Page 4 of Snowballing

I can’t believe I’m doing this.

Well, I can. I’ve done a lot of weird shit for money. Dressing up in skimpy gym clothes in twenty degree weather isn’t that weird, but if it wasn’t for my oversized coat, I’d be freezing. He didn’t ask for sweatpants, but he wouldn’t have a dick to play with without them!

I was thankful the address was in Concord. Since I was only two towns over in Lexington, I didn’t have to be an asshole and charge extra for gas money, though he could likely afford it. To be honest, I’d consider not charging him anything if his dick actually turned out to be ten inches.

While he had sent me a new pic, it wouldn’t matter if that was a fake for what he was paying. I looked up his property tax records as soon as I had the address, and what he was paying probably didn’t matter to him either. With a tax payment like that, a night with me would be pocket change.

The name in the registry was Elijah Giordano, so naturally, I googled that next. He was some big deal in the financial world. At least in Boston. He also held multiple sports records in high school and a few in college. I couldn’t find anything about his personal life, which seemed odd, but the photos from his football days showed a pretty handsome face, and they proved his body had aged well, if at all.

I bet his face is just awful now.

I was hoping beyond hope he wasn’t too good to be true and I hadn’t been deceived again. It happened more times in this business than I cared to remember, but at least it had never been a cop.

Oh God, don’t be a cop.

Escorting was just part of what I did. I had an OnlyFans, which made enough monthly for me to afford a place downtown, where I lived with my roommate, Jack. Because of that website alone, I was pretty well off, though I kept many income streams flowing because you never knew. I was diversified, if you will. I’m sure the big-dicked banker would appreciate that.

He’s not going to care. Focus, Gareth!

His instructions were to park in the garage, which was accessed from a side road. I’d hazard a guess he didn’t want the neighbors watching me saunter up to the front door at nine at night. This would normally set off red flags, but he had a ten-inch dick and a small fortune. Red flags only meant so much. It wasn’t like I was naïve. I had precautions in place.

I pulled through the open door to park next to a navy Challenger. The thing was spotless. Stepping out of my car, it was hard not to notice the enormous Mercedes SUV filling the rest of the garage. It also looked brand new.

I definitely picked the right message to reply to tonight.

I locked my car, walked past an enormous workbench and headed to the interior door, but before I could knock, it opened.

“Jayden?”

Merry Christmas to me.

It was as if mpreg were real and David Beckham had fucked Cristiano Ronaldo thirty-something years ago and created the man before me. I may have had a thing for soccer players and omegaverse romance. His face matched the old football photos I had found and was every bit as attractive as his body, which at the moment was covered up with a fluffy gray bathrobe. It made his hazel eyes appear almost green.

I struggled to clear my throat, and eventually just nodded while trying to smile. For fuck’s sake, a client had never made me nervous before.

“Come on in. Let me take your coat for you.” He hung it on an empty hook next to the door.

“Thank you, sir.” Thank fuck I had remembered what to say. He didn’t want me to call him a fake name. I was to use ‘sir’ only.

I slipped my phone under the sweats into my shorts pocket.

“Would you like something to drink? Water? Gatorade? Something stronger?”

“Coach was hard on us today. Some Gatorade would be great.”

The guy had a sports kink, which I was more than happy to oblige. I was pretending to be an athlete coming home from practice. It kind of felt like I was pretending to be his son, but he didn’t want me to call him daddy or anything, so I was pretending he was a neighbor or family friend in my head. I would have to remember to add improv to my Peachy skills.

“Oh, yeah?” I followed him into a kitchen built for the Food Network. “You seem a little tense. Are any of your muscles tight? Maybe some of them could use a good rub?” he suggested.

“That sounds great, sir,” I said, taking the offered bottle from him. “Thank you, sir.”

“My heat’s broken and I can’t turn it down. Sorry, it’s so hot in here. Do you mind if I take my bathrobe off?”

I almost giggled at the absurdity of the scene, but he was paying me so much money, I shut it down quickly. It was just a little roleplay after all. It was actually kind of hot now that it was happening…which was something I wasn’t used to. Usually the requests had the opposite effect, and I had to work hard to pretend. My parents would be proud I was putting my theater experience to good use. I wasn’t sure if it was his voice or the scene that was helping me get into it.

Who was I kidding? It was the anticipation of seeing that hefty dick.

I shook my head. “No, sir. I don’t mind. I’ll take my sweats off too.”