He does not remember. Or at least I don't think that he does. He did recommend me for this job and I wonder if he considers it a sort of payment. If so, then I feel worse than if he had no memory of it at all.
I know that he was using then. I watched my brother drown himself in that lifestyle and I wanted nothing to do with him. But when he dragged me into the loo at the Indian restaurant where I worked and that he frequented, what could I do to resist? Even then, glassy-eyed and manic he was in control of the situation. And I did not resist very much because he is so very beautiful.
His mouth was a furnace heated by the pounding speed of his heart and it was as fierce and unforgiving as fire. His tongue was playing in my mouth before the door swung shut. Those fine-fingered hands had my shirttails from my trousers, my flies undone before I could even articulate his name. He pulled away only long enough to ask, "Condom?" I was in my waiter's clothes. Of course I had no condom.
"Ah, well," he said, "hands then. Fortunately, I have talented hands."
His cock was even hotter than his mouth as he gripped us both after slicking his hand with saliva. I bit his shoulder as I came but he merely groaned through his.
The second time I was prepared, but I was not prepared for his tongue, the suction of his mouth. Never have I been worked so hard and so well through a johnny. I came like a youth of fourteen. I was too shaky even to assist as he stroked himself to completion in front of me, white semen slipping through his fingers, his head thrown back, black ringlets plastered to his head with sweat. There were other men's marks on his magnificent neck yet I could not stop. I was in love.
The third time he brought his own and fucked me against the wall in the alley behind the bins. He left without finishing me and I knew he'd moved on.
Now he comes in here, sometimes with men, sometimes not. He barely glances my way as I show him to a table, drop the menus in front of him and his dates. "Thank you, Billy," he says. Each man looks at him as if he is the only person in their world. None of them is ever seen twice.
But this time, this one says that he is not interested, that he is not a date. Calls it out to Angelo. Sherlock blushes, says he is flattered and I know that he is lost to me for good.