Rafa

The door opened and closed. There were a few footsteps and then nothing. A throat cleared. Silence.

Satchel looked up from his bed, pulling the eye mask from his face. Standing by the door was a beautiful boy with brown skin. “Um... hello.”

“Hello, sir.”

Satchel propped himself up on one elbow, lazily.

“I’m Rafa.”

“Rafa?”

“Yes.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty.”

Shirtless. Muscles. Denim. Underwear elastic thick and wide. Calvin Klein showing above the waistband of his jeans. Abs perfectly defined. Nipples like chocolate drops. Brown skin like velvet. Arm across his chest. Smile. The most endearing question creases across his forehead. Black short hair, brushed to a point across the middle of his head.

“Nice to meet you.”

Beautiful eyes.

“I’m here for the night.”

“Oh... yes, of course.”

“Is there something wrong?”

“No.” Satchel rubbed his face to relive the tension. “Just a phone call that now makes sense.”

“Am I not to your...”

Satchel didn’t want the young man to complete that sentence, it just seemed tacky, cheap. “Spin around.” It was the only thing he could think of.

Rafa spun on one ankle, pushing off with his other foot. Arms out. A slow languid rotation. Effortless, like he’d done it many times. He smiled again when he was again facing Satchel.

Satchel gazed silently.

“Is something wrong?” asked Rafa, breaking the silence. “If I do not please you...”

“No...” Satchel shook his head. “Yes.” Satchel couldn’t help but smile. “You are very... nice. I’m...” He raised a hand up involuntarily. “pleased.” He sat up, careful to keep his sarong in place, he wasn’t, really, sure why, considering, but he did. “I wasn’t expecting this... you.”

“Oh.” Rafa looked perplexed.

“My production company got you for me.” Satchel laughed the laugh of the ridiculous; exhale through his nose, mouth creasing up at the sides. “My two sisters got you for me... obviously, think you might help relax the tension. I have trouble sleeping, you see.”

Rafa smiled. Beautiful teeth. Gorgeous, really.

"So...” Satchel shrugged. “What do you do?"

"Anything you want." Rafa smiled engagingly. "You're paying me for the privilege."

Silence. Satchel was stunned. He was not often speechless. He needed help on this production, but they way it was going it would need to be from God, Allah, Krishna, Nadoo, someone. It wasn’t the flesh that was weak. He could send the boy away, but that was probably rude, meant he wouldn’t get paid, who knew what. Fuck!

“Um... do you make coffee?”

“Of course.” Rafa looked perplexed again. “But... you only have to call room service...”

“I was kidding... Rafa. That was a joke.”

“I would be happy to organise coffee for you?”

“No,” said Satchel. “Actually, why not. You can order yourself some too.”

“That won’t be necessary.”