fletcher? What's going on?”
“I just wanted to make an appointment.”
“But you have my personal number now.”
“I know, but I wanted it to be official, you know? I want to make sure that you're not spending uh…specific time with me unpaid.”
“I don't understand.”
She sighs loudly. “I'm ready to be fucked, Tyler. I think it's time.”
“Oh!”
“Will Thursday work?”
“Sure, Mrs. Fletcher. For you, I'll make anything work.”
***
Thursday comes around and I find myself knocking on Mrs. Fletcher's door with flowers and a glass of champagne. Something I'd never do for any of my other clients.
She opens the door in a little red dress. It matches her hair—her hair that reminds me of Allie. I push that thought away and kiss her on the cheek. She's wearing a little perfume and make-up and it's clear that back in her day—she would've turned heads. Just like Allie.
I clear my throat and hand her the flowers. “These are for you.”
She smiles warmly and cups my cheek. “Such a good boy, Tyler.”
I cock an eyebrow and wear my Boy-Toy mask. “I can be a bad boy, too, Babsy. I can be whatever you want me to be.”
She sighs. “Tyler, you brought me up to the roof because whatever you wanted to tell me was important. So tell me?”
I shake my head as I look down at her. Her eyes are pleading—but I don't know what for. I lie. Because it seems to be the thing we do to each other now. “I just wanted to tell you that I got a job as a male escort.”
Her nose scrunches. “So you get paid for sex?”
“Yep.”
“Um…” She backs away and fingers the car door handle. “Congratulations, I guess. If you're happy, then that's all that matters.”
She opens her door and starts to get in.
“Wait!”
She faces me again.
“I know you said that you wanted time. But I still want to be able to talk to you. It's kind of giving me anxiety thinking about not—”
Her pity smile cuts me off. “Sure, Ty.”
Without another word, she gets in her car and drives away.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I call her. She never answers. Occasionally, she’ll text me back and say she's busy and that she'll call me later. She never calls.
This goes on for a week; me calling and waiting, and calling and waiting some more.
By the second week, my calls decline from ten a day to five. I get the same pity excuse of a message back each and every time.
And by the third week of no Allie, I end up staring at my phone for a good hour trying to reason with myself if it's even worth calling her. I always decide that it is—even if it's just for her fifteen-second voicemail. It's the only time I get to hear her voice.
I know she asked for time—and I know I should give that to her—but it's hard to live without the one constant in your life.
She’s stopped replying to any of my messages.
And the pain? It's equivalent to a punch in the junk.
Or the heart.
In the back of my mind, I know I'm being selfish. I know that my need for her outweighs my logic. It would’ve been so easy to tell her the truth—to say that I’d felt the same way she has for as long as I could remember.
But I was a coward.
She wanted distance and time.
And I let her walk away and have both.
Stupid, pathetic coward.
***
I continue with my life as if my world's still spinning. It's not.
I throw myself into my schoolwork and into Boy Toy Corporation.
Thank fuck for BTC, because it's a damn good way to let out my anger and frustration in a way that seems completely justified. I take on as many clients as possible, sometimes even twice a day. At one point, I had to fake an orgasm just to end the session. When she asked about the lack of cum in the condom, I fumbled something about a botched vasectomy. Luckily, she bought it.
I keep my major clients. Mrs. um…Ma'am, Cynthia and Mrs. Fletcher.
Mrs. Fletcher has started to loosen up a bit. She still isn't ready for sex, but she enjoys making me feel good, and I enjoy her. Not even in a sexual way, but I enjoy her company. She tells me about her husband—things that he did that made her fall in love with him. And I tell her about Allie. I tell her everything about Allie. Including the fact that I love her. And that I lost her. “Keep trying,” she always says, “True love has no time limit.”
Believe it or not, in the time since Allie left a hole in my life, Mrs. Fletcher has become my best friend. My confidant. I spend longer at her house than necessary. Free of charge, of course. I help her fix things around the house that her husband used to do and she pays with sweet tea and a decent meal. I even get to know the name of her seventeen cats.
She's a lot more comfortable around me now, and I'm grateful for the time I have with her. Because it's sure as shit better than being in the frat house under the constant scrutinizing glare of the brothers.
***
“Hey,” Chase says, tapping on my open door.
“What's up?”
“Mrs. Fletcher's on the phone...”
I check my phone to see if I have any missed calls. She's started calling me directly whenever she needs me.
“…She wants to make an appointment with you.”
My eyes narrow in confusion and I take the phone from him. “Mrs. Fletcher? What's going on?”
“I just wanted to make an appointment.”
“But you have my personal number now.”
“I know, but I wanted it to be official, you know? I want to make sure that you're not spending uh…specific time with me unpaid.”
“I don't understand.”
She sighs loudly. “I'm ready to be fucked, Tyler. I think it's time.”
“Oh!”
“Will Thursday work?”
“Sure, Mrs. Fletcher. For you, I'll make anything work.”
***
Thursday comes around and I find myself knocking on Mrs. Fletcher's door with flowers and a glass of champagne. Something I'd never do for any of my other clients.
She opens the door in a little red dress. It matches her hair—her hair that reminds me of Allie. I push that thought away and kiss her on the cheek. She's wearing a little perfume and make-up and it's clear that back in her day—she would've turned heads. Just like Allie.
I clear my throat and hand her the flowers. “These are for you.”
She smiles warmly and cups my cheek. “Such a good boy, Tyler.”
I cock an eyebrow and wear my Boy-Toy mask. “I can be a bad boy, too, Babsy. I can be whatever you want me to be.”
