The Safeword is 'Papa' (ch.5)
#5 of The Safeword is 'Papa'
Star wipe to two weeks later, I have become a certified bag of ass.
I haven't showered in three days. My fur is matted and sticky with sweat and other miscellaneous fluids. Crumpled cigarette filters litter the ground wherever I am, and I'm getting all my hydration from Red Bulls instead of water.
And no, I haven't seen him since that night. So don't even ask.
I suppose that's my whole problem, I think as I finish off the last Virginia Slim in the pack, crumpling the paper box in one shaking paw and winging it at a pigeon that had ventured too close to my park bench.
Families strolling along the sidewalk avoided making direct eye contact with me. They probably thought I was homeless. Which technically I am, I suppose.
I became aware of the weight of my phone in my pocket. I wanted to call him. At least I could admit that to myself. That's progress, right?
Just a few hours prior, as I was slumped over a plate of runny waffles and burnt bacon at the local Waffle House, it occurred to me for the first time in my life that I might be gay. And not just regular gay 'neither. No. Gay- gay. The type of gay where you _really_want to call up your asshole best friend and beg him to come over and take you to Pound Town in the back of your panel van. THAT gay.
All I have to do is close my eyes and we're back in my van again. He's over me, touching me, nibbling my throat as his fingers snake beneath my shirt. I can taste the booze on his breath. I can smell the weed in his fur. It all comes flooding back. The way his outstretched arms caged me beneath him... how my legs hooked around his hips... the firm bulge in his shorts grinding against the bulge in mine...
I cracked open an eye. The pigeon from before was bobbing its head and looking up at me with it's creepy orange eye, easily within punting distance of my right leg. I sent it flying. It pinwheeled through the air like a scattering leaf before righting itself and pealing off, cooing indignantly.
I massaged my throbbing temples, an anguished sigh escaping me. What difference would it make? I was already a wreck. What more did I have to lose? I retrieved the phone from my pocket, staring at it nestled between my upturned paws for what felt like an eternity before dialing his number.
This time he picked up before the third ring.
"Yelloh?"
I glared down into the receiver, saying nothing.
"Miss me yet?"
"Wilde," I growled. "I swear to god."
"So when are we gonna bump uglies?"
Pinching the space between my brows until purple flecks swam through my vision, I swallowed audibly. "I don't have any money."
"Huh?"
"Money," I growled. "You said you wanted another ten percent of the cut. Remember?"
"Bwuh? Oh - yeah! I did say that. Well, tell you what. I'm not an unreasonable guy. Times are hard. The economy ain't what it used to be. Sub-prime lending, corporate bailouts and all that. So howzabout this: in lieu of cash, I'll let you pay me another way."
Oh joy.
"Seven o'clock tonight, be outside your van in your dressiest attire. I suggest the polo and chinos you wore to that job interview that one time. Don't eat a big lunch."
My diet of late had consisted mostly of Skittles and bong hits, so no problem there.
"Nick," I started.
"Don't be late," he said, followed shortly by the line going dead.
I stared at the patch of grass directly in front of me, too shell shocked to punt away the gaggle of pigeons gathered at my feet, seeking vengeance for their recently punted comrade.
"Well don't you just look spiffy!"
I glowered up at his silhouette outlined in the setting sun, fidgeting in my dress slacks and a slightly too-tight polo shirt.
"You ready for our hot date, babbehcakes?"
Nick was in a loose white linen suit that looked like it had time traveled here from the 1980's, complete with the sleeves rolled up, a plunging v-neck undershirt and rose-tinted aviator glasses. His head scruff was slicked back with gel. He smelled clean.
"Shut up. What is this?"
"Haven't you figured it out yet?" Nick stooped to pick a lint ball from my shoulder. "I'm taking you out. To dinner and a movie no less! And you can leave that empty wallet at home, 'cause I'm footing the bill."
By this point we were heading down the sidewalk running in front of my alley, toeing around slow-moving pedestrians as we kept a respectable distance away from eachother. "And... this is supposed to cover me paying you... how?"
Nick chuckled, slowing is stride to match my pace. He had his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched, and for the first time ever I noticed that he was more than a little handsome. Now that he was showered and dressed, he was stunning.
"Whelp... here's the deal. I'm paying for dinner and a movie, as I said. What's more, I'll agree to forgo charging you for my various parental and escort...al... services for two weeks. But in exchange, you're gonna do something for me."
"I'm not doing anything kinky," I growled. "Our friendship is weird enough as it is."
"Nothing like that. But I do appreciate the offer, and we'll certainly come back to that later. No - what I want from you is a lot easier. For the duration of this evening... from now until I see you safely to your door and give you a kiss goodnight... you're going to roleplay with me."
We rounded a street corner, and at once I realized that we were heading into the Gayborhood.
"Roleplay... how?"
"I'm so glad you asked! For the remainder of the night, you will be my sweet, soft-spoken, affectionate boy-toy. And I, in turn, will be your doting, vaguely paternal boyfriend."
My eyes shot open wide. My mouth suddenly felt as dry as the desert district. "No way."
"Yes way," Nick paused with his hand on the paneled glass of a restaurant door, smiling down at me mischievously. "What's more, if you break character even once the entire night, the deal is off. And I'll never do the Papa/Fin thing with you again. Ever."
I went to protest. But the door was swinging open, and a husky boar in an apron was ushering us inside.
"Good evening! Table for two?"
"Yep!" Nick turned to wiggle his eyebrows at me. "After you, babe."
Staring in at the recessed lights and tasteful atmosphere just beyond the maître d', I felt a sudden pang of anxiety settling in my gut. The look in Nick's eyes said that I was on, that this was my cue. He arched an eyebrow, sizing me up.
All of a sudden, my mouth spoke without my meaning it to. "Why thank you handsome," came the words tumbling from my lips. My body seemed to move independent of my will. I tugged at the hem of Nick's jacket in passing, making sure to graze him gently with my tail. "Such a gentleman."
The whiskery boar smiled knowingly and gathered up two laminated menus. "Right this way boys."