Sebastian The Male Escort - Part 4/6 - Sex Stories

Sebastian The Male Escort - Part 4/6

... asked me if he was speaking to Sebastian. I told him he was. “Well, Mr. er er...” he stuttered. ‘Just Sebastian will do,” I replied, “that is what everyone calls me.” Now this was a spur of the moment fib as I had already decided that if my male escort business ever truly took off, I would just be Sebastian to my clients with the only contact a mobile telephone number and no one would ever know where I lived or who my friends were. “Well, er, Sebastian, I am the private secretary of Monsignor Gandolfi, who is the person in charge of the St. Saviour’s City Mission, with which establishment you are no doubt familiar.” He was already beginning to sound as pompous as Woody Prick had done at school and gave that same superior ponderous intonation to everything he said. I guessed that I was speaking to someone who was accustomed to addressing everyone except his most intimate friends, with their full title. So, I could hear from his hesitation that he was having difficulty in addressing me as Sebastian; it just made him feel uncomfortable. Well, I had never heard of St. Saviour, or his mission, but I let that pass and listened to him as he went on. “Monsignor Gandolfi wonders if you would be kind enough to spare him a few moments of your precious time, as he has a number of things he would like to discuss with you, He has heard of you from a mutual acquaintance (from whom, I wondered) and, in the light of what he has learned about you, feels that you may well be able to help him ...

... resolve a problem which is bothering him.” My god, I thought, all this flowery language to tell me that this ‘man of the cloth’ is looking for someone to fuck him, for that was my reading of the situation, for in what other way could I conceivably help this guy? This conversation was so completely different from the very direct, brusque sort of way I had perceived New Yorkers to touch on what was, after all, a rather tricky subject with someone unknown. So I said, “What exactly does Monsignor Gandolfi wish to see me about?” The voice continued. “Monsignor Gandolfi, has merely charged me (again this archaic language) to try to arrange a suitable appointment for you to meet him and it is not for me to say what he wishes to discuss with you. Might a meeting be possible, do you think?” Taking the bull by the horns I said. “Yes of course, what day and time did he have in mind?” Gandolfi’s secretary droned on, saying, “Monsignor Gandolfi is, as you will realise a very busy man and is more or less totally occupied with his pastoral duties during the day. I wonder, therefore, if I might ask you whether and evening appointment might be possible?” This was all getting so long winded, so I said, rather abruptly. “Okay - what day and what time?” But my brusqueness did not have any effect on the long winded, verbal trajectory which this character was intent on following. “Well,” he said, “It is now just before seven o’clock and Monsignor Gandolfi wonders if you might possibly be able to see ...