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An excerpt from The Wysh
My
profession as writer of erotic romance led my mind in one clearly
dangerous direction regarding what kind of service would pay out a grand
for a couple hours. Logic and society and all the morally upstanding
folks of this world would say how wrong the option was, or at least how
badly it could end.
Still,
here I was, walking toward who could guess what kind of pervert. I
guess I really was that desperate after all. My feet moved steadily. But
my heart picked up speed the further I went. Was it fear or excitement?
If
this were a book of mine to plot out, the note writer would be some
recluse of a hunk, desperate to connect with another human even if he
had to buy their company with his blue blood inheritance. Or since I was
actually a guy, maybe it would be a glamorous beauty, driven to the
brink of madness from her loneliness. Some pretty delicate girl, petite
enough to make me feel big and strong.
A snort slipped out.
But
of course not. I’m a cynic. Reality wasn’t like that. The truth was
more likely going to be either a hideous ugly guy who can’t get laid or a
sicko who can’t find someone willing to do what he needs to get off.
And
here was me walking into this situation. I focused on the fireflies and
continued onward with my hands in my pockets. One hand wrapped around
proof that my desperation hadn’t completely eroded my sense of self
preservation. The stun gun was a good model capable of shocking the shit
out of a large man. The weapon could even be used multiple times if the
guy in need of voltage wasn’t alone, or if he really pissed me off. Not
that I was completely helpless, but time and experience had taught me
that with my frame I was better off with more options.
The
dark star-spangled surface of the small lake came into view. The note
had ordered me to meet him between the lake and the north bend in the
dirt road. Right about… Here.
A
shadow of black on black moved ahead of me. Despite the darkness I
could make out someone sitting on one of the two overlook benches. That
someone appeared to be alone, but also even sitting looked big as a
mountain.
“Ms. Hamilton, you came.” The gravelly voice vibrated across the air to me.
“Are you alone?” Even if I hadn’t seen anyone I still had to ask.
“Yes, I came alone. I’m glad you did also.”
I
expected him to move, stand or do something, but instead the man stayed
put on his bench, staring out over the lake. Trudging a few steps
closer I waited for his appearance to take a clearer shape. But no
matter how much I squinted, he remained nothing but shadow, hidden
inside a long trench coat and obscured by a wide hat reminiscent of Van
Helsing.
“Why did you come alone?” His question was tinged with sadness or perhaps disappointment. “Didn’t you consider the risks?”
“I
don’t really need to be given a safety lesson by the creepy bastard who
lured me out here.” And with the earlier use of Ms. I figured it was
time to fess up. “Besides, I’m not a Ms. Hamilton. I’m a Mr.”
Read more at https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BHCFBGWG
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