Touch Me by Chris Scully Page A

him now Erik’s apprehension rose. He appeared much younger in person than he had in his Facebook photos. He’d claimed to be twenty-two, but Erik now wondered if he’d been lied to.
    “Have a seat,” he instructed, directing the kid to the two side chairs in the corner and taking one himself. He liked to put his clients at ease before they began. “How was the trip?”
    “Long. I got a ride down with some of my buddies who were going to a party. The weather is too iffy. My rust-bucket doesn’t do well on icy roads. Don’t worry,” he quickly added when Erik stiffened. “I didn’t tell them anything about this place. Like I’m gonna say I’m on my way to get a rub ‘n tug from a guy.” The kid’s smile flashed nervously. He continued rambling.
    “I told them I wanted to check out the college. I’m going. To college. In the fall. I took a couple of years off first—to earn some money for tuition. I manage the local sporting goods store. But now I’m ready. I’m thinking of taking Business Administration—you know, so I can set up my own business.”
    Erik waited patiently for him to run out of words. When he did, he smiled. “Well, I’m glad you made it.”
    “Me too.” A faint blush stained the young man’s hairless cheeks, highlighting a smattering of acne scars near his hairline. “You’re not what I expected either,” the kid admitted, looking up from beneath long, dark eyelashes.
    “No?”
    “I was sort of expecting some creepy fat guy.”
    Now that he had begun to relax, Erik saw there was a goofy charm about the kid. He had a lopsided but endearing smile, big front teeth, dark brown hair shaved at the sides but tousled on top so that he looked like he’d just rolled out of bed. Very boy-next-door. Warmth pooled in Erik’s groin.
    He laughed. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
    “No! You didn’t.” Another rosy glow tinged those smooth cheeks. “You look good. For a guy, I mean.” He was delicious, this one; the perfect combination of youthful cockiness and coy innocence. Life hadn’t yet beaten him down, taught him how to hide his reactions from the world.
    Erik knew he was no model, but he ate right, kept in shape and had been told on numerous occasions that he looked good for a man nearing fifty. He had nice arms and strong hands. The salt and pepper in his short hair gave him an added air of maturity that put his clients—legit and extracurricular—at ease. Still, he was absurdly pleased that the kid thought him attractive.
    “So, I know we discussed what was going to happen in our chats online, but I need to go over some of it again.” Erik pulled out his smart phone.
    “You’re not recording this, are you?”
    “Only this part. For both our sakes.” There were times when he wished he could record these sessions—later, when he recounted the experience with George, he always worried that he was missing some important detail—but trust was an integral part of what happened in this room, and trust was hard to achieve if one party had a video. Besides, in some ways his retelling of the experience was more erotic than simply watching. “Okay.” Erik held up the camera phone. “How old are you, Jeremy?”
    Jeremy chewed his lip, back to being nervous. The camera had that effect on some people. “Twenty-two. Well, almost twenty-two,” he admitted with a bashful grin. “Another two months.”
    “Did you bring ID like I asked?”
    Jeremy fumbled with his wallet, finally finding what he needed.
    “I have confirmed Jeremy’s age.” Erik held up the kid’s driver’s license and birth certificate for the camera and then handed them back to Jeremy. “You’re aware that this is an erotic massage, right? There will be no fucking, but everything else is on the table. It will be up to you how far we go—whatever you’re comfortable with. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do. You can say “stop” at any time. The only thing I ask is that you give something a