He doesn’t call unless it’s to arrange sex. We’ll meet and fuck, mainly in different hotel rooms around the city but occasionally on the boat. I know he has a house in the Cotswolds where he lives, but that’s the extent of my knowledge, as he never talks about himself. He’s made no declarations of exclusivity, and I’ve very carefully avoided asking questions about who he’s with when he’s not with me. I presume there are others. He’s too highly sexed to go without.
However, over the last couple of weeks, that seems to have changed a little. He’s started to ring in between fucks, and each time he’s stayed on the phone a little bit longer. We talk about politics, world affairs, and tell each other funny stories. Sometimes when he rings, his voice will be flat, and I’ll detect a sadness there. On those occasions, I’ve worked extra hard to be funny and make him laugh, so when he rings off, he’ll be lighter.
And therein lies the problem. I shouldn’t care about his state of mind. I shouldn’t be working to make him laugh. He might be footloose and free and fucking everyone around, but… I’m not. I haven’t slept with anyone else since I started this with Max. I haven’t wanted to, and that’s a problem because it’s never happened before. I’d fallen into a strings-free fuck arrangement and then knitted my own ties without consulting my partner.
It likely started when he stuck up for me against my dad. That phantom warmth I felt that night has grown. I enjoyed his company from the beginning, but now I think about him all the time and miss him when I don’t see him for a few days.
I sigh heavily and rub my eyes.
“That’s a deep sigh.”
I jump and look up to see my boss leaning against the open door to his office.
I smile affectionately at him. I’ve been with Zeb since I was twenty. I arrived as a temp when his previous assistant left, and I ended up staying because Zeb is wonderful. Dry and sarcastic on the surface but a total softie underneath. It doesn’t hurt that he’s a looker too. Tall, dark, and handsome might have been invented as a term to describe him. I’d idly considered trying to shag him when I started here, but he’s a lot older than me and allergic to fucking staff. Plus, I love the job, so I discounted that as shitting far too close to home.
Zeb runs a temp agency that specialises in helping customers who are drawn mainly from the LGBTQ community. No day is ever the same, and we’ve provided temps for cleaning houses, shopping, and even pretending to be partners of our clients. It suits me. I love the organisational side, putting order to chaos, and I’m definitely a people person—much more than Zeb. I know our customers well and celebrate their triumphs and commiserate on their failures. It’s like having a family without any of the drunken demands for insurance money.
“Was that the new mystery boyfriend?” he asks.
I make a moue of distaste. “Please, for the love of God, don’t call him my boyfriend.”
He shakes his head and puts some papers on my desk. “You’ve been seeing him for a while now.”
“I haven’t been seeing him,” I say, making exaggerated air quotes. “I’ve been shagging him. I see him naked and give him a good seeing to, but that is the extent of any seeing.”
“So, he’s making booty calls to you in your workplace?”
I laugh at his outraged expression, and then it dies, and I look at my phone. “No, he called to chat.”
“That tone of voice would be better used if he’d rung to tell you he’d dismembered your grandma.”
I stare at him. “What is the matter with you?”
“Sorry.” He grins unrepentantly and leans against my desk in a manner that suggests he’s settling in for a chat. I try a discouraging frown, but it doesn’t work, as he just winks at me. “So, he rang to talk to you? Wow.”
I narrow my eyes. “I’m sure he’d have arranged a fuck if I’d stayed on the line long enough.”
“Really?” He sounds suspiciously innocent. “So, what did you talk about if it wasn't the latest sexual positions?”
I fidget with a pen. “Well he, erm, he rang to say he’d pick me up for lunch.” There’s an extended silence, and I groan. “Oh, shut up.”
He puts a hand to his chest. “You wound me, Felix. You really do.”
I lean back in my chair and scrub my hands down my face. “What am I doing?” I say plaintively.
When I pull my hands away and blink up at him, he’s watching me. “Is there a problem with having lunch with him?” he asks softly, and I know I’m going to tell him everything. He’s like a member of my family.
“There’s no problem with him. To him, I’m sure, it’s just a casual thing. You know, ‘Hey, I’m in the area so I might as well swoop over and take Felix out for a sandwich. He’ll make me laugh, and if we eat quickly, he might fit in a blowjob.’”
“So, why is it a problem?” he asks when I fall silent.
“It’s a problem for me because I really don’t think this is casual for me anymore. I think honestly it hasn’t been for a while, Zeb.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s clever and funny and kind. He makes me laugh, and we never run out of things to talk about. I feel… alive when I’m with him. I’m starting to care about him, and he watches out for me too in a funny sort of way.” I hesitate. “He makes me feel safe,” I finally say in a small voice.
There’s a protracted silence as he watches me intently. “And why is any of that a problem?”
“Because I don't do that, Zeb. I never wanted any fucking commitments or a relationship that lasted beyond a bloke removing his dick from my arse. And now look at me.”
“I am looking,” he says kindly. “You’re brilliant, Felix, and maybe this mystery man is seeing this, and that’s why he’s meeting you for lunch. I mean, he seems to ring you a lot. You said he was waiting for you with takeout and a foot rub last night when you were tired.” He shrugs. “People don’t do that for a shag-only arrangement. The arrangement you had seems to me to have morphed into more for him, as well as you. Perhaps he wants that and doesn’t feel able to ask.” A wild hope stirs in my stomach, and it makes me feel sick. “And I’ll never entirely understand why someone who has so much to offer doesn’t want someone who’ll appreciate it,” he carries on. “I think you’d actually enjoy having someone of your own.” He hesitates. “You’re sort of alone in the world, Felix, and having your own person is lovely.” I redden, and he rushes into more words. “But that’s my view. Maybe I’m the one who’s wrong about the benefit of relationships.”
Footsteps sound from outside. There’s a sudden shout of “Zeb!” and Patrick appears in the doorway. I groan. He’s Zeb’s boyfriend and a complete wanker. I know for a fact that he’s been unfaithful a couple of times, and he treats Zeb like shit. But Zeb is the most loyal person I know, and he refuses to hear a bad word said about him.
Zeb walks over to greet him, and I shake my head. “I don’t think there’s any maybe about it if this is the sort of relationship you think I should be hankering after,” I mutter.