Chapter 30
Elene
"He still won't give it up?"
Sandi cocks her head to the side, not even trying to stop herself from laughing. She's shaking her head, almost spilling the contents of her drink because she's giggling so hard. I cast her a reproachful look.
"Very helpful," I say, slumping down on the couch next to her, careful not to spill my own drink. I made Manhattans for us, a favorite not just for me. When I moved into this place, thinking it would only be temporary, I didn't bother much about a well-equipped kitchen. But I knew that a proper blender for drinks was a must, since I prefer cocktails over wine. Sandi and I have been making so much use of it that I don't even feel bad about investing so much money in something as mundane as a blender, especially one that is mainly used for drinks and not for cooking.
"Look, this man is driving me crazy," I say, sounding terribly pathetic. "He's so..."
"Handsome," Sandi completes my sentence, winking while she brings the glass up to her lips. "That man's a looker for sure."
"Well, yes, that too," I admit. "But that's not it. He's just... there's something about him. He's intense. He really knows what he's doing, and he..."
I stop, biting my lips, unsure how to finish that sentence. I know what I want to say, but I'm not sure if it's the right assessment. It may be nothing more but a vague feeling, an impression I got from the few but intense encounters I've had with this man. I've been wondering what it is that makes him so special, and why I respond the way I do. Is it because...
"He really knows me," I say in a low voice, somehow fearing Sandi's response to my words.
"You mean he knows what turns you on?" she clarifies, straightforward as always.
I sigh. "Yeah, I guess you could call it that."
"But?"
It's more than just turning me on. He doesn't just push the right buttons on my body by touching me in the right places in the right way. He really gets to me, and most of it is achieved simply by words and the way he looks at me. He has me wrapped around his finger, because he's gotten into my head like no other.
It's as wonderful as it is scary.
"It's... hard to explain," I reveal to Sandi. We have been close friends for so long, but I still feel weird talking about him with her. I feel weird even thinking about him, because I'm hesitant to allow myself to go where my heart dictates me to go. I might be wrong. I might be making too much out of this. He's not my boyfriend after all, and he probably doesn't want to be.
And yet I'm sitting here unable to stop thinking about him.
"Sure sounds like an interesting guy, though," Sandi says. "Maybe I should give him a try."
My heart aches at her words, and I fail to hide the pain in front of Sandi. My eyebrows crease as I cast her a reproachful look, even though I know it's not warranted. He's just a client, for God's sake. It's not like we're dating, and who knows how many girls he's toying with in the same way right now. Who knows what he's been up to all those nights when he made me wait at the club for nothing. He could have been with someone else. We never said that we're exclusive...
"Oh, you really like the guy, don't you?" Sandi assumes, reading my face. "Damn, girl, I'm sorry, I—"
"No, it's okay," I hurry to assure her. "He is a client. You're right. I shouldn't even—"
"Never fall for clients," she reminds me, arching her eyebrows with worry. "They're not boyfriend material. No man who buys women like us is."
I sigh, lowering my gaze. She is right. I know she is right. But if he really is nothing more than a regular, why doesn't he take what he is paying for? Why does he make me feel this way; why does he insist on guaranteeing my pleasure before his?
Maybe that's just his kink. Some people are just... different. And he certainly is.
"I'm not falling for him," I lie. "I'm just confused."
Sandi snorts. "Girl, that's pretty much the same thing."
I let out a sad chuckle. "Maybe."
We sit in silence for a few moments, both sipping on our Manhattans. It's a good blend this time. Not to brag, but I've become pretty adept at preparing drinks. I wonder if Miss Barry would ever give me a chance to work behind the bar. I bet I'd be pretty good at it.
"Do you think he likes you?" Sandi asks, breaking into my absent pondering.
"How can you ever tell with a client?" I say, shrugging. "He makes me wonder, though. Why doesn't he take what he's paying for? Why doesn't he fuck me? Why does he keep showing up and then just...."
"Give you the best orgasms you've ever had?" Sandi completes my sentence, chuckling.
I shake my head at her. "I never said that."
"You might as well have," she says. "As far as I can remember, you always told me that you can't come with a man. Well, he proved you wrong, didn't he?"
"Yes, but—"
"And he keeps showing up just for that," she adds. "Just to make you feel good. He enjoys seeing you have fun. That's certainly a kink some people have, especially men."
I nod along to her words, agreeing with her assessment .
"But if my pleasure is what he enjoys most, why won't he give me what I want?" I wonder out loud. "It's not like I haven't asked for it multiple times."
Sandi giggles. "Maybe he has a tiny dick and doesn't want to disappoint."
I playfully roll my eyes at her immature comment.
"Oh no he doesn't," I tell her, my eyebrows curving as I remember the sight of him. "On the contrary. Trust me."
"You've seen it?" she asks, widening her eyes with excitement.
"Once, yes. He has nothing to be shy about."
"Damn!"
"Damn indeed," I mumble, taking another sip from my drink.
"Well, if you want him that much, you'll just have to make it impossible for him to say no," Sandi advises. "Seduce him. You know how that's done."
I bite my lip as I slowly descend in a pensive nod. "Yes, you'd think that. But my usual tricks don't work on him. Quite the opposite, actually. He gets angry when I try."
"Hmm, I see," Sandi retorts, knitting her eyebrows together. "Then... don't try."
I cast her a puzzled look. "What's that supposed to mean? Play hard to get?"
Sandi shakes her head.
"You said he always wants you naked?" she asks. "No lingerie, no dresses, no stockings."
I nod along as she lists all things he made me get rid of. "He says he wants the real me, no fake persona, no hooker."
My gaze lowers in shame before I add: "To be honest, I don't even know what that would look like... who I am with a man when he didn't buy me."
I feel weak and embarrassed saying those words. It's an admission of defeat to say it out loud. I knew I wasn't good at normal dating. I knew I wasn't normal when it comes to men and relationships. But I never realized how bad it really was, how far detached I am from these things. It posed a challenge when I was forced to do nothing but talk, and an even greater challenge when I was ready to give myself to him only to be rejected.
Is rejection the right word, though? I'm not sure.
I can feel Sandi's eyes on me but I ignore her, seeking solace at the bottom of my drink as I often do. I don't fear to be judged by her, because if anyone could understand, it would be her. But I know she doesn't share my troubles, and I hate to be pitied.
"Well, technically he is paying for you," Sandi adds for consideration. "He's just being weird and declining your usual services for whatever reason."
I turn my eyes to her, the ache of disappointment written so clearly on my face that she raises her hand in defense.
"I'm sorry, I didn't want to make it sound like he's just—"
"No, you're right," I cut her off. "I'm reading way too much into this. He's just a client. A weird client, maybe, but still just a client."
Even I don't believe my words, and by the way she's looking at me now, I can tell that Sandi doesn't believe me either. She smiles at me, but it's the kind of smile you give to a naive child who still believes in Santa Claus. I know what she's thinking, and I know she's only shutting up about it for now because she doesn't want to hurt me. I'm grateful for that. But I also want her to be wrong. I need her to be wrong.
"In any case," she says. "If he's asking for the real you and no escort attitude, then just give him that."
"Just give him that," I repeat, a distorted smile spreading across my face. "You make it sound so easy."
"I think it can be easy," she says, trying to encourage me. "Just get rid of everything that makes you not you."
She casts me a conspiratorial smile laced with darkness.
"Everything," she says, enunciating the word.
Our eyes lock onto each other, silence stretching between us while I try to understand.
My lips part with tardy realization when it finally hits me.
I don't know if it will do the trick—but I know what I will have to do.