"I miss you too. But I'm glad the children are having fun at the beach."
I looked at Richard where he was leaning against the kitchen counter, turned away from me. He was still naked, trim and muscular for a man of thirty-five who indulged himself in everything—and could afford to do so. That everything included a gym and a good personal trainer, though.
He'd come from the shower with a towel around his waist, but that had dropped to the kitchen floor while he was talking with his wife. He didn't seem the least bit embarrassed that had happened, nor should he have been, I guess, other than he was talking to his wife on the telephone—in front of his boy toy. We'd both been naked on my bed, me writhing under him as he tried hard to fuck me, before he'd taken his shower.
But there was embarrassment there. He wouldn't look at me while he talked to his wife, who had taken their children to her parent's house in the Hamptons for the month of July.
His eggs were getting cold, but I'd be damned if I'd cook up another batch for him because he was on his cell phone, talking to his wife. Clarissa hadn't called him. He'd called her, no doubt just to be sure she was still in the Hamptons and so that she wouldn't call him on their home phone before he left for work and wonder why he didn't answer there.
When he rang off, he came over and sat at the table in the bow window overlooking the Baltimore Inner Harbor from my apartment at the Promenade at Harbor East. He left the towel on the carpet back by the kitchen counter. This was a choice one-bedroom apartment and I couldn't afford the rent, but Richard paid half of it. He sat, without embarrassment, with his thighs spread and his manhood tipping over the front of the chair—just like Richard Hineman owned the place. And just like he owned me as well. I guess both were true, even though the arrangement wasn't working smoothly yet. I had to give him credit for trying to make it work, though.
He still wouldn't look at me while he ate, although, just wearing sleeping shorts, I knew I looked good to him—ten years his junior and with the look of a model, which I'd first been when I came to work for his men's clothing firm. I had a desk job there now, but I still modeled for his catalog—and laid on my back and opened my legs to him—not yet as successfully as either of us wished, though.
We'd tried again last night, taking advantage of the absence of Clarissa and his children, with him staying the whole night and fucking me three times. He'd managed to get off all three times, but it had been an effort and I know he wasn't fully satisfied. I know he'd been looking forward to an all nighter without worrying about where his wife and kids were and not being available for Clarissa's possessive beck and call. I know he also was looking forward to me being comfortable enough to open entirely to him, to let him sink all the way into me and pump me deep. He wasn't that big that I shouldn't be able to take more than four inches of him.
All of our encounters before that had been furtive and rushed. I know he had thought that I wasn't melting to him because of that, and I had thought that too, but last night I had frozen in the act as much as ever before, and he'd had to take his pleasure with me tensed up and gripped with pain and him not being able to get it in to the hilt. He was hung but not overly so. But he was the first man I'd let screw me, and I just wasn't loosening up, even though I wanted to.
God knows I wanted to enjoy it. He was my boss and I was his toy. And he was good looking and in good shape. He was going to fuck me if he wanted to and I wanted to keep my cushy job and lifestyle, but I wanted him to enjoy it and I wanted to enjoy it too. And it seemed so important to him to put it all in me.
I didn't want to think it was his fault—there was no question that he didn't want to think it was his fault—but it wasn't like I was an expert in this. I just felt that, maybe if he spent more time preparing me rather than forcing it in and starting to pump as soon as I'd sucked it hard, with him going hard quickly . . .
He finished his eggs, mumbling something that passed as thanks for fixing him breakfast, and went back into the bedroom to dress. I'd shower after he left. He didn't want us to arrive at the office at the same time. He didn't want there to be any talk of the two of us. In fact, he went overboard in flirting with the office women to avoid any suspicion that he was spiking—or trying to—one of his male employees. That must be working, because every time I'd seen him with his wife, she was watching him like a hawk when he was interacting with another woman. She didn't show such suspicion when he and I were talking.
I heard him on the cell phone again in the bedroom, and when he came out, elegantly dressed as the CEO of a men's clothing empire would need to be, he looked at me for the first time since I'd gone rigid when he'd forced himself in me the previous night and just lay there, groaning as he worked his way to an ejaculation without much response from me—and without getting more than maybe three inches in me before I started closing down. Each time I'd taken considerable time jacking myself off after he'd come and withdrawn from me, stretched out beside me, smoking a cigarette, and staring at the ceiling. Sometimes watching me jack off heated him up again and he made another run at me—never with enough success to fully satisfy him, though.
"I want to meet you for lunch at a Chinese restaurant near the corner of South Broadway on Eastern Avenue, Marco," he said. "The Jade Garden. It's just a hole in the wall. Meet me at 1:00 and check out of the office for the rest of the afternoon. I have you booked for a photo shoot over at Fort McHenry, but there isn't really one. I'll supposedly be at a meeting in Washington. I want you to be there, at the restaurant, though. That'll give us the time to do what we need to do."
The time to do what, I wondered. But Richard wasn't a man you quizzed about anything he didn't freely tell you. God knows he was keeping secrets even from his wife.
He was giving me a piercing look of command, just as he'd done that night we'd both worked late and I gave him a blow job that he said was memorable. He clearly enjoyed dominating and I didn't think I'd mind being submissive. I just hadn't been able to get comfortable with it yet. And I needed to. I enjoyed the lifestyle this apartment gave me and the free clothes I got from working for Richard—and I even found Richard sexy. It just wasn't clicking with him yet.
It was the first time I'd been with a man all the way and it was the first time that he had tried a relationship with a man. All of his lays before that had been casual, with rent-boys, and he was clear about wanting something deeper, more mutually satisfying, with me. I was grateful that he was trying with me. I didn't know what the problem was—whether it was me, him, or us. It wasn't our bodies. We were both in superb shape and we both went hard just from seeing the other one naked. He was of solid Nordic stock and my family on both sides had been Brazilian. We fit together in theory like Yin and Yang, both in size, him being large boned and light skinned, and me being smaller, delicate-boned, and darker.
Another surprise for me was that I had had no idea that Richard liked Chinese food. He seemed much more the straightforward steak and fries man. I wasn't much for Chinese either, sticking pretty close to citric salads to keep in trim. The camera put on weight; it didn't take it off.
* * * *
Richard was just pushing his food around on his plate. I was doing about the same, although I did take a bite or two from time to time. It was OK—I mean the food was OK. Richard was stewing about something, I could tell. But he hadn't spoken much. He certainly hadn't told me why we were having lunch here.
"Anyone show any suspicion why you were leaving early?" he asked.
"No, not that I saw. I wasn't looking for it, though. You provided a perfectly plausible explanation for both of us," I said. "Why are we here, Rich?" I added.
