The CEO greeted me with a friendly smile and warm hug. He was in his early 40s, dressed in elegant European style shirt and jeans, with tattooed body and slightly grey hair complimenting his calm and mature appeal. He took me to the room where he shredded his cover, unrevealing his another dimension as a lover: passionate, intense, hungry, submissive, and gentle still.
The CEO took me for dinner after the blow job. It was 9 pm and the wind started howling just that day. And I picked a place I had never been in before, where we could sit on the roof top looking directly at the solemn stillness of the church and listening the leaves exchaning their conversation intimately as ours very own was being conducted below. I disagreed a lot. And picked my words carefully enough without resorting to too much pauses phrases like “you know” to match his professional charisma. But the moment I said the sauce was too salty and the meat wasn’t so great, he shrugged his shoulder as a sign of relief, saying he was thinking the same and suggested changing restaurant. I told him what we wasted in this life would be what we lacked in the next life.
The CEO kept following my footsteps at a stable pace and distance, at my request, until we found ourselves safe and comforted in the dark. He lit a cigarette and told he me didn’t even smoke that much. “Why?” I asked him with my frowned eyebrows and he just said my name. The reason he brought so many cigarette was because of a careless line I had slipped off my mouth earlier about my smoking habit. I didn’t know what to say, and I told him exactly that, to make sound to my speechless silence.
The CEO gave me head again that night when it was almost midnight, lying next to me, still arguing with me about my less critical point of view the new president of a country somewhere else. “Just leave politics outside,” I said. The thing I liked about his head giving was that he didn’t let the hype die down. He didn’t pull away when I came, nor stopped sucking. We went to the bathtub where I gave him a go at what people call “golden shower”. My piss wasn’t hot to me, but him on his knees looking at me with such earnest desire, getting his chest and hair sprayed over turned me on. And when I was already worn out from the day, he just curled his body inside my arms, head on my chest and talking indie music to me, despite the fact that he was much taller than me.
The CEO was super rich, filthy rich I would say. It was not just about the money but also his profile that was much more impressive: he met and conducted conversation with Aung San Suu Kyi, Muhammad Yunus, Obama and the most recent one was my very own Vice President. He stood for social business, for environment and equality. And he listened, actually listened to my rants about how unfair certain systems were, gave me the comfort that those concerns would be heard. But he didn’t have a home where he spent the majority of the year, nor anybody to stay with.
And all of these things about The CEO, his background, his position, even his full name, weren’t familiar to me after our night had been gone.