Debt and Richard’s massage. [Cypher’s Tales]

Somehow, the new—and quite concerning—developments within my totally rock-solid sexuality are the least of my concerns. The weekend flew by in a hazy storm of mental torment and nervous apprehension. But on Monday, thoughts of old men, secret deals and my strange new temptations were all lifted from me in exchange for a much more stressful problem to worry about.

“Damnit!” I shout, smacking the steering wheel of my piece of shit car.

The old Toyota Corolla has finally kicked it. I missed uni that day and spent the whole day sulking once I finally got the shitbox to a mechanic. I only had the money to do so because of this new work that I had been doing. I was dreading the call that I was going to receive in the afternoon telling me that all this money that I had newly acquired was going to suddenly become much less.

“Well, it’s the alternator that’s gone…” said the mechanic over the phone. “But...”

Oh god, there is a ‘but’...? I thought while bumping my head into the door in my room.

“But your battery is pretty much kaput, as well,” the mechanic clears his throat.

Oh no, he’s clearing his throat too…? I thought while sliding down my door.

“The real issue though, you have a crack in your cylinder head and…”

I don't know what a cylinder head is, but it sounds expensive, how can there possibly be an ‘and’ after all that…? I thought while slumping onto my floor.

“And I can’t in good conscience let you drive it out of here without at least repairing that,” he said before listing a few other minor problems.

So, after that wonderful Monday conversation with my mechanic, my earnings from the club—including that $5000 from Richard—looked more like $3200. I pretty much just lost everything that Richard gave to me to incentivise this ludicrous request of his. Life sure does suck when it comes to anything to do with money.

I had been thinking over what my actual thoughts were for continuing at the club. Retrospectively, if I didn’t have this gig and my car broke down like this, I would have been royally screwed. But even after that nightmare with the mechanic… I really wasn't any worse off than I would have been without this extra income. In fact, I am still better off. It really puts a sense of heightened appreciation for this situation I have found myself in.

It turns out—crazy, I know—I really like the ability to have financial safety when problems like that come up and I find myself… still very undecided, but eager for my appointment with Richard. I know that he specified that he didn’t want to discuss his request during our appointment but really… how are we going to spend all that time and it not come up once? I feel like I am on the precipice of accepting what I should do in regards to his request… for my financial benefits… and only that… no curiosity on my behalf involved whatsoever… or at least, that's what I tell myself when my brain reminds me that I am a straight man, despite my reminders at every turn how feminine I look.

Tuesday night comes and I wait patiently after 11:45 in the room again… my room—if I choose it to be. Richard is late again but he barges in just like last time with a cheery smile on his face. I am welcoming and professional with him and when he disrobes this time, he takes off his singlet, reluctantly, but without being prompted. I get the feeling that even with what I can only assume is a bank account with a rather intimidating figure in it, self-confidence is something that everyone struggles with.

I massage—gently rub, more like— Richard with the same pressure and in the same areas that I remember him enjoying. Everything is quite normal, even his conversation topics are mostly the same as last week. I don’t mention it, but I find it odd that only last week this man offered me ‘substantial’ compensation for giving his friend a ‘memorable’ birthday. Yet he hasn’t brought it up and neither have I. Not even a strange glance or knowing nod. It’s like it never even happened.

Despite wanting to, I don’t bring the topic up. However, after a long winded—and possibly fabricated—story of the time he met with an actual prince from some middle eastern country and thrashed him on the course, Richard once again, just like last time, brings Harvey into the conversation, quite arbitrarily as well. Like: Harvey’s friendly rivalry with the much younger—and therefore, less sportsmanlike, apparently—Jack Mitchelton. Jack is another of their friends. I remember Harvey telling me that there are two others that I will be massaging starting next week. One of those men is Jack.

Richard also brings up Harvey’s wife again. And every time he speaks about Jenifer, he is saying something negative about her. I begin to think it might be a theme with him. I muse and chuckle at his stories and add small amounts of input, only when directly asked a question or when there is an awkward silence. Talking about personal beef that Harvey has and matters about his private relationship makes me feel odd.

But then, coming up to the end of our session, Richard says, “So, Harvey tells me he rather enjoyed your last session together.”

Richard cranes his head to see my reaction to this news. He has a look of intrigue on his face, and I wonder how openly Harvey speaks to Richard.

“He said that he had to leave… rather frustratingly, and that he would have very much liked to have an extended session, but Jennifer is always nagging him about the time he gets back from the club. He didn’t tell me any details of course but it seems that you have, once again, impressed him,” he gives me a tiny wink before laying his head back to the table.

This has been the only, even remotely related indication that he remembers the letter he wrote to me. It has piqued my interests as well. When I think back to last Friday, I remember being a little too forward with Harvey. I also remember there was that moment towards the end where I wondered whether I had gone too far and if he wasn't going to try something. All this makes me consider whether I can even refuse at this point. Would I have to cancel if I truly wanted to avoid facing the choice? It seemed that way. Whether I was going to, was an entirely different question.

“I think that it might be a fine time for you to lay some chips on the table, Dean.” Richard says through little grunts of satisfaction as my elbow works into his lower back gently.

“What do you mean by that?” I ask, slowing my efforts.

“Well, I told you that I would be open to negotiation…” he clears his throat. “The topic discussed in the letter… I haven’t heard your price yet.”

I completely stopped pressing on his back. While I did hope that maybe tonight would shed some light on what exactly was expected of me, I didn’t think the topic of money would come up. I hate talking about financial expectations; it is a particular fear of mine.

I don’t know whether I want to accept at all, let alone how much I would expect if I agreed. And for what… services? Ohh God… I thought I wanted to get more clarity on this but now that it is being discussed—even if it is obscured by speaking around the topic—I am terrified to respond.

After an awkward moment of silence and me no longer massaging him. Richard makes to get up from the table. I put my hand on his back and with very little encouragement at all he remained on the table. I slowly started to work on his shoulders again and he groaned appreciatively.