I can't remember the name of the motel.  It was far from five star accommodation but the sheets were clean, the bed was soft and that was all we were concerned with.  

I wanted to seduce him.  Make him moan.  Strip him of his clothes and feast my eyes and mouth on his naked body.  Ply him with compliments and make him feel like a god.  I pretended he'd never had that before, a client who wanted to please *him*.  I pretended it was special, *I* was special.  Unique.  That I would mean more to him than any of the others he'd pleasured for money.  

He played along.  Convincingly.  He quivered under my fingertips, moaned when I stroked him, kissed back with abandon when I kissed him.  He did it all so well I could almost forget about the money.  Almost.  

He reached for me as I kissed my way down his body, his exquisitely beautiful body, pale-skinned and lean.  He was everything I'd imagined he would be in the darkness of the alley where he'd stayed so frustratingly clothed.   I brushed his hands off me, wanting him to lay back and enjoy, wanting to take the aggressive role he was evidently so practiced at.  

When I drew his hardness into my mouth, his head fell back on the pillow, moaning loudly as I swallowed him, feathering his fingers through my hair.  I stroked his thighs, cupped his balls, eyeing his pale smooth body stretched out before me in the golden lamplight, writhing with the rhythm of my strokes.  It was like sucking off an angel.  So beautiful it was almost blasphemous.  

I'd never sucked off another man before, and I prayed my inexperience didn't show.  I played at being the expert, mimicking moves he'd used on me earlier, trying to give what I liked to get when on the receiving end.  His moans were encouraging.  

When he came it was shattering.  His sweet musical voice raised to the loudest moan, his back arched, his hands fisted, his hips bucked.  He came hot and heavy in my mouth and I drank it down eagerly, tasting it.  Savouring it.  Glad to have it in my mouth - real, irrefutable proof of his pleasure.  One thing I knew he couldn't fake.  

Afterward he curled into my arms, sweet satiated smile on his face. I ignored the voice in my head telling me that this was no more than a paid transaction to him, not the sweet intimate moment it seemed. As if trying to convince me otherwise, he laid a delicate kiss at my neck, let out a soft sigh and murmured,  

"That was lovely..."  

"No kidding."  

I didn't mean it as a question but he must have taken it as one.  

"No kidding, Daniel.  You are quite the master." He assured me lightly.  

"Shouldn't I be saying that to you?  I mean you've had far more practice." My tone was light, but his expression soured.  A glimmer of pain in his eyes.  

He sat up abruptly.  

I internally kicked myself.  //Stupid!//  

"I didn't mean..."  I started weakly.  

"I know you didn't."  His voice was staccato.  "I'm sorry, I'm not... used to this." He finally met my eyes.  "It's usually a lot more... impersonal.  It's easier that way... It's silly I know."  

Deafening silence as I struggled for words.  

"Do you want to talk about it?"  

"No.  I'm fine, really."  He smiled, but I didn't believe him.  My hands found his body then, calming even strokes on his arms, meant as comfort alone.  

I took him at his word, coaxed him back into my arms.  We lay for a while, silent, just sharing the warmth of our bodies when the strangest thing happened.  

He started to talk.  No real reason or purpose, just a wandering monologue.  He sketched out his life for me on scattered fragments of memory.  I heard a lot that night.  

About how he used to work at Woody's when it was still a music store.  

About how the boys in high school who used to beat him up at lunchtimes were the same ones who'd beg him for blow jobs behind the school dance.  

About the solace he found in music, and writing lyrics.  

I listened.  Days, weeks, months later, I could still remember every word.  Couldn't stop remembering.  Couldn't stop thinking about him, unhealthy as it was.  

I kept waiting for it go away, this - whatever it was - that affixed my thoughts to him.  But it didn't.  I was getting even less work done than I was before I returned to Logan.  I was at a stalemate.  

But I promised myself I wouldn't return to the Plaza.  It would only make things worse.  

I didn't keep that promise.