New fic (!): Just Gonna Get My Feet Wet Until I Drown - Part 1
Just Gonna Get My Feet Wet Until I Drown
The Social Network
Mark/Eduardo, Eduardo/Other, NC-17, 30,800 words
Good thing he hadn’t tried too hard to picture Mark Z., because after Sean’s hyper, condescending reminder about how important this client was, he wouldn’t have imagined this guy staring him down, not blinking, for the world.
This is an edited version of what I wrote for the kinkmeme-you can find that raw version here.
Some warnings/disclaimers: This story was written with absolutely no first hand knowledge of what’s it’s like to be a high-price escort. I took all I know from Secret Diary of a Call Girl. I understand completely the complexities of prostitution, but this fic is in no way meant to be a commentary on the profession. The bottom line is, this is completely fictional and based entirely on fiction.
I took some liberties with timeline (mostly Mark and Eduardo’s ages), and also big liberties with Berkeley’s transfer admission deadlines (which are crazy) and notification dates. I also took some liberties with Mark’s contributions to education, because he SHOULD do more in his own backyard to help, so I just assumed he would soon.
The title of this fic is from Ani DiFranco’s Swan Dive, which in my opinion is quite possibly the quintessential Mark/Eduardo song (although more Mark, I think).
Many thanks to we_reflamingos and kissingcrimefor the beta!
Read on AO3
Thursday, 9:30pm, Fairmont Hotel, Mark Z. - TBE
Eduardo glanced down at the neat handwritten lines in his book as he carefully smoothed back an errant strand of hair. Sean had called this booking in the day before, very last minute. “This is a big potential client, Eduardo, huge, okay? Make sure you show him an extra good time, bring out the big guns.”
Eduardo sighed into the phone, rolling his eyes as he curled his toes into the sheets. The ringing of the phone had woken him up; he’d spent last night with a client who wanted to watch him clip his toenails, naked, in the bathtub until two in the morning.
“Sean, you are aware that I am a professional, right?” He’d been working with Sean for three years now, and they still had this exact conversation at least once a week.
Sean laughed, hearty and way too much for the hour. “Yes, I am very aware. The background on this guy is insane, though, and we want to make sure that he’s happy and keeps coming back.”
“Well,” Eduardo said, flipping over onto his side and pulling his plain, black notebook off the mahogany nightstand. “What does he want?”
“He’s definitely a first timer.” Eduardo could hear the click of a lighter over the phone line. Weed at ten in the morning. Classy. “It was hard to get him to say much of anything when I asked him questions, but he was pretty clear that he wanted someone for the whole night. I’m guessing the Total Boyfriend Experience. Your specialty, Eduardo.”
The down comforter covering him was starting to feel stifling in the closed-up room-he hadn’t had the energy to do anything last night when he got home but strip off his suit, drape it over the wingback chair in the corner of the room, and pass out-and he turned back over quickly, throwing the comforter down around his knees. He buried his face in the pillow, held the phone away from his head, and screamed. If he hadn’t been making twice as much as he was before he had hooked up with Sean, he’d throw his work Blackberry out of the window, but not until he told Sean to go fuck himself.
“Gee, thanks, Sean.”
“What can I say? They eat up all of that genuine, honest bullshit.”
It was Thursday evening and he was getting ready, trying to anticipate what this Mark Z. would want. Some of Sean’s guys were completely comfortable not knowing exactly what they were walking into, as if their jobs weren’t already enough of an adrenaline shot, but Eduardo liked everything written out, spelled out plainly in his even, straight handwriting in his black notebook. He always tried to resist the temptation to picture what the clients would be like before he met them; it was a surefire way to set yourself up for a letdown, and it was nice to be pleasantly surprised.
His tie was a bit crooked, dark purple against his black dress shirt, and he straightened it. Eduardo knew that the Total Boyfriend Experience might not obviously include Armani, but he also knew by now exactly how it made him look. He smirked at himself in the mirror, just barely resisting the urge to laugh.
*****
The Fairmont was only a short cab ride from his apartment, and Eduardo made sure that he was at the door to Room 408 (Sean had texted him the room number right as he was stepping into the cab outside of his building) at precisely 9:30. He smoothed his hands over the nonexistent wrinkles in the front of his shirt before lifting his hand to knock. Eduardo always felt weirdly nervous right before an appointment, hands a bit clammy and, at the same time, a thrill running right up his spine.
He’d managed to knock twice before the door swung open so quickly it almost knocked him off balance. The man standing on the other side of the door was shorter than Eduardo, curly hair, blue eyes, unwavering stare, navy blue hoodie and jeans.
Good thing he hadn’t tried too hard to picture Mark Z., because after Sean’s hyper, condescending reminder about how important this client was, he wouldn’t have imagined this guy staring him down, not blinking, for the world.
“Miami?” Mark said, eyebrows turning in a bit in the middle, lips pressed into a harder line. “That’s a completely ridiculous and obviously fake name, you know that.”
Eduardo laughed. It had been a long time since anything-anyone-surprised him. “Yes, well, obvious and ridiculous fake names are an occupational hazard. Nice to meet you, Mark.” He stretched his hand out, and waited longer than was usually socially acceptable before Mark returned the gesture, his handshake unexpectedly firm.
“I assumed that the usual social niceties weren’t needed in this situation,” Mark said, pulling his hand back and tucking both hands into the pockets of his jeans, pushing himself up onto his toes, bare against the plush carpet.
“Sorry,” Eduardo said, still smiling despite feeling a little like he’d been run over by a truck. “You’re right-I’m pretty much a sure thing. Isn’t that what they said in Pretty Woman?”
The corner of Mark’s mouth turned up, just the slightest bit, and Eduardo filed that tidbit away for later. Total Boyfriend Experience and hopeful repeat client, after all.
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never seen it.” Mark stepped back a bit, and Eduardo took the opportunity to step forward and shrug off his jacket, watching Mark’s eyes track the lines of Eduardo’s chest and biceps.
“You should check it out. It’s a classic.”
“Fascinating,” Mark shot back, and Eduardo felt that same thrill down his spine that he’d felt in the hallway, except now the accompanying clamminess was long gone. “Anyway, I’m not sure how this works exactly. You’re the first-well, as you can probably guess, I don’t call an escort service every day of the week, even though I could afford it.”
Eduardo stepped forward, just a bit, crowding Mark against the sideboard. “It works however you want it to work. I’m here all night.”
“Does that line normally work?” Mark asked. Eduardo let his eyes move down to catch Mark’s adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.
Eduardo moved in a bit more, feeling Mark’s body heat through the layers of fabric, but not quite touching. “I don’t normally need a line. Sure thing, remember?”
“Of course I remember, you said it two minutes ago.” Mark said, distracted; there was no real bite behind it. In fact, his eyes kept drifting down to Eduardo’s mouth. “We could go to the living room.”
“Your hotel room has a living room?” Eduardo said, smiling, now just inches from Mark’s mouth. Mark’s pupils were blown wide, blacking out almost all of the blue.
“I’m sure Sean told you that I’m a billionaire.”
“He alluded to it, yes.” Eduardo watched Mark as he tucked his tongue into the corner of his mouth. It didn’t matter that as soon as he left, he’d have $3,000 in his bank account-he still liked to know that he could make someone feel the way Mark looked at that moment. He reached down and grabbed Mark’s hand, skin dry and warm against his. “Where’s this living room, then?”
*****
The living room had a couch and a love seat, and a giant 60-inch TV, nearly identical to the one in Eduardo’s living room. On the floor was a Playstation 3. “What games do you have?” Eduardo said, letting go of Mark’s hand to kneel on the floor.
“Just a few-it was already pretty ridiculous that I brought the PS3 here for the night. It’s been so long since I watched TV that I barely recognize anything that’s on.”
Eduardo shuffled through the games, then held up Grand Theft Auto and grinned. “Want to?”
Mark shifted on his feet a bit, looking down at the floor. “Is that okay? I mean, aren’t we supposed to-”
“Mark.” Eduardo pushed himself up from the floor and grabbed Mark’s hands again. “We can do whatever you want.”
Mark seemed to visibly relax at that, his mouth turning up again in a way that Eduardo couldn’t help but smile at. “I’m not sure you’ll want to play me anyway. I am completely awesome at this game.”
“Bring it on.”
*****
They played for an hour or so, and Mark was right-he was awesome-but Eduardo had spent a good amount of his time during college playing this game; they were almost evenly matched. Eduardo sat cross-legged on the floor next to Mark and they talked smack the whole time, even though Eduardo kept catching Mark glancing at him, and smiling just a little bit.
In hindsight, he should have been a bit more aware that Mark had been moving closer to him the whole time (that was what he was paid for, after all). As it was, he was startled when he felt Mark press, warm and firm, up against his side. He pressed pause on the game and looked at Mark.
“Hey,” Eduardo murmured, just barely above a whisper. Mark reached out, not shy but like he was still not fully sure of his welcome (Eduardo usually found that the money made people very sure of their welcome, but it was a nice change. Sweet almost.).
Mark’s hands finally glanced against his throat, skittering a bit before coming to rest on the knot of Eduardo’s tie. Eduardo swallowed and moved into the touch, just a bit, enough to encourage.
“Hey yourself,” Mark said, using Eduardo’s tie to pull himself closer. Up close, Mark was handsome, stripped bare of the twitches and quirks that Eduardo had seen when Mark first opened the door.
“Do you want to finish the game?” Eduardo said teasingly, edging closer himself, enough to feel Mark’s breath against his cheek. Mark laughed and his eyes went wide, like it had taken him by surprise.
“Fuck the game. And lose the tie.”
Eduardo couldn’t remember ever laughing into someone’s mouth as they kissed, especially not over the last five years, when kissing had been all business. It felt good, and one of the perks of the job was that he got paid for it and could enjoy it too.
After a minute, Mark pulled away, mouth red and wet. “Wait, is that okay? Do you do that?”
“Do what?” Eduardo rasped, eyes fixed on Mark’s mouth.
“Kiss,” Mark said flatly, like Eduardo was stupid.
Eduardo looked back up at Mark’s eyes, laughed, and tugged Mark back in with his hands clenched in the front of his hoodie. “We have to talk about how you’re a liar and have definitely seen Pretty Woman.”
“Yes, yes, whatever,” Mark said, his voice hoarse now too, batting Eduardo’s hands away and yanking on his tie, loosening it and slipping it over Eduardo’s head. “There.”
“You’re avoiding.” Eduardo tried to make his voice stern, but it was hard with Mark pressing him down against the floor and working open the buttons on his shirt. He let his head fall back against the carpet as Mark leaned in closer, pressing in with the weight of his body and closing his mouth on Eduardo’s collarbone. The room was almost too hot now, and he hoped that Mark would get his shirt off sooner rather than later. He almost said something but was cut off by the trail of Mark’s fingers down the center of his chest, his palm coming to rest on Eduardo’s stomach.
Mark moved in closer, his mouth pressed up against Eduardo’s ear. “You didn’t really want to talk about that now, did you?”
Eduardo wrapped his hands around Mark’s waist, burrowing under layers and pushing his hands against the warm, slightly sweaty small of Mark’s back. “Maybe later.” Mark’s breath grew ragged as Eduardo tugged him closer, and Eduardo let his legs fall apart, feeling wanton, giddy almost, wanting to let Mark in.
If someone had told Eduardo five years ago that someday he’d be an escort and that he’d like it, he honestly would have laughed right in their face. When he was twenty, in his junior year at Yale-weighed down by his father’s expectations and the subtle pressure inherent in the atmosphere on campus that if you didn’t turn out to be something, you were wasting the opportunity-he never imagined his life now. There were many days when Eduardo woke up, looked in the mirror, and was genuinely surprised that he didn’t feel more disappointed in himself, or ashamed.
The job had come out of the blue. After Eduardo’s father unceremoniously yanked his tuition dollars out from under him, he decided he needed to get as far away from everything as possible. He spent part of the money he’d earned from betting on oil futures during the summer to fly to San Francisco and get an apartment, but the money wasn’t going to last forever. He was a college dropout of sorts, no real job experience (he’d had an internship lined up at JPMorgan the summer after his junior year, which certainly would have led to a job, but that had disappeared too). Eduardo finally found a job working as a personal assistant to a hedge fund manager-a decent job-but he couldn’t help but feel that he could do his boss’s work in his sleep.
He accompanied his boss, Anna, who hated to be “that single career girl alone at a party, who everyone feels sorry for, god”, to a party in the Mission one night, dressed up just a bit more than he did every day at work. He was refreshing their drinks at the bar when he felt a hand on his elbow, and he turned to find a man grinning at him.
“I’m sorry. Can I help you?” Eduardo said, polite but confused. He couldn’t figure out if he was supposed to know who this guy was.
The man reached into his pocket and held out a business card. “Nice work tonight,” he said, and okay, Eduardo was now officially really confused.
“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“I know that she’s not your girlfriend, but you’re doing a great job selling it. Impressive.” The man extended the hand holding the card just a bit more. Eduardo found himself reaching out despite his own better judgment. Peter Thiel, the card read, nothing else but the name, a phone number, and an e-mail address. The card was expensive, the writing navy blue, leaving its deep imprint on the heavy paper.
“Just doing a favor for a friend,” Eduardo said, looking back up at Peter, who was still grinning at him, somewhat disconcertedly. He tucked the card into the pocket of his charcoal grey suit pants.
“It was very convincing. I’m sure I’m the only one who noticed.” Peter kept the smile on his face, but looked to each side of them like he was checking to make sure no one was listening. “Listen, Eduardo,” and wait, how did he know Eduardo’s name? “if you ever want to trade that skill in for some money, give me a call.”
Peter stuck his hand out, and Eduardo shook his hand firmly. And then he was gone.
It was only two days before he gave into the nagging curiosity that had been eating at him since the party. And three days until he gave his notice to Anna. Intellectually, he knew that he was selling himself for money, but what was the big difference between that and running a hedge fund? And he found quickly that working for Peter was much more, well-fun.
So Eduardo generally did enjoy his job, and in particular he was enjoying the way Mark’s fingertips moved across his skin, flirting with the waistband of his pants, tucking into his belt loops. He prided himself on being able to find something about every client that could turn him on, something that gave Eduardo that little thrill that made this more than just a financial transaction. Even when it was hard to find, like with David, Tuesday night’s client with the toenail fetish.
Some clients were more challenging than others.
And sometimes, he got lucky-he got paid to have sex with someone who, if he were a normal guy in his age, he’d try to take home with him from a bar, or meet in a coffee shop and strike up a conversation. Someone with whom it wasn’t the least bit challenging. Sometimes, he even had to mindfully push away the feeling in his stomach, the ache, when someone touched him, because this was business, even though his business was pleasure (and even though he hated that cliché). Mark was a bit dangerous-fidgety and awkward but confident when he put his hands on Eduardo’s body, just the right mix of tentative and forward-and Eduardo knew it was a bit stupid (his father would say that stupidity was Eduardo’s strong point), hell, it was beyond stupid, but tonight, he was going to try not to think so damn much.
“Mark.” He reached down and wrapped his fingers around Mark’s wrist, trying to tell him what he wanted. And he knew that Mark wasn’t stupid-he could tell that by the quickfire, staccato way that Mark talked and from the description that Sean had given him-and Mark proved him right, grunting softly in Eduardo’s ear, then pulling back just enough, one hand braced next to Eduardo’s head, to start unbuckling Eduardo’s belt.
“So,” Mark said, voice just above a whisper, eyes caught on where Eduardo could feel his own lower lip pinned between his teeth. “I’m going to blow you, because if you blow me, I’m going to want to be able to yell your name, and I refuse to yell out Miami while I’m coming in your mouth because someone will come up here and haul me to the psych ward.”
Eduardo groaned, closing his eyes for a second, not able to look at Mark’s face while he was saying those things in his deadpan voice, the edges rough with sex. They would have to revisit that image (and what a beautiful image it was), but who was he to turn down what Mark was offering? Hell, what Mark was paying for? “Sorry to put you in such a position.”
“I’ll live,” Mark said, reaching inside of Eduardo’s pants and closing his eyes when he found that Eduardo wasn’t wearing any underwear (what was the point?). “Damn.”
Eduardo watched as the top of Mark’s head dipped down to run his tongue along Eduardo’s chest and stomach, and Eduardo had to grab onto the high pile of the carpet to keep still. Mark pulled Eduardo’s cock out of his pants and Eduardo forced himself to look as Mark ducked his head down even further.
Blow jobs were one of Eduardo’s specialties. They sort of had to be in his line of work, and he’d had lots of practice. He’d given them underneath boardroom tables while meetings were in session, in the elevator at the Plaza in New York, in a luxury box at an Oakland Raiders game (at least it was a distraction from how bad the team was), and, most memorably, underneath a scratchy blanket on a first class flight from San Francisco to Honolulu. He liked being on his knees, he liked the power he felt when he was able to make someone come apart beneath his hands and his mouth, the feel of someone’s fingers tangled in his hair.
Eduardo had given much more than he’d received, but plenty of clients weren’t interested in using him, but rather wanted to both give and receive pleasure (part of the Total Boyfriend Experience for sure, which was also one of Eduardo’s specialties), which Eduardo was more than happy to do.
He’d certainly had some excellent head in the last five years, and Mark didn’t rank at the top of the list. But he was enthusiastic, and when Eduardo finally was able to let go of the carpet and twine his fingers in Mark’s hair, moving Mark subtly and saying “yes, that,” and “just a little, yes, god”, his learning curve was incredibly steep. So much so that Eduardo went from “hey, that feels good” to “oh my god I have to come now or I will certainly die here on this floor” in an embarrassingly short amount of time.
“Mark,” Eduardo said, barely able to get the word out. “God, just-”
It was like everything was in slow motion, as Mark pulled off, lips wet and clinging to the head of Eduardo’s cock. “Can I help you with something?”
“Did I say you should stop?”
“No, but you sounded sort of like you were going to die there, so I wanted to make sure you didn’t stroke out.”
Eduardo tugged at Mark’s hair, just enough to sting, from the look on Mark’s face. “Ugh, get back to work.”
“You’re really pushy for a hooker.”
Mark’s voice was tinged with annoyance, but just a second later Eduardo felt the warm wetness of Mark’s mouth around him again. Christ.
“You know, Mark,” Eduardo gasped out-Mark bobbed his head down and Eduardo could feel the head of his cock push into Mark’s throat. Mark gagged just a bit, but he seemed spurred on by Eduardo pulling on his hair, probably way too hard this time. He couldn’t really focus on that. “You’re not in much of a position to disparage my career at the moment.”
Eduardo couldn’t help but laugh, because he could feel Mark scoff around Eduardo’s cock in his mouth. There was something about that he could feel not just physically (obviously), but all the way into his bones. Part of the Total Boyfriend Experience was letting himself just be himself to a large extent-Sean was right when he said that Eduardo was good at it. And he genuinely enjoyed most of his TBE clients. They were different than the fetish guys, or the guys who wanted a piece of arm candy who could wear a suit to take to an event. Eduardo liked those guys well enough. He was a professional enough to admit, though, that the TBE guys were most able to get under Eduardo’s skin, to burrow past the walls that one had to put up around their heart when they had sex for money. Basically being someone’s boyfriend, albeit with the added element of getting paid, was understandably more complicated than a quick fuck.
And Eduardo could already tell that, in a less than two hours, he’d have to keep his walls up high this time.
It was also hard to think about complications and boundaries now that Mark had apparently added deep-throating to his steep learning curve. Eduardo could feel the head of his cock pushing in and out of Mark’s throat as he bobbed his head, his hands pressing Eduardo down on the carpet, Eduardo’s pants still around his knees. He couldn’t help himself-he had to lift his head up to see, and Mark’s mouth looked almost as good as it felt, lips stretched around the width of Eduardo’s cock sliding in and over his tongue.
“Fuck,” Eduardo shouted, surprising himself, and he let himself hold Mark onto him as he came, hot and thick, down Mark’s throat. “Jesus.”
Mark was smiling, more than Eduardo had seen so far, as he came into Eduardo’s view, crawling up the length of Eduardo’s body. “So that was okay, then.”
“Oh my god. Shut up, you already know you’re a genius,” Eduardo replied, groaning and covering his face with his hand. “You don’t have to rub it in.”
He felt Mark’s fingers wrap around his wrist, prying Eduardo’s hand off of his face, and Eduardo draped that same arm around Mark’s back, pulling him just the smallest bit closer. “I do have a bedroom. One of the perks of the room with the foyer and the living room.”
Eduardo leaned forward, pressing his mouth to Mark’s. God, he was still shaking just a bit.
“Bedroom sounds great.”
*****
Eduardo returned the favor in the bedroom, Eduardo just the slightest bit unsteady on his feet, but covering it well. He pressed Mark down to sitting on the bed, then kneeled between his legs, hands reaching up to undo the button on Mark’s jeans. “Now let me show you how a professional does it,” Eduardo said playfully, reaching in to push Mark’s boxers down and get to his cock.
“Don’t let me stop you,” Mark said, obviously trying to keep his voice steady and not quite succeeding.
It was good. Eduardo really didn’t get tired of this particular aspect of his work, especially with a partner as responsive as Mark, who wasn’t afraid to move his hips, to shift Eduardo’s head, to give direction. By the end, Mark was making choked sounds and fucking into Eduardo’s throat and Eduardo could only hang on as Mark came, whimpering as his fingers relaxed in Eduardo’s hair.
“You’ll stay,” Mark said, asking but without the actual question mark, after they had gotten themselves into the bed and shed their clothes. They were facing each other, close enough that Eduardo could reach out and touch Mark’s mouth, his cheek, if he wanted to.
Eduardo closed his eyes. “Of course. You paid for the whole night.”
“Right,” Mark said, and Eduardo fell asleep to the whisper of fingertips against his hipbone.
*****
At one in the morning, Eduardo woke up to go to the bathroom, and when he quietly returned to the room, he noticed that Mark was lying on his back, his eyes open.
“You’re up,” Eduardo said, crawling back beneath the blankets, which were still warm from his own-and from Mark’s-body heat.
Mark turned his head. “Do you like your job?”
“What?” Eduardo stammered, a bit startled by the question, which had seemingly come out of nowhere.
“You don’t seem like the hooker with the heart of gold type, and you don’t seem like the exploited sex worker, so I wanted to know if you like what you do.” Mark paused and shrugged. “There’s probably also part of me that wants to not feel guilty for paying for sex.”
Eduardo relaxed, smiling just a little. It was hard to be annoyed by the question when it was obvious that Mark wasn’t judging him. He was just curious.
“Most of the time, I do like it. It’s not what I saw myself doing with my life, certainly, but I enjoy sex and making people feel good. I feel like I’m helping a lot of people, which may be my own way of justifying it, but that doesn’t make it any less true.” Eduardo looked away while he was talking, but he turned his eyes back to Mark’s face, to try to gauge his reaction. Mark still had the same flat expression on his face that he’d had for most of the night.
“What did you think you’d be doing?”
It wasn’t hard to answer that question, even though he wasn’t sure if he should. “Investment banking. I did economics in college, but I didn’t graduate, so that path wasn’t as straightforward as it would have been otherwise. And after working in finance for a while after I left school, I realized that selling my body wasn’t that different than investment banking.”
Mark laughed at that, nodding. Then, another question: “Why’d you leave school?”
“Tuition money dried up. My father didn’t want to write the check to Yale after he found out that I was gay.”
Mark was quiet for a minute, then, “I went to Harvard. I didn’t finish either.”
Eduardo reached out and rested his hand on the small of Mark’s back. They were close enough that Eduardo could feel Mark’s breath on his cheek. “We didn’t do all that bad for ourselves then, did we?”
Mark smiled back at him, but it didn’t seem to quite reach his eyes.
“Mark.”
“What?”
“I don’t need your pity. If I wanted to do something else, I would do it. I could always go back to school-I can afford it on my own now.”
“So why don’t you?” Mark shot back, his mouth turned down in a frown.
Eduardo paused. He wasn’t sure that he was ready to go there with a client, so he just said, “I will. I’m thinking about it, I’m just not sure it’s the right time. How about you?”
Mark closed his eyes, still frowning. “I already have a billion dollars-what’s the point?”
Eduardo dragged Mark a bit closer and tucked his face into Mark’s neck. “Fair enough,” he said to the skin behind Mark’s ear. Mark didn’t say anything else, and Eduardo’s eyes drooped. He let himself succumb to sleep again.
*****
Eduardo woke to the clacking of a keyboard, the early morning light streaming in through the gauzy curtains. Mark was sitting at the desk, typing furiously.
The light was bright, and he shut his eyes quickly against it and groaned. “Morning,” he called feebly.
Mark didn’t turn his head, eyes glued to the laptop screen. “Morning.”
Eduardo stretched against the sheets and then checked the clock. It was six. He should probably get going soon; he made it a point to consider the night a client paid for as only lasting until eight. He let himself enjoy the warmth of the bed for a few more minutes, then pushed himself up to sitting, studying Mark across the room.
Mark hadn’t said another word after the initial greeting, and Eduardo wasn’t beyond some healthy curiosity about Mark, or any client, to be honest. He stood up, still naked as he’d never bothered to get dressed after they were done, and moved over to where Mark was sitting.
“What are you working on?”
Mark turned his head toward Eduardo behind him, looking almost startled. “Sorry, I forgot you were here. We had some security breaches at the site, so I was just going in to make some quick changes to the coding that should patch things up.”
Eduardo nodded, and he couldn’t help looking over the top of Mark’s head. And when he saw the Facebook page open next to the window Mark was programming in, everything clicked into place.
Shit. He just slept with Mark Zuckerberg, for money. Second-youngest billionaire in the world. Founder of Facebook.
It wasn’t like Eduardo hadn’t slept with famous and/or rich people-athletes, financiers, politicians-but he would guess that Mark might be the biggest deal yet. And it was going to take every bit of discretion and training he’d gathered over the years in his work to act like he didn’t notice, or care, who Mark was.
“Listen, I think I should leave, but this was fun. Call Sean if you ever want to make another appointment, okay?” Mark looked at Eduardo as he was talking, almost studying him.
“Do you come to people’s houses? I mean, would you come to my house? Not that I can’t afford the penthouse suite at the Fairmont, but home would be preferable.”
“Yes,” Eduardo said, even though he usually waited a few appointments before making house calls. “I can do that.”
“Can you do next Thursday?”
Eduardo blinked. He wasn’t expecting that. “I’m...I’m not sure. Call Sean. It has to be set up through him anyway. I’ll let him know that I’m fine going to your house.”
“Okay,” Mark said resolutely, turning back to the screen. “It was. It had a good time, Miami.”
“Sorry,” Eduardo said, catching Mark’s wince.
“Yes, well, you’re not an idiot and you’re great in bed, so I’ll put up with the completely dumb fake name for now.”
Mark’s fingers started moving on the keys again, lightening fast, while Eduardo put his clothes back on, remembering that he’d need to grab his jacket and tie from the living room on the way out. Occupational hazard, and they were not cheap.
“Goodbye, Mark,” he said as he walked toward the bedroom door. Mark was still coding (coding Facebook, Christ) and didn’t respond. Eduardo gathered up the rest of his clothes and let himself out of the room.
*****
Sean called him the next day.
“Nice work, dude, seriously. He wants you Thursday. Every Thursday. I think he must have called me as you were walking out of his room.”
The spoon full of cereal that Eduardo was holding paused in midair, on the way to his mouth. He’d been eating breakfast at his kitchen table when the phone rang. He couldn’t exactly say that he was surprised that Mark had called Sean, since he’d asked to see Eduardo again, but there was a part of him-a smart part, his brain provided-that had hoped he would get off easier than that.
“Oh, okay. Sure.”
Sean scoffed. “Okay? Sure? Eduardo, the guy is a billionaire. He seems decent, he’s not into anything kinky, and he wants to put $3,000 in your pocket, and mine, once a week. Could you try to muster some small amount of enthusiasm?”
Eduardo put his spoon down, hearing it clack against the side of the bowl. “Yes. That’s great news.” And, shit, he’d almost forgotten. “And I maybe told him I could do a house call the next time?”
“Brilliant,” Sean said, laughing in that evil way of his. “Now, don’t leave me to become his kept woman or anything.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
*****
The rest of the week was typical. Well, typical for Eduardo anyway. Friday he had the day off and was attending an event that evening with a regular client, James, who was the editor of the most widely circulated gay magazine in the country. Saturday he was off, and he spent the day in his pajamas, lounging around his apartment. Sometimes, when he spent so much time at hotels and other people’s homes, he forgot how much he loved his apartment. He’d saved up enough to buy the place two years before--a great loft space, with floor to ceiling windows and a view of the city. It was the first place he’d lived that ever really felt like home to him.
Sunday, he had a new client, Jeremy, a baseball player in town on a four game series with the A’s. He was jittery and clearly uncomfortable the whole time, and Eduardo tried his best to relax him, calm him down. To help him enjoy it. He wasn’t sure it worked, though.
Monday was another off day-one of the great perks of the job was that he didn’t have to work nine to five, and he rarely worked anywhere near forty hours a week, but still made great money. Tuesday was Toe Guy again, although David didn’t seem to be interested in toenail clipping so much this week, but rather wanted Eduardo to run his toes over David’s stomach for an hour.
Wednesday was another off day, and he couldn’t help but look forward to Thursday, just a bit. It had been a typical week, but at least Mark was something of a breath of fresh air.
Sean texted him Mark’s address. Of course he lived in Palo Alto; Eduardo should have already known that since Facebook was headquartered there. It was a good thing that Eduardo loved his car (a completely ridiculous but completely awesome Audi TT convertible--his dad would hate it)-he didn’t use it all that often in the city, so he was happy to make the forty five minute drive down the peninsula.
Mark’s house was just gorgeous-not ostentatious or gaudy, but a really beautiful Spanish-style home that had to cost a fortune in this part of Palo Alto, with a weeping willow tree right outside of the front door and a perfectly manicured lawn. Eduardo had pictured Mark in some kind of ultra-modern place with glass and steel, befitting a technology giant. But if the hoodie and jeans were anything to go by, this was more Mark’s style. And maybe somewhat unlike Mark, it felt warm and inviting.
He raised his hand to knock, and Mark opened the door before Eduardo had a chance to. Mark was wearing cargo shorts, flip flops, and a t-shirt. And he was smiling, that quirk of his mouth that Eduardo was beginning to figure out was like a shit-eating grin on anyone else’s face.
“Hi,” Mark said, staring right at Eduardo’s mouth.
“Hi,” Eduardo replied, licking his lips. “Nice place.”
*****
They fucked on Mark’s wide bed, the blankets untucked and sliding off onto the floor as they moved, the fading light coming in through the french doors on the other side of the large room. Mark had one hand braced on the bed next to Eduardo’s head, holding himself up. They’d lost their clothes on the way to Mark’s bedroom, making quick work of the hallways and stairwell of the beautiful house (it was just as nice, if not a bit on the under-furnished side, on the inside), until Mark pushed Eduardo down onto the bed and said, “I want to fuck you.”
Every slide of Mark inside of him caused him to dig his heel just a bit more into the back of Mark’s thigh, urging him on. Like the blowjob of a week ago, it was clear to Eduardo, who had more experience than most, that Mark was pretty new at this, but just like last week, he learned fast. He had Eduardo disassembled into his component parts, his fingers slick and hard in Eduardo’s ass, in less than ten minutes.
Eduardo enjoyed almost all of the sex he had as a matter of course, and always had. He wasn’t a brave and suffering prostitute who put a smile on but secretly cried inside. There were plenty of things he did in the course of his work that weren’t really his scene and that he never would have done if money hadn’t been exchanged, but he really did find someone else’s fantasy being fulfilled, their genuine pleasure, a real turn on.
This sex, though, on his back with Mark over him, around him and inside him, slow and hard and relentless, his arms and legs wrapped around Mark, close enough to see Mark sweat as he thrust-this was exactly his scene.
Eduardo took a deep breath and closed his eyes for just a moment, giving himself a break from the sensory overload. And giving himself the opportunity to remember that this was work. As Mark nudged Eduardo’s prostate with the blunt head of his cock, over and over, he tried to make himself override the litany of Mark Mark Mark in his head with work work work.
He had about a fifty percent success rate.
They’d been at it for a while, and Eduardo was seriously impressed that Mark, who had been so eager to get them into bed, no pretense at all, had lasted so long. They were locked into a rhythm that felt like it could go on forever, slow and languid. Eduardo felt like he was losing his mind.
“Fuck,” Eduardo groaned, pushing his ass back onto Mark’s cock, clenching to let himself feel Mark’s length, and also to try to move Mark closer to the edge. Mark’s rhythm stuttered, his hips jerking just a bit. It was hard to hold back his grin as Mark closed his eyes and bit his lip, trying to regain control.
“Jesus, you’re going to make me come.”
Eduardo pushed back again. Mark moaned. “That was sort of the idea. Not that I’m complaining...”
Then, Mark’s hands were on Eduardo’s wrists, circling them and pinning them to the bed above Eduardo’s head. His eyes had gone dark and he looked sexy as hell. “Message received.”
Mark pressed down on Eduardo’s wrists, hard, and let his whole body weight rest on Eduardo’s, fucking him harder, faster, and taking his breath away. Eduardo had been close before, but lost in the haze of it-now, his own orgasm was back in the front of his mind, making its presence known.
“Can you-” Mark gasped, between thrusts. “Can you come like this?”
Eduardo couldn’t, always. Most guys assumed that it came as part of the job description. He was pretty sure that now was one of those times he could, though. “I don’t know-can you make me come like this?” he whispered against the shell of Mark’s ear.
Mark seemed like the type to love a challenge.
And sure enough, Mark leaned forward, bending Eduardo practically in half, his hips snapping and every thrust right on the mark. Normally, Eduardo had extraordinary control, but he didn’t even realize he was coming until he felt himself clench down, hard, around Mark inside of him, until he heard Mark’s cry into his ear.
Mark fucked him through it, talking to Eduardo the whole time, but Eduardo couldn’t quite pick up the thread of it. It all just sounded like nonsense. He was relaxed and Mark still felt so, so good, sliding in and out of his fucked open ass, until Mark’s fingers clamped down on Eduardo’s wrists, hard enough to bruise, and he felt Mark coming, through his whole body, trembling above Eduardo’s.
*****
A couple of hours later, after cleaning up and falling asleep (they seemed to be developing a pattern) with their legs entwined, they finally dragged themselves out of the bed. They ate takeout Chinese at the coffee table in the living room across from a big screen that put the one at the Fairmont to shame (“Jesus, what is that, 80 inches?” and Mark had snickered and replied, “that’s what she said.”), Eduardo on the floor between Mark’s legs.
Halfway through an episode of How I Met Your Mother (which Eduardo never thought to add to the DVR, but loved every time he saw it), Mark muted the television. “I have a question.”
Eduardo sat the rest of the container of lo mein down on the table and turned his head, just enough to see Mark’s face. “I might have an answer.”
Mark rolled his eyes. “I have an event next Saturday. I know that it’s not our regular night, but I was wondering if you might be willing to attend the event with me.” He paused. “As my date.”
The room was quiet, partially because Eduardo was genuinely surprised. He was pretty sure that he’d never heard that Mark Zuckerberg was gay, and it was usually only the out guys who wanted him on their arm at events.
Eduardo must have paused for too long, because Mark cleared his throat and said, “I must have misunderstood. I thought-never mind. Just forget I asked.”
Eduardo pushed himself around until he was facing Mark, one hand wrapped around Mark’s calf through his sweatpants. “No! That’s not it at all. I’d have to check my calendar-rather, Sean would have to check my calendar-but I can do that.”
Mark didn’t say anything for a long moment, looking at Eduardo like he was studying him. He tried not to squirm. “You know who I am, don’t you?”
He considered lying, for a brief instant. What was the point? “Yes.”
“So you’ll come, then?”
“You have to call Sean.” Eduardo had run through the next week’s calendar in his head. Saturday night he had a cancellation. He was free.
Mark frowned, but nodded. “Okay.” Then he looked back up and unmuted the TV. Eduardo missed most of the rest of the episode, because he knew if he turned back around, turned his back on Mark, he’d have to let go of him. He really didn’t want to. Fuck, he was in so much trouble.
When he’d first started in the business, Peter had connected him with an experienced escort named Christy, who had shown him the ropes, told him how to protect himself physically, how to draw boundaries, how to make sure he got the money that he deserved. And on the last day, before Eduardo went off to his first solo client, she’d taken him aside.
“This isn’t part of the official training, okay?”
“Okay,” he’d said, confused at the time.
“You seem like a really nice guy, Eduardo, and there’s something about this job that no one tells you at first. It’s impossible to feel nothing for your clients. There’s no such thing as sex with no emotion, even when there’s money involved. You may feel disgust or lust or affection, but there will never be nothing. And sometimes...” Christy trailed off. Eduardo hadn’t been able to figure out at the time what was so hard for her to say. He knew now because he’d lived it every day for five years. He was grateful every one of those days for what she said next.
“Sometimes, you will love them. Sometimes, they will be everything you have ever wanted, and you will want to lose yourself in your very own fantasy. And sometimes they’ll want it too. But you can’t ever have it. Never. Because you’ll always be a whore if he pays you. You might want to change that, but you can’t.”
“So enjoy it. Like them. Love them, even, if you can’t help it. But don’t ever forget what you do.”
For five years, he’d kept those words in his head, sometimes clinging to them like a life raft. This was the first time that he’d told the Christy in his head to shut up, and it scared the shit out of him.
*****
The next morning, Eduardo woke up in Mark’s bed, sun weakly beginning to stream through the french doors. He was surprised to find Mark’s face mashed into the pillow beside his own, mouth open slightly and still asleep. The first night they’d spent together had given Eduardo the impression that Mark didn’t sleep much-that he was always moving, restless.
He reached out to push Mark’s hair off his face, allowing himself one indulgence--just one--while Mark was still asleep. Eduardo didn’t want to move from that spot, face to face, legs curled toward each other like parentheses, open on both sides, so he stayed for a little while, letting himself imagine that there wasn’t another chunk of money on its way into his bank account. That Mark even knew his name.
The sun rose higher in the sky, brighter and brighter through the crystal clear panes of glass, and Eduardo couldn’t pretend anymore. The room was lit up enough that he could see everything, the yellow glow on the curve of Mark’s jaw.
He leaned forward, pressed a firm, closed mouth kiss to the corner of Mark’s mouth. “I have to go,” he whispered, and Mark groaned, edging his legs closer until their knees touched. Eduardo closed his eyes.
“Mark,” he said, raising his voice just a bit, urgent.
Mark’s eyes blinked open, barely. “‘Kay. Saturday?”
“Call Sean,” Eduardo said, voice muffled as he pulled his sweater over his head, turning his back on Mark.
“How original,” Mark mumbled sarcastically, and Eduardo was out the door, not daring to look back, before he could reply or hear anything else.
*****
Eduardo got the text message from Sean right after he came home from the gym. He hadn’t even stopped at his apartment on the way home from Palo Alto, needing to blow off some steam. He was sticky with sweat and his legs were shaking a bit, but his head was clearer.
You’re a rock star! MZ called re: Saturday. He’ll pay for a car to pick you up at your apartment at 8pm - I’ll give your address directly to the driver. Black tie reception at the Omni.
He tossed his phone and keys onto the counter, pushing his shoes off near the door and dropping his gym bag. He ran his fingers through his damp hair before picking up the phone again.
Thanks. I’ll be ready.
It was still only ten in the morning, and he knew he needed a shower and to start getting ready for his appointment that evening, another regular in town on business. But instead, he allowed himself to slouch down on the wide couch in his sweaty gym clothes and flip on the television.
His phone pinged again, an incoming text message. Great, and one more thing: his PR guy wants you to sign some kind of non-disclosure agreement. Something that says you won’t find out company secrets and sell them, that kind of thing.
Eduardo paused, his thumb hovering over reply. He didn’t know why his throat felt tight and made it a little hard to breathe. This wasn’t the first NDA he’d ever signed for a client; he worked with guys in Silicon Valley relatively often and they were all paranoid as shit about proprietary information.
Even with their whores.
He took a deep breath, as deep as he could, and hit the reply button. That’s fine.
Cool. PR guy (Chris) said he can meet you Monday for lunch at Chez Panisse in Berkeley to go over the stuff. I checked your schedule, it looked clear.
Eduardo had zero desire to haul himself out to Berkeley for lunch with someone he didn’t know. He felt exhausted, all the way down to his bones. But three thousand dollars a week was a strong motivating force, one he couldn’t pull himself away from. Tell him I’ll be there.
*****
Miraculously, there was street parking on Shattuck (the perks of not being a nine to five worker was how easy it was to do things in the middle of the day, like park on the street in Berkeley) and after Eduardo made his way through the wrought iron gates of Chez Panisse and through the door, he found a blond guy waiting, hands in his pockets and a slight smile on his face.
“Hello, Chris?” Eduardo said, holding out his hand.
“Yes, hi,” Chris replied, grasping Eduardo’s hand in a firm handshake. Eduardo’s dad would have been impressed. “This is a bit awkward for any number of reasons, but I don’t know your name.”
Eduardo withdrew his hand, tucking it behind his back. “I don’t typically give out my real name to clients,” he said warily.
The hostess was gesturing for them to follow, which let Eduardo off the hook for this line of conversation for a few minutes until they were seated. When they were finally settled, Eduardo leaned back in his chair and sighed.
“Eduardo,” he said, and he had to give Chris some credit that he didn’t look surprised at all. “I know there’s no point in trying to keep my name from you if I’m going to be signing an NDA. And I’d rather that Mark didn’t know, but I also understand what kind of position that puts you in.”
Chris stared at him for a minute before his face cracked into a smile. Eduardo couldn’t help but relax in the face of it. “Sorry, it’s just,” Chris started, shaking his head. “I honestly never thought that this would be a part of doing public relations at Facebook, or with Mark. Ever.”
“What’s that?” Eduardo said, taking a slow sip from the glass of red wine that had appeared at his right hand.
Chris blushed, just a bit. “You know who Mark is.” And yes, Eduardo did. He’d Googled Mark after he put the pieces together that morning in the hotel room. Mark was twenty eight. Single. A couple of not-so-serious girlfriends in the past. No guys that he could tell. Abrasive, brilliant, and single-minded, from all accounts.
He knew some other things too, things he couldn’t find between the lines on Valleywag: the shape of Mark’s mouth when he smiled, the weight of his body against Eduardo’s, his fingertips against the skin behind Eduardo’s ear.
“Yes, I do. And I know that, well...I’m not his usual fare, I guess you could say?”
Chris looked relieved, like he’d expected Eduardo to be obtuse. “I would say that. You definitely have more...”
“Dick?” Eduardo shot back, only loud enough for Chris to hear, the rest of the diners going about their business around them. He’d had five years to learn that kind of discretion.
Chris choked on his wine, sitting the glass back down carefully, coughing. Then he smiled at Eduardo again. “You know,” Chris said, wiping the tears from the corner of his eye, “I think, in another life, we could have been friends.”
Eduardo smiled back, but he couldn’t help but think that would have been nice and wanting it, just the smallest bit. His line of work wasn’t exactly conducive to friends, having to explain why he couldn’t go out most nights and making up some cover story for what he did for all of his money, for his big, expensive apartment, his bespoke suits. His Yale friends had stayed in touch for a while after he’d moved to San Francisco, but they’d gone on to graduate and they didn’t have much to talk about anymore. They liked each other’s statuses on Facebook (how was that for irony?), but that was it.
It was simpler not to have real friends. He had plenty of company as it was; he didn’t have time for relationships of any kind.
They ordered, and over an absolutely insane halibut tartare (seriously, he’d work on figuring out ways to be in Berkeley more often; it was a religious experience), Chris pulled out the NDA, talking Eduardo through the relatively simple document. One clause about the confidentiality of company information, and one very short clause that said he wouldn’t sell the fact that Mark was paying for sex to the highest bidder. He pulled his own pen from his pocket and signed and initialed where Chris had flagged.
“Listen, thanks,” Chris said as he slipped his corporate credit card in with the bill. “And I know this seems weird, but I think you’re really good for Mark. He seems different-less edgy, lately. Which is why I haven’t killed him yet for hiring a hooker first and telling me later. “
Eduardo folded his napkin and placed it in front of him on the table. “Well, it’s my job, so.” He tried to make it sound flip, casual, but he could hear the bitterness in his voice. Chris smiled at him anyway.
“I’ll let you tell Mark your name. It will be fun to drive him crazy all week that I know and he doesn’t. I think it was part of why he didn’t give me a harder time about asking you to do this. “
The waitress came back with the credit card slip for Chris to sign. Eduardo stood up when Chris did and shook his hand. “Thanks. It was good meeting you.”
“You too, Eduardo. See you next week.”
They parted ways on the sidewalk. Eduardo sat in his car for a long time after, watching as people walked up and down the street, on their way to work, school, home. Maybe the woman with the black coat and heels, blond hair pulled up into a ponytail, looking straight ahead as she walked, maybe she worked in an office, maybe she had a husband, kids at home.
He could almost guarantee that she wasn’t on her way to fuck a man for money. Although he didn’t think that anyone saw him and thought that either.
It had never bothered him that people with whom he did business knew exactly what he did, that they understood in full technicolor images, but something about his lunch with Chris made his stomach uneasy, the way they both understood exactly what they were doing there and how much Eduardo wished they didn’t have to.
The feeling didn’t go away as he drove over the Bay Bridge, the water glittering below, and back home.
*****
Tuesday morning found Eduardo up and outside right as the sun was coming up, feet pounding against the pavement as he ran the punishing San Francisco hills. Generally, he preferred the gym to running, but sometimes, the actual wind pushing against your body, all that resistance, was just what he needed.
It was definitely one of those times.
Eduardo didn’t want to think, honestly. He was running to try to stop thinking so damn much. He’d always been able to get through situations when he just let himself off the hook, and he was hoping he could clear his head and figure out how to snap out of this funk.
He’d been doing this job for five years, and when he first started, he honestly didn’t think much about how long he wanted to stay working as an escort. At the time, he’d had vague thoughts about working until he saved up enough to go back to Yale, or somewhere, finish his degree, become his boss’s boss.
Except the money was good--fuck, the money was great--and he found being a prostitute more in line with his personality, his need to take care of others and to be needed, his need for approval, than he’d originally thought. Eduardo was damn good at it, enough to be recruited by Sean, stepping up the clientele and the money after two years working with Peter, enough to buy his apartment and his car and vacations if he ever needed to pay to take his own (usually, his vacations were paid for by someone else).
He hadn’t stopped long enough, hadn’t let himself think long enough to realize that this had become his future. This every week, every month, every year until he washed up, got too old for someone to want to pay for him. Eduardo had never let himself think about that. About what came after that. It was easier just to ride the wave.
Except he couldn’t stop thinking now.
And it was hard to remember what it was like to have a normal life. Maybe because he’d never really had one. He was escorting by the time he turned twenty-two.
Eduardo couldn’t shake what Chris had said to him over lunch, about being friends (or that he was good for Mark). It burrowed into his brain, like a parasite, and he couldn’t stop thinking about it.
He ran harder, past the restaurants and the bars, which in twelve hours would be full of people Eduardo’s age, out after work with friends, or looking to meet someone. It was like another parallel universe existed right alongside of his own, where he could see it but couldn’t cross over.
Stop, he told himself, trying to override everything that was spinning through his head. Enough, you have a great life. You don’t rely on anyone. You have everything you could ever need.
His strides shortened, slowed, as he made his way back to his street, his building, and by the time he put his key in the lock, he had almost convinced himself.
Part 2
The Social Network
Mark/Eduardo, Eduardo/Other, NC-17, 30,800 words
Good thing he hadn’t tried too hard to picture Mark Z., because after Sean’s hyper, condescending reminder about how important this client was, he wouldn’t have imagined this guy staring him down, not blinking, for the world.
This is an edited version of what I wrote for the kinkmeme-you can find that raw version here.
Some warnings/disclaimers: This story was written with absolutely no first hand knowledge of what’s it’s like to be a high-price escort. I took all I know from Secret Diary of a Call Girl. I understand completely the complexities of prostitution, but this fic is in no way meant to be a commentary on the profession. The bottom line is, this is completely fictional and based entirely on fiction.
I took some liberties with timeline (mostly Mark and Eduardo’s ages), and also big liberties with Berkeley’s transfer admission deadlines (which are crazy) and notification dates. I also took some liberties with Mark’s contributions to education, because he SHOULD do more in his own backyard to help, so I just assumed he would soon.
The title of this fic is from Ani DiFranco’s Swan Dive, which in my opinion is quite possibly the quintessential Mark/Eduardo song (although more Mark, I think).
Many thanks to we_reflamingos and kissingcrimefor the beta!
Read on AO3
Thursday, 9:30pm, Fairmont Hotel, Mark Z. - TBE
Eduardo glanced down at the neat handwritten lines in his book as he carefully smoothed back an errant strand of hair. Sean had called this booking in the day before, very last minute. “This is a big potential client, Eduardo, huge, okay? Make sure you show him an extra good time, bring out the big guns.”
Eduardo sighed into the phone, rolling his eyes as he curled his toes into the sheets. The ringing of the phone had woken him up; he’d spent last night with a client who wanted to watch him clip his toenails, naked, in the bathtub until two in the morning.
“Sean, you are aware that I am a professional, right?” He’d been working with Sean for three years now, and they still had this exact conversation at least once a week.
Sean laughed, hearty and way too much for the hour. “Yes, I am very aware. The background on this guy is insane, though, and we want to make sure that he’s happy and keeps coming back.”
“Well,” Eduardo said, flipping over onto his side and pulling his plain, black notebook off the mahogany nightstand. “What does he want?”
“He’s definitely a first timer.” Eduardo could hear the click of a lighter over the phone line. Weed at ten in the morning. Classy. “It was hard to get him to say much of anything when I asked him questions, but he was pretty clear that he wanted someone for the whole night. I’m guessing the Total Boyfriend Experience. Your specialty, Eduardo.”
The down comforter covering him was starting to feel stifling in the closed-up room-he hadn’t had the energy to do anything last night when he got home but strip off his suit, drape it over the wingback chair in the corner of the room, and pass out-and he turned back over quickly, throwing the comforter down around his knees. He buried his face in the pillow, held the phone away from his head, and screamed. If he hadn’t been making twice as much as he was before he had hooked up with Sean, he’d throw his work Blackberry out of the window, but not until he told Sean to go fuck himself.
“Gee, thanks, Sean.”
“What can I say? They eat up all of that genuine, honest bullshit.”
It was Thursday evening and he was getting ready, trying to anticipate what this Mark Z. would want. Some of Sean’s guys were completely comfortable not knowing exactly what they were walking into, as if their jobs weren’t already enough of an adrenaline shot, but Eduardo liked everything written out, spelled out plainly in his even, straight handwriting in his black notebook. He always tried to resist the temptation to picture what the clients would be like before he met them; it was a surefire way to set yourself up for a letdown, and it was nice to be pleasantly surprised.
His tie was a bit crooked, dark purple against his black dress shirt, and he straightened it. Eduardo knew that the Total Boyfriend Experience might not obviously include Armani, but he also knew by now exactly how it made him look. He smirked at himself in the mirror, just barely resisting the urge to laugh.
*****
The Fairmont was only a short cab ride from his apartment, and Eduardo made sure that he was at the door to Room 408 (Sean had texted him the room number right as he was stepping into the cab outside of his building) at precisely 9:30. He smoothed his hands over the nonexistent wrinkles in the front of his shirt before lifting his hand to knock. Eduardo always felt weirdly nervous right before an appointment, hands a bit clammy and, at the same time, a thrill running right up his spine.
He’d managed to knock twice before the door swung open so quickly it almost knocked him off balance. The man standing on the other side of the door was shorter than Eduardo, curly hair, blue eyes, unwavering stare, navy blue hoodie and jeans.
Good thing he hadn’t tried too hard to picture Mark Z., because after Sean’s hyper, condescending reminder about how important this client was, he wouldn’t have imagined this guy staring him down, not blinking, for the world.
“Miami?” Mark said, eyebrows turning in a bit in the middle, lips pressed into a harder line. “That’s a completely ridiculous and obviously fake name, you know that.”
Eduardo laughed. It had been a long time since anything-anyone-surprised him. “Yes, well, obvious and ridiculous fake names are an occupational hazard. Nice to meet you, Mark.” He stretched his hand out, and waited longer than was usually socially acceptable before Mark returned the gesture, his handshake unexpectedly firm.
“I assumed that the usual social niceties weren’t needed in this situation,” Mark said, pulling his hand back and tucking both hands into the pockets of his jeans, pushing himself up onto his toes, bare against the plush carpet.
“Sorry,” Eduardo said, still smiling despite feeling a little like he’d been run over by a truck. “You’re right-I’m pretty much a sure thing. Isn’t that what they said in Pretty Woman?”
The corner of Mark’s mouth turned up, just the slightest bit, and Eduardo filed that tidbit away for later. Total Boyfriend Experience and hopeful repeat client, after all.
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never seen it.” Mark stepped back a bit, and Eduardo took the opportunity to step forward and shrug off his jacket, watching Mark’s eyes track the lines of Eduardo’s chest and biceps.
“You should check it out. It’s a classic.”
“Fascinating,” Mark shot back, and Eduardo felt that same thrill down his spine that he’d felt in the hallway, except now the accompanying clamminess was long gone. “Anyway, I’m not sure how this works exactly. You’re the first-well, as you can probably guess, I don’t call an escort service every day of the week, even though I could afford it.”
Eduardo stepped forward, just a bit, crowding Mark against the sideboard. “It works however you want it to work. I’m here all night.”
“Does that line normally work?” Mark asked. Eduardo let his eyes move down to catch Mark’s adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.
Eduardo moved in a bit more, feeling Mark’s body heat through the layers of fabric, but not quite touching. “I don’t normally need a line. Sure thing, remember?”
“Of course I remember, you said it two minutes ago.” Mark said, distracted; there was no real bite behind it. In fact, his eyes kept drifting down to Eduardo’s mouth. “We could go to the living room.”
“Your hotel room has a living room?” Eduardo said, smiling, now just inches from Mark’s mouth. Mark’s pupils were blown wide, blacking out almost all of the blue.
“I’m sure Sean told you that I’m a billionaire.”
“He alluded to it, yes.” Eduardo watched Mark as he tucked his tongue into the corner of his mouth. It didn’t matter that as soon as he left, he’d have $3,000 in his bank account-he still liked to know that he could make someone feel the way Mark looked at that moment. He reached down and grabbed Mark’s hand, skin dry and warm against his. “Where’s this living room, then?”
*****
The living room had a couch and a love seat, and a giant 60-inch TV, nearly identical to the one in Eduardo’s living room. On the floor was a Playstation 3. “What games do you have?” Eduardo said, letting go of Mark’s hand to kneel on the floor.
“Just a few-it was already pretty ridiculous that I brought the PS3 here for the night. It’s been so long since I watched TV that I barely recognize anything that’s on.”
Eduardo shuffled through the games, then held up Grand Theft Auto and grinned. “Want to?”
Mark shifted on his feet a bit, looking down at the floor. “Is that okay? I mean, aren’t we supposed to-”
“Mark.” Eduardo pushed himself up from the floor and grabbed Mark’s hands again. “We can do whatever you want.”
Mark seemed to visibly relax at that, his mouth turning up again in a way that Eduardo couldn’t help but smile at. “I’m not sure you’ll want to play me anyway. I am completely awesome at this game.”
“Bring it on.”
*****
They played for an hour or so, and Mark was right-he was awesome-but Eduardo had spent a good amount of his time during college playing this game; they were almost evenly matched. Eduardo sat cross-legged on the floor next to Mark and they talked smack the whole time, even though Eduardo kept catching Mark glancing at him, and smiling just a little bit.
In hindsight, he should have been a bit more aware that Mark had been moving closer to him the whole time (that was what he was paid for, after all). As it was, he was startled when he felt Mark press, warm and firm, up against his side. He pressed pause on the game and looked at Mark.
“Hey,” Eduardo murmured, just barely above a whisper. Mark reached out, not shy but like he was still not fully sure of his welcome (Eduardo usually found that the money made people very sure of their welcome, but it was a nice change. Sweet almost.).
Mark’s hands finally glanced against his throat, skittering a bit before coming to rest on the knot of Eduardo’s tie. Eduardo swallowed and moved into the touch, just a bit, enough to encourage.
“Hey yourself,” Mark said, using Eduardo’s tie to pull himself closer. Up close, Mark was handsome, stripped bare of the twitches and quirks that Eduardo had seen when Mark first opened the door.
“Do you want to finish the game?” Eduardo said teasingly, edging closer himself, enough to feel Mark’s breath against his cheek. Mark laughed and his eyes went wide, like it had taken him by surprise.
“Fuck the game. And lose the tie.”
Eduardo couldn’t remember ever laughing into someone’s mouth as they kissed, especially not over the last five years, when kissing had been all business. It felt good, and one of the perks of the job was that he got paid for it and could enjoy it too.
After a minute, Mark pulled away, mouth red and wet. “Wait, is that okay? Do you do that?”
“Do what?” Eduardo rasped, eyes fixed on Mark’s mouth.
“Kiss,” Mark said flatly, like Eduardo was stupid.
Eduardo looked back up at Mark’s eyes, laughed, and tugged Mark back in with his hands clenched in the front of his hoodie. “We have to talk about how you’re a liar and have definitely seen Pretty Woman.”
“Yes, yes, whatever,” Mark said, his voice hoarse now too, batting Eduardo’s hands away and yanking on his tie, loosening it and slipping it over Eduardo’s head. “There.”
“You’re avoiding.” Eduardo tried to make his voice stern, but it was hard with Mark pressing him down against the floor and working open the buttons on his shirt. He let his head fall back against the carpet as Mark leaned in closer, pressing in with the weight of his body and closing his mouth on Eduardo’s collarbone. The room was almost too hot now, and he hoped that Mark would get his shirt off sooner rather than later. He almost said something but was cut off by the trail of Mark’s fingers down the center of his chest, his palm coming to rest on Eduardo’s stomach.
Mark moved in closer, his mouth pressed up against Eduardo’s ear. “You didn’t really want to talk about that now, did you?”
Eduardo wrapped his hands around Mark’s waist, burrowing under layers and pushing his hands against the warm, slightly sweaty small of Mark’s back. “Maybe later.” Mark’s breath grew ragged as Eduardo tugged him closer, and Eduardo let his legs fall apart, feeling wanton, giddy almost, wanting to let Mark in.
If someone had told Eduardo five years ago that someday he’d be an escort and that he’d like it, he honestly would have laughed right in their face. When he was twenty, in his junior year at Yale-weighed down by his father’s expectations and the subtle pressure inherent in the atmosphere on campus that if you didn’t turn out to be something, you were wasting the opportunity-he never imagined his life now. There were many days when Eduardo woke up, looked in the mirror, and was genuinely surprised that he didn’t feel more disappointed in himself, or ashamed.
The job had come out of the blue. After Eduardo’s father unceremoniously yanked his tuition dollars out from under him, he decided he needed to get as far away from everything as possible. He spent part of the money he’d earned from betting on oil futures during the summer to fly to San Francisco and get an apartment, but the money wasn’t going to last forever. He was a college dropout of sorts, no real job experience (he’d had an internship lined up at JPMorgan the summer after his junior year, which certainly would have led to a job, but that had disappeared too). Eduardo finally found a job working as a personal assistant to a hedge fund manager-a decent job-but he couldn’t help but feel that he could do his boss’s work in his sleep.
He accompanied his boss, Anna, who hated to be “that single career girl alone at a party, who everyone feels sorry for, god”, to a party in the Mission one night, dressed up just a bit more than he did every day at work. He was refreshing their drinks at the bar when he felt a hand on his elbow, and he turned to find a man grinning at him.
“I’m sorry. Can I help you?” Eduardo said, polite but confused. He couldn’t figure out if he was supposed to know who this guy was.
The man reached into his pocket and held out a business card. “Nice work tonight,” he said, and okay, Eduardo was now officially really confused.
“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“I know that she’s not your girlfriend, but you’re doing a great job selling it. Impressive.” The man extended the hand holding the card just a bit more. Eduardo found himself reaching out despite his own better judgment. Peter Thiel, the card read, nothing else but the name, a phone number, and an e-mail address. The card was expensive, the writing navy blue, leaving its deep imprint on the heavy paper.
“Just doing a favor for a friend,” Eduardo said, looking back up at Peter, who was still grinning at him, somewhat disconcertedly. He tucked the card into the pocket of his charcoal grey suit pants.
“It was very convincing. I’m sure I’m the only one who noticed.” Peter kept the smile on his face, but looked to each side of them like he was checking to make sure no one was listening. “Listen, Eduardo,” and wait, how did he know Eduardo’s name? “if you ever want to trade that skill in for some money, give me a call.”
Peter stuck his hand out, and Eduardo shook his hand firmly. And then he was gone.
It was only two days before he gave into the nagging curiosity that had been eating at him since the party. And three days until he gave his notice to Anna. Intellectually, he knew that he was selling himself for money, but what was the big difference between that and running a hedge fund? And he found quickly that working for Peter was much more, well-fun.
So Eduardo generally did enjoy his job, and in particular he was enjoying the way Mark’s fingertips moved across his skin, flirting with the waistband of his pants, tucking into his belt loops. He prided himself on being able to find something about every client that could turn him on, something that gave Eduardo that little thrill that made this more than just a financial transaction. Even when it was hard to find, like with David, Tuesday night’s client with the toenail fetish.
Some clients were more challenging than others.
And sometimes, he got lucky-he got paid to have sex with someone who, if he were a normal guy in his age, he’d try to take home with him from a bar, or meet in a coffee shop and strike up a conversation. Someone with whom it wasn’t the least bit challenging. Sometimes, he even had to mindfully push away the feeling in his stomach, the ache, when someone touched him, because this was business, even though his business was pleasure (and even though he hated that cliché). Mark was a bit dangerous-fidgety and awkward but confident when he put his hands on Eduardo’s body, just the right mix of tentative and forward-and Eduardo knew it was a bit stupid (his father would say that stupidity was Eduardo’s strong point), hell, it was beyond stupid, but tonight, he was going to try not to think so damn much.
“Mark.” He reached down and wrapped his fingers around Mark’s wrist, trying to tell him what he wanted. And he knew that Mark wasn’t stupid-he could tell that by the quickfire, staccato way that Mark talked and from the description that Sean had given him-and Mark proved him right, grunting softly in Eduardo’s ear, then pulling back just enough, one hand braced next to Eduardo’s head, to start unbuckling Eduardo’s belt.
“So,” Mark said, voice just above a whisper, eyes caught on where Eduardo could feel his own lower lip pinned between his teeth. “I’m going to blow you, because if you blow me, I’m going to want to be able to yell your name, and I refuse to yell out Miami while I’m coming in your mouth because someone will come up here and haul me to the psych ward.”
Eduardo groaned, closing his eyes for a second, not able to look at Mark’s face while he was saying those things in his deadpan voice, the edges rough with sex. They would have to revisit that image (and what a beautiful image it was), but who was he to turn down what Mark was offering? Hell, what Mark was paying for? “Sorry to put you in such a position.”
“I’ll live,” Mark said, reaching inside of Eduardo’s pants and closing his eyes when he found that Eduardo wasn’t wearing any underwear (what was the point?). “Damn.”
Eduardo watched as the top of Mark’s head dipped down to run his tongue along Eduardo’s chest and stomach, and Eduardo had to grab onto the high pile of the carpet to keep still. Mark pulled Eduardo’s cock out of his pants and Eduardo forced himself to look as Mark ducked his head down even further.
Blow jobs were one of Eduardo’s specialties. They sort of had to be in his line of work, and he’d had lots of practice. He’d given them underneath boardroom tables while meetings were in session, in the elevator at the Plaza in New York, in a luxury box at an Oakland Raiders game (at least it was a distraction from how bad the team was), and, most memorably, underneath a scratchy blanket on a first class flight from San Francisco to Honolulu. He liked being on his knees, he liked the power he felt when he was able to make someone come apart beneath his hands and his mouth, the feel of someone’s fingers tangled in his hair.
Eduardo had given much more than he’d received, but plenty of clients weren’t interested in using him, but rather wanted to both give and receive pleasure (part of the Total Boyfriend Experience for sure, which was also one of Eduardo’s specialties), which Eduardo was more than happy to do.
He’d certainly had some excellent head in the last five years, and Mark didn’t rank at the top of the list. But he was enthusiastic, and when Eduardo finally was able to let go of the carpet and twine his fingers in Mark’s hair, moving Mark subtly and saying “yes, that,” and “just a little, yes, god”, his learning curve was incredibly steep. So much so that Eduardo went from “hey, that feels good” to “oh my god I have to come now or I will certainly die here on this floor” in an embarrassingly short amount of time.
“Mark,” Eduardo said, barely able to get the word out. “God, just-”
It was like everything was in slow motion, as Mark pulled off, lips wet and clinging to the head of Eduardo’s cock. “Can I help you with something?”
“Did I say you should stop?”
“No, but you sounded sort of like you were going to die there, so I wanted to make sure you didn’t stroke out.”
Eduardo tugged at Mark’s hair, just enough to sting, from the look on Mark’s face. “Ugh, get back to work.”
“You’re really pushy for a hooker.”
Mark’s voice was tinged with annoyance, but just a second later Eduardo felt the warm wetness of Mark’s mouth around him again. Christ.
“You know, Mark,” Eduardo gasped out-Mark bobbed his head down and Eduardo could feel the head of his cock push into Mark’s throat. Mark gagged just a bit, but he seemed spurred on by Eduardo pulling on his hair, probably way too hard this time. He couldn’t really focus on that. “You’re not in much of a position to disparage my career at the moment.”
Eduardo couldn’t help but laugh, because he could feel Mark scoff around Eduardo’s cock in his mouth. There was something about that he could feel not just physically (obviously), but all the way into his bones. Part of the Total Boyfriend Experience was letting himself just be himself to a large extent-Sean was right when he said that Eduardo was good at it. And he genuinely enjoyed most of his TBE clients. They were different than the fetish guys, or the guys who wanted a piece of arm candy who could wear a suit to take to an event. Eduardo liked those guys well enough. He was a professional enough to admit, though, that the TBE guys were most able to get under Eduardo’s skin, to burrow past the walls that one had to put up around their heart when they had sex for money. Basically being someone’s boyfriend, albeit with the added element of getting paid, was understandably more complicated than a quick fuck.
And Eduardo could already tell that, in a less than two hours, he’d have to keep his walls up high this time.
It was also hard to think about complications and boundaries now that Mark had apparently added deep-throating to his steep learning curve. Eduardo could feel the head of his cock pushing in and out of Mark’s throat as he bobbed his head, his hands pressing Eduardo down on the carpet, Eduardo’s pants still around his knees. He couldn’t help himself-he had to lift his head up to see, and Mark’s mouth looked almost as good as it felt, lips stretched around the width of Eduardo’s cock sliding in and over his tongue.
“Fuck,” Eduardo shouted, surprising himself, and he let himself hold Mark onto him as he came, hot and thick, down Mark’s throat. “Jesus.”
Mark was smiling, more than Eduardo had seen so far, as he came into Eduardo’s view, crawling up the length of Eduardo’s body. “So that was okay, then.”
“Oh my god. Shut up, you already know you’re a genius,” Eduardo replied, groaning and covering his face with his hand. “You don’t have to rub it in.”
He felt Mark’s fingers wrap around his wrist, prying Eduardo’s hand off of his face, and Eduardo draped that same arm around Mark’s back, pulling him just the smallest bit closer. “I do have a bedroom. One of the perks of the room with the foyer and the living room.”
Eduardo leaned forward, pressing his mouth to Mark’s. God, he was still shaking just a bit.
“Bedroom sounds great.”
*****
Eduardo returned the favor in the bedroom, Eduardo just the slightest bit unsteady on his feet, but covering it well. He pressed Mark down to sitting on the bed, then kneeled between his legs, hands reaching up to undo the button on Mark’s jeans. “Now let me show you how a professional does it,” Eduardo said playfully, reaching in to push Mark’s boxers down and get to his cock.
“Don’t let me stop you,” Mark said, obviously trying to keep his voice steady and not quite succeeding.
It was good. Eduardo really didn’t get tired of this particular aspect of his work, especially with a partner as responsive as Mark, who wasn’t afraid to move his hips, to shift Eduardo’s head, to give direction. By the end, Mark was making choked sounds and fucking into Eduardo’s throat and Eduardo could only hang on as Mark came, whimpering as his fingers relaxed in Eduardo’s hair.
“You’ll stay,” Mark said, asking but without the actual question mark, after they had gotten themselves into the bed and shed their clothes. They were facing each other, close enough that Eduardo could reach out and touch Mark’s mouth, his cheek, if he wanted to.
Eduardo closed his eyes. “Of course. You paid for the whole night.”
“Right,” Mark said, and Eduardo fell asleep to the whisper of fingertips against his hipbone.
*****
At one in the morning, Eduardo woke up to go to the bathroom, and when he quietly returned to the room, he noticed that Mark was lying on his back, his eyes open.
“You’re up,” Eduardo said, crawling back beneath the blankets, which were still warm from his own-and from Mark’s-body heat.
Mark turned his head. “Do you like your job?”
“What?” Eduardo stammered, a bit startled by the question, which had seemingly come out of nowhere.
“You don’t seem like the hooker with the heart of gold type, and you don’t seem like the exploited sex worker, so I wanted to know if you like what you do.” Mark paused and shrugged. “There’s probably also part of me that wants to not feel guilty for paying for sex.”
Eduardo relaxed, smiling just a little. It was hard to be annoyed by the question when it was obvious that Mark wasn’t judging him. He was just curious.
“Most of the time, I do like it. It’s not what I saw myself doing with my life, certainly, but I enjoy sex and making people feel good. I feel like I’m helping a lot of people, which may be my own way of justifying it, but that doesn’t make it any less true.” Eduardo looked away while he was talking, but he turned his eyes back to Mark’s face, to try to gauge his reaction. Mark still had the same flat expression on his face that he’d had for most of the night.
“What did you think you’d be doing?”
It wasn’t hard to answer that question, even though he wasn’t sure if he should. “Investment banking. I did economics in college, but I didn’t graduate, so that path wasn’t as straightforward as it would have been otherwise. And after working in finance for a while after I left school, I realized that selling my body wasn’t that different than investment banking.”
Mark laughed at that, nodding. Then, another question: “Why’d you leave school?”
“Tuition money dried up. My father didn’t want to write the check to Yale after he found out that I was gay.”
Mark was quiet for a minute, then, “I went to Harvard. I didn’t finish either.”
Eduardo reached out and rested his hand on the small of Mark’s back. They were close enough that Eduardo could feel Mark’s breath on his cheek. “We didn’t do all that bad for ourselves then, did we?”
Mark smiled back at him, but it didn’t seem to quite reach his eyes.
“Mark.”
“What?”
“I don’t need your pity. If I wanted to do something else, I would do it. I could always go back to school-I can afford it on my own now.”
“So why don’t you?” Mark shot back, his mouth turned down in a frown.
Eduardo paused. He wasn’t sure that he was ready to go there with a client, so he just said, “I will. I’m thinking about it, I’m just not sure it’s the right time. How about you?”
Mark closed his eyes, still frowning. “I already have a billion dollars-what’s the point?”
Eduardo dragged Mark a bit closer and tucked his face into Mark’s neck. “Fair enough,” he said to the skin behind Mark’s ear. Mark didn’t say anything else, and Eduardo’s eyes drooped. He let himself succumb to sleep again.
*****
Eduardo woke to the clacking of a keyboard, the early morning light streaming in through the gauzy curtains. Mark was sitting at the desk, typing furiously.
The light was bright, and he shut his eyes quickly against it and groaned. “Morning,” he called feebly.
Mark didn’t turn his head, eyes glued to the laptop screen. “Morning.”
Eduardo stretched against the sheets and then checked the clock. It was six. He should probably get going soon; he made it a point to consider the night a client paid for as only lasting until eight. He let himself enjoy the warmth of the bed for a few more minutes, then pushed himself up to sitting, studying Mark across the room.
Mark hadn’t said another word after the initial greeting, and Eduardo wasn’t beyond some healthy curiosity about Mark, or any client, to be honest. He stood up, still naked as he’d never bothered to get dressed after they were done, and moved over to where Mark was sitting.
“What are you working on?”
Mark turned his head toward Eduardo behind him, looking almost startled. “Sorry, I forgot you were here. We had some security breaches at the site, so I was just going in to make some quick changes to the coding that should patch things up.”
Eduardo nodded, and he couldn’t help looking over the top of Mark’s head. And when he saw the Facebook page open next to the window Mark was programming in, everything clicked into place.
Shit. He just slept with Mark Zuckerberg, for money. Second-youngest billionaire in the world. Founder of Facebook.
It wasn’t like Eduardo hadn’t slept with famous and/or rich people-athletes, financiers, politicians-but he would guess that Mark might be the biggest deal yet. And it was going to take every bit of discretion and training he’d gathered over the years in his work to act like he didn’t notice, or care, who Mark was.
“Listen, I think I should leave, but this was fun. Call Sean if you ever want to make another appointment, okay?” Mark looked at Eduardo as he was talking, almost studying him.
“Do you come to people’s houses? I mean, would you come to my house? Not that I can’t afford the penthouse suite at the Fairmont, but home would be preferable.”
“Yes,” Eduardo said, even though he usually waited a few appointments before making house calls. “I can do that.”
“Can you do next Thursday?”
Eduardo blinked. He wasn’t expecting that. “I’m...I’m not sure. Call Sean. It has to be set up through him anyway. I’ll let him know that I’m fine going to your house.”
“Okay,” Mark said resolutely, turning back to the screen. “It was. It had a good time, Miami.”
“Sorry,” Eduardo said, catching Mark’s wince.
“Yes, well, you’re not an idiot and you’re great in bed, so I’ll put up with the completely dumb fake name for now.”
Mark’s fingers started moving on the keys again, lightening fast, while Eduardo put his clothes back on, remembering that he’d need to grab his jacket and tie from the living room on the way out. Occupational hazard, and they were not cheap.
“Goodbye, Mark,” he said as he walked toward the bedroom door. Mark was still coding (coding Facebook, Christ) and didn’t respond. Eduardo gathered up the rest of his clothes and let himself out of the room.
*****
Sean called him the next day.
“Nice work, dude, seriously. He wants you Thursday. Every Thursday. I think he must have called me as you were walking out of his room.”
The spoon full of cereal that Eduardo was holding paused in midair, on the way to his mouth. He’d been eating breakfast at his kitchen table when the phone rang. He couldn’t exactly say that he was surprised that Mark had called Sean, since he’d asked to see Eduardo again, but there was a part of him-a smart part, his brain provided-that had hoped he would get off easier than that.
“Oh, okay. Sure.”
Sean scoffed. “Okay? Sure? Eduardo, the guy is a billionaire. He seems decent, he’s not into anything kinky, and he wants to put $3,000 in your pocket, and mine, once a week. Could you try to muster some small amount of enthusiasm?”
Eduardo put his spoon down, hearing it clack against the side of the bowl. “Yes. That’s great news.” And, shit, he’d almost forgotten. “And I maybe told him I could do a house call the next time?”
“Brilliant,” Sean said, laughing in that evil way of his. “Now, don’t leave me to become his kept woman or anything.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
*****
The rest of the week was typical. Well, typical for Eduardo anyway. Friday he had the day off and was attending an event that evening with a regular client, James, who was the editor of the most widely circulated gay magazine in the country. Saturday he was off, and he spent the day in his pajamas, lounging around his apartment. Sometimes, when he spent so much time at hotels and other people’s homes, he forgot how much he loved his apartment. He’d saved up enough to buy the place two years before--a great loft space, with floor to ceiling windows and a view of the city. It was the first place he’d lived that ever really felt like home to him.
Sunday, he had a new client, Jeremy, a baseball player in town on a four game series with the A’s. He was jittery and clearly uncomfortable the whole time, and Eduardo tried his best to relax him, calm him down. To help him enjoy it. He wasn’t sure it worked, though.
Monday was another off day-one of the great perks of the job was that he didn’t have to work nine to five, and he rarely worked anywhere near forty hours a week, but still made great money. Tuesday was Toe Guy again, although David didn’t seem to be interested in toenail clipping so much this week, but rather wanted Eduardo to run his toes over David’s stomach for an hour.
Wednesday was another off day, and he couldn’t help but look forward to Thursday, just a bit. It had been a typical week, but at least Mark was something of a breath of fresh air.
Sean texted him Mark’s address. Of course he lived in Palo Alto; Eduardo should have already known that since Facebook was headquartered there. It was a good thing that Eduardo loved his car (a completely ridiculous but completely awesome Audi TT convertible--his dad would hate it)-he didn’t use it all that often in the city, so he was happy to make the forty five minute drive down the peninsula.
Mark’s house was just gorgeous-not ostentatious or gaudy, but a really beautiful Spanish-style home that had to cost a fortune in this part of Palo Alto, with a weeping willow tree right outside of the front door and a perfectly manicured lawn. Eduardo had pictured Mark in some kind of ultra-modern place with glass and steel, befitting a technology giant. But if the hoodie and jeans were anything to go by, this was more Mark’s style. And maybe somewhat unlike Mark, it felt warm and inviting.
He raised his hand to knock, and Mark opened the door before Eduardo had a chance to. Mark was wearing cargo shorts, flip flops, and a t-shirt. And he was smiling, that quirk of his mouth that Eduardo was beginning to figure out was like a shit-eating grin on anyone else’s face.
“Hi,” Mark said, staring right at Eduardo’s mouth.
“Hi,” Eduardo replied, licking his lips. “Nice place.”
*****
They fucked on Mark’s wide bed, the blankets untucked and sliding off onto the floor as they moved, the fading light coming in through the french doors on the other side of the large room. Mark had one hand braced on the bed next to Eduardo’s head, holding himself up. They’d lost their clothes on the way to Mark’s bedroom, making quick work of the hallways and stairwell of the beautiful house (it was just as nice, if not a bit on the under-furnished side, on the inside), until Mark pushed Eduardo down onto the bed and said, “I want to fuck you.”
Every slide of Mark inside of him caused him to dig his heel just a bit more into the back of Mark’s thigh, urging him on. Like the blowjob of a week ago, it was clear to Eduardo, who had more experience than most, that Mark was pretty new at this, but just like last week, he learned fast. He had Eduardo disassembled into his component parts, his fingers slick and hard in Eduardo’s ass, in less than ten minutes.
Eduardo enjoyed almost all of the sex he had as a matter of course, and always had. He wasn’t a brave and suffering prostitute who put a smile on but secretly cried inside. There were plenty of things he did in the course of his work that weren’t really his scene and that he never would have done if money hadn’t been exchanged, but he really did find someone else’s fantasy being fulfilled, their genuine pleasure, a real turn on.
This sex, though, on his back with Mark over him, around him and inside him, slow and hard and relentless, his arms and legs wrapped around Mark, close enough to see Mark sweat as he thrust-this was exactly his scene.
Eduardo took a deep breath and closed his eyes for just a moment, giving himself a break from the sensory overload. And giving himself the opportunity to remember that this was work. As Mark nudged Eduardo’s prostate with the blunt head of his cock, over and over, he tried to make himself override the litany of Mark Mark Mark in his head with work work work.
He had about a fifty percent success rate.
They’d been at it for a while, and Eduardo was seriously impressed that Mark, who had been so eager to get them into bed, no pretense at all, had lasted so long. They were locked into a rhythm that felt like it could go on forever, slow and languid. Eduardo felt like he was losing his mind.
“Fuck,” Eduardo groaned, pushing his ass back onto Mark’s cock, clenching to let himself feel Mark’s length, and also to try to move Mark closer to the edge. Mark’s rhythm stuttered, his hips jerking just a bit. It was hard to hold back his grin as Mark closed his eyes and bit his lip, trying to regain control.
“Jesus, you’re going to make me come.”
Eduardo pushed back again. Mark moaned. “That was sort of the idea. Not that I’m complaining...”
Then, Mark’s hands were on Eduardo’s wrists, circling them and pinning them to the bed above Eduardo’s head. His eyes had gone dark and he looked sexy as hell. “Message received.”
Mark pressed down on Eduardo’s wrists, hard, and let his whole body weight rest on Eduardo’s, fucking him harder, faster, and taking his breath away. Eduardo had been close before, but lost in the haze of it-now, his own orgasm was back in the front of his mind, making its presence known.
“Can you-” Mark gasped, between thrusts. “Can you come like this?”
Eduardo couldn’t, always. Most guys assumed that it came as part of the job description. He was pretty sure that now was one of those times he could, though. “I don’t know-can you make me come like this?” he whispered against the shell of Mark’s ear.
Mark seemed like the type to love a challenge.
And sure enough, Mark leaned forward, bending Eduardo practically in half, his hips snapping and every thrust right on the mark. Normally, Eduardo had extraordinary control, but he didn’t even realize he was coming until he felt himself clench down, hard, around Mark inside of him, until he heard Mark’s cry into his ear.
Mark fucked him through it, talking to Eduardo the whole time, but Eduardo couldn’t quite pick up the thread of it. It all just sounded like nonsense. He was relaxed and Mark still felt so, so good, sliding in and out of his fucked open ass, until Mark’s fingers clamped down on Eduardo’s wrists, hard enough to bruise, and he felt Mark coming, through his whole body, trembling above Eduardo’s.
*****
A couple of hours later, after cleaning up and falling asleep (they seemed to be developing a pattern) with their legs entwined, they finally dragged themselves out of the bed. They ate takeout Chinese at the coffee table in the living room across from a big screen that put the one at the Fairmont to shame (“Jesus, what is that, 80 inches?” and Mark had snickered and replied, “that’s what she said.”), Eduardo on the floor between Mark’s legs.
Halfway through an episode of How I Met Your Mother (which Eduardo never thought to add to the DVR, but loved every time he saw it), Mark muted the television. “I have a question.”
Eduardo sat the rest of the container of lo mein down on the table and turned his head, just enough to see Mark’s face. “I might have an answer.”
Mark rolled his eyes. “I have an event next Saturday. I know that it’s not our regular night, but I was wondering if you might be willing to attend the event with me.” He paused. “As my date.”
The room was quiet, partially because Eduardo was genuinely surprised. He was pretty sure that he’d never heard that Mark Zuckerberg was gay, and it was usually only the out guys who wanted him on their arm at events.
Eduardo must have paused for too long, because Mark cleared his throat and said, “I must have misunderstood. I thought-never mind. Just forget I asked.”
Eduardo pushed himself around until he was facing Mark, one hand wrapped around Mark’s calf through his sweatpants. “No! That’s not it at all. I’d have to check my calendar-rather, Sean would have to check my calendar-but I can do that.”
Mark didn’t say anything for a long moment, looking at Eduardo like he was studying him. He tried not to squirm. “You know who I am, don’t you?”
He considered lying, for a brief instant. What was the point? “Yes.”
“So you’ll come, then?”
“You have to call Sean.” Eduardo had run through the next week’s calendar in his head. Saturday night he had a cancellation. He was free.
Mark frowned, but nodded. “Okay.” Then he looked back up and unmuted the TV. Eduardo missed most of the rest of the episode, because he knew if he turned back around, turned his back on Mark, he’d have to let go of him. He really didn’t want to. Fuck, he was in so much trouble.
When he’d first started in the business, Peter had connected him with an experienced escort named Christy, who had shown him the ropes, told him how to protect himself physically, how to draw boundaries, how to make sure he got the money that he deserved. And on the last day, before Eduardo went off to his first solo client, she’d taken him aside.
“This isn’t part of the official training, okay?”
“Okay,” he’d said, confused at the time.
“You seem like a really nice guy, Eduardo, and there’s something about this job that no one tells you at first. It’s impossible to feel nothing for your clients. There’s no such thing as sex with no emotion, even when there’s money involved. You may feel disgust or lust or affection, but there will never be nothing. And sometimes...” Christy trailed off. Eduardo hadn’t been able to figure out at the time what was so hard for her to say. He knew now because he’d lived it every day for five years. He was grateful every one of those days for what she said next.
“Sometimes, you will love them. Sometimes, they will be everything you have ever wanted, and you will want to lose yourself in your very own fantasy. And sometimes they’ll want it too. But you can’t ever have it. Never. Because you’ll always be a whore if he pays you. You might want to change that, but you can’t.”
“So enjoy it. Like them. Love them, even, if you can’t help it. But don’t ever forget what you do.”
For five years, he’d kept those words in his head, sometimes clinging to them like a life raft. This was the first time that he’d told the Christy in his head to shut up, and it scared the shit out of him.
*****
The next morning, Eduardo woke up in Mark’s bed, sun weakly beginning to stream through the french doors. He was surprised to find Mark’s face mashed into the pillow beside his own, mouth open slightly and still asleep. The first night they’d spent together had given Eduardo the impression that Mark didn’t sleep much-that he was always moving, restless.
He reached out to push Mark’s hair off his face, allowing himself one indulgence--just one--while Mark was still asleep. Eduardo didn’t want to move from that spot, face to face, legs curled toward each other like parentheses, open on both sides, so he stayed for a little while, letting himself imagine that there wasn’t another chunk of money on its way into his bank account. That Mark even knew his name.
The sun rose higher in the sky, brighter and brighter through the crystal clear panes of glass, and Eduardo couldn’t pretend anymore. The room was lit up enough that he could see everything, the yellow glow on the curve of Mark’s jaw.
He leaned forward, pressed a firm, closed mouth kiss to the corner of Mark’s mouth. “I have to go,” he whispered, and Mark groaned, edging his legs closer until their knees touched. Eduardo closed his eyes.
“Mark,” he said, raising his voice just a bit, urgent.
Mark’s eyes blinked open, barely. “‘Kay. Saturday?”
“Call Sean,” Eduardo said, voice muffled as he pulled his sweater over his head, turning his back on Mark.
“How original,” Mark mumbled sarcastically, and Eduardo was out the door, not daring to look back, before he could reply or hear anything else.
*****
Eduardo got the text message from Sean right after he came home from the gym. He hadn’t even stopped at his apartment on the way home from Palo Alto, needing to blow off some steam. He was sticky with sweat and his legs were shaking a bit, but his head was clearer.
You’re a rock star! MZ called re: Saturday. He’ll pay for a car to pick you up at your apartment at 8pm - I’ll give your address directly to the driver. Black tie reception at the Omni.
He tossed his phone and keys onto the counter, pushing his shoes off near the door and dropping his gym bag. He ran his fingers through his damp hair before picking up the phone again.
Thanks. I’ll be ready.
It was still only ten in the morning, and he knew he needed a shower and to start getting ready for his appointment that evening, another regular in town on business. But instead, he allowed himself to slouch down on the wide couch in his sweaty gym clothes and flip on the television.
His phone pinged again, an incoming text message. Great, and one more thing: his PR guy wants you to sign some kind of non-disclosure agreement. Something that says you won’t find out company secrets and sell them, that kind of thing.
Eduardo paused, his thumb hovering over reply. He didn’t know why his throat felt tight and made it a little hard to breathe. This wasn’t the first NDA he’d ever signed for a client; he worked with guys in Silicon Valley relatively often and they were all paranoid as shit about proprietary information.
Even with their whores.
He took a deep breath, as deep as he could, and hit the reply button. That’s fine.
Cool. PR guy (Chris) said he can meet you Monday for lunch at Chez Panisse in Berkeley to go over the stuff. I checked your schedule, it looked clear.
Eduardo had zero desire to haul himself out to Berkeley for lunch with someone he didn’t know. He felt exhausted, all the way down to his bones. But three thousand dollars a week was a strong motivating force, one he couldn’t pull himself away from. Tell him I’ll be there.
*****
Miraculously, there was street parking on Shattuck (the perks of not being a nine to five worker was how easy it was to do things in the middle of the day, like park on the street in Berkeley) and after Eduardo made his way through the wrought iron gates of Chez Panisse and through the door, he found a blond guy waiting, hands in his pockets and a slight smile on his face.
“Hello, Chris?” Eduardo said, holding out his hand.
“Yes, hi,” Chris replied, grasping Eduardo’s hand in a firm handshake. Eduardo’s dad would have been impressed. “This is a bit awkward for any number of reasons, but I don’t know your name.”
Eduardo withdrew his hand, tucking it behind his back. “I don’t typically give out my real name to clients,” he said warily.
The hostess was gesturing for them to follow, which let Eduardo off the hook for this line of conversation for a few minutes until they were seated. When they were finally settled, Eduardo leaned back in his chair and sighed.
“Eduardo,” he said, and he had to give Chris some credit that he didn’t look surprised at all. “I know there’s no point in trying to keep my name from you if I’m going to be signing an NDA. And I’d rather that Mark didn’t know, but I also understand what kind of position that puts you in.”
Chris stared at him for a minute before his face cracked into a smile. Eduardo couldn’t help but relax in the face of it. “Sorry, it’s just,” Chris started, shaking his head. “I honestly never thought that this would be a part of doing public relations at Facebook, or with Mark. Ever.”
“What’s that?” Eduardo said, taking a slow sip from the glass of red wine that had appeared at his right hand.
Chris blushed, just a bit. “You know who Mark is.” And yes, Eduardo did. He’d Googled Mark after he put the pieces together that morning in the hotel room. Mark was twenty eight. Single. A couple of not-so-serious girlfriends in the past. No guys that he could tell. Abrasive, brilliant, and single-minded, from all accounts.
He knew some other things too, things he couldn’t find between the lines on Valleywag: the shape of Mark’s mouth when he smiled, the weight of his body against Eduardo’s, his fingertips against the skin behind Eduardo’s ear.
“Yes, I do. And I know that, well...I’m not his usual fare, I guess you could say?”
Chris looked relieved, like he’d expected Eduardo to be obtuse. “I would say that. You definitely have more...”
“Dick?” Eduardo shot back, only loud enough for Chris to hear, the rest of the diners going about their business around them. He’d had five years to learn that kind of discretion.
Chris choked on his wine, sitting the glass back down carefully, coughing. Then he smiled at Eduardo again. “You know,” Chris said, wiping the tears from the corner of his eye, “I think, in another life, we could have been friends.”
Eduardo smiled back, but he couldn’t help but think that would have been nice and wanting it, just the smallest bit. His line of work wasn’t exactly conducive to friends, having to explain why he couldn’t go out most nights and making up some cover story for what he did for all of his money, for his big, expensive apartment, his bespoke suits. His Yale friends had stayed in touch for a while after he’d moved to San Francisco, but they’d gone on to graduate and they didn’t have much to talk about anymore. They liked each other’s statuses on Facebook (how was that for irony?), but that was it.
It was simpler not to have real friends. He had plenty of company as it was; he didn’t have time for relationships of any kind.
They ordered, and over an absolutely insane halibut tartare (seriously, he’d work on figuring out ways to be in Berkeley more often; it was a religious experience), Chris pulled out the NDA, talking Eduardo through the relatively simple document. One clause about the confidentiality of company information, and one very short clause that said he wouldn’t sell the fact that Mark was paying for sex to the highest bidder. He pulled his own pen from his pocket and signed and initialed where Chris had flagged.
“Listen, thanks,” Chris said as he slipped his corporate credit card in with the bill. “And I know this seems weird, but I think you’re really good for Mark. He seems different-less edgy, lately. Which is why I haven’t killed him yet for hiring a hooker first and telling me later. “
Eduardo folded his napkin and placed it in front of him on the table. “Well, it’s my job, so.” He tried to make it sound flip, casual, but he could hear the bitterness in his voice. Chris smiled at him anyway.
“I’ll let you tell Mark your name. It will be fun to drive him crazy all week that I know and he doesn’t. I think it was part of why he didn’t give me a harder time about asking you to do this. “
The waitress came back with the credit card slip for Chris to sign. Eduardo stood up when Chris did and shook his hand. “Thanks. It was good meeting you.”
“You too, Eduardo. See you next week.”
They parted ways on the sidewalk. Eduardo sat in his car for a long time after, watching as people walked up and down the street, on their way to work, school, home. Maybe the woman with the black coat and heels, blond hair pulled up into a ponytail, looking straight ahead as she walked, maybe she worked in an office, maybe she had a husband, kids at home.
He could almost guarantee that she wasn’t on her way to fuck a man for money. Although he didn’t think that anyone saw him and thought that either.
It had never bothered him that people with whom he did business knew exactly what he did, that they understood in full technicolor images, but something about his lunch with Chris made his stomach uneasy, the way they both understood exactly what they were doing there and how much Eduardo wished they didn’t have to.
The feeling didn’t go away as he drove over the Bay Bridge, the water glittering below, and back home.
*****
Tuesday morning found Eduardo up and outside right as the sun was coming up, feet pounding against the pavement as he ran the punishing San Francisco hills. Generally, he preferred the gym to running, but sometimes, the actual wind pushing against your body, all that resistance, was just what he needed.
It was definitely one of those times.
Eduardo didn’t want to think, honestly. He was running to try to stop thinking so damn much. He’d always been able to get through situations when he just let himself off the hook, and he was hoping he could clear his head and figure out how to snap out of this funk.
He’d been doing this job for five years, and when he first started, he honestly didn’t think much about how long he wanted to stay working as an escort. At the time, he’d had vague thoughts about working until he saved up enough to go back to Yale, or somewhere, finish his degree, become his boss’s boss.
Except the money was good--fuck, the money was great--and he found being a prostitute more in line with his personality, his need to take care of others and to be needed, his need for approval, than he’d originally thought. Eduardo was damn good at it, enough to be recruited by Sean, stepping up the clientele and the money after two years working with Peter, enough to buy his apartment and his car and vacations if he ever needed to pay to take his own (usually, his vacations were paid for by someone else).
He hadn’t stopped long enough, hadn’t let himself think long enough to realize that this had become his future. This every week, every month, every year until he washed up, got too old for someone to want to pay for him. Eduardo had never let himself think about that. About what came after that. It was easier just to ride the wave.
Except he couldn’t stop thinking now.
And it was hard to remember what it was like to have a normal life. Maybe because he’d never really had one. He was escorting by the time he turned twenty-two.
Eduardo couldn’t shake what Chris had said to him over lunch, about being friends (or that he was good for Mark). It burrowed into his brain, like a parasite, and he couldn’t stop thinking about it.
He ran harder, past the restaurants and the bars, which in twelve hours would be full of people Eduardo’s age, out after work with friends, or looking to meet someone. It was like another parallel universe existed right alongside of his own, where he could see it but couldn’t cross over.
Stop, he told himself, trying to override everything that was spinning through his head. Enough, you have a great life. You don’t rely on anyone. You have everything you could ever need.
His strides shortened, slowed, as he made his way back to his street, his building, and by the time he put his key in the lock, he had almost convinced himself.
Part 2