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

Sebastian The Male Escort - Part 4/6

... him some time this evening. It really is most pressing matter he wants to discuss with you.” So there it was, this cleric wanted it now, if not sooner. I adopted a somewhat loftier tone and asked the man to hold the line whilst I checked my (non-existent) engagements book. I then told him that I was, in fact free as I had had a cancellation of a previous appointment for later that evening and that if he would kindly ‘impart’ to me the address where I could find Monsignor Gandolfi, I would try to be there by seven thirty. I am sure that I heard a vague sigh of relief from my ‘interlocutor” - a sort of ‘mission accomplished’ sigh – but he nevertheless went on in his wordy way to thank me profusely for my understanding and gave me the address and the nearest subway station. What a horrible job, I thought; having to act as a pimp for your boss, for I was dead certain what was going to happen. So in the subway, I tried to collect my thoughts together and decide on how I would address a Monsignor. I had not the slightest idea of the hierarchy of the Catholic Church, and I had sort of assumed that a Monsignor was part of that establishment, but frankly if asked to swear on it, I could not have done so: I was basically a total ecclesiastical ignoramus. I had not the faintest idea of how one addressed a Monsignor. I wondered about Your Holiness, but then I remembered that that honorific was reserved for the Pope: of that I was sure. So was it , your Eminence, your Reverence, or ...

... Reverend or simply Monsignor, or could one say Your Grace? I finally opted for Your Grace, as it had a nice ring about it, although I had not a clue if it was right or not. I finally arrived at the address, which turned out to be a rather imposing New York brownstone house, where I was let in by a female house keeper, who ushered me into the presence of the great man himself. One thing I had definitely decided on the subway journey, was that if the meeting was, as I strongly suspected, to do with providing this senior cleric with sex, I was not going to take any humbug from him. From the way his secretary had addressed me over the ‘phone, I realised that I was entering a very formalised and pompous, wordy environment and I was determined not to allow myself to be intimidated by it. Monsignor Gandolfi was seated behind a massive desk and was wreathed in the sort of tent-like garments one always associates with the clergy, when it wishes to be formal. “Welcome, my son,” he began (I was already beginning to feel I was going to hate the whole thing) , “thank you for coming to see me on such short notice and so late in the evening, but the matter was rather urgent as my secretary has probably told you.” “What exactly did you want to see me about, Your Grace? (that seemed to go over smoothly, right or wrong).” I replied. “Well, my son,” (I winced internally to myself) he went on, “I was talking to a mutual friend (what mutual friend I asked myself) earlier today and he told me that you ...