Release Your Inner Vixen: Male Escorts for Hire - RP

Casey looks at her, wants to smirk at the comment she made but is called to his friends. This is awkward. He looks back at the girls,"I...have to go back over there, it was great to see you..."

He walks off and takes his seat back, wondering about what just happened. He's come in contact with a client before, in a store but not usually his sports bar. He is not selling his image tonight but being himself.

An hour later, our team wins. We all celebrate by drinking harder. One beer morphs into six. Six morphs into celebratory tequila shots, courtesy of Val. I'm powerless to stop it. I need to lose myself, or I'm scared of what I'll do to keep Christian from walking away from me again. Just one night. I could do one night. I've got the money, the time, and I most certainly have the need.

Soon, I'm leaning drunkenly into Val's side while a patron chats her up. I know the routine. Typically, she cuddles up to some lucky guy and they take a cab home. Me? I'm never like this. I have one beer and I take myself home. Not tonight, though. Tonight I'm afraid to stand.

A smooth, velvety voice floods my ears. "Let's get out of here."

My head swims with images of Christian, of all the things I want him to do to me, things I know he'll do if only I request it, and I find myself nodding. "Yes," I murmur. "I want to. Please."

I lift my head to find that Christian never uttered the words. It came from the lips of Val's new suitor. They turn to look at me strangely, and I blush. "Not you. Sorry."

Val pats my shoulder. "I'll be right back." She turns to the man next to her, her voice morphing into something sexual and sexy when she announces that she'll return soon. She's good at that. She's got swagger. I wish I had that. Christian would be mine if I did. That and if I would just let myself go and pay the fees. But I don't pay for sex. I'm not that girl.

But maybe...
-----

Val trots her way up to Christian's table when his buddies excuse themselves to play a game of pool, an apologetic smile across her face.

"Look, stud, I know you don't usually do this without being paid. The most I can offer you is maybe a fifty. But I've met a prime cut of meat that I need to try out, and I can't just leave my girl here." She holds her hands together in front of her chest in a pleading gesture, using her green Bambi eyes for all they're worth. "Take her home, please? I know you'll make sure she gets there safe and sound. She lives no less than five minutes away. Just five. That's practically nothing."

Casey looks at Val at first kind of pissed but then looks over to Elissa, who is having trouble standing still. He stands up and chugs down the rest of his beer, looks at Val "I will say yes just to shut you up."

He bids farewell to his friends and goes over to Elissa, who is saying bye to Val. Val leaves and Casey looks at Elissa, who looks at him and her eyes roll over. He quickly catches her knowing she was about to fall.

"Alright..,home time for you." As he helps her outside and to his car, he never drinks too much, puts on the calories.

Christian. My Christian. He smells even better than I remember. I snuggle into his chest, glad for his presence. He helps me along until I'm settled into the passenger seat of his car. Nice car, I think. Not that I paid much attention. But everything about Christian is nice. He's just nice.

I tell him so.

"You're so nice," I mumble, my head falling back against the headrest when the car begins to move. "I've missed that. I'm not supposed to. It was just one night, but I do. Telling you this, I sound pathetic, huh?" I try to swallow past the dryness of my throat. I should have practiced moderation. I haven't had a sip of water. Rookie mistake.

"Sorry you have to take me home. Not in the good way, even. Believe me, I've thought about it."

Casey looks at her as he gets in the drivers, "You don't need to explain anything and I am not that nice. Please don't throw up in here..." looks at her with a pleading look and drives off.

I shake my head. I couldn't do that. Not in his car. Not Christian's car. "Nuh-uh. Won't. Promise."

The car falls silent. I'm content with just staring out the window, watching the homes and businesses pass us by. I love New York. New York is awesome.

I loll my head back to my left to catch Christian's eye. "I'd pay you." His mouth falls open to speak, but words keep tumbling out of my mouth, courtesy of too much alcohol. "Not now, silly. I'm hammered. But it's all I've thought about. I haven't done it, you know, it, in a year. Over that, even. And I wasn't lying. Mark was terrible. I used to stare at the ceiling until it was over."

Casey can't help but laugh slightly, finally at her place. "I wouldn't have sex with a woman who was so intoxicated, you don't need to worry..." He helps her out and they get to her door.

He takes her purse and looks through it, finally finds the keys and opens the door. They get inside and looks at her, "You need help upstairs...?" before she can answer, she falls down.

He lifts her up fully and carries her up, asking which bedroom is hers and enters the correct one. He lays her on the bed and takes off her shoes, "Don't Elissa, I know what you're going to say. Just go to sleep..."

He pulls a blanket over her.

I nod, my eyes already closing from exhaustion. "Aye, cap'n."

Christian gently pulls the covers over me and tucks them against my sides. God, why did I have to get drunk? "Shit," I gasp.

Christian stops, waiting expectantly for the reasoning behind my outburst, and I hide behind the blanket, Haley Joel Osment style. "I have to teach tomorrow. Hungover."

I pull the covers back and sit up too fast. My head spins. "I need water. Like, two gallons."

He looks down at her, "Smart idea going out on a school night, I'll go get you some..." shortly after, he comes back and also hands her some tylenol. "Take it now and you won't have a headache when you wake up..."

He helps her sit up and as she takes the pill, bottle...she looks dizzy and suddenly throws up over the side and slightly gets his shoes. He looks at this and helps her to the washroom and gets her to the toilet.

Finally she finishes and sets her back down on the bed, "Take a small sip..."offering water and she does so, laying back.

"You'll be fine..." He strokes her hair slightly and looks at her. She eyes him and he laughs, "Elissa, you're not that kind of girl and I actually like that about you. Right now, I am not Christian or working, you understand that right? Look, I have to go...anything else you need?"

As he stands up.

Wow, and he isn't even being paid for this. Guilt threatens to eat at me. Poor guy had to escort my drunken ass home. I stare up at him as I lie nestled beneath my blankets again, my stomach empty of the poison I consumed all night.

Christian took care of me.

"Another date," I answer weakly. His eyes bore into me, and I stare back, unapologetic. "No drinks, though, but I need this. I need this -you- out of my system." I feel the familiar threat of tears springing to my eyes. I blink them back. "It sucks being lonely. Just one night, and I'll pay, but I just need this once. Company. A warm body beside me."

My lip quivers. I'm about to lose it. Please, god, let him leave before I do. I'm a weepy drunk.

"I didn't remember how much I hated being alone until that night with you. I hate it more than anything, Christian."

He looks at her and worries slightly, "Go to sleep..." leaving the room and goes downstairs. Deciding to stay, needs to talk to her. She got attached and it happens, not usually just after a first date and no sex but clearly she likes him.

The next morning he wakes up a little early, falling asleep on the couch. Goes into her kitchen and makes up some eggs and bacon. She walks in, just as toast comes up and sees her.

"Hangover cure..is a good breakfast, lots of vitamin c as well." He pours her some orange juice and sets it all down at a breakfast bar. She sits and he eats his own eggs,"I wanted to talk about last night..."

He stayed? Oh, God. And I'm remembering everything that happened last night. Did I really cry in front of Christian? Did I really delve into that pathetic low and tell him how lonely I am?

I swallow and sit down at the kitchen counter, wary of what he'll say. But I owe it to him to listen and not argue. He stayed when he didn't have to, and now he's making me breakfast.

Sucks how a male escort who isn't even being paid for it is still more courteous than your normal man. I nod at him obediently and wait for him to continue.

He looks at her, "First of all, do not feel embarrassed...also, I am not working right now. Do you understand what that means? When you hire me, I am your every fantasy...but any other time, I am a normal guy."

He finishes his food, "I need to know you..understand what is real and what isn't. I think you're a great woman but that is all I am going to think about you."

I swallow down my bite of eggs. It wasn't as if I didn't need to hear this. But I still feel pathetic.

"Christian, I..." What do I even say to that? Of course I can't get attached. I'm not attached. Lonely and needy, sure, but not attached.

"I'm really sorry about last night. I turn into the worst, depressive kind of drunk. I should never have said those things. I knew from the start that this was a business transaction. You helped get Mark off my back and that was what I wanted. And yes, I get lonely and I get sad because my high school sweetheart betrayed me and sometimes it feels like life is just a series of betrayals and I'm not over any of it, but... I never wanted to get attached to you. I like the idea of you, I won't lie. Every woman does."

My eyes are roaming the room, focusing on anything but the vibrant blues of his eyes, and my gaze settles on my half-eaten plate when I continue. "I'm not attached. Not like that. Do I wish I had, I don't know, let myself go and live a little on that first date? I do. But last night thoroughly screwed things up for me and you both. It made me realize I can't just request two hours of a man's time without my feelings getting out of whack. I honestly didn't mean to put anything on you last night or to make you uncomfortable. That was never my intention, Christian."

He looks at her,"You do not make me uncomfortable, I have seen much worse...trust me. I just want to make sure you're okay..." He gets a text on his phone and looks to her, "Time for me to go, you're really hard on yourself...I would stop that. I like the feisty, sexy chick who told her ex that he couldn't her find g-spot."

He smirks slightly.

I can't help it. I laugh. I sober up, though, looking at the smiling man across my kitchen, the one who was courteous and gentlemanly enough to make sure I didn't drown in my own vomit last night. The man who stayed and made me breakfast. The guilt is there, but I do as he said. I don't let it last.

"Thank you, Christian, for everything. Taking care of me last night, the breakfast..."

I force a smile. He may not want to hear what I have to say next, but if this is the last time we should see each other, then so be it. "One day in the future, you're going to settle down and make some woman very happy."

He looks at her, "Not my intention...goodbye." He walks off and leaves just like that, gets into his car and slams the door shut. Rich kids and their problems he thinks, like they know real struggle, makes him frustrated some times.

He gets a call from a client and drives off to start his day.

A week has passed since I pissed Christian off badly enough for him to storm through my door and slam it behind him. Val staged an intervention shortly thereafter and dragged me to another bar to scope out men. I didn't touch a single drink that time, but I got one man's number.

I haven't called it. I'm hoping Val never brings it up. Which I know she will.

This Saturday is a business day. After grading papers and cleaning up around the house to distract myself from any brand of unhealthy thinking, I make my way over to the gallery. My father started the business thirty-two years ago after meeting my mother, and he co-owned it with an old college friend, Mitchell Palmer. When my father passed and left the Artis Gallery to me, I was gearing up for college and hadn't the time to run a gallery, so I left it in Mr. Palmer's hands. He took the offer, the only stipulation being that I had to visit every now and then to make sure I felt my father's legacy wasn't being sullied by the newest additions to the gallery. For one, my father detested abstracts. He'd roll over in his grave if some new artist managed to get some talentless -my father's words, not mine- mishmash of colors and swipes on the same walls that hold the works of art of some of the best in the city. So, I visit and I see how things are going. Rarely do I ever see a problem, but I know that Mr. Palmer likes the company.

An hour later, I've scanned the building, the art, checked for a single speck of dust around each and every frame adorning the walls, and I've found nothing amiss. I chat with a few old customers, those who remember a time when I would happily come along with my father and we'd show off our pieces together. I rarely paint anymore. I'm not sure I see the point.

"Look at you, all grown up!"

I turn to see Mr. Palmer, his kind gray eyes and salt and pepper hair bounding toward me. He outstretches his arms and I run into them. "Hey, Mr. Palmer. Everything passed inspection."

His eyes twinkle. "Of course it did. But if I didn't make you come, I'd never hear about how my girl is doing."

I shrug. "I'm... doing."

Brows furrowed, he starts to inquire when I plaster on another smile. "Look, I have a favor to ask you. I mean, I know I handed you the reins here, but I'd like a ticket or two. An entire night's admission, free."

Mr. Palmer grins a grin that almost splits his face in two. "You getting back into the art, honey? Your father would be proud."

I chew on the inside of my cheek. "No, sir. Not me. It's actually for a... friend. A bit of an IOU."

He appraises me for a moment, his eyes no longer swimming with the same excitement as before, but I know this is a favor he can do. He doesn't ask me to elaborate, either, for which I'm glad. He leads me into the gallery shop and picks up two tickets, the prices outrageous for what they are but well worth the money for any art enthusiast, and places them into my palm. "Lucky friend you've got there," Mr. Palmer tells me with a smile. "These are on the house."

I smile at him. "Thanks." I lift myself up onto my tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek. "I promise I'll stop by more often to help out. I really do miss talking to you."

He beams down at me and places a giant hand on my shoulder. "You too, sweetheart."

Giddy with excitement yet filled with a small sense of dread at what I'm about to do, I make my way back to my house and pull out an envelope. I can't exactly look up Christian's address, but I know that the escorts tend to get mail. There's an address on the Inner Vixen site, detailing how to send what to whom, so I follow the instructions, sealing the tickets carefully inside along with a handwritten note to Christian himself.

I know, I know. This isn't an attachment letter, Scout's honor. This is a thank-you-for-taking-care-of-my-drunken-ass letter. Anyway, there's a big unveiling event this Saturday at the Artis Gallery where we showcase lots of new artwork from very talented up-and-coming artists. Please take my apology for the events of the weekend prior. If you seize the opportunity to come and check out the additions free of charge, I assure you that you won't walk out feeling disappointed.

All my gratitude, Elissa Artis.

After reading over the damned thing fifty times and then some, I resign myself to stamping the envelope, leaving it the hell alone, and sticking it in the mailbox.

Casey makes his way into work, getting information on new potential clients and some mail. One is an expected ticket to London, a very important client lives there and requests he visit once a year.

He sees another and is curious, opens it and sees the tickets. Taking the letter, he reads it and wants to decline the offer but he was fond of the gallery. He had a client date that Saturday and was not sure what he was planning to do anyways.

He was hoping Elissa and the client in the same room, would not be an awkward situation. He's had to be in the same room before, the woman shot daggers at him, remembering he decides best not.

He decides to take the bank teller, it's a cute red head he sees when he comes to cash a cheque, always flirted with him. He does go on regular dates once and awhile but never fully commits.

That night, he is in a suit with no tie and walks into the gallery with his lady friend. She is in a short baby blue dress with legs to die for but it's not flashy. They go in and walk around, gazing at the paintings. He offers her some information and she of course hangs on his every word.

Okay, so I had to come to the event. Every piece of art here was my father's pride and joy. When we welcomed new artists into our arms, he saw them as new additions to the family we already had. I can't skip out on this any more than I can avoid Christian, but when I see him strolling in next to a beautiful date, I know I'll have to try. I'm fairly sure he's seen enough of me for the next three decades, at least, and I don't want him to feel as if I invited him here just so I could see him. I merely wanted to get an apology across and nothing more, and I'll do my best to keep out of his hair.

I spend my time helping Mr. Palmer sort out the guest lists and get together a few older pieces to auction off for charity. I offer up my art every year, but he always turns it down. "Your father loved your pieces the best," he tells me. "There's no way we're letting those go."

I don't argue it. I get to work instead, worrying over the hors d'oeuvres and refreshments and making sure our guests are happy. Once Christian turns my corner arm-in-arm with his date, I make a beeline for the gift shop instead and help stock what's there.

Casey sees Elissa darting away from him and chooses to ignore it, looking at more and more paintings. He comes across one that he finds intoxicating, his date excuses herself and goes off to the washroom.

He sips his wine and looks at the painting some more, no price is listed for it. Finally, the artist name catches his eye and he looks closer just to make sure it's true.

It says Elissa Artis, standing back in awe and looks at it some more. Finally, he glances around and sees her over at a snack table. Making his way over and comes up a little close,"You forgot to mention you're an artist..."

Crap. Nowhere to hide. I meet Christian's intense blue gaze and give him a nervous smile. "Was, actually," I reply with a shake of my head. "I was an artist."

My eyes roam across the room and rest on one of my pieces. I'd made it a month after my father's death, and it's probably why it looks the way it does. This particular piece was made with simple black brush strokes, little slashes across the page, some long and some short, until each broken stroke formed the image of a girl walking hand-in-hand with her father. The taller man is done in full, each line detailed and finished to completion, while the girl by his side fades out into the wind, disappearing into the blank whiteness of the paper surrounding her.

I was a bit depressed when I made that.

Was that the one he saw? Or was it one of the happier ones? Was it the charcoal drawing I made in college of a woman, bare and facing away from the camera, sitting atop a rock at the ocean?

My mind floods with possibilities. They're all hanging here, still, no matter how much I wish they'd take them down. But my father's wishes are my father's wishes. I let them remain there, pieces of my soul for all the world to see, while I haven't conjured up the inspiration to even lay a brush to paper in over six years.

I snap out of my thoughts and turn to face Christian again. "I keep trying to auction them off, but my father wouldn't let them leave these walls. Not unless I took them home myself."

He looks at her and then over to the one he saw right away, "Good to know you have more...I just came across the first one and read the name, you're really good. Shame it's not for sale...I sincerely mean that."

The familiar blush creeps up again, turning my cheeks a scarlet red. I smile back at Christian. "Thank you. That actually means a lot."

He looks back, "Don't act so modest, you know it's good..." they are interrupted when his date comes over, "Casey, there you are. Hey, whose this?"

Looking at the date and then Elissa, thinking yeah now she knows my name. "One of the artists...Elissa, this is Anya, Anya Elissa."

Anya shakes her hand, "Beautiful paintings...which ones are hers?" She looks at Casey, who looks back at points them out and looks back at Elissa, "Good to see you..." they walk off without another word.