Textual Confusion

2. Whats your favorite color?

CHAPTER TWO

WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE COLOR?

Unfortunately, Asher wasn’t too loopy from sex to properly freak out about it the next day.

He’d almost chalked Mystery Man up to a dream when his 5:00 alarm went off. In fact, it wasn’t until he’d stepped out of the shower and spotted the pair of pink panties in his laundry basket that there had been an uncomfortable jolt in his chest. A jolt which had prompted him to race over to his phone and frantically scrolled through his messages, verifying that Mystery Man was real and that, yes, they had participated in phone sex last night.

Phone sex Asher had gotten a $500 tip for, apparently.

Not that he was the one receiving the money.

Asher’s first instinct was to panic, but he couldn’t afford to be late for work, so throwing on the first shirt and pair of jeans he could get his hands on, he raced out the door to the nearest bus stop, which would take him to Honeycomb Café, where he was employed as a baker.

Honeycomb Café was owned by a crotchety old man named Jack Brittle, who didn’t take well to tardiness. Or idleness. Or anything, really.

For reasons that Asher failed to comprehend, however, the man had taken a liking to him. Perhaps because Asher had been working for him for nearly five years now and had never given him any trouble. (He’d started part time as a freshman in college and had moved to full time when he had graduated from school with a bachelor’s degree in the Culinary Arts – with an emphasis in Pastry – last year.)

Whatever the reason, he had allowed Asher to take charge of all the baking at Honeycomb Café two years ago, going so far as to give him full creative control of the baked goods menu. The only downside was that Asher’s shift always started before sunrise to ensure there were fresh batches of scones, muffins, and donuts for the morning rush.

Hopping off the bus and letting himself in the back door of Honeycomb Café, Asher turned on all the lights in the kitchen before getting to work, forcing himself to focus solely on his list of tasks, refusing to even think of Mystery Man as he measured ingredients, scooped batter, and drizzled sugary glaze onto a variety of confections.

Soon his co-workers began to arrive and the smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. They opened promptly at 7:00 AM, and the morning rush immediately began, leaving no time for Asher to focus on anything other than making sure the display case at the front of the coffeeshop was constantly stocked with fresh rolls and pastries.

It wasn’t until nearly noon, when he'd finally gone on break, that his friend Sasha cornered him in the back of the kitchen and forced him to face the truth of what he’d done last night.

Asher had sat down at the counter, and he was nibbling on a croissant sandwich and sipping on his caramel latte (the biggest perk of working at the café was definitely the free drinks), when he was ambushed.

“Well?” Sasha demanded, arms crossed under her ample chest, pushing up her boobs until they threatened to pop out of the top of the apron she wore as a barista. Sasha had blonde hair, blue eyes, and was classically pretty in a way no one could deny.

“Well what?” Asher asked, secretly surprised it’d taken so long for the girl to confront him. (She’d been sending him pointed looks all morning.)

“Are you going to tell me what happened with Mr. Not-Quite-a-Dick-Pic last night? I think that’s the least I’m owed considering you woke me up at 1:00 in the morning with your gay crisis.”

Sasha was also a blunt bitch. A straight shooter who never hid what she thought or how she was feeling. What you saw was what you got with Sasha, and although not everyone could handle being friends with someone like that, Asher absolutely adored her.

Which is probably why it didn’t take more than that little bit of prodding for the entire story to come spilling out of him. By the time he was finished relaying what had happened, it felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He didn’t even care that Sasha’s eyebrows had shot up halfway through the sordid tale and had failed to go back down again by the time he was finished.

“Can I see them?” she asked.

“See what?”

“The texts.”

Shrugging, Asher unlocked his phone and handed it over, watching as she scrolled through the messages. When she was finished, she silently handed it back to him. And Asher’s nerves made a swift return.

Why was she being so quiet? Sasha always had something to say.

“Well?” he demanded, crossing his arms over his chest, only realizing after the fact that he was mirroring how she’d stood earlier.

“I can’t believe you earned some prostitute a $500 tip, and you’ll never see a penny of it.”

Asher frowned. “Out of everything, that’s what you choose to focus on?”

“What? $500 is a lot of money!” Sasha exclaimed. “Especially for what was essentially ten minutes of sexting. You’re a kinky little shit by the way. And what’s with the daddy thing? I never knew you were into that. Or spanking, for that matter.”

Asher bit his lip. “Me neither,” he admitted, a bit of red creeping up his neck.

Sasha tapped her pursed mouth with a finger as she visibly pondered something. “It was probably the picture of your ass.”

“Huh?”

“That cute pic of your butt. It’s probably what got you the tip. Nice panties, by the way.” She winked.

Asher groaned, sinking back into his chair. “Can you focus please? I mean, what am I going to do?”

“I say we open an OnlyFans account and start selling pictures of your ass. I mean, the going price is apparently 500 bucks a pop. What the hell are we working here for?”

“Your plan is to profit off my ass?” Asher asked incredulously.

“I mean, it is pretty magnificent. A bona fide piece of art. And I would know, I majored in Art.” A pause. “Which is probably why I’m still working at this dump.”

“It’s not that bad here.”

“You only say that because Mr. Brittle has a perpetual hard-on for you. Again, probably because of that ass.”

“Mr. Brittle’s old enough to be my grandpa. His… equipment probably doesn’t even work! He just likes me because I’m on time and respectful. I, for one, never told him that the saggy skin under his neck makes him resemble a mastiff.”

“What? It was a compliment! I love dogs. Everyone loves dogs.”

“That doesn’t mean they want to be told they look like one!” Asher pinched the bridge of his nose. “Anyway, can we focus on the topic at hand, please? You read the messages. I’m supposed to be meeting this guy tonight.”

She scoffed. “No, you’re not supposed to be meeting him. His hooker or sugar baby or whoever it is he apparently pays for orgasms is supposed to meet him. Those messages were intended for that person, not you.”

Asher frowned. “Yeah, but I’m the one who received them. I’m the one who-”

“-told him you wanted him to spank your hole. Yeah, I saw. But he doesn’t know that. He doesn’t know who you are. Because you didn’t tell him.”

Asher’s face burned as Sasha laid out the facts. He knew she wasn’t trying to be mean – just honest – but that didn’t make him feel any less awful about it.

“Am I a horrible person for leading him on?” he asked, voice small.

“Considering how into it he seemed, I’m going to go with a solid no.”

“So… what should I do?”

Sashed leaned down, resting her elbows on the counter so that they were face to face. “The way I see it, you have two options. You either tell him who you actually are-”

“Pass,” Asher cut her off immediately.

Sasha frowned. “Why? What’s wrong with who you are?”

“Nothing,” Asher responded hastily, knowing he’d be in for a lecture about his self-esteem if he hesitated or answered any other way. (His sense of self-worth was something they’d been working on since it’d been reduced to shambles by his ex.)

“That’s right. Nothing’s wrong with you. You’re adorable with your curly hair and big brown puppy dog eyes. You’re the cutest, sweetest thing ever , and I’ll fight to the death anyone who disagrees.”

“Thanks, Sasha… I think. But I’m still not a woman. I’m missing certain parts, and equipped with other parts instead.”

“Yeah, you have a cock. So what? I read the messages. Sure, it’s possible the guy thought he was talking to a woman, but he never explicitly said anything about tits or a pussy. Maybe he did suspect he was talking to a man.” She shrugged. “Or maybe he’s an equal opportunity sort of guy.”

It seemed like a bit of a stretch, but… “Maybe,” Asher admitted. Still, he didn’t want to get his hopes up. “Regardless, you said I have two options. What’s my other one?”

“Delete the messages,” she said frankly. “Block the guy’s number. It was only one night of sexting. It doesn’t have to mean anything, and you certainly don’t owe the man anything. Put it – and him – out of your mind, and this can just be a funny anecdote we talk about a year from now.”

She had a point, and truthfully, it was the logical thing to do.

So why did Asher feel stick to his stomach at the thought of it? There was no way he could have gotten so attached over one orgasm, no matter how satisfying it’d been. He hadn’t even seen the guy’s face, for fuck’s sake.

“You okay?” Sasha asked carefully when he didn’t immediately respond.

Asher hated lying, especially to Sasha, so he could admit he was more than a little relieved when Mr. Brittle suddenly swung open the kitchen door and saved him from answering. He scowled in their direction. (Or, in Sasha’s direction, anyway.) “What are you doing back here?” he barked. “You’re not on break. Get back on the register.”

Sasha rolled her eyes, making sure Mr. Brittle wouldn’t be able to see. “See?” she mouthed soundlessly before turning around with a bright smile. “Right away, Mr. Brittle!”

Asher stood, starting to wrap what remained of his croissant back in its plastic packaging. “I’ll go take inventory,” he offered.

“Nonsense,” Mr. Brittle replied, waving him off, “you work hard enough. Sit down and finish your sandwich. You’re already too skinny,” he admonished before meandering back to the front of the coffeeshop.

Asher snorted. “Thanks, Mr. Brittle,” he mumbled, hiding a smile behind his caramel latte.

He didn’t subscribe to Sasha’s theory about Mr. Brittle having a thing for his ass, but she might have had a point about his blatant favoritism.

Sasha

Did you block Mystery Man’s number yet?

Not yet.

Do you think he’ll text you tonight when he gets stood up by his hooker? I actually feel a little bad for the guy. Then I remember he’s rich enough to be dropping hundreds of dollars on butt pics and the sympathy instantly vanishes.

We’re not supposed to meet until 11:00, so I supposed I’ll know by then…

What are you going to do if he does text? Wait. What if he calls you?

Not answer, obviously.

Talking to Sasha about the situation was only giving him anxiety, so Asher put down his phone and busied himself with making supper. One package of ramen later, he found himself cleaning his apartment in an effort to distract himself. It only took him an hour to scrub his entire kitchen spotless and fold and put away the pile of clean laundry that had slowly been accumulating on his couch.

When Asher was finished, he reluctantly plopped down in front of his television and turned on a true crime documentary that he found on Netflix. Unfortunately, he found himself zoning out only minutes into the documentary, suspicious blood splatter and decapitated body parts unable to hold his interest over other matters.

Asher told himself that he didn’t care one way or the other if Mystery Man texted him. When 10:00 rolled around, and then 10:30, and then 11:00 with no new notifications from his phone, however, Asher couldn’t deny the sinking feeling of disappointment in his gut.

It was ridiculous.

He didn’t even know this guy.

Which is why Asher would deny with his dying breath the way he eagerly snatched up his phone when it buzzed at 11:12 PM exactly.

Sasha

Anything?

Asher sighed, unduly annoyed that it was only Sasha checking in on him. He typed a quick reply before flopping backwards onto his couch. Get ahold of yourself , he scolded himself. This is pathetic.

Knowing he had to get up early again the next morning, Asher forced himself to abandon his phone and dragged himself into the shower.

Fifteen minutes later, he was squeaky clean and throwing on the same ratty t-shirt he always used for pajamas before crawling into bed. It wasn’t until he reached over to double-check that his alarm was set on his phone that he saw one missed call and three unread texts from Mystery Man.

Asher's heart skipped a beat before starting back up double time.

He swiped away the missed call, focusing instead on the messages.

Mystery Man

Where the hell are you?

Do you think this is cute?

The whole point of our arrangement was so I could avoid these ridiculous games.

Mystery Man sounded upset, and Asher could feel his stomach churn with guilt. Even if this guy was paying some stranger to be his booty call, Asher assumed he had his reasons for such an “arrangement”, as he put it.

Plus, Asher was probably getting whoever the man thought he was communicating with in trouble.

Asher gnawed nervously on the flesh of his inner cheek. Maybe it was time to come clean.

Before that idea could truly take root, however, Mystery Man sent another message, and any guilt Asher was feeling was immediately buried under a swell of indignant anger.

I didn’t agree to pay you a ridiculous amount of money just so you could act like a disobedient whore.

I’m not a whore!

Really? Because agreeing to take money for sexual favors is the very definition of the word.

I don’t care. The way you’re using it is derogatory.

Yet you seemed perfectly fine with me calling you a slut yesterday.

That was different. It’s one thing to call someone a whore or slut during sex. It’s another thing entirely outside of the act.

If being called a whore is a problem for you, you should have marked degradation as a hard limit on your contract.

Asher blinked, taken off guard by the mention of a contract, but when his phone buzzed with another incoming message, he forced himself to focus.

Shall I change it for you?

Is that allowed?

Of course it’s allowed. Consent is the most important part of any sexual encounter, yes?

Right.

Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you…

I’m not offended, but we need to be honest with each other if this is going to work. So tell me now if there are any other changes you want to make to your contract.

This might sound weird, but… can I see the contract again?

Asher knew it was a risky move, asking to see the contract. It might expose him as the fraud he was. But he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see exactly what it was he had gotten himself into. Not that it was his fault some hot stranger had texted him in the middle of the night, mistaking him as his booty call.

Asher breathed a sigh of relief when instead of questioning him, Mystery Man just sent him an attachment.

When Asher clinked on it, a PDF copy of an official looking document popped up onto his screen. It was over twenty pages long, and Asher’s eyes widened when he realized an NDA had been included.

Just who was Mystery Man exactly?

After the NDA, the next several pages contained details of what was expected of Asher whomever had signed the document.

Basically, by signing, they’d agreed to be at Mystery Man’s beck and call for sex. If called upon, they were also expected to be Mystery Man’s plus one at social obligations. In exchange for their compliance and discretion, the signee would receive… Asher’s mouth dropped open. Ten grand a week. Wired directly into their bank account.

Holy shit.

It went on to detail that either Mystery Man or the signee could terminate the contract at any time, and a bunch of other legal mumbo-jumbo Asher wasn’t in the right state of mind to understand.

Finally, towards the end of the document, there was a long list of what could only be described as kinks. There was the option for the signee to greenlight each kink or to label each kink as a soft or hard limit.

Asher’s face reddened as he scanned the list. He had a healthy libido and had seen his fair share of porn, but some of the things he’d never even heard of before.

For example, what the heck was "sploshing"?

Luckily, whomever had filled the form out had listed it as a hard limit – along with a few other things, such as fisting and watersports.

When he was finished looking over the list, Asher searched the remainder of the document for the signature page, hoping to finally be able to put a name to the man he was talking to, but he quickly discovered that that particular page hadn’t been included.

Which wasn’t all that surprising considering the NDA.

A buzz from his phone pulled Asher from his thoughts, reminding him that Mystery Man was still waiting for a response.

Well?

Okay. So… on second thought, I want degradation and bondage listed as soft limits, and I want breath play to be upgraded from a soft limit to a hard limit.

Anything else?

Mystery Man was being weirdly accommodating about all of this, and it made the guilt Asher was feeling about deceiving him cultivate. But it wasn’t enough to make him stop.

This wasn’t anywhere on the list, and it’s a little embarrassing to admit… but I really like being praised. You know, being told I’m doing a good job and pet names, stuff like that…

Of course, sweetheart. Thank you for telling me.

Asher flushed.

Thanks for being so understanding about all of this…

Were you afraid I wouldn’t respect your boundaries if you told me? Is that why you didn’t show up tonight?

Not necessarily that. It just felt wrong to show up, knowing I had been dishonest about some of my preferences.

I see. Then can I ask why you weren’t just honest from the beginning?

I guess I was afraid you’d think I was too vanilla. I didn’t want you to deem us incompatible and for the arrangement to fall through…

Based on last night, I think we’re very compatible. But this won’t work if we aren’t honest with each other. So let me ask you just one more time…

Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?

Fuck. He knew. He had to know.

But there was no way to tell for sure, and Asher couldn’t bring himself to say the words.

No, I think that’s everything.

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

Somehow, Asher didn’t spontaneously combust into flames at the blatant lie. Nor did Mystery Man call him out on it.

Good.

Now that that’s cleared up, why don’t you come over, baby? You’ve made me wait long enough for the pleasure of your company, don’t you think?

I want to… but I can’t. It’s already past midnight, and I have to get up early for work tomorrow morning. I’m really sorry.

I didn’t realize you had a job outside of this.

Yeah, I’m a multi-faceted person whose life revolves around more than just sex. Imagine that.

Asher regretted the message as soon as he sent it off. What was wrong with him, sassing the man when he’d been so unbelievably accommodating of him the entire night?

Unfortunately, before he could apologize, his phone buzzed with Mystery Man’s response.

That’s not what I meant. Quit bratting. I thought you wanted to be good for your daddy.

You’re right. I’m sorry.

You’re sorry…?

Somehow, Asher knew exactly what he wanted.

I’m sorry, *Daddy*.

You’re forgiven. Now tell me about this job of yours. You haven’t mentioned it before.

It’s not much. I work at a café.

As a barista?

Not quite, I’m a baker. I work in the kitchen, making rolls and muffins and stuff like that. I do it from home, too. I sell my stuff at the farmers’ markets in the summer and sometimes make cakes for birthday parties or baby showers. Stuff like that.

What about you? What do you do?

I’m the CEO of a financial firm. You know this already. My crazy work schedule is partially why I sought out this kind of arrangement.

Oh yeah. Sorry, I forgot.

Shit.

Why had Asher asked him that?

He couldn’t even claim his mouth had been working faster than his brain because he’d literally typed it out. Even as he berated himself for the slip, however, Asher suspected he knew why it had happened.

He simply wanted to know more about the hot stranger who’d somehow wound up in his DMs.

Regardless, he needed to change the subject – quickly. Come on, brain, think of something to talk about that doesn’t give away the fact you have no idea who you’re exchanging texts with.

What’s your favorite color?

Seriously? That’s what you come up with? What are you, five?

Asher was honestly surprised when the man answered the question instead of joining in on the mental flogging.

Black. Why?

Just wondering.

I thought it’d be fun to ask each other some questions. It can’t hurt to get to know each other a little better. You know… to foster our working relationship.

My favorite color is pink, btw.

I can see why. It’s a pretty color on you.

It took Asher a moment to realize what the man was referencing, but when he did, he immediately blushed.

Stop teasing me!

Why? What’s wrong, baby? Am I making you flustered?

Yes! If you don't stop soon, I'll turn into the living embodiment of a

Anyway, it’s your turn to ask me a question.

Ok. Is this your first time entering into an arrangement like this?

What do you mean?

I mean, is this your first time being paid for sex?

Asher’s fingers hovered over his phone. He had no idea how to answer Mystery Man’s question. Had the man and whoever he thought he was talking to already discussed this? Did he suspect something was amiss and was attempting to trap Asher in a lie?

It was impossible to tell.

Ultimately, Asher decided to just be honest and hope for the best.

Yes.

How could you tell?

There’s just something distinctly innocent about you.

Is that a bad thing?

No. The opposite. The thought of defiling that innocence is damn near intoxicating. I can’t wait to take you apart with my fingers and tongue and have you squirming on my cock.

Asher was definitely squirming. His cock, which had been half-hard since the first time Mystery Man had called him “ baby ”, was standing at full attention now, trapped under the waistband of his underwear.

This had not been his intention when he’d suggested they ask each other questions.

Sorry to disappoint, but I’m not a virgin.

You might as well be. I can tell you’ve never been with a real man before. One who knows how to wring every last ounce of pleasure out of his partner. You’ve probably only ever been fucked by little boys who don’t know what to do with their worthless cocks.

Come on over, baby, and I’ll change that. I’ll ruin you for anyone else.

Feeling partially like he was about to combust, and partially like he was about to melt into a pile of goo, Asher wanted nothing more than to agree.

But if he did, his deception would be revealed.

Asher hated disappointing the man, but he didn’t see how he had any other choice. (Besides coming clean – which, nope .)

What’s wrong, sweetheart? Cat got your tongue?

Because I can think of a few other things you can do with that mouth of yours if you don’t feel up to talking…

Asher whimpered.

It didn’t take a genius to understand what Mystery Man was implying. And Asher could imagine it vividly in his mind’s eye. How his lips would stretch wide as the man fed him his cock. How his eyes would water as he diligently took it in inch by inch. Until he was drooling all over himself in an effort to take it all. Until it hit the back of his throat and he gagged on it.

Fuck.

Squeezing the base of his cock in an effort to get ahold of himself, Asher snapped his eyes open and slowly counted to ten. Getting off had not been on his agenda when he had answered the man’s text messages tonight.

Why did you answer him then? a voice in his head that sounded a lot like Sasha’s demanded. What’s the point when you refuse to tell him who you are?

Asher honestly wasn’t sure, but he had a feeling if he gave in and started sexting the man again, he’d only feel twice as guilty over the decision as last time. It was with that thought in mind that Asher somehow conjured the willpower to take his hand off his dick and form a reply that wasn’t the equivalent of please let me suck you off, I’ll be so good for you, just a little taste-

As much as I’d love to show you what this mouth is capable of, it’s getting late. I wasn’t kidding about having to get up early tomorrow for work.

Is that your way of letting me down easy?

I’m sorry. Are you mad?

No.

But sweetheart?

Yeah?

Stand me up again, and that cute little ass of yours will be painted cherry red by the time I’m through with it. Understand?

I understand.

Good. Now go to sleep. I don’t want you to be overtired tomorrow.

I will.

Sweet dreams, Daddy.

I appreciate the sentiment, baby, but with you on my mind, sweet is the last thing my dreams will be.

Good night, darling.

Forcing himself to put down his phone, Asher flopped backwards onto his bed.

He stared at the ceiling, reveling in the pleasant feeling of butterflies fluttering away in his tummy. Sasha would scold him, he knew, if she found out what he’d done, that he’d decided to pursue this… thing with a stranger. A stranger who most likely thought he was a woman.

But in that moment, Asher couldn’t bring himself to care.

Wanting to be a good boy for Mystery Man, Asher closed his eyes and urged his brain to power down for the night. And if there was a dopey smile glued to his face when sleep claimed him mere minutes later, well… it was no one’s business but his own.