Free Monkey Suits by Jim Provenzano

unusual.”

    “Kinky?”

    “No, just ... unusual.”

    “When and where?”

    “Oh, you are a dependable devil.”

    At eleven that night, after signing a densely worded contract at Tony’s (he’d barely scanned the text), Brian went to the desk of the Helmsley Palace and picked up a key to a penthouse suite. After entering the silent yet lit front room, he entered the bedroom and took out his list of typed instructions:

    Lay out the black silk sheet in the bag on the bed

    Light the candles beside the bed

    Undress

    Shower and apply the ointment (on the dresser) to your body

    Blindfold yourself with the scarf

    Lay on the bed

    Wait

    Standing naked beside the bed, he poured the oil into his hands. It smelled of herbs and bitter animal fluids. He felt nervous, as if surely the man listened from the other closed door, or perhaps watched through a hole. He realized that rich people sometimes rented hotel rooms permanently. Maybe the guy lived here.

    Brian lay on the bed a few minutes before he heard a door softly open. A voice, gravelly, with a New England accent, whispered low. “You are beautiful.”

    Brian nearly responded. “Don’t speak,” the voice murmured. “Let me worship you.”

    Not once did Brian see the man’s face. It was a relief not having to pretend he was attracted to what was assuredly a sagging wrinkled portrait of wealth and success. He let his body feel each sensation as the man’s hands and tongue delicately trailed the path of his light stomach hairs and muscular contours. The hands gently brought Brian’s arms up and tied them softly to the bedposts with scarves. The hands continued stroking his thighs and chest. Brian grew hard. His erection pulsed up against his belly, slowly warmed by a sensitive mouth.

    “This is going to feel very unusual.” The voice said. “Don’t be afraid. You can wash it off later.” A warm trickle fell on his belly, causing him to twitch. More droplets fell on his cock and thighs. He heard a bottle set down on the nightstand next to him. The warm fluid spread over his skin, rubbed around by the hands. The smell was a spicy mixture, like a sort of sauce.

    The mouth suckled over his body, then swallowed his stiff penis, sucking slowly, drawing the surging orgasm from him. Brian gasped as the mouth continued, swallowing his bursts of sperm. He knew it was wrong. This wasn’t safe, yet it felt so good, and well, it was the other guy’s decision, anyway.

    Brian grew soft, but the mouth and hands continued, drawing his penis again to stiffness and to another orgasm. The hands and tongue licked the fluid from his skin, then finished.

    “Stay here for ten minutes. Then you can wash up and leave.” Feet padded lightly to the door, which opened and closed. Brian heard traffic rustling below him. The liquid cooled on his skin. A dribble ran down the inside of his thigh. He relaxed, nearly falling asleep. I am the best whore in a town of whores , he mused.

    At the time he had no interest in the identity of this strange client, for he was determined that this would be his last night as an escort.

    After what seemed like only five minutes, he easily pulled his wrists free of the scarves and sat up, removing the blindfold. On the black silk sheet between his legs lay six crisp unfolded one hundred-dollar bills.

    His body was smeared with blood.

    Lying on his own bed, still undressed and unshowered, with only a bagel and a cigarette for breakfast, Brian considered that night a mere odd slice of his past. He’d worked very hard to forget the panicked moments of that strange night, how he had jumped into the shower, holding his mouth closed under the freezing water, watching the blood thin as it swirled down the drain. He’d checked his skin for cuts and told himself it must have been animal blood. Only when he was clean could he giggle a moment, remembering his fear of showering as a kid after he’d seen Psycho.

    He hadn’t considered how lucky