Second Star to the Right

Chapter 2-1

Chapter 2

Tuesday evening

“All right,” Mason squared his shoulders and straightened the front of his jacket, “you can do this.”

Perhaps if the building had looked a little seedier, if there hadn’t been a cheerful set of pots overflowing with inter-woven ivy and impatiens, if there had been any indication at all that he was about to enter a place that didn’t appear to be just another demure little business, Mason might have kept walking.

“You can just set it up by phone,” Greg had told him. But he’d needed to see. He’d needed a chance to convince himself that the transaction wasn’t as sleazy as it felt.

“Okay, see?” he whispered. “No screaming babies. No young people banging on windows to be set free. Consenting adults. Exchanging trade…” He let his words drift off as he reached for the door handle.

The scent of pine cleaner hit him first. Then the sound waves of muted jazz. Overhead lighting brightened a small reception area, and a wide-smiled, brown-eyed brunette welcomed him with a nod and cheerful, “Hello there.”

While his internal self tried to convince the rest of him that he was in the wrong place, Mason stepped forward and smiled back. “Uh, hi. I think I’m supposed to be here but I’m not sure.”

She tilted her head with a question in her eyes and the effervescent smile still intact.

“My friend Greg arranged a meeting for me?” He cleared his throat and tried to increase the volume in his voice. “For a…meeting…for things.”

“Hmm,” the head tilt increased while pondering was performed. “I seem to recall a Greg but if you could tell me what you’re looking for then I’d probably be better able to assist you.”

Mason’s mind raced. Was he supposed to just say it? Was there some kind of magical secret word that Greg had forgotten to tell him? And what if he really was in the wrong place? And ended up blurting out something stupid? He licked his lips. He caught the inside of his cheek with his teeth. He shifted like a two-year old needing to pee. “I’m not a cop,” was the only thing he could think of.

“Excellent,” she said, eyes lighting up. “Let me get the door.”

She sashayed past him, stopped to straighten a magazine, and then flipped the lock on the door before turning back. “I’m Amelia. Your hostess. Have a seat.”

He did, gratefully. His knees felt weaker than they should have and his nervousness had increased tenfold when Amelia had locked the door. It made sense, of course; but it still left him with an anxious feeling of entrapment.

“So,” she dropped back into the chair behind the desk and smiled, an attempt at sweet that got lost in the feral show of too much teeth. “What kind of a girl are you looking for then, sweetie?”

Mason all but choked on his, “I’m not.”

“Un huh,” Amelia nodded. Even Mason could tell she was working to keep the smile on her face. “So are you…”

“Not looking for a girl.”

“Oh,” her smile perked back up. “A boy then.”

“A man,” he corrected quickly.

“Yeah, that’s what I meant, love. Why don’t you take your jacket off? Try and relax a little. You seem awfully tense.” She reached, palm up. “And I’ll need a credit card.”

He dug for his wallet almost sub-consciously. “I’m uh, well, going on a trip. Not far. About three hours north. I thought, maybe…” He licked dry lips, desperately trying to force spit glands to start producing, throat muscles to start swallowing, and his heart to stop pattering.

“That some company would sound nice?” she offered patiently. “How long are we looking at then?”

“A week.”

“A week!” She stared in shock, her words a little too sharp, her eyes flicking to his credit card as though trying to read limits and balances off the plastic.

“It’s good for it. I promise.”

Amelia’s voice became more of a purr than anything else and, for reasons unexplained, it made Mason feel that much more like a creepy predator. “Well aren’t you just a darling then? So,” she leaned forward in her chair, propped both elbows on her desk and clasped her hands under his chin. “What do you like to do?”

“Wh—” he cut himself off, fumbled to start again, and ended up spitting a flustered, “L-like you mean…with s*x?”

“Of course, sugar,” she grinned. “I don’t think dietary preferences are going to make much of a difference now, do you?”

“I don’t—”

She sighed and reached for a pen. “Okay, we’ll run through the basics first. Oral?”

He swallowed, waited, confirming to himself she wasn’t going to continue without his reply, and nodded quickly.

“Rimming, fingering,” she lifted her eyes and smiled again. “How do you feel about kissing? Necessary or…?”

Mason let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Oh, Jesus. Fine. I mean, yes. Or no. It doesn’t matter.”

“Anal?”

He didn’t mean to choke. It just happened. Throat muscles squeezed tight around forming words and refused to let air in, or out. Amelia didn’t seem surprised. But rather than risk a reoccurrence, Mason merely nodded again.

“Giving or receiving?”

“Yes.” He couldn’t force himself to hold eye contact. Instead, he let his eyes roam over the room that could have, in any other circumstances, been the reception area for his own damn office building a decade prior. “Both.”

“Any kinks you want looked after?”

The questions were too risqué to be said in such a mundane tone. Mason could feel sweat starting to bead up along his spine. He would have given anything, in that moment, to go back in time and decide on something less formal and clingy to wear. The cursed button-up that always felt so comfortable seemed to get tighter and tighter around his neck and smaller and smaller in the chest and shoulders.

She crinkled her nose at his silence, no doubt trying to portray some kind of sympathetic gesture. Albeit to his lack of reply, or his obvious nervousness, Mason wasn’t quite sure. “So pretty vanilla then? For the most part?”

I’m going to die, Mason thought. Right here and right now, in this…office…this front for a den of iniquity and lawlessness, I am going to drop dead of mortification and humiliation. “Just, you know…just normal sex.”

“Normal gay s*x,” Amelia corrected.

Mason lifted a hand to his left temple and started to finger small circles into it.

“Got a race in mind, sweetheart? Hair colour? Accent? Anything special that’s gonna tickle the right funny bone for you?”

“Jesus…” Just leave, he told himself. This is stupid. Get up and leave.

“Look, hon, I know you’re a nice guy and all. I get that you’re having a little trouble here. But I need some things to work with—”

“I’m here aren’t I?” Mason snapped. “So cut the crap. I’m obviously not so much of a nice guy.”

She turned away with a light smile and a nod. “Well, of course not, love. You’re a big ol’ growly tiger.”

“Oh, my f*****g God, I am not a growly tiger,” Mason groaned. Every nerve in his body was on overload and he was more than sure he was mere seconds from having something rupture inside his head. “That is not what I meant.”

“Uh-huh,” she turned back and frowned at him. “Not sure what you’re looking for me to say here, sweetheart.”

“I wasn’t looking for a…” Mason waved at nothing in a panic-induced flail. “You know, I wasn’t looking for you to blow smoke up my ass. I just mean that I’m not…” Phrases refused to complete not only off his tongue, but in his mind. “This is a mistake. I’m going to think a little more—”

“You always find it this hard to deal with people?” she asked, tilting her head in a way that reminded Mason of folks talking to their dogs. He stared at her blankly, she continued to eye him, and just as he managed to come up with enough determination to stand, convinced he was about to walk away, she lifted her finger and shook it at him. “I think I got someone for you.”

His reply came out weak and exhausted. “Oh?”

“Ayup,” she held her hand out and tweaked her fingers at his still extended, but as yet un-offered, credit card. “Think he’ll be a good one for your personality type.”

“Good God, what does that mean?”

She didn’t answer. Instead she grinned at her desk and began to shift papers. “A week you said?”

“Yes,” Mason watched every move she made. He wasn’t sure if he was more terrified of her finding what she was looking for, or ‘accidentally’ misplacing his card. “But, I mean…what do you mean by dealing with my…with me? What exactly do you think that entails? I know I sound like a fumbling i***t right now but I can assure you that normally I’m—” He caught her gaze when she looked up triumphantly and fought a wave of dizziness at her expression. “Jesus, he won’t be dressed in leathers will he?”

“Lord, child, I didn’t imagine you to be into that.” She dropped the paper in her hand and began to search again. “But I can totally arrange—”

“No!” He shook his head hard and words began to trill off his tongue without forethought or control. “Hell, no. No. God, no. I’m not into that. Definitely not. I mean, I’ve never tried it, but I know I’m not into it. Mostly, I mean; like, I guess you can’t really knock what you haven’t tried but I have no interest in trying it either. I’m just normal. Just, you know, a normal, regular person.” He caught her eyes again, nodding, his own widening to saucer-like proportions when he saw the frown. “Not that there’s anything wrong with it! I mean, one isn’t not normal if that’s what one’s into. I didn’t mean that. Or that it’s odd. I just…I meant…I…I’m sorry.” He sat down hard. “I have no idea what I’m saying anymore.”

Her voice was dry and drawn when she finally replied. “You always this difficult?”

“Pretty much.”

She tapped his card in her palm, her face lightening into a small smile. “Yeah, I got this. Don’t you worry none. You’re going to be in good hands, John. When are you leaving, where are you going, and where do you want him to meet you?”

“Mason,” he corrected. “My name is Mason.”

She rolled her eyes, sighing heavily. “Good heavens, Mason, you’re like an untrained puppy. John is just an expression for a client. But you know what? I’m even going to try and explain that concept. Keep your ass in that chair there and tell me all about this dream trip of yours.”