Temporary Boyfriend Ch. 02

My mouth dropped open.

Taylor, my really sharp assistant, had just asked me to spend Thanksgiving weekend with her -- basically four complete days, and possibly the Wednesday night before all that ... as her boyfriend -- her temporary boyfriend.

I stammered out in a surprised and squeaky voice, "Really? You're serious? Do you know what you're asking?"

She nodded rapidly. "I'm also asking you to postpone sex for a long weekend. I don't want sex to be a primary activity, but there'll be ..."

"Wait! What?" Stopping sex was a serious consideration.

Taylor explained, "My family lives outside Rochester, New York -- a seven or eight-hour drive that way." She pointed west. "I've told them an untruth, several in fact, that I have a 'somewhat' serious boyfriend." She used both hands to put quotes around the word 'somewhat'. I had no idea what that meant.

She continued, "I've never had a boyfriend. Well, I've had friends that were boys -- or men, but never in a romantic way. They've been on my case for years -- in college and since, and it finally reached a fevered pitch, so I lied to them starting about two years ago. I didn't want them to think less of me, so after I moved to Boston two years ago and got a job here, I built up this story about a great and a caring boyfriend.

"Oh, and I'll pay for everything -- flights, meals, and any expense that you incur, plus this is so important to me that I will pay you $2,000 -- all that I can afford. I just need you to pretend that we're an item for the long weekend. I want it to look real, too. I would like us to fly out to Rochester on Wednesday evening and return on Sunday afternoon, and yes, I know, those are the busiest travel days of the year, but I have a girlfriend that works for an airline at Logan Airport and she can get us good tickets."

I sputtered, "But ... but ..."

Taylor took off again, "I know you're worried about pulling this off, but I figure we have four weeks before the holiday, and we can learn a bit about each other each day. Even more awkward will be the sleeping arrangements. My parents are old school, so I'm sure that we'll be assigned separate rooms. They have a three-bedroom home. That's the 'no sex' part of the weekend, but maybe you can stock up between now and then."

"St ... stock up?" I muttered in a downbeat tone.

I finally got my head in gear about her proposal. I told her to get her things and that we were going to dinner. Big spender that I am, I took her to a modest place called the Thai House. She liked that idea. Walking there neither of us said a word, and I was kind of pulling her along as we held hands so we could stay together on the busy sidewalks. As we walked, my mind was going a thousand-miles-per-hour.

We got a booth in the restaurant with no one else near us. After we'd ordered, I started whispering to her. "Taylor, I really like you -- a lot. I'd hate to lose you as my assistant, but I can't do this to you. This is propagating a lie. Think about this in the longer term; what then? What happens when your family finds out that I'm a fake or worse they investigate me and find out what kind of person I am?"

She smiled and then insisted, "No it's not a lie. You just said you liked me, and you've told me dozens of times that you respect me and think that I'm smart, competent, friendly, and a great person. Earlier today you told me that I excel in my job. That's all that's required. As far as anybody else is concerned, my relatives included, we are not far enough along in our relationship to even think of anything more serious than what we're already doing when we date. While we're there, we can do some fun stuff outside the house, too. You won't be 'on stage' all the time. I can help manage any frictions."

I said, "Oh, yeah, about that 'stocking up' part you mentioned. People can't stock up on sex, like you would save money or food or something to use later. I couldn't do that because I'm horny all the time; it doesn't matter whether I've just had sex or whether it has been a week or thirty minutes. Further, and worse, I am what is called a 'player'. You know that. I barely have any morals."

"A player? What's that mean?"

"The term refers to mostly men who have had and continue to have many sexual partners -- I emphasize the word 'many'. Come on, you kid me every Monday morning about my weekends that have been filled with sex, each weekend with a different partner. I've been careful to never mention sex with you, too. I don't want to get near a sexual harassment issue, and I certainly don't want to lose you for any reason. You are my critical success factor in my work.

"I avoid having sequential dates right after I've been together with someone because I don't want to give the impression of starting an ongoing romance or relationship. I seriously avoid commitment. I somehow know how to act around women that makes me attractive to them. I try to turn that off in the office, but still, it's there. I think everyone knows that I took Monica and her best friend out and then fucked them into oblivion not long ago. She talked. I didn't.

"Apparently, it doesn't take me much effort to score, and I have liked being with every one of them, and I think the feeling has been mutual. When I do ask for a second or third date, I am always successful. For instance, that co-ed that I brought home last weekend I picked up on the transit train after only ten minutes of idle chit-chat, and then some wooing over the subsequent dinner date. We were each other's dessert in my large bed. She wants to go out again, but I won't see her again for at least a month -- probably longer."

"But you get turned down sometimes, too, right?" Taylor asked.

"Last year. Once. Along with occasional repeats, I've been with a different woman just about every weekend over the past three years since I started working here. Most stay from Friday to Sunday or even Monday morning. A lot of that time, we are ... well, you know."

Taylor gawked at me. "Yeah, fucking. Wow. That's amazing. You're amazing. I figured all that out, too."

I went on, "So, I'm not the best candidate to pick to be your temporary boyfriend. One of your parents or some other relative will sniff out that I have that kind of background and reputation, and it will reflect poorly on you. You'll be seen as making a bad choice of boyfriend, and that'll probably worry them far more than you not having one. Even worse, it might get you labelled as a slut because you're willing to consort with a man-slut like me."

Taylor shook her head, "No. No. It'll be the opposite. They'll think that I've finally got my 'boyfriend act' together and that, yes, we're fucking each other's lights out on a regular basis. Even if they think you're a player, it'll help put me in that category, too, or at least closer to it. That's what I want.

"Look at me. I'm this plain, mousy girl with little hope of attracting any male interest. I even thought about becoming a lesbian to double my chances of finding somebody, but that's not me either, although I admit to being bi-curious.

"I don't care if they think of me as a slut. I'll tell them I'm a Sexually-Liberated Urban Tart, instead of the stuck-up, virginal, young bitty that everyone thinks I am. I'm changing -- I want to change. I want to be liberated. I'm not sure how, but I've resolved to try -- an early resolution. I will need the help of a 'player' like you, but I think that I'm ready. I need to improve myself, my looks, and my attitude. I'm desperate.

"I want to feel empowered and in control of my body. Right now, I feel stagnant. I want something to happen, and I'm not where I want to be. Oh, my job is fine. I like what we do and I feel that I'm constantly getting better at it, even as we get more challenging cases.

"I think that I'm also rebelling about the double-standard between men and women. You get to be a 'player' and fuck, fuck, fuck all the time, but if I do that, even a little, then I'm a slut. Well, I want that. I'll even pretend to be your slut when we're at my home for Thanksgiving if that'll make you happy."

"But you're not, and we'll be in separate rooms anyway," I speculated.

Taylor was thoughtful for a moment. The she lit up with an idea. "I know how to fix that. We'll both know about and talk about some small details in each other's apartments -- especially in our bedrooms. Then they'll know that I've been in your place and that you've been in mine. We won't emphasize it. It'll just be some factual tidbit, like the color of your sheets or the kind of reading light I have beside my bed."

I rolled my eyes. "What if I decide that I want to come onto you?"

"Really?" she squeaked in an excited tone. "That'd be ... the best. Then we really would be an event of some kind, and I'm sure that our chemistry would be palpable. I wouldn't be asking if I didn't like you. In fact, you're the only male that I like, and I like you a lot."

I shook my head again. "I'm not sure what kind of actor I could be for you."

Taylor smiled, "All you have to do is be yourself. Good Lord, we interact back and forth for eight to ten hours every weekday. It'll be the same, except there'll be other people around. You can even ask me questions about my background. That'd be normal since I grew up around Rochester. You'd be all curious about that, like how far away the high school is or where the prom was held and who I went with."

I asked, "What about the gap in our ages?"

Taylor went, "Pfffft. Not an issue. Three years is nothing. You're thirty, and I'm twenty-seven. That's normal. By the way, my birthday is June twentieth and I know your birthday is March tenth."

"What about that I'm so much more experienced than you are, especially sexually?"

"Oh, my loving boyfriend, you are also my mentor and sensei as I grow and evolve in new and interesting ways. You are helping to mold me into a sensitive and caring person, and fucking 'hot' adult woman capable of love, sexual intimacy, and accomplishment in life."

I tried a different tack. "Taylor, who is your role model?"

She canted her head over to one side with a surprised look. "You are, dummy. Why do you think we're here? I picked you because I want to be like you."

"Oh, Taylor. You may not like these shoes. Think about that. I'm a very selfish person. I have no one else to look after or care about other than myself. That's highly narcissistic. I have no one that loves me, except maybe my mother and father who live in Florida and who I don't talk with all that often. I could be thought of as an emotional cripple. I work hard, and I reward myself with NSA sex."

"NSA?"

"No strings attached. I'm not a good role model. You want to care about other people; I can tell. You want somebody that cares about you. Even if we were together, I'm not sure that I could remain faithful to you. I may turn and chase the next attractive skirt that catches my eye."

Taylor thought a moment and said, "I may be all right with that, at least for now. I get aroused thinking about your sexual weekends, even though I'm not involved. Confession time, I guess. While you're fucking your newest conquest, I'm in my bed masturbating and thinking about what it would be like."

I latched onto that point as a life raft, hoping to sway her away from involving me as her temporary boyfriend. "Taylor, how much real sex have you actually had?"

"I'm not a virgin." She looked slightly insulted.

"Answer my question."

Taylor sighed and rolled her eyes. "I've had sex twice -- senior prom, and we fucked twice. After that I went off to Wellesley to college -- it's all women. I did eat some pussy there one night, but ... other than that, what I know about sex comes from the movies I've seen."

"Do you watch any porn?"

Taylor lit up with that idea. "NO! But that's a great idea. Maybe you could tell me what websites to go to. Is it expensive?"

"Much of it is free," I volunteered. "You should start some of your education in that theater. I warn you that some of it is kinky, and also that I've done many of the things that couples do."

"I will. Thank you. See, you're being so helpful already. I'll be more ready in four weeks for my part in our charade. It'll be fun. What have you done that was kinky?"

"Well, two weeks ago I was with two women all weekend, fucking up a storm. I've done that several times -- two women, that is. I've also been part of a devil's threesome -- two guys fucking one girl -- simultaneously; ass and vagina. I've been an exhibitionist as well as a voyeur. The kinky stuff is almost endless. You'll see."

Our dinners arrived and we were quiet for a while as we ate. Both of us kept looking at the other. I think we were doing some internal evaluations. I know I was.

Taylor could be really pretty. She needed a makeover. With some make-up and some more stylish clothing I realized that she'd be truly stunning, maybe one of the most attractive women I've dated. As I studied her, I realized she had a facial structure that could be called beautiful, if she did a few minor things and stopped wearing those coke bottle thick eyeglasses. I think her body was nice, so some better clothes. She'd need some real shoes, too; instead of the functional flats or sneakers she wore. She was a terrible dresser.

Wait! Why was I thinking of dating her. This was all wrong. I recalled all those old sayings about keeping your pen out of the company inkwell. Fuck, I just couldn't do this.

I looked again at my dinner companion. Taylor looked up at me with tears in both eyes. The one in her left eye broke through and rolled down her cheek. She started to choke up. She said one word in such a plaintive tone: "Please!"

Taylor led me into her one-bedroom apartment. I made it clear that we had a lot of homework to do and that we were going to start immediately. Following up on her suggestion for us to visit each other's abodes, we'd gone to her place. It was closer to the restaurant.

I took in the tight space that maybe amounted to 300-square-feet, including entry hall and bathroom. Everything was tightly packed. There were storage bins under every piece of furniture, and the closets were stuffed full. I took a couple of snapshots to study later.

I walked into her tight bedroom area, that held a queen-size bed. I thought I'd poke a stick at Taylor for fun. "Hey, where is your vibrator?"

Unabashed, she went to the small bedside table and opened the drawer. She brought out a dildo and a battery-operated vibrator. She then blushed. I just nodded.

"Anything else?"

"Just some lube," she admitted sheepishly. "I get dry sometimes."

I gestured and she put things away.

I opened her closet and examined her clothing and shoes. I saw nothing that would rate as sexy or daring. I turned to Taylor, "I'm going into your other room. I want you to put on your sexiest outfit -- dress and shoes, at least; then come and show me."

I left and pulled the door shut behind me. I could hear her scuffling around in the bedroom and wondered what would appear. After five minutes the door opened and she stepped into the room. She didn't even look hopeful. She knew what she looked like.

I shook my head. I announced, "We're going shopping over lunch tomorrow."

She said, "You don't like it?"

"Honestly, no. Your figure is hidden; there is no cleavage showing; I can't see your knees, let alone most of your thighs; and the color and design resembles the camouflage that the Army used in Desert Storm. The shoes are matte black, but they should be patent leather to add some glitz to the rest of what you should be wearing, and they should have a minimum of three-inch heels."

She looked dejected.

I went and held her shoulders, "Taylor. My brand of mentoring you, if we do this, is going to be a dose of tough love. I date sexy women. I'm going to tell you exactly what I think without mincing words. This will be the fastest way to get you on a new life track, too. I will expect the same from you, when you're shaping me up to be your temporary boyfriend. We only have four weeks and we have a lot of work to do."

"Thank you. I will get used to it, I guess. So, yes please."

I kissed her forehead. "One more thing. This weekend, learn how to use eye shadow, eye liner, rouge, and lipstick. I don't think that I've ever seen you with any kind of make-up. I do like a natural girl, but also one that can gussy-up to go out. We'll want you to show a 'new look' to your family when you get to Rochester. They need to know that there's a new you in town ... and that you've got a boyfriend."

"I will." She sounded enthusiastic suddenly. She paused and then locked eyes with me. "I want you to turn me into the kind of girl that you'd date, or the best you can do in the four weeks that we have. I know that's a nearly impossible order, but shoot for the stars and reach the moon."

I moved to the main door. "I'll see you at work tomorrow morning. Night." I left and walked all the way to my place in Back Bay. There was a nip of fall in the air, plus Halloween was in five days. We were going to have to work hard on this temporary boyfriend and makeover stuff.

Taylor had lipstick on and slightly red (matching?) cheeks when she arrived at work. She gave me a big grin and said, "Thank you so much for doing this. I'll be your friend for life."

I put my head down into my computer. I was chasing down the true identity of a man named Gordon Vega. I had called into two of his listed previous companies but they'd come up empty, proving up front that something was fishy.

I figured this was the time to put my idea to work. We supposedly had a portrait of the man, siting posed in a business suit and tie. After some testing, I got to the right place on the internet and put the scanned photo up for evaluation; and search using A.I. My computer took about ten minutes, and then produced about one-thousand possible 'matches'.

I scanned through all of them, holding the photo beside my computer screen. After five minutes, I was certain that I could report that Gordon Vega was an alias for George Vogel. I went off on that tangent to see what I could discover. By lunch, I'd discovered that old George had been fired from his last job for sexual harassment. Hmmmm. Not a good thing for a director of sales to do.

Taylor stuck her head in the door. "Lunch?"

"Yes. We're eating and shopping." I let a few people know that we were running errands and would be back later than normal. We grabbed a sandwich on the run.

For starters, I escorted Taylor to Macy's since it was closest to our work. I led her to the women's dresses and we got a nice woman to help us. I explained what we were looking for and soon, Taylor was in and out of the dressing room showing me dresses that we'd picked together. The sales woman was helpful.

We picked three dresses and a pair of snug stovepipe slacks that made Taylor's ass look like a million dollars. Wow, how had she been managing to hide that from me. We got three pairs of shoes, and to her surprise, I put it all on my credit card.

"You can't pay for my clothes?" she said in the form of a question.

"I not only can, but did. You are dressing to please me -- your temporary boyfriend. Of course, I expect to pay. I also expect to see you wearing this stuff." I gestured to the shopping bags.

Our arrival back at work with the large bags of clothing and shoe boxes did not go unnoticed.

I connected with Jill about seven-thirty and we went to dinner at a seafood place called Ostra. Although pricey, the food and service were first class. Since I was perpetrating a snow job on Jill, I figured it was worth it.

Jill was appropriately snowed ... and appreciative.