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My hands shook as I fumbled with the hotel room key, its metallic clinks echoing down the corridor. After dropping the key three times, I finally managed to slot it in and turn the lock. Stepping into the room, I scanned the relatively tidy, nondescript room with its queen bed adorned with a generic duvet and not much else in the way of furniture. I felt relief that Carl had at least heeded my first instruction.
If I were to go through with this, anonymity was paramount. The location needed to be one of the last places paparazzi would think to look for me, but cleanliness and safety were also non-negotiables. It would be just my luck if the one time I ditched the bulk of my security team, I ended up being murdered in a seedy hotel by a sex worker. I could only imagine that tabloids would have a field day with that. The prospect of backing out still lingered, but the ambiance of this unfamiliar room lessened the likelihood, compared to the opulent suites Carl usually booked for me.
Tentatively, I approached the bed and perched on its edge reluctantly, wary of touching any more than strictly necessary. At least the mattress bounced slightly under my weight, comfortable enough for what I planned to use it for, and the smell of freshly laundered sheets offered a small comfort. The only thing that might make this night worse would be to come away from it with bed bugs or some shit.
Releasing the breath I could no longer hold, I glanced at the lock screen of my phone to gauge the time. Down the hall, my personal security guard Santiago would be meticulously verifying the ID of the man I was meeting and ensuring all the lines on the NDA had been signed and dated.
At first, I adamantly refused to allow any witnesses to this night, even my usual shadow Santi. Except Santi never listened to a word I said, and after some contentious negotiation, I relented on the condition that he would ditch his work uniform to blend in better. Now, with my nerves tightly strung, I felt oddly comforted knowing a familiar face was nearby in the event I had a complete meltdown.
Why the fuck was I doing this again?
Oh, that’s right. I need to “move on.” I absolutely hated that phrase—it was like a dagger every time it was uttered in my direction. Every damn therapist, shrink, psychiatrist my team paraded in front of me parroted the same line: “It’s time to let go.” But instead of letting go, I usually let them go. If I was content living in denial, they could either hop on board or leave me the hell alone.
It didn’t help that most of their suggestions for moving on involved fucking someone else. Considering they didn’t even understand the fact my sexuality didn’t work like that, I highly doubted their skills as a professional. Telling me uncomfortable truths may be in their job description, but the last doctor I saw bluntly informing me that saving myself for a man who clearly didn’t want me in return was madness and that maybe I should give women a try, was the last straw. I screamed that my choice not to be intimate with other people was my fucking business and then stormed out of his office in a fit of rage.
My mind was screaming at me not to move on. Not physically, not emotionally. I lived with a constant internal battle between loving and despising the person who had reduced me to this hollow shell of a human being. It wore me down more and more with each passing year.
Last year, I decided to lean into the hate. Enough people had told me I’d feel better if I got under another person, so I figured what did I have to lose anymore? At this point, I no longer cared if I found the person attractive; I just needed to purge Gray from my body. Determined to take the first step in putting myself back together, I asked Carl to arrange for a groupie to join me in my suite after a gig. I’d purposely chosen a guy who looked as different from Gray as possible. He’d been taller than me but less than six foot, with spiky blond hair and every available inch of skin covered in tattoos. I never bothered to learn his name. I simply stalked forward, sank to my knees, and began unbuttoning his jeans. But that was as far as I got.
Nausea surged through me at the thought of someone other than Gray touching me. Sweaty and skin crawling with disgust, at both the stranger and myself, I managed to angle away and narrowly missed projectile vomiting on my would-be hookup. In a whirlwind of crushing emotions, I only remembered catching a glimpse of Santi scooping me up and carrying me out of there before I passed out in a puddle of sobs. Carl had handled the aftermath, filling out the necessary paperwork and ensuring his secrecy was sworn with an iron-clad NDA.
But it did nothing to calm me. For weeks afterward, I felt the ever-present urge to scrape my skin off wherever I’d been touched by this other man. Well, that and a heavy dose of guilt. I couldn’t explain my reaction. Logically, I knew I hadn’t cheated. Gray had discarded me like trash and had likely fucked countless others during the two years we’d been apart. No one deserved my loyalty less.
Yet, my feelings for Gray persisted. Even after everything, I loved that man more than I loved breathing. Eventually, I began to theorize why I still felt so strongly about not being intimate with others.
Many would call my decision to tie the knot at eighteen foolish. Hell, Gray himself had. After all, how could I pledge my life to someone when I hadn’t even started living mine? While that may hold true for most, I’ve never been like everyone else. My life had been anything but ordinary; I weathered storms by the age of five that would break most adults. I knew myself well enough to know what I wanted when I saw it. Gray had barged into my world, when I’d been adrift and indifferent to my own existence, and he’d shown me what I used to think was unattainable. Trust, compassion, even love. He instilled the confidence I needed to follow my dreams. Gray had become my anchor, my essence, my everything.
So, when Gray whisked us away to Vegas and presented me with his grandmother’s ring, not a single doubt surfaced. Gray was meant to be my forever. In that quaint chapel, I meant every word of my vows. For richer or poorer. In sickness and health. Till death do us part.
Too bad lies were the theme of my life. Lies and broken promises.
Perhaps part of me believed honoring my commitment to remain faithful to Gray for all time meant those vows were genuine. Holding onto the fact that, even if only briefly, someone chose me. And if I broke those vows, then I’d have to accept we really were over.
That’s what I wanted. Truly. Despite my heart’s protests, I needed a fresh start, a clean slate. And to achieve that, I had to persevere through the discomfort and seek out someone new.
My sexuality was complex. I didn’t feel like I fit perfectly into one box. I wasn’t fully ace, although I would say that fit better than the demisexual label. I’d been instantly attracted to Gray, before I’d ever spoken more than a few words to him. But, then again, the times I could pinpoint feeling attraction to someone other than Gray, were rarer than the appearance of Halley’s comet. I pretty much never felt the need to pleasure myself, even though when I'd been with Gray I'd been insatiable. Now that I’d had sex, I knew that I could enjoy it. I just didn’t know if I had enjoyed the act itself, or the intimacy it had bestowed.
More than anything, I missed intimacy with a fervor that bordered on desperation.Years devoid of even a simple embrace had left me grappling with an intense loneliness, a void that only basic human connection could hope to fill. It had been this longing that ultimately led me to this unremarkable hotel in the outer suburbs of Los Angeles. Checking the time again, this time glancing at the red digits glowing in the dim lighting from the digital clock on the bedside table, my anxiety surged once more. It was 10.02PM, too late to call off this whole charade without confronting the man I would be rejecting.
Not that the anonymous stranger would have been particularly bothered, given the handsome sum he’d been compensated for tonight along with the additional bonus for his discretion. After all, non-disclosure agreements could only offer a certain level of protection. Pursuing legal action meant little if the scandal had already been leaked and my reputation irrevocably tainted. It was wiser to ensure their silence from the outset by making it worth their while.
Or at least, that’s what Carl had advised. Legalities were foreign territory to me, things I knew nothing about. The same could be said for contracts. And people.
Which was the whole reason I’d decided to go down this path in the first place. My deeply ingrained trust issues had been exacerbated by my newfound celebrity status, and it had become impossible to discern the sincerity of others’ intentions towards me. Thus the reason everyone in my life was on my payroll—their motivations were transparent and their loyalties clear. It provided me with a semblance of peace, knowing exactly what each person gained from their interactions with me.
My head snapped up at the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the lock. Hastily wiping my sweaty palms against my jeans, I forced a fake smile, hoping to pass for a normal human.
As the door swung open, my attention was immediately drawn to the perfectly quaffed platinum hair, accented by a single vibrant lock of bubblegum pink cascading down to frame his delicate face. I found myself fixated on his strikingly beautiful features, flawlessly adorned with everything from highlighter to false eyelashes, yet still retaining a masculine edge from his strong, lightly stubbled jaw. It took me a moment to tear my gaze away and register the attire he was adorned in—or rather, the lack thereof.
With a cocky gracefulness, he sauntered towards the bed clad in nothing but a pair of pink lace panties that perfectly matched the highlight in his hair, along with thigh-high stockings and garters, stripper heels, and pink jeweled nipple rings that swayed with each step, creating the illusion of tassels. The entire ensemble oozed sex, which I figured was probably the goal for a sex worker.
Just as I’d suspected, I wasn’t remotely attracted to him. Although, I may need to get the name of his piercer, cause those nipple rings were something I could see myself rocking. That was, if tonight didn’t end in a total disaster, which I already suspected it would. At best it would be uncomfortable and unsatisfying to both parties and we could laugh about it afterward.
I had convinced myself that hiring a sex worker would at least alleviate the pressure. If it took hours for me to get hard, or if I didn’t at all, well, they’d still be compensated for their time regardless. Besides, they were probably accustomed to dealing with the inexperienced and socially awkward.
But now, as the stranger advanced towards me, the doubts of whether I’d actually be able to go through with this only intensified. All I wanted to do was tell him I’d made a mistake, send him on his way, and curl up in a ball on the bed to cry.
“Hey there, sexy,” the man purred, even his voice sounding like he’d just been fucked. “You can call me Kitten,” he declared with a theatrical wink, fully aware of the absurdity of his chosen alias.
