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Gratitude- A Gay Escort's Reflections about Men
5 years ago
My client, A., and I are breakfasting in white hotel bathrobes on our balcony overlooking the pacific. Golden light reflects off the waves below. I’m finally starting to feel human again.
On our bike ride the evening before, I had swerved into a parked car to avoid a pedestrian, and landed upside down between the car and a no-parking sign. When I stood up and puked on his shoes, A. took immediate control.
“He accepts your apology, now please flag down that cab over there,” to the hysterical woman who stepped in front of me.
“We are leaving your bikes and helmets in front of the La Di Da pet boutique…I’m sure they won’t get stolen if you come for them quickly,” on the phone to the bike rental place.
“Please bring a first-aid kit to room 1111 immediately,” to the startled concierge on our way through the hotel lobby.
Within fifteen minutes of the accident, I was naked on the toilet. A. checking my head for bumps and my ribs for breaks, daubing hydrogen peroxide on the gashes on my neck and leg, and gently, so gently, removing tiny pebbles from my elbow with a damp cloth. “Are you sure you don’t need to go to the hospital?”
“Bed.”
I awakened a few hours later, groaning, after accidentally rolling onto my injured side. A. came in from the sitting room, and gave me a pill. Before leaving, he leaned over, stroked my face and kissed my forehead. The next thing I knew, it was morning and he had a room service cart on the balcony.
Breakfast finished and the newspaper beckoning, I look at him. “A.,” I say. “I want to thank you for last night.”
“C’mon.”
“C’mon nothing. I got hurt and you totally took care of me. You dealt with that horrible lady. You patched me up. You put me to bed. You really went way above and beyond the call of duty, and I want to thank you. I have to tell you. I’m really, really grateful.”
As I’m talking A. looks down until his chin touches his chest. As if absorbing my words like blows. I look at his bald spot. Much bigger than when we first met some years before. When B. introduced us, he was surprised I hadn’t heard of A. – a bigshot corporate lawyer. He told me so often how well A. and I would get along, I finally had to ask what was up with all the reassurance. After a brief pause, B. had said, “not that you would. But Eric, don’t cross him.”
After a few long moments, I reach over and put my hand on his. “A.?” I say.
“Sorry.” I think I hear a catch in his voice. Finally he raises his head and looks at me. “You’re welcome.” He gives me a wry smile, then takes a deep breath and exhales loudly. “It’s nice to be thanked,” he says with a laugh. Story Courtesy of Eric Whitney Gay Male Escort
