american gigolo

.

he hit me up last night with a simple "fuck me".

always an intriguing opening.  i clicked on his profile, saw a buffed-out torso, saw "escort", responded with the pertinent question.

he came back with "for you, it's free," and with that, i grabbed my keys.

he answered the door wearing a jockstrap and a baseball cap, shooing away the chihuahua that tried to greet me--a beauty, but i didn't tell him that, wasn't gonna ruin it--looked me up and down, said, "i'll do anything you want."

"well, for starters, lose the damn cap."

he shyly took it off, i said, "look, balding's only a problem for guys with bad bone structure--quit hiding it," and dragged him off to the bedroom, where i proceeded to work him over to our mutual satisfaction (he didn't come, of course, nor did i expect him to).

afterwards, i told him, "thanks--you're sweet," and his face got hard and he said, "no, i'm not--i'm only sweet for you because you're my type.  for them, it's all about control, letting 'em know who's boss.  here, i'll show you."

he picked up his phone, which had been buzzing with text messages the whole time i was there, picked one, punched the callback, snapped, "yeah, be here in half an hour, but you won't be fucking me tonight [because i'd pretty much wrecked that option]--i'll be fucking you," and hung up.

"see?"

and indeed, i did.  he told me to come back whenever i wanted, but i probably won't--i don't like guys who are mean to their dogs.