Memoirs of a Gigolo Volume Nine

by Livia Ellis

  I feel no guilt. Not even a little. I’m weeks away from getting married to Parvati and I feel absolutely free. Parvati could give a shit what I get up to. Her feelings matter to me about as much as my feelings matter to her. I have freedom like I’ve never had before. When I am married my range to rove will be that much greater.

  His mouth swallows me nearly to the shaft as his hand squeezes and rolls my balls. His tongue is rough and his mouth is smooth. There is just enough of a bite to make me jump. Then he hums. He hums with my dick in his mouth. It’s like an oral vibrator. He’s learned technique. I don’t know where or from whom, but he’s learned technique. Am I jealous? Possibly. Maybe he’s just been paying attention to me.

  With this feeling of utter bliss at my impending release from the constraints of decency I ejaculate. Fingers wound through all that beautiful hair and the heat of bare skin against my thighs I let the waves of physical release just overflow from my body.

  There must still be bones in my body, but they’ve become temporarily gelatinous as the Latin Pop Star rolls me from my back to my stomach. He can do whatever he wants to me. I’m fairly certain I lack the will to protest. Fortunately I trust him.

  His hands grab my ass cheeks. He squeezes, rolls, and kneads like a well-trained masseuse. I consider asking him to work my shoulders, but respect the fact he’s in charge and doesn’t need my input. His breath exhales against my skin. His teeth nip gently. I watch from this place outside of my body that I occupy as he grabs a condom and lube. He pushes and nudges my thighs until they easily bend open.

  The provocative brush of his exhale against my rim wakes my satiated body. The touch of his tongue stops my breath. He has changed. Not my shy Latin lover anymore. No. He’s entered a whole new world.

  His tongue is withdrawn faster than I wanted, but not before it’s replaced by a thumb. A probing and teasing thumb that massages just enough warmed lube into my anus to relax the muscle. I should be paying him. I really should be.

  He stops and I nearly scream. Then I hear him putting a condom on and I don’t protest. One nudge at a time, he enters me. No guilt. No shame. I fully embrace that I like dick as much as I like pussy. This is me. I am Oliver and I am unencumbered by proclivities. Everyone is in my pool to pull from.

  With consideration for the fact I am a human being with nerve endings and the capacity to feel pain, he fucks me with just enough thrust to make it good and not so much to make me hurt. Every thrust is a move deeper until he can go no more. I lay still and let him have his way with me. His hand wraps around my cock as he finds a place deep inside of me where he only needs to move just a hair to find the right rhythm. I can feel his cock pulsate as he ejaculates.

  I’ve learned to appreciate being on top, but in my heart I’m a bottom. I like the feel of a sweaty, satiated man stretched out over my back with his mouth on my neck. It’s a good feeling.

  He pulls away too quickly.

  Why? Stay. Please.

  He needs to go. He kisses me on the shoulder. He’s all mine for the next forty-eight hours in about four hours. Unless I want to go with him. Do I want to go with him?

  Where is he going? I have an appointment I need to keep, but I can meet up with him in about an hour. Maybe a little more.

  Press junket. Six interviews in sixty minutes if he’s lucky. Then dinner. I can meet him for dinner.

  Maybe. I need to do this thing first. I can’t get out of it.

  A hand falls in a smart slap on my ass. He doesn’t want to hear about my other business.

  I’m meeting with my former fiancée. And that hurt.

  Why am I meeting with my former fiancée? He thought I despised her.

  I roll over to watch him dress. Suit and tie.

  She wants my sperm. It’s not so much despise as it is … actually despise works, but it’s much more complicated than that.

  Love hate?

  Yes. But much more complicated.

  It’s that complicated and I’m giving her my sperm presumably to create a child?

  Yes.

  I am his very dear friend and he loves me as he loves his family. This is a stupid thing I am doing.

  I owe her.

  I don’t owe her that much. I don’t owe her my first born. I only owe someone I love and want to make a life with my first born. Family matters. This matters. What would my family think of this?

  I’ve been trying not to think of that.

  Tell him what my family would think.

  They would be appalled. My grandparents would murder me. He can’t even imagine how angry they would be. The continuation of our family meant everything to them. If they impressed nothing else on me, that they did.

  So why am I having a child with a woman that is not my wife?

  Can I ask him a personal question?

  Yes. As long as I don’t try to avoid the question he already asked me.

  Is he really Catholic? Like really really Catholic? Like believes in god and goes to church?

  Yes. He’s really Catholic. He believes in God and goes to church whenever he’s home.

  What’s that like?

  Church or God?

  Both.

  Comforting and restraining. It gives him a moral compass that also stymies him. It also gives him a foundation of family in his life that is the rock he builds his world on. This is why he would never give up something so precious to him as his first born. Why am I having a child with a woman that is not my wife?

  Because I owe her that much.

  No. I don’t owe anyone that much. I’m making a mistake. If she wants a child that badly she can go to a sperm bank. Giving a child to a woman anonymously is something he can understand. In this I am automatically a part of that child’s world. If I see that child, I will know it is my child. She’s wants my sperm because she wants to keep hold of me. This is a mistake. Unless, of course, I want to be with her. Do I want to be with her?

  The truth?

  Of course.

  Sometimes I really don’t know. Sometimes I wonder if she is really the one I’m meant to be with. If I really wanted to be rid of her then she would be gone. But we keep ending up orbiting each other no matter what the circumstances. Intellectually I can give her my sperm, but everything that matters to me fights against it. Family, lineage, name … all of these things matter to me. I’ve been fighting with my mother all day long about how we need to preserve our family name and here I go giving away my golden sperm.

  I fight with my mother?

  Sometimes.

  What kind of son am I that fights with his mother?

  A bad son?

  Yes. A bad son fights with his mother. I should apologize to my mother.

  Even if she’s wrong?

  Yes. Even if she’s wrong. A son should never fight with his mother.

  Is he a giant mama’s boy?

  Yes. He loves his mother. He’s a good son. He’d never fight with his mother.

  He’s making me feel bad.

  Good. Boys who fight with their mothers should feel bad. I need to apologize to my mother.

  I have a complicated relationship with my mother.

  Who doesn’t have a complicated relationship with their mother? His mother still thinks he’s a virgin that just hasn’t met the right girl.

  I laugh loudly. Maybe he needs to have a moment of truth with his mother.

  Perhaps he does. Life is short. Be a man and apologize even if it’s not my fault. I can say sorry even if I don’t feel sorry. Sorry is a knock on the door to a conversation that needs to happen.

  I’ll call my mother after I give my former fiancée my sperm.

  I’m making a mistake. Tell her she can have his sperm. Millions of women want his sperm. If she just wants sperm and not a connection to the father of her child, she’ll say yes.

  I’ll do that.

  And call my mother. He kisses me, grabs his jacket, and then leaves.

  I call my mother.

  She has no inter
est in talking to me. She doesn’t tell me this. Sanjay tells me this. He’s involved now.

  I need him not to interfere with my relationship with my mother.

  As he said. She has no interest in speaking to me. They have spoken at length about this. I have upset her a great deal. Perhaps I should call again in a few days. For the moment, it is for the best I leave her in peace.

  I need to talk to my mother.

  As he has already told me. She has no interest in speaking to me. I have upset her. Clearly I am upset. We need some time to reflect before we come together.

  Does he know he’s making things worse? Does that even occur to him?

  Anything that spares my mother anxiety and stress is a win. If preventing me from distressing my mother helps keep her rested and calm, then he will do it. He cares for my mother very much. This anger is not helping anyone.

  He’s making me angry.

  He is very sorry this is my reaction to his trying to help. Is there anything else?

  Yes. He can give my mother a message for me. She will participate in that show over my cold dead lifeless body. I called her to make peace and he threw a wall between us. If that’s how she wants it to be, then that’s how she’s going to get it. She used to use my father as a go-between and now she’s using him. I’m done.

  Please. Be calm. It was not his intention to cause strife. He wants us all to take a few days to just find our centers and calm down.

  He can fuck off. He’s not part of our family. I called to make amends with my mother. He shouldn’t have interfered. As far as I’m concerned if she steps foot on my property I’ll have her skinny fucking ass thrown in jail for trespass. Next time he wants to step between me and my mother he can remember how helpful he’s been.

  He understand he has angered me. That was not his intention. He wants us to take two steps back and calm down. This anger is a poison. That is the message he was hoping to deliver.

  He’s such a good messenger? Tell her what I’ve told him. If she wants to hear what I had to say to her, tell her she can call me. Otherwise I’m done trying to make peace. I tried. He got in the way. I’m done pretending everything is okay between us. I’ve got twenty-nine years as of today of fucking anger at her selfishness and neglect to work through. Telling me to back up and calm down isn’t going to help matters one bit. He doesn’t know her like I know her. She’s a manipulative fucking cunt that only cares for herself.

  Just one moment. This was not what he wanted. He’ll put my mother on the phone.

  I end the call. I have no interest in talking to her. Call me a bad son. Call me a terrible person. I don’t care.

  I ignore the phone when it rings a minute later.

  I ignore the three texts from Renata that came through since I silenced my phone. I’m done with drama for the day. One hour with my Former Fiancée before I can let myself fall into forty-eight hours of calm and peace with the Latin Pop Star.

  I keep ignoring it as I get dressed.

  I ignore the text from my mother. Then I read it simply because I can’t resist.

  I’ve won. She’ll do what I want for no other reason than it’s not worth the grief it will cause to go to war with me. I’m stronger than her and she cares more than I do. The tables have finally turned. She wants us to have the relationship we’ve never had before and finally do. She knows it’s her fault. Everything is her fault. She knew when I was growing up that she was selfish and demanding and wanted my father all to herself because she was childish and jealous. She’ll give me what I want I just need to be her son again.

  I’m done. At least for the moment. For certain Sanjay won’t try to apply his family dynamic to mine ever again.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  7:00pm

  The lilacs were an impulse purchase. The flower seller had beautiful skin. Like someone that properly hydrates and avoids processed foods. She's probably a vegan. She probably eats her unsold flowers at the end of the day.

  I’m late and I’m filled with rage after the conversation that wasn’t with my mother so I buy a dozen lilacs from the flower seller. They smell like summer and remind me of Capri. I know she loves lilacs and I so desperately don't want this to be another trick. I need to set this one hour of my day aside for something other than getting the job done. The flowers make it a date.

  We agree to meet on the yacht.

  If I could have gotten from the hotel to the marina in ten minutes like I’d planned, I would have been on time. But no. Because the day I’m having equals some jackass throwing themselves in front of a train and grinding all underground commuter transport to a halt for just long enough for them to have to clean up the smear of human remains, I have to walk and I’m late.

  She’s there when I get there.

  I hand her the flowers.

  I really can be very sweet. I get a kiss on the cheek. Happy birthday.

  She’s sweet to remember.

  How could she forget? How am I doing?

  Better for seeing her.

  Cut the bullshit. Tell her the truth.

  I’m hanging by a thread. It’s my birthday, which is also our anniversary if she hasn’t forgotten.

  She hasn’t.

  My father has been gone exactly a year.

  She knows.

  I just wanted today to be easy, but I’m getting shit for things that aren’t my fault.

  Is this about that picture in Hello? Did Russian Barbie give me a lot of shit about it?

  Yes.

  She’d apologize, but she’s not sorry. It’s actually interesting to be the person in the picture for once and not the one deeply hurt by it. If she’s being totally honest it feels good.

  How very schadenfreude of her.

  Whatever. I introduced her father to Elizabeth. I can suffer the consequences.

  Suffering the consequences. I need to tell her something. Something very important that affects us both very directly.

  What?

  I saw the Saudi Princess. She was not a Saudi Princess. She was a barista. Not even a barista. She was a cashier. She had a badge and everything.

  I make no sense.

  The Saudi Princess is named Alison. I chased her into a fountain. I got wet then I had to go to Mummy & Me.

  It’s like talking with someone with turrets sometimes. Make sense. Now.

  Did she hire the Saudi Princess to try to tempt me to cheat?

  That’s absurd. She did everything she could to convince me not to cheat. Why would she pay money to throw temptation in my path? I must be mistaken. Maybe they just look alike.

  It was her. I know it was her. I’m sure it was her. I was trying so hard to be good and I was being good but whoever Allison the Barista is she was always there. If she had never walked into our lives we’d still be together.

  I would have cheated eventually.

  No. I don’t think I would have. I really don’t think I would have. I was getting there. I’m there now. I just needed a little more time.

  Not possible. I’m far too damaged to act like a healthy person.

  Mean! Very very mean! Unnecessarily mean! Why does she want my sperm? Why? Why me? If I’m so damaged, why does she want to pass that on to a child? She doesn’t seem to like me even in the slightest, but yet she wants to create a child with my DNA. Is this some ploy to get me back? Because that’s what Elon and the Latin Pop Star think.

  The laughter starts out low and ends with her having to sit down as the tears roll down her face.

  I hand her water to get her to stop choking on her laughter.

  She’s sorry. Really she is. She shouldn’t laugh. But yet, what choice have I given her? Elon and the Latin Pop Star are advising me? What has the world come to?

  I’m serious. Does she want to get back together? I’m not kidding. I’m not joking. I don’t think this is funny. I want to know if the reason she wants my sperm is because it might be a way for us to get back together.

  Do I want to know if she thinks that
if I get her pregnant we’ll have this amazing moment of clarity and decide the best thing we can do is become a family?

  Maybe.

  She sighs. Maybe. She doesn’t really know. She thinks about it. It’s hard.

  This is really hard.

  Yes. This is really hard. Life and relationships are really hard. Finally I’m starting to get it. I spent so much time running from the reality of what it meant to be in a relationship that I destroyed what good we had between us. She needs an answer. Do I want to get back together?

  If I’m being totally honest sometimes I really do. It was just so easy. I miss that. I’ve changed. I’m a better person than I was. I’ve learned from my mistakes. Would she take me back?

  Am I asking her to take me back, or am I testing the waters?

  Testing the waters.

  No. Absolutely not. No more testing the waters. Either in or out. What is it?

  Would she take me back? No more testing the waters. If she says yes she’ll take me back then I’m all hers.

  No more cheating?

  None. Never.

  Do I actually love her?

  Yes. Not in a crazy, loud, over the top, let’s go on a murder spree to prove our love way, but in a quiet let’s be together forever kind of way. Does she love me?

  She stares at me. She’s going to have a think about it. She’ll get back to me.

  When? Because my clock is ticking.

  So is hers. There is a selection of pornography featuring petite women with giant cans in the bedroom. She wasn’t certain if my taste had evolved – or possibly devolved as the case might be – so there are also some more obscure foot fetish and bondage selections just in case. She thinks, but she can’t be sure, that there might be a Thai lady boy magazine. Be sure to wash my hand and my bits before. Get all the semen into the cup. Seal it tightly with the cap.

  Huh?

  What huh?

  I thought we were baby making.

  We are. Just not in the lets have a few glasses of wine and forget to use a condom sort of baby making. This is the ejaculate into a cup and mix it with the eggs in a dish sort of baby making.

  Is she very serious?

  Yes.

  This is not what I agreed to.