Rent A Boyfie

the beginning

If someone were to describe you, you would think that they would say you are a certain amount of a stickler. You like to stick to good morals and you think that rules were made to be followed. You don't think you have a stick up your ass per se, in fact, maybe traditional is a more appropriate adjective to describe you but, that is how you are in a nutshell.

In your twenty-five years of life, you have stuck to this mindset rather closely. You suppose it is only today that you are doing something that defies all of your morals, that breaks all of your preset rules, that throws your traditional ways out the window where it is run over by an oncoming car.

What is that something, you might wonder. Well, you are on your way to rent a boyfriend.

The flyer had appeared out of the blue, stuck under the windshield wipers of your car, flapping relentlessly in the chilling autumn wind. It was quite timely, you suppose. Very timely, actually. It was only a few days ago that you had had that conversation with your mother. A part of you wonders if it is fate, if the universe is answering your troubles. Another part of you thinks it is a prompting, a drawing temptation to keep up the lie you had so blatantly told to your mother. And the last part of you knows that it is the world's way of revenge. Because you had told a lie, you had sinned and now you must pay with having to come up with a copious amount of ideas and ways to keep up the lie or risk the fatal loss of your pride forever.

Which has you standing before a small shop in the city, clutching the flyer in your hands tightly as you check if the address stated on the flimsy piece of paper is correct.

When you determine that the address is indeed correct, you hold your breath as you push open the door, triggering the toll of a small bell that signifies your entrance and alerts the staff that you demand their attention.

The inside of the shop is plain and rather monotone. There is a counter with no one behind it and beyond the counter, in the middle of the room, is a table with two chairs and a heck load of bookshelves surrounding it. It looks almost like a home and a part of you thinks that it is, that this might be the owner's dining table or their personal library. But you do not question it and instead call out into the emptiness.

"Coming!" you hear a man call out to you. You hear faint sounds of banging and what sounds to be the clashing of ceramics as he rushes to finish whatever he is doing so that he can tend to you.

"Hello!" the man greets as he emerges from behind one of the bookshelves, hands wiping at his jeans as he makes his way to you. You stand awkwardly at the entrance as the man nears you. And when his gaze lifts to meet yours, your breath catches itself in your throat.

"How can I help you? Are you here for a consultation?" he asks, gaze dropping from your eyes to the flyer that you clutch in your hands. You had not even realised that you had begun to hold the paper so tightly that it was crumpling beneath your vice-like grip, mind too focused on the fact that this man is the most beautiful man you have ever seen in your life, hands down.

You simply nod to answer his question, afraid that your voice will betray you and come out meeker and more breathless than it should be. At that, he immediately perks up and sends you a dashing smile, saying, "Oh, please come this way," as he politely ushers you to the table in the middle of the room.

"Would you like a cup of tea. Or if not tea, coffee?"

"Water is just fine," you are finally able to answer back, relieved when you hear that your voice sounds normal. Now that you are seated at the table in the middle of the room, you see that the bookshelf opens up to a small room that looks to be a minuscule kitchenette. The man bends down to open a mini-fridge where he takes out a chilled bottle of water before he turns back around and offers it to you with a polite smile.